Dawn broke with quiet reluctance over the skyline of Arcadia, bathing the city in cold gold. The glass windows reflected back a fractured sunrise, a jagged mosaic of fire and light. In a high-rise apartment far from the chaos of the street, two figures lay tangled in the afterglow of a night unlike any other.
Nightblade stirred first. He was not used to sleeping this long. For years, he had conditioned his body and mind to run on the bare minimum: two hours here, a power nap there. But Starflare's body was pressed against his side, her legs entwined with his beneath the tangle of sheets, and for once, he let the morning take its time.
Her hair, gold streaked with fire, spilled across his shoulder. The scent of ozone and warm skin lingered on the sheets. It was an unfamiliar stillness, a fragile peace that settled in the hollow between two warriors. They had been enemies, allies, and something stranger in between. Now, without masks or missions, they were simply human.
His fingers traced light patterns across the curve of her back, over a faint scar that ran diagonally along her ribs. He remembered that night—a rooftop brawl with a mercenary enhanced with heat-resistant armor. He had arrived too late to help her. She had nearly bled out. It had haunted him ever since.
Starflare murmured something in her sleep and shifted, drawing closer, her hand settling over his chest. He could feel the thump of her heartbeat against his side. Slow. Untroubled. The intimacy was almost overwhelming. Not the touch, but the trust it implied.
He exhaled quietly. Was this a mistake? Was it a breach of the silent rules they had written over the years in punches and banter? Or had this been inevitable since the first time they crossed paths, blades clashing and breath hitching as sparks flew between them in more ways than one?
A soft groan escaped her lips as she opened her eyes, blinking into the light. "You're awake early," she said, her voice scratchy with sleep but tinged with warmth.
"I never really sleep deeply," he replied. "Occupational hazard."
She sat up slightly, propping herself on one elbow. The sheet slipped from her shoulder, revealing a mosaic of bruises, battle-worn curves, and fresh marks from the night before. She didn't cover herself. There was no shyness in her gaze, only curiosity and a quiet hunger for understanding.
Her fingers ran down his torso, pausing at the largest scar just above his hip. "This one?"
"Sniper. Four years ago. Left lung collapsed. I patched it myself."
Her eyebrows rose. "Showoff."
He smiled, just barely. "You asked."
Starflare leaned down and pressed her lips gently to the scar. The kiss was not about lust. It was reverent. A thank you for surviving. A prayer that he would again.
"You always seemed invincible," she said softly. "Up on those rooftops. Always in control."
"I wasn't. I just pretended better than most."
She nodded, then rolled to her back, staring at the ceiling. "We're both good at pretending."
Silence settled between them, thicker than before. A silence full of choices yet to be made.
He propped himself on his elbow and looked down at her. "What happens now?"
She didn't answer right away. Her eyes traced the patterns in the ceiling, then moved to the window, where the light spilled like honey across the floor.
"I don't know," she said at last. "We keep fighting, I guess. But maybe not against each other."
"You think it'll be that simple?"
"Nothing ever is," she said, turning to face him again. "But I'm tired of pretending we don't want this. Even if it's only for now."
Her honesty pierced through him like a blade. He had built his life on control, on distance. But the walls he had spent years building now felt like cages.
"I don't know how to do this," he admitted.
"Neither do I," she said. "But maybe we figure it out together."
She reached up and cupped his face, drawing him into a kiss that was slow, exploratory, and filled with everything they couldn't say yet. It wasn't urgent like the night before. It wasn't about need. It was about recognition. Discovery. Trust.
As they parted, she tucked a strand of his dark hair behind his ear. "You have a nice face. It's a shame you hide it so often."
"It's not the face I'm hiding," he said.
"I know."
The honesty sat between them like a fragile glass sculpture. Neither reached for it. Not yet.
They got up eventually. The sun had climbed higher, casting long shadows through the blinds. She pulled on one of his shirts, the fabric oversized on her frame. He watched as she padded barefoot across the room to the small kitchenette, the glow of her skin catching the morning light in a way that made his chest ache.
She moved with grace, even now, even in this new softness between them. She poured coffee into two mismatched mugs and handed him one. "This isn't surrender," she said.
"I know."
"It's not some fairy tale ending either."
"I didn't think it was."
She sipped her coffee and smiled. "Then we're good."
He nodded.
But before either of them could finish their drink, the warning chime from Nightblade's comm went off. It was faint, a single vibrating pulse, but unmistakable.
He picked it up from the nightstand, already half-dressed in his mind. Starflare's smile faded as she recognized the look on his face.
"Trouble?" she asked.
"An alert from the eastern sector. A power surge near the grid. Unidentified interference."
Starflare set her mug down. "Could be Embershade."
"Or worse."
The moment cracked, reality seeping back in. The world hadn't stopped spinning just because they did.
She pulled on her suit with practiced precision, sealing the panels with quick gestures. The violet hue shimmered once again, hiding the softness of moments ago. He followed suit, donning the layers of black armor that made him Nightblade once more.
Before they stepped out into the hallway, he paused. "This doesn't go back in the vault," he said.
She turned, eyes narrowing slightly. "What do you mean?"
"I mean this… us. It's not just one night. Not to me."
Starflare studied him for a heartbeat longer, then nodded. "Good. Because I don't want to forget it."
The city outside roared, unaware that something had shifted.
Two heroes. Once rivals. Now allies, perhaps something more. Not bound by destiny, but drawn together by the thin threads of choice, vulnerability, and a craving for something real in a world built on masks.
They leapt into the morning together, side by side, ready to face whatever shadows Arcadia would throw at them next.