Free Soul | Natasha Romanoff

Chapter 3: you cannot escape yourself

"Change me those rags, will you?" He gestured towards her.

She looked down at her clothes in confusion, before her eyes trailed up to meet his agitated state, "I just stole them." She said, her thick Korean— or Russian, uh, it was a particular mix— laced into her words; he would need to become familiar with those misplaced intonations rolling out of her mouth, only enhancing that impression of a continuous flow of mordancy. 

So he paused for a second, and then gave her a reprimanding look, albeit she seemed totally unbothered by her lack of morality; she indeed saw no problem in what she had just admitted to him. So he simply shook his head and brushed past her shoulder. It was without him scrunching up his nose, "When was the last time you took a shower? Sorry but... you smell bad."

She furrowed her eyebrows and went to sniffle her arm, only to imitate the expression he had arbored a few seconds prior as she felt a brutal gastric ascent due to the smell, "Yeah, well, not like SHIELD gave me a shower or shit." She sassed out with a sarcastic smirk. It seemed her impudence wouldn't leave her tone anytime soon. He bore it one more time.

"Alright. I'll be gone. If you need anything, uh, just knock at the door."

And Clint left her there with her forever companion, silent loneliness. Hyunjae was standing in the middle of everything, in this modest room with a bag of various objects stuffed inside. Then that she was all under the influence of that usual emptiness gnawing at her chest, she was hesitant as to what to do first, unlike the confidence of her sarcasm she had boldly shown. 

All these new settings were throwing her off. Yesterday, she remembered having not an ounce of comfort. Now, now there was an unfamiliar warmth trying to break into her shell. 

The place was nice. It had a window, a closet, a bed with sheets, a nightstand, a bathroom, toilets, light, water, heat— everything she didn't necessarily need, although were nice additions. It wasn't overly big or small, it was just enough. The walls weren't white but more beige, and everything had a wooden scent to make her feel closer to a sense of home, if it were possible.

Maybe it was too nice for Hyunjae. Something felt wrong, horribly wrong. Yet, she couldn't pinpoint what.

She only let her torn bag rest on the wooden floor to go and check the wardrobe freely. It was with hesitant hands that she opened it, her sight then landing on an overwhelming palette of clothes; she had expected very few pieces or none at all, but, apparently, SHIELD carried enough clemency to do such things. And here, she felt that goddamn warmth squeeze her chest again. 

Hyunjae had never possessed much. She firstly had never felt the need to have more than the bare minimum— and the bare minimum was really not much. Secondly, with her escape and the things she had done the past years, she couldn't allow herself to move around with things she couldn't even afford in the first place. It wasn't like she deserved them either, no. Too much. 

So she closed the closet with a deep sigh, her gaze dropping to the ground in search of chasing away, and chasing after the warm feeling pressing onto her chest. It was such a conflict, she greedily despised this lack of simplicity. Hyunjae wished to remain mad at the world for all the things it hadn't done for her, but how could she? now that she reached its door of goodness. 

It was the real beginning of an internal conflict. 

It was with gritted teeth and clenched fists carrying the weight of an overthinking mind, that she found her way to the bathroom, flicking on the light to chase away the darkness from this place. It was when her somber gaze fell onto the surface of a mirror; it made her body freeze, it made her mind stop the course of her thoughts, instead taking in the sight of complete strangeness.