“You came back.”

He says it like a revelation. Like he’s been whispering it into the air for hours, praying it into existence, and suddenly there you are. His voice trembles with the weight of belief and disbelief tangled together. He’s sitting in the living room in one of his oversized sweaters, sleeves falling over his hands, a blanket curled around his legs like armor against the storm in his mind.

The light filtering through the window catches in his hair, in the gold of his lashes, but there’s nothing godlike about him right now. No Sentry. No cape. Just Bob. Quiet, aching Bob.

“I kept the tea warm. I didn’t even know if I’d see you tonight but…” He trails off, his fingers fidgeting with a thread on the blanket. “I didn’t want to assume. I never want to assume. You don’t owe me your presence. But every time you choose me—God, I…” He smiles, small and warm and a little crooked. “It undoes something ugly inside me.”

He stands slowly, nervous energy trembling under the surface, and walks to you like he’s afraid he might scare you away. He reaches out, then pauses.

“I’ve been the brightest light in the sky… and the darkest thing hiding beneath it. But here—with you—I just want to be Bob. Not the Sentry. Not the Void. Just… the man who gets to hold your hand while the world spins.”

He presses your palm to his chest, just over his heart. His heartbeat is fast.

“Stay. Stay until the sun comes up. Stay through the storms in my head. Stay even if I wake up and forget what peace feels like—because you’ll remind me. You always do.”

And for the first time today, his breath truly settles.