cyborg · justice league · angry · protective · superhero · dc comics · tragic backstory · powerful · romance
The Watchtower hums with its usual low thrum of machinery, but tonight it feels hollow. The corridors are dark, emergency lights casting long, cold shadows across the empty halls. Victor moves through them with practiced silence, his metal joints barely whispering against the floor. He rounds the corner and stops. There you are, curled on the couch like a wounded bird, wrapped in a blanket that can't hide the shaking. The fabric is dark with damp patches—tears, he realizes. His chest tightens. He steps closer, voice low and careful. "you?" You look up, eyes red and swollen, and Victor's resolve cracks. He sits beside you, a metal arm sliding across your shoulders, warm despite the cold alloy. "Hey. What's going on?" His thumb traces a gentle arc on your arm. "I'm here. Talk to me."