natasha romanoff one-shots (gxg)

𝐬𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐞 (𝟐/𝟑)

a/n: next (and last) part

Y/M/N = your mom's name

Your pillow still smells like her.

It's been half a year — half a year, you can't even believe it — and your pillow still smells like her. Her perfume, her shampoo, the scent that always enveloped her after a night's sleep. It's right there, yours to breathe in every night until the tears start flowing again. Then you put the pillow aside, not wanting to get rid of the scent by accident. You should probably wash the pillowcase, probably should've done that months ago, but you can't bring yourself to do it. Maybe it's pathetic, maybe you're being overly dramatic — but you don't care. Not anymore.

The compound was empty when Natasha was still living here with you, but it's actually empty now. It's you, in this giant, way too modern building, filled with not nearly enough pieces of furniture to conceal how lonely this space truly is. Designed to house at least 8 people, sometimes more, sometimes less, but destined to be completely deserted aside from you. You move through the rooms like a ghost, the only sound you can hear being your footsteps. You haven't paid the bills in forever — an old habit, stemming from the fact that everything surrounding finance was Natasha's job — but they get paid regularly, even if you're not the one transferring the money. You have an idea who it is, who's been making sure you get to keep the water running and the lights switched on, but you don't dare contact her.

The breakup was a whirlwind. At first it was weird, not having Natasha here with you. It almost felt like a dream you'd wake up from, just to roll over in bed and find her by your side. But that never happened, of course. And after seeing the left side of your bed empty time after time, the realization finally sank in. She's gone, and there's nothing you can do.

Your days started to blend together not long after. Time was nothing but a suddenly unfamiliar concept, something you vaguely knew existed but didn't really pay attention to anymore. Daytime and nighttime fused, became interchangeable. You fell into a sort of routine — eat, watch tv, stare at the ceiling. Sleep, sometimes. You're a walking shell of what you used to be, and it's all because of a breakup. You used to think you're immune to heartbreak — turns out you're absolutely, definitely not. It affected you deeply.

There's a few people you still occasionally talk to — Carol, Steve, sometimes Tony — but they don't know what's going on. Not officially, at least, but you're sure they all have an idea. They're smart enough to figure out why in the world Natasha would just leave you and the compound behind, and why that would cause you to spiral. But they don't dare bring it up. It's uncomfortable to talk about other people's issues, after all, and they've all got enough on their plates already.

You don't know it, but Natasha isn't doing any better, either. She's exhausted. She hasn't slept properly in months, as her thoughts refuse to give her any peace, but she keeps pushing, trying to stay afloat on nothing but coffee and adrenaline. She can't stop thinking about you, hasn't stopped ever since she left — it's as if you're in the back of her mind all the time, like a constant presence that's slowly driving her crazy. She constantly wonders how you're doing, if you're eating properly, if you're getting enough sleep. It's as if a piece of her soul is missing, and it's eating her alive.

Her days are mostly spent in that old apartment in Budapest she found Yelena in years ago. She's not doing much, either, but she's doing something. She's still in contact with other people, and she's also still trying to get work done. She goes on missions — now mostly in Europe — but those are fairly rare. There's not that much to do now that half the world's population is gone, so she spends a majority of her days inside.

Her nights are long and lack sleep. Sometimes, she puts in her earphones, turns on the playlist you sent her way too long ago. She listens to the songs that she shouldn't be listening to, the songs that make her relive memories she should try to forget. But she can't help it — it brings her comfort, in a way, makes her feel less alone.