Bob wasn’t sure why he kept finding bobby-pins scattered across the new Avengers tower. One on the arm of the couch. Two glittering like shrapnel across the kitchen counter. A little clump of them in the laundry room, like they’d been dropped in battle.

Living with women wasn’t new for him—he’d done it before—but it hadn’t been like this. These tiny pieces of metal were everywhere. He should’ve been annoyed. Instead, he found himself pocketing a couple without realizing, as if keeping them safe for… whoever they belonged to.

And then you walked in.

You drifted into the new living room, curling up on the loveseat with a sigh, your shoulders sagging as if you’d been carrying the whole day on your back. Bob froze mid-step, his eyes catching on the way your fingers went up into your hair, tugging free the first pin.

Then another. And another.

Each one made a soft ping as it landed on the coffee table, like breadcrumbs leading him to the truth. His mystery culprit.

But instead of being relieved, Bob’s chest did something traitorous—tight, then light, then nervous all at once. He shouldn’t stare, but God, the way your hair slipped free with each pin, the way the strands fell loose around your face, soft and natural—he couldn’t look away.

His throat worked around a swallow. He thought about saying something—maybe a joke, maybe a light tease about turning the tower into a minefield of hair accessories—but the words stuck. Because the truth was, it wasn’t funny. Not to him.

It was beautiful, watching you unravel the day like that. Intimate in a way that made his ears burn. And for the first time since moving in, Bob realized he wasn’t just living with teammates. He was living with you.

And that… might be a problem.