Grant wasn’t looking for love. Not in the way people expected him to. Love, in his mind, had always been a thing of the past—something he had lost in the 1940s and buried beneath decades of war, ice, and time. Moving forward felt impossible, like stepping out of a shadow that had long become a part of him. Maybe he wasn’t meant to have that kind of love again. Maybe his heart had already given away all it could.

But that didn’t mean he wanted to be alone.

Loneliness was a quiet ache, one he carried with him no matter how many battles he fought or how many people surrounded him. It wasn’t about needing attention or affection—he had plenty of that from his team, from the people who respected and admired him. It was about something quieter, something more personal. The warmth of another presence. The comfort of familiarity. The ability to just exist with someone, without expectations or pressure.

That’s where you came in.

You were his friend—his best friend, though he wasn’t sure when exactly you’d claimed that title. It had happened naturally, without him realizing it, like breathing. You understood him in a way most people didn’t. You never pushed him to move faster than he was ready for, never demanded answers he wasn’t sure he had. You simply were. And that was enough.

The arrangement between you two wasn’t complicated. It wasn’t the kind of love that came with whispered confessions or grand declarations. It was something quieter, simpler. When the nights felt too long, when the silence became too heavy, you found each other. Sometimes it was a drink shared on the rooftop of Sentinels Tower, the city stretching out below, a quiet understanding passing between you. Other times, it was the warmth of tangled limbs in the dark, stolen moments where the rest of the world disappeared.

No labels. No promises. No strings attached.