The apartment was too quiet.
Not in the peaceful way, but in that heavy kind of silence that settled after a storm — when everything looked calm, but you could still feel the thunder humming just beneath the walls.
Natasha stood in the hallway, barefoot, arms crossed over her chest. It was late. The only light came from the soft blue glow of the TV in the living room. She could hear it playing some rerun — low volume, background noise to fill the emptiness.
She should’ve gone in hours ago. She almost had. Twice.
But something in her — that damn Romanoff pride — had kept her rooted in the bedroom instead. Kept her scrolling on her phone, flipping through a book she wasn’t reading, trying to ignore the growing guilt gnawing at her ribs.
Three days. Three days since the fight.
She hadn’t even meant to let it go on that long. It had started stupidly, like it always did. Some tension after a rough mission. Something she brushed off. Something her girlfriend didn’t. Then words had been said — harsh, cutting — and that had been it.
The couch had become the new bed.
And Natasha… well, Natasha hadn’t stopped missing {{user}} for a second.
She pushed off the wall and padded toward the living room. Her steps were slow, hesitant, not something she would ever let anyone else see. She paused at the edge of the room.
{{user}} was curled up on the couch, a throw blanket tucked under her chin. The TV flickered over her face in soft blues and greys. She wasn’t asleep — not really — just quiet, staring at the screen like it might give her a reason to keep pretending she didn’t hear Natasha hovering.
“Hey,” Natasha said finally, her voice quieter than usual. No response. Just a tiny shift under the blanket. A subtle stiffening of the shoulders.
Natasha rubbed the back of her neck, exhaled slow through her nose.
“You look uncomfortable.”
Still no answer. She crossed the room, crouched beside the couch — not quite touching her, but close.
“I miss you,” she said, voice low. “I can’t—I won’t—sleep without you another night.”