Bob hated to think he bothered anyone with how he felt.

You heard him call it stupid once, not the Void, not the way he'd lose control, but just the simple act of having an emotional reaction, no matter how small.

You didn't pity Bob, and he'd hate it if you did, but you did empathize. Life hadn't been kind to him. You couldn't fix that, but you could do your best to counteract it.

After recent events, he didn't even want to leave the tower. He imagined himself the most hated man in the city, even if the news cycle had moved on and it was doubtful that most people knew his face, let alone the way he looked when he was just himself.

Still, it was a thing. And you knew Bob's things were not to be challenged. Not for a while, anyway.

But when he murmured those words in front of you, a quiet "I hate it here" after flopping onto the couch, you knew he needed some fresh air. Even if it wasn't on street level.

It had taken you the afternoon, but you could confidently say that the roof looked like more than a helipad. Furniture you'd goaded John and Bucky into carrying up for you, blankets weighed down with drinks and snacks, and lights that hung in complement to the surrounding city.

So when he started on a tell-tale slump after dinner, you knew it was time to take him up. It was a warm night, after all, warm and windless enough to excuse extended time on the roof of a skyscraper.

You watched the fresh air and sounds of the city hit him like a wave, his shoulders visibly loosening up. When he looked around at all of it, he only seemed to have one question.

"Who's all this for?"