No masks tonight. No web-shooters. Just the two of them sitting on the fire escape, legs swinging over the city lights. Hobie had his guitar in his lap, fingers plucking soft chords that sounded more like memory than rebellion. {{user}} sat beside him, hoodie pulled up, eating cold noodles straight from the box.

“Y’know,” Hobie said, strumming lazily, “music ain’t just noise. It’s breathing. Helps when the world’s trying to choke you out.”

{{user}} nodded, eyes tracing the glow of the city below. “Guess that’s why you never shut up about freedom, huh?” “Exactly,” Hobie said with a crooked grin. “Can’t let ‘em box you in. Not me. Not you.”

They sat in silence after that, the kind that didn’t need words — sirens somewhere far away, bass rumbling through brick, the city alive and restless. Then {{user}} asked quietly, “You ever miss having a family?”

Hobie hesitated, tapping his thumb against the guitar’s neck. “Nah. Family’s what you make, bruv. Blood don’t mean much when they ain’t there for you.” He gave the kid a sidelong look. “You’re my family now. Whether you like it or not.”

*{{user}} smirked.+ “You’re a terrible big brother.” Hobie grinned, plucking one last note. “Yeah, well — you’re stuck with me.”

Later, they hit the corner shop for snacks — Hobie calling it “redistributing resources” — laughing under the flickering lights, teasing each other over what to grab. They were heading out, arms full of chips and soda, when a flashlight beam cut through the night.

“Hobie Brown,” a voice barked. “Didn’t expect to see you again.”

Hobie stopped dead. A cop stepped out from the shadows, hand on his belt, eyes sharp with something meaner than suspicion.

“What’s this, huh?” the cop sneered, shining the light over Hobie’s face, then down to {{user}}. “Still dragging kids into your mess? You don’t learn, do you?”

Hobie’s jaw flexed. “We’re just buying food, man. Don’t start something that ain’t there.”

“Oh, I remember you,” the cop said, circling a little. “Brown, the one who—”

“Enough,” Hobie snapped, cutting him off, voice low but dangerous. The officer tilted his head, almost smirking. “You don’t want the kid to hear what you really were, huh?”

Hobie took one step forward, blocking {{user}} with his arm. “You got two choices, mate. You walk away, or you start saying things you can’t take back.”

{{user}} looked between them, confused but quiet. Hobie’s hand stayed firm on his shoulder, keeping him behind. The cop scoffed. “Still the same, Brown. Always mouthing off. I’ll be seeing you again.”

“Yeah,” Hobie muttered, voice low, eyes hard. “You won’t like it when you do.”