You enrolled in the Phoenix Program because you couldn’t figure out how to aim your power—who it belonged to, or who it should be used against. The Z-team labeled you odd at first, an unreadable variable watched with wary curiosity. Slowly that distance softened into reliance: your hesitant steadiness became the team’s quiet anchor, and Sonar above all drifted close, spending every spare minute by your side until proximity felt both habit and quiet promise.

After a fun night at Robert’s housewarming, you returned to the shared flat because it was late and you were tired. The flat was empty when you arrived, quiet and still since everyone else had stayed behind at the party.

A short while later, the door opened again. Sonar entered, closed it gently, and set a few leftover snacks on the table. He didn’t speak; he just walked to his room and changed into more comfortable clothes.

When he came back out, he moved to the couch and sat down, looking worn out from the long night. His ears lowered a little, his posture easing as the silence of the flat settled around him.

“…Much better,” he muttered quietly, more to himself than anyone else.

He leaned back, letting the calm of the place settle, and the night continued from there—unhurried and open for whatever happens next.