Zora Gray

It kills you to withhold information from Herman, but things are dire. If Technomancer can do the same shit Coeus can, everything just got worse. Assuming the gory end to your night would thoroughly sour any romantic mood growing in his brain, Herman caught you off guard in the shower. “Told Grandma I was staying,” he said, wedging you between him and the wall.

Intense as he always is, but extra needy this time, like he needs your love to wash his memory clean of everything he witnessed tonight. He hikes your leg up against his waist, lifting you with ease, trapping his cock between your stomachs and grinding into your sex with a moan. “H-hey, don’t, what if you slip—”

“Won’t,” he breathes, pressing harder. His heat sliding against your clit lights your fire, and your worries fade into wanting. “P-promise.”

Herman spends a few moments answering your sounds with whimpers, face buried in your neck, humping into your skin while he slides his grip under your thigh. His fingers brush your folds, then inch further, probing. He swirls the pad of a finger around your entrance; this impatient, desperate sound huffing out of him. If he’s actually frustrated, it’s not present on his face. He pulls away and smiles at you, biting his lip before he kisses you, lowering you to a steady foothold.

You weave your fingers through his hair as he kisses his way down, shoulders one of your legs, and devours you without hesitation. Holding you tight so he can keep his promise, fingers deep in you while he sucks, kisses, and licks you. You stare listlessly upwards at the steam-obscured ceiling, grinding against his face with a blissful grin. He’s never one to rush, not with this. Herman takes sex very seriously, in fact.

“Hmmmn.” He plants a kiss to your hood, sliding his tongue over it to roll into your clit while he’s at it, then gazes up at you like you’re something to worship. Massaging your insides with deft fingers, now covered in slick, he slows those efforts to a distracted and easy pace. “Can we…?”

As if you’d say no after all this. It’s sweet of him, though. You’re accustomed to the assumption. The assumption, of course, was generally always on the money, but — it’s nice. “Come up here,” you say with a nod, cupping his cheek.

The way he moves always carries a measure of allure to you. Fluid, fast, sure. So different from the way he is elsewhere, and it just fills you with a brand of happiness you can’t place. He’s not anxious with you. He’s back against you in a flash, kissing you like he’s afraid he’ll forget what it feels like, lifting you to an angle that makes this easier for him. Herman doesn’t even need to guide himself. He nudges against your hole, sighs blissfully, and slowly pushes in. Shuddering with a soft whine, brows pursed together, Herman rests his forehead on the wall beside your head and draws in a breath.

“Y’feel so g-good,” he whimpers, fucking you slow.

“Not so bad yourself,” you giggle out, breaking into a moan. “Fuck…”

Clearly, he’s not interested in spending all night in here. He picks up speed, tilting your hips so he can grind into you hard every time he’s flush. It’s unbelievable. Building pleasure coils tighter and tighter. He somehow always knows just how to move. You buck into him, clutching him tight and keening in his ear, “how the fuck do you—”

There’s a confidence about him that usually lays low, but it always rises to the occasion in these moments. Herman smiles cocky, laughs, and keeps ruining you. “Can f-feel you,” he explains, emphasizing his next thrust. Another wave of pleasure leaves you fluttering around him, and he groans through his teeth. “L-like that…so good. Jus’. Squeezing me.” He slurs his words and just whimpers after that, pumping a little harder just to indulge himself.

“Clever boy,” you chuckle, slipping deeper into the feeling. No more words exchange; just heat, warm water, and the sounds you both draw from each other. It’s not long at all before it crashes down, your walls gripping him as you cry out his name, and he follows you instantly.

He nearly chokes on his own breath — or maybe he inhaled some water — but he sputters a drawn out moan, shuddering into you for one final, satisfying stroke, pulsing deep as he fills you just how you love. He groans out breaths, fingers sunk into your pillowy flesh, still keeping you aloft and safe. Pinned to the wall, enjoying the twitching throes of his release; the warmth he’s emptying into you, the little movements of his hips that drag the last shreds of pleasure out of it for him.

Catching his breath a moment, Herman eventually slips out of you, eases you down, and wraps you in his arms. “God,” he sighs, pulling you in like it’s never going to be close enough. “I m-mean it, you know.”

Sleep could take you then and there. Cozy folded into his chest, you hum. “Mean what?”

Fingers slick through your hair. “Every—whenever. All.” A frustrated pause. “I love you.” He sighs. “Every t-time, I, I mean it.”

You meant it too, when you told him you’re not sure if you even know what it is. All you know is this level of affection, fondness; it’s new. Or maybe you haven’t experienced it in so long, you forgot what it was. Either way, you find this hard. He’s so devoted already, so full of need for you, it’s scary in a way. He’s always going to love harder than you do, it feels like. And you wonder if that’s fair.

“T-too much?” He sounds nervous now. He loosens around you, but you just plaster your face to his chest in response.

“No. Not at all.”

“S’wrong?”

“I. I feel like you. Ah, it’s stupid.”

He laughs. “Bet it’s n-not.”

You look up to him, snaking a hand up his neck, rubbing his scalp. “I don’t know. Maybe I don’t feel like I should get all this.”

A scoff preludes his kiss — soft, wanting, both his hands on your face. “Y-you want me safe. M-my family safe. You risk…so much, wh-when you. D-don’t have to. You d-deserve it.”

Maybe. Maybe you do. He reaches to shut the water off, kissing your neck and shoulder as he goes, finding your silence troubling. “D-don’t keep score.”

“Hm?”

He drapes a towel over you and wraps you snug, hugging you. “I f-feel how I feel. You feel. How you feel. No score. Just us. Y-you…love me, right?” Just a hint of fear.

You’ve never been one to answer a serious question without full conviction. Your go-to is to make a joke, but, you’re self-aware enough to know that’s a bad idea. You think about it, stalling for time with a kiss, smiling. “Yeah. Of course I do.”

It’s gotta be true. It doesn’t feel weird at all to say it. Doesn’t feel like a lie. It feels like a promise.

Dripping and uninterested in his own towel for now, he bends and kisses you through a grin. “Th-then that’s all. It’s all that matters. D-don’t worry about what you deserve. ‘Cause you’re, you’re getting me, so you must.” A casual shrug, that off-kilter smile. You’re done for ten times over. “That—them’s the rules.”

If someone told you a year ago that a complete dork would have your heart, the ability to mercilessly rock your body, and a constant knack for making you blush, you’d have laughed them off. But here he is.

A pleasant ache pulses between your legs as you dry off, and you lean back into his warmth when he proves once again that he can’t go very long without taking you in his arms. You reach above, cradling the back of his head, and pull him into a kiss before finishing your bedtime routine with smiles and flirtatious looks.

He doesn’t talk much. You guess it’s because what he wants to talk about is off-limits. “Gonna sleep like a rock tonight,” you say with a bit of husk, drawing a laugh. “Don’t think I’ll even dream.”

The news broken subtly, he catches the hint with a shadow of disappointment, smiling all the same. You have someone else to visit, now that you know the truth. “Good thing he wants you to keep those powers, then.” He’s getting good at playing it cool, going along with your secret codes. Soon, you think, Herman will be able to avert the truth without even batting an eye.

It’s bittersweet. He needs that skill, but also, you feel like you’re slowly corrupting him. The point of your goals was not to make him worse. Your worries and guilt fall flat and wither when he pulls you close. Arms around you. Legs intertwined. Your head comfortably in the junction of his shoulder and chest, curled into him and drifting off faster than even your little trick can accomplish.

“Really love this,” you mutter through approaching sleep. He’s idly petting your hair, lips pressed to your skin just for the sake of it. Pressure changes as he smiles. With a deliberate kiss, he pulls back just a tad.

“S’funny you w-wanted to be a ranger,” he thinks aloud. “I was, I went and studied—for a little bit—c-conservation. But, like. The science side. Ecosystem biology, f-fragile species preservation, p-pollution effects. We’d. Still have been a duo.”

Sliding closer, you don’t open your eyes. “Hmmhm. Would have been fun.” Still could be, you think. You won’t risk steering the conversation towards retirement, not when your boss is planning to put Torrance under a fucking dystopian dome full of villains, but you’re not entirely out of hope. “I’d keep people from messing up the parks, you’d keep corporations from killing the planet. Dream team.”

He chuckles.

And he’s quiet for a while.

“Worried about…everything.”

“I know,” you whisper. “But it’ll be okay.”

It has to be. There’s no margin for error now, no uncertainty allowed. You have to figure this out.

At least you’re not alone.

It’s not long before you sink into his affection and drift away. Thank fuck Mecha Man’s door is there. And, in a stroke of luck, so is Lockjaw’s. Herman is your priority, but this is bigger than him, too. Hundreds of people live in those tunnels. Thousands upon thousands in the city as a whole. You doubt Coeus will just let the civilians go about their lives once he completes his takeover.

It’s time for a group meeting.

“What is this place?”

Mecha Man stands in the dream hall, utterly captivated.

“I’m uh, not super sure? But every door represents someone I’ve touched. I can walk through them, get into their heads. Visit their dreams. I found out I can pull others into different doors, too. We need to all talk together. Lockjaw’s over here.” You gesture to the manhole in the center of the walkway, hanging back with a little bit of urgent annoyance when Mecha Man lingers outside a specifically odd one.

Towering. Old, but refined. Intimidating. “Who’s in there?”

You grab his wrist. “That’s Coeus’s door. I. I do not want to go in there, personally. Come on. We have to hurry. It’s bad.”

He grunts as you drag him until he picks up the damn pace, then you crouch and heave the cover open. “This one’s gonna be weird. You’ll come out right-side up. Real disorienting. Oh. Two things. He might be naked. Also he’s Welsh in here.”

“What—”

You are already halfway through. “Come on!”

Crawling out of the hole in the grass behind you, Mecha Man reaches for your helping hand when you offer it. You don’t have time to give him the rundown of dreamhopping, so you ignore his awestruck confusion. Still suited up. You wonder if he ever dreams about lounging around in his shorts, or hell, even just wearing street clothes. You’re mostly curious about his face. Who he is. Maybe as a dying wish, he’ll give you a peek before Coeus tears you to bits after he inevitably learns what you’ve been up to in your sleep.

Better you than Herman, though.

“Hey, Lockjaw? You decent? I, I brought a…a friend.”

The serene water ripples as the gigantic hybrid surfaces, third eyelids slipping away as his crocodilian brow rises with surprise. “Ah! Dreamweaver, darling! It’s felt like an age! And, oh my.” As he sloshes up the bank, stepping onto the shore, you prepare to avert your eyes until you see the swim trunks. Printed all over them, tiny cartoon crocodiles. “Well. Mecha Man. Goodness. Must be grim.”

Shock is a new look for him. You almost laugh. “You’re. Wow.”

“More articulate here, yes.” Lockjaw beams. He approaches the both of you and drops cross-legged in the grass, curving his thick tail around his knees. “I take it you’ve succeeded in recruiting him?”

“Hah, yeah. I. I think, at least.” You look to the hero, and he scoffs.

“My whole life is helping people get off the wrong side of the tracks. ‘Course you succeeded. I wouldn’t jerk you around like that.”

“Told you he was good people.” Lockjaw winks.

Mecha Man seems endeared. He sits across from him, smiling at you as you join the friendship circle. It’s weird, meeting in such a peaceful place to basically talk about killing at least three people. “So, uh, a lot’s happened. Herman’s grandma found out about his…night job. It’s under control, she’d not gonna snitch and get us all killed, but I thought you might want to know. I’m going to be talking to her a lot like this, keeping her updated so she doesn’t worry about him too much, and…the bigger thing though is Coeus is fucking insane.”

Lockjaw cuts a hearty laugh. “Well, I coulda told you that, love.”

You adjust your seating so you can face them both, scooting back a foot or two. “No, I mean. Completely fucking, homicidal maniac, Hitler level bonkers. Also, Technomancer is his fucking brother, did either of you know that?!”

Yeah, it’s real weird to see Mecha Man shocked. It unsettles you. He needs to be the calm, cool guy or you’re never going to feel like this plan will work. “Okay, okay, breathe. Back up. We need to know everything. It’s only been like a week and half, what the hell happened?!”

In a somewhat amusing gesture, Lockjaw flops his tail into your lap. You fidget with his spines like a makeshift stress toy, and spill every bean you have. The Techno Pulse. The detailed tunnel murder plan. The dome. The takeover. What Technomancer did to all those ‘loose ends’. You even admit that yes, you love Herman. And things have happened between you. Because you want them to understand how important it is to you that he lives through this.

Your unlikely allies need a moment to process it all. Lockjaw, most of all, just seems sad, even though you’ve told him the tunnel plan already. Coeus calling the hybrids such terrible things weighs heavy on him, you can tell. Your stressful fidgeting with his tail spines turns to something you hope is comforting for him. “It’s very hard to live in this world when you’re different,” he muses.

“Herman thinks we need to kill him, and I can’t say I disagree, but Technomancer complicates everything.”

“No, no. No killing anyone.” Mecha Man sighs, a thousand scenarios running behind those eyes.

“I mean, it’s…sometimes necessary.” Lockjaw shrugs, lamenting. “You’re sure Technomancer is his brother?”

“I’m sure. He called him his brother, for one. But also they’re just…eerily similar. They also have maybe the same powers? His skin just opens up like it’s supposed to do that. He’s full of wires that seem alive. I don’t, don’t know, maybe they’re twins? Is it common for siblings to have the same powers?”

Not much is known in terms of why superpowers happen. Some families have one in every generation. Other families, it’s weird to be born a normie. Sometimes it skips a generation. And some people have no supers in their bloodline at all and just got lucky — assuming their power isn’t somehow a detriment. So, you figure: anything could be possible.

“Twins…” Lockjaw frowns, then gasps. “Bloody hell.”

Mecha Man tilts his head. “What?”

“A very long time ago, goodness, when I was just a young man, there were these two thugs trying to make a name for themselves. Oh, God, what were their names?” He snaps his fingers, closing his eyes. “One of them called himself Truthseeker. The other, I just, I can’t remember. But he was a real spitfire. Truthseeker would tell him if his marks were lying or not, and the other one would bang ‘em up until they coughed out the spoils. They were brothers. Twins. Dumb as fucking bricks, Truthseeker was, though. Huh.”

As you watch him nearly give up on the theory, you blurt, “the brain drains.” Both men look at you. “Coeus sucks people’s heads dry. He remembers everything he learns, from all sources. All of them. Ethan’s whole life is in his head. Everyone he’s ever killed. Maybe he was dumb once, maybe he didn’t know what powers he had until later. Maybe he thought he could just detect lies. Then one day he realizes some things, and…”

“Becomes the mastermind everyone’s afraid of now,” Mecha Man finishes.

“Christ,” Lockjaw huffs. “Those boys got roughed up bad. Messed with the wrong crime lord. This was a bit before Widow struck gold, and a lot more little fishes were tearing their paths out. Local boss, ah, called himself the Ferryman I think; the twins short-changed him and he sent a right brute to teach them a lesson. Could have sworn the other one died. Never saw Truthseeker again. Or so I thought.”

“Well. Uh. Technomancer…have either of you ever seen him?”

They shake their heads.

“He’s white as a sheet. Might be mostly machine. Maybe he did die. Maybe…he’s still dead.” Your lip curls. “He’s walking, talking, and killing people, but he shook my hand and it was ice cold, man.”

Mecha Man puts his face in his hand. “So we’ve got twin villains with weird psychic powers and one’s maybe a zombie. Super.”

“I might be able to kill him without anyone knowing it was me.”

“I said no killing anyone,” Mecha Man reiterates sternly.

“I hurt myself in your dream, that night. Cut my hand on your suit. When I woke up, I had a fresh one. Same place. Right here.” You drag your finger across your palm. “Herman healed it but…it was there. I think I. Maybe I can Krueger someone, Mecha Man. I can practice with someone who’s cool with it, just little scratches, see if I can actually do it. Then I could just, you know…go into Coeus’s hea—”

“No.” Lockjaw snaps, but it’s the kind of tone a concerned father speaks in. He leans across the space and envelops your hands in his. “Dreamweaver, he is a powerful psychic. So are you. That’s what your powers boil down to, in the end. One unspoken but very important rule among any psychic is that you never go into another one’s head. Especially knowing you can get hurt. Coeus drains people by invading their minds through physical space. Walking into his head would be handing your psyche to him on a platter. Never use that facet of your power on him. It’s too dangerous.”

“He’s right,” Mecha Man concurs. “He would hollow you out. You’d never wake up. And then he’d know everything.”

Sagging, you nod. It wouldn’t be safe in there, not for a single second. “So. What do we do? How do we stop this?”

“Let us worry about that. You’re too close to him to risk any bold moves. Keep us informed, but act normal.” Lockjaw turns his attention to Mecha Man. “What’re you thinking? I know that look.”

“Twin brothers on the crime radar wouldn’t be common. How many years ago was that?”

“Gosh, probably the eighties? Late seventies? Decades kind of bleed together for me…but I remember the Ferryman being a problem around the time Nightmare on Elm Street was popular, so…they were active in that era.”

You never thought about how old Lockjaw could be. Crocodiles don’t really wrinkle. Guy’s been a fixture in Torrance since the dawn of time, it feels like. Did he age slower too, you wonder?

“I’ll start by finding mentions of the Ferryman, then see if there’s any reports of Truthseeker and his brother. If one of them did die, even temporarily, there’s gotta be an article. An arrest record. Something. If I find out his real name, we can blow everything open.”

“We can’t forget Flayer, either. Her motives don’t make sense to me. She turned on Widow because she felt like her potential wasn’t being realized or whatever, so, why turn and beg for Coeus’s scraps, you know?”

Lockjaw thoughtfully scratches his muzzle. “I think you’ve got it backwards. She did Coeus a huge favor and got what she always wanted. Which was control over LA. That was Widow’s home base, the core of her operations, where the money is. The power. Coeus got what he wanted, which are scraps to Flayer, but not to him. If he really was Truthseeker all those years ago, this makes sense to me. That lad’s ambition outweighed his abilities by a thousand tons. Was always boasting that he’d run this city. Ferryman was one of Widow’s early contract points. This whole thing seems like Coeus evening a score.”

“He’s still fucking stupid,” Mecha Man laughs. “If this is all true, he’s doing all of this because of a chip on his shoulder. He called himself the leviathan below the sharks?” He makes air quotes, mocking with his tone. “Egomaniacs always fall the hardest. He’s too secure. Shroud was like that. So sure of himself, so convinced he knew everyone’s steps, he didn’t consider that he could lose.”

“Like a chess master playing an amateur,” Lockjaw adds. “They’re more likely to lose then, did you know that? Because the novice will make unusual, unorthodox moves. And the master is accustomed to their opponents always following a set plan.”

“You guys are gonna laugh, probably, but he shits on Shroud so much. It’s like he’s mad at the guy or something.”

Your prediction rings true. Mecha Man seems energized, laughing like this fight’s already won. “Yeah. Okay. I know his type. Coeus is terrified of the unknown, just like Shroud was. He just copes by drawing all the information he can into his brain so he feels more secure. Not only will this fuck him over, we can use it against him. But, Dreamweaver: listen to Lockjaw on this. And me. Stay out of his brain, leave it to us. You’re strong, we’ll need your help eventually, but just focus on staying alive.”

Relief sweeps through you and you nod. But there’s a ghoulish addendum you have to address. “Just, one thing. Lockjaw, have you ever heard of him draining a dead person?”

“Can’t say I have, no. Why?

“I don’t want it to come to this. But he can’t drain me. I’ll be keeping my head down, following orders, doing my thing. But something about him tonight just…I think he’s more unhinged than I gave him credit for. If he turns on me, I’m not going to let him get what’s in here.” You point to your head. “So. If I suddenly disappear…” You let it hang. The implication hopefully enough. If it’s you or Herman and his grandma, you’ll pick them. Even if it’s on your own terms.

He puts a hand on your shoulder, and to your surprise, pulls off his cowl. He’s younger than you expected him to be. Cute, honestly. Missing a chunk of his ear. “What’s your name?”

Your breath stalls, then you just tell him. The real one. “I’m. I’m Daydreamer’s kid.”

Mecha Man sits back. “Holy shit. My dad worked with her. Did you know?”

You smile sadly, and nod. “Yeah. She was real excited about that. She wanted to join the Brave Brigade real bad. Then, of course…you know. It was murder, not a fire. The fire was a cover-up…it’s…a long story. I got into this just…trying to avenge her.” A sigh huffs out of you. “Anyway it’s, not important now. I got a new identity from Scratchy. Stayed ‘dead’. Now I’m in this mess.”

“Someday soon, I want to know that story. For now.” He extends a hand. “I’m Robert. And I’m going to get you out of this alive.”

“We both will.” Lockjaw gives you a wink and a confident nod. Robert smirks.

“Herman matters more,” you start, but Robert cuts you off with a very brotherly jostle.

“Him too. But also you. No self-sacrifice allowed. Coeus is a scared little weasel playing villain.” His eyes sharpen, and he glances sidelong to Lockjaw with a growing smile. “Between the three of us, he won’t stand a chance when the time comes. Everyone operate as normal. In two weeks, let’s meet again. That’ll be…the 23rd.”

“Sounds good,” you say, committing it to memory.

“I’ll be sure to cozy up that night before too late,” Lockjaw adds.

“Good.” Robert stands. “I was worried those packages had Astral Pulse components in them. Hoped they didn’t. But I’m glad I know. You do good work.” He smiles and pats your shoulder as you get to your feet.

“Thanks,” you laugh, unsure about the compliment. For sure, you are awesome at your job, but you didn’t really do anything. Coeus sent you on a run and you stumbled upon some juicy info. That was all.

“When it’s all said and done, I’d love to see you at SDN.” The offer is sincere, and you nod and say, maybe, but you’re pretty sure that you both know that won’t happen.

The public was pretty iffy on SDN recruiting Coop. A contract killer with a blood trail that went for miles didn’t bode well for SDN’s PR, even though she kicked major ass, was fully committed to the hero life, and had yet to reoffend even a little. Robert probably doesn’t even know how truly bad your rap sheet is. But, that’s okay. If prison is your future, that’s better than death. Maybe Herman can indulge in some conjugal visits.

God. If that was no longer a thing, you know. He’d wait for you. You know it. If you go to prison, you’re probably getting fucked into oblivion the day you get out.

Not a bad way to die, really.

Only one thing about any of this surprises Robert. If villains didn’t want to ever be better, the Phoenix Program would probably be some kind of high-tech imprisonment protocol instead of what it really was: hope for change. A second chance. Every couple of months, someone approached SDN under cover of night for help escaping a life they no longer wanted for themselves.

The surprise was: this was the first time anyone had appealed for someone else.

Black Demon. He’d never have guessed. Robert never gave much credence to all the claims; that he was really a monster from the depths of the ocean (though he’d seen weirder), that he was a cannibal freak, born mutated and cast aside like Torrance’s very own Jersey Devil. He’s even heard the ridiculous claim that he wasn’t an individual at all, but some kind of sentient colony of alien lifeforms. Which, again — Robert had seen weirder. But he’s big on tangible facts.

And what he’d seen of the guy — the panicked running, the last-ditch, self destructive defense methods — your claims make the most sense.

Even so, of all Robert’s theories, he never once considered that it was just some hapless dude trying to help his grandmother. Your info checked out. Robert had his home address, all his records, by way of careful hacking under layers of anonymity. The guy never so much as jaywalked. His grandmother, though, was a firecracker: lots of arrests at protests, always advocating for the tread upon.

Her first arrest made him laugh: Beverly Fischer, aged 21, threw a riot cop’s tear gas right back at him at a Hybrid Rights rally, sparing the senses of her animal-headed friends. One of which, Sally Kline, she still keeps in touch with, according to her phone records. Four months later, she would be arrested a second time for punching a counter-protester at a different rally. Her official statement:

“That garbage was holding a THEY ALWAYS GO FERAL sign. I’m not sorry.”

It was an unfortunate reality that, when a hybrid shifted into their more bestial form, they sometimes lost their heads a little. There was, and is, a pocket of society that believes every hybrid is a ticking time bomb, that they should all be collared, tracked, controlled. Even though he’s personally seen Sonar fall into that pit once or twice, Robert thought that was a load of shit, and made plans to shake this woman’s hand.

Before any pleasantries, though, he had to get you and Herman out of this alive. And he now knew how difficult that would be.

Grady and Eben Porter.

Twin brothers born to Louise and Jerry Porter. They actually made the news as teenagers. As much as Robert would like to think Coeus went through archives to scrub any articles and videos about the two of them, conspiracy isn’t really needed when so many events in the world simply go forgotten. They were a blip. A momentary marvel, a feel-good article about promising heroes, and then the universe kept going onwards. Worse news, news that sold papers, buried them. Anyone curious about their journey left high and dry, and now…

Technomancer and Coeus hid in plain sight. Local celebrities fallen so far.

Because the story everyone forgot wasn’t even the full truth. Robert pieced together a timeline through medical records and news reports, and figured that, roughly:

Two boys, aged fifteen, could share thoughts and even heal each other, and started using it to solve minor crimes in their neighborhood. A simple case of theft led to them accidentally stumbling into and solving a kidnapping case, thus saving the life of a young girl. Now, this was the thing Robert prided himself on. Maybe one of the only things he’d die on a hill about — I am fucking good at this — which was, to say, his investigative skills.

Didn’t hurt that Mandy was on his side, plumbing all her connections in secret channels and Coeus-free routes. Lots of turned villains, the old ones especially, remembered these boys once their memories jogged, and they had no reason anymore to protect them. No reason not to keep things a secret, that they finally talked. The holy grail, though, was tracking down their only living relative who was more than happy to tell the rest of the story.

He tugs Beef’s leash, just a gentle little snap to keep him walking. “Pretty sure you’ve smelled all the smells there, bud. Been like ten minutes, c’mon.”

Beef lingers, resists, but gives up as always. He stops at a bench to pee on it. Overhead, a plane flashes in the night sky.

A degenerative illness struck Grady and spared Eben when they were just out of high school. Ran in the family. Genetic. It came for his nerves, first, then the brain; and Eben, unable to bear his brother’s pain (because he could sometimes feel it), started letting Grady drain him for strength. Healing. It worked, for a while. He’d drain Eben, be good for a few months; which was long enough for Eben to recover. Rinse, lather, repeat.

It got more aggressive. Ate at him more. And Eben couldn’t recover fully between their sessions. Hence why Lockjaw remembers Coeus as being an idiot, and his brother being the brains. Back then, according to the relative, Eben was a real goody two-shoes. He could use others to regenerate himself, but chose not to. Eventually, Grady nearly killed him, and the two realized it couldn’t continue.

This was when they started getting into the shadier businesses. Searching for a cure, at first, then graduating to just hurting people. Robert had to accept that within the most unethical spaces of the world, medical breakthroughs did occur, so he saw their reasoning. Didn’t quite agree with it, especially considering they just started their reign of terror eventually, but he understood the motives. Nobody wants to die. Well. Almost no one.

The family disowned them after they were both arrested for trafficking. The Porters were quite influential in their community, and the only way Mom and Dad could save face was by publicly disowning them. Robert told the relative that he’s just looking into a cold case, isn’t at liberty to talk further, and that they shouldn’t worry. “Just leaving no stone unturned. I doubt it was these guys. Especially since…you said you haven’t heard from them since…”

“Since 1992,” they confirmed. “We cut them out. Do you even know if they’re still active?”

This move was risky, Robert knew that. There was absolutely no way in hell that Coeus wasn’t spying on his long-lost family. And he was most certainly operating under a false identity outside of his crime life, just like you are, because his name stopped appearing on transactions and credit reports soon after. So: he lied. To protect them, you, everyone. “We’re pretty sure they’re dead, honestly. Sorry to break the news. If anything, they might be victims of this case, but, again, I can’t give more details than that.”

He remembers this look of almost sadness before they nodded. “Well, we always figured. Grady was sick, on borrowed time. They always acted like they couldn’t live without each other. They were inseparable.” They sighed. “Thanks for the closure. Let us know if you crack the case.”

Certain there’s audio evidence of Mecha Man believing Coeus and Technomancer’s original villain exploits were different people who are now long-dead, Robert feels better about reaching out to someone so close to him, but there’s still a good amount of unease loitering around inside him. Ruining his appetite.

“Got my work cut out for me, man,” Robert muses. Beef whines attentively, as if offering advice, and he smiles at him.

The guys who’ve been around as long as Lockjaw, now fighting on the better side of things, oh. They have stories. Robert’s only going to believe what he could verify with actual records, which are:

1: Grady died when he was twenty-two, for two minutes. They revived him, then lost him, and couldn’t get him back. Robert knows this because he was admitted to the Torrance Memorial morgue following a medical emergency. Several organs failed at once. His disease probably caught up to him, perhaps because of whatever the Ferryman’s goon did to him.

2: Eben signed in to identify his brother. He’s on several security logs taking the normal routes, escorted by a doctor. He appears to ask for time alone with his brother and is granted it.

3: Nobody ever saw Eben, or Grady’s body again.

From there, everyone who’s ever worked with Technomancer had their heebies thoroughly jeebied, probably because, Robert suspects, he is still technically dead. Somehow.

Two men, grown up together with the most unique bond in history, spurned by their family, shit on by the heavyweights of their time. Robert’s not surprised by the ambition, the hunger. But it complicates things. Whatever happened between then and now to make them…like this…twisted them into the worst versions of themselves. Grady, probably worse than Eben. Most definitely worse.

And if they have the same powers, it would be best to fight them separately. Easier said than done, now that they’re close to their goals.

Of all the people in the world to crack this open, Robert is pleasantly amazed it was you. As he nears his apartment, all he can do is smile. Sure, maybe you’re only doing all this — taking down an empire with him in secret — because you’re in love. But does it really discredit anything? He knows a woman right now who wanted to change for the same reasons you want to save a man you met by chance. He also knows that love’s not enough to save a person.

But. It’s a start.

Courtney’s all right, now, after all.

He’s gonna do everything he can to make sure you are, too. And Herman.

When he swings the door open, Chad’s lounging on the couch with his usual frown. “Did you walk to fuckin’ Narnia? Pizza’s getting cold! Had to pause just when it was getting good!”

Robert rolls his eyes, tosses his keys into the dish near the door, and unclips Beef; who runs immediately to the couch and scrambles back into his warm lap. “Missed you too, sweetheart.”

If glares could kill. Robert stifles the snort. “Did I not tell you I’d wring your neck over these fuckin’ names?”

“Every time. And yet here I am.”

Chad narrows his eyes, but there’s the tiniest smirk. He likes it. Robert knows he does. But he has to keep up the aura of “too tough for mushy shit”, so he over-corrects. “Just you wait.” He moves to stand, and Robert puts his hand up.

“You wouldn’t dare disturb Beef. Look at him.” The dog’s already happily sprawled across his lap, tail lazily wagging.

“Then get over here so I can kill you.”

“Mmm-hm. Want another beer?”

“…yes.” Then, he mutters lovingly, “asshole.”

He tries not to keep things from Chad. So he doesn’t, really. This operation can’t have too many players, though, so that’s all he told him. People might die if it gets too big, but the entire Z-Team will be needed when the time comes. He can keep a secret, of course, but it’s safest this way.

Robert did, after all, say everything would be all right.

He does that a lot. He really needs to stop. Because he doesn’t know, not for sure, and it feels so awful whenever it goes south.

Unsure if you’ll ever shake this dread, you remain committed to keeping your head above water and on a swivel. All the while, you keep telling yourself you have allies. Robert. Lockjaw. Herman. Through Robert, you have the entirety of SDN. Through Lockjaw? A whole gaggle of sick-of-everyone’s-shit hybrids just itching to carve their place in the world at last, and what better way to do that than topple a megalomaniac and his maybe-a-zombie brother?

You just have to keep your boyfriend calm without telling him why he can relax. Not easy.

It’s only a matter of time before Technomancer runs his shit through the tunnels, and they’re no longer a safe place to talk. Until then, he’s free to fret and worry in between jobs, pacing, grappling with the idea of killing someone for the greater good. The gray parts of life were a real bitch when you have the kind of sense of right and wrong Herman does. His mask’s off so he can hyperventilate better, and you reach up and grab his face.

“Hey. I need you to chill. I know it’s bad.” You speak fast, before he can get a sentence started. “You trust me?”

The hesitating swallow makes you worry for a second, but he frowns at himself and nods. “Y-yes. Of course.” Herman relaxes, butting his forehead to yours with a sigh. “Always.”

He’s such a fucking romantic. You’re giddy when you have no time to be. “So just trust. Don’t do anything, okay? I will not let this nightmare happen. It’s better that you’re not involved with it, okay? You have too much at stake.” It’s as far as you’ll go. You’re hinting, and you will not tell. He’s gonna have to read between the lines, take a leap of faith, and let you work your schemes.

The look he’s giving you turns knowing, and where you’re worried it’ll just wind him tighter, he mercifully sages deeper. Holding you, relief washing through him. “B-be safe. H-how can. Can I do anything?”

You kiss him. “Just keep being you. I’ll figure something out. Follow my lead when I do.”

He adopts an uncertain expression, like he’s about to watch you jump off a building without knowing if that backpack has a chute or someone’s lunch in it — and that’s just as well. If he doesn’t think you’re up to something yet, and has a vague she’s got it handled, you can trust he won’t panic, stumble, say the wrong thing.

There’s a chance he has too much faith in you, that maybe none of this will work out, but you can’t think about that. Get him and Beverly safe. That’s the goal. Failure’s not an option. Nothing else is a factor. No matter what happens: if Herman and his grandma are alive, you’ll count it as a win. Even if you’re counting from hell, or prison.

So.

You get him motivated, pep yourself up, and head to the next job. Night after night, setting things up for Coeus, for this grand plan of his no doubt. You update his grandmother, tell her to take heart. You’re rallying the troops. Soon you’ll hopefully get good news from Robert, and hopefully, that’ll happen before those damn Techno Pulses are fully installed. If Lockjaw’s quiet about it, he can subtly move vulnerable hybrids elsewhere, while the good swimmers remain. Some can even breathe under water.

It’d reduce the potential casualties without tipping off the wolf.

After work, you lose yourselves in each other, because it’s easier to not think for a while than it is to sit around, wondering when the hammer’s gonna drop. All the while, a concerning pattern emerges: Technomancer is roaming. You see him throughout the building more often than not, now. A grinning corpse, held together with wires and sheer will. He unsettles even Gore Grinder.

Nobody seems to have figured it out. Maybe it’s only obvious to you because you know, but the two men have the same fucking smile. There’s a bit more madness in his, but if you hadn’t seen them in the same room at the last meeting, you’d think Coeus was just moonlighting as a cyberpunk nightmare to fuck with everyone. You doubt they’re trying to keep it a secret, but, you’re still pretty shocked that nobody else sees the resemblance.

Silverflare even joked about making a pass at him.

It’ll be funny when she finds out, at least.

You’re curled up on Herman in bed, counting the days. The 23rd is the day after tomorrow. So far, a whole lot of fucking nothing has been going on, so you’re hoping Robert has something juicy. Though you know the calm is not to be trusted. Nothing’s happening on your end of things, but there’s more than likely a lot of moving parts lurching this awful machine forward. The goal is to stop it from mowing down a bunch of innocent people, as well as the honest-to-fuck love of your life.

Herman’s gently caressing your shoulder, holding you close.

“Too quiet lately,” he hazards.

“Mmm-hmm.” You nuzzle him. “Well, enjoy it. Lulls in chaos are always nice. The takeover was rough, but Coeus is the expert. I had a feeling everything would settle down soon.”

Of course, you’re spewing bullshit flattery mostly for the microphones. He agrees with a noise, and rolls, caging you against him. He breathes in deep, lets it out in a slow sigh, and kisses your head. “Want just this,” he whispers. “It’s s-so nice.”

You smile. “Can you imagine that? A whole day where we don’t have to be fuckin’ anywhere. Can just be here. Well. I imagine we’d have a much nicer bed than this, in our own place…”

He squeezes you, stretching his legs before tangling them in yours, leaving you utterly captured. “C-California King.”

“Egyptian cotton,” you add.

“Those m-memory foam pillows, l-like, the ones that cool…”

You giggle. “Someday,” you say. “Someday.”

The way he holds you, it’s like a promise.

And you almost believe it could happen.

You drift off, imagining life without all this — life with just him. Normal. Mundane. Wonderfully mundane. Nine to five, vacation time, 401ks. Worrying about the car. Playfully arguing over what to have for dinner. Buying your first house together, right across from his grandma probably, and then fucking him in every room, on every available surface, just to really claim the space.

You’d need to pinch yourself regularly just to stay sure you’re not dreaming.

Because that’s what it is, to you, for now. A pipe dream. A beautiful idea. Something is going to give, and soon, and you’ve almost convinced yourself it’ll end that way. You want it to. You’ve somehow managed to give yourself more hope than usual, beat back your cynicism, and, God help you, you’re making plans. How you’d arrange the living room, your master bedroom, the guest room. Would you get a dog? It’d have to be a puppy, so you could socialize it with the millions of cats in Beverly’s house…

Herman’s already fallen asleep, and you’re there in his arms grinning to yourself like an idiot over all this.

But you’re also trying not to cry. This whole thing started with you just feeling bad for the guy who fell ass over elbows into hot water, but now you had to go and fucking love him. You may never live these fantasies out. It’s a devastating thought.

Well, dumbass, you think to yourself. Just fight harder, then.

At some point, you wake up in the middle of the night. You have to fight your way out of his grasp. He whines in his sleep. You kiss him. In the bathroom, you schedule some messages. An e-mail, detailing all your crimes, all the dirt you have on everyone who deserves prison in this shitty underground. And a text, to Herman. A song that will make sense to him if this ever has to send. A message, heartfelt and sincere.

If you don’t live through this, at least you’ll get the last word in. But fuck, you’re gonna try.

***

It's been a hell of a day. Herman's facade fell apart the moment he hit the floor. Well. It's more that he gently slumped to it, thanks to you.

You took Mari to the museum. The zoo. A nature park she'd never seen. And then to the mall, just to goof around. Watching you come through that door with her just...shit. He could behold that sight every damn day. Both laughing and smiling. Mari just a bundle of joy in spite of everything, and you did that. You took her out of the cloud Herman couldn't fight back and made her happy for a whole day.

Helped her remember that it's okay to smile even when you're sad.

Robert and Mandy spread out all his bills and finances and statements on the living room table and worked through it with him while you and Mariam klinked around in the kitchen, giggling, chatting. The smell of food wafting. It took half the day, but about the time he starts smelling cookies, Robert and Mandy seem to have a good handle on everything that's gone wrong and have helped him with a plan.

Starting with a performance raise. Mandy runs the show, and he was due for one at his next review, but he needs it now.

Already overwhelmed with the love that surrounds him, Herman breaks when he overhears what's going on in his kitchen.

The Z-Team gave him a gauntlet of various hugs on their way out. Robert and Mandy are organizing all his paperwork for him. He decided to go check on what kind of antics you're getting up to, and he stops dead.

"I know he's so sad. He's been sad for a long time."

"Well, that's unfortunately a part of being a grown-up sometimes. That's why it's so good he has all these friends. And you!"

Mariam giggles. But she goes on, voice a little sullen. "I want to fix it."

You let out this loving sigh. "I do too. But it's not so easy. These cookies are probably a good start though. You said they're his favorite?"

"Yeah!! He's gonna love em!"

"Normally you shouldn't do dessert first. But the chicken's not done yet and you've both had a rough week, so I think we can make an exception."

More giggling. Shuffling. Stirring. Mariam chirps your name.

"Hmm?"

"Do you wanna be my mom?"

His hand flies to his mouth and it feels like he can't breathe.

"Ah, hah, oh, honey that's." You actually sound moved to tears. "That's such a sweet thing to ask me. But it would be complicated."

Sad, now. "You wouldn't want to?"

You set something down. Your voice changes locations -- like you're kneeling in front of her. "Oh, that's not the issue. Plenty of people step in to be in a kid's life! But that usually only happens if their mom or dad really, really like that person."

"Dad likes you! He likes you a lot!"

You laugh. Herman's leaning on the wall, crying silently. "I mean...they have to want to be together, Mari. He likes me but, we're just friends. Does it make sense?"

Sadder. "Yeah..."

"But hey! You know how you've got Uncle Robert? I'm totally on board with being your weird crazy aunt!"

And Mariam laughs. He can hear her jumping up and down, excited. Herman sneaks away to deal with his emotions in the bathroom, because it's too much to ignore or try to fight anymore. He's been trying so hard and succeeding to the point where you don't even know he loves you. Or, maybe, you just wanted to keep it simple for Mariam. It's easier to say what you did than it is to explain the nuances of grief. But if you know, you're doing a damn good job at acting like you don't.

By the time he comes out, Robert and Mandy are ready to head off, fresh cookies in hand. You've got a plate for him, dinner on the way, and he goes to the fridge to get some milk and sees the stacks and stacks of prepared meals that you and Mari labeled together. Breakfast. Lunch. Dinner.

"You doing better?" You ask him. In the tiny moment he has alone with you, while Mari runs to use the restroom and wash her hands.

"Yeah," he says. So tired. So grateful. "Y-you didn't have--this is so much."

You pat his back. "Yeah I did. Let any of us know if you need more help. Please."

Still concerned. You're looking at him like you're worried he's gonna collapse again. Herman almost gets the nerve to kiss you when Mariam comes stampeding back down the stairs, and you laugh at her, tossing an easy, instinctual, "hey, careful! Don't trip!"

The moment passes. He gets some real, delicious food that he didn't have to cook. You refuse to let him give you money for the sixth time. Mari's exhausted from the day and actually puts herself to bed, hugging him tight after telling him she's sleepy. He follows her just to tuck her in, and comes back to you tearing through the dirty dishes so he doesn't have to worry about them.

You keep flexing your neck, twisting your head side to side with a soft wince and a sigh.

Herman just can't help himself anymore.

***

You've been on your feet all day, all night, and boy is it catching up to you.

It's worth it, though. Soon you can take a long hot shower, work out the knots, and get a good sleep.

You're on the last pot, focusing on a burnt on stain in the gathering silence after your conversation with Herman comfortably slipped into just existing near each other, and you take a breath to tell him to sit back down, don't worry, you've got this...when a featherlight touch sends a shiver down your neck.

"C-can--I can. At least fix that."

Blush creeps up your face. "I'll, it's okay," you start.

"Please?" he asks. So quiet. Like he's falling apart behind you. "You've done--all of you have done so, so much for me and. I j-just want to..."

You smile.

You nod.

And then you moan a little too loud, without expecting or meaning to, because he digs the pad of his thumb into the stiff muscle juuuuuuust right. "Hhhhoh. Wow." You slump over the sink. "God. Herm, that's..." Your knees almost give out.

The pot tumbles into the sink and all you can do is close your eyes and revel in it. The softest laugh sneaks past his lips and he works it a little harder, using both hands in symmetrical motions. "I used to d-do this for...well. I just. I got good at. This."

"You reaaaaalllly did," you groan out. Stumbling a little.

He steps closer. Nearly pinning you there, and you're really lost in it because you're not even mortified when you lean back into him with a hum. And he graduates to running just his fingertips up and down your neck, nearly to your collarbone, one hand gliding up your face and lighting up every soothing nerve in your skin.

***

He wants to kiss your neck so badly he's nearly drooling at the thought.

Heat coils low in his belly, and Herman swallows dryly over what he's done. That noise he got out of you launched his soul into the atmosphere and now he can't stop touching you. Every single time he makes another pass you sink against him further and Herman's mind goes into a tailspin.

You seem to realize this has gone past appropriate and it's like you've woken from a dream -- you gasp and apologize, but when you go to move, he holds you. "D-don't," he begs. "P-please. Please tell me you--I." His hands roam, caressing your neck. Cupping your face. He might actually die if you don't feel how he does. A bolt of cold fear hits him deep in his chest at the thought.

But then you touch him back.

You hold his wrist and snuggle into his palm, placing a very lingering kiss.

It's a blur.

He can tell you're struggling to stay quiet, this strained gasp sounding out when he turns you, lifts you to the empty space beside the sink; a brief, shaky pause before he pushes past his anxiety and just finally, with so much relief and yearning, kisses you.

And you melt.

He pulls you as close as you'll fit, heat consuming him, settling in places long neglected, but that's all it is. Heat. There's a distinct and frustrating lack of bloodflow. He figures maybe it'll happen if he just keeps following what you want; every time you kiss him back, he continues, holding you, humming softly, shivering under your touches.

Herman loses all rational thought and it just slips out without him considering it might be entirely too soon, too much, too intense, but it is the truth.

"I l-love you."

He tries to whisper it, like maybe you would miss it, and he could admit it without consequences, but it comes out in a pitiful, needy whimper instead.

He freezes just for a moment, because the short, breathy laugh seizes his heart: is it a nervous response before you let him down easy or--

"I love you too."

Even then. Nothing happens. Just burning need and no ability to quench it, but then your response finally loads in his brain and everything he was trying to kickstart collapses. He pulls away and clutches your head to his chest, lips pressed to your temple, crying.

The way you hold him might kill him where he stands, and you worm away, pulling his face down, hugging his head into your neck as you soothe him. The grip on his powers far away, he sputters out apologies you clarify that he doesn't need to say, drenching your shirt as you quietly laugh and adorn his whole face in kisses. An attempt to steady him that eventually works.

"You don't even need to ask," you respond when he begs you to stay.

Herman hasn't even thought about sex since his wife passed. Not exactly because he would never be open to moving on, but because with a toddler to care for, a funeral to plan, and grieving to do, he kind of kicked into this survival mode and never turned it off. He barely even indulges himself. There's just no time. No bandwidth left.

So, to say he's touch starved in a...certain way...is to say water is wet.

And when he meets you, Mariam is getting a bit easier. She's almost eight now. Her independence is blooming. She can be left alone, pretty much, because even when Grandma nods off she never gets into trouble. She's a good kid. A great kid.

He's unknowingly been relaxing his white knuckle grip on reality because of this. Don't get him wrong, Herman is fucking STRESSED, but he finally has space in his mind for...things. You. God, it hit him like a freight train. And then the guilt seeps in because.

He wouldn't even be single if not for the accident. He knows it's insane to expect a human being to stay loyal to a dead spouse but he never wanted to be without her. Never. And crushing on you makes him feel like he's a bad person, because would he feel this way if she was still alive? Would he drift? Would be really be that guy?!

Obviously, Herman is being quite unfair to himself, but he's been running on fumes for five years so we can forgive him for his lack of introspection here. Obviously he wouldn't stray. He's only feeling this way because he is in fact alone. Unable to get her back.

But instead of realizing he might be ready to move on finally, he clings to it like the past can be undone.

For the longest, longest time.

He can't let go. If he lets go what if he forgets her? What if he loses *you*?! He can't deal with that twice. He barely survived it once. Fear and guilt just gnaw at him every single day. He's head over heels as usual for him. Fell so hard he's seeing stars.

But it's hard to get past the block.

It was Mariam's birthday party that really did him in. Robert hosted because the house is a mess. He's got a nice pool and, oh God are you hard to ignore in a swimsuit. Because he's been hoping there's something about you that's a deal breaker but the truth is you're perfect for him and the way the sun hits your skin is just a cherry on top.

Robert joked to him that Herman's been ignoring every single woman the universe sends him to the point where it got pissed off and finally shoved you through the door. Someone he can't ignore. You are 900% compatible and it's killing him because that just brings another wave of guilt.

You fit him better than anyone ever has.

And he feels terrible for feeling that way. He loved his wife. So much. She was perfect to him. Wonderful to him. He misses her every day.

But maybe Robert's right. Maybe that's the point. Maybe some cosmic force acknowledged he would NEVER move on unless it was you. Hell, maybe she sent you HERSELF because she was sick of watching him wallow and suffer. He knows. He knows he shouldn't make himself be alone for the rest of his life. But he can't do it. Not yet.

Still. He wavers at that party. He very nearly gives in.

Nearly.

Then that horrible day happens. And it feels like that hell, all over again. One day Grandma's there and the next she isn't. Everything feels like it's collapsing on him. Debt piles up more and more. He's telling everyone he's got it under control but he's lying. He can't afford the cats. He can't afford anything beyond the absolute basics. Food's running out for everyone so he just rations for himself and that's when it happens.

The energy drink that's been propping him up all morning fizzles out and he forgets what he's saying to you mid sentence, the world blurs and then he's in your arms as you ease him to the floor, calling for Robert or anyone nearby.

Time skips around and he vividly remembers begging everyone not to take him to the hospital because he can't afford it so he wakes up in the SDN medical wing to a very stern Robert and an extremely worried you and it turns out...he was just malnourished.

And the jig is up. The house of cards falls.

Robert helps him sort through the horrors of his finances while you take Mariam out for a day of fun. The Z-Team bands together to clean the house, lovingly scold this idiot for acting like he had to do this all alone, and then you. You come back. Mari's got a gajillion souvenirs from four different fun places and she's helping you bring in armfuls of groceries.

As everyone mills around and filters out, their jobs done, you're in the kitchen with Robert, meal prepping as much as you can fit in Herman's freezer, then two weeks worth of breakfast, lunch, and dinner for him AND his daughter. You also bought an absurd amount of cat food for him.

And no, you're not going to let him pay you back.

Robert leaves before you. Probably on purpose. Mari's cozy in bed.

It's just you, cleaning up, visibly sore but not ready to stop because you're not going to leave the poor guy's kitchen a mess after all he's been through. And it's like even his body is sick of him fighting happiness.

He stands without thinking about it. Approaches you without really knowing why. Your back's to him and you're scrubbing the last pot clean and then he's against you. Arms around your body, head resting against yours. "Herm...?"

He just hugs you tighter. Finally, finally letting go of it. Relief washing through him. He could go to sleep right there, but he turns you instead, lifts you onto the counter, and falters. Maybe not tonight. Maybe he just needs you close, so close.

"Can you. Stay?"

His eyes are so heavy. He smooths a hand down your hip with a shaky sigh, momentarily squeezing your thigh before deciding to behave but he makes a very strong note of how you squirm and he knows he won't last long against his desires.

But you wind up in his bed, no sins enjoyed, just in his arms. Curled up, warm, safe. Overwhelmingly all of those things and more. Innocently holding you, because he needs this too. So, so badly.

He barely wants to get out of bed for a much less depressing reason than usual. But he has to get Mari to school. Herman always wakes up super early so he can be ready to see her off with enough time to finish his breakfast and have another cup of coffee. Prepping in advance keeps him on the schedule he likes to keep.