The cafeteria hummed with the clatter of trays and chatter of students as Peter ripped open a ketchup packet with a sharp tearing sound. Bright red condiment oozed out, and he methodically dragged the packet back and forth, smearing ketchup over the basket of golden-brown fries. Across the table, Brian idly prodded at his own lunch, the tines of his plastic fork pushing limp green beans around his tray.

"So let me get this straight." Peter punctuated the statement by scooping up a ketchup-drenched fry and popping it into his mouth. He chewed deliberately, eyeing Brian with a suspicious squint. "Tracer, the Overwatch hero, literally flies down onto your balcony. You two chat it up, then meet again at the park before going on some coffee date where Mercy just happens to show up?"

Brian's cheeks flushed, and he glanced around the bustling cafeteria, feeling exposed under his friend's scrutinizing gaze. "Keep it down!" he hissed, hunching his shoulders. "I know how it sounds, but I swear it happened just like that."

Surrendering with an open-handed gesture, he leaned in closer over the table's scratched surface. "Tracer gave me her number, and I don't know what to do."

Peter dragged another fry through the pool of ketchup, the red sauce clinging in thick streaks. He brought it to his lips, rubbing his chin thoughtfully before taking a bite. "Dad always says you gotta play it cool when a girl gives you her digits. Last thing you want is to come across as desperate or creepy by texting right away." He pointed the half-eaten fry at Brian. "Better to wait a day or two."

Nodding, Brian's gaze drifted off, his mind wandering despite the noisy lunchroom. "Yeah, but Tracer and Mercy?" He shook his head slowly. "They're not exactly normal girls. I mean, they could literally kill me without breaking a sweat."

"Exactly!" Peter smirked, slapping Brian's shoulder lightly and leaving a small ketchup-tinged handprint on the blue fabric. "Which is why I know you probably tell you have a raging crush on at least one of them." He raised an eyebrow mischievously. "C'mon man, spill. How you feel about Tracer?"

Sinking back into the hard plastic seat, Brian slipped his hands into his hoodie pocket, picking absently at a loose thread with his fingers. His mind drifted back to that electric night on the balcony, the image of Tracer illuminated against the moonlight. "She's just...incredible. Like a sun giving off this warm, vibrant glow." He cracked a smile, his cheeks pinking up slightly. "Talking with her is like sticking a fork in a light socket. One second, she's jetting around at a million miles an hour, telling these wild stories, and then she slows down and gets so...thoughtful. It's like she.. gets it, you know?"

A low whistle slipped through Peter's teeth. He polished off the last of his fries, draining his soda noisily through the straw. "I was gonna offer to hook you up with Sally Gianelli since her boyfriend's out of the picture. But sounds like your plate is full." He clapped Brian's shoulder again with his greasy palm. "Word of advice though? Dating an actual superhero isn't exactly like crushing on the hot TA in your Bio lab. She's a living legend, dude. I had Tracer stickers and action figures when I was a kid! If you manage to get anywhere with this girl, best be prepared for the sensory overload of a lifetime..."

Peter trailed off as Brian's eyes glazed over, his mind clearly somewhere else entirely. Peter rolled his eyes. "See? Zoning out already..." he teased under his breath. "So what's the verdict, lover boy? Level with me - this a full-blown crush situation?"

Pink crept higher onto Brian's cheeks as he remembered the flutter in his chest from when he'd first said Lena's name aloud. A faint grin tugged at the corners of his mouth. "no.." he admitted quietly.

"Huh?" Peter questions, brow furrowing.

Brian leans over, cupping his hands on the table and squeezing until his knuckles turn white. His gaze grows distant as he thinks about Lena and Angela. "I don't know how to explain it, but I don't know them that well. I admire them, but it's like..." He trails off, worrying his lower lip between his teeth for a moment. "It's like they aren't real."

Peter runs a hand through his chocolate brown hair, the furrows in his brow deepening. "You think they're liars or assholes or something, secretly?"

Brian shakes his head slowly. "No, no. It's just like I'm only seeing the front of everything. I feel like I'm wearing a blindfold when I'm with them." He pauses, studying a crack in the tabletop. "It's like I can't think clearly."

As Brian speaks, images flash through his mind – Lena laughing over her donut, Angela's hair catching the sunlight as they spoke on the street. But the scenes feel flat, two-dimensional, as if he's observing them through a pane of glass.

An arm wraps around Brian's shoulders, and Peter brushes his knuckles against Brian's cheek in an imitation punch. "Don't think about it too much. Check the risks, you know?" A lopsided grin tugs at his lips. "Like, best case scenario? You're best friends with an Overwatch babe. Worst case? You have your spine broken by Tracer. I know people who'd pay for that."

Brian laughs wryly, the sound dry as fallen leaves. "I might have my spine broken either way." He glances down at his scuffed sneakers.

"Why?" Peter arches an inquisitive brow.

"Ange–" Brian catches himself. "Mercy was really weird when we met at that coffee shop. Over tea, she kept asking all these personal questions, and I must have zoned out or something because I found myself rambling."

Peter shakes his head, chestnut locks swaying. "Angela and Tracer are friends, right? Former Overwatch squadmates or something?"

"Yes?"

"Then she's probably just a bit suspicious of you, my guy." Peter sits, extending a hand in a 'do you understand?' gesture. "For all she knows, you're some clout-chasing bloke who just wants to get laid."

Frowning, Brian shakes his head. "I don't think so. She was oddly affectionate, kept touching my arm. And she was kinda...pushy?"

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

Peter nods knowingly. "Maybe she's one of those psycho girls."

"What?" Brian furrows his brow.

"You know, yandere or something?"

"I...don't think so?" Brian runs a hand through his tousled hair. "Maybe she was just tired or had too much coffee"

"I think you're just a chick magnet." Peter smirks, standing. "If they have any friends, slide me their number?"

Brian's face scrunches up, and Peter laughs. "I would do it for you..." He trails off, heading toward his next class.

Brian closes his locker door with a metallic clang. Glancing down, he pulls up the blue sleeve of his hoodie to check the time on his weathered watch face. At least thirty minutes until Peter gets out of class and they can walk home together or grab some food.

A ding from his phone catches his attention - a notification that the VTuber he watched earlier uploaded a new clip to YouTube. He makes a mental note to check it out later.

For now, Brian retrieves a tablet from his backpack and unlocks it with a practiced movement of his thumb. The search engine's bar blinks, prompting him to type. His fingers hover over the keys for a moment before tapping out: "Tracer Overwatch."

Leaning back against the lockers, he waits for the results to load, curious eyes scanning the screen.

"247, Lena Oxton is here to see you." The gloved hand of a prison guard presses an icon on a tablet, the small Overwatch symbol in white emblazoned with a number on his chestplate.

The sound of a massive figure rising from a bed reverberates through the cell, followed by the thud of heavy footsteps. A white-bearded man emerges, his towering frame filling the doorway as he comes face-to-face with the guard and the Overwatch Liaison. A booming laugh rumbles from deep within his barrel chest as his holocuffs unlock.

"Lena! It's been too long!" The man's voice is a thunderous bellow, yet warmth rings in his tone.

The Liaison returns his laughter, her slight form seeming dwarfed beside him. "It's only been a week, you big lug."

Reinhardt's arms engulf her in a crushing embrace as she calls out his name. "You've gotten taller!" he bellows, squeezing tighter before placing her back on the ground.

Lena smooths her rumpled attire, grinning up at the imposing former hero. "And you've gotten a bit stronger." Her gaze roams his physique, impressed by his combat-ready form.

Reinhardt's eyes crinkle at the corners. "A disciplined body is a disciplined mind, young bird."

Nodding, Lena glances around the dreary cell. "I guess so. Do you mind if we go to the courtyard? This place is a bit too dreary for me."

She looks to the guard, who gives a curt nod from behind his masked visage. "Not for long."

After returning the nod, Reinhardt places a hand on the guard's shoulder. "Herschliff, danke. Ich bringe dir ein Bier mit."

"Ja, Spaß haben," Herschliff replies with a slight incline of his head.

As Reinhardt and Lena depart towards the gate, she flashes her badge, prompting the guard to grant them access outside to a serene green field. Vibrant flowers surround a grey stone fountain, adorned with a statue – a familiar winged Overwatch hero holding a caduceus, the marble figure seeming to watch over them with a serene gaze.

Reinhardt pauses, his one eye opening wider as if a hint of worry crosses his weathered features. "What has become of Dr. Ziegler?"

Lena turns her gaze toward the serene statue, her expression a mix of emotions. "She's fine. Just delving into her work." Her voice trails off, leaving an unspoken weight hanging in the air.

Taking a seat on a bench, she waits for Reinhardt to join her, the man having to scrunch awkwardly due to his enormous height. "She's been focused on rebuilding her staff for a while now. But recently, she's been...complicated."

Reinhardt nods, his expression stern yet neutral. "Even after years, she has not spoken to me. Only letters and messages." A wistful look flickers across his face. "I am glad she has purpose."

Lena tips her head back, eyes fixed on the winged figure immortalized in marble. "I'm worried about her." Her brow furrows as she recounts, "I met this guy, and I went on a walk with him, and we ran into her, and she...changed." Glancing at Reinhardt, her nose scrunches in confusion. "She got weirdly clingy, like holding him and prying. Hard."

Reinhardt's gaze lifts to the statue, a contemplative silence stretching between them. "You remember what she was like after the war. She hasn't spoken to me since then." His voice lowers, heavy with some unspoken meaning. "She is intelligent, but her emotions...they will be the death of her. Maybe she was just making sure he had no ill intentions. It has been several years since you've dated anyone."

Lena shakes her head vehemently, a tinge of pink coloring her cheeks. "I don't like him like that. I barely know him. We just chat about things from time to time."

"Sonntaslgrüen," Reinhardt rumbles, the German word rolling off his tongue.

"What?" Lena arches an inquisitive brow.

A fond smile plays across Reinhardt's lips. "It's good to discuss your thoughts. Let them out."

He places a massive hand on her shoulder, his touch gentle despite his immense size. "You are retired. Go live your life and try to be happy."

Lena covers his hand with her own, giving it a reassuring squeeze. "You shouldn't be in here. I could petition the board, ma-"

But Reinhardt cuts her off with a shake of his head, his expression resolute. "What's done is done. I have chosen my path. Let the world believe what they want." His gaze drifts to a tree, its branches bristling in the wind. "I would do anything to preserve this peace."

"So yeah, for two hours it's nothing but mildly surreal Hollywood stuff about some has-been actor. Then in the last five minutes, it turns into this movie about the bodyguard fighting a bunch of hippies with his dog. It's a weird movie, but I like it." Brian's gaze drifts towards a convenience store on the corner as he describes the old film his dad enjoys.

Peter arches a brow. "Wanna go back to your place and watch it?"

Nodding briefly, Brian agrees. "Sure, but let's grab some snacks first."

They veer towards the convenience store, the automatic doors hissing open to admit them. From the corner of his eye, Brian catches sight of a short girl in an oversized green and grey hoodie, a blue and orange baseball cap shading her face. Oversized black sunglasses and a mask obscure her features.

As she glances over at him, Brian's attention snaps forward to the array of drinks behind the glass-fronted coolers. "Yeah, just grab some sodas, man. I'll get the chips," Peter calls out.

Brian opens one of the cooler doors, his hand hovering over a green-labeled energy drink before grabbing it tentatively.

"Not a fan?" The muffled voice comes from the hooded girl beside him.

He shakes his head. "Not really. But a YouTuber I watch gets a cut whenever one of these is bought, so I might as well, you know?"

Studying the ingredients, Brian catches the girl tilting her head from the periphery of his vision. "Simp," she laughs, the sound light and melodic despite the teasing lilt.

A frown tugs at the corners of Brian's mouth, but he can't help the small smirk when her chuckle makes the mask shift, revealing flushed pink triangle marked cheeks peeking out.

"I just think she's cool," he admits with a shrug. "Wish I could meet her."

The girl nods, pondering his words. "I don't like celebrities. Most of them are secretly jerks or weirdos." Pointing to a blue-labeled energy drink of the same brand, she advises, "That's a good flavor. The green one's trash."

After thanking the omnic cashier, she turns to exit, tossing Brian a casual two-fingered peace sign over her shoulder as the door whooshes shut behind her.

"It's like dying of thirst watching another man drown."

Brian startles, jumping back against the glass door as Peter's unexpected words cut through his contemplative silence. "Shit!" His heart pounds in his chest as he whips around to face his friend.

Peter's gaze lingers on the hooded figure exiting the convenience store, a bemused quirk to his brow. Turning to Brian, he shakes his head. "I have no idea what's up with you, man. But you gotta teach me this whole philosophy poet thing."

A confused crease forms between Brian's furrowed brows as he tries to parse Peter's words Brian runs a self-conscious hand through his tousled locks. "I, uh..." He falters, feeling oddly off-kilter. "I didn't even say anything, dude."

Peter smirks, amusement dancing in his warm brown eyes as he gives an inscrutable shrug. "Sometimes you don't have to, my man."