scared to take a breath
pairing: bob reynolds x fem!reader summary: ava and yelena have no choice but to call your ex-boyfriend when you refuse to leave girls’ night out without him. but in your drunken haze you forget you’re broken up, and bob was never very good at telling you no. tags: new avenger!reader, exes to lovers, angsty mutual pining goodness (i can’t seem to write anything except men who yearn these days), alpine picked bob in the divorce (you were never married) warning(s): reader wears a dress and makeup, reader drinks alcohol and is intoxicated, mentions of addiction, mentions of mental health issues, suggestive content (no smut but some mild spice), one derogatory joke about florida (sorry florida. love, a californian 🫶🏻) word count: 11.6k note: title comes from the song back to friends by sombr, which i listened to while writing to help inspire the angst 🙂↕️
masterlist
If Ava and Yelena had known what a menace you were when you got drunk, they would never have floated the idea of a girls’ night out. They just thought you needed to blow off some steam after Bucky banned you from going on missions for two weeks.
Ever since you and Bob broke up, you’d been trying your best not to visibly mope too much. It had been almost three months since the breakup, and it was easy to avoid Bob when you went on missions and he stayed behind at the Watchtower. You did everything you could to throw yourself into work and volunteer for missions with barely any breaks in between to avoid the pain of seeing him.
Everything was going to plan until Bucky put his foot down after you almost got shot in your exhaustion. Luckily, John had gotten there just in time, but it was a closer call than any of your teammates were comfortable with.
So, for the last week, you’d been locked in your room to avoid Bob. You tried desperately not to run into him, only using common areas when you knew he was scheduled for training.
That was how Ava and Yelena got the idea to have one of their famous Thunderbolts—you never did quite feel like the “New Avengers” label fit you, much preferring your inside joke team name—girls’ nights out.
And boy, were they regretting that now.
You were something of a dark horse when it came to alcohol tolerance.
At first, Yelena and Ava were blown away by your ability to throw back drinks. For the first hour, Yelena was banging on the bar top and yelling for you to chug while Ava cupped her hands around her mouth and cheered. During the second hour, you hit the dance floor, closed your eyes, and let your hips sway with the pulsating beat of the 2000s dance track playing.
It was the third hour when all your drinks caught up with you.
You were delightfully sweet when you were drunk; they had to give you that.
Even though you were leaning against the bar, blinking slowly at your friends, you had a honeyed smile on your lips. Your already short dress was riding up your thighs as you slumped on a bar stool, and the eyeliner Yelena had carefully applied for you at the start of the night was smudged at the corners.
The nightclub had already started winding down. The dance floor that was buzzing only half an hour ago was now a cluster of stragglers clinging to the last songs. You could taste salt on your lips, from sweat or the rim of some forgotten glass.
“Yelena, your hair looks soooo good slicked back,” you said, just slightly slurring your words. Yelena, whose love language was exchanging insults and making fun of you, stared back emotionlessly. “Like—like a sexy seal. Ava, tell her she’s a sexy seal.”
“Yes,” Ava deadpanned. “She is a very attractive aquatic mammal. Happy?”
You laughed, delighted. “See? You get it. Yelena’s the prettiest seal in the sea. If seals wore blue eyeliner and were trained to kill.”
You blinked slowly. The lights in the room had gone softer, pink, purple, and blue lights smearing at the edges like a watercolour painting. Your body was slow to obey you, limbs heavy and skin hot, a pleasant hum under your skin where alcohol loosened your nerves.
Yelena snorted, then sighed as she watched you wobble on your stool. “Okay, dorogaya, time to go,” she declared. In your inebriated state, you had no idea this was the fifth time she’d said this. “Drink’s empty, party’s over. Up you get.”
You pouted, clutching your glass protectively. It was empty, save for some ice left behind, condensation wetting your fingers. “Noooo, I’m not leaving until Bob gets here!”
Rubbing her forehead, Ava tried not to lose her temper. “Bob didn’t come out with us tonight,” she reminded you. “He’s back at the Watchtower.”
You leaned across the bar top, whispering like you were telling them a secret. “Liar. He never misses girls’ night out!”
Yelena rolled her eyes, muttering, “I am not paid enough for this.” Then, more gently, she tried to urge you out of your stool. “Come on, you’ll see him tomorrow.”
You shook your head furiously, words dragging together. “Nooo, I need him now! I miss him. I love you both sooo much, but you’re not Bob. Nobody’s Bob but Bob.” You pointed very seriously at Ava, who blinked like she wasn’t sure how to answer.
“True,” is what she went with. “I’m not Bob.” Then, below her breath, Ava muttered, “Who’d want to be from Florida?”
You giggled, throwing your arms around her anyway. “But you’re my best ghosty-shadow girl. I love you.” Ava had to admit that it was nice to get a hug. If there was one thing the Thunderbolts were starved of, it was physical affection, but you gave it out freely and happily. “But I need Bob to take me home.”
Yelena lowered her voice while you nuzzled Ava’s shoulder. “She’s going to break him in half,” she declared. Even though he was the one who broke up with you, everyone knew it absolutely destroyed him. “He’s just barely standing, and now this?”
The pinched expression on Ava’s face suggested she agreed. “I don’t like it either. But she’s not going to move for anyone else. She’ll stand here all night long, hoping Bob will show up.”
You lifted your head suddenly, eyes bright and wet. “Did I ever tell you? Bob makes the best midnight snack noodles.” A faraway, glazed-over shine filled your irises. “He always stirs them with chopsticks because he thinks it makes the soup tastier.” Your voice grew tender. As your eyelids grew heavy, each blink lasted a second longer than the last. “Nobody makes noodles like Bob…”
Yelena tried not to let the stab in her chest show on her face. “You are killing me.”
You perked back up, grabbing Yelena’s hand and kissing it. “But youuu, you’re the absolute best. You’re my girl forever, Lena. Even if you make me drink water when I don’t want to.”
Taking the opportunity, Ava suggested, “Maybe drink some now? Before you declare your love for the bartender.”
You gasped, genuinely scandalised, clutching a non-existent string of pearls. “I would never! Only Bob.” Your gaze fell to the bartender, eyes narrowing as you studied him. “…Also, maybe the bartender a little bit. He gave me free fries.”
Yelena muttered something under her breath in Russian, and Ava was glad she didn’t understand the profanity. “She is impossible,” Yelena complained.
“She went all judo on my arse when I tried to drag her out,” Ava reminded her flatly. “I vote we surrender and text him.”
You were the most experienced out of the three of them at hand-to-hand combat, and you nearly tossed Ava over your shoulder the first time she tried to help you out the door. Even drunk, you weren’t going to let anyone carry you anywhere.
Yelena pinched the bridge of her nose. “He’ll come. And then what? We get front row tickets to his heartbreak?”
“Better than a broken wrist,” Ava retorted, but she didn’t look happy about it.
You leaned across the bar again, all wide-eyed with sincerity. Some of your body glitter was smudged across your cheek. “You guys always take care of me. You’re my family.” Your voice wobbled, suddenly heavy with emotion. “But I just— I need him, okay?”
Yelena shut her eyes, inhaling sharply. “Text him the code,” she told Ava. “Before she starts crying.”
Ava, who was already pulling out her phone, muttered, “He’s going to kill us for letting her get this drunk.”
“At least we’ll leave in one piece,” Yelena said.
AVA: code safety net. she’s fine, just refuses to leave the club without you.
When you and Bob first started dating, he set up what he called a “safety net” with the rest of the team. If anyone sent him a code safety net, he’d come running. The idea was that it was for non-emergencies, moments when you needed him but couldn’t ask him yourself.
The last time anyone sent him that code was over four months ago, when you were still his girlfriend.
Now, Bob sat on the edge of his bed, tugging his sneakers on one at a time. Getting that code used to mean rolling out of bed, grumbling half-heartedly to himself about how you’d gotten yourself into trouble, and loving that it was his responsibility to come and help you.
Reading the code word now felt like stepping into dangerous territory. Bob didn’t know if he was allowed to be the person who came to your aid now that you’d broken up.
When he got the text, he’d already had the messages app open, scrolling through an endless exchange of texts between the two of you. He knew he shouldn’t have reread them again, but it was like pressing on a bruise to see if it still hurt.
Spoiler alert: it did. A lot.
Even months after the breakup, letting you go was something Bob hadn’t quite figured out how to do, no matter how hard he tried.
He had to remind himself that he had reasons to break up with you; good reasons. Bob reminded himself of these reasons constantly, just to stop himself from taking it all back.
At the end of the day, it wasn’t fair of him to drag you into his mess. He was still trying to learn what it meant to be Sentry, still doing his best to tame the thing inside him that one day might crack open and release Void into the world again. He couldn’t risk that, not with you sleeping beside him every night.
Whether he was Bob, Sentry, or Void, he would burn the world down if he ever hurt you.
And then there was his sobriety. Even in the best of times, it was a fragile, fickle thing. Bob had been in and out of programmes enough to know how it worked: no new relationships for at least a year, not until his feet were steady under him. He had broken that rule the moment he kissed you, but he couldn’t let his feelings for you be the reason he fell apart this time.
You were the right person at the worst possible time.
Bob knew meeting you was the kind of kismet people only got once in your life, and that’s if they’re lucky. He never considered himself particularly lucky, so he’d held on tight when he first found you.
Bob wondered now if that made it worse. Now that you were broken up, he knew exactly what he was missing.
When he arrived, the club was almost empty. The music was quiet, a few people were slouched against the walls outside, and the bouncer didn’t bother checking his ID when he walked in.
The smell hit him first. The scent of cheap spirits was soaked into the bones of the club, leaving the floor sticky and tacky beneath his shoes. Even though nobody was smoking, cigarette smoke clung to the walls, making his throat tighten. The air was heavy with memories Bob didn’t particularly want to relive.
He’d never been much of a drinker, but chemicals were chemicals, and his body recognised the promise of it even if his mind didn’t want it.
Bob’s mouth went dry, a phantom bitterness gathering at the back of his tongue. His thumb rubbed compulsively across the ridge of his palm, a nervous tick he’d barely registered unless you pointed it out to him.
He spotted you sitting on a bar stool beside an exhausted-looking Ava and Yelena, and the way your eyes lit up when you saw him made something in his chest shatter. In seconds, you were there, arms flung around Bob’s neck with the easy warmth of someone who didn’t remember they were supposed to keep their distance.
“I knew you’d come,” you murmured so sweetly that he felt his knees buckle a little.
You smelled of his favourite perfume, sweat, and alcohol, and it was so dizzying that it was almost like another type of intoxication. Bob’s breath hitched. He nearly folded into you without thinking, fingers twitching with the urge to hold you before remembering he wasn’t supposed to anymore.
His heart pounded against his ribs, too fast, too loud, and he irrationally you’d hear it. He forced his muscles to stiffen, every nerve screaming at him to let you go while every neuron insisted he hold you like he wanted to. It was the most delicious sort of agony.
Yelena and Ava’s eyes flicked his way, because of course they noticed his turmoil, so he took a heavy step back. Inside, everything screamed. Bob tried to mask his face in calmness, knowing his teammates could see right through his efforts.
“Sorry about this,” Ava said, grimacing at the way you pressed your face into Bob’s neck. “We wouldn’t have dragged you out if we had any other choice.”
Nodding drily, Yelena added, “She refused to leave. We tried everything short of a tranquiliser dart.”
“I’ve never seen her like this,” Ava mused. Now that Bob was here, your shoulders had completely relaxed. “She said she’d only go home if you came.”
Forcing a smile, Bob waved away their concern. “S’alright. Don’t worry about it. I’m glad you texted.”
“Don’t you think Yelena looks like a sexy seal?” you asked excitedly. Bob wasn’t quite sure what that meant, but nodded anyway.
As you babbled drunkenly about what you got up to that night, Ava and Yelena shared a weary look. “He says he’s glad,” Yelena mumbled, “But he looks like he swallowed glass.”
“Yeah. I noticed,” Ava agreed.
“You know I can hear you, right?” Bob cut in, brows pulled together, offended. “I’m fine.”
When you moved back just enough to peer at him with glossy, adoring eyes, Bob audibly gulped. “I missed you so much, Bob,” you said sweetly. Your voice was a little husky and tired, and it made him shiver.
Stiffening slightly, Bob gently patted your back with one hand. The other was still busy doing his usual nervous tick, rubbing his thumb across his palm. “Yeah, I—I missed you too,” he stammered, shooting Ava and Yelena a concerned look.
Yelena softened, her expression regretful. “She doesn’t remember,” she explained, cadence uncharacteristically tender.
It felt as if someone had punched Bob in the gut. He couldn’t actually feel anyone’s punches with his impenetrable skin, but God did he remember what it was like. His breath gushed out of him all at once, and his organs felt like they were being crushed together.
Incredulous, he looked at you with wide, questioning eyes. And there you were, grinning at him like you’d never broken up. “You look soooo good tonight, handsome,” you told him. The familiar nickname was like a second blow to his stomach. “D’you know that?”
Bob’s eyes darted to the others. “Uh…”
You frowned, unhooking your arms from his neck and catching his hand in yours. “You’re doing it again. The thumb thing,” you noted. “You only do that when you’re worried. What are you worried about, Bob?”
He choked a laugh, trying to pull free gently. “Nothin’, sweetheart. I just— don’t worry about me.”
Suppressing a laugh, Ava commented, “She’s sharper drunk than half the team sober.”
Yelena was slightly less tactful; she didn’t even try to hide her smirk. “Only when it comes to Bob,” she sang. “A tragic gift.”
“Very inconvenient,” Ava agreed.
Still holding Bob’s hand, your voice wobbled a little. “You didn’t answer me. I missed you. Did you miss me?” Your head tilted as you took on a seductive tone that used to make Bob do whatever you wanted. “You do, right? You always do, especially at night…”
Heat curled low in Bob’s stomach, and you thought you might have caught a familiar glimmer of gold in his irises. “Of course I missed you,” he admitted hoarsely.
You hummed happily, lacing your fingers together and resting your other hand on his solid chest. “Knew it. You always say as long as you miss me, you love me. You still love me, right?”
Bob swallowed loudly. “You’ve… had a lot to drink tonight.”
You offered him a bright, tipsy laugh. “Only enough to tell the truth,” you teased. “You’re my Bob. Always my Bob.”
When you leaned in and started pressing kisses to his neck, Bob jerked back, turning scarlet. He shot Ava and Yelena a look that said, For God’s sake, how much did you let her drink?
“Don’t look at us,” Ava exclaimed defensively, hands up. “We tried cutting her off hours ago. She just kept sneaking off and getting more.”
“We told the bartender to deny her orders, but she caught the next guy once his shift ended,” Yelena added, straight-faced. “It’s a miracle she still has a functioning liver.”
Bob huffed out of breath, blowing the hair from his face. “Okay.” He started steering you toward the exit. “C’mon. Time to head home now, yeah? Fresh air’ll do you good.”
Dopily blinking at Bob, you smiled. “If you think so, Bob.”
Yelena and Ava trailed behind, keeping an eye on you. As you stepped into the cool night, the music dulled behind you. You closed your eyes contentedly as the breeze soothed your warm skin. New York City air wasn’t exactly fresh, but Bob said it’d help, so you basked in it regardless.
“Easy now,” he said, holding you steady. “One foot at a time.” You nodded, clinging to his arm and taking careful steps.
“She does exactly what he says,” Yelena said, partially impressed. “We spent almost an hour arguing with her to switch to water.”
“Tell me about it,” Ava groaned. “I nearly pulled my hair out.”
“I told them I wouldn’t go without you,” you told Bob sincerely. “I knew you’d come. You always come when I need you, and I really needed you tonight.”
All Bob could do was nod, smile, and try not hide how much his hands were shaking. It was ridiculous how he still remembered the sensation of your weight against him. Muscle memory was a cruel thing, and this one came with a sharp jab in his chest.
“Yeah. I’m here,” was all he could say.
Warmth pooled under your skin, not from alcohol but from leaning against Bob. His skin was always hot, bleeding into you until you felt safe and cosy in his arms.
You paused as Ava lifted a hand to flag down a cab. Bob could feel the burn of Yelena’s stare and pointedly ignored her. While you were the person who knew Bob best, Yelena was his best friend. The two of them were inextricably bonded after everything they’d gone through, and he knew he’d fall apart if he saw the pained sympathy on her face.
“For the record, we did try everything,” Ava said as a nearby cab slowed to a stop beside them.
“At one point, she sat on the floor and said she lives in the club now. That was our breaking point,” Yelena added. She hurried to open the back door, watching Bob carefully manoeuvre you inside the cab.
“Alright, careful now,” Bob warned, careful to put his hand out so you wouldn’t hit your head as you got in.
“Let’s go before she decides she’s staging another sit-in,” Ava sighed. She took the passenger seat, giving the cab driver the address for the Watchtower.
The middle-aged man stared at her in shock, clearly recognising the address and the team in his car. Without making a big deal about it, he started the meter once Yelena slid into the last available seat in the back, shutting the door behind her.
The cab rattled softly, city lights flickering across the windows. You were half-curled against Bob’s side, still talking despite your heavy eyelids. Yelena watched you with a conflicted frown.
“Knew you’d come for me, Bob,” you murmured again. Your heartbeat slowed when your head tipped against his shoulder. “Always do.”
“Yeah, sweetheart, I’ve got you,” he assured you. The old anxiety ticks were back before he could stop them, thumb worrying the side of his index finger, shoulder giving the faintest twitch every time your hand shifted further up his thigh. “Let’s just get you home, alright?”
You smiled at him, eyes half-closed and gleaming with exhaustion. “Home’s wherever you are, silly.”
Bob felt his pulse jump in that ugly, uneven way it used to when he was strung out—except this was worse, because there was nothing to take the edge off. Just your eyes, devoted and pure, looking at him like he was still yours.
Noticing the shift towards the kind of honesty you wouldn’t be verbalising if you were sober, Yelena leaned forward a little. “You should rest,” she suggested. “Save the poetry for the morning.”
You giggled tiredly. “S’not poetry. S’the truth.” Your skin tingled deliciously where it touched Bob’s. It wasn’t sexual so much as the electrical spark of recognition, like your body was sighing in relief. “Missed you so much tonight, Bob. Like my chest was hollow until I saw you walk in.”
Ava turned from the passenger seat to glance at Yelena.
Beside you, Bob stiffened. “You’ve, uh, you’ve had a long night,” he said, soft and strained. “Just close your eyes, yeah?”
You shook your head clumsily, words slurred but earnest. “Can’t. Gotta tell you.” You touched his chest softly, with all the care in the world. “For the first time in what feels like forever, I’m not empty anymore,” you confessed. “And we’ve only been apart for a few hours. Isn’t that wild?”
Silence filled the cab. Even the driver flickered his eyes to the rear-view, then looked away.
Bob kept his jaw locked, molars grinding so hard he knew they’d crack if his body was still capable of breaking. It was better than letting his mouth soften, better than letting something slip that he couldn’t take back. There was a low, burning ache behind his sternum. Not sharp or panicked, but heavy, like his heart was collapsing in on itself.
Ava cleared her throat, trying to cut the tension. “Hey, maybe we all just… take a breather, yeah? Get some rest.”
You pouted, trying to keep your eyes open. “I love you. I always will.” Your laughter came out fond and warm, almost dreamy. “My Bob…”
Bob looked stricken, eyes darting helplessly to Yelena. His thumb rubbed harder against his palm, and he was sure that if his skin could still chafe, it would have. Yelena shook her head slowly, silently urging him not to answer.
Still, there was an almost imperceptible shift toward you when you drifted off to sleep, his body betraying what he wouldn’t let himself admit aloud.
The worst of it was the relief. That tiny, treacherous thought whispering: you still loved him. You still wanted him. It made Bob light-headed, sick with hope he knew better than to trust.
You can’t love me if you don’t remember why we ended things, he thought. You can’t. But God help me, I want to believe you.
Bob’s head tilted towards you as you dozed, the old instinct to shield you from the world kicking in even when he was supposed to have stopped. This was a masterclass in containment. He didn’t explode or crumble; he absorbed your confession, keeping it together while his heart split down the middle.
Bob effortlessly helped you out of the cab and up to your room in the Watchtower. It had taken a few months to get used to the newfound strength that came with the Sentry serum. But at least he wasn’t accidentally ripping doors off their hinges or breaking dishes when he picked them up anymore.
With uneven steps, he guided you into your room, setting you down on the bed. Seated, you blinked up at him, drowsy and smiling like he’d hung the stars. It was a look that was overfamiliar; an intimate expression he’d missed seeing.
“I’m not tired,” you mumbled, resisting his help.
“Love, you’re half asleep already,” Bob tried, coaxing but awkward. He gave a short, nervous laugh. “C’mon, let’s just get you sorted out.”
You squinted like he’d offended you. “Sorted? I don’t need sorting. I need… food.”
With a huff of laughter, he shook his head. “Face first. Food later. That’s—uh, that’s how it works. Pretty sure.” Then, mostly to himself: “If you’re still awake by then, which… yeah, probably not.”
Disappearing into the bathroom, Bob kept an ear out for any noises as he grabbed your makeup remover and wet a washcloth with warm water. He returned and crouched in front of you, carefully starting to wash your face for you.
You leaned into the touch happily, taking the opportunity to admire your ex-boyfriend. “You always do it nicer than me,” you mumbled, grinning. “So good to me.”
Quietly, Bob admitted, “Old habit.”
You pouted playfully. “I love it when you take care of me,” you confessed. “I always think it’s so hot when you—”
“Okay, I think it’s time for pyjamas,” Bob blurted, pushing up to his feet a little too fast. He turned away, ears pink, and wondered briefly if his poor heart was as conflicted as his mind was tonight. “Don’t fall over, alright?”
After taking your favourite pair out from your dresser, Bob turned his back to you as you wriggled into your pyjamas. His back was unnaturally stiff, listening for the sound of you stumbling. When you flopped back against the pillows, hair mussed and smile loose, he finally glanced over.
“See?” you said proudly. “All sorted. I can sleep now.”
Relieved, Bob nodded. “Good.” He moved to tuck the blanket around you.
You blinked up at him, suddenly urgent. “Wait,” you said, loud and high-pitched. “Snack!”
Bob sighed. “But—”
“No, Bob, listen,” you hurried, sitting back up with wide eyes. “If I don’t eat something right now I’ll die.” Your confession wobbled, tears starting to form as your eyes became glassy.
Oh boy. If there was one thing that was Bob’s Achilles heel, it was you crying.
There was something so heart-wrenching and wrong about seeing you in tears. The way your cheeks puffed up and your eyes widened, lips curving down into the most perfect frown, was enough for him to agree to do anything to make it stop.
“I’m so hungry now,” you whined, the first few tears cascading down your cheeks. Bob caught them without thinking, chest aching at the sight. He was torn between wanting to maintain some semblance of ex-appropriate boundaries and the dull twinge in his chest.
Eventually, his soft heart couldn’t take it any longer. “God, sweetheart,” he groaned. “You can’t do that. You know I’m useless when you cry.” He tried to laugh, but it came out as a thin sound.
You sniffled, only a touch dramatic. “You wouldn’t let me starve. You love me too much.”
He shut his eyes at that, steadying himself. “You don’t play fair,” he said under his breath.
Triumphantly, you offered Bob a teary smile. “So… snack?”
“Fine,” he agreed. “Yeah, okay. But you stay put, alright? Don’t you dare try and follow me.” Bob wasn’t sure what he’d do if you kept looking at him like you still loved him. “Just stay here.”
You huffed, visibly offended. “As if I’d follow you.”
Bob arched his brow. “You absolutely would.”
“Nu-uh!”
You padded into the kitchen after Bob, clutching the back of his sweatshirt like he’d disappear if you let go. He was resigned but soft with you, guiding you towards the counter. The fluorescents hummed overhead faintly.
“Midnight feast!” you whisper-yelled excitedly, pumping your free fist in the air.
“It’s a quarter to two,” Bob corrected.
You gasped, delighted. “Even better,” you declared.
Bob wasn’t sure what your metric was for deciding what time was better to have a snack, but he laughed anyway. He went through the fridge while you rummaged noisily through the pantry.
Moments later, your tiny gasp of joy filled the kitchen. You held up two packets of noodles like they were a rare treasure. “Bob, noodles!” You held them out for him, already climbing onto the counter deftly. Even your drunken state couldn’t stop years of practised agility. “It’s perfect.”
Bob gave a half-laugh, shaking his head. “That’s… yeah, sure. Wild, right? Cosmic destiny.”
Midnight noodles were something of a weekly ritual when you were dating. You usually had dinner early with the rest of the team, then stayed up late chatting and cuddling. By the time the two of you were tired enough to sleep, you were hungry again.
You narrowed your eyes. “Don’t mock.”
He smiled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Oh no, hey, I’m serious. I swear.”
Taking the packet from you before you tore it open with your teeth, Bob took out a saucepan and set the water to boil. You sat swinging your legs, watching him with lazy admiration.
Bob’s shoulders hunched, stomach tightening each time you called out to him affectionately. His face was schooled into neutrality, but he didn’t know how much longer he could hold it. He was hyper-aware of your position in the room. If you swayed, even slightly, his whole body tensed in case he needed to catch you.
“You like this,” you mused, teasing him. A lazy, fizzy happiness bubbled in your chest. You couldn’t quite figure out why, but you felt truly happy for the first time in a long time. “Taking care of me.”
Bob ducked his head shyly. “I like when you’re not sad. Or mad at me. So,” he motioned awkwardly to the stove, “noodles.”
You nodded. “You’re good at making sure I’m not sad,” you said fondly. “Can’t ever feel sad around you.”
It was a compliment that meant more to him than you could imagine.
Bob chuckled lowly. “No, I’m good at screwing stuff up, mostly. This is just hot water and noodles. Even I can’t—” he faltered, jaw tightening. “Well, I probably could mess it up.”
You frowned at his characteristic self-deprecation. “Don’t be mean to Bob,” you scolded.
Bob raised an eyebrow, dropping the noodles in the boiling water. “Pretty sure I am Bob.”
“Exactly,” you huffed. “Don’t be mean to my Bob.”
He nearly dropped his chopsticks at that. Clearing his throat, Bob bought himself some time by stirring the soup base into the water. To himself, he mumbled, “Didn’t know I was still yours.”
You smiled, still oblivious to your break-up. “‘Course you are, Bob. You’ll always be mine, and I’ll always be yours. That’s how the whole ‘forever’ thing works.”
Bob busied himself with the noodles, but when you started humming, he couldn’t stop glancing at you. You leaned your cheek against the cupboard beside you, watching him as if he’d strayed out of a dream. Reaching for him without thinking, you tugged carefully at Bob’s sleeve, pulling his free wrist closer.
“Miss you tonight,” you told him, longing to hold his hand.
Bob laughed softly, deflecting. “I’m right here.”
You shook your head stubbornly. “Not like that. Missed you in my bones, y’know?”
His chest squeezed. He cracked the chilli oil packet open to have an excuse to take his hand back. “Yeah, but you had your thing, right? Girls’ night. Shots. Dancing. Didn’t need me standing awkwardly in the corner.”
“Always need you,” you argued.
Bob’s hand tightened around the chopsticks. Still facing the stove, he begged, “Don’t say that.”
Your brows pulled together. “Why not?”
“‘Cause it’s— you’re drunk, okay?” It was tough to maintain a firm boundary and not get lost in how you treated him like he was still your boyfriend. “You say stuff like that—”
“Because it’s true,” you said happily. “You’re shy tonight. What’s the matter?”
“I’m,” he gestured at himself, voice breaking, “I’m Bob. I’m the guy who ruins every good thing he touches. And you’re…” he trailed off, swallowing hard. Bob couldn’t bring himself to say, You’re the last person I wanted to hurt.
You slid off the counter, stepping closer. Bob finally looked at you, wincing like it hurt to meet your eyes. For a second, all the noise in his body stopped—no fidgeting, no rambling. Just raw, aching stillness.
“You are something good, Bob,” you declared. It would have been sweet had your words not slurred together, reminding him of your tipsiness.
Bob reached for the bowls and poured noodles and soup into them. “Okay, so, noodles—uh, one for you, one for me,” he rambled, passing you the bowl with a noticeably bigger portion.
Bob returned to your room, balancing a glass of water and some painkillers for the headache you were sure to have in the morning. You were curled beneath the duvet, hair a mess, cheeks warm, still blinking against the low light. The noodles had settled in your stomach without making you nauseous, which you were both grateful for.
He set the glass on the bedside table, fingers twitching like he wasn’t sure if he should tuck you in or back away. “So,” he cleared his throat. Your eyes drifted up to his. They looked like the ocean during a storm, and you were transfixed. “There we are. One water, one magic pill. Not as fun as tequila, but you’ll thank me in the morning.”
You grinned sleepily. “You’re bossy.” You were comfortable in Bob’s presence, letting your guard down entirely.
He huffed a shy laugh. “M’not bossy, I’m being responsible. Someone’s gotta keep you from feeling rotten tomorrow.”
“Bossy,” you sang, pulling the duvet higher. Bob rolled his eyes fondly. He perched at the edge of the bed, hands clasped so tight in his lap his knuckles paled. You noticed. “Why do you look like you’re waiting for your turn at a job interview?”
Startled, Bob stammered, “Wh—what? I’m not— this is just how I sit.”
You giggled. “We’ve been dating for, like, nine months. I think I know how you sit.”
Bob bit his lip, glanced away, then reached down to straighten the corner of the duvet to keep his hands busy. “Just making sure you’re settled,” he said. “That’s all.”
You hummed, dubious. “You’re fussing. You only fuss when you’re nervous.”
His cheeks turned pink at that. “Maybe I’m always nervous around you,” he diverted your question. You blinked up at him, a little too fuzzy to catch the weight of it. “Right. You’re all tucked in. No more sneaking around for snacks, okay?”
You opened your mouth to argue, but a muffled sound at the door caught your attention. A soft little purr. Both your heads turned. “Apine!” you gasped, ecstatic to see Bucky’s feline companion entering your room.
The little white cat slipped in, tail high, and leapt onto the bed. You sat up straighter, arms out, laughing as Alpine bumped her head against your chin and curled beside you. Your smile spread wide and unguarded.
“Hi baby,” you cooed, stroking her head with the back of your hand. “I thought you didn’t love me anymore.”
“‘Course she does. She’s just picky.” Bob brushed a crease from your pillow, doing anything to stop himself from reaching for you.
“You’ve been avoiding me,” you accused Alpine, speaking to her in a low, dulcet tone. You watched her with almost childlike delight, pressing your cheek against her. “For weeks and weeks. I thought I got on your bad side somehow. Like that time John accidentally stepped on your tail.”
Bob chuckled, but his hands twisted together in his lap. He bit at his lower lip. Watching Alpine’s purrs vibrate against your cheek made his chest split in two. He’d always been more of a dog person, but he did have a soft spot for Bucky’s cat. “I’m sure she just missed you.”
“Or you,” you argued. “You’re her second favourite, aren’t you?”
“I don’t know about that.”
“No, you are. Everyone knows it,” you insisted. “She follows you around like a shadow. You spoil her with treats when you think nobody’s looking.”
“I guess she likes me well enough,” Bob allowed. His hand hovered near Alpine’s back, then withdrew, retreating to his lap.
You giggled into Alpine’s fur, drunk and unbothered. But then the giggle faded, replaced by a sudden, sharp earnestness you couldn’t quite stop.
“But she hasn’t come near me for weeks,” you murmured, lips pressed to the soft patch between the feline’s ears. Your hand stilled on her fur. “Not since…”
The words trailed away. You didn’t know why. Some small, skittish part of you pulled back from finishing the thought.
Your smile slipped, slow and reluctant, like something precious sliding out of your grip. A heaviness pressed against your chest, cutting off the little bubble of warmth you’d been floating in all night long. You lifted your head, blinking at Bob. His face was flushed, eyes darting from you to Alpine to the headboard behind your shoulder.
Your stomach dipped, a cold wash chasing away the warmth of the alcohol. That’s it, isn’t it? The pieces slid into place with cruel precision, emerging from the alcohol-induced fog that kept them hidden all night long.
“She’s been with you,” you said, the words cracking open in your throat. “Because we—because we’re not…”
Bob froze, throat bobbing as it worked against words that wouldn’t form. “I—I—don’t…” He tried again, breath stuttering. “It’s not—”
The ache in your chest grew so quickly that it made your hands shake. You dragged trembling fingers down Alpine’s back, stroking her fur in desperate repetition, like you could keep yourself from fracturing if you just kept the motion steady.
Your voice spilled into the room in a whisper. “We’re not together anymore, are we?”
The words hurt more once spoken, like they’d hadn’t been true until you said them aloud. Tears pricked hot at the corners of your eyes. You blinked hard, but it only made them spill faster, streaking down your cheeks and landing in Alpine’s snowy fur.
“You broke up with me,” you recalled, your reply wavering in the middle of your sentence.
Bob looked ruined. His whole chest heaved, and for a moment, he just stared, caught in the wreckage. Hesitant and trembling, his hand pulled you gently, carefully into him. The dam broke when Bob wrapped his arms around you, turning your silent cries into sobs.
“Don’t—don’t cry. Please,” Bob begged, audibly torn. One hand rubbed your back in clumsy circles, while the other cupped your head, tender and desperate.
Your question came muffled against his shirt, small and devastating. “Why did you break up with me? I love you so much.”
Bob flinched like the words struck him, eyes squeezing shut. His hand kept caressing your back, not steady but frantic, trying to stop both of you from falling apart.
You pressed your face harder into his sweatshirt, tears hot and messy against the fabric. The sobs came out loud and hard, shaking your shoulders, then softened into smaller gasps and hiccups as the rhythm of Bob’s hand calmed you.
He could feel how your remaining energy slowly burned itself out. First, your trembling quietened, then your hands loosening where they’d clutched his sweatshirt, then the weighted slump of your body. His arms tightened around you instinctively, holding you upright.
You gave a little sniff. “Don’t you love me?”
Every muscle in Bob’s body locked. His lips parted, but nothing came out at first; not with your breath warming his sweatshirt, not with the fragile pressure of you sinking so trustingly into him.
“I— Do I love you?” The words shuddered out of him, frayed at the edges. “Of course I do.”
But when he pulled back to see your face, your lashes were already lowered, breaths evening out, body soft in the safety of his arms. Your question had used up the last of your energy, and now you were asleep.
Bob’s chest throbbed with relief and grief all at once. You’ll never know, he thought. Not really. Not the way he wanted to tell you—awake, sober, with steady hands instead of shaking ones. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, shutting his eyes to stop his own tears from falling.
You woke to sunlight pressing against your eyelids, a dull yellow insistence that came from your curtains being open. Your head throbbed; not stabbing but heavy, like someone had stuffed your skull with cotton. Your mouth was dry, your tongue thick, every swallow tasting faintly of metal.
You blinked slowly, trying to piece the previous night together. What you remembered came in flashes: Ava’s laugh at the bar, Yelena making a face at the DJ, colourful lights blurring overhead. And then, nothing. Just a clean break in the reel, as though someone had pressed stop and forgotten to hit record again.
At least you were in your own bed, the duvet pulled up to your chin like your own personal fairy godmother helped you home. You couldn’t smell cheap takeaway on your clothes, which meant you’d dodged your usual post-club ritual of inhaling fries at three in the morning.
Still, the gap in your memory made your stomach twist a little. Not in fear, you trusted Ava and Yelena too much for that, but embarrassment. A mortifying little voice in your head whispered that if you’d blacked out at the end of the night, you’d probably done or said something mortifying.
You groaned and pressed the heel of your palm to your eyes.
After taking the painkiller someone left for you on your bedside table, you shuffled into the kitchen looking for something to have eat. You didn’t care that your hair was mussed and you looked distinctly worse for wear; you just needed to get something into your stomach before the nausea took over.
In the kitchen, Yelena and Ava were sitting at the table while John rifled through the pantry. Both of them look just as bad as you did. Yelena wore sunglasses even though you were indoors, and Ava still had eyeliner streaked across her face. You gratefully accepted a cup of coffee when Ava passed it to you. Collapsing into the chair beside her, you groaned quietly.
“Okay,” you began, a little sheepish. “Don’t laugh. I don’t remember anything after the club last night.” Your friends shared a look that said they weren’t surprised. “I just wanted to say thanks for dragging me home and dealing with me.”
Yelena smirked. “Dragging is the right word. You fought like a feral raccoon.”
“We were two seconds away from calling animal control,” Ava chimed in, grinning.
If they were teasing you, then their hangovers weren’t that bad.
You groaned, burying your face in your arms. “I knew it. I’m the worst drunk.” When you looked up, you gave your friends your prettiest smile. “Sorry about that. How did you even get me into bed?”
Yelena and Ava exchanged a quick look.
Before you could prompt them further, John interrupted. “Oh, for fuck’s sake!” he screeched. You turned around just in time to see him slam the pantry doors shut, glaring at the three of you like you’d committed a horrible betrayal. “Who ate my noodles?” John demanded.
All he got in return was three blank stares.
“Pardon?” Ava asked, her tone suggesting she was already done with the conversation before it started.
“My last two packets of instant ramen,” John said, crossing his arms and glaring between you. You had to admit, as much as you all liked messing with him, he could be pretty intimidating when he wanted to be. “Been saving them all week, and what do I find? Empty shelf.”
Without missing a beat, Yelena said, “Maybe the universe is telling you to eat a vegetable.”
“The universe can shove it,” John deadpanned. “Someone in here’s a thief. And don’t act innocent! It’s been a while, but my noodles used to vanish every week like clockwork.”
You froze with your coffee cup halfway to your lips. Your eyes snapped to Yelena and Ava, who were already looking at you, matching your wide-eyed look of surprise.
“It was Bob,” you said quietly, almost accusing, once John gave up and started searching the fridge for something edible. “That’s how you got me to come home.”
Yelena sighed heavily, rubbing between her eyebrows like she was getting a headache. “We didn’t have a choice, you wouldn’t leave without him. Besides, it wasn’t that bad.”
“Wasn’t that bad?!” you exclaimed, not buying it for a single second. “I know exactly how unhinged I get when I’m drunk, and you let me spend the night with my ex-boyfriend?”
“You honestly didn’t do anything embarrassing,” Ava insisted. Then, she paused. “Well, I guess you did forget you were broken up and treated him like you were still together,” she admitted. You opened your mouth to keep yelling, so she hurriedly added, “But he was honestly fine with it!”
“He took it very well,” Yelena agreed. “It crushed his mind, body, and spirit. But he took it well.”
“Even if I was asking for him, I can’t believe you forced him to come,” you retorted.
Yelena gasped. “We did not force him!”
John, who was eavesdropping the entire time, cut in. “Wait, wait, hold up.” Your eyes drifted over to him. “Are we even allowed to call a code safety net if the two of them are broken up?”
You frowned. “Code what?”
“Nicely done, Walker,” Yelena drawled sarcastically, pretending to applaud him. She was known to resort to his last name when he messed something up. Which, in her eyes, was often. “What is it about a secret code that you don’t understand?”
“What secret code?” you asked, already dreading the answer.
“Okay look,” Ava said, giving it to you straight. “When you and Bob started dating, he set up an emergency code called ‘safety net.’ If you were too far gone at the club, or if you needed him but were too scared to ask, we’d send him the code. He always came to help, no matter what.”
You swallowed, processing the news. “That’s…”
“Overly protective?” John teased, smirking a little. He didn’t mean it, of course. Nobody had called a code safety net more often than him. He just lived to tease you and was convinced you ate his noodles.
“I was going to say romantic,” you corrected him, rolling your eyes.
“Don’t you think you’re a little too, I don’t know, divorced to be making comments?” Yelena added.
“Jesus,” Walker muttered, holding his hands in defence and grumbling about ordering takeout instead.
Once he was out of the kitchen, Ava smirked. “So, midnight noodles with Bob?”
“I have a big mouth when I’m drunk,” you grumbled, downing the rest of your coffee to soothe your dry throat. You’d never told them about you and Bob’s midnight noodles, so you knew you had your drunk self to thank for that one.
“Yeah, but it was cute,” Ava said, leaning back in her chair. “You looked very proud of your little tradition.”
Yelena snorted. “You made it sound like a sacred ritual.”
You pressed your lips together, staring at the empty mug in your hands. “But… why would he still come? Why would he—” You broke off, shaking your head. “He’s the one who ended things. If he doesn’t love me anymore, then why show up to help?”
For once, Ava didn’t have a snarky comment locked and loaded. She just tilted her head, eyes warming. “That sounds like a question for him,” she said.
Yelena nodded, elbowing you lightly. “Yeah. Don’t waste your breath on us. Go ask Bob. We’ll be here eating John’s backup noodles. I found them this morning and stashed them in my room.”
You stood outside Bob’s door longer than planned to. Long enough to wonder if the team could hear your pacing from the hall, long enough to almost turn back around. Twice. You even considered coming back tomorrow, but you knew your courage was dwindling fast. If you left now, you probably weren’t coming back.
You held your breath as you knocked. From inside, you could hear Bob shuffling around before the door slowly cracked open. He blinked at you, hair a mess and t-shirt wrinkled like he’d been napping. For a stupid, dizzying second, the sight of him all domestic and soft punched through your ribs. You could still feel what it was like when you used to wake up in that bed with him.
Bob looked surprised to see you standing there, but not unhappy. “Hey.”
“Hey,” you echoed, hating how your throat tightened around the word. “Um. Can we talk?”
For a second, you thought he might say no. Then, he stepped back and opened the door wider. “Yeah. Sure. Come in.”
You crossed the threshold and realised you hadn’t prepared yourself for the wave of nostalgia that made your stomach clench. Bob’s room looked exactly the same as it had the last time you were in it. From the mug on his bedside table to the blanket you’d bought for him, half-folded on the bed.
It was all the same, except you didn’t live here anymore. Your fingers itched to straighten the blanket the way you always used to, so you folded them together like a penitent child.
You hovered awkwardly in the middle of the room, unsure where to sit. Bob noticed and gestured toward the chair at his desk before sitting on the edge of his bed. It felt like he’d deliberately put distance between you.
“So,” he said, rubbing the back of his neck. “What’s up?”
You smoothed your palms over your jeans. “I just— I wanted to check in. See how you’ve been.”
Bob’s brows lifted. “I’ve been… fine,” he said slowly. “Busy, I guess. You know how it is around here.”
“Yeah,” you agreed. “Of course. I get it.”
Before the awkward silence stretched further, he asked, “And you?”
You blinked. “Me? Oh, you know. Same thing. Busy.”
“Right,” he replied. Bob didn’t point out that he knew Bucky had banned you from going on missions for two weeks, and refused to acknowledge how he’d accidentally broken the windows in the conference room when he found out you were almost shot.
You nodded, exhaling through your nose as your fingers tightened on your lap. “Okay, so… Ava and Yelena told me about last night.” Bob’s eyes flicked up to yours wearily.
“They said you came to pick me up,” you continued. “Brought me back. Stayed until I was asleep.” You shifted in the chair, the words scraping raw in your throat. “John mentioned something about missing noodles, so I assume you made those for me. Which I—I don’t remember at all.”
“I don’t know what I did,” you admitted, voice smaller than you intended. “I don’t know what I said. I just keep thinking— God, I must’ve been awful. Embarrassing. Ava said I forgot that we’d, y’know,” you gestured vaguely with your hands, referring to your breakup, “And I hate that I don’t even know what to apologise for.”
Something flickered across his face, not quite a wince, but close. Bob looked down at his hands, thumb dragging over his palm. “It wasn’t like that,” he said finally. “You weren’t being embarrassing. You didn’t do anything wrong.”
You almost laughed at how gently he said it. “Then what was it like? Because right now, it feels like everybody knows something I don’t,” you revealed.
Bob hesitated, mouth opening and closing before anything came out. “You were drunk. People get drunk, they… say things. Do things.” His cheeks and ears flushed as he averted his eyes. “It doesn’t matter.”
“It matters to me,” you pressed. “Why did you come when they texted? You could’ve ignored the code, or told Yelena to handle it, but you didn’t. Why?”
His jaw tightened. Truthfully, Bob had never considered the fact that you might find out about code safety net. When the two of you broke up, he assumed you’d never have a reason to hear about it.
“Because it was you.” He said it like he expected a blowback, shoulders hunched just like when he’d first confessed his feelings for you.
You blinked at him, the honesty of it knocking you off balance. Bob seemed to realise what he’d admitted, because he immediately pushed on, fumbling. “I mean— I set that code up for a reason. Back then. You always knew exactly when I needed help, and I was never as good at figuring that stuff out, so I set up a code. Even last night, I couldn’t ignore it. That’s all.”
“That’s all?”
Bob nodded too quickly, eyes darting to the floor again. “That’s all.”
You studied him. Dating for almost nine months allowed you to mentally store something like a Bob Reynolds textbook. You could tell from the way his shoulders shook like he was bracing for impact that he wasn’t being entirely truthful. Then there was his nervous tick of rubbing his thumb across the ridge of his palm, and the way his legs couldn’t keep still.
“You didn’t tell drunk-me we broke up,” you said after a beat. “You just let me think…” The words trailed, your breath catching at the memory you didn’t have. “Why would you do that?”
He shook his head, voice rough. “You were drunk. I wasn’t gonna hit you with reality in that state. Didn’t feel right, not when you were smiling for the first time in months.”
You sat back, staring at him like you were trying to piece together a puzzle with half the pieces missing. “So… you didn’t tell me because I was drunk. Because you wanted me to be happy.” Bob shifted awkwardly on the bed. “And because you knew I wasn’t saying anything I didn’t mean.”
His head jerked up to meet your eyes before he could stop himself. “You’re sure you don’t remember anything?”
You nodded. “Not a thing. But I can guess. If I thought we were still together, I would have trusted you with my most private thoughts. I would have poured my heart out without knowing what I was doing.”
Bob exhaled slowly. “End of the night, you figured it out. When Alpine came in, you looked at me like—” He broke off, jaw working. “You realised we weren’t together. It hit you, and—it tore you up.” His wince said the memory still hurt. “If I’d known telling you up front would’ve spared you that, I would have said something. But I didn’t know what to do. I just didn’t want to hurt you.”
“You wanted to spare me the pain,” you pressed. “Why? If you were just helping me out of an old obligation, why did it hurt you to see me upset?”
“Because I—” Bob cut himself off, breathing hard through his nose. Because I love you was dangerously close to the tip of his tongue. “Because it was hard. Anyone would’ve found it hard.” The excuse was weak, even to him.
You leaned forward, refusing to let him retreat. “I don’t care what anyone would’ve thought. I care what you thought. Why was it so hard for you?”
Finally, Bob dragged in a breath. “You think this is easy for me because I’m the one who ended things? Believe me, it hasn’t been easy.”
Your heart thudded hard in your chest, but you didn’t speak; you didn’t move.
“I broke up with you because, for once, I wanted to do the right thing,” Bob went on, words tumbling out like he was afraid he’d lose his nerve. “I had to focus on the depression, and the loneliness, and the never-ending void.” He rubbed his eyes. “I messed this stuff up so many times trying to get sober, and I can’t afford to do that with the Void and the Sentry hanging around. If I fall off again, it’s not just me who pays the price. I couldn’t drag you through that.”
You opened your mouth to argue, but he pressed forward, too worked up to let himself be interrupted.
“I wanted you. God, I wanted you. And maybe that’s what made it worse. Because every time I looked at you I thought—what if I screw this up? I couldn’t live with myself if I did that.” Bob’s words caught, low and ragged. “So I let you go. Not because I wasn’t sure I loved you. It was just… bad timing.”
You sat frozen, his words blowing up everything you thought you’d known. You’d told yourself a hundred stories about why he’d walked away; boredom, fear, maybe even that he stopped loving you. But you’d never considered this.
Bob scrubbed his hand over his face, then let it drop. “You know I’m sober,” he said. “And yeah, the serum means drugs don’t really… stick anymore. I can’t drink, can’t use, not in any way that matters. But sobriety isn’t just about not putting stuff in your body. It can make you screw up the people around you while you’re trying to get clean. I guess my fear of doing that to someone never really went away.”
He let out a shaky breath, eyes flicking up to gauge if you were still listening.
“Every program told me the same thing: don’t date in the first year. Because you’re too raw, too unsteady. You’ll lean on someone in ways that end up hurting them.” He shook his head. “And I thought if I wanted a real shot at keeping the Void under control, I had to treat it like I was back at square one. Like I was still in that first year.” His jaw flexed, guilty, pained. “But by then I’d already met you, and for once, I thought maybe I got lucky.”
He looked away. “But I couldn’t have it all. Not when I was still learning how not to let the Void bleed out, or not to let the Sentry serum break everything I touched.”
You let out a laugh, shaky and wet, dragging your hand across your cheek. “Do you have any idea what you’re telling me right now?” you whispered.
His brow furrowed, wary. “I’m telling you why I ended things.”
“No,” you said, tone firming. “You’re telling me you never stopped loving me.” You were startled by how steady the words sounded, considering how violently your pulse was hammering.
Bob’s mouth opened, then closed. He didn’t deny it.
The months without him came crashing down: every long night staring at empty walls, every mission you buried yourself in, hoping exhaustion would trick you into not missing him.
“I know exactly what I would have said to you last night if I thought we were still together,” you admitted. “I would’ve told you I love you. That I miss you so much it feels like part of me got ripped away.” You swallowed hard, blinking against the sting in your eyes. “I’ve been walking around trying to pretend that I didn’t search for you every second of the day.”
Bob’s silence should have scared you. Months ago, when it felt like you were on the verge of breaking up, it did.
“Do you know what the worst part was?” you whispered. “Not knowing why you did it, or if I’d been wrong about you. I kept thinking—if you could walk away so easily, maybe you never loved me the way I loved you. And I hated myself for wanting you anyway.” Your chest rose and fell unevenly. “And now—” You broke off in a half-laugh, half-sob, “now that I know why you did it, it makes me love you even more.”
Bob’s hands twisted together in his lap, and then slowly stilled. “You know,” he said, voice quiet enough that it made you lean in to catch it, “it’s been a year.”
You blinked at him. “Since…?”
He glanced up hesitantly, like he wasn’t sure if saying it aloud might jinx it. “Since the last time the Void broke through. Since I—” Bob exhaled shakily. “Since I lost control like that. One year of doing everything right. No shortcuts, no lies, no risking it. Other than being with you, I guess.”
Your throat tightened. “You did it.”
“I did it,” Bob echoed, almost like he couldn’t believe it himself. “I didn’t think I could, but I did. And these last few months,” his eyes found yours, steady now, “I missed you so much.”
Something tugged at your gut. “Then why be with me at all, if you’d promised yourself a year?” The words came out softer than you meant, not accusing, but like you were afraid of the answer.
Bob’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “Because I couldn’t let you go. You were the only thing that made me feel like I wasn’t just surviving that year, but actually living it. I thought—I thought I could hold both, you and the vow, but when it came down to it… I was terrified I’d break one, and I couldn’t risk it being you.”
You bit your lip, forcing yourself not to cry. “I missed you so much,” you said. “Nothing feels right without you.”
Bob swallowed, his gaze fixed on you. “You really think…” His words faltered, and then, barely above a whisper: “You really think you could take me back?”
You reached for him before you could second-guess it, your hand covering his. His fingers tensed, then relaxed, instinctively interlocking with yours.
Bob stared down at your joined hands, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “I don’t deserve this,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t—”
“You don’t get to decide that for me,” you interrupted, quieter than you meant, but steady. “If anything, the fact that you were willing to give this up to get better proves that you deserve it.”
When he looked up at you again, there was something tender in his eyes. “I just don’t want to hurt you again.”
“You did hurt me,” you admitted, a small, almost rueful smile tugging at your mouth. “By keeping things from me. But we can work on that.”
For a long moment, he didn’t speak, just held your gaze like he was trying to capture the moment in a memory. Then, voice rough, Bob asked, “So what now?”
You squeezed his hand, feeling the warmth of it sink into you. “Now?” You drew in a shaky breath, lips trembling with something like a laugh. “Now we see if we can get it right this time.”
Then Bob leaned across to reach you, almost hesitant, like he was giving you one last chance to pull away.
Your free hand caught his sweatshirt collar and pulled him in the rest of the way, and then his mouth was on yours. It was laughably familiar, the exact way you used to tug him down for a kiss when he was stalling, and you felt his breath hitch like he remembered that too.
It was the kind of kiss that came from months of restraint tearing loose all at once. His lips pressed hard to yours, hungry and desperate, like your bodies remembered what your minds had tried to forget.
You tasted salt—your tears, his, you couldn’t tell—and his hand slid to cradle your jaw, tilting your face so he could kiss you deeper. It was as if he’d been picturing this moment in his head and couldn’t risk losing a single detail now that it was real.
The tremor in his hands gave him away; Bob always shook when he was holding too much back, and you realised this was months of self-restraint crumbling. Your lungs burned with the need for air but your body refused to stop, greedy and starved, like you’d gone months without food and only he could satiate you again.
The heat of it built fast, familiar and overwhelming, like no time had passed at all. Bob’s mouth found yours with the kind of certainty that only comes from practice, from knowing exactly how to draw that sharp gasp from your lips, exactly how to make your knees weaken.
You broke apart just long enough to breathe, and he let out a ragged groan against your mouth. “I missed this,” Bob whispered, deep and wrecked like it always was after you kissed.
“Then don’t ever make us miss it again,” you said, and dragged him back into another kiss.
Bob’s breath shuddered against your mouth, his thumb tracing over your cheek to ground himself in you. “I love you,” he said, hoarse and certain, before kissing you again.
Your hands slid into his curls, tugging him closer, closer, until the chair scraped back against the floor. Bob didn’t care, didn’t even pause, just caught your waist and pulled you into his lap like he couldn’t bear a single inch of distance. Your knees sank into the mattress you used to sleep on every night, heat flooding your abdomen.
The sound he made when you settled against him was half growl, half plea, and it vibrated through you, low and devastating. His hands slid up your back, spanning your ribs, mapping you all over again with a reverence disguised as desperation.
“You feel exactly the same as I remember,” Bob rasped against your mouth, the words breaking on another groan as your fingers tugged his hair. “Except so much better than anything my mind made up.”
You kissed him instead of answering, teeth catching on his bottom lip. He cursed softly, lost to it. His hands moved restlessly—your hip, your thighs, your back—like he couldn’t decide where to touch you first. There was nothing careful in the way he kissed you.
When you leaned back, Bob chased your lips. “I can’t stop,” he whined, trembling as his thumb stroked gently across your throat. “Tell me to stop and I will, but—God, I can’t—”
“Don’t stop,” you cut in, breathless, your lips bruising his as you spoke. “Don’t you dare.”
That was all it took. Bob surged up to kiss you again, all fire and urgency, one hand splayed across your back to keep your chest pressed against his. You could feel the frantic beat of his heart against yours. You gasped when your back hit the headboard, legs wrapped around his waist for stability. His mouth was already chasing the sound, devouring it.
“Missed this—missed you—” Bob muttered between kisses, completely wrecked. His hands roamed, greedy and adoring all at once.
Your fingers hooked into the hem of his sweatshirt, aching for bare skin, tugging it half-way up before you even realised you’d done it. The noise he made when you touched him—strangled, helpless, carnal—shot straight through you like lightning.
He broke the kiss only long enough to yank his shirt over his head, his chest heaving, eyes burning into yours. “Tell me this isn’t just me,” he rasped, already pulling you back in.
“It’s not,” you whispered. “I love you.” Then you kissed him as your hands traced over familiar lines of muscle, remembering exactly where to touch to make him shiver and groan.
Bob’s masterful composure broke. He fell back without warning, pliant and gasping underneath your fingers. Your knees dug into the mattress again, your hands bracing on either side of his head while his fingers disappeared underneath your t-shirt. You arched into him instinctively, his name breaking on your lips, and his grip on your hips tightened.
Bob knew exactly how to undo you, exactly where to linger, exactly how to make your breath stutter. And you knew him just as well; the way his hands trembled when you trailed kisses down his neck and across his collarbones said you hadn’t lost your hold on him either.
Every scrape of his stubble, every brush of his tongue, every shaky gasp between kisses was a reminder that Bob knew you inside and out.
And then you started laughing. Messy, breathless giggles that bubbled up between kisses when Bob fumbled with the button of your jeans and swore under his breath, when his nose bumped yours because neither of you could keep still.
You dropped your forehead against his shoulder, giggling helplessly. He smelled the same, soap and cedar and the faint tang that clung to him when he woke up, and it sent another wave of hysterical affection through you.
“We’re a disaster,” you teased, rolling over to lie on your back beside him.
“Speak for yourself,” Bob muttered, though his grin was hopelessly crooked, his chest still heaving. “I’m very smooth.”
You gave him a look, one brow arched. He sighed, sagging down beside you, reaching for your hand like it was the only thing tethering him.
“Okay,” he admitted, eyes flicking away. “Maybe not smooth. More like… sandpaper. Or, uh, a car crash. The kind you can’t look away from because it’s that bad.”
You laughed again, louder this time, tugging him forward so you could kiss the corner of his mouth. “Bob.”
He glanced at you warily, self-deprecating humour still lingering in the downturn of his smile. “Yeah?”
“You’re fine,” you whispered, cupping his cheek, brushing your thumb over the stubble there. “More than fine. You’re the best thing I’ve ever let crash into me.”
Something unguarded flickered in his eyes then, relief tangled with endless affection. The way his face crumpled—half a laugh, half like he’d taken a breath after holding it for too long—was so unmistakably Bob that you couldn’t help kissing him again. Softer this time, slow and sweet, like coming home.
