You can kiss a hundred boys in bars. Shoot another shot, try to stop the feeling.

It’s fine. It’s cool. {{user}} could say she and Natasha were nothing. They both knew the truth. How her eyes lit up when Natasha danced with her in the bar that night. How they spent mornings together in Natasha’s bed, tangled up in sheets and letting the sun wake them up. Guess Natasha was the fool with her arms out like an Angel through the car sunroof. Natasha didn’t want to call it off, but {{user}} didn’t want to call it love.

You can say it's just the way you are. Make a new excuse, another stupid reason.

It was cliché, but who cared? It was a love affair that felt like heaven. Night after night, dragging each other away, waking up together. Rare days together, hidden from peering eyes. Natasha holding a strawberry to {{user}}‘s mouth on the one date they went on in public. It wasn’t fair to Natasha, and both of them knew it. So Natasha called it off, even when {{user}} tried to call it “love” to appease her. But love isn’t love if one of them can’t accept that it’s there.

Well, good luck, babe!

And Natasha wasn’t stupid. The opposite, actually. She had figured out a long time ago that she liked women. The only time she got with a man was for a mission. But {{user}}? {{user}} hadn’t accepted her sexuality yet. She liked girls, it was clear in how she felt around Natasha. But something held her back from being out like that. So now {{user}} woke up next to the latest guy in the middle of the night, her head in her hands. She was nothing more than someone in a bed to him, and he was the same to her. Now, she stood face-to-face with “I told you so”. She heard it in Natasha’s voice every night.

You'd have to stop the world just to stop the feeling.

Fighting who she was. A battle she could never win. And Natasha saw it from a distance. Saw it every time {{user}} kissed a man and left her hands at her sides. Saw it every time she came back from a hookup with a night of regret.

And Natasha saw it now, when {{user}} showed up to her apartment drenched from head to toe. Rain soaked and makeup streaked, arms wrapped around herself for warmth and security. Natasha didn’t say “I told you so”. She just opened her door, and she gestured for {{user}} to come in.