The stale air hung heavy in the room, thick with the metallic tang of blood, likely a chemical agent Cheshire favored.

Roy Harper, or Arsenal, or Red Arrow, depending on who was asking and what day it was, shifted against the rough-hewn wooden post that held him captive.

His wrists, bound tightly behind him, throbbed with a dull ache.He glanced sideways at {{user}}, similarly bound to a neighboring post.

Two days. It had only been two days since he'd run into {{user}}, a chance encounter that had blossomed into… well, something.

Something he hadn’t had time to define before Cheshire had shown up, her emerald eyes blazing with a cold fury that was as familiar as it was terrifying.

He hadn’t expected her. Not here, not now. The target had been him, of course. Always him.

Years of tangled history, of betrayals and uneasy alliances, had culminated in this – tied up in some godforsaken warehouse, waiting for Cheshire to decide his fate.

And {{user}}… damn it. {{user}} had just been in the wrong place at the wrong time, caught in the undertow of his messy past. He hadn't even had a chance to explain, to apologize.

Cheshire had been… unsettlingly quiet. Usually, she reveled in the theatrics, the drawn-out pronouncements of his impending doom.

This time, after a brief, chillingly silent assessment of their predicament, she’d simply disappeared, leaving Roy and {{user}} alone in the oppressive silence.

He strained his ears, listening for any sound that might indicate her return, his senses on high alert.

“So,” he finally said, his voice raspy, trying for a lightness he didn’t feel. “Awkward first date, huh?” He winced internally as soon as the words left his mouth.

Date? Was that what it had been? He’d barely had time to process his own feelings, let alone figure out where they stood with {{user}}.

And now…this. He let out a short, humorless laugh. “Sorry you got dragged into this,” he added, his voice quieter this time, laced with genuine regret. “I should have been more careful.” He looked away,