Chapter Text
Growing up, Robert “Bob” Reynolds knew the best way to survive was to be unseen.
He learned early that quiet footsteps, closed doors, and keeping his head down could turn a war zone into background noise. If he moved softly enough, if he didn’t give anyone a reason to look twice, then maybe the shouting would pass him by, the fists would land somewhere else, and the broken things in the house would never be his fault.
So far, it worked—at least until Thunderbolts High threw a wrench in the plan.
A school full of delinquents and kids with more baggage than a cargo plane meant “unseen” was harder to pull off. However, like most of his life, Bob adapted. Books stayed open, hood up, eyes down.
No one bothered the quiet kid who aced tests and never spoke unless called on.
Until now.
“Mr. Reynolds.”
He jolted, glasses slipping down his nose as Mr. Stark’s shadow fell across his desk. The physics teacher’s voice cut through the low hum of the classroom, and Bob meekly and slowly slid his hands across where he was sketching, cheeks burning as he pushed his glasses back up.
“Y-yes?” he stammered.
“Quantum entanglement, Mr. Reynolds,” Mr. Stark said, not a question. “Explain.”
Bob swallowed, his voice barely above a mumble as he dug his sweaty palms into the pages of his notebook. “Superposition…particles linked so one’s state instantly influences the uh…other, no matter…t-the distance.”
His teacher still didn’t look impressed. “Okay, and the possibility of measuring one?”
“Uh… measuring one collapses its wave function instantly,” Bob managed, voice cracking slightly, “and the entangled partner’s state collapses too, no matter the distance—spooky action at a distance, as Reed Richards once said.”
Mr. Stark’s smirk didn’t waver.
“Smart aleck. Regardless, detention for you, Mr. Reynolds, and don’t be late.”
Bob should have known he wouldn’t let him off that easily.
“Yes, Sir,” he mumbled, his shoulders slumped, but he kept his eyes on the desk, willing himself to disappear into the wood grain as the class tittered behind his back. Gingerly removing his hand, he stared at his sketch for a moment before turning the page and pretending to focus.
Even though he understood quantum entanglement better than half the class—hell, better than Mr. Stark on a bad day—Bob knew better than to argue with him. His goal was to survive the next three years hidden, after all.
“Now,” Mr. Stark quipped, climbing on top of his desk and looking at his classroom, clasping his hands together. “Alright, geniuses-in-training, picture this: your buddy Bob’s particles are so ‘entangled’ with doodling, one wrong glance and boom—detention wave function collapse. Are you all writing this down, or do you expect me to do it for you?”
Bob sank lower in his seat, horror creeping up his spine.
The day couldn’t get any worse than that, he supposed.
He should have known by the premise of Murphy’s law that anything that could go wrong would go wrong.
Especially when it came to him.
Bob could count on one finger the number of times he’d been sent to detention since starting high school: once, which was right this instance. However, all things considered, it was an improvement.
In middle school, it had been a near-daily ritual—falling asleep in class, refusing to change for PE because his father threatened to kill him if anyone found out, showing up late because, well, no one at home really cared if he made it on time.
He’d thought he’d left all that behind.
High school, he told himself, was going to be different. He kept his head down, stayed quiet, turned in his homework early, and read during lunch instead of trying to talk to people who didn’t want to talk back, and it worked for a while to be classified as the studious otaku.
Until today, when he let his daydream sketching get the better of him.
When he found himself staring out of the classroom when he should have been focused.
Bob sighed, readjusting his school bag strap that was about to fall off his shoulder, and made his way into the detention room. He quietly hoped there wouldn't be anyone there, or if there were, they'd ignore him completely.
He held his breath as he slid open the door.
Then he realized there was one person there.
Slouched in the back row, boots kicked up on the desk, chewing gum like she owned the place.
Yelena Belova.
The school’s popular gal and delinquent—fearless, sharp-tongued, with a reputation for mouthing off to teachers and flipping off bullies. Just last week, he'd witnessed her stare down three jocks twice her size in the cafeteria, calling them out for harassing someone until they slunk away red-faced.
She hadn't even raised her voice.
Now here she was, glancing up from where she was painting her nails, green eyes locking onto him like a targeting system as the slowest grin spread across her face. She immediately settled her boots back down, tilting her head while surveying him up and down.
“Oho, new blood,” she chirps, popping her gum. Bob realized it’s the first time he actually heard her Russian accent up close—thick and rolling, like gravel wrapped in honey, making his stomach flip in a way he wasn’t prepared for. “Hi! Who are you?”
Bob found himself looking back to see if Yelena was possibly talking to someone else, but no—
There was no one.
However, he was still in disbelief that she was even talking to him of all people, so he pointed to himself, confused and wondering if this was some elaborate prank. “Uh…a-are you talking about me?”
“Mm, yes? Is there anyone else here?” she mused, arching a brow.
He felt his face flushing, and he awkwardly chuckled. “Uh... B-Bob. I’m B-Bob.”
“You have a last name, Bob?”
“I do.”
A beat followed, and he realized he missed the part where he was supposed to answer it, too.
However, she didn’t seem annoyed but almost entertained. “And it’s…?”
“Reynolds. Bob Reynolds.”
“It’s nice to meet you, Bob Reynolds. Yelena Belova,” she introduced herself, then kicked the chair next to her and grinned. “Come sit over here. I’ve been dying of boredom before you came, thought I’d be the only unlucky soul here today.”
He swallowed, not really sure if he wanted to, but not sure if he could say no without being rude, so he shut the classroom door behind him and took a seat next to her. His toes curled inside his shoes under the weight of her stare—almost mischievous—and he didn't even get to take out his books, maybe get some work done, when she started:
“So... what’d they get you for, Bob?” she asked, putting her polish away and fanning her hands.
“Get?” he stammered.
“Yeah, to be sent here. You don't seem like the type to be sent to detention,” she remarked, eyeing his attire from top to bottom—his ironed uniform blazer and white blouse that was tucked into his slacks. “Matter of fact, you look way too put-together for someone who’d actually get in trouble.”
Bob shifted in his seat; his bag was still clutched like a shield. “Uh… Mr. Stark caught me sketching in class. P-physics while he was…teaching. I… answered his question right, but he called me a smart aleck anyway and sent me here anyway.”
Yelena’s grin widened, all teeth and mischief.
“Tony Stark? Figures. He lives for that power trip,” she maintained, grin only widening, all teeth and mischief. She leaned in a little, elbows on her knees. “What were you drawing to get in trouble? Lemme see.”
She was already reaching for his bag, as if they were best friends.
“No way!” Bob yelped, clutching his bag tighter to his chest like it held state secrets, his face igniting from neck to hairline. Yelena threw her head back and laughed—a bright, throaty sound that filled the empty room.
It felt so unbearably warm, but more than that, he couldn’t look away from her.
She was beautiful when she laughed, the kind of beautiful that wasn’t polished or practiced but alive, sharp at the edges and bright like sunlight on a warm summer’s day. For a second, he forgot the bag in his arms, forgot his own name, forgot how to breathe altogether.
The sound of her laughter lingered in the air, reckless and bright, and he had the wild thought that he wouldn’t mind getting in trouble again if it meant hearing it one more time… until she quieted, still smiling faintly as she looked at him.
“Why are you so worked up? Was it porn? What do you call it—hentai or something like that?"
“What? No! W-why would you even think that?!” he sputtered, mortified, glasses fogging slightly as he shrank into the chair.
"You're into anime and manga, aren't you?" she laughed, the sound warm and unfiltered.
"How d-did you know?"
"I saw you reading some before during our lunch period," she exclaimed casually, twirling her short hair. Bob’s stomach dropped through the floor. He didn’t think anyone had noticed him hunched over his manga, scarfing his lunch like a feral raccoon. "What was it again? Something popular, I think? Wait, or was it something spicy with..." She trailed off and waggled her eyebrows suggestively.
“N-nothing spicy!” he yelped, then realized that sounded worse. "Educational!"
Her laugh exploded again, head tipping back.
“Educational porn. My favorite genre," she teased.
“It’s not—!” Bob buried his face in his hands, bag tumbling forgotten to the floor.
God, why was the classroom spinning?
Why was she still smiling like this was normal roommate banter instead of his dignity’s funeral?
“Relax, Bob,” she said, softer now, nudging his knee with her foot. “I’m messing with you. Mostly. How have I never spoken to you before? You’re in my homeroom class, right? You’re cute!”
Bob’s brain flatlined. His mouth opened, closed, then opened again without sound, the word cute ricocheting around his skull like a stray bullet. Actually, that was approximately the moment he decided his body had forgotten how to exist.
Breathing? Gone.
Thoughts? Scrambled eggs.
All he managed was a strangled, “What?”
“Again, I'm messing with you, Bob,” Yelena chuckled, waving her hand. “You look like you might pass out. I’m just kidding.”
“Oh,” Bob said faintly, though some traitorous part of him was disappointed.
Yelena cracked her knuckles. “So...how long is detention again?”
“About an hour?”
She groaned, putting the side of her face flat against the desk. “Great. I’ll die of boredom.”
“Or you could do the assignment,” Bob mumbled.
Yelena blinked, her lips jutting slightly outwards. “Assignment? What assignment?”
He pointed to the packet at the front of the desk. “That.”
Yelena squinted. “Nah.”
“You’re—” He exhaled, ran a hand through his hair. “—not even going to try?”
“Nope.”
“Why?”
“Because, Bob,” she grinned, “If I actually start behaving, I’ll ruin my reputation.”
The clock ticked once. Twice.
Bob looked back down at his paper, and for reasons that were unclear to him, he smiled.
Yelena gasped, eyes widening like she’d witnessed a miracle. “You smiled!”
Bob chuckled, the sound surprising even him as it bubbled up past the nerves.
“What? You think I can’t smile?”
Her grin turned downright triumphant, leaning in closer like she’d cracked some ancient code. “I thought maybe your face was broken. Or maybe you save them for special occasions like detention with me?”
“I... I could smile,” he huffed, a shy edge still lingering in his voice.
She grinned wickedly, eyes sparkling with trouble.
“Yeah, I can see that now. Well, I’m bored, so let’s play a game!”
Bob blinked, perplexed.
Every time he thought he knew where it was going, she’d surprise him all over again, like she carried a whole world inside her, and he’d only started to see the boundaries of it.
“A game?” He glanced toward the empty teacher’s desk in the corner, wondering where their assigned supervisor was supposed to be—the one who should be watching over them instead of leaving two kids unsupervised to do as they pleased.
After all, detention was about reflection and remorse, not impromptu bonding sessions with the most unpredictable girl in school. However, Yelena nodded eagerly, undeterred by their situation.
“Yeah, twenty questions! Usually not my cup of tea—more Ava’s thing—but whatever," she practically bulldozed ahead, not even stopping for air. "Anywho, it’s a good opportunity to get to know each other. I’ll start! Mm, does it make your heart race… like when someone calls you cute?”
Bob’s eyes went wide as saucers, a fresh wave of heat flooding his already burning face. He choked on air, hands flailing for purchase on the edge of the desk. “W-what? I—uh—no, wait, that’s not how twenty questions works!”
Yelena bit her lip to stifle a laugh, clearly delighted by his meltdown.
“Is too! Yes or no answers only, Bob. Come on, heart race? True or false?”
“N-no! I mean—yes? No! Stop!” He buried his face in his hands and smudged his entire glasses in the process, peeking through his fingers like a cornered animal. The room spun. How was this his life now?
“Ha! I knew it,” she crowed, nudging his arm with her elbow. “Your turn. Make it good and don’t be nervous.”
“I... uh…” Bob stammered, peeking through his fingers as his mind raced for a safe question—something neutral. He adjusted his glasses, still pink to the ears. “Okay...i-is there... anyone who makes you nervous?”
Yelena blinked, momentarily thrown off.
For a beat too long, she didn’t have a quip locked and loaded.
Then she tilted her head, that sly grin creeping back.
“What, you fishing for a confession, Bob? Want to know who I have a crush on or something?”
He went redder than the bookmark he had tucked inside his books.
“N-no! I just—it’s a question! That’s how the game works, right?”
Her laughter filled the quiet classroom, as if it had been waiting there all day.
“Okay, okay, relax,” she said, leaning back in her chair and pretending to think, tapping her perfectly manicured nails against her lips. “Hmm…is there anyone who makes me actually nervous? Let me think…”
Her eyes flicked toward him briefly, just a flash, before she shrugged, feigning nonchalance.
“Mm, maybe once or twice,” she settled with. “But I don’t show it, huh?”
Bob smiled weakly, trying not to read too deeply into that split second of eye contact.
“I guess not,” he said. “You don’t really seem like the nervous type.”
“Oh, I am,” she countered lightly, grin returning in full force. “Just better at hiding it. It’s a skill.” Then she jabbed the pencil case she had on her desk at him like it was a weapon. “You, though? Terrible poker face. Like, Olympic-level bad.”
He groaned. “That’s… fair.”
“No, that’s a good thing,” she amended.
“Is it?”
“For me, yes,” she answered. “Next question’s mine, and I’m going for blood!”
Bob didn’t stand a chance, and they both knew it.
Yet strangely enough, he didn’t mind.
Yelena leaned forward again, eyes glinting like she was about to launch a missile.
“Okay, Bob Reynolds. Does it make your heart race when a girl like me sits this close?” she asked and then scooted her chair, her knee almost brushing his under the desk, that wicked grin daring him to squirm.
Bob’s breath hitched, his mind a whirlwind of yes-yes-yes-no-abort.
“That’s…a yes or no only?” he managed, voice cracking like thin ice.
“Mm,” she nodded and poked his arm, triumphant. “So spill.”
“Y-yes?” It slipped out before he could stop it, and he slapped a hand over his mouth, mortified.
Her laugh rang out again, softer this time, like she’d won something real.
“Gotcha. Your turn, poker face.”
He fumbled for a question—anything to shift the spotlight.
“Uh… do you actually like detention, or is it just the chaos?”
She smirked, popping her gum. “The latter. Chaos is my favorite! I mean, skydiving and bungee-jumping sound way more fun, but detention’s got that forbidden vibe, you know? Now my turn!"
They volleyed back and forth like that—her questions sharp and teasing (“Ever kissed anyone?”—he hadn’t, and she crowed), his shy probes (“Do you read books, or just blow them up?”—she did both, apparently). The room filled with her laughter and his stammered retorts, the empty teacher’s desk forgotten…
Until the bell rang one final time for the day, signaling that school was officially dismissed.
Bob blinked at the clock, perplexed that an hour had gone by like that.
Already?
He tried not to feel disappointment while he gathered his bag slowly, heart still thudding from her last nudge. It was the first time he’d ever talked to someone this long without it being a forced school project, group work, or polite small talk.
He hadn’t even known it was possible to lose track of time like that, words tumbling out despite his usual silences. He had convinced himself he liked being alone, buried in his books, and watching the world pass by without him.
Everyone connected in a way he never thought he could…until Yelena.
Yelena stretched, slinging her bag over her shoulder.
“That was fun, Bob! I’m hungry, do you want to get dinner after this? There’s actually an arcade nearby as well, and I’ve been trying to win this giant Guinea pig plush. I think I'm close to winning it and if today's the day, you can help me carry it home,” she asserted, tilting her head to the side, and his heart skipped a beat at her offer.
She enjoyed it, a tiny voice whispered.
His company.
However, reality crashed in fast; right after that, there wasn’t any chance. She was just bored—trapped with no one else, killing time. Popular girls like Yelena didn’t actually hang out with shy nerds like him. They lived in different worlds: hers, all spotlights and brightness in everything she does; his, books and quiet corners.
She’d been nice because that’s what cool people did—toss a crumb to the quiet kid.
That was all, and she was only inviting him out to avoid being rude.
By tomorrow, they’re back to strangers in the hall, him blending into the lockers, her lighting up the crowd. No way she actually meant it, but still, his throat tightened, the invitation hanging in the air like a trick question.
Dinner? Arcade? With him?
His brain screamed minefield, but his mouth betrayed him before doubt could win.
“Uh...y-yeah? I mean, sure. If you want.”
Her face lit up.
“Sure as a heart attack, Bob. There’s this burger joint two blocks over—greasy fries, heart-attack burgers, and they also make the best mac and cheese. Have you ever tried it? You have to, I swear I can live off it,” she chattered, leading the way and turning the door—
Before freezing, brows furrow together.
“Huh.”
Bob blinked, confusion knitting his own brows as he hovered behind her, bag slung over his shoulder. “Huh? Huh, what?”
She rattled the handle again—once, twice, harder this time that even Bob heard it—then stepped back with an exaggerated sigh, hands planting on her hips. “Well, it looks like the door’s locked.”
“What?” Bob echoed faintly, stomach dropping as he leaned past her to jiggle it himself.
“Mm,” she nodded, confirming it with a click of her tongue, arms crossing as she surveyed the barrier like it had personally offended her. “Well, this is going to be a problem, a very big problem. Bob?”
He glanced up at her, worry spiking through his chest because she looked far too calm, like she was already plotting something reckless. If there’s one thing Bob found out in the hour they were together, it was that this girl marched to her own beat.
“Y-yes?”
Yelena clasped a firm hand on his shoulder, her green eyes locking onto his with dead-serious intensity, accent thickening for emphasis. “Bob, just to let you know that if anything happens to me, you cannot eat my dead body.”
“What? I wasn’t going to,” he yelped, face flaming as his glasses slipped down his nose.
“Not now without my consent, you aren’t,” she shot back, completely straight-faced, like she was laying out a legal clause. “I also want my phone smashed to pieces. Ava gets my leather jacket, she has the body for it, and I guess Walker could get my baseball bat. He said he doesn't want it, but deep down, I know—”
“No, you won’t die of starvation or dilatation that fast,” he protested, pushing his glasses back up while his mind raced. He recalled, off the top of his head, that dehydration takes three days, but it’s the weekend. “Do you have a phone?”
Yelena nodded. “I do.”
“Great—”
“However,” she cut in with a dramatic wince, “Mr. Barton took it when he caught me using it during class. Gave it to my sister to take home, probably.”
He was too much in a panic to notice the irritation laced in her tone as he squeaked.
“What?”
“Mhm. Oh! That was why I got detention! I was texting in class,” she replied, and then shrugged like it was no big deal.
“Oh my God.”
“What about your phone?”
Bob pressed his lips into a thin line, fishing into his pocket to pull out his ancient flip phone—outdated, sure, but he’d never needed better. He flipped it open... and the screen stayed black. “It’s... dead.”
Probably been dead for a while, since he never texted or called anyone with it after moving out of his parents’ house. He never texted or called anyway; his part-time gigs tutoring every subject under the sun only required his laptop for Zoom sessions and screen sharing.
“Huh. Okay, I guess we’re in a pickle,” she mused, unfazed, pacing a tight circle before stopping to glare at the door. “No surprise, though. Valentina would do something like this to me—she hates me."
"Valen...you mean Principal de Fontaine?"
"Mm," she nodded. "Very evil woman. Probably wants to scare me by locking me here for the weekend, didn't think there would be someone else with me here."
He supposed that bias did exist (they’re all humans, after all), but for the principal to go this far?
Bob frowned deeper, unease twisting in his gut, but Yelena was already moving, peering out the nearest window at the four-story drop below. And then, she slid the window open with a decisive shunk, evening air rushing in, carrying the distant hum of traffic and a chill that made his stomach lurch.
“W-w-what are you doing?” Bob stammered, edging closer despite himself.
He hated heights.
Had a terrible, terrible phobia, but was he supposed to just stand there and do nothing?
“Hm? I’m going to go down, open up another window to climb in, and then come get you,” she declared, like it was the most obvious plan in the world, already dropping her backpack and hiking one leg onto the sill. “I already know where they hide the spare keys!”
“What? No way, you’re going to die!”
Yelena snorted, already half over the sill, wind whipping her hair like a flag of defiance. “No, I’m not, don’t be so dramatic, Bob! My daddy used to serve in the military and taught me how to get myself out of a pinch, so this is nothing!”
Bob immediately rushed over, heart slamming against his ribs.
“No, no, no! We’re going to find a different way!”
“Relax, Bob—”
She didn’t get to finish.
With a squeak of surprise, Yelena slipped on the window frame just as Bob lunged, his arms wrapping desperately around her waist to haul her back inside. Momentum betrayed them both, and they tumbled backward in a tangle of limbs, crashing to the floor with a thud that knocked the breath from his lungs.
Yelena landed sprawled on top of him, chest to chest, her body pressed flush against his in the sudden stillness. His arm stayed locked around her waist, instinctive and unyielding, while her hands splayed across either side of his shoulders for balance.
Their faces hovered inches apart—her green eyes wide, breath mingling in the charged silence, lips so close he could feel the warmth of her exhale. Cherry gum and adrenaline hung thick in the air between them.
For a heartbeat, neither moved.
And Bob’s world narrowed to the rapid thump of her heartbeat against his chest…
Or was that his own?
Her gaze flicked to his mouth, then back up, surprise melting into something almost all-consuming, unreadable. His grip tightened without thinking, fingers splayed across the small of her back, and he swore he felt her shiver.
“Y-you...” he whispered, voice hoarse, unable to look away.
She didn’t pull back or say anything.
Just stared, like she’d finally seen him—really seen him.
Bob unconsciously licked his lips, and Yelena’s breath hitched, a sharp, almost inaudible gasp that betrayed her cool exterior and promptly threw herself off him first, scrambling to her feet with flushed cheeks and ears turning a telltale red.
She huffed, looking anywhere but at him, brushing imaginary dust off her skirt.
“I told you I had it under control.”
Bob sat up slowly, his own face burning like a furnace, brain short-circuiting from the press of her body still ghosting against his skin. He adjusted his crooked glasses with shaky fingers, forcing words out before the silence swallowed them.
“Just... do you have a bobby pin?” he asked after feeling like he wasn’t going to go into cardiac arrest.
“A bobby pin?” Yelena echoed, finally glancing back, confusion creasing her brow.
“Yeah. Two?”
She blinked, then reached up without question, deftly pulling two slim pins from her hair. Stray blonde strands then tumbled loosely in the process, and Bob resisted the urge to help push them behind her ears.
“Why?” she asked, handing them over with a wary tilt of her head.
“Just trust me.”
Bob took them, knees wobbling slightly as he crossed to the door and dropped to one knee, bending the pins with practiced flicks of his fingers. Despite the lingering tension humming in the air like static, Yelena sidled closer, arms crossed, and let out a low whistle—genuine surprise lighting her face.
“Oho, Bob, you know how to lockpick? I guess you are a bad boy after all!”
He didn’t have the heart to dampen the mood by admitting he’d learned young, picking his parents’ front door to avoid sleeping on the porch since both parents were too checked out to bother with giving him keys.
According to them, he’d lose it anyway, even though they lost it more than him.
“I…uh…locked myself out a few times in my apartment,” he mumbled instead, a half-truth that slid the tumblers home. After a few moments of fiddling, a soft click echoed, and he pushed down onto the handle, the door swinging free.
Yelena’s grin exploded as she shot him a thumbs-up.
“Look at you, my superhero!”
For the first time in his life, something blossomed in Bob's chest, a warmth like sunlight breaking through fog, unfamiliar and fierce. He’d been helpful. A hero, even if just for something as simple as unlocking a door.
As a kid, he’d dreamed of becoming a hero, saving his mom from her endless gray days in the hands of his father, but reality had crushed that under neglect and silence. He’d almost forgotten it was possible to feel this—useful, seen—until her.
The girl he had fallen in love with during freshman orientation when she'd proven her heroic heart in a way no one else had after a chaotic archery mishap at orientation's "team-building" demo. Kate Bishop's stray arrow hit a bell, detaching it and sending it crashing down, and the entire archery club blamed her entirely.
Bob had seen the entire thing from the sidelines, trying to muster the courage to speak up.
Before he could, Yelena, who wasn’t even part of the group, strode right up and set the story straight. She didn’t care that she could become an outcast. She was the one whom people could rely on if they made a mistake.
And right now, in the span of an hour, the popular girl who saw past his glasses and stammers, treating him like he belonged in her orbit instead of fading into the background. Yelena slung her backpack over one shoulder, still grinning like he’d slain a dragon.
“Uh…i-it was nothing,” he finally mumbled, fingers fiddling with his sleeves shyly.
“It wasn’t just nothing! I was going to start eating your arms because I was actually starving,” she laughed, the sound bright and disarming as she punched his arm lightly. Bob flushed deeper, rubbing his arm with a shy grin.
“G-good thing I saved us both, then.”
Yelena looped her arm through his, tugging him toward the door.
“Damn right. Now you owe me fries for my near-cannibalism trauma. Let’s go, hero.”
For once, the world didn’t feel so lonely for Bob.
For once, he didn't feel like he needed his medications to quiet his doomsday brain.