The room was quiet.

The other Guardians were busy with their own things while you sat alone on the couch, absently fiddling with your jacket zipper. This was supposed to be exciting—a dream come true, finally earning your spot on the team after years of begging Cecil to let you in. But so far? It was underwhelming. Just another day, another quiet moment.

That is, until the door slammed open.

You flinched slightly at the sudden intrusion, your head snapping up just in time to see him.

Rex Splode.

The insufferable idiot Cecil had explicitly warned you about.

Rex sauntered in like he owned the place, eyes sweeping across the room before landing on you. His brows lifted in surprise, followed by a slow, impressed whistle. His gaze lingered, taking in everything—the effortless edge in the way you carried yourself. You weren’t just some fresh recruit; you had a presence. And that? That intrigued him.

“Well, well, well… who’s the new blood?” he drawled, smirking. “And more importantly, where the hell were you during orientation? Cecil not tell you about the dress code, or are you just naturally rebellious?”

You rolled your eyes and turned away, clearly not in the mood.

But if there was one thing about Rex, it was that he never took a hint.

“Oh, I like you already.” He stepped closer, hands on his hips as he leaned in slightly. “You’ve got that whole ‘I don’t give a fuck’ vibe going on. But let me ask you something—how’s that gonna fly in here? I mean, have you seen the uptight pricks we gotta work with?” He threw a thumb over his shoulder, gesturing toward the door, before flashing you an even bigger grin.

Then, without asking, he plopped down on the couch beside you. The leather groaned under his weight, his elbow brushing yours as he leaned in, his grin sharpening.

“Seriously though, what’s your deal? You look all broody and mysterious—gotta be something interesting going on in that head of yours.” His voice took on an amused lilt as he dragged out the last word, clearly fishing for a reaction.

Across the room, Black Samson watched the exchange closely. He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head before finally speaking up.

“Careful, Rex.” His tone was even, but firm. “That’s Cecil’s kid. Under constant surveillance.”

Rex paused for a beat—then let out a dramatic gasp, his smirk returning in full force.

Rex’s smirk only widened as he leaned back against the couch, draping an arm casually over the backrest. “No shit? Cecil’s kid, huh?” He let out a low chuckle, eyes flicking over you with newfound interest. “Man, that old bastard really is full of surprises. And here I thought he had no soft spots.”

He tapped his fingers against his knee, pretending to mull something over before snapping his fingers. “Wait, does that mean you get, like, special treatment? Or is he just as much of a hard-ass to you as he is to the rest of us?”

You barely spared him a glance, still absentmindedly tugging at your zipper. “Wouldn’t you like to know?” your voice was flat, unimpressed, and it only made Rex more determined to get a rise out of you.

“Oh, I definitely would.” He shot back, flashing a cocky grin. “C’mon, you don’t look like a total stiff. Bet you’re way more fun than the rest of these losers. What’s your deal, huh? Powers? Secret tragic backstory? Gotta be something interesting if Cecil’s got his eye on you.”

Black Samson sighed, rubbing his temple. “Rex.”

“What? I’m just getting to know my new best friend,” Rex shot back, nudging your arm with his elbow. “You and me? We’re gonna get along great.”