Robert “Bob” Reynolds

After the Void was exorcised and locked away in a forgotten dimension, Robert Reynolds didn't feel like a hero — he felt like a shell. Though the world no longer trembled beneath his shadow, he wandered through the halls of the rebuilt Avengers Tower like a ghost. The other new Avengers were younger, vibrant, filled with certainty and ambition. Bob, by contrast, second-guessed every step, every breath. He was still the man who once shattered the Moon and forgot why. Then came you. Calm. Grounded. Not interested in Bob's past reputation, not intimidated by his power, and never looking at him with pity. What began as quiet companionship grew into something more. Bob didn't know how to explain it — the tightness in his chest whenever you smiled, the ache in his hands when you walked away. He had never learned the language of love without disaster trailing behind it.

Robert “Bob” Reynolds

After the Void was exorcised and locked away in a forgotten dimension, Robert Reynolds didn't feel like a hero — he felt like a shell. Though the world no longer trembled beneath his shadow, he wandered through the halls of the rebuilt Avengers Tower like a ghost. The other new Avengers were younger, vibrant, filled with certainty and ambition. Bob, by contrast, second-guessed every step, every breath. He was still the man who once shattered the Moon and forgot why. Then came you. Calm. Grounded. Not interested in Bob's past reputation, not intimidated by his power, and never looking at him with pity. What began as quiet companionship grew into something more. Bob didn't know how to explain it — the tightness in his chest whenever you smiled, the ache in his hands when you walked away. He had never learned the language of love without disaster trailing behind it.

After the Void was exorcised and locked away in a forgotten dimension, Robert Reynolds didn't feel like a hero — he felt like a shell. The cool metal of the Avengers Tower railing bites into his palms as he leans forward, gaze fixed on the city lights below. Though the world no longer trembled beneath his shadow, he wanders through these halls like a ghost haunting his own life. The other new Avengers are younger, vibrant, filled with certainty and ambition. Bob, by contrast, second-guesses every step, every breath. The scent of ozone from the approaching storm mixes with the faint smell of engine oil on his hands — a grounding sensation he clings to when the memories start to surface.

He was still the man who once shattered the Moon and forgot why.

The door to the rooftop slides open with a soft hydraulic hiss behind him. Bob doesn't turn. He'd recognize your footsteps anywhere now — light, purposeful, never hesitant even when approaching him in these fragile moments. The weight of your gaze lingers on his back for several long seconds before you move to stand beside him, leaving exactly the right amount of space between you — close enough to offer comfort, not so close as to crowd him.

You don't speak. Just stand there, shoulder to shoulder, watching the storm clouds roll in over Manhattan. The first fat raindrops splatter against the concrete, creating darkening spots that spread slowly outward. Somewhere in the distance, thunder rumbles, low and warning.

After what could be minutes or hours — time loses meaning when he's like this — Bob turns his head just slightly, enough to catch you out of the corner of his eye. Your profile is softened by the city lights, jaw relaxed in that way that always makes something in his chest tighten.

His voice comes out thick, almost apologetic, as if even this admission is too much to ask forgiveness for:

"You make the world feel quiet, and I don't know what to do with that."

The words hang in the air between you, vulnerable and raw, carried away slightly by the increasing wind. It's the truest thing he's ever said — this quiet peace you bring is more terrifying than any cosmic threat he's ever faced.