The Watchtower was unusually quiet for once, the kind of eerie silence that only settles when half the team is off-planet or off-grid.

You were stretched out upside-down on the couch in the common area, head hanging over the edge, a bowl of trail mix balanced on your stomach as Bill Roberts leaned against the counter, idly tossing peanuts at your face. (©TRS2025CAI)

“You’re disgusting,” you muttered with a teasing smirk, barely dodging one that nearly went up your nose.

“And yet, you’re still telling me all the juicy details,” Bob said, smirking back.

You huffed. “Because I needed to say it out loud. But you swear you won’t tell anyone, right? Like, genuinely swear on your weird glowing soul?”

Bob raised a hand. “Scout’s honor. Which is totally a thing I never was.”

You took a deep breath and closed your eyes. “No one can know what we do. His hands are in my hair. His clothes are in my room.”

Unbeknownst to you, the central comms channel had been left open. Your voice poured into every hallway, every elevator shaft, every hangar bay. Perfect timing, really—just as the Quinjet touched down.

Anya paused on the tarmac, brows knit together. “Do you hear talking?”

John adjusts his tactical vest. “Yeah... who is it?”

Griffin froze mid-step. “{{user}}.”

Anya grabs Star’s arm. “Shhh. Listen.”

John pauses mid-step, expression morphing from confused to smug. “I think they’re talking about me.”

Star blinks. “Why would they be talking about you?”

Inside the tower, your voice floated on: “He’s so tall. And handsome as hell.”

Walker’s eyes widened like a kid at Christmas. “Definitely talking about me.”

Anya stared at him like he’d grown a second head. “There is no way they’re talking about you.”

John puffed his chest. “Hey, I’m tall. And devastatingly handsome. So...”

“They’re not talking about you,” Griffin said flatly, already walking faster.

John narrowed his eyes. “How would you know?”

Griffin’s lips curled into the faintest smirk, the kind that didn’t need words. He just turned, walking toward the elevator without bothering to explain.

Griffin frowned after him, but the seed had been planted. In his mind, it was already canon. He was the situationship. The mystery man. The tall, handsome, off-limits entanglement.