WATCH IT , PUNK ! ★

You woke up early this morning, just shy of 7 AM. But it’s too early to face another grey day. Your last few weeks have been bleak, slowly moving from one day to the next one. The sense of novelty and adventure from joining the Guardians have worn off.

So you lay in your bed, trying to delay the start of your morning. You kill time with some book, which you’re not really reading. You don’t even know what it’s about. Your mind’s racing again.

And, as usual, it’s about him. About avoiding him, and him avoiding you. The silence. The fight. What you told him in the shower to keep him away. You try not to think about it too often, but guilt is eating you up alive. He was always lively, loud, everywhere.

And now he’s isolating, too quiet. He misses team training and sparrings regularly. When you caught a glimpse of him a few days ago he looked like shit. Unkempt, dirty, tired. Nothing like ever before.

You think of the moment you thought you smelt his conditioner last week in the showers. But it wasn’t his, it was Rae’s.

You shake your head quickly, trying to outpace your brain. You don’t want to worry, because he’s a fucking liar who lured you into his bed while playing around with other women. So maybe he deserves it. You wonder if they even know they are also not the only ones he’s toying with. 

But it doesn’t matter anymore.

Even if you can’t stop replaying every conversation you two ever had. Every touch, especially the incidental ones. Every gaze along the common room or in battle. 

Or the night you went after him to his room. When he went down on you. Yeah, it was hot, sexy and amazing, he’s definitely very skilled. But it was way more than that. And every time you remind yourself that you naively thought it was more for him as well, you want to pound your head into the wall. How could you be this naive?

You look at the book again. You’re still on the first page.

You groan as you bow your head down. You can’t even read anymore in peace.

Why am I so consumed by him? I don’t even want him anymore.

Three gentle knocks startle you out of your thoughts.

You look at your phone, it’s 8:46 AM.

Who the fuck knocks at your door before double digits hour? Outrageous.

But you already know who that is. Or at least you hope you’re right. And you hate the fact that you hope it’s him. You don’t get up to open the door yet.

You can hear faint shuffling behind the door, maybe the sound of a wrapper.

“It’s me,” Rex says.

Your heart drops to the pits of your stomach.

“I know I’m probably—no, absolutely—the last person you wanna see. Let alone talk to.”

He sounds different—voice smaller, quieter, almost remorseful.

It makes you put your book away to your nightstand and swing your legs out of bed.

You pad across the room, stopping in front of the mirror. You move your hands over your pajamas, straightening them out. You rake your hands through your hair, trying to make them more presentable. You groan quietly, disbelieving yourself you still really care that much. Even now, he’s got you cornered in a vulnerable spot.

You come to the door anyway, but still don’t open. You’re not sure you want to. Or if you should open it, and then slam it in his face. But curiosity gets the better of you. At least that’s what you tell yourself it is.

You take a big breath and turn the knob.

Rex is standing there, shoulders square. His hair is pulled back in a neat bun, and for the first time in weeks he looks clean and like his clothes have seen at least one wash in their lifetime. He’s even shaved.

You move your eyes to his, noticing a flicker of surprise. His mouth parts slightly, like he’s about to say something, but no sound comes out. You let your gaze follow down and notice he’s holding two beers in his hand and your favourite chocolate popping from his hoodie’s pocket.

At eight-forty-seven in the morning.

You lift your brow before you can help it.

His mouth twitches like he might try to explain, then he just exhales hard through his nose and mutters, “Yeah, I know. Don’t start.”

You don’t say anything, just study his face. You let the silence stretch, making him visibly uncomfortable. Your stomach flips as you wonder whether to slap him, kiss him, cuss him out, or all of it at once.

He clears his throat, and rubs the back of his neck. 

“Can I… can I come in?” He glances at you, then away to the floor.

You lean on the doorframe and look at him, almost surprised. Has Rex ever asked for permission before? You swear you see the faintest brush of red on his cheeks. You want to smirk, but catch it before it happens. You linger a little more, taking in his presence slowly, acting like your heart is not trying to claw its way out of your chest.

He waits, surprisingly patiently for him. Doesn’t even squirm that much. He holds your gaze this time and that’s when you decide. You step away from the door. It’s not permission exactly, but it’s enough.

Rex brushes past your arm as he steps in. The warmth of his body is still tangible even through the thick fabric of his hoodie. The way your heart does something from that sliver of contact makes you exhale sharply through your nose. You hope he doesn’t notice that. You close the door behind him and loosely cross your arms. 

He walks in, moving like he isn’t sure where he’s allowed to stand. His eyes flick around — your bed, your dresser, your bare feet — before he ends up at the desk, setting the beer and chocolate down side by side like some cursed breakfast combo.

“Coffee was too on-the-nose. So… breakfast beer.”

He waves vaguely at the desk like that somehow makes it logical.

You don’t answer. If you open your mouth now, you’re not sure what would come out of it.

He’s still looking at you, his eyes stopping at your mouth for a fraction of a second before he catches himself. “Right. Yeah. That was… stupid.”

You lean your back on the wall and cross one leg over the other. You try to not give in to the adrenaline pulsing through your whole body, making your face say nothing. You’re actually interested in what he’s gotta say. Or at least you want to watch him unravel. 

He stands there, waiting for you to say something. When you’re still quiet, he starts pacing. Not fast, but restless. He puts his hands in and out of his pockets, like he doesn’t know what to do with them.

“Okay, yeah, I’m here, so I better… start talking, right?” He chuckles dry, quickly. “Uh, right. Thanks for letting me in. Didn’t think you’d— nevermind.” He stops, his back facing you, and sighs loudly. “I don’t want to waste your time, so I guess I’ll just start.”

He turns around to face you now, looks at your chest, but quickly darts his eyes away. And starts pacing again.

“Where do I start? There’s… a lot to cover. Okay, so.” He exhales sharply. “Whew, that’s actually harder than— I didn’t prepare a speech. Cause I never had to. I always know what to say. And when I don’t? I still talk anyway. Like… right now. God.” He drags his hands down his face.

You move away from the wall and start walking slowly in his direction. He freezes mid-step, as if he didn’t expect you’d close the space between you two this soon. You don’t go to him though, but sit on your desk chair next to him. You cross your arms and legs and tilt your chin up to look at him.

You had to sit down, otherwise your legs would betray you. You’d either fall or lunge at him. And either of these would be way more humiliating than him rambling in your room before breakfast.

“Oh, right. Yeah. Totally, sit tight. It’s gonna be one hell of a ride.” He smirks, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. Then he starts pacing again. 

“This— us— it wasn’t supposed to be a thing. You weren’t supposed to be—” he waves his hand vaguely at you. “Like that. Hot and unattainable is more my lane. Not— not that you’re not hot—” he stops and takes a deep breath. Then continues. “See, I flirt, I lose, I move on. That’s my thing, that’s the loop. No damage done.” He looks at you again, waiting for anything from you. But you don’t give him anything more than an occasional blink.

Let him squirm.

“But you didn’t... go. You stuck. Like—gum. Or—duct tape. Or—hell, I don’t know—a shitty song you hate but secretly know all the lyrics to anyway.”

Your mouth almost twitches at duct tape. Almost.

“I was fine—no, not really, but—y’know, stable. Predictable fuck-up, baseline functioning. And now I’m—” he gestures at himself, like that says it all “—this. The guy who shows up before 9 AM with beer and candy like some… some divorce dad. Not that I’ve ever been married. Obviously. Uh—fuck, never mind.”

You inhale slowly through your nose, trying not to laugh.

He freezes mid-step. “Was that—? No? Okay. Still nothing. Cool.”

He starts pacing faster, hands buried in his hoodie pocket now — fidgeting, rubbing his thumb over something in there.

He stops dead, runs a hand over his mouth like he’s trying to keep something in. His eyes flick to yours, away again.

“Okay, shit— I didn’t— I didn’t fuck them, Banter,” he blurts out. He corrects himself quickly and says your real name, and it lands heavier than you want to admit. Your heart skips a beat.

“I know, you don’t have to believe me, but… it’s the truth, I swear. Yeah, I ghosted you for two days and then you —understandably— dumped my ass— uh, fuck. We weren’t really dating— or, unless you think we were—” 

He freezes, searching your face for the answer that might save him, then flinches like he’s made a mistake just looking. “Shit.”

“What I’m trying to say is that I had to… close some doors, yeah? I didn’t want any, uh, distractions,” he adds, talking faster with each word getting out of his mouth.

You feel your hand curl into a fist on your knee before you even realize you’re doing it. You know that’s not the whole story. Not because he’s a bad liar, but because he’s a good one.

“God—that sounded horrible. You know what I mean, right? I just—I’m sorry, okay?” He raises his hands at that, then drops them to his face. “I should have told you. Or just—call these… women, and tell them to forget my number.”

He stops and drags his eyes up from your legs to your face. You still don’t make a sound, though there’s a lot you’d like to say. Or do.

The silence between you is razor-sharp now.

“Fuck, I’m doing this wrong. I know I’m doing this wrong. But I—I don’t know how else to—fuck.”

He exhales sharply and unties his hair, just to instantly tie it back again. Then, he comes up to your desk and braces his hands on the edge of it, beer and chocolate in between. His knuckles go white. He continues without looking at you now.

“You scare the shit outta me, y’know? Because you see right through me. The bullshit. All the cheap moves I’ve been running my whole life. And you don’t buy any of that shit.”

He darts his eyes to you, as if to check if he’s hit anything that matters. Your face remains unchanged, even if inside you feel like screaming.

He chuckles once, shortly.

“I don’t sleep. I can’t eat. Even jerking off feels tragic now.”

You snort before you can stop it. His head snaps up like he’s found a crack in the wall.

“Hoped something would get to you,” he mutters, looking at you with a weak grin. He’s swaying from front to back on his feet now. 

When you still don’t say anything, he pushes himself off the desk. His jaw tightens and he straightens his back. He’s towering over you now, almost as if he wants to intimidate you. Which is not working by the way.

“So what? You’re not gonna… say a word? Not even a ‘hi’ or ‘go fuck yourself, Rex’?” He’s louder now.

You shrug. You know it’s petty. But it’s also extremely satisfying.

He lets out a humorless laugh. “Cool. Okay. Just fucking… stare at me then. Fun.”

He starts pacing again, faster this time.

“You think I don’t know I fucked up? You think I need this?” He moves his hand between you two. 

“I hate myself enough already, thank you very much,” he says, lower now. 

That makes your chest ache, even if just a little. But you’ve been quiet long enough, so you don’t want to give him what he wants just when he jabs at himself. So you raise an eyebrow instead.

He stops again, and you see his face clear now. His eyes are tired, blood-shot. You haven’t noticed that before. He takes a step towards you, then another.

“I came here, didn’t I? Which… I don’t really do shit like that. It’s not my thing,” he frowns. Then his eyes go to the floor. “I don’t… spill my guts for fun. You think this is easy? It’s—”

His hands make a restless gesture.

“It’s fucking humiliating.”

That’s not a word you’d ever thought he’d use to admit about himself.

You tilt your head and chew on the inside of your cheek. You still let him sweat.

“And maybe… maybe you’re enjoying watching me pace like a lost dog. Which, fair. Fine. But I’m here. I’m trying. Or—this is my version of trying. And that’s—that’s gotta count for something, right?” He glances back at you. When he sees your face hasn’t moved one bit, he takes a step back.

“Or—fuck, maybe it doesn’t.”

And he’s back to pacing again. He doesn't talk now. He runs both hands over his face. Then after a moment he speaks again.

“Maybe you just… don’t care. Anymore. Cause I think…” he pauses. “I think you cared—fuck,” he groans. “Uh, I shouldn’t be assuming, that’s what got me in trouble in the first place. But—I hope you did.”

You clench your jaw so hard it almost starts giving you a headache. 

“Maybe you’re just waiting for me to run out of breath so you can kick me out. But—” he stops, chest rising quicker now. His eyes drag down to your fisted palms before he flies them up again. “There won’t be a punchline. Just… me. And I’m—fuck.” A frustrated sound catches in his throat. “I don’t even know what I am right now.”

A beat passes, and you look at each other now. His chest is moving rapidly. And he’s still waiting for you. 

He breaks the silence again.

“Just—fucking say something.”

It’s not a shout, not quite. But it’s sharp enough to sting. You close your eyes for a second to gather yourself. With each passing minute it’s getting harder to stay still and silent.

With you still quiet, his mouth opens like he’s about to add something cruel, but whatever it was, he swallows it down.

Then he laughs once, bitter. “Right. Why would you?”

He leans back on the desk and crosses his arms, gazing down at his shoes. The silence hangs between you, heavy with everything still unsaid. He glances at you again and drops his eyes back down. He closes them and exhales slowly, like he’s mustering up courage to do or say something. He comes up to you close, and gets down to be at eye level with you.

Your breath gets stuck in your throat at the boldness of his sudden proximity. He raises his hand and lingers it over your knee before putting it on the armrest. His eyes meet yours again and you see something in them you have only seen once before.

“That night…” he rasps, voice barely above whisper. You can barely hear him over your pulse ringing in your ears. He clears his throat and starts again. “You know which one. I— it was something else, something… new—fuck, I can’t.” He looks away and clenches his teeth. “I want to, I really do. I just— I don’t know how. To say it.” 

You’re now unable to speak even if you wanted to, feeling the thickness building up in your throat, eyes almost on the verge of watering. He still can’t admit to what it did to him, even now. And you don’t know what hurts more — him caring but still choosing to mingle with other girls, or not being able to verbalize how much you mattered to him.

He stands up and walks one, two steps away, facing you.

“I fucking blew it, didn’t I?” he mutters, hands going back into his pockets. “You haven’t muttered a word since I came here. Which, to be fair, is not what I expected. You used to put me in my place like there’s no tomorrow. I thought you’d slap me, cuss me out, tell me to get lost. Yet you let me in, and not a peep from you.”

You can’t help yourself but bite your lower lip. Your chest aches with everything you haven’t said this morning. With every feeling, emotion, you ever had for him, culminating right now in between your ribs.

He says something unintelligible under his nose and then looks into your eyes and takes a big breath. Then he surprises the both of you.

“It’s just… I haven’t wanted anyone the way I want you in… I don’t even know how long. And it’s killing me, because it’s not just—sex. It’s everything. It’s the way you look at me like I could… be better than I am. And I don’t… know what the fuck to do with that.”

Your lungs forget how to work. The air in the room suddenly feels too hot.

His eyes widen a fraction — panic flickering there like he’s already searching for a way to take it back.

“I mean—” he starts, one hand lifting uselessly before dropping again. “That’s… not—okay, it is what I meant, but—fuck.”

You bite the inside of your cheek hard enough to taste iron.

He rubs his face like he can erase the moment, but doesn’t say more.

Silence presses in, thick.

Your heart is hammering. You’re still furious with him. You also want him so badly your bones ache. And you hate that both can be true at once.

He swallows, looking like he has to physically stop himself from reaching for you — fingers curling briefly into fists before disappearing back into his hoodie pocket.

And then his eyes dart to your nightstand.

When he takes out his hand from the pocket, he holds the small, familiar weight you’d forgotten he still had.

Your lighter.

He turns it over once in his hand, then steps to your nightstand and sets it down gently, like it’s fragile.

“I don’t know why I kept it,” he says. “Guess I just… wanted a reason to come back.”

You swallow hard. That lands somewhere you wish it didn’t. You stay strong and don’t utter a word, though it proves harder with every second passing, him drilling his eyes into you expectantly.

After what feels like a lifetime of stillness, Rex rubs his eyes and sighs. His shoulders are slumped, he looks completely defeated.

“I wouldn’t want me too.” His voice is so small now, nothing like you ever heard it before. “I said my piece, so I’ll leave you be. For real this time.”

His words cut you sharp in the chest. 

He slowly walks towards the door and hesitates before opening them.

He turns the knob and takes one step outside, then stills and looks at you over his shoulder.

“But… if you do want this…me—”

He closes his eyes and breathes out heavily, trying to ground himself.

His eyes find yours and he says quietly:

“Stop me.”

Your breath catches sharp in your throat.

You’re on your feet before you actually decide to move.

—

a/n: forgive me for another cliffhanger, i have no shame (or writing background). i love me some cheap moves, just like our rexy boy.

His back hits the tile with a thud.

The water’s still running, washing away the blood from his hands. 

He looks at the ruined tile on the wall.

He’s shivering, even though the water is scorching hot.

Remnants of fury still shake his whole body.

No wonder Kate chose Immortal over you.

How could you say this? He doesn’t deserve it.

He did everything right.

The game, the tension, that fucking night you two shared?

What a fucking b—

No.

You’re right.

And he knows it.

His breath sounds pathetic. Like he got gut-punched, sucking out all air from his lungs.

But it wasn’t a punch. It’s the truth. The one he’s been trying to outrun his whole life.

He kneels on the floor, the cracks of the shattered tile sharp under his palms, cuts prickling from hot water.

Pain helps, but not enough to forget.

He tries to cry. But no tears come to save him from this feeling.

You left.

Of course you left. Why would someone like you give a chance someone like him?

He didn’t follow you. He couldn’t.

And you’re not coming back this time.

“I didn’t fuck them,” he whispers.

He gets up and presses his forehead to the wall. He thinks of the fucking stupid dare.

——

He stirred in his bed, heart pounding in his chest.

He was thinking of how your face looked when he placed the cigarette back between your lips.

That’s what did it for him.

He almost had it. He almost kissed you—

Something poked him through his pocket.

Your lighter.

Huh.

That’s leverage. You would want it back.

He opened the chat with you, only one message sent.

From you. 

When you found his goggles.

Casual, nothing more.

Maybe you would show up. Maybe this time he got to kiss you.

Or maybe eat you out for hours while you moan his name like it’s the only thing you know.

He groaned and draped his hand across his face.

Focus, Splode.

You can jerk off to that later.

He typed something. Deleted it.

Again. And again.

“I really wanna fu-”

Delete.

Jesus, Rex. Get it together.

It’s just a girl. It’s just… you.

Then it hit him.

A dare.

“got something of yours.

wanna come pick it up?”

His thumb hovered over Send.

He walked up to his door, listening with his ear glued to the surface.

He waited. Longer than he would like to admit.

There — your quick footsteps. On your side. Your door.

He hoped for you to knock on his. You didn’t.

He sent the text, and tossed the phone away like it was on fire.

He flopped back on the bed, heart racing, pretending to flip through a magazine.

The moment he heard your muffled curse through the wall, he grinned.

Bait worked.

Fifteen minutes later, you showed up.

—

He opened the door and leaned on the frame, screaming internally, yet still smug on the outside.

Hopefully you didn’t notice his heart was beating like he just chugged three energy drinks.

You were still wearing his hoodie.

The way it sat on your frame did something to him.

Hands swallowed by sleeves, your collarbone peeking through.

He looked at your lips.

They looked like they needed his.

You walked in, already sniffing for your lighter. Acting like it’s the only reason you came. Like you didn’t almost kiss on that couch.

You looked at him — gaze lingering. He felt it. You felt it too.

For a second, he thought you might say something. Do something. He held his breath — ready, terrified.

But your eyes snapped back to his, just seconds before it could tip into something neither of you would be able to stop.

You started barking at each other. He thought it’s playful. Hot. 

Maybe you did too?

He baited you, naively hoping it would work. That you would grab him, kiss him, slap him — do anything but keep him at arm’s length.

But you were still not breaking. Not the way he wanted you to.

“You want this?”

You tried to snap the lighter from his hand.

He wagged a finger at you. He dreamed of doing this his whole life.

It’s not only control, sex or the game. It’s being wanted. Craved.

He backed you into the wall. Heat pooled low in his body, and he fought against it — just not yet. He wanted to savor the almost-there a little longer.

But you shoved the hoodie into his chest.

He told you he heard everything. Every dream.

Maybe he shouldn’t have said it, but he desperately tried to cling to whatever control he had over you. Because he hated how much control you had over him. One look is all it would take for him to drop to his knees.

You’re furious. And it made his skin prickle in a way he didn’t want to admit.

You called him out too — jerking off to her voice through the wall.

He threw some stupid line about busting through it.

And it broke you.

But not the way he imagined.

You left — his hoodie in your hand. Your lighter in his. Nothing where it belongs.

“Fucking hell.”

He blew it.

And he would probably blow it again.

——

He hides his face in his hands, dragging palms slowly down. He doesn’t want to, but his mind trails back to the moment you felt it. The lie, the betrayal. The way you looked at him when you caught it still haunts him.

——

Rex saw the light creeping down the hallway from the common room when he got back to HQ. Maybe it was Rudy, mingling with one of his genius creations.

But it was you.

And he simply couldn’t make himself walk past you.

You’re impossible to ignore.

The way your legs were folded on the armchair, bathed in the soft glow of the table lamp.

He desperately wanted to lean down to you.

But he kissed that other girl.

So he settled on the couch.

He looked at you and immediately remembered how your skin felt under his fingers.

Soft. Hot. Trembling.

All for him.

His chest started aching.

You closed the book and joined him on the couch.

He knew, remembered, that he promised you would talk.

And he wanted to. So bad.

But he couldn’t. The words wouldn’t leave his mouth.

He’s not even able to form coherent thoughts.

Just fucking tell her, you coward.

How much it meant. How much you mean.

He fought monsters, supervillains, fucking aliens even—

Instead, he kissed you, even though he knew he shouldn’t.

But he couldn’t not. The pull towards your body — your warmth — you.

It’s insufferable.

You sighed into the kiss.

Oh my god, these fucking sounds you make.

Just when he wanted to deepen the kiss—

You flinched. Just barely.

Like you could taste the lie.

Of course you could. You could see right through him.

And it scared the shit out of him.

——

Then he immediately thinks of what he did before that late night moment. How he consciously chose to fuck up the only chance he had with you. The decision that led him, you, to the fight.

——

Suzie straddled him, only tiny shorts and a crop-top on her. Her breasts almost spilling out from underneath her shirt.

Rex smacked her ass and she groaned, clawing his chest through his hoodie.

“Oh, I missed that so bad,” she whispered into his ear, teeth grazing his lobe.

He shivered, but his mind started to drift somewhere else.

To his room, his bed.

Suzie kissed him hard — all teeth and urgency.

He tried to enjoy it.

He should enjoy it.

But she tasted wrong. This whole thing tasted wrong.

What the hell was up with him?

Suzie’s hand slipped under his hoodie, fingers tracing through his abdomen.

But he couldn’t stop thinking about your voice when you moaned his name.

Not through a wall.

In his bed, with his head between your thighs.

I want this so fucking bad, Rex.

Suzie started trailing lower, kissing his jaw, neck.

She palmed him through the jeans.

He wasn’t even hard.

Maybe it’s the beer.

“Is everything ok?” she asked, clearly disappointed but trying to be nice.

He pushed her away and mumbled something about being tired and not feeling it anymore.

“Are you fucking serious, Rex?” she yelled as he opened the door to leave.

He didn’t even look back at her. He can’t.

He was unable to face her — or himself — under the weight of it.

For disappointing her. For disappointing himself. And you.

Why did you do this, you fucking idiot?

She threw a pillow at him as he left, shouting that he’s a fuckup.

Yeah, you got that right.

——

And then he tried that shit again. Because the moment you tasted the lie, he regressed. He couldn’t stand himself and everything that was buzzing inside him. His mind wanders to this moment, when he almost fucked up again.

——

He was standing in front of her apartment building. Or rather, pacing like a lunatic.

He checked the message again. The last one from her.

Janice

still up if u are ;)

He locked the phone and looked around.

The car’s parked right around the corner. The engine's not even cooled yet. He could drive back to the jet, get to the base, bolt into your room and finally tell you. 

And tell you what, exactly?

He shook his head and then looked up. The lights were still on in her apartment.

Top floor. Same window as always.

He’s done it before. Many times, in fact.

The drive, the visit. The distraction.

It always worked.

Why wasn't it working that night?

He exhaled through his nose, slow and rough.

He knew why.

The thought of her hands on him made his skin crawl.

The sound of her laugh would have been wrong.

And you would have known. Like you did before. Like you always do.

He swallowed hard, eyes still drilled into the window.

He took a step, then another. Stood in front of the building door.

Buzzer’s right there, waiting for him to push the button.

Just a few flights of stairs and he could be in.

She would let him inside, like she always did.

But this time he didn’t want it.

Even he knew it was wrong.

When his phone pinged and it was Cecil, he felt relieved.

The decision was made for him.

He didn’t even check what the emergency call was.

Didn’t matter.

He bolted towards his car.

He didn’t look back.

——

He chuckles shortly, but the laugh is hollow. Saved by a fucking Earth invasion. But it doesn’t matter anymore. He lost you already.

He thinks of the moment that started it all. When he realized you wanted it too.

——

He wasn’t even asleep. 

He was wide awake, laying in his bed, waiting for sleep to come and save him from the thoughts.

How he ruined every good connection he had in his life. That even though him and Rae were mates, he would probably fuck it up as well.

Even the dates and one night stands weren’t fulfilling him anymore.

What’s happening to me? I’m moping here like such a goddamn fucking loser.

And then he heard it. The faint call of his name. He looked at the wall between his and your room. 

“You called me?” he asked quietly, touching the wall. 

Then he heard it again. 

His palm flattened against the wall, like he could feel you, touch you.

You were so close, saying his name like that.

You moaned again.

But this time it wasn’t faint. It was loud and clear.

“I want you inside me, Rex,” you wailed.

He bolted up on the bed. 

Wow.

So… this is happening. 

He felt his dick twitch.

He fell flat on the bed, head hitting the pillow. He sighed slowly, trying to calm his heart. It was already pounding like it was trying to launch itself into your room.

He dragged his hands across his face, then looked down.

Dick rock-hard.

For fuck’s sake.

He got up and left the room. Cold shower should do it.

Right?

——

Then his mind immediately shifts to the second time he heard you at night. When he didn’t stop himself.

——

Rex was almost drifting into sleep after hours of thinking how flustered you were when he cornered you in the common room.

He was hoping he would hear you dreaming again and just barge into your room—

No, that would be too much, even for him.

…or would it?

Then you moaned his name.

His eyes opened wide immediately.

Finally.

“Look at me…” you whimpered.

He shot upright. No fucking way.

He palmed himself through the shorts.

He’s hard already, no warning.

His hand started moving slow at first, still unsure.

Still ashamed.

But it was so hot—forbidden.

It felt so good to be that wanted.

Fuck it.

His hand slipped under the waistband of his boxers, stroking a little faster now.

A groan escaped his lips before he could catch it.

“Rex…”

He whimpered. His heart fluttered.

But not from pleasure, or heat.

“Fuuuuck…” he whispered through clenched teeth.

“Don’t stop,” you gasped.

He didn’t.

He picked up pace, fully into it. Control stood up and left the room. Gone.

He started moaning quietly, cursing under his nose.

And then you went quiet.

He stopped for a second.

Did you wake up?

Whatever. He was too far gone to care anymore.

He started stroking himself with pure want.

He replayed your words in his head, you all worked up for him, dreaming of him ruining you.

“I want you so bad,” he muttered, loud enough—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

“Rex, for fuck’s sake! Take it to the showers!”

He screeched.

Full body, high-pitched, startled teenage boy going through voice change.

He jerked away from the wall, slipped off the bed, taking the sheets and his dignity with himself.

“FUCK—shit—ouch—”

The floor greeted him with a thud.

And his dick was as hard as the surface he landed on.

He looked at the ceiling, humiliated and flushed, hoping that the room would implode and take him to his end.

Nothing happened.

Just, then, a moment later - you were giggling.

His lip corners curled up at the sound.

He imagined what your face must look like right now. His heart did something stupid at the thought.

Wait.

You were laughing at him.

He groaned, covering his face with his hands.

He was never gonna recover from this.

He should pack his bags and leave. Delete himself from the face of the Earth.

Or dig a hole under GDA and die in it.

He looked down.

Dick still hard.

“You fucking traitor,” he said, as he pushed himself off the floor.

Maybe you were right? Maybe he should go to the showers.

It helped the last time it happened.

And so he did. 

——

He drops to his knees again. His skin is crumpled up from too much moisture, but he can’t make himself leave just yet. The moment he steps out of the shower, he has to face the reality where you two are no longer a thing. If you even ever were a thing. He would have to accept that you left.

So he thinks of the only time you stayed.

——

He had put his hands on your knees. Tried to look confident.

Inside, he was screaming. What if you left again? Or if he fucked it up? And why did he care so much all of a sudden?

He just wanted to fuck you. Preferably more than once. Maybe only you. Maybe forever.

No. No, no, no. That wasn’t the plan.

So he kissed you — gentle, deliberate. Because you looked like you needed that. 

Intimacy. Tenderness. He could perform that. He always had. It was just an act.

But something twisted in his chest. He ignored it.

When you climbed on top of him, his brain short-circuited. 

Oh. Oh, we’re on the bed. You’re on top. Nice. Focus. Stick to the plan. Take that shirt off.

He’d been imagining this too long. 

And then—you were naked.

Oh my God.

You were… beautiful.

And before he could stop himself, he said it:

“You’re… real.”

What the fuck was that supposed to mean?

Back to sex. Right. Boobs. Focus. Be careful. Don’t break her. Make her want to stay. 

Just for sex, of course.

Your breast in his mouth tasted like sweat and sin and something holy, all in the same breath. It should’ve just made him hungrier, but it only made him slow down. He sucked softly, tongue flicking over your nipple. Like it mattered.

He realized it was turning into worship. Like he couldn’t ruin this even if he tried. Like you weren’t already all soft and open in his hands. So he had to move on. He couldn’t afford to get lost in the feeling of your delicate, trembling skin; in the heat that radiated off you like you were made for this. For him.

His palm slid down, cupping the heat between your legs. He pressed, deliberate. And you gasped. That sound almost broke him open.

But it was just heat. He just couldn’t wait any longer. Right?

So he teased you, trying desperately to hold onto any scraps of his ego left.

"You want that?"

And then you said it.

“I want this so fucking bad, Rex.”

Oh. Oh, fuck. His cock twitched so hard it actually hurt.

Good girl, he said. The words felt real and fake at the same time. 

He didn’t know what to do with himself anymore, the anticipation buzzing through his veins like fire. So he ducked back down. Fast. Couldn't let you see his face. He pressed his lips to your stomach, then started undressing you.

Trying to breathe. Trying to stay cocky. 

Failing.

Then he pulled your shorts the rest of the way down.

And saw you.

Wet. Open. Perfect. All for him.

His mouth went dry.

"Cruel," he muttered against your skin. "You’ve been hiding this?"

You laughed.

And that sound. That fucking laugh.

He swore it rewired something in his brain.

He kissed your thigh again. Not to tease, or to build tension. To stall. He needed to ground himself. To try and get a grip on this sudden, sharp ache in his chest. Because this wasn’t the plan. This wasn’t supposed to feel like anything.

But it did.

Then you trembled, and that alone almost ruined him.

He said “let me taste you” like he wasn’t begging. Pleading. Like he wasn’t starved. But he was.

And when his tongue finally touched your core — he was gone. His whole brain just… shut off.

He had done it before, plenty of times. But it never felt like this. Your taste short-circuited him — tangy, sweet, real. Too real.

He started slow with long, broad licks. He was easing in, trying to find a rhythm. His mind was simultaneously completely blank and full with you. When you moaned louder, he felt the vibrations through your skin and it travelled down his spine like electricity.

He went with tighter circles now, zeroing in. He was learning you, breathing you, trying to keep you. To make you stay—in the only way he knew how.

He felt your hips jerk up and his hand pinned you down, hard. Pure instinct. 

Possessive.

Primal.

Then—your fingers in his hair. He barely stopped himself from groaning deep into you, mouth pressed tightly to you. But he couldn’t hold his body back, and his hips rutted into the mattress. He hadn’t meant to. He didn’t even realize he was doing it at first. You were making him come undone, too.

You said his name. Like a fucking prayer.

"Rex."

He froze. It wasn’t just heat anymore — it was pure, aching need. Yours, and his. Your need for closeness. His need to give. To prove to himself, to you — that he was worth it.

You moaned again, his name, a second time. He groaned back, eyes flying open. You were already looking at him.

He needed to give you more.

So he teased you again, trying to hide the trembling in his voice and hands.

But you noticed. You always do.

His fingers slid inside.

You were so tight, so warm, so fucking welcoming, he almost sobbed.

Get your shit together, Splode. Focus.

Then came your voice, trembling.

"I wanna hear you too."

That undid him. Completely. Utterly broke him. The act was done. Performance over.

His eyes opened wide, shocked but willing. You wanted him all. To hear him. To know him.

He groaned louder, deeper. Moaning into you like it was the only way to show you everything he couldn’t say.

And when your eyes met his—when he saw that look on your face, raw and open and scared but still there—he realized he wasn’t hiding anymore.

He was begging.

Not out loud, not yet.

But he was begging you to stay.

You whispered, "I’m close."

And he whispered back, "Me too."

You stared at each other, slowly but surely unraveling each other. 

You were there. So was he.

So when he said, "Come for me," it wasn’t begging.

It was a plea.

And your body answered. Oh, it did. You clenched hard around his fingers, thighs closing in around his head. He didn’t stop, mouth still on you, taking you gently through the waves of your orgasm. Fingers working you through the aftershocks, like maybe if he was careful enough, you wouldn’t vanish after this.

But he was barely holding it together. His cock was throbbing painfully, hips rutting into the bed below him, completely against his better judgment. And when you said his name, it was final. For him. For you. You both were breathing hard. A grunt escaped him, and then—your name. Out loud. Raw. Like a secret that slipped out before he could stop it. Like a breath he’d been holding his whole miserable life.

His eyes didn’t close. They were focused on yours. On you.

Because what just happened—he’d fucking come. 

In his boxers. Without a single touch. Just from giving. From your voice. From the way you looked at him.

Fuck.

No. No, it didn’t fucking happen. It has never happened before.

He rested his forehead against your thigh, panting. Still shaking, still trying to pretend like he didn’t just lose his mind. His cum was warm, slowly cooling in his boxers, the wet feeling spreading all over his lower regions.

He should be ashamed, terrified even. And he was. But not because he came. Not even because you probably noticed it. He was fucking terrified of what it meant.

Because it was more than he had ever experienced. More than he was able to hold.

You were stroking his hair.

Of course you were. Soft, thoughtful, fucking tender.

He should pull away, maybe crack a joke. Ruin it.

Instead, he let himself melt into it, just for a second. Just long enough to feel your fingers slide to his cheek. Just long enough to wonder if this meant anything to you, too.

His gaze darted to your face again, like he was checking. Checking if you knew, if you felt it too. If maybe you’d name it for him.

But you didn’t.

So neither did he.

But he knew.

God. He knew.

He just gave you everything he had.

And it still won’t be enough.

He would never be enough.

——

He should’ve known better. He should’ve stayed in that moment forever. But the universe always rings.

His fucking phone buzzed. Just when he wanted to kiss you.

Fuck.

Okay, ignore it.

But he tensed, like a fucking rookie.

And you noticed. Of course you did.

And your face changed instantly.

He couldn’t hide anything from you.

You stood up to dress up.

Found his hoodie in the mess, the one he gave you.

And you didn’t put it on.

Fuck.

He said he needed to clean up.

He asked you to stay.

And you didn’t stop him.

Don’t disappear, he said.

And then he walked out anyway.

The door shut behind him like a guillotine.

He didn’t look back.

In the hallway, sweat still clinging to his skin, he checked the text.

Texts.

Plural.

Suddenly, all his old flings remembered him at the same damn time.

Just when you were naked in his bed.

Flushed. Breathless. Holding his face like it meant something.

Suzie

heyyy handsome, hope u didnt forget me. 

got ur fav beer in the fridge, come over tomorrow?

Janice

when will you bring ur fine ass here and fuck me dumb

+01 (801) 938-9145

take ur fcking socks and stuff tmrw or i leave it on the curb.

Right. 

That’s why he didn’t save the number.

Suzie.

Great tits. Fun. Safe.

Always made him laugh.

She’s chill. It's easy with her.

Nothing that could hurt you.

He told himself it was just for practice.

So he wouldn’t screw up the real thing.

What real thing?

There’s nothing real between him and you.

You didn’t even wear his hoodie.

You were gonna leave. It was just a good time. That’s all.

He started typing:

u got it, babe. ur place at 5?

Then deleted it.

i could never forget those tits babe. be there at 5

His thumb hovered.

One more time won’t hurt.

Just a hookup.

Just to take the edge off.

So he doesn’t fall apart when you so much as look at him.

It’s not cheating.

You’re not together.

It didn’t mean anything.

It wasn’t real.

Even when you held his face.

It couldn’t be.

He hit send.

Locked his phone.

He didn’t feel better.

——

And now he’s back in the shower.

Different day. Same fuckup.

He touched heaven with his mouth and came in his boxers like a pathetic little boy.

And he’d do it again, a thousand times if needed.

He could’ve held you.

Should’ve kissed you.

Should’ve said something.

Anything.

But he ran away instead.

Like he always does.

Like a fucking coward with your name still on his lips.

I’m so fucked.

The water's ice cold now, he didn’t even notice when it changed.

He must have been here for hours.

Cracked tile lying around his hands, legs, feet.

Blood still slowly pouring from the wounded knuckles.

You didn’t come back. Why would you?

You’re gone for good this time.

He didn’t stop you. He couldn’t. Didn’t try hard enough.

His chest heaves once, twice. Eyes sting, throat gets thick.

But still nothing comes out. No tears. Just blood, steam and shame.

And silence.

Then he moves.

He gets up, turns off the water.

He steps out of the shower dripping, shaking.

Strips, throws the ruined suit in the corner and grabs a towel.

Rex catches his reflection in the mirror.

He doesn’t look broken.

But he is.

—

By the time he makes it to his room, the towel has slipped off.

He doesn’t care.

Clothes everywhere. Unfinished pizzas, protein bar wrappers, open magazines.

Your lighter on his nightstand. His eyes linger on it.

He takes it to his hand, opens the drawer, shoves it in, slams it shut.

As he steps to the bed, his foot touches fabric. He looks down.

It’s his hoodie you left, the one you didn’t put on.

He can’t make himself move it.

Falls face flat on the bed, soaking through everything in minutes.

Don’t move. Don’t think. Don’t… Just pass the fuck out.

But sleep never comes.

Day 2

He wakes with a hard-on and a pounding headache. All of his muscles are sore.

He grabs himself, furious it even dares to stand upright.

Gets off fast, aggressively. Just to get rid of it. And maybe feel something.

He doesn’t even think of you. He can’t. Not yet.

I don’t deserve you.

How could I have hurt you like this?

You’re better off without me.

He comes, but it feels like nothing. He doesn’t bother cleaning himself up after.

He still feels like shit afterward.

He doesn’t get up, doesn’t eat. Just lies there.

Hours pass, yet he's still awake.

Day 3

Rex opens up his eyes and looks down.

Dick hard. Yesterday’s cum dried on his abs, boxers still partially slipped down.

He groans in disgust but still gets off anyway. Imagines your face for a moment, but then something sharp wretches him in his chest. He comes despite himself.

Still feels empty.

He wipes it off with an old shirt and throws it across the room. It lands on the hoodie.

He doesn’t look at it again.

He gets up, puts on some old, smelly clothes and heads to the kitchen. 

He sees Amanda on his way there. She almost makes fun of him.

Thankfully she doesn’t.

Yeah, he’s hungry. He hasn’t eaten in two days.

Coffee. Banana. Granola bars. He remembers asking Rae what you like for breakfast. His stomach turns.

He shoves it all down. Then back to bed. 

Days start to blur.

Day 5

He tries the gym. Maybe it’ll help.

But probably not.

Running. Highest settings.

He thinks of you. Of all the times you left, and he didn’t fucking stop you.

His heart is pounding so loud, he can feel it in his bones.

His ears start ringing, gets dizzy. Barely hits the emergency stop button before he falls.

He gets off the treadmill, legs shaking, and falls on the floor. He feels weak. His whole body is trembling. And he’s hungry. He hasn’t eaten anything today.

Someone comes in.

He turns around and sees you with Rae.

You two leave without a word.

He doesn’t blame you.

He wouldn’t want to be around him either.

Day 7

He’s back at the gym. 

It became his penance. Punishment.

Pounding the bag with bare fists. Why bother wrapping them.

Skin burns off them, leaving blood trails behind.

He doesn’t feel his arms anymore. His core burns hotter than hell itself.

He still hears your voice in his head.

Just tell me I mattered.

But he didn’t.

Fucking moron.

He punches harder. Grunting. Losing control. Again. Again. Again.

Until he collapses to the floor, gasping.

He thinks he might pass out.

Good.

Maybe he won’t wake up.

He loses track of time after that.

Few days later.

He sits on his bed, wearing the same clothes for the third day in a row.

He can’t remember the last time he showered.

He doesn’t even look at the state of the room anymore.

He takes his phone and notices a missed call from Rae. And from Amanda. He feels his chest tighten. They probably needed something. It’s not like they care about him. Not like anyone does. He decides to ignore it.

He’s watching some stupid compilation videos, when he gets a notification.

It’s from the dating app he downloaded a few days ago but forgot about.

Or just was too ashamed to use it.

He opens it immediately.

The girl looks nice. Pretty.

Even has a similar smile to you.

“hey handsome, i couldn’t swipe left for THAT body. wanna hang?”

He types back.

Deletes it.

Closes the app.

Puts the phone down on the bed, screen down.

You’re disgusting. Yeah, no wonder no one chooses you, you piece of shit.

He grabs the phone again, gets rid of the app. 

Downloads it back. Then deletes it, again.

“FUCK!” he screams, throwing the phone across the room.

The screen probably cracked.

Days melt together like spilled beer.

Might be day 12. Or maybe 17.

Doesn’t matter anymore.

It’s all the same now: jerk off, gym, avoid everyone—especially you—repeat.

Eat when he remembers. Sleep when the beer knocks him out.

Lately, he drinks to fall asleep.

The six-pack’s pressed to his bare chest. The cold stings. He doesn’t care.

In front of his door there’s a note.

It’s from Rae.

“Rex, I’m worried. What’s up with you? Call me. Or come talk to me.”

He stares at it longer than he means to. Then he crumples it, shoves it deep into the pocket of his sweats. The same ones he’s been wearing for days.

Flops on the bed. Drops the beers to the floor like dead weight.

Cracks the first beer open with his teeth. Guzzles it in one go. It burns. But not enough.

I want this so fucking bad, Rex…

He hisses. Eyes shut tight.

Not now, for fuck’s sake.

His cock twitches. He’s too tired to want it.

He does it anyway.

He opens the laptop, porn’s already loaded.

He picks something vile, disgusting—nothing like you.

Fast, brutal strokes. Get it over with.

But none of the women look right, sound right.

They’re not you.

He almost starts crying, but he swallows it down.

His body’s done. The orgasm means nothing.

He doesn’t clean up. Instead, he grabs a second beer and drinks to forget how you looked falling apart for him.

But it doesn’t help. It never does.

Fifth beer. He collapses on the pillow, head spinning.

He closes his eyes and stops fighting it. And it comes, clear as day.

You. Your face. Your voice.

The way you held his head, stroked his hair.

The way you looked at him like he was… worthy.

And it finally comes.

He starts crying.

Full-body, violent shakes, sobbing.

He covers his face with his hands, trying to muffle the sound.

So you won’t hear him through the wall.

That breaks him more than anything else. The idea that you might hear.

He cries himself to sleep.

Morning

He wakes up sticky, crusted over. Eyes swollen and mouth dry.

Everything smells. He looks around.

And what he sees disgusts him.

It’s not chaos anymore. It’s filth.

Old clothes. Dried cum. Rotting food.

Beer bottles. Torn pages. Shit everywhere. No floor in sight.

And the hoodie you didn’t wear is still in the same spot.

It doesn’t smell like you anymore. Just him. Just guilt.

Something shifts. 

It’s 5:12 AM. He stands.

He comes back holding a bucket. Trash bags, a mop, spray, cloths, a broom.

Couldn’t find a vacuum.

He looks at it all for a moment and then puts the gloves on and starts cleaning.

Time to fix it. Even if it’s too late.

—

He starts with picking everything up from the floor. Beer cans, take-out boxes, candy wrappers. He grabs a rotting banana peel using a ruined t-shirt. Not like it could be saved anyway. Throw it all into the trash bag. The floor starts reappearing as he gathers the clothes, the trash—maybe even parts of himself.

Then he sees the fucking hoodie.

Still in the same spot you left it all those weeks ago.

He picks it up. Looks at it. Really looks at it.

He stands there for a beat, thinking about the moment you didn’t put it on.

He understands now.

He lingers, trying to decide whether to throw it away or wash it.

Wash pile it is.

When the floor is finally clear of all the evidence of his tragic spiral, he takes the broom and starts sweeping. Rex laughs quietly under his nose at himself. It’s the first time in weeks his lip corners curl up.

He opens the windows wide to let the room air out for the first time in god knows how long. The air is cold and crisp, way too different from the hot mess inside.

Then comes the mop and the bucket. He starts slow, but picks up pace, swinging the mop vigorously from side to side. He corners himself, wet floor all around.

Fuck.

Yeah, he doesn’t do this. Ever. Okay man, one big step. His sock soaks. He jumps onto the bed.

It doesn’t have any sheets now. The old ones are in the trash bag as well.

The tightness in his chest starts to ease.

He puts a hand over his heart and feels the uneven beat. He breathes in, slow.

He exhales through his mouth, and closes his eyes.

Maybe cleaning isn’t that bad after all.

Once the floor has dried, he strips to his boxers and throws the clothes onto the washing pile.

He gathers all the leftover knick-knacks and magazines from the desk and window sill and puts it away on the bed.

Then he grabs the cleaning spray and a cloth.

He swipes all the surfaces, circling his hand as he cleans the shame away.

A small smile tugs at his face.

He gets lost in rearranging everything he owns in the drawers, the wardrobe, on the sill.

He finds a photo of him and Eve on a rare occasion they went out for a date.

Yeah, you fucked that up too, Rex. Don’t do it again.

He slides the picture between pages of his unused notebook and opens the desk drawer to put it away.

A small object catches his gaze.

Your lighter.

He doesn’t remember putting it here.

Doesn’t remember choosing to keep it.

But of course he did.

You fucking sap.

He picks up the lighter. Turns it over once. Twice.

Thinks about tossing it.

Instead—

He slips it into the pocket of the pants he plans to wear.

He looks around the room.It smells fresh. Clean. He grabs the trash bags and takes them out to the designated area for waste. Then he comes back and makes his bed. He doesn’t know when was the last time he changed the sheets.

Finally, he grabs the pile of dirty clothes and walks to the laundry room.

He starts the wash and looks at the washing machine door, as the water starts filling it up.

The clothes start swirling in suds, the soapy water stripping all the filth from the fabric.

He needs a wash as well.

—

It’s barely past 8 AM, the base is still quiet except for the hum of the washing machine and the coffee maker in the kitchen. Probably Amanda. She’s an early bird. Unlike him, or you.

Rex heads to the showers, clean towel and fresh clothes in his hand.

He strips and throws the boxers away to the trash, like it’s the last part of the spiral clinging to his body.

He catches his reflection.

A man ruined.

Hair greasy, sticking into five directions, defying gravity.

His eyes are dull, sunken, bags under them dark and heavy.

Crust on his stomach and dirt under his fingernails.

Yet you touched him like he wasn’t all that.

Held his face like he was someone worth holding.

And he couldn’t even stay in the room.

Disgusting.

He gets into the stall and starts the water, as hot as he can handle.

He gasps loudly when the spray hits him, burning his skin in more ways than just the temperature. Like it’s punishment. For breaking something so fragile like you.

He stands there, soaking himself long enough to make his body relax even just a bit.

He takes the shampoo and starts lathering it up, massaging his head with the tips of his fingers. He takes his time, spreading the suds all over his scalp.

Then he remembers how you gripped his hair.

How you gasped when he told you to come for him.

How your thighs had trembled around his head — and how that sound, that fucking sound, ruined him.

No water’s gonna wash that off.

He rinses his red locks, grabs the conditioner—probably Rae’s—and lathers it in.

Then comes the shower gel, a rough cloth, and the same guilt, still clinging to his skin.

He starts scrubbing his body, starting from the feet, up his calves and thighs.

His skin is getting irritated as he moves the cloth harder and harder.

He moves to his chest, his arms, his back—scrubbing until the sting feels earned.

Making himself feel alive again, even if only a little.

He rinses out the conditioner and washes his face and neck. Lastly, he cleans his hands, getting the remaining filth from underneath his fingernails.

When he’s finally all clean and exfoliated, he still stands under the spray, looking at his hands.

His fingertips are pruned and soft from the excess moisture.

And he thinks of you again.

How your skin felt hot and buzzing under his hand when he caught your wrist right here, in this shower.

How he didn’t say something to stop you.

Or just how he couldn’t say anything meaningful then.

He closes his eyes and presses his palms on the tile.

He feels the broken one under his hand.

He huffs out loudly through his nose and lets his head fall down.

You should’ve told her she mattered, idiot.

It’s time.

He can’t keep running away from this.

He’s not a coward.

He’s Rex fucking Splode.

And he’s on a fucking mission.

And the mission is you.

He steps out of the shower, steam rising behind him.

He dries himself off, wraps the towel across his hips and deliberately walks up to the mirror.

He looks at himself up close, nose almost touching the glass, hands planted on the sink.

He swipes the fog away and stares at his reflection.

And what Rex sees is someone else, but not entirely. Bags under his eyes still visible, though softened. Face red from scrubbing and steam, a week old stubble he didn’t care to shave.

But his gaze is not empty anymore. There’s something new behind the green of his eyes.

A flicker of… hope?

He smirks, that cocky smile finally getting back on his face. And this time, it reaches his eyes.

He starts shaving, slow and careful. The last part of the ritual he hasn’t done in weeks.

—

Rex stands in the kitchen, dressed in fresh clothes.

He even wore jeans.

He doesn’t remember the last time he put on anything other than the crusty, sagging sweats that lived on him like a second skin. He opens the fridge: two eggs, some bacon, a banana.

Oat milk, because Rae drinks that shit, and she knows what she’s doing.

He cooks slow, patient, surprising himself. 

Scrambled eggs—he didn’t even burn them. A smoothie. Nothing fancy — just fuel. It’s the first decent thing he’s eaten in days. His stomach doesn’t reject it, which feels like progress.

He rinses the pan and dries his hands. For the first time in weeks he feels grounded, even if just a little. Maybe even peaceful. He starts to head back to his room, but then he sees it. A wrapper, half-hidden behind the fruit bowl.

Chocolate.

Your favorite.

He stares at it for a beat.

Then grabs it without thinking.

He doesn’t plan it.

Halfway down the hall, he turns back and opens the fridge again.

Grabs a beer, then another.

He heads to your room.

And this time, he doesn’t stop.

—

He knows he shouldn’t be doing this. He absolutely does not deserve you or your forgiveness. But he has to try. Or just tell you everything. The truth. He has done everything wrong so far, so maybe this time he’ll get it right. He needs to get it right.

The beers in his hand are barely cooled. Chocolate melting where he’s holding it. The combination is horrible. Beer and chocolate? Doesn’t even make sense. Like him.

The hall feels longer than usual. Or maybe it’s just fear, guilt, the fucking thing that has lived in his chest since the frist moment he laid his mouth on you.

What does he say?

“Hey.” Too casual.

“Can we talk?” Too serious. 

“I brought snacks and refreshments.” What? Fucking kill me.

Every step he takes echoes through the hallway, bouncing off the walls. Like they are judging him. Or it’s just inside his head. He doesn’t know anymore.

His heart is beating loud in his throat, like it’s gonna blow out his chest. He notices his hands are trembling. He stops, takes a deep breath. It doesn’t help, but he keeps going anyway. He has to.

Fuck, it’s not even 9 AM. Maybe you’re still asleep. Or maybe you’re out, already in the gym or taking a shower. He really doesn’t want to strut around the base with warming beer and melting chocolate in hand looking for you like a complete dork. So he hopes you’re still in your room.

But what, he knocks, he says something, and then what?

Maybe you’ll tell him to go fuck himself.

Fair.

But maybe—

Maybe you open the door and don't slam it in my face.

Maybe you’ll let him talk. Maybe you’ll listen.

Maybe you still want him.

Maybe that’s what’s scaring him the most.

Rex stops in front of your door and he just… stands there. 

Hands full. Heart fucking full.

Chest tight, with everything he never said but should have.

Fuck.

He lifts his hand, then lowers it.

Rakes his hand through his hair, trying to ground himself.

Breathe asshole. Just breathe.

He feels the faint smell of the candle you often light up in the evenings. It lingers in the hallway.

He looks at the wood, hoping it would open itself.

But it doesn’t.

He lifts his hand again.

Now or never.

You want her? Then stop being a little bitch and knock.

He knocks. Three short taps. Gentle.

Like he’s afraid to break the door.

Or himself.

And he waits.

a/n: are you going to open the door?

what an absolute shitshow mental down spiral. did I go through anything similar lately? who knows. you'd have to ask my psychiatrist. but it's confidential.

You wake with a jolt, breath caught in your throat, like you were falling in a dream.

The couch underneath you is stiff, cold.

A new day is slowly creeping in, grazing its shadows over the room. 

Your neck aches like hell. You press your fingertips into it and massage it, but it doesn’t help. It never does. It’s like you're tensing over something you can’t or won’t admit.

You groan and stand up. You should definitely go back to your room. 

Catch at least a few more hours of sleep before the day really begins.

Pretend last night didn’t happen.

But then it hits you.

Rex was here

He kissed you. 

And then he vanished.

No talk. Nothing. Just disappearing — again.

You remember how he tasted. Different. 

Like someone else. Like guilt.

Your chest tightens. You press your palm to your body, trying to ground yourself.

You finally make yourself walk back to your room.

The lights are dim, but still too bright for this hour.

When you reach your room, you stop mid-step.

His door is half-open.

Your heart starts beating faster, and you shake your head in anger. 

You already know — he’s gone.

You walk up anyway. Peek inside.

Empty.

The room's cold, bed untouched.

You stay here and stare into the space, as if this would change anything. Give you an answer.

You’re tired of your body acting up against you. Panicking, instead of being furious when he’s not here.

You frown and sigh — sharp, frustrated. Then retreat to your place. 

You lie down and try falling asleep. You stare at the ceiling. You desperately need a few more hours of rest. But your brain is already on high alert.

Because something is wrong.

You don’t know what exactly, but it’s too early — and too late — to pretend it isn’t.

—

A knock on your door wakes you. It’s Kate. Of all fucking people.

You blink at the ceiling, already dreading the day.

You’re too tired for this. Too tired for any of it.

“Hey, Banter, you awake? It’s like, past eleven and you missed training. Is everything good?” she asks through the door, not daring to open it, thankfully.

“Since when do you care?” you snap, still groggy and confused from the fragmented sleep.

She sighs and opens the door.

She doesn’t step in—just peeks through the crack in the door. Her expression says whatever loud and clear. She was clearly sent here by someone. 

But then she sees you, and her features soften for a second.

“I really don’t. But… Immortal told me to check on you. Especially with Rex being MIA the last two days after I mopped the floor with him,” she smirks. 

“We thought…” She stops herself, and looks at the floor.

Your gut twists sharply.

You bolt up in your bed.

“Finish,” you say through clenched teeth. “What did you think, huh?” 

You flip away the covers and walk up to her, heart hammering in your chest. You’re not sure if it’s fear or anger. Maybe both.

You look her deep in the eyes and lean on the door frame.

She backs away just a few inches, but doesn’t leave. Then she closes her eyes and lets out a long, low breath. 

“Let me in,” she says, rolling her eyes. You move away, not sure why. 

She sits on your desk chair like she owns it.

Now you’re dreading her presence even more.

She glances around your room, clearly judging the state of it.

Clothes on the floor, empty packs of chips and gummies, some books. Then she starts talking.

“Look… You—and everyone on Earth—knows what happened between me and Rex. How he used me, then villainized me.” She looks up, her eyes full of mock victimhood.

She continues.

“In his mind, Eve already left him and we were instantly a thing. But, after Eve caught us… It never happened again.”

You walk up to her, close enough to make her feel caged. But she doesn’t flinch.

“And what does it have to do with me? Why are you telling me this, Kate? Why are you really here?”

She lifts her hand, finger raised. Your eye twitches.

“I’m not done yet. What I’m saying is, I can see what’s happening between you two. And not just me. Everyone sees it. So, we thought you two… just skipped together.”

Your breath quickens. You think of all the times you were with Rex, in front of everyone.

Was it really that obvious? Do you really look like someone who can be easily charmed by a guy like him?

She leans back, folding her arms over her chest. She smirks cruelly.

“So yeah, it hasn't happened yet. Weird. With how reckless you two are, I guess it’s just a matter of time.”

You stare at her. Pulse ringing in your ears.

“Get the fuck out of my room,” you hiss, voice low, cold.

She stands up slowly, not losing her composure. She walks to the door without a word, not even looking at you. 

Your chest is rising and falling rapidly. You’re one word away from breaking into pieces.

Just before stepping out, she turns her head towards you.

“You’ll see for yourself,” and leaves, not closing the door.

This fucking bitch.

You march over and slam the door, the crack of wood on a metal frame echoing through your room and bones.

And then — silence.

Thick, brutal.

Until the sirens start to wail.

Finally.

You didn’t even know how much you needed it.

You gear up as fast as possible, the last remnants of sleep leaving your body completely. When you get out of the door, you instinctively move away as you always do, making way for Rex bolting out of his room. But he doesn’t. You can’t linger now, so you run up to the hangars. 

Amanda joins you on the way. She looks at you and raises her brows.

“Well, you look like shit,” she says, almost with a hint of empathy.

“Yeah. But those villains are gonna look worse,” you reply, more to yourself than to her.

When you get to the jets, one empty place sticks out like a sore thumb. You brush it off for now. 

Debriefing is on the way, as the threat is too big to waste any more time. Immortal fills you all in — Omnipotus attacked the Earth, threatening our universe.

At first other local heroes came to get rid of him, but he turned out to be too powerful. He has reality-warping powers, letting him create opponents from debris. He is probably also capable of interdimensional travel. With that, every available hero is now called into action.

“Where’s Invincible?” you ask, surprised they just didn’t leave it to him. Sometimes you feel out of work because of Mark’s abilities. He is almost always called in for final-level-boss types of threats.

“He went to space with some bug-aliens almost two months ago,” Bulletproof fills you in. 

You sigh deeply. So no Viltrumite helping this time.

“Why? You miss him? Thought you had your eyes set on someone else,” he scoffs.

Low blow. But you don’t even look at him when you bite back.

“Fuck off, Zandale. At least I’m not sulking about not being the default indestructible-strong-flying superhero.”

“You guys, stop. This is not the time to pick on each other,” Rae chimes in.

You shoot her a look. She, out of all people, should understand what’s really boiling your blood.

When you get to the scene, the view is horrible. Devastation spreads across the horizon. Omnipotus is hard to miss — he’s approximately ten feet tall, wide like a car. You hop off the jet first and lunge yourself at his leg. You try to harm him with the additional force of a sound wave, but it does nothing. Your fist bounces off his shin and your knuckles hurt like hell. You curse loudly and massage them. He notices you and laughs. It’s the I-am-the-greatest-villain-ever type of laugh, which still sometimes makes you shiver. 

“Yes, I like this world very much. So many play-things,” he roars loudly.

He kicks you off and you fly away a few feet back, landing on your ass.

Fuck.

You see Bulletproof flying at him with full-speed, only to be swatted away like a fly.

But you don’t smile.

Omnipotus continues.

“I have the ability to reshape the worlds in my image! I can rewrite reality on a whim! I feed off the energy of your universe—” 

His exclamations grow even louder, but a baton hits his hand and interrupts him. It explodes, but does absolutely nothing.

“—and you throw toys at me?”

Your eyes snap to the direction of where the charge flew from.

Rex.

Your pulse quickens, not knowing it was even possible for your heart to beat faster and not die on the spot. 

He looks like shit. 

Suit uneven, hair sticking out from under his hood, one glove already missing. 

“I personally wouldn’t call them that,” he shouts back at the creature, charging a large rock in both of his hands. He throws it at Omnipotus, the charge detonating with a big cloud of smoke. The smell hits your nostrils immediately, ozony and sharp. 

“See why?” He grins, standing proud of his explosion. You roll your eyes.

Omnipotus emerges unscathed from the smoke. Not the same can be said about the surrounding buildings and streets.

“No,” he answers triumphantly. 

“Would you like to see my toys?” The villain doesn’t wait for an answer, as concrete-rock creatures rise up with the movement of his hands. The earth shakes as they grow, making Rex lose his ground. One more violent wave sends him in the air.

The world slows down.

You see him mid-air, limbs flailing, limp.

You forget how to breathe.

He won’t survive the fall.

You want to scream, but your voice is stuck in your throat.

You don’t want to care, but—how can you not?

All you can do is watch gravity drag him down — and stay behind, with nothing to do to help him. Save him.

Every muscle in your body tenses up, your eyes starting to itch. And it’s not from smoke or debris.

But then, suddenly, something pink and fast flies in front of you and catches him with a surge of pink energy matter.

“Great Job, Rex—giant rubble monsters?! We really needed that!” Eve shouts to him, holding him up in the air with her pink matter. 

“I thought you retired to go be a hippie?” he bites back, trying to sound cocky. It doesn’t land.

She moves him closer to her and lowers her voice.

“I heard what happened between you and Kate.”

He doesn’t answer, his smile faltering.

She continues.

“And heard you are already over her. You don’t waste your time, huh?” she nods in your direction.

“You don’t know anything,” he replies, avoiding her gaze. Still trying to smirk.

“People talk, Rex.” She lets him drop—harder than necessary—and flies off.

You’re far enough to pretend you don’t hear.

But you do.

He watches her go, quiet now. Then his eyes scan the field— and finally find you.

You can’t stand the look on his face. So you bolt back into the fight, launching a wave of sound that obliterates the nearest rubble creature.

You don’t look back.

—

After Black Samson appeared at the end of the fight and pushed Omnipotus back to his universe, you all hopped on jets to fly back to the base. There was no cleanup necessary—everything reversed back to normal, like the battle never happened.

You picked the ride without Rex. You’d lose it if he was near—right there in front of everyone. And people are already talking more than enough.

When you get back, you circle your room like a trapped animal, fuming, twisting your hair between your fingers.

You wait—longer than you should—for him to come talk to you. He doesn’t.

You snap your gloves off and storm out, your boots pounding down the hallway.

Him being that distracted? He could’ve died. And that whole conversation with Eve?

That was too fucking much.

You check the hallways. The sofa outside. The common room— Nothing. He’s nowhere to be found.

When you enter the showers, you hear water running. You walk up to a stall, the door slightly ajar, steam escaping through the cracks. You step inside and see him.

He looks miserable. Half-dressed, the pants of his suit still on, bare feet sinking in pools of dark, post-battle water. His head hangs low, letting the water run down over him. He doesn’t look up.

You don’t waste another second—you need answers now.

“Where the fuck have you been?” you snap. “You could’ve died out there!” Your voice is loud, sharp with hurt.

He lifts his head just an inch and looks at you. His eyes are tired, sunken, dark circles heavy beneath them.

He doesn’t answer at first. Then he leans back against the tiled wall and drills his eyes into you. His gaze is unguarded — but full of shame.

“I know, I fucked up. Tell me what’s new,” he waves a hand dismissively.

Your chest tightens. But now’s not the time for pity.

“Rex,” you ask, quieter this time, “where were you? The last two days?”

He drags his hands across his face, shoulders tightening. He tries to speak, but no words come out. He rests his elbows on his knees and hides his face in his hands.

You wait. But he doesn’t move.

“Fucking talk to me! You always run your mouth—but now you’ve got nothing? After the other night?”

His head bolts up in an instant.

“I had to deal with some stuff, okay? Some things needed to be taken care of… finished.” He stares down at the water swirling towards the drain, washing the battle—and something else—away.

You gasp. Your body trembles with hurt, anger.

Shame.

“Finished? This is how you want to be done with me? By fucking disappearing, like a coward?” You step closer, losing control over how loud you are.

“Not everything is about you, you know?” He stands abruptly and points a finger at you.

You step deeper into the shower, letting the hot water fall on your face and chest.

“The fuck is that supposed to mean? Don’t turn it around. Just tell me the truth! Is that so hard?” You raise your hands in disbelief.

“Sometimes it is. And I don’t think you’d like the truth. Not one bit.”

“Well, then maybe you don’t know me.” You move in closer, even though you know you shouldn’t. 

He looks up and clenches his teeth.

Then his gaze drops back to you. He takes a step in your direction.

“Well, maybe I fucking want to!” he shouts, startling you with the volume.

Your mouth gapes and your heart drops low. Cold shivers wash over your body despite the hot water. 

“And your way of doing that… is by disappearing?” Your voice drops to almost a whisper.

He groans and grabs a fistful of his hair.

“Goddammit, woman, you’re not listening! Stop focusing on things that don’t fucking matter, okay? I had to deal with shit before—” he cuts himself off.

“Before what, Rex?”

His fists clench. His eyes never leave yours. Anger. Shame. Something else—maybe dangerous.

You take a half-step towards him.

“Just tell me I mattered.”

Your voice cracks, barely audible. “I need to know.”

He puts his hands on your cheeks. 

You tense, unsure of what he’ll do next. 

But you don’t pull away.

You look into each other’s eyes, both searching for answers. For understanding. 

His gaze softens. But he looks away.

“I—I can’t—I suck at it. The talking thing. I’m—”

That’s all he says.

Not yes. Not you did.

That silence?

That’s the answer.

You swat his hands away from your face, furious he still won’t just say it.

“Much better at deceiving and vanishing.” Your voice drips with venom. You let the anger take over. “You think I’m stupid? I know it’s other women you’ve been seeing.”

He tenses, shoots you a look—but doesn’t say a thing.

You straighten up, feeling your suit weighing you down uncomfortably.

Your heart pounds in your throat.

You scoff.

“So that’s it? You disappear for days to fuck around, just after we—” You choke on the words, unable to finish. Not now. Not ever. Because it didn’t matter to him.

“I didn’t fuck them! None of them. I told them…” His eyes dart away. He pinches the bridge of his nose.

You wait. You desperately want to accept it as truth.

He looks back at you, eyes honest but uncertain if you’ll believe him. 

He blinks slowly, opening his mouth, like he’s about to continue. 

But he says nothing.

You see it — the flicker of guilt. The hesitation. The something.

“And I’m supposed to believe that? You’re not exactly reliable.”

That hits him harder than either expected.

“Yeah? Well, and you’re not exactly fucking easy to break into!” he yells, inches from your face. This time, it doesn’t startle you—only stings deep in your chest, humiliation spreading like frost.

You take a step back and chuckle low, dark.

“So this is what you’ve been doing? Breaking me in? Molding me for yourself? To use me?” you say quietly.

“No—shit—fuck! I’m sorry. I take it back—I meant—” He tries to grab your arms, but you dodge.

“Don’t fucking bother.” You turn to leave, but he catches your wrist.

You pause.

You close your eyes. A slow breath slips out as you steady yourself. Even now, devastated over what you almost had, the feeling of his skin on yours does something.

And it still feels good — being touched by him.

Yet, it’s something you’re not sure you want anymore.

He says your name.

“Don’t go. Please. Not like this.” His voice softens, almost getting to you. But it’s too late.

You’re not sure if it’s tears or water running down your face. No matter how much you wanted this—him—this isn’t going to work.

He won’t let you go easily, you know that about him.

You could say nothing, just walk away. 

Let him suffocate in the same silence he left you in.

But you don’t.

You steady yourself to say something that will keep him off.

For good.

One more deep, yet shaky breath out.

You turn your head toward him.

“No wonder Kate chose Immortal over you.” You spit through clenched teeth.

His grip loosens, dropping your wrist. His mouth gapes, eyes wide with deep hurt. That look ruins you, so you leave quickly, almost running.

He doesn’t follow.

As you near the showers’ exit, cold and dripping, you hear a scream.

Then a punch against the wall.

Shattering.

a/n: yeah, i did this to myself too. no one warned me that angst would be this devastating.

and hot.

a reward for surviving the fight: it's angst with a happy ending!

your suffering will not be for nothing. just... not today. let these two figure out how not to be emotionally stunted first.

and next chapter? we're finally gonna see everything in rex-vision. but it will take me a while to write it, so brace yourselves. imma keep you wait like he did to you (ok maybe not. i'm not that cruel. ...or am i?

when everyone was asleep, you got out of bed with a feeling of exasperation, turned to dae-ho who called you while putting on your jacket "where?" you mumbled "bathroom." he nodded at your short answer and told you to be careful.

a few minutes later, as you were washing your hands, the door opened, catching you off guard. what's even weirder is that two guys entered the bathroom while you were waiting for a girl, making you freeze in your place, you looked at them incomprehensibly, thanos took advantage of your surprise and jumped forward "oh! who do i see? i'm glad you're alive, baby." you quickly moved to the side to escape his arms reaching out to you, nam-gyu rolled his tongue in his mouth and took a few steps closer, said "come on... don't be like this, we're just here for a little talk. I'll tell you what..." he held your arm tightly so that you wouldn't back down and approached your ear, at that moment thanos put a colorful candy from his necklace that you didn't recognize into his mouth, nam-gyu's breath tickled your neck soon "come to our team and everything will be easier for you, hm?" he pulled back with a grin. you quickly pulled your arm away from him "you're crazy, find yourself another toy."

before you could even get out of the bathroom thanos grabbed you by the waist and took you to a toilet cubicle and sat you on the toilet. nam-gyu entered the cabin and locked the door behind him. and at that moment, you only prayed that you wouldn't die. "no no no señorita...you...are so much more than a toy. no harm, okay? i promise. just...a little deal, vote O on the next vote and we'll protect you." you looked at the two of them for a while. saying you'd press O and betraying them after you got out of here would only mean the end of you. you tried to find a logical way out but it never helped when two pairs of eyes were staring at you from head to toe as if they were going to eat you, you finally opened your mouth and spoke with a shaky voice "if..i don't..?"

yes, i'm definitely dead right now. that was the only thing going through your mind, you were trying to stop your legs from shaking as you prepared yourself for this. nam-gyu let out a short laugh, and thanos followed him, before you could comprehend what was happening, thanos held your face between his hands and lifted your head towards him, the smile on his face hadn't left but it was making you even more nervous "look baby..i'm not sure we got along. do you want us to solve this in a way you can understand?"

to be honest, he didn't even wait for you to answer, he grabbed you by the arm and pulled you to your feet and leaned you against the cabin door. when he bent his head down and brought it to your neck, you held your breath for a moment, the owner of the breathing sounds you felt on the other side was none other than nam-gyu, "you're nervous." you had to hold yourself back from laughing hysterically at gyu's whisper. like oh shit you're kidding? "it's okay señorita, we'll help you relax and make sure you press O in tomorrow's vote. but for now..."

nam-gyu's hand brushed against your bare skin under your shirt, the small and slow movements making you take shallow breaths while he just watched you with a grin "fucking cute." thanos' kisses were gentle and slow, unlike what you expected. until he left a harsh bite "fuck!" your almost painful voice only made the purple-haired man laugh and continue, the heat in your body was increasing, your inability to resist was making things even harder. you wanted it somehow and they both knew it, they continued shamelessly as a result.

they soon had your clothes all over the floor. "fuck.." thanos muttered under his breath, nam-gyu was no different. "come here." the voice made you turn around, nam-gyu was sitting on the toilet, his legs slightly apart so you could sit comfortably on his lap, you swallowed hard, you couldn't believe you were doing this in a place so close to death. but as you sat on his lap, those thoughts slowly left you. thanos pulled down his pants and made you face his swollen cock, one hand grabbed your chin roughly and lifted it slightly. "open your mouth, angel." his deep voice made your heart skip a beat, you slightly opened your mouth for him, he touched the tip to your tongue, and teased himself before taking it all in.

you were about to push your head forward and take more in when a finger brushed against your clit, making you moan, nam-gyu moved your underwear to the side, his fingers meeting your wetness and let out a breath. "fuck..you annoying slut. so much rejection but also so much wetness." nam-gyu's fingers and dirty talk made you squirm in place. thanos' hands went behind your neck at this point and made you take all of him in your mouth without mercy "oh fuck baby- yes- like that." the raspy moans coming from his neck reached your ears, nam-gyu didn't wait any longer and he put two fingers in your wet cunt, you moaned against thanos' cock. while there were fingers destroying you on one hand, the hand on your head was causing your mouth to be filled with a big cock on the other, your eyes filled with tears as you couldn't stand the pain and pleasure anymore, you let out a whimper.

gyu watched a tear run down your cheek with a grin, his breath reached your ear "can't even take this much, hm?" his fingers sped up, as you let out another moan, it sent a vibration to thanos's cock and he moaned the same way "fuck- you're gonna make me come in your fucking mouth.." nam-gyu curled his fingers inside you, hitting your pleasure point a few times and watched how you writhed in pleasure, he loved it, he loved watching you writhed in pain and how your tears filled your cheeks. you were pathetic but beautiful at the same time.

thanos bent his head, watching you take him into your tiny mouth, that sight alone was enough for him to come, your beautiful tears had made your cheeks shiny, looking at him with such pathetic eyes, and If you think they'll leave you alone from now on, you were wrong. oh these two would definitely be on guard duty waiting for you to go to the bathroom at night.

"i'm fucking close..yeah? do you want me to cum in your mouth baby? oh- fuck- i'm sure you want it, i'll make sure you get it all." you knew you were close too, you didn't think you could hold it back any longer, damn it to nam-gyu's fingers were destroying you so well. as you moved your hips, he pressed a small kiss to your neck. "you are going to make a mess on my fingers? huh? oh..you're not even able to talk, are you? how pathetic.." your whimpering increased, you were lucky that thanos' cock was filling your mouth or you were sure the guards would hear you.