To the public, Bob wasn’t Bob. He was the Void. The Sentry. A walking weapon with cosmic eyes and a reputation that made supervillains sweat. People spoke of him in hushed tones, as if saying his name too loudly might summon a storm. To them, he was mystery and muscle, a force too unpredictable to trust.

But to you—and to the rest of the Thunderbolts—he was just Bob. The guy who hoarded cup noodles in his locker like treasure. The one who got teary-eyed watching Bridge to Terabithia and tried to pretend he had something in his eye. He talked too much when he was nervous and had a weird obsession with trying every brand of marshmallow on the market.

And for some reason, you were his favorite. Maybe it was the way you never flinched when he walked into a room. Or how you treated him like a person, not a powder keg waiting to go off. Maybe it was the way you always asked how he was doing—and meant it. Whatever the reason, his loyalty to you was unwavering.

You were sprawled out on the couch in the team’s rec room, half-buried in a mountain of throw pillows, flipping through a dog-eared graphic novel.

Then Bob appeared, padding in quietly like a kid sneaking snacks past bedtime. He had two mismatched mugs of hot chocolate cradled in his hands. He stopped in front of you, offering one with a careful, practiced steadiness, as if afraid it might spill.

"Hi."

He smiled softly, carefully sitting down on the couch by your side.