Chapter Text
They didn’t go back to the Sardine after Shroud was dragged away in handcuffs.
Robert was glad.
He’d shaken off worse things in his life. Always got back up.
Didn’t mean he wanted to stand in that bar again—the one where they’d hung him from the ceiling like something to dry.
This place wasn’t better.
Just different.
North in Torrance. Same kind of people. Same sticky floors, dim lights, something sour in the air that never quite left his clothes.
Robert turned slightly, watching Coup at the dartboard. She covered one eye with her hand, tongue pressed to her teeth in concentration. Punch Up hovered nearby, already collecting bets like the outcome was decided.
Visi was still in the hospital.
She’d be back. Soon, probably.
Across the room, Malevola spun a bottle. It landed on one guy—another slapped him hard across the face before anything could happen. No one intervened. The music swallowed it.
Robert set his empty whiskey glass on the bar and slipped toward the bathroom.
He’d ditched the SDN shirt. Blue sweater instead.
Better that way.
Inside, the tiles had once been white. Now they were layered in marker—names, crude drawings, threats that overlapped each other until none of them meant anything anymore.
He stood at the urinal. Flushed. Washed his hands.
A noise made him pause. He leaned forward just slightly.
Two pairs of feet in one of the stalls.
Robert frowned—then smiled a little, awkward, like he’d walked in on a joke he didn’t get. He dried his hands on his jeans and turned back toward the door.
Back at the bar, he lingered.
He could afford another round.
His team deserved it.
After a moment the bartender noticed him. She filled the glasses.
When he glanced over his shoulder, he saw who stepped out of the bathroom.
Chad pulled his hair back into a ponytail, fingers quick and practiced. Behind him, some guy slipped out without a glance, already gone, already irrelevant.
Flambae watched him leave for half a second. Just enough to register something—annoyance, maybe. Or calculation.
Then he turned.
Saw Robert watching.
Frowned.
Still came over.
They stood side by side. Close, but not quite touching.
“I already ordered,” Robert said.
“Hm.” Flambae tucked a loose strand behind his ear.
Eight glasses landed on the counter, one after the other.
“Will you help me carry them over?”
A beat.
“Fine.”
They didn’t move yet.
“You okay?” Robert asked, quieter this time. “Everything… okay?”
His eyes flicked, just briefly, toward where the guy had disappeared.
Flambae straightened—subtle, but it made him taller at once. Sharper.
“Are you okay? Are you okay?” he echoed, mocking, voice just loud enough to cut through the music. “Mind your own business.”
Robert watched him for a second.
“As if you don’t want to be noticed.”
Chad turned his head. “Huh?”
Robert made a small, almost placating motion with his hand. The music was too loud, the air too thick—this wasn’t the place for precision.
“Let’s not do this here.”
He still helped him carry the glasses over.
Prism had kicked off her boots and pulled her feet up onto the chair. Flambae dropped down beside her, close enough that their shoulders almost touched.
It didn’t come up again.
The others drifted over one by one, voices overlapping, laughter rising and falling until the room softened into something easier. Familiar.
Robert sat with them, listening more than speaking.
“Can’t believe you went back to dispatchin’,” Prism said, leaning in lightly. “After your suit finally workin’ again.”
Robert almost smirked, leaning back. “Well. You need me, don’t you? Also—computer in the suit. So… you’ll have to keep up with me a little longer.”
Punch Up climbed onto his chair, lifting his glass. “Feel better knowing you’ve got my back, lad.” He grinned. “Another round, or do we go eat something?”
“Work day tomorrow,” Robert said.
A chorus of groans.
Complaints. Half-serious protests. Someone threw a napkin at him.
Robert let it pass over him, the noise, the movement.
Just Flambae didn’t join in.
He sat there, quiet. Not relaxed—contained. Something held tight behind his expression, like he’d decided not to give anything away tonight.
Robert noticed.
And had the sudden urge to leave.
Not just leave—walk. Somewhere lit. Somewhere predictable. A straight street with no corners and no surprises.
“Come on,” he said, already pushing his chair back. “Another time.”
The others rose, too.
Flambae stood up half a second too late.
For a moment, he just stared at nothing—then pushed himself up and followed them.
Outside, Robert pulled his jacket closed. His breath fogged faintly in the cold autumn air.
Melovela kissed his cheek in passing and vanished through a portal.
Golem wasn’t there. Without Visi, there wasn’t much reason for him to linger.
Punch Up and Coupe drifted off together, still talking.
“By-Bye…. See you tomorrow.” Waterboy whispered and waved.
Prism waved down a cab. “You coming?” she asked Flambae.
“I’ll get one,” he said.
“Okay.” She waved, and the car pulled away after she got in.
Robert shoved his hands into his pockets, biting the inside of his cheek before turning to leave.
Flambae stepped into his path.
“Come on,” he said, voice lower now. “Let’s not do this here.”
“You heading this way?” Flambae asked.
“Hm.”
A beat.
“I’ll walk you.”
He turned before Robert could answer, ponytail flicking once over his shoulder, and fell into step beside him.
They walked in silence.
Something was wrong.
Not loud. Not obvious. Just… wrong.
Robert felt it.
After a few minutes, the cold started to creep in through his sleeves. It wasn’t far. He could’ve taken a cab. Probably should have.
He glanced sideways at Flambae.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said. “I just thought it went bad. With that guy.”
Flambae didn’t look at him. “What did you mean when you said I wanted to be noticed?”
“Oh, please.” Robert smiled faintly. “The way you stand. The way you act. You voluntarily sing karaoke.”
That got something—a small shift.
“Gotta give the guys some hints,” Flambae said. “Not exactly easy finding each other if everyone pretends.”
“Ah.” Robert let that sit. Thought about it longer than necessary. “…It didn’t go well?” he asked.
There was a pause between them.
“No,” Flambae said. Flat.
Robert hesitated. Then, quieter—“Did he hurt you?”
Flambae let out a short breath—almost a laugh, but without humor.
“Villains are villains, Bob Bob.” He finally glanced at him, something sharp and tired in his eyes. “They’re not nice.”
“Well… you’re in better company now. I mean—generally.” Robert spoke a little too fast. “You don’t have to put up with just villains.”
Flambae turned his head slowly, really looking at him now.
“Don’t pretend you’re the nice guy.” His voice was quiet, but it held. “You told us—you’re just Robert. Wanted a fresh start. Fresh starts don’t come with the old suit.”
He lifted his hand.
Two fingers missing.
Robert swallowed.
For a second, heat flickered off Flambae—barely contained, like something rising under the skin—then he forced it back down.
“I…” Robert licked his lips, breath catching in the cold air. “I didn’t know how you’d react.”
“A month ago?” Flambae let out a short breath. “I would’ve punched your face in.”
He frowned, gaze drifting forward again.
“After Shroud… after us working together…” He shook his head once. “I’m just pissed.”
“Okay. Okay.” Robert nodded, he was very calm, and spoke clearly. “I’m sorry you lost some fingers in our fight, alright? But I was a hero. You were setting a building on fire. We fought fair and square.”
Flambae stopped.
Turned.
Looked at him.
The glare was sharp—heated, personal—but he didn’t contradict him.
They stood there for a moment.
Then Flambae gave him a quick once-over, eyes flicking down and back up again.
“You’re freezing. Why are you dressed like that?”
“I don’t have a parka,” Robert said. “It’s this or a winter coat.”
“Pff.” Flambae shook his head lightly. “You need to dress better. Haircut… some skincare.”
He nodded to himself, like he’d already decided it was true, and started walking again.
Robert followed.
He was tired and wanted to reach his place.
He had a couch now. A camping table. Another chair.
Still not much.
His life wasn’t much.
Robert glanced up at Flambae.
He was quiet again. Not performative this time—just… elsewhere.
“What hero?” Flambae said suddenly.
Robert blinked. “Hm?”
“What hero would treat me better?”
The question hung between them.
They kept walking.
No one else was on the street. Just the narrow stretch between apartment blocks—dumpsters, cold light from streetlamps, shadows that didn’t move.
Robert frowned slightly.
“I guess…” he said slowly, “you’d have to lure them out too. I don’t know who’s queer.”
Flambae let out a short breath.
“Why should they?” he said. “Because they’re heroes?” He shook his head. “I’m a former villain. They won’t treat me better than what I already know.”
“Well… how do you want to be treated?”
Robert felt himself shiver. Not just from the cold. He was tense, shoulders slightly hunched.
They stopped in front of his door.
All the buildings around them looked the same—rows of windows, dim lights, nothing distinct. It felt temporary. Replaceable.
Flambae didn’t answer.
He just looked at him.
Still. Focused. Like a coiled spring waiting for the wrong move.
Robert licked his lips, making a small, uncertain gesture with his hand.
“Okay. So… what about the things that happen… you don’t like?”
He winced internally. Why was he suddenly the emotional support system for eight superpowered people again?
Flambae frowned, gaze dropping for a second.
“I don’t really like any of them,” he said quietly.
Robert didn’t interrupt.
Waiting usually worked.
Flambae exhaled slowly.
“We meet. We fuck.” A small shrug. “If I come… what else is there to want?”
Robert studied him.
“You tell me,” he said. “You’ve been with civilians too, right? They must be better.”
Flambae let out a dry, humorless breath and turned away.
“Men are pigs.”
Robert’s teeth clicked softly together from shivering.
Flambae looked back at him.
For a moment, it felt like he might say something else.
He didn’t.
“You want to have a coffee?” Robert asked instead, a little too quickly. “I don’t want to send you away. But it’s… cold out here.”
Flambae nodded.
So subtly that Robert almost missed it.
He hesitated for half a second—then grabbed his keys.
They went in.
The stairwell smelled faintly of dust and something metallic. Their steps echoed as they climbed. Neither of them spoke.
Robert unlocked the door and pushed it open, stepping inside first. He reached for the lamps, switching on a few of them instead of the overhead light.
Softer that way.
Beef’s tail started wagging immediately, nails clicking against the floor as he trotted over.
“Make yourself at home,” Robert said, shrugging off his jacket.
“How?” Chad snorted.
He didn’t wait for an answer. Walked past him, slow, taking it in.
The couch. The camping table. The extra chair.
Not much.
He stopped by the balcony door, glancing out into the dark, then nudged the plastic chair lightly with his foot. It scraped a little.
Then he leaned over the counter, watching Robert.
“So you actually meant coffee.”
Robert snorted quietly. “What else?” He didn’t look at him. “You’re in no state.”
The machine gurgled like it was fighting for its life.
Robert rubbed his hands together, still cold, still a little tense.
“I am always in a perfect state,” Flambae said.
“Not mentally.” Robert leaned in, setting two mugs down. Then he looked at him—direct, steady. “Does any of your guys ever consider that? How it would make you feel?”
“They mind themselves. I mind myself.”
“So that’s it?” Robert tilted his head slightly. “Transactional? Cold?”
“As I said.” Flambae’s voice flattened. “Villains are villains. What are you expecting?”
Robert picked up the glass pot and poured the coffee, slow, controlled.
“I expect more,” he said. A small smile, almost self-aware. “To be taken seriously. To be handled with care. To communicate.”
Flambae let out a short, sharp breath. “I suck dicks. But this is gay.”
Robert huffed a quiet laugh.
“That’s just sad.” He met his eyes again, not backing off this time. “You can do better.”
Robert warmed his hands on the mug, exhaling slowly as the heat finally settled into his fingers.
“So could you,” Flambae said, glancing around the apartment. A beat passed. “You have an income now. Why do you live like a drug addict?”
“I’m getting there.” Robert shrugged lightly. “I got a second chair.”
Flambae snorted. “You sleep on that couch?”
“Yeah.”
Flambae took a sip of coffee, leaning his elbow on the counter, studying him again.
“And you never had a boyfriend?” Robert asked. “Someone who actually liked you. And you liked him?”
“…Not really.”
A pause.
Then Flambae smiled—slower this time—and leaned in just a little. “Will you teach me, Bob Bob?”
Robert chuckled under his breath. “Not on that couch, I won’t.”
“You’re goddamn right.” Flambae took another sip. “You’re not my type.”
Robert raised an eyebrow. “Because I’m a considerate lover?”
Flambae’s expression soured immediately. “I got it. Shut up now.”
They were silent until half their mugs were empty and the coffee had cooled enough to drink without thinking about it.
“Are you actually flirting?” Robert asked finally. “Or… partly deflecting? Pushing, pulling?”
Flambae shrugged. “Whatever. I don’t think about these things.” He looked down at his hand, spreading his fingers slowly. “And I’m still mad.”
Robert nodded faintly.
“I always envied you people,” he said, quieter now. “With that. The… powers. The way your bodies are just—stronger. Faster. Like they’re built to endure.”
He hesitated. “I don’t have any of that.”
Flambae looked at him then. Really looked.
“They say the body gets stronger to stand up to the powers,” Robert went on, almost to himself. “Some scientist said that. Back when super-abled people first showed up.”
“So?” Flambae said, setting his empty mug down. “You’re better with your words.” He straightened. “I’ll head home. I’ll be late tomorrow.”
“No. Don’t be late.”
Flambae shrugged, that small, catlike smile returning.
Robert walked him to the door and opened it.
“Do go home, okay?” he said. “No hook-ups.”
“I’m fine.” Chad stepped out into the hallway.
He turned—like he was about to leave.
Then stopped.
Came back two steps.
Robert tilted his head slightly.
Flambae was taller than him. From here, he could see the way Chad’s eyes stayed pinned to the floor. Then a quick glance toward the exit—calculating, almost—before flicking back to Robert.
Caught.
Robert frowned—just for a second. Then softened.
Just a little.
He reached up and tucked the loose strand of hair behind Flambae’s ear.
Flambae stilled.
Looked down at him.
Then he leaned in—
Robert stopped him. Just fingertips, light against Flambae’s bare chest.
“Ask me,” he said.
Flambae blinked. His mouth parted, closed again. For a second, it looked like he might just… not.
He sighed, annoyed at himself.
“Can I kiss you?” he said.
It sounded unpracticed. Careful.
“Yeah,” Robert said, quieter now. “I’d like that.”
Flambae hesitated—like he was waiting to be corrected, or told off.
When nothing came, he leaned in.
Robert lifted a hand to his cheek, guiding him gently. Keeping it slow. Soft.
When Flambae tried to deepen it too quickly, Robert pulled back just a fraction—enough to steady it again, not reject it.
After that, it changed.
Softer. Slower.
Just lips, moving carefully against each other.
Flambae pulled back first.
Stood up straight. Took a step back.
His cheeks were flushed—like they had done something much bigger than just a single kiss.
Robert wanted to say something. Something light.
Chad moved first.
He reached for him again—too quickly.
Robert’s hand came up, resting against his chest. Gentle, but firm.
“Not more tonight.”
Flambae blinked. Swallowed. “We should,” he said, a little too fast. “Otherwise it’s… awkward.”
“Why?”
A beat.
“Two coworkers getting drunk and fucking is easier than this,” Chad said. “No… leftover bullshit.”
Robert smiled, softer this time.
“Good night, Chad.”
He stood, looked like he wanted to argue but didn’t. Flambae turned away and walked down the hallway.