I let out a dad groan as I sank into the couch, stretching like a man twice my age.
"What's your poison, Miss Super Spy? Comedy, action, romance, sparkling vampires, cringe... or porn?"
She gave me a sidelong glance as she dropped onto the cushion beside me with her own satisfied sigh. "And what do you think I like, Mr. Ranger?"
"I'm gonna say... niche foreign indie film where no one smiles and everyone dies."
She smirked. "Getting old, aren't we?"
"Miss Natasha, you might be getting old." I clicked through the movie menu. "But me? I'm a forever eighteen-year-old boy. Who's only lived for, what, eighteen years and 1,984 days?"
"That's oddly specific. Should I be worried you're counting like a narcissist or a bigot?"
"Neither." I said. "Just trauma with a built-in calendar."
She stole the remote from my hand, flipping through the options like she owned the place. Which, to be fair, she kind of did.
"How about something where the girl poisons a man for breaking one of modern life's cardinal rules."
"Let me guess—'never ask a man his salary and guess—'"
"—a woman's age." she finished without missing a beat.
I leaned back, hands behind my head. "Is that a threat, perchance, my dangerous observer?"
"You're the one making it one, Mr. Ranger." She shifted, tucking her legs up as she got comfortable.
"I would never. I like living. Even more, I like living with all my vital organs intact." I scrolled down and stopped on something stupid. "Say, how about this one—pizza guy shows up, girl can't pay. Drama ensues. Very... heartfelt."
She gave me a deadpan stare. "Please. I've spent enough time in extraction cells and dark bunkers. But I still know porn when I see it."
"Ah, but this one has plot. Allegedly."
She yanked the remote back and resumed scrolling. "Why are there so many of these? Your personal stash?"
"Blame Fury. It's his library." I said with a shrug. "Who knows what's going on in that one-eyed head of his. Honestly, some of these titles sound suspiciously specific."
She stopped on one and tilted her head. "'Snow Bunny Gets Destroyed by the Entire Hood.' You think he sees himself in that scenario?"
I blinked. "You know what? I think that cyclops has more kinks than security clearances. For all I know he wishes to be the snow bunny."
She laughed—a real one this time. Not loud, but honest.
"God help us all if he ever finds out how to sort by genre."
"Too late. He already has sorted by tags."
I scrolled through the disturbingly extensive categories. My brows slowly raised.
"This man either really loves snow bunnies… or he's got a very complicated thing for BBCs."
Natasha squinted at the screen. "That's not a thing. That's an obsession. You sure, this isn't your account?"
I ignored her. And I pointed dramatically at the nearest hidden camera.
"Coulson, I know you're listening. Relay this to Fury: if you're gay and dreaming of getting railed by the entire starting lineup of NBA players, I fully support your freedom—just do it a few hundred of kilometers away from me."
Natasha smirked. "What, you scared Fury's gonna show up at your door dressed as the pizza guy, asking if you've need the 'extra sausage'?"
"Natasha." I turned to her, dead serious. "If that man ever shows up near me holding a pizza box and a smirk, I'm violating seventeen international accords, seven Avengers agreements, and blasting his ass straight to the moon."
She clicked her tongue, clearly enjoying every second. "So… you like blasting Fury's ass, huh? Interesting phrasing, Monsieur Ranger."
"Oh god, no. No, no, no." I mimed a full-body shudder. "Don't put that image in my head."
"What image? Fury. In a mini skirt. Acting coy. Saying 'Notice me, senpai' while licking a popsicle."
She burst out laughing, eyes squinting as she leaned forward.
"I swear." I said, holding up a hand like I was making a vow, "One more word on that and I am going to steal all the confidential file of every single agencies and make you the perpetrator. "
"Party Popper." she said, still grinning. "But it's not as tempting as the idea of Fury as your pizza delivery guy. Mini skirt, clipboard, bubblegum pink lipstick... Just imagine the tension. You trying to meditate while he crosses and uncrosses his legs."
I gagged. "You win. Please. You win. I'm tapping out."
I handed her the remote like it was a weapon of surrender. "Pick your damn movie. Anything. I don't care if it's a three-hour documentary on sock knitting narrated by Morgan Freeman—just save me from that mental image."
She accepted the remote with a wicked little smile. "Victory is sweet. Almost as sweet as watching you spiral into psychological ruin over hypothetical gay Fury fanfiction."
"You're terrifying."
"I've been told."
She browsed the menu, pausing dramatically.
"You know." she said, clicking into a new tab, "You joke about the pizza guy movie, but honestly? Still better plot than half the stuff Hollywood pushes these days."
"Oh no." I groaned. "Don't tell me you actually watched one and didn't invite me."
She clicked on a title without looking. "I've spent years undercover in foreign embassies, drug dens, and high-tech vaults. Sometimes the only movie available is cursed."
I raised an eyebrow. "So you're saying… the real reason you survived all those missions was sheer willpower to see how the plot ends in 'Stepsis Stuck in the Dryer 9'?"
She shrugged. "I needed closure."
I slumped back into the couch. "You're broken, you know that?"
She gave me a lazy smile. "Takes one to know one."
The screen flickered to life, the opening credits of something vaguely action-y rolling in with dramatic music and gunmetal grays.
"Wait—what did you even pick?" I asked.
She grinned without looking at me. "Something with explosions and emotionally stunted people. Figured we'd both feel seen."
I snorted. "Fair enough."
We let the movie start. Neither of us moved. Her shoulder brushed mine.
Not intentional.
But neither of us pulled away.
And for a moment, we watched quietly. No comments. No teasing. Just stillness.
Until I muttered, "If Fury shows up in this movie wearing a miniskirt chasing black guys, I'm leaving."
She laughed.
"Deal."