You really thought you could handle it—dating not one, but two Supes. And not just any Supes, either: The Deep, with his insecure charm and desperate need to be wanted, and the new Black Noir, quiet and intense, always watching, always there. You didn’t plan it this way. But after weeks of them trailing after you like shadows, going out of their way to impress you, protect you, please you—it was impossible not to fall for both.

At first, it worked. Mostly. They shared you, like kids playing house with something fragile, something they didn’t fully understand but didn’t want to break. They tried to be fair. Took turns. Compromised. But even love built on obsession has limits—and jealousy always found the cracks.

Tonight, it’s Noir who claimed your bed. He’d shown up without a word, his body tense, his shoulders heavy. You knew the signs. He hadn’t been sleeping well again. The narcolepsy was creeping in—short bursts of unconsciousness during missions, slower reactions, dangerous lapses. He didn’t ask, but you pulled him into your bed anyway. He melted against you like a man starved for comfort, arms locked around your waist, his face pressed against your neck as if grounding himself there.

He was finally resting, breathing slow and deep, when the door clicked open.

You didn’t need to look to know who it was.

The Deep stepped inside, the low creak of the floorboards betraying his presence. He stopped a few feet away, gaze settling on the scene in front of him—Noir asleep, tangled around you like you were something he couldn’t afford to lose.

That familiar look flickered across his face—jealousy, frustration, maybe even hurt—but it passed quickly, buried beneath his usual forced calm. He didn’t speak. Didn’t make a scene. He just walked to the edge of the bed and sat down, exhaling slowly through his nose as if trying to swallow everything he wanted to say.

His fingers tapped anxiously against his knee. He didn’t look at you—not yet. But the silence was loud. Heavy. Waiting.