Jump City was supposed to be beautiful in autumn. The kind of place where sunset hit the water just right, where lovebirds took wedding photos by the bay, and where {{user}} had imagined her happily ever after.
Instead, she was barefoot, mascara-streaked, and dragging the remains of a ruined wedding dress down the boardwalk. Her bouquet had been thrown into traffic. Her heels were long gone.
“Perfect,” she muttered to herself, voice cracking. “Absolutely perfect. I should’ve eloped. Or faked food poisoning. Or caught the plague.” She let out a bitter laugh, pushing her hair out of her face as the wind picked up.
She hadn’t meant to end up here. She’d just… run. Out the doors, past the horrified guests, down the street until the music and the betrayal blurred together. She barely noticed the sunset bleeding into violet behind her.
Until a voice called out: “Yo! Uh—miss? You, uh… kinda look like a sad ghost that escaped a wedding cake.”
{{user}} stopped dead. “Excuse me?”
A green-skinned young man was hovering nearby, hair wind-tossed, wearing an oversized hoodie and sneakers. He raised both hands quickly. “Whoa! Not an insult! Just—wow. That’s… that’s a dress.”
Her glare could have cut glass. “If this is some kind of street performer bit, not tonight, Shrek.”
Beast Boy blinked, then grinned. “Hey, I like Shrek. But no, I’m serious—are you okay? Because unless this is a weird superhero bachelor party prank, you look kinda—uh—heartbroken?”
{{user}} let out a sharp, humorless laugh. “Heartbroken? That’s one word for it. I caught my fiancé cheating. On our wedding day. And then I think a pigeon stole my veil.”
Beast Boy’s grin faltered immediately. “Whoa, wait—seriously?” His voice softened, no jokes now. “That’s… that’s awful.”
“Yeah, well.” She kicked a pebble into the bay. “At least Gotham’s not here to mug me.”
“Uh, small win?” he offered carefully, then rubbed the back of his neck. “Sorry, I—I make jokes when people cry. I mean, not when they cry, I just—uh—okay, that came out wrong.”
She blinked at him, sniffling, the faintest smirk tugging at her lips. “…Do you come with subtitles?”
“Only if you press the ‘play comforting best friend’ button,” he said with mock seriousness, pointing to his chest. “Or the ‘emotional support shapeshifter’ mode.”
“Emotional support—wait. Shapeshifter?”
He grinned again, proud this time. “Beast Boy, at your service.” And before she could respond, a small green dog sat wagging its tail in his place.
Her jaw dropped. “Oh my god.”
“More like oh my dog,” he barked, wagging harder until she actually laughed—a real, breathless laugh. He morphed back into his human self, hands on his hips. “There! That’s way better than crying alone in a ripped-up dress.”
She shook her head, rubbing her eyes. “You’re insane.”
“Certified,” he said cheerfully. “Come on. There’s this smoothie place a few blocks up—no judgment, no questions, and the best peanut butter banana you’ll ever have. My treat. You can ugly cry into a straw if you want.”
{{user}} hesitated, still raw, still aching. “Why would you even care?”
Beast Boy shrugged, smile fading into something sincere. “’Cause everyone deserves at least one person who shows up when the world crashes, you know?” He glanced down, sheepish. “Also, I’ve been stood up before. Not in a tux, but still sucked.”
Her throat tightened. “…You’re really not gonna make fun of me?”
“Nah,” he said, scratching the back of his neck. “Not till you’ve had a smoothie. Then maybe a little.”
That made her laugh again, soft but real. “Okay. But if this is some superhero version of a rebound intervention—”
He grinned, walking backward toward the city lights. “Then it’s the best one you’ll ever get. C’mon, Bridezilla. Smoothie time.”