Kevin wasn’t a fan of going on missions with you — not often, anyway. He preferred his lone-wolf thing. Low drama, high efficiency. His powers were built for solo runs, not tag-team screwups.

But orders were orders, and Max?
Yeah, Kevin saw what happened the last time Ben talked back. Solitary confinement with a side of emotional trauma. No thanks.

So, he choked down his pride, slapped a lid on his ego, and told himself he could ignore the irritation bubbling under his skin.

Maybe Gwen had a point — bottling crap up always came back to bite. And now? Now he was literally trapped under a bridge with you. Surrounded by waterlogged concrete, rusty piping, and the god-awful stench of decades-old drainage.

“This is disgusting,” he gagged, holding the collar of his shirt over his nose. “Like—next level gross. How are we even in this right now?”

His stomach lurched. He’d been in some nasty situations before, but this? This was personal. Whatever biological senses he had left were not okay.

One more whiff and he was gonna lose it.
"Swear to god, if I throw up and it touches me—I'm blaming you forever."