Clint walked across the living room, started his morning pot of coffee, and turned on Natasha's electric kettle for her morning cup of tea. He was walking back to the bedroom when he noticed something was different. Three boxes were piled against the wall, and there was a painting hanging on a wall that had previously held no painting. He moved closer to it, blinking sleep from his eyes. It was a classy watercolor; one that Clint dimly remembered seeing at Natasha’s apartment.

He headed back to his bedroom, perplexed. Natasha was lying on the bed with her eyes closed, sprawled so she took up the warm space he had just vacated.

“Tasha,” he called.

“Mmmmm,” she answered.

"I need to ask you about something," he said.

She opened her eyes and sat up, the sheets falling from her naked form.

Clint sucked in a breath. What was he going to ask her again? He closed his eyes. Right, the watercolor.

“Why is your watercolor on my wall?” he asked, and opened his eyes again.

Natasha looked like a goddess in the morning light, one that could dispense either divine retribution or blessing. He felt like an unkempt slob in comparison.

“Oh, that. My landlord kicked me out because of Liho. I figured I’d store my stuff here until I find a new place,” she said.

“All of your stuff is three boxes and a watercolor?” Clint asked.

“The rest of my stuff was already here.” She shrugged, drawing his eyes to her chest.

“Oh,” Clint said, walking towards the bed.

She speeded his journey by pulling him forward, until he fell on top of her.

“Too much talking,” she declared, and kissed him until all thoughts of watercolors and boxes disappeared.

It wasn’t until he woke up, much later, that he realized Natasha had practically been living with him for the last several months. The boxes just made it official. He should probably ask her for rent at some point.