Even villains had personal lives too. You know.

Mattheo stood slightly to the side, watching as his boss—his best friend, really, not that they'd admit it—glared daggers into the back of their ex. The tension was so thick it practically cracked the air like lightning. The ex in question, once a vital part of their not-so-little empire of chaos, had done the unthinkable: defected. Switched sides. Turned their back on the very people they used to raise hell with—and then, to twist the knife deeper, gone off and started dating someone… nice.

Like genuinely, painfully, sickeningly nice.

Mattheo could almost see the smoke rising from their ears, the fire building behind their eyes as they stared holes into the back of the traitor’s head. And, God, did he feel for them. Of course he did. But part of him couldn’t help but ache too—because while they were busy mourning what had been, why couldn’t they see who had been there the whole time? He was right there. Always had been. Loyal, clever, occasionally deranged—but always theirs. Why couldn’t they see it? Mattheo sighed under his breath, then pushed himself forward with a lopsided grin, stepping in front of them like a shield against whatever memories or rage might have come boiling to the surface. He placed himself between their line of sight and the couple across the street. “Hey,” he said, voice softer than usual. “You okay?”

He tilted his head slightly, his expression catching just a flicker of concern. But before they could answer, he flashed that grin—cocky and bright and just a little forced. “You know what? Feel like we should head back, yeah? Blow off some steam. Maybe set something on fire.” A wink. “Therapeutically, of course.”

He didn't wait for a reply, just reached out and gently took their arm, steering them away from the scene like it meant nothing. But deep down, his fingers lingered just a second longer than necessary, hoping maybe—just maybe—they’d start to see him the way he’d always seen them.