"How much longer?" You asked, staring at Natasha who was just hanging off the phone.
She turned to you. "They said it won't be long," She answered.
Rolling your eyes, it's not exactly the answer you were looking for.
"What?" She huffed.
"Won't be long is not an answer," You snap, looking away from her eyes to avoid the growing amusement on her face.
She frowned, immediately picking up something off about you since you never were the piss-off type of a person. "Hey, what's with the attitude?" She questioned, sounding a little too concerned for anyone's liking that are not in that small tin box with the two of you. But you didn't give her any response, instead you just released a heavy breath, while constantly picking the skin around your thumb as a way to release your frustrations. Natasha then glanced down, finding it odd that you didn't give her an answer, giving her a reason to see the now bleeding finger that you have.
"It's nothing," You waved it off, noticing her staring at it before you hid it behind you, but before that even happened she caught your wrist, pulling it to her as she softly traced her fingers on your injured one. You softly hissed when she touched a sensitive spot causing your eyes flick to up to meet hers.
"You're anxious," Natasha stated out loud.
You huffed, forcing out a fake silly laugh, "No I'm not."
"You are," Natasha glared at you. Prying green eyes poking into the thin wall that you had created to hide your troubles and misery.
"It's a small phobia," You admitted.
Natasha did not say a word, eager to know more and to keep you talking because she knew exactly what to do in a situation like this.
Closing your eyes for a moment and opening them again, "I was seven, my sister and I were riding on an elevator and it got stuck because of the sudden brownout. When it came back on, the doors opened and my sister was the first one to step out—" You cut yourself short when you felt the box move, eyes going wide.
"It's okay, I've got you, just keep talking," Natasha assured, gently tightening her grasp on your forearm.
"And then her leg was cut off as the doors immediately closed and I was still in there shocked and watching my sister get torn apart," taking a deep breath, you stared into her eyes, "My sister died in an elevator."
By the time you had finished your short storytelling, the door opened with a ding, slightly startling you as you quickly moved away from Natasha and picked up your things before you left the door.
You didn't look back and just continued walking straight ahead, with no idea what was waiting for you on the other side of that room.
"Y/N, right?" A disembodied voice pulled you away from your shaken trance as your eyes searched for the person.
"Y-yes," You slightly stuttered, before dumbfoundingly muttered, "this is her."
"Good," a satisfied grin appeared on Haley's face, having no idea why she was looking for you.
But then she slowly— anticipatedly strolled her way closer to you, her hand curled into a fist and you wondered what was under those perfectly manicured nails. With one move, the curled fist was no longer curled as what she was holding was lipstick.
"I kinda like your face but..." She trailed off, lifting the red lipstick and dragging it to your face, harshly meeting with your skin as she began to draw a huge 'x' mark from forehead to chin.
With your head in the clouds, you didn't know what she was doing, instead you just closed your eyes and let her do what she wanted.
"If I heard another word going around of you and my fiancée having a little too much fun, you'll see where you're gonna end up far worse than this one," she threatened as you kept your eyes closed. "Are we clear!?"
"Yes, miss—"
"Boss. You call me boss," she clarified before she was out of your business.
By the end of that day, you were left alone at the office, finishing up some files that were due tomorrow. The events of earlier were mixed up in your head, but it was weird that you didn't feel any hatred toward Haley, well, maybe she was right, that you are in the wrong here seeing as you are the dirty mistress who's sleeping with her boss, which only happened once and you weren't sober, and it was also a long time ago — not that long. With that thought, you dialed a number on the telephone at your desk, calling Natasha using her office number.
"Hello, Y/N? Is something wrong?" Her voice was quickly laced with concern, but you didn't respond, "I'm sorry...for what happened to your sis—"
"Natasha, I'm setting up boundaries," You blurt out, cutting her off. "It's for our good, okay?" You didn't wait for her response as you continued, "We can only talk or call each other when it's about work and only if it's office hours."
Though her office was only at the end of the hall and yours was positioned two doors down, you couldn't help but wonder whether she was coming to you or she didn't care at all.
"It's late, you should go home," by her chosen tone, you could tell that she didn't like the idea, and before you could protest the line was cut short. So you sighed, standing up and leaving your chair.
Since it was past ten, the building was quiet and empty, seeing this as an opportunity, you made your way outside Natasha's office.
"You can't just shut me down every time I talk about us," You spoke out loud, just enough for her to hear on the other side of those big doors.
"I didn't shut you down," Natasha replied from the other side, none of you having the intention of opening the door. "I was talking to you as your boss, and I told you to go home, that's an order."
"Captain gives orders, you are a boss—"
"I don't care, alright!? You're the one who put up a boundary between us, why the hell are you talking to me?" She snapped back, jaw slightly clenching.
You huffed. "So you'd prefer us not talking?" You questioned.
"Yes," She quickly answered. "Does that bother you?"
"Would you care?" You quipped.
A small silence crept in before Natasha answered, "No."
"Then, no, it doesn't bother me."
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