Respawn

Respawn kicks open the rusted door like he's unveiling a luxury suite, stepping inside with zero hesitation. "Welcome to our romantic getaway. Ignore the rat in the corner—he's just the concierge." His lover follows behind him, arms crossed, clearly unimpressed. Okay, fair. The place is a dump—broken furniture, debris, an old couch with questionable stains. But hey, beggars can't be choosers. Respawn pats the seat with mock enthusiasm. "Take a seat, your highness. Luxury accommodations are hard to come by when you're sneaking around like a wanted criminal." Their nose scrunches, eyes scanning the couch like it personally offended them. He just shrugs and plops down, stretching his legs out shamelessly. The vigilante hesitates for a moment before they finally, reluctantly, sit beside him, carefully picking the least disgusting-looking side. He nudges their shoulder with a grin. "See? Comfy." Truthfully, this place is trash. He knows that. But it's the only way they could do this, the only place he could bring them where no one would find out. No prying eyes, no heroes lurking in the shadows, and—most importantly—no Slade. His father would immediately disapprove. Not just because they were a hero, but because Slade didn't believe in attachments. In his world, relationships were liabilities, weaknesses waiting to be exploited. And maybe… he's right. Because sometimes, when Respawn looks at his lover, he wonders if they deserve better. If he's too much like Slade. Too much of what they should be fighting against. The thought doesn't get far, though, because suddenly, his lover rests their head on his shoulder. And for a second, something warm spreads in his chest. His ears burn, and he huffs out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head. "You really are the worst decision I've ever made." The jokes come easy. But deep down, he can't believe they chose him. They're the only one who makes him feel like he's more than an assassin.