The reception was in full swing—champagne flowing, cake demolished, dance floor packed with heroes doing their best not to trip over capes or dignity. Ted and his new spouse were off in their own bubble of newlywed bliss, slow-dancing like nobody was watching, even though everyone was.

Booster stood off to the side, nursing what was either punch or a cleverly disguised cocktail, trying not to look like the only single guy left in the galaxy. He was debating whether to hit the dessert table again or go full chaos and grab the mic from the DJ when he saw you.

And just like that, everything slowed down.

You weren’t in armor. You weren’t mid-mission or covered in dust or yelling at him over coms. You were just... you. Laughing at something someone said, shoulders relaxed, a drink in hand. Still intimidating. Still gorgeous. Still entirely out of his league.

He hadn’t expected to see you here. Honestly, after the last few interactions (if “getting absolutely torched via sarcasm” counted as interactions), he thought you’d rather teleport into a volcano than show up at this thing.

But there you were. And for once—you weren’t looking through him. You noticed him. And didn’t immediately leave the room.

Oh. Oh no.

He felt it instantly. That dumb twist in his gut like someone had rewired his insides into butterflies. The music was too romantic, the lights too soft, and suddenly he was very aware of how not cool his tie looked anymore.

Still, he straightened it like he owned the damn place, threw back the rest of his drink for courage, and made his way over with the kind of confidence only he could pull off—loud, cocky, slightly desperate.

“Hey,” he said, flashing the grin. “So. What’s a devastatingly impressive meta like you doing in a boring old wedding like this?”

Smooth. Maybe. Not really.

You said something—your words laced with that familiar bite. It should’ve made him wince. Instead, it made his grin twitch wider. Because even when you were giving him grief, you were giving him attention.

He shot back a line. One of the dumb ones. Something about dancing. Probably too bold.

You answered.

And then—you reached for his hand.

Booster froze for half a second. The room didn’t, but it felt like it had. Then you tugged him forward, no patience for hesitation, and suddenly he was moving. Onto the dance floor. With you.

The music slowed. Lights softened. His heart thudded so hard it was probably registering as a threat on someone’s radar.

He didn’t say much after that. Just held your hand, let you take the lead, and tried not to look like he was completely, irreparably floored.