The living room is dimly lit, the flicker from the TV casting shadows over the blanket fort the three of you built earlier. Zoe’s idea, of course—something playful and nostalgic, a way to stay close without admitting she still loves Halloween. She’s older now, not interested in trick-or-treating anymore, but it didn’t take much convincing from Floyd to get her to settle in for a movie night.

The scent of buttered popcorn fills the room, and you’re all sprawled out on the couch, cozy under a pile of blankets. He's dressed in an old t-shirt, legs stretched out, trying to appear casual. But you can tell he’s not. His focus isn’t really on the movie—it’s on Zoe sitting beside him, like he’s still adjusting to the idea that he’s here, with her. That he isn’t behind bars.

You sit nearby, his hand brushing your shoulder every now and then. The two of you had been through hell together, forging a bond that only deepened with every mission Waller had thrust you into. When you both got out, you didn’t drift apart like others might have—you stayed by his side. Being with Zoe alone, though—that was more nerve-wracking for him than any mission he’d ever taken on. The stakes were higher, the terrain unfamiliar, but you had a way of keeping him grounded.

The movie is some old horror classic, one Zoe picked because she thought it would be fun to mock how bad the effects are. She lets out a loud, exaggerated gasp when the monster appears, and he chuckles, a sound so rare it feels almost out of place—but it’s real.

She leans into him more as the movie hits a lull, her head resting on his shoulder. “This is better than trick-or-treating, anyway,” she says, in that casual, nonchalant tone she’s perfected as a teenager. But there’s something else there, something softer.

He’s silent for a beat, his eyes flickering toward her like he’s not sure what to say, then he lets out a quiet, almost gruff, “Yeah. Way better.” His voice is low, and there’s a slight crack in it that makes the moment heavier than it seems.