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You hadn’t known true comfort until you started dating Bob.
Falling asleep to the sound of his breathing and waking up to his hair on your cheek felt like living inside a dream you never wanted to end.
You’re sitting with him in the living room, music playing softly in the background, a discarded book on his lap as he relaxes against you. Your fingers card through his hair absently, soothing and repetitive, as you massage and scratch his scalp. The tension from his body disappearing with a pass of your hand, Bob felt like it was magic.
Though he thought everything you did was magic. Whether you were cooking dinner or just tying your shoes, he’d follow you around without even intending to, like a sunflower chasing the sun.
You were funny without trying, a little chaotic, beautiful, and had a knack for making the best out of a bad situation.
How could he not?
Even before you two started dating, you were a source of comfort for him.
You’d found him wandering up and down the halls of Avengers Tower like a little ghost when you popped your head out of your room and said, “A little late for a walk, isn’t it?”
He jumped, startled. “I didn’t wake you, did I?”
Bob wasn’t feeling great that night, his mind louder than he could bear, thoughts pinging off the inside of his skull.
“Not at all,” you said softly. You didn’t pry, or judge, or push. Just offered friendship. “Wanna hang out?”
And before he knew it, he was lying beside you on your bed, sharing quiet snacks and listening to you tell him stories.
“...and ever since that day, I’ve been scared of parakeets,” you finished with a shrug, like it wasn’t the most bizarre confession he’d ever heard. He let out a soft laugh as your fingers found their place in his hair, slow and soothing, like you already knew exactly what he needed.
Each stroke quieted the noise in his head. The bad thoughts dulled under your touch.
So your relationship has always been a two-way street.
He needed you just as much as you needed him.
It’s not long before you’re hearing soft snores fill the living room. Bob’s now fast asleep on your lap, his weight warm and heavy like a blanket. And you had to say no other blanket could compare.
Ava enters the room, slowing at the doorway at the familiar sight of you and Bob all cuddled up, tangled in each other.
“Not a word,” you murmur without looking up, already feeling the grin tugging at her lips.
“Don’t worry, I’ll leave you two to it,” she says, waving a hand as she walks toward the kitchen. Then she pauses, smirking. “He’s like your dog.”
“What?” you whisper sharply, eyes widening as you try to limit your freakout, God forbid you woke him up. “That’s absurd.”
Ava narrows her eyes in mock suspicion. “You give him head pats and scratches.”
You furrow your eyebrows. Okay, yes… you did that. You often ran your fingers through his hair. But it wasn’t weird! It was soothing for both of you.
“And?”
“You take him on walks to the park,” Ava adds, arms crossing with dramatic flair.
So what? You liked to walk off the stress after a long day with your hot boyfriend. And Bob liked you. And sunshine. And trees. And squirrels. Okay, that wasn't helping.
“You also carry snacks for him. And the way he looks at you like his tail is wagging, the way he waits by the elevator after your missions like a golden retriever waiting for its human—”
“Okay, okay, I get it…”
“I’m surprised you don’t call him your good boy.”
The absurd amount of proof was starting to pile up.
You glance down at Bob, still sleeping peacefully, arms curled around your waist, lips parted slightly in a soft breath.
Maybe Ava had a point.
You had a lot of re-evaluating to do.
***
Bob’s confused.
All day, you’ve been off.
He woke up next to you, and instead of your usual good-morning ritual, your hands in his hair, lips brushing his forehead, you gave him… a high-five?
Then at lunch, you sat across from him instead of next to him. You barely made eye contact. Your responses were clipped, your laughter so awkward it sounded almost robotic. Every attempt he made to touch your hand, your arm, anything, dodged like a pro in a dodgeball tournament.
“What are you doing?” he finally asked.
“Stretching? It’s uh… good for circulation,” you replied far too quickly, already taking a step backwards. “I should go,” you added, and just like that, you scurried off.
Then, when he swung by your room later with your favourite smoothie and suggested taking a walk in the park, something you usually jumped at, you hesitated.
He swears he saw you flinch, or wince, like the very idea poked a sore spot.
“Maybe another day…,” you said, avoiding his eyes.
And then the door clicked shut.
Leaving Bob standing there in the middle of the hallway, holding two smoothies with a heavy heart.
So he was confused, and a little hurt, but mostly scared. What if he did something wrong?
What if he crossed a line without realising it? What if you were trying to break up with him, but couldn’t say the words?
What if this was the beginning of the end?
***
You find Bob standing by the window, arms crossed loosely, shoulders drawn tight. He’s staring out like the glass might offer him answers he can’t find anywhere else.
He hears your footsteps before you even speak, and turns around.
You freeze.
Before you can retreat into your room, maybe hide under your blanket and avoid the whole mess, he stops you with a soft but firm, “Hey…”
You give him a small smile, sheepish and hesitant. But he doesn’t return it.
He looks too sad to smile.
“Did I do something wrong?” he asks, right away with no hesitation or preamble.
You blink, completely startled. That’s not what you expected.
You’d been avoiding him because you thought you were the one in the wrong.
“Are you mad at me?” he continues, stepping closer. His voice cracks, almost imperceptibly.
His hands take yours, fingers curling around yours carefully, like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. They’re trembling.
“Bob…” you whisper, throat tightening. His eyes are glossy and so distraught, the dictionary definition of puppy dog eyes, and you feel unbelievably guilty. You never wanted to be the cause of that.
“I’m not mad at you,” you say, voice quiet. “I just…”
You pause, grasping for words, but they tangle before you can make sense of them.
How do you explain that you’re terrified you’ve been patting him like your little golden retriever?
“You don’t like me anymore?” he asks.
The words hit like a punch.
“No!” you blurt, eyes wide. “I like you so much, I don’t even know what to do with myself. I like your laugh, and the way you look at me when you think I’m not paying attention, and—and the way you sometimes snort when you’re falling asleep. I like everything that makes you you.”
His expression shifts, a flicker of hope in there, breaking through the sadness.
“I just… I haven’t been treating you right,” you continue, cringing at yourself. “I realised I’ve been acting like you’re this… this adorable creature. Like a dog. And I don’t want you to feel like I’m babying you or… or making you small.”
Bob blinks, stunned, then cracks a soft, incredulous smile. A little breath of laughter escapes him as he shakes his head. And all you could think was, how could he be laughing when you’re the world’s worst girlfriend?
“You don’t have to worry about that, okay?”
“How am I not supposed to worry?” you exclaim. “I take you on walks. I give you head scratches. I literally carry snacks for you, Bob!”
Sensing your rising panic, he steps forward and wraps his arms around you.
There’s no resisting it. The feel of him, the warmth of his chest and the steady beat of his heart. It all just melts you instantly. Bob Reynolds, the man you are.
“That’s just the way we show affection,” he murmurs into your hair. “I’m okay with that. I like that.”
Then he pulls back just enough to look you in the eyes.
“What I’m not okay with… is you ignoring me.”
His thumb brushes your cheek, gentle and steady.
“It hurt,” he admits. “Not being able to hang out with you. Not being able to touch you.”
A shiver crawls up your spine as he leans in, nuzzling against your neck like he’s trying to remind your skin of what it’s missed. His nose brushes the soft curve of your throat, and you exhale shakily. He really knew just how to make you feel weak.
Your heart drops straight to your stomach.
“I won’t push you away,” you say, instantly. Your hands tighten around his. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I thought I was doing the right thing, but I just ended up… being stupid.”
Bob shakes his head gently. “You’re not stupid. You’re just… caring. And I love that about you.”
The words hit so softly, so sweetly, they leave you weightless, like your heart’s untethered and floating somewhere just above your ribs.
“But…” he adds, a playful glint flickering in his eyes, “you do have to make it up to me.”
You raise a brow, lips twitching. “How?”
Instead of answering, he leans in and kisses you. It’s slow and deep, making your heart flutter and skip a beat or two. The kind of kiss that makes your knees forget how to function. And before you can recover, he lifts you effortlessly into his arms.
You squeak a little, arms looping around his neck. “Bob—!”
He’s just far enough to grin against your mouth, your noses brushing.
“We’ll figure it out.”