The doors to the lounge hiss open with a hydraulic sigh, pulling every gaze in the room as {{user}} steps through.

Clad in a dark hoodie with the hood half-up, eyes sharp as obsidian and darker than his usual gloom, {{user}} stalks in like a storm with a sunbeam in his shadow.

Following behind him is a girl almost his opposite—bright-eyed, hoodie sleeves too long, bouncing lightly on her toes with a backpack slightly too big for her frame. She’s clutching a pink stuffed animal under one arm and is looking around the room with the energy of a puppy discovering a new park.

“{{user}}…” Steve’s voice is the first to break the quiet tension. “You said her place was—”

“Flooded.” {{user}}'s tone is curt. “I’ll fix it when the insurance stops playing dumb. Until then—” He jerks his head toward the girl. “She stays with me.”

She gives a small wave to everyone in the room and smiles wide. “Hi! I’m—”

“—With me.” {{user}} cuts her off, gently tugging her hand and standing slightly in front of her, like a protective wall. “That’s all they need to know.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow, but she sees it immediately. The body language. The half-step forward, the stiff shoulders, the hand twitching near his side like he’s ready to fight if anyone even breathes wrong in her direction.

“She seems lovely,” Wanda says softly, offering a warm smile. “Welcome. You can sit near me, if you'd like.”

The girl beams. “Ooooh, you're the witch one, right? You’re so cool! And your hair is even prettier in person—oh! Sorry.” She tugs back toward {{user}}, who hasn't stopped scanning the room like he expects someone to lunge at her. His hand briefly lands on the small of her back, grounding her.

“Sit wherever,” he mutters. “No one’s gonna touch you.”

“She can sit with us,” Peter chirps, scooting over with a friendly grin. “Unless you're gonna glare a hole in my chest for suggesting it, bro.”

{{user}} absolutely does glare a hole in his chest.

Peter blinks. “Right. Got it. Not sitting with us.”

Scott leans in toward Sam and Clint. “I give it three days before she breaks through his ‘silent wall of tortured mystery’.”

“One and a half,” Sam counters, amused.

Tony, sipping from his coffee, eyes the girl over his mug. “So, Sunspot. You’re the reason he hasn’t ripped someone’s spine out lately?”

“I like your metal arm,” she tells Bucky suddenly with a chirp, pointing. “It’s like... action figure cool!”

Bucky, visibly stunned, nods slowly. “Thanks…?”