saudade | s.j.

forty-one

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Scarlett's POV

The golden glow of the New York morning filters into Y/N's apartment, casting long, soft shadows across the marble floors. I wake up before her, which is becoming a habit lately since she films at night. She's still asleep, her face turned toward me. She stirs, mumbling something incoherent before settling back into her dreams.

I smile to myself, slipping away as quietly as I can. I've never been great at staying still. In the kitchen, I rummage through her cabinets, piecing together a simple breakfast. It's nothing too fancy, just scrambled eggs and toast. It feels grounding, domestic. I could get used to this. As the coffee brews, the sound of footsteps pulls me from my thoughts.

"You're cooking?" Y/N's voice is groggy but laced with surprise. She's standing at the island with her head in her hands, looking at me like I'm the breakfast. I smirk, holding up the spatula. "Don't act so shocked. I've got some skills besides acting."

She laughs, shuffling over to the counter and pouring herself a cup of coffee. "I just didn't think Scarlett Johansson does breakfast."

"Scarlett Johansson doesn't," I tease, leaning against the counter. "But your girlfriend does." The words are still new, but I love the way they sound. So does she, judging by the shy smile that creeps up on her face.

"Well girlfriend," she says, taking a sip of her coffee and kissing my cheek, "you're already spoiling me."

"Good," I reply, sliding a plate toward her. "Get used to it."

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The day stretches out ahead of us with no set plans, a rarity for both of us. After breakfast, we find ourselves wandering through Greenwich Village, blending in with the hustle of the city. It's easy to get lost in the rhythm of the streets, the energy of New York pulling us along.

We stop at a tiny bookstore, tucked away on a quiet corner. Y/N's eyes light up as she scans the shelves, running her fingers over the spines of old, worn books. "Do you want me to leave you two alone?" I tease, leaning against the doorframe.

She grins, holding up a battered copy of some classic novel. "Don't judge. Books were my first love."

"I'm not judging," I say, stepping closer. "I just want to make sure I still stand a chance." Her laugh is soft, and she shakes her head. "You're ridiculous."

"And you love it," I reply without thinking, the words slipping out effortlessly. She pauses, her smile faltering for just a second before it returns, brighter than before. "Yeah," she says quietly. "I do."

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Later, we end up at Bryant Park, walking along the side of the library as the afternoon sun starts to dip lower in the sky. The air smells like street food and smoke, and the sound of distant music floats from the middle of the park.

Y/N sits down at a bench and I join her, looking out over the city. Her profile catches the light, and I can't help but admire her. She's beautiful, but it's more than that. There's something grounding about her, something I didn't know I needed until she came into my life.

"You're staring again," she says without looking at me, a smirk playing on her lips.

"Can't help it," I reply, stepping closer.

She turns to face me, her expression soft. "What are you thinking?"

"That I'm happy," I say honestly. "For the first time in a long time."

Her eyes search mine, and for a moment, it feels like the world has paused around us. Then she smiles, reaching for my hand.

"Me too," she says simply.