"𝐼'𝑣𝑒 𝑓𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑 𝑡ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑙𝑜𝑠𝑒 ℎ𝑎𝑣𝑒 𝑎 𝑤𝑎𝑦 𝑜𝑓 𝑐𝑜𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑏𝑎𝑐𝑘 𝑡𝑜 𝑦𝑜𝑢."
—𝑃𝑎𝑢𝑙 𝐾𝑟𝑢𝑒𝑔𝑒𝑟, 𝑆𝑡𝑒𝑒𝑙 𝐶𝑟𝑜𝑤 𝑆𝑎𝑔𝑎

𝒟.

𝐃𝐈𝐄𝐆𝐎 𝐒𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐄𝐃 𝐀𝐒 he looked around his room; it was messy as fuck.

It was his fault, though—who else's could it be?—he had been putting off cleaning it for the past two or three weeks, and, as a result, he could hardly even see his floor.

With a small groan, he gave himself a nod and began the long cleaning process.

He turned to his desk, staring at the mess of clothes, papers, and containers for a good moment before letting out another groan.

He squinted his eyes; could he put it off for just one more day?

That hope was soon squashed as he denied his own request. That one day would turn to two, then three, and, eventually, a million. He had to do it now.

He collected all of the random papers, which varied from posters of fights to random flyers that had appeared under his door, and threw the majority of them out (don't worry, he recycled). Of what remained, he filed into a neat pile and placed it on the corner of his desk.

The clothes only took less than five minutes; all he had to do was hang them. And once that was done, he tossed the containers into the sink—which was a whole other mess he'd have to deal with after.

Diego felt a small sense of satisfaction come over him as he stared at the desk, which was now free of any clutter, and looked brand new. Brand new, that is, if you didn't count all the chipped wood and random stains.

He took his gloves off and placed them in an empty corner on the desk before taking off his gear and hanging it on the hook; he obviously had no plans for the night, so there was no need for it.

Diego rubbed his hands together and placed them on his hips as he narrowed his eyes and looked for what to clean next.

He sighed as he looked at the mountain of clothes that sat in front of the foot of his bed; it was on days like this that he desperately wished he was back at the Academy, not doing his own laundry.

With a groan, he walked over to the clothes and began sorting them before he hung them all. The whole process took nearly thirty minutes, and, dear Lord, did his back hurt after he was finished.

Stretching slightly, he looked around and realized that the biggest mess left was the one he least wanted to do: the dishes.

Before he could turn the tap on, however, he was saved by a knock on the door.

A sigh of relief escaped him before he straightened up and realized two things:

1. He would still have to do those dishes once the knocker was gone.
2. Who the hell was knocking at his door at nearly midnight?

Diego walked over to where he had hung his tactical chest gear and pulled out one of the knives—just in case—and then headed up the stairs towards the door.

Keeping the knife clutched tightly in his hand, he wrapped his other hand around the doorknob, though he didn't twist it just yet. He sucked in a breath before pulling the door open, his knife at the ready. 

He suddenly paused, however, upon seeing the knocker, whose back was to him as she examined the posters on the wall opposite him.

She was a little shorter than him, and her dark hair ended almost in the middle of her back, and those two things were just about the only identifiers Diego could currently see.

"Uh," Diego spoke with raised eyebrows, "can I help you?"

Upon the sound of his voice, the woman turned to face him, and Diego's eyes widened as he recognized the bright eyes and gorgeous smile.

Natalia.

"Diego!" she exclaimed, and she immediately embraced him.

Diego's nose wrinkled as the strong scent of alcohol hit him, though he still enveloped his arms around her and smiled; drunk or not, she was there.

Finally.

"I missed you," she mumbled as she buried her face in the crook of his neck, and Diego found his smile broadening.

He wasn't sure which feeling was more overpowering—happiness, excitement, or confusion—though all three overwhelmed him. Still, he managed to caress her back and murmur, "I missed you, too, Nat."

Natalia only let out a hum in response, tightening her grip around him.

"Now," he sighed as he drew away from the hug a few moments later, though he kept his arms tight around her, "mind telling me why you got shit-faced?"

Natalia gave a soft giggle as she nuzzled her face into his neck once more. Her words were a little slurred as she told him, "Found somethin' that—hic!—made me sad."

His eyebrows furrowed. "What made you sad?"

She stepped back and grabbed something—a slip of paper—from the waistline of her skirt, and he took it from her, his eyebrows only knitting together further as he unfolded it.

He let out a small breath as he recognized his writing from ten years previous: 'I love you.'

"Nat," he murmured softly as he looked up at her, his forehead creasing.

"No!" She slapped his arm, her nose wrinkling as she shoved her face into his chest and wrapped her arms around his waist. Into his chest, she mumbled, "Don't call me that."

Diego tucked the paper into the pocket of his jeans before wrapping his arms around her once again and asking, "What do you want me to call you, then?"

"Princess," she answered with another hiccup as she lifted her face and looked up at him. "No one calls me their princess anymore."

The corners of Diego's lips tugged upwards as he gave a small shrug. "I don't think sober you would be happy with me calling you that."

"She would," Natalia mumbled. "I know she would."

He only gave her a small smile in response before sighing, "All right. I guess you're not in the best state to go home, hm?"

"I wanna—hic!—stay with you, Diego," she agreed. "Forever."

"I don't know about forever," chuckled Diego, "but you can definitely stay for the night."

He smiled softly as she hummed contentedly, and he bent down slightly before scooping her up, his smile broadening as she gave a small squeal of surprise. Her tense body quickly relaxed in his arms, and he carefully went down the steps.

Luckily for him, his bed wasn't made (hey, he was interrupted during his cleaning session, it wasn't his fault he hadn't done the bed yet!). 

Gently, he laid her down on the bed, making sure that her head was positioned on the pillow properly. He grabbed the edge of his blanket and pulled it over her, chuckling as she grabbed it and tugged it further up to her chin.

She yawned before mumbling, "Are you gonna sleep in the bed, too, Diego?"

"I will."

"Now?"

Diego glanced over to his sink before shrugging. Dishes could wait.

He flicked his lights off before joining her on the bed and settling himself. He turned to her, feeling a moment of nostalgia as the dim moonlight streaming in from the window illuminated her face; he couldn't count the number of memories he had of the silver that lined her features whenever he had paid his nighttime visits. 

"So," he began as she rubbed her eyes, "why were you sad when you found that note?"

She squinted her eyes at him. "Promise you won't tell Diego?"

An amused smile appearing on his face, Diego nodded. "I won't tell him."

She frowned for a moment before giving a deep sigh that was followed by yet another hiccup. "I love him still. But I know he doesn't love me anymore, and he probably—hic!—has a girlfriend or a wife or somethin', so . . ."

Diego stared at her in shock, his eyes wide and his mouth slightly agape.

She still loved him. Him.

After all these years . . .

He never thought he'd ever hear that again. That she loved him. And as much as he wanted to tell her that he still loved her, he didn't want to do it while she was intoxicated.

"Well," Diego said softly, "how do you know he doesn't love you?"

"Because why else did he break up with me?" she pointed out with a large shrug. "He didn't even—hic!—try to stay with me."

And he regretted that decision for the next ten years.

"That doesn't mean he doesn't love you," Diego rebutted.

"It kinda does," she replied with a scrunched nose. "I don't know . . . maybe he wasn't in love with me anymore, and that's why he broke up with me."

His eyebrows furrowed. "That's not true. He was more than in love with you, Nat."

"Maybe. You know," she sighed, her lips forming into a frown. "I wish I had just kissed him one last time."

He, too.

"I dunno," she sighed once more as she shut her eyes. She opened them a moment later, and gave a sharp gasp, "Diego! When'd you get here? Did your friend tell you anything?"

"All right, I think it's time you sleep," Diego laughed as he patted her shoulder. "Goodnight, Nat."

"I already said—hic!—don't call me that."

A small smile came onto Diego's face. "Goodnight, princess."

𝒩.

Natalia was greeted by a pounding headache as soon as her eyes fluttered open, and she gave a soft groan as she lifted a hand to her forehead.

She then paused, her eyes squinting as she realized she was in a room she didn't recognize. And as soon as she looked to her right, she saw the face of someone she did recognize.

Diego.

But, no, surely, this was just some guy who looked like Diego, right?

Natalia's eyes roamed over the room, and she sighed; there were more than a few indicators that this indeed was Diego: the plethora of knives, the couple of books that Diego actually liked (there weren't many), and, of course, the cross-stitch that Grace had made him that had the Umbrella Academy mask along with a couple of knives and his name.

So, yes, this was Diego.

She felt her heart swell for a moment; after ten long years, she was finally in the same room as the man she had been—no, still was in love with.

But what was she doing there?

With a sudden realization, she checked under the blankets to see if she was still wearing her clothes. A small sigh of relief escaped her lips as she confirmed that she was still clothed. 

"We didn't do anythin', if that's what you're wondering."

She turned her gaze to Diego, who was now awake and had an amused smile tugging on the corners of his lips.

"Just making sure," she told him with a slight shrug before wincing as pain struck her head.

"Hungover?" 

"Very," she sighed as she shut her eyes. "I haven't been that drunk since . . . ever."

"You know," he offered as he began to sit up, "I know a good hangover cure that works like a charm."

She pointed toward him and warned, "If it's raw eggs, I don't want it."

"Your loss." He shrugged as he laid back down. He raised his eyebrows. "Anyway, why'd you get so drunk?"

Natalia froze. She most definitely was not going to tell him the truth. "Work. It's stressful."

His eyebrows raised. "Work?"

"Yeah," she answered with a curt nod. "I'm an assistant professor of organic chemistry at Columbia University."

"Assistant?"

"It's the same thing as a professor," she said with a wave of the hand; "I just don't have tenure yet."

"Damn," he remarked. "Guess university really did pay off."

"Yeah." Natalia's eyes lowered to the mattress for a moment as a small frown formed on her lips; university essentially was what forced her to stay at the Academy, and, consequently, broke them up.

Diego seemed to be thinking back to that as well as his eyebrows furrowed and his lips pursed, though neither of them said anything about it.

"Hey," she suddenly said, a thought then crossing her mind, "I didn't . . . do anything or say anything weird, did I?"

His eyebrows furrowed further as he shook his head and answered, "I wouldn't say so."

"Oh," she sighed in relief, "good."

"Why?" he asked as he adjusted his position on the bed, an amused smile now on his face. "You have secrets to hide?"

Yes. "No, it's just . . . I'm not the best drunk person to be around," she sighed. "Or, at least, Klaus says that I'm awesome to be with when I'm drunk, which means nothing good."

Diego's eyebrow quirked. "You see Klaus a lot?"

"Yeah. He crashes on my couch a couple times a month," Natalia told him with a small shrug. "It's probably how drunk-me knew where you lived; Klaus has mentioned it before."

"Really?" he asked, his eyebrows furrowing. "He's never told me where you live."

"Oh, uh . . ."

"What? Did you tell him not to tell me or something?" he quipped, an entertained smile playing on his lips.

An awkward look came over Natalia's face as she scrunched her nose. "Well . . ."

"Wow," Diego scoffed in amusement.

"Hey, can you blame me?" she pointed out with a small shrug. "We ended things kinda . . . rough."

Diego's face became sombre as he let out a deep sigh, and he murmured, "I'm sorry about that, Nat."

She shook her head. "It's not your fault."

He gave her a small smile as he shrugged and pointed out, "Isn't it?"

"Okay, yeah, it is," she admitted, letting out a quiet chuckle. "I was just trying to be nice."

He shrugged. "Thanks for trying."

Before she could respond, her head was hit by another major strike of pain, and she let out a groan as she put a hand on her forehead.

Diego raised his eyebrows, an amused smile on his face as he watched her mutter that she was never going to drink again. "You sure you don't want any—"

"I don't want your salmonella-inducing cure, Diego."

He chuckled before querying, "Can I get you some Advil at least, then?"

She nodded. "Please."

Diego gave a curt nod before getting out of his bed, stretching slightly for a moment before crossing his room to the kitchen part of it. He opened the fridge and turned around to show her the egg he had grabbed, and raised his eyebrows.

"Last chance."

"I would rather die."

He gave her a grin before turning back around and putting the egg back.

After some shuffling, rattling, and the sound of pouring water, Diego came back, a pill in one hand and a glass of water in the other.

Natalia sat up, leaning back against his wall as she took them with a grateful smile. "Thanks."

"Mhm," he hummed, watching as she swallowed the pill and water.

"Are you sure I didn't say anything last night?" she sighed, wiping her mouth with one hand while using the other to place the glass on a table next to her.

He gave a stiff nod. "I'm sure."

Natalia frowned, then noticing his sudden shift of weight from one foot to the other. That wasn't the only indicator he was lying, however, with his suddenly pursed lips and eyes that no longer met her gaze.

"You're lying," she accused as she jabbed a finger in his direction.

His eyes widened, and he raised his hands in defence as he protested, "I'm not lying."

"Diego," she sighed, "I can tell."

"Yeah?" he scoffed. "How?"

"Because I know you." She sighed once again, rubbing her eyes before pleading, "Seriously, what did I say?"

"Nothing you should worry about," he reassured her as he sat on the edge of the bed. He thought for a moment, his eyes drifting to the ceiling before he looked back at her and shrugged. "You were a little weird, I'll admit, but I mean, that's not that different."

"Hey!" she exclaimed, playfully slapping his arm and receiving a grin in return. Her eyebrows furrowed as she noticed the curtains that hung in front of the bed. "What are the curtains for?"

Diego glanced over at the curtains before smirking. "Privacy."

"Privacy while you're sleeping in your own room?" she questioned with a wrinkled nose. "That seems a little redundant."

Diego's smirk only grew larger as he corrected, "Not while I'm sleeping."

"Then wh—" Realization suddenly dawned upon her, and she pulled a face of disgust. "Oh, gross."

He scoffed, "You wish it were you."

"Shut up," she muttered, feeling her cheeks warm. She sighed as she rubbed her eyes and asked, "I didn't interrupt anything, though, did I?"

Diego shook his head. "I was just cleaning up."

She lifted her eyes off of him and roamed them around the room, seeing the pile of dishes in the sink and the few heaps of nonsense.

She turned back to him, her eyebrows raised and her nose wrinkled. "This is clean?"

He raised his hands in surrender as he answered, "I couldn't finish because someone decided to come knocking on my door."

Natalia gave him a guilty smile. "Sorry."

"No need to apologize," he quickly assured her with a shake of the head. "I'm glad you came. It's been a long time."

Her guilty smile morphed into a more sincere smile as she murmured in agreement, "Too long."

Diego's eyes roamed over her face for a moment. "You busy today?"

"Actually" —she glanced at the clock, which showed that it was ten past eight— "I should go home; I need to get ready and go to work. I have to give a lecture at eleven."

Diego raised his eyebrows. "You got drunk on a work night?"

"Hey," she chided, "I had my reasons."

"I assume you didn't drive here." He sighed as he got up from the bed, and she answered with a shake of the head. He offered her a hand. "Can I drive you home?"

"Please," she answered as she took his hand and stood, using her other hand to massage the side of her head.

Luckily, her headache had begun to fade away as they got into his car—at a pretty quick rate, too—and she let out a small sigh of relief as she buckled her seatbelt.

After informing Diego of her address, he began to drive, his hands gripping the wheel tightly as he kept his focus on the road.

Natalia studied him for a moment—his appearance had changed since they were seventeen, after all; his hair was a little shorter, his features had matured, he had become a lot more muscular (which she wasn't complaining about), and Natalia couldn't help but admit that he had somehow gotten a whole lot cuter.

Her eyes then caught sight of a thin scar that ran along the side of his head, stopping just at the edge of his right cheek.

A frown settling on her lips, she asked, "What happened to your head?"

"What? The scar?" Diego glanced over at her, to which she nodded. He sighed as he moved his gaze back onto the road. "I, uh . . . At night, I like to go out and—"

"Patrol the streets or whatever," Natalia finished for him, nodding. "Klaus told me."

He quirked an eyebrow. "You and Klaus talk a lot about me, hm?"

"Well, you know . . ." Natalia shrugged, her nose crinkling slightly. "Klaus thinks that we . . ."

Diego's eyebrows furrowed as she came to a stop, and he glanced at her as he asked, "We what?"

She sighed, shaking her head. "Never mind."

"No," he insisted, "tell me."

She heaved another sigh before shrugging and admitting, "He thinks that we 'belong together' or whatever. He's the same as when we were teens."

Diego shifted in his spot, a slight smile on his face as he questioned, "You think he's wrong?"

Natalia swallowed. She did not.

"Anyway," she said quickly, turning her gaze to the window to watch the blur of buildings so that he didn't see her colouring cheeks, "what happened?"

Diego glanced over at her for a moment before telling her, "There was a couple guys robbin' this one house, and I had gone to stop them. Used one of my knives to stick a guy to the wall, but his friend managed to take it out and use it against me."

"Must've hurt," she remarked, her blush fading as she turned back to him. "Did you go to the hospital?"

"Nat, I mop floors so I can live in a boiler room," he pointed out with a small chuckle. "You think I have the money to pay for hospital bills?"

"Then what?" Natalia asked, her eyebrows furrowing as her eyes roamed over the light scar. "You took care of it yourself?"

He gave a small shrug. "That's what I always do."

"You get hurt a lot, then?"

Diego hesitated for a moment, licking his lips before answering, "Occasionally."

She let out a small laugh, folding her arms as she leaned back in the seat. She shook her head as she murmured, "Still living in the days of the Umbrella Academy, huh?"

Diego's expression twisted into a scowl. "I don't associate with that. Everyone in that is a piece of shit. Not you, though," he added, giving her a small grin.

She rolled her eyes in amusement, letting a scoff escape her lips. "Thanks."

"Mhm," he hummed as he turned left at an intersection. "So, what've you been up to lately? Been busy with anything?"

"Not really," she sighed. "Kinda just the usual."

He quirked an eyebrow as he questioned, "And what exactly is the usual?"

"Giving lectures, supervising my lab, telling Klaus to stop doing drugs . . ." She trailed off, squinting her eyes before giving him a shrug. "That's pretty much my usual."

"Hey" —he grinned— "we got the last one in common."

"Yet he listens to neither of us," she sighed, her lips settling into a small frown.

"It's Klaus, what do you expect?" Diego scoffed, his grip on the wheel tightening as he rolled his eyes. "I've given up on him."

"I'm still trying." She shrugged. "You never know, he might wanna turn his life around one day."

"Yeah, when pigs fly."

Natalia raised her eyebrows as she quipped, "Nice to know you believe in your brother."

He shook his head, a sigh escaping his lips as he admitted, "I stopped believing in my brothers a long time ago."

Her eyebrows raised even higher. "Even Klaus?"

"Especially Klaus. And especially Luther. And—" He paused for a moment and lifted his hand off the wheel to give a dismissive wave. "No, never mind. All of them."

"What about your sisters?"

"Seems like they're living good lives," he said with a small shrug. "S'long as they don't bother me, I won't bother them."

Natalia was quiet for a moment as she folded her arms and moved her gaze to the window. After a minute, she asked, "Vanya's autobiography? How'd you feel about that?"

"That piece of shit book?" 

"It wasn't bad," she pointed out with a shrug. "I mean, her writing was quite nice. I liked it."

"Yeah, 'cause you came off fine," he countered, his eyebrows raising. "The rest of us looked like assholes."

"The only reason I came off fine was that I was actually nice to her, Diego," Natalia rebutted with a roll of the eyes. "Besides, you guys are assholes."

"Whatever."

Natalia gazed at him for a moment, now a little amused by how tightly his lips were pressed together and the deep crease in his forehead.

Deciding to change the topic, she asked, "Have you seen Claire?"

Diego's eyebrows furrowed. "Who?"

"Claire."

He shook his head, clearly still not catching on. "Who's Claire?"

"Your niece?" she clarified, an incredulous look on her face. "Alli's kid?"

"Ah, Claire," Diego realized with a slow nod. He scrunched his face, tilting his head as he turned onto a new road and asked, "Are you sure it isn't . . . like, Clark?"

"Alli's kid is a girl," she pointed out.

He glanced over to her, a grin on his face as he quipped, "Clark can be a girl name if a parent wants it to be, don't be sexist."

The corners of her lips tugged upwards, but Natalia made no remark towards the comment as she insisted, "Have you?"

"Nah," he answered with a shake of the head. "You?"

"Yeah, she's slept over a couple times, when Allison needed someone to babysit when she was in town." Natalia smiled, thinking of the one time that Claire had crawled into her bed because she had had a nightmare. "She's adorable."

"Slept ov—so what, have you been seeing everyone occasionally except me?" Diego questioned incredulously, taking a moment to look at her with raised eyebrows.

She pursed her lips. "Considering that Luther's on the Moon, no."

He rolled his eyes before correcting himself, "Everyone except Luther?"

"Well, all that's left is Vanya, and . . . well" —she shrugged— "we go out for coffee once a week, so, yeah."

"Wow," he drawled.

"I already told you, Diego," she sighed, "I didn't want to . . ."

"But drunk-you did," he pointed out with raised eyebrows, a small smirk pulling his lips.

"Well, drunk-me is a whole different person."

They pulled into the street where her apartment building occupied, and she pointed towards it to confirm.

"This is it," she murmured as they came up beside the building.

"Nice place," he remarked, his eyes roaming over the tall apartment building. "Better than my boiler room."

"Well, being a professor pays a fair amount of money," she pointed out as she unbuckled her seatbelt. She placed her hand on the door handle, but she didn't leave just yet as she sent him a smile. "Thanks for taking care of me, Diego."

A smile came upon his lips as he answered, "Anytime."