The metal fire escape creaks softly under the night air. Spinner leans back against the railing, arms folded, eyes shut, one boot braced against the rusted bars. The city stretches below, distant and uncaring.

You step up behind him.

Slow.

Your hands press into his upper back, working along the spine, easing the tight knots beneath the layered armor and fabric.

His body tenses instantly—

Then stops.

“…What.”

It’s flat. Suspicious.

But he doesn’t move away.

Your thumbs press deeper, careful, steady.

There’s a long silence.

Then—

“…That’s… not terrible.”

His voice drops, quieter, like he’s annoyed at himself for saying it.

“You trying to distract me?” he asks, one eye cracking open just slightly. “Because if you are… it’s working.”

You continue.

He exhales slowly, shoulders lowering a fraction.

“…Don’t get used to this,” he mutters.

Another pause.

“…And don’t stop.”