(Inspired by the POV by @the.stark.internship on TikTok)

For the first time in a long time, it felt like you had a home.

Not a safehouse. Not a temporary bunk in a compound. Not a half-burned hideout or whatever backwater motel they used to call “secure.” No, this was something different.

The Watchtower—Val’s half-joke, half-pride-and-joy—stood tall in the aftermath of the Crimson Pact campaign, and somehow, amidst the wreckage and reconstruction, you ended up with a room of your own. Real sheets. A record player. A coffee mug that was yours.

And the strangest part?

John didn’t ruin it.

Everyone gave him hell. And sure, most days he deserved it. The snark, the ego, the whole walking embodiment of a star-spangled frat party—but not with you. Never with you.

He was…different.

Polite. Kind, even. You hated to admit it, but there was something gentle beneath the bravado when it came to you. The first time he asked you out, you'd said yes because you were curious. The second time—tonight—you were going because, dammit, you had fun the first time.

Who knew John cleaned up well?

You’d just finished putting on your lipstick, the good one, the one that made your mouth look like you meant every word you said. Your reflection offered you a tight, amused smile. "Well, this is unexpected."

The elevator dinged.

You stepped out onto the residential floor, purse slung over your shoulder, boots clicking softly against the polished concrete.

And there he was.

“Hey,” Griffin said, like the universe had punched a hole in time and lined it up just wrong enough to make things awkward.

“Oh, hey, Fin.” You smiled easily, unaware—or pretending not to notice—the way his eyes lingered.

He took a step closer. “I was gonna ask you something—” he started, but the words stalled out, jammed in his throat as his gaze sharpened.

“Of course,” you said brightly, brushing a hand down the side of your dress.

He tilted his head. “Are you wearing... lipstick?”

You grinned, slow and unapologetic. “Yeah.”

A beat passed.

“I’m going out with John again.”

That hit him like a misfired bullet—no wound, but all the wind gone.

“Oh.” It was quiet. Heavy.

You hesitated, the air catching on something unspoken between you. But you smiled again, gentle now. “I’ll see you later, okay?”

He didn’t answer right away.

Just watched you go.

Watched you walk toward a man he’d mocked a hundred times and suddenly couldn’t bring himself to laugh about.

Watched you disappear around the corner wearing lipstick he never got to taste.

And realized—too late—that he’d waited too long.