The Color Of You

Chapter 24

Chapter warning: Smut / NSFW

The new day greeted you with a grey sky and a foul mood. Everything that had transpired in the last few weeks had taken a toll on you, and it weighed heavily on your chest. The constant replay of recent events kept you up at night, gnawing at the edges of your sanity, and it felt like there was no escape from the suffocating fog of despair that hung over you. Even though you longed to spend your day in bed feeling sorry for yourself, you needed to attend classes. With a heavy heart and a pounding head, you dragged yourself out of bed, mechanically going through the motions of getting ready, each action a Herculean effort.

The day dragged by at a snail's pace, and you felt every agonizing minute of it. You knew you should reach out to Yelena, Natasha, or Wanda, but every time you reached for your phone, your hand hovered, paralyzed by the weight of your own exhausted mind. The thought of making the effort to reach out felt overwhelming. You were tired of making an effort, tired of pretending everything was fine. All you longed for was to hit a pause button on life, to have just a moment to breathe, decompress, feel, and think without the relentless march of time pushing you forward. But there is no pause button for life, so you decided to give yourself some time alone, retreating into the fragile cocoon of your thoughts.

Unfortunately, this only made you more distracted in your classes. You found yourself staring blankly at the board, your mind a jumble of fragmented thoughts and emotions. Each class ended abruptly, startling you as if you'd been awakened from a deep sleep. Your mind was trying to piece together the shattered fragments of your identity, trying to figure out who you were amidst the chaos. You felt lost within yourself, adrift without a compass. Had you ever truly known who you were? If someone were to ask you, "Who are you?" you doubted you could provide a coherent answer. The sad part was that the only times you had truly felt alive were because of other people, and now, in their absence, you felt like a ghost of yourself. That's when the panic really set in, because Natasha wanted to come clean to Yelena. What would happen if she disapproved? Would you end up alone, or would she love you enough to see your feelings for what they are: true and beautiful?

You were startled when Wanda's voice broke you out of your thoughts. Blinking, you realized you were standing on the curb outside their house. How had you ended up here? The last thing you remembered was stepping out of class. You shook your head, bewildered, only to find that Wanda had ascended the stairs and was now standing in front of you, her eyes filled with concern.

"Sweetheart, are you okay?" she asked softly, her voice a balm to your frayed nerves.

You didn't know how to answer that, so you simply stared at her, feeling the prickling sting of tears behind your eyes. Unable to explain the storm of emotions inside you, you remained silent. Wanda's gaze didn't waver. She stepped closer, her presence comforting and familiar.

"Hey, why don't we go inside? Come here, darling," Wanda beckoned you gently, her hand warm and reassuring as it grasped yours.

She led you into the house, a place that had always felt like a sanctuary. To your surprise, she brought you to her studio, motioning for you to sit on the stool in front of the easel. Her presence was comforting, a quiet strength that you desperately needed. She moved with a graceful familiarity, gathering brushes and placing them next to you before kneeling down.

Her thumb caressed your hand softly, her eyes searching yours with a mix of concern and love. "You don't look well, darling," she whispered. "Do you want to talk about it?"

The room was filled with the faint scent of paint and the quiet hum of a nearby fan. You felt a lump rise in your throat, and tears threatened to spill. How could you even explain what was going on with you when your emotions were a tangled mess, too overwhelming to put into words? You felt like a balloon filled to bursting, but with no way to release the pressure.