Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Robert’s phone started screaming and vibrating against the cold hard floor. His brain, ever helpful, cycled through its usual morning options: first wake-up alarm, bomb, second wake-up alarm, Shroud’s busted out of prison… Again, before his eyes actually focused enough to recognize the glow of a notification.

Z-TEAM After Hours

The unread message count for the group chat just kept going up. Beef snored on his dog bed on the floor beside him, limp on his back, all four paws relaxed in the air. Robert pushed himself upright and thumbed open the chat.

FLAMBAE: @corpsehusband
wake up
i have a question

PRISM: it’s never just a question

FLAMBAE: robert
robert
answer your phone before i break into your sad excuse of an apartment

Robert rubbed at his face, working away the last bits of sleep from his eyes. 

ROBERT: I’m awake. 

Unfortunately.

Three dots popped up on the screen before more text followed.

FLAMBAE: ok good
do you
or do you not
still sleep on your couch

Robert glanced across the studio.

It wasn’t luxury, but compared to the plastic chair he used to crash in back when “sleep” meant collapsing wherever he landed, this thing was practically decadent. Long enough for him to stretch out diagonally if he didn’t mind his feet going numb, and soft enough that it didn’t feel like punishment. Still not a bed, but closer than he’d had in years, back when he lived as Mecha Man almost full time, real rest wasn't even an afterthought. He’d drag himself home, mech suit still cooling, and drop until his body gave out. No routine, no care for himself, no thought beyond making it through the next crisis. His eyes flicked down to Beef, sprawled blissfully on the perfectly sized, orthopedically approved dog bed on the floor beside the couch. He typed with the expression of a man bracing for impact.

ROBERT: Yes.

The reactions hit the chat like a minor earthquake.

PRISM: LMAOOOOO

MALEVOLA: The dog has a bed.
The human does not.

WATERBOY: y-you don’t even have a futon??

PUNCH UP: bro my gym has better sleep arrangements

SONAR: Fascinating. A living case study in self-neglect.

INVISIGAL: wait wait
Beef gets deluxe memory foam but Robbie gets scoliosis??

INVISIGAL: priorities king

MANDY: …Robert…

Tap tap tap.

ROBERT: The couch is fine.

PRISM: that’s what hostages say

FLAMBAE: that’s it.
everyone shut up.
i’m fixing this.

COUPÉ: Fixing it how.

FLAMBAE: i’m kidnapping him and we’re going thrifting
bed. couch. furniture that doesn’t look like a “government safehouse”

Tap tap tap.

ROBERT: I already have a couch.

MANDY: You have one couch. I’ve seen what happens to it when everyone comes over. There’s not enough sitting space for everyone.

PRISM: more seating means more house parties

INVISIGAL: more seating means i can actually sprawl properly

SONAR: I will bring books for his empty shelves.

ROBERT: I don’t have shelves.

SONAR: Exactly.

The chat scrolled even faster.

PRISM: post-thrift furniture drop tonight?
everyone bring one thing that doesn’t suck??

PUNCH UP: I call dibs on TV stand
And a TV of course

MALEVOLA: I’m claiming a bar cart.

INVISIGAL: i got lighting

MANDY: I’ll bring real pillows and a comforter. For the bed you are going to let us install.

Robert rubbed at the bridge of his nose. “Beef,” he said, “if I turn my phone off forever, you’ll still love me, right?” Almost as if in response, Beef happily thumped his tail in his sleep.

ROBERT: This is unnecessary. I sleep fine.

FLAMBAE: you’re not allowed to be more emotionally stunted than sonars finance hero

SONAR: Willem Vanderstenk is not emotionally stunted

Three dots popped up on the screen as Sonar continued to type before Flambae beat him to it.

FLAMBAE: shutting this down before we all suffer
and too late bitch
i’m outside

Robert blinked.

Then he got up, padded across the room, and pushed the curtain aside.

Down on the street sat Chad’s car, half on the curb, hazard lights blinking in a slow uneven rhythm. The off-white paint had faded into a patchy, tired shade, and the body showed dents and scuffs of years that hadn’t been all too kind. It still held the low, wedge-shaped stance of an old MR2, compact and unmistakably sporty in a way that only made its condition all too noticeable. All in all, it looked like it had seen far better days, and the fact that it continued to run at all bordered on a minor miracle. Chad casually leaned against the narrow front fender with his phone in hand. He wore a loosely fitted button-down with the top three buttons undone, revealing a warm stretch of his tanned chest. The shirt was tucked neatly into black trousers that fit him with deliberate precision, a clean belt holding the look together. His dark hair was pulled back in a loose ponytail. Sunglasses hung from his shirt, shifting slightly when he breathed. He glanced up, caught sight of Robert in the window, and flashed a grin.

Robert let out a long drawn out breath knowing there was no backing out.

With the AC long past its prime, Chad had the windows down. Warm, smog-heavy LA air moved through the little cabin as a playlist rumbled from the worn speakers. Robert buckled his seatbelt and watched the city crawl by. He’d pulled on a soft, washed-out t-shirt, jeans, and sneakers.

“Stop thinking about invoices,” Chad said, drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. “You look like you’re doing taxes in your head.”

“I’m doing math”.

“Same thing,” Chad said. “What’s the equation?”

“Rent,” Robert said. “Price of a bed. Price of a couch. Grocery budget. Cost of Beef’s premium chow.”

“The dog deserves it,” Chad said without missing a beat. “And anyway, we’re going to thrift stores, not Neiman Marcus.”

“Earlier you said bed and couch,” Robert pointed out. “You realize your car can’t even handle a mattress?”

Chad snorted. “We’re scouting first. Picking stuff out. Then Punch Up said Royd’ll swing by with his truck. Guy can deadlift your clunky ass robo suit, we’re fine.”

Robert blinked. “You coordinated a furniture heist before you even got me to agree?”

“It’s called having vision Bobby, also, the group chat did most of the coordination. I just came up with all the wonderful ideas, you’re welcome.”

Robert’s gaze dropped, involuntary, to Chad’s right hand on the gearshift. The missing ring and pinky were obvious in daylight, the skin smooth and healed where his plasma blade had ended them years ago.

That old, long forgotten guilt jabbed him in the chest.

Chad caught him looking and wiggled the hand. “You break it, you buy the furniture,” he said. “That’s how that works, right?”

Robert dragged his attention back to the road. “I don’t think that’s the legal standard.”

The first thrift store was in a strip mall between a laundromat and a pawn shop. Inside, it smelled like dust, old books, and the ghost of a thousand scented candles.

“Rule one,” Chad stated as they stepped in. “Nothing that smells like mildew or divorce.”

“That’s most of it,”

“Rule two, no glass tables. You attract chaos and I don’t feel like cleaning up any of your messes today.”

Robert looked around. Furniture crowded one corner, couches in every shade of brown and beige, saggy armchairs, and chipped coffee tables. A twin mattress leaned against the wall, springs visibly poking through.

Chad’s nose crinkled as he visibly cringed even looking at it. “Absolutely not,” he said on instinct.

“I’m not picky.”

“Yeah, and that’s why the dog has better housing than you,” Chad shot back. “We’re fixing that.”

Robert automatically gravitated toward a plain metal frame and the least offensive mattress while Chad vetoed three in a row. “This one squeaks like a horror movie….This one dips in the middle. You’ll wake up concussed in a mattress canyon… And this one just fucking smells like it was baptized in axe body spray.” 

They finally settled on a simple, sturdy-looking bed frame and a full-size mattress that passed the sniff test and didn’t try to eat Robert alive when he laid on it. It wasn’t fancy, but when he sat up, his back didn’t immediately complain.

“It’s fine,” he said.

Chad eyed him. “That sounded dangerously close to ‘actually okay.’”

Robert ignored him, doing the math again in his head. The number stung his wallet, but it was survivable.

They found the second couch in the next store over. This place was brighter, more curated with second hand goods that all matched a similar vibe. A bell chimed over the door as people entered and exited and a large fan rattled overhead. Against the back wall, half hidden behind a loveseat, sat it. A deep moss-green couch, soft-looking cushions, slightly rounded arms. Not brand-new, but not shredded. Just the right amount of lived-in. 

The brunette sat and the couch welcomed him like it had been waiting. He let his weight settle, shoulders tipping back. It was different from the couch at home, this one felt like it expected to be used. Like you were supposed to fall asleep on it occasionally, or have friends over, or sit there reading one of Janelle’s recommended romantasy books. He could see it in his living room without trying too hard: facing the original couch, coffee table between them, making the space feel like somewhere meaningful conversations happened.

Chad dropped down beside him, the cushion dipping, their knees almost touching.

“Well?” he asked.

Robert cleared his throat. “It’s…comfortable.”

Chad’s mouth quirked. “Is that your idea of a rave review?”

Robert reached for the price tag, winced, and did rapid mental calculations. “Nope,” he said. “Too much. I can’t.”

“Hold up,” Chad said, catching the tag between thumb and forefinger. “Pretty sure there’s a color sticker thing here.” He twisted to flag down the clerk, a much older woman wearing a floral dress. “Hey,” he called. “The green tag deal still on?”

“Half off,” she called back in a cheery, sing-songy voice. “Weekend sale.”

Chad turned the tag so Robert could see the sticker and the new number hurt significantly less.

“You flirted with her before we came in, didn’t you,” Robert deadpanned.

“There is zero proof of that,” Chad said, all wounded innocence. “Also she’s like sixty dude. I just told her we’re buying furniture for a depressed ex-hero who sleeps on his couch and she took pity. I didn’t even need to flash her some more chest.”

Robert stared at him.

“What? Leaning into the narrative gets results. Don’t be such a little bitch and accept it.”

Robert looked around, suddenly feeling like he was invading someone else’s life. A version where friends schemed to make sure he wasn’t living an isolated lonely life in a bunker and that caused the ball of something in his chest to tighten. “Okay,” he said quietly.

Chad blinked. “Okay?”

“We’ll take it,” Robert said.

Chad’s grin lit up his whole face. “There he is.”

They added a battered but solid coffee table, a narrow bookshelf, a couple of cheap framed prints that Prism would probably rearrange anyway, and after an argument down an aisle of housewares a set of decent plates.

“You can’t serve actual food on paper plates forever,” Chad said, stacking ceramic ones into the cart. “It makes the food taste like sadness.”

“I serve takeout.”

“Yeah, give the takeout some dignity.”

The logistics turned into a small circus. Royd showed up with his truck, an older, beat-up pickup with a meticulously clean bed and a toolbox bolted behind the cab. The man himself unfolded out of the driver’s seat like a transformer ready to engage, very tall, very broad, black hair tied back at the nape of his neck, polo stretched across his shoulders, orange wristbands snug at each wrist. The black ink of a tattoo curled over his right forearm when he waved. “Robert!” he boomed, grin wide and uncomplicated. “Heard you finally letting people bully you into buying a bed.”

“Morning, Royd. Or afternoon. Time lost all meaning somewhere around mattress number five.”

Royd laughed, big and warm. “Wait till you see the bolt patterns on some of the frames they tried to sell me last week. Crimes against engineering.”

He clapped a hand on Robert’s shoulder hard enough to jostle him, then turned to Chad. “Alright, Flambae, where’s my cargo?”

“Back here,” Chad said, jerking a thumb toward the store. “Try not to crush the couch.”

Between Royd’s ridiculous strength and complete lack of complaint, they loaded the bed frame, mattress, couch, and coffee table into the truck bed with practiced ease. Royd adjusted straps and tie-downs with the care of a man securing something far more valuable than thrift store finds. “That’s not going anywhere,” he said, checking one last knot. 

By the time they’d wrestled the bed frame into the small bedroom alcove and set the mattress on top, Robert’s shoulders ached in a way that felt almost…good. Physical strain instead of mental. Royd held one end of the frame easily with one hand while tightening a bolt with the other, reading the instructions once and then doing the rest from memory. “These brackets are trash,” he muttered. “Next time you’ve got a day off, I’ll design you a better joint.”

“Next time?” Robert said.

Royd straightened, wiping his hands on his pants. “Yeah, man. You’re getting a nightstand at some point. Can’t keep your glasses on the floor forever. That’s a trip hazard and an insult to optics.”

“I don’t have-” He started, then remembered the reading glasses tucked in a drawer he almost never used though he should. “…Right.”

He clapped Robert on the shoulder again, gentler this time. “Text me if any of this starts creaking wrong. I’ll swing by. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve patched your infrastructure.”

Robert stood in the doorway and looked at the new reality presented to him, a bed. An actual real bed. Against a wall that had, until now, held nothing up against it or on it. The mattress wasn’t fancy, the frame was basic, and the comforter would have to wait until Mandy arrived, but it was there.

“You look like you’re seeing a ghost,” Chad said, leaning in the hall with a water bottle, ponytail a little messy from the humidity.

“I haven’t had one of these since…” Robert started, then trailed off…Before the coma is what he wanted to say but didn’t feel ready to talk about. He cleared his throat. “College,” he lied.

Chad watched him for a moment, then nodded like he’d heard the part Robert hadn’t said anyway. “Well,” he said. “We’re upgrading you from couch goblin to bed goblin. Try not to cry about it.”

Robert let out a breath that was almost a laugh. “No promises.”

In the living room, the de-bunkification process continued.

Royd carried the couch up the stairs like it was nothing, taking the heavy end without complaint and joking the entire time. “Man, this is way better than server racks,” he said, maneuvering the frame through the doorway. “If it falls, you just get a bruise. You drop a million-credit cooling unit, you cry.”

“Thanks, Royd,” Robert said, and meant it more than the two words could carry.

Royd flashed another big, warm grin. “Anytime. And hey,” he glanced around the room, taking in the beginnings of the new layout, “this is good. You deserve nice things, Robert. Try not to run away from it.”

Then he was gone, the sound of his heavy boots fading down the stairwell. When they stepped back, the room looked wider, balanced, more like a place people might stay. Robert felt that same strange vertigo, standing on the edge of something he couldn’t quite see.

“You good?” Chad asked, shoulder brushing his briefly.

Robert looked at the two couches, the table, and the faint beams of sunlight catching over them. “Yeah,” he said softly. “I…think I could be.”

By the time the sun dipped low and the sky washed orange over the hills, the apartment was ready. Messages began pouring into the group chat.

PRISM: ok freaks we’re on our way
reminder: no spandex allowed

INVISIGAL: i literally don’t own a bra that isn’t a sports bra but ok

MANDY: I’m bringing dinner rolls, pillows, and a comforter. 

MALEVOLA: I have acquired an ethically questionable but aesthetically pleasing bar cart.

PUNCH UP: Royd and I got the tv from the pawn shop next to the thrift store
it works. mostly. only like two dead pixels

SONAR: I am bringing a curated selection of books.

COUPÉ: I’m bringing cookware that doesn’t look like it survived a war.

WATERBOY: I-I got some fairy lights and a succulents set… i-if you don’t like them I can-

INVISIGAL: i got the real lights
rgb strip.

Robert set his phone down and surveyed the room again. For the first time in a long time, Robert couldn’t categorize what he felt. Not relief. Not dread. Something else. A knock shook the door.

“Come in,” he called.

Alice arrived first, as if she’d been waiting in the hallway for a cue. She wore a pleated olive skirt that swung around her legs with each step, paired with a fitted gray crop top covered in looping text. Knee-high black boots and soft white socks added a little extra height. Her hair was still split pink and turquoise, but now it formed a dense, bouncing halo of tight curls, a full, coily fro that moved with her. In one arm she carried a tote bag with something large slightly sticking out. “Alright, show me your emotional growth, Bobby,” she said, breezing past him.

She stopped dead two steps in.

“Oh,” she said, lowering her sunglasses. “Okay, this is…actually cute?”

Robert folded his arms. “You sound surprised.”

“Because I am,” she said cheerfully. She turned in a slow circle, taking it in. “Two couches? A rug? Chad, you did it.”

Chad stepped out of the kitchen where he’d been pretending to reorganize the cabinet. Sometime between lifting furniture and now, he’d pulled his hair tie out, his dark hair hung loose around his shoulders, slightly damp from a quick shower he’d taken at Robert’s insistence so he didn’t drip sweat all on the new couch. He’d changed into clean blue jeans and a loose dark red t-shirt that showed his collarbone.

“Team effort,” he said. “I just bullied him into saying yes.”

Alice dropped her tote on the table and kissed him on the cheek. “Bless your chaotic little heart.”

Next came Colm, in a faded fight gym hoodie and joggers, carrying a flat screen like it was no heavier than a pizza box. Royd ducked through the doorway behind him, balancing a TV stand like it weighed nothing. Janelle slipped in quietly in crisp black jeans, a charcoal blouse, ankle boots, and a box of cookware, immediately making her way to the kitchen while Colm loudly joked. “Delivery for the saddest apartment in LA!”

“It’s upgrading,” Robert said, stepping aside as they maneuvered the stand into place opposite the couches.

“Big improvement, buddy,” Royd said, looking around with open approval. “Wow. This is like…actual adult territory.”

Victor appeared in a button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled and dark jeans, carrying a stack of hardcovers like a blessing and a threat. Malevola followed in biker shorts, an oversized black sweatshirt that said HELLFIRE GYM across the front, and sliders, pushing a bar cart full of bottles and mismatched glasses.

Herm showed up in khaki shorts, a blue polo, and sneakers, arms full of tiny potted succulents and a tangle of string lights, cheeks already pink from the excitement. 

Courtney arrived late and loud. “Sup, losers,” she said, kicking the door shut behind her with one battered combat boot.

She wore ripped black jeans, an oversized band tee with a logo Robert didn’t recognize, and a cropped bomber jacket. A coil of LED strip lights hung around her shoulders like a high-tech scarf, and she had a cardboard box balanced on her hip.

“You’re dripping electricity.”

“Yeah, well, your vibe needed life support,” she said, brushing past him. “Where’s the power outlet situation?” She dumped the box on the table. It clinked.

“What’s in there?” Robert quirked a brow in suspicion.

She grinned. “Starter kit so you stop being a depressing nun in here.”

Inside were: a secondhand PS4, a stack of worn controllers, and a bunch of physical game cases.

Robert blinked. “…You brought me entertainment?”

“No,” she said quickly. “I brought me entertainment. You just live here.”

But there was a faint flush along her cheekbones as she untangled the LED strip, heading for the wall behind the TV.

“Comforter incoming!” Mandy called from the hallway.

When Robert opened the door again, there she stood, brown hair pulled back into a messy bun, glasses perched on her nose, light blue athletic tank, gray zip hoodie tied around her waist, leggings, and running shoes. Along with a laundry bag stuffed with pillows and bedding hanging from one hand, a paper bag of food from the other. “Hey,” she said, smile softening when she saw him. “You look less like death. That’s new.”

“Turns out fresh air is a thing.”

“Scandalous,” Mandy shifted the bedding bag at him. “Bedroom. Now.”

“You’re very bossy out of uniform too,” he muttered, taking it.

“It’s my brand,” she said, stepping in and looking around. Her eyes widened. “Oh. Robert. This looks-”

“Not like a crime scene?” he offered.

She laughed. “I was going to say ‘like someone lives here.’ But sure. No longer crime scene adjacent. We can work with that.”

The evening unfolded from there.

Mandy made the bed like it was a mission, smoothing the comforter (navy blue, simple, soft) with quick, competent hands. She fluffed two pillows, set them down, then stepped back. “There,” she said. “Now you have somewhere other than the couch to collapse.”

Robert stood in the doorway, feeling weirdly unsteady yet again. “You didn’t have to-”

“I did,” she said firmly. “That couch was supposed to be a stopgap.”

In the living room, Courtney and Herm fought over where to hang the fairy lights versus the LED strip. Alice mediated with the confidence of someone who considered herself the final authority on aesthetics. “RGB against that wall, fairy lights around the balcony door,” she decreed. “We’re doing cozy, not gamer dungeon.”

Courtney scoffed. “Disrespectful to the dungeon lifestyle, but fine.”

Victor lined up books on the new shelf with frightening precision. Robert recognized exactly zero of the titles.

Janelle unpacked pans and knives, installing them with silent approval. “This is less embarrassing,” she said when Robert thanked her.

The TV went up. The bar cart found a corner. Plants spread onto the balcony. Beef made his rounds, collecting scritches from everyone present.

Royd helped Colm tweak the angle of the TV stand, then disappeared onto the balcony with a screwdriver, coming back in with a satisfied nod. “Secured your railing bracket,” he said. “If someone leans on it, they won’t die. That’s my housewarming gift.”

“Very on-brand,” Robert said. “Thanks. You’ve done more than enough with helping get all of this up here.”

And through it all, Chad moved like a slow-burning sun, adjusting the plant near the window, sliding the coffee table an inch left so it lined with the rug, ferrying dishes, refilling cups, bickering with Courtney over which playlist deserved to live.

Everyone was dressed like themselves, not their hero personas, and somehow that made the whole thing feel more real…friends coming over and genuinely enjoying their time together. Robert hung at the edges, orbiting from conversation to conversation. Every time his eyes drifted to the couches, there was someone on them now.

Alice perched on the arm of the couches, legs crossed, leaning into Colm as she laughed at something he said. Mandy sat with her back against the other, long legs stretched out, talking quietly with Janelle about workout regimens. Victor sprawled half on the floor, half against a cushion, one book open, another being used as a coaster.

Chad moved through the space like he belonged there. At one point, Robert ended up in the kitchen alone with him, washing plates that had seen more use tonight than in the last three months. The much taller man leaned against the counter, mug in hand, he’d chosen one of the new ones, a chipped black thing with a faded logo. His hair was still down, falling around his shoulders in uneven waves, without the ponytail, he looked softer somehow.

“You look less like you want to jump out the window,” Chad observed.

“I live on the third floor, I’d just sprain something.”

“Yeah, but you like dramatic exits.”

Robert rolled his eyes, rinsing a plate. “It’s…weird,” he admitted, the words surprising him. “Seeing this many people in here. Seeing…things.”

“Things?”

“Furniture,” Robert clarified. “Plants. A bed…”

He could feel Chad’s gaze on him, steady and unflinching.

“It freaking you out? On a scale of one to screaming in a parking lot.”

Robert set the plate on the drying rack. “I keep waiting for something to explode.”

“It kind of did,” Chad said. “In a good way.”

Robert huffed a quiet laugh. “Is that what this is? A good explosion?”

“Look, man,” Chad said, swinging his mug slightly. “You spent years throwing yourself at actual bombs in expensive tin cans. This,” he gestured vaguely around them, “is the first time I’ve seen you throw yourself at a down payment on a mattress.”

“I didn’t throw myself at anything,” Robert muttered. “You kidnapped me.”

“Tch. Semantics,” Chad said. “Point is, you let us do this. You let yourself have…more.”

The word landed heavier than it should have.

Robert stared at the sink for a moment. The sound of the party leaked in, Courtney shouting about how the LED colors made the room look “less crime scene investigation-y,” Alice cackling, Beef barking, Donna Summer from someone’s playlist.

What would I have to do
To get you to notice me too?
  Do I stand in line?
  One of a million admiring eyes…

“I don’t know what to do with more,” he said finally. In that quiet tone, not for the group, just for the man right next to him, and at this Chad didn’t laugh. Didn’t make a joke. He just let the silence sit for a beat.

Walk a tightrope, way up high
Write your name across the sky…

“Start by sleeping in the bed,” he said eventually. “On purpose. Not because you passed out doing paperwork and fell sideways or whatever the fuck else it is you do after work.”

Robert snorted. “I’ll…think about it.”

“Think faster. Tch. I didn’t drag a full mattress up your stairs just so your dog can steal it.”

I’m going crazy just to let you know
You’d be amazed how much I love you so…

They ate cheap takeout off real plates. Malevola mixed drinks. Alice commandeered the music and bullied everyone into at least one dance, dragging Mandy up from the couch, then Courtney, then even Janelle into a reluctant sway.

Courtney, buoyed by whiskey and RGB glow, flopped onto the couch at one point, her boots on the coffee table until Robert kicked them off.

“You did good, Robbie,” she said, eyes half-lidded, LED colors reflected in the dark ring of her pupils. “Ten out of ten less serial-killer-chic.”

“High praise,” he said dryly.

She shrugged, looking away. “Don’t get used to it.”

But when she caught him glancing at the game console she’d brought, she smirked. “We’re playing something on that next time I come over,” she said. “You’re not allowed to work through your day off like a loser.”

Next time. Everyone kept peppering that phrase and it finally caught on something inside him and stayed.

Eventually, people drifted out.

Herm left early to go make sure his Grandma got her night time meds, with promises to come water the plants. Victor and Malevola portaled out still arguing about whether his latest “investment opportunity” was ethical or not. Janelle glided out with Colm. Alice hugged him on her way out, arms tight. “Don’t let these idiots bully you into hosting every week,” she said against his shoulder. “But also, I’m expecting a movie night. I’m bringing popcorn. Don’t be weird about it.”

Mandy lingered in the doorway for a moment, hoodie thrown on over her tank, strands that fell from her messy bun clung to her face with sweat from dancing. “Text me if the bed feels off,” she said. “I can help you find a better mattress later, if you want.”

“It’s fine,” he said.

She smiled. “You deserve better than ‘fine,’ Robert.”

Then she was gone, jogging down the hall to catch up with the others, the door clicking shut behind her. Royd waved on his way out, one hand on the doorframe, the other balancing a leftover takeout container. “Hey, buddy,” he said. “Seriously. Proud of you. This is…good. Feels like a place you come back to. No more ‘minimalism’ for you.”

“Thanks, Royd,” Robert said.

In the end, it was Chad who stayed the longest. When Robert came back from letting Beef out one last time, he found Chad standing in the middle of the room, turning slowly, taking it all in again.

“This place,” Chad said, “doesn’t suck anymore.”

“Don’t strain yourself with those compliments,” Robert said, leaning on the doorframe.

“I’m serious. It feels…lighter.”

Robert wasn’t sure if he meant the apartment or the air between them.

“You heading out?” Robert asked.

Chad nodded slowly. “Yeah. Prism’s circling the block so she doesn’t get ticketed. She’ll roast my ass in the chat if I make her wait too long.”

There was a beat where neither of them moved.

“Thanks,” Robert said finally. The word felt inadequate. “For today. For…everything.”

Chad shrugged one shoulder, but there was something softer at the edges of his mouth. “You gonna actually sleep in the bed?”

“I might try it,” Robert said. “See if it bites.”

“It better not, I’ll fight it.”

Robert huffed out something that was almost a laugh. “You against a mattress. I’d pay to see that.”

He stepped closer to walk him to the door. They ended up a little too close in the narrow hallway, shoulders brushing. Up close, Robert could see the faint line of a healing cut along Chad’s collarbone, the way his lashes cast small shadows under his eyes. How Chad’s hair fell loose around his face. He smelled like smoke, whiskey, cheap detergent, and something warm underneath all of it.

That ball of warmth under Robert’s sternum flared, sudden and sharp. 

He had an image, uninvited but not completely unwelcome, of Chad sprawled on the couch, long legs stretched out, laughing, of him asleep there, Beef curled against his knees, of him sitting across from Robert, talking low in the lamplight when everyone else had gone. He tried his best to shut the door on that image as fast as it came.

Not now. Not this. Not when they were still stitching themselves together from the wreckage of everything that had come before.

“You okay?” Chad asked, head tilting, catching a flash of whatever had gone across his face.

“Just tired,” Robert said. “Long day of being bullied into self-care.”

Chad snorted. “Get used to it. Night, Bob Bob,” he said, and slipped out into the hallway.

The door shut with a soft click and the quiet that followed didn’t feel like the old kind. It wasn’t empty and instead it hummed, very faintly, with leftover laughter, the echo of voices, and the promise of next time.

Robert walked slowly back into the living room. On the corner of the coffee table, half-tucked under a coaster, sat a black hair tie, stretched slightly, one side faintly singed, like it had gotten too close to a flame one too many times.

Chad’s.

Robert picked it up.

It was warm from the room, a simple loop of elastic and fabric, small against his palm. He turned it over between his fingers, thumb tracing the roughened spot where the material had been scorched.

He could picture Chad tugging his hair back with it, wrist flexing, face tilted toward the mirror in Robert’s tiny bathroom. Could picture him snapping it off absentmindedly during the night, stuffing it in his pocket, then discarding it on the table without thinking.

Beef circled once on the rug and flopped down, sighing as Robert glanced toward the bedroom. For a second, he hesitated, muscles wanting to steer him toward the couch out of habit. His body knew that route by heart, lie down, one arm over his eyes, wake up stiff and half-rested.

He took a breath and made himself turn down the short hall instead where his bed waited. Comforter smooth. Pillows soft. It looked too clean, like a hotel room bed in a life that wasn’t his. Sitting on the edge, the mattress dipped just enough. He lay back fully, staring at the ceiling.

Robert exhaled.

The unfamiliar feeling under his ribs, warm, unsettled, edged with something that might, at some point, become hope, didn’t go away. He didn’t know what to call it. Didn’t know what he was supposed to do about the way Chad’s presence had felt, or how the room seemed to remember it even after he left. Didn’t know what it meant that a forgotten hair tie on his coffee table felt like a line that could be crossed or not, he just didn’t know, and for now, would have to be okay with not knowing.

But for the first time in a very long time, he let himself lie somewhere that wasn’t a couch, in a room that looked a little bit like it belonged to a person and not a ghost of a person. He turned onto his side, facing the doorway, the faint glow of the living room beyond. “Baby steps,” he murmured to no one and closed his eyes, slowly, letting the weight of the day drag him down into sleep.

Chapter Text

Robert couldn’t remember the exact moment the morning went sideways. One second he was a hundred and twenty feet up in his signature blue second skin, HUD full of neat calculated lines and patterns, and the next there was a shriek of bending metal and the scaffolding below him gave out like old wet cardboard.

Alarms bloomed across his many screens.

!!! STRUCTURAL FAILURE // WESTERN SUPPORT // !!!
!!! COLLAPSE IMMINENT !!!
!!! CIVILIANS IN IMPACT ZONE !!!

His brain went into autopilot as he shifted the suit's weight without thinking, and the suit lunged forward. The construction site below was a mess of beams and exposed rebar, workers scattering in orange vests as one of the cranes began to tilt.

“On-site,” Robert said, voice still flat despite the quick spike in heart rate. “I’ve got a compromised crane. Any active gas lines here?”

Mandy’s voice came through first, bright and focused. “You’re clear for heavy impact. Royd’s got utilities on the line. Priority is keeping it from falling into the street.”

“Copy.”

He didn’t wait for more.

The suit hit the rooftop like a dropped car, concrete cracking in sharp lines beneath it. 

Mecha Man rose out of the dust, broad, blocky, built like something designed to stop disasters head on rather than dodge them. Titanium blue armor wrapped the frame in a muted storm-gray tone, panels layered in thick, load-bearing tiers. It was the kind of construction meant to distribute force, absorb impact, and stay standing when everything else buckled. There was no unnecessary shine. No added flair. Just raw mass and purpose. Hydraulics groaned as it moved, pistons flexing at the joints, calf thrusters flaring with quick bursts to steady its landing. Stabilizer vents hissed along the back, cooling the heart of the machine. At the center, the cyan M burned behind armored glass, bright, steady, alive. The visor slit echoed the same light, a narrow, razor-sharp glow set in an angular helm. It wasn’t trying to be anything except what it was, a wall of metal built to take the hit so Robert didn’t have to. Just a hunk of reinforced metal between his bones and whatever wanted to break them.

Below, the crane’s arm yawed left another few degrees. The cable attached to the steel beam swung out over the street.

Robert kicked the suit into a short-range boost, thrusters biting. The world quickly blurred around him. Sky, concrete, the geometric maze of half-finished work, and then Mecha Man’s shoulder slammed into the crane mast, the impact vibrating all the way through him.

Robert felt the slip before he saw it, metal skidding on metal, the crane’s base scraping across its pad. For a second, both it and the suit were moving together toward the edge of the building.

The HUD shrank, edges tunneling.

He was ten again, not almost thirty-something.

He smelled burgers and charcoal and sunscreen.
Heard the faint, mechanical hum of the old suit booting up inside the shed.

!!! DEFENSIVE PROTOCOL INITIATED !!!

His father’s voice, somewhere behind him, “Robert-”
Chase’s shout overlapping it, “Kid!”

In the present, his grip tightened around the gauntlets. He drove the suit’s feet down, angled its center of mass, and forced the crane back the other way. Concrete cracked louder now, but the base settled, its grinding slide arresting a bare three feet from the roof’s edge, causing the cable to swing wide, missing the street by meters. 

On the HUD, the threat indicators flipped from red to amber and Robert audibly blew out a slow breath he didn’t realize he had been holding this whole time. “Crane stabilized,” he reported. “No street impact.”

“Any structural damage you can see?”

“Plenty,” Robert said. The suit’s external cameras swept the area, mapping hairline fractures and crushed barrier walls. He zoomed in on the bent mast, the warped steel. “But nothing that’s going to pancake anyone in the next five minutes. I’ll hold it until they get bracing in place.” He locked the suit’s hands around the crane mast and dug the suit’s feet deeper into the rooftop as workers slowly filtered back, wide-eyed but moving.

Down below, he caught a kid, twelve, maybe, staring up at him from the sidewalk, phone in hand, face lit with a mix of fear and awe.

Fourteen had been too young. Ten had been too young. Every age was too young.

Somewhere inside him, the past restarted on a loop, back to that same familiar sore spot where the hammer’s handle had been too big for his hands.

It had been summer and hot, hot enough that sweat glued his shirt to his back. His father had been at the grill, laughing with neighbors, one eye on the shed in that absent, automatic way he always watched the suit. Always the suit. Mecha Man Prime’s armor, his grandfather’s work, his father’s second skin, had stood inside, hulking and still, greenish-blue paint already scarred in places that would soon be patched up and polished. Robert had gone in to get away from everyone. From the stories, the jokes, the endless talk about legacy. About how lucky he was.

Lucky to be born into this.
Lucky to have a path already laid out.
Lucky to be the next body poured into the mech suit when the current one wore out.

He was the third for a reason.

The only time his father really looked at him was when he asked questions about the suit. When he said words like flight stabilizers and plasma beams. If he didn’t show interest, his father’s gaze slid right past him, back to the mech.

So he’d gone to the source.

The hammer was on the workbench, and he picked it up because it was there, it was heavy, and the suit couldn’t walk away from him.

The first hit had been a tap.

The second had been harder.

By the fifth, he’d been swinging with his whole body, jaw clenched, breath shaky with every strike as he bit back tears that threatened to spill. The suit didn’t move, it didn’t flinch, it just stood there, taking it like it took everything else from him. His father’s time, his attention, his laughter. Then the chest panel lit up.

!!! DEFENSIVE PROTOCOL INITIATED !!!

The world in the memory flashed red as the suit whirred to life. The barrel’s spin had been a sound he’d never forget. He remembered how his own reflection warped in the metal and the way his grip on the hammer had suddenly felt so stupidly small. Then Chase had torn through the doorway, grabbed him, and ripped him away.

Present-day, the crane creaked again. Robert adjusted his stance, dragging his mind back into the cockpit before it could follow that memory all the way down.

“Royd,” Mandy said on the line, “ETA on support?”

“Two minutes out,” Royd’s voice rumbled. “Sit tight, Mecha Man. I’ll yell at the engineers for you.”

“Appreciated,” Robert said.

Two minutes keeping still while the suit hummed and his own muscles ached. Two minutes was nothing. He’d done worse and had the scars to prove it. 

The boy below was still staring.

He shouldn’t see this, Robert thought, and knew it was far too late to wish that for anyone in this city. He was still thinking about that kid when backup arrived and secured the crane, shifted the load down safely, and finished the necessary scans. By the time Robert lifted the suit away, the foreman was shouting thanks. Robert gave a lazy two-fingered salute with the suit’s massive hand and kicked the boosters, rising up and away from the site. The city stretched out under him, hazy in the heat, apartment blocks and billboards, and the shimmer of traffic. “Returning to base,” he said.

“Copy that,” Mandy replied. “Nice work out there. Bring it home.”

He angled toward SDN headquarters, the suit humming around him as he did so. Every bump of turbulence sent tiny echoes through him, faint reminders of impacts he’d taken years ago, the kind that lived on as ghosts in his muscle memory. The custom built mech bay swallowed the Mecha Man Blue suit with practiced ease, magnetic clamps locking onto the armor as the suit settled onto its docking platform. Hydraulic arms steadied the frame, guiding it into alignment until the whole machine exhaled into stillness.

Robert popped the cockpit and climbed down the access ladder one rung at a time, feeling gravity reclaim all the joints the suit had been helping. By the time his boots hit the grated floor, the inside of his skull buzzed with the quiet after adrenaline.

“Welcome back, hazard on legs.” Mandy’s voice came from his left. She stood near the console with the posture of someone who had spent all morning corralling executives, not villains. Her brown hair was swept into a sleek, styled bun that made her look even more like upper management, and her cape and mask were long gone. In their place was sharp professional attire, tailored slacks, a fitted SDN blazer over a crisp blouse, making it clear she was firmly in office mode for now, holding down operations while Chase continued to use the amulet due to his condition. She looked every inch the administrator keeping the city running from behind the curtain.

“Could’ve greeted me as ‘hero of the crane,’” Robert said. “Feels like I got shortchanged.”

“Hero of the crane doesn’t fit on the form,” she replied. “Royd’s already annoyed at how much we type.”

As if summoned, Royd appeared from behind the suit’s left leg, wiping his hands with a rag that had long since given up on being clean. He gave Robert a once-over, eyes flicking down and back up.

“You dinged the left knee joint again,” he said.

“The crane tried to sit on me,” Robert said. “I pushed back. That’s kind of the job description.”

“I’m not saying don’t push back,” Royd replied. “I’m saying stop making me drive to Glendale to source replacement parts every time the city uses you as a battering ram.”

“Maybe Glendale should offer a loyalty program,” Robert said.

Mandy’s mouth curved in a small smile, then smoothed out. She set the tablet she’d been holding down on the console and uncrossed her arms.

“You good?” she asked. Simple question, but there was weight behind it.

Robert rolled his shoulders. “I’ve had worse mornings.”

“That’s not a high bar, considering some of your mornings have involved falling out of the sky,” she said. “Sit down if you need to.”

“I’m fine.” Standing hurt in the usual ways, and sitting would only make it harder to stand again. 

Mandy watched him a moment longer, then nodded like she’d made a decision.

“So,” she said, tapping a few quick commands onto the tablet, “we’ve got some flexibility on your schedule starting next week. I wanted to run it past you before I finalize it.”

“Flexibility…” Robert repeated warily. “That sounds suspiciously like management speak.”

“It’s exactly management speak,” she said. “The board saw your field metrics and wants you out there more. Royd, cover your ears. They used the phrase ‘high-value asset.’”

Royd sidestepped toward the suit. “I suddenly hear a coolant leak I need to investigate,” he said, retreating out of conversational range.

Mandy continued. “We can extend your field hours if you want. Less time at the desk, more time in the suit. Or we keep the split, mornings in the field, afternoons dispatching the Z-Team. Or,” she added, “we adjust it in the other direction if you’re burned out on being target practice.”

Robert stared at the mech as it loomed, silent and massive, its iconic paint scarred from a dozen missions. Months ago, he’d felt like his entire identity lived inside the armor. No suit, no purpose. No purpose, no reason to get up in the morning except to find out who would get hurt because he hadn’t been there.

He’d taken the helmet at fourteen. Freshman year should’ve been bad cafeteria pizza and algebra, not flight manuals and casualty estimates. He’d never gotten a learner’s permit, but he’d learned how to steer a walking tank through mid-city traffic.

High school graduation had arrived in a thin envelope years later. GED, passed all sections on the first try though it had felt less like an achievement and more like someone mailing him a reminder that he could have had another life if he had simply not gotten in the suit. 

Now, though, there was something else.

He thought about the Z-Team. Sonar’s constant Harvard bragging, for Malevola to then reel him in, Coupé’s flat disdain except for when it came to her Romantasy books and Punch Up, Visi’s snark, Prism’s laughter, Flambae’s voice running hot along the comm line like a live wire, Waterboy slowly coming into himself and gaining confidence, and Phenomaman learning what it means to be a person with his second chance at a team that’s showing him there’s more than just hero work.

Voices that filled his headset without barking orders at him. People who listened when he said things like Don’t go in alone or Wait for backup. A team that sniped at each other but still kept showing up. It didn’t start this way but now that they were here, he didn’t want to give them up.

“I’ll keep the split,” he said. The answer surprised him by how fast it came. “Field in the mornings, dispatch in the afternoon. For now.”

Mandy’s brows lifted a fraction. “You sure?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re allowed to change your mind later,” she said. “This isn’t…whatever the opposite of a lifetime contract is. We can…adjust. You’ve already done so much.”

“I know,” he said automatically.

He didn’t, not really. Most of his life had been contracts he hadn’t realized he’d signed until too late. But Mandy meant it, and that still felt like a small, sharp miracle.

She picked up the tablet again, thumbs moving. “Okay. I’ll lock it in. And I’ll tell the board they can stop salivating and go be disappointed in someone else for a while.”

“That your official phrasing?” Robert asked.

She shot him a look over the screen. “Give me some credit. I use longer words.”

Royd’s head popped back around the suit’s shoulder. “Robert, go get lunch before you fall over. If you break your real bones, I can’t torque them back into place.”

Robert patted the mech’s leg once on his way past, whether it was out of habit, or ritual, or whatever, he wasn’t sure, and made for the locker room. He changed into his dispatcher uniform: light blue button-down with the SDN logo over his chest, dark slacks, brown shoes. The fabric felt thin after the insulated weight of the suit, his own body smaller and more fragile without several tons of armor around it. He rolled his sleeves up to the forearms, left the shirt half-untucked out of stubbornness, and headed toward the break room. He’d been told to get lunch and was pretty sure stale coffee still counted.

The break room’s fluorescent lights buzzed quietly, adding a faint headache note to the lingering smell of burnt grounds. Someone had abandoned a half-finished crossword on the table, pen stabbed through one of the boxes. The coffee pot on the warmer held a dark sludge that might once have been drinkable. Robert stepped in, scanned the room, and found it blissfully empty.

Perfect.

He went straight to the vending machine, fishing for coins and crumpled bills from his pocket. The keypad numbers had become as familiar to his fingers as the suit’s controls. B-7 for the Twinkies. D-3 for a chocolate bar. C-1 for a bag of chips that had become a habit. The machine thunked and whirred, dropping his selections of sweets into the tray. He gathered the crinkling packages and moved to the counter to pour himself coffee, ignoring the way his nose wrinkled at the smell.

It wasn’t good, but it was, however, caffeine, and his standards weren’t as high as they should be.

He took a sip.

The door swung open behind him just as he was considering whether drinking the whole cup would count as a form of abuse.

“Absolutely not,” Flambae said.

Robert didn’t have to turn around to recognize him. The voice always carried a particular heat, even when he was being nice. Still, he looked back anyway.

Flambae leaned in the doorway, still in his hero gear with his dark hair pulled into a tight slick back ponytail. His suit clung in the way it always did, all flame motifs and waaaaay too much chest.

Prism stood beside him, visor off, her hair back to being straightened. She had Tupperware containers stacked in both hands like offerings.

Robert looked down at his haul: Twinkies. Chocolate bar. Coffee that somehow tasted so old it might qualify for a pension.

He looked back up.

“I’m eating,” he said. “Technically.”

“You are attempting to give yourself type two diabetes,” Flambae replied. “That’s not the same thing.”

“Don’t be dramatic,” Robert said. “It’s my lunch.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Prism cut in. She stepped around Flambae, hip-bumping him lightly out of her way, and set one container on the table. “We made food.”

“We,” Flambae echoed. “Made food. As in, cooked. With actual ingredients and everything. I know it’s a foreign concept to you.”

Prism lifted the lid of the top container. Warm air puffed out, carrying the smell of roasted vegetables, rice, something saucy that made Robert’s stomach sit up and pay attention in a way it hadn’t before though he tried not to let that show on his face.

“You two didn’t have to..”

“We know,” Prism said, humming. “We wanted to.”

“We also wanted to prevent the inevitable,” Flambae added. “Which is you passing out mid-shift because your blood is ninety percent preservatives and ten percent sugar.”

Robert took another sip of coffee out of sheer spite, then grimaced. That made his argument worse.

Prism made a tutting sound, grabbed his cup, and poured it into the sink. She moved with unhurried efficiency, like this was just another part of her day, save a struggling business with a live performance, stop a bank heist, save Robert from himself, etc.

“Hey,” he said. It came out less offended than he intended.

“You’ll live,” she said. She flicked the single-cup machine on and reached for a clean mug. “Fresh pot. Sit.”

Flambae, already halfway to the nearest chair, gestured at it with a flourish. “The queen of pop has spoken.”

Robert considered ignoring both of them and retreating with his junk food. But his legs felt heavy, and the smell from the Tupperware was doing things to his resolve.

He sat.

Flambae dropped into the chair opposite him, legs sprawled, taking up too much space without apology. He yanked the Twinkies off the table, inspected the label, and made a face.

“These have a longer shelf life than the SDN itself,” he said. “How are you not dead?”

“You’re all very invested in my dietary choices,” Robert said.

“Someone has to be,” Flambae replied, rolling his eyes and tossing the snack back on the table.

Prism slid a steaming mug of fresh coffee in front of Robert, then popped open the other container. There were two neat portions inside, rice, roasted broccoli with charred edges, slices of chicken glazed in something golden. “We were going to eat outside,” she said, sitting down with them, “but that son of a bitch from finance took my spot and I decided that was a sign from the universe.”

“Sign from the universe that Robert eats like a raccoon and needs intervention,” Flambae interjected.

“Hey, raccoons are resourceful. Don’t drag them into this.”

Prism snorted. “You’re deflecting.”

She divided the food expertly, sliding one portion toward Robert, one toward Flambae, keeping one for herself.

Robert eyed it, then his vending machine stash, then the food again. His stomach answered for him with a small, treacherous twist and he picked up the fork, decision made. “Before this starts tasting like guilt,” he said, “I’m reminding you that I didn’t ask for this.”

“Good, now can you just fuckin eat and get some protein in you? You don’t have to ask for basic human maintenance and shit or whatever.” 

The words landed with more force than they should have. Something under Robert’s ribs twinged and tried to curl in on itself.

“Eat,” Prism said, softer now. “If you don’t like it, you can go back to your sugar bricks tomorrow.”

“That’s a lie,” Flambae said. “We’re on rotation now. There’s going to be a sign-up sheet. I think tomorrow is Coupé and I’m not sure how she’d react to you turning down her food.”

Prism shot him a look. “Don’t scare him.”

Robert took a bite to shut them both up. The rice had absorbed the sauce perfectly, savory, bright, a hint of citrus. The chicken was tender, the vegetables crisp enough to still count as vegetables. It was really good, like, surprisingly too good. His jaw slowed for a second. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten something at work that didn’t come wrapped in plastic.

“Well?” Flambae pressed.

“I’ve had worse lunches,” Robert said.

Prism smiled like she’d won a bet. “We’ll take it.”

They ate together with Prism scrolling through her phone between bites, humming at something on her FYP. Flambae complained about Sonar’s most recent investment and boobs disaster. Robert listened more than he spoke, occasionally offering dry commentary that made Prism laugh and Flambae roll his eyes or make some kind of annoyed sigh. 

This wasn’t like the silent meals he’d taken between patrols in the old days, alone, with his suit cooling nearby and the city still burning. This was smaller, quieter. It had the strange, fragile shape of something domestic, if he let himself look at it too closely.

He didn’t.

He kept eating until the container was mostly empty and his stomach felt pleasantly weighted instead of hollow. Prism gathered up the trash, dropping wrappers into the bin along with his untouched Twinkies and chocolate bar before he could protest.

“Hey!”

“You’re welcome,” she said. “I’m saving you from yourself.”

Flambae stole the last Twinkie out of the bin and tucked it into his suit, right at the end of that deep V. “Emergency sugar,” he said when Robert gave him a look. “For when we inevitably have to drag your skinny ass out of a mission.”

“I’m not skinny.”

“Yeah, okay,” Flambae said. His gaze flicked down, quick, to Robert’s hands on the table. The faint tremor that still ran along his fingers, muscles worn thin from the morning’s strain, had apparently not gone unnoticed. “Eat like this more often and maybe you’ll prove me wrong.’”

Under the table, Robert curled his hand into a fist until the shaking stilled. He didn’t know what to do with the fact that they were watching him this closely, that they cared enough to notice.

Flambae stood, stretching, the seams of his suit creaking slightly. “Come on, diva,” he said to Prism. “We need to get ready for the afternoon circus.”

Prism rose with him and leaned down to press two fingers lightly to Robert’s shoulder, just a brief gentle touch. “Thanks for humoring us,” she said.

He wanted to say It’s just food. It’s nothing. Instead he heard himself say, “Thanks for the upgrade.”

Flambae’s mouth twitched, as though he was holding back a smile. “Get used to it,” he said before they left and the door swung shut behind them. The break room went quiet again, humming lights and coffee smell and the faint echo of their voices hanging in the air.

Robert stared at the empty container for a moment, at the smear of sauce left along the edge, and felt that weird, unfamiliar feeling settle back in his chest. All he was able to discern was that he had the distinct sense he’d been…looked after. Not because he was an asset, just because he was someone they worked with, someone they liked enough not to let fall apart in front of them.

He checked the time to see that the afternoon shift was waiting. 

The dispatch floor always felt too bright when he first stepped back in. Rows of desks, each one a little island of controlled chaos, screens, headsets, coffee cups, personal touches ranging from plants to bobbleheads. The big leaderboard at the front updated each hour and showed just how well everyone was doing. 

Robert slipped into his usual station, headset waiting for him, monitors already awake. His login brought up the familiar interface: subscriber data, hero availability, crisis queues. The Z-Team’s channel sat open in one panel, their icons greyed out until they checked in.

He adjusted his chair, rolled his sleeves a little higher, and put the headset on.

“Z-Team dispatch online,” he said.

The line crackled, then filled with the usual jumble.

“Prism on,” Alice chimed, bright and confident. “Ready for my close-up.”

“Flambae present, unfortunately.”

“Do not light anything in the van,” Malevola’s voice came through, dry as sandpaper. “I swear by all that is unholy, Flambae, if I smell smoke-”

“It’s gum,” Flambae said. “Relax. I’m on my best behavior.”

“That sentence is a contradiction,” Sonar snorted.

Coupé’s quiet acknowledgement cut through the noise. “Online.”

Waterboy’s voice followed, slightly shy. “H-hi, Robert.”

“Afternoon, Herm,” Robert said. The faint twitch in his fingers eased further at the familiar chorus. “You’re all marked active. Try not to break anything I can’t lie about in the report. Remember, this is a recorded line..”

“Define ‘can’t,’” Sonar said.

“No,” Robert said, and pulled up the first call.

The afternoon blurred into a series of crises and half-crises, the sort that never made the news but would have wrecked lives if someone hadn’t caught them.

A runaway delivery drone malfunctioning near a school, he routed Prism and Waterboy to handle that with minimal property damage and maximum PR smile.

A low-level super trying to rob a check-cashing place with the world’s saddest gravity manipulation trick, Coupé took that one with casual precision.

A chemical spill at a warehouse triggered a sensor on his board and his pulse in equal measure.

“Flambae, Malevola, you’re closest,” he said, fingers already pulling up safety schematics. “We’ve got a possible hazardous leak, I’m sending you the location now. No open flame until I clear the area. Flambae, I’m looking directly at you.”

“You can’t actually see me,” Flambae said. “But rude.”

He kept them moving like that, slotting powers to problems, watching the map the way a conductor watches musicians. His mind sat in that familiar split, half in the data, half in the voices. It wasn’t unlike piloting the mech. Different interface, similar stakes.

Well, the biggest difference was that this time, when someone took a hit, it wasn’t automatically him.

At one point, the sound of twisting metal in his ear made his heart jump. For a half-second, the HUD in his memory flashed red again, the barrel of the old mech’s defensive gun spinning as it tracked him.

!!! FIRING !!!

His hands tightened on the edge of the desk. “Flambae?” he said, sharper than he meant.

“Relax, Bob Bob,” Flambae’s voice came back, grunting with effort. “Just a minor setback. We’re good. Waterboy’s got it.”

“G-g-got it!” Waterboy stammered, a little breathless but proud. “No p-pr-issue.”

“Copy,” Robert said, exhaling slowly. “Try not to get in a relationship with heavy machinery on my time.”

“Can’t make promises,” Flambae said, and there was a smile under it that Robert could hear even if he pretended not to.

The day went on and Robert kept his eyes on the screen. Once though a teen intern walked past with a stack of forms in his arms, nearly dropping them when Waterboy shouted something triumphant over the open channel. And Robert could see how the kid grinned, eyes bright, clearly thrilled just to be near the chaos. He watched him go, an odd twist settling low in his gut.

At that age, his own “internship” had involved being shoved into a suit that weighed more than a small car and pointed at problems no adult wanted to deal with. No orientation, no HR, and seemingly no choice.

He dragged his mind back to the present as another call lit up red.

The Z-Team handled it, like they always did. Sloppy sometimes, loud often, but effective now that they knew how to play off each others strengths. Every time they checked in with an all clear, something in his chest eased that had been tight since before they even knew his name.

Late afternoon edged toward evening, the city’s traffic patterns shifting on his screens as people went home, or to second jobs, or out into the kinds of trouble they’d call him about if it got bad enough. Robert logged the last dispatch, finalized his notes, and signed off the Z-Team.

“Good work today guys,” he said on the open channel.

“Aw, he’s proud of us,” Prism cooed.

“Don’t ruin it,” Coupé said.

Waterboy’s goodbye was a rush of thanks and see-you-tomorrows.

“Flambae out,” Chad said last, voice faintly rough around the edges with exertion and something else Robert refused to interpret. “Don’t forget to eat something that isn’t cardboard, Bob Bob.”

The nickname shouldn’t have felt like anything, but it lingered on the line after the others cut out. Robert removed his headset, setting it carefully on a stand. His neck ached. His eyes felt grainy. His stomach, despite the earlier intervention, was starting to remind him that it had been several hours since lunch. He shut down his station, the screens dimming in sequence, leaving his reflection faintly visible for a second before going black.

He collected his things, badge, phone, the pen he kept stealing from HR’s stockpile, and headed toward the exit. He passed the break room on his way out.

The light was on.

Chad leaned over the counter inside, one hip braced against it. His ponytail had loosened, hair slipping down around his shoulders. He was packing up a small cooler bag and happened to look up as Robert hesitated in the doorway.

“Hey, thought you’d escaped already.”

“Just finished,” Robert said. “Didn’t realize you were still here.”

“Had to fill out some heroic paperwork,” Chad said, making a face. “Apparently if you prevent a forklift from driving through a wall, that counts as a ‘near-miss’ and we have to document it so the liability gods are appeased.”

“Tragic,” Robert said.

“Deeply,” Chad agreed.

He zipped the cooler and then, like he’d just remembered something, reached for a smaller container sitting beside it on the counter. He held it up.

“This is for you,” he said.

Robert blinked. “If that’s your attempt to sell me on multilevel marketing, I’m out.”

“It’s food, you narc,” Chad said. “Leftovers. Alice made too much. Again.”

Robert glanced at the container. Inside, he could see something that looked like pasta, flecked with herbs, bits of grilled vegetables glistening with oil.

“You already fed me once today,” he said.

“Yeah,” Chad said, shrugging one shoulder. “Turns out you didn’t die from it, so we’re trying it again.”

“I’m fine,” Robert said. “I have stuff at home.”

“Do you?” Chad asked. Not hostile. Just curious.

Robert thought about his fridge and was able to bring up a mental note of the half-empty carton of eggs he kept forgetting to cook, some condiments of dubious age, and Beef’s special dog food. He must have hesitated a fraction too long.

Chad’s expression shifted, softening at the edges. “Look,” he said, stepping closer. The break room felt smaller suddenly, walls shrinking to fit the two of them. “You don’t have to make a big deal out of it. You take this, you heat it up, you eat something that isn’t sugar foam. That’s it. No strings.”

“I never said there were strings,” Robert replied.

“No,” Chad said. “But you look at help like it’s a bomb half the time.”

He wasn’t wrong.

Robert’s gaze dropped, almost against his will, to Chad’s right hand. “You don’t have to keep doing this,” Robert said quietly. “Feeding me.”

Chad huffed a breath that wasn’t quite a laugh. “If I don’t, you’re going to end up looking like a stiff breeze could take you out.” His eyes narrowed just a little, studying Robert’s expression. “And don’t make that face.”

“What face,” Robert said.

“That pathetic puppy-dog one,” Chad shot back. “Like you’re two seconds from bolting the second someone’s nice to you.”

Robert opened his mouth, shut it again. His throat felt thick. “I’m not…”

Chad lifted a brow. Just one. It was enough.

Robert closed his mouth. The silence between them warmed, stretched, softened at the edges.

“Eat some real fucking food,” Chad said, voice gentler than the words. “So maybe you won’t be as brittle next time a villain sneezes at you. That’s all.”

There it was again, that strange mix of insult and care that slid under his defenses before he could brace. He reached out and took the container. It felt warm from where it had been sitting near the coffee machine. Solid. Heavier than it looked. “Fine,” he said. “But if this kills me, I’m haunting you.”

“You wish,” Chad said. “You’d be the most boring fucking ghost.”

“I’d reorganize your cabinets every night,” Robert said. “You’d crack in a week.”

Chad huffed a laugh. Something bright flickered in his eyes, gone too quickly for Robert to name.

“Get out of here, Bob Bob,” he said, slinging the cooler bag over his shoulder. “Go home. Eat. Sleep in the bed like a real person.”

Robert made a noncommittal sound and stepped back into the hallway. Chad’s presence stayed with him a second longer than it should have, heat and smoke and that strange softness lurking under all the bravado.

He walked out of SDN with the container still in his hand.

Outside, the air was cooler than it had been that morning, the sky streaked with late light. Traffic hissed by on the street. He could feel the faint ache of the day in his knees and shoulders and somewhere else deep inside, but he didn’t know what to do with that “other” ache he was feeling. He suspected he’d have to figure it out at some point but for now, he was content with letting the evening crowd swallow him. 

He’d go home. He’d feed the dog. He’d heat up the leftovers and eat them at his table or on one of his two couches, maybe with the TV on low and the city humming softly outside.

He might even sleep in the bed again and try to figure it out, whatever it was, in the morning.

Chapter Text

Robert woke to the sensation of being pinned.

For a split second his brain went to rubble and restraints, then the weight shifted, huffed dog breath in his face, and he surfaced properly in his own bedroom. Beef was draped across his ribs like a warm, forty-pound lead blanket, all dead weight and cute puppy contentment. Robert’s right arm had gone numb under him sometime in the night. The navy comforter Mandy had gotten him was twisted around his legs, trapping one ankle. He stared at the faint morning light leaking around the curtains and took inventory. Knees, lower back, right shoulder. Every joint that had slammed around inside the big blue suit the day before filed a formal complaint.

“Buddy,” his voice still had that early morning edge to it. “You’re supposed to sleep on your own bed now. Remember the whole ‘responsible adult with furniture’ thing?”

Beef groaned like he’d been personally wronged and sank even further into his sternum. With a sigh he slid his free hand up to scritch behind one ear, and let himself lie there another minute under the warmth, the weight, and the navy comforter that still didn’t feel entirely like it belonged to him.

Then his alarm went off and real life tugged.

Conference day. Jet. Phoenix Program dog-and-pony show.

He eased Beef off with many apologies and forehead kisses, coaxed his protesting spine upright, and went to get dressed. By the time he’d showered, pulled on jeans and a soft button-down, and found his conference badge where Mandy had emailed it, Beef had relocated to the couch and was staring at him with wounded, expectant eyes.

“I know,” Robert clipped the leash on. “I’d rather stay home too but we have to go and you’ll get to spend time with uncle Chase.”

The morning air outside still held some night chill as he walked to SDN. By the front entrance, Chase was already waiting in a worn hoodie and joggers, coffee in one hand, Beef’s spare toy in the other, feet hovering above the ground.

“There’s my favorite coworker,” Chase dropped down and crouched to ruffle Beef’s ears. The dog’s entire back half started happily wagging. “You ready to help me yell at some motherfuckers all day?”

“You sure you’re okay watching him?” Robert asked, even though Chase had insisted twice already.

“I can handle nap schedules and enrichment walks. Go do your dispatcher-of-the-year thing. We’ve got the West Coast held down.”

Robert squeezed the leash into Chase’s hand. Beef whined once, then happily followed Chase, claws clicking on the ground.

The SDN jet waited on the private tarmac like a sleek threat, all polished white and a logo designed by a committee with too much time. Inside, the narrow aisle was already clogged with heroes, luggage, and paperwork.

“Everyone has their IDs?” Mandy called, one hand on a clipboard, the other on her headset. “Forms? Meds? Bags?”

“What are we, kids?” Courtney asked from three people back, holding an overstuffed backpack and a paper cup of coffee that sloshed every time she gestured. “Do you have field trip buddies for us too, Ms. Mandy?”

“Yes,” Mandy responded without missing a beat. “You’re with me so I can make sure you don’t run off to vandalize any historic monuments.”

“I would never,” Courtney said, offended. “I don’t even know what monuments there are on the East Coast.”

“Exactly my point.”

Prism had her phone out already, front-facing camera on. “Okay, Z-Team,” she announced, angling the shot to catch as many of them as possible. “Welcome to ‘Z-Tour: East Coast Edition.’ Wave.”

Waterboy waved too hard from the aisle, smacked his knuckles into the overhead bin, and then immediately apologized to it under his breath.

“Incredible start,” Prism bit back a grin. 

Two rows up, Sonar and Malevola had already claimed a pair of seats together. Victor, button-down and blazer, tie stuffed in his pocket, leaned in, animated. “I’m just saying,” he insisted, “if she’s still liking your Stories at three in the morning, that’s not just supporting the brand. That’s interest. She’s totally into me!”

Malevola lounged against the window. “Or she’s doomscrolling. Does she reply? With words?”

“Yes,” Victor spat defensively. “Sometimes emojis, sometimes full sentences.”

“Full sentences,” Malevola mused. “Advanced stage. When we land, text her something low-stakes. Like, ‘conference is torture, wish you were here.’ If she ghosts you after that, we’ll hold a memorial.”

“I don’t need-”

“You do,” she said, patting his knee. “Trust me.”

Across the aisle, Phenomaman sat with Herm.

“So,” Katon said, shuffling a battered deck of cards, “Magic: The Gathering is fundamentally about resource management. Think of lands as the special currency needed to play the rest of your cards.”

“O-okay,” Herm replied cautiously.

“You can’t cast Bello, Bard of the Brambles without having at least one green and one red land along with something else” he fanned out a card of a tiny raccoon bard, belting out a magical forest jam, waving his staff as branches and trinkets leap to life around him. He looks absolutely thrilled to be conducting his own wild woodland rave, “if you only have two green lands in play. That isn’t paying the correct cost.”

Courtney popped her head over the seatback, sunglasses pushed into her hair. “Mandy, critical logistics question. Are we talking full ‘professional hero’ dress code, or can I show up in my usual ‘band tee and ripped jeans but make it functional’ ensemble?”

“You’re going to be in rooms full of cameras and executives who think you’re all… well,” Mandy said. “You don’t have to wear a suit. But you do need to look like you own a non-destroyed pair of jeans and something that qualifies as a nice jacket.”

“So…no holes above the knee, real boots, maybe eyeliner toned down a notch,’” Courtney translated.

“Exactly,” Mandy replied. “You’re at work.”

“Oppression,” Courtney muttered, settling back into her seat by Bruno who had been jamming out to some music, excited to be on a jet.

Robert hung back a step from the rest of them, letting the swarm of bodies and chatter move ahead. He carried his duffel over one shoulder, grip tighter on the strap than it needed to be. His lower back twinged with every shift in weight.

Chad fell into step beside him, suitcase rolling behind with the ease of practice. Hair loose around his shoulders, sunglasses pushed up on his head, he looked like he’d wandered to the wrong jet out of some music video shoot.

“Morning, Bob Bob…You look like shit.”

“Travel glamor. It’s very in this season.”

Chad’s gaze flicked down and back up in a quick inventory. He didn’t comment on the stiffness in Robert’s gait or the way he leaned a little too much on the rail as they climbed the stairs. “Got your snacks?” He asked instead.

“Contraband secured,” Robert patted the side of his bag. “Prism threatened me into it.”

“Good,” Chad’s satisfaction was obvious. “Last thing I want is to watch you hunt down a vending machine in a hungry rage because you wouldn’t listen.”

Robert dropped into a window seat near the back, grateful for the thin bubble of quiet the glass provided. Outside, ground crew scurried around the wings. Inside, he could hear the many different lively conversations of his teammates. He tuned them out as best he could, resting his temple against the cool window. The engines hummed louder as the jet began its checklist. Seatbelt click. Safety demo. Mandy’s voice reminding everyone that yes, they could use the Wi-Fi, no, they could not light anything on fire.

The jet climbed.

For a while, it was fine. The city dropped away under a smooth pull, the light brightened above the haze. Robert let his eyes half-close, breathing through the dull ache in his shoulder.

Then the jet hit a pocket of turbulence.

It wasn’t much. A sudden shiver through the cabin, a brief weightless lurch, cups rattling in their holders.

Robert’s whole body locked as the sensation of falling without control slammed into the same groove as too many old impacts. For a split second, it wasn’t a jet, it was a mech suit plummeting with one arm sheared off, HUD screaming warnings, ground filling the viewport. His hand clamped around the armrest so hard his fingers ached and the voices around him dimmed to a dull echo. The only clear thing was the thud of his heart and the ghost of his father’s voice. Eventually the turbulence passed. The pilot’s voice came over the intercom with some cheerful reassurance about air pockets and Robert loosened his grip finger by finger. A shadow fell across his peripheral vision and he looked up to see Chad standing in the aisle, one hand on the headrest.

“I’m not listening to these losers' monologues anymore,” Chad announced. “Move over.”

“There are other seats.”

“Yeah, but none of them have you in them,” Chad replied without thinking, and before Robert could assemble a response, Chad shouldered his duffel aside with careful hands and dropped into the aisle seat, knees bumping his.

He pulled his phone out of his pocket, untangled a pair of wired earbuds, and offered one.

“I don’t do in-flight entertainment without a soundtrack,” he said. “Take it or I’m putting on something truly cursed at full volume.”

“What qualifies as cursed?” Robert asked, but he took the earbud.

“You’ll see.” Then, after a beat, he adjusted the playlist. When the music started, it wasn’t the high-tempo rock Robert expected. It was something quieter, a lazy guitar line under a steady beat. Not sleepy, just even.

Outside, clouds slid past in slow motion.

Chad sprawled in the narrow seat like he’d never met the concept of personal space, shoulder warm against Robert’s. He didn’t say anything about the way Robert’s hand still hovered closer to the armrest than it should have. He didn’t say anything at all. He just looked straight ahead, eyes closed, foot tapping in time.

The buzzing edge in Robert’s nerves dialed down by millimeters.

The next time the jet shivered, he realized he was gripping Chad’s armrest instead of his own. Chad’s knee nudged his, and it helped more than he wanted to admit.

They landed on the East Coast to gray skies and humidity that wrapped around them like a wet towel. The hotel SDN had secured for the conference loomed, all polished chrome and generic inspirational art.

Check-in devolved into chaos immediately.

“Welcome, SDN Torrence group,” the front-desk clerk said with the carefree cheer of someone who had not been warned of what the group was like. “We have your rooms ready. Let me just…ah…” She shuffled a printout. “Room pairings as requested by your coordinator.”

Mandy stepped up, expression calm, badge already flipped to the right side. “Go ahead.”

“First room, Mandy and Invisigal. Then second room is Prism and Malevola”

Alice bumped her shoulder into Malevola’s as they both reached for their keycards. “Roomie, we’re doing face masks,” Prism said. “You’ve gotta dish out all your skincare secrets.”

“As long as it doesn’t involve glitter, I’m all in.”

“Coupé and Punch Up.”

Janelle and Colm exchanged a look.

“This is… acceptable. Just try not to snore too loudly.”

“I do not-” Punch Up started, then stopped, apparently remembering he absolutely did. “I’ll…try not to.”

“Waterboy, Phenomaman, and Sonar share a suite,” the clerk continued.

Victor made a shrill noise like a dying animal. “This is targeted harassment.”

“It’s called supervision,” came from Coupé.

“Herm and I will ensure you stay safe,” Phenomaman added. “And that you don’t accidentally buy a timeshare. I hear that’s not actually a sound investment.”

Waterboy clutched his keycard close to his chest. “I’m…just happy to not be alone,” he said quietly to himself, so softly that no one else could hear, besides Sonar whose ears twitched.

“Bruno… Looks like he gets his own room.” There was some uproar amongst the team that died down as the larger than life construct picked up his keycard and gave the woman a small nod. 

“And finally…” The clerk scanned the bottom of the page. “Robert and Flambae.”

There was a beat. Not dramatic, just the group’s collective inhale before the commentary started.

“Oh,” Courtney said, bright. “I’d pay for front row seats to see what happens in that room.”

Prism’s smile sharpened. “Please respect the other guests. Some of them might want to sleep before midnight.”

Coupé shook her head. “You two are going to argue about something insignificant. I can already hear it.”

“We are absolutely-” Robert began.

“Capable of being normal adults,” Flambae cut in lightly, plucking both keycards from the clerk and passing one over with a flick of his wrist. “See? Look at us. Responsible.”

The room itself was nicer than Robert expected. Two queen beds, not doubles. Neutral walls. A soft lamp glow instead of interrogation LEDs. The AC hummed from the unit under the window, cool air stroking his overheated skin.

He closed the door behind them and set his duffel on the nearest luggage rack. The carpet had just enough give under his boots to make him aware of how much impact his joints had taken.

“Dibs on this bed,” Chad tossed his backpack onto the one nearest the window.

Robert snorted and rummaged in his bag for a clean shirt and toiletries. “Shower before the mandatory networking circus.”

“Go for it,” Chad shrugged off his jacket and rolled his sleeves up over his forearms. “Try not to drown. I don’t want to have to explain that to Mandy.”

“If I die in a hotel shower, you have my permission to lie on the report,” Robert said. His left knee twinged as he crossed to the bathroom. He favored it without thinking. Robert shut the door and turned on the water. Steam blurred the mirror quickly. He braced his hands on the sink for a moment, let his head hang, and breathed through the ache.

It was going to be a long day.

It was.

The East Coast SDN conference was a hybrid of high-stress PR and mind-numbing admin presentations. Breakout rooms full of jargon about “brand synergy” and “cross-regional coordination.” Panels on hero deployment metrics. A keynote about the Phoenix Program that made Robert’s skin crawl from the title slide alone.

He sat in the second row of the auditorium, collar stiff against his neck, lights hot on the back of his head. Chad sat two seats over, between him and Prism, both of them trapped by Mandy’s strategic placement.

“And here,” the presenter said, gesturing at a screen, “are some of our earliest success stories from the Phoenix Program model.”

Video rolled.

This reel was new. Grainy security footage of Sonar in an orange jumpsuit, hands cuffed, cutting a deal in a visitation room. Coupé’s mugshot, eyes flat and dead tired. A frozen still of Flambae mid-rampage, fire blooming around him in a way that made Robert’s gut tighten even now.

The montage cut to present day: the same faces in their hero suits, Phoenix Program insignia stamped on their files. Sonar helping evacuate a flooded subway station. Coupé disarming a would-be robber with bored efficiency. Flambae catching a collapsing balcony with a wall of heat and force.

“They learned accountability,” the commentator’s voice spoke over the images, polished and earnest. “They learned teamwork. They learned to get back up after every mistake and do better.”

The audience murmured. Impressed. Moved. Inspired.

Inside Robert’s head, the line caught and twisted.

Get back up.

It landed in a different voice. Deeper. Rougher. Disappointed.

Get up.

The smell of oil and metal. His father standing over him, arms crossed, mustache a hard line. Robert on the floor, breath knocked out of him, chest burning where the harness had slammed him into the cockpit.

Get up.

No hand offered. No ‘Are you hurt?’ Just the expectation that he would haul himself back to his feet and get back in position.

In the present, Robert went very still in his seat. He forced his face into neutrality as the footage shifted from glossy before-and-after clips to a slide full of retention statistics and projected expansion numbers.

On his right, Chad stopped fidgeting.

When the lights came up for the next speaker, Chad didn’t launch into a joke about the presenter’s terrible tie or Sonar’s inevitable question about tax credits. He just looked sideways, briefly, eyes catching the tight set of Robert’s jaw, the way his hand sat clenched on his knee.

He didn’t say anything.

But he saw it.

Dinner afterward was technically optional. Mandy had framed it as “team bonding” and “showing a united front,” which meant it was mandatory.

The restaurant packed them around two pushed-together tables. Noise bounced off high ceilings and exposed brick. Cutlery clinked, and someone’s laugh cut through the rest.

He played along.

He listened to Courtney argue with Janelle about whether they should have standardized superhero suits. He watched Victor fail at attempting to flirt with the server, and the bartender at the same time. He let Prism shove her phone in his face to show him a meme and even smiled. At some point between appetizers and the dessert debate, his energy just dropped to nothing. The ache he’d been keeping at bay all day crept in harder. His shoulder throbbed in time with his pulse, and his brain fuzzed at the edges as he tuned out for one minute too long.

“C’mon, Bob Bob,” Chad’s voice cut through with annoying accuracy. “You’re fading.”

“I’m okay,” came the automatic response.

A brow raised, “You just tried to salt the candle. Come on. Even I know that’s not normal.”

He stood, chair scraping back, and nodded toward the front of the restaurant. Mandy glanced over, took in the situation in one sharp sweep, and tilted her head in permission.

“Don’t forget to sign the check,” Victor called after them.

“You’re paying,” Courtney added.

“In your dreams,” Robert’s protest lacked any heat.

They stepped out into the cooler night. Streetlights made halos on the sidewalk as traffic hissed past, and the conference hotel loomed only half a block away, but it felt farther. Chad matched his pace, just close enough that their shoulders brushed now and then.

“You don’t have to babysit me.”

“Good thing I’m not,” Chad replied. “I’m escaping another nonsensical argument. You’re my alibi.”

In the elevator, the silence settled softer. The mirrored walls reflected two tired men, one trying his best to remain upright, the other pretending not to notice while very obviously noticing.

On their floor, the carpet muffled their steps.

At the room door, Robert fumbled briefly with the keycard. The lock clicked green.

“I’m gonna grab a shower,” he said. “Wash off all the yuck.”

“Have fun,” Chad said, kicking his shoes off toward his bed.

Robert stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

This time, he didn’t bother with the pretense of being fine. He stripped off his shirt slowly, each movement dragging a fresh flare of pain in his shoulder. Angry red pressure marks still banded his torso in faint raised lines. Older scars traced white constellations across his back and ribs. Steam filled the room again, blurring his reflection. He showered quick, more for heat than cleanliness, letting the hot water hammer his muscles until they went from rigid to just tight. When he stepped out, he wrapped a towel around his waist and another around his neck, pressing it against the stubborn knot under his right shoulder blade. He hadn’t taken anything stronger than a couple of over-the-counter painkillers in hours and they’d barely made a dent.

He opened the door with one hand, distracted by trying to reach the worst of the tension with the other. In all honesty, Robert expected Chad to be sprawled face-down on his bed, phone in hand. Instead, the older man was standing near the small table by the window, half-turned toward the door, rummaging in his cooler bag. He looked up.

Robert froze on the threshold, bare chest still flushed from the shower, towel around his neck, hand pressed to his shoulder. For a heartbeat, the room was very quiet.

Chad’s usual expression, teasing, arrogant, animated, shifted into something that wasn’t his to name as his gaze dragged over Robert like a physical thing.

Burns, old and smooth and long-healed, puckering the skin along his left flank. Impact scars across ribs and lower back, perfect circles where restraints had slammed him into hard surfaces. Thin surgical lines that didn’t look hospital-clean; rougher, like field repairs. A latticework of smaller marks along shoulders and upper arms, remnants of shrapnel, harness abrasions, and more had him all covered. 

“Holy shit,” Chad said quietly.

Robert’s instincts went straight to deflection. “You staring because you’ve never seen a man without a shirt on, or-”

“Visi said once you were covered in bruises,” Chad cut in.

“Yeah, she gave the whole team a briefing.” 

“She didn’t mention the scars,” Chad took a step closer, slow, like he wasn’t sure Robert would spook. “Or the burns. Or how many there are. Jesus, just how do you get so fucked up in that suit?”

“Occupational hazard.” The usual shrug-and-joke move tripped on something and failed. His jaw tightened. His fingers adjusted their grip on the towel. His left hand hovered near his right shoulder like he wanted to squeeze the ache out and couldn’t reach.

Chad noticed. Of course he did.

“Where,” Chad asked.

“Where what?”

“Where does it hurt,” Chad clarified, tone stripped of theatrics. “And don’t say ‘everywhere.’ I’ll light you on fire.”

“It’s nothing,” Robert spoke automatically, turning a fraction like he could walk away from the question.

Chad didn’t move, just stood there, steady, eyes on his.

“Where, Robert,” he repeated.

Robert exhaled, something between a sigh and surrender, and tipped his chin toward his right shoulder. “It’s just…overused. Harness digs in weird. Mecha time yesterday, the flight today, and then that conference chair tied to finish the job.”

“Yeah, that tracks,” His gaze flicked down, taking in the way Robert braced one hand on the dresser, the faint stiffness in his lower back, the weight he was keeping off his left leg. “Pretty sure the rest of you is lying too, though.”

“I’m not giving you a full systems report,” Robert muttered.

“Relax, I’m not Royd. I don’t need schematics. Just…sit.”

He nodded toward the nearest bed. After a beat of stubborn hesitation, Robert gave in and sat on the edge of it, towel still looped around his neck. His shoulders stayed tight, like he was preparing for impact instead of help.

Chad’s hands lit with a soft, low glow. Nothing showy, just a banked ember under the skin. He stepped close, slow enough that Robert could have called it off at any point, and laid both palms over the towel where neck met shoulder, pressing gently into the muscle. Heat soaked through the cotton first, then into skin, then deeper to where the knot sat like a clenched fist.

Robert’s whole body betrayed him by softening. His eyes closed without permission, his knees unlocked, shifting his weight a little closer to Chad’s hip.

“Let me know if it’s too much,” Chad murmured.

“It’s fine,” Robert said, voice lower than he meant. “You’ve…done worse.”

“Wow,” His mouth twitched as he spoke, trying not to crack a grin. “Hot.”

“That was not-”

“Relax, Mecha Dick,” Chad cut in, now very clearly amused. “You’re not that special. Prism’s had me on massage duty for months. ‘Turn the heat up, Chad, my shoulders are killing me, Chad, you’re basically a portable spa, Chad.’ If I ever quit, she’s filing a grievance.”

Robert huffed a short laugh despite himself. The sound startled him almost as much as the relief in his muscles. “You give Prism massages?”

“Yeah, and she tips better than you’re going to. Half the team’s used me as a space heater at this point. You’re just late to the party.”

That helped. This wasn’t ‘Some Big Exception’ it was…a thing Chad did, a team thing, and with that in mind, Robert let himself lean into it a fraction more. The joking tone stayed, but tempered, quieter, as Chad’s fingers worked carefully. His thumbs traced slow circles over the tightest part of the muscle, heat radiating in controlled pulses. When one spot near the base of Robert’s neck made him suck in a breath, Chad eased off immediately, then crept back in from a different angle.

“Yeah,” Chad spoke softly. “Thought so. That’s been there way too long.”

His right hand drifted down along the towel, following the line of trapezius to the top of Robert’s shoulder blade, warmth seeping in. The other hand slid a little further, skimming the edge of his upper back.

“Anywhere else?” Chad asked. “Or are we pretending that was it?”

Robert hesitated, then tapped his lower back, just off center. “There,” he admitted. “And a little down the spine. Suit didn’t love the landing yesterday.”

“Of course it didn’t,” Chad muttered. “Hold still.”

He shifted, standing partly behind Robert now. One palm stayed hooked over the towel at his neck while the other smoothed down between his shoulder blades, heat turned low. He used the towel as a buffer at first, then, when Robert didn’t flinch, he pressed more directly. Heat spread in a slow line down his spine, pooling where the muscles had braced all day. The sharp spike in his shoulder eased first, then the ache in his back uncoiled in grudging increments. His shoulders dropped away from his ears, just a little.

The pain didn’t vanish, it shifted, unwound by degrees. 

The sharp edges dulled to something heavy and manageable.

“See?” Chad spoke, voice near his ear now, where Robert could feel the warmth of his breath on his neck. “Told you. Portable spa. Prism’s going to be furious if she finds out you’re getting freebies.”

“She can stay mad,” Robert said, words slightly slurred around the sudden wave of tiredness that came with his body finally letting go.

He kept his hands where they were for another long minute, heat pulsing in slow, even waves. Under his palms, the muscles gradually went from locked rock to tense rope. “Better?” he asked finally.

“Not worse,” Robert responded, because admitting good felt like admitting too much.

Chad rolled his eyes lightly, but there was softness at the edges. He gave one last gentle press at the base of Robert’s neck, then let the glow fade, hands patting the towel like he was checking it had cooled. “Come on, before the towel fuses to you and I have to explain to Mandy why you’re stuck to hotel linen.”

Robert pulled on a clean t-shirt carefully. The fabric slid over his shoulder without catching this time. They ended up both on the same bed without quite planning it, backs against the headboard, legs stretched out. The other bed remained neatly made, untouched.

The TV flickered low in the corner, some hotel channel cycling through local attractions nobody would visit.

Chad sat slouched, one knee up, remote in hand. Robert sat a little straighter at first, then gradually tipped sideways until his shoulder brushed Chad’s again, this time not because of turbulence.

He didn’t pull away.

Chad didn’t push. He just stayed there, solid, warm, shoulder pressed against Robert’s like a second brace. The hum of the AC filled the room and the TV droned quietly about a historic lighthouse. Robert’s eyes drifted shut, the weight of the day finally winning. The last thing he was aware of was the steady rise and fall of Chad’s breath beside him and the faint heat still seeping into his shoulder.

He didn’t even feel himself tip the rest of the way until his head landed lightly against Chad’s arm.

Chad went very still.

Then, carefully, he adjusted just enough to give Robert’s weight a better anchor. Remote long forgotten, he sat there in the dim light, watching the slow rhythmic rise and fall of his…coworker’s chest? There was more to it, but even he wasn’t ready to unpack that just yet. 

Morning came softer than it had any right to.

Robert woke to a faint crick in his neck, and the quiet realization that he’d fallen asleep sitting up but was now somehow laying under unfamiliar sheets, holding a pillow against his chest, and his shoulder… didn’t hurt. It ached, sure. Years of mileage didn’t vanish in a single evening, but the knife-edge had dulled to a manageable throb. He blinked, pushed himself upright, and realized two things.

One. Someone had folded the towel he’d abandoned. It sat draped neatly over the back of the room’s single chair.

Two. On the nightstand by his side of the bed rested a bottle of water and the small pill organizer he habitually ignored in his bag. Two tablets already popped out and sitting beside it.

From the other side of the room came the smell of hotel coffee and the angry burble of a cheap machine. Chad stood by the dresser, hair tied back in a low, hasty knot, still in sleep-soft sweatpants and a tank top. He held the tiny drip pot like it had personally offended him. “This machine is actually the worst,” he said when he noticed Robert was awake. “But it’s that or death, so we’re compromising.”

“Morning,” Robert’s voice was still rough as he spoke.

“Morning, Bob Bob,” Chad said, casual, as if last night hadn’t happened, as if his hands hadn’t been rubbing against Robert's shoulders and back.

Robert swung his legs over the side of the bed. His feet found the carpet and his hand went automatically to the water bottle, then paused. “You know you’re not my nurse.”

“Technically, no,” Chad agreed. “But I am the guy who doesn’t want to watch you pathetically limp through a conference. Hydrate, take your stuff, and then we’ll see about smuggling some real coffee after breakfast.”

Robert eyed the pills. Then him.

“Don’t look at me like that. They’re yours. I just put them somewhere you’d actually see them.”

Robert unscrewed the water, swallowed the pills, the water cool against a throat still tight with too many unsaid things.

The hotel buffet did its best impression of being hearty: scrambled eggs, some kind of sausage, build your own waffles, and fruit that had seen better days. Regardless, the Z-Team descended on it all like locusts.

Prism took one look at them when they walked into the breakfast area, Robert moving a little easier than last night, Flambae already halfway through a terrible cup of coffee, and narrowed her eyes. “There’s a weirdly coordinated energy happening here. Did you two accidentally sync personalities overnight?”

“We shared a room and didn’t spend the night arguing,” Robert said. “That’s it.”

Malevola sipped on her definitely whiskey laced coffee. “I sense… abnormally reduced homicide levels coming from you two. Gotta agree with Prism here.”

Courtney propped her chin on her hand. “Did you have, like, an emotionally responsible conversation?” she asked. “Blink twice if you did.”

“No,” Robert retorted way too fast.

“That was at least three blinks,” Courtney said. “Interesting.”

Flambae just smirked into his coffee and didn’t correct anyone, which somehow made it worse.

“Leave them alone,” Janelle said mildly, though even she sounded entertained.

Herm, halfway through a bagel, blinked between them. “I-I’m just h-h-hap-glad you look…less…tired,” he said.

“Don’t encourage them,” Robert muttered.

“Too late,” came from Chad.

Their knees brushed under the table. Neither of them moved away.

On the walk back to the conference center, the air already warming for the day, the team fanned out in loose clumps. Mandy and Janelle talked quietly about the afternoon panel. Victor complained about the mattress quality for the fourth time. Courtney filmed an unsolicited hotel review with Alice.

Robert and Chad fell into step beside each other without coordinating it. The sidewalk was wide enough that they didn’t have to walk close, but they did anyway, arms swinging in a rhythm that kept bringing their hands a fraction of an inch from touching.

A second later, Chad’s hand brushed his.

Accidental, sure that was it, that was what he could tell himself. 

Just poor spatial awareness.

He didn’t move away.

Neither did Chad.

They walked the rest of the way in silence, the easy kind that had weight without pressure.

Chapter Text

By the time the morning’s last panel crawled to a close, Robert could feel the jitteriness buzzing off the Z-Team as they itched to get the hell out of there. “…and with that, we conclude our discussion of cross-regional synergy metrics,” the keynote speaker spoke, in the tone of a man who genuinely believed that those words meant something.

“Thank fucking God,” Courtney muttered, slumping in her chair until her badge lanyard dug into her neck. “If I hear the word ‘synergy’ one more time I’m committing a crime.”

Next to her, Victor rubbed his face with both hands. “I have never felt less synergized in my life. Whatever that’s supposed to feel like.”

Mandy stepped into the aisle before anyone could bolt, conference badge flashing at her chest, tablet tucked under one arm. “Okay,” her voice was pitched just loud enough for the whole cluster to hear. “You are officially off the clock until the evening reception. That means you do not pick fights, you do not blow anything up, and you do not get arrested. Clear?”

Alice punched a fist into the air. “Hell yeah, I told y’all we needed a rest day.”

Herm made a small, startled noise of agreement, then smiled. “A…a r-re-rest day s-s-sounds…nice.”

“Boardwalk?” Alice suggested immediately, already pulling out her phone and looking up whatever there was to do in their proximity. “Arcade? The beach? We are not spending our break in this hotel. Or at least, I’m not.”

“Arcade,” was Chad’s response, already halfway mentally out the door. “I want to scream at something that explodes when I hit it. That sounds therapeutic.”

“Arcade,” Herm echoed, softer but a tiny bit more certain of himself this time.

Robert closed his eyes for a brief second and could picture it, salt air, too-bright lights, and mindless games with just noise that didn’t matter. Honestly, that sounded ideal, no danger, no hassle, just purposeless play. 

Mandy looked them over and let out a sigh, the corner of her lip curling up into a smile. “Fine,” she said at last. “Boardwalk. Arcade. No costumes, no powers, no interviews unless I’m standing right there.”

“Ma’am, yes, ma’am,” came from Colm who was already standing, ready for a good time.

“Don’t ‘ma’am’ me,” she replied. “You’re not that young.”

They spilled out of the conference center in a loose mob, shedding their semi professional attire for hoodies and sunglasses, trading the stiff carpet and air conditioning for sunlight and the faint shock of fresh air. Robert hadn’t realized how stale the hotel conference levels smelled until they stepped outside and the sea air hit him. Salt, fryer grease, warm melted sugar, it all rode the same breeze, busy and alive. The boardwalk stretched three blocks down, a line of weathered wooden slats raised above the sand, fronted by shops and stalls.

“Field trip!” Alice announced, walking backward so she could film them for her Stories. “Everybody wave.”

Herm lifted his hand maybe a little too enthusiastically and almost smacked himself in the face with his conference program. He startled, caught it at the last second, and flushed, muttering out “S-sorry,” to no one in particular, then let out a small, embarrassed laugh. There was just something about Alice’s easy confidence that left him fumbling over himself even more than usual.

They passed a stand selling neon sunglasses, hats, and graphic tees that said things like I ❤️ THE SHORE and CRABS ARE HERE.

“You are absolutely getting one of those,” Courtney told Victor, pointing at a muscle tee that said PARTY ANIMAL.

Victor scoffed, but he tried it on anyway and checked himself in the glass of a nearby claw machine, tufts of grey fur and muscle on full display. “Actually, this is…not bad.”

Halfway down, the smell of fried dough grabbed them at once. Bruno was the first to be veered off course like he was on a leash. “Funnel cake, now that’s what I’m talkin bout. I need some of that.” Ten minutes later they were clustered around a stand watching Courtney attempt to battle a seagull for a powdered-sugar-coated piece of fried dough.

“Back off,” she told the bird, holding the plate just out of reach as it hopped closer. “This is mine, you sky rat.”

The seagull screamed at her, wings flaring.

“Seriously?” Mandy stepped in long enough to nudge Courtney away from the railing.

Robert leaned on the rail for a second as the waves rolled in below, steady and indifferent. He watched them with a small, soft smile.

“Arcade’s that way,” Chad said, coming up beside Robert and jerking his chin down the line of storefronts. “Come on, Bob Bob.”

The arcade announced itself half a block away with noise alone.

Neon buzzed even in daylight, reflected in the double glass doors plastered with old posters promising FREE TOKENS WITH BIRTHDAY PARTY and WIN BIG PRIZES. Someone had taped a handwritten sign over one poster that simply read: NO, THE CLAW IS NOT RIGGED. Inside, it was sensory overload, flashing lights, overlapping eight-bit theme songs, the clatter of tickets spitting from machines. The whole place felt alive.

Alice stopped just inside, hands on her hips. “Alright,” she spoke, eyes bright. “Scatter.”

They did.

Mandy and Courtney beelined for the air hockey table like it owed them money.

The table glowed a faint electric blue, puck humming in its starting slot, overhead scoreboard seemingly waiting for them. As if on cue, the scoreboard flickered to life as Mandy picked up a striker and spun it lightly between her fingers, testing the slide of the surface. “Oh, this is going to be satisfying.”

Courtney huffed a breath upward, blowing the bit of fringe out of her eyes as she grabbed the opposite striker. “Big talk for someone who’s about to get absolutely wrecked.”

“Confidence looks good on you. Tragic it’s about to be crushed.”

“Crushed?” Courtney scoffed. “Mandy, please. We both know who’s winning this.”

Mandy smiled, and it was sharper than the others had ever seen. “To eleven?”

“To eleven,” Courtney confirmed.

The puck released with a hiss.

For the first thirty seconds, it was pure chaos. The puck skimmed back and forth so fast Robert could track it only by sound as he passed by, sharp plastic clack, clack, clack. Courtney scored the first goal, whooping as the scoreboard flashed 1-0.

“Beginner’s luck,” Mandy said, completely unfazed. “Enjoy it.”

Two minutes later, Mandy had turned it around to 4–1, punctuating each clean goal with a calm, “That’s one…that’s two…” while Courtney’s exclamations got progressively more incredulous.

“You play this all the time,” Courtney breathlessly accused. “That’s gotta be it! You absolutely practice this. In secret. You have like, air hockey drills or something.” She stopped for a second to use her emergency inhaler, taking in a deep breath.  

Mandy’s eyes twinkled in the arcade light. “Just a competitive streak. That’s all.” The puck came at her hard, she sidestepped, blocked, and sent it ricocheting at a wicked angle that skipped past Courtney’s striker and into the goal. “That’s five.”

“You’re so smug,” Courtney’s cheeks pinkened now for more reasons than exertion. She slammed the puck so hard it hopped the barrier, skittered across the floor, and narrowly missed a kid’s shoe.

“Hey now, control your projectiles.” 

Robert’s mouth twitched and he kept walking. He could still hear Courtney’s outraged laughing as he moved deeper into the arcade.

Alice had found the unoccupied Dance Dance Revolution machine and, predictably, had claimed it as her stage. She kicked off her boots, revealing knee-length compression socks in clashing patterns, and stepped onto the metal pad with the ease of someone walking on a familiar set. “Alright, who’s filming?” she called over her shoulder. “I want at least three angles.”

“On it,” Victor was already angling his phone to get the best shots.

The machine loaded a song, some relentless pop track with bright colorful visuals. When the arrows started scrolling, Alice was razor-focused. Her feet hit the panels right on beat, sharp and confident, hair whipping with every turn. People drifted over from nearby machines, drawn like it really was a performance. Herm hovered near the edge of the little crowd, soda in hand, eyes wide. “She’s…r-re-really good,” he murmured.

“Of course she is,” Malevola said, arms folded, leaning against a nearby column. “Dude she’s a pop sensation. You know she’s got like a million monthly listeners on Spotify, right?”

The song ramped up and Alice didn’t miss a single beat. When the final flourish of arrows hit, she landed them all, the screen flashed FULL COMBO!! Then declared PERFECT in big glowing letters. The small crowd clapped. A couple of teenagers questioned whether she could be pop icon Prism, like they weren’t sure it was actually her. She took an exaggerated bow, then pointed at the other side of the pad. “Any takers?” Two kids shoved each other toward the machine and Herm took a half-step like he might volunteer, then stopped himself, glancing away. Robert caught the motion, stored it in the back of his mind. 

Pac-Man lived in the back corner, cabinet scuffed, plastic yellowed, and joystick a little loose from typical wear and tear. Robert gravitated toward it without thinking, it just felt simple, instinctive even. There were clear rules, clear stakes, if you could even call losing a life “stakes.” He slid a couple of tokens in, thumbed the start button, and watched the familiar maze flicker to life. The music started and he settled into the rhythm of clearing the pellets, avoiding the worst, and eating the big ones when it made sense. 

“Don’t strain too hard,” a voice said at his shoulder.

He glanced over. Chad leaned against the neighboring cabinet with practiced carelessness, hands in his pockets, hair down, expression amused.

“It’s Pac-Man,” Robert said. “There is a strategy to it.”

“The strategy is ‘don’t get eaten, It’s not like it takes much thought.”

Robert snorted despite himself. “Shouldn’t you be off doing something else?”

“Eh, Wetwipe wants you to watch me kick his ass at some fighting game” Chad said. “Come see.”

Robert thought about it for a second before letting Pac-Man die ignobly in a corner and followed him. The Mortal Kombat machine sat in a darker alcove. Onscreen, two characters squared off in a lurid arena, health bars hanging by a thread.

On one side: Herm, hunched slightly, tongue poking out at the corner of his mouth in concentration, fingers moving in sure patterns on the buttons.

On the other: Chad, jaw set, eyes narrowed, mashing the controls like he could intimidate them into working better.

“FINISH HIM,” the machine boomed.

Herm’s thumbs flashed through a combo sequence. Onscreen, his fighter launched into a ridiculous, over-the-top move that ended with Chad’s character getting blown into pixelated bits.

“K.O.,” the game crowed.

Herm exhaled, then broke into a grin so bright. “Y-y-yes!” 

“No! Best two out of three.”

“You s-s-said that…uh…three games ago,” Herm pointed out, still smiling. “B-b-be-before you we-got Robert.”

“Yeah, well, I was clearly in a compromised mental state,” Chad ran his hand through his hair and looked away. “Run it back.”

Robert folded his arms, watching, a shit eating grin creeping up on his face. “You’re letting Hermy kick your ass?” 

“You get up here then,” was Chad’s instant reply, shoving him toward the controls. “Let’s see you do better.”

Robert hadn’t played this particular version in years, but he was more than willing to give it a shot. He picked a character at random, rolled his shoulders, and tried to pretend the small semicircle of kids watching didn’t exist. Less than two minutes later, his character lay in a twitching heap while Herm’s squared up in a victory pose.

“Th-that’s uh…four,” Herm said, pushing his now fogged up bedazzled jersey shore sunglasses up with his wrist, trying and failing to look apologetic as beads of sweat dripped down the side of his face. “Uh…GG?”

“You’re cheating,” Chad huffed.

“He’s not cheating,” Robert said, staring at the replay of his character going down. 

Herm’s cheeks went pink, but his grin didn’t budge. “I…um…I played…uh…a l-l-lot…in c-college. W-with some…. Uh f-friends. I kn-know the…m-m-movesets.”

“Rematch,” Chad snapped, pushing Robert to the side and jamming the start button. “This doesn’t count.”

“Sure,” Herm spoke with a tad more confidence now. The next round went even worse for Chad as the spectator group grew, a few kids, a couple of teenagers, and one dad who looked personally invested, holding up his little girl so she could watch too.

“Babe, you’re getting farmed,” Courtney called on her way past, arms full of a coil of paper tickets. “Do you need me to call your niece to tap in for you?”

“Don’t talk to me,” Chad’s eyes were glued to the screen. “I’m in the zone.”

Herm landed another absurd combo that launched Chad’s character into an uppercut and then straight down onto spikes.

“I’m…gonna go lose at something else,” the hothead finally gave in, backing away before his dignity took more friendly fire. “Herm, you’re terrifying. Keep it up.”

Herm ducked his head but didn’t argue.

The gun game in the back was a bastardized version of a famous killer-robot franchise, all grainy visuals and loud mechanical rattling. Courtney and Bruno claimed the booth immediately. Bruno took the left side, and the cabinet looked almost comically undersized around him. He had to hunch just to fit under the plastic awning, broad shoulders made of packed clay and stone pushing against the frame like it was a stubborn doorway he was politely trying not to break. He planted his feet with a wide stance, weight balanced, knees bent just enough to absorb recoil the game would never give. The plastic rifle looked absurdly tiny in his massive hands, bright red muzzle glinting under the neon. He braced it against the ridge of his shoulder as if it were a real firearm instead of less than a pound and a half of cheap electronics and loose wiring. Courtney, by contrast, leaned into her gun in a loose stance, one foot kicked back, her fringe falling into her eyes every time she snapped the rifle up to shoot. She blew it out of the way without missing a beat.

“Left, left, left!” she shouted. “You’re letting that one flank you!”

Bruno spoke calmly, “Chill Visi, if you stopped sprinting straight into the bullets, we would take less damage.”

Onscreen, Courtney’s avatar took three hits and went down.

“Wow,” Bruno added. “Look at that.” He shook his head and smiled as the machine flashed REVIVE TEAMMATE. Bruno pivoted, gunning down a wave of robots and slapping a glowing panel to bring Courtney’s character back.

A kid in a Spider-Man hoodie watched with his mouth open. “Can I try next?” he asked. Courtney glanced down, then at the small queue of people waiting. “Yeah, kiddo,” she said, handing him her rifle between rounds. “Just don’t tell your mom I taught you how to shoot robots.”

“I heard that,” Mandy said, passing by with fresh sodas for the two Robo killers.

“It’s fine,” Courtney said, accepting the cola. “They’re robots. It’s educational.”

The racing game corner smelled like overheated plastic and teenagers.

Victor and Malevola commandeered the twin-seat rig with the oversized steering wheels. The game had them in some neon cityscape, cars idling, engines revving through the speakers.

“Okay,” Victor said, cracking his neck like he was about to step into the ring. “This is sick.”

Malevola selected her car, a sleek, dark model with fiery trim. “Ready?”

The countdown hit:

Three. 

  Two. 

    One.

They launched.

Victor’s car screamed off the starting line, clipping two other racers and fishtailing down the straightaway. He overcorrected, hit the guardrail, and then ping ponged down the lane. “Okay, that didn’t count,” he said. “I was getting used to the-no, no, NO!” His car spun three times, and slammed head on the side, leaving him dead last.

Malevola took the inside lane on the first corner, drifted just enough to miss decorative terrain, and shot into first place like she’d been doing this daily.

“The game is rigged. Corporate conspiracy. Big Tire is out to get me.”

“Skill issue,” Malevola replied, sipping from her soda without looking away from the screen.

“Who drinks during a race?” Victor demanded.

“Someone who is winning,” she said.

Near the prize counter stood a cluster of claw machines full of cheap plushies and keychains. Janelle stood in front of one of them with the relaxed focus she wore before a mission. Katon stood at her side, looking earnestly into the glass. Inside, a blue plush octopus sat half-buried under a pile of other toys, eight stubby legs splayed, plastic eyes staring out. “Janelle,” Katon started, hands placed tenderly on the frame of the machine. “The claw seems to disobey my wishes quite often. Could you…perhaps help me acquire the small, many-limbed blue one?”

“The octopus?” she said.

“Yes,” he said, gravely. “He appears…unjustly imprisoned. I wish to liberate him from his plastic prison.”

A kid behind them huffed. “He’s like five layers down,” she said. “You’re never getting that one.”

“We’ll see.” Janelle murmured, now focused and determined to prove them wrong. She slid a token into the slot. The machine chimed. The claw descended with indifferent jerks and closed around nothing, swinging back up empty.

Katon sighed. “You see?” he said softly. “It mocks me.”

“Relax, these things are designed to crush hope. You just have to time the reset.” She waited, watching the claw run its cycle. There was a tiny hitch as it reached the top, a tiny mechanical stutter that seemed meaningless unless you’d stood in front of too many of these. On the next drop, she tapped the button at just the right moment, causing the claw to descend, shift slightly at the last second, and close around the octopus’s middle. The kids behind them leaned in. The claw lifted, toy dangling, and started its slow, suspenseful journey toward the chute. For a heartbeat, the plush slid, one piece slipping free.

“Come on,” Katon breathed. “You are almost free, small blue aquatic friend.” The octopus dangled, twisted, and then tumbled into the chute with a soft thud. A cheer went up from the small crowd and Katon actually lit up, his whole face changed, open and bright, just pure delight. “You did it! He is liberated.”

Janelle crouched down, fetched the plush from the chute, and immediately handed it over. “Congrats, you’re a dad now.”

Katon held the octopus with both hands, gentle like it might break. “I shall raise him well and be a phenomenal father figure.”

“Fitting,” she said, amused.

On pure impulse, Katon scooped her up in a spontaneous bear hug, lifting her a few inches off the ground. Janelle made a small, startled sound, then laughed, an actual  genuine unrestrained laugh, one hand flying to brace on his shoulder. “Okay, big guy. Feet. Ground.”

He set her down immediately, looking mortified. “Apologies, I was simply overcome with joy.”

“Just don’t drop me and we’re square,” she said, adjusting her shirt like nothing happened. 

The girl behind tugged down on the woman’s shirt and then pointed at a horrible plush banana with sunglasses. “Excuse me…can I have that one please?”

Katon looked at Janelle.

She sighed, sliding another token in. “Fine. One more jailbreak.”

Arcade noise swelled and receded as Robert wandered, watching his team spread out, converge, spread again. It felt ridiculous how proud he was of them just being people in a loud, stupid room. 

At some point, Alice managed to lure Chad onto the DDR pad with the promise of “cardio for your unresolved issues.”

“You look like you’re gonna explode if Herm beats you again,” she said, hands on hips. “Come burn it off.”

“I am perfectly calm,” Chad said through his teeth.

Alice just pointed at the pad.

The first round, he got annihilated. The machine rated him with a merciless D rank, while Alice got another glowing score. By the third song, sweat slicked his hair down against his neck and forehead and Chad’s footwork had improved noticeably. When he finally landed on a B-rank, he threw his hands up. “Ha,” he caught his breath. “Physical proof I’m not completely uncoordinated.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, that was beginner mode.”

“It still counts.”

Robert watched just long enough to see Chad’s laugh, real, bright, warm, with no edge of self-defense to it. He felt that same warmth spread across his chest and wasn’t sure of what to do with it, or what it meant.

By the prize counter, Mandy had started herding them like a very patient border collie. “Tickets cashed out? If you’re not wearing your prize, holding your prize, or mocking someone else’s prize, wrap it up. We’re getting pizza.”

Robert joined the small cluster at a low table near the front where a Connect Four set sat waiting, half-forgotten. Plastic red and yellow discs filled the tray below.

“Bet I can beat you in under ten moves,” Chad said, appearing at his side with his hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, cheeks still faintly flushed, his hair now slicked back with sweat.

“From Mortal Kombat to Connect Four,” Robert said. “Really shooting for the stars.”

“I need a win. My reputation’s hanging by a thread.”

“I think your reputation can survive getting wrecked by Herm,” Robert said, but he sat anyway, dropping into the plastic chair opposite him. “Red or yellow?”

“Red. Obviously.”

Robert took yellow. Chad, predictably, dropped his first piece into the center column.

“You realize center first is statistically optimal,” Robert said. “Everybody does that.”

“Wow,” Chad rolled his eyes. “Nothing sexier than the phrase ‘statistically optimal.’” 

Robert almost dropped his disc on the table instead of into the grid. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you're about to walk into a trap on the right side.”

“I’m not,” Robert said automatically.

Three moves later, he was absolutely in a trap on the right side. Chad let the fourth red piece drop into place with a victorious clack, completing a neat diagonal.

“Ha,” he said. “Witness my tactical brilliance.”

Robert glared at the board. “You just distracted me.”

“And it worked,” Chad puffed out his chest. “That’s tactics, baby.”

They reset the grid without saying anything about it and went again. This time, Robert actually paid attention, blocking early, building quiet chains along the left while Chad focused on the middle.

“Have you always been like this?” Chad asked idly, dropping a red disc. “You know. Tactical about everything. You ever like, not do that? Try to over analyze everything?”

“You say that like it’s a personality flaw.”

“Didn’t say that. Just asking if you were also the kid who organized his Halloween candy by type and expiration date. Like the mini geek you are.”

“I was the kid who didn’t get to do Halloween, or any holiday really,” Robert said, then winced inwardly at himself. “So no, actually.”

Chad’s hand stilled above the tray for a second. “That sucks.” There was no pity in his voice, just fact.

“Yeah, I’m still working on the whole ‘making up for it’ thing, I guess. I don’t know.”

“Better late than never,” Chad spoke lightly, but his eyes softened for a half-second before he dropped his disc and tried to ruin Robert’s left-side setup. He failed.

Robert slid his fourth yellow into place, completing a horizontal line. He let himself smile, small but genuine. “Boom.”

“Oh, is that your victory noise?” Chad asked. “You’ve gotta work on that. Very menacing.”

“Shut up,” Robert said, but there was no heat in it.

From somewhere behind them, Courtney yelled, “I swear to God, if Victor puts one more nasty topping on my half of the pizza, I’m feeding him to the seagulls!”

“Boardwalk pizza,” Alice shouted. “Five minutes.”

Robert glanced over his shoulder.

They were all converging near the exit again. Victor swinging a stupidly large plastic sword he’d apparently blown all his tickets on that was somewhat similar to Malevola’s very real sword, Katon with his octopus tucked under one arm, Janelle with a ring of keychains clipped to her belt, Herm clutching a small bag of miscellaneous prizes, Bruno with a bubble gun for his kaiju baby, Colm with an oversized bear plush he held up and was clearly picked out for Janelle, Courtney had a large sac of candies, and Alice was blinged out in bejeweled costume necklaces, rings, and a crown.

Mandy did a quick head count before scanning the area for the missing two. 

They looked tired and sweaty and overstimulated, but also looked…happy. Just a loud, ridiculous group being loud and ridiculous.

“You good?” Chad asked quietly, following his gaze.

“Yeah,” Robert said, and this time it came easy. “I think so.”

“Cool,” Chad bumped his knee against Robert’s under the table. “Come on, don’t need Mandy coming to get us.” They left the Connect Four board half-filled, one yellow line almost there, one red line nearly intersecting it, and followed the others back out into the salt-bright afternoon.

The boardwalk opened out toward the sand in a wide ramp, weathered planks giving way to pale, fine grit. The afternoon had mellowed as the sun sunk just enough that the glare off the water wasn’t a full assault anymore. Courtney lifted the oversized plastic sword Victor had won like a banner. “Behold, peasants,” she declared. “The sea.”

They spilled off the end of the ramp and onto the sand that was cooler than it looked. It gave under Robert’s feet in a way his joints both appreciated and somewhat complained about. He casually rolled his pant legs up to mid-calf and stopped at the damp line where the tide reached, letting the foam swirl around his ankles. Some of the others went farther. Courtney ran straight in up to her knees, squealing when a wave slapped harder than expected while Bruno followed at a slower pace, hovering close enough to grab anyone who looked likely to faceplant. Victor stayed firmly on the dry sand, shoes nowhere near coming off. Malevola had claimed a spot farther up with Janelle, both of them parked on a low concrete ledge, watching the chaos below. Katon sat cross-legged nearby, his new octopus plush perched on his knee as if also taking in the view. Herm hovered in that middle zone, sneakers in one hand, socks stuffed in his pocket, toes curling in the cool sand but not quite committing to the water. He stepped forward, then back, then forward again. When the next small wave rolled up far enough to lick at his toes, he flinched and then laughed at himself.

“It’s n-not…b-bad,” he said to no one in particular. “J-ju-just…cold.”

“You’re allowed to just stand there and let it hit you,” Robert said, stepping closer, the wet sand sucked gently at his heels as the water retreated. “You don’t have to dive in or something.”

Herm nodded, eyes on the horizon. “Th-this is…n-nice.”

It was.

The ocean roared and hissed and rolled as the boardwalk noise blurred into a single, distant murmur. The sky was starting to lean toward late afternoon, light softening over the water, turning the waves into that weird in-between color that wasn’t quite blue but also wasn’t quite gray. Robert let his shoulders relax a fraction and tipped his chin toward the horizon. “View’s kind of beautiful,” he said, almost offhand.

“Yeah,” Chad said, coming to stand on his other side. “It is.”

He wasn’t looking at the water.

Robert kept his gaze fixed on the line where sky met sea, completely missing it. “Not bad for mandatory work travel,” he added.

“Yeah,” Chad said again, a little quieter. “Could be worse.”

A bigger wave rolled in, slapping up to mid-shin. Robert rocked back, knee twinging, and his balance slipped for half a second. In that half second, Chad’s hand shot out, fingers closing around his elbow in a quick, steadying squeeze. Warmth radiating off of him and with that light touch. “Careful, would be really fucking embarrassing if the great Mecha Man got taken out by a baby wave.”

“I’m fine,” Robert said, though he didn’t pull his arm away, and the hand stayed there for another second, warm still permeating through the fabric, before dropping back to Chad’s side.

Alice wandered closer to the waterline, phone out, turning in a slow circle. “Okay, everybody say ‘team building’ on three,” she said. “One, two-”

“Absolutely not,” Janelle said from the dry sand, but she didn’t move away when Katon plopped down next to her, octopus perched on his shoulder like a tiny, blue many-limbed parrot.

“I believe,” Katon said solemnly, “this is what they call…a vibe. We are vibing.”

“It is,” she said. “Try not to name the octopus something ridiculous.”

“I would never disrespect him in such a way,” Katon said. “He shall have a dignified name. Perhaps…Osmosis Jones. He does remind me of of the adventure seeking white blood cell-”

Janelle stared at him. “That’s worse than anything I was going to say.”

Near the water, Alice had managed to convince Herm to wade in up to his ankles, both of them jumping back when a bit of seaweed brushed past. 

“You know,” Chad said, voice angled toward Robert without taking his eyes off him, “if you stand here long enough, you’re gonna start sinking.”

“Then we’ll go together,” Robert responded, feeling the sand tug gently at his feet with each retreating wave. It came out before he could run it through any filters. It was just true, and somehow, in that moment, it didn’t feel like a bad thing.

Chad huffed a small laugh. “Ride or die via erosion. Very romantic.”

“Shut up,” again there wasn’t any real heat behind it as Robert spoke. 

Then the two then remained there silently side by side, soaking in the quiet moment while it lasted.

Chapter Text

The trip didn’t end with a bang so much as a jet-lagged slide back into Robert’s normal daily routine. Though this morning started in silence, the kind that only existed when the bay was between heartbeats, machines powered down but not quite at rest. Robert stood on the grated platform above the suit cradle, fingers curled around the railing as he looked down at the mech.

“M-morning, boss.” Waterboy’s voice floated up from the floor.

Robert glanced down. “Morning,” he called back.

By the time he descended the stairs, the others were filtering in.

Flambae stood with his hands on his hips, flames flickering lazily between his fingers. Malevola twirled a training sword with the prehensile tip of her tail. Prism bounced on the balls of her feet, headphones looped around her neck, a faint beat leaking out. Punch Up rolled his shoulders and cracked his knuckles. Coupé rolled her neck beneath the shadow-feathered spread of her wings. Golem sat on a reinforced bench built specifically for him, hands resting on his knees. Invisigal perched on a crate, tying her sneakers. Sonar leaned against a pillar, coffee in hand, eyes half-lidded.

All of them were watching him, seemingly waiting for something.

Robert keyed an activation sequence, causing the signature blue armor to unfold around him with practiced hydraulic sighs, plates swiveling and locking with sequenced magnetic clicks. He stepped up and the cockpit closed, enclosing him in several tons of metal and a web of data. Suit integrity, alignment, power readouts flickered at the edges of his vision, familiar enough that he skimmed them like headlines, rather than getting bogged down and lost with all the information.

He exhaled once, slowly, then took a step causing the Mecha Man suit to hit the deck with enough weight to make the floor vibrate. The sound echoed through the bay as he now spoke, “All right.” His voice came out layered and modulated through external speakers. “First rule for today, I’m not going easy.”

Coupé’s mouth curled. “I’d be offended if you did.”

Punch Up grinned. “Kinda feel like you’re tempted to throw me into a wall just to see if I bounce.”

“I am. Second rule, don’t let me hit you unless you want an extended visit with med.”

“Clarifying question,” Prism’s hand half-raised. “Do emotional injuries count? Because I feel like you’ve already got us there.”

“Move to positions,” Robert went on ignoring that question, his command allowed the training arena to be reconfigured around them, modular barriers rising and dropping as hydraulic pistons engaged. This created waist-high walls, a few sturdy pillars, and an elevated platform. “Treat this like a live engagement with a hostile mech,” Robert stepped into the center, the suit’s footfalls heavy. “Me. Most of you can’t out-muscle me, but that doesn’t mean you can’t out-think me. Out-coordinate me. Outmaneuver me. So that’s the goal.” He let the silence sit long enough to feel deliberate. “Coop and Punch Up, you’re first.”

Punch Up blinked. “Together? You sure about that Robbie?”

Coupé grinned. “Try to keep up, Colm.”

“Rules are simple,” Robert said. “You coordinate, or I walk right through you.”

And that was all Coupé needed.

Shadow spilled across her shoulders as her wings snapped open, and with one powerful downbeat she launched upward, knives flashing from her fingers. Punch Up charged straight down the middle, low and fast, shoulder leading. They came at him from different angles, at different speeds, with different intentions.

Robert pivoted the mech, letting the first knives sing past the visor. Coupé was above him, always, her throws came from altitude, angles meant to blind and mislead. Punch Up was the opposite: compact, fast, brutally grounded. His first strike hit the mech’s shin with enough force to ring metal, at three-foot-three, Punch Up couldn’t reach anywhere near center mass without assistance.

Coupé dove again, right wing dipping half a degree, the tell she still hadn’t trained out, and threw another spread. Punch Up launched upward in a low, arcing leap and aimed his fist at the mech’s hip.

Carefully, Robert side-stepped the knife arc, raising an arm to shield the cockpit. With his other hand, he dropped the mech’s open palm to catch Punch Up mid-air. The blow connected and power transferred like a hammer into the mech’s hand and down through its joints causing the stabilizers to absorb the worst of it, anchoring the frame.

“Colm,” he said evenly. “You’re still ramping while you hit, it’s sloppy.”

Punch Up grimaced and reset his stance.

Coupé perched on a barrier, breath quick but eyes bright. “Maybe don’t hit him like he’s a wall.”

“He is a wall,” Colm shot back.

“Try acting like you’re on the same team,” Robert said.

They traded an annoyed look that turned into understanding, causing the second pass to be sharper than the first. Coupé’s trajectory broke into controlled chaos, knives trailing unpredictable spirals. Robert caught the motion out of the corner of his HUD and lifted the forearm shield. Mid-lift, Punch Up blurred into view, already dense, already in motion. This time he didn’t jump, he shot low, crashing shoulder-first into the mech’s calf.

Three inches of skid across concrete.

Robert’s teeth clicked together as he let the momentum roll through him, stepping with the mech’s massive frame rather than resisting the force. Coupé’s final blade sparked off an armored plate and clattered harmlessly to the floor behind him.

“Much better,” he said. “Controlled chaos is harder to read, Coupé. Good timing, Punch Up.”

Coupé flashed a razor smile. “We’re gonna make you regret this, boss.”

“You already do,” Robert said, and didn’t. “Prism. Malevola. Sonar. Three on one.”

“That seems unfair,” Prism said brightly. “For you.”

Sonar snorted, tossing his empty cup aside. “I’ll try not to embarrass you too badly.”

Robert lowered the mech’s center of gravity. “Start.”

Prism exhaled, and light erupted off her in crystalline facets, splitting into multiple projections that darted across the arena in dizzying trajectories. Malevola opened a portal and stepped through, reappearing behind one of the holograms, then slipping into another disc before vanishing entirely.

Sonar didn’t move, he simply closed his eyes, and with some strain, shifted. Shadows folded into bone and membrane as his limbs elongated, ribcage flaring outward, fur darkening like scorched velvet. Wings unfurled with a bone-deep snap as Sonar’s form distorted upward into something primal, something enormous.

Robert’s HUD flickered, struggling to resolve projection from person, illusion from bat. The mech’s auto-tagging system glitched briefly trying to track Sonar’s shifting mass.

He toggled the assist off. “Prism,” he said, raising an arm to intercept a fake blast. “Your projections still follow your breathing. Fix the delay, sync up.”

She flushed. “On it.”

“Malevola, don’t portal after the projection. Portal after her inhale.”

Malevola rolled her eyes. “You’re just making this up.”

“Try it.”

Above them, Sonar hovered in silence, talons flexed, face unreadable beneath the monstrous contours of his second form. His head tilted, bat ears twitching. “Left,” he said, voice guttural now, resonant from a deeper chest cavity. “Real one’s left. Malevola, now.”

She vanished mid-step.

Prism inhaled.

Malevola reappeared above Robert’s shoulder, sword poised at a joint seam. At the same instant, Prism’s nearest projection burst with a flare, white-out across the mech’s visor. And then: impact.

Sonar dove like a hammer from the dark, claws raking across the mech’s flank, not cutting, but testing. The sound alone scraped metal. Robert’s frame buckled a fraction under the force, gyros scrambling for equilibrium.

He caught himself before he tipped, but only just. “There,” he said, satisfaction curling through his voice. “Now you’re a threat.”

Prism beamed. Malevola smirked. Sonar, still crouched in his Megabat form, offered a rare, feral grin, fangs catching light.

“Again,” Robert ordered.

Each run tightened their timing. Each run forced him to adjust. To react. After some time, he reset to a neutral stance and called out, “Invisigal. Golem.”

Golem rose from a crouch near the edge of the sparring floor, the movement slow but seismic, dust spilling off his shoulders as he uncoiled to full height. 

“Invisigal, tag me. Golem, close my exits,” Robert said, shifting the mech’s weight onto its rear foot. “Start.”

The mech’s HUD lit up, but not fast enough.

Golem charged, his wide-set shoulders and jagged limbs moved with a rhythm that boxed the mech in from the flanks, each step placed not for impact, but denial. He herded the mech like he was redirecting a collapsing building.

Robert tried to sidestep.

Too slow.

Golem’s arm dropped like a stone pillar in his path. The impact of a misstep would have cracked hydraulics. The mech stopped short, boxed in.

The air shimmered, Invisigal took in another breath before holding it. The suit’s onboard sensors struggled to hold her position. Heat traces flickered. Motion tracking caught glimpses, nothing consistent. She was fast and smart, keeping just beyond the mech’s range, brushing close only when Golem pushed him into narrow spaces.

“Three o’clock. Ground level,” Golem rumbled. 

Robert turned, shifting one foot to reorient, then froze as a feather-light tap brushed the mech’s hip and a neon paint circle bloomed across the plating.

“Tag,” Invisigal’s voice said sweetly, fading as she darted off.

Robert exhaled sharply, slightly annoyed but thoroughly impressed. “Again.”

Golem didn’t wait. He was already moving, recalculating his angles, now pressing from the side instead of the front. This time, his bulk forced Robert toward the far wall, cutting off two exits just by shifting his weight and raising a massive arm like a barricade.

Robert tried to pivot, spinning the mech low, using the frame’s torque, but the floor trembled. The construct slammed a foot down, shifting terrain subtly under the mech’s stabilizers. Robert stumbled a fraction, just enough.

Invisigal dropped from above and he raised the mech’s arm too late as another paint smear flared across the shoulder.

“Good containment, Golem. Good adaptation, Invisigal,” was all Robert could say after being tagged twice back to back. “Next time, live fire.”

“Please don’t,” Invisigal’s strained voice said as she caught her breath and took a hit of her emergency inhaler.

“Don’t worry Visi, I gotchu,” Golem offered quietly.

“All right, up next, Waterboy and Phenomaman.”

Waterboy made a nervous chirp as Phenomaman gave a quiet nod of acknowledgment.

“We’ll run a simple systems test,” Robert said. “Phenomaman applies pressure. Waterboy regulates. Keep the mech from burning out. Sound good?”

Phenomaman rose smoothly as Robert overclocked one of the mech’s elbow joints, amber warning lights flared, and heat readings began to spike.

He doubled over.

Water surged up his throat with a thick, gurgling sound. He gagged once, then vomited, controlled, practiced, but still raw. A rush of clear water spilled from his mouth in a wave, hitting the ground before rising into a shaped arc. It curled mid-air, guided by instinct, and spread into a cooling sheet over the superheated joint.

Steam hissed off the plating.

Phenomaman didn’t flinch, even as water soaked the floor around him. He held the structure steady, applying even force with careful, deliberate pressure, adjusting with each torque shift as Robert ran the mech through a full range.

Strain lines eased.

Heat dropped from red to yellow… then to green.

Robert nodded. “Excellent. Perfect force distribution, Phenomaman. Good flow control, Waterboy.”

“We….we did?” Waterboy asked, startled.

“Yes,” Phenomaman said simply. “You were steady.” Which caused Waterboy to flush a bright pink as he raised his arm up to wipe away some excess water that dribbled out the side of his mouth, trying to hold back a smile.

And now with only one person left, Robert called out his name, “Flambae.”

Flambae rolled his shoulders, flames curling lazily along his wrists. “Finally. I was starting to think you were scared of me.”

“I am. You’re very loud, and annoying.”

“You love it.”

He didn’t answer.

“Full power?” Flambae asked. “Or you want diet fire?”

“Full.”

Flambae grinned and ignited. He lit up from the inside out, hands, arms, chest, back, everything, fire blooming over him in a contained rush. Heat rolled off him in directed waves, angled up so nobody else got scorched. He shot himself into the air, circling Mecha Man like a comet.

Robert tracked him through calibrated sensors. Flambae moved better than he ever had, tighter arcs, real feints, conserving energy. He swooped low and Robert feinted an opening but Flambae didn’t take it, instead he snapped upward, looped around, skimmed the shoulder plate, scoring a thin line of simulated damage.

They traded passes, each quicker than the last. Robert baited. Flambae read him, adapted. Finally he came in low, propulsion roaring, rolled under the mech’s arm and twisted, both fire-wreathed hands slammed into the mech’s chest.

The suit rang like a struck bell and Robert staggered a fraction, he couldn’t hide it.

“Did I get you?” Flambae asked, breathless and proud, flames dimming enough to show his bright eyes.

“You did, it was a clean hit. Full control, no overburn, all solid work.”

Flambae’s smile went incandescent. “You hear that? The tin can says I did good!”

“Never saying that again.”

“Too late. Permanent record.”

Laughter rippled through the bay.

Something eased in Robert’s chest. Something gentler… pride, and the weight of being trusted.

The team scattered to stretch, hydrate, and tease each other. None of them looked broken, just all in different degrees of tired. He hadn’t realized how badly he’d needed that, to have that one to one time with his team and help them physically work with each other. “Good work,” he said, mech speakers carrying his voice. “Break. Hydrate. You did well.”

A chorus of half-salutes and sarcastic “Yes, coach” replies followed. It sounded like home, in a way he tried not to name.

By the time they’d showered off training sweat and refueled on whatever counted as lunch, which, in Robert’s case, involved actual protein under Prism’s watchful eye and Flambae’s, “If I see a single Twinkie…”, the mission queue had started stacking. He traded harness pressure for the familiar weight of his SDN branded dispatcher headset, and the mecha suit for a light blue SDN button-down and slacks. His body always took a second to recalibrate to not having several tons of armor wrapped around it. Robert slid into his station as his monitor blinked awake, displaying live feeds, city maps, subscriber data, hero status. The Z-Team’s channel sat open in one panel. With practiced ease he rolled his sleeves up, flexed his fingers, and waited until all their icons lit up.

“You’re all marked active,” Robert said. “Try not to break anything I can’t lie about in the report. And remember, you’re on a recorded line.”

“Define ‘can’t,’” Sonar said.

“No.”

The first alert pinged.

A red marker popped up in a residential neighborhood. Compromised outbuilding, canine distress audible, the audio line carried creaking wood, someone shouting, a dog whining. “Golem,” Robert said, fingers moving. “Small structure collapse. Dog trapped under a shed roof. Supports unstable, no active fire. You’re closest.”

“On it.”

Robert easily hacked into a traffic camera and checked out the feed showing a small yard, a leaning shed, the collapsed roof pinning something. He zoomed in, enhancing the feed to see that it was in fact a dog’s tail wagging frantically from beneath the edge. “Remember this morning,” Robert said. “You’ve got this.”

Golem scaled the low fence more carefully than necessary and dropped into the yard. The homeowner stumbled back, staring. “S-SDN?” the man stammered. “You, are you, ?”

“Yeah,” Golem said, voice gentle. “I got it. Back up for me, okay?” He crouched beside the collapse and could hear the dog whimpering, scrabbling. Golem planted his feet wide, hands flattening against the broken roof. He lifted with arms out, distributing weight instead of trying to curl it, causing the fragments to rise in a slow, controlled arc. “Come here, buddy,” he murmured. “Come on out.” The dog wriggled free, shook dust everywhere, then leapt up to lick his rocky face. Golem laughed, the sound bright in the comm, “Attaboy.” 

The homeowner’s shoulders sagged with relief.

“Nice work,” Robert said quietly.

Golem cleared his throat. “Thanks. Uh. Little guy’s saying thanks too.” The dog barked once, agreeing.

The next alert came, it was a partial roof collapse at a warehouse with workers possibly trapped.

“Prism, Malevola,” Robert said. “Live situation. Sending coordinates.”

The warehouse’s roof had slumped in one corner. Support beams twisted, dust hanging in the air. Outside, workers milled, a foreman waving frantically. “There are still people inside,” he shouted in the background.

“On it!”

On camera, Prism and Malevola appeared at the location. “There’s not much time before it gives out, Prism see if you can maintain structure long enough for Malevola to transport them out.”

Prism planted her feet, light flared outward into a wide barrier, bracing the roof as Malevola snapped a portal open inside the building, its rim flickered as it stabilized. “All right, kids, follow the circle,” she called.  Workers stumbled toward the portal, emerging outside in small spits of people. Each time, Prism’s shoulders hitched with the barrier’s adjustment, each time, Malevola’s next portal came.

“Looking good, you’re doing great,” Robert said. “Six more signatures inside.”

“Yes, boss,” Malevola said. “We can count that high.”

They cleared the inside before the structure could worsen, and Prism sagged briefly, then straightened, waving to the workers.

“You two did textbook work,” Robert said. “That’s how we want these to go.”

“Are we getting gold stars?” Prism asked.

“You’re getting not crushed by a roof.”

Another marker blipped on the map, of course there had to be a bar fight.

“Punch Up,” Robert said, as an alert chimed. “O’Malley’s on Third. Two parties, too much alcohol, one knife. PD wants supersupervision.”

“On it,” Punch Up said. “I promise to use my inside voice.”

Street camera: cluster of people outside, some shouting, some filming. 

Shaky phone camera: overturned stools, two men circling with improvised weapons.

Punch Up arrived on scene, “Hey,” he said. “Fun’s over. Put it down.”

“Get lost,” knife guy snarled. “This is between me and- ”

The rest got cut off when Punch Up closed the distance and stood there. The knife glanced off his forearm like it had hit a support beam. He didn’t flinch. He didn’t swing. He just moved into the path of every strike, skin briefly more steel than flesh whenever it mattered, and each time someone tried to lunge around him, he slid sideways, absorbing impact.

The fight died out fast now that he was there to body block so by the time PD arrived, the crowd had gone from feral to sullen.

“You didn’t throw a single punch,” Robert observed.

“Yeah, well,” Punch Up said. “Trying that ‘shock absorber’ thing. Not as fun but it sure will be a lot less paperwork.”

“I like this version.”

“Me too,” Punch Up admitted.

Another blip on Robert’s screen, a kitchen fire. Older building, “fire that got out of hand,” neighbors smelling burning oil. Caller file flagged mild asthma, two kids at home.

“Small kitchen blaze,” he said. “Third-floor walk-up, two kids, light smoke. No structural involvement reported.”

“I got it,” Flambae responded immediately. 

“We can send backup…Prism can- ”

“Nah,” Confidence, not just bravado, threaded his voice. “You trained me for this, right? I can handle a kitchen fire.”

Robert’s finger hovered over the assignment key. The standard for a call like this would be to send a pair. But the building had been rewired, there were no gas leak flags, sprinklers were installed and the FD was en route but stuck in traffic. He thought of Chad in training, reading the mech’s feints, containing his own fire, hitting hard without losing control.

“Okay,” Robert said. “You’re primary. FD is five minutes out. I’m in your ear the whole time. Priorities, kids, caller, fire. In that order. You hear me?”

“You got it.”

Street cam showed him streak across the sky, an orange streak against gray. The building looked like every other brick walk-up. Smoke curled from one third-floor window and a neighbor’s kid cried in the background.

“On scene, light smoke, third floor, at least one kid inside with the caller. Smell burning oil. No visible flame outside.”

“FD’s three minutes out, quick removal and suppression. Ventilation’s bad, don’t overheat the room.”

“Not my first burn, boss. Going in.”

He bounded up the stoop, shouldered the front door, took the stairs three at a time. Smoke alarms shrilled. Third-floor door ajar, smoke drifting heavier from inside. He moved in bursts, not one continuous blaze, flames tight to his hands and feet, licking higher only when he needed extra thrust.

The kitchen was an active mess. A pan burned on the stove, flame licked toward cabinets, and oil hissed on the counter, catching in slick puddles. The caller coughed, half shielding himself, half batting at the fire with a towel like he could scold it into behaving.

“Hey!” Flambae barked. “Move.”

The man spun, eyes going wider at the sight of literal fire walking into his kitchen.

“My kids, ” he choked.

“You’re coming with me. Now.”

He stepped past the burning pan like it was background noise, grabbed the man’s arm, steered him toward the doorway. Above, cabinet edges blackened.

“FD, this is Flambae,” He spoke into the shared channel. “Active kitchen fire, one adult, two kids. Initiating primary rescue and first-stage suppression.”

“Engines two minutes out,” FD dispatch replied. “Keep it contained.”

Flambae shoved the man toward the kids’ room. “Grab them. I’ve got your back.”

The man lurched down the hallway, calling names. Two small shapes bolted into view, coughing, tear-streaked. He scooped them both up, one under each arm.

“The stairs?” he wheezed.

“I got it.” He turned back to the kitchen.

“Careful,” Robert said. “Don’t flashover the room. You don’t need to win a contest with the fire.”

He kicked the oven shut, twisted the burner off, smothered enough hotspots to keep them from jumping. The kitchen dimmed from orange to sullen glow. When he stepped back into the hallway, the kids clung to their father’s neck, eyes wide. The man’s chest heaved.

“Come on, all of you. Out.”

He took the rear position and when one of the kids tripped on the stairs, he scooped the boy up easily.

“You’re hot,” the kid mumbled into his suit, half-awed.

“I get that a lot.”

They hit the sidewalk just as the fire engine pulled in and big burly fire fighters rushed past with hoses and axes. Flambae set the boy down gently, the kids immediately latched onto their father’s legs. The man dropped to his knees and wrapped both of them up, repeating “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” into their hair.

“You’re okay now,” Flambae said as he brushed ash from his forearms, extinguishing a last stubborn spark. “That’s what matters.”

It should’ve been a small thing.

Just another moment that disappeared into the job’s rhythm.

The man looked up.

Up close, he had that loose, post-adrenaline softness, eyes wet from smoke and relief, hair messy, shirt stained. He looked at Flambae with an unguarded gratitude that made Robert’s chest ache, even from a feed. “Thank you,” the man said, voice rough. “I, I don’t, thank you.” He reached and grabbed Flambae’s arm, fingers curling around heated fabric. “I don’t know what would’ve happened if you hadn’t-”

“That’s the gig,” Flambae said, shrugging one shoulder. “You’re good.”

The man’s hand stayed.

“Is there, ” He hesitated, then pushed through. “Is there anything I can do to repay you? I know that sounds stupid, but, ” He gave a shaky laugh. “Dinner? Drinks? Something? God this feels like the worst way to ask anybody out.”

On the camera, Flambae posture shifted, small, instinctive, unmistakably flattered. Shoulders relaxed. His mouth did a softer version of his usual smirk. “Oh,” he scratched the back of his neck. “Uh. Yeah. Sure. You don’t have to, but, yeah.” His smile went crooked and bright. “I’m not going to say no to free food.”

The man fumbled for his phone. Flambae leaned in, steadying his hand, laughing quietly when the screen almost slipped.

From the not so comfortable office chair, listening, watching, something in Robert’s stomach dropped. It wasn’t a sharp stab or anything dramatic, just a quiet, dense weight settling down there. A shift in how his own center of gravity felt. He watched the way Chad tilted his head to catch the man’s words, the way his laugh opened up for him.

Chad laughed like that with him. 

In the mech bay. 

In the break room. 

On the jet. 

In the dark. 

He forced himself to swallow and told himself it didn’t matter who else he laughed at like that. “Nice work, Flambae,” Robert said, keeping his voice even. “You handled that cleanly.”

“Daddy taught me well,” Chad said, cheerful, putting in his contact information on the other man's phone still with one hand while the other touched his earpiece. 

Robert’s chest lurched, it was small, a glitch, a misfire in muscle memory. His diaphragm pulled wrong, and for a half-second he forgot how to breathe exactly right causing him to cough. His fingers stilled on the keys and the headset felt too warm against his ears. He didn’t answer immediately, his throat felt dry. Not that it was tight, just…empty, he wasn’t sure of what to say or what to do or even what to feel in this moment.

The comm crackled.

“Hey, boss, you still there?” Chad spoke, lighter now. “Didn’t fry your headset with all this talent, did I?”

Robert forced one slow breath. “…Still here. That was solid work,” he added, making himself mean it, because it was true. “Good scene control, and you got everyone out safely.” That heat still lingered, on his face as he spoke.

“Aw,” Chad’s laughter was warm and a little breathless. “Look at you, giving me affirmations.”

Robert let out something that wasn’t quite a laugh. “Move off the sidewalk. FD wants their hose line clear.”

“Copy,” Chad said. “I’ll check in once I’m clear.”

The line clicked as he muted.

Street cam followed him as he moved aside, still faintly glowing. The man watched him go with a look that was going to turn into a story he told at every party for two years. Chad talked with the FD captain, animated, hands moving in big circles, and his smile kept doing that little tilt.

He wasn’t angry, and he wasn’t jealous, not in the burning, obvious sort of way, just, out of place. There was probably a word for it. Something neat and grown-up. The only thing his brain offered up was a twelve-year-old memory, standing at the edge of a warehouse floor, watching his father talk to the press, realizing the person he orbited never once checked to see if he was still there.

Chad had checked. 

For weeks. 

Months. 

Every mission. 

Every sparring session. 

Every late-night shift.

And now somebody else had gotten that first look. He closed his eyes briefly, not long enough for anyone walking past to notice, just long enough to feel his lungs pull uncomfortably wide.

The comm pinged.

“Z-Team dispatch, status update?” Prism asked, chipper, her voice pulling Robert back to the present, as the ache behind his ribs flickered, softened around the edges.

His team, these heroes, trusted him. They performed for him, and they got better because he believed they could. He gave her the updates, issued orders, kept moving forward like always, but now he saw it clearly, the displacement he felt wasn’t about being unnecessary. It was about wanting to be needed in a place he’d never meant to claim, had never been promised, and didn’t know how to hold.

‘Ridiculous,’ he thought to himself. 

He exhaled, leaned forward, and cleared the mission queue. The shift wasn’t over. There were still calls to take, people to send, a city to hold together. 

‘You’re a leader. You’re not a kid at the edge of the room waiting to be noticed.’ His chest still felt strange, but the edges were smoothing as the channel crackled again.

“Flambae back on. Cleared by FD. Got some extra numbers in my phone, which means I’m still a menace to society and you should definitely be proud.”

Prism snorted. “Yeah, okay, player. Flex on us.”

“Hey,” Chad protested. “I saved kids. A dad. A kitchen. And secured a date.”

“Singular?” Punch Up said. “He only asked you for dinner once?”

“Shut up,” Chad said, laughing.

Robert watched the waveform of his laugh dance across the screen. 

“Return to base.” Was all Robert said.

“Ooh. Composed and professional,” Chad teased.

The channel faded into background bickering.

Robert took the headset off and set it down. For a moment, just one, he sat with his elbows on his knees, staring at scuffed floor tiles like they held a schematic he couldn’t quite read.

He didn’t know what to name the feeling and wasn’t sure naming it would help.

What he did know was that he’d taught Chad something real and he carried that strength into the world and used it well. That should have been enough, and maybe it still was, he wasn’t sure, or at least it would have to be for now.

Chapter Text

The weekend came quietly, not with fanfare or exhaustion, just a slow, almost domestic kind of stillness, late morning light creeping around the blinds, the faint hum of the building’s plumbing, the cold remains of a protein bar wrapper on his nightstand. Robert blinked up at the ceiling and listened to the muffled thump of someone’s TV three floors down. No alarms, no mission pings, nothing. His back still ached in the familiar way, a dull line down his spine that never really clocked out, but it was background noise today. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and planted his feet on the cold hard floor. Beef lifted his head from his dog bed in the corner, hopeful tail thump-thumping against the wall.

“Good morning to you too.”

Beef yawned wide, tongue lolling, then rolled dramatically onto his back to present his stomach like he’d fought a hard battle all night and required immediate tummy pat compensation. Robert, of course, obliged, scrubbing warm fingers through short fur. “You’re not subtle,” he said. “You know that, right?” Beef huffed, eyes closing, paws in the air. After a minute, Robert pushed with a soft groan and made his way toward the tiny closet he’d optimistically called a “wardrobe” when he moved in. He opened the doors and stood there for a second, hand braced on the frame.

That was the problem.

He wasn’t really looking at it, more so looking through it, standing there in a T-shirt too thin to be warm and pajama pants that had seen better years. His poor excuse of a closet had all the charm of a supply locker.

SDN-branded work polos lined up with military precision.

His Mecha Man costume off to the side.

One set of “decent” clothes that had survived too many “dress code mandatory” events.

One workout outfit.

And a pair of jeans.

No sense of variety or softness, nothing that said anything except I’m here to work, please don’t perceive me. And tomorrow, Beef’s groomer was graduating with her AAS in Veterinary Technology. She’d handed him the invitation herself after clipping Beef’s nails, cheeks pink with pride, saying, “Only if you’re not busy! But I’d really love it if you came. Beef’s my favorite client.” The card was still on the fridge, stuck under a magnet shaped like a bone. On the inside, in bubbly cursive, she’d written: ‘Dress nice!! There will be pictures!’ He’d stared at that for longer than comfortable, like the words themselves were a foreign test he hadn’t studied for.

“Right,” he muttered now, still staring at his near empty closet. “Nice. Sure.”

He reached in and pulled the lone “nice” shirt off its hanger. 

The fabric looked tired, and the collar had a weary slump to it.

He held it up in front of himself and glanced at the mirror on the inside of the closet door.

Robert looked… like someone who had exactly one nice shirt.

He could wear it. Yeah, he could do it, but the thought of showing up yet again in the same uniform-adjacent outfit, of standing in the background of somebody else’s photos looking like an extra who’d wandered in from the wrong set-

Beef sneezed behind him..

“Don’t start, you wear the same fur every day.”

The silence that followed was not helpful.

He sighed and hung the shirt back up.

Robert hadn’t decided what he was going to do about it when his front door opened. While he did, technically, have locks, he also had teammates with no respect for boundaries and a very creative understanding of “you can crash here if you need to.”

“RobERRRT!” The call came sing-song and bright, ricocheting off the hallway like the opening act of a disaster. “Where’s the man, the myth, the wardrobe malfunction?”

Robert closed his eyes. “No,” he said automatically.

The door swung open like someone had kicked off a heist.

Alice entered first, she wore a marbled sheer mesh top in deep greens and bronzes that caught the hallway light, paired with a pleated, ombré denim mini skirt that stopped decisively mid-thigh. Over-the-knee suede boots elongated her legs, and a certain somebody’s orange visor-tinted sunglasses rested high on her head like a crown. There was the faint scent of hairspray and setting powder that followed her in, expensive, deliberate, completely her.

Courtney followed, juggling two iced coffees and a paper bag but somehow not spilling a drop. She wore a white cropped tank that hugged her perfectly, paired with light-wash ripped jeans that sat just right on her hips. An oversized flannel hung open over it, sleeves rolled twice, and a white bucket hat framed her face. 

Malevola came next, gliding in. The black lace of her bodysuit contrasted against her ruby red skin, the structured lines almost architectural under the dim hallway light. It seemed like most of her jeans came in the form of shorts and today was no exception, high-waisted jean shorts emphasized her long legs. Her tail flicked once as she stepped inside.

Victor brought up the rear of the chaos parade, wearing a gray Harvard tee that looked offensively good on him, soft and worn-in in the way shirts only got after years of loving. Followed with the matching branded sweatpants and a pair of stylish sneakers. 

And then there was Chad.

He leaned casually against the doorframe as if he had been part of the architecture until the moment he chose to move. Today he wore a black tank tucked into relaxed tan trousers, the belt looped through with the easy confidence of someone who absolutely knew he looked good. Over it, he’d thrown on a black short-sleeved button-down with thin white pinstripes, worn open. A familiar pair of teal blue glasses were hooked near his collarbone, catching the faintest glint. His hair tied back in a loose knot, a few falling forward to frame his face. The whole look was sun-warm, relaxed, and distractingly effortless. His eyes did a quick sweep of the apartment before settling on Robert, and the half-smile that followed could have powered the mech bay.

“Hey,” Chad said.

Robert’s breath caught on something small and stupid, then evened out. “Hey.”

Alice took the two steps between them and clapped once, decisive, the sound sharp enough to make Beef’s ears twitch. “Okay, everyone listen up,” she announced, spinning to face them like she was about to open a rehearsal. “Today is officially Robert Rebrand Day. No livestreams, no TikToks, no Stories, no hidden cameras. This is community service work.”

“She says that now,” Courtney muttered into her iced coffee. “Wait two hours.”

Robert looked between all of them, then down at his pajamas. “Just so we’re clear,” he said. “I didn’t call for backup.”

“We know,” Alice said, patting his cheek. “That’s why we came.”

Beef took this moment to bound over like the world’s friendliest bowling ball, claws clicking on the hardwood. He shoved his head under Alice’s hand first and she immediately bent down and scratched behind his ears with practiced enthusiasm. “There he is,” she cooed. “The only man in this apartment with his life together.”

The chunky chihuahua abandoned her the second Courtney made kissy noises, trotting over to butt his head against her. She sunk her fingers into his fur with a sigh. “God, at least one of you appreciates me,” she said. “Hi, sir. Do you have a moment to talk about your car extended warranty of treats?”

Victor crouched without being asked, holding his free hand out. “Mr. Beef,” he greeted solemnly, like they had a standing appointment. Beef licked his fingers once, then leaned heavily into the petting with the full weight of a dog who knew how to weaponize gravity.

Malevola pretended not to care until his tail brushed her boot. Her mouth twitched, she reached down with the absentminded grace of someone who’d done this before and scratched the spot at the base of his neck with two fingers. Beef melted, sighing like a radiator venting.

Finally he made his way to Chad and shoved his head under Chad’s hand like this was the real objective all along. Chad obliged automatically, fingers sliding into the fur behind Beef’s ear. “You got him trimmed,” Chad said, voice going a notch softer. “He looks sharp. Little guy’s ready for his big day.”

Alice snapped her fingers. “Oh, right, the graduation,” she said, turning back to Robert. “That’s this weekend, isn’t it? Belle’s thing? I remember you mentioning it earlier in the week.”

Robert’s throat worked. “Tomorrow,” he said. “Afternoon.”

Courtney tipped her cup toward his closet with a grimace. “And you were going to show up in, what, your one sad event shirt? The Banquet Shirt? Again?”

“That shirt has done a lot of heavy lifting,” he muttered.

“Exactly,” Victor said. “It’s time to retire it with honors before it files a labor complaint.”

Chad’s hand stilled on Beef’s head as he looked up at Robert, his eyes were steadier than the rest of the room’s chaotic commentary. “You need clothes for that graduation, right?” he asked, voice pitched more for Robert than anyone else. “Like… actual ‘I chose this on purpose’ clothes. Not just ‘this was clean.’”

Robert felt faintly ridiculous that this was the thing that had him off balance and not, say, a mech punch. “It’s…yeah. I was just going to make do.”

“Or,” Chad said, nodding toward the hall, “we go fix it. Today. You show up for her, you don’t look like you got lost on your way to a budget funeral.”

“Hey,” Robert protested weakly.

“We’re doing you a favor,” Alice said. “And Belle. And the photos.”

That small warmth under his ribs again, unavoidable, as he sighed. “Fine, but for the record, I hate this.”

“We know,” Alice said cheerfully. “That’s why it’s going to be fun.”

Courtney thrust one of the iced coffees into his hand. “Caffeine for courage. Also so you don’t bite anyone.”

“I don’t bite people,” Robert said.

“You definitely bite people,” Victor said. “But like in a ‘you’re wrong and I’m going to explain why for fifteen minutes’ way. You feel?”

“He’s right,” Malevola said.

In the end, Beef walked them to the door, nails clicking. Alice bent down to kiss his head. “We’ll bring you back a bandana,” she promised and Beef’s tail thumped.

Robert had a fleeting, surreal thought that his dog was about to become better dressed than he was. He quickly changed into something that wasn’t his pajamas then went on, locking the door behind them. He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his hoodie, and let the five of them herd him down the hall.

The mall was exactly the kind of place Robert avoided on purpose, too many people, too much noise, too many lights. He hadn’t been there in…he couldn’t remember the last time. Probably something duty-related like a safety expo, or a press event. Probably something with folding chairs and a banner.

Alice moved through it like she owned the place, sunglasses perched on her head, phone tucked away for once. Courtney walked backward for ten paces to provide live commentary, nearly tripping over a toddler, then pivoted gracefully around a kiosk. Victor was already craning his neck to read mall directory signs. Malevola drifted slightly to the side of the group, tail flicking lazily above the crowd line. Chad kept pace right behind Robert, not so close as to crowd him but close enough that when the flow of people thickened, their shoulders brushed.

The first store Alice steered them toward was some kind of mid-range men’s place that smelled like cologne with something to prove. “This one,” she declared, pointing at the display where a mannequin leaned against a fake brick wall in jeans and a jacket that cost more than it should. “We’ll start basic.”

“Basic?” Courtney scoffed. “Those jeans cost, like, blood.”

“We are not putting him in anything with fake distressing,” Malevola said, eyeing a pair of artfully ripped pants.

Victor stepped over to a mannequin in a floral button-down and tapped its plastic chest thoughtfully. “I think this one has potential.”

“No,” Robert said, on reflex.

“Yes,” Victor said, purely to be contrary.

Alice clapped once. “Okay, ground rule you’re going to try things on before rejecting them. Looking at a hanger is not the same thing as wearing it.”

“I feel attacked,” Robert said.

“Good.”

Courtney drifted toward the wall of jeans, eyes scanning the rows before she plucked a dark wash pair off the rack, gave the fabric an experimental stretch, and nodded. “These,” she said, thrusting them into Robert’s hands. “Trust.”

“They look small,” he said.

“They’re not,” she said. “You just bought all your pants two sizes too big because you hate having a shape.”

He opened his mouth to argue and then closed it again.

Victor, meanwhile, had gravitated to the graphic tees. “Oh my God,” he said. “Look. Look.” He held up a shirt that said I PAUSED MY GAME TO BE HERE.

“No,” Malevola said immediately.

“What about this?” he tried, pulling another one that read SARCASM LOADING… PLEASE WAIT. “This is very him.”

“Dude, come on.”

Chad had disappeared into the middle of the store somewhere, moving with quieter purpose. He wasn’t grabbing armfuls of clothes like Alice or plucking at novelty prints like Victor. He walked the racks slow, fingers brushing fabrics, occasionally pulling a shirt or sweater free, eyeing it, then either hanging it back or folding it over his arm.

Robert tried not to watch. He failed.

Chad picked a soft-looking long-sleeve in a deep charcoal, then something in a muted green. He held the green one up against his own chest for a second, squinting as if imagining it on someone else, then smirked and tossed it onto the growing pile Alice had claimed for the “Robert stack.” Robert glanced at the pile and felt anxiety prickle along his collarbone. That was a lot of fabric. 

“This is stupid,” he said under his breath.

“No,” Alice corrected him cheerfully, returning with two button-downs draped over her arm. “This is growth. Also that shirt is making me itch, put it down.”

He looked down at his own faded T-shirt, then up at her.

“It’s fine,” he said.

“It’s dead inside,” she said. “Like a CVS Valentine’s aisle on February fifteenth.”

Courtney smothered a laugh in her coffee.

Robert lifted his chin. “I like this shirt.”

“Cool,” Alice said. “You can keep it. But we’re getting you options, which is why,” she shoved something onto the pile in his arms “you’re going to the dressing room. Now.”

He looked down at the new addition. It was a henley, technically. Soft fabric, three buttons at the collar, sleeves that looked like they’d hit just below his wrist bones. The color caught him for a second, familiar, almost the same shade as the Mecha Man suit, but softer, less industrial and more sky than plating. He looked back up to ask where it had come from, but Chad was at the far end of the row now, apparently very interested in a stack of folded hoodies. His hands were empty.

“The dressing rooms are back there.”

Robert stared down at the pile in his arms, jeans, shirts, that blue henley, something charcoal, something in a color that might be maroon if he squinted. Then another pair of jeans he definitely hadn’t picked up. A sweater he would bet money Victor had smuggled in. A soft black hoodie that hadn’t been there a minute ago. Something with buttons. Something with too many buttons. And, God, was that a vest? The stack rose from his forearms to just beneath his chin, a teetering tower of fabric that shifted every time he breathed. It was more clothing than he’d bought in the last two years, maybe even the last five. It looked like the laundry pile of a man who lived twelve separate lives.

“Here we are.”Alice said, steering him toward the back.

The dressing room was… unkind.

It was a narrow cubicle with a bench, a hook, and a mirror that seemed specifically designed to reveal every flaw at once. The lighting was a combination of overhead fluorescents and a side panel that claimed to be “daylight” and instead achieved “interrogation.”

It was also too hot and too cold at the same time, somehow.

He closed the door, hung the clothes up, and peeled off his T-shirt.

He immediately regretted existing under fluorescent bulbs.

He’d seen himself dozens of times. In hospital mirrors. In bathroom mirrors. In the distorted reflection of mech plating when he caught sight of his own shadow.

He knew the scars were there.

He stood there for a second, bare feet on cheap tile, dark brown eyes in the mirror that looked older than the rest of him, and thought, ‘no one wants to look at this.’ He was a walking after-action report, a collection of mistakes and near-misses written in tissue. He should just put the old clothes back on, walk out, tell them the store didn’t have his size. They’d make a joke, they’d move on. Then he could wear the same battered shirt to the graduation and stand at the back where no one would notice that he looked like he’d been assembled from spare parts.

His fingers twitched toward his T-shirt.

A knock came, knuckles gentle against the door.

“Hey,” Chad’s voice said through the panel. Not loud. Not teasing. Soft. “You good in there, Bob Bob?”

Robert swallowed. His throat felt weirdly dry. He forced air into his lungs. “Yeah,” he said, aiming for light and landing on thin. “Just… trying not to blind myself.”

There was a pause. Not long. But not nothing.

Then Alice’s voice floated in from down the row, bright and sharp. “Bathroom lighting is a hate crime,” she declared. “Dressing-room lighting is assault. Do not trust anything it tells you.”

Chad huffed out a sound that might have been a laugh. “Take your time,” he said quietly, and his footsteps moved away from the door.

Robert exhaled slowly.

He turned away from the mirror and grabbed the jeans Courtney had picked. The denim was heavier than he was used to, but softer. They slid up easier than he expected, snug around his thighs, fitted at his hips without biting. He had a moment of panic when he went to button them and then realized, oh, they actually closed, and they felt like they belonged on a body his size, not on a borrowed frame.

He didn’t look at the mirror yet.

He reached for a random shirt. It was one of the button-downs Alice had thrust at him, a crisp white thing that made him look like a doctor who’d wandered out of the wrong hospital. He took it off. Tried a pale gray T-shirt that clung in ways he didn’t like. No. Off again. He kept going as the pile continued to dwindle down with each rejection.

His fingers brushed the blue henley.

Up close, the fabric was even softer than it had looked. Not flimsy-soft, not worn-out-soft, just intentionally gentle. The kind of material people bought on purpose because they wanted to like how their clothes felt against their skin.

He pulled it over his head.

The shirt settled over his shoulders, skimmed his chest, hugged his arms just enough to say they existed without making a big deal about it. The color sat somewhere between stormcloud and late afternoon sky.

He turned to face the mirror, bracing himself.

He froze.

It was still him. Same scars, same tired eyes, same crooked shoulder from an old improperly rehabbed dislocation, but it was also balanced. The neckline didn’t choke him. The sleeves hit at exactly the right place, the hem sat on his hips in a straight line, neither riding up nor sagging and the jeans anchored everything.

He looked like a person, just a man in clothes that fit him.

His chest did that weird little stutter and he didn’t let himself stare for too long, knowing his brain would only find flaws if he gave it extra time. So, he opened the dressing-room door before he could change his mind.

Alice had apparently been pacing outside like a coach waiting to see if her player made it to the field. Courtney sat on one of the low upholstered cubes, scrolling through her TikTok fyp on her phone. Malevola stood with her arms folded, tail flicking idly. Chad was propped against the opposite wall, ankles crossed, head tipped back like he might be dozing. His eyes opened as soon as the door swung inward.

For half a second, there was silence.

Courtney made a strangled noise and bit her knuckle.

Victor whispered, “Holy shit,” in a tone of reverent disbelief.

Chad straightened, the lazy lean of his shoulders sharpened. His gaze dragged over Robert slowly, taking in the line of the shirt, the fit of the jeans, the fact that Robert’s hands had unconsciously tucked into his pockets like he didn’t know what else to do with them. He could feel heat crawl up his neck under the weight of them staring. “Is it… bad?” he asked, hating how quiet his voice sounded.

“No,” Alice breathed. “It’s actually perfect.”

Courtney nodded emphatically. “That’s the move. That’s the shirt. That’s-” She waved both hands at him. “That.”

“You look like a person,” Victor said, pointing at him like he’d discovered fire. “Like someone who might voluntarily attend a social event.”

Malevola’s mouth twitched at the corner. “About time.”

Robert didn’t let himself look at Chad again. He didn’t trust himself not to flinch if he saw anything too honest there, but he couldn’t help noticing that Chad hadn’t said anything yet. He risked a glance, now seeing that Chad’s expression had shifted into something softer, less performative. His eyes were warm, a little wide, like he’d walked into a room expecting a joke and found something serious instead. He caught Robert looking and smoothed his face back into a more familiar smirk. “Yeah,” he said, voice light but not dismissive. “That works. You don’t look like you stole your clothes out of Mandy’s emergency charity bin anymore.”

Robert huffed out a short breath. “High praise.”

“You’re getting that,” Alice said. “Jeans and shirt. No arguments.”

Robert tugged at the hem of the henley and the fabric pulled back into place without stretching out. “It’s fine.”

“It’s more than fine, it’s,” She glanced at the tag. “Definitely not cheap. So we’re making it worth it.”

“Relax,” Victor said. “I’ve got points here.”

“You have points everywhere,” Malevola said.

“That’s called being a savvy consumer,” he said.

“Pretty sure it’s called a shopping addiction,” Courtney muttered.

Robert stepped back into the dressing room before anyone could start bickering and shut the door, leaned his back against it for a second, and let himself have one more shorter look in the mirror. He pulled the shirt off carefully, as if it might vanish if he moved too fast, and tried on the rest of the stack. Most of it was a no but still, he came out in each one long enough for group consensus, endured their commentary, then retreated again.

The blue henley stayed on the “keep” hook, and Courtney’s jeans made the cut too, much to her loud satisfaction.

“Victory,” she said, pumping a fist. “I knew your ass had potential, and now the world will see it too.”

“Please stop talking,” Robert said.

“You’re welcome,” she replied.

By the time they made it through the stack, he had three shirts and two pairs of jeans in the keep pile. Enough, theoretically, to build a rotation that didn’t involve just swapping which undershirt he wore with the same sad button-down. At the register, he watched the total climb with a faint numbness. It wasn’t that he couldn’t afford it, he could, he just wasn’t used to spending money on things that were only for him and not for work. Gear, repairs, rent, food, treats for Beef, the occasional necessary expense, that, he understood while clothes that he liked felt self indulgent, in a way.

Chad slid a small, folded something onto the counter next to his pile when he wasn’t looking. The cashier scanned it before Robert could see the tag.

“What-” he started.

“Extra socks,” Chad said, as if that were a normal explanation. “You never have enough decent socks.”

Robert frowned. “I have socks.”

“Eh, this is an upgrade, and it’s on sale.”

Robert opened his mouth to argue and then shut it. It wasn’t worth it over socks. They left the store with two bags in Robert’s hands and one in Victor’s, because Victor had started buying things “while we were here anyway.” Alice immediately declared a water break.

“And sugar,” Courtney added. “Sugar is hydration-adjacent.”

Alice plotted a course to a coffee shop tucked between a shoe outlet and a pretzel stand. The coffee shop had small round tables, comfortable-enough chairs, and its own noise, milk steamers, grinders, shouted orders, but it was a different kind of loud than the mall outside, more contained and focused.

They commandeered a table in the corner. Alice and Courtney got into an argument over whether cinnamon pretzels counted as lunch or dessert. Victor and Malevola grouped up like they always did which left Robert in a chair between Chad and the wall. The group had a way of arranging themselves like a flock, chaotic from outside, perfectly patterned from within, and by the time he realized where he’d landed, Chad was already next to him, elbow resting on the table, hand around a paper cup.

“You’re going tomorrow, right?” Chad asked, eyes on his coffee instead of Robert.

“Yeah,” Robert said. “Feels important.”

“She’ll appreciate it,” Chad said. “It’s nice. Having someone show up.”

Robert thought about all the ceremonies his father had ignored. All the times he’d been told that being present in the mech was more important than being present anywhere else, where the only moments that mattered were the ones that made headlines. Showing up at a small community college graduation for a dog groomer would have been dismissed as a waste of time.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It is.”

Before he could come up with anything else to say that didn’t feel too raw, Alice slid back into her chair across from them and thunked her phone down on the table between the cups.

“Okay,” she announced, turning the screen toward Chad. “Come help me pick shoes. If I’m on my feet for six hours straight at a festival, I refuse to suffer unnecessarily.”

On the screen, a carousel of sneakers glittered, literal glitter on some of them, neon accents on others. Chad huffed a small laugh and dragged his chair a little closer to hers so they could both see, knee bumping Robert’s under the table for a brief, casual second before he shifted.

“Those are actually awful,” he said, pointing at a pair that looked like somebody had skinned a disco ball.

“They are iconic,” Alice countered. “My ankles will be supporting culture.”

“Your ankles are going to sue you,” he said. “Try the ones with the thicker sole. Those at least pretend to care about your joints.”

As they leaned over the phone, their voices dipped automatically, the tone shifting from performance to something quieter, more companionable. Robert sat back a fraction, fingers tightening around his cup. It shouldn’t have hurt, hearing the ease in their low voices. 

He stepped away, giving them a bit more space, not trying to eavesdrop but was still able to hear them. The coffee shop wasn’t that big and they weren’t that quiet.

“So,” Alice said, voice low but not quite low enough. “How’d it go? Mr. Fireman and the hot Papa?”

“God,” Chad muttered. “You can’t call him that.”

“I absolutely can,” she said. “You saved his apartment from becoming a flambé, rescued his kids, and then he asked you out.”

Chad exhaled, the sound soft and worn at the edges, like it had been carrying weight long before the conversation even began. “It wasn’t a date,” he said. “We just talked. Ate. He’s nice. But that’s it.”

“Nothing?” Alice asked, genuinely curious.

Chad hesitated and Robert could almost hear him pick through the pieces of whatever truth he was willing to hand over. “Not like that,” he said finally. “I mean… look. If all I wanted was to get laid?” He gave a small, humorless huff. “I could make that happen any night of the week. People like the fire thing. The hair. The whole…” He made a vague gesture Robert couldn’t see but could imagine. “I get offers. Stupidly easy offers. Like all the time. I practically have to swat men off of me at the club.”

Alice hummed a knowing little sound. “But you don’t take them.”

“No,” he said, quiet but sure. “Because that’s not what I want right now.” He continued, softer now, words folding inward. “Yeah, the dad was attractive. Obviously. But it’s not… that. It’s not just checking a box or proving I can. I’m done with that phase. I want something…” His voice dipped. “Something that means something. Someone I can actually build something with.”

Alice’s tone shifted, gentler, observant. “So there is someone on your mind.”

Chad didn’t answer at first, when he did, his voice was almost too soft for Robert to catch. “Maybe, kind of. Look, it’s complicated.”

Alice nudged him lightly, an audible smile in the movement. “Baby, complicated doesn’t mean impossible.”

“Yeah, but it does mean I’m not gonna pretend random dates are going to scratch an itch they’re not even close to.”

There was a pause.

A real one.

Alice spoke again, tone warm but not intrusive. “You’re allowed to want more than what people settle for.”

“I know, I just… don’t wanna keep disappointing people when I realize it’s not there.”

“Then stop saying yes to people you don’t want to say yes to,” she said simply.

Chad let out a slow breath. “Yeah. Working on it.”

Robert recognized that impulse too well, to get up, not disappoint others, keep from being the weakest link, and to not be the reason someone else gets hurt. He'd built his whole life on that.

“Anyway,” Chad said, voice flipping back toward something lighter. “I’m not looking for random dudes who flirt because I’m on fire and handy with kids. Or just because of my amazingly good looks. I want…” He stopped, then said, more quietly, “Something real. Something I can build. Family-shaped. Whatever that means. You know?”

“Soft boy,” Alice said, but it came out affectionate, not mocking. “You’ll get it.”

“Eh, hopefully before I burn out entirely.”.

“Hey.” There was a small smack sound, probably her swatting his arm again. “We are not doing that. Nu uh.”

Robert stared into his coffee cup and pretended to be very interested in the foam pattern that had long since dissolved. Again, he wasn’t jealous of the guy from the kitchen fire, no, that wasn’t the right word. It was more so the feeling you got when you reached for a handhold that had always been there before and realized it belonged to someone else now. Except, based on what Chad was saying, it didn’t. It had been offered and then gently withdrawn and Robert wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or worse.

“Hey,” Victor said, tearing open a sugar packet with his teeth before adding more sweetness into his coffee. “You look like you’re trying to solve time travel. Relax Robbie. We already survived the jeans gauntlet.”

“I’m fine,” Robert said automatically.

“You always say that,” Victor said. “You know that ‘fine’ is just ‘feelings I’m not making direct eye contact with,’ right?”

“Thank you for your insight, Dr. Phil,” Robert said.

“You’re welcome,” Victor said, unbothered.

After coffee, Alice declared that they were “recharged” and herded them back into the current of the mall.

The second store they hit was louder.

It blasted pop music through overhead speakers, the kind with aggressive bass drops and lyrics about things Robert could only half decipher. The clothes skewed younger, brighter colors, more patterns, more slogans. Courtney lit up like someone had turned her personal saturation up. Victor looked faintly overwhelmed and then went directly to the clearance rack “as a matter of principle.”

“This is the fun store,” Alice said, clapping. “We’ve done staples. Now we play.”

“Define play,” Robert said.

“Try on something outside your comfort zone,” she said. “If you hate it, we laugh and move on. No harm, no foul.”

Courtney darted toward a rack of jackets and immediately pulled out something leather-adjacent.

“Please no,” Robert said preemptively.

“Just one,” she said, eyes in full puppydog mode. “Just to see.”

“Leather squeaks when you move,” he said.

“It’s not actual leather,” she said. “It’s mall leather. It’s barely structural.”

Alice appeared at his elbow with a stack of T-shirts in various jewel tones.

“Try one that isn’t gray,” she said. “Live a little.”

“I like gray.”

“Yeah, it’s very ‘I have resigned myself to the concept of existence.’ We’re aiming for ‘I might still be capable of joy.’”

Chad drifted in and out of sight, occasionally reappearing to drop something onto the “possibility” pile without comment. The crowd seemed thicker here. Teenagers clustered in aisles, laughing too loud. The music was a few decibels higher. Someone sprayed perfume on the other side of the room and the scent skewered the air.

Robert saw it happen.

The way Chad’s shoulders crept closer to his ears. The way his fingers twitched at his sides like he wanted to flame on just to burn a path through the noise. The way his mouth flattened even as he made a joke about a particularly horrific shirt that said I RUN ON COFFEE AND CHAOS.

Chad hid it well.

Robert had spent years learning how to read people who were pretending to be fine. He stepped closer, angling his body so he blocked a little of the foot traffic. “Hey,” he said, pitching his voice low. “We can sit for a minute. This doesn’t have to be a marathon.”

Chad blinked, focus snapping to him and for a second, the edges of his eyes looked too bright. Then he nodded once, a small jerk of his chin. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, okay.”

They peeled off toward a bench near the back, tucked under a wall of badly folded hoodies. Alice and Courtney kept hunting through racks, arguing about whether certain pieces were “ironically terrible” or “just terrible.” Victor got detained by a sales associate trying to upsell him on a store credit card. Malevola drifted closer to keep an eye out on him and make sure he didn't sign but pretended to be looking at her phone. Chad sat down heavily, legs sprawled, elbows on his knees. He scrubbed a hand over his face, thumb pressing briefly into the inner corner of one eye.

“Just got loud all at once,” he murmured.

“I get it,” Robert said. “Want to bail?” 

Chad shook his head. “Nah,” he said. “We’re already here. Just needed a second before Courtney talks me into a shirt with skulls on it or something.”

“I heard that,” Courtney called from three racks over. “And I absolutely will.”

“There’s your motivation to recover,” Malevola said.

Chad snorted.

They sat there for a moment in a little bubble of relative quiet. Robert could feel the residual heat from Chad’s body next to his, even without flames, it was like sitting next to a space heater set on low. He found himself speaking before he had time to think, “You did good, you know. With the fire.” 

Chad huffed. “Yeah, well…”

“I’m serious, you were calm. Clear. You didn’t overburn. You handled the dad and the kids and the kitchen, all at once. Not everyone can do that.”

Chad’s teeth worried at his lower lip for a second, a rare little tell.

“Yeah,” he said more quietly. “Thanks. Felt… different. In a good way. Less like I was just winging it.”

“You weren’t winging it,” Robert said. “You were doing the job. You’re good at it.”

Chad’s shoulders dropped a fraction. “Careful,” he said. “Keep saying that and I might actually start believing it.”

“That’s the idea.”

Chad’s amber eyes flicked over his face, meeting his eyes before trailing downward and for a second, the mall noise completely fell away. Then Alice appeared with a pair of boots and a triumphant, “I found them,” and the bubble popped.

“Up,” she said, nudging Chad’s knee with her foot. “I need a second opinion.”

“You have terrible taste in shoes,” Chad pushed himself up anyway, brushing his hands off on his jeans. As he stood, his knees bumped Robert’s. He didn’t apologize, and Robert didn’t move.

“If you need another break, say something,” Robert said, quietly enough that only Chad heard.

Chad’s mouth twitched. “Look at you,” he said. “Caring.”

“Don’t get used to it,” Robert said.

“Too late,” Chad said, and followed Alice toward the boots.

Robert sat there for another moment, fingers curled around the shopping bag handles, then got up before he could spiral about it all the way to the clearance rack.

They hit at least two more stores before Alice declared that they had achieved “baseline wardrobe adequacy.” Courtney tried to convince him to buy a bomber jacket. They compromised on a lightweight zip instead. Victor insisted on buying him a multipack of plain black socks “because nothing is more dignified than uniformity.” Malevola swatted a novelty tie out of Courtney’s hands with the flat of her tail before it could make it into the pile.

At some point, by the escalators, a kid in a Prism T-shirt spotted Alice and his eyes went huge. “Oh my God,” he said, clutching his mother’s hand. “Mom. Mom. It’s her.” Alice’s mask of anonymity lasted exactly half a second. Then she smiled, warm and practiced. “Hey,” she said, dropping into a crouch so she met his eye level. “Nice shirt.” The kid’s mother looked torn between apology and awe. “We’re so sorry, we didn’t mean to-”

“It’s totally fine,” Alice said easily. “Can we take a picture? If you want.”

The kid nodded so hard his hair flopped then looked at Chad, then at Alice. “Can he be in it too?” he asked. “He’s the fire guy, right?”

Chad blinked. “Uh. Yeah,” he said. “Sure.”

Robert stepped back automatically, out of frame, out of the way, used to being the unseen voice on a headset or the faceless mech in the sky. Of course this would be the moment that Chad caught the movement out of the corner of his eye and held out a hand. “Come on,” he said. “The handler belongs in the shot too.”

Robert made a face. “I’m not in costume.”

“None of us are, and you’re finally in your human suit,” Alice said. “That’s rarer. Limited edition even.”

The kid’s mother looked between them. “If it’s okay,” she said timidly, “he can be in it too, right? You’re all… you saved that subway last month.”

Robert felt the familiar urge to deflect, but the kid was looking at him like he mattered, like he was part of the picture and not just the one who had taken it. “Yeah,” he said finally. “Okay.”

They squeezed in, Alice crouched, the kid in the middle, Chad on one side, Robert on the other, Victor somehow managing to get his head into the corner of the frame with Malevola giving him bunny ears, Courtney lurking in the back with two thumbs up.

The mother’s hands shook a little as she snapped the photo. “Thank you,” she said. “Really, thank you.”

“That’s the job,” Robert said, because he didn’t know what else to say.

“Yeah,” Chad said quietly. “But thanks for saying it.”

As they walked away, Courtney bumped her shoulder against his. “Look at you,” she said. “Little celebrity.”

“I’m not,” he said.

“You are to some people,” she said.

He didn’t have an answer for that either.

By the time Alice decided they’d done enough damage, the group was laden with bags. Victor’s collection had doubled. Courtney had acquired a T-shirt with a shark on it that said EAT THE RICH, which no one had managed to talk her out of. Alice had new performing shoes. 

More than clothes, Robert had the faintly surreal sensation of being seen. On the way toward the exit, they passed a smaller shop with a display of ties and dress shirts that skewed more formal but still modern. Alice slowed. “Tomorrow,” she said, nodding toward the window. “You got the shirt. You need something for over it?”

Robert glanced at the mannequin wearing a blazer over a simple shirt and jeans. It looked like a guy going to a nice dinner. “I don’t…” he started.

“You don’t have to,” she said. “But if you want, we can look.”

He thought about the invitation again. Dress nice!! There will be pictures!

“We look,” he said.

The group groaned in collective mock despair.

“I thought we were free,” Courtney moaned.

“You can wait out here if you want,” Alice said. “We’re just getting him one thing.”

“But I’m invested now,” Courtney groaned.

Inside, the store was quieter, curated. The lighting was softer, the music lower, the sales associates dressed in well-fitted neutral tones that screamed commission. A man in a tailored vest approached with a professional smile. “Looking for anything in particular today?”

“Yeah,” Alice said. “He has a graduation to go to. Needs to look a bit more put together.”

Robert opened his mouth to object. The man’s eyes flicked over him, down to the shopping bags, and then back up.

“How formal is the event?” the associate asked, directing the question at Robert.

“Afternoon. Indoors. No black tie.”

“Perfect. Smart but relaxed.” A nod. “You already have a shirt?”

“A blue henley.”

The man’s enthusiasm sharpened. “Great color. We can build around that.”

He pulled a blazer off a rack in a dark charcoal. “Try this over what you have.”

Robert took the blazer and retreated to yet another dressing room. This one had better lighting, or at least less interrogational. He pulled off his old shirt, slid into the blue henley again, and then shrugged on the blazer. It settled around him like it belonged to someone slightly more collected than he felt. The sleeves hit the right place and it framed him instead of swallowing him.

He looked… good. Better than good.

He stepped out.

Alice’s eyes widened. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” Courtney said. “You look… good, dude.”

Malevola tilted her head. “It works.”

Chad had been standing a little apart, hands in his pockets, watching. Now he stepped forward, eyes tracking the line of the blazer, the drape of it across Robert’s chest, the way the henley underneath made the whole thing look intentional.

“Yeah,” Chad said quietly. “That one. Charcoal and blue look good on you.”

The softness in his voice made Robert’s skin feel too tight.

He cleared his throat. “It might look good, but I’m not buying a jacket that costs more than my microwave.”

Alice rolled her eyes. “Then consider this an investment-”

Before she could finish, Chad stepped even closer. “Hold on,” he murmured.

Robert blinked. “What?”

He reached up and adjusted the blazer’s collar, where it had folded under slightly. His fingers brushed the fabric, then the warm line of Robert’s neck, light, careful, almost reverent. The heat radiating from him was unmistakable, a low, steady warmth that made Robert’s breath stutter. Chad leaned in just a little to make sure the collar lay right, close enough that Robert caught his cologne, woodsy, clean, threaded with something warm like smoke and cedar.

“There,” Chad murmured. “Now it sits right.”

Robert couldn’t speak, couldn’t move. His pulse tapped against the base of his throat like it was trying to escape. Amber eyes lifted to his for a moment, steady, unguarded, soft in a way that made him feel suddenly all too visible. And then, just like that, Chad stepped back, breaking the moment so gently it almost didn’t break.

Alice made a noise like she was witnessing a rare cinematic event. Courtney’s eyebrows had disappeared into her hairline. Malevola pretended not to have seen anything but her tail flicked once, amused.

Robert forced air into his lungs. “It still costs too much,” he managed.

“I’ll cover the difference,” Chad said, casually, like he was offering to pay for parking. When Robert shot him a look, he added, “Relax. I owe you, like, eight hundred dollars in emotional labor at this point.”  

Robert continued to stare at him. “You don’t owe me anything.”

“Let me have this,” Chad said, quieter. “I want you to feel good tomorrow.”

The words landed like a warm hand settling over the center of his chest.

His eyes finally drifted away to look at the blazer again, and it did feel good.

“I’ll split it with you,” he said.

Chad’s mouth twitched. “Fine. We’ll Venmo-fight later.”

In the end, the blazer joined the pile.

The associate folded it with reverent care and slid it into a garment bag. Robert watched it disappear into plastic and felt like he’d just committed to something bigger than a piece of clothing.

The sun was low by the time they finally trudged toward the parking garage. The mall had shifted from daytime bustle to early evening crowd, the faces changing from families with strollers to couples and groups of teenagers in packs. Alice walked ahead, humming a melody under her breath that might turn into a song later. Courtney trotted backward again for a few steps, narrating her own exhaustion. Victor scrolled through the photos he’d taken, occasionally making a pleased noise when he found one he liked. Malevola walked in the back, tail flicking lazily, keeping half an eye on all of them.

Chad matched Robert’s pace without comment.

They reached the spot where they’d agreed to split, Alice and Courtney one way, Victor and Malevola another, Robert and Chad toward the side lot where Robert had parked his car.

“Okay,” Alice said, turning in a circle to face them, walking backward a few steps. “I’ve got a job for you Roberto Robertoson, send us a picture tomorrow at the ceremony. No excuses.”

“No selfies,” Robert said.

“Fine,” she said. “You can crop yourself in from the surveillance footage if you must. I just want to see the fit in the wild.”

Courtney pointed two fingers at her own eyes and then at him. “If you leave the house in that old funeral shirt, I will haunt you,” she said.

“You’re not dead,” he said.

“Yet,” she said. “Don’t test me.”

Victor held up a bag. “I’m keeping your receipt for the blazer,” he said. “Just in case you decide you need a different size.”

Robert snorted. “Of course you are.”

Alice and Courtney peeled off with a chorus of goodbyes and see-you-Mondays. Victor and Malevola headed for the street. Their voices faded into the general mall noise. The world narrowed to the concrete stairwell of the parking garage, the echo of their footsteps, and the bags digging into his fingers.

“Hey,” Robert said, once the others were out of earshot. “Really. Thanks. For today.”

Chad shrugged one shoulder, the motion easy. “You’re welcome,” he said. “It was fun. You didn’t even cry once.”

“I can still shove you down these stairs.”

“Oh please, I’d like to see you try.”

They reached the car. Robert set the bags in the back carefully, like they were fragile even though they weren’t. Chad leaned against the passenger door, hands shoved into his pockets again, watching him.

“You’re gonna wear the blue one tomorrow, right?” he asked.

Robert paused. “Yeah,” he said. “I think so.”

“Good,” Chad said. “It’s the right one. Trust me.”

The words felt familiar.

Trust me.

He still wasn’t entirely used to having those come from someone who had actually earned it.

“I do,” he said before he could think better of it.

Chad’s eyes flicked up, startled for a microsecond, then softened. “Cool,” he said. “Text me if you panic and need, like, tie advice or something.”

“I’m not wearing a tie.”

“See? Already making good choices.”

They parted with an easy wave and the uncomplicated promise of Monday.

It shouldn’t have felt as big as it did.

Back in his apartment, the quiet felt different.

Not empty. Not heavy. Just full of things that hadn’t been there that morning as he set the bags on the bed and unpacked them one by one, hanging the shirts in the closet, folding the jeans, sliding the socks into the drawer. He hung the blazer up separately, still in its garment bag, like some kind of endangered species.

The closet looked less like a supply locker now. There were still uniforms, the hero suit, the old button-down, but now there were also soft fabrics in colors that didn’t scream but didn’t apologize either. He paused with his hand on the hanger of the blue henley, it wasn’t something he’d ever have picked for himself, not in this specific shade, not with this cut, and he wondered, briefly, whose idea it had been to throw it onto the pile. His brain offered up an image of Chad’s hand, quick and almost casual, dropping it into the stack when Robert hadn’t been fully paying attention. He shut that thought down gently and closed the closet.

Tomorrow should be interesting.

Chapter Text

The afternoon started out like it was going to be one of the good quiet ones. No alerts, no danger, Robert, a half-decent leftover stir fry reheated in a pan, and Beef under the table with his head on Robert’s bare foot like he’d appointed himself as emotional support rug.

It was the kind of quiet that let the day play itself back in pieces if he wasn’t careful, and it did. If he closed his eyes, he could still see the way the light had hit all that proud, exhausted joy. The cluster of graduates in blue gowns. Belle bouncing in the lineup, tassel already crooked, and the way she’d lit up when he and Beef had walked in.

He hadn’t planned on making a scene.

He never did.

But there was only so much you could do when you showed up to a graduation dressed nicely in clothes you actually liked, with a dog in a matching blue bandana trotting at your side.

Belle had spotted them from halfway across the lobby and made a noise that probably registered on seismographs.

“Oh my God, you came,” she was running over in a swish of polyester.

Beef’s tail wagged like a metronome set to an ecstatic allegro pace, snuffling at her shoes before she dropped into a crouch and wrapped both arms around him. She’d pressed her face into him for a second the way people did when they were trying very hard not to cry yet.

“You look so handsome,” she’d told Beef first, because of course she had. Then she’d looked up at Robert and blinked, actually blinked, like her brain needed a second pass. “And you, wow. You really cleaned up Mr. Robert.”

“This is apparently what happens when you let people drag you to the mall against your will.”

She’d stepped back just far enough to take him in properly and her smile had gone soft at the edges, proud in a way that felt undeserved.

Later, after the speeches and the mispronounced names and the polite applause that turned genuinely deafening when it was Belle’s turn, after group photos with classmates and instructors and family, Belle’s boyfriend had ambushed him with his phone.

“Dude, stand still,” he’d ordered, herding Robert and Beef into frame with Belle. “This is, like, prime mantel material.”

Robert had tried to insist he didn’t need to be in every shot. Belle had fixed him with a look that brooked no argument and looped her arm through his, gown rustling, tassel smacking him in the face.

“My two favorite boys. Smile, Beef.”

Beef had obligingly stuck his tongue out.

Now, hours later, that photo sat in Robert’s camera roll. Belle in her cap and gown, cheeks flushed, eyes bright. Beef in his little blue bandana, head tilted just enough to catch the light. Robert between them in clothes that actually fit, not standing apart from the group or hovering at the edge, but right there in the middle.

Alice had texted the second he’d forwarded it.

ALICE: OH MY GOD
LOOK AT YOU
LOOK AT HIM
you’re both disgusting I’m so proud
also Belle is adorable tell her I said congrats

He’d stared at that for longer than he should have, feeling something warm and strange and a little off-balance.

Now the blazer hung on the back of the bedroom door, collar still holding the faint crease from Belle’s hug. Beef’s bandana lay in a soft blue heap on the table where he’d dropped it when they got home.

Robert forked up another bite of rice, stared at the muted TV flickering a nature documentary he wasn’t really watching, and let the quiet spread out.

Beef snored, a gentle rumble against his foot.

For once, his body’s list of complaints was short. The elastic ache in his knee from too many stairs at the auditorium. The familiar line of tension down his spine. Manageable. Background noise.

He sank back into the couch, half-empty bowl balanced on his knee.

It was, he decided, a good day. A weird day. A day where he’d been in more photos than he’d tried to escape from.

His phone buzzed on the coffee table.

He considered ignoring it for a second, just out of spite on principle.

Duty reflex won.

He leaned forward and snagged it.

Not an SDN alert. Not Mandy. Not the Z-Team group chat announcing some chaos he’d eventually have to pretend he wasn’t fond of.

Chad.

The preview glowed up at him.

CHAD: hey. my niece wants to meet Beef. you should come over. we’re grilling.

Robert blinked.

He read it again, like it might rearrange into something that made more sense.

It didn’t.

His brain paused on the phrase my niece like it had hit an unexpected speed bump. Of course Chad had family. He hadn’t sprung fully formed out of a fireball. But “I have extended relatives who want to meet your dog” was somehow different than the abstract knowledge that, somewhere, parents and siblings existed.

He could picture Chad as he usually saw him, half suited up, half singed, grinning with the wild edge of someone who’d just outrun an explosion. He could not, immediately, picture him… grilling.

Or doing it in a backyard with a niece.

His stomach did a small, ridiculous flip.

Beef stretched and rolled onto his side, thumping his tail against Robert. 

“It is always about you,” Robert told him, because there was no point lying.

He thumbed a reply.

ROBERT: Now?

The dots appeared almost immediately.

CHAD: yeah, if you’re free
my sister’s place
apparently i made the mistake of showing her a picture of Beef
she’s been chanting ‘dog’ for fifteen minutes. please help

Robert stared at that last line.

Please help.

He’d been called for a lot of things in his life, fires, collapses, city-level disasters and he knew how to respond to those. Suit up. Check systems. Focus.

This was… different.

It wasn’t life or death or the weight of the press waiting outside a hospital wing.

It was an invitation.

You don’t have to go, the part of his brain trained for triage offered. You could say you’re tired. Say you got food poisoning. Say anything.

Another part, quieter and more insistent, pointed out that he wanted to go. He’s wanted to spend more time around him, to be seen by him.

He thought of the way Chad had looked at him in the blazer yesterday. The way he’d fixed his collar with hands that had been surprisingly gentle for someone who could melt steel beams on purpose. The way he’d said, I want you to feel good tomorrow, like it mattered.

Robert swallowed around something that had taken up residence in his throat since then.

ROBERT: We can come. Send the address.

Beef barked once, like he’d understood exactly what was at stake.

“You heard him, you’re being deployed as a tactical morale booster.”

Beef wagged hard enough to rattle the table.

The address came through a second later. Nice neighborhood. Not far.

He set his bowl in the sink, rinsed it on autopilot, then hesitated in the doorway of his bedroom.

The closet door was half open from earlier. He could see the new shirts hanging there, the old uniforms lined up like a roll call of past lives.

Family grilling did not require the full Rebrand experience.

Probably.

He still found himself glancing between his current T-shirt and the new clothes at his disposal.

Ridiculous.

He was going to stand in someone’s backyard holding a paper plate while a nine-year-old put stickers on his dog. He didn’t need armor for that.

He pulled on a clean hoodie, one of the softer ones, and checked himself in the mirror just long enough to make sure he didn’t look like he’d just crawled out from doing suit repairs. Good enough.

He clipped Beef’s leash on. Beef’s bandana lay on the table, blue fabric soft under his fingers.

“You wanna wear your fancy bandana Auntie Alice got you?” he asked.

Beef wagged like he’d been personally insulted he wasn’t already wearing it.

“Right, sorry,” Robert apologized, tying it loosely around his neck. “Can’t go see your public without dressing for the occasion.”

Bandana on, dog vibrating with excitement, keys in pocket, phone double-checked, he headed out.

Chad’s sister lived in a narrow brick rowhouse on a residential street that still had kids’ chalk drawings ghosting the sidewalk. There was an uneven hopscotch setup, a faded sunshine, and what could be, maybe, a jagged attempt at a red dragon. Robert parked one spot over from a car he recognized immediately, Chad’s off-white MR2, the same stubborn little wedge of a vehicle he’d ridden in during their first big day together, and sat there for a second, hands on the steering wheel.

He could turn around. Claim a call. Claim exhaustion. Claim something…Beef whined from the back seat, impatient, fogging the window with his breath.

“Right, cowardice doesn’t look good on us.”

He got out, opened the back door, and Beef launched himself down with the enthusiasm of a small, muscular cannonball. They walked up the narrow path, leash slack, Beef’s nose working overtime.

Up close, the house was the kind of place that looked lived in on purpose. A kid’s drawing of a superhero stuck crookedly in the front window. A clay handprint plaque by the door. Before he could knock, the front door opened.

Chad filled the doorway like he’d been waiting there, one hand on the frame, shoulder pressed casually against the wood.

It was… different.

No suit. No hastily tied ponytail.

His hair was down, dark waves falling past his jaw. Not wild like post-mission, but brushed, tamed just enough. Small gold hoops glinted in his ears. He wore a soft black T-shirt that clung in the right places, jeans that fit, no shoes. His bare toes curled around the worn edge of a welcome mat.

For a heartbeat, Robert forgot most of the words he knew.

Then Chad’s mouth curved into a slow, real smile, the kind that started more in his eyes than anywhere else. “Hey,” he spoke. His voice sounded different in the narrow hall, lower without the echo of the bay, softer without comm static. “You made it.”

Robert cleared his throat. “You said there was a small person holding you hostage. Seemed serious.”

Chad huffed a laugh. The sound slid over Robert’s nerves in a way he wasn’t prepared for. As if summoned by the mention of her, a small face appeared at Chad’s knee.

The girl was maybe six or seven, in a T-shirt with a glittery unicorn on it and leggings with tiny planets speckled across them. Her dark hair was pulled into two puffball pigtails high on her head, each secured with a scrunchie that had definitely seen some things. She plastered herself half behind Chad’s leg, peeking around him with huge eyes.

“Is that him?” she whispered.

“That’s Beef,” Chad confirmed. “And that’s the guy I told you about, the robot man.”

“I’m not a robot,” Robert responded automatically, because some habits were stronger than social anxiety.

Her eyes widened. “You’re the one in the big blue suit,” she breathed.

“Sometimes.”

She looked down at Beef, who sat very politely, tail sweeping the floor.

Then she dropped any pretense of shyness, sprinted forward, and immediately wrapped her hands around him. “Hi, Beef,” her words came out in a rush. “You’re so soft. You’re perfect. I love you.” Beef leaned into her with full-body commitment, bandana askew.

Something in Robert’s chest did a small, unruly somersault.

“That’s Maya,” Chad spoke, hooking a thumb toward her. “Terror of the first grade. Maya, this is Robert. He helps keep Uncle Chad from doing dumb things. Mostly.”

Maya looked up at Robert with new gravity now that she’d confirmed the dog’s existence. “Thank you for keeping him safe,” she said solemnly.

Robert blinked. “You’re… welcome.”

Chad’s smile went, for a second, from joking to something bare and bright. “Come on in,” he stepped back as he spoke. “Before she decides to adopt your dog and refuses to let you leave.”

Maya gasped. “Can he stay forever?”

“No,” Robert again, responded reflexively, and then winced when her face crumpled. “I mean- he can visit,” he amended quickly. “If it’s okay with your mom.”

A voice floated down the hallway from deeper in the house, warm and wry. “It’s okay with her mom.” A woman stepped into the narrow hall from what had to be the kitchen, drying her hands on a dish towel. She was in her early forties, with the same eyes as Chad but a different set to her mouth, softer line, same stubborn tilt. Her hair was pulled up in a messy bun, a pencil stuck through it. She wore jeans, a tank top, and the confident air of someone who’d already decided you were staying for dinner.

She took Robert in with one sweep. Not hostile, just evaluating. Then she smiled. It hit quick and crooked, like Chad’s, but with its own rhythm. “You must be Robert, I’m Lila. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Robert’s brain immediately started triaging that sentence. “Hopefully not from the press.”

“Please,” she scoffed. “I don’t listen to them. I listen to my idiot brother, who keeps saying things like ‘Robert said’ and ‘Robert thinks’ and ‘Robert’s gonna kill me if I forget the debrief report again.’”

“Lila,” Chad groaned, his cheeks visibly pinkened.

“What?” she said, giving him a playful smack. “It’s true. I could pull up the texts.”

“I appreciate the vote of confidence,” Robert spoke carefully. “Even if it’s being used as evidence against him.”

“Oh, we’ve got plenty of evidence already,” she waved, then, more simply, “Thanks for coming. Maya’s been vibrating since he told her the dog might actually show up.”

As if to prove the point, Maya had somehow acquired a sparkly scrunchie from her pocket and was attempting to loop it over one of Beef’s ears. Beef stood there and took it, picture of long-suffering patience.

“Beef,” Robert warned. “You can revoke consent at any time.”

“He likes it,” Maya pointed. “See? He’s wagging.”

He was.

His grip loosened on the leash, letting them find their balance.

“Come on,” Lila stepped aside. “Dan’s in the back with the grill all fired up. You’re just in time to judge his skills.”

Chad brushed past Robert down the hallway, bare feet silent on the hardwood. The air moved with him, carrying the faint scent of smoke and something warm, cologne, maybe, subtle and clean.

Robert caught a glimpse, over Lila’s shoulder, of the wall along the hall. Photos in mismatched frames. Chad at different ages, then… nothing. A clean gap. Years missing, space held deliberately, silently. Lila had kept all of it, even the absence, she’d made room for him to return.

The backyard was small, but it did the job. A chain-link fence ran along three sides, enclosing a strip of patchy grass and a tomato plant in a plastic pot that looked as though it was fighting for its life. Off to one side sat a plastic table with four mismatched lawn chairs, one of them bright pink and mini sized. A charcoal grill smoked gently in one corner, lid propped half open. A man in an apron that said KISS THE COOK stood in front of it, wielding tongs with the focus of someone who had accepted the mantle of Grill Master and would not be relinquishing it.

“This is Dan.”

Dan glanced over, smile easy. He was tall, a little soft around the middle, with laugh lines already etched in at the corners of his eyes. His T-shirt had a faded band logo on it from a band that had broken up before Maya was born. “Hey,” he said. “I’m glad to finally meet Chad’s special friend from work.”

“Hi,” Robert spoke, suddenly acutely aware of how large his shoulders were in his hoodie. “Thanks for letting us invade.”

“Invade?” Dan snorted. “You brought the guest of honor.”

As if on cue, Maya and Beef burst into the yard behind them, Maya still clinging to the leash, sparkly scrunchie now triumphant on one ear. Someone had dug up a plastic tutu from somewhere, and it sat askew around Beef’s middle.

“Look, look, he’s fancy.”

Chad flopped into one of the lawn chairs, long legs stretched out, beer dangling between his fingers. Under the porch light he looked… relaxed, settled.

“Spin, Beef,” Maya commanded, lifting a plastic wand with a spiky pink tip that looked far too pokey for a child to wield. “Spin.”

Beef blinked at Robert.

“You heard your princess,” Robert deadpanned then patted his thigh. “C’mon. Spin.”

Beef turned in a slow, dignified circle, tutu flouncing.

Maya squealed. “He’s perfect,” she declared for the second time.

“You said that already,” Chad said.

“It’s still true,” she shot back.

“Get the napkins, please,” Lila dropped paper plates on the table. “And stop trying to make the dog twirl, he’s going to get dizzy and throw up.”

“He won’t,” Maya said, scandalized. “He’s a professional.”

Robert bent, unhooked the leash once he was sure the yard was secure, and straightened again, feeling oddly exposed.

Dan flipped a burger. “So,” he said to Robert. “You’re the guy who gets to tell him ‘no’ for a living.”

“Allegedly.”

“Rude,” Chad muttered.

“You need it,” Lila dropped down onto the step next to Robert. “If nobody pushes back, he starts thinking ‘what’s the worst that could happen?’ is a plan and not a big bright red flag.”

“That is slander, I am very responsible.”

“You lit Mom’s kitchen curtains on fire,” she reminded him.

“That was over a decade ago, also, technically, an accident.”

Lila tipped her beer toward Robert. “Point stands. He doesn’t do well in echo chambers.”

Robert’s mouth twitched. “He’s… less of a nightmare now than that implies…most days.”

“See?” Chad pointed at him without looking. “Validation. From a professional.”

Lila huffed a laugh, eyes still quietly cataloguing Robert. It wasn’t suspicious, just thorough, the practiced attention of someone who’d spent years running interference for this man. “You heroes are all very shiny on TV,” she said. “It’s nice to see one who remembers how to sit down.”

“Gravity still stands undefeated.”

She snorted. “Amen to that.”

Maya launched into a long story about her school talent show, complete with reenactment. Beef shadowed her every step, shoved into the role of backup dancer. At some point, Dan handed Robert a pair of tongs and asked him to “keep an eye on the veggie skewers,” which was apparently Grill Master for I am choosing to trust you.

The whole thing felt surreal, like he’d walked into a picture of a life he’d never really considered for himself and discovered everyone assumed he belonged there. Like it was always meant to be, but it didn’t help that every few minutes, he caught Chad looking at him. Really looking, and not just a quick check-in glance, or the “are you about to yell at me” look. This was a quieter observation. Once, when Maya tried to balance a plastic tiara on Beef’s head and the dog shook it off into the grass, Chad laughed. The sound was soft and unguarded and did something to the air Robert didn’t have language for.

Lila drifted closer again “So, is he as much of a menace at work as he was as a teenager?”

“Absolutely not,” Chad responded immediately from across the yard. “I was an angel.”

“Liar,” she and Dan spoke at the same time.

Robert considered his words. “He… puts the work first,” he said. “Sometimes at the expense of himself. He’s… reckless, in the way you want a front-liner to be, but he listens to corrections. Eventually.”

“Hey,” Chad said.

“What?” Robert said. “You do.”

Lila smiled into her beer. “He talks about you a lot, you know,” she said quietly. “I knew your name before I knew your face. ‘Robert says I overburned.’ ‘Robert says I’m better than my worst call.’ and all that.”

Heat crawled up the back of Robert’s neck, slow and sure and he stared at the grill instead of at Chad, watching those vegetables slowly roast.  “Occupational hazard,” he said. “A part of the job description I signed comes with ‘annoying voice of reason.’”

“Mmm,” she said. “Maybe. But I’ve known him a long time. He doesn’t stick around people he doesn’t trust. Not really.”

Across the yard, Chad had his head tipped back, eyes closed, the curve of his throat visible as Maya was now attempting to braid his hair and failing; he let her pull and twist anyway.

“He didn’t have a lot of folks growing up who saw him as anything but a walking cautionary tale,” Lila said. “A problem… Future statistic… whatever you want to call it. It’s… nice, seeing him have someone in his corner who doesn’t treat him like that.”

Robert swallowed. For a second, the old reflex, to deflect, to say it was nothing, that anyone would do the same, rose up but he managed to push it back down. “He makes it easy to see more than that,” he said. “Whether he realizes it or not.”

Chad’s eyes were still closed, but Robert saw the way his fingers tightened slightly around the beer bottle. Listening.

“Okay,” Dan cut in, mercifully. “Feelings later, burgers now.”

They ate off mismatched plates, sitting wherever there was space. Maya insisted on piling a plain burger patty into Beef’s bowl “because he worked hard.” Beef inhaled it in two bites and then looked at Robert like he’d been starved for days.

“Don’t let him lie to you,” Robert told Maya.

“But he’s so hungry,” she said, scandalized.

“He’s a professional manipulator,” Robert said.

Maya gasped at Beef. “You wouldn’t,” she said. 

Beef wagged harder.

They argued the ethics of second helpings all the way through dessert.

By the time the sun slid down and the sky turned that hazy purple that meant the city lights were taking over, the grill was cooling, the plates were mostly empty, and Maya’s energy had condensed into a tight, determined beam. “Can we play inside?” she asked, tugging on Robert’s sleeve. “Beef wants to have a tea party. He told me. In his heart.” Beef yawned in a way that could be interpreted as consent, and Robert glanced automatically at Lila. “If it’s okay with your mom,” he said.

Lila waved a hand. “As long as nothing explodes and nobody cries, I’m good.”

Maya latched onto Robert’s hand with one of hers and Beef’s leash with the other. “Come on,” she said, not actually leaving room for refusal.

He let himself be towed, but behind him, he heard Chad’s low laugh, warm and fond. “Good luck, man.”

Maya’s room was down the hall, third door on the right. She pushed it open with her shoulder and it swung inward to reveal the kind of cheerful chaos that only existed in rooms owned by children who had never once thought about minimalism. Posters overlapped on the walls, animated heroes, pop stars, and all sorts of artworks that probably came from her hands. Stuffed animals overflowed from a net in the corner. Fairy lights were strung along the ceiling, half of them had given up, but the others glowed stubbornly. “Sit,” Maya ordered, pointing at a star-shaped rug in the middle of the floor. “You’re the guest.”

Robert sat, cross-legged, feeling like a very large piece of furniture that had been placed in the wrong room. Beef circled twice and flopped down next to him with a sigh that sounded theatrical even for him.

Maya dove into a chest in the corner and reemerged with a plastic tea set, chipped cups, a teapot missing its lid, a tray that had definitely been stepped on and a bright pink feather boa. “We’re having a party,” she announced. “You’re Robert. He’s Beef. I’m Princess Doctor Maya the Good. OH! And Beef is my royal advisor.”

“That’s a lot of titles,” Robert said as she came around to place the boa around his shoulders. 

“I’m very accomplished.” She poured invisible tea into his cup, then Beef’s, then her own, pinky finger cocked at a degree that would have impressed any and all aristocrats. “So,” she said gravely, after they’d all pretended to sip. “What’s your favorite color?”

He’d been asked more intrusive questions by reporters, but somehow this felt more high-stakes.

“Uh… Blue, I guess.”

“Like your robot suit!” she spoke, satisfied with herself for making the connection.

“We’ve established it’s not a robot, but yeah. Like that.”

She nodded, as though this answered a crucial question. “What’s Beef’s favorite color?” she asked next.

Robert looked down at Beef, who blinked. “Meat.”

“That’s not a color,” she said, scandalized.

“It is to him.”.

She thought that over, then conceded the point with a solemn nod.

The tea party lasted three rounds, each with a more elaborate backstory than the last, apparently they were negotiating peace treaties between the Kingdom of Glitter Paint and the Planet of Kumon Homework. Beef, as royal advisor, was neutral and wise. Eventually Maya abandoned the tea set and moved to a dress-up trunk. Tulle and sequins and bits of old Halloween costumes spilled out onto the floor. She rooted around until she found a sparkly cape, a plastic tiara, and a handful of clip-on barrettes.

“Okay,” she said, serious again. “Beef needs his royal outfit.”

Beef allowed the cape with the long-suffering patience of someone who had already accepted his fate. The tiara slid off twice before Maya deemed the clip-on barrettes more structurally sound. By the end, Beef wore a cape, three plastic butterflies in his fur, and the tutu.

“There,” she said, sitting back. “Perfect.”

“He’s going to forget how to be a regular dog after this.”

Beef thunked his tail, utterly content.

Maya flopped onto the rug across from Robert, legs splayed, studying him.

“You don’t smile a lot,” she announced.

Robert blinked. “I-what?”

“Uncle Chad smiles more,” she said, like she was just reporting data. “But you’re nice. So you should smile.”

“I do smile,” he said, automatically defensive. “Sometimes.”

“Not with your face,” she said.

He opened his mouth to argue and then shut it again. Something loosened in his chest just enough to let a small, real smile slip out. “Better?” he asked.

She squinted at him, then nodded. “More,” she said.

“I’ll… work on it,” he said.

She seemed satisfied with his commitment to self-improvement.

“Do you get scared?” she asked suddenly, like she’d just remembered she had follow-up questions.

“In the mech?” he asked.

She nodded and the fairy lights caught the seriousness in her eyes.

“Sometimes,” he spoke honestly, knowing that lying seemed worse than just telling her the truth of how he felt. “It’s… loud up there. And big. And if I mess up, people get hurt. So yeah. Sometimes, I’m scared.”

“But you still do it,” she said.

“I still do it,” he agreed.

“Why?”

He thought of a hundred possible answers, duty, guilt, habit, the fact that he didn’t know who he’d be without it, because people deserve someone who doesn’t run. “Because it helps people,” he said finally. “Because I can. And because I have people on the ground who won’t let me do something stupid.”

“Like Uncle Chad,” she said.

“Like Uncle Chad,” he echoed.

She looked pleased that this fit into her mental chart of how the world worked.

“Do you and Uncle Chad fight?” she asked.

The question was simple, the implications weren’t. “Sometimes we argue. He wants to jump into burning buildings, I want him to not die. It’s a work in progress.”

Maya giggled. “Mom says he used to fight with everybody,” she said. “All the time. Even the teachers! I can’t do that.”

“That tracks.”

“But you’re still friends,” she said.

The word friends landed heavier than it should have.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “We’re… friends.”

Satisfied, she popped up again like a cork. “Do you wanna see my recital dance?” she asked. “Mommy recorded it during practice but I can do it better now ‘cause I’ve been practicing a lot!”

“Sure, you look like you’d be a great dancer.”

Her eyes widened. “You think so?”

“I do,” he said, and meant it. There was something familiar in the way she bounced between topics, like all that energy needed somewhere to go, like someone else he knew, who turned feeling into motion and fire.

“Okay,” she said. “Don’t move.”

He absolutely did not move.

She took control of the little Bluetooth speaker on her dresser, scrolled through a playlist, and picked a song. Pop music filled the room, bright and sugary.

Then she danced.

It was messy. Her arms flailed a bit, she missed a spin and had to catch herself on the bed, she forgot a step halfway through and replaced it with an improvised cartwheel that probably hadn’t been in the original choreography. She was also utterly present in the moment. Full-hearted. Radiant. “Ta-daa,” she said at the end, breathing hard, arms thrown wide.

Robert clapped. “That was great! Your timing’s good. And you didn’t stop even when you slipped. That’s important.”

She beamed. “I’m gonna do it on the big stage next month,” she said. “Uncle Chad said he’s gonna come, but he’s busy a lot. If he can’t, you can come. If you want.”

The invitation hit him off-center and deep.

He hadn’t been invited to a kid’s recital since… ever, actually.

“I-” He cleared his throat. “If I’m not on shift, I’d like that.”

“Cool,” she said, already moving on, clearly assuming he’d make it work. She flopped down next to Beef and started petting him.

Robert leaned back on his hands, looking around. There were more photos on her dresser. One of Maya on Chad’s shoulders at what looked like a street festival, confetti in her hair. One of the three of them, Lila, Dan, Maya, on a beach, sunlight in their squints. One of Chad and Maya both making faces at the camera, tongues out. On the wall, half hidden behind a poster, was a drawing, in crayon, obviously, of a big blue mech and a stick-figure version of Flambae with fire around his hands. He was still looking at it when he felt eyes on him.

He glanced toward the door.

It was cracked open.

Chad stood there, one hand on the frame, half in the hallway’s shadow. The light from the living room caught the edges of him, hair loose around his face, earrings glinting, a smudge of something dark on the hem of his jeans where Maya had probably stepped on him.

His expression…

Robert wasn’t used to seeing that expression on anyone, let alone aimed at him. It was soft, yes, and fond, but also a little stunned, like he’d come to the doorway expecting chaos and found something he hadn’t let himself picture.

Their eyes met.

For a second, neither of them moved, then Chad’s mouth curved into a quiet, private smile, the kind he never gave cameras. He lifted two fingers in a little salute and pushed the door open the rest of the way. “How’s the royal court?” he asked.

“Beef is a prince,” Maya said immediately. “And Robert’s my knight.”

Robert felt Chad’s gaze on him. “Yeah,” Chad said. “That tracks.”

His eyes flicked over Robert, sitting cross-legged on a star rug, plastic tea cup still in one hand, a pink feather boa draped across his shoulders. Whatever he saw there made his face go even warmer.

“You guys wanna come say goodbye to the grill before it dies?” Chad asked. “Dan says it lived a good life.”

“Beef has to come.”

“Obviously.”

They trooped back down the hallway, Beef’s cape swishing dramatically behind him.

Later, after one more “just a tiny burger” somehow appeared on Beef’s radar, after Lila insisted on hugging Robert with the same easy, fierce sincerity she used on her brother, after Dan pressed foil-wrapped corn into his hand “for later, the grill performed a miracle,” it was fully dark.

Beef had given up even pretending he wasn’t exhausted. He sprawled on the kitchen floor, cape somewhere under the table, eyes half-closed.

“You good to drive?” Lila asked, stacking plates. “You look like you’ve been tackled by a small army and one very determined six-year-old, and a dog.”

“I’m fine,” Robert said.

Chad snorted from where he leaned against the counter. “That’s his favorite lie,” he informed her. “Second favorite is ‘manageable.’”

Lila gave Robert a once-over that felt vaguely like how she’d probably looked at Chad’s report cards. “Uh-huh…You’ve got that knee thing, right? I saw you do the old man noise getting up earlier. You’re not hauling yourself and a concrete dog home by yourself.”

“I can drive,” Robert protested. “Really. It’s not far.”

“Cool,” Lila said. “Then it won’t be a hassle for you to leave your car here and let my idiot brother take you home.”

“Lila,” Chad groaned.

“What?” she said. “We’re not sending him out tired with the dog in the back just because you’re allergic to accepting help. Dan’ll move the cars so you’re not blocked in. You can swing by tomorrow and pick yours up. Bring Beef, obviously.”

Robert opened his mouth, then closed it again.

He could argue, on principle alone, he probably should, but he was tired, and she was a big sister on a mission, and experience had taught him some battles weren’t worth winning. “It really isn’t necessary,” he said, knowing it was a losing statement.

Lila shrugged. “Maybe not, but I’d rather you owe us a visit than end up wrapped around a light pole.”

“She’s very protective of the people I like,” Chad murmured to him, voice low. “You should feel honored.”

“Terrified is closer.”

Lila smirked. “Good, that means it’s working.”

Dan called from the front, “Hey, which car am I moving?” and the conversation was settled.

Maya hugged Beef like she was saying goodbye at a train station during wartime. “Bye, Beef,” she said into his fur. “Bye, Robert. You have to come back. It’s the rules.”

“I’ll make sure he does,” Chad said.

Lila’s eyes flicked between them, amused and something else. “Yeah,” she said. “Somehow I don’t think that’ll be a problem.”

The night air outside was cooler, the kind of damp city chill that crept in under collars. Porch lights dotted the street, some yellow and warm, some harsh white. A TV flickered blue behind one curtain. Somewhere down the street, a dog barked and another from somewhere else answered.

Chad jingled his keys as they walked toward his car, a little battered, a little stubborn, built to survive more than it should.

“You really don’t have to,” Robert said again, more habit than conviction at this point.

“Shut up and get in the car, Bob Bob,” Chad said easily. “I’m not letting you fall asleep at a red light with my favorite coworker in the backseat.”

He meant Beef.

Obviously.

Between the two of them, they coaxed Beef into the back. He flumped down with the boneless grace of someone who trusted the universe to provide cushions. Robert slid into the passenger seat. The car smelled faintly like smoke, and Chad’s cologne, warm and clean, with a hint of something like cedar. The drive wasn’t a long one. City lights smeared past the windows, streetlamps and storefronts and the occasional neon sign. The radio played low-tempo songs that didn’t demand attention, just filled the quiet.

For once, the silence between them didn’t feel like something to fix.

“You were good with her,” Chad said eventually, eyes on the road. “Maya. She doesn’t click with everybody. You passed the vibe check.”

“High praise,” Robert said. “From someone who taped a tutu to my dog.”

“That was all her,” Chad said. “I just supplied the dog, and the opportunity.”

Robert shook his head, but his mouth tilted up.

“She’s… great,” he said. “You, Lila, and Dan are doing something right.”

“Well, Lila is,” Chad said. “I’m mostly comic relief and occasional childcare…But thanks.”

Robert took that in, the way he’d said we earlier, not just about the family, but about the responsibility. “You’re good with them,” Robert said. The words felt heavier than they had any right to, pressing against the space between them. “With all of it. Lila. Dan. Maya.”

Chad’s jaw flexed once, his fingers tightening on the wheel, then relaxing. “Took a while to get here. Some of that was… not pretty.”

“I can imagine.”

“Yeah, well.” Chad exhaled slowly, eyes on the red light ahead. The glow painted his face in shifting gold and shadow. “I’m still catching up to the idea that I get to have this. Them. The work. The team.” He hesitated. “You.” The last word slipped out like he hadn’t meant to give it that much weight.

Robert stared straight ahead at the light as it turned green, heart doing something uncooperative behind his ribs. “Feels mutual,” he said quietly.

Chad’s mouth twitched. “Good,” he said. “I’d hate to be unrequited. Bad for my brand.”

They fell into silence again, but it was a different kind now. Thicker. Charged.

Too soon, they pulled up in front of Robert’s building. The street was quieter here, only one other car parked on the block, a lone streetlamp buzzing overhead. Robert unbuckled and half-turned to check on Beef. The dog blinked at him, bleary, then shoved his nose into Robert’s hand and immediately tried to go back to sleep.

“We’re home.”

Beef sighed like the universe had wronged him personally.

“You, uh,” Chad said, clearing his throat. “You want help lugging Sleeping Beauty upstairs?”

Robert paused with his hand on the door handle. Again, he could say no. He could mumble something about it being late, about not wanting to make Chad drive back alone afterward, about it being fine. He could also admit that for the first time in a long time, the idea of going upstairs alone felt sharp around the edges. “Yeah,” he heard himself say. “Actually. That’d be… good.”

“Cool,” Chad said. His shoulders dropped half an inch, like he’d been braced for a different answer. “Let’s do it.”

Between the two of them, they managed to convince Beef that gravity still existed and that it was, unfortunately, his responsibility to cooperate with it. The elevator creaked its way up to Robert’s floor, Beef leaning against both of them like a very warm, occasionally snoring battering ram.

At his door, Robert fumbled the keys once while Chad pretended extremely hard not to notice.

The lock clicked. 

Robert pushed the door open with his shoulder and reached for the light switch.

The apartment looked exactly the same as it had that morning. Couch. Coffee table. TV. The closet door down the short hall half open. The blue henley and blazer visible through the bedroom doorway, still hanging together.

It felt different with Chad on the threshold.

More three-dimensional. 

Beef made a beeline for his bed in the corner and collapsed with a groan, stretching out until his paws hit the wall.

“Traitor,” Robert muttered. “You couldn’t at least pretend you needed help?”

Chad laughed, low and warm.

He stood just inside the doorway, hands shoved into his pockets, eyes taking everything in, a quick sweep, then a second pass that lingered on details. The neat stack of manuals on the coffee table with a mug he had picked out still sitting beside them, having clearly seen use. The jacket and shirt hanging in the doorway.

His gaze caught there.

“Looks good,” he said softly. “The whole thing. Glad you wore it.”

Robert’s ears felt hot, he shrugged one shoulder. “Seemed like the right call.”

“It was.” He hesitated, shifting his weight like he was deciding between exits. “I can… head out,” he said. “Let you crash. Or…”

The or hung in the air between them, thin and fragile and somehow heavier than anything they’d carried all day.

Robert swallowed.

He thought of going home alone a hundred other nights, of collapsing on this couch with only his own thoughts and the hum of the city for company. Then he thought of Chad in this doorway, hair loose around his face, looking at him like the answer mattered.

“Or you could stay for a bit,” Robert said, before his courage could remember it had other plans. “If you want. I’ve got leftovers. Or coffee. Or… bad TV.”

For a second, Chad’s face did something that made Robert’s stomach swoop, surprise flashing into something almost too soft to look at directly.

“Yeah,” he said, almost too quickly. “Yeah, okay. I don’t, I’m not really ready to go home yet anyway. I mean, it’s not like I have anything better planned.”

“Okay,” Robert spoke and finally stepped back fully, letting Chad in. The door clicked shut behind them with a small, definite sound.

Chad toed his shoes off, leaving them neatly by the mat like he’d done this a hundred times. He padded toward the couch, socks whispering against the floor, hair moving with him.

He looked… right here.

“Got anything that doesn’t involve exploding robots?” Chad asked lightly, nodding toward the TV as he dropped onto the couch, sprawling into his usual corner, one arm hooked over the back.

“I make no promises, but I can probably find something with fewer casualties.”

“My standards are low, as long as no one’s on fire.”

“That narrows it down.”

Robert went through the motions of opening the fridge more to give his hands a task than because he’d decided on food. There was the leftover stir fry. The foil-wrapped corn from Dan. A couple of beers.

Behind him, he could feel Chad’s attention back on him.

“You good? We didn’t, like, socially overclock you?”

Robert let the fridge door swing shut and turned, leaning his hip against the counter.

He looked at Chad, casually on his couch, in his space, hair messy from Maya’s hands.

“I’m…” He searched for a word that wasn’t fine or manageable. “Still recalibrating,” he settled on.

Chad’s mouth curved. “Same. Guess we can, uh, recalibrate together.”

The corner of Robert’s mouth lifted without his permission. “Yeah, we can do that.” He popped the caps off the two beers and crossed the room, handing one over. Chad’s fingers brushed his as he took it. Just a split second of skin on skin. Warm. Callused. A little jolt of static jumped up Robert’s arm like his nerves had been waiting for an excuse, before he sat at the other end of the couch, leaving a respectable cushion of space between them.

He flicked the TV on and thumbed through channels until he landed on some cooking competition where everyone seemed vaguely stressed and there was a lot of dramatic music about overcooked risotto.

“This okay?” he asked.

“As long as I don’t have to eat whatever they’re making, I’m good.”

They watched in companionable silence for a few minutes. Beef snored from his bed, paws twitching occasionally like he was chasing something in his dreams, probably more of Dan’s burgers. On screen, a contestant accidentally set a pan on fire. The host shrieked and the camera of course, zoomed in.

“Nah,” Chad said quietly. “Too real.” He glanced over. “You ever get tired of it? Fire. Crisis. All of it.”

Robert took a sip of his beer, letting the question settle.

“I get tired of what it does to people,” he said finally. “And how much of it feels… preventable. But the work itself?” He shook his head. “If I stopped, I don’t know what I’d do with… all of this.” He gestured vaguely at himself, at the invisible diagram of trauma and training that made him up.

Chad hummed, low in his throat. “Yeah,” he said. “Same. I used to think if I quit, all the stuff that made me light up would just… go away. Or turn into something worse.”

“Did it?”

“Nah, turns out it likes structure. Rules. Weird, right?”

“Shocking,” Robert said dryly. “The human flamethrower benefits from supervision.”

“That’s what I have you for,” Chad said, bumping his knee lightly against Robert’s. 

“High honor.”

They fell quiet again and on screen, someone cried about their potatoes being underseasoned.

Without really thinking about it, Robert shifted a little closer to hear Chad better, angling his body so that their knees brushed more fully. 

The contact was small but steady.

Chad didn’t move away.

After another few minutes, he slouched further into his corner, lifting his arm higher along the back of the couch. The motion pulled his shirt tight across his chest, fabric creasing at the collar, the faint line of a scar peeked out from under the sleeve.

“You ever regret it?” Robert asked, surprising himself. “Signing up. The phoenix program. The cameras.”

Chad blew out a slow breath, eyes on the TV but clearly not seeing the overcooked fish. “I regret some of the ways I got here,” he said. “Stupid shit I did before… You know. But the work?” He considered. “Nah. I like saving stuff. People. Buildings. Dogs. Feels… right… I wish I would have done it from the start.” He tipped his head back, looking at the ceiling like the answer might be painted there.

“And the cameras?” Robert prompted.

“That’s the tax,” Chad said. “You wanna be big and flashy and funded, somebody’s holding a lens. Used to think I had to be ‘on’ all the time. Still kind of do.” He rolled the bottle between his palms. “It’s nice not having to, though.”

“Here?”

Chad cut him a look that was all low heat and honesty. “Yeah,” he said. “Here.”

Robert took another swallow of beer to give himself something to do. On TV, someone plated their dish with trembling hands. The judges leaned in and Chad made a face at the screen.

“That garnish looks awful,” he said. “You could do better plating than that.”

“I can barely remember to put my food on a plate,” Robert responded.

Time blurred a little. 

One episode turned into two. 

The beers disappeared. 

At some point, Beef dragged himself up, stumbled over, and decided the narrow strip of couch between them was clearly meant for him. He tried to wedge almost 4 kilograms of dog into a space that did not, strictly speaking, exist.

“Absolutely not,” Robert said, laughing despite himself.

“Let him live his dreams,” Chad said, but he shifted anyway, scooting closer to make room. Their thighs pressed together, solid line of contact from hip to knee. Beef flopped half across both their legs with a groan and immediately passed back out.

Robert didn’t move away.

The warmth soaked through denim and skin and bone, thickening the air. Each time Chad laughed, in those small, surprised huffs at some contestant’s disaster, it vibrated through the shared space like a second heartbeat. “You know,” Chad said eventually, voice gone softer with the hour. “Stuff like tonight. Not just the big shit. The… normal. This has been really fucking nice, I needed it.”

Robert’s throat felt tight.

He thought of Belle handing him an invitation, cheeks pink, of standing in family photos without being pushed to the side, of Maya declaring Beef her best friend and him her knight, of Lila insisting he leave his car, of this couch, his dog, and Chad.

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “Me too.”

Chad’s hand, resting on the back of the couch, flexed once.

“You ever think you’d get a day like today?” he asked, just as soft.

Robert considered lying.

“No,” he said. “Not really.”

“Same, kinda nice to be wrong.”

The words settled between them like a blanket.

On the screen, someone finally won whatever they’d been cooking for. Confetti cannons, dramatic music, hugs. 

Robert couldn’t have said who’d been eliminated or why if his life depended on it, he was too busy noticing the way Chad’s breathing had slowed, the way his body had gone from coiled to comfortably heavy where their sides touched. The way his own nervous system, usually humming on low-level alert even on a so-called day off had eased for the first time in who knows how long.

He’d spent most of his life braced for impact.

Here, now, with Beef snoring across both their legs and Chad’s shoulder warm against his, he could feel the ground under him in a way that didn’t feel like standing in rubble.

“You falling asleep on my couch?” he asked, more to cut the intensity than because he minded.

“Nah,” Chad murmured. His voice had gone rough around the edges, sleep tugging at it. “Just… what was it you said?...recalibrating.”

Robert’s mouth curved. “Same.”

He let himself lean back that last inch, his shoulder nestling more solidly against Chad’s. Chad didn’t pull away. If anything, he shifted just enough to make the fit easier, like they’d done this a hundred times before and were slipping into grooves worn smooth by repetition.

They hadn’t.

But it didn’t feel new.

Not in a scary way.

In a, this was always going to happen, way.

Outside, the city hummed and somewhere, sirens wailed in the distance, rising and falling, other teams chasing other disasters.

Inside, the apartment was quiet.

Not empty.

Not anymore.

Robert stared at the moving light on the TV, awareness tuned not to the overcooked fish but to the weight of the man next to him, to the dog pinning them together, to the slow, careful beating of his own heart. He didn’t know exactly what tomorrow would look like, or the day after that, or the next mission, the next briefing, the next time he had to shout into Chad’s comm to pull him back from a burning edge.

He did know one thing, as clear and simple as the feel of Chad’s knee pressed against his.

Whatever this was, whatever they were building, it wasn’t nothing.

And tonight?

Tonight wasn’t over yet.

Chapter Text

By the time the next episode auto-played, the cooking show had quietly turned into some forgettable crime drama, and Robert was hovering in that strange, heavy space between awake and asleep. The TV washed the room in soft, shifting light and the empty beer bottles stood like sentries on the coffee table. On the couch, everything had compressed down to three points of contact.
Beef, a solid, snoring weight sprawled across both their laps
          Chad’s shoulder, warm and steady under Robert’s cheek

                   and the line of their thighs pressed together along the cushions.

Robert could feel each slow breath Chad took, the rise and fall where their sides touched. His own body, usually a map of constant complaints, had gone low and quiet, knee aching, sure, back protesting a little, but all of it muffled under the heavier sensation of being held in place, pinned, almost, by a dog and a person he trusted. His whole life lately seemed to be reorganizing itself around the idea that he had people. Circles, places he was expected to show up, not as a weapon, but as himself, with a dog in a bandana and clothes that actually fit him.

Onscreen, a detective said something gravely important about ballistic trajectories.

“I have no idea what’s happening,” Chad spoke, voice low and a little rough with tiredness, rumbling under Robert’s cheek.

“You picked it,” Robert murmured, not bothering to move away.

“I picked the first thing that wasn’t about food or fire. Also I thought the guy with the beard was the killer and apparently I was wrong.”

“That’s what you get for basing your narrative theory on telenovelas.”

“That’s slander,” Chad said mildly. “The telenovelas are enrichment."

Robert’s mouth twitched against his shoulder, close enough to feel, close enough that Chad sucked in a small, pleased breath like he was counting it as a win.

A commercial break slammed in louder than the show. 

Beef twitched in protest and resettled, heavier than ever.

Robert reached for the remote as little as possible, not wanting to dislodge the dog or himself, and hit mute. Finally, silence, real silence, settled over them as the TV still flickered, but without the noise it felt more like a moving nightlight than anything demanding attention. Beef snored, loud and unselfconscious, paws twitching occasionally against Robert’s thigh and Chad’s knee. 

Chad’s hand, resting lightly on Beef’s side, moved in slow, absentminded strokes. After a moment, Robert realized those strokes lined up with his breathing too, like Chad had unconsciously synced to both of them.

“Today was…” Chad trailed off, searching. “A lot. In a good way though.”

Robert made a faint noise of agreement. Talking felt like disturbing something delicate.The, slowly, he opened his eyes again, staring at the muted TV without really seeing it. “Yeah,” he spoke. “I’m still half-convinced I dreamed it all. Going out…the tea party.”

Chad huffed a low laugh. “Maya is a force of nature, if she’s decided you’re coming to all her recitals now, that’s just, legally binding. You have no choice.”

He thought of invisible tea, complicated pretend politics, and being told he didn’t smile with his face. “I’ve survived worse contracts.”

For a few heartbeats, they just sat there, Robert leaning into him, Chad solid at his back, Beef anchoring them both. It was the kind of quiet Robert had never realized he’d been missing until he had it, something warm and ordinary and profoundly not lonely.

“How’re you doing?” Chad asked eventually. “Really.”

The last word came out softer, right by his ear. Not a joke, not a nudge, just an open door for honesty. Robert felt his shoulders tense out of habit. 

Fine. 

     Manageable. 

          Don’t worry about it.

The words got stuck somewhere between his chest and his throat. “I don’t know yet,” he said instead. “Still…processing.”

“Yeah, me too.” Chad kept petting Beef, and Robert could feel the motion through the dog’s side. “You know that’s the first time I’ve brought someone home like that. To them.”

Robert’s brain, still fogged with almost-sleep, took a second to parse that.

“Not like… a fling,” he continued. “Not somebody I didn’t plan on seeing again.”

Robert’s heart woke up fast. “That seems… significant,” he managed.

“You think?”

“Pretty sure.”

He finally peeled himself upright enough to see Chad’s face. The TV’s light picked out the curve of his profile, the faint tiredness at the corners of his eyes. There wasn’t much else to describe that Robert hadn’t already committed to memory. He already knew this version of him now, post-family, post-grill, post-niece chaos, softer around the edges. 

“Lila’s…selective,” Chad went on. “With me. With Maya. With who gets into that orbit. And I’m…trying to be, too. Now at least. After everything.”

The word now hung there, heavy with implication and Robert let the quiet sit for a beat.

“You don’t take everyone to princess tea parties? Shocking.”

Chad’s mouth twitched. “No, I really don’t. I’ve spent enough years handing parts of myself to people who didn’t know what to do with them, or who only wanted the flashy bits, that I’m…trying to be smarter about who gets the rest.”

“Flashy bits,” Robert repeated dryly.

“You know what I mean, fire, jokes, being the fun one. That’s the easy stuff. Anyone can want that. It’s the rest that’s harder. The messy history. The family. The quiet shit.” He took a breath, slow enough that Robert could see his chest rise. “It meant a lot,” he said. “Having you there. Having you meet them. Having them see…this part of my life. Not just seeing my name mentioned on the news.” There was a rough little laugh at the end of that, that didn’t quite land. 

Robert’s throat felt tight. “Okay.” It wasn’t enough of a response but it was all he had, for a second.

“Okay?” Chad echoed, one eyebrow lifting.

“I mean-” Robert grimaced, groping for words in the dark.. “I mean… thank you. For trusting me with them. For wanting me there. That’s… more than I usually get.”

Chad studied his face for a moment, as if deciding how far to push. “You keep saying that like you’re some kind of consolation prize. You ever think that maybe I’m the one feeling stupidly lucky you didn’t bolt the second Maya tried to put lipstick on you?”

“I think technically that stuff was nail polish, it smelled like industrial solvent.”

“And you still let her do it, you didn’t flinch, you didn’t make a joke to deflect. You just… listened to her talk about whatever her brain is currently obsessed with, and you told her she was a great dancer and you drank that plastic tea like it was a real thing.”

Robert swallowed hard. “I’ve…had practice at making kids feel safe.”

Chad’s expression softened. “Yeah, I can see that.” He shifted, turning his body more toward Robert now. His knee bumped Robert’s and neither of them moved away. “So, can I ask you something?”

“You’re going to anyway.”

His mouth twitched. “Probably,” he admitted. “But I’m trying this new thing called asking first. It’s wild.”

Beef shifted in his sleep, a heavy twitch that pressed all his weight into Robert’s thigh. Robert winced and exhaled, easing out from under him. “Hold on,” he murmured, lifting the dog with both hands. Chad immediately moved to help, their fingers brushing briefly as they maneuvered Beef onto his bed by the wall. When they settled back onto the couch, the space between them felt different, Robert now nodded once. “Okay, go on, ask.”

Chad took a breath like he was about to step into an unfamiliar fight. “When I called you ‘Daddy’ on comms the other day,” as he spoke, his tone was light but eyes were very much not, “you stopped breathing for like, a solid three seconds.”

Robert closed his eyes briefly, mortification washing over him hot and sharp. “We are not talking about that.” He could feel himself getting warmer by the second.

“We are absolutely talking about that, because… look, I make inappropriate jokes for a living, basically. Ninety-nine percent of the time, people laugh or groan or tell me to shut up. You-” He gestured, vague. “You short circuited on me.”

“It was…bad phrasing,” he said, aiming for dismissive. “In context.”

“In context of you yelling at me about proper hose management? Sure. Very Freudian.”

Robert made a choked noise.

Chad sobered. “Look, I’m not trying to make you uncomfortable, I just, today, the training, our time out, my family… it all feels like it’s been pulling the same thread, and I don’t want to keep tugging on something that’s gonna hurt you if we don’t look at it.”

Robert turned away and stared at the muted TV for a long moment. When he spoke, his voice came out lower than he meant. “I’m not used to being…that, anything like that. To anyone.”

“Like what?”

“Trusted,” The word felt huge in his mouth. “Looked up to. Picked. Whatever you want to call it. I was so used to being Mecha Man before I was a person. Everything else has been… patchwork. Aftermarket parts. I’m still getting used to figuring myself out and I guess…” He forced himself to keep going, now that the words had started. “People have wanted the suit. The name. The…utility. The idea of what I can do for them. Not…” His fingers flexed uselessly. “Not the rest. I don’t really know where I’m going with this, just that…I guess in the moment… I don’t know.”

Chad’s face didn’t show pity. It showed anger, briefly, sharp and clean then melted quickly into something more tender. “Those people were idiots.”

Robert huffed out a short breath. “Compelling argument, very persuasive.”

“Do you want me to get the PowerPoint? I can make charts or whatever the fuck. Bullet points. The works.”

Robert’s mouth twitched again, against his will.

“I’m serious, though,” Chad went on. “You keep talking like you were some fancy big blue tool on a shelf that got overused and put back wrong, but I didn’t invite a tool to meet Lila. I invited you.”

Robert’s heart stuttered. “That distinction is doing a lot of work.”

“Yeah,” Chad said. “It should.”

The room felt smaller, not in a bad way, never. Just more condensed, like all the air had moved in closer to listen. Robert realized, with a sudden, surreal clarity, that if he leaned forward just a little, he could reach out and touch the gold hoop in Chad’s left ear. He could tuck that stray strand of hair back behind it. He could trace the faint stubble along his jaw where the razor had missed a spot.

“So what is this, then,” he said, the words escaping before he could sanitize them. “Today. This. Am I… your… what exactly? Project? Something else you’re trying to save from the burning building?”

Chad blinked. “No,” he said, so firmly and so quickly that it startled Robert. “You’re not a goddamn project.” His hand lifted, then stopped, hovering halfway like he wanted to reach out and wasn’t sure he was allowed. “Okay? I mean that. I get… wanting to fix things. People. Believe me. I’ve dated enough walking disaster zones to know the difference between attraction and triage. This isn’t that.”

Robert’s pulse drummed hard in his ears. “What is it, then,” his voice slightly hoarse.

Chad swallowed. His throat bobbed once. “It’s…” He looked down at his hands, then back up. “It’s me liking the way you look at a mission board like a puzzle you can’t wait to solve. It’s how you remember everyone’s coffee order even when you pretend you don’t. It’s watching you talk Maya through a cartwheel like her landing mattered more to you than half the shit we do on a day to day basis.” He huffed out a breath, almost a laugh. “It’s you letting me into your small once depressing apartment, and your ridiculously empty tiny fridge. And your stupid oversized chihuahua. It’s you letting my family see you. It’s…” His voice went softer. “It’s wanting to be around you. In all these different versions of you. Not just the mech. Not just the dorky SDN dispatcher. You.”

Robert couldn’t pull his gaze away. “That sounds dangerously like a feeling.”

“Terrifying, right? I should probably get that checked.” Chad smiled, but it was fragile at the edges.

Silence lapped around them again.

Robert’s skin felt too tight, like his bones didn’t quite know how to fit inside it anymore. “I don’t know what to do with that,” he admitted. “With you. Feeling like that. About…me.”

“Newsflash, neither do I. We can…figure it out.”

Robert opened his mouth and something that wasn’t words came out, it was motion, his body wordlessly shifting toward Chad, like someone had cut a rope he’d been braced against without realizing it. His heart, slamming hard enough that he could feel it in his throat.

“Robert?” Chad said, the syllables soft and uncertain.

Robert’s gaze dropped briefly to Chad’s mouth, and the world narrowed to that precise line of focus. This was a bad idea, some rusted part of his brain insisted. This was crossing a line he couldn’t uncross. This was-

He leaned in anyway.

The first press of his mouth against Chad’s was cautious, almost tentative, like he wasn’t entirely sure the contact was real until he felt the warmth of Chad’s lips, the faint scrape of stubble, the tiny inhale made in surprise.

Then it was very real.

Robert’s hand landed on the couch between them, his weight half-supported there, half by the way Chad’s breath hitched under him. For a heartbeat, his entire world swayed on that point of contact, and oh, he thought, distantly, so that’s what that feels like.

Chad didn’t shove him away, but he didn’t respond immediately, either. He went still, startled, the muscles under Robert’s palm tightening.

That was enough.

The old training, the drilled-in reflex of pull back before you hurt someone, slammed into place and Robert broke the kiss like he’d hit an eject button, retreating a few inches so fast. His face felt hot. His ears roared. “I’m sorry,” he blurted, catching his breath. “Shit. I’m-I shouldn’t have-”

“Hey,” Chad’s voice was low, hands up like he was calming a skittish animal. “Hey. Hey. Breathe.”

Robert sucked in air. It scraped. “That was-I crossed a line.” The words tumbled out in a rush, jagged. “You’re- You work under me, we just-I met your family today, and you’ve had a long history of people taking advantage of you when you’re-vulnerable, and I promised myself I would never, ever be one of those people, and now I’m-”

“Robert.” Chad’s voice cut through the spiral, firm, causing Robert to shut his mouth with an audible click of teeth. His breathing was still uneven and his thoughts felt like shrapnel.

“I’m sorry,” he said again, quieter now. “I shouldn’t have put that on you. It was selfish. And…unprofessional. And you deserve better than someone who can’t even manage basic boundaries once his hindbrain gets involved.”

“Okay,” Chad said. “Couple things. One.” He held up a finger. “I am not drunk. Or high. Or otherwise incapacitated. So you didn’t ambush someone who couldn’t consent.”

Robert swallowed. His heart hadn’t gotten the memo, it was still doing its best hummingbird impression as he tried to calm himself.

“Two, you didn’t corner me where I couldn’t get away. We’re in your apartment, yeah, but I can walk out that door anytime I want. You know that. I know that.”

He took a breath.

“And three,” he said. “I have been wanting you to do that for weeks.”

“What?”

“Not, like, ‘exactly at six forty-three pm on my sister’s couch’ or whatever, but in general? Yeah. Been hoping.” He scratched the back of his neck, gaze briefly dropping before lifting again, steady. “I’ve wanted to kiss you since…hell, I don’t know,” he said. “Boardwalk, maybe. Watching you stand there in your rolled-up pants acting like you weren’t flirting with the ocean.”

“I was not flirting with the ocean,” Robert said weakly.

“You told it you’d sink with me, you were, like basically proposing.”

Robert made a helpless noise.

“All this time,” Chad went on, softer now. “I’ve been doing this careful little dance, trying not to push you, not to scare you off. Because you’ve got that whole… fortress thing. The walls. The alarms…And if I rushed you, I knew you’d run and then pretend you never heard me.” He shifted closer still, slow enough that Robert could see it coming, fast enough that he didn’t have time to rationalize himself halfway to the ceiling. “So no, you didn’t force anything on me. You did something I wanted. You just did it before I could figure out how to not mess it up.”

Robert’s lungs finally remembered how to work. “I still, ” he started, then stopped, faltering. “I don’t… I don’t know how to do this. Any of this. I don’t have a great track record with…relationships. Or with people not realizing they’ve made a mistake until after they’ve gotten close enough to see all the…damage.” He gestured at his chest, his side, everything.

Chad’s gaze followed the motion, lingering for a heartbeat where the neckline dipped, where scars disappeared under fabric. “I’ve seen a lot of the damage,” he said quietly. “You didn’t exactly hide in the hotel, and I still want to be here.”

“You saw the surface,” Robert said. “You haven’t seen-” He caught himself before the words tumored out into something he couldn’t swallow.

Chad’s eyes softened in a way that made Robert want to look away and not, at the same time. “I’ve seen enough to know I’m not walking into this blind. I know you’ve got trauma. I know your dad sucked in ways I’m still probably gonna learn about six months from now when you accidentally drop a horrifying anecdote into casual conversation like it’s no big deal. I know you overwork yourself, forget to eat, and think being needed is the same thing as being wanted.”

Robert flinched.

“And I know,” Chad said, inexorably, “you’re the one who talks me through the fire instead of just telling me to ‘get over it.’ You’re the one I want in my ear when shit hits the fan. You are not some… unworthy loser I pity-kissed because I’m lonely.”

The phrase unworthy loser should not have made Robert’s chest ache, but it did. “I don’t-” he tried. “I don’t want to…turn into another story you tell your sister about the time you thought you could fix a broken thing and it cut you.”

Chad’s eyebrows pulled together, his expression going fierce in that way Robert usually only saw mid-mission. “Newsflash, I’m broken too. Different fractures, same general vibe. If we’re waiting for perfect, we’re gonna die alone. I know you’re scared,” he said. “I am too. But I’m not some kid you can decide to protect from himself by pre-rejecting on my behalf. I get to want things. I get to choose. And I’m choosing this. You. If you want it too.”

Robert felt something in his chest give, not in the breaking sense, more like a rusty lock finally turning. “I do,” he heard himself say. “Want it.”

There it was, hanging in the air between them, small and huge at the same time.

Chad’s breath came out in a shaky exhale. “Okay, cool. Great. Fantastic. Now we’re both terrified on purpose.”

Robert huffed out something that might have been a laugh if it hadn’t sounded so close to a sob. “I don’t know how to be…Good. Like that.”

Chad tilted his head. “You know how to be honest, even when it sucks. You know how to apologize without making it about you. You know how to listen. You know how to say ‘I don’t know’ instead of bullshitting. That’s a better starting point than like ninety percent of what I’ve dealt with. My last long-term situation,” he went on, quietly, “was with someone who thought ‘loving me’ meant keeping me small so I wouldn’t leave. Who made me feel like I was asking too much just by existing the way I exist. Who weaponized my soft parts until I couldn’t tell the difference between being wanted and being used.”

He swallowed, looking down for a moment, then back up.

“You?” he went on. “You’ve spent the last few months doing the exact opposite. You push me to be better at my job. You tell me when I’m being self-destructive. You tell me when I’m being a jackass, which, you know, is often. But you never make me feel like too much. Just… like I could be more. That’s…new. For me at least, and I like it. Knowing that there’s so much I could do.”

Robert didn’t realize his hand had moved until his fingers were resting against the cushion between them, inches from Chad’s. “You’re not a burden,” he finally spoke up though the words came out rough. “You’re… the opposite. I don’t know what to call it. But it’s not that.”

Chad’s gaze flicked to his hand, then back to his face. “See?” he said softly. “You do know how to be good for me. You’re just not used to letting yourself admit it.”

A sad laugh broke in the middle. “I keep thinking now that you’re going to wake up one morning and realize you could have somebody…lighter. Less…complicated. Less…this.”

Chad’s jaw set. “Maybe I don’t want lighter, maybe I want something that feels real.” He leaned in, slow enough that Robert could have pulled back if he wanted to. “Maybe,” Chad murmured, voice low and steady, “I want the guy who tells my niece she’s a great dancer and buys a stupidly expensive blazer because he wants to show up for the people who matter, even when he’d rather disappear into the back row.” His hand lifted, hovering again, but this time, he let it land, fingers resting light against the side of Robert’s neck, thumb brushing the edge of his jaw.

Robert’s breath hitched, and he nodded, once.

The second kiss was different.

The first had been a startled contact, all reflex and panic and braking while this one landed like permission. Chad closed the distance in one smooth line, his mouth finding Robert’s with no hesitation now. It wasn’t gentle in the way of something fragile, it was careful in the way of something he’d wanted for a long time and refused to rush, right up until this moment.

Robert felt it as soon as their lips met, the way something in his chest gave, not like a crack but like a pressure valve finally releasing. Weeks of sidelong looks and bitten-back jokes and standing just a little too close came roaring up under his skin all at once. The sound he made was small and wrecked and completely involuntary. Those fingers tightened where they rested against Robert’s neck, thumb sliding along his jaw, angling him closer, and Robert went without resistance. His own hand found the front of Chad’s shirt almost blindly and fisted in the fabric, dragging him in that last inch like the gravity between them had finally gotten tired of being ignored.

This time, Chad moved first. His lips parted, a question written in the warm press of his mouth. Robert answered without thinking, letting the angle shift, letting the kiss deepen. The faint scrape of stubble, the shared breath, the quiet noise Chad made in the back of his throat when Robert’s fingers curled tighter. 

Heat built fast. 

Not the sharp, panicked kind he was used to in the suit, but something slower and heavier, crawling down his spine, lighting up every point where they were touching and every point he suddenly wanted them to be. When they finally broke for air, it wasn’t because either of them wanted to stop. They stayed close, foreheads resting together, breaths ragged in the narrow space between them.

“Oh,” Chad said, a little dazed. “Okay. Yeah. That… tracks.”

Robert let out a shaky exhale that might have been a laugh. “Very articulate.”

“Shut up,” Chad murmured, but there was no bite in it as his thumb traced a small arc along Robert’s jaw, like he couldn’t quite make himself stop touching just because their mouths had parted. “I’m catching up.”

They hovered there for a beat, balanced on the edge of something bigger. “We should probably…” Robert started, and then realized he didn’t actually know how to finish the sentence. Stop? Slow down?

Chad’s eyes searched his, close enough that Robert could see the flecks of light amber around his pupils. “We should be honest, do you want this to stop?”

The question hit harder than the kiss.

Robert’s first instinct, the reflex ground into his bones, was to say yes. “No,” he said, and heard the way his own voice shook. “I don’t want it to stop.”

Something in Chad’s expression eased and sharpened at the same time. “Good,” he said quietly. “Because I don’t either.”

“I don’t…” He swallowed, forcing the words out. “I don’t know how to do this without screwing it up. Without hurting you. I don’t…trust myself not to be…too much. Or not enough. Or both.”

“Then we go slow, and we talk. And if anything feels wrong, you say so. If it’s too much, you say stop, and I stop. I mean it, Robert.” His hand slid from Robert’s neck to his shoulder, the weight grounding instead of pinning. “Do you believe me?” Chad asked.

Robert looked at him, really looked, at the worry tucked just under the teasing, at the care, at the way he’d spent the entire day proving, over and over, that he knew when to pull back and when to lean in. “Yeah.” The word felt like stepping into the suit for the first time and realizing it fit. “I do.”

Chad’s mouth curved, slow and brilliant. “Okay,” he said. “Then let me kiss you again, and we’ll see where that takes us. One step at a time. No secret tests. No performance review.”

The joke loosened something in Robert’s chest. “You really know how to ruin a mood,” he said, but his hands were already moving, sliding up from Chad’s shirt to the warm line of his neck.

“And yet,” Chad murmured, leaning in, “you’re still here.”

The third kiss was not careful.

It started like the second and then, almost at once, tipped over into something hungrier. 

Robert made a rough sound into Chad’s mouth as that oh so warm hand splayed over his chest, thumb catching against his collarbone. The heat of it burned straight through the thin cotton but was still not nearly close enough. Without really deciding to, he pushed in, closing the last of the distance between them until there wasn’t any, chest to chest, hip to hip, nowhere left to go but closer. His knee slid between Chad’s, braced against the couch, and Chad’s fingers tightened in the front of his shirt, hauling him in like he’d been waiting for an excuse.

The couch creaked.

His own hand found Chad’s waist, then the hem of his shirt, fingers slipping under to drag over bare skin, greedy for every last inch. He could feel his partner shivering against him, breath stuttering into the kiss before he tipped his head just enough that Robert’s mouth could stumble clumsily down to his jaw, then the line of his throat. He followed the pulse there without thinking, kissing like he’d been walking around hungry and only just realized it. A low helpless sound escaped Chad’s lips as a response, his hand sliding up into Robert’s hair and keeping him right where he wanted him.

“Tell me if this is too much,” Chad’s words were half-breathed, half-spoken.

“It’s not,” Robert answered, instantly, honestly. “I’ll tell you if it is.”

“Good, but if we keep this up,” his voice low and wrecked, “I am absolutely not sleeping on that couch.”

“I wasn’t going to make you,” His response came out smaller and rougher than he meant. “Not…if you want to stay.”

“I want to stay,” he said. “I want to stay, and I want to be very, very stupid about you for the rest of the night.”

Robert huffed out something that was almost a laugh and almost a gasp. “You’re underselling your intelligence.”

“You’re not helping,” Chad kissed him again, quick and fierce this time, like punctuation. He drew back just enough to search Robert’s face one more time, like he was looking for any sign of doubt. “Last chance to kick me out,” he said softly. “Say the word, and I’ll grab my jacket and we’ll pretend this was just…practice. Whatever you need it to be.”

Robert thought of the empty apartment he’d gotten so good at surviving in. Of the way it had felt, tonight, to have Chad on his couch like he belonged there, and of the way his own body was already grieving the idea of distance.

He shook his head.

“I don’t want you to go.” The honesty of it scared him more than anything he could think of. “I want you here. By my side. Got that?”

Chad’s exhale shuddered out of him. “Okay, then I’m here.” He stood, still close enough that Robert had to tip his head back to keep eye contact and held out a hand. “Come on, let’s go somewhere your dog might not wake up and try to third-wheel us.”

Robert’s stomach dropped and lifted at the same time. Every old alarm in his head went off at once, danger, risk, you don’t get to have this, you’ll break it, but underneath, under all the noise, there was something steadier.

Want.

And, almost unbelievably, the knowledge that he could still stop this at any point and Chad would listen. He slid his hand into Chad’s and could feel those strong, warm, fingers wrap around his.

Beef snored, oblivious, as they stepped past his bed. 

The bedroom door swung half-shut behind them, and for the first time in what felt like forever, Robert didn’t brace for what came next, he gladly stepped into it.

Chapter Text

For half a second, just inside the bedroom, Robert forgot how to move.

The door clicked softly behind them. The dim hall light cut off, leaving only the low, warm spill from the lamp on his dresser. The room looked smaller than he remembered, bed, dresser, the chair nobody sat in, the too-neat closet. Just ordinary space.

But it didn't feel ordinary now.

Not with Chad's hand still caught in his, with the phantom taste of him lingering on his mouth and his pulse ticking at his throat like it was trying to keep time with someone else's.

Chad's fingers squeezed his, a quiet pressure. "Hey," he murmured. His voice sounded different in here. "You still with me?"

Robert swallowed, his tongue felt dry, and his mouth still tingled from the last kiss. "Yeah."

"Good, because I really don't want to be the only one freaking out in a good way right now."

A huff of air left Robert's chest that might've been a laugh.

The tightness in his lungs loosened just enough that he could step forward instead of backward. He let go of Chad's hand only because he needed it to do something, anything. He crossed to the dresser and flicked the lamp down a notch. The bulb dimmed from practical brightness to something softer, sliding the room into amber and shadow.

Corners blurred. 

Edges softened. 

The walls didn't feel so close.

"There," Chad said quietly. "See? You are good at mood lighting."

"That's just the default setting," Robert's voice came out rougher than he meant, like it had scraped over gravel on the way out. "I didn't exactly plan for…this." He gestured vaguely between them. The word relationship felt too big and whatever-this-was felt too fragile to name.

Chad stepped in, closing some of the gap, not all. At this distance, Robert could see the lamplight catching on the loose strands of his hair where they curled at his neck, the faint flush still high on his cheekbones. "Yeah, well, we're kind of off-script."

"That implies you ever had one."

"Rude," came a reply, mouth curving. "C'mere."

He reached out, not to yank, just to touch, fingers resting light at Robert's hip, a warm spot of contact burning through the cotton of his shirt. Invitation, not pull, and it stunned Robert a little, how gentle it was. He'd been bracing for heat, for intensity slamming into him like a wave. He hadn't been prepared for this steady, deliberate care.

He stepped into it anyway.

Chad's other hand came up to his jaw. He paused just long enough for Robert to see it coming, to lean in or lean away.

Robert leaned in.

The first kiss in the bedroom started softer than the last one on the couch, just a slow, sure press of mouths that deepened as soon as Robert's hands found Chad's shirt again and fisted in the fabric. The angle shifted, Chad's breath hitched and Robert's heart did something ugly and wonderful behind his ribs. He could feel Chad smiling against his mouth for half a second before it dissolved into something hungrier.

Heat crept up under Robert's skin in a clean, predictable line. Different than adrenaline, different than the steamed-metal rush of the cockpit or the sharp spike of a near miss. This moved slower, it uncoiled from his center, curling through his limbs, turning the world into points of data that all orbited around where Chad was touching him.

And good God, Chad was warm.

He'd always run a little hot, but this was more than that. 

Under Robert's fingers, through the thin cotton, his skin felt like it was carrying its own low-grade flame, radiating out from his chest, his throat, the broad span of his shoulders. His joints, usually grumbling at this hour, soaked it up greedily, a deep dull ache easing in his knee, his back, his ribs. Like his body had been waiting for exactly this temperature and never had the language to ask.

Chad stepped forward, Robert stepped back without thinking until the edge of the bed nudged the backs of his knees. He broke the kiss, breathing harder than the distance warranted. The room smelled like them now, sweat just beginning to rise, Chad's cologne gone warmer and more complicated in the heat.

"Careful," he said automatically, because his body had never quite learned how not to narrate risk.

"I've got you."

He did.

His hands slid down, palms hot through the cotton of Robert's shirt, settling at his waist. That alone made Robert's stomach flip.

"You okay?" Chad asked, close enough that his words brushed Robert's lips, his breath faintly sweet from dessert and beer.

"Yeah."

The second kiss landed like permission.

The third did not bother pretending to be careful.

It started like the one before and then, almost instantly, tilted as whatever thin layer of restraint they'd laid over this snapped like old wire.

Robert made a rough sound into Chad's mouth as those warm hands spread over his chest, thumb catching against his collarbone. Heat punched straight through the thin cotton. He shifted closer without thinking, closing the last of the space between them until his body couldn't quite tell where his ended and Chad's began. His knee slid between Chad's, while Chad's fingers tightened like he'd been waiting weeks for the excuse.

Robert grabbed for him like he'd been starving and someone had finally put food in front of him. His hands ran up Chad's sides, fingers bunching in the soft fabric of his shirt, needing it out of the way. He felt the heat through it, felt the way muscle jumped under his palms, and it still wasn't enough. 

It wouldn't be enough.

"Off," he muttered against Chad's mouth. It came out rough, scraped and urgent, more command than request. His hands were already shoving the shirt up, knuckles catching on hot skin.

Chad huffed a laugh that sounded like he'd had the wind knocked out of him. "Bossy," he said, but he lifted his arms instantly, giving him the opening. The shirt went over his head and somewhere to the floor. Static snapped between their fingers, for a heartbeat the lamp caught on the curve of Chad's bare shoulders, the shadows at his collarbones, and then Robert was on him again.

Palms met skin. 

All of that heat, with nothing to blunt it now.

He'd known Chad ran hot, but he hadn't known it would feel like this, like someone had turned a heating pad up just under his hands and then forgotten to shut it off. Under his touch, warmth rolled and climbed, following the path of his fingers, over chest, shoulders, the curve of his neck. Every place he touched felt like it was waking up.

"Careful," Chad murmured, breath catching as Robert's thumbs skimmed the dip just under his ribs. "You keep doing that, I'm gonna set your sheets on fire."

"Don't you dare, I like these sheets."

"We'll see," Chad spoke faintly, and his hands got busy in return.

They dragged over Robert's back, finding the hem of his shirt and slipping underneath in one long, deliberate movement that made every nerve ending jump to attention. Warm palms on bare skin, fingers splayed wide, pressing into the tight band of muscle along his spine. Robert's breath hitched like someone had yanked a wire inside him.

"This okay?" Chad asked, voice quieter now, right by his chipped ear, hands already half under the shirt but not pushing further.

"Yes." It came out hoarse and immediate. "Please."

The shirt was gone a moment later, peeled over his head and dropped blindly. Cool air licked over his chest for a second before Chad moved right back into that space, arms wrapping around him like he had no intention of ever being further away than this.

Skin met skin in a rush, chests, shoulders, stomachs, heat and slickness where sweat had already begun to gather, the slide of muscle under his hands, the press of bone. Every new point of contact sent a fresh jolt through him, like his body was frantically updating its internal map. 

This is what warmth feels like.

     This is what wanting feels like

          This is what it's like when it wants you back.

Chad shifted, bracing one knee on the mattress, then the other, crowding him toward the bed. Robert moved with him willingly, letting himself be guided until the backs of his knees found the edge of the mattress and gave. He landed half-sitting, Chad between his legs, taller even with the bend. The look on Chad's face, flushed, eyes blown dark, mouth kiss-swollen, knocked the breath out of him more than the fall did.

"Still okay?" Chad asked again, thumbs pressing idle circles into the flex of his thighs like he could knead the answer out of him.

"Yes," Robert responded, too fast, too raw. "Don't stop."

Chad's answering noise was low and wrecked. He leaned in and kissed him like he'd just been told he'd never have to hold back again.

The kiss turned messy fast.

They kept missing the edges, teeth catching, noses bumping, breath coming out in uneven bursts, and neither of them seemed interested in smoothing it out. Robert clutched at Chad's shoulders, then his back, then lower, needing more of him under his hands, needing to feel the way he moved, the way every muscle under his palms jumped and rolled and leaned into the contact like it had been waiting for this as long as he had.

His knee, his back, his ribs, everything that usually screamed complaint, blurred into a low hum under the flood of sensation. Chad's warmth soaked into all of it, into bone and scar and all the places that hurt. 

His body catalogued it all and, for once, did not sound the alarm.

Chad's mouth broke away from his, trailing along his jaw, down his throat. Every kiss left a warmer spot behind, as if he was leaving marks only they could feel. When his teeth scraped, careful, at the tendon in his neck, Robert made a sound he'd be embarrassed about later and tipped his head back, baring his throat without thinking.

"Jesus," Chad muttered against his skin. "You're gonna kill me."

"Occupational hazard," Robert managed.

Chad laughed, breath hot against his pulse, and then his hands started working in earnest.

They kneaded at Robert's shoulders, thumbs digging into knots, heat working deep. They traced down over his ribs, pausing where the bone had broken once, thumb smoothing over the raised edge with a gentleness that made Robert's chest ache. Every time Chad found a scar, he didn't avoid it. He touched it, deliberately, like he was learning it.

"Here?" Chad murmured, fingers gliding over the long healed line along his side.

"Yeah," Robert said, the word almost a sigh. "That was…a bad one."

"I remember." His hand went firm, warmth blooming there, coaxing taped-together muscle into easing a fraction more. 

It was too much and not enough at the same time.

Warm hands kept moving, over shoulders, down his neck, careful of old, touchy spots without treating them like landmines. "Pressure okay?" he asked against his mouth.

The answer came out of Robert as an involuntary sound, somewhere between a groan and yes.

Chad chuckled, the vibration running through both of them. He pressed his mouth to the hollow of Robert's throat, then lower, following the line of tendon down with a trail of heat. His stubble scraped just enough to make Robert flinch in a way that had nothing to do with discomfort.

The room shrank to the smell of warmed skin and cotton, the soft rasp of sheets under them, the weight of Chad's body, carefully distributed, not crushing, but absolutely there. At some point they managed, through a series of graceless, half-laughed maneuvers, to get Robert fully horizontal. The mattress dipped under Chad's weight as he followed, bracing one forearm by Robert's head, the other hand spreading wide over his chest.

From this angle, the height difference felt different. Chad's shoulders blocked most of the lamplight. Up close like this, Robert could see how his gold hoops flashed at his ears when he moved, tiny arcs of warm light.

"Okay?" Chad asked, one more time.

Robert could've made fun of him for the repetition. 

The older version of him, the one who survived on armor and deflection, would've. Instead, he found himself grateful for it, each check-in another handhold on the cliff he'd willingly thrown himself off. "Yes." The word scraped, but it came. "If that changes, I'll tell you."

"You better." Chad leaned down and kissed him and everything blurred for a while, but not in a dissociative way. In the opposite way, like someone had dialed the saturation up and every tiny detail hit too clearly.

Chad was solid and almost too warm above him, thighs bracketing his, chest pressed to chest, power humming under his skin. Robert felt it where their bodies met, a low, steady heat that seeped into old aches and made his muscles loosen in ways they hadn't in years but at some point, the angle stopped feeling right, too much weight pressing straight down, not enough room for Robert's restless hands, for the greedy urge to get closer.

"Move," Robert muttered against his mouth, breath ghosting over Chad's lips.

Chad started to pull back immediately. "Too much?"

"No!" Robert tightened his grip on his shoulders. "Not like that."

He shifted, years of fighting and piloting in confined spaces turning into instinctive leverage. He braced a foot against the mattress, twisted his hips, and the bed complained under them with a low creak as the world tipped. In a tangle of limbs and breathless curses, he rolled them, momentum and intent doing most of the work until Chad's back hit the mattress and Robert ended up straddling his hips, knees planted on either side.

For a heartbeat he just stayed there, palms spread flat on bare chest.

His hands rose and fell with each quick inhale. Chad's heart hammered against his fingers, fast and strong. Heat rolled off him like a banked furnace, enough that Robert could feel the difference in the air, a subtle shimmer on his skin. From up here, everything was steady, narrowed down to the man beneath him.

"Jesus," Chad spoke softly, looking up at him. The lamp threw a halo of warm light around Robert's shoulders, turning his edges into gold and shadow and making the freckles scattered over his chest and shoulders stand out, a faint constellation on skin. "Hi."

"Hey," Robert responded, dazed, tasting him still on his tongue, salt, beer, and something that was just Chad.

From this angle the seven inches between them felt like a joke. Chad was still big under him, still six-four and built like he'd been poured into his own body, but Robert could see all of him at once now, the wide plane of his chest, the blush spreading down over his collarbones, the faint line of a happy trail disappearing beneath the waistband of his jeans, the way he bit his lower lip when Robert shifted his weight just a little more firmly onto his hips.

"You okay up there?" Chad asked, voice gone rough. His hands rested lightly on Robert's thighs, fingers flexing once but not gripping, not steering, just there, an anchor.

"I'm-" fine was useless, manageable worse. "I'm not done," Robert settled on.

Something hungry and fond flashed through those warm amber eyes. "Good, didn't want you to be."

Robert's hands moved like they'd been waiting for this for months.

He slid them from Chad's chest up to his shoulders, fingers spanning as much skin as they could, thumbs dipping into the hollows at the base of his throat. He felt the cords of muscle there, the jump of a swallow, the way Chad's breath stuttered when he pressed down just a little. He smoothed his palms out along the curve of his biceps, following the line of heat and muscle all the way down to his forearms, then back up again, as if repetition alone could prove that Chad was really here and really his to touch.

He leaned down and kissed him again.

From this angle he could set the pace, he could feel every tiny shift of Chad's body under his, the way those warm hands tightened on his thighs when the kiss went deeper, the subtle roll of his hips when Robert shifted his weight, the low sound that slipped out of him when Robert's tongue brushed his.

"Look at you," Chad breathed when they finally broke for air. He tipped his head back against the pillow, chest heaving, lips kiss-swollen, hair a wreck from Robert's fingers. One palm slid up to cup Robert's jaw, thumb sweeping along his cheekbone in a slow arc that left a warm trail behind. "You're a touch-starved little menace."

"That's slander," Robert didn't bother denying it when Chad's gaze dropped to his hands, still splayed wide over his chest like he might disappear if Robert loosened his grip by so much as a finger.

Chad smiled, small and stupidly soft. He lifted his head to steal another kiss, unhurried this time, each press of his mouth steady and sure, like he was making a series of promises directly into Robert's skin. "You can have as much as you want," he murmured between kisses, breath hot against Robert's lips. "I'm not going anywhere."

Robert believed him. Not forever, maybe, not in any way that felt rational or safe, but right now, with Chad laid out beneath him, heat soaking into every ache, that low hum of power under his palms, hands moving with reverent care over old damage even from below, he believed him enough.

At some point, the rest of their clothes stopped feeling theoretical.

Jeans rasped against jeans, the rough drag a sharp counterpoint to all the warmth and softness elsewhere. The last layers between them turned into their own kind of problem. Fingers slipped at belt loops, bumped against zippers, tugged at waistbands with a clumsiness that had nothing to do with lack of experience and everything to do with urgency.

"Is this okay?" Chad murmured against his mouth, thumbs hooked on jean.

"Yes," Robert breathed, the word more exhale than sound. "More."

They got each other down to that last compromise of fabric, underwear and the faint give of elastic, before either of them remembered to stop and breathe. The bed creaked as they shifted, trying to find new angles, new ways to fit. Robert's gaze dropped, taking in the way Chad's arousal strained against his boxers, the fabric tented prominently, a damp spot forming. Chad noticed Robert's own stiffness in return, his eyes darkening further as he palmed him lightly through the material, drawing a low groan from Robert. "God, you're so hard for me," Chad whispered, voice husky and vocal, his hips grinding up instinctively to meet the touch.

Robert reciprocated, his hand sliding down to cup Chad through his boxers, feeling the hot, throbbing length twitch under his palm. They ground together like that for a moment, fabric rubbing in delicious friction, Chad's breaths coming in soft, pleading moans, "Fuck, that feels good, keep going." before urgency won out and they peeled the last barriers away, skin finally meeting skin in full.

What followed blurred, but not in a way that made him feel gone. If anything, he was more present than he could remember being in his own body, as Robert reached for the nightstand, his fingers brushing over the small bottle of lube tucked in the back of the drawer, a gag gift from Courtney months ago, presented with a wink and a quip about "just in case you ever loosen up." He'd rolled his eyes then, stashing it away without a second thought, but now, as he uncapped it and squeezed a generous amount into his palm, a quiet irony settled over him. 

The joke had turned real, purposeful, in this moment.

The lube was cool in Robert's palm for an instant, a stark contrast to the feverish heat radiating from Chad's skin. He warmed it between his fingers deliberately, letting the chill melt away before he touched where the hothead was most vulnerable. Chad gasped softly as Robert's fingers circled his entrance, the initial coolness sending a shiver through him before his body's warmth claimed it, turning the sensation into something incredibly intimate.

"Tell me if it's too much," Robert managed, his voice rough, echoing Chad's earlier care as he pressed one finger in slowly, feeling the tight muscle yield around him.

"I will," Chad's voice was frayed but certain, his eyes locked on Robert's. "I want you."

Heat and lube and tight muscle, the slow, careful stretch as Robert added a second finger, scissoring gently, his free hand kneading the tense muscles of Chad's inner thighs in firm, soothing circles. Chad's hand wrapped around Robert's wrist, not to stop him, but to feel him there, grounding himself in the rhythm of Robert's touch. Every press, every curl of fingers drew a low moan, his body arching slightly, heat blooming deeper, pulling Robert in like a promise.

Their eyes met for a brief, steady moment of contact that felt almost too raw in the dim light, Chad's gaze dark and trusting, Robert's own unguarded in a way he rarely allowed. Chad nodded, small and sure, as Robert finally withdrew his fingers and coated himself. He pushed in slowly, inch by cautious inch. The enveloping tightness was overwhelming, sweet inner heat gripping him like a vice forged in fire. But halfway in, Chad's breath hitched sharply, a twinge of discomfort flickering across his face, muscles tensing, brows drawing together for a single heartbeat.

Instantly, Robert froze, buried only partway. "Hey," he murmured, voice low and careful, thumb stroking soothing circles into warm skin. "Too much?"

Chad exhaled slowly, eyes fluttering shut for a second before opening again to meet Robert's. "Just… a little sting. It's been a while. Slow, okay? I'm good, I want this. I want you."

Robert nodded, leaning down to press a soft kiss to his lips, lingering there until he felt the tension ease a fraction. He stayed there, in that position, perfectly still, giving plenty of time to adjust, letting the heat and closeness do their work. Minutes passed like that, foreheads touching, breaths shared, Robert's palms gently massaging Chad's thighs, coaxing relaxation with patient, tender strokes.

Gradually, he felt it, Chad's body wilting beneath him, melting open in slow degrees. The tight grip softened, muscles yielding as those long toned legs parted wider, hips tilting up in subtle invitation. A quiet sigh escaped him, pleasure replacing the discomfort, his face smoothing into something blissfully unguarded.

"There you are," Robert whispered, almost to himself, as he sank the rest of the way in with deliberate care. Chad's hands roamed Robert's back, thumbs digging into knotted muscles with that same deliberate massage, easing the ache in Robert's scars even as their bodies joined.

Robert pulled back slightly, meeting Chad's eyes once more, brief, intense, full of unspoken gratitude, before he moved, slow at first, helplessly attentive to every sound Chad made, each stuttered inhale, each broken "yeah, there, just like that." His hands kept working almost on their own, kneading at tight muscle, thumb smoothing over the tendon at Chad's hip, like he could anchor him and unwind him all at the same time.

Their breaths mingled in hot, uneven bursts. Chad's fingers found their way into Robert's hair again, tugging lightly as the pace built, urging him on with a whispered "Deeper, please." It built, gradual and then all at once, tender turning to fervent, patience condensing into rhythm. Chad wrapped his legs around Robert's waist and met him halfway, heat wrapping around him in a way that made every old ache blur into the background, soothed by the furnace of Chad's body. 

The slap of skin grew wetter, more insistent, Robert's thrusts deepening as Chad's moans turned pleading. "Harder," he gasped, and Robert of course, obliged, driving in with purposeful power, his hands never stopping their sensual knead, palms pressing into Chad's chest, thumbs circling hardened nipples, drawing out shudders that rippled through them both. Chad's voice filled the room, "Yes, fuck, right there-d-don't stop."

They clasped their hands together, fingers intertwining tightly, Chad squeezing as his moans grew louder, more urgent. In that charged moment, their eyes locked again, an amber gaze hazy and molten, wide with raw pleasure, meeting deep brown eyes, steady and intense. Robert cataloged it all, committing to memory the way Chad fully unraveled beneath him, for him. Cheeks flushed deep red, lips parted in breathless gasps, curls damp and wild against the pillow, his powerful body trembling in surrender, every line of tension melting into bliss, and all of this was his doing.

Chad broke first, coming with a hoarse cry, his release spilling hot and thick between them, painting his belly in warm, sticky ropes that gleamed in the lamplight. His body clenched tight around Robert, the pulsing heat dragging him over the edge a breath later, causing him to spill deep inside with a strangled groan. That scorching heat enveloped him so fully, melting away worries he hadn't even fully realized he was carrying until this moment of profound relief. The sensation sharp and vivid and good in a way he hadn't known he could still feel, everything in him briefly, gloriously blank except for the fact that he was here and Chad was here and nothing had shattered.

They collapsed in a tangle, sweat-slick and spent, Robert pulling out gently and settling beside Chad. But even in the haze of afterglow, his hands didn't still, trailing lazy, massaging paths over Chad's sides, thumbs pressing into the dip of his hips, soothing the fresh sensitivity. Chad sighed contentedly, his body still thrumming, and Robert's gaze drifted down, noticing with a spark of renewed hunger how Chad was hardening again under those lingering touches, his cock twitching, flushed and insistent.

"You're insatiable," Robert murmured, a soft, affectionate smile curving his lips as he shifted lower, settling between Chad's thighs once more. 

Chad let out a breathless laugh, his fingers carding loosely through Robert's hair at first. "Blame yourself. You're way too good at this, fuck, the way you touch me…I can't get enough."

Robert didn't rush. 

He took his time, leaning in to press open-mouthed kisses along the inside of Chad's thigh, tasting the salt of sweat and the lingering warmth, before moving higher. He wrapped a hand around the base of Chad's cock, stroking slowly, deliberately, feeling it throb hot in his palm. Then he licked a slow, broad stroke along the underside, savoring the musky heat, the faint tang of Chad's earlier release still clinging there. That grip in his hair tightened, not pulling yet, just holding on as Robert took him into his mouth, deep, unhurried, tongue swirling around the head with tender care, that oh so sweet voice breaking into soft moans, "Oh God."

He drank him in, every inch, every gasp, the way Chad's thighs trembled under Robert's massaging palms as he kneaded the muscles there, thumbs pressing firm circles into heated flesh. Chad's renewed heat pulsing against Robert's lips, contrasting with the cooler air as he pulled back to breathe, only to envelop him again, sucking with slow, devoted pulls as Robert focused on drawing out fresh pleasure.

Chad's breaths came ragged, his fingers weaving tighter into Robert's hair, gripping now, guiding gently as his hips lifted in shallow, restrained thrusts. "God, Robert… just like that, don't stop," he groaned, voice wrecked but tender, laced with that raw vulnerability. Robert relaxed as best he could, trying to keep up that rhythmic pace, until Chad was trembling, on the edge.

When Chad came again, it was softer, spilling into Robert’s mouth in hot, thick pulses, warm and sticky, slightly salty like a forbidden drink that Robert savored, swallowing every drop with deliberate slowness, his tongue coaxing out the last shudders. Robert let out a low, satisfied hum as those final tremors faded, the vibration lingering against Chad’s sensitive skin. Chad’s hands gripped harder in his hair, anchoring himself through the waves, until he went limp, utterly and completely spent, a contented sigh escaping him.

As Robert shifted back up, his lips trailed along Chad’s body, pausing at the warm, sticky ropes of cum still painting his belly from the previous orgasm. He licked them clean with slow, deliberate swipes of his tongue, savoring the salty tang and the way Chad’s muscles twitched under the tender attention, before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and nuzzling his nose into the line of Chad’s neck. Chad made a small, content sound that went straight to whatever newly vulnerable place in Robert had decided to exist tonight.

For a while they stayed in that pocket of quiet that didn't feel empty.

When the world finally came back into focus, it did it in pieces.

The first thing Robert noticed was the sound of their breathing, loud in the quiet room, not quite in sync but close, both of them dragging air in like they'd forgotten how for a while and were re-learning on the job.

The second thing was weight, Chad's mostly, warm and solid where he'd half-collapsed against Robert's side, one leg still thrown over his, one arm sprawled across his chest like he'd decided physical contact was non-negotiable.

The third thing was his own body, sore in new, unfamiliar ways, pleasantly wrung out in others. The old aches were still there, knee, back, all the places that never stopped complaining, but they'd been joined by a different hum, one that had nothing to do with trauma, and for once, the catalogue of sensations didn't make him tense. It just was. The sheets beneath his hands felt rumpled and slightly damp, cotton warmed by two bodies.

"You okay?" Chad's voice came, muffled against his shoulder, breath warm on skin that was still oversensitive.

Robert turned his head to see he was being watched through half-lidded amber eyes and his throat went tight. "Yeah, you?"

Chad's mouth tipped up. "Pretty sure I'm gonna be smug about this for the rest of my life," he said. "In a very humble, grounded way."

"That doesn't sound possible," Robert said.

"Believe in me," Chad repeated, and nuzzled closer. After a bit, Chad shifted, propping his chin on Robert's chest so he could look at him properly. It was a terrible angle and put his face uncomfortably close, but somehow it felt less intimidating than full-on eye contact sitting up. "So, on a scale of one to ten, how much are you regretting your life choices?"

Robert huffed out a laugh. "That depends," he said. "Is ten 'catastrophic disaster' or 'best decision I ever made'?"

"Interesting that you thought to ask."

"Answer the question."

Chad pretended to consider. "Okay, ten is catastrophic disaster. One is 'wow, I sure am proud of my incredible taste in men.'"

"Those numbers are reversed.".

"Not in this house," Chad said firmly.

Robert rolled his eyes and let his hand drift down to rest at the nape of Chad's neck, fingers tracing lazy circles there. "One."

Chad blinked. "Wait. That was the 'proud of my taste' one."

"I know."

The expression that flashed across Chad's face wasn't smug, or surprised, or even particularly sexual. It was something softer, dangerously close to vulnerable joy. "Oh," he said quietly. "Okay. Cool. I'm…yeah. That's. Yeah."

"Articulate," Robert said.

"Bite me," Chad responded automatically, then seemed to realize what he'd said and snorted. "Actually, never mind, that's how we got here."

"Poor impulse control."

"Absolutely." His smile faded a little, not all the way. "Do you…regret anything?" he asked, more serious this time. "Honestly."

Robert went quiet.

He let himself run through the usual checklist. Had anyone gotten hurt? No. Had he compromised a mission? No. Had he broken protocol? Technically, yes, but Mandy could yell at him later. Had he done something selfish? Yes. Did he regret it? He looked at the man curled against him, at the way Chad's hand had slid down to rest over his ribs like it belonged there now, at the way his own chest didn't feel hollow for once. "No, I don't."

Chad exhaled a breath he'd clearly been holding. "Good, me neither."

They let that hang there between them, honest and terrifying and real. After a while, Chad shifted again, rolling onto his back next to Robert but keeping their hands tangled on the sheet between them. He stared up at the ceiling.

"So," Chad began, "I know me. I know you. I know I'm not walking into work pretending this was nothing. I will absolutely flirt with you worse than before."

"That's a threat," Robert said.

"That's a promise," Chad countered then turned his head, expression suddenly a little more serious again. "But, like. I don't want to leave you wondering what I'm doing. Or what this is. I don't do…casual particularly well, turns out. I catch feelings. It's annoying."

"You've already caught them," Robert's words came out more statement than question.

Chad met his eyes without flinching. "Yeah," he said. "Have for a while. I wasn’t kidding with what I said earlier." He squeezed Robert's hand. "I don't need you to say you're in love with me, or that this is forever, or that you're ready to carve our initials into your mech suit or whatever. I just…need to know you're trying with me. Not waiting for an excuse to bail."

Robert stared at the ceiling for a second, letting the words settle.

He'd been trying for so long to be worthy of something, without ever actually aiming that effort at letting himself have something he wanted. It felt like turning the same spotlight he'd always used to search for threats back on himself and saying, Okay. Stay. "I can try, I can't promise I won't panic. Or say something stupid. Or overthink this to death."

"I would be suspicious if you didn't."

"But I won't…" He took a breath, pushing past the tightness. "I won't pretend it didn't happen. Or that I don't want…you. I won't run just because I'm scared."

Chad was quiet for a long moment.

When Robert finally looked over, he found Chad watching him with an expression that made his stomach do a complicated, unhelpful thing.

"Okay," Chad said. "Then I'm in. Like, fully. No half-measures. You're stuck with me, Bob Bob."

"I've noticed you're bad at leaving," Robert said.

"Oh you love it," Chad said.

The word love sat between them untested, half-joke, half-truth. He didn't touch it yet. Didn't need to. It could sit there for now, unwrapped. Robert shifted onto his side, facing Chad, and tugged their joined hands up between them so he could rest his forehead against the back of Chad's knuckles.

Chad scooted closer, closing the small gap between them. Their knees bumped, their feet tangled. Robert could feel his body still humming along that new, strange frequency, wanting more even as the edges of exhaustion began to creep in.

Chad leaned in and pressed one last, unhurried kiss to his mouth. Not hungry this time, not frantic, just warm and sure and there. "Go to sleep," he murmured against his lips. "I'll still be here when you wake up."

The words landed heavier than maybe he meant them to.

Robert let himself believe them.

Just for tonight.

He shifted down under the covers, dragging them up over both of them. Chad slotted in beside him like he'd been built to fit there, arm going automatically around Robert's waist once they were settled. It should have felt like being trapped.

It didn't.

It felt like being held in a way that didn't demand anything immediate from him, no decisions, no rescues, no sacrifices. Just…existence. His brain, predictably, tried to spool up a list of ways this could go wrong. Of things he'd have to protect Chad from, including himself. Then Chad's hand moved to rest warm against the small of his back, thumb rubbing a slow, absentminded circle there.

The spiral tripped. 

   Stuttered. 

      Stopped.

Robert let out a breath and let his forehead rest against Chad's collarbone. For the first time in longer than he could remember, the last thought he had before sleep wasn't a contingency plan or a list of failures, or a mental inventory of what might break next. It was a simple, incredulous sentence, quiet and stunned in his own head:

He stayed.

Robert shifted closer on instinct, one arm sliding around Chad's waist as Chad's hand found the back of his shoulder and pulled him in without hesitation. Their legs tangled naturally beneath the blanket, skin still warm against skin, the heat of the night sinking slowly into something steadier and softer.

Chad exhaled, a loose, drowsy breath, and Robert felt the rise and fall of his chest under his cheek. The steady, unhurried beat of Chad's heart tapped against his ear, calmer now, slowing with sleep.

He let the rhythm anchor him.

Just that heartbeat and the weight of Chad's arm tightening once, instinctively, like even unconscious he wasn't letting go caused Robert's own breathing to sync to it without effort. His eyes soon drifted shut, and then, finally, held, warm, and not alone, he slept.