Broken Hearts Club

Chapter 3

The morning breeze gave Steve quite a chill as he did his morning run, a routine he never forgets. Besides, how on earth would he be able to keep his physique the way it is now if he did zero workout? A hat and a sunglasses was absolutely necessary. Sure, it was still early in the morning, but he could not risk people spotting him, he was not quite a fan of the crowd. As the sun gets warmer, he got back home, grabbing a few groceries on the way.

Steve ducked down to grab his key under the carpet, where it always was, it does sound kinda stupid though, but he thinks he'll never forget it that way. Panic hit him hard when it wasn't there, his heart beating fast but he maintained to keep his cool. He listed all the possible things that might've happened, but a thought which concerned him the most was the thought of a robber in his penthouse. A robbery taking place in 9 AM is a bit weird, though. To check his theories, he tried to open the door, and as he expected it was unlocked. He opened the door slowly, making sure that it didn't make any noise. Walk step-by-step very quietly into the entrance hallway which led to the living room.

"Gaaaah!" he gasped when he saw a woman sitting on the couch, coffee on one hand and a newspaper in the other. It was then when he saw a glimpse of red he knew who she was-Natasha.

"What on earth are you doing in my house?!" He raised his voice at her, this was completely outrageous, he thought someone had robbed his place only to find a woman sitting in his living room as if it were her own house. "How did you get in? How'd you know where the key was?!"

"Good morning to you too, Rogers," she calmly said putting her stuff down on the table in front of her, "that is definitely not a way to treat your guest, isn't it?" She smirked at him.

"That was so impolite of you getting in people's houses without permission," he scolded her.

"Oh, I did. The security guy said it was fine for me to get in Mr. Rogers' penthouse when I said I have a business appointment with you, so I found my way in. Besides, your key was under the carpet, everybody else would've figured it out, Rogers," she said smirking once more. Steve found himself in a state where he couldn't decide to kick her out or to forgive her, but her captivating smirk did all the job, he forgived her.

He sighed, she really is complicated, "Sheesh, Romanoff. The next time you do that, I'll drag you out myself. What do you want?"

"You knew damn well what I want, ask questions, that's what I do."

"I'll probably need to shower first, do you mind?" he asked her, she shook her head, "turn on the TV if you want, just don't touch anything, okay?" Then he disappeared into the hallway, into the bathroom.

Natasha turned sat back down again in the bright living room, its enormous windows allowing sunlight to light up the room, giving way to the breathtaking view of the city from up above. She took the TV remote and switched it on, switching between channels, undecided what to watch. She did this continuously for the past half an hour, sipping on her coffee when a decent show was on, and switching it back to another channel when the commercials start. Another fifteen minutes passed and yet, Steve was not back yet, she wondered what took him so long. She walked through the hallway Steve have disappeared into, trying to figure out where the bathroom was.

"Rogers?! Rogers?! Come on, it's almost an hour, seriously!" She shouted, throughout the hallway, making sure her voice was loud enough that he could hear her. A door at the end of the hallway snapped open and he emerged from it, hair still wet and tousled.

"You take much longer time than a girl to take a bath," she remarked, "what'd you do in there? A hot tub and a manicure and pedicure?" she teased. He chuckled a bit. He excused himself to brush his hair, thankfully, this time it wasn't forty-five minutes long, he was back with her in the living room in no time.

As he sat across her in the living room, his own fresh brewed coffee in his hand, Natasha rummaged into her bag, searching for something. "Uh- I think I forget my notebook, may I have a piece of paper?"

"Sure, um- what if we just move to my art room instead, its tables are taller and it's comfier there, and there's also lots of paper there, if you want," he suggested her, in which she agreed immediately.

His art room was briliant, it was like an art exhibit, with clean white walls with paintings hanged, and the same gigantic windows that faced the city. The smell of paint thick in the room. He ushered her into the room, and cleaned the desk which was full of wooden pencils and random sketches. Before he could finish, Natasha had wandered off to where an easel covered in fabric stood before the windows.

"Is this your newest work? Can I see it?" She asked, enthusiasm clear in her voice, as if she was a child asking her parents if she could open her Christmas gift. She pulled the fabric off slowly as Rogers noticed what she was doing and quickly stood between her and the easel, starting to come up with a good excuse but ended up stuttering, "uh- th-that's still in the process, yeah, it's um, uh, better if you see it when it's done, yeah" he said, covering the easel with his hands opened wide.

"Why? I've always wanted to see how artists does their paintings." He still was unmoved from his position.

"Come on, Rogers. How bad could a painting by the great Steve Rogers be?" she teased as he pushed him aside, surprisingly strong for a person her size, uncovering the fabric from the canvas only to find out it was blank. She looked back at him, as he scratched at his neck and chuckled nervously.

"Why aren't you painting?" She asked, a bit accusingly.

"It's kinda complicated," he said looking down and she raised her eyebrows, "I ran out of inspiration?" he let out a nervous chuckle once more. This time, she gaped at him.

"You? Of all people? The great Steve Rogers, is out of inspiration?" she asked him, "how?"

He was silent.

"Please answer, consider this your first question of the day," she encouraged him. He sighed and made his way to the chair beside the desk, putting his elbows on his knees, clasping his hands together. He can't believe his telling this story, again, to someone he just met twice but, what choice does he have?

"It's a long story," he started.

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