Chapter Text
Three years ago
The alley was a war zone of heat and chaos.
Steam hissed from cracked pipes overhead. Flames licked up the graffiti-tagged walls. The stench of scorched metal and ozone clung to every breath. A series of failed plasma mines still flickered at their feet, charred and sputtering tech that hummed with residual energy. One wrong step and the whole alley could’ve gone up like a solar flare.
Beacon and Halo stood back-to-back, armour scorched, lungs heaving in breaths.
Marcus’s visor crackled with static as it tried to re calibrate after the last blast. His voice came through their comms, rough and low. “You defused that one wrong.”
“I improvised,” Aiden snapped, wiping soot from his cheek with the back of his gloved hand.
“You almost fried us both.” Marcus pointed out needlessly.
Aiden grimaced. “We’re alive, aren’t we?”
“That’s not the point,” Marcus growled, stepping forward to inspect the partially melted casing of the last mine. “You should’ve waited for my signal.”
Aiden moved too, shoulders tight and steps angry. “You mean the signal that got scrambled in the first explosion? Or the one you didn’t give because you were too busy shielding me like I’m still twenty one?”
Marcus froze mid-step.
There it was. The real fight.
Aiden turned fully now, his silhouette haloed in smoke and firelight, face grimy, hair wild with sweat and heat. His chest rose and fell hard, the gold light still humming faintly beneath his skin. Charged. Emotional.
“You don’t trust me to do the job unless you’re watching me like a hawk,” he said bitterly.
Marcus didn’t answer at first. His jaw clenched. His hands curled into fists. It wasn’t completely untrue, which just made his stance all the more difficult to justify.
“You’re reckless,” Marcus said finally, but his voice was quieter now. Less anger. More worry.
Aiden’s laugh was short and bitter. “No. You’re scared I’ll get hurt.”
The heat between them shifted, no longer just fire and adrenaline, but something older. Something closer to the bone.
Marcus didn’t move. He didn’t argue the point. That, more than anything, made Aiden take a step closer.
“You think I don’t know what it cost you to take me on? You think I don’t see the way you flinch every time I push too hard? I get it, Marcus. I do. You lost people. Partners. Friends. You don’t want to lose me.”
Marcus met his eyes, jaw still tight, but his gaze gave him away. It was raw with something unspoken between them.
“But that fear?” Aiden said, voice quieter now. “That’s not mine to carry. That’s yours.”
Silence settled between them, thick with tension and smoke and years of things left unsaid. Then Marcus exhaled, slowly, like he was trying to let go of something heavy.
Aiden pushed on. “I’m not them. And if you keep treating me like I’m going to break, I will. Because I need you to believe I can stand on my own two feet.”
Marcus looked at him, really looked. At the cracked gauntlet on Aiden’s arm. The soot on his cheek. The stubborn tilt of his chin. The fierce, furious glow of a young man who’d been forged in solar fire and shaped by second chances.
Aiden was right and Marcus hated that more than anything.
The police sirens in the distance grew louder, echoing through the burning alley. Backup, finally on the way. Marcus took one step back, then nodded, once. “Next time, you call it.” He finally said, voice soft and cracking.
Aiden’s brows lifted, surprised at the change. “Seriously?”
Marcus shrugged his shoulders, tried to play it off as careless. “I’ll be there. But I won’t get in your way.”
For a moment, Aiden didn’t say anything. Then he gave a crooked smile. Not smug. Just… grateful. “Deal.”
They stood there in the rubble, shoulder to shoulder. And for the first time, Marcus let himself hope that maybe, just maybe, Aiden Vega didn’t need saving.
Just someone who’d stand beside him when the world went to hell.
Marcus woke to the hiss of oxygen and the quiet beep of a vitals monitor. Sterile light bled through his closed eyelids. His body ached, not just from soreness, but deep , pulsing hurt that rippled across his body and made him wince internally at the slightest of movement. It ran bone-deep, making him prise his eyes open and squint down at himself.
He was in a hospital bed, suit interface burns tracked across his arms, the skin red and itchy. His left shoulder throbbed like it had been torn from the socket and sewn back on wrong. It was wrapped in thick off white bandages, making it difficult to so much as twitch his fingers.
He blinked.
He stared up at a white ceiling, taking stock. There was the soft blue pulse of nano-menders along his ribs as it attempted to heal him. The faint tang of antiseptic gel burned his nostrils unpleasantly. Somewhere nearby, a monitor beeped steadily along with his heartbeat. Still alive, then. That’s nice.
His breath caught in his throat when he tried to sit up, pain lancing through his knee. At this point, it was a familiar feeling to him.
"Don’t."
Aiden’s voice, low and taut, cut through the room like a wire pulled too tight. Marcus froze, turning his head slowly to the side and there the younger man was, sitting in a chair by the bed, elbows on his knees, hands clasped together in front of him. His armour was still half-on, the upper part discarded on the floor beside him and he sat with the tight black under armour. It accentuated the contours of his lean chest, traced the musculature of his upper arms and Marcus’s breath whistled in his lungs for a different reason other than pain.
His dark blonde hair hung limp across his forehead, like he’d been running his hands through it for hours. He looked like he hadn’t slept, with dark circles under his eyes and pale skin. Like he hadn’t moved in a long time, the posture of a tall man who had to fold himself into an uncomfortable chair and stayed there.
“How long have you been here?” Marcus rasped, throat raw and dry.
“Since I dragged you off of that roof,” Aiden said, without looking up. “Twenty-seven hours, give or take.”
That landed heavy between them. Marcus glanced down at himself again, arm in a med-sling, torso wrapped in compression weave, and leg immobilised, the one that had been giving him trouble for weeks now. To the side, Marcus could see a data slate on the bedside showing a string of injury readouts.
Fractured clavicle. Torn deltoid ligaments. Two cracked ribs. Severe psionic trauma – frontal lobe stress patterns. Neurological lag in left leg response.
Well, shit. Marcus licked his lips and tried for some sort of levity in the situation “Didn’t feel that bad at the time,” Marcus muttered.
But Aiden wasn’t biting. “You were bleeding internally and trying to make stupid jokes.”
“Were they funny?” Marcus asked.
Aiden shook his head. “They were the type of jokes my dad makes, so what do you think?”
Huh. “That sounds like me.”
Aiden finally looked up at him. His expression was unreadable, never a good sign with Aiden. Normally Marcus could read the other man like an open book, he wore his emotions on his sleeve. But the expression was not angry. Not relieved either. Just - stretched . That was the only way Marcus could put it. Like something was being taut inside of him and he was trying to hold it together with force of will alone, trying not to snap. It was painful to look at.
“They said if I’d been even ten minutes later, your brain would’ve haemorrhaged. Spectre was in deep , Marcus. You weren’t fighting - you were cracking.”
Marcus looked away from him, discomforted to hear that. “I’ve cracked before.”
“Not like that,” Aiden said curtly. “Never like that.”
Silence stretched between them at that.
Marcus tried to shift again into a more comfortable position and winced as something in his side protested energetically at that small movement. He must have made some kind of sound, as Aiden was out of his chair in a heartbeat from the next, gently pressing him back against the biobed with one gentle gloved hand against the chest.
“Easy. You’re stitched together with nothing but nanites and stubbornness right now.”
Marcus gave him a weak smile in return. “Good thing I’ve got a lot of the second one.”
Aiden didn’t smile back. Just - tired. “You don’t get to make this a joke. Not this time.”
The heat in his voice startled Marcus. He wasn’t loud, but he was sharp. Measured. He wasn’t yelling, he was hurting .
“I get it,” Marcus said quietly. “You’re mad that I intervened in the mission.”
“I’m not mad.” Aiden’s jaw clenched, looking off to the side at the data pads. “I’m terrified . I’ve watched you take hits that would kill anyone else. And every time you do it, I start to think maybe you’re untouchable. But you’re not. You’re not immortal. You’re not invincible.”
The admission, for that was what it was, an actual admission - completely floored Marcus. If he hadn't been lying down already, he would have needed to sit down. Their mentor student relationship had always been one of teasing, of friendly jabs and competitiveness that drove them on to newer heights of success in the Hero Authority. They never really had heart to heart conversations that resembled anything like vulnerability.
Aiden’s hand was still lightly pressed against Marcus’s chest, half for comfort, half to prove he was still there. A solid tangible presence that Marcus could really appreciate.
“I’m losing sleep over a man who keeps trying to die like it’s noble,” Aiden murmured. “And I don’t know how to stop it.”
Marcus looked away, feeling uneasy. He hated this part, the stillness after battle, the quiet where consequences caught up with him. Where there was no armor to hide behind and he could just shrug off any questions, any thoughts of repercussions of his actions to those around him.
“I didn’t mean for you to get pulled in,” he said finally.
Aiden’s hand squeezed around his. “That’s not the point I’m trying to make.”
“I didn’t think it’d go that far.” He offered feebly.
Aiden sighed. “That’s still not the point.”
Marcus met his gaze again and this time, he didn’t look away.
“The point is,” Aiden said, voice trembling now, “The point is that you’re not alone. You don’t have to be. I know retirement is new to you, it changes everything for you. But some things don’t have to change. We don’t have to change.”
Marcus’s heart stuttered. “I’m no longer your mentor.”
Aiden leaned in slightly, and his voice dropped to something raw and low. “I know. But this, us. It doesn’t have to stop. I don’t want it to be tomorrow and never see you again.”
Marcus didn’t know what to say to that. He didn’t have the words for the weight in his chest. All he could do was nod, slow and shaky. “Okay.”
Aiden’s eyes closed for a beat. His hand tightened around Marcus’s.
“Okay,” he echoed. “That’s. That’s good.”
The beeping of the monitor continued. Soft. Reassuring. Present. And for the first time in years, Marcus didn’t feel the need to stand up and prove anything.
He just let it stand as it was.
The apartment was quiet.
Too quiet.
Marcus had spent the day trying to outrun the silence. He’d started with the floors, vacuumed them twice over, then steam-mopped every square inch until the place smelled faintly of lemon and something too sterile to be called “home”. It was too temporary, he needed something that lasted longer, filled the space of the rooms to make it sound less like a mausoleum. He pulled his old radio out from storage, dusted it off and tuned it up to see if it actually still worked. With an adjustment of the knobs, the sound of music filled up the empty space, the inane chatter from the local radio hosts making it feel like there were people with him again.
And it worked. It made his muscles loosen, made him start to listen to the conversation and become aware of local goings on in the city he had always protected. It felt like he wasn’t alone in the apartment, not exactly part of the conversation, but welcomed to listen.
When he settled into that routine, he began to see his apartment with new eyes. It was no longer a place that he simply slept in, a glorified cupboard for his suit and refuelled his body with sustenance. He reorganised the kitchen cabinets by tactical logic: quick-grab first aid on the lower shelves, long-term rations on the higher ones, protein bars in reach of the couch. A holdover from the field.
Everything quick, already prepared for him, hand to mouth with the shortest amount of time. And honestly, protein bars tasted like chalk and were so boring. He didn’t know how to cook for himself, toast was about as skilled as he bothered with. Now that he had all the time in the world, he scoured youtube for beginner friendly recipes to make. Homemade soup, healthy pasta sauces, how to boil a bloody egg with a runny yolk.
Not feeling up to braving the supermarkets just yet, he got his groceries delivered to his door. Fresh items like milk, bread, vegetables and an inordinate amount of rice and cereal. With it, he ordered pots and pans, cooking utensils he had never bothered with, even cutlery that was just a ridiculous reminder how much effort he had bothered with a life outside of the Hero Authority.
With the kitchen having a new lease of life, he moved on to the cupboards in his bedroom. He packed away half his uniforms, pressed, folded, stored in sealed containers with a precision that bordered on ritual. He will bring them to the Authority to do with as they pleased, he clearly didn’t need them anymore. What was left was a woefully few garments that looked pathetic in the big cupboard. He made a note to go out and buy more once he could walk more than a few feet at a time.
His final suit, the one still charred at the shoulder where Spectre had hit him, remained on its stand, glowing faintly under the dim display light in the hall. Like a monument. A reminder. A reminder of how close he had come in losing his life to his own stubbornness.
A week after being released from the medbay, he was still watching surveillance feeds from districts he wasn’t assigned to anymore. He told himself it was out of habit. Backup planning. Not that he missed the field. Not that the silence pressed harder when he didn’t hear comm chatter or the low pulse of the scans in his ears.
He may be adjusting to a newly retired life, sort of, but it was going to take time to break certain habits. So sue him.
Another week had gone by and Marcus was attempting to read the book Aiden had left for him, The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy by Douglass Adams. He made it exactly thirty-three pages in before giving up and flipping back to the security feed of a bus depot in Sector 5C, where nothing had happened for over an hour.
He was sitting on the couch, a blanket tossed half over his lap, a cup of tea cooling untouched on the table beside him. He didn’t remember making it.
The pain in his knee and arm had dulled to a steady intermittent throb, like a metronome ticking off every hour he wasn’t in uniform. The healing patches helped, but they didn’t quiet the ache behind his ribs. That wasn’t physical. That was something deeper. Older.
The city feeds still glowed faintly on the far wall, a constellation of blinking lights marking threat levels and unit movements. No one had asked him to monitor them. No one expected him to, not now. But he couldn’t stop. Couldn’t not look. He tracked patrols the way some people tracked the weather, simply out of instinct. He told himself it was just about staying informed. He didn’t admit it was about staying connected .
Marcus had been moving for twenty years. Fighting. Saving. Bleeding. He’d built himself out of motion, momentum as identity. And now, with the motion gone, the edges of himself felt frayed. Like static where purpose used to be.
He rubbed his hand over his face, beard now a week grown and itching slightly at his jaw. No more grooming schedule. No more inspections. No more calibrations or energy readings or conditioning drills.
Just days that dragged on. Nights that hummed with phantom echoes. Dreams that still ended in psychic whiplash and the flicker of a rooftop too far gone.
He was supposed to feel grateful. He was alive. Instead, he felt oddly displaced. Like a soldier stuck in peacetime, watching the war happen from behind glass. Until the knock on the door cut through everything.
He didn’t bother to answer. Aiden let himself in with the spare key anyway.
The younger man was out of uniform tonight, dark jeans, a fitted hoodie, and a takeaway in one hand, the smell of Thai food permeating the air. Solar filaments weren’t glowing from his skin; instead, his presence felt warm in a different way. Human. Grounded.
It was a beautiful sight to see.
He gave Marcus a look of amused exasperation. “Have you moved since I left this morning?”
“I blinked a few times.” Marcus said, getting up from the sofa and heading towards the kitchen to grab the plates and utensils. “Stretched my legs out a time or two.”
“Invigorating.” Aiden murmured.
Marcus smiled. “I’m nothing if not consistent.”
Aiden dropped the bag on the living room coffee table and started unpacking the different containers. “You know, most people in recovery take it easy for a reason. Your brain went through a metaphysical blender.”
Marcus grunted. “My brain has gone through worse.”
Aiden frowned. “That’s not exactly comforting to hear.”
Marcus placed the plates down with the cutlery, two beers under his armpit. Aiden opened two containers, a pad Thai and the other a curry, and began plating the food with practised movements. This wasn’t the first time Aiden came over for food for the both of them to share.
“You brought dinner,” Marcus said quietly, belatedly.
“Yep.” Aiden said simply.
“You didn’t ask.” Marcus pointed out.
“Also yep.” Was the cheeky reply.
Not needing to do anything, Marcus shuffled back onto the sofa and sat down, rubbing at his eyes. “I’m not great at this, you know.”
“Cooking?” Aiden asked, not looking up from the plates that he was adding a generous amount of rice to. “You’re getting the hang of it, with all the practice you’re doing with the youtube videos-”
“Retiring.”
Aiden turned his head to stare over his shoulder at Marcus with a raised eyebrow. “You don’t say.”
Marcus ignored his cocky reply. “It’s like... I don’t know what to do with myself. I wake up, I track patrols I’m not part of, I stare at the skyline. I burn my breakfast, I clean my apartment and I try to read the book you got me.”
Aiden brought the plates across and offered one to Marcus. “Sounds like you need a hobby.”
Marcus gave him a look as he took it with a nod of thanks. “I fought psychic terrorists for seventeen years. I don’t have hobbies.”
“Well,” Aiden said, sitting down next to him and digging in, “you could start with something small. Puzzle? Sketching? Gardening?”
“I have a cactus.” Marcus offered.
“Name it.”
Marcus blinked. “What?”
“Name it,” Aiden said. “That’s step one in domestic reintegration.”
There was a pause as they both chewed their food.
Then, without looking away from his plate, Marcus said, “Lucy.”
Aiden blinked. “After -?”
Marcus nodded, remembering his previous partner who had died in his arms. “She was the only one who could keep a plant alive on base longer than a month.”
Aiden softened. “Lucy it is.”
Once Marcus had started eating, his stomach rumbled with appreciation. He hadn’t realised how hungry he was until he took the first proper bite. “You don’t have to sit here with me,” he muttered. “I remember how busy it can be when you step up to the front line.”
Aiden didn’t slow down. “And leave you alone with your thoughts? That’s a very dangerous idea.”
Marcus huffed a dry laugh. “You’re not my babysitter, you know..”
“Nope. But I am your friend.” Aiden leaned forward, staring searchingly at Marcus. “Is that still allowed?”
Marcus didn’t answer right away. He looked down at his food, suddenly blushing. He nodded his head in the affirmative.
Eight Months Ago
The wind was sharp that high up on the Hero Authority's rooftop, carrying the scent of ozone and city grit. Lights glittered below like a static galaxy. Marcus stood at the edge of the rooftop, hands braced on the railing, his armour still scorched from the last mission.
Aiden landed softly behind him, light-footed from a hover descent. His boots thudded once against the concrete before he walked up beside Marcus, still flushed hot from battle.
“I thought we did good today,” Aiden said, brushing his wild hair out of his eyes. “Fast extraction, zero civilian injuries, and I only blew up one fire escape.”
Marcus didn’t laugh as he usually did at Aiden’s jovial antics. He didn’t even crack a smile.
Aiden’s grin dimmed at the edges. “Okay, what’s up? You’ve been off since the debrief this afternoon.”
Marcus stayed quiet, jaw tight, eyes locked on the dark skyline. Then he finally spoke, his voice low, steady, but rough like it scraped up from someplace he didn’t want to go. “The Authority is retiring me.”
Aiden blinked, blindsided. “What?”
“I got the final call this morning. They’re pulling me from field duty. Citing health metrics, combat strain, psychological fatigue.” He almost sneered at that last one. “They say it’s time.”
Aiden stepped back like he’d been physically struck. “That’s bullshit. You’re still in fighting shape. You carried that last mission. You - You saved me, Marcus.”
Marcus shook his head, rolling his shoulders restlessly. “That’s not how they see it.”
“So that’s it?” Aiden said, voice rising in his agitation. “They just… bench you? After everything? No say, no negotiation?”
Marcus turned to face him fully now, expression closed-off, controlled by his last nerve. “I knew it was coming,” he admitted. “I’ve been pushing past the line for years. My reaction times are slower. The hits take longer to shake. It was only a matter of time that they called me in for the last time.”
“You’re Beacon,” Aiden said, voice cracking. “They can’t just take that away.”
“I was Beacon,” Marcus corrected, and for the first time, it felt real when he said it out loud. “And it’s not about what they take away. It’s what happens if I stay too long. If I’m slow one time too many. If I get you hurt.”
Aiden shook his head, furious, hurt. “You don’t get to make that choice for me.”
“I already did, every time I stood between you and a blast.” Marcus said.
“That’s not fair,” Aiden snapped. “You trained me to be better than that. To stand with you. Not behind you.”
Marcus didn’t respond right away. The silence between them stretched until the city sounds swallowed everything.
Then he said, more softly, “This isn’t just the end of a job, Aiden. It’s the end of a life I’ve lived since before you knew what the Hero Authority was.”
Aiden looked at him, eyes wide with something raw. “So what happens now?”
Marcus tried to smile. It didn’t quite reach his eyes. “Now? I learn to be someone else.”
“And what about me?” Aiden asked, voice hollow.
Marcus looked away, feeling emotion rise up inside of him, threatening to swallow hom whole. “You’ll lead the team. You’re ready, it’s what I have been training you for.”
“That’s not what I meant.” Aiden said plaintively.
Another silence. This one was heavier than the last.
Marcus couldn’t answer that, he didn’t know if he could without spilling everything of himself in front of the younger man.
Aiden took a long breath. Then nodded once, stiff and hurt.
“This is all just messed up.”
He turned and walked away, boots echoing against the rooftop, leaving behind the man who had always stood at his side.
And Marcus let him go. Because if he didn’t, he never would.
The supermarket was nothing special, just the local chain a few blocks from his apartment. Fluorescent lights, chipped linoleum, soft pop music looping from tinny ceiling speakers. Marcus pushed the cart in front of him slowly, one hand resting on the handle, the other holding a small shopping list he’d written out in careful block letters.
Milk. Bread. Eggs. Tea.
Normal things.
Retired things.
He didn’t wear the brace on his knee anymore, but he still moved with a stiffness that lingered, like phantom weight from armour he no longer wore. The ache in his shoulder flared every now and then when he reached too high or too fast. He didn’t reach fast anymore.
He turned down the cereal aisle and paused. He reached for the same kind he always had, bland, functional, low sugar, then hesitated. His hand drifted to the shelf above. Honey Crunch Clusters.
Aiden’s favourite.
He almost smiled. Almost.
At the end of the aisle, a television mounted high on the wall played muted news coverage. Marcus glanced at it, expecting weather or another political scandal.
What he saw instead made his hand go still on the cereal box.
The footage was grainy, filmed from a rooftop by a civilian, probably. Smoke billowed from a collapsed warehouse as beams of blinding light arced across the sky. A figure in white and gold armour hovered midair, hands blazing with solar energy, cutting through a wall of dark crystalline growth erupting from the ground.
Aiden.
He looked sharper. Stronger. The lines of his suit had changed, smoother, more refined, definitely custom work. A leader’s gear, not a recruit’s. He moved with fluid precision, eyes focused, mouth drawn in a thin line of concentration as he deflected another blast from the crystalline villain below.
The caption beneath the footage read:
“BREAKING: HALO NEUTRALISES CRYSTAL VORTEX ATTACK IN DOWNTOWN CORE—NO CIVILIAN CASUALTIES.”
Marcus watched without moving. Just… observed.
A year ago, he might have felt a spike of something like envy, guilt, frustration. The ache of being left behind. Of knowing the world moved forward without him.
But right now?
He felt… calm.
Not pride, exactly. That would’ve felt too self-serving. But relief , maybe. That Aiden was alive. Thriving. Holding his own. That the world hadn’t fallen apart just because Marcus Lorne wasn’t holding it up by his shoulders anymore. He let out a slow breath and reached back for the cereal box.
This time, he picked the Honey Crunch Clusters.
By the time he reached the checkout line, the news had moved on to something else. Traffic updates. Stock prices. Something forgettable. Aiden’s face was gone from the screen. But Marcus carried it with him anyway.
Not as a weight, but as something lighter than that. A reminder.
The world didn’t need Beacon anymore. But maybe that meant it was finally okay for Marcus to just… be . And maybe, for the first time, he was starting to be okay with that.
Later that evening, Marcus sat on the edge of his bed, the box of cereal untouched on the kitchen counter. His apartment was dimly lit, the city lights painting silver lines across the floor through the blinds. His phone was in his hand, thumb hovering over the screen.
The news clip had played on loop in his mind all evening. Aiden midair. That unshakeable focus in his eyes, the restraint in his strike that he didn’t have in his first few missions. The way he absorbed the weight of the moment without letting it crush him. He’d become someone powerful.
Someone good.
Marcus unlocked his phone. He opened the message thread, dozens of old texts sat there to be read, some quick updates, a few dumb memes Aiden had sent weeks ago, check-ins that had gotten shorter and more infrequent lately. He stared at the blinking cursor for a long time. Then he finally typed:
Saw the footage. You handled it well. Clean work.
He paused. Read it again. He felt the old habits tighten his chest, the way he used to keep everything technical, distant. But that wasn’t what he wanted to say. Not really.
He added:
You’ve come a long way. I’m proud of you.
He hesitated a moment more, arguing with himself before he grew irritated and then hit send.
The message went through. Two blue ticks appeared almost instantly. A minute passed, then another. Marcus set the phone down, now annoyed that he felt like a giddy school girl over texting her crush. He doubted Aiden would text back right away, he must be busy dealing with his new position, perhaps in a meeting right this second -
The phone’s screen lit up with a new message.
Aiden:
Didn’t know you still watched the news.
Guess I’ll have to keep looking impressive.
Another message followed almost immediately:
Thanks. That means more than you know.
Marcus didn’t smile exactly, but something loosened in his chest at seeing that last message. He picked up the phone again and typed back:
Do you ever slow down enough to eat breakfast anymore?
A pause that felt like an eternity, then:
Aiden:
Are you offering to make coffee or just reminding me I’m probably living off energy bars and spite?
Marcus snorted.
Marcus:
Both.
Swing by tomorrow. Bring something decent. I’ve got cereal.
Aiden:
Honey Crunch Clusters?
You soft old man.
Marcus:
Retired old man. Big difference.
Aiden:
I’ll bring pastries. You handle the coffee.
Try not to burn water, yeah?
Marcus locked the phone and he sat back. The night felt a little quieter. A little warmer.
Not the world he used to know, but one that still had a place for him. Even if that place was at a kitchen table, across from the one person who never stopped looking at him like he mattered.
Marcus woke before sunrise.
It was an old habit, something he still needed to break. His body still operated on a hero’s clock, even if the cape was folded away in the closet. He moved quietly through the apartment, making coffee with the slow deliberation of someone trying to convince himself this was normal. That this was his life now.
He was plating the last of the scrambled eggs when the knock came—two short, one long. Familiar.
He opened the door to find Aiden standing there in a black hoodie and joggers, hair damp from a shower, a bakery box balanced in one hand and a killer watt smile.
“You look… domestic,” Aiden said with a teasing smile, eyeing the apron slung over Marcus’s shoulder.
“Shut up and come in.”
Aiden stepped inside, glancing around with a small frown. “You cleaned.”
Marcus frowned at him from over his shoulder. “I always clean.”
“No, you deep-cleaned.” He pointed at the coffee table. “There are coasters now.”
Marcus arched a brow, but felt his face heat anyway. “You’re late. Sit down.”
Aiden set the pastries on the table and dropped into the chair across from Marcus. For a moment, neither of them said anything. The air between them buzzed with something unspoken.
They ate in silence at first. Easy. Comfortable. The quiet kind that only comes from people who’ve spent years in each other’s orbit.
But eventually, Aiden set down his fork and leaned back, watching Marcus with those too sharp eyes. “Are you doing okay? Really?”
Marcus didn’t answer immediately. He took a sip of coffee, then said, “I’m getting used to the quiet. Still half expect an alert to come through the wall, but the feeling comes and goes.”
Aiden’s voice softened. “Do you miss it?”
“I miss knowing what I’m supposed to do.” Marcus looked down at his coffee, then back at Aiden. “But not enough to wish I were out there instead of you.”
Aiden blinked, shifting in his seat. “That’s… new.”
Marcus held his coffee cup between his hands. “I watched you yesterday, on the news. I saw how you handled the fight. The civilians, the collateral. You’re not just strong, Aiden. You’re good. Better than I ever was at your age.”
“I learned from you,” Aiden said quietly. “Everything I know, it was from you.”
Marcus shook his head in the negative. “You made it yourself, I just guided you.”
Aiden was quiet for a beat, then reached out and touched Marcus’s wrist, tentative at first. “You don’t have to do this alone, you know. Retirement doesn’t mean isolation.”
“I know.” The words came slower, weighted. “I’m trying.”
Aiden’s fingers lingered. “Let me help.”
There was no grand declaration. No cinematic swell. Just a hand, resting on another. A quiet offering.
Marcus looked at him, really looked. He considered the steady resolve behind those gold-flecked eyes, the patience, the pull of them. He felt the tension between them stretch to its limit.
And then he leaned in. It wasn’t dramatic, It wasn’t desperate. Just two people crossing a line they had been toeing for years. The kiss was slow. Soft. A breath exchanged between them. Aiden’s hand slid to Marcus’s jaw, thumb brushing against stubble as he held him there. Marcus’s hand came to rest at the back of Aiden’s neck, holding him there like he wasn’t ready to let go. Like part of him never had been.
When they broke apart, Aiden didn’t move away. He whispered on a drawn out breath, “Finally.”
Marcus chuckled, low and rough. “You were waiting for me to catch up.”
Aiden shook his head affectionately. “You’re not as slow as you think.”
Marcus smiled slowly. “I’m not that fast, either.”
“You don’t have to be.” Aiden said earnestly. “I’m not going anywhere.”
Marcus rested his forehead against Aiden’s. “Good.”
They sat like that for a while, the world outside the window just beginning to wake. The city would move on. Villains would rise and fall. The news would keep scrolling on by. Heroes would fight the good fight, as always.
But at this moment, at this breakfast table, Marcus didn’t feel left behind.
He felt chosen.