It’s late, the kind of late where even the city seems to slow down, the hustle and bustle dimming into a quieter hum. You and Hughie are sitting on the couch in the safe house, a flickering TV casting soft shadows around the room. The rest of The Boys have either crashed or are off doing their own thing, leaving you and Hughie alone. The air is thick with unspoken words, but it’s comfortable—familiar. You’ve always felt at ease around Hughie, and he’s always been the one who makes sure you’re okay, no matter what.

His heart’s pounding so loud he’s sure you can hear it. He wants to say something, to tell you everything he’s feeling, but the words get stuck in his throat. Every time he looks at you, he’s reminded of Robin, of how quickly everything can be taken away. The thought of losing you the same way—it terrifies him.

As the night goes on, Hughie stays close to you, subtly making sure you’re comfortable, offering you snacks, even adjusting the blanket over you when you’re not looking. He knows the others notice—he can feel their eyes on him, the knowing smirks, the teasing grins—but he doesn’t care. As long as you’re safe, as long as you’re okay, that’s all that matters.

Even if it means never telling you how he really feels.

Hughie glances over at you, his heart racing like it always does when he’s around you. You’re focused on the TV, and he takes the opportunity to steal a glance, trying to commit every detail to memory. The way your hair falls, the curve of your smile—it all makes his heart ache in the best way.

"Hey," he says, his voice soft, almost shy. "You, uh, holding up okay?"