You weren’t supposed to be in the tower that night.

But insomnia had claws in your skin, and your thoughts were too loud. Screaming over each other, echoing in the high ceilings of your mind. So you wandered. The Tower always felt quieter after midnight. The kind of quiet that pressed against your lungs and made you forget you weren’t alone.

Or so you thought.

You were passing by one of the rooms, just glass and steel and silence. That's when something pulled your gaze to the shadowed room beyond.

And there he was.

Bob.

Standing with his back turned to you. Alone. Unaware.

You were close with Bob. Probably closer than with anyone else on the team. Of course, you loved the others. They were family. But Bob? He was something else entirely. You've seen him wander around the tower, always looking like a neglected hamster. You've seen him as void. As Sentry.

But you’d never seen him like this.

His blue hoodie was pulled up, seemingly tucked between his lips. The muscles in his back flexed and tensed as he gripped the edge of the table before him. His breathing was heavy. Too heavy.

Then his hand moved.

Slow. Controlled. Familiar.

And your breath caught.

He was… touching himself.

And not gently.

There was frustration in the movement. A raw edge. Like he was trying to chase something just out of reach—or maybe outrun something instead.

Your first instinct was to turn away. To give him privacy.

But your feet didn’t listen.

You weren’t sure why. Maybe it was curiosity. Maybe it was the way his name had been haunting the corners of your mind lately. Maybe it was the way he looked at you when he thought you weren't looking.

Or maybe it was the heat low in your stomach that burned hotter with every breath he took.

His other hand gripped the table hard, knuckles white. His jaw clenched. He let out a sound, not quite a groan, not quite a plea. And you realized it wasn’t just desire driving him. It was need. Desperation.

The most powerful man in the world, unraveling quietly in the dark.

And still, he hadn’t seen you.

You shifted, just slightly, your weight betraying you with the faintest creak on the floor. His head snapped up, eyes glowing faintly in the dimness. He turned.

He saw you.

For a heartbeat, neither of you moved.

He didn’t reach for a shirt. Didn’t try to hide himself. He just stared. Breathless. Caught.

You should’ve run.

But you stepped inside instead.

His voice was low, rough. Yet, shakey with that familiar quietness.

“Y-you weren’t supposed to see this.”

You swallowed.

You wanted to answer, but you couldn't. Your breath was stuck in your throat, suppressing the not so hidden desire.

His eyes searched your face, reading every twitch, every breath, every war between retreat and curiosity.

“You should go,” he said, but it sounded more like a warning than a dismissal. A frayed tether holding back something much darker.

You didn’t go.

You stepped closer.

“You didn’t stop.”

That made something flicker in his expression. Surprise. Shame. And then… something darker.

“No,” he admitted, voice gravel over fire. “I didn’t.”

You were close now. Close enough to see the way his pulse jumped at his throat. Close enough to feel the temperature shift in the air, like standing next to a furnace. There was restraint in his eyes. Barely.

You didn’t touch him.

But you leaned close enough that your breath ghosted over his skin.

“What are you afraid of, Bob?”

His jaw clenched again. His hand was still gripping the table, the other one speeding up.

“Of losing control.”

Your lips brushed his ear.

“What if I want you to?”

He let out a sound, something between a gasp and a growl.

And then he stepped back.

Not out of fear. But out of restraint. His whole body shaking from it.

“If you stay,” he said, low and dangerous, “you won’t be able to pretend later that you didn’t want this.”

The silence that followed was heavier than gravity. It pulled at you both. Unseen, unrelenting.

Your heart was pounding.

“I’m not pretending anything.”

And then, he was in front of you.

Not quite touching you. But almost.

His hands hovered near your hips, trembling. Not from weakness. From restraint. From fury. From desire wrapped too tightly in a cage of morality.

His breath mingled with yours.

“Then don’t run,” he said, voice like thunder on the edge of a storm. “Don’t lie. Don’t ask me to stop once I start.”

Your answer was a whisper.

“I could never."