[Luke’s POV]

I’m sprawled on Skye’s luxurious couch, the soft leather cool against my skin in the climate-controlled penthouse. The apartment has been immaculately restored since The Rapist’s attack, every trace of destruction erased as if it never happened. It’s a testament to the incredible resources at the Superstars’ disposal.

My thumb idly scrolls through my new iPhone, the screen’s soft glow illuminating my face in the dimly lit room.

‘Lotta Femcels in this world.’

Skye left for patrol about an hour ago, her reluctance palpable as she kissed me goodbye. Her emerald eyes had been clouded with worry, her grip on my hand almost painfully tight as she asked one last time if I wanted to wait at Star Tower instead. But I assured her I’d be fine here.

The quiet hum of the city below is suddenly interrupted by a soft popping sound. I look up from my phone, startled, to find Tyrell sitting next to me on the couch, steaming containers of Chinese takeout in his hands.

“Hey, buddy!” Tyrell greets cheerfully, his white helmet gleaming in the soft ambient lighting of the penthouse. “Hope you don’t mind me dropping in. You looked bored and hungry.”

I let out a sigh, a mixture of resignation and amusement coloring my breath. Tyrell’s sudden appearances are slowly becoming a strange constant in this new world.

“What do you have?” I ask, my voice tinged with curiosity despite my attempt at nonchalance.

Tyrell’s helmet tilts slightly, giving the impression of an eager puppy about to share a treat. “White rice, pork fried rice, and orange chicken,” he announces, the words muffled slightly by his helmet but filled with enthusiasm.

I push myself off the couch. My bare feet pad quietly across the polished hardwood floor as I make my way to the kitchen.

Reaching into a drawer, I pull out two spoons and I grab two plates from a nearby cabinet.

Returning to the living room, I hand Tyrell a plate and spoon. Tyrell stares at the spoon in his hand, his head tilting to one side in a gesture of confusion.

“What’s this for?” he asks finally, his voice filled with genuine bewilderment.

I blink, caught off guard by the question. “The rice,” I reply as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

Tyrell continues to stare at me, his blank helmet somehow conveying a sense of incredulity. The moment stretches, the air growing thick with unspoken confusion.

“You don’t eat rice with a fork?” he asks, his tone suggesting I’ve just proposed something utterly preposterous.

I sigh heavily, my shoulders slumping with the weight of annoyance. This is a conversation I’ve had countless times before, a debate that seems to follow me across universes.

“If you eat rice with a fork,” I explain, my voice tinged with exasperation, “it can slip through the prongs. A spoon is just more efficient.”

“That’s never happened to me before,” he says, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and pride. “I’m too elite for that shit.”

The words hang in the air between us, a testament to the strange, superhero-filled world I now find myself in. Here’s a man who can teleport at will, who’s fought battles beyond my imagination, and he’s bragging about his ability to eat rice with a fork.

Tyrell leans back into the plush leather of the couch, his posture radiating an air of superiority that’s almost comical given the subject matter. The takeout containers on the coffee table steam gently, their aroma filling the air with promises of savory delights.

Suddenly, Tyrell sits up straight again, his helmet swiveling towards me with an almost audible snap. “Wait a minute,” he says, his voice filled with a mixture of curiosity and disbelief. “Do you eat cake with a spoon too?”

The question catches me off guard, and I find myself nodding before I can even think about it. “Yeah,” I admit, the word coming out more defensively than I intended.

Tyrell erupts into laughter, the sound echoing off the high ceilings of the penthouse. “You’re a freak!” he chuckles.

I reach for the containers, the warmth seeping through to my fingertips as I lift the lid off the white rice. I scoop a generous portion onto my plate. Next, I do the same with the pork fried rice.

Tyrell, meanwhile, has piled his plate high with a little bit of everything. The orange chicken glistens atop a bed of white and fried rice.

As we settle back into the plush leather of the couch, Tyrell turns to me. His posture shifts, the playful energy from moments ago replaced by something more serious, more contemplative.

“Do you miss your old world?” he asks, his voice soft and tinged with genuine curiosity.

The question hangs in the air between us, weighty and profound. I feel a surge of emotions wash over me, grief, longing, fear, and an overwhelming sense of gratitude. My grip on the plate tightens slightly as I take a deep breath, steadying myself.

“Fuck no,” I reply, my voice raw with emotion. The words come out harsher than I intended, but they’re honest, stripped bare of any pretense. “I was with Skye in my last world, and she passed away from cancer. I had to watch the whole thing from her bedside at the hospital.”

I pause, swallowing hard against the lump forming in my throat. “It was the single worst thing to ever happen to me.”

Tyrell remains silent, his helmet angled towards me in a gesture of attentive listening.

I take another deep breath, feeling the weight of my next words. “To be with Skye again... it’s a gift every day,” I say, my voice growing stronger, filled with a fierce conviction. “Even with all the craziness of this world, the supervillains, the constant danger, having her back makes it all worth it.”

Tyrell nods at me. The movement is subtle, but I can sense a weight behind it, a depth of understanding that transcends words.

“What about you?” I ask, my voice gentle, inviting him to share his own story.

Tyrell’s posture shifts, his shoulders slumping ever so slightly. He sets his plate down on the sleek coffee table, the clatter of utensils against ceramic seeming unnaturally loud in the quiet penthouse.

“I miss my old powers,” he says, his voice tinged with a melancholy that tugs at my heart. He sighs, the sound long and weary, filled with the echoes of countless adventures and lost opportunities.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

“I told you before, how I think my old friends outgrew me.” He pauses, his helmet tilting slightly as if lost in thought. “So since then, I wasn’t used to spending too much time in any one universe or time anymore.”

The admission hangs in the air between us, heavy with unspoken loneliness and a sense of displacement that I find achingly familiar.

“I’ve been in this world for five years now,” he says, each word measured and deliberate. “And up until you came, I’ve been trapped in basically one place here.”

The revelation hits me like a physical force. Five years, stuck in a single location, for someone used to traversing time and space at will. The thought is suffocating, claustrophobic in its intensity.

“What did I do?” I ask, leaning forward, my food forgotten. “To get you out?”

Tyrell chuckles, the sound reverberating strangely through his helmet. “I don’t know, man,” he says, his voice warm with amusement and a hint of wonder. “My boss finally let me leave to protect you. It’s like... one day, the invisible chains just fell away.”

I nod slowly, my brow furrowing as I try to process his words. “Were they holding you hostage?” I ask, the words tumbling out.

Tyrell shakes his head.

“Nah, not hostage,” he says, his tone thoughtful. “It’s more like... my boss is keeping us inside. Protecting us, you know?”

He pauses, his posture shifting as he seems to consider his next words carefully.

“It’s complicated,” Tyrell continues, his voice taking on a mysterious edge. “I’ll explain more later when the time is right. For now, let’s just say that things are changing, and you’re at the center of it all.”

Suddenly, a gust of wind whips through the penthouse, causing the floor-to-ceiling curtains to billow dramatically.

In a blur of motion too fast for my eyes to track, Skye lands on the terrace.

Her face that truly captures my attention. Her emerald eyes, usually so warm when they look at me, now blaze with a fury that makes my breath catch in my throat. Her jaw is clenched tight, the muscles in her neck standing out in sharp relief. The air around her seems to crackle with barely contained energy, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

“Who the fuck are you?!” Skye bellows, her voice reverberating through the penthouse with such force that the windows rattle in their frames.

Before I can even process what’s happening, Skye charges forward. Her movement is a blur of color and power, the floor beneath her feet cracking under the force of her steps. She’s moving like a bullet, her target clear, Tyrell.

But Tyrell, ever quick on his feet, sees her coming. In the split second before Skye reaches him, there’s a soft ‘pop’ and a shimmer in the air. Tyrell vanishes, teleporting away in the nick of time. The space he occupied mere milliseconds ago now empty.

Skye’s momentum carries her forward, her fist connecting with the wall behind the couch where Tyrell’s head had been. The impact is thunderous, sending shockwaves through the building. Cracks spider-web out from the point of impact, pieces of plaster raining down onto the polished floor.

“FUCK!” Skye screams, her voice raw with frustration and rage. The sound is primal, filled with a fury that seems to shake the very foundations of the building. The lights in the penthouse flicker as if cowering from her wrath.

She whirls around, her cape snapping behind her like a whip. Her gaze lands on me, still seated on the couch. I feel the weight of her stare like a physical force, pinning me in place.

“Who the FUCK was that?!” Skye demands, her voice echoing off the walls. The intensity of her gaze is almost painful, like staring directly into the sun.

“That was Tyrell,” I say, my voice surprisingly steady despite the chaos unfolding around me. The words hang in the air, seeming to echo in the sudden silence that follows Skye’s outburst.

Skye’s emerald eyes widen, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. Disbelief, anger, and something that looks unsettlingly like fear flashes across her face in rapid succession. Her chest heaves with each breath, the fabric of her costume stretching taut across her muscular frame.

“He got into this apartment without tripping any fucking security measures?” Skye’s voice is low and dangerous, a stark contrast to her earlier bellowing.

I can see the manic energy building within her, like a volcano on the verge of eruption. Her emerald eyes dart around the room as if expecting Tyrell to materialize at any moment.

I shrug, the casual gesture feeling oddly out of place in the tension-filled atmosphere. “I didn’t know there were any.”

Skye’s gaze snaps back to me, her emerald eyes narrowing dangerously.

“You assumed I wouldn’t put security measures after what happened with The Rapist?”

The question hangs between us, heavy with implications. I can see the hurt in her eyes, the disbelief that I could think her so careless with my safety. For a moment, I’m struck by the depth of her concern, the fierce protectiveness that drives her actions.

I frown. “I don’t know,” I say softly, my voice tinged with a mixture of apology and honesty. The words feel inadequate in the face of her intensity, but they’re all I have to offer.

Skye’s expression shifts, the anger giving way to something more complex, a swirling mix of frustration, fear, and an overwhelming need to protect me.

In that moment, seeing her so raw and vulnerable, I’m overcome with a surge of affection. Without thinking, I close the distance between. My arms wrap around her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

I take a deep breath, gathering my thoughts before speaking. “Tyrell is my friend,” I say softly, my voice barely above a whisper. “He’s clearly an ally. He saved me from The Rapist, remember? And today, he even brought me Chinese food.”

As soon as the words leave my mouth, I realize my mistake. Skye’s emerald eyes widen, a storm of emotions swirling in their depths. Her gaze snaps to the coffee table where the containers of takeout still sit, steam curling lazily from their open lids.

In a blur of motion, Skye lunges forward. Her cape billows behind her like the wings of an avenging angel as she sweeps her arm across the table. The containers go flying, their contents splattering against the pristine white walls and polished hardwood floor in a chaotic explosion of color and aroma.

“What if he poisoned you?!” Skye screams, her voice raw with a mixture of rage and terror. The words seem to echo off the penthouse walls, reverberating through the space with an almost physical force.

I flinch at the intensity of her outburst, my heart pounding in my chest. Grains of rice and droplets of sauce rain down around us, the remnants of our interrupted meal creating a surreal scene against the luxurious backdrop of the apartment.

“He wouldn’t do that,” I say, trying to keep my voice calm and steady despite the adrenaline coursing through my veins. “Tyrell’s been nothing but helpful since I arrived here.”

Skye’s breathing is heavy, each exhale coming out as a low growl. The air around her seems to crackle with energy, making the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. Her emerald eyes, usually so warm when they look at me, now burn with an intensity that’s both terrifying and mesmerizing.

Skye’s hands shoot out, fingers curling around my face with a gentleness that contradicts the strength I know she possesses. She pulls me closer, tilting my head up to meet her gaze. I find myself staring into her eyes, drowning in those emerald depths.

“I am your one and only friend here, Luke,” Skye says, her voice low and intense.

I feel myself melting into Skye’s touch, her fingers warm against my skin. The intensity in her emerald eyes softens slightly, a flicker of tenderness breaking through the storm of emotions.

“I know,” I whisper.

Skye’s grip on my face loosens slightly, her thumbs tracing gentle circles on my cheeks. The gesture is soothing, a stark contrast to the chaos of moments before. Her emerald eyes search mine as if trying to peer into the depths of my soul.

“You’re far too trusting, Luke,” she says, her voice a mixture of exasperation and affection.

“I thought it’d be fine to be friends with him if he’s a guy,” I explain, my voice small and uncertain.

Skye’s brow furrows, a flash of frustration crossing her face. “It’s not someone I know or trust,” she says, her words clipped and tense.

She sighs heavily, the sound filled with a weariness that tugs at my heart. Her gaze drifts over my shoulder, scanning the debris-strewn floor of the penthouse. Suddenly, her eyes narrow, focusing on something behind me.

“Were you eating the rice with a spoon?” she asks her tone a mixture of disbelief and amusement.

I follow her gaze, spotting the offending utensil lying amidst a scattered pile of white rice. The spoon gleams under the soft ambient lighting, a lone survivor in the sea of culinary chaos.

I sigh in annoyance, the familiar argument bubbling up inside me. “Yes,” I say, unable to keep the defensive edge out of my voice. “It’s more efficient. The rice doesn’t fall through the-”

My words are cut off as Skye’s lips crash into mine. The kiss is fierce and possessive, filled with a desperate need that takes my breath away. Her hands slide into my hair, fingers tangling in the strands as she pulls me closer.

The world around us fades away, the scattered food, the tension of moments before, even the looming threat of unknown dangers, all of it disappears. In this moment, there is only Skye, her warmth, her strength, her unwavering presence.

As we break apart, both breathless, Skye rests her forehead against mine. Her emerald eyes, now soft and filled with an emotion that makes my heart skip a beat, lock onto mine.

“Forks are better.”