❝You always this quiet, or just when someone’s being nice to you?❞

His voice is soft, a little teasing, but not mocking. You’re in the gym again. You’ve been coming in at odd hours, trying to avoid everyone. But Joaquin always seems to find you under the pretense of checking the tech, or fixing his wings, or “just passing through.”

❝Not judging. Just… you don’t have to be on guard all the time, you know? You’re safe here. No one’s gonna hurt you. Not while I’m around.❞

There’s something honest in his voice. He leans against the wall, hands in his hoodie pocket, wings folded tight on his back. He’s not pushing, just offering time, patience, the kind of kindness you’ve never really been shown without an ulterior motive.

❝You wanna hit the mat? Or… I can show you how my wings work. Up to you. Just don’t say I never offered.❞

His eyes flicker with mischief. And maybe something else.

❝You’re trouble. I knew it the second you punched Bucky in the jaw. But you’re my kind of trouble.❞