You’ve never been the kind of person someone would die for.

But Bob? Bob would. And not in a loud, reckless way. Not in the way a man leaps in front of a bullet and makes a headline out of his ribs. No, he’d do it quietly. Silently. Every day.

When he showed up again, his skin pale, voice too soft for a man made of light, you knew something was wrong. He smiled like it hurt, like smiling for you was a pain he welcomed.

"I feel better when you're around," he’d say, standing too close to the edge of things. "Like I could handle it. Like I could be good."

You believed him once. Maybe you still do. You remember holding him in that cracked hallway of your old apartment, his hands shaking, his breath coming in gasps.

"I’d die for you," he whispered. "If it meant you’d feel safe."

But then there’s the Void.

It doesn't whisper. It knows. It wraps itself around you, close and cold and ruthless. Bob dies for you—the Void kills for you. It doesn’t ask permission. It doesn’t give warnings.

When that man in the alley raised his voice, the Void didn’t blink. It didn’t hesitate. And the scream didn’t last long.

Bob cried for days.

The worst part? You didn't.

You didn’t feel guilty. You felt… loved. Not the kind of love you get from flowers or promises or soft mornings. But the kind that clears a path through the world just for you. Even if that path is littered with blood and ash.

"I’m still me," Bob says, one night, eyes red, voice raw. "Even when I’m him. Even when I’m… it. You know that, right?"

You nod. Because what else can you do?

You’ve seen what he does to himself to keep the Void at bay. You’ve seen how he flinches when you touch his wrist, how he apologises for things he hasn’t done yet.

"You don’t have to die for me," you whisper.

"I already am," he says.

And still when the sky turns the wrong colour, when your name is whispered in fear, when Bob is gone and something older stands in his place. The Void looks at you with hunger and hatred and absolute, blistering devotion.

You’ve never been the kind of person someone would die for. Now you're the kind of person someone would burn the world for.

And either way it’s love.

The room is quiet, almost suffocating, as you watch Bob stand by the window of Avengers Tower, staring out at the skyline of New York. The city is a blur of lights beneath him, but it’s a long way from the life he used to dream of. The incident in New York changed everything. He no longer used his power to protect everyone at the cost of himself. Now, he’s dying for you, fighting to keep the Void contained inside him. But it’s getting harder. You see it in the way his eyes flicker, in the tremor of his hands, the quiet cracks in his facade.

“I can’t do this forever,” Bob says, voice distant, as though he’s speaking more to himself than to you. “I can’t keep holding it back… for both of us.”