»»» 𝔳.𝔦

253 17 7
                                    







✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠ ——— ✠

𝐖𝐚𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭𝐨𝐧, 𝐃.𝐂.

━━━━━━━━━▼━━━━━━━━━


are we an item?
girl, quit playing.
"we're just friends"
what are you saying?


said "there's another" and looked right in my eyes
my first love broke my heart for the first time,
and i was like—


"Do we have to listen to this?"


Truth took her eyes off the road for a moment to send Natasha a cursory glance.


"You don't like Bieber?"


Natasha sighed, looking out her window like a sullen teenager.


"He wouldn't be my first choice."


"Didn't we just agree that we were going to have fun for the next few days?"


"I said I'd try."


"Try to listen to Justin. It's about young love, first heartbreaks—"


"Ljubovʹ - èto dlja detej."
Love is for children.

Truth's hand tightened on the wheel. Suddenly, she was cold, the sun an absence, and a mirror of herself stood before her.


Growing up is knowing that love is for children, Alethea. You are not a child. Love makes you weak. You are the greatest weapon there is.


And then she exhaled, observing the traffic ahead of her, aware that the woman beside her had been abused in ways she would never know. Somehow, with Natasha, it was easy to recognize and forgive.


"Togda my vse deti, Nataša."
Then we are all children, Natasha.

They sat in silence for a few moments, both assassins fighting back remnants of the past. The song eventually ended, and the radio host introduced a more dated classic.


i was scared of dentists and the dark
i was scared of pretty girls and starting conversations
oh, all my friends are turning green
you're the magician's assistant in their dream


"Why don't we make a list of promises?"


Natasha looked away from the window to glance at Truth.


"I've already—"


"I know, but I mean a list of promises to have between the both of us."


"So...a set of rules?"


"Technically, yes, but...I think I've had enough of rules in my life."


Natasha's eyebrows furrowed.


"They don't have to be big promises," Truth assured after some time.


𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗦𝗜𝗥𝗘𝗡 | 𝗡. 𝗥𝗢𝗠𝗔𝗡𝗢𝗙𝗙Where stories live. Discover now