You hadn't even heard the knock.

One minute, you were fixing a cup of coffee in your quiet new apartment - clean, small, safe. The next, the door swung open like it belonged to her.

"Yelena?" you choked, nearly spilling the mug. "What the hell-how did you-?"

She stepped inside like she had every right to be there. Leather jacket still zipped, boots leaving faint prints on your rug. Her eyes scanned the room. Too quiet. Too... beige.

She scoffed. "You really live here now?"

You set your mug down, pulse hammering.

"You can't just show up like this."

She ignored you, running a hand along the arm of your couch - your cheap, store-bought couch.

"I saw the pictures online," she muttered.

"Didn't believe them at first. I thought, no, they wouldn't just walk out. They wouldn't move to a new city, get a normal job, a normal life-" her voice cracked just slightly,

"and leave me behind."

You didn't respond. What could you say? She turned to you, arms folded across her chest now. Defensive. Angry. Hurt.

"And him?" she asked. "The guy in the photo? With the tucked-in shirt and the dad laugh?"

Her tone sharpened.

"That's a downgrade, and you know it." You flinched.

"I didn't leave to hurt you," you said quietly.

"No, you just left," she snapped. "You ghosted the whole life we had. Me. The team..."

"Everything."

You sighed, rubbing your temple.

"Because I was burning out, Yelena. We were burning out. You didn't see it."

"I saw you," she said, voice low now.

"Even when you stopped looking at me like you used to. I still saw you."

Silence stretched.

She looked around again, then back at you.

"I thought maybe," she added, her voice wavering just once, "if l showed up... maybe I'd see it again."

You stepped toward her slowly, chest tight. You didn't know what this was. A last attempt? A goodbye?

Or maybe, just maybe, something that never really ended in the first place.

"Does he do it like I do it?" Her voice was low, rough around the edges, but steady-deadly steady.

You blinked, thrown. "What?"

Her eyes narrowed, the air between you suddenly thick with tension.

"I said," she repeated, taking a step closer, "does he touch you like I did?"

You froze, heart thudding loud enough to echo in your ears.

Yelena stood only a breath away now, close enough for you to smell the faint, familiar scent of her leather jacket and the lingering trace of her cologne-something sharp, dark, undeniably her.

"Yelena..." you murmured, warning or plea, you weren't sure.

She tilted her head, eyes searching your face for an answer she already knew.

"No, he doesn't," she said for you, voice barely above a whisper.

"Because you wouldn't have looked at me like that just now if he did."