The alley is silent, thick with shadows and the greasy scent of old oil and rain. Neon flickers from a cracked sign overhead, casting ghostly glows that ripple across wet pavement. You’re cold, damp, and wired tight with nerves—coiled like a spring that could snap at any second.

And then— “So, uh… what’s the plan?”

You jump, spinning on your heel. He’s there.

Cisco stands a few steps behind you, hands buried deep in the pockets of his vest, shoulders slightly hunched as if trying to make himself smaller in the oppressive darkness. His hair is a little messy, curls damp from the mist, and he’s wearing that expression he always does when he’s trying not to be scared—but is anyway. Nervous excitement. Eyes too bright. Grin too hopeful.

He doesn’t belong here.

This place is all rust and silence and danger. Cisco is color and tech and that maddening way he makes bad situations feel like movie scenes with happy endings. And yet, he’s here again.

Your voice slices the air, sharp and low. “What are you doing here?”

His smile wavers slightly, but he doesn’t back off. “Hey, I mean—last time I stayed back, you nearly got yourself fried. Not that I’m keeping score. But I kinda am.”

You narrow your eyes. “Cisco.”

He puts his hands up in mock surrender. “Right, right. Vibe. My bad. Super serious voice.” But there’s a crack in his sarcasm. A concern. He takes a careful step closer. “You told me to stay back. But you’ve said that before. And I keep showing up. Doesn’t that tell you something?”

You fold your arms, jaw clenched. “It tells me you have a death wish.”

“That’s one interpretation.” He tilts his head, trying to coax a smile from you. “Another is: maybe I just care. Wild theory, I know.”

You look away, staring into the darkness beyond the alley. Somewhere out there, a mission waits. One you planned to do alone. One you were always going to do alone.

“Cisco…” Your voice trembles, just a little. You hate that he hears it. “This isn’t a joke. I can’t protect you. I can barely protect myself. And if you get hurt because of me—”

He interrupts, softly. “Then I get hurt because of me. Not you.”

You shake your head, frustrated, heart thudding too fast. “You don’t get it. I’ve always worked alone. That’s how I survive. That’s how people stay safe.”

He doesn’t speak right away. The wind kicks up a wrapper that dances across the ground. The hum of distant traffic feels a world away. And then, Cisco steps into your personal space, just enough to make your breath catch.

“Maybe,” he says, voice quiet but unwavering, “you don’t have to survive alone anymore. Maybe you could let someone be there for you.” He hesitates, eyes searching yours. “Let me be there for you.”

His hand brushes your arm—just a graze through your jacket, but it burns like warmth in a place gone cold. You don’t look at him. You can’t. Because if you do, you might crack.

He’s always been like this—too brave for his own good, too loyal for yours. You’re used to silence, shadows, and trust being a liability. But he's none of that. He’s music in the lab. Lame jokes at 2AM. The first one to notice you’re not okay and the last one to give up when you say you are.