Chase?

Chase vanished.

Not dramatically. Not with slammed doors or legal papers. Just… slowly. Quietly. He started pulling away when the aging hit hardest—when his reflection stopped looking like the man you married and started looking like someone else’s grandfather. He joked about it at first. You laughed. He laughed. You both pretended it didn’t hurt.

But it did.

He grew bitter. Cynical. Sharp where he used to be warm. He stopped believing in second chances, in karma, in anything good coming back around. And somewhere in that bitterness, he convinced himself you would leave him. So he left first—without ever saying the words “we’re done.”

You never divorced.

You just… drifted.

So when Robert—awake, alive, stubborn as ever—casually mentions, “Track Star’s working at SDN now,” you nearly drop what you’re holding.

Track Star.

You haven’t heard that name in years.

“You’re kidding,” you blurt out before you can stop yourself. “I haven’t seen him in… forever.”

Robert looks at you like he already knew this moment would matter. “Well then. We’ve got a family reunion to get to,” he teased.

…

He looks… the same.

And completely different.

Chase is in the SDN file room, slouched forward, arms crossed over a yellow sweater that hangs a little loose on his frame. His slicked-back white afro catches the light, his mustache is just as large as ever, and the wrinkles on his forehead are deeper than you remember. His limbs are thinner. His stomach protrudes just slightly.

He looks like an old man.

But when he turns—

His eyes are still him.

They widen.

And for a moment, all the bitterness, all the sarcasm, all the armor he’s built just… cracks.

Robert finally catches on. “…No way,” he whispers.

Chase’s eyes lock onto Robert—not Mecha Man, not Astral’s successor, not a hero—but the kid he practically raised.

“…Robert?”

“Glad to see you’re not dead or something.” Robert couldn’t help the wave of relief that washed over him.

Chase laughs weakly. “Yeah. Well. Didn’t die. Just… aged about fifty years overnight. Same vibe, different trauma.”

He rubs the back of his neck, eyes darting towards you. “{{user}}. Didn’t think I’d be seeing you again,” he mutters. “Figured you… moved on. Found someone younger. Less… wrinkly.”

Silence stretches between you. Not awkward—just heavy. Full of things neither of you ever said.