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Who Are You People?!

Yelena had a tendency to miss signs. Trained as she may be, with the discipline to prove it, she just never was much for understanding the social norms. So, you had learned to adapt—after that first night as roomies, when she told you everything she'd done and been you hadn't much of a choice. There was no such thing as a filter, she believed in open conversations, which didn't bother you. It was her belief in the open doors that did.

The first time you came home to one of her eccentric guests you were startled into losing your groceries. A frown befell your face as the soy milk box spewed its contents on the floor along with the yolks of your eggs.

Fanny, as you've learned to know, and love her as, was there to lick up the mess. After she'd finished licking your cheek in a rushed greeting, she'd disposed of your hard earned money in the form of the wasted food.

Yelena had apologized, and for some odd reason you believed she took the hint after the entire ordeal.

Then you came home a week later to find her nowhere, but your house sure wasn't empty. Five woman in various positions all looked up at you with fierce eyes. One of them raised her arm, and the loud whirring told you all you needed to know. These were widows, and the pain you were about to feel would be hellish.

"Oksana, put your arm down, this is just Y/N," your roommate admonished her friend with the black hair, "Honestly cyka, you should be able to see she is of no real threat, or have you lost touch with your eyes?"

Then the blonde turned to you with a genuine smile, as if she didn't nearly get you fried, then call you weak. "Would you like to join us for game night Y/N/N?"

You sighed harshly through your nose, tempering the anger you felt for the sake of your new friend's heart. She was strong, but you could also tell she was soft, and breaking her spirit for her lack of social understanding, at no fault of her own, would be cruel.

"Sorry Lena, but I have to be up early," you lied, and gave the girl a quick hug before heading upstairs to your room where you enjoyed the needed solitude.

Occurrences like that became normal, the random game nights, and the alarming amount of new animals you found yourself feeding, and faces you'd forget. Yelena trusted easily, as in, she knew that if anyone she brought home on a whim would try anything, she could handle them without even breaking a sweat.

You put up with just about everything—if she had a mission gone wrong, her stitched up field partner, a cheery girl by the name of Kate Bishop, would sleep on your couch and greet you with sudoku and breakfast.

That first meeting was terrible too, as you'd stumbled into your dark house and threw yourself on top of her. It ended quickly, with Yelena coming downstairs with a gun and you and Kate in opposite corners screaming.

Her in pain, and you in fear. You had left to bed embarrassed, and woke up to laugh about it with her.

You don't mind the archer, but you would have liked a heads up. You always wanted it, but never received it, and slowly but surely a festering of resentment resided.