tiny times [ avengers age regression ]

comfort crowd

  [ this isn't romantic. it's just a more intimate version of platonic. it's about comfort, not romance. ]

  Comfort Crowd - Conan Gray

"This hurt that I'm holding's getting heavy
But I'ma keep a smile on my shoulders 'til I'm sweaty..."

 

    Her shoulders were tense, but her body was curled into a ball. She sat upright, staring at the plain bedsheets that weren't hers, ignoring the way her patience ticked away every time her short, red hair fluttered into her face. She swiped it away, tucking it loosely behind her ear. Her belt dug into her stomach, the hard, black painted metal leaving indents into her soft stomach. Her shoulders were constricted with not only the invisible pressure, but also with the thin leather jacket slung over them and zipped over her chest.

  "Natasha," they would say. "what do you do when you hide away for so long?"

  "Oh, nothing." she would reply. "Top secret stuff."

  She rolled her blue eyes at nothing, flicking from glaring at the bed to glaring at the closed door. It wasn't even her door; it was Clint's. She liked his room the best for quiet moments. Everything was always scattered around plainly, set up like the nest a mother bird would make to protect her babies. Comfortable but not overwhelming, and she took advantage of his open-door policy.

  She was broken from her meaningless thoughts with a creak and a knock, focusing on the shift in the door's hinges when it opened more. Leaning against the doorframe, familiar eyes met hers, with a specific hue to them. Scanning his eyes, he observed, mentally noting differences to the person he'd come to know well; shirt wrinkled, shoes still on. Eyes glossy, hair tucked, posture unstable.

  "...Begging on my knees
   Screamin', 'Someone come and help me'
   But by the time they're there
   I've already hid the body..."

  "You're still hiding." he mused, holding her eye contact while he had it. Expecting her to look away, he was surprised when she held it.

  "I don't hide," she replied. "I relax."

  He raised his eyebrows. "You don't look relaxed."

  She rolled her eyes, looking away. There, that's it.

  He moved, stepping in, shutting the door behind him. She didn't move, but he saw her tense, a motion only he could notice. He sat next to her, positioned in a way so his leg was touching her's, despite her balled up posture.

"...My breath's gettin' short and I'm unsteady..."

  He watched silently, not hiding his stare, as her breathing picked up every so slightly. He slung and arm over her shoulder, pulling her tense form in. Despite everything telling her to pull away she stayed, his confidence in his actions faltering her ego.

   "You're nervous. Why are you nervous?" he asked, his voice barely above a whisper. The dim lighting flickered, and he felt her sigh. Some of her tension gave way, and she slumped more into him. He supported her, rolling his thumb in soothing motions over her bicep.

  "I'm," she started, pausing. "I'm not nervous."

  She could feel her attention slipping, knowing he was breaking her walls down himself. The silence of the little room never felt so loud, and she knew she was exposed like an open book.

  "But you are," he continued, looking into her blue eyes with his more experienced pair. "I can tell you are."

  She sighed, a quivering sigh, and her eyes grew damp. She flickered her attention from him back down to the bedsheets, ignoring the waterworks that suddenly wanted to rip from her eyes.