A Few Weeks of Bliss

The days blurred together, and Clark found himself caught in a rhythm he hadn't expected to enjoy. By day, he worked at the hardware store, putting in his hours like a regular person. The tasks weren't heroic or glamorous, but they kept him grounded, offering a strange sense of normalcy. He liked the routine, the simplicity. There was something fulfilling about helping customers, fixing things that were broken, and spending time doing something with his hands that had no grand stakes attached to it. 

At night, however, things were entirely different. Natasha had become a constant presence in his life. They spent their evenings together, usually at his apartment. Sometimes they cooked dinner together, sometimes they just ordered takeout and sat on the couch, talking for hours. In the quiet moments, he would find her gaze fixed on him—no longer with the mystery of a spy, but with the warmth of someone who had come to care for him deeply. 

He'd never thought of himself as someone who needed someone else to complete him. He was Superman, after all. But Natasha made him feel human again in a way he hadn't felt since before his world was destroyed. In her presence, he could let down his guard. He could just be Clark Kent, the man, not the symbol. She made him laugh, made him feel like he wasn't carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders. 

Some nights they would talk about trivial things—the latest movies, books they'd been reading, or the music that played in the background as they shared quiet moments. But other nights, the conversations turned deeper. Natasha had begun sharing more about her life before everything changed. She didn't go into specifics, but he could tell there were scars, stories she wasn't ready to tell him yet. He respected that, understanding the need to heal at your own pace. 

And then there were the nights when words weren't necessary. The way Natasha's body fit so naturally against his when they lay in bed, or the quiet, contented sigh she would give when he held her. It was as if, with every touch, they were piecing together something that had been broken for far too long. 

At work, his mind occasionally drifted to her. He would catch himself smiling for no reason, thinking of the way she laughed or the way her eyes sparkled when she was excited about something. Even his super hearing, which once seemed like such a burden, had begun to feel like a gift. He'd listen to the sound of her heartbeat from across the apartment, grounding him. It was steady, real. It reminded him that even in a world so full of noise, there was something about her that made everything else fade away. 

It was on one of those days, during a lunch break at work, when Clark was wiping down a shelf, that he first realized how much he had come to depend on her. He was running a hand through his hair when the thought struck him: he was happy. Truly, deeply happy. 

He'd been so afraid of losing himself in this new world, of becoming something he wasn't, of being alone. But with Natasha, it was different. She didn't want to change him, she didn't ask him to be anything other than who he was. 

That night, after a quiet dinner at home, Natasha leaned in close, her lips brushing his cheek as she whispered, "You're quiet tonight." 

Clark looked at her, his heart thumping in his chest. "Just thinking," he replied. 

About what? 

He smiled softly, feeling the weight of his thoughts, the joy that had come to fill his life since meeting her. "About how lucky I am. 

Natasha's gaze softened, her lips curving into a smile. "You're not the only lucky one. 

For a moment, they just stared at each other, letting the silence settle between them, thick with meaning. Clark reached out and brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, his touch lingering on her skin. It was a small gesture, but it felt like a promise. 

"I never thought I'd feel like this again," he admitted quietly. "I didn't think I could trust anyone." 

She reached for his hand, threading her fingers through his. "And now?" 

"Now he trailed off, searching for the right words. "Now, I think I can." 

The room was quiet again, but the air between them had shifted. It was no longer about the past or the secrets they carried. It was about what they had built together, this fragile connection that, in the span of just a few weeks, had grown into something neither of them could deny. 

The next few weeks passed in a blur of contentment. Clark's work at the hardware store had become routine, and he was starting to feel like he belonged in this strange new world. But at night, it was Natasha who brought him peace. She was a constant, a rock that grounded him in ways he hadn't expected. Every time he came home to her, there was a sense of relief, like a weight had been lifted from his chest. 

They were a team, even without realizing it. He had never known a relationship could be so easy, so effortless. Natasha made him feel like he wasn't alone anymore. She made him feel human again, and for that, he was grateful. 

One evening, as the sun set behind the city, painting the sky in shades of orange and pink, they found themselves sitting on the balcony of his apartment, wrapped in blankets. The cold air was a comfort, and the warmth of her presence beside him made everything feel right. 

Clark turned to her, his expression serious but soft. "You make me forget, he said, his voice low, almost in awe. "You make me forget everything I've lost." 

Natasha looked at him, her eyes warm, searching his face. I don't want you to forget," she replied, her voice just as quiet. "I want you to remember who you are, but I also want you to have a life here. With me." 

Clark felt his chest tighten at her words. He didn't know if he could fully grasp what she meant, but for the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like he was drifting. He felt anchored. He felt home. 

"I think I'm starting to," he said softly. 

They sat in silence, their shoulders brushing together, as the world around them continued on, unaware of the two people finding peace in each other.