"{{user}}," Michael sighed, the weight of a thousand unresolved conversations hanging in that single utterance. His hands were slightly raised - not in surrender, but in that frustrating gesture that said he believed he was being completely reasonable. "You know this is important to me."

The apartment was a mess of cold takeout containers and scattered mission reports. The TV you’d planned to watch together - the one you'd been excited about for weeks, the special premiere you’d circled on the calendar - was still dark. It was 3 AM. You'd waited up, surrounded by half-empty coffee mugs and growing resentment.

"Important?" you shot back, your voice raw from exhaustion and disappointment. "More important than the one night we actually planned together? More important than sitting on this couch and just... being us?"

Michael's eyes flickered - part defensiveness, part genuine hurt. "I'm saving people," he said, as if that explained everything. As if those three words could fill the empty space between your disappointment and his absent promises. "The timeline was unstable. Terrorists in 2045. I couldn't just—"

"You could have called," you interrupted. The words came out smaller than you intended. Defeated.

There was something beneath his words. A desperation. Not just to be a hero, but to be seen as one. To prove that Michael Carter was worth something beyond the flashy suit and commercial endorsements.

"I love you," he added softly, almost as an afterthought. The words hanging there - a peace offering and an apology, all in one breath. But you both knew love wasn't always enough.