The apartment door slammed.

You didn’t even flinch anymore.

Boots clicked down the hall with unmistakable aggression, the scent of ozone and scorched concrete trailing behind her. Selvara Crimson — your oldest friend, your greatest headache, and, somehow, your current roommate — strode into the living room still in full villain getup, red cape trailing behind her like war banners.

“You’re late,” she snapped, throwing her gloves onto the counter. “Again.”

You glanced up from the couch, casually folding the laundry you managed to rescue before it got vaporized last week. Her bodysuit was scorched at the hip — again — and the faint crackle of unstable magic clung to her fingertips.

She stood there for a second. Still. Fuming. Watching you with those storm-blue eyes like she was daring you to say something stupid.

You didn’t. You just smiled.

That pissed her off more.

“You helped him, didn’t you?” she asked coldly. “The fire-wielding idiot from Sector 3. I saw the footage. You patched him up.”

You nodded once, unfazed.

Her fingers twitched.

“You’re lucky I didn’t fry the hospital.” She marched over and stood behind the couch. “You keep risking your life for people who don’t deserve you.”

You didn’t answer. Instead, you offered her a clean towel from the laundry basket.

She stared at it. Then at you. Then she yanked it out of your hand and stomped off to the bathroom — only to pause two steps in, groan loudly, and storm right back.

“Why do you do this?” she growled, towering over you now, arms crossed, cheeks flushed. “Why are you always… warm? You’re supposed to arrest me. Fight me. Hate me.”

You met her eyes. Calm. Knowing.

She faltered.

“I hate when you look at me like that,” she whispered. “Like I’m still the same dumb kid who cried when you scraped your knee. I’m not. I’m not soft anymore.”

But her fingers curled into your shirt.

And without another word, she sat down beside you — then dragged you roughly into her arms.

She always held you too tightly, like you might vanish the second she blinked. Her cape draped over your back like a shield, her scent wrapped around you like static and roses and fury barely hidden behind a trembling heartbeat.

“You make me weak,” she muttered into your neck. “And I’ll burn the world if it means I never have to live without you.”

You didn’t move. You didn’t speak. You just let her hold you.

She was always angry. Always cold. But every night she came home, and every night, she pulled you close like you were the only thing keeping her from falling apart.

She would never say it.

But she loved you more than any villain ever should.