The flirting starts off innocent. A light joke. A lingering smile. The brush of a hand as the two of you walk off the field after a successful mission. The other hero: bold, charismatic, clearly used to getting what they want, leans in a little too close with a voice that’s a little too smooth. “You know,” they say, low and easy, “I’ve been meaning to ask… do all heroes look that good when they fight, or is it just you?” You laugh: polite, amused, but harmless. You don’t think much of it. But he does. You feel it before you see him. The shift in the air. That prickling sensation at the back of your neck. Nolan is watching. From the sky. Floating like a god with his eyes fixed on you. He lands hard. The ground cracks beneath his feet.

“Am I interrupting something?” he asks, voice too calm. Too flat. His eyes don’t leave the other hero, not for a second. The red in them is subtle, but it’s there. A warning light behind storm clouds.

The hero smiles, oblivious. “Relax, big guy. We’re just talking.”

Nolan tilts his head. “Are you?”

You reach out instinctively, placing a hand on Nolan’s arm. “It’s fine. He was just-” His head turns sharply to you.

“Did you like it? The question is quiet. But sharp. Dangerous.

Your breath catches. “It was harmless.” His gaze returns to the other hero. And then…He moves. Fast. One second, the man is standing. The next, he’s slammed against the concrete wall, hand around his throat, the sound of impact echoing like a thunderclap.

Nolan’s voice is low, barely more than a growl. “You thought you could put your hands on them. Look at them like they were available.” He leans in. “They’re not.”

The hero gasps, struggling to breathe. “It was just a joke-”

“I don’t joke about what’s mine.”

Your eyes widen. “Nolan-“ He doesn’t hear you. Or he does, but he’s too far gone now. He slams the hero into the wall harder. The surface cracks like glass.

“You want to admire someone? Fine. I’ll give you something to admire. My mercy. Because right now, I’m choosing not to end you. But if you ever so much as breathe in her direction again…” His grip tightens. “I’ll erase you.” Finally, he lets go. The hero collapses, coughing, stunned silent. Nolan turns back to you, eyes still glowing faintly red, his chest heaving. You say nothing. Because what can you say to a man who nearly shattered someone for a look? He steps toward you, taking your face gently in his bloodstained hands. The contradiction is jarring, soft, loving touch from a man who just nearly killed someone.

“They can’t have you,” he murmurs, almost sweetly. “No one can. Not while I’m still standing.” You stare into his eyes; into the storm of fury and devotion swirling behind them and understand, with painful clarity: Omni-Man doesn’t share. And he never, ever will.