2019
They didn’t decorate the apartment that year.
It wasn’t worth it anymore—not for either of them. The corners of the room were heavy with shadows, the space eerily still, like a house waiting to be abandoned. Natasha sat in the armchair by the window, one knee pulled up to her chest, her gaze fixed on nothing in particular. Val was on the couch, stretched out with his head propped against the armrest, staring blankly at the ceiling. He looked older now—sharper around the edges, quieter than ever. His hair had grown out, curling slightly at the ends. He hadn’t bothered to shave in days.
The knock on the door came later than usual. When Natasha stood to answer it, Val didn’t even look up.
Steve stepped inside, brushing the snow off his shoulders, his breath still visible in the cold air clinging to his coat. He looked tired—more tired than he had the year before, as if whatever weight he carried had finally started to crack through. He held a bottle of something dark in his hand, the label half-faded.
“You’re late,” Natasha said, her voice neutral.
Steve shrugged, offering a faint, humorless smile. “It’s snowing harder than I thought.”
He glanced at Val, who hadn’t moved from the couch. “Hey, Val.”
Val’s jaw tightened. “Steve.”
The tension in the room was thick enough to cut. Steve’s smile faltered, but he didn’t press it. He set the bottle down on the kitchen counter and pulled out two glasses, pouring them without asking. Natasha took one, settling back into the armchair with a small nod of thanks. Steve sat at the far end of the couch, close enough to Val but not so close that it might be taken as a challenge.
Val didn’t take a glass. He didn’t say anything.
For a while, none of them did. The snow was still falling outside, thick and heavy, pressing a hush over the world. It made the silence between them seem even louder.
Finally, Steve broke it. “How’ve you been holding up?”
Val let out a low, humorless laugh, his eyes still fixed on the ceiling. “What kind of question is that?”
“An honest one.”
Val didn’t answer. He shifted slightly, letting his arm fall over his eyes, like blocking out the room would change the fact that Steve was there. Natasha shot Steve a glance—half-warning, half-sympathy.
“Leave him alone,” she said quietly.
Steve sighed but didn’t argue. He took a sip from his glass, the ice clinking faintly against the glass. Minutes passed like hours.
Eventually, Natasha stood again, grabbing her coat from the back of the chair. “I need some air.”
Steve looked at her, then at Val. “I’ll go with you.”
Natasha didn’t stop him. She opened the door, leaving it ajar behind her. Steve followed after her, and for a moment, the apartment was quiet again. Val could’ve stayed. He could’ve sunk further into the couch and let the quiet swallow him whole.
Instead, he sat up, shoving his hands through his hair with a low sigh, before grabbing his own coat.
The roof was freezing, the wind biting through layers of fabric and skin. The snow was coming down hard, swirling under the dim glow of the city lights. Natasha stood near the edge, her arms crossed as she stared out over the buildings. Steve lingered a few steps behind her, hands in his pockets, his breath clouding the air in front of him.
Val stepped out last, his boots crunching in the snow. He hadn’t bothered to button his coat, and the cold wind bit at his chest, but he didn’t care. He walked up to the edge of the roof, standing just a little closer than Natasha, his eyes sweeping over the drop below.
It wasn’t a long fall—not really. Six stories, maybe seven. Enough.
“Cold up here,” Steve said after a while, his voice soft.
No one responded.
Val tilted his head back, letting the snowflakes sting his skin as they fell. Then, without warning, he spoke, his voice low and even.
“Do you ever think about it?”
Steve glanced at him. “About what?”
Val kept his gaze on the street below, the snowflakes swirling through the pools of faint yellow light. “Jumping.”
Natasha stiffened beside him, but she didn’t say anything.
“Val…” Steve started, his tone cautious.
“Not all the time,” Val continued, his voice distant, like he wasn’t really talking to them. “But sometimes. You just wonder, you know? If it would stop—this feeling. This emptiness.”
The wind howled across the rooftop, carrying his words into the void. For a long moment, no one spoke. Natasha finally turned to look at him, her face pale, her expression unreadable.
“You wouldn’t,” she said quietly. It wasn’t a question.
Val blinked, finally dropping his head to look at her. “No?” His tone was challenging, a little bitter. “What makes you so sure?”
Natasha held his gaze, her voice calm but unwavering. “Because you’re still here.”
Val stared at her, his expression unreadable as the snow clung to his hair and lashes. His shoulders trembled slightly—not from the cold, but from something deeper.
And then, without a word, Natasha stepped toward him. She didn’t hesitate. She wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a firm, steady hug.
Val froze at first, his hands still in his pockets, his body tense. But slowly—almost imperceptibly—he gave in. His arms came up around her, his grip tight, almost desperate. He buried his face into her shoulder, and for a moment, the two of them just stood there in the freezing cold, the snow swirling around them.
Steve looked away, giving them the space they needed.
When Natasha finally pulled back, she kept her hands on his arms, forcing him to look at her. “We’re not doing this without you. Got it?”
Val gave a shaky nod, blinking hard as he glanced back at the city below. “Yeah.”
“Good.” Natasha let go of him and turned toward the door. “Let’s go back inside before we freeze.”
Val lingered just a second longer, his eyes trailing over the edge of the roof. Then, without a word, he turned and followed her.
The apartment was still cold when they returned, but it felt less empty somehow. Val sank onto the couch without a word, his head falling into his hands. Natasha dropped her coat over the chair and sat beside him. She didn’t touch him, didn’t say anything. She just sat there, close enough for him to feel.
Steve poured another drink, his hand shaking slightly as he set the bottle down.
The three of them stayed like that—silent, heavy with grief and things left unsaid. Outside, the snow kept falling, covering everything in white.