Archive of Our Own

Everything had been going well.

The Red Ring was no longer a problem for Torrance; Shroud and his crew were behind bars, Z-Team had finally been recognized as heroes, and the company was putting real effort into the Phoenix Program.

And Mandy?

For once, she got to be just that, Mandy. No suit, no expectations, no need to step in as Blonde Blazer. She had space to breathe without the weight of it constantly pressing in.

Her gaze dropped to her phone.

Blonde Blazer on Temporary Hiatus Following Red Ring Incident.

The response had been what was expected—shock, disappointment, but mostly understanding. SDN had framed it cleanly. She needed rest, and with Torrance’s rising heroes, the city would be in good hands.

The public bought into it easily. Support poured in, people hoping the golden girl of SDN was taking care of herself.

Mandy stared at the screen for a moment longer before locking it.

They thought she was resting.

They weren’t entirely wrong.

Mandy heard the knock just as she finished signing the last line on the report in front of her. She closed the folder and set the pen aside, glancing towards the door.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Mandy’s gaze lifted automatically, only to pause when she saw who was standing there.

“…Phenomaman.”

He stood inside the doorway, hands loosely folded behind his back, looking as composed as he always had. He regarded her in silence, as if confirming something to himself, then stepped fully into the room and closed the door behind him.

Mandy leaned back slightly in her chair, studying him, then gestured towards the chair across her desk.

“If this is about jurisdiction over the harbor patrol again,” she said evenly, “you’ll have to take that up with—”

“It isn’t.”

His voice was quieter than she remembered.

Mandy’s brow lifted faintly as he moved towards the chair and sat down, his posture careful in a way that suggested he had rehearsed this conversation far more than he would ever admit.

For a moment, neither of them spoke.

Then he said, “I have been attending therapy.”

Mandy blinked once.

“…Therapy?”

“Yes.” He inclined his head slightly. “The Z-Team insisted.”

A faint huff escaped Mandy’s nose before she could stop it.

“I’m sure they did.”

Phenomaman watched her quietly, then folded his hands together. “It has been… educational.”

Mandy leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms loosely. “And this educational experience brings you to my office because…?”

He hesitated, briefly.

Mandy noticed immediately. Phenomaman rarely hesitated; he had always been the type to say exactly what was on his mind.

“I realized,” he said slowly, “that when we were together, I understood many things about you.”

Mandy didn’t respond, but her gaze stayed on him as he continued.

“You prefer your coffee black, though you will add sugar if you have slept poorly. You dislike meetings scheduled before eight in the morning.” His gaze softened slightly. “When you are overwhelmed, you tend to rub the bridge of your nose.”

Without thinking, Mandy’s hand lifted toward her face—she caught herself halfway and lowered it, her brow tightening.

“…You didn’t come here to recite my habits, did you?”

“No.” Phenomaman held her gaze steadily. “I came here to apologize.”

The room fell quiet. Mandy watched him for a long moment, then dropped her gaze to the desk, nudging the folder into alignment with the edge of the blotter.

“For what?” she asked at last.

His voice remained calm, though there was a weight behind it now.

“For believing that knowing those things meant I understood you. In truth, I was observing you the way I would observe an unfamiliar culture. I catalogued your preferences, your routines, your behavioral patterns,” he explained, his hands tightening slightly together. “But I did not consider how you felt.”

Mandy exhaled.

“And when we didn’t fit that understanding,” Mandy continued, “you tried to force it to make sense.”

Phenomaman didn’t deny it. His gaze remained steady on her as he folded his hands together.

“…Yes,” he said after a moment. “I did.”

Mandy let out a small, humorless laugh and leaned back further in her chair, one arm resting against the armrest.

“Well,” she said dryly, “I’m glad therapy cleared that up.”

The pause that followed lingered a little longer than either of them seemed comfortable with. Phenomaman’s gaze drifted briefly towards the corner of her desk where a small bottle of headache medication sat beside her laptop before returning to her.

“You have been working late,” he said after a moment.

Mandy frowned faintly. “That’s not unusual.”

“You also skipped dinner.”

Her eyes lifted sharply.

“…What?”

“There is a café three blocks from here that you frequent on evenings when you forget to eat,” he explained calmly. “The lights were already off when I passed by it tonight. You also have not opened the new bottle of medication in your desk drawer yet, which suggests—”

“Phenomaman.”

He stopped.

Mandy looked at him, her expression tightened, as she sat forward slightly in her chair.

“You said you came here to apologize,” she said, her voice controlled but strained.

“Yes.”

“But you’re doing it again.”

His brow furrowed faintly. “Doing what again?”

“This!” Mandy gestured vaguely between them. “Listing things you’ve noticed, analyzing my routine… treating me like a case study.”

“I was attempting to demonstrate that I have been paying attention—”

“That’s the problem!”

The words came out sharper than she intended. Mandy pushed her chair back slightly, ran a hand through her hair, then let it fall back to the desk.

“You walk in here… telling me you’ve been to therapy and suddenly you’re attentive and considerate and noticing when I skip dinner,” she said, frustration creeping into her voice despite her attempt to keep it level. “You’re listening… actually listening and you’re also apologizing.”

Her gaze lifted back to his.

“You’re acting like the partner I kept asking you to be when we were together!”

The words hung heavily between them.

For the first time since entering the room, Phenomaman looked genuinely taken aback. Mandy let out a shaky laugh and shook her head, the motion more tired than amused.

“Do you have any idea how unfair that is?”

He didn’t answer immediately, and the silence stretched long enough for the tension in Mandy’s shoulders to tighten further.

“You couldn’t do this when we were together,” she continued, her voice tightening despite her efforts to keep it steady. “You couldn’t listen then, and you certainly couldn’t apologize.” She gestured towards him again, the movement sharper this time. “But now you show up months later and suddenly you’re so understanding and actually trying to—”

She cut herself off, pressing her lips together as she exhaled slowly through her nose.

Phenomaman’s shoulders lowered slightly as he regarded her. “I understand why that would hurt,” he said quietly.

Mandy let out a faint, disbelieving laugh under her breath. “Do you?”

“Yes.” He held her gaze, his voice steady. “Because you needed this version of me then and I did not give it to you.”

The blunt honesty of it made Mandy go still, her throat tightening as the words settled. For a moment, she didn’t trust herself to speak.

Phenomaman shifted slightly where he stood, his hands folding neatly behind his back as he continued. “I cannot change that. I cannot return to the past and correct my behavior, but I can acknowledge it, and I can speak honestly now.”

Mandy didn’t move, her gaze dropping back to the desk, lingering anywhere but on him.

“I am acting this way because I care about you,” he said simply. “That has never changed. I never stopped caring about you, Mandy.”

The words lingered between them for a beat before he added, softer this time, “I am sorry.”

Mandy didn’t know how to feel, and that was the problem, because at the same time, she was feeling everything.

She thought she had already moved on from had been pulled back open, raw and unsteady. The frustration, the confusion, the hurt she’d long since buried under work and routine—it all came rushing back at once, tangled with something she hadn’t expected to feel again.

Relief.

It sat uncomfortably alongside everything else, making it worse.

Her thoughts swam, too loud, too fast, until she couldn’t hold onto any one of them long enough to make sense of it. She forced herself to look at him—at Pheno—

No.

Katon’Ur.

And all she saw was sincerity.

No deflection, no distance, no quiet condescension hidden beneath careful words. Just honesty, laid bare in a way that felt almost unfair. It had always been the thing that set him apart, the thing that made him… easier to trust than most.

Too honest. Too transparent.

And right now, Mandy hated it.

Her jaw tightened as she straightened in her chair, forcing her expression back into something controlled, something neutral.

“If that’s all,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt, “please leave. I have things to finish.”

He hesitated.

“But—”

“Please.”

The word came out quieter this time, but firmer.

Phenomaman stilled, his expression shifting, subtle, but there. For a brief moment, he looked almost… unsure, as if weighing whether to say more, to stay, to push—

But he didn’t.

“Of course,” he said at last, inclining his head slightly. “I will be out of your way.”

He turned without another word and walked towards the door, his movements as composed as ever. The soft click of the door closing behind him echoed through the office.

Mandy watched it a second longer than necessary.

Then she exhaled sharply and leaned forward, burying her face in her hands as everything she’d been holding in finally pressed in all at once.

She wanted to scream.

To get up, to leave, to fly—just to put distance between herself and everything she was feeling, everything she hadn’t realized was still there.

But she didn’t.

She stayed where she was, elbows braced against the desk, her hands pressed firmly against her face as if that alone could hold everything in place. Her breathing was uneven at first, shallow and tight, before she forced it to steady, dragging in a slow breath and letting it out through her nose as her hands slid down and came to rest against the desk.

Her gaze dropped to the folder in front of her, still neatly aligned, its edges straight and undisturbed. Mandy stared at it for a moment, then pulled it closer and flipped it open, trying to anchor herself in routine. Her eyes skimmed the page, but the words refused to settle, blurring together no matter how hard she tried to focus.

“…Focus,” she murmured, her grip tightening slightly on the paper.

It didn’t work.

She leaned back in her chair and pressed her fingers briefly against her temple, closing her eyes for a moment, but even that didn’t help—not when the conversation kept replaying, each line clearer now that he wasn’t there to interrupt it.

He hadn’t argued or tried to make her words easier to live with. He had taken it, acknowledged it, and apologized.

Mandy exhaled slowly, her hand lowering back to the desk as she stared ahead.

Because you needed this version of me then.

Her jaw tightened.

“…Yeah,” she muttered quietly, the word slipping out before she could stop it.

The weight of it sat heavier now that he was gone, settling somewhere she didn’t want to look too closely at. She pushed back from her desk and stood, the chair rolling slightly behind her as she paced a few steps across the office, stopping near the window, her arms crossing loosely as she looked out at the city below.

Everything kept moving out there—cars passing, lights shifting, people going about their night—completely indifferent to the way her thoughts refused to settle.

“He couldn’t do that before,” she said quietly, more to herself than anything else, her fingers tightening slightly against her sleeves. “So why now?”

The question lingered longer than she wanted it to.

Because people change.

The thought came uninvited, shaking her head slightly as she turned away from the window and walked back towards her desk, slower this time, her gaze flickering briefly towards the door before she forced it away.

She sank back into her chair, resting her elbows against the desk as her fingers pressed lightly against her temple again.

She should feel better. That was what this was supposed to be, closure. He had apologized, and he meant it. He understood now, in a way he hadn’t before, and that was everything she had asked of him back then.

So why did it feel worse?

Mandy let her hand fall back to the desk, her shoulders lowering slightly as the tension settled deeper instead of easing, her gaze drifting over the surface of it without really seeing anything.

“…Because it’s too late,” she said.

The words didn’t feel as certain as she wanted them to.

Her attention shifted back to the folder, lingering for a moment. She pulled it toward her again and forced herself to read, slower this time. It took effort, more than it should have, but eventually the words began to stick, one line at a time—enough for her to pick up her pen and sign where she needed to.

Work. Just work.

It was easier to hold onto that than anything else.

“Yikes, Miss Mandy, you look like you got hit by a truck. You okay?”

Mandy barely registered Prism’s voice at first, her attention still elsewhere as she stepped out of her office and pulled the door shut behind her. The corridor was louder than she expected, filled with overlapping voices and the restless energy that usually came at the end of a long week, and it took her a second to place why the entire Z-Team was gathered around Robert’s cubicle.

Her gaze moved across them, slow, before dropping briefly to her watch.

Right. End of shift, and it was Friday.

Of course they were here.

She adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, her expression settling into something neutral out of habit, though her eyes drifted again.

He wasn’t there.

The realization settled in faster than it should have and lingered longer, too.Mandy looked away almost immediately, like she hadn’t noticed anything at all.

Prism, unfortunately, noticed everything.

She stepped closer, head tilting slightly as she studied Mandy’s face. “No, seriously,” she said, squinting a little, “you look off. Like… really off. Did something happen?”

“I’m fine,” Mandy said, a touch too quickly.

Prism’s brows lifted.

Across them, Robert glanced over mid-conversation, his attention catching on the exchange. “You sure?” he called out, more casual than Prism, but his gaze lingered.

Mandy straightened slightly. “Just a long day.”

“Then that means you definitely need a drink,” Prism said immediately, brightening as she hooked a thumb towards the rest of the group. “Perfect timing, we’re heading out. You should come!”

A few of the others chimed in almost immediately, the invitation picking up momentum.

“Yeah, come on!”

“It’s Friday!”

“You actually say yes sometimes, it’s been a while!”

Mandy huffed faintly under her breath at that, the corner of her mouth twitching just enough to acknowledge it. She did go with them, occasionally; more than they liked to admit, less than they tried to push—but tonight the thought of sitting in a crowded bar, of keeping up with conversation, of pretending she wasn’t still replaying everything from earlier.

Her grip tightened slightly against the strap of her bag.

“Not tonight,” she said, her voice even but firm. “I have things to finish.”

Prism’s brows lifted, glancing briefly towards Mandy’s office before looking back at her. “You just came out of your office.”

“And I still have things to finish,” Mandy repeated without missing a beat, her tone leaving little room for argument.

Prism sighed dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Unbelievable. You like drinking and yet—”

“Another time,” Mandy cut in, already stepping past them.

Her pace stayed steady and composed, but just a touch quicker than usual as she moved towards the exit, her attention fixed ahead this time, like she was making a conscious effort not to look anywhere else.

Robert watched her go, his expression shifting slightly as the moment lingered longer than it should have. It wasn’t anything obvious—Mandy still carried herself the same way she always did, but something in the way she moved, in how quickly she shut the invitation down despite usually giving in at least a little, didn’t sit right.

He glanced back at the others, who were already slipping back into their usual behavior, arguing over where to go.

“Hey,” he said, cutting in as he grabbed his jacket. “You guys go ahead tonight.”

A few of them turned immediately.

“What? Since when do you pass?”

“Seriously?”

Robert shrugged, already stepping away. “Got something to take care of.”

Prism narrowed her eyes at him. “That’s really suspicious.”

“Whatever,” he said over his shoulder, not slowing. “You’ll live.”

They grumbled, but the moment passed quickly, the group already shifting back to their plans as they started heading out together.

Robert lingered long enough to make sure they were gone before turning towards the hallway Mandy had taken, his pace unhurried as he followed after her, already knowing where she could be heading.

“You know, brooding is more of Robert’s thing, not yours.”

Mandy startled at the voice behind her, her steps faltering slightly as she turned. Courtney faded into view beside her a second later, a smirk already in place like she’d been there the whole time.

“Courtney—” Mandy pressed a hand briefly to her chest. “You’re going to give me a heart attack. I told you not to do that.”

Invisigal lifted both hands in mock surrender, her grin widening. “My bad, sorry boss. Won’t do it again…” She tilted her head, eyes glinting. “For now.”

Mandy rolled her eyes, a beat late, then turned back toward the hallway and kept moving. Courtney fell into step beside her, hands slipping into her pockets as they walked, their footsteps echoing faintly down the corridor.

“So,” Courtney said after a moment, glancing at her from the side, “what’s got you all broody like that?”

“I’m not brooding,” Mandy replied, her gaze fixed ahead.

“Mm.” Courtney hummed, unconvinced. “Sure you’re not.”

Mandy didn’t respond, but the slight tightening of her grip around her bag strap gave her away more than anything else. Courtney noticed, her expression shifting—not losing the teasing edge entirely, but sharpening into something more observant.

“Because from where I’m standing,” she went on, more casually now, “you look exactly like Robert when he’s overthinking but he won’t admit he’s overthinking.”

“I said I’m fine.”

“And I said I don’t believe you.”

They walked a few more steps in silence before Courtney spoke again, glancing at her from the side. “What, did something happen in your office? Or did someone say something they weren’t supposed to—”

She trailed off mid-thought, the situation clicking into place as her brows lifted.

“…Oh.”

Mandy’s steps slowed just a fraction.

The elevator doors slid open with a soft chime. Courtney stepped in first, Mandy following after, and the doors closed behind them with a quiet click that sealed them into the small, contained space.

Courtney glanced at her. “Let me guess,” she said lightly, like it was nothing more than a passing thought. “P-man, huh?”

Mandy stiffened.

It was subtle—just a slight pause in her movement, a tightening at her shoulders—but it was enough.

Courtney caught it immediately.

“…Okay,” she said, slower this time, her gaze lingering on Mandy’s profile. “That’s a yes.”

“It’s nothing,” Mandy replied, a little too quickly.

“Right,” Courtney muttered. “And I’m usually visible.”

Mandy shot her a look.

“There’s nothing to it,” she added, her tone controlled but thinner.

“Sure,” Courtney said easily, though her eyes flicked over her again, taking in the tension she wasn’t quite hiding. “You just look like you’re about two seconds away from either punching someone or walking off a building.”

“That’s not—” Mandy stopped herself, her jaw tightening as she looked away, her reflection staring back at her faintly in the elevator doors.

Living together had changed things. Courtney knew more than most—more than she probably should—and while some of that came from habits she’d since dropped, most of it now came from paying attention to Mandy. The way she carried herself when something was off, the small habits she never pointed out, and the rare moments when Mandy actually let things slip—usually when she’d had too much to drink, or too much built up to keep holding in.

“I’m fine,” Mandy said again after a moment, quieter this time, though it lacked the earlier edge.

“Yeah, okay,” Courtney replied, glancing at her. “Yeah, okay. I’ll pretend I believe you for now.”

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the ground floor, and the doors slid open.

Courtney pushed off the wall and stepped out first, Mandy following behind her as they made their way towards the exit. Courtney leaned lightly against the wall for a second as they stepped outside, the shift in air grounding in a way the hallway hadn’t been, before straightening again and falling back into step beside her.

“You know,” she said after a beat, “closure’s supposed to make shit easier.”

“Yeah,” Mandy said, the word coming out flat.

“But here you are,” Courtney went on, glancing at her. “If you still had your amulet, I’d feel bad for the next asshole that pisses you off.”

That earned an unexpected laugh from Mandy.

The silence that followed lingered. Mandy shifted her weight slightly, like she was about to say something, when the door opened behind them.

Robert stepped out, shrugging his jacket into place as his gaze moved between the two of them. His expression started casual, but it didn’t stay that way, not once his attention settled on Mandy.

“There you are,” he said. “You left pretty quick.”

“I have things to do,” Mandy replied, a little too quick.

“Yeah,” Robert said, though he didn’t sound convinced, his gaze lingering a second longer than necessary. “You sure you’re okay?”

“I’m fine.”

Courtney huffed under her breath. “That’s what she’s been saying.”

Mandy shot her a look again.

Robert’s mouth twitched faintly, but his attention stayed on Mandy. “Right,” he said. “Just checking.”

A brief pause settled between them before Courtney pushed off the wall, slipping her hands back into her pockets.

“I’m passing on the bar tonight,” she said. “Gonna head home with her.”

Robert didn’t hesitate. “Yeah, same.”

Courtney looked at him, one brow lifting.

He shrugged, like it didn’t mean anything. “Figured I’d check on her.”

Mandy’s jaw tightened faintly. “I don’t need—”

“I know,” Robert cut in easily, not pushing, his tone light but steady. “Doesn’t mean I can’t.”

Mandy didn’t respond, her gaze shifting away as she adjusted her bag slightly on her shoulder.

Courtney watched the exchange for a second, the corner of her mouth twitching faintly then she looked ahead again, choosing—for once—not to comment on it.

“…Come on,” she said instead, starting forward. “Before Prism texts me ten times asking why I ditched.”

Mandy sighed and fell into step beside her.

Robert followed a second later, unhurried, his attention drifting back to Mandy more than once as they walked. Mandy didn’t look at him, but she was aware of it all the same, the weight of it settling quietly alongside everything else she was trying not to think about.

The walk settled into a quieter rhythm a few blocks out, the city noise filling in the space between them as Mandy kept her pace steady, her gaze fixed ahead. Courtney stayed at her side without effort, matching her stride, while Robert lingered just a fraction behind before eventually falling in step beside them.

It didn’t take long until Courtney broke the silence.

“You know,” she said, glancing sideways at him, “you didn’t have to come with us.”

“I know.”

“Mm.” She tilted her head slightly. “And yet.”

“It’s on the way.”

“It’s not.”

“It’s close enough.”

“That’s not the same thing.”

Robert shot her a look. “It’s like ten minutes.”

Courtney’s mouth twitched. “Whatever helps you justify it.”

“I don’t need to justify it.”

Mandy glanced at them briefly, then looked away again, choosing not to step in.

The exchange faded as quickly as it started, the three of them slipping back into step as the quiet settled in again.

By the time they reached the apartment building, Mandy slowed near the entrance, pulling her keys from her bag as Courtney moved ahead and pushed the doors open.

“Home sweet home,” Courtney muttered, holding it open, long enough for Mandy to step through before letting it swing shut behind them.

Mandy paused in the lobby as Robert followed in behind them.

“…Thanks,” she said, quieter now. “You didn’t have to walk us back.”

Robert shrugged like it hadn’t been a decision at all. “It’s fine.”

“Still. Thanks.”

He glanced at her briefly, then looked away. “Yeah. If you need anything… I’m around.”

Mandy’s expression softened. “I know.”

From a step ahead, Courtney huffed. “Wow. That was smooth. Real subtle.”

“Courtney.”

“What?” she said, turning back with an innocent look. “He’s just around.”

Robert rolled his eyes. “Can you not—”

“I’m just saying,” she cut in, grinning. “Skips drinks, walks home with you, then offers support—”

“Courtney,” Mandy said, sharper this time, cutting her off before she could keep going.

That did it.

Courtney held up her hands in surrender. “Alright, I’m done.”

Mandy didn’t respond. She looked away, the moment lingering a beat too long as Robert shifted slightly.

“I’ll… head out,” he said.

Mandy nodded once. “Yeah. Stay safe, Robert. Goodnight.”

He gave a small nod, then turned, pushed the door open, and stepped out into the night, the doors swinging shut behind him.

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then Courtney glanced sideways at Mandy, her expression lighter, but still a little too knowing. “…You want me to actually stop, or—”

“Yes.”

Courtney let out a laugh. “Alright. Noted.”

Mandy shook her head slightly and turned towards the stairs. “Come on.”

Courtney fell into step beside her easily, the teasing dropped for now.

Courtney hit the elevator button and when the doors slid open, they stepped inside together. Mandy stayed quiet the whole way up, keys still in her hand, her gaze fixed somewhere ahead but not really seeing anything. Courtney leaned back against the wall, watching her for a second before looking away again, letting the silence sit.

She didn’t push.

The elevator dinged softly at their floor. Mandy moved first, unlocking the door as they reached it, stepping inside, slipping off her shoes in one smooth motion, and setting her bag on the table.

“Home,” Courtney muttered as she followed in, kicking the door shut behind her.

Mandy didn’t answer. She moved further into the apartment, ready to just be alone in her room.

Courtney noticed, of course.

She watched for a moment, then turned towards the kitchen instead of saying anything, opening the fridge and pulling something out.

“You ate?” she asked, casual.

Mandy paused. “…Not yet.”

“Figured.”

That was it.

No follow-up. No teasing.

Mandy leaned back against the counter, arms folding loosely as she watched Courtney move around the kitchen, preparing something for her.

After a minute, Courtney set a plate down in front of her without comment.

Mandy glanced at it, then at her, and picked up the fork.

Courtney leaned back against the counter, arms crossing loosely. “You don’t have to figure it out tonight,” she said after a beat, her tone easy, not pushing.

Mandy didn’t look up. “I’m not trying to.”

“Yeah,” Courtney said. “I know. Just reminding your stubborn ass.”

Mandy finally took a bite, slower than usual, more out of obligation than hunger.

Courtney watched her for another second before pushing off the counter. “I’m gonna shower,” she said. “Try not to just poke at your food all night.”

Mandy gave a faint nod, not looking up.

Courtney paused for half a second, like she might say something else, then didn’t. She turned and headed down the hall, the bathroom door closing a moment later.

Left alone, Mandy stayed where she was, her gaze drifting without really landing anywhere.

After a moment, her grip tightened slightly around the fork. She set it down, pressing her fingers briefly to her temple as she closed her eyes.

“…It’s too late,” she murmured.

But it didn’t sound as certain this time.

Mandy stayed in the kitchen longer than she needed to, long enough for the apartment to settle around her. The hum of the fridge and the distant sound of the shower should’ve helped, but it didn’t do much tonight. After a while, she pushed off the counter and headed to her room, the door clicking shut behind her as the space immediately closed in.

She set her bag down on the floor, then sat on the edge of the bed. It had been easier when he wasn’t there. Distance had made it manageable; she’d packed everything away—unfinished, maybe, but contained enough to ignore. Tonight had undone that.

Back then, he had always been attentive. He remembered things about her but it always felt like he was observing her instead of understanding her, like she was someone to study instead of someone to meet where she was. She had tried to explain it more than once, even when she didn’t quite have the words for it herself—that it wasn’t about knowing, it was about being there, about responding, about actually feeling things with her instead of stepping back to analyze them.

He had listened. He just hadn’t understood.

Not then.

Her fingers tightened against the fabric of the bed.

Now he did understand and that was what made it worse. The memory of his voice surfaced again, steady and certain in a way that had always been so distinctly him—

because you needed this version of me then.

Her jaw tightened. “…Yeah.”

She had. She had needed him to listen, to meet her halfway, to stop trying to make everything make logical sense and just be there. And he hadn’t. Not until it didn’t matter anymore.

Mandy leaned forward, elbows resting on her knees, pressing her hands briefly against her face as she tried to steady the spiral before it picked up again. It was supposed to be closure, he apologized, he meant it. He understood now. That should’ve been enough to put things to rest, to let her move on without anything lingering.

Instead, it felt like everything had been pulled open again; uneven, unresolved, not clean in the way she needed it to be.

Because there had been good parts too, and that was the part she didn’t like thinking about. It hadn’t all been frustrating conversations and misunderstandings. There had been moments where things had felt easy, where his presence had been steady, where his certainty, even when misplaced, had still felt like something she could rely on.

He had cared. Just not in the way she needed.

Mandy leaned back against the bed, staring up at the ceiling as the thought settled in. And now he did. Now he could say the right things, respond the right way, meet her where she was and she didn’t know what to do with that.

Her lips pressed together. “…It’s too late.”

It didn’t sound as certain as she wanted it to.

Her gaze drifted towards her phone at the side of the bed, lingering there for a moment as if that might offer some kind of distraction, but she didn’t reach for it. It wouldn’t change anything. He had apologized. He had meant it. And somehow, that made everything harder instead of easier.

Mandy closed her eyes, her hand resting briefly against her forehead as the weight of it settled, persistent in a way that refused to ease.

Not yet.

Mandy was already at her desk by the time the office had properly filled out, her laptop open and a half-finished report pulled up on the screen in front of her. The morning had passed quickly—quiet and uneventful in the way she had needed it to be and now she sat with her posture straight, fingers moving steadily across the keyboard as if nothing had been out of place at all.

It had taken effort to get there.

She hadn’t meant to fall asleep the night before. One moment she’d been sitting on the edge of her bed, her thoughts looping in ways she couldn’t quite untangle, and the next she’d woken up sometime past midnight, still in the same position, the room dark and too quiet around her. She’d managed a few hours after that, restless and shallow sleep that didn’t quite feel like rest, but it had been enough to get her through the morning.

Enough to function.

She’d kept things simple after that. The same routine she always fell back on when she needed to go on autopilot. Courtney had noticed, she always did, but hadn’t pushed, which Mandy appreciated more than she said. They moved around each other with ease, the silence between them not strained or awkward, just comfortable.

By the time Mandy left the apartment, she had already decided what the day was going to be.

Normal, or at least close enough to it.

And so far, she had managed.

Her gaze flicked to the corner of her screen, then returned to the document. Her fingers paused for a second, then continued. Emails answered, schedules reviewed, reports finalized. No room for anything else.

No room to think about—

Mandy’s jaw tightened slightly.

She didn’t finish the thought.

She straightened slightly in her chair and refocused on the line in front of her, reading it once, then again, making a small adjustment and moving on. It was easier like this.

A knock came at her door, enough to pull her attention away.

Mandy’s fingers stilled briefly over her keyboard before she leaned back slightly in her chair, her expression already smoothing out by the time she looked up.

“Come in.”

The door opened.

It wasn’t him.

Mandy didn’t react, the tension gone as quickly as it came, her posture remaining composed as she waited for whoever stood at the door to speak.

Still, the feeling lingered longer than it should have.

“What?”

Luke scratched the back of his neck as he stood across from her desk, already regretting that this had somehow landed on him instead of PR or Marketing. Then again, one look at Mandy and he had a pretty good idea why.

Annoyance was already building, subtle, but there. He could see it in the way her posture had gone a touch too still, in the way she was holding her pen a little tighter than necessary. He followed the movement briefly, then looked away, deciding it was safer not to dwell on it. If she still had her powers, he had a feeling this conversation would’ve gone very differently.

He kept that thought to himself.

Luke was one of the few in HR who had access to her full records, one of the few who knew she was Blonde Blazer, and that alone made this entire situation feel a lot more delicate than it should have been. Which was probably exactly why the request had been routed through him.

Straight from higher management.

“A podcast feature,” he said, more carefully this time. “They want Phenomaman on as a guest… and SDN thinks it’s better to have Blonde Blazer there as well.”

Mandy didn’t say anything.

Luke shifted slightly, pushing through. “It’s audio-only. Recording will be done here in SDN. The host’s already agreed to keep things contained, Phenomaman will be in the studio with him, and you’ll be patched in from your office.”

He hesitated for a fraction of a second before adding, “Minimal exposure. No one else needs to know.”

The words hung there, careful, but not enough to soften what he said. Not after her recent conversation with Phenomaman.

Mandy didn’t respond right away.

Her pen tapped once against the desk, then stilled. Her grip tightened as she stared at the report without really reading it.

“…No.”

It came out flat, immediate.

Luke blinked, caught off guard. “Ma’am, I—”

“No,” Mandy repeated, finally looking up at him. “Decline it.”

He gulped, already bracing himself. “It’s not exactly framed as optional.”

“That doesn’t change my answer.”

Luke hesitated, then tried again, more carefully this time. “It’s a joint appearance. They’re pushing it as a relevant pairing.”

Mandy’s expression didn’t change, but something in her posture did—subtle, but enough to tell he’d hit the right nerve.

“I’m aware of what they’re pushing,” she said flatly.

He nodded once, continuing despite it. “They think it’ll get traction. Especially with… recent developments.”

That made her still.

Of course it would.

Phenomaman’s name had been circulating more lately, especially after his recent… adjustments. Public perception had shifted. The narrative was clean, easy to sell.

Growth. Accountability. Redemption.

And apparently, they wanted her tied into that.

Mandy set the pen down on her desk a little harder than intended.

“They don’t get to use me to complete that story,” she said.

Luke didn’t argue, but he didn’t back down either. “We’ll do what we can to keep the focus away from your… past relationship,” he said carefully, choosing each word. He hesitated, then added, “It might be better to get ahead of it before it turns into something bigger or gets taken in a direction you wouldn’t want.”

Mandy exhaled through her nose, her gaze shifting to the side, then returning to him.

“And if I say no?”

Luke held her gaze this time. “The higher-ups gave this as an order, not a request.”

A beat passed, Mandy’s jaw tightened.

Of course they would corner her like this.

This wasn’t just a request, it was something decided long before it ever reached her desk.

Luke softened his tone slightly. “You’ll have full control over what you say. You don’t have to engage beyond what you’re comfortable with.”

Mandy let out a short, humorless laugh at that, leaning forward again as her fingers tapped once against the desk.

“They’re putting me in a conversation with him,” she said. “There’s no version of that that’s neutral.”

Luke didn’t answer right away, because she wasn’t wrong.

After a moment, he said, “It’s scheduled for later this week.”

Mandy’s gaze flickered briefly, before settling again.

“Fine.”

Luke sighed in relief, not pushing anything further. “I’ll let them know that you have been informed.”

Mandy didn’t respond, already looking back at her screen as if the conversation had ended.

Luke took that as his cue.

“I’ll send the details to your email later,” he said, stepping back. “PR should be briefing Phenomaman as well.”

Mandy gave a faint nod without looking up.

“Thank you, Luke.”

As the door closed behind him, the room lost its calm.

One of these days, Brainbook was probably going to ask how Mandy kept pulling her off dispatch just to watch her pace holes into her office floor in the middle of the workday.

Not that anyone would call it abuse of power. If anything, it was preventative. A branch manager on the verge of snapping was a bigger problem than a few missed minutes on comms, and Brainbook knew it. Either her or Invisigal had become the designated buffer whenever Mandy got like this.

“The higher-ups really like poking the bear, huh,” Brainbook said, leaning back in her chair as she watched Mandy pace. “And by bear, I mean you.”

Mandy dragged a hand through her hair, already mid-turn before the words fully landed. “It’s just—I don’t like this. Not right now.”

It wasn’t just the podcast. Not just the conversation with Phenomaman that still sat wrong in her chest no matter how she tried to file it away. On top of that, she’d been buried in reports, meetings, and everything that came with audit season, bouncing between departments more than usual.

She’d been talking to Jade from Finance more than anyone else this week.

“I figured,” Brainbook said easily, spinning her pen once between her fingers. “You’ve been snapping at your inbox all morning.”

“I’m not snapping,” Mandy shot back.

“You declined three meeting extensions in under five minutes.”

“They were unnecessary.”

“Mm,” Brainbook hummed, unconvinced. “And the pacing?”

Mandy stopped long enough to look at her before turning again. “I’m thinking.”

“You’re spiraling.”

“I am not—” Mandy cut herself off, exhaling sharply as she pressed her lips together.

Brainbook didn’t push. She watched her a second longer, then spoke again. “Is it the podcast?”

Mandy’s steps slowed.

“…It’s everything,” she said, which wasn’t an answer, but it was close enough.

Brainbook nodded once, like she understood exactly what that meant. “You don’t have to say yes.”

Mandy let out a short, humorless sound. “That’s not really how this works.”

“It can be,” Brainbook said. “You’re the branch manager.”

“And they’re still the higher-ups,” Mandy replied, finally stopping, her arms crossing as she leaned back against her desk.

Brainbook tilted her head slightly. “Then just control it.”

Mandy frowned. “Control it how?”

Brainbook shrugged lightly. “If they want the appearance, give them the appearance. Doesn’t mean they get the narrative.”

Mandy didn’t respond right away, her gaze drifting slightly as she considered it.

Because that was the problem, wasn’t it? They already had a story in mind and they wanted her in it.

Mandy’s jaw tightened faintly.

“…I hate that you’re making sense right now.”

Brainbook smiled slightly. “I do that sometimes.”

Mandy huffed, pushing off the desk as she started pacing again, slower this time.

“Still doesn’t mean I want to do it,” she muttered.

“I didn’t say you had to want to,” Brainbook replied. “Just that if you’re going to be in it, you might as well not let them run it for you.”

Mandy didn’t answer, but she didn’t dismiss it either.

The setup was exactly how Luke had promised.

Mandy sat in her office with the headset settled over her ears, the mic angled right, a small recording interface set neatly on her desk. Somewhere downstairs, in one of SDN’s smaller studios, Phenomaman was seated across from the host.

No cameras. No audience. Just audio.

It was safer that way.

“Alright, we’re live in three… two… one…”

A brief pause followed before the host’s voice came through, polished and practiced. “Welcome back, everyone! Today we have a special feature! Joining us is Phenomaman, one of SDN’s most talked-about figures recently, and, joining us remotely, the legendary Blonde Blazer!”

“Thank you for having us,” Phenomaman said, his voice steady, composed in that familiar way.

Mandy steadied herself, then responded, her tone even and professional. “Glad to be here as well.”

The distinction was clear, this wasn’t Mandy speaking. This was Blonde Blazer.

The host began where expected, easing into questions about Torrance, recent operations, and the aftermath of the Red Ring incident. Mandy answered cleanly, keeping everything measured and focused, redirecting when needed without making it obvious. Phenomaman followed the same rhythm, and for a while, the conversation moved with an ease that almost felt rehearsed.

They didn’t talk over each other. They didn’t interrupt. They adjusted around one another naturally, leaving space where needed.

“And with everything that’s happened recently,” the host continued, his tone shifting enough to signal a turn, “there’s been a lot of interest in how both of you have grown. Individually, and—”

“I think it’s more important to keep the focus on the work,” Mandy cut in, her voice still even but firmer now. “There are a lot of people involved in keeping Torrance safe, and it’s not just about us.”

The host adjusted immediately. “Of course, absolutely.”

Phenomaman didn’t speak.

Mandy didn’t look at anything in particular, but she felt it—that pause from him, that awareness.

He let her lead.

“…Then let’s talk about that,” the host said, pivoting smoothly. “The Phoenix Program has been getting a lot more attention lately—”

Mandy took the opening without hesitation, shifting the conversation fully into safer territory. She spoke about the program, about its importance, about the work being done, the structure, the oversight.

For a while, it held.

Until the host circled back.

“Phenomaman,” he said, “there’s been a noticeable shift in how you’ve approached your role recently. Would you say that’s been influenced by your experiences working alongside Blonde Blazer?”

Mandy didn’t move, but she stilled.

Phenomaman didn’t answer right away. When he did, his voice was calm.

“Yes.”

The host leaned in. “In what way?”

There was a brief pause before Phenomaman continued, measured as ever. “In understanding. There are aspects of working with others, of being part of a team, that I did not fully grasp before. That has changed.”

It was careful, deliberate, but still honest.

Mandy’s fingers stilled completely against the desk.

“And how did that shift happen?” the host pressed.

This time, Phenomaman didn’t hesitate. “Through failure,” he said.

Mandy’s jaw tightened slightly, her gaze lowering for a second before returning to neutral.

“I made errors in how I approached people,” he continued. “In how I understood them. That resulted in consequences.”

He didn’t elaborate. He didn’t need to.

The host took this opportunity and asked, “and how do you move forward from that?”

Phenomaman’s answer came just as steady. “By acknowledging it, and ensuring it is not repeated. And by listening.”

Mandy closed her eyes briefly, then opened them again, straightening slightly in her chair.

“Growth is necessary in this line of work,” she said, stepping back in smoothly. “But it’s not something you declare. It’s something you demonstrate over time.”

Her tone remained controlled, professional, giving nothing away.

Phenomaman didn’t interrupt.

“…Agreed,” he said.

The conversation moved on after that, returning to safer ground, but something had shifted. Mandy could feel it, not in what was said, but in what wasn’t—how easily he had adjusted, how deliberately he had held back.

It was everything she had wanted before.

And sitting there, listening to it now, she found she didn’t know what to do with it.

The recording ended smoothly.

A soft click in her headset, the producer thanking them, the line going dead and just like that, it was over.

Mandy didn’t move right away.

Her hand stayed near the console, fingers still, her gaze fixed somewhere past the screen as the silence settled back into place.

No missteps. No awkward turns she couldn’t recover from. The conversation stayed where she wanted it, and when it drifted, she pulled it back without much effort. Even the parts that edged too close never fully crossed the line.

And Phenomaman—

Mandy exhaled slowly through her nose.

He matched her pace. Let her take the lead when she needed to. Kept things where they belonged.

It was… easy. Her fingers curled slightly against the desk.

That was new.

Mandy leaned back in her chair, her gaze shifting to the side like that might break the thought before it settled too deep, but it didn’t.

“Through failure.”

The words came back, steady and unshaken.

She exhaled sharply, shaking her head like that would clear her thoughts.

Mandy pushed herself up from her chair and crossed the room, stopping near the window as she folded her arms loosely. The city outside moved like nothing had shifted, like everything was exactly where it was supposed to be.

It looked fine from the outside too.

PR would be happy. The higher-ups would get exactly what they wanted, something easy to sell. Growth and redemption. A narrative that fit neatly together without any rough edges.

It worked. That was the problem.

Her gaze dropped, unfocused, her thoughts looping back to the same point without quite landing anywhere solid. He said the right things, carried himself the way she had asked him to before, met her where she needed him to during the conversation.

Mandy let out a sigh, pushing herself away from the window as she walked back towards her desk. She reached for her laptop, reopening the document she’d been working on earlier, her fingers hovering for a second then she forced herself to type.

She needed the distraction.

Then her hand stilled again.

“By listening.”

Mandy shut her eyes briefly, her fingers pressing against the keys before she pulled them back.

“…Stop,” she muttered under her breath.

She leaned back in her chair, dragging a hand down her face.

Her mind refused to settle.

The days after the recording blurred together, busy and relentless in a way Mandy usually preferred.

Audit season had taken over her schedule completely. Meetings stacked over meetings, reports needing approval, departments circling back with revisions that only led to more revisions. If she wasn’t in her office, she was on another floor, and if she wasn’t there, she was looped into another call. It left little room to think, which was exactly the point.

Jade glanced over the report again, then back at Mandy. “So this is the one from yesterday?”

Mandy nodded, already skimming through the notes. “Yeah. Flambae got there first.”

Jade made a face. “That explains the fire.”

“It started contained,” Mandy said, flipping a page. “Then it wasn’t.”

“And the flooding?”

“Waterboy,” Mandy replied, like that alone answered everything.

Jade let out a quick laugh, shaking her head. “Of course it is.”

Mandy didn’t look up. “He was trying to put it out.”

“I figured,” Jade said. “Just… maybe not that much water next time.”

Mandy’s pen paused briefly before continuing. “We’ll work on that.”

Jade leaned back slightly, still looking at the report. “At least no one got hurt.”

“Yeah,” Mandy said. “That’s what matters.”

Jade nodded once, letting it settle as Mandy returned to her notes, and the conversation slipped back into its rhythm—checking details, ensuring the accuracy of the reports, another incident to finalize and move past.

A knock sounded against the door.

Mandy didn’t look up. “Come in.”

The door opened, and Robert stepped in, pausing inside as his gaze flicked between them. “Oh—” he said, already taking a step back. “You’re busy.”

Jade had already caught it.

“It’s fine,” she said, standing and gathering her tablet. “We’re done anyway.”

Mandy frowned slightly. “We still need to—”

“I can take it from here,” Jade cut in easily, already moving towards the door. “I have to head back to my office anyway.”

She gave Mandy a small nod, then slipped past Robert, who stepped aside to let her through.

The door closed behind her with a soft click.

And just like that, it was only the two of them.

“What do you need, Robert?”

He lingered by the door for a second before stepping further in, one hand brushing the back of his neck like he was still deciding how to say it.

“Nothing work-related,” he said. “I just—” he paused, then let out a small breath. “I wanted to ask you out to dinner.”

Mandy’s gaze lifted to him.

“Dinner,” she repeated, like she was testing the word.

“Yeah,” he said. “Just… us two.”

Mandy didn’t answer immediately. Her fingers tapped once against the desk, then went still, her attention drifting for a second, then snapping back to him.

“I have work,” she said.

“I know,” Robert replied. “I wasn’t asking you to drop everything right now.”

Mandy exhaled lightly through her nose, glancing at the stack of reports in front of her before looking back at him.

“Tonight,” he added. “After you’re done.”

That made her pause. She should say no. It would be easier. There were enough reasons to leave it there, to keep things where they already were.

But instead—

“…Fine,” she said. “Tonight.”

Robert blinked once, like he hadn’t expected the answer, then nodded. “Yeah? I’ll pick you up.”

Mandy raised a brow. “From where, exactly?”

He gave her a look. “We’re literally on the same floor, Mandy.”

That earned a quick laugh from her. “Right.” She glanced at her watch, then looked back at him. “Seven.”

“Seven works.”

Robert stepped back towards the door, one hand already on the frame. “I’ll see you then.”

Mandy nodded, a faint hint of a smile still lingering as she reached for her pen again. “See you, Robert.”

He left, the door closing softly behind him, and Mandy dropped her attention back to the report in front of her.

Maybe this was what she needed.

Seven came faster than Mandy expected.

One moment she was still working through the last of her reports, the next she was closing the final document, sending off the last email, and leaning back long enough to realize there wasn’t anything left she could reasonably stall with. She gathered her things, then looked at the small mirror she pulled out from her bag.

She fixed a stray strand of hair, adjusted her collar, smoothed the crease of her sleeve. Mandy frowned slightly at her reflection. She didn’t know why she was bothering.

A knock came a second later.

“Come in.”

The door opened, and Robert stepped in.

“Hey,” he said, glancing at her briefly, nodding once. “You good?”

Mandy reached for her bag, slinging it over her shoulder. “Yeah, let’s go.”

They stepped out into the hallway together, and it didn’t take long before they crossed paths with Z-Team.

Of course they did.

Prism was the first to notice, her gaze flicking between them as something bright and knowing settled into her expression. “Oh,” she said, drawing it out just enough. “You’re both leaving.”

Mandy didn’t break stride. “We’re done for the day.”

“Mm,” Prism hummed, unconvinced.

Sonar glanced over from where he was leaning, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly. “Have a good night.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Invisigal added, her tone casual, though her eyes lingered on Mandy for a second longer.

Mandy rolled her eyes faintly, but didn’t stop walking.

And then she felt it. Her steps didn’t falter, but her gaze shifted enough to catch him.

Phenomaman stood a little apart from the others, not quite removed, but not fully part of the moment either. His attention was already on her.

There was a weight in his gaze she couldn’t ignore—muted, and restrained.

It made her chest tighten.

For a second too long, she held his gaze. Then she broke it.

Robert said something beside her—she caught the tail end of it, enough to respond—but her attention didn’t fully settle back until they’d passed the group and the noise of the floor faded behind them.

Once they were in the elevator, the quiet felt different.

Mandy exhaled slowly, adjusting the strap of her bag before glancing at him. “So,” she said, keeping her tone light, “where are we going?”

Robert leaned back slightly against the wall, hands in his pockets. “I made a reservation.”

Mandy’s brow lifted. “Oh?”

“Yeah.”

She looked at him for a second, then tilted her head slightly. “So who were you bringing if I said no?”

Robert didn’t hesitate. “I would’ve gone alone.”

Mandy chuckled. “That’s kind of sad.”

“It’s food,” he said. “I’m not canceling good food.”

She smiled faintly at that. “Fair.”

He shrugged. “Or I would’ve dragged Chase with me.”

Mandy let out a laugh. “That’s worse.”

“Yeah,” he admitted. “He would’ve complained the entire time.”

“I think he would just make fun of you.”

The elevator dinged softly as the doors slid open, and the moment moved with it.

Mandy stepped out first, the conversation easing into something lighter. But somewhere at the back of her mind—

That look lingered longer than she wanted it to.

Dinner went better than Mandy had expected.

It wasn’t awkward. The conversation moved easily—work at first, then lighter things, small observations, the kind of back-and-forth that didn’t need effort to keep going. Robert kept it simple, didn’t push, didn’t try to make it more than it was.

For a while, Mandy let herself settle into it.

She even found herself relaxing, shoulders easing, a smile lingering longer than she realized as she responded to something he said. The food helped, the space helped—being away from the office, from the noise, from everything that had been piling up.

Then Robert leaned forward slightly. “I’m glad you came,” he said, his tone quieter now, more deliberate.

Mandy looked up at him, catching his expression.

“I wasn’t sure you would,” he added, a small smile pulling at the corner of his mouth. “You’ve been hard to pin down lately.”

She huffed softly. “I’ve been working.”

“I know,” he said, holding her gaze a second longer. “Still nice to finally get you to sit still for an hour.”

Mandy’s brow lifted slightly at that, the corner of her mouth twitching before she shook her head. “Don’t get used to it.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he replied. “But I might try again.”

That was it. Mandy felt it settle immediately.

“Robert.”

The way she said his name was enough to make him stop.

Her expression hadn’t hardened, but it had changed—pulled back, more careful now, more distant than it had been seconds ago.

“I don’t think this is going to work.”

Robert leaned back slightly, the shift immediate, though he didn’t look surprised, just resigned, maybe.

Mandy exhaled, her gaze dropping briefly to the table before lifting again. “I’m sorry,” she added, softer now. “I know—” she hesitated, then pushed through it, “—I know how you feel. I just… can’t return it.”

Silence settled between them, heavy in a way that didn’t leave much room to move around it.

Robert watched her for a second, sighing.

“…It’s him, isn’t it.”

Mandy stilled.

Her instinct was immediate—deny it, redirect, shut it down the way she had everything else.

“The tension’s not subtle,” Robert continued, not accusing, just stating it plainly. “And he—” he paused briefly, choosing his words, “—he was off earlier.”

Mandy’s fingers curled slightly against the edge of the table.

“I didn’t think much of it at first,” he added. “Then I mentioned I was asking you out.”

That made her look up.

Robert met her gaze, steady.

“…Yeah,” he said quietly. “That confirmed it.”

Mandy didn’t speak, didn’t know what to say with the information laid out in front of her.

Robert leaned back a little more, running a hand briefly over the back of his neck before letting it drop. “I’m not great at this,” he admitted, an awkward laugh slipping out. “But… I think you two need to talk.”

Mandy frowned slightly. “Robert—”

“I’m serious,” he said, not pushing, but not backing off either. “Whatever that is—” he gestured lightly between them, meaning her and Phenomaman, “—it’s not settled.”

Mandy’s gaze dropped again, her jaw tightening faintly.

“It’s affecting you,” he added. “Both of you.”

She didn’t respond, because she knew. She just hadn’t wanted to admit it out loud.

Robert watched her for a second longer before nodding once, like he’d said what he needed to.

“I’m not saying it changes anything,” he added, quieter now. “Just… don’t ignore it.”

The conversation didn’t end there. It shifted instead. They both tried; Robert kept things light, and Mandy met him where she could.

Somewhere along the way, she started talking about her and Phenomaman.

There were moments where the control she usually held slipped slightly. The frustration showed through, along with the confusion she hadn’t managed to shake no matter how much she buried herself in work.

Robert didn’t interrupt. He listened, offering the occasional comment, not as anything more, just as someone trying to understand.

By the time they finally left, the awkwardness had eased into something more natural between them.

Robert insisted on taking her home, getting a cab for the both of them. The city moved around them, lights passing by in a steady rhythm, and for a moment, Mandy let herself sit in it without thinking too much about anything else.

It didn’t last.

The taxi slowed as it pulled up in front of her apartment complex.

Mandy reached for the handle, already halfway out then stopped.

“…You’ve got to be kidding me.”

Robert leaned slightly to see past her.

Standing outside the entrance, like he’d been there for a while, was Phenomaman.

Mandy leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes for a second. “No.”

Robert let out laugh. “Wow.”

“Don’t.”

“The universe really hates you, huh.”

“Robert.”

“I’m just saying,” he added, glancing back at her, “this is terrible timing.”

Mandy groaned, dragging a hand down her face before turning back towards him. “Can I stay at your place?”

Robert blinked once.

Then let out a short laugh.

“After you just rejected me?” he said, raising a brow. “Come on, Mandy.”

She shot him a look, but there wasn’t much weight behind it. “I’m serious.”

“So am I,” he replied, still light, but steady. “You’ll be fine.”

Mandy exhaled sharply, glancing back towards the entrance again where Phenomaman hadn’t moved.

“…I hate this,” she muttered.

Robert smiled faintly. “Yeah, I can tell. ”

She lingered for another second, then pushed the door open and stepped out, the night air hitting a little colder than she expected.

Behind her, Robert leaned slightly towards the open window.

“Good luck,” he said.

Mandy didn’t look back. “You’re the worst.”

“Thank you.”

The door shut.

And just like that, there was nowhere else to go but forward.

She wished, for a brief moment, that she had Invisigal’s invisibility. It would’ve made this easier—slipping past, avoiding the conversation entirely—but she didn’t have that option, and pretending she hadn’t already seen him standing there wasn’t going to work either.

“Katon’Ur, what are you doing here?” Saying his real name felt unfamiliar on her tongue, despite how naturally it used to come.

Phenomaman turned at the sound of it, the reaction immediate. Surprise flickered across his face for a second then his expression settled, composed and steady as his gaze found hers.

“Mandy…” He started, “I came to speak with you.”

Mandy adjusted the strap of her bag on her shoulder, glancing briefly towards the entrance behind him before looking back. “You could’ve done that during the day.”

“I attempted to,” he replied. “You were occupied.”

“That tends to happen during work hours,” she replied, a little dry.

“I am aware.”

Mandy glanced briefly toward the entrance behind him, then back at him, her expression tightening into a more guarded look. “So you decided to wait outside my apartment?”

“Yes.”

Mandy stared at him, unimpressed. “That’s not strange to you?”

He tilted his head slightly, considering it. “I believed it would be more appropriate than interrupting you again.”

That earned a small, disbelieving huff from her. “Right.”

“I am here,” he continued, unbothered by the comment, “because there are aspects of our previous relationship that remain unresolved.”

Mandy’s shoulders stiffened slightly. “I thought we already dealt with that.”

“We acknowledged them,” he said, his tone even. “That is not the same as resolving them.”

Mandy shook her head slightly, then looked back at him, her expression tightening. “And what exactly are we supposed to resolve that we haven’t already?”

Phenomaman held her gaze steadily. “You.”

That made her still.

“And how my actions affected you,” he continued. “Beyond what I have already stated.”

Her fingers loosened slightly against her bag as she frowned slightly. “You already apologized.”

“Yes… but,” he began, pausing just enough to choose his words. “That doesn’t erase the impact,” he said simply. “And it doesn’t account for all of it either.”

Mandy looked away again, her thoughts catching up in a way she hadn’t prepared for.

“You picked such a great time,” she muttered.

“I did not intend to inconvenience you.”

“You’re standing outside my apartment, Katon’Ur.”

“I am aware.”

Mandy exhaled, her shoulders dropping slightly as she looked back at him. “This isn’t something you just show up for and fix.”

She let that sit for a second, her gaze drifting before settling back on him. There was something frustrating about him, about how steady he was now, how careful in a way he had never been in the past.

Mandy pressed her lips together briefly, then let out a sigh. “You weren’t like this before.”

“No,” he said. “I was not.”

She let out a quiet, disbelieving laugh, shaking her head. “Do you have any idea how frustrating that is?”

“I do,” he said. “To an extent.”

“That’s not comforting.”

“I did not intend it to be.”

Mandy glanced at him, a flicker of disbelief crossing her face before it softened again.

“I’m… happy for you,” she said finally, the words slower, like she was still deciding how she felt about them. “That you figured it out. That you’re—” she gestured vaguely, “—like this now.”

Phenomaman’s gaze didn’t waver. “Thank you.”

“But that doesn’t just—” she exhaled, shaking her head again. “It doesn’t erase what happened. It doesn’t make it easier.”

“I understand that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

The certainty in his voice made her pause.

“I am not expecting immediate resolution,” he added. “Nor am I expecting forgiveness in the sense of restoration.”

Mandy frowned slightly. “Then what are you expecting?”

Phenomaman held her gaze for a moment before answering.

“Another opportunity.”

She stilled again.

“To engage with you in a manner that reflects what I have learned,” he continued. “At a pace that you determine.”

Mandy exhaled, her expression tightening as it sank in. “So you’re asking for another chance.”

“Yes.”

“And you think that’s fair?” There was more bite to it this time—not anger, but tension, like she was holding her ground.

Phenomaman didn’t waver. “I think it is something I would like to attempt,” he said. “If you are willing.”

Mandy looked away, the intensity of it pressing in faster than she expected. It was too much all at once—the timing, the words, the way he was standing there now, saying everything she had once needed to hear.

“Because I cannot deny,” he added, quieter this time, “that how I feel about you has not changed.”

Her chest tightened at that, sharp and sudden.

“It is still you,” he said simply.

Mandy swallowed, her gaze dropping to the ground before she forced herself to look back at him. “You really know how to make this complicated,” she said, the edge in her voice softening.

“That was not my intention.”

“It never is,” she muttered, shaking her head.

Silence stretched between them, longer this time, filled with everything neither of them was quite saying outright.

Mandy exhaled slowly, her shoulders dropping as she ran a hand through her hair, trying to ground herself. “I don’t know what I’m doing here,” she admitted, the words coming out more honestly than she meant them to. “I’m frustrated, I’m confused, and—” she let out a short, humorless laugh, “—and part of me is actually glad you figured your shit out, which is… really not helpful right now.”

Phenomaman stayed quiet, giving her the space to finish, to work through it without interruption.

“I don’t know if this will work,” she continued, softer now, her voice losing some of its earlier tension. “I don’t know if you and I—if that’s something that can just… start again.”

“I am not proposing that it begins again in the same manner,” he said. “Only that it continues differently.”

Mandy held his gaze, searching for an answer she could hold onto—something that would make this easier to understand, easier to decide.

“…You’re really serious about this.”

“Yes.”

There wasn’t even a hint of hesitation.

Mandy let out another breath, looking away again as if that might help her think clearer, but it didn’t. It only made everything louder.

Because that was it, wasn’t it?

Why it hadn’t felt like closure. Why his apology hadn’t settled the way it was supposed to. Why it kept coming back, no matter how much she buried herself in work.

It wasn’t just frustration, it was the fact that a part of her had wanted this. Had been waiting for it, even when she told herself she wasn’t.

The part of her that had needed him to understand back then, the part that had been tired, and hurt, and asking for something he couldn’t give at the time. It hadn’t gone anywhere. It had only been easier to ignore.

Until now.

Mandy swallowed, her chest tightening as the realization settled in, heavier than anything else he’d said tonight.

For a moment, she stood there, caught between what she knew and what she felt—between what should make sense and what didn’t.

Then she nodded.

“…Okay.”

Phenomaman stilled, a flicker of surprise crossing his expression.

Mandy glanced back at him, her expression still guarded, still careful, but no longer closed off the way it had been before.

“Yeah,” she added, quieter now. “Let’s just… see where this goes.”

It wasn’t certainty. It wasn’t a promise.

But it wasn’t a rejection either.

And somehow, that was enough.