She makes herself hold his eyes while he speaks to what he believes to be her best qualities. She's never been good at accepting praise, or even recognizing her own strengths that aren't in some way tactical. Even her universally appealing looks are something she only thinks about to aid her in earning trust from strangers. It's why Steve making her attractiveness an afterthought is somehow sweet. Natasha thinks it's the same way for him, which is why she goes out of her way to only mention his looks in a light, joking way. She owes him a response now, but everything seems lame in the face of such earnest speech.
"Steve..." she begins, unable to completely conceal her tone which speaks to how nervous she is and how, despite pursuing this line of questioning herself, she really is frightened of the outcome. More than she's ever been frightened of an opponent. "I'm wearing sweatpants." It's after a thoughtful pause, as if that's the most important thing she can think of to counter him right now. As of her feelings weren't already lame enough.
Her hand reaches out of its own accord and hooks in the crook of his elbow, as if imploring him to ignore her stupid words and listen to her thoughts. She knows he can't read minds, or even really guess at what she's thinking when she doesn't know half the time. All she wants to do is systematically argue with every positive thing he ever says about her but that isn't productive.
"When I'm around you everything makes a little more sense. Like the picture's in higher resolution." It's dumb and profound at the same time, and she's also pretty sure it makes no sense. But it's how she feels anyway. Things are in Technicolor when Steve Rogers is around, and he deserves to know that.
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"Steve..." she begins, unable to completely conceal her tone which speaks to how nervous she is and how, despite pursuing this line of questioning herself, she really is frightened of the outcome. More than she's ever been frightened of an opponent. "I'm wearing sweatpants." It's after a thoughtful pause, as if that's the most important thing she can think of to counter him right now. As of her feelings weren't already lame enough.
Her hand reaches out of its own accord and hooks in the crook of his elbow, as if imploring him to ignore her stupid words and listen to her thoughts. She knows he can't read minds, or even really guess at what she's thinking when she doesn't know half the time. All she wants to do is systematically argue with every positive thing he ever says about her but that isn't productive.
"When I'm around you everything makes a little more sense. Like the picture's in higher resolution." It's dumb and profound at the same time, and she's also pretty sure it makes no sense. But it's how she feels anyway. Things are in Technicolor when Steve Rogers is around, and he deserves to know that.