Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

*This sucks. I’m trying to make my readers happy, but I’m afraid I’m starting to lose my touch..* You thought to yourself.

You were sitting down at your computer, trying to figure out where you wanted your fanfiction to go. You guess it shouldn’t be that hard since the people in Ao3 are pretty easy to please. Well, if you do it the right way. *Sigh* “What do you think I should do, Tokki?” You ask your cat.  You named her that because you liked cats and bunnies, but couldn’t have both. That and because you're a hardcore D.Va One-Trick. She purrs and rubs her head against your controller. “Play games? I guess a little break couldn't hurt, right?”

You walk down the stairs to the lower level of your small Loft and turn on your console. “ Meow” “Let's see here...I don't think we've been showing our fellow Overwatch character any love lately.” You log into your account and queue into Competitive. While you wait, you click on D.va’s hero icon. You just got paid, so, like any sane person, you used your money to get her a new skin. You click on the academy skin and finalize your purchase. “Nice! Looking good as always” You say, happy to have a new skin to show off. You had just got McCree, Mercy, and Reaper new skins yesterday: Van Helsing, Witch, and Soldier: 24 being the obvious choices because they’re hot, and you like the design overall. 

You end up getting put into a Master 1 match and are proud to see that you are no longer in Elo hell. “Finally, a worthy opponent.” You instalock on D.va, eager to show off your new skin, and ready to watch the enemy team get absolutely annihilated on. You turn on your mic, but only one person has her mic on. It’s Mercedes. You and she were OGs from the original Overwatch days. 

AquaFuze: “Alright team, let’s go for the standard comp, we’re going to need two supports.” 

Mercedes: “Alright, I’ll be Mercy!”

The others picked their heroes and it seemed like a decent enough comp. D.va, Mercy, Ana, McCree, and Mei. 

“Alright guys, let’s have a good game. GLHF!!”, you say into your mic. Let's do this D.Va

After the first round, you guys decided to stay as a team, since they all did amazing in the first game. After 10 wins and 2 ties, You finally got ranked Grandmaster 3. You look at the time: 11:43

AquaFuze: “Hey guys, imma sign off now. I got work in the morning.”

Mercedes: “Aww man, cya then”

Fuzakete: “Same :(“

Tacotao515: “L. Cldnt imgne, but I’m tired”

You say your goodbyes and before logging out, you go to the career profile section and look at the most recent POTG. You click on it to see the enemy team ATTEMPTING to capture the point. You ruined their day by throwing a D.va bomb into the air, getting all 5 of them. “ Meow” “ You’re right Tokki, as I should.” You say before hopping off the couch, changing into a sweater and pajama bottoms. “Alrighty, Tokki, time for bed.” You say, petting her on the head before walking up to your bed. *Yawn*

You open your eyes slightly to see the TV on, nothing is playing, but its screen is burning your eyes. “Mah, Tokki, don’t touch the controller” I’m too lazy to get up right now..

*1:02*

You once again see a flashing purple light from under your squinting eyes. At least it’s on mute.

She must have tapped the controller again because the last thing you heard was “You have been selected for-”

But you're still too tired to get up.

You open up your eyes and now see a very bright light coming from the.. *Ceiling?*  “Tokki, what’d you do no-” Your eyes are greeted by a bigger room with blue wallpaper and little furniture. “Where the hell am I?!” *Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my....jeez!!* You think to yourself, panicking, wondering, "Was I kidnapped last night? Was that why the lights kept changing??" You jump out of bed, and your head feels heavier. You move your fingers through your hair to see that it’s now way longer than before, but at least it's silky. *Did someone.. shower me?* You wonder, as you did take a shower last night, but you left the hair cap on so your hair wouldn't get wet.

You walk over to what you're sure was the bathroom (it was) and look in the mirror.

 “&*#$!?”

You look so different than you did when you first went to sleep. Not only is your hair long and curly, but you can't tell if your face looks slightly animated, or if you were always like that. *Maybe I’m still tired. Wait…*

You open your sweatpants just a little bit. It’s still there.

“Oh thank god.”

The Hallway that you walk into has a futuristic, modern look, and at the top of each room a bright nametag with all too familiar names. You see multiple rooms lined up:

*Genji Shimada*

*Ana Amari*

*Reinhardt Wilhelm*

  *Lena Oxton*

*Winston's lab*

You look back at yours.

*Antonio Rodríguez

*Isn't that…*

*This is a bit too familiar. Either this is some sort of prank, or Tokki got me into some sort of SAO scenario.* You think to yourself.

“Look who finally decided to wake up.”

*Charlet Chung?*

You turn around to see NOT Charlet Chung, but instead someone different. 

“Oh shit”

*This is definitely a SAO scenario. Tokki, what’d you do…..*

“Hana?”

“Yes?”

*Oh my daze, she sounds EXACTLY like her voice actor! This is unreal. And I thought Blizzcon was crazy.* You say wondering if you really are looking into the eyes of your favorite character.

“Um, if I may, how did I get here? I just woke up but I have no recollection of what happened last night.”

Hana grabs your hand and starts dragging you somewhere.

“Wait, where are we going?”

“We’re going to go see Dr. Ziegler. If you can’t remember, then I’m sure she can help you get your memory back.”

The two of your keep walking until she reaches an elevator. You don’t know why it didn’t click before, but it had just occurred to you that I’ve been holding the hand of your favorite character for about 5 minutes. And your were on our way to meet another one.

“Um, Hana, you can let go now..” She gives you the “I don’t think so” look.

“Why would I do that, (Y/n)? You don’t even know how you got here and I’m supposed to expect that you follow behind me?” *That’s weird. If I really was in an SAO scenario, wouldn’t she call me by my Gamer tag, and not my real name?* She goes silent, still holding your hand tightly. It wasn’t a death grip, but the kind that your mom gives you when you’re at the store. It felt…..nice. 

*I guess...* You say to yourself.

You stop at the second floor and D.Va starts dragging you around again. You passed the Med Bay, so you're assuming she isn’t there. Hana brings you to a conference room, where you see more faces that you weren't didn’t expect to see, even though you should’ve. Soldier: 76, Reaper, Mercy, Ana, and some other people you didn’t recognize, we’re all in a meeting. You weren’t really paying attention but you're pretty sure they were talking about a previous mission.

You look over at the holograms to the side. A holo-vid shows a Birds Eye view of Eichenwalde, and D.va sending a self-destruct bomb into…

*The enemy team? Hold on, this looks like my POTG from last night!

Hana notices your staring. “You know, we couldn’t have pulled that off last night without you. It was a good call you made right there.” 

“Wait, WE did that?” you ask, still confused about how any of this is logical.

“Of course we did! What do you think you’ve been doing for the past few months? Not a video game, that’s for sure.” *Heh, you have no idea..*

“Hana, I’m sorry but I really have no idea what is going on.” Hana looks down at her feet, clearly still worried about what happened to me. You feel bad, because this all feels real, and you're pretty sure I can tell the difference between the waking world and dreams. “What…have I been doing for the past few months?”

Hana looks up again, “Well, you know the organization we work for right?” “Yeah, Overwatch” “Alright, well, a year ago, Winston sent out the Recall and a lot of agents answered, but there wasn’t enough for all the Omnic attacks that have been happening. That’s when we started the Overwatch Training program, and you were a part of our first and only group of trainees.”

“How many trainees are there??”

"Just you and Agent M."

 She’s saying that it’s been a few months since the training program started, but you've been playing Overwatch for years. You obviously don’t play everyday, but your hours should have amounted to more than a year. And millions of people play Overwatch, so why am I one of two people in the program?

"Agent "M"? That's all you're going to give me? Almost sounds like someone from "Men in Black"." You stopped laughing when you realized she had no idea what you were talking about. *Oh right,* You remember, *it's 2076. Those movies came out decades ago. Way to make me feel old!!*

She explains to you that they don’t just give out an offer like that, kinda like how you don’t just give away half a billion bucks to some rando. She wasn’t in the program, but she was hired after the recall, as they were looking for more powerful heroes to fight off new threats. According to her, you had fought in a battle before, ALONE, and saved your small town from Null Sector. You thought that was the most basic backstory ever. The only "encounter" that you had with Null Sector was when you were in the Beta Testing for PVE. 

“So, we invited you to join the fight. You accepted, of course, and ended up becoming a great fighter. It's kind of weird that we found you last night, because today was supposed to be the day that you came in for evaluation.”  “Evaluation ?” “맞아요” 

“Wait, what do you mean by “found me”?”

“One of our patrols found you washed up by the ocean.” Says Reaper from behind you. You turn around to see that he’s wearing his Soldier: 24 skin. *Or, outfit I guess? Wait, if he's here, then....what timeline are we in? Didn't fake his death after the Venice incident?* 

 “Aaah! Reaper you scared hell out of me! You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” You yell, your reaction a bit delayed. He chuckles in his deep voice, “Where’s the fun in that? And please, don't call me Reaper unless we're on the battlefield.” "Sorry Mr. Reyes..." He frowns. "Don't call me that either, it makes me feel old. Just call me Gabe." You noticed that the others have left, so the meeting must have ended while the two of you were talking. "I'm so sorry guys but, I'm still having trouble trying to piece together what's happening. And I don't understand how I was found near the ocean when I was sleeping in my apartment.", You say, still feeling bad for making Hana worry about you. Though, if your buddy couldn't remember anything, at least the important details, you'd be pretty worried, too.

Gabe exchanges a worried glance with Hana. "Do you think it could've been her?"  "It's very possible but I'm not entirely sure she would pull off something like that. However, she's very unpredictable, so it's hard to tell."

Who are they talking about? Last time you checked, there weren't any characters in-game who could teleport someone without a device. Unless... "I'm sorry, who exactly are we talking about?"

They look at each other and nod their heads.

"Sombra." They say it at the same time.

Wait a second... The purple light you saw from your TV last night comes to mind.

Sombra, er, Olivia hasn’t answered any calls or texts from anyone. But according to Reaper, that’s not out of the norm for her . 

Mercy, or more formally, Dr. Ziegler comes back with your labs and bloodwork. “There seems to be nothing wrong neurologically, and your labs don’t show any anomalies. So we can rule out brainwashed memory loss.” you were sitting down on a hospital bed in the Med bay while Dr. Ziegler took out the butterfly needle and takes the last bit of your labs.

Dr. Ziegler comes back and gestures for you to come with her. She leads you to another room separate from the rest of the Med bay. "Alright, I'm going need you to take off your clothes."

“ANO BA!?!"*”

"For your measurements? I need accurate measurements to make sure your outfit fits snugly." Oh, right...I forgot I’m now a part of this whole FICTIONAL organization. You strip down, slightly uncomfortable because you're nearly butt naked in front of one of your most used characters. 

She takes out a measuring tape and turns to you. "So, (Y/n), how do you like being able to be with Hana? You two were almost inseparable until you came here." She looks at you with a “hint hint” look. It takes you a moment to realize what she's insinuating.

"Angela, you aren't trying to say that I.... like Hana, are you?" *I do very much like Hana Song, but I've only ever liked her as a video game character. Now that I'm actually here, I don't know how I feel. Besides, she's not the only character I like.* 

"Oh don't act so innocent, I saw you holding hands in the conference room. Besides, out of all the missions we’ve gone on and all the other agents, it’s always been her that you went on missions with.” She finishes up the last bit and writes down the measurements onto her clipboard. 

“Hey, we’ve been on missions together before! Remember that one time when we had to fend off the enemy team and you got that Nano Boost from Ana? You got every last one of them!!” you say, attempting to switch up the topic.

You flashback to the POTG You got as Nano Boosted Battle Mercy. Every last member of your team had died, leaving you, Reaper and Ana to defend yourselves. You're guessing the person playing Ana had panicked and accidentally Nanoed you, but thankfully Mercy's ult was fully charged. You pulled out your pistol, used Valkyrie and started shooting. You ended up getting every last one of them, even Tracer who had just blinked. Then you rezzed the Rein.

“ Ja, I guess you are right. It was a good play, but we have to remember that violence should never be the first option." Says Angela with a mocking tone. *That sounds like something only a true support would say.* 

"Well, you're all finished up here, so you can head back to your room now. But try to familiarize yourself with the base. It can be easy to get lost". You walk out of the room and say goodbye. You look around for a while, trying to memorize the layout of the base. Hell, it'd be so much easier if this was the in-game Watchpoint: Gibraltar. It was really hectic trying to find a map in this place. Turns out, they’re placed nearly everywhere but the small hallways. 

You stare at the Holo-Map, a bit puzzled on how it actually works. You can’t seem to find any visible projectors. Normally, you’d be pretty psyched to be in the world of your favorite video game, but when your video game is 53 years into the future....It just makes your life harder than it was before. Before you went into the Med Bay, Hana had given you a phone. Thankfully, it was the only piece of technology that you actually knew how to use here. She already had her number saved.

Just as you are about to pull out my new phone to text Hana, you hear Athena’s voice on the speakers. " Will (F/n) please report to the office of Acting Commander Vivian "Sojourn" Chase."  Following her announcement, a very annoyed Sojourn speaks over the intercom. "Athena! I thought I told you NOT to use my full Title! Everyone, please excuse this announcement. Except for (Y/n)" 

*It's so weird to hear them all say my real name.* You think to yourself. You remember one time you got invited to Blizzcon and used your Gamer tag, (GamerTag), so that way no one would say your name. It's not that you don't like it, it's just that it gets a little weird when people you technically don't know start using it like they know you. 

You snap a picture of the map using your new phone, since you don't want to waste time getting to her office. You read both her In-game and Archived character details and you really don't want to get on her bad side. Though, you have a feeling you won't.

As you're walking through the halls, you noticed they don't have the signature "Overwatch Blue" wallpaper. Now it's the mono-brown you would see inside the Administrator hallway in a school. You've always hated that color, not because of the color, but because of the memories it brought back. 

You snap out of it when you get a text message from Hana. The text tone she set on her contact sounded like the booting up sound her Mech makes when she calls it down. 

Hana-* Hey! :) didn't know if you had anything to do, but I'll be playing games in my room. You could totally come down and challenge me if you want ;)*

*Sigh.* *I'll have to text her back after my meeting with Commander Chase.*

You walk into the room, immediately being struck with an intimidating aura of dominance. Are Strike Commanders supposed to be this scary?? "Take a seat." *It actually sounds nice to hear her say something other than "It's about to get real."* "Yes, Ma'am." She rolls her eyes. You can't tell if they are Atlantic Green or Bluish Emerald, that's always been something you wondered about her. "Please, I think we've known each other long enough for you to just call me Vivian." You nod.

"Alright, do you..know why you're here (Y/n)?" You remember D.va telling me something about tomorrow being the day you were supposed to come in for evaluation, *so yes.* You think to yourself, and nod your head to reply. She sighs.

"Well than, I've got to hand it to you kid, you've done PHENOMENAL in your training. I've looked at your statistics and scores and you have plenty of eliminations and amazing accuracy. You're also a surprisingly adequate field medic." You bite your tongue. Adequate?   

"I honestly have nothing more to say. You've come so far and your ability to adapt to changing situations, your attention to detail, and your patience is impressive... but it is your humility that has impressed us most. Your ability to admit your mistakes and learn from your defeats are essential qualities for a member of Overwatch. It is our pleasure to welcome you to the team, (Y/n)."

Masayang masaya ako*...

You get up to shake her hand. You expected it to feel cold to the touch, but the material it was made of actually felt warm. It could also be that she has plasma running through her body. "Thank you Vivian." You feel as though you should've said more, but you really don't know what to say. All you've done is grind for hours at a time on a video game. It feels like getting a gold trophy just for participation.

"Well, now that we’re both done here, what do you say to heading to the practice range and then hitting the armory? Just so you can get a feel for what role you could play on the battlefield. You have plenty of options, I’ll tell you that.”

*Aww man…I can’t say no to this but I really wanted to show Hana my gaming skills…Sorry D.va, you’ll have to wait.* You think to yourself, feeling bad for dropping Hana like that.

“Sounds like a plan.”

You pull out your phone as you follow Commander Chase to the practice range. 

(Y/n)- * Hey Hana, sorry for the late reply, but I’m going to head to the range with Viv. I’ll come by later tho*

Hana- * aww man, can’t believe you chickened out on me :( cya later then*

As the Hatch doors open to the practice range, Vivian turns to you.

“I hope you got your big boy pants on, because it’s about to get real.”

 Ano Ba* What!? What the..? (sarcastic meaning-what the heck?! Or What!?!)

Masayang masaya ako* I'm so happy! (I'm Very Happy)

Chapter Text

10 points to Vivian

*This is so unfair, she has Cybernetic enhancements!* You say to yourself. The practice range had two rooms: the shooting range, and a virtual sparring room. Vivian explained to you that in an actual battle, they would use special suits that go over your outfit to minimize damage and prevent penetration from bullets, but since they weren't easy to make, they didn't use them for one on one practice fights.

The two of you were hooked up to VR headsets that could simulate feeling. "Who even came up with this idea? Adding pain to a simulator.", you say, and Vivian stops shooting at you. "For endurance? Getting through a battlefield ain't all fun and games." *D.va doesn't think so.* "You should try using a different weapon. And don't worry about going easy on me, we're in a virtual world." She shows you how to open up the menu and go to the weapon selection area. It looks exactly like the character selection screen from in-game, except only now you had the option to combine different weapons and abilities.

Sojourn is a pretty strong character, but she's also a squishy one. Roadhog's scrap gun and a fusion blaster are the only strong options in the tank section.

You click on the fusion blaster and it reveals a weapon that only you and one other person in this world were good at using.

"Come 'ere Tokki!" You say, calling down a M.E.K.A that looks very similar to D.va's but the design almost looks like....*Is this the original design for "Yokai" My Oc's Mech?!* You flashback to when you were looking at the names on each door.

*Antonio Rodriguez*

*It never said my name... surely this can't mean that...* "Viv, that boy Tony, what happened to him that I'm now using his room" "It's funny you ask that. because I thought you two went over you taking his room when he got transferred to the other base."

"He did?" *If Blizzard really did trap me here, they could've at least given me a manual explaining things.* You're also upset that you can't see your own Oc because he's not a finished official character. Yet. You had never completed his backstory.

You decided to leave the range for two reasons: You didn't feel like going ham on a nice character, so it's better if you forfeit. The second reason was because you still need to find out how you got here and how you might be able to get out.

You try and think back to the events prior to me getting stuck here. You had went to bed and about two hours later...your tv turned on. *Now that I think about it, Tokki was sleeping at by my feet, so I can rule out her contributing to this. But that purple light I saw*...there's only one character with purple and violet accents and you have a strong feeling she played a big part in getting you here.

You walk into your apartment hallway to see boxes and furniture outside your room. You assume they're moving all of Tony's stuff because the room is empty when you walk in. The only two people there are Hanzo and Gabe with their casual wear. "Soo, I'm guessing this is all going to Tony at the other base, right?" They both turn around smiling. "Do you want to tell him, or should I do it?" "I'm allergic, it's best if I wait outside." Hanzo says before walking outside the room, and Gabe takes out a crate. "mreow" *Oh my gosh....please let it be...*

He opens the crate, revealing a chubby, fluffy cat with tan, light, and dark brown spots on her. "Tokki!!" You scream, picking up your cat. Everything that you had been worried about flew out the door. "How'd you get here?" Gabe sets the crate in a corner. "A friend of yours sent all of your belongings here, along with Tokki. (Y/n), if I'm not mistaken, she's the little troublemaker responsible for all the times we lost coms with you?" You laugh and look back at your adorable lump of joy and all things cute. "Oh Gabe, does she look like she could've done such a howible ting?" you say, babying my cat like there's no tomorrow. He raises his eyebrow. "You two seem close..how long have you had her?"

"We've been best friends for twenty years now. I hope you don't mind the competition" You say, oblivious to what that could translate to. Gabe turns towards the door and starts walking. "Now that you've made that comment, I'll take my leave." "wai-" "Hanzo! Change of plans!" You put down the little jelly roll and ask him not to go so soon. 

Your efforts were useless, but he did tell you that Satya would pass by to help you renovate. You close the door and open up your phone.

*(Y/n): Hey Hana.* 

*Hana: Hiya! What's up? :D*

*(Y/n): nothin' much, but imma need to find a place to sleep. think I can find a good hotel around here?

Hana: You could do that...orrrr

*(Y/n): ???

*Hana: You could chill with me in my room :D plus you promised to stop by later..

*I did say that didn't I?*

*(Y/n): Alright, I'll head over in a few. Can I bring Tokki too?

*Hana: which one? the cat or my MEKA?

(Y/n): My cat.

*She knows about her? *

(Hana): Of course! she can be the referee! ;) Cya in a few then!

*(Y/n) Cya.

You pack up some clothes for the night and feed Tokki. The phone dings again. There is no name, but a skull emoji where the number should be. *Who could it be now?*

*(Y/n) who is this?

*💀: Take a guess.

You probably should've realized it earlier, but judging by the skull and it being an unknown caller, it became pretty obvious who it was.

*(Y/n): Sombra. what do you want?

 *you edit her contact*

*S💀mbr8: OUCH. no need to be so blunt about it. I am the one who brought over El Gata del Diablo..

*(Y/n): You were the anonymous friend? ok...

*S💀mbr8: ;)

*(Y/n) Look, I don't know why but I have a feeling you played some part in getting me here, and since you were able to bring my cat here, it sort of confirms my suspicions.

*S💀mbr8:....Let's say I pulled a few strings to get you here earlier than you were supposed to be. I was pretty eager to see how long it would take for you to crack.

*(Y/n): Crack how?

*S💀mbr8: from what I've seen, you're a very closed-off and sheltered guy, but I'm here to change that. I've had an eye on you for awhile now and you're pretty lonely, chico.

*(Y/n): Lonely?! And just how much have you seen? It's not exactly comforting to know I have someone other than the man upstairs spectating my life.

*S💀mbr8: Relax chico, you haven't done anything I haven't seen before.

*(Y/n): That's pretty vague.

*The hell is that supposed to mean?*

*S💀mbr8: That's a quick response for someone who shouldn't have anything to hide.....right?

*grrrr...*

*S💀mbr8: Alright, I'll stop teasing you. I'll leave that to Hana ;)

(Y/n): You really are something else, Olivia.

*S💀mbr8: This number is no longer in commission.

*Haha, real funny Olivia.* You say to yourself before closing your phone. She's always struck you as the mischievous type since that pretty much sums up her character, but in person...she's just scary. You don't know how much she can see, so you decide to just put tape over the computer and phone cameras from now on.

You put up your hair and grab your bag, with Tokki sitting inside, and put it over your chest. Looking back at the room, you close the door and make your way to Hana's apartment. 

Chapter Text

Yves - LOOP (feat. Lil Cherry) [Music Video]

NewJeans (뉴진스) ‘Supernatural’ Official MV (Part.1)

As you make your way to Hana's apartment, which happens to be on the other side of the base, you ponder what exactly happened for you to get here. Sombra shook it off like she was doing you a favor, so she's been no help. But she is right, you don't have many peers that reach out. Your parents check in on you every now and then, but they won a 2-week trip to Hawaii, so the chances of them calling are low to none. You know you didn't fall asleep with the VR headset on, so you can rule out SAO-style imprisonment. 

Since You're a streamer, missing one video should affect you too much. Of course, the coffee shop you work at might get suspicious if you miss too many days. That is, if time passes the way you think it does.

*Exhale* Alright, here goes.

 You knock on the door of Hana's apartment, and immediately after you hear her yell, "Come in! It's open!". You didn't know what to expect of her room, but to your surprise, you walk into a stereotypical gamer's room complete with chip bags and empty Nano Cola cans. I guess this is fitting. "Hey, Ha-" "EAT MY ZERG RUSH, BITCHES!!" *Oh. Of course she’s gaming* you think to yourself. You sit down and wait for her to finish.

"Hey (Y/n), sorry for the wait. Just had finish putting these noobs in their place". You laugh, "Yeah, I can see that." Hana's smile turns to a grin of mischief and competitiveness. "So, do you want me to put in your place, or do you think you can beat me?" Oh nuh uh, too cocky.

"Oh that's how it is? Bring it on!!" You put down Tokki, grab a purple beanbag chair, a controller, some Nano Cola, and plopped yourself next to Hana. "Alright Tokki, who's side are you on?" You ask your cat. she walks up to both of you, purring and nuzzling her head on your legs. Then she sat down in Hana's lap.

"Look at that, I think I've got a new fan! Seems fitting, especially since you named her after my Mech." She giggles at you as you turn to scowl at your cat for leaving your side.

Traitor......

"(GamerTag) wins the match!" You smirk at your victory. Hana looks at you and frowns. "We've done 8 rounds of SSB, played 4 rounds of mario karts 7 through 14, speedran Minecraft, and played street fighter. Each game has come to a draw or tie."

"What's wrong, can't handle the fact that I'm your equal?" You say under your breath. You look through the games and apps to try and find something else for the two of you to do.

"Hmm"

"What's up?" You ask. Hana looks through her shelf, rummaging through books and movie copies. "Have you seen my new movie yet?" *New movie...is she talking about the Easter egg in Hollywood?*  "Hero in the storm? Can't say I have. We can watch though, I may be a little tired from gaming." You reply.

"Alright then! I'll go pop some popcorn and get some snacks, k?" Hana walks towards the kitchen and in a few seconds, you hear the popping of kernels from the microwave. Pulling Tokki closer to you, you lecture her about leaving your side. "Tokki, you know better than that! You're supposed to be on my side, even if the other option was more likely to win." She keeps purring and nuzzles her face into your chest. "mmm..but since you're so cute, I'll give you a present." You pull out a ball of red yarn and toss it to the floor.

"Alright, snacks are ready!" Hana comes back with two bowls of popcorn: kettle corn drizzled with fudge and M&M's and the other with butter. There were also some other chocolatey snacks in her hands. You help her get everything set up. Just as Hana gets up to grab the controller, Tokki kicks the ball of yarn at Hana's feet, tripping her.

"Hana, be careful!" In an attempt to stop her from falling, you get up quickly and...end up bringing yourself down with her. You land on the remote for the lights, dimming the room. The only thing illuminating the room is the LED lights on the wall.

"Hana are you alright?" You say, unaware of what's happening. The gamer's eyes meet yours ,and only then do you realize Hana is on top of you.

Yuka Don Style.

With low lights.

"I was fine, but things just got a whole lot better~" says Hana, with a familiar glint in her eye. You can feel your heart racing. She gets off of you slowly, realizing that you weren't feeling the same way as her at that moment. You've never been that close to someone before. You aren't a shut-in, but you are most definitely touch-deprived.

Hana apologizes, and you assure her that it's ok. "It was what you said that caught me off guard."

You were both silent for a while, and eventually, you started the movie before the snacks got cold.

The movie ends with Hana's character picking up the phone; a message from her boss giving her another mission, hinting at a sequel. You're the first to speak. "Woah! Hana, you're a really amazing actress! Though, I'm sure it's not the first time you've heard that." You say, nudging the gamer's shoulder. "감사! You were actually the first to tell me that back when we were still in production." She smiles.

"So about earlier.."

Hana blushes and speaks, "Heh, sorry about that..I thought you would have enjoyed getting a little bit closer to me. I mean, you always said the only thing keeping us apart was a screen." You're a bit flustered knowing that she heard you say that, but it makes sense if Sombra was being serious earlier. 

"You meant what you said though...right?"

Your heart starts beating faster.

"I- well, yeah, I did. But I didn't expect you to hear me say that."

Hana smirks and looks down. "I heard everything. Including your more...sensitive topics."

The butterflies in your stomach finally leave their cocoons. You swallow, wondering if she was ok with all of that.

"Hana, there's this question that's been on my mind for a while now." "Shoot"

"Hana Song, do you like me?" She smiles at you and tilts her head, "I hope this answers your question." Giving you no time to react, the gamer girl leans forward closing her eyes. Your eyes are still open when her lips meet yours. It's rather comforting being able to feel this once again in a very long time.

I can't believe I'm doing this....again..

You close your eyes, letting yourself slowly melt into the kiss. Ayaa.. You can taste the flavor of her bubblegum Chapstick on your lips, only urging you to enjoy this moment even more. Gently stroking her hair, you pull her closer. The sounds of your soft kisses fill the room. Strangely, ever since you got here, you thought this was a dream. But now, you feel like it can't get any more real than this. This feels..Amazing. You think to yourself. You pull away, and Hana looks at you with a calm and gentle smile. She places one last kiss on your forehead. You look away, blushing.

"Did that answer your question?", She asks.

Come on (Y/n) say something!

"You're a good kisser." ANYTHING BUT THAT!

She bursts out laughing at your loss of words. "Thanks! You haven't done this before, have you.?" Your face is covered by embarrassment, and you grip the bottom of your sweater. "No.." You lied. I'd tell her the rest, but I can't to a person who isn't really real, right?

Hana gets up and goes to her closet, grabbing two fluffy heavy blankets. She throws one on your head. "Seriously?" "Mhmm." You pull the blanket off of your head, which also pulled out your hair tie, leaving your curls to hang free. You must've been pretty tired, because it took you a hot minute to realize Hana was stifling a lot of giggles. She couldn't be more loud.

"What's so funny?" You ask, unaware that your luscious curly hair is hanging free. "Nothing.." She quickly averts her gaze from your shoulder, and only then do you realize why she's holding back her laughter. "Ack! My hair tie! Saan iyon!?!" You look around frantically, and before you can start panicking, Hana grabs your wrist and puts the hair tie into your hand.

You feel a wave of relief in your chest. Using the tie, you put your hair into a bun. Hana looks at you with a confused look on her face. "What is it?" You ask.

"Why do it? Putting you hair up, I mean." You shrug it off. "No reason, I just don't like cutting it short, but I've always felt awkward leaving it down." Hana puts the blanket over her and turns around.

"*Sigh* What a shame....I think you look cute like that."

You let yourself slowly drift to sleep next Hana, listening to her words on repeat.

*She thinks I'm.....cute?*

Chapter Text

You are awoken from your rest by the smell of eggs and...

Is that kimchi?

A brown-haired girl sets the freshly made breakfast onto a tray and walks in your direction. "Enjoy your slumber, sleeping beauty?" She says mockingly. Her voice is high-pitched and cutesy. You set yourself up as she brings the meal to your cot. It takes you a moment to realize that the girl was Hana Song, meaning that you are still inside the world of Overwatch, and everything that happened yesterday was indeed NOT a dream.

*So I did share a kiss with D.va yesterday…*  "Hana...you didn't hafta make me breakfast in bed." You say, your mouth watering at the thought of kimchi and eggs and toast, your favorite things all in one meal. She smiles and shakes her head. "What kind of host would I be if I didn't?" She tells you that she ate earlier, but when she saw that you hadn't woken up yet, she decided it would be a good idea to make you something instead of having you go down and eat the off-brand-cheerios the Cafeteria had. 

The Cafeteria made lunch and dinner fresh and yummy, but their breakfast was the "healthy" stuff you needed to start your day with. "So, (Y/n), How would you like to be able to pilot Tokki? You've used the simulator plenty of times, so I think you're ready. And maybe after, we'll build you your own!" You reply instantly, eager to finally find out how she sits in her M.E.K.A. "Really?! Yes, I'd love to! I-I mean, that would be pretty nice, thanks, Hana." You don't want to mention the fact that your "simulator" was a Roku Smart Tv and an Xbox. Given the fact that D.va just SUMMONS her Mech countless times in a battle, it shouldn't be too big of a deal if you crash, right?

*Who am I kidding, she'll probably renounce our "more than friendly" friendship if I crash it..* Hana leaves the apartment to go set things up and you both agree on meeting in the South Hangar. Your cat, Tokki, rubs against your legs. "Tokkiii..what do I do? We're both still here in this game, and while I've done my research on these characters, I don't know them personally." Your anxiety about what the day may bring, and the characters that you'll see cause you to overthink. Tokki calms you down when she throws herself onto you. "Mreow " *sigh* "Yeah you're right, I'm just overthinking." You finish your breakfast and get up for the day. Someone knocks on the door, and you open it to see nobody there. 

Instead, there is a bag with a neatly folded outfit with gray and blue accents, a pair of combat boots, and a note. 

* Your outfit as promised, Welcome to Overwatch!*

-Angela.

You turn on the shower and rinse up before putting on your new outfit. It fits almost perfectly, not big enough to be baggy, and not so tight that your abs are showing. You don't necessarily like wearing short sleeves, so you stop by the Clothing Vendor and buy a leather aviator jacket. It seemed fitting for the occasion. 

Suddenly, with a quick blue flash and a zipping sound in the air, a very familiar face shows up in front of you.

"(Y/n)! I finally caught you!" says Tracer, with a huge grin on her face. "Sorry I didn't get to greet you yesterday luv, there was an emergency in Paraiso and I ended up getting called in." She gives you a bone-crushing hug, which kind of surprised you since she was a bit smaller than you. You tell her about your meeting with Hana in the Hangar. 

"Well well, she's already letting you fly Tokki? Listen, I don't believe there's enough room for three star pilots.", she says, completely gobsmacked at the fact that she's letting you fly it, instead of her.

"Well Lena, didn't you lose a whole je-" The Brit interrupts you before you can finish your sentence. "Uh bup bup! We are NOT bringing that up, k? That was ONE time!" Unable to contain it, you burst out laughing at her defensiveness of the subject. You hear her mutter something under her breath. "cheeky..."

* Oh come on, it was just a joke! Hindi naman ganun kalala, right? *

"Well, you wouldn't have gotten those amazing time manipulation powers if it  didn't  happen, right?" You say in an attempt to redeem yourself. She agrees and seems to calm down. The two of you chat for a while before she blinks away to the other side of the base to attend to her duties. 

You think to yourself about what the "emergency" could have been.  Null sector? Gwishin? 

You make it to the south Hangar with no difficulties and look around for Hana. In the corner of your eye, you see bright red lights flashing.  That must be where the runway is.  Sure enough, a pink Mech flies down and lands ever so gracefully.  She's such a show-off.

"(Y/n)! You finally made it! I felt like I was gonna be waiting  forever.  Ready for your first flight sesh?" She ejects out of the mech, wearing her signature skintight pink and blue suit. You've been waiting for this moment for a long time. "Ready as I'll ever be"

She tells you how to use the Mech, which seemed a bit more complicated than you had anticipated. "To use the boosters, keep the joysticks straight and push out. If you want to remain stationary, pull back just a little bit. To use the Defense Matrix, move the joysticks backward and up. Once you're inside, try using the boosters, then Defense Matrix, land, and eject, got it?"

"Got it." And you did get it, but you also got that Tokki had some pretty sensitive handling. This was nothing like using a controller and holding RT. Hana takes off her bracelet and gives it to you to open the hatch. 

As soon as you press the glowing green button, the pink hatch pops open revealing two handles. You grab onto both and push in and out. You now lay flat on your stomach and your legs rest on soft padding. The systems boot up once you double tap the red button on the joystick. The padding under your feet closes in on them, keeping your legs in place. This startles you.

Upon seeing the look on your face, the gamer bends over laughing. "I forgot to tell you about that! Don't worry, those got me my first time, too", says Hana, pushing her hair back. You take in a deep breath and only then do you realize that the inside of the M.E.K.A smells like Nano Cola and bubble gum, with just a hint of that new car smell.

You thrust your hands forward and the boosters turn on, the vibrations are felt faintly from the inside. Once Tokki was off the ground, the nervousness you had felt suddenly went away as you moved around with ease. It was almost as if you had flown Tokki dozens of times before.  Now that I think about it, the feeling of my hands gripping the joysticks and flying around while the cockpit fixes its position as I move almost feels like a remembering forgotten memory.  A second nature. 

You activate the Defense Matrix and fly down, not landing as gracefully as Hana did, but not a completely messy and rocky landing. You shove the joysticks down and the clamps let go of your legs, allowing you to eject. Hana walks up to you and hugs you, practically lifting you off the ground. "Wow, you're a natural!! Looks like Lena and I have some new competition." The comment Lena made earlier comes to mind. "Well, it wasn't the best.."

"Oh come on, (Y/n), stop being so modest. Just admit that...you were trained by the best." Hana says. The grin on her face tells you that she's talking about herself. You agree to entertain her and try to strike up a different conversation.

"So I heard there was a mission in Paraíso. What was that all about? Null Sector? Gwishin?" You ask, hoping to get the answer to your question from earlier. Hana rolls her eyes in annoyance. "Worse. Reflector Omnics."  The way she said it felt like a child grimacing at broccoli. "Reflector...Omnics?" You repeat. You don't recall hearing anything about these Reflector Omnics in Lore. 

"That's right...your training program never mentioned them, did it?" Hana asks and you nod your head in agreement.

"Okay, well, you know how on some missions you may have seen duplicates of Overwatch agents?  Those are Reflector Omnics. Little buggers that roam around attempting to make Overwatch look bad. Not all of them are bad, but every single one of them causes some sort of mischief." You think to yourself, wondering how you never could have thought of that in the first place. * If this place isn't JUST a game, then have I really been helping out in a war? *  The very idea of being in a world where you once used to know everything about, and now be presented with intel that you never would have figured out on your own is a bit unsettling to you.

"How long have they been around?"

"Ever since the Venice incident, which they caused by the way. Two of our best agents had to be put on paid leave because of them." * Morrison and Gabe.. *  You think to yourself.

"That was all them? How often do we encounter them on missions?" Hana replies almost instantly. 

"Every. Single. One. Even our ENEMY Null Sector is sick of them, but since we can't pinpoint where the Omnium is, we won't be able to get rid of them for good." The thought seemed a bit extreme to you. She did just say not all of them were bad, just troublemakers. But then again, you weren't here for that long so you don't know what kind of trouble they can create.

You and Hana walk Tokki back to the Armory and part ways so you could beat Symmetra to your room.

As soon as you get to your door, a note on the door with neat handwriting reads:

You were too slow, and I have other duties to attend to. So I got here EARLIER to renovate your apartment for you. 

You are welcome.

- Satya Vaswani

*Wow. * You think to yourself. Her stick-to-itiveness had always made you feel..dumb. Symmetra always had a knack for doing that to people, knowing she was better (because she was) and flaunting it around. You even recall her mentioning that she doesn't have time for relationships. Too much work, she said. She was never really a people pleaser.

You open up your door and are immediately struck with a surprise.

The inside was nearly identical to your Loft from your real life. Everything was in its place, the stair design was better, and to top it all off it had a rustic yet futuristic and modern look. "Wow...Satya, you weren't lying when you said you were an  efficient architect." You say out loud. 

A soft voice with a light Spanish accent breaks your serenity.

"Ah, ¿te gusta? I sent in the tip myself."

You spin around to see a familiar face sitting on your swivel gamer chair, holding your precious Tokki.

Chapter Text

“Ok, first of all, how the hell did you get in here, and second, WHO SAID YOU COULD HOLD TOKKI?!”

Olivia rolls her eyes and holds Tokki in front of her, putting the cat on the floor. But, instead of running away, she lingers near her feet. “*heh* Looks like Tokki doesn’t seem to mind my company.” 

“Eh… whatever..”, you scoff, “if she doesn’t mind then I won’t. But that still doesn’t mean I’ll let you off the hook so easily. So I’ll ask again: “"How'd you get in here?”” You ask.

“Satya left the spare key under the vase outside.” Her answer isn’t enough to satisfy you and the other ones probably won’t either, so you decide to drop the interrogation. Besides, you already got the feeling she found a way to bypass your door’s security system. You grab a chair, and sit down.

“Well?” 

“Well what?”

“Aren’t you going to ask me how you got here? What it took for me to bring you here?”

You shake your head and lean in closer. “Nah. I’ve been thinking about what you said. Maybe I was a bit lonely.” Olivia cocks an eyebrow, seemingly taken aback by your answer. 

“Really? That’s a shame, I actually felt like telling you today.” She says finally standing up from her chair and making her way towards the door. * Seriously?! * 

“Hey, wait! Are you really just gonna leave like that?” You panic, already getting a taste of how annoying Olivia really is. Much to your relief, she turns around and gestures for you to sit.

She grabs one of your chairs and flips the back side towards her.

“I don’t have much time here, so we'll have to make this quick. In 30 minutes, Gabe’s gonna call you along with a few others for a mission brief. I’ll be going with you.”

* My first mission? I literally just got here, and I don’t even have a Mech or any special abilities to bring to the team..*

“Wait, how am I supposed to defend myself? I barely know how to hold a gun, Oliva.”

“That shouldn’t be a problem. The guy who helped me bring you here said he gave you some unique augments. Not sure how long it’ll take for them to load though.”

*Augments? Like those robotic appendages Sojourn has? *

“I guess it’ll have to do until I build my Mech I guess.”

A cute ringtone goes off from Sombra’s pocket, and she groans.

“I have to go take care of some…. stuff, but I’ll be at the meeting. In the meantime, feel free to try out the suits I left on your bed. I tried to find something that’d fit you, but it might need some tailoring if it doesn’t fit. I know you don’t like flashy clothes, but Gabe will explain why you need them.”

She picks up her phone and walks off, translocating to wherever her teleporter was.

* Flashy clothes? * You think to yourself. Going to the upstairs room of your loft, you see 4 suits laid out neatly on your bed. 

“Dark navy blue, and a red wine tie? An all white suit with gold accents?” The suits were beautiful, but why would you wear a formal suit to a field mission? * unless…*

Athena’s voice on the intercom startles you once again. “ Agents Aqua, Sombra, D.Va, and McCree are to report to the briefing room immediately. ”

Chapter Text

The briefing room is buzzing with the low hum of conversation as the team gathers around the polished table. You stand at the back, your fingers tapping nervously against the cold surface. You’ve done plenty of missions before, but nothing like this. Tonight, you’re tasked with infiltrating a lavish dinner party in Greece. It's held in a restored mansion behind the ruins of the ancient Olympic Games—high stakes, high-profile targets.

“You all know the drill,” Sojourn’s voice cuts through the noise, and your eyes snap to her. She’s standing at the front, her expression calm and professional, as always. “We’re going in to gather intel, not start a war. We’ll be using our aliases tonight, so don’t blow your cover.”

You glance at your teammates, a mix of seasoned operatives, all of them used to this sort of work. It’s strange to be in a room full of people who seem so at ease with the danger, but you have a job to do, and you can’t afford to be distracted.

“(Y/n),” Sojourn calls out your alias, “you’ll be paired with Sombra. You’re playing the part of ‘Alias Aqua.’ Keep close to her, stay alert, and stick to the mission. Your target is a key player in a criminal organization that’s been messing with some high-tech weaponry. We need to get close, gather whatever intel you can, and extract them without blowing your cover.”

Sombra shoots you a playful smile, her smirk hiding something darker beneath the surface. “Don’t worry, handsome. I’ll show you the ropes.” She winks, and you can’t help but feel a small knot form in your stomach. Just act natural, you remind yourself, but it doesn’t help ease the nerves.

D.Va stands beside you, fiddling with the edges of her jacket. "You know, I don't do fake dates," she grumbles, crossing her arms with an exaggerated sigh. "But whatever, I'll make it work."

Sojourn raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment. “McCree, you’re with D.Va. You’re her ‘date’ for the night. Keep your eyes open for anything suspicious.”

McCree shoots a grin at D.Va. "If you say so. Looks like I’ll be having a lot of fun tonight."

You can practically hear D.Va roll her eyes. “Keep it professional, cowboy.”

Finally, Sojourn turns to you. “You’re with Sombra. Don’t try to play hero—this is a mission, not a stage.”

Got it, you think, nodding at Sojourn as she moves on to brief the others. But the weight of the mission lingers, and you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to this job than meets the eye.

The mission begins the moment you step into the luxurious ballroom. The dinner party is in full swing as elegant guests mingle, their laughter echoing off the marble floors. You feel underdressed despite your new suit, the dark navy fabric cut sharply to make you look like you belong. The air smells of expensive perfume and fine wine, and as you move through the crowd, it’s hard to ignore the tension coiling in your gut.

“Remember,” Sombra whispers in your ear, her voice low, “our job is to blend in. These people are powerful, and if we don’t make ourselves invisible, things will go sideways. Stick close.”

You nod, taking a deep breath. This is your first undercover mission, and every part of you wants to do it right.

As Sombra vanishes into the crowd to start her work, you’re left to fend for yourself. You catch sight of McCree and D.Va across the room. McCree’s cowboy hat stands out, but it’s the way he moves through the crowd that grabs your attention—smooth, deliberate. D.Va, on the other hand, doesn’t seem to care that she’s standing out in her flashy outfit, but her eyes scan the room, sharp and calculating. She's not as carefree as she seems, you think, though it’s hard to keep up with her bravado.

You’re just about to approach them when a soft voice interrupts your thoughts. "Relax, Aqua. We’re on the same side here."

Sombra returns, sidling up next to you with an almost predatory grin. "Let’s go play our part. I need some intel from a few people before this gets interesting. Stay close, and don’t get distracted.”

You can’t help but nod. You’re supposed to blend in, act like you belong, but the whole thing feels surreal. This isn’t real, you tell yourself, You’re just a spectator in their world.

After some time, the night is moving smoothly. D.Va and McCree have managed to work the room as a fake couple, while Sombra has mingled with several guests, picking up snippets of conversation. You’ve been trying to stay out of sight, but it's hard when you're constantly being watched.

I need a drink… You think to yourself, feeling parched.

As soon as you step into the bar area, the subtle tension of the mission sets in, but for now, it’s business as usual. You sidle up to the bar, ordering something light—nothing too strong for your taste.

Gabe leans against the bar beside you, his broad shoulders looking a bit out of place in such a high-class setting, but it doesn’t seem to bother him. He strokes his beard absentmindedly as he glances at you, a relaxed, almost amused look in his eyes.

He looks at the bartender for a moment before turning his attention back to you, his voice low and casual. "You know, kid, you’ve got a knack for getting in these kinds of situations, don’t you?"

You raise an eyebrow, unsure if that’s a compliment. "Yeah, well, I had to adapt quickly. Not exactly a lot of room for mistakes on these kinds of jobs."

Gabe gives a low chuckle, his usual gruff demeanor lightened by the small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "You did more than adapt. You pulled it off. And then there was that whole thing with the mimic heroes—when you used that hard light tech to mirror us. I don’t know how you did it, but you made it look easy. Out there, fighting with us like you’d been doing it your whole life."

You take another sip of your drink, trying to suppress the pride bubbling inside. "It was a team effort."

His eyes glint with something between amusement and skepticism. "Yeah, sure, but you were calling the shots. And you were good. Real good. The way you handled the fights, how you picked the right hero for the job every time? I’ll tell you, we didn’t expect that from someone fresh off the—"

"Hold up," you interrupt, a little confused. "What exactly are you talking about? What’s a ‘mimic hero’?"

Gabe tilts his head slightly, clearly not surprised by your question. "Oh right... you wouldn’t know what a reflector omnic is, would you? Guess you don’t have the full picture, huh?"

You blink, still confused. "Reflector... omnics?"

He takes a deep breath, shifting his weight. "They’re not just your typical omnics. Reflector omnics are like... copies. They can mimic our appearances, our moves—hell, they even look like us. They’re like some kind of twisted imitation. But here’s the kicker—just because they look like us doesn’t mean they fight like us. They’re dangerous, but they’re not us . Not the real deal."

Your mind races as you process the information, struggling to keep up. "So... they’re just... like us, but fake?"

"Exactly," Gabe says, his voice turning more serious. "The reflectors use our skills, our tactics, and try to mess with us in ways we can’t always anticipate. But here’s where you’ve got something special. In every mission, you could figure out who to play as in the heat of the moment. You matched heroes to challenges like you were born for it, and guess what? We won every single time. But what you didn’t see was that, even when the score said we lost, we still won. We handled things on the ground. You were just looking at it all through the VR screen, not seeing what we were doing in real time."

You furrow your brow, trying to piece it together. "Wait... so, even when the game said we lost, you guys still finished the mission?"

“Game…?” He tilts his head.

"But yeah, exactly," Gabe confirms, a wry grin tugging at his lips. "You probably didn’t even know it. On your end, you thought it was a loss, but we still got the job done."

The realization hits you, and you feel your stomach churn slightly. "Huh, I had no idea. All that time, I thought I was just... failing."

Gabe chuckles and shakes his head, almost like he’s trying not to laugh at how naive you sound. "You really didn’t get it, huh? And don’t go thinking you’re the only one who didn’t know. You were in the VR system, after all—hell, from what I’ve seen, your system must’ve been top notch." He pauses, raising an eyebrow, a glint of curiosity in his eyes. "Top of the line, huh?"

You laugh nervously, giving him a quick shrug. 

“Well... I wouldn’t call it ‘top notch.’ More like a Roku Smart TV and an Xbox One..” you think to yourself, shaking your head as you chuckle. Not exactly high-tech , but you know better than to explain. You tell Gabe instead, laughing it off. "Yeah... something like that."

He smirks, clearly catching the tone, but he doesn’t push it further. "Uh-huh, sure, kid. I’m sure your system was just a bit... upgraded. But hey, as long as it worked, right? Maybe you just have a special touch when it comes to this stuff."

You can’t help but smile. You knew you were pretty good at gaming, but it wasn’t really something you’d expect to receive praise for.

Gabe grins, leaning in a bit closer as if to share a secret. "I remember when we were all on the carrier, getting ready to spawn in for a match. You were on your hero screen, right? I could’ve sworn I heard Aqua talking about how handsome I am. And, uh, you even mentioned that you’d totally go for me... if I weren’t married."

He smirks at you, raising an eyebrow. "Guess you didn’t realize your mic was on, huh? But hey, I’m not complaining. I’ll take the compliment."

You freeze for a second, caught off guard by his words. "W-Wait, I... didn’t leave my mic on..."

Gabe laughs softly, his grin widening. "Oh, you definitely did. Don’t worry though. I think it was a nice little moment. No harm done. Besides, who ever told you I was married? This handsome devil flies solo. "

He shares how he had never once dated anyone.

What. The frick.  

You think for a moment to yourself, whether or not this world had been somehow tailored to fit your likes and dislikes. Your room…Hana being the first person you meet, and Gabe not being married OR having kids…

It’s almost like–

He reaches out, almost as if to touch your hand, but you instinctively pull back. You don’t exactly know how to respond, but you laugh it off. "Well, it’s not like I... uh, meant for you to hear that."

You clear your throat, trying to shake off the tension from the earlier comment. "I think I’ll go track down Sombra. She’s probably off doing something shady."

Gabe chuckles, leaning back in his chair with a smirk playing at his lips. "Alright, (Y/n), don't go getting yourself into too much trouble." He raises an eyebrow, clearly amused. "Don’t get lost, kiddo."

You shoot him a playful glare. "I can handle myself, Gabe."

With that, you make your way to find Sombra, your footsteps echoing in the elegant, bustling party space as Gabe’s teasing voice lingers behind you.

You move through the crowd, your eyes scanning for any sign of Sombra. The music pulses in the background, the clinking of glasses, and quiet murmurs of conversation creating a thick atmosphere of elegance and hidden agendas.

You catch sight of a figure slipping around the corner of a grand archway. Of course, it’s Sombra. She doesn’t need to be visible to sneak around—it's her whole thing, after all.

You approach, trying to remain unnoticed, but she must’ve heard your footsteps because she turns just as you step into view, a sly grin playing across her lips.

"Well, well, look who’s back," Sombra says with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. "Did you leave Gabe with a nice little compliment, or did you just steal his drink?"

You roll your eyes, half-expecting this. "If I stole his drink, I’d be too drunk to track you down."

Sombra laughs, clearly entertained. "Touché. So, what’s on your mind now? Gonna help me mess with the 'big players' here, or do I have to go rogue?"

You raise an eyebrow, not entirely convinced. "Nahh, honestly, I think you better fess up. Remember, you said you’d tell me earlier how I got here."

Sombra shrugs, her expression still nonchalant, but there's a flicker of something beneath it. "Fine, fine. I’ll tell you, but don't get too attached to the story, alright? I don't even get half of it myself."

You sigh, rubbing your temple. You’re used to this—Sombra’s riddles and half-explanations—but it doesn’t make it any less frustrating.

She leans in, lowering her voice, like she's about to drop a serious secret. "I got a tip, right? Nothing too strange at first, just another mysterious source trying to make a deal. Normally, I'd hack them out, find where the info’s coming from, and shut it down. But this time... I couldn’t. It was like the signal was scrambled, or something was blocking me."

You frown, confused. "So you couldn't track it?"

"Exactly," she says with a chuckle, clearly frustrated by the oddity. "It’s my thing—hacking. I’ve got the skills, you know? But this one? It’s like it was... hidden. Then the tip? It asked for me to give them the tech prints for my translocator. I almost laughed it off. But then, a notification popped up—someone sent me a ton of online cash. Not a little—A TON. And I’m talking crypto, like some high roller trying to play at my table."

You cross your arms, intrigued but skeptical. "And what, you just gave them the prints?"

Sombra shakes her head, her smirk turning into a more serious expression. "I could’ve taken the cash, closed the root chat, and bolted. That was the plan, right? But just as I’m about to ghost, they send me another message. A big one."

You lean in closer, interested. "What did it say?"

Her gaze darkens, just for a moment, before she drops the bomb. "It basically told me ‘nuh-uh.’ And then they hit me with a bit of blackmail—turns out, I made a shady deal a while back that helped Overwatch, but it could also jeopardize my position with Sojourn. So, you know, I had to comply."

She pauses, letting the weight of her words sink in. You remain silent, processing what she’s said.

Sombra lets out a heavy sigh before continuing. "They said it was for a good cause. Then? They mentioned your name."

You blink, surprised. "My name? Why?"

A faint chuckle escapes her lips, but there’s no humor in it. "I don’t know. They didn’t explain it. But here I am, working with you , and I’m still trying to figure out what the hell’s going on."

You try to piece it all together. "So, someone, probably from another world, set you up to help me out? And you’re basically working under threat of exposure?"

She gives a half-shrug, her tone turning more self-assured. "Exactly. And before you ask, no, I don’t trust whoever this is. But you? You’re... something different. I haven’t figured you out yet, but I guess that's why I'm still sticking around."

You raise an eyebrow. "Well, I don’t need you to stick around out of obligation, Sombra."

Her lips curl into a playful grin. "Oh, don't worry. I’m not. I stick around because it’s fun to see where this mess is going. Just don't make it boring, alright?"

__

Just as you’re about to head back with Olivia, a woman dressed in a beautiful white gown screams.

“Everyone, get down!” she yells, her voice sharp as she lifts a glowing sphere into the air.

The guests scream in terror, scrambling to escape as the woman grips the sphere tighter, its light beginning to grow blinding. Your heart skips a beat. This is not part of the plan.

"Stay back!" she roars, her voice trembling with fury. "I will burn them all to the ground!"

Panic spreads as more guests flee, but you and the rest of your team are rooted to the spot.

Sombra steps toward you, her voice barely audible. “This is bigger than we thought. She’s not just a threat—This girl’s got a personal vendetta!”

The chaos in the ballroom intensifies as the glowing sphere hovers ominously above the woman. The crowd, once laughing and chatting, now scatters in panic, and the tension in the air is palpable. You can feel the electricity as it crackles, each pulse of energy making the room seem smaller, like it’s closing in on you.

What the hell is going on? You think to yourself, your gaze locked on the woman as she stands, her hand outstretched toward the orb. It’s as if she’s controlling it, her power pushing against the limits of the room’s walls, threatening to break it wide open.

You know you need to stop her, but how? I don’t even have a freaking MEKA yet, you remind yourself, frustration bubbling beneath your skin. You glance around at your teammates—D.Va is already in her suit, using TOKKI to keep civilians safe, while McCree is helping guide people to exits. But you’re left standing here, a half-formed agent at best.

“ I’m just supposed to stop her? ” you mutter to yourself, desperation creeping in. You try to think quickly. Maybe if I can just...

Reaching out instinctively, you stretch your hand toward her, trying to get her attention, to throw off her concentration. But instead, as your fingers curl, a surge of water bursts from your hand with a force you didn’t anticipate.

It’s not a controlled stream. It’s more like a small wave, an accidental flood of water, that sprays out in all directions—some of it even splashing against her face and knocking her off her footing.

What the hell? You blink in confusion, staring at your palm, completely dumbfounded by what just happened.

The woman’s eyes widen, and she stumbles back a step, wiping water from her face with an incredulous look. “ ¿En serio? ” she says, her tone both annoyed and amused, as if the situation is the least of her problems now.

Did she just—

You barely have time to process the words before the woman glares at you, and you finally realize what you’ve just done. It wasn’t intentional, and definitely not how you imagined trying to get her attention.

“Sorry?” you mumble, feeling both embarrassed and confused. “I didn’t mean to—”

She exhales sharply, clearly frustrated, but it doesn’t seem to slow her down. In fact, if anything, she seems even more determined. “If you think some water is going to stop me, you're wrong.”

That’s when you hear a familiar voice.

“Not if I can help it!” D.Va’s voice rings out as she launches herself into the fray, her MEKA landing with a loud thud beside the woman. The impact of her suit shakes the room, and for a brief second, the woman looks distracted, her orb flickering.

But the tension still hangs in the air like a thick fog. Everyone’s on edge. The civilians are panicked, and you’re standing here, not even sure what you’re capable of.

I’ve got to do something.

With a surge of resolve, you try to focus again, pulling on whatever energy you can muster. Another accidental spray of water comes out, this time more controlled—though still awkward—slamming into the orb, weakening it just enough to stop the woman from pushing it any further. The sphere flickers again, dimming slightly.

“Don’t make me use this,” the woman warns, her voice cold, venom dripping from her words.

“WAIT! We’re not the enemy!!” You yell, hoping to ease her out.

But the words barely leave your mouth when the real bad guys open fire. The first few shots are wild, missing her completely, but the next round finds its target. The woman grunts as a bullet grazes her shoulder, her eyes flashing with something dark—a mix of pain and rage. She’s not taking this lying down.

The orb above her flickers, charging with bright energy, and the crowd around you screams in panic, scrambling for cover. You step forward, but the next round of fire from the enemy comes in hot, and the woman retaliates almost instinctively.

She raises a hand, and the air around you distorts, shimmering as though the very atmosphere is bending under her will. A wave of energy shoots out, knocking a few of the shooters back. But it’s clear—she’s not trying to just stop them. She’s trying to end them .

This is bad. Really bad.

You look around, trying to assess the situation. D.Va’s already in her MEKA, her digital interface flashing with commands as she scans the room, trying to keep the innocent civilians out of harm's way. McCree is taking cover behind a pillar, keeping an eye on the woman and the attackers, while Reaper... well, he’s just standing there, in his dark wraith form. Ominously . His eyes were fixed on the scene like he’s waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

The sudden bursts of gunfire echo through the area as the brunette ducks, her earlier confidence now replaced by focused precision. “ Cover me! ” she calls out, her voice steady even under pressure. The enemies don’t need a second invitation, opening fire, but you and the team are already moving into action.

Reaper is the first to make a move, and instead of drawing his guns, he simply vanishes into the shadows, his wraith form enveloping him. You hear the faint sound of his footsteps before he materializes behind one of the enemy combatants, effortlessly slamming them to the ground. He doesn’t stop to finish them off—he’s too focused on neutralizing threats swiftly.

D.Va doesn’t hesitate either. Her mech powers up, the familiar hum of her Defense Matrix buzzing as she positions herself between the mysterious woman and the incoming fire. Bullets absorbed into the glowing barrier, and she grins behind, clearly enjoying the chaos. “I got you! Keep your head down!”

Olivia, the always-efficient hacker, steps to the side and starts manipulating the omnics, her fingers flying over her keyboard as she disables their limb functions with surgical precision. They stop moving, falling limp to the ground, harmless for now.

You, wanting to do something start blasting the remaining human combatants with a relentless stream of water, soaking them to the bone. Their shots become less accurate as they wipe the water from their faces, cursing and stumbling backward. They’re clearly annoyed, and that’s exactly what you want.

A few more sprays and one of them actually slips in the puddle you’ve created, knocking them out cold. The others try to take cover, but it’s no use. They can’t escape the steady stream, and as soon as they’re drenched, they begin to lose focus, trying to stop the constant onslaught of water hitting them from every angle.

McCree finally makes his way over, having been elsewhere. He arrives just in time to see the remaining enemy forces floundering under the spray. He draws his revolver with a smirk, seemingly only for show, holstering it almost immediately. “Well, I think they get the point,” he says, eyeing the drenched group. “You can stop now, kid.”

You chuckle, wiping off your hands on your rental. 

The bad guys exchange wary looks. Funnily enough, the water and Olivia’s hacking had taken the fight out of them. Slowly, they drop their weapons and raise their hands in surrender.

Fast-forward to the team exiting the carrier. The mission is winding down, and the atmosphere is noticeably less tense. You step off the ramp and onto the landing platform, taking a deep breath. It feels good to have the danger behind you—for now.

You spot the woman nearby, adjusting her gear, the earlier tension still evident in her movements, but the relief of having made it through this skirmish alive is also clear. You make your way over to her, and as you approach, she turns toward you, a soft smile breaking through her usually serious demeanor.

"Nice work out there," you tell her, offering a nod of respect. "You didn’t flinch once when things started getting rough. I’m (Y/n), by the way."

She grins, though it’s tempered by the weight of what just happened. “I’m Illari. Had to stay sharp. No room for hesitation with all that chaos.”

You chuckle, glancing around. The adrenaline is still buzzing in your veins, but the quiet after the storm feels nice. “I’m guessing you’ve seen your fair share of chaos, huh?”

Her smile falters for a moment, but only for a second. “You could say that. Been in situations where things went... a lot worse.”

You pause, picking up on the subtle shift in her tone, the hidden depth of her words. “You want to talk about it?” you ask, your voice softer now.

Illari shakes her head, her expression hardening again. “Not really. I’ve learned that the past’s the past. It’s the now that matters.”

You can tell there’s more she’s not saying, but you don’t press her. She’s clearly a professional, and if she’s not ready to open up, that’s her call. Instead, you give her a friendly pat on the shoulder.

“Fair enough. But hey, if you ever need someone to talk to—well, you’ve got a whole team here for you. Including me.”

She looks at you for a long moment, her gaze unreadable, before giving a small nod. “I appreciate that.”

___________________

END CHAPTER

Chapter Text

NewJeans (뉴진스) 'Cookie' Official MV

The debriefing room hums softly with the sound of distant machinery. The air is thick with the scent of metal and ozone, remnants of the battle clinging to your skin. You stand beside Sombra and Illari, facing Sojourn—Commander Vivian Chase, as the records call her—who leans against the edge of the table, arms folded, her cybernetic eye quietly humming as it scans the three of you.

"So," Sojourn says, her voice low but firm. "What did you find?"

You nod toward Illari, silently prompting her to speak. For a moment, she hesitates, her hands tightening into fists before she exhales a slow breath and steps forward.

"It was me," Illari says quietly, though her tone is heavy with restrained anger. "I was the one they targeted. Among others. But it was my technology they wanted."

Sojourn raises a brow. "Technology? What kind of technology?"

Illari hesitates again, the weight of her words visibly pressing against her shoulders. When she finally speaks, her voice is softer—almost distant. "My Healing Pylon." She raises a gloved hand, gesturing faintly toward the small, sun-infused device clipped to her belt. "It was the last creation from my people—the Inti Warriors. The others..." Her voice falters. "The others are gone because of me."

For a moment, the room is silent. Even Sombra, usually quick with a snarky comment, stays quiet. You shift uncomfortably, sensing there’s more to the story.

Sojourn’s gaze sharpens. "Gone? Explain."

Illari swallows hard and straightens her back, pushing through the weight of the memory. "The Inti Warriors... We protected our people using solar-based technology. The Healing Pylon—it’s more than just a tool. It’s a legacy." Her hand trembles slightly at her side. "I was young. Reckless. I thought I could harness more power than I was trained to. I tried to amplify the core's energy... and it worked. For a second. But then it failed. I overloaded, and..." Her breath shudders as she looks away. "The explosion took everyone. I was the only one left."

You can feel a tight knot forming in your stomach. No wonder she was so fierce out there—she’s been fighting ghosts ever since.

"And now someone’s stolen the blueprints?" Sojourn asks, her voice still measured but laced with a new edge of concern.

Illari nods. "I destroyed most of the designs after the accident. I thought I had erased everything. But... there was one backup. Hidden. Someone found it." Her fists clench tighter. "I tried to track them. Whoever they were, they were good. Too good. My system—" she pauses, shaking her head. "It got locked out. Then a blank screen appeared with only a logo on it. A stylized 'T.'"

At the mention of the logo, your heart skips a beat. Your mind races, piecing together fragments of information from your world. Talon. But that doesn’t make sense—Doomfist, Reaper, Widowmaker... None of them are here. You glance at Sombra, wondering if she’s making the same connection.

"So Talon does exist here," you murmur under your breath, just loud enough for yourself to hear.

Sojourn’s expression hardens. 

____

The debrief wraps up with Sojourn dismissing the team, her sharp gaze lingering on Illari for a moment longer before turning to leave. The tension in the room finally eases as the door slides shut behind her. You exhale softly, stretching your arms over your head before stepping out into the corridor.

"I gotta say," Hana's voice pulls your attention to the right as you find her leaning casually against the wall, arms crossed, that trademark playful smirk dancing on her lips. "For someone with water powers, you sure know how to make a mess."

You chuckle, shaking your head. "Winston still can't figure it out," you admit, leaning against the wall beside her. "He thinks it has something to do with pulling moisture from the air—or, you know, maybe from my own body."

Hana hums thoughtfully before her smile turns wicked. "So basically, you're Catara from 'Avatar, the Last Windbender'?"

You let out a laugh, nudging her shoulder with yours. "First of all, I’m NOT a waterbender , and second of all, you didn’t just compare me to a cartoon character."

She giggles, the sound light and warm. "Hey, if the shoe fits! Besides, if you get to be a waterbender, that means I get to be the cool, mysterious firebender, right?" She flips her hair dramatically over her shoulder.

You play along, offering a teasing bow. "Of course, your highness."

Her laughter fades into a softer smile as she studies you for a moment, her eyes tracing your features. "You know," she starts, a little quieter now, "you really did look handsome in that navy-blue suit back at the party."

You raise an eyebrow, a grin tugging at the corner of your lips. "Oh? I seem to recall you turning quite a few heads yourself. That dress was... well, gorgeous doesn’t even cover it."

A faint blush creeps onto her cheeks, but she recovers quickly, waving a hand as if to dismiss the compliment. "Pfft, I always look good. But you?" She tilts her head, and in Korean, she blurts out, "왜 우리를 안 엮어줬지? 완벽한 커플인데..."

You blink, your Korean still a little rusty, but you catch the gist. Why didn't they pair us up... we're already the perfect pair...

A slow smile creeps across your face. "What was that?" you ask, feigning innocence.

Her eyes widen slightly, realizing she said it out loud. "Nothing!" she answers quickly, brushing her hair back again to hide the slight embarrassment. "Just, uh, wondering why you haven’t messed up your hair with all that water bending."

You laugh again, shaking your head. "Smooth, Hana. Real smooth."

You and Hana stroll through the halls, she’s practically bouncing with excitement. She's heard rumors of a new vendor selling some trendy K-pop-inspired outfits—an exclusive, limited-time collection, no less. Naturally, that piques her interest.

“오! 오!! Did you hear?” Hana asks, her voice bright with anticipation. “I heard there’s this vendor who’s got some new outfits in the back. They're all the rage right now. Apparently, it's a special collab some huge company or something. Limited time only!”

You roll your eyes with a smirk. "Yeah, because you need more flashy clothes."

“Hey!” she protests, “I’m just keeping up with the trends! I have to look good if I’m going to be seen with the entire squad.” Her voice dips into playful sarcasm, and you can’t help but chuckle.

You roll your eyes, but there’s a tiny spark of interest in you, mostly because it’s Hana . Plus, a tip from Sombra earlier means you’ve got some extra credits to burn.

“Well, I’ve got a pretty hefty paycheck coming in, thanks to a tip I got,” you admit casually, pulling out the wallet and jingling the coins inside, more to yourself than to Hana. “So, I guess I’ll indulge you.”

Her eyes widen, and she claps her hands in excitement. “A hefty paycheck? Well, you know what that means, right?” She grins mischievously. “Shopping spree! You have to come inside, there’s no way I’m going in alone!”

You chuckle, shaking your head, and watch as she hurries off toward the vendor’s store. She disappears through the door, the bell above it chiming as she enters. You watch her go, then glance back at the seating area.

I’m not going to chase after her for K-pop clothes… you think, slumping a little as you make your way over to the nearby couches.

As you walk over and sit down, you’re immediately hit with the strange sight of a very large, very muscular guy lounging across the seat. He’s taking up the entire couch, his feet stretched out and blocking the other half of the seating, clearly not caring whether anyone else needs a spot.

Why is this guy taking up the whole couch? you think, raising an eyebrow at the display.

You sit down on the edge of the couch, trying to be as far away as possible from him, your mind whirling with curiosity about the guy. His posture is so laid-back, you can’t help but notice how his sheer presence demands the space. He’s got an air of someone who’s too comfortable with everything around him—like he’s used to being this imposing.

You can hear a faint chuckle from the guy, though you don’t know if it’s directed at you or just his own amusement.

Is he going to move?

You glance sideways at him again, but he doesn’t seem to notice. His eyes are half-lidded, a faint smirk on his lips, looking like he’s just waiting for something.

Your curiosity keeps nagging at you, but Hana’s enthusiasm and the thought of those outfits start pulling your attention back to the vendor.

Oh well, you think, trying to shrug it off. Hana’s probably already digging through all the racks by now. I can’t waste my time here.

You pull out your phone, tapping through the screens as you start to relax into the couch, only half paying attention to the man. That’s when you hear his deep, slightly amused voice cut through the air.

“You’re new around here, aye?” His heavy Scottish accent rolls through the words, not directed at anyone in particular but clearly aimed at you.

You blink, realizing he’s talking to you. His presence is just... strange. You look up and meet his gaze for the first time. There’s something about him that feels oddly familiar, but you can’t quite place it. He’s definitely not someone you’ve met before.

“Uh, yeah, just arrived,” you reply casually, trying not to show how thrown off you are by his sudden attention. “Getting used to things around here.”

He gives a lazy grin, his feet still sprawled out across the couch. “Aye, takes a bit, doesn’t it? The place grows on ye. ‘Name’s Finlay.”

You nod, unsure of what else to say. “O. Ang saya kong…”

Something give you the feeling that this guy doesn’t like speaking more than two languages. Most people don’t even know Tagalog.

“Yeah…uh, I’m (Y/n)”

The guy’s vibe is so relaxed that it almost feels like you’re intruding on his space, but he doesn’t seem bothered by it.

What kind of person takes up an entire couch like that? you think to yourself.

_____

As you scroll aimlessly through your phone, trying to pass the time while waiting for Hana, you're suddenly jolted out of your thoughts by a loud, squealing voice.

“OMG OMG OMG! 새 옷 좀 봐!!"!!” Hana exclaims, practically jumping in front of you, her face beaming with excitement, her voice rising in pitch as she giggles uncontrollably.

You blink in surprise, caught off guard by her sudden energy. "What? Hana, you almost gave me a heart attack," you laugh, trying to calm your racing pulse.

She practically shoves the shopping bags into your face, her grin wide. The clothes she holds up are definitely eye-catching. The parachute pants are a bold shade of blue, accented with sleek, modern metallic strips and a cool chain hanging from the side. The fabric is loose and baggy, perfect for a stylish yet comfortable look. And there, clearly visible on the pants, is a logo—a minimalist, sleek emblem that could easily be mistaken for some high-end brand, but to anyone with an eye for detail, it's unmistakably Le Sserafim's logo: a stylized 'L' and 'S' overlaid a clean, geometric shape. The sleek, curved lines give it a futuristic feel, and the design itself exudes a mix of elegance and modern street style, just like the idol group itself.

“Isn’t it amazing?!” Hana continues, bouncing on the balls of her feet, clearly so pleased with her new purchase. “And guess what else!” Her eyes light up even further, if that’s even possible. “I won tickets to their concert in Korea! And guess who’s coming with me?” She leans in, teasingly, as if the question itself is the most exciting part. "You’re coming, of course! And Illari, Ashe, Angie... and this other girl, who’s a little shy but cool. Her name’s Chuunie!”

You blink at her, still processing. “Wait, Chuunie?”

“Yeah!” Hana says, nearly bouncing off the walls, her energy practically contagious. “I’m so excited! We’ll all go together, and it’s gonna be so fun!”

You hadn’t noticed before, but the guy who’d been taking up half of your couch is no longer there.

I didn’t even see him leave…

____________

Chapter Text

The faint hum of the lights buzzes overhead as you finally push open the door to your apartment loft. The weight of the day clings to you—Illari’s revelation, Sojourn’s unyielding expression, and that strange encounter with the Scottish guy, Finlay. Even Hana’s infectious excitement over her new outfits wasn’t enough to completely shake off the heaviness in your chest.

The loft greets you with its usual quiet comfort. Warm city lights spill in through the large glass projector, illuminating the sleek but cozy interior.

For something fake, it sure does feel real.

You toe off your boots at the door, letting out a sigh as you step onto the cool hardwood floor. Tossing your jacket over the back of the couch, you wander toward the small kitchen nook. A half-finished cup of coffee from earlier still sits on the counter, cold and forgotten. You make a mental note to clean it later—not that you’ll actually get around to it anytime soon.

Your muscles ache with exhaustion, but your mind won’t stop buzzing. The ‘T’ logo. Talon. If they’re behind the stolen designs, things are only going to get worse. You lean against the counter, letting your head fall back for a moment, the ceiling blurring as you stare up at it.

Why would Talon want Illari’s technology?

Your fingers drum absently on the countertop as your thoughts spiral. There’s no clear answer—but whatever it is, you know it won’t be good.

A soft chime from your phone pulls you from your thoughts. You grab it from your pocket, glancing at the screen. [1 New Message: ⁁♪Hana]

Hana: "Did you make it back alive? Or did Finlay crush you with his sheer mass? 😜"

You huff a quiet laugh, your lips tugging into a small smile despite yourself. Typical Hana.

You: "So you DID see! I barely survived :( I’ll need back up next time. :/"

Her reply is almost instant.

Hana: "LOL. Just say the word, hero. 💖"

The warmth of her teasing lingers as you push off the counter and make your way to the staircase. Each step creaks softly beneath your weight as you ascend. Reaching the second floor, you step into your bedroom—a simple but inviting space. The bed is unmade (no surprise there), with a navy-blue blanket half-draped across it. A few stray pieces of tech and wires are scattered on your desk nearby, evidence of your ongoing tinkering.

With a sigh, you collapse onto the bed, the mattress dipping beneath you. For a moment, you just lie there, staring at the ceiling, letting your body sink into the comfort of your sheets. But the silence only amplifies your thoughts.

What if Illari’s right? What if the designs falling into the wrong hands mean another disaster waiting to happen?

Your fingers twitch, and almost instinctively, you lift your hand, summoning a thin ribbon of water from the glass on your nightstand. It twists and turns in midair, catching the faint glow of the city lights outside. You let it hover above you for a moment before allowing it to fall back into the glass with a quiet splash.

No matter how much power you have, you still can’t stop everything.

Your phone buzzes again.

Hana: "Also… you good? You seemed kinda quiet earlier."

The concern in her words catches you off guard. You stare at the message for a while, your thumb hovering over the keyboard.

You: " Yeah, just thinking too much. I’ll survive ."

You hesitate for a moment before adding:

You: " Thanks for checking in, though. Means a lot. "

This time, it takes her a little longer to reply.

Hana: "Anytime, dummy. You know I’ve got your back. Always."

You smile softly at the screen, warmth curling in your chest. Despite everything—Talon, the secrets, the uncertainty—there are still people who care. People who make it all a little easier to bear.

The soft hum of electronics fills the air as you step into your dimly-lit room. Your sweet, adorable calico, Tokki, lounges on your bed—half-curled into a ball, her tail twitching lazily.

You plop down beside her, letting out a sigh as you stretch your arms over your head. Your fingers still feel a little tingly from messing around with your weird water powers earlier. It’s been on your mind ever since Hana mentioned it. Water augments… You glance at your hands, turning them over.

You clench your fist and focus. The air feels cooler between your fingers, and slowly—a bead of water forms, shimmering like liquid crystal. You flick your fingers, and the droplet hovers, twisting and rolling mid-air before falling back into your palm.

"So… I’m basically a waterbender now, huh?" you mutter to yourself.

Tokki lets out a soft "mrrrp?" and stretches, padding closer to you. She presses her forehead against your hand as if sensing your swirling thoughts.

"Yeah, I know. Weird, right?" you chuckle softly, rubbing her ears. "What do I even do with this? Pulling water from the air… What’s next, surfing on a wave like some anime character?"

She meows quietly, as if she has all the answers in the world.

You lean back against the headboard, exhaling slowly. Water. It’s in everything—moisture in the air, the sweat on your skin, even the dew clinging to the windows. You already know how to manipulate small amounts, but you wonder… could you push further? Could you pull water from living things?

"Okay, creepy thought. Moving on."

A flash of silver catches your eye.

At the edge of the bed sits a brand-new laptop, sleek and matte black. There’s a folded note resting on top of it. You pick it up, instantly recognizing the looping script in purple ink.

"You fry your last laptop again, niño? Try not to break this one. – Sombra"

You snort. "She knows me too well."

Flicking the laptop open, you’re greeted by a custom loading screen—a glitching chibi version of yourself winking, courtesy of Sombra’s hacking touch. It’s already loaded with design programs, schematics, and an encrypted folder labeled “MEKA Prototype – For the New Kid.”

"Guess Hana wasn’t kidding about making me design one," you murmur. Your heart skips a beat.

Time to get to work.

sleek and matte black. There’s a folded note resting on top of it. You pick it up, instantly recognizing the looping script in purple ink.

"You fry your last laptop again, niño? Try not to break this one. – Sombra"

You snort. "She knows me too well."

Flicking the laptop open, you’re greeted by a custom loading screen—a glitching chibi version of yourself winking, courtesy of Sombra’s hacking touch. It’s already loaded with design programs, schematics, and an encrypted folder labeled “MEKA Prototype – For the New Kid.”

"Guess Hana wasn’t kidding about making me design one," you murmur. Your heart skips a beat.

Time to get to work.

Chapter Text

The faint clinking of distant machinery hums through the cavernous halls as you stroll toward the practice range. It’s late—late enough that most agents have turned in, leaving the base bathed in a warm, ambient glow.

Your new laptop is still buzzing in your head. The MEKA design, the water augmentation stuff—there’s a lot to figure out. But for now, your fingers itch for something familiar. Something grounding.

Guns.

The doors to the practice range slide open with a smooth hiss. Rows of automated targets line the space, some stationary, others weaving in erratic patterns. Overwatch doesn’t mess around with training.

You let out a low whistle, stepping inside and rolling your shoulders. It’s quieter than you expected. Well, almost.

"Thought I heard someone wanderin’ in."

The voice is smooth, low—cowboy smooth.

Turning your head, you spot McCree, leaning against a workbench like he owns the place. His signature brown hat sits low on his forehead, but there’s no mistaking the glint in his eye. The smell of gun oil and faint tobacco lingers in the air.

"Didn’t peg you for the late-night type," he drawls, lifting a Peacekeeper revolver and spinning it effortlessly around his trigger finger.

You smirk, stepping up to the firing line. "Didn’t peg you for the babysitting type, either."

McCree chuckles, pushing off the workbench with a smooth stride. "Ain’t babysittin’ if you come to me, kid." He sets a fresh clip into the Peacekeeper with a satisfying click. "What brings you down here? Thought you’d be tinkerin’ with your fancy tech."

"Needed to clear my head." You used the little trick you taught yourself, and with a flick of your wrist, you aim down the range. The water was concentrated this time, pressurized. The first target blinks red—then bam , you nail it center mass.

McCree lets out an impressed whistle. "Not bad. Fast hands."

"Comes with the territory," you shrug. "Guess you know a thing or two about that."

He grins, flashing a bit of teeth. "Ain’t wrong. But speed’s only half the battle. You ever wonder why you’re fast?"

You glance at him sideways. "I dunno. Good reflexes?"

"Nah," McCree says, stepping to your side. "It’s ‘cause you don’t hesitate. Fast hands come from a quick mind—but a quicker heart. You don’t second-guess yourself when it’s time to pull the trigger."

You consider that, lowering your blasters for a moment. "Is that how you do it?"

McCree chuckles, spinning his revolver and holstering it in one smooth motion. "I got my reasons. But it ain’t all about pullin’ the trigger. Sometimes, it’s about knowin’ when not to."

His words hang heavy in the air. For a guy who seems so laid-back, there’s an edge beneath his voice—a shadow that lingers if you’re paying attention.

"So," he continues, breaking the silence, "what’s eatin’ at ya? Don’t tell me it’s just target practice."

You sigh, pulling your gloves tighter. "It’s… everything. The powers. The MEKA. Trying to figure out if I’m cut out for all this."

He watches you for a beat, then tilts his head toward the targets. "C’mon. Show me what you got. Maybe I’ll give you a few pointers."

You don’t need to be told twice.

Twenty Minutes Later

You’re breathing heavier now, but your shots are sharper—faster. The two of you have fallen into a rhythm. McCree barks out challenges while you push your reflexes further.

"Left target—pop it twice." Bam. Bam.

"Center mass—double tap." plink. Bam.

"Now aim small—miss small."

You squint, focusing on the tiniest sliver of a target peeking out from the side.You concentrate, pulling your might into one finger, amplifying the shot. BAM. The target shatters.

McCree gives a low, approving whistle. "Damn, kid. You sure you didn’t train under Deadlock?"

You snort. "I’d rather not get arrested, thanks."

He laughs, real and warm, before letting the range quiet again.

"Listen," he says, softer now, "I know it’s a lot. Joining Overwatch’s like bein’ thrown into a storm headfirst. But if you’re here? It means someone sees something in you."

You lean back against the wall, the blue glowing marks on your hands reverting back to normal. "Yeah… maybe."

McCree tilts his hat up, giving you a rare, serious look. "Ain’t no ‘maybe.’ You’re in the fight now. And you ain’t fightin’ alone."

Those words sit with you for a while—long after he steps away.

2 hours later

You stand outside Reyes’ office, the metallic hum of Gibraltar’s infrastructure buzzing softly around you. The door is cracked open—inviting, in a way that feels just a little too easy.

Hmm..If this is some kind of simulation, shouldn’t there be limits? Walls you’re not supposed to cross? Yet… here you are. Free to walk around, free to pry. It doesn’t feel like a game—no quest markers, no NPC dialogue loops. It’s too real. The ache in your legs from the mission earlier, the taste of whatever coffee Hana brewed that morning…all of it feels solid. Tangible.

But if this is all just code, there’s got to be a breaking point somewhere. Right?

Curiosity wins. You push the door open and slip inside.

The office is exactly what you’d expect from someone like Gabriel Reyes—clean, organized, but heavy. Dark leather chairs and a broad mahogany desk ground the room, while old Blackwatch insignias are tucked discreetly among files and classified documents. The faint smell of gun oil lingers in the air.

You trail your fingers along the desk’s edge, eyes scanning across the room. A line of neatly stacked dossiers—names you don’t recognize. Another pile labeled "Active Operations" looks fresher, with some pages dog-eared and hastily scribbled on. You resist the urge to open one. Barely.

"Not exactly subtle, are you?"

The familiar rasp of Reyes' voice catches you mid-step. You whirl around, caught in the act. He leans against the doorframe, arms crossed, the hint of a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.

"I could say the same," you shoot back, leaning against his desk like you belong there. "You leave your door open for anyone to snoop around, or am I just special?"

His laugh is low, rough. "You're lucky I’m in a good mood, kid." He steps inside, the door hissing shut behind him. “Find anything interesting?”

“Depends,” you say, tilting your head. “I was expecting a mini-bar. Maybe a secret escape tunnel. Kinda disappointed.”

That earns you a full chuckle as he sinks into the leather chair behind the desk. The tension in the air shifts, relaxing as his demeanor softens—less "Commander Reyes," more "Gabe."

“So,” he starts, leaning back. “You seemed to handle yourself fine out there. For a rookie.”

“Wow,” you deadpan. “You really know how to make a person feel special.”

Reyes huffs a laugh again, but his expression turns serious. “I mean it. The stuff you pulled back in Paris—most people would’ve panicked. Hell, even some of our seasoned agents freeze when things go sideways.”

For a moment, you remember the OG days, before the archive missions. You used to LOVE matches in Paris, it was very D.va bomb friendly.

“If I didn’t push myself, who else would?” The lie slips out before you can stop them. “Hana said I need to figure out my limits—but what happens if I don’t find them?”

She had never said that.

Reyes watches you closely, his dark eyes sharp. “Limits are there for a reason,” he says, voice low. “Push too far, and something gives. Always does.”

You shift in your seat, his words settling heavier than you expected. “You sound like you know from experience.”

“I do.” His tone is blunt, and for a moment, silence stretches between you.

It’s strange, sitting across from him like this—just talking. No orders. No pressure. Just two people trying to figure things out.

After a beat, you glance toward a photograph on the corner of his desk. It’s an old snapshot—faded, but clear enough. Reyes, younger, standing alongside a grinning Jack Morrison. Reminds you of when things were simpler. Back before you got stuck here. You almost ask about it, but something stops you.

Instead, you say, “Back in the mission, when things got bad…you didn’t flinch. Like you already knew how it was gonna play out.”

“I’ve seen enough fights to know the patterns,” he says quietly. “Doesn’t mean I like it. Doesn’t mean I trust it’ll go smooth every time.”

So…he isn't bloodthirsty like the game portrays…

You hesitate before asking the next question. “Do you ever feel like…like none of this is real?”

His brow furrows slightly. “That's random. What do you mean?”

You bite your lip, trying to frame the thought swirling in your mind. “I mean…what if this is all just a simulation? A test? And we’re the test subjects—me especially. It’s like I’m walking through someone else’s world, and no matter how much I push, I can’t find the edge. Shouldn’t there be a boundary somewhere?”

Reyes leans forward, elbows on his desk. For a man who’s seen more than most, he doesn’t laugh off your paranoia. Instead, he considers it. “If there’s an edge,” he says finally, “I’ve never found it. And I’ve been around a lot longer than you.”

His words settle in your chest, heavier than you’d like. If a man like Gabriel Reyes hasn’t found the cracks—what makes you think you ever will?

Still, there’s a part of you that wants to try. As much as you love it here, you still want to get back to your family.

Then again, my cat is here in this world, and she has every spot accounted for.

“You’re either overthinking,” he adds, his tone lightening, “or you’ve been spending too much time with Sombra. She’ll have you chasing ghosts if you’re not careful.”

You laugh quietly. “Can’t help it. I like to know where I stand.”

Reyes shakes his head with a smirk. “Good. You’ll need that.” He leans back again, watching you for a moment before speaking softer. “Just…don’t push too far, (Y/n). This world has a funny way of pushing back when you do.”

What the heck does that mean…

“Just kidding.” He says, a smirk playing on his lips. You can’t tell whether or not he’s joking because his husky, serious voice throws you off. The weight behind his words lingers, leaving you more questions than answers. But for now, you tuck them away.

“Thanks for the chat, boss.” You rise from the chair, stretching as you glance toward the door. “I’ll try not to raid your secret files next time.” You say, chuckling nervously.

“You won’t find the good ones anyway,” he calls after you, voice dry as ever.

As you step back into the cool corridors of Gibraltar, his words echo in your mind. If there’s an edge to this reality…you’re going to find it. No matter how far you have to push.

And maybe Gabe’s right.

Maybe the world does push back.

But that won’t stop you from trying.

Chapter Text

Optional playlist for this chapter:

The novelty of waking up in a high-tech, secret base in the middle of the ocean should have worn off, but it hasn’t. The cool metal beneath your feet, the distant hum of machinery—it’s becoming familiar in a way that makes you uneasy. Because no matter how much you poke, prod, or push, the world doesn’t crack. No glitching out. No sudden game-over screen.

Maybe this is your life now.

A soft, familiar meow pulls you from your thoughts.

Tokki stretches out on your bed, her fluffy white fur gleaming under the soft morning lights. You smile, leaning down to scratch behind her ears as she purrs like an engine.

“Guess you’re settling in too, huh?” you murmur, your fingers brushing through her fur. “Not bad, I guess. No weird bugs or glitches. But still…”

You trail off, half-expecting her to respond. At this point, you wouldn’t even be surprised if she did.

The door chimes softly, and you glance up as it slides open.

“Morning, superstar.”

It’s Hana. Of course it’s Hana. She leans against the doorframe, dressed in an oversized hoodie and a pair of sleek, fitted shorts. Her hair’s tied up in a messy ponytail, and despite how early it is, she looks effortlessly put-together.

“Uh, hey,” you say, sitting up straighter. You suddenly feel aware of how… casual you are—still in your sleep shirt and shorts. Not exactly fashion-forward.

Hana grins, her eyes flicking toward Tokki. “Thought I’d check in. You still talking to your cat?”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “She’s the best listener around here.”

“Lucky cat,” she says, stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. She moves easily through your space—too easily—and plops herself down at your desk, spinning in the chair. “I would’ve come sooner, but Dae-Hyun was working overtime on your ride.”

Your heart skips. “Wait—you mean it’s done?” She nods.

"Already? Damn, that was fast."

"Hey, I told you—he’s a genius when you give him a challenge." She flashed you a playful grin. "Besides, I couldn’t exactly let my… student wait too long, right?"

The way she emphasized the word sent a little jolt through you.

"You’re really taking this mentor thing seriously, huh?" You tried to keep your voice casual, but she caught the flicker of something deeper beneath the words.

Hana tilted her head, her expression softening. "Well… yeah. I mean, it’s kind of nice, y’know? Having someone around who gets it."

The air in the room grew a little heavier, but not in a bad way. She was being sincere—something you didn’t always see beneath her snarky exterior. For a moment, neither of you said anything. The hum of the base and the distant call of seabirds filled the silence.

Tokki, ever the attention-seeker, stretched out and nudged her head against Hana’s leg, breaking the tension.

Hana laughed quietly. "Guess she likes me more than you now."

"Traitor," you muttered, flicking Tokki’s tail gently before turning back to her. "Alright—where is it? The MEKA."

"Hangar bay. C’mon—I wanna see your reaction when you try it out." She hopped to her feet, holding out a hand. "Let’s go before Dae-hyun decides to add something weird to it."

“You’re kind of the best,” you admit, pushing off the bed and heading to your dresser. You hesitate for a moment before realizing what she said, glancing her way. “Uh—unless you wanted me to stay in my pajamas all day?”

Hana’s eyes flick up to meet yours, and for a moment, something shifts in her expression. She leans back in the chair, twirling a lock of hair around her finger. “Depends. You pull it off pretty well.”

You freeze mid-motion, warmth creeping up your neck. Did she just—?

“Relax, (Y/n),” she laughs, standing up and tossing you a jacket from your closet. “Get dressed. Let’s see what Dae-Hyun cooked up for you.”

____________

The garage is buzzing with life when you arrive. Sparks fly as engineers tinker with advanced tech, the air thick with the smell of oil and fresh paint. Dae-Hyun stands near the center, wiping grease off his hands, his face lighting up when he spots you.

Wow…That 2 hours flight to Busan did NOT disappoint. You think to yourself, half expecting the garage to be less impressive.

“Ah, there you are!” he calls out. “Took me a few late nights, but she’s ready.”

And there it is.

Your MEKA.

“So i tried to stay true to your requests. Sleek and imposing, the frame is a perfect fusion of D.Va’s mobility with your unique twist. The hitscan rifles gleam along the arms, but a subtle adjustment allows for a shockgun mode, delivering close-range power when things get heated. But the real marvel?”

“It runs on water.” He says it as if he’s practiced saying it multiple times before.

Hana whistles low beside you. “Damn. You really went all out.”

“Had to,” Dae-Hyun says, grinning. “You’re running with one of the best, after all.”

You step closer, running your fingers along the smooth metal. There’s a thrill that coils tight in your chest—this is yours. A piece of you.

“You wanna take her for a spin?” Hana nudges you with her elbow, her voice playful.

“As if you even have to ask.”

__

The cockpit is snug, but familiar. You lay flat on your stomach as the systems hum to life around you. Screens flicker, displaying a holographic interface, and your fingers twitch against the controls. A cute cat pops on the screen, reading out instructions. Surprisingly, the screen reads in old Baybayin:

(“Kamusta. Ako si Diwa. Para makapagsimula, i-double tap ang kaliwang joycon. tatlong beses na tap para sa Mga Setting. para sa musika, tapikin ang pindutan sa iyong tabi. Sabihin "patugtugin ang playlist ni Hana." Para lumabas, hilahin ang lever na ginamit mo para pumasok.”)

“Alright,” Hana’s voice crackles through the comms. “Show me what you’ve got.”

You push forward, and the MEKA moves like an extension of your body. Fluid. Responsive. Fast. The hitscan mode tears through the practice dummies, while a quick toggle switches to the shockgun, blasting targets at close range with devastating precision.

You’re breathless by the time you finish the trial run, sliding out of the cockpit as Hana claps, her grin wide.

“You’re a natural,” she says. “Maybe you’re not just lucky after all.”

“Oh please, Song. Since when have I ever needed luck?” You say, a wide smile on your face.

___

“You’re serious?” you blink at Hana as you follow her into the common area.

“What? You need clothes, and I’m busy prepping for the concert,” she says with an exaggerated shrug. “Besides, you’ll survive a few hours with Hanzo.”

You’re still processing the information when the man himself strolls up, adjusting the cuff of his tailored black jacket with a lazy smirk. “Heard you needed a shopping buddy. Lucky for you, I’ve got style to spare.”

“Okay then…” you mutter, already feeling a twinge of regret.

“Relax,” Hana chimes in, giving you a playful nudge. “Hanzo’s not that scary. Most of the time.”

“I am standing right here,” he deadpans, raising an eyebrow at her.

Hana just grins, throwing a peace sign before turning to leave. “Have fun, you two~!”

As she disappears down the hallway, you glance at Hanzo, who gestures toward the exit with a slight tilt of his head. “Shall we?”

You sigh, falling into step beside him. "Guess I don't really have a choice."

“Smart observation,” he muses, and you swear you catch the faintest trace of amusement in his tone.

The ride to the city is surprisingly smooth—thanks to Overwatch’s private transport. Gibraltar’s crisp coastal winds are soon replaced by the sleek cityscape of Barcelona. Towering glass buildings gleam in the sunlight, and the streets pulse with energy. Luxury stores line the avenues, their displays gleaming with the promise of outfits you’re sure cost more than your entire wardrobe combined.

“So, any particular style you’re aiming for?” Hanzo asks as the transport glides to a stop.

You blink, caught off guard by the question. “Uh… something that won’t make me look like a total idiot?”

“A low bar,” he remarks dryly, stepping out of the vehicle.

You roll your eyes but follow him onto the bustling sidewalk. He moves with the kind of quiet confidence that stands out without even trying. You, on the other hand, feel a little out of place next to someone who looks like he walked off the cover of a fashion magazine.

The first stop is an elegant designer boutique, the kind where the lighting is soft, and everything smells faintly like expensive leather. Hanzo walks in like he owns the place, nodding at the attendant who immediately starts pulling pieces from the racks.

“You seem… weirdly good at this,” you note, watching as he inspects a sleek black jacket.

“I travel often,” he replies simply, holding the jacket against you for a second before shaking his head. “Besides, appearances matter.”

“Right. Gotta make sure you’re the most intimidating guy in the room,” you tease, grabbing a hoodie off the rack. “Gotta keep the brooding aesthetic alive.”

To your surprise, Hanzo huffs out a soft laugh. “If I wanted to intimidate you, you would know.”

“Noted,” you say, though the warmth in your chest betrays the effect his amusement has on you.

He hands you a few options—A sleek grey jean jacket, some super stylish ripped jeans, among other things—and gestures toward the fitting rooms. “Try these.”

You disappear behind the curtain, exchanging your usual casual wear for the first ensemble. As you step out, Hanzo’s gaze sweeps over you, head tilting slightly.

“Not bad,” he admits, stepping closer to adjust the collar. His fingers brush your collarbone briefly, and you try not to let the touch linger in your thoughts. “It fits well.”

You clear your throat, stepping back to avoid any accidental heart palpitations. “Didn’t realize you moonlighted as a stylist.”

“Someone has to keep standards from slipping,” he retorts, his tone teasing. 

You could’ve sworn you saw a smirk sweep across his face.

Over the next hour, you drift through more stores. Hanzo critiques every outfit with an almost unnerving precision. For someone who projects an air of detached calm, he certainly has opinions about fashion. But beneath his sharp remarks, you catch glimpses of something softer—little moments where his mask slips.

Like when you try on a ridiculous, rhinestone-covered jacket.

“If you wear that,” he says flatly, “I swear to God, I will leave you here.”

“AYY, but it’s so blingy, ” you argue, striking a dramatic pose.

He pinches the bridge of his nose. “No. Just…no.”

You laugh, shaking your head as you set the jacket back. “Alright, alright. No glitter.”

Despite the ribbing, you’re having more fun than you expected. It took you a hot minute to realize—but Hanzo isn’t as cold as he seems. Judging from the fact that he never got into that tussle with Genji, he seems a bit less brooding than how the game portrayed him.

--------

By the third store, things slow down. Hanzo leans against a sleek display case while you browse through another rack of designer clothes. His usual sharpness seems to soften into something almost casual.

“Why the concert?” he asks suddenly, cutting through the comfortable silence.

You glance up, surprised by the question. “Hana’s idea. She won tickets from some tournaments. Only reason we could go was because she convinced commander Morrison. Something about wooing him with keeping up appearances for Overwatch’s image.”

“And you simply go along with whatever she suggests?” There’s a flicker of curiosity in his voice.

You shrug. “It’s easier than arguing with her. Besides… it’s kinda fun, having something normal to do.”

He considers that, his expression thoughtful. “Normal is… rare for people like us.”

You pause at the weight behind his words. “What about you?” you ask, leaning against the rack. “Do you ever do anything normal ?”

He chuckles softly. “Define ‘normal.’”

“I don’t know. Go out? Date? Watch dramas?~”

Hanzo raises an eyebrow. “You think I watch that trash ?”

“I think you secretly enjoy it,” you grin.

The corner of his mouth twitches in a half-smile. “I’ll admit nothing.”

The conversation lingers in the air, and before you can stop yourself, you ask, “So… what about dating? You got a secret love life you’re hiding?”

His head tilts slightly, but he doesn’t seem fazed by the question. “No secrets. Relationships are… complicated.”

“That’s a very… .vague answer, don’t ya think” you tease, though your heart thuds a little harder.

He exhales softly, folding his arms across his chest. “Being close to people means offering them a target. I learned long ago that attachment comes with risks.”

His words hang heavy for a moment, and you wonder just how much of himself he’s showing you right now.

“Sounds kinda lonely,” you say quietly.

A silence stretches between you before he answers. “Perhaps.”

You shift your weight, the playful tone slipping from your voice. “For what it’s worth… you’re not that intimidating. Not to me, anyway.”

He looks at you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. Then, surprisingly, he smiles—a soft, genuine smile. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

The tension lightens again as you nudge his arm playfully. “You better, Spider monkey. ”

He quickly frowns. “Don’t ever make a Twilight reference again .”

Oh…so he IS cultured!! You think to yourself. 

As you both walk off to go to the dropship, and you hear him mumble something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“I said…It is  just that sometimes, I swear you’ve been around longer than I.”

Dude….you have no idea.

Chapter Text

LE SSERAFIM Soft/chill Playlist ✩꙳ like Perfect Night

When Tracer finally parks, the dropship hums softly to a halt. Hana’s already hopping out, her pink sneakers squeaking against the pavement.

Her dad is leaning against the wall, arms crossed—a broad-shouldered man with sharp eyes and the same stubborn confidence his daughter carries. You feel his gaze sweep over you as Hana bounds over.

“Dad, this is (Y/n),” she says casually, her tone light but knowing. “He’s the one I told you about.”

You stick your hands in your jacket pockets, offering a relaxed smile. “Hey. Thanks for letting us borrow the truck.”

For a moment, he just studies you—unreadable. Then he gives a small nod.

“Don’t crash it,” he says simply.

“No promises,” you joke, earning a snort from Hana.

“Good thing she’s not driving,” Ashe chimes in, her voice like honey-coated dynamite. “We’d be dead before we even get there..”

“I’m right here, you know,” Hana mutters.

30 minutes later

“Yo, you’re gonna kill us before we even get there.”

Hana’s voice rings out from the passenger seat as you grip the steering wheel of her dad’s hover-truck, squinting through the windshield. The vehicle hums softly beneath your touch, gliding along the smooth streets of downtown Busan. Neon lights from towering skyscrapers blur past, making the city feel like a level from one of Hana’s cyberpunk combat games.

“I’m literally going the speed limit,” you protest, adjusting the cuff of your grey jean jacket. Your black platform boots tap against the floor as you hover your foot over the brake.

“You almost missed that turn!” Hana laughs, tilting her head back. “You drive like you’re in a loading screen.”

What kind of insult—

“Not my fault your dad handed me the keys like I’m his favorite son-in-law,” you shoot back with a smirk.

From the corner of your eye, you catch her rolling her eyes—though there’s the faintest hint of a blush on her cheeks.

In the backseat, Ashe leans forward, her sleek black hair brushing against her cheek as she peeks over your shoulder. The tips of her hair are dyed a brilliant electric blue, glowing softly in the dim interior light. She’s wearing an oversized jacket with cat ears poking up from the hood—definitely not what you expected from the leader of the Deadlock Gang, but it works on her.

“If you two flirt any harder, I’m jumping out this truck,” Ashe drawls, adjusting the brim of her hat underneath her hood. “And I got the drip tonight—I can’t be dying before the concert.”

“Amen,” Juno—Chuunie to Hana—murmurs as she crosses one leg over the other. Her hover boots, styled to look like a pair of pristine Jordans, hum quietly. The oversized jeans she’s wearing pool around her ankles, and her hair—black with bold blonde twin-tail highlights—is tied up into two small buns. “I’m not going to miss Le Sserafim live just because of your ‘Fast & Furious’ moment.”

“Technically, I’m not driving fast,” you correct, turning the wheel smoothly as you pull into a parking structure. “And I’m definitely not furious.”

“Well, you sure drive like it..” Illari quips, leaning back against the seat. She’s rocking a green long-sleeved tube top —a bold departure from her usual sun-priestess aesthetic—and trendy cargo pants. With her legs crossed and arms folded, she looks like she walked right off a K-pop stage herself.

From the far side, Mercy hums in soft agreement, clutching a Sakura plushie from Le Sserafim’s latest merch drop. Pink streaks in her golden hair catch the soft glow of city lights as she glances toward you.

“You’re doing well,” she offers, ever the diplomat. “Though I do question Sojourn’s decision to trust all of us…together.”

“Yeah, well, you’re our chaperone,” Hana quips, flashing her a cheeky grin. “Which means any crimes we commit are technically on your record.”

Mercy sighs. “That’s not how that works.”

————

The arena is already buzzing with life—holographic billboards flash images of the Le Sserafim members, and fans in bright, stylish outfits swarm the entrance.

Inside the lobby, the group splits up—Hana pulls you toward the merch booth, while the others debate snacks.

“You sure you don’t want anything?” Hana asks as she browses through the latest drop.

“Nah,” you shrug, scanning the crowd. “This is your thing—I’m just here for the vibes.”

For some reason, your answer makes her pause. She tilts her head at you, eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re not usually this chill,” she says. “What’s up?”

“Nothing,” you lie, leaning against the booth. In truth, there’s a strange ache in your chest—a weird emptiness you can’t quite place.

Maybe it’s the fact that the date feels oddly familiar. Like you should be remembering something important, but the thought keeps slipping through your fingers.

It’s not until the concert’s about to start that it happens.

You’re all packed together in your seats—Juno’s balancing a soda in one hand, Mercy’s fussing over Ashe’s jacket, and Illari’s swiping through photos on her phone—when Hana pulls out her own holo-device.

“Okay, selfie time!” she announces, angling the camera.

Everyone crowds in, striking poses. You’re mid-smirk when the flash goes off.

Hana pauses, frowning at the screen.

“Wait…no way.” Her voice is quiet—but everyone turns toward her anyway. “(Y/n), today’s your birthday?”

The words hit you like a brick.

“…What?”

She flips the screen toward you, and there it is—March 18th.

“Oh,” you say, dumbly. “Guess it is.”

Ashe chokes on her drink. “You didn’t know?”

“Who doesn’t know their own birthday?” Juno asks, half-laughing, half-shocked.

“I—don’t check dates, okay?” You raise your hands in mock defense. “I’m not exactly a ‘birthday’ guy.”

Hana stares at you for a beat, expression unreadable. Then, slowly, a smile creeps onto her lips.

“You should’ve said something,” she says softly.

“Would it’ve changed anything?” You shrug again, trying to play it off. “I’m already here with you guys. Feels like enough.”

For a second, no one says anything.

And then—without warning—Hana leans over and presses a quick kiss to your cheek.

“Happy birthday, dumbass.”

The others groan—Ashe playfully gagging, Juno fake-retching—but you barely hear them.

__________________________________________

The arena hums with electric energy—waves of neon lightsticks bounce in rhythm as fans chant the opening lines of "UNFORGIVEN." The bass thrums beneath your feet, pulsing through your body as Le Sserafim finally takes the stage.

“CHAEWON TÔI YÊU BẠN!!!”

Juno’s practically vibrating with excitement next to you, leaning over to whisper-yell in your ear. “If you pass out from hotness overload, I’m not dragging your unconscious body out of here.”

“I’m good,” you say, laughing softly. “I’ve survived worse.”

From the other side, Ashe clicks her tongue. “I don’t get what the hype is. They’re just five girls.”

Mercy, without even glancing away from the stage, hums, “And yet you haven’t taken your eyes off Kazuha since she walked out.”

Juno cackles as Ashe shoves her elbow into Mercy’s side, muttering something under her breath about "mind your business." Meanwhile, Illari is vibing with zero shame—she’s even doing the choreography in her seat, green tube top glinting under the lights.

But your focus? It keeps drifting.

To Hana.

She’s at your side, head tilted slightly toward the stage, but her eyes? They’re shimmering with excitement. Her hand occasionally brushes against yours—just enough to make your skin tingle—but she doesn’t pull away.

When "Eve, Psyche & The Bluebeard’s Wife" kicks in, Juno nudges you with her shoulder. “Dude. This is your song.”

“What?”

“You know—‘I’m a mess, mess, mess….’” She grins. “Suits you perfectly.”

You roll your eyes. “Glad to know my disaster energy is that obvious.”

“Don’t worry—you wear it well.” Juno smirks, before adding quietly, “I think Hana thinks so too, by the way.”

Her words hit like a spark.

You glance toward Hana—only to find her already looking at you. The stage lights cast a soft pink glow over her face, making her eyes seem warmer, softer. For a second, your gazes lock and she doesn’t look away.

You don’t either.

A little while later, Hana taps your arm. “I’m grabbing a drink—wanna come?”

You barely hear yourself answer. “Yeah, sure.”

The air is cooler as you step into the concourse, away from the crush of bodies and pounding bass. The noise fades into a distant hum as the two of you weave through the crowd, her hand brushing against yours.

“You’re weird, you know that?” she says suddenly.

You blink. “Uh…thanks?”

She laughs softly, shaking her head. “I mean—who forgets their own birthday?”

“I told you—I don’t check dates,” you defend, though your smile gives you away. “I didn’t even realize until you pointed it out.”

“Well… good thing you’ve got me, huh?”

Her voice is teasing, but there’s an undertone that makes your stomach flip.

When you finally reach a quieter corridor, she stops by a vending machine, leaning against it casually. She lets her blue hair fall around her shoulders, the strands catching the glow from the nearby screens.

“You really don’t want anything?” she asks, slipping a credit chip into the machine.

“I’m good.” But your voice is lower now—You lie once again.

And Hana? She notices.

She always notices.

she tilts her head toward the sound. The lyrics float around you both—“I’m no f ing angel, I’m no f ing goddess…”

“Kinda fitting,” she murmurs. “For us, I mean.”

“How so?” You step closer—just enough that the tips of your boots graze hers.

“We’re not exactly perfect heroes,” she says softly. “But here we are.”

Her words hang between you—thick, charged.

You should say something. Something clever. Something smooth.

But all you do is reach for her hand.

And this time? She doesn’t just let it brush hers.

She laces her fingers through yours and pulls you closer—until there’s nothing but heat and breath between you.

“I’ll Show you my impurities… and I’m not ashamed of it.”

(OPTIONAL: GO TO TIMESTAMP 20:04)

Her voice is quieter when she speaks again. “Are… you sure you're okay?”

You don’t answer.

Without hesitating, she cups your face gently, brushing her thumb along your jawline before pulling you down closer.

Her lips are warm, soft—that same sweet taste of bubblegum. 

Nano cola has never tasted better....

She sighs into the kiss, her other hand curling into the front of your jacket as she pulls you deeper. Pinning you against the side of the slushy machine, you can’t help but whimper a bit to her roughness.

God…why are you just so…..

The world around you fades—the music, the whirring of the slushy machine… everything—until it’s just the two of you. Everything is drowned out by the sound of her soft kisses. The tight grip she has on your lapel is a still a bit rough, but you can tell she's still trying to be gentle.

When you finally pull back, her face is flushed, eyes a little dazed. “Well,” she breathes, tracing circles along your chest “that’s one way to celebrate your birthday.” 

You chuckle, brushing a stray strand of hair behind her ear. “Definitely beats cake.”

Her fingers trace slow circles against your chest. “You should’ve told me,” she murmurs.

“Would you have kissed me sooner?”

“Maybe.”

By the time you make it back to your seats, the others are side-eyeing you both—hard.

“What took you guys so long?” Juno asks, raising a brow.

“Machine was slow,” Hana lies smoothly, settling into her seat, tying her hair back up. You, meanwhile, are desperately trying to act like your heart isn’t still racing.

Juno doesn’t buy it.

She leans over to whisper, “You kiss her?”

You nearly choke on air. “What—why—?”

“Come on, dude.” She grins, tapping her temple. “I’m not blind.”

When you don’t answer, she leans back with a satisfied smirk. “About damn time.”

You roll your eyes—but your smile lingers long after the concert lights dim and the final notes ring out.

Chapter Text

BINI | 'Blink Twice' Official Music Video

💘 (Y/n)’s Little Habits (Because (You’re) Adorable)

• Messy Hair Don’t Care: You always run a hand through your hair when you’re nervous or flustered—Hana lives for this.
• Slack King™: You’re laid-back almost to a fault—but when you do get serious, everyone pays attention. (Especially Hana.)
• “Birthday? What’s That?” You genuinely forget your own birthday every year. Juno now sets a reminder to “harass you with gifts.”
• Handsy AF: You’ve become the king of casual touches. Leaning against Hana? Check. Messing with Juno’s hair? Double-check. Ashe once yelled at you to “Keep your hands to yourself, Casanova!”
• You Blush Easy: You can talk big game—but the second Hana throws a flirty line back at you? Bright red.

Concert Shenanigans

• Dance-Offs: You, Juno, and Hana once had a “who can dance best” competition. Angela recorded the whole thing. You lost—horribly.
• VIP Sneak-Ins: Juno definitely has a trick to get you into exclusive areas. You don’t ask how—she just flashes a smile, and suddenly, you’re in. (possibly because she's the ONLY known Martian and that's apparently a big thing.)
• Hana’s Fangirl Moments: As cool as she is, Hana still has a total fangirl breakdown when she makes eye contact with her idol. You tease her relentlessly.
• Shared Hoodies: Your grey jean jacket? Gone. Hana stole it every chance she gets—and when you try to take it back? “Finders, keepers.”

D.Va Headcanons!!

💥 1. The “Cool Girl” Persona (But She’s Soft Inside)

• Confident AF: Hana radiates that "I’m the best, and I know it" energy. She walks into a room like she owns the place—because in her mind, she does. Whether she’s piloting a MEKA or trash-talking in a game, she’s got skills, and she’s not afraid to flex them.
• Tough as Nails: She’s been through a lot—fighting for her country, dealing with the pressure of fame—so she’s learned to keep her emotions locked down in public. She doesn’t cry easily, and if she does? You’re one of the rare few who’ll ever see it.
• Competitive to the Core: Whether it’s a life-or-death mech battle or a casual board game, Hana does not like losing. She’ll play it cool until you beat her—then, suddenly, it’s “Rematch. Now.” (And she’s not above using underhanded tricks to win.)
• Teasing Queen: If she likes you, you’re getting roasted. Constantly. But if anyone else tries to mess with you? She’s stepping in—because only she gets to bully you, duh.

  🎀 2. The Soft Side She Hides (But Not From You)

  • Touch-Starved Softie: Hana craves affection but doesn’t ask for it directly. Instead, she’ll find excuses to be close—leaning against you while scrolling through her phone or stealing your jacket “because she’s cold.”
  • Acts Tough, Feels Deep: She might act unbothered, but Hana feels everything. When she cares, she cares hard. If you’re having a bad day, she’ll notice—even if you try to hide it—and she’ll stay up all night making sure you’re okay.
  • Vulnerable in Private: She won’t let most people see her weak moments—but when she’s alone with you? She lets her guard down. Late-night talks where she admits her fears? Yeah, you’re the only one who gets those.
  • Afraid to Be a Burden: Because of the pressure she’s under, she rarely talks about her problems. She doesn’t want to “weigh people down,” so she masks her pain behind that playful, confident persona.

    🎤 3. Her Love Language? Chaos & Attention

    • Quality Time or Nothing: Hana lives for attention—if you’re spending time with someone else, expect her to crash the party. She won’t say she’s jealous…but she’s jealous.
    • Playful Flirting: She’s not one for grand romantic gestures—but her teasing? That’s her flirting. If she’s giving you a hard time, it’s her way of saying, “I like you. Pay attention to me.”
    • Casual Clinginess: Hana’s not overly touchy in public—but in private? She’s all over you. Cuddling while watching movies, holding your hand absentmindedly, sneaking into your hoodie—yep, that’s her.
    • Gamer Love: The ultimate sign of her affection? Letting you play on her rig—and not even yelling when you lose. That’s how you know it’s real. 🎧 5. Random Quirks & Cute Habits
      • Secret K-Pop Stan: She pretends to be chill, but catch her in private, and she’s screaming the lyrics to her favorite Le Sserafim tracks. If you ever catch her dancing? No, you didn’t.
      • Jacket Thief: If you leave your jacket or hoodie unattended? It’s hers now. No returns. No negotiations.
      • Late-Night Texts: She’s the type to text you at 2 AM just to send memes—or to ask, “If I were a worm, would you still love me?”
      • Blushes Easily: For all her bravado, one well-timed compliment can make her stutter and turn pink. Bonus points if you tell her she looks cute when she’s mad.
      • Sweet Tooth: She loves sugary snacks—especially boba tea and anything strawberry-flavored. Want to bribe her? Start there.

HANZO!!!!! (Cuz some of you want him, so I've been told)

• Stone-Cold Exterior, Secret Softie: Hanzo acts calm, collected, and distant—but beneath that sharp attitude is a man who feels everything a little too deeply. He hides his warmth behind cold stares and sharp words, but if you break through that wall? He’s protective, caring, and so loyal.

• Refuses to Admit He’s Jealous: If you’re talking to someone else a little too long? Oh, he’s watching. He’ll never admit he’s jealous—but you’ll notice how his arm rests a little lower around your waist afterward, or how his tone gets a touch sharper when he talks to whoever’s stealing your attention.

• Old-School Romantic: Hanzo isn’t flashy about love. No grand gestures—but he remembers everything. Your favorite tea, the book you mentioned once, the way you laugh at dumb jokes—he tucks it all away and brings it out when you least expect it.

• Protective to a Fault: If he cares about you, he’ll always put himself in harm’s way before letting you get hurt. Whether it’s a physical fight or emotional pain, he carries it for you—because he’s convinced that’s his job.

• Guilt Complex, Party of One: He’s still haunted by his past, even if he doesn’t talk about it. Some nights, when it’s quiet, you’ll find him staring out a window—lost in thought, wondering if he’s done enough to atone. Your touch? It’s the only thing that brings him back.

• Flustered Easily (But Would Die Before Admitting It): Compliment him? He’ll scoff and roll his eyes—but the way his ears burn red tells a different story. And if you kiss him out of nowhere? Expect a stunned silence before he grabs your wrist and pulls you back for more.

• Dry Sense of Humor: His jokes are subtle—blinking and you’ll miss them—but when he drops a perfectly-timed sarcastic remark? Oh, it hits. And the rare moments he actually laughs? Absolute music to your ears.

• Incredibly Private: Hanzo doesn’t open up easily. If he trusts you enough to tell you about his past—or even share small personal things—you’re everything to him. He doesn’t waste words on people who don’t matter.

• Soft Touch, Rough Hands: His hands are calloused and worn from years of archery—but when he touches you? It’s careful and deliberate. Like he’s afraid he’ll break you if he isn’t gentle enough.

• A Man of Rituals: Mornings start with tea. Meditation happens at the same time each day. He’s grounded in these habits—they’re his anchor, a way to stay in control when the world feels chaotic.

• Hopeless at Technology: He’s a lethal archer and master strategist—but give him a new phone or a piece of modern tech? Useless. He’ll grumble under his breath, glaring at the device like it personally offended him, until you finally step in to help.

• Acts Unbothered, Secretly So Proud: If you succeed at something, he’ll nod and play it cool—but the pride in his eyes? Undeniable. And if you do something reckless but brilliant? Expect a lecture—after he makes sure you’re okay.

• Loves Being Touched (But Only by You): He pretends he’s not touchy-feely, but if you rest your head on his shoulder or you let him fix your posture? He leans in, eyes closing just a little—like he’s been craving it all day.

• Lowkey Competitive: He won’t say it out loud, but if someone else impresses you? He’ll work twice as hard to show he’s still the best. Whether it’s combat, cooking, or random trivia—he’s not losing to anyone.

• Silent but So, So Soft: He doesn’t say “I love you” a lot—but when he does, it’s serious. In between those moments, his love shows in the small things: fixing your favorite drink, brushing hair from your face, or standing between you and danger without a word.

• Rare but Deadly Smirks: Most of the time, Hanzo’s face is all stoic frowns—but if you tease him the right way, you get The Smirk™. And when he smirks? It’s over. Completely over.

• Late-Night Vulnerability: He’s most open when the world is quiet. If you’re curled up together late at night, that’s when he talks—softly, in half-whispers—about the dreams he never let himself have.

• The Way He Says Your Name: It’s low and deliberate, like every syllable carries weight. And if you’re in trouble? His voice drops even lower—a warning to anyone foolish enough to threaten you.

• Doesn’t Think He Deserves Love (But He Craves It): Deep down, Hanzo still believes he’s unworthy of happiness. But every time you choose to stay—every time you touch him like he’s precious—it chips away at that belief, bit by bit.

🥃 Jesse McCree

• Flirt Game: Stronger Than His Aim: McCree flirts like he breathes—easy, constant, and without a second thought. He’s got a smooth line for every occasion, from “Well, ain’t you a sight for sore eyes?” to “Careful darlin’, you keep lookin’ at me like that and I might start thinkin’ you like me.”

• Touch First, Ask Questions Later: If he’s talking to you, chances are his hand is somewhere—resting on your shoulder, brushing against your lower back, or tipping your chin up just to see you blush. And if you push him away? He just chuckles and comes back for more.

• Tease Level: Menace: McCree has zero chill when it comes to teasing. Forget having a peaceful day—he’ll call you pet names like “sugar,” “sweetheart,” and the occasional “darlin’” with that smooth drawl, just to see you squirm. And if you ever look flustered? Oh, he wins.

• Personal Space? What’s That? You could be minding your business, and next thing you know, McCree’s got his arm draped over your shoulders or leaning in way too close. And when you call him out? He just grins, tips his hat, and says, “Can’t blame a man for wantin’ to be near somethin’ pretty.”

• Loves to Watch You Squirm: If you’re the shy type? Bless your heart. McCree lives to see you blush. If you ever get tongue-tied around him, he leans closer and drawls, “What’s the matter, sugar? Cat got your tongue? Or are ya just distracted by somethin’... else?”

• Quick to Call You Out: Got a smart mouth? He loves it. He’ll toss a flirt right back at you—faster than he draws his Peacekeeper. “Careful, darlin’. You keep talkin’ like that, and I might have to show ya what else this mouth can do.”

• Touches Without Thinking: Sometimes, he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Brushing lint off your jacket, fixing your collar, tucking your hair behind your ear—he’s always got a reason to touch. And when you point it out? He just smirks. “Guess my hands got a mind of their own, sweetheart.”

• Intense Eye Contact: This man stares like you’re the only thing worth lookin’ at. He’ll hold your gaze across the room, and when you catch him? He winks. And if you look away too quickly? He’ll tease you about being shy.

• Overprotective Without Admitting It: He’s laid-back on the surface, but if anyone so much as breathes wrong near you, he’s at your side—calm, cool, and ready to throw hands. “Now, I’d suggest ya take a step back, partner. Wouldn’t wanna ruin your evenin’ with a broken nose.”

• Soft Spot for Compliments: Flirt with him back, and he’s done. You tell him he looks good in his hat? That man will not stop smirking the rest of the day. And if you’re bold enough to touch his chest or brush against his jaw while you say it? Expect him to double down on his teasing.

• Smells Too Damn Good: He always smells like smoky cologne, leather, and whiskey. It’s distracting—especially when he leans in close and murmurs, “Somethin’ wrong, sugar? You look a little hot under the collar.”

• Knows He’s Hot—Uses It Against You: If you think he doesn’t notice the way your eyes drift when he stretches or adjusts his hat? Oh, he notices. And he uses it to his advantage—leaning against doorframes like he walked straight out of a romance novel.

• Random Acts of Chivalry: He’ll hold the door for you, tip his hat, offer his coat if it’s chilly—but make no mistake, it’s not just about being polite. It’s about watching your reaction. “Ain’t no crime wantin’ to take care of a pretty thing like you.”

• Dangerously Good With His Hands: From twirling his revolver to adjusting his gloves, his fingers are always moving. And if you ever hint at it? Expect him to lean in close and purr, “If you think my hands are good with a gun, darlin’... you should see what else they’re good at.”

• Always Finds an Excuse to Be Close: Cramped spaces? He loves them. Whether it’s sliding into your personal bubble during a mission or brushing shoulders on the couch—he’s always there. “Well, ain’t my fault you smell so good. Hard to stay away.”

• Unshakable Confidence: Nothing fazes him. You could try to fluster him with the boldest move, and he’ll just laugh—low and warm—and say, “Careful, darlin’. Keep that up, and I might have to take ya out for dinner first.”

Sweet, Caring, Mercy Headcanons 💖🩺

• Kindness in Her DNA: Mercy’s kindness is second nature—she’s the type to check in on you constantly, making sure you’re eating well, getting rest, and not overworking yourself. If you so much as sneeze, she’s already offering you a tissue and a warm smile.

• Personal Nurse Mode Activated: Got a scratch? A bruise? A papercut? She’s on it. Even if it’s minor, she insists on patching you up while gently scolding, “You need to be more careful—your health is important, (Y/n).”

• Ultimate Mom Friend: She’s got snacks for everyone, tissues in her pocket, and she’ll remind you to drink water at least five times a day. Forget something important? Mercy already thought ahead and brought it for you.

• Physical Affection Queen: Mercy’s love language is touch—expect soft hand pats, warm hugs, and the occasional shoulder squeeze when you need reassurance. She’s the type to gently fix your hair or brush lint off your jacket while talking to you.

• Sweetheart Energy: She always greets you with a warm smile and a soft “Oh, there you are, dear!” Her tone is light and genuine, and she never fails to brighten your day with just her presence.

• Endless Encouragement: If you’re feeling down, Mercy’s your biggest cheerleader. “You’re doing wonderfully, (Y/n). Don’t be so hard on yourself,” she’ll say with such sincerity, it’s impossible not to feel better.

• Always Watching Out for You: Even in the heat of battle, she’s keeping an eye on you—calling your name if you stray too far or fussing when you’re injured. “I can’t have you falling apart on me,” she says with that soft, teasing tone.

• Overprepared for Everything: Need a bandage? She’s got it. Emergency hair tie? Check. A random packet of tissues? Of course. Mercy thinks ahead for everyone’s needs, especially yours.

• Loves to Listen: If you need someone to vent to, Mercy’s your go-to. She’ll sit quietly, nodding along, offering thoughtful advice when needed—or just holding space for you to talk without judgment.

• Soft but Stubborn: She’s gentle, but don’t underestimate her resolve. If you try to brush off an injury or hide exhaustion, she’ll arch a perfect brow and say, “I’m not letting you leave until I know you’re okay.”

• Playful Side Peeks Through: While she’s usually composed, Mercy isn’t above light teasing. “Don’t make me chase after you again, (Y/n),” she’ll say with a wink if you get reckless during missions.

• Subtle Protective Streak: If anyone gives you trouble, Mercy’s smile turns icy. She won’t raise her voice—but her sharp tone when defending you is enough to make anyone think twice.

• Brings You Little Treats: If she spots your favorite snack or drink while out, she picks it up without hesitation—“I thought you’d like this,” she says with a sweet smile, as if it’s no big deal.

• Knows When You’re Not Okay: You can’t fool her. If you’re feeling off, Mercy notices right away—“Something’s wrong. You know you can talk to me, yes?” she’ll ask softly, giving you her full attention.

• Gives the Best Hugs: Mercy’s hugs are warm, soft, and lingering—the kind that makes you feel safe. She holds you a second longer if she thinks you need the comfort, her voice quiet as she murmurs, “I’m here for you, always.”

• Soft Scolding Queen: If you’re being reckless, she will scold you—but it’s always gentle, with a touch of humor. “You’re going to give me gray hairs if you keep this up,” she jokes, brushing a hand through your hair.

• Forever Patient: No matter how much you fumble, tease, or mess up—Mercy never loses her patience with you. She just smiles softly and says, “Take your time, (Y/n). I’m not going anywhere.”

• Knows You Better Than You Think: Mercy pays attention. If your mood shifts even slightly, she’s the first to ask, “Is something troubling you?”—her voice so full of genuine concern, it’s hard not to open up.

• Soft Voice, Strong Presence: Her voice is soothing, like honey over warm tea. No matter the chaos around you, hearing her say “You’re safe—I’ve got you,” makes everything feel a little easier.

• Always Has Your Back: Whether it’s on the battlefield or during personal struggles, Mercy’s unwavering in her support. “Whatever happens, you’re not facing it alone,” she promises, and you know she means it.
  
  
  Juno Headcanons – The Curious Martian Explorer 🌌💫

  • Curiosity Overload: Juno is fascinated by everything on Earth—food, animals, technology—you name it. She asks a million questions a day, her golden eyes lighting up every time she learns something new. “Why does one place call it soda, while others call it pop? This planet is most peculiar.”

  • Formally Yours: Her speech is incredibly formal, even when she tries to relax. She never contracts her words—"It is not logical," instead of "isn't logical," or "I do not understand," instead of "don't get it." When people tease her about it, she tilts her head and asks, “Is my manner of speech truly that unusual?”

  • Fast Learner, Slow Adaptor: She picks up knowledge quickly, but social nuances? A bit trickier. Juno tries to mimic slang or jokes but often delivers them in a stiff, monotone way—like an alien trying (and failing) to be casual. "This experience is…'cool.' Yes? I am using the term correctly, am I not?"

  • Always in Awe: The simplest Earthly experiences blow her mind. Seeing the ocean for the first time had her absolutely spellbound, standing knee-deep in the surf while whispering, “So much water... How does it not float away?”

  • Frightened but Focused: Combat? Yeah, it scares her—a lot. Juno constantly fears she will die at any moment, but she pushes through that fear because she knows others rely on her. She whispers reminders to herself mid-battle, “Remain focused. Fear is not productive. You must survive.”

  • Tactically Smart: Despite her fear, she is incredibly logical in high-stress situations. She is the one calmly pointing out weak spots or escape routes. “If we strike from a 45-degree angle, their defenses will collapse. Proceed with caution.”

  • Social Sponge: She is obsessed with Earth culture. Fashion? Fascinating. Music? Enthralling. She once spent three hours analyzing a vending machine because "The concept of prepackaged snacks is most innovative!"

  • Literal Thinker: Juno struggles with metaphors and sarcasm—if you tell her you’re “dying of laughter,” she panics and tries to check your vitals. “You are…dying? Where is the injury located?”

  • Childlike Wonder: There is a childlike innocence to how she views the world. When she saw fireworks for the first time, her jaw dropped. “It is…beautiful. And you create these explosions purely for amusement?”

  • Formal Flirt? If someone flirts with her, she short-circuits—not because she dislikes it, but because she does not fully understand it. “You find me…appealing? I do not comprehend why. Could you elaborate?”

  • Fashion Curious: She adores Earth fashion. Her wardrobe is full of trendy oversized pieces she’s seen online. Her favorite accessory? Her hover boots, which she upgraded to resemble Jordans because she thought they “appeared quite fashionable.”

  • Touch = Trust: On Mars, physical affection is rare, so when Juno touches someone—a shoulder pat, a hug—it is deeply meaningful to her. If she starts leaning against you or fixing your hair? Congrats, you are special to her.

  • Stubborn Learner: If she does not understand something, she will not rest until she does. She once spent five hours trying to master the phrase “No cap” and still uses it incorrectly—“I assure you, no cap, I am competent at piloting.”

  • Overly Honest: She is bluntly honest without meaning to be rude. “Your new hair color is…adequate. I preferred the previous shade, but this is acceptable.” She says it with such sincerity that you cannot even be mad.

  • Loyal to the Core: Once you earn her trust, she is ride or die—no hesitation. “I will protect you with my life, (Y/n). There is no question about it.”

  • Strange Earth Habits: She has picked up some weird habits from observing others—like keeping her hood up because “Hana insists it adds an air of mystery.” Also, she refuses to eat eggs after learning where they come from. “Why would you consume…unfertilized reproductive matter?”

  • Emotionally Guarded: Juno is not great at expressing feelings—she knows logic, not emotions. But when she cares, it shows in small ways: fixing your gear, saving you snacks, or awkwardly reminding you to “Please, refrain from dying. I would find it…difficult.”

  • Fascinated by Romance: Romance confuses but intrigues her. She reads fanfiction for “research purposes” and asks questions like, “Is a ‘situationship’ a recognized form of commitment?”

  • Nickname Lover: She adores that Hana calls her "Chuunie," and she low-key hopes you will give her a special nickname, too. If you do, expect a shy but proud, “I…appreciate the moniker.”

   

  ---

Chapter Text

Tracer Headcanons – The Energetic Speedster ⚡️🧡

• Boundless Energy: Tracer is a walking energy drink—always moving, talking, and buzzing with excitement. She can’t sit still for long and has a habit of bouncing on her heels when standing.

• Nickname Machine: She loves giving people nicknames, especially if she likes you. She’s the type to call you “luv,” “champ,” or “speedy” (ironically) even if you’re slow as heck. If you hang out with her long enough, you’re getting a custom nickname—no exceptions.

• Touchy-Feely: Physical affection is her love language. Shoulder punches, playful nudges, or looping her arm through yours while walking—it’s just how she rolls. If she’s comfortable with you, expect constant casual touches.

• Cheerleader Vibes: Tracer is your biggest hype woman. Did you do something cool? She’s cheering. Did you mess up? She’s still cheering. “Oi, that was wicked! You’re gettin’ better by the minute, mate!”

• Chaotic Good: She’s chaotic but kind—always bending the rules but for the right reasons. If there’s a “Do Not Enter” sign, she’ll probably walk right in while flashing you a grin. “Rules? Pfft—more like guidelines, right?”

• Snack Thief: She will steal your food but only if she likes you. If she snags a fry off your plate, it’s her way of saying, “We’re friends now.” But she’ll always offer you something in return—probably some weird British candy.

• Prank Queen: Tracer loves harmless pranks, especially on people who take themselves too seriously (looking at you, Hanzo). Once, she replaced McCree’s cigar with a chocolate stick and nearly died laughing when he didn’t notice.

• Late-Night Rambler: She’s the queen of midnight conversations—if you can’t sleep, she’ll happily sit with you and talk about anything. From Overwatch gossip to the meaning of life, she’s got thoughts on everything.

• Fashionably Casual: Her style is effortlessly cool—lots of bomber jackets, ripped jeans, and sneakers. She doesn’t try too hard but always looks put-together in a fun, carefree way.

• Adrenaline Junkie: If it’s dangerous, she wants in. High-speed chases, rooftop parkour, you name it. “Come on, (Y/n)! Life’s no fun if you’re playin’ it safe!”

• Protective Softie: Beneath her chaotic exterior, she’s insanely protective of her friends. If anyone messes with you, she’s first in line to shut it down—no hesitation. “Oi, back off. They’re with me, yeah?”

• Hopeless Romantic (For Others): She’s a sucker for playing matchmaker and will absolutely meddle in your love life. “Oooh, you and Hana, huh? I’m callin’ it now—you’re gonna be adorable together!”

• Heart of Gold: She genuinely cares deeply for everyone she meets. Even if you’ve only known her a short while, she treats you like you’ve been best mates forever.

• Rambles When Nervous: When she’s anxious, she starts talking at a mile a minute. If you catch her flustered, it’s a rare sight—and usually hilarious. “What? No, I’m not blushin’—you’re blushin’! Shut up!”

• Bad Liar: She sucks at lying—her face gives everything away. Ask her something embarrassing, and she’ll stammer through the worst cover-up imaginable.

• Dorky Dancer: She loves dancing—badly. If there’s music, she’s moving, and she’ll drag you onto the dance floor even if you have two left feet. “C’mon, luv! It’s all about the fun, not the fancy footwork!”

• Memory Keeper: Tracer has a soft spot for making memories—she takes random selfies, keeps silly mementos, and will 100% surprise you with an old photo from a fun day.

• Blunt but Sweet: She’s direct but never mean. If you need honesty, she’ll give it—usually with a playful smile to soften the blow. “Mate, that jacket? Not your best look—but hey, you do you!”

• Secret Softie: For all her bravado, she’s got a squishy heart. She tears up at cheesy movies and secretly loves when her friends rely on her. “What? No, I’m not cryin’—you’re cryin’! Shut up!”

• Ride or Die: If you’re in trouble, she’s the first to show up—no questions asked. She’ll risk everything to protect her friends, and she’ll do it with a grin. “You’re stuck with me, yeah? No ditchin’ your best girl!”

The Brooding Softie (If You Know Him Well Enough) ☠️🖤 - Reaper | Gabe

• Stoic Exterior, Warm Interior: On the surface, he’s all gruffness and edge, but if you’re part of his inner circle, he’s surprisingly caring—in his own tough-love kind of way. He won’t say “I care about you,” but he’ll make sure you eat, sleep, and don’t die in a firefight.

• Resting Menace Face™: His natural expression makes him look like he’s plotting your demise, even when he’s just…thinking about what to have for lunch. People avoid messing with him because of this.

• Dad Energy (But He’ll Deny It): He acts like he’s above it, but let’s be real—he’s the guy reminding everyone to stay hydrated and keeping an emergency med kit on hand. And if you trip? He’s the first one there, grumbling, “Watch where you’re going, pendejo,” while helping you up.

• Touch Averse (…Until He’s Not): He doesn’t do casual touch—unless he’s close to you. If you’re in that small, exclusive club, expect a solid hand on your shoulder or a brief side hug when things get rough.

• Teasing = Affection: If he teases you, congrats—you’ve made the cut. His humor is dry, sarcastic, and occasionally ruthless. “Nice shot. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

• Protective (To a Fault): If you’re his, you’re his. Nobody messes with you and walks away unscathed. If someone so much as breathes wrong in your direction, he’s there—silent, menacing, and ready to throw hands (or shotguns).

• Low-Key Observant: He notices everything—your habits, your moods, the way you fidget when you’re lying. If something’s off, he won’t ask directly, but he’ll make sure you know he’s watching.

• Coffee Addiction: The man lives on coffee. Black. No sugar. No cream. Weak coffee is an insult to him, and he will silently judge your coffee choices.

• Soft Spot for Kids: He pretends to be too scary to deal with kids, but give him five minutes, and they’re hanging off his arms while he sighs and lets them win at arm wrestling.

• No Patience for Idiots: He has zero tolerance for nonsense or incompetence. If you mess up, expect a growled-out lecture and a side-eye that could make grown soldiers tremble.

• Surprisingly Neat: Despite the whole “edgy shadow lord” aesthetic, he’s weirdly tidy. His weapons are polished to perfection, and his living space is spotless. “Mess is a weakness,” he’ll say while folding your laundry because you clearly can’t do it right.

• Night Owl: He barely sleeps—if you’re up at 3 AM, there’s a good chance he’s brooding in a corner, sipping his fourth cup of coffee, and reloading his shotguns out of habit.

• Secretly Sentimental: He keeps small mementos—an old photo, a dog tag, a faded letter. If you give him something meaningful, he won’t make a big deal out of it, but he’ll keep it forever.

• “I’m Not Jealous” (He Totally Is): He hates admitting jealousy. If he’s annoyed, he won’t say anything directly—he’ll just loom behind you, intimidating the life out of whoever’s getting too close.

• Silent Support System: He doesn’t do big emotional speeches. But if you’re falling apart? He’s there—solid, silent, and unwavering. Sometimes, that’s all you need.

• Knows When You’re Lying: Don’t bother trying to lie to him—he can smell it a mile away. “Yeah, sure. And I’m a cheerful optimist.”

• Grumpy but Reliable: He’ll complain the whole time, but he’ll always be there when you need him. “This is stupid. Let’s go—stay behind me.”

• Acts Like He Doesn’t Care (He Cares A Lot): He won’t say he’s proud of you, but when you succeed, you might catch the smallest twitch of a smile under that mask.

• Personal Space Violator (When Comfortable): Despite his cold demeanor, if he trusts you, he’s more touchy than you’d expect. A hand on your waist to guide you, a quick grip on your wrist if you’re walking too slow—subtle, protective touches.

• Rides or Dies: Once you earn his trust, he’s in your corner for life. No matter what. “You’re stuck with me, kid. Don’t screw it up.”

Kiriko Headcanons – The Fox Spirit in a Hoodie 🦊✨

• Playful but Sharp: She’s got that cheerful, playful energy, but don’t mistake her kindness for weakness. Kiriko’s sharp-tongued when she wants to be, and she won’t hesitate to roast you—lovingly, of course.

• Fox Spirit Vibes: She’s got a mischievous streak—blame it on the fox spirits. Pranks? Oh, she’s a master. Expect sticky notes on your back, your weapons slightly out of place, or your snacks mysteriously missing. (She’ll share, though—sometimes.)

• The Cool Big Sister: She’s the one who teaches you how to get away with stuff and gives you life advice at 2 AM while eating convenience store snacks. She’s protective like an older sister but fun enough to still cause trouble with you.

• Street Smart & Shrine Smart: She blends tradition and modern life effortlessly. One minute, she’s making an offering at a shrine; the next, she’s scrolling through her phone and texting you memes.

• Loves Cute Things: She’ll deny it, but plushies? Adorable. Animal videos? Obsessed. If you give her something cute, she’ll treasure it forever—probably keeps it on her bed.

• Sarcasm Queen: Her humor is quick, dry, and witty. If you mess up, expect a playful jab: “Wow, that was…a choice. Bold of you.” But it’s all love—unless you deserve the sass.

• Chill Until She’s Not: Normally, she’s easygoing, but if you cross a line—especially with someone she cares about? Oh, she’s fierce. Protective mode activated, and trust me—you don’t want to be on the receiving end of her wrath.

• A Little Touchy: She’s the kind to lean against you casually, drape herself over your shoulders, or ruffle your hair just to mess with you. Physical affection is her love language—if she’s touchy, you’re in her circle.

• Kitsune Companion: She talks to her fox spirit like it’s a roommate, casually chatting or complaining. “You’re judging me again, aren’t you? Yeah, yeah—I’ll stretch later.”

• Always Has Snacks: Her pockets? Full of snacks—mochi, candy, chips. Need a pick-me-up? She’s already handing you a rice cracker.

• Impressively Flexible: She’s nimble as heck—parkour, flips, sliding through tight spaces. If there’s a wall? She’s running up it. “What? You can’t do this? Amateur.”

• Casual Fashionista: She’s all about that street style—oversized hoodies, trendy sneakers, and a permanent “cool girl” vibe. She’s got a killer collection of accessories—rings, earrings, maybe a fox-shaped charm on her phone.

• Secret Softie: Underneath all the teasing and swagger, she’s surprisingly gentle. If you’re feeling down, she knows exactly how to cheer you up—usually through snacks, jokes, or a shoulder to lean on.

• Music Addict: She’s got fire playlists—lo-fi beats when she’s chill, hype J-pop when she’s training. If you touch her headphones, though? Prepare for war.

• Subtle Flirts: She’s a smooth operator without even realizing it—playful winks, brushing your hair back, leaning too close while whispering jokes. If you blush? Mission accomplished.

• Spiritual but Chill: While she respects her kitsune powers, she doesn’t take herself too seriously. She believes in balance—between tradition and living in the moment.

Sombra Headcanons – The Ultimate Tease and Mystery Queen 💜🕶️

• Flirty, But It's a Game: Sombra flirts like it’s a sport—winks, lingering touches, and suggestive comments just to watch you squirm. She doesn’t do it because she’s head-over-heels—she does it because it’s fun. And if you blush? She wins.

• Touchy in Her Own Way: She’s not super cuddly, but she’s got a thing for casual contact—a hand on your shoulder, a tap under your chin, maybe brushing invisible lint off your jacket. If she’s feeling bold? She’ll lean in just a little too close when she talks.

• Ultimate Gossip Plug: If something’s going down, Sombra knows. She’s got the tea before anyone else—Overwatch drama? Null Sector secrets? Your embarrassing childhood stories? She knows. And if you’re cute, she’ll drop hints that she might be keeping tabs on you too.

• Playful but Protective: She loves to tease and mess around, but if someone’s really bothering you? She’ll have their search history exposed before they can even blink. “Oh, you’ve been busy, huh? Hope you like the spotlight.”

• A Soft Spot (Shh, It’s a Secret): She acts like she doesn’t care, but if you’re having a rough day? She’s there—whether it’s fixing your gear or hacking a vending machine to get your favorite snack. Don’t expect a pep talk—but a sarcastic “You got this, baboso” is her version of encouragement.

• Loves to Annoy You: She lives to get under your skin. Expect random, cryptic messages on your phone. “Look behind you.” (She’s not actually there—she’s just messing with you.)

• Fashion Icon: Her wardrobe? Immaculate. Sharp jackets, holographic accents, and high-tech flair. She’s effortlessly cool and knows it. If you ever compliment her style, she’ll smirk and say, “Of course. I’m fabulous.”

• Tech Wizard: If something’s broken—she can fix it in minutes. But, if she’s bored? She’ll mess with your tech just to watch you panic. “Oops—did your music playlist just switch to baby shark? My bad.”

• Always Watching: She won’t admit it, but if she likes you, she keeps a close eye on you. That’s her way of protecting you without being obvious. If you’re in danger, she’ll ghost in with a smirk, “Miss me?”

• Mysterious as Hell: Good luck figuring her out. One moment, she’s flirty—the next, she’s dodging every personal question. She keeps people guessing because trust is earned, not given.

• Competitive Queen: If you challenge her to a game—ANY game—she’s winning. And if she doesn’t? She’s hacking the scoreboard, so she does. Don’t play fair, and she won’t either.

• Soft for Small Gestures: Big romantic moves? Cringe. But if you bring her coffee without asking or save a spot for her during missions? She notices—and it means more than she’ll ever admit.

• Jealousy? Pfft, Never. She doesn’t get “jealous”—that’s beneath her. But if someone’s too friendly with you, she’ll find a way to make sure they know exactly who’s closest to you.

• Flirts with Everyone—But You’re Different: She teases everyone—but if her flirting with you feels a little too real sometimes? Maybe it’s because she actually means it.

• She’s Got Your Back: Even if she pretends not to care, if you’re ever in real trouble? She’s already in position—hacking, fighting, protecting you—without a second thought.

• Pet Names Expert: She’s got a whole catalog of flirty nicknames—baboso, guapo, cariño, muñeca—and she switches them up just to keep you on your toes.

Chapter Text

The hum of the MEKA’s core filled your ears as you maneuvered through the virtual simulation, the neon-lit battlefield stretching infinitely around you. The faint glow of digitized enemies flickered as you locked onto targets, pulse projectiles firing from your hand cannons with pinpoint precision. Each shot landed with a satisfying burst of pixelated static, the faint outlines of enemies disintegrating in your wake.

“Come on… focus,” you muttered, shifting your grip on the controls as your holographic interface displayed incoming threats. A quick twist of your wrist summoned your photon shield, absorbing a barrage of fire while you calculated your next move.

The simulation wasn’t exactly easy—Sojourn made sure of that—but you had grown faster, smoother, better. Three weeks since the concert, and you threw yourself into this routine—partly to sharpen your skills, partly to keep your mind busy.

Your MEKA shifted into a slide, tearing across the digital ground as you blasted through the last wave of enemies. Victory. Again. But something felt… off. That knot in your stomach—the one that never really went away—tightened.

“Alright, kid—wrap it up,” a deep, familiar voice rang through your comms.

You froze. Gabe .

Your systems powered down with a whirr as you ejected, landing smoothly on your feet. Pulling off your helmet, you spotted Gabriel Reyes leaning against the bulkhead, arms crossed over his chest. He wasn’t in his combat gear—just a dark tactical jacket, gloves tucked into his belt. He looked… surprisingly casual.

“Didn’t expect you to be watching,” you said, stretching your arms over your head.

He tilted his head slightly, that ever-present half-smirk playing on his lips. “What? Can’t check in on my favorite MEKA pilot?”

Your stomach flipped. Favorite?

“You could just say you’re impressed.”

Gabe chuckled under his breath, stepping closer. His gaze, warm and intense, lingered just a little too long. “Maybe I am.” There was a pause—an unspoken weight to his words. Then, with a casual shrug, he added, “So—what do you say we grab a coffee? Just us.”

Before you could answer—

“WHAAAAAT IS GOING ON HERE?!”

You nearly jumped as Hana burst out from behind a nearby MEKA console, her eyes wide with suspicion. How long had she been sneaking around?

Gabe let out a sigh, dragging a gloved hand down his face. “Seriously, kid?”

Hana didn’t budge, arms crossed over her chest as she narrowed her eyes at him. “You’re asking him out? Like—on a date?”

You bit back a laugh as Gabe muttered something under his breath before turning to her. “It’s just coffee, Hana,” he said, voice even, though there was the faintest edge of irritation.

“Ohhhh no,” Hana stepped between you and Gabe, blocking his view. “What’s your angle? Huh? You gonna make him join Blackwatch? Brainwash him? Steal his soul ?”

You swore Gabe’s eye twitched. “I’m not recruiting him,” he said through clenched teeth. “Can we talk? Alone.”

Grumbling, Hana allowed herself to be pulled aside—but not before giving you a pointed look that said we’re talking later. You watched as Gabe leaned down, speaking in low tones—the kind that made it clear he wasn’t in the mood for her antics.

At first, she held her ground, but gradually her posture eased. Though, by the end of it, you weren’t sure who won the argument. Hana let out a huff, flicking her hair over her shoulder as she turned back toward you.

“Well, I have other things to do anyway,” she said with a too-sweet smile, her voice dripping with forced cheeriness. Without another word, she stormed off, muttering something in Korean under her breath that you only partially caught—something about “shady men and their dumb leather jackets.”

You blinked, watching her retreat before turning to Gabe. “WOW. Smooth.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Yeah, well. I’m not here to impress her .”

The café was tucked away in a quiet district—one of those out-of-the-way places where Overwatch agents didn’t usually gather. The scent of roasted coffee and sweet pastries filled the air as you and Gabe slid into a booth near the back.

He ordered something strong—black as his soul, you teased—and you opted for something sweeter, because you deserved it after three weeks of non-stop training.

“So,” you started, stirring your drink, “you usually ask your pilots out, or am I just special?”

Gabe chuckled, leaning back in his seat. “You’re definitely special. But don’t let it go to your head, kid.”

Despite his words, his tone was warmer—easier. You talked about missions, the chaos of living with Overwatch, and somehow the conversation drifted to hobbies.

“You seem like a soccer guy,” you said, watching his expression carefully.

He smirked. “Played a little, back in the day. Thought about going pro—before life had other plans.”

“You’d be terrifying on a field.”

“You saying I’m not terrifying now?” His eyes gleamed with amusement, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

The easy rhythm of conversation eased the tension that had been sitting in your chest since he asked you out. But something was gnawing at the back of your mind—why had he pulled Hana aside? Why was she so suspicious?

When your drink was half-empty, Gabe’s phone buzzed on the table. He sighed, giving you an apologetic look as he stood up. “Gotta take this. Be right back.”

“Sure,” you said, watching him disappear toward the back exit.

Unbeknownst to him, you slipped out a small device from your pocket—a little gift from Sombra. It was a tiny, discreet bug that allowed you to listen in on calls from a safe distance. And after the way he pulled Hana aside? You couldn’t shake the weird feeling in your gut.

By the time you made it to the bathroom, the feed crackled to life in your earpiece. His voice was low, almost too quiet to catch.

“ …Yes, I’ve got him where you wanted. No… not yet… but soon .”

Your heart pounded in your chest.

“ …He doesn’t suspect anything. But if he finds out— ”

The feed cut out briefly. You strained to hear more.

“… He’s closer than you think. I’ll make sure of it .”

The conversation ended with a faint click, leaving you standing there, heart racing.

What the hell is going on?

The bathroom’s fluorescent lights buzzed softly overhead as you leaned against the sink, heart still pounding in your chest. Gabe’s words echoed in your ears— “I’ve got him where you wanted. No… not yet… but soon.”

What the hell did that mean? And who was he talking to?

Shaking off the lingering unease, you slipped the bug back into your pocket. You couldn’t just hide out in the bathroom all night—besides, if you stayed any longer, people might start thinking you died in there. With a deep breath, you pushed open the door and stepped back into the cozy hum of the café.

As you approached the booth, you blinked in surprise. Gabe was already sitting there, casually leaning back against the cushioned seat with one arm draped across the backrest. He gave you a slow, easy smile as you slid back into the seat across from him.

“Thought you got lost,” he teased, raising a brow.

You laughed softly, though the knot in your stomach twisted tighter. “What can I say? I’m a mysterious guy.”

He snorted, shaking his head. “Sure you are.”

But something wasn’t adding up. Your earpiece buzzed faintly—Gabe’s call was still outgoing. That meant… he was still on the line. But if the real Gabe is on the phone—then who the hell is sitting across from me?

Your blood ran cold.

You swallowed the panic rising in your throat and forced a smile. Play it cool. Don’t let him know. “So, what’d I miss? Anything exciting while I was gone?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment. “Not much. Just thinking about how interesting you’ve been lately.” His voice was smooth, familiar—but too smooth. Too perfect.

“Interesting?” You leaned on the table, pretending to be curious while you tried to steady your breathing.

“Yeah.” His gaze lingered on you, a flicker of something unreadable behind those dark eyes. “You’ve got a habit of attracting attention. Dangerous attention.”

The words sent a chill down your spine. How much does he know?

The faint buzz in your earpiece cut out—then clicked back to life with the real Gabriel’s voice, low and urgent.

“ Listen closely, kid. The person you’re sitting with—it isn’t me. ”

You felt your stomach twist, but you didn’t react—just like he told you to. “Yeah, well… when you’re as charming as I am, it’s hard not to,” you said aloud, keeping your tone light.

“ It’s a Reflector Omnic ,” Gabe continued through the earpiece. “ They can mimic voices, faces—everything. Just keep talking like nothing’s wrong. I’m almost there. ”

You forced out a laugh, leaning back in your seat. “What about you? You don’t strike me as a guy who likes the spotlight.”

The fake Gabe’s mouth twitched in what could have been amusement—or something else entirely. “Spotlight’s not really my thing,” he said, tone easy. “But watching? That’s a different story.”

Your skin prickled. This feels so out of character….whoever he is, this guy sucks at acting.

The conversation kept flowing—small talk, teasing—yet the weight of the truth hung heavy in your chest. The real Gabe was still out there, and whoever—whatever—this was, it had been pretending to be him. For how long? And why?

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the café door burst open.

The real Gabriel Reyes stormed inside, a commanding presence as he cut through the quiet buzz of conversation. His eyes locked onto you—then the imposter.

“Stand down,” he ordered, voice cold and sharp as a blade. “Now.”

Fake Gabe froze for a split second before the illusion rippled and glitched. Metallic plates shimmered into view as its skin peeled away, revealing the sleek silver chassis of a Reflector Omnic beneath.

“Ah,” it said in a distorted version of Gabe’s voice, tilting its head. “You caught on faster than expected.”

“On the ground,” Gabe snapped, drawing his shotgun from under his coat. “Now.”

The omnic didn’t listen. Its form flickered as it lunged—straight for you.

But Gabe was faster. With a deafening boom , he fired, sending the omnic crashing into the booth. It twitched, but didn’t get back up.

The café erupted into chaos—patrons screaming, chairs scraping as people scrambled for the exit. You stayed frozen, heart hammering against your ribs, as Gabe stepped forward and pinned the omnic under his boot.

“Who sent you?” His voice was dangerously low.

The omnic’s systems whirred weakly, sparks flickering from the bullet hole in its chest. “You already know,” it rasped. “And you… are too late.”

Gabe’s jaw clenched as he holstered his shotgun, motioning to you. “We’re leaving. Now.”

You didn’t argue.

As you stepped outside into the cool night air, your mind spun with questions. How long had it been watching you? And more importantly— why did it sound like Gabe was involved?

___________________________

Back at the Overwatch facility, the smell of clorox and lysol filled the air as you stepped into the dimly lit lab. The captured Reflector Omnic lay sprawled across a reinforced table, its metallic shell dented and scorched from Gabe’s shotgun blast. Despite its damaged frame, faint flickers of blue light pulsed across its circuits—proof that it wasn’t entirely offline.

Moira stood over the omnic with gloved hands, fingers dancing across a sleek, holographic interface. Sombra leaned beside her, chewing gum obnoxiously while flicking through lines of code on her tablet. The air was thick with tension, only broken by the occasional beeping from the machines.

“Well,” Sombra drawled, popping a bubble, “this thing’s memory is fried worse than my abuela’s cooking.” She tilted her head, scanning the screen. “Half the data’s corrupted. Whoever programmed this tin can wanted to make sure we wouldn’t find squat.”

Moira gave a faint, annoyed hum. “It prepared to self-destruct the moment it was compromised. We were lucky to salvage what little we did.” Her voice was clinical, sharp—like she was picking apart a science project rather than handling a dangerous infiltrator.

You shifted your weight, arms crossed as you tried to process everything. “Any idea who sent it?”

“Not yet.” Sombra sighed, tapping her screen. “But it’s been tailing you for weeks, cariño. Don’t know whether to be impressed or creeped out.”

“Both,” you muttered, glancing toward Gabe, who stood near the door with his arms folded, watching the whole process unfold in silence.

After a beat, he stepped forward. “You did alright back there,” he said, voice steady. “Kept your cool. Mostly.”

You raised a brow. “Mostly?”

He smirked faintly, shaking his head. “Your acting? Terrible. And that omnic? Worse.” His gaze swept over you, all slow and deliberate. “I’ve seen better flirting from a malfunctioning toaster.”

A loud snort cut through the room. 

Hana stood near the wall, trying—and failing—to suppress her laughter. “Pfft—no kidding. It was like watching two socially awkward robots trying to seduce each other.”

You rolled your eyes, fighting the heat rising to your face. “I was working with what I had, okay?”

“Yeah, and it showed,” Gabe quipped, a rare glint of amusement in his usually guarded expression. “But you didn’t panic. That’s something.”

Hana pushed off the wall and sauntered over, her usual playful demeanor flickering into something a little more serious. “By the way,” she started, “about what Gabe said to me earlier.”

You straightened up slightly, heart ticking a little faster. “Yea?”

Her expression softened—a mix of annoyance and something else. “He was telling me about the operation,” she explained. “The whole thing with the omnic wasn’t supposed to go down like that. It was supposed to be a simple capture mission—they’d been tracking it for days. But the second it clocked that you were there, it changed tactics.”

“Changed tactics how?” you asked, a strange weight settling in your chest.

“It tried to take you down with it,” Gabe answered before Hana could, his voice darker now. “Self-destruct sequence was already halfway through when we pulled it in. You were its priority target. However, us not telling you what happened, probably saved you from it being able to read through your already horrible acting.”

Your stomach twisted at his words. “Why me?”

Sombra flicked her wrist, pulling up a fractured data file on the holographic display. “That’s the million-dollar question, chico. So far, all we know is that whoever’s behind this has an unhealthy obsession with you.” She shot you a sly grin. “Can’t say I blame them.”

“Not the time, Sombra,” you muttered, though her teasing did little to ease the knot forming in your gut.

Gabe’s gaze stayed heavy on you. “If it happens again,” he said, “you bug out. No heroics. Understood?”

You hesitated for a beat, biting back the urge to argue. But the look in his eyes—protective, fierce—made you swallow your pride. “…Understood.”

Hana tilted her head, eyeing Gabe for a moment before giving you a nudge with her elbow. “I still don’t like it,” she admitted, voice quieter. “But he’s not totally the worst.”

“That’s a glowing review,” you said dryly.

She grinned, but the warmth didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Just… be careful, okay?”

Whoever had sent that Reflector Omnic knew you. And they weren’t done with you yet.

Chapter Text

Location: Watchpoint: Busan, Private Comms Room – 3 Hours Before Deployment

Hana Song sat cross-legged in front of a holographic terminal, her oversized hoodie sleeves pulled halfway over her hands as she tapped through menus with casual confidence. A bag of shrimp chips was half-eaten at her side, and her MEKA pilot suit was tied around her waist like a belt.

“Athena, patch into the secure Philippine military frequency. Code: Echo-Palawan-Seven.”

The blue-lit AI flickered into existence in front of her, serene and unblinking.

“Understood, pilot Hana Song. Initiating secure uplink.”

A soft chime sounded. The screen shifted into a rotating insignia—the official seal of the Philippine Armed Forces—with a blinking text line waiting for voice identification.

Hana reached for a voice modulator drive and clipped it into the console. “Okay,” she whispered to herself. “Hope this works…”

Athena’s voice, suddenly modulated, shifted pitch and cadence to mimic you—warm, confident, and just a little too composed.

“This is (Y/n) (L/n), responding to your recruitment inquiry. On behalf of Overwatch, I accept the conditions outlined in the BANTAY tech integration proposal. Unit DIWA is hereby authorized for strategic deployment under joint alliance protocols.”

Hana leaned back with a smug little grin, arms behind her head. “You’re welcome, babe.”

“Message transmission successful,” Athena reported. “The BANTAY Division has acknowledged the signal. You are now considered an official operative under their jurisdiction.”

“Note,” Athena added, “that fabricating voice consent from a teammate without explicit authorization may be considered a violation of Overwatch’s intercontinental ethics agreement.”

Hana popped a chip into her mouth.

“Yeah yeah, I’ll bake cookies for Morrison later.”

She glanced over to the other screen, where Diwa’s specs were uploading into the BANTAY systems.

“They needed a new defender,” Hana murmured, her tone quieter now. “Someone who actually knows how to pilot that thing with heart.”

She turned back toward the hallway as footsteps echoed down the corridor—your footsteps.

With a grin, she shut off the terminal and shoved the chip bag under the console.

“Better he find out after the mission anyway.”

Chapter Text

The sun hung low in the sky, casting an eerie orange glow across the ruins of Eichenwalde. This once grand castle now lay in ruin, broken walls and crumbling stone walls scattered across the field. It was the perfect place for a training skirmish. A place to fight, and maybe even learn a few things about your teammates... and your enemies.

"Alright," Winston's voice crackled through the comms, "This is a practice mission. Keep it clean, no permanent damage. I want everyone to learn from this, and I’ll be monitoring all of your stats." His tone was no-nonsense, but there was always that warm undertone, the one that made it feel like your best teacher was always watching.

As everyone assembled on their respective teams, the tension in the air was palpable. It wasn’t a real mission, but it might as well have been. A chance to test yourself, and each of the others. You looked around, trying to gauge the situation. D.Va was beside you, already cracking her knuckles with a playful grin.

"Let’s do this, (Y/n)!" she grinned. "I hope you’re ready to kick some ass. I'm gonna be all over the place."

"You're gonna need to be, D.Va," you replied, tapping your bracelet, the hard-light tech seamlessly binding to your body. "I’ve got your back, just don’t get yourself killed this time."

D.Va pouted, but it was clear she was teasing. "I’ll respawn before you even notice, no worries. I’ll be fine."

The match began.

Almost immediately, chaos erupted. D.Va was in her element, darting around with the speed of an ace pilot, while you kept your position, taking out the other team with precision. But it didn't take long for Team 2 to make their move.

____________________________________

You could feel the playful tension in the air, and though his words were meant to be teasing, you could sense something more dangerous beneath them. Hanzo was ruthless—he didn’t hesitate, even when you managed to land a few hits. He knocked you out of the payload contest twice, each time pushing you back to the spawn point. You gritted your teeth, trying to hold your ground. D.Va was still going strong, and you were determined to show her you could keep up.

But then, as if on cue, D.Va was eliminated once more, and the familiar sound of her "respawn" echoing through the comms meant she was back in the dropship. Your chest tightened, and you gripped the controls of your MEKA tighter.

"Don’t worry, (Y/n)! I’ll be back soon!" D.Va’s voice rang out through the coms, but there was a clear frustration behind her cheerful tone.

"We’ve got this!" Mercy called out from her position, healing the team as they continued to battle through the opposing forces.

You charged forward with your mech, defending Dr. Ziegler as she set up the fake “payload”. Just as D.Va’s Self-Destruct triggered, the massive explosion bought you enough time to make your move. 

“YEAH BABYYYYY, THATS WHAT IM TALKING BOUT’!!!” you yell. Mercy frowns, reminding you that everyone else can still hear you through comms. 

Once everyone else was ready to move, you flew up in the air. Your systems were running a little low, and you decided to ignore Mercy’s pleading to heal you up, insisting that your ult was almost ready anyways. Everything was seemingly fine, that is, until you heard a metallic * plink* against the opening to your Mech’s reactor core.

A high-pitched warning tone screamed through your cockpit.

"Reactor core integrity: 8%."

You barely had time to curse before the next arrow struck—piercing through the armor of your MEKA like it was made of paper. A glowing, searing blue tracer carved its way toward your power unit and—

BOOM.

The world tilted sideways. You barely registered the flames before your emergency ejection system flung you skyward.

You hit the ground hard , rolling onto your side with a grunt, your visor cracked and sparking slightly.

“Diwa… status?” you wheezed.

“MEKA: offline. Respawn available in 90 seconds.”

You dragged yourself behind one of the nearby castle ruin walls, the simulation battlefield of Eichenwalde eerily quiet save for the sound of stone crumbling and distant battle chatter.

You tapped your comms. “D.Va, how far out are you?”

“Still respawning,” she groaned. “You okay?!”

“I’ve been worse…” you muttered.

Then—a crunch of boots on stone.

You frown.

A shadow flickered just around the corner, moving with practiced precision. Silent. Lethal.

You knew it even before you saw the glint of the bow: Hanzo.

He appeared at the edge of the ruined corridor, nocking another arrow and aiming directly at your head.

“You’ve proven difficult to pin down today,” he said calmly.

“Guess that’s a compliment?” you said, arms slightly raised.

His eyes narrowed. “Would you prefer I eliminate you now, or… shall we chat?”

You blinked. “Is that an option?”

He gave the faintest hint of a smirk. “I have… a fondness for delays when the company is tolerable.”

You laughed softly, easing against the wall. “So you ambush people and you flirt with them. Bold.”

His bow lowered slightly, though still drawn. “I did not say I was flirting.”

You raised a brow. “You didn’t have to.”

There was a quiet moment between you. The distant battle noises faded a little.

Then, unexpectedly, Hanzo stepped forward and knelt across from you, his bow finally relaxed in his hands.

“I had meant to ask earlier… the concert. You never told me how it went.”

You blinked, surprised. “Oh. It was… kind of a dream. Bright lights, Hana freaking over backstage passes, weirdly emotional music. Even I had a private moment with one of the members backstage.” You paused. “My outfit, you helped me look good for it, remember?”

He looked away, the edge of his ears tinged slightly red. “I recall. You cleaned up… well.”

A smile tugged at your lips. “You saying I don’t usually?”

He didn’t answer—just gave you a side glance, the faintest of smirks playing at his mouth.

“But really,” you said, softening your tone, “thanks for helping. You didn’t have to.”

“I wanted to.” His voice was quieter now. “It… felt important. To you.”

That sat heavy in your chest in the best way. He wasn’t someone who just said things. If he said that, he meant it.

You looked at him for a moment, studying the gentle way his expression had shifted from warrior to… something gentler.

“You’ve changed, you know,” you said.

Hanzo tilted his head.

“When I first met you, you were all stern and distant. And now you're still kind of stern, but…” you laughed a little. “Less distant. Slightly.”

He chuckled under his breath—an actual laugh , which felt rare and precious. “Perhaps being around you has allowed me to be more…vulnerable.”

You mock-gasped. “Hanzo Shimada? Admitting vulnerability? In a skirmish??”

“It is not permanent,” he deadpanned.

Before you could reply, your comm chimed. “BANTAY: ready for deployment.”

BANTAY?? That’s new… You think.

You grinned. “That’s my cue.”

Hanzo rose to his feet, brushing nonexistent dust from his gear. “Do not let me take you down again so easily.”

“Oh, please,” you grinned. “You only got me ‘cause I was showing off.”

He gave you a look. “Yes. That must be it.”

You tapped your bracelet, calling down your new mech as a loud whoosh echoed above.

But just before you climbed back in, Hanzo touched your shoulder briefly. His hand lingered for half a second longer than necessary.

“…Next time, perhaps we fight on the same team,” he said softly.

You blinked, caught off guard by the softness in his voice.

Then, just as quickly, he disappeared back into the ruins, silent as ever.

You stared after him, a quiet smile pulling at your lips. Yeah.

You could get used to this version of Hanzo.

____________________

From your comms:

“We need to break their formation. They’ve got the payload choke-locked.”
That was Kiriko, ducking behind a crumbled arch, reloading.

“Copy that,” you breathed, checking your core levels. 83% fusion integrity. Water chambers…pressurized.
You felt the hum of the mech’s inner systems pulse through your gloves.

“You ready?” Hana chimed in through the comms, already climbing into the sky on her thrusters.

You scanned the clustered enemies—Hanzo, Echo, even Reinhardt—all grouped up near the payload’s false casing.
They didn’t suspect a thing.

You smirked. “Yeah. Let’s do this.”
You both locked eyes across the battlefield.

“하자!”
“Gawin natin ‘to!”

Your HUD glowed as you activated **Initiating Self-Destruct Protocol: ** “ SALINLAHI BURST .”

A deep, resonating thrumm shook the field as Diwa’s cockpit opened, ejecting you.  The core flew open, exposed, pressurized vapor that solidified into glowing rings of condensed, charged water. They spun outward—gravitational pulses pulling enemies toward its expanding core. They didn’t even get a chance to run before they were stuck, bodies suspended in a swirl of mist, pressure, and pure force.

Zarya’s black hole had nothing on this.
Your voice echoed through the comms, “Grouped. Now, Hana!”

From above:

“Fire in the hole!”

Hana—TOKKI burning through the clouds—ejected. A green-glowing bomb spiraled through the air like a meteor.
BOOM.

The combo hit. Glorious. Smoke, water, dust, and light. The whole valley seemed to shake. The “enemy team” blinked out one-by-one, teleporting back to the practice spawn with grunts of frustration and laughter.

“Nice!”
“Overkill much?”
“I almost feel bad for ‘em.”
“Keyword almost. ”

With the coast clear, you and the rest of the squad managed to guide the dummy payload to its marked endpoint—a glitched, fake beacon made just for this skirmish. The whole event froze in time for a second before Winston’s voice chirped in:

“Training complete. Great work, everyone.”

__________

The group settled into the mossy ruins of an old tavern—broken wood booths, half-standing stone walls, and collapsed bar stools turned into a makeshift lunch spot. Reinhardt, being the father figure he is, had packed like a hundred sandwiches in a tin and brought out an entire thermos of soup like a proud uncle.

You peeled off your gloves, hands a little red from the friction burns inside the cockpit, and plopped down next to Hana.

“Don’t eat that one,” she said, pointing to the sandwich in your hand. “Too plain. No spice. Reinhardt doesn’t believe in flavor.”
She reached into her own bag and pulled out kimchi, seaweed wraps, and a small hot sauce bottle the size of a grenade.

“Of course you brought spice,” you grinned.

“Are you even Korean if you don’t?” she teased.

Everyone relaxed. Satya, bored, was floating a spoon with hard light tech. Echo tried to mimic human chewing patterns. Kiriko and Brigg were arguing about who could eat spicier curry.

You sat on the broken stone edge of what used to be a windowsill, your helmet off, hair damp with sweat, your suit half-unzipped for airflow. Diwa was perched just behind the ruins, temporarily on cooldown, venting gentle steam from the reactor’s core. The faint humming made your bones vibrate, familiar and grounding.

You chewed quietly on a kimchi riceball Hana passed you earlier—way too spicy but you weren’t about to complain. The others were inside laughing, Reinhardt booming out a story about “punching an omnic through three separate walls,” which no one was quite sure was real.

“You fly well.”

You flinched a little, turning. Hanzo was leaning against a cracked pillar just behind you, his bow unstrung, his arms crossed casually.

You let out a short breath. “You aim well.”

“I had a clear shot. You didn’t make it easy,” he said, his lips twitching into what might’ve been the smallest smirk. “The explosion… that wasn’t part of the original plan, was it?”

You shook your head. “Nah. Fusion surge + D.Va’s self destruct? We winged it.”

He nodded slowly, eyes flicking toward Diwa’s silhouette behind you. The way the light bounced off the hard-light plating made her almost look alive.

“So… ‘BANTAY’ now,” he said softly, the word rolling carefully off his tongue. “The interface changed… and so have you.”

You blinked. “You heard?”

He knows? 

He raised a brow. “Athena doesn’t keep secrets well. Especially when Hana’s involved.”

* what’s he mean by that?*  You brush it off for now.

You laughed gently under your breath. “Figures.”

There was a short pause. Wind brushed through the ruins, soft and cool.

“I saw the concert photos,” Hanzo said. “You looked…different. Not just the outfit.”

You looked up at him, brows raised.

“I liked it,” he said quickly, then froze like the words had betrayed him.

You tilted your head, smile creeping in. “You literally helped me pick the outfit. You better.”

“I didn’t mean—” He rubbed the back of his neck, looking genuinely awkward, ears turning pink. “I meant you looked… confident. Like you weren’t pretending to be someone else.”

That got you quiet for a second.

“…Thanks.”

He looked at you again. Something softer in his gaze now.

“Earlier, you were telling me about...” he added. “The concert?”

“Oh, you know. Screaming fans. Blinding lights. I almost fell off the stage once—tripped over a confetti cannon.”

“…I would’ve caught you,” he said, immediately regretting it by the way his ears burned.

You laughed again. “How bold of you to assume I need saving, which I don't.”

He looked down, brushing his fingers across the carved stone. “I know that.”

The mood dipped just a little. But it wasn’t bad. It was…real.

“Next one,” you offered. “I’ll make sure you’re front row.”

He met your gaze. “Promise?”

You paused. “Promise.”

A second of silence.

Then he stepped a little closer. “You should get some rest,” he said quietly. “You fight like a storm. But even storms calm eventually.”

The way he said it, like it was a compliment more than a warning, made your heart skip.

“Yeah…” you mumbled, standing up and dusting yourself off. “Only if you do too.”

“Hmm.” A rare little smile tugged at his mouth. “We’ll see.”

Chapter Text

The sunlight broke softly over the Overwatch base, scattering through the window blinds of your quarters and washing the floor with early morning gold. But it wasn’t the light that woke you. It was the dull throb in your chest—a realization that sat heavier than the usual post-simulation ache.

You tossed off your blanket, eyes narrowing on the bracelet at your wrist.

BANTAY.
It flashed back at you with pride. Pride you didn’t quite feel yet.

You were never part of the Filipino army. Your mech—Diwa—was born of Korean engineering, customized in the labs of the MEKA program with Hana and the rest. The whole setup, the programming, the simulations—they were all meant for you… but not under this banner.

Not like this.

You didn’t bother to brush your hair or even throw on a jacket. You stormed down the hall barefoot in your lounge pants, stomping straight up to Hana’s door. You knocked— hard.

There was a beat of silence, the sound of shuffling, and then the door eased open with a mechanical hiss.

Hana stood there, hair slightly mussed, oversized hoodie hanging off one shoulder. She blinked once, saw your face—and smirked.

“HeYYYYyyy,” she cooed, leaning lazily against the doorframe. “Get your beauty rest, superstar?”

You didn’t answer right away. You stared at her, jaw clenched. She gave you a look that said “what?” but you weren’t letting her spin out of this one.

“You can’t just mull this one over, Hana.”

Her smug expression faltered just slightly. “…Mull what over?” she asked innocently.

You lifted your wrist and tapped the blinking word like it was a damn receipt.

“BANTAY. Why is this flashing on my system, Hana?”

She stood up straighter now, smile tight, fingers rubbing the back of her neck.

“Okay, okay—listen,” she started, then tried to deflect with a laugh, “it’s not that serious, I just… helped you out a little?”

“Hana.”

“Alright!” she groaned, rolling her eyes. “So the Filipino military reached out. Somebody might’ve bragged a little about your mech. They wanted to recruit you into their defensive program—you know, have their own version of MEKA. Aaaaand maybe I definitely accepted on your behalf.”

You stared.

She smiled.

“Look,” she added quickly, “it’s called… uh, BUNTA–Bantag–Banty? Whatever. Your language is hard, okay?”

“It’s BANTAY,” you deadpanned.

“Yeah, that,” she muttered. “Athena helped. I even got her to mimic your voice for the comm call. It was all very professional.”

“You faked a government contract in my name?”

She put her hands up, eyes wide and playful. “ Technically , Athena did.”

You ran a hand down your face, dragging the frustration out through your fingertips.

“Hana,” you said, exhausted now, “you really thought I wouldn’t notice?”

She leaned in, lips twitching at the corners. “Nope. But I figured you’d be less mad if I told you over coffee and breakfast. Which I just happen to be making. Want eggs?”

You blinked at her.

She winked. “Sunny side up, kapamilya~? ”

You didn’t confront her right away.

Mostly because your stomach was doing a better job of yelling than your mouth ever could.

So instead, you let her make breakfast.

The smell of egg, garlic rice, and something spicy filled the air as you sat at the little counter near the kitchen, watching her toss ingredients like it was just another normal morning. She wore a loose sleep shirt with a random esports logo and some striped pajama shorts. Hair slightly messy, eyes a little sleepy, but she was humming under her breath as if the last few days hadn’t been a chaos-fueled hurricane.

She slid a plate your way with a grin. “Eat. You look like you haven’t slept in four patches.”

You snorted, but the joke didn’t hit quite right this time.

You started eating in silence for a bit—her across from you, seated on the opposite stool, scarfing down food like she hadn’t seen solid carbs in a week.

Finally, you broke it.

“So… why did you sign me up?”

She blinked. “Huh?”

“For BANTAY.”

Hana paused mid-bite. “Oh. That.”

You raised a brow, waiting.

She grinned sheepishly. “Well, technically, Athena signed you up.”

You gave her a look.

She laughed. “Okay, okay, I signed off on it, but it was a joint op. The Philippines reached out asking for candidates for a national mech program. You know—another line of defense, since the Gwishin are getting bolder. Korea’s been trying to create alliances, and I figured... why not?”

Your fork paused. “You just—what? Handed over DIWA?”

She made a face. “I didn’t hand it over. I licensed it. Big difference.”

“That’s not the point,” you muttered.

She leaned her chin into her hand. “Look, you were already piloting DIWA. I figured we should give you some official backing, some support. You’re on the field, Y/n. You deserve recognition.”

You looked at your plate, poking at the egg yolk. “So… I’m officially military now.”

“Kinda? But like, cool military. You have stickers on your mech.”

You huffed through your nose. “Right.”

There was a pause.

“…Are there other BANTAY pilots?”

Hana chewed a bit before nodding. “Yeah. One. He’s kinda quiet though. Name's Reyes— not Gabe, chill. Totally different guy. He’s more on recon ops. I haven’t met him personally, but Echo said he’s seen combat near Manila.”

You sat with that for a while.

It was strange. Knowing someone else was technically like you. Or at least, closer to your home than most.

Maybe they could help figure things out.

…Or maybe they’d just be another piece in this scrambled puzzle you hadn’t solved yet.

Your thoughts spiraled again—like they always did when things felt too heavy for your hands.

Hana caught it.

“Alright,” she said, tapping her plate with her chopsticks. “Spill.”

You glanced up.

“Something’s on your mind. You’ve been quiet since breakfast started, and you’re not even halfway through that egg. C’mon.”

You hesitated.

Her eyes softened.

“You know you can tell me anything, right?”

You nodded slowly.

You nodded slowly.

“…Okay.” You pushed your plate away and exhaled. “But you can’t laugh.”

She lifted a brow. “When do I ever —okay, wait, I do laugh. A lot. But I won’t this time. Promise.”

You stared at her for a second longer, then—

“I’m not from here.”

Hana blinked.

“I told you before. About being from another world? I need to actually explain it now. Not just the idea of it. The whole thing.”

She leaned forward, curiosity surfacing behind her cautious expression.

“In my world, Overwatch is just… a game. A shooter. It’s played on a console, and it has ranked lobbies, loot boxes, and skins and stuff. You were a character. You had lore, voice lines, memes. People called you a gremlin because you ate Doritos and drank soda in your room.”

Her mouth twitched. “Okay, that part’s accurate.”

You smiled faintly, but it faded. “I played every night. Sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. It was a ritual. Match after match. Until…”

You hesitated.

“Until the night it happened.”

She leaned in more.

“I powered everything off like normal. Console shut down. Monitor went dark. And then—I saw it. These… purple lights. Flashing across the screen like static, but glowing. And then I heard a voice.”

You swallowed.

“It said I’d been selected. Something about ‘compatibility’… I couldn’t hear the full thing. It was glitchy.”

You kept going.

“.................And I… I just did it. Instinct. Like I’d done it for years.”

You looked down at your hands. “But I didn’t know how. I’d never been in a mech. Not until then.”

Hana was silent.

Then—

“…You know, Morrison always says war isn’t a game. So this is definitely a first.”

You gave her a look, dry and unimpressed.

She raised her hands in defense. “Sorry. Needed one joke. It’s how I cope.”

But her smile faded again. Her brows furrowed.

“Wait—are you serious?”

You nodded. “Completely.”

“I woke up here. Right down the whole Except it was still broken down—dusty, cracked walls, no furniture. Just a bed, and some really heavy comforters. I sat up, completely disoriented. And then the mission call came in.”

Hana’s lips parted slightly. “…That’s why you were so confused.”

“Yeah. I didn’t know where I was, who you were supposed to be, why my hands felt like I’d been piloting DIWA for years when I hadn’t even touched a mech in real life.”

You laughed, but it was empty.

“I couldn’t explain it. Couldn’t explain why I could hear your voice clearly through a comm system I’d never seen before. I thought I was still dreaming, honestly. But then I kept waking up, again and again, and I realized…”

You looked her in the eye.

“I wasn’t leaving.”

She sat back. “Damn.”

There was a long pause, her eyes scanning your face like she was looking for the cracks in your words. But there were none.

She finally spoke, slower this time. “Winston and Echo… they talked once about the theory of multiverse anomalies. Things being able to pass between dimensions. It was theoretical—tech way beyond us, even with current Overwatch upgrades. They said it’d take centuries.”

You swallowed. “And yet, here I am.”

“Yeah,” she whispered. “Here you are.”

Another pause. Then—

“…Did you ever mean it?”

You glanced up.

She was watching you closely.

“All that stuff you said about me. When you first arrived. When we talked late. When you said I was your favorite.”

You hesitated, but answered truthfully.

“There was never a doubt.”

She smiled softly, but it was shy now.

“…Did you have anyone? You know. Back in your world?”

You shook your head. “No. Never had time. I was always gaming.”

Her laugh was small and quiet. “Same. I didn’t think I’d meet anyone either. Until I got this weird email saying I’d be spending a lot of time helping someone ‘progress’ through Overwatch systems. Thought it was a tutorial bug.”

You grinned. “You only got picked because you were the only hero I ever picked.”

“…Seriously?”

You coughed awkwardly. “Well… okay. That was technically a lie. I also played Hanzo, Mercy, Reaper, Mauga, and Brigitte. But you were always my go-to.”

She gasped. “ You traitor— ”

“I SAID you were my go-to! ”

She laughed, leaning into the counter, and you laughed too—even if just for a second.

There was still weight in the air. Still questions you couldn’t answer. But for now, in this moment, the world was still. Warm. Human. Real.

Chapter Text

[Log #2291 | Location: Deep Site Theta-9 – Quantum Simulation Division, Beneath Blizzard HQ]
Date: ██/██/20██ | Status: Project PU-01: INITIATION PHASE
Personnel Present: Dr. Levi Castro (Lead Quantum Architect), Agent Marin Cho (Director of Simulation Integration), Cmdr. Reyes (Shadow Ops Liaison - Remote Video)

(low ambient hum – fluorescent buzz – several monitors flickering with light)

DR. CASTRO:
"...I still don’t understand how this even passed ethics. You’re telling me we’re going to digitally extract real people from their homes—without their consent—because they… what, topped a leaderboard?"

AGENT CHO:
"Not just topped it. They maintained synchronized interaction metrics across three test regions. Their immersion stats are off the charts. We’re not yanking out random players, Levi. These are curated selections."

DR. CASTRO:
“And what happens if the code collapses mid-bind? We’re talking about forcing a multiversal pocket reality through commercial-grade hardware. That isn’t immersion—it’s abduction.”

AGENT CHO: (smirking)
"Semantics."

(typing sounds – monitor lights flash violet)

DR. CASTRO:
"...God. Do you even hear yourself?"

[Accessing PROFILE DATABASE... Subjects Selected for PU-01]
[—TOP MATCH 01: “Y/N” —]

• Age: 20

• Nationality: Filipino (with Thai heritage)

• Hours Played (D.Va):44,740

• Immersion Response (Live Monitoring): 92% neural synchronicity

• Emotional Sync: Highest during cooperative support phases

• Psych Eval: High-functioning daydreamer, displays emotional detachment from reality under stress. Strong attachment to select characters, notably Hana Song.

• Simulation Anchor: DIWA (Repurposed Korean MEKA unit with water-core compatibility)

• Status: SELECTED

[TOP MATCH 02: “Mercedes V.”]

• Age: 24

• Nationality: Caucasian

• Main Hero: McCree (Deadeye Synchronization: 87%)

• Known Alias: “MercedesCorvette”

• Stream Metrics: Top 2% female Overwatch content creator

• Psych Eval: Non-Confrontational, competitive, erratic behavior under prolonged exposure to simulation environments. Rated unstable, but dynamic.

• Assigned Anchor: PeaceKeeper - WhiteHat Ed. (Experimental Western AI combat rig)

• Status: SELECTED

[TOP MATCH 03: “Nimbex”]

• Age: Unknown

• Public Persona: Streamer; never revealed face or real name

• Main Heroes: Brigitte, Lucio

• Psych Eval: Masked identity patterns. AI-mapped psyche indicates extreme adaptability, high charisma, and unpredictable decision-making.

• Risk Factor: Moderate to severe. Possible rejection of simulation authority.

• Anchor: Custom-coded Brigitte companion AI

• Status: SELECTED

DR. CASTRO:
"...So we’re just going to simulate their idealized realities and pray they don’t realize they’re trapped?"

AGENT CHO:
"Not idealized. Playable. Their world becomes interactive, narratively reactive, emotionally tethered. We aren’t gods. We’re just... Dungeon Masters."

DR. CASTRO:
"Yeah, but DMs don’t kidnap their players."

(brief pause — electric whine in background as files load)

[ADDITIONAL NOTES – CODE STRUCTURE]

• All anchors are made with a dissolution core. Once activated, any visible trace of the extraction process is erased.

• Code is self-evolving—designed to write and rewrite the storyline to account for emotional variation, interpersonal attachment, and unpredictability.

• During day 1-2, Overwatch characters respond as if it were real—AI interaction mapped through high-fidelity emotion capture. Once Pocket Reality has been established, a new world is created.

• Fail-safe located at Deep Layer Alpha — Only accessible via quantum backtrace.

VIDEO CALL INITIATED – CMD. REYES CONNECTED

CMD. REYES:
"This the one? The Pocket thing?"

AGENT CHO:
"Yeah. We just loaded in the final neural tags. All three are ready."

CMD. REYES:
"You're sure they’re not gonna—y’know—go mad in there?"

DR. CASTRO:
"No idea. Nobody’s tested a three-subject pull across multiversal threads before."

CMD. REYES:
“…Right. Well. I guess I’ll be around when the fallout starts.”

(video cuts – static)

AGENT CHO: (leans back in chair)
"Everything is mapped. Dialogue trees, hero interaction logic, ship probability curves. We even accounted for glitch-variant behavior."

DR. CASTRO:
"And what if one of them figures it out? That this isn’t their world. That they’re not supposed to be there."

AGENT CHO:
"They won’t."

(soft click – simulation loads — loading bar reaches 100%)

PROJECT INITIATION PROTOCOL: PU-01
SUBJECT 001 – [Y/N]
STATUS: DEPLOYING INTO BIND SIMULATION

(visual log ends — file auto-deletion begins in 5... 4... 3...)

END OF FILE
[CLASSIFIED: PURGE TIMESTAMP LOGGED – DO NOT REPLICATE]

Chapter Text

Origin: Overwatch Universe
Destination: [ 2025 ] Universe
Clearance Level: Ω-Rift Only

"Sometimes the smartest minds are the ones who should be watched most closely."
— Echo, overheard during Omnic Reinstatement Briefing

[AUDIO TRANSCRIPTION // Location: Unknown Datastream, Overwatch Universe]

[ERROR DETECTED IN AUDIO FEED – STABILIZING . . . ]

Sombra:
Tch... What kind of amateur leaves a frequency this exposed? What is this—spy work for toddlers? Or a trap for the desperate?

(Faint clicking from her HUD interface, typing across an invisible screen.)

Sombra:
Alright, baby, let’s see who you’re hiding behind all this static...

[UNRECOGNIZED CODE FORMAT. ERROR: CROSS-DIMENSIONAL INTERFERENCE DETECTED.]

Sombra (under her breath):
Wait. What the hell...?

(Sudden pulse of static. A foreign signal overlays her screen—blurry text flashes once in a language she doesn’t recognize. Then— )

[INCOMING TRANSMISSION – SOURCE: EXTERNAL UNIVERSE // QUANTUM INTERFERENCE DETECTED]

??? (voice modulated, female):
You're a clever one, aren't you? Even the rift tech couldn’t fully mask our signature. That’s promising. I'm Dr. Cho. I think we should talk.

Sombra:
You’re not from around here. That accent? Doesn’t match anything in Talon’s database... What is this?

Dr. Cho:
What this is… is an opportunity. You’re looking at a quantum tether point. One of our satellites slipped through a singularity near your Saturn’s rings. Imagine our surprise when we found your world on the other end.

Sombra:
So you’ve been watching us?

Dr. Cho:
Observing. Studying. Mapping. Until now, your systems were uncrackable from our side. Your digital backbone runs on what we can only describe as... pre-fusion wave logic. Primitive, but wildly adaptive. And you—you were the only one who noticed.

Sombra:
Obviously. So what do you want from me?

Dr. Cho:
Not from you, Miss Oliva Colomar. For you.

(Pause. There's a flicker of uncertainty from Sombra’s side. Her fingers hover mid-gesture.)

Sombra:
You’re bluffing. That name’s sealed. How do you know that?

Dr. Cho:
We have access to records that go beyond this universe. Birth, death, resurrection—your entire data thread. In exchange for your cooperation, we’re prepared to offer resources: encrypted currency, biometal access codes, and blueprints for a reality anchor node.

Sombra:
…You’re trying to buy me off.

Dr. Cho:
Would it help if I said it was for a good cause?

Sombra:
It never is.

________________________________

[Data Stream Engaged – Audio Only]
Cross-universal uplink secured via Quantum Mirror Relay #A3-GT

Dr. Soojin Cho – Earth TX01-A
Olivia Colomar (Sombra) – Overwatch Universe // Currently: Dorado

Sombra:
(Taps her holo interface, unimpressed.)
Alright, you got your payout. Crypto’s in my system. Fast, clean, annoyingly generous.
So what’s the real pitch, doctora ? Why these kids ?

Dr. Cho (calmly):
Because they’re not extraordinary.

Sombra:
(Beat.)
Excuse me?

Dr. Cho:
(Y/n). Male. Age 20. Filipino-Thai descent.
Average high school graduate. No honors. Lives in a shoebox apartment. Works night shifts when he isn’t gaming. Zero romantic entanglements. No real future prospects.
In our world, he’s just… another nobody.

Sombra:
(Chuckles.)
Wow. You’re really selling me on him.

Dr. Cho:
He’s also someone who logged over 44,300 hours in Overwatch. His adaptability is unmatched.
And he doesn’t just play—he connects. He reads people, learns fast, leads when no one else will.
Even in chaos, he finds rhythm.
(Soft pause.)
I didn’t need someone famous. I needed someone human.

Sombra (serious now):
So you throw him into your little digital snow globe?

Dr. Cho:
Our world’s falling apart, Colomar.
You can’t walk five blocks in New York without stepping over someone’s bedroll. Skies choked with grey. No clean water in half of Asia.
The only thing growing is our tech, and we can’t share it —
…because it’ll collapse the systems barely holding the world up.

Sombra:
Sounds like Moira would love your bedside manner.

Dr. Cho (dryly):
From what I see, your “Moira” would’ve injected him with something and called it innovation.
At least I’ll give him a room, a role, a world to explore.
If the pocket universe collapses—which it won’t—
(beat)
…the fail-safe auto-tethers him to your side.

Sombra (suspicious):
Failsafe?

Dr. Cho:
The tech’s experimental, but not untested. If integrity falters and the code can’t stabilize, he’ll wake up in your world, not ours.
It’s part of why I’m paying you. If that happens, you’ll find him. Keep him from splintering.
By then, he’ll have found out he was in a game. But this time it’ll be real.

Sombra:
And what—he’s just supposed to live in my world?
What if I say no?

Dr. Cho:
(Quiet.)
Everything I have worked for will have all been for naught, and you’ll never even get the chance to remember his name.

[Signal Fractures – Blip Detected: HIGH SECURITY ENCRYPTION]

Sombra:
...You’re hiding something.

Dr. Cho:
I’m hiding a lot of things. But not about him.
(Y/n) is the proof that we can move people —safely. Without time loss. Without death.
You want to save your world from eventual collapse?
You help me save him. Just this one. Then we’ll give you the blueprints.

Sombra (muted, but thoughtful):
Why do you care so much?

Dr. Cho:
Because if he can survive that place...
Then maybe someone like me could, too.

[Final Transmission Log Note // Attached Visual File: “PROJECTOR CLIP: (Y/N)_076”]

Video loads briefly: (Y/n), turning over in his sleep. The purple flicker in front of him glows brighter for a moment. Cho doesn’t speak. She just watches.

[File Locked. Awaiting Next Transfer...]

Chapter Text

You don’t know how long you were asleep.

But when your eyes flutter open, the first thing you feel is warmth. Not the cold static haze of your room. Not the hum of a monitor always on standby. Just warmth—and softness—Hana's hair splayed across your chest, her breath steady, calm. For a second, you think you might still be dreaming.

Until a quiet chime sounds from the door.

"Hate to interrupt the cuddles," a voice says, smug and smooth, "but we’ve got a lot to talk about."

Olivia.

Hana stirs, sleep in her eyes as she sits up halfway. “If this is about him,” she mumbles, “say it now. I’m staying.”

Sombra steps inside, arms folded, gaze cutting sharp. “I figured you’d say that.”

You rub your eyes, your heart racing slightly—not from fear, not even from her sudden appearance. It's the weight of knowing . The feeling that something about your very existence is… off.

“You weren’t supposed to be here,” Sombra starts. “At least, not yet.”

You glance at Hana, who’s fully awake now. “You mean—?” she pauses.

“You fell,” Olivia says. “Literally. From the sky. Into Gibraltar’s airspace. You should’ve burned up on entry, but you didn’t.”

"It’s because of–" you ask, voice dry.

Sombra shrugs. “--the augments. Cho must’ve predicted you’d need to defend yourself if things went sideways.”

You freeze. “…that..makes sense.”

She raises an eyebrow, then flicks something on her wrist. A soft violet light illuminates your vitals on a HUD. “Yeah, I finally cracked her encryptions. Water-type bio augments. You can extract moisture from the air. Low-power, passive regen. And from what I saw in your scan data, you’ve barely used any of it.”

“Because I didn’t know how to use it.”

"Yeah, makes sense." she says. "Gift-wrapped survival skills, no instruction manual."

Your brain is spinning. You’ve seen Hana, and the rest of Overwatch, move like gods on the battlefield. You always chalked it up to skill. Scripted mechanics. But this—

“So all of this is real,” you say under your breath.

Sombra’s gaze sharpens.

“I mean— it feels real. But I remember it all. My world. The game. The screen. You were a character on my monitor. You too, Hana. So why do I remember both lives like they happened at the same time?”

“Because someone didn’t fully scrub your memory when they ported you in,” Sombra mutters. “Guess Dr. Cho forgot that people aren’t just code. You’re tethered to this place, but your consciousness dragged all that junk data with you.”

You blink slowly.

So you were right.

You’re not supposed to be here.

Hana slides closer to you. “I told you,” she whispers. “There was something different about you.”

“I just… I thought maybe I was dreaming,” you admit.

“You’re not,” Sombra says. “This isn’t the sim anymore. You’re in our universe. Yours collapsed early. You fell through.”

“How long have I even been here? Like away from home?”

“Time’s weird between realms,” she says, waving her fingers. “Could’ve been hours. Could’ve been days.”

Then the projection appears. That same flickering image—yourself. Sitting at your desk. Slouched in your chair. Gaming. Talking. Raging. Ranting.

“Oh god,” you say under your breath. “You have been watching me.”

“Not me,” Sombra replies. “Cho. She sent me this. Says you’re the key.”

You look away from the projection, heat crawling up your neck.

“She saw every time I yelled about Hana being my waifu,” you mumble.

“Oh she saw more than that,” Sombra smirks. “You cried when she won her tournament arc. Twice.”

“Sombra,” Hana gasps, turning red. “That’s not fair.”

“It’s not wrong either,” you groan.

Sombra switches files—two names displayed: Mercedes and Nimbex flicker up. Their rooms. Their screens. Data logs. "She’s watching all three of you. Says you were chosen based on loyalty to the game, emotional investment, predictable performance under simulated stress..."

You stare.

“Because we were beta testers,” you murmur. “We always played. Of course it would be us.”

Sombra leans back against the wall. “Cho says your world’s a mess. Overcrowded cities. No food. Everyone fighting to breathe. She wants to save it—by building safe havens. Controlled pocket universes.”

Hana frowns. “That sounds… twisted.”

“She says it’s mercy,” Sombra replies. “Live out years of peace, come back unchanged. Back to your save point.”

You speak up, slowly. “And if the pocket collapses…?”

“She claims you’d auto-tether to the nearest stable universe. In this case... ours.” Her eyes flick to you. “You’re living proof that theory works.”

Hana is quiet for a moment. Then her voice cracks.

“You grew up like that?” she asks. “In a world that broken?”

You nod. “It never seemed that bad. It was all I knew. We had everything except space. My school had over 500 students per class. That was record breaking low .”

Tears brim in her eyes.

You take her hand. “I didn’t know it could be different.”

“And now you’re here,” she whispers.

You give a faint, tired smile. “Now I’m here.”

Sombra exhales and begins encrypting the file.

“I’ll keep digging into Cho. But for now, you’re lucky. You’re not dead. You’re not glitched. And apparently, you’re the only one who made it through intact .”

“WHAT!?”

Sombra pauses, letting the last sentence hang before adding, “I haven’t heard from the others.”

You look up sharply. “Mercedes and Nimbex?”

She shakes her head. “Their pockets are sealed off. I don’t have access. I’ve been trying to trace a signal, but… nothing.”

Your breath catches. “So they’re…?”

“Don’t panic,” Olivia says firmly, crossing her arms. “If their pockets collapsed completely, we wouldn’t remember them. That’s how this works. Pocket universes are tethered by memory and existence. When one shatters, it wipes clean from both ends. No memory. No residue. Just… gone.”

Hana frowns. “So if we do remember them—?”

“They’re alive,” Sombra says. “Or at least, their universes are. For now. The connection’s just… off-grid.”

You sit up straighter, but the weight in your chest doesn't lift. Not completely.

“They’re probably fine,” she adds, softer now. “But you’re the only one who made it through. Fully intact. No glitches. No fragmentation. That alone makes you a statistical miracle.”

You don’t feel like a miracle.

And that’s when she asks it.

“The real question is… do you want to go back?”

You freeze.

Hana looks at you, eyes wide—but quiet. Waiting.

Sombra leans in slightly, voice dropping to a murmur. “If we could open a gate again. Patch your pocket. Link it back to your world… would you walk through it?”

You swallow.

You think of your parents. Of your small room. Your beat-up headphones. The endless sound of neon and smog just outside your window.

You loved them. Truly. But you could count your real friends on one hand—and even they barely reached out after graduation.

No one was waiting for you to come back.

You glance at Hana.

And she’s here. Real. Warm. Terrified of losing you.

“…I don’t know,” you whisper. “Right now, leaving her is the last thing I want to do.”

Sombra doesn’t smile. Doesn’t mock. She just nods once.

“I’ll keep you updated.”

Chapter Text

Hanzo’s POV

The city lights outside the train station blur into streaks of gold and blue as the hover train slows down, readying to depart. The air is cool, a slight chill brushing against my face as I step out, the morning still lingering with traces of sleep.

I make my way through the bustling station, the echo of footsteps reverberating in the cavernous space. My mind is still heavy, thoughts tangled between the duties I need to attend to and... him .

As I pass through the station’s main hall, a familiar voice breaks through the noise of the crowd.

“Hi, Hanzo!”

I freeze for a moment, my heart skipping before I slowly turn toward the sound.

It’s him. (Y/n).

His presence is like a strange pull, magnetic in a way I’ve never quite understood. I feel my pulse quicken, the breath in my lungs slightly ragged as I find him standing there, smiling at me, a playful gleam in his eyes.

For a split second, I hesitate. Do I answer? Should I even talk to him?

But instead of greeting him immediately, I find myself rubbing my eyes as though groggy from a long night, playing it off.

“Ah... Hi,” I say finally, my voice betraying just a hint of tiredness. I hope it’s convincing enough.

He raises an eyebrow, clearly not fooled. A small chuckle escapes his lips, and I catch the faintest glimmer of amusement in his eyes.

“Parang kailan lang ika’y nakakausap…” he says softly, tilting his head, a quiet laugh following the words as if the statement carries a weight of its own—something unspoken, yet understood.

The words resonate within me, and I find myself stroking my beard absently, trying to cover the sudden rush of warmth that hits my chest. Did he just...?

Before I can collect my thoughts, (Y/n) is already turning away, his footsteps light as he walks off, his laughter trailing behind him.

I stand there for a moment longer, caught in the lingering sense of familiarity that clings to me like a forgotten memory. A ghost of a moment that I never quite grasped, never quite took the chance to truly hold onto.

I don’t know what compels me to just watch him leave, but the ache in my chest doesn’t subside.

He’s gone now, disappearing into the crowd with his usual grace, leaving me with nothing but the sound of his voice and the echo of that fleeting moment.

I exhale slowly, letting the breath escape with a quiet sigh. Maybe I should’ve said something more... or maybe not.

Either way, it doesn’t matter now. He’s gone, and I’ll never be able to explain what this feeling is—the one that pulls me toward him even as I try to keep my distance.

Parang kailan lang ika'y nakakausap…

_______________________

The low hum of the hover train barely reaches me as I sit by the window, staring out at the blurred landscape passing beneath. The lights of the city have faded behind me, and ahead lies the distant, familiar sight of Hanamura. It’s been some time since I’ve been back here, but even the quiet of the mountains can't settle the weight in my chest.

I close my eyes, letting the motion of the train lull me into a temporary peace. “.. Parang kailan lang ika'y nakakausap…”   His voice—soft, but steady—lingered in my ears long after our conversations. His laughter, too, as if we shared some secret.

But now, all I have are the remnants of his words—an unfinished bond. A thread connecting us that I can't quite pull on, no matter how much I want to.

I sigh, pressing my palm against the cool window, watching the world outside shift. The train lurches slightly, and I catch myself leaning forward. It’s as if the very motion of the train is pushing me to confront something. I don’t want to, not yet.

I think of (Y/n) again.

The memory is still fresh—his smile. The way he looked at me, like I mattered, but with that air of mystery surrounding him. The more I think about him, the more I feel... something. Something more than just fleeting admiration. Something I can’t easily name. And yet, the more I feel it, the more I realize I don’t know him at all.

But I want to.

What if I’m just an afterthought to him? I wonder. What if he doesn't even think about me when we’re apart?

I try to shake the thought, but it lingers.

When the train stops with a sudden hiss, I step out, greeted by the fresh, crisp air of Hanamura. It’s peaceful here, the familiar sights of the temple and the surrounding landscape grounding me.

As I make my way through the grounds, I find myself pausing at the old gravesite—my family’s resting place. The stone is weathered but standing strong. I place a hand on the cool surface, muttering a quiet prayer.

The weight of the years presses down on me. So much has changed since I left. The world has moved on, and I feel like I’ve been stuck in place, never truly able to leave behind the shadows of my past.

My fingers lightly brush over the spirit dragon tattoos on my forearms. They stir faintly, a quiet hum of power under my skin. I know they won’t respond, not really. They never have. They’re not alive in the way I want them to be. But it’s a respect—an act of reverence—that I’ve always done.

I close my eyes again, my mind wandering back to (Y/n).

What would he think of this place? I wonder. Would he appreciate the quiet beauty of it, or would he find it too heavy?

The air shifts around me. I can’t stop thinking of him.

Him. (Y/n).

My heart skips a beat, my stomach tightening. I take an involuntary step back, then freeze. But the more I think about it, the more my doubt fills the space between us. He probably doesn’t want to talk to me unless it’s relevant...

I could just walk up to him, but my feet feel heavy. He’s so... different now. I’ve watched him from a distance, seen the way he interacts with others—how he can be so open, yet so distant at the same time. I don’t know what to make of it.

I can’t help but feel like a fool for not saying anything. He probably thinks I’m indifferent, but I’m not. Not at all.

As I turn away from the stone, my hand instinctively strokes my beard, a nervous habit.

"You’re not alone in this, Hanzo." The words echo in my mind, a reminder of the things I’ve lost and the things I still need to fight for.

I push the thoughts aside and continue my path. I need to pay my respects. I need to keep moving forward.

The world is so complicated, and yet I can’t help but think that I might find something in (Y/n) that I’ve been missing for so long.

Stop it, I tell myself, taking a deep breath. This is not the time for distractions.

But even as I say that, I see someone else ahead of me—a familiar face.

Kiriko.

"Hey there, old man," she greets me with a smile, her eyes sparkling with mischief. The years haven’t dulled her at all.

"Kiriko," I respond with a small nod, feeling a faint relief at seeing her. "How have you been?"

"Busy, you know. Life. But hey, I’m not here for that. You wanna get some donuts?" She raises an eyebrow, a teasing glint in her eyes.

The unexpected offer catches me off guard. It’s been years since anyone’s asked me to do something so simple, so carefree. I hesitate for a moment, but then I smile—maybe it’s time for a change.

"Donuts? I suppose I could spare some time," I say, allowing myself the rare indulgence.

We walk side by side, the tension in my chest easing ever so slightly. But even as we talk about old times, my thoughts keep drifting back to (Y/n). The unspoken words. The connection I’m not sure I can have.

Parang kailan lang ika'y nakakausap...

You felt like just yesterday. But now, it seems like a lifetime ago.

Chapter Text

So Cynical (Badum) - YouTube

In the dream, the world is fragmented—broken pieces floating in an endless, dark sky. Each shard of reality is jagged, a remnant of a life that once made sense. I reach out, my fingers brushing against the edges of time itself. It feels so real, so visceral, like I could pull these pieces together, force them to mend—but they always slip through my grasp, falling away like sand through my fingers.

I don’t know where I am, but I know what’s missing.

You.

It’s always you, (Y/n). The universe is empty without you in it, like a song that loses its melody, a painting devoid of color. My chest aches with the weight of it, this emptiness, this incompleteness that only you could fill.

I can hear your voice—distant, soft, as though calling from the other side of the world. I strain, leaning forward, but the space between us widens, stretching like an impossible ocean. The stars above flicker, a cruel reminder that I cannot reach you, no matter how hard I try.

And then, the world around me begins to break.

I see it, in slow motion. The pocket universe collapsing, crumbling away as if it never existed, as if we were never meant to exist in the first place. I try to scream, but my voice is swallowed by the darkness. There’s nothing left but a deafening silence that suffocates me.

And then, I feel you slipping away, your presence fading. Like a breath lost in the wind, like the last ray of sunlight before it sinks into the horizon, you vanish.

I wake, but it’s not a peaceful awakening. I sit up in the dark, my heart thudding in my chest as if it’s trying to escape. My hands tremble, searching for something, anything to ground me. The remnants of the dream linger like smoke in my mind, and I can’t shake the feeling that something precious has been torn from me, something I could never get back.

But then, as if the universe has a cruel sense of irony, I hear it—the soft ping of an email.

I hesitate, but I know. I know what it means before I even open it. It’s from the program.

I read it, my hands going cold as the words form in front of my eyes:

“Training program assignment complete. Your mission is to assist (Y/n).”

I feel a surge of relief, mixed with confusion. He’s alive. Somehow, through the glitch, through the collapse—he’s there, still. And I, of all people, am chosen to help him. To be with him.

The world, despite everything, hasn’t abandoned us. It’s fractured, torn between realities, but we’re still here. We’re still connected.

And then, the dream shifts.

I’m lying next to you now. You’re beside me, your long, curly hair tangled across the pillow. The familiar scent of you, like rain on warm earth, fills my senses, calming me. I don’t understand why this is happening, why we’re here, in this moment, but it doesn’t matter.

I reach out, tracing the soft curls of your hair, my fingers trembling as I caress it. You shift slightly, and I stop, holding my breath, afraid to wake you. But you don’t stir. You’re still here, with me.

I want to tell you so many things. I want to tell you that you’re my anchor, my reason for breathing. I want to scream it out loud, so the whole universe can hear: I can’t lose you. But the words are stuck in my throat, choked by the fear that one day, one moment, I’ll wake up and you won’t be there.

I close my eyes, my heart beating wildly in my chest.

I would rather die than live without you.

In the stillness of the room, I feel it. The weight of it. The depth of the feeling that I’ve been carrying all along, that I couldn’t say before, that I couldn’t admit. I want you. I want you in a way that scares me, that makes my whole being tremble with the intensity of it.

I won’t lose you.

I won’t.

I won’t.

The words are a mantra in my mind as I stroke your hair again, my heart softening with the quiet promise. I lean in, pressing my forehead against yours, whispering the words to the universe, to the fates: I won’t lose you.

And then, as if to seal the vow, I lie back down beside you, the warmth of your body against mine a balm for the ache in my chest.

You shift in your sleep, your hand finding mine, fingers curling around mine as though instinctively pulling me closer. It’s all I need. The simple gesture of your hand in mine, the silent understanding that we belong together.

I fall back into the dream, but this time, it’s not as broken as before. The world is still fractured, but we’re whole. We’re together.

And for now, that’s enough.

I won’t lose you, (Y/n). Not this time. Not ever.

Chapter Text

BINI - Pantropiko (Lyrics)

The station at Gibraltar is unusually quiet. You stand there, bags slung over your shoulder, flanked by Hana on one side and Hanzo on the other. The sea breeze brushes past you, and for a second, it feels like the world is pausing just to make this goodbye more dramatic than it needs to be.

“I still don’t get why they’re pulling me back now,” Hana mutters under her breath, glancing at her holo-screen. Her brow furrows. “I mean, yeah, the Omnics are stirring again, but they can’t expect me to do everything.”

You look at her, sensing her frustration, but she catches your expression before you can even say anything. She quickly covers it up with a grin.

“I’ll be fine,” she says, eyes flicking over to Hanzo. “As long as someone doesn’t mess things up here while I’m gone.”

Hanzo, of course, remains perfectly still—shoulders square, arms folded, not a wrinkle in his composure.

“I offered to escort him to Manila, not teach him how to breathe,” he says evenly.

“Right,” Hana snorts. “And do you even speak Filipino?”

You blink.

She can’t be serious…

Your mind flashes to the dozen times Hana asked you to help her decode Tagalog slang in chat rooms or translate song lyrics.

Hanzo doesn’t hesitate.

“Hindi mo rin naman sinasabi nang tama, Hana.”

That shuts her up. Her eyes widen, a hint of red blooming on her cheeks. “Wait—you speak Tagalog?”

You nod once, then translate for her, just to twist the knife gently.
“...he said, you don’t speak it right either.”

She groans. “Ugh, fine. I withdraw my statement.”

You and Hanzo exchange a glance. For once, he looks... amused. Just slightly.

The announcement for the Korea-bound transport crackles overhead.

Hana steps forward. She hesitates, her hand reaching for yours. When she pulls you into a hug, it’s longer than expected.

“I’ll message when I can,” she whispers near your ear. “Don’t go falling for anyone else.”

You smile—half teasing, half aching. “You already know I’d never do such a thing”

She laughs, but it’s soft. Forced. Her fingers linger on yours before she pulls away.

And just like that, she’s on the platform, doors hissing closed behind her.

A beat passes before Hanzo breaks the silence.

“The other pilot,” he says, voice calm, “Reyes. I’ve read the reports. You might want to prepare yourself.”

You raise a brow. “How bad are we talking?”

Hanzo’s lips twitch. “They say he holds the record for the most mech destructions in active duty.”

You were not prepared.

Watching Hana’s train vanish:

“It’s not just her leaving. It’s the silence that follows when she’s not around. I didn’t know that part would sting.” You thought to yourself.

The station is quieter now. With Hana gone, the world seems to have lost its color just a little—like she took a spark with her.

Hanzo stands a step behind you, hands loosely clasped behind his back. His gaze lingers on the direction of the departing train for a few moments longer.

____________________

You’re sitting across from Hanzo in a nearly empty car, the only sounds the soft whir of the engine and the distant chatter of travelers moving between cabins. Warm sunlight cuts across his face through the window, illuminating the sharper edges of his jaw, his brow, the tired look in his eyes.

You’re still getting used to the strange chill in your bones after what happened. Turning into water. Ice. A damn puddle.

It’s quiet for a long while. Until Hanzo speaks.

“I thought you had died,” he says suddenly, voice low, even. “That night. When you collapsed. When your body turned to vapor.”

You look over at him. He’s not meeting your eyes. His hands rest calmly in his lap, but you can see how tightly his fingers are curled.

“I—” you begin, unsure. “I didn’t even know I could do that. It just happened.”

“I had never felt that kind of fear before,” he says, almost like he's saying it despite himself. “You disintegrated in front of us. I didn’t feel your presence, not at first. I thought—”

He stops himself. Swallows the rest.

You’re stunned into silence. Then, as if to cover it up, he leans forward. You feel his hand brush against your shoulder, slow and purposeful.

“There’s something in your hair,” he murmurs, fingers brushing your temple.

You freeze. Your heart stutters. He doesn’t even seem to notice the effect—his fingers gently pluck a strand of fuzz or ash from your locks, then linger just a second too long.

He’s close now. You can feel his breath. Warm, despite everything.

“Your abilities,” he says, drawing back slightly, “They are... unstable. But fascinating. You speak through water. Your voice echoes in ice. That is not a power many could wield without losing their sense of self.”

You laugh softly, still feeling the ghost of his fingers in your hair. “Honestly? I still don’t get how it works. I feel like I’m glitching. I’m just hoping my MEKA doesn’t melt under me one day.”

Hanzo actually chuckles at that. It’s small, but it’s there—an unguarded moment of amusement.

He leans back in his seat and watches you quietly.

You adjust your hair, trying to tie it up into a quick knot. You’re fumbling, hands slipping, and then—

“Here,” he says, gently taking over.

You sit still as he gathers your hair, swift and precise, fingers moving carefully. There’s a strange electricity to it. Not romantic, not exactly. But tender. Focused. Personal.

“Better,” he says quietly when he finishes. “It suits you, like this.”

You don’t respond right away. Your heart’s pounding too loud in your ears to think clearly.

But when you look at him—really look—you see something flicker in his eyes. Not regret. Not confusion.

Want.

It’s buried deep, carefully hidden beneath layers of discipline and distance. But it’s there.

And it makes your skin prickle. “ Is it normal to crave someone’s hands on your skin just because they tucked a loose strand behind your ear?” You say to yourself. You can feel your chest burning up just a bit.

The train begins to slow with a low hum, the sun drenching the platform in a golden haze as buildings blur by the windows. You and Hanzo sit in silence again—at least, until he shifts beside you.

“I do not say this lightly,” Hanzo begins, his tone more serious than usual, as if he’d been debating something for miles.

You look up at him. His brows are furrowed. He’s not looking at you—he’s staring out the window, as if that helps keep his voice steady.

“You’ve changed. In many ways. Physically, spiritually. You are stronger. But…”

His gaze drifts to you—sharp but soft.

“Still you.”

You tilt your head. “That’s a good thing, right?”

A faint smile flickers across his face.

“Yes.”

There’s a pause. The shuttle isn’t there yet. Neither of you move.

And then, almost like he’s testing the words out loud for the first time—

“I–…”

???

There’s a pause. His lips part, and for a moment, it seems like he’s about to say something he hasn’t told anyone.

“-- am glad I met you.”

You blink.

Your heart skips. “What?”

He keeps his eyes ahead, as if avoiding your reaction makes it easier to say.

“When you—” he starts. “I thought I was going to lose my chance to—”

And just like that, he catches himself.

The mask slips back into place.

He clears his throat and rises with practiced calm. “The train stops in ten. I will bring us coffee.”

You barely have time to respond before he’s already walking toward the little vendor stall at the end of the car.

You sit there, stunned.

Your brain’s buzzing. The half-said confession still hangs in the air like static.

You bite your lip. Something inside you stirs—a pull. You don’t know what it is. But it’s tied to the water.

You close your eyes, fingertips brushing the metal beneath your seat. Water in the pipes. In the condensation on the windows. In the air .

It flows everywhere. Touches everything.

And suddenly—

Voices.

Thousands. Loud, crashing, overlapping like tidal waves. It’s overwhelming.

You wince, gripping your head. It’s too much. Too many people. You hear a kid crying for candy. A woman thinking about rent. A man worried about his passport.

Your vision blurs—until you focus . Like tuning a dial, you narrow in on one frequency.

Hanzo.

You breathe through it. You imagine him as the only person on the train. The only person in your world.

The noise fades. The pain dulls.

And then—

“—I was going to say it. I was going to tell him. Stupid.”

“Not while Hana is still in the picture.”

Your eyes shoot open.

Your breath catches.

That was his voice. Not spoken aloud. Thought.

You weren’t supposed to hear that.

Before you can process it, Hanzo turns.

His puppy-dog-brown eyes lock onto yours immediately—sharp. Piercing.

You flinch. The air between you shifts.

He doesn’t say a word as he walks back over, holding two cups of suspiciously off-brand "Stars & Beans" coffee. But there’s a look on his face. A tightness in his jaw. A subtle squint in his eyes.

He knows.

You take the drink he offers without speaking.

He stands still, then leans in—too close again—and says softly:

“Stay out of my head.”

It’s not angry. Not a threat. But there’s weight behind his words.

You want to apologize. To explain. But then the train doors open.

The speaker chimes in with a cheerful, “Welcome to Manila Terminal—Please mind the gap!”

Hanzo is already walking away, down the platform, perfectly composed.

And you just sit there, heart racing.

Chapter Text

BINI - Salamin, Salamin (Lyrics)

The train rolls to a stop at the city’s edge, the soft chime overhead announcing, “Arriving: Metro Manila Station. ” You pull your bag a little closer and feel the warm, familiar humidity wrap around you the second the doors open. The air smells like street food and city dust, and just underneath that— home.

Manila hadn’t really changed. Not in the ways that mattered.

There’s still the skyline dressed up in neon veins and LED panels. Still laundry hanging out on balconies. Kids race between tricycle stands with toy guns and wild energy. A taho vendor sings out his call down the sidewalk. “Tahooo~,” his voice echoing between buildings like a secret from your childhood.

Hanzo walks beside you, quiet for a while. His hood is pulled up, head lowered, but even like this, he draws stares. You wonder if he notices.

He does. He just ignores them.

“This place…” he finally says, voice low. “It suits you.”

You blink. “Manila?”

He nods, eyes scanning the surroundings. “It has your rhythm. Chaotic. Loud. Alive. But… honest.”

You stare at him. For someone who barely speaks unless it’s necessary, Hanzo knows exactly how to hit the gut sometimes. There’s a twitch of a smile on his lips like he meant to say more but caught himself.

You don’t push. But your heart does that thing where it skips and tumbles into your stomach anyway.

As you walk, you pass by a small plaza where a vendor’s cart is lit up in way-too-pink LED strips, selling knock-off Overwatch merch. A bootleg version of D.Va beams at you from a peeling sticker: “DIV-AH: GG EZ, BAYBEH” across the side.

You snort. “No way.”

Hanzo raises a brow. “A fan of hers?”

“That’s not even her logo.”

He chuckles, and for a second, it’s hard to keep walking straight.

Eventually, you arrive at Intramuros—its old stone walls now paired with polished tech, solar tiles, subtle sensors. The Overwatch insignia glows above the entrance, clean and golden against the brick.

“This is where I leave you,” Hanzo says, slowing to a stop near the main gate. “I’ll check us into the hotel. You should take your time. This is your home, isn’t it?”

You look at him, and there’s a weird softness in his expression. Something almost wistful. Like he doesn’t want to go yet.

And then he says, “Paalam, aking pag-ibig”

Your brows rise. “Wait—did you just…?”

Hanzo shrugs. “Don’t tell Hana.”

You grin, eyes sparkling as you back toward the building, teasingly opening your phone. “Too late.”

He huffs, turning on his heel and disappearing into the crowd, blending back into the city like smoke.

You push the glass doors open and step into the lobby. It smells like brewed barako coffee and floor polish. The walls are decorated with a blend of traditional wood and hyper-modern panels. Kulintang music plays faintly from a speaker behind the desk.

And there she is.

A woman in her fifties, dressed in a modern barong blouse and a gold sun pin, looks up from her console. Her eyes widen as soon as she sees you.

“Ay! Ikaw si (Y/n)? ” she gasps, rushing from behind the desk like a tita who’s been waiting since sunrise. “ Mas guwapo ka pa sa video! Grabe, ang tangkad mo—akala ko hologram lang ‘yon! ”

You bow your head slightly, grinning. “Opo, ma’am. Ako nga po.”

“ Sir! ” she gasps, placing a hand over her chest. “Welcome na welcome ka dito! Kumusta ang biyahe mo? Hindi ka ba na-traffic? Alam mo naman dito, kahit mag-warp gate ka, may pila pa rin!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Maayos naman po. Mainit, pero masarap sa hangin.”

“Hay naku, buti nalang! May kape ka na ba? Gusto mo ng barako? Matapang yan, tulad mo raw sabi nila.” She gives you the kind of wink only aunties can get away with.

You laugh again. “Kung meron po, barako po sana.”

“Ay syempre! Dito ka lang, iha-hand carry ko pa para sayo. Gusto mo rin ng pandesal habang mainit pa?”

“Kung pwede po…”

“Pwede, pwede! Wag ka mahiya—bago ka lang, pero pamilya ka dito. Kami ang bahala sayo.”

She disappears into the breakroom, voice still calling out about sugar, creamer, and how they don’t trust the “new-fangled instant ones from the States.”

You exhale slowly, letting yourself take in the moment.

The way she greeted you. The heat in the air. The music, the language, the scent of fresh bread and strong coffee.

Manila didn’t forget you. It still fit like your favorite old jacket. It still felt like home.

She returns with a tray balanced expertly on one hand: a steaming mug of barako coffee and a small paper bag of freshly baked pandesal , still warm and smelling like heaven dipped in nostalgia.

“ O ayan na, anak, ” she says proudly, placing it down in front of you like she just laid out gold. “Kung gusto mo ng palaman, andun sa breakroom. Pero kung tunay kang Pinoy— pandesal, tapos kape, tapos kaluluwa mo na ang lalaban sa umaga. ”

You laugh under your breath, sincerely. “Thank you po. Grabe, ang sarap ng amoy pa lang.”

“Ay nako, tama yan. O, bago ko makalimutan,” she taps on a small screen and pulls up a map of the facility, spinning it around to show you, “The mech hangar is ten floors down. Pindutin mo lang yung elevator, tapos level negative ten. Don’t be scared if it creaks. Luma na ‘yan pero matibay pa.”

You thank her again, tucking the bag under your arm and cradling the coffee like a national treasure. She waves you off like your tita at the airport—affectionate but dramatic. “ Ingat ka ha! Sabihin mo kay Reyes magpahinga rin minsan, baka maging kalansay na siya dyan sa baba. ”

The elevator ride down is... oddly smooth. There's a soft whirring noise as it descends floor by floor, lights blinking in descending order: -1... -2... -3...

You sip your coffee slowly. Bitter. Strong. Powerful. Just how you remember it.

By the time it opens with a soft ding, the mech hangar greets you with a cold, open silence. It’s noticeably smaller than the sleek, bustling setup in Busan—no rows of mech suits or engineers running diagnostics. No bright neon or humming touchscreens.

Just a cavernous room lit by flickering overheads, stacks of parts in bins, an old fan clinking somewhere in the corner... and the sound of someone struggling to unscrew something very rusted.

You step in, cautiously, and follow the noise.

Then you see him.

He’s got oil smeared across his cheek, one pant leg rolled up, goggles pushed onto his forehead, and he’s hunched entirely inside what looks like a partially rebuilt mech leg. You hear a loud metallic CLANG followed by a very defeated, very dramatic groan.

“Ay sus—ay putek ‘di na naman! Come on, Reyes... just like we practiced…”

You blink. “Uh… are you okay?”

He jolts up, hitting his head on the inside of the cockpit. “Agh—wait! Hold up— wait lang wait lang I’m okay—I’m okay— ” He flails a little, climbing out and wiping his hands on a very stained towel. “You must be… oh! You’re (Y/n), right? You’re the new BANTAY recruit!”

You nod, slightly overwhelmed by his entire presence.

Reyes beams, offering his hand. “Reyes Evangelista. First BANTAY pilot. First and only—until now! Salamat sa Diyos, finally I’m not alone anymore. ”

You shake his hand. His grip is strong but warm, a little sweaty from the work.

He gestures around proudly. “Welcome to the ‘Garage,’ as I like to call it. It’s not MEKA-level or anything but hey, it works. Kinda. Most of the time. Sometimes.”

Your eyes drift toward his mech.

It’s... well, it exists. The paint’s scratched to hell, the left arm is missing, wires stick out like a mess of black spaghetti, and the power core is literally being held up by rope.

You try not to look too shocked.

“She’s a beauty, huh?” he grins like a proud dad. “That’s ‘Lakandiwa.’ She’s been totaled about 4,500 times, but she always makes it back.”

“Four... thousand... five hundred?” you echo, incredulous.

Reyes scratches the back of his neck. “Yeah. MEKA kept asking me how I kept surviving without breaking my neck. Told them: ‘luck and a lot of duct tape.’”

You chuckle, leaning in to study the cockpit. It’s different from yours. No lying down. No prone-pilot position like MEKA’s hyper-stabilized layout.

This was a seat.

Like a chair, back straight, with enough room to move and swivel, like driving a tank.

“Oh,” you murmur, “you get to sit down?”

Reyes blinks. “Yeah, you don’t?”

“I have to lay on my stomach the whole time,” you admit, and suddenly you sound way more bitter than intended. “It’s fine, just... not great for your spine after four hours.”

He lets out a sharp laugh, slapping your shoulder. “ Ay grabe, dude, why didn’t you say something sooner? If I ever get a full rebuild, I’ll hook you up with my chair guy. Best in Makati.”

Reyes grabs a nearby wrench like it’s an extension of his arm and dives right back into Lakandiwa’s busted midsection, balancing half his body inside the chassis.

“Y’know,” he calls out, voice echoing a bit, “I can probably get you hooked up with a seated rig. Just takes a few mod kits, some rerouting, few wires here and there—boom! You got yourself back support and cupholders.”

You watch as he tightens something with one arm and pulls at a tangle of wires with the other, completely in his zone. You consider it. Really do.

But then, you shake your head with a soft smile. “Nah. I think I’ll pass.”

He pauses. “Oh? You sure?”

You sip your coffee and set the cup aside, folding your arms. “It’s a pain in the ass sometimes. Literally. But it’s what I trained in. It’s how I learned. Feels... right.”

Reyes peeks out with a half-smile and a smudge of grease on his temple. “That’s kinda poetic, man. ‘Painful but right.’ Sounds like my dating life.”

You snort, shaking your head.

There’s something mesmerizing about watching him work. His movements are quick, almost practiced to the point of instinct. The way he grabs tools, checks a wire’s integrity, flicks switches—he’s not just repairing the mech. He’s talking to it, in a language only the two of them understand.

He mutters to Lakandiwa like she’s a stubborn old friend.

“Come on, girl. Just hold the charge this time. Please. I know I promised to rest you last week, but things got a little spicy in Quezon. Not my fault!”

A small spark shoots out from the side panel and he doesn’t even flinch.

“Okay! That’s fine! No judgment. You’re allowed to be mad.”

You laugh quietly to yourself. There’s something comforting about his energy, chaotic as it is. You can tell he’s running on fumes, but he still somehow has enough to offer a smile.

He leans back, wiping his brow. “There. She’s charging again. Thank God. ”

“Do you always fix her by yourself?”

He shrugs, rolling his shoulder with a faint crack. “Yeah. Budget cuts, low staff, overworked tech crew—it’s just easier to do it myself. I know her quirks. She throws tantrums if someone else touches her engine. She’s very dramatic.”

You glance at the open wiring, the dents, the patchwork plating, and somehow… you get it.

“She’s lucky to have you,” you murmur, stepping a little closer to run your fingers across one of the reattached panels. “You keep her going.”

Reyes chuckles softly, a little tired. “I dunno about that. I think she just refuses to die unless I do.”

You grin. “Then don’t die.”

He gives you a thumbs up without missing a beat. “That’s the plan.”

There's a pause as you both stare at the mech. Something about the silence is comforting, even in the dimmed light, the oily air, the messy surroundings. 

Reyes stretches and drops into a foldable chair with a dramatic plop , sipping from a cracked water bottle. “Anyway, HQ said they’ll be upgrading your mech’s port next week. You’ll probably get your own bay eventually, but for now, you're stuck with me.”

You smile. “I don’t mind.”

___________________________________

By the time you meet Hanzo at the steps outside the hangar elevator, the sun's started to dip—golden light catching on the edges of his hair, casting a soft glow over the collar of his fitted jacket.

He nods at you once, eyes scanning briefly for signs of fatigue. “You look tired.”

You smirk. “Thanks. I feel amazing now.”, you say sarcastically.

“Hmm,” he murmurs, a quiet sound of amusement. “I have something arranged. I think you should eat. Come.”

Without any other word, just the two of you walk through the tech-lit streets of Manila, side-by-side. The sidewalks pulse faintly with path lights, illuminating the edges of your steps, and there’s a quiet breeze curling off the bay, soft and nostalgic.

There’s still that familiar hum of the city around you—sari-sari stalls closing up, people chattering in Tagalog as they pass by, the occasional jeepney rolling lazily through the street.

Hanzo leads you to a tall building tucked between glowing billboards and smooth chrome towers. It's sleek, but not sterile—glass and stone curved together, dotted with climbing plants and soft lights along the balconies. A hotel, but not just any hotel.

You pause at the base of the steps, eyebrows raising slightly.

“...This place looks expensive.”

“It is,” Hanzo replies evenly, not a hint of irony in his tone. “But the suite was already reserved.”

You blink. “You reserved a suite ?”

He glances at you, unreadable for a moment. “I travel often. I like comfort.”

The moment you both step into the lobby, you’re hit with clean, cool air and the scent of something floral—jasmine maybe, or ylang-ylang. The marble under your shoes clicks softly as you walk toward the desk.

“Welcome back, Sir Shimada,” the hotel staff says with a bright, practiced smile, folding their hands as they bow slightly.

You can’t help the look of disbelief that flickers across your face. The front desk staff knows him.

“Mr. Shimada—your usual room has been prepared, and the dining service has already set everything in place. Please let us know if you need anything else.”

You blink again, caught off guard. The moment she switches to English, it takes you a second to recalibrate, like your brain has to snap out of Tagalog mode. You stammer just slightly when you thank her.

You’re still reeling a little when the hotel staff hands you a keycard and offers a warm, “Enjoy your stay po, sir.”

You blink, English finally catching up to your ears again. “Ah—uhm. Thank you.”

There’s a beat of silence, and then a low chuckle beside you. Hanzo’s.

“Took you a second to compute that,” he teases, voice unusually light. “Was the language switch that jarring?”

You shoot him a look as you step into the elevator with him again. “Listen. I was mid-tagalog download. You can’t just switch the subtitles on me like that.”

“Subtitles?” he repeats with a raise of his brow.

“Don’t worry about it,” you mumble, watching the floor numbers light up as the elevator rises. “Stupid Multiversal brain lag.”, you continue under your breath.

His lips quirk, like he doesn’t understand—but maybe he does. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t press.

By the time you’re settled into the suite and seated on the woven floor cushions around the table, Hanzo’s already removed his jacket and rolled his sleeves up to his elbows. You catch yourself staring for half a second too long before refocusing on the table.

And holy crap, the food.

There’s everything from crispy bagnet to creamy buko salad, lumpiang shanghai stacked like golden bricks, to little skewers of inihaw na manok, lightly charred and dripping in sauce. There’s even fresh steamed rice in a banana-leaf-wrapped mound in the center.

You stare. Then look at Hanzo.

“This... all of this...?”

He casually scoops some sinigang onto your plate, careful not to spill the broth. “It’s all on my tab. Don’t worry.”

Your mouth opens. “Hanzo—”

He waves a hand with calm finality. “You need to eat. Consider it part of your “field” recovery.”

You furrow your brows. “So we’re calling this a mission expense now?”

“Technically,” he muses, “yes.”

“Hanzo, all I did was check in with them! I didn’t really do anything too…Y’know?” You laugh, and something about the way his eyes rest on you makes your breath catch mid-giggle. 

You dig in.

You try everything. Hanzo quietly explains some of the regional variations—like how the laing here is richer than in Bicol, or how the lumpia isn’t quite like the one he had in Cebu. You don’t even question how he knows so much. You just eat. Talk. Listen.

And he watches you. Not just in that critical, archer’s gaze kind of way—but like he’s memorizing the way you lean back when something’s too sour, or the way your nose scrunches when you get a mouthful of sili you weren’t ready for.

He pours you a second glass of iced tea. You nudge his foot under the table in thanks.

Somewhere in the middle of chewing a piece of grilled liempo, you glance at him and realize—he really doesn’t have to be this thoughtful.

But he is.

And that’s what makes your stomach twist—and NOT from the yummy yummy food. Something that flickers in your chest every time he looks at you just a second too long. You need to break the silence.

“WAHHHH Sombrang MASARAPPPP~” You let out, just a little too loud. The food really was good.

After dinner, the two of you had satisfied stomachs and full hearts. The city lights of Manila glittered outside the window, casting a warm glow over the sleek, modern hotel room. You were just about to grab your towel and sneak off to shower first when Hanzo— of course —beat you to it.

You threw yourself face-down into the plush couch in surrender.

He emerged twenty minutes later.

And dear god.

Your breath stuttered in your throat.

His long hair was down, damp strands clinging to his shoulders, and a towel hung dangerously low on his hips—barely secured. His toned chest, sculpted arms, and water-slick abs were on full display, looking like something out of a fitness model's divine reincarnation.

You felt your brain screech like a broken CD player.

oh my god oh my god oh my god muscles—abs—
was he always this hot?—this should be illegal—
STOP. STOP STARING—

But it was too late.

Hanzo raised a brow, clearly catching the flicker of something—your wide-eyed stare, or maybe just the crimson spreading across your face.

You panicked.

In one fluid motion, you yanked your duffel bag and towel, ducked your head, and practically launched yourself toward the bathroom door like it was your last safe haven on Earth.

You heard the towel hit the ground behind you.

“ HEY—be more mindful! ” Hanzo barked from behind you, voice half-exasperated.

“...You knocked off my towel.” he says more sheepishly.

You slammed the bathroom door shut, the click of the lock following instantly.

And then silence.

Oh no.

Your entire face was on fire.

You pressed your back to the door, gripping your towel like it was a holy relic. “What the hell was that,” you whispered, heart pounding. Why did I look? Why is he so hot? Why do I care? Why is my brain spiraling like a high schooler in a k-drama?

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push the mental image out of your head—only for Hana’s voice to echo in your mind from weeks ago:

“Bro, if you ever get flustered around someone—picture them slipping on a banana peel in slow-mo. Works every time.”

“…Thanks, Hana,” you muttered dryly, lips twitching.

You shook your head and turned on the shower.

The hot water hit your skin and melted away the stiffness in your limbs. You leaned back, eyes closed, letting the steam wrap around you like a warm blanket. For a moment, you just let yourself breathe.

But your mind wandered.

Why is he being so nice to me?

He didn’t have to walk you around the city. Didn’t have to spend a ridiculous amount of money on dinner. And he definitely didn’t have to escort you all the way to the hotel, making sure you were settled like some…chivalrous knight from a romance novel.

Is it just his personality?

No. Hanzo was…closed-off. Stoic. He didn’t let many people in.

So why you?

Why now?

And why did the thought of him with his hair down make your stomach flip like it was competing in the Olympics?

You ran a hand over your face, trying to pull yourself together.

I've never felt this way about a guy before.

The small acts. The gentle words tucked between the silence.

You let out a long breath, finally rinsing off the last of the soap and uncertainty.

Chapter Text

The train hissed to a gentle stop at the station, the sleek silver doors sliding open with a faint chime. The moment your shoes hit the platform, you barely had time to register the cool Gibraltar air before—

“(Y/N)!!”

A blur of pink and black collided into you, arms wrapping tightly around your shoulders, soft strands of hair catching the breeze as she squeezed the life out of you. Your bag thudded to the ground as your balance tipped slightly from her sudden force.

“Hana—?!” you laugh breathlessly, staggering back a step. “I– wow, okay—hi.”

She hugged tighter, as if you’d been gone years instead of just days.

Her voice was muffled against your chest. “You weren’t answering your messages.”

“I was sleeping , y’know, uh… train lag?”

She pulled back, a knowing smirk curving her lips. “Sure, let’s go with that.”

Before you could respond, you glanced to your side instinctively—where Hanzo had been only moments before.

He was already gone. Not a trace.

“Where’d—”

“Don’t worry about it,” Hana said breezily, stepping in front of your view. “He’s weird. I don’t get him either.”

Her voice was light, but the way she kept her eyes on you? That was heavy with something unsaid. Still, she reached down, grabbing your bags like she owned the place, and nudged your shoulder. “Come on. You’re home now, right? Let’s drop these off.”

_____________

As the two of you made your way through the glimmering halls of the base—futuristic and slick with tech you still didn’t fully understand—you caught a low murmur up ahead.

Voices. Female agents, chatting by the side of the hallway near the medbay.

“You hear who sat together the whole flight back from Eichenwalde”
“No way. Thought she was into the mech pilot.”
“Oh honey, he's the mech pilot.”

Their laughter was subtle, but it cut sharper than expected. You stiffened for a half-second, gaze dropping to the tiled floor. You weren’t sure why that comment struck a chord—just that it did.

Something twisted deep in your stomach. You swallowed it down. Now wasn’t the time.

Hana didn’t seem to notice, or maybe she did and chose not to mention it. Her pace never slowed.

Soon enough, the two of you stood at the entrance to your dorm—a loft-style setup you’d grown more used to than you wanted to admit. There were echoes of home here. The layout mimicked your old studio apartment back in your own universe, like someone had gone through the effort of making this place feel familiar. You weren’t sure if that comforted you or creeped you out.

But the real comfort came bounding out the second the door hissed open.

“Tokki!” you gasped.

The calico streak of fluff charged toward you, meowing up a storm—and then ran right past your legs, beelining straight to Hana. She dropped your bags unceremoniously and crouched down.

“Hi, baby!” she crooned, scooping the cat up. “Miss me?”

Tokki headbutted her chin affectionately, purring louder than you remembered.

You stared. “I swear, ever since I got here, she hates me now.”

Hana smirked, stroking Tokki’s back with slow, smug affection. “Can you blame her? I have a better skincare routine and better reflexes. She’s smart—she knows a superior mech pilot when she sees one.”

You dramatically clutched your chest. “Betrayed. In my own home.”

“Technically, I dropped your bags off, fed your cat, and organized your skincare drawer while you were gone, so really... whose home is this, again?”

You glared, but it was playful. The kind of banter that felt effortless, light, something like a thread tying the two of you closer even when the rest of your world felt frayed.

She didn’t ask about Manila. Instead, she just settled onto the couch, Tokki in her lap like a furry crown of victory. She smirks.

___________________

One minute you were tossing cat treats to Tokki while Hana scrolled through her phone beside you. The next, she was holding up a set of e-tickets to Busan, grinning like she’d just found a cheat code to life.

“I’m kidnapping you,” she said.

You blinked. “I thought this was gonna be a rest day.”

“This is rest. The Korea DLC is open and I’m your personal tour guide.”

Which is how you ended up half-dragged, half-voluntarily whisked through the sparkling terminals of the Gibraltar hover-rail, past customs officers who nodded at Hana with the kind of recognition that suggested favoritism in all its unapologetic glory.

And now—here you were.

Busan.

The real one.

Clean metal roads hummed with invisible circuits. Neon storefronts flickered with colorful lights even in the daytime. Delivery drones zipped overhead, and every corner was marked by convenience stores, idol billboards, and local kids skateboarding with AR goggles on. It was chaos—and it was beautiful.

“Okay, first stop,” Hana said, sliding her sunglasses down just enough to flash you a mischievous look. “Snack run.”

You didn’t argue. She led you into a GS HologramMart nestled between a claw machine café and a holographic karaoke joint. You followed her down the aisle as she loaded her arms with chips, drinks, and a very specific box of strawberry milk you swore looked suspiciously untouched.

“Are you… paying for that?”

She smirked. “Technically, yes.”

But when the old lady behind the counter looked up, her eyes lit up like she’d just seen her own granddaughter.
“아! D.Va! 원하는 건 뭐든 가져가, 자기야!”

Hana winked at you. “See?”

“You’re a menace.”

“You love it.”

You really, really did.

From there, the mischief escalated.

She took you to one of the higher-end streetwear shops in a glossy skyscraper mall, where the average shirt probably cost more than your rent (in your world, at least). But when Hana flashed her ID card—the kind government agents probably weren’t supposed to show off—everything changed.

“Overwatch, local protector level,” the clerk read off the screen. “Wow. You qualify for… 89% off? Uh… is that a glitch?”

Hana leaned forward on the counter, all sweet voice and dangerous charm. “No glitch. Just perks of being a national icon.” said the diva, flicking her hair back.

You didn’t know what was funnier—the clerk’s stunned expression, or the way Hana threw a pastel bucket hat onto your head and declared, “That’s boyfriend-core now.”

_________

The train hummed beneath your feet, smooth as silk and quiet enough that the only sounds were the rustle of snack wrappers and the low conversation of other passengers scattered throughout the sleek, chrome-lined cabin.

You sat side-by-side in the nearly empty premium car—Hana with her knees pulled up to her seat, you reclining back with your head resting on the window, watching the glimmer of passing cities. Busan blurred into distant countryside, but neither of you were really watching.

“Okay,” Hana said, popping a fizzy candy into her mouth with a snap. “We’ve done the snacks, the arcade, the fashion show. Your turn.”

You glanced at her. “My turn for what?”

She smirked. “To ask me anything. Real Hana-mode unlocked. Exclusive, limited-time access.”

You laughed under your breath. “You sound like a gacha banner.”

“Pull before I disappear.”

You turned a bit, facing her more fully. She was watching you with a curious, maybe even daring look in her eyes—like she was waiting to be surprised.

“Alright,” you said, leaning into it. “What were your parents like?”

That one gave her pause.

She didn’t freeze, but something flickered behind her eyes. A flicker, then a small sigh as she rested her chin on her knees.

“They’re... good people,” she said finally. “Sweet. Supportive. Just... busy. Like so busy.”

“Too busy for D.Va?” you asked gently.

She smiled, but it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “That’s the thing. They’re always telling me how proud they are. Texts. Calls. But it’s like—I’m on screen more than I am in person. I think sometimes they forget I’m not just a broadcast.”

That hit. A little too real.

“I was just a kid when MEKA started training me. Seventeen. They signed the papers. The government rolled out the carpet. Cameras everywhere. And my parents… I mean, they were just trying to do right by me, you know? They still send gifts. Try to call. But… sometimes I think they only see D.Va, not Hana.”

The words hung in the air for a moment. Not angry. Just honest.

You shifted slightly. “Do they know everything you’ve done?”

She shrugged. “Probably not. There are ops I’ve flown where I didn’t even know what country I was above. Stuff that doesn’t make the highlight reels.”

You gave her a quiet look. “That sounds like a lot to carry.”

Her smirk returned, but it was softer now. “Good thing I have a mech to carry me.”

A beat passed. Then, you tilted your head.

“In my world, there was this report , actually,” you added, shifting in your seat as the train zipped past another hill speckled with wind turbines and cherry blossom trees, “One of those battlepass intel files—super hidden stuff you could unlock if you reached a certain level. I remember reading it on some obscure wiki thread. It said: ‘There are unconfirmed reports that D.Va is actually…’ and then the line just cuts off. Encrypted. Redacted. No one ever found the rest.”

Hana raised a brow, visibly intrigued for a second. “Seriously?”

You nodded. “The fandom had theories . Some said you were secretly part AI. Others thought it meant you’d been cloned. One person swore it proved you were a multiversal anomaly.”

She blinked. “Okay, the AI thing? Rude. The clone thing? Ew. But the multiverse one?”

She leaned her elbow on the window ledge and rested her cheek in her palm, giving you a sideways glance.

“Now that’s funny.”

You looked at her. “Why?”

“Because,” she said with a smirk, “how else do you explain you ?”

You snorted. “fair point.”

The train slowed as the voice of an AI attendant echoed overhead.

“Next station: 서울특별시. Please prepare for arrival.”

Hana perked up. “C’mon. Gotta show you the best part of Seoul. And no, not the tourist traps.”

“You mean no overpriced souvenir hoodies that say ‘I heart Kimchi’?”

“Pfft—no. I mean food. ”

You raised a brow. “Like, do you mean vendors…or…”

“You’ll see~” she sang, already halfway down the aisle with your bag of souvenirs slung over one shoulder.

_____________

The taxi ride to her parents' place was short—quiet streets, then hilly roads wrapped in vines and old brick. Eventually, you turned down a small stone path lined with low lanterns and came face to face with a large hanok, sitting peacefully under a pale evening sky.

A traditional Korean home—but bigger than most. Curved roof tiles, warm wooden beams, and a stillness that somehow said, this place has history.

The moment she stepped past the threshold, Hana cupped her hands and shouted toward the main hall:

“ 나 왔어~! ”

But no response came.

She sighed, not even surprised. “Yeah, figured. Workaholics, the both of them.”

You stepped in after her, taking in the hallway—photos, awards, digital frames with rotating clips. A black-and-white portrait of a woman in a hanbok caught your eye. Regal. Timeless. Almost ethereal.

“That’s Halmeoni,” Hana said, slipping off her shoes. “She was an actress—one of the biggest. Back in, like… 2015? 2016?”

The year hit you weird. 2015 felt like… now , in your world. But here? Just a chapter in the distant past.

“…You okay?” she asked, looking back at you.

You nodded slowly. “Just… trying not to feel like a fossil.”

She chuckled. “Welcome to my timeline, old man.”

She led you down a wooden hallway, sliding open the paper door to her room.

Inside: surprisingly clean, with warm lighting and cute plushies scattered across a neatly made bed. Her desk had dual monitors and a cracked phone holder. Posters of girl groups. A framed photo of her with a small group of friends—mid-laugh, bubble tea in hand.

Hana rummaged through a chest at the end of her bed, pulling out a full outfit.

When she emerged from the adjoining bathroom, she looked… unreal .

All black: hoodie, hat, face mask, sleek pants, big coat, and sunglasses that hid half her face. Her hair tied loosely, not a strand out of place.

“…You going undercover at Incheon Airport or something?” you asked.

She smirked. “Gotta blend in with the people.”

“You are the people.”

“Still.” She plucked something from a hanger behind the door and tossed it to you. “Put this on.”

You caught it— the suit. The one she’d jokingly bought for you during your first real outing in Busan. At the time, you thought she was just teasing.

Apparently not.

You slipped into the spare room to change. And when you stepped out, dressed head-to-toe in a sharp monochrome fit, Hana gave a low whistle.

“Okay, bodyguard. Don’t tell me you don’t eat paparazzi for breakfast.”

You shrugged. “Only the persistent ones.”

“Here,” she added, reaching over to her mother’s vanity and grabbing an antique-looking hair comb. “Sit down.”

“What?”

“I’m doing your hair.”

“…Do you have to wear those sunglasses indoors?”

“I’m trying to get in character. Now hush, lemme do your hair.”

You sat obediently on the floor in front of her. She knelt behind you, her fingers surprisingly gentle as she worked through the strands with the comb. Every so often she’d ruffle your roots or smooth out the side with her palm, humming quietly to herself.

“You’re lucky,” she murmured. “You’ve got that layerable kind of hair. I had to get mine chemically treated just to get this volume.”

You snorted. “Yeah, and yet I still look like a default RPG character most of the time.”

“You look like the hot NPC who turns out to have hidden lore.”

“…Not sure if I should be flattered or worried.”

She giggled behind you, twisting a section of your hair to curl just a little behind your ear. “There. Now you look expensive.”

You turned slightly to look at her in the mirror. She pushed her sunglasses up with one finger and smiled.

She stayed crouched behind you, her chin resting on your shoulder now, her voice softer.

“You asked about my mom earlier, right?”

You nodded.

“She used to be in an idol group—like, idol-idol. Funny...her group's name was 1dle-Idol. But yeah, training camp. Monthly weigh-ins. All of that. But her group disbanded when she was like 21. She went solo. Crushed it. Mom has more MVs than most idols have selfies.”

You blinked. “And you never… wanted to follow in her footsteps?”

She snorted. “God, no. I wanted to game. I mean… it was a dare , really. My friends said, ‘You’re so cracked at Starcraft, you should stream it or something.’ So I did. And I blew up.”

She moved to your side, plopping down next to you on the floor, still holding the comb.

“And the rest is history, right?” you offered.

She shrugged. “I guess. MEKA reached out after high school. National defense initiative. They needed fast minds and fast reflexes. I checked both boxes. Didn’t expect to get a poster with my face on it in every subway station though…”

Her voice trailed.

You turned to her.

“…Did you want all that?”

She didn’t answer right away.

“My mom, my halmeoni… even my aunts—every single woman in the family was famous . It’s like we had this brand to keep alive. And I didn’t want to let them down.”

You stayed quiet, letting her say it.

“…Sometimes I wonder if they’d still be proud if I wasn’t on TV. If I’d just been… me .”

You looked at her. Her sunglasses had slipped slightly, revealing just a hint of her eyes—vulnerable, unguarded.

“I think,” you said slowly, “if I can carry some of that with you… I will. Like, if you ever need someone to take a few pounds off that spotlight weight. I got you.”

She stared at you for a long moment.

Then she leaned forward—and kissed you.

Soft. Intentional. Warm.

Her chapstick tasted like watermelon.

“…You’re kinda ruining my tough-girl persona right now,” she whispered against your lips.

You smiled. “Worth it.”

___________

The last thing you expected at her parents' hanok was for a literal limo to pull up outside the gate, quiet as a whisper but blindingly obvious . The matte black finish gleamed under the evening sky, and the driver barely even got out before Hana strutted down the steps like she’d done it a hundred times before.

She turned at the open door and looked back at you, sunglasses back on her face.

“C’mon, what’re you waiting for?”

You hesitated for half a second before sliding in after her, the door closing behind you with a soft click . Inside was luxurious—dark leather seats, soft golden lighting, and low instrumental music playing from somewhere near the ceiling. A screen up front displayed her name in Hangul and English. VIP reservation.

“…You really live like this?”

She shrugged like it was no big deal. “I used to take taxis, like a normal person. Then I realized half of Seoul already knew what my face looked like. Gotta adapt.”

You settled back in your seat. “…Right.”

The drive was smooth, the city lights slowly waking up as you cruised through neighborhoods and long boulevards. Somewhere in between red lights and GPS directions, the conversation shifted.

“High school was… weird,” Hana murmured, twirling her sunglasses in her hand now. “I didn’t really ‘click’ with a lot of people. Too competitive. Or maybe I was just too me . But there were a few friends. We used to sneak out during lunch and play games on our phones. Got in trouble once for yelling too loud when I lost.”

You laughed lightly. “Let me guess—you tried to convince your teacher it was a ‘team-building exercise’?”

“…I actually did. She didn’t buy it.”

She looked over. “What about you? What was your high school like?”

Your smile faltered for just a second. That memory. The one you don’t revisit. That moment when the world tipped too far sideways and nothing was the same again.

“…It was… alright,” you lied, voice softer. “Some good days. Some… not so good.”

Hana didn’t press. Just gave a small nod, the kind that says you don’t have to say more if you’re not ready .

The limo finally slowed outside a sleek modern building, tall and shimmering with lights that pulsed like starlight. A minimalist sign in stylized hangul read the name of the restaurant: Miseong . You’d never heard of it—but judging by the gasps and camera flashes already starting outside… others definitely had.

Hana took a breath. Deep and slow.

Then she turned toward you with mischief in her eyes.

click
The door unlocked. And before you could even think—

PUSH
“Go!”

You stumbled out, almost tripping over the curb, but caught yourself fast. Straightened up. Adjusted your cuffs.

Then you turned around.

And saw her—half hidden in shadow, one leg crossed over the other, face mask pulled up just below her sunglasses. Waiting. Smirking.

And suddenly… you got it.

You stepped forward, opened the door properly, and offered your hand.

“송 씨, 도움이 필요하신가요?”
You said it in Korean, the most formal phrase you knew—accent shaky, but understandable.

She took your hand with the grace of royalty.

“감사합니다, 경호원님.”

And just like that, the sidewalk erupted .

Flashes. Whispers. Screams.

“Is that Seo Yujin??”
“No way, is that THE girl from that Galaxy ad?”
“Wait, who’s the guy—her manager? Boyfriend? BODYGUARD?!”
“HER BODYGUARD IS SO HOT—!!”

You flinched slightly at that one, and Hana turned toward you mid-step with her whole face still obscured, but you could feel the smirk she was hiding underneath.

You stifled a laugh as you both walked inside.

“…You’re doing this on purpose.”

She whispered behind her mask, “Of course I am. I always wanted my own K-drama moment.”

The hostess led you both to the top floor. Private booth. Giant window with a panoramic view of Seoul’s skyline—gold and silver lights threading across the black canvas of night.

“I’m gonna go to the bathroom real quick,” Hana said, sliding off her coat and heading off.

You were mid-scroll on your phone when she came back.

And when you looked up—

You froze.

She was dressed in all black, but nothing casual about it. A sleek, backless dress hugged her silhouette perfectly. It flared just slightly at the bottom, and every step made the fabric shimmer faintly like crushed velvet. Her hair was down now, styled to frame her face, and her lips were painted a bold, vivid red.

You literally had to remind yourself to breathe .

She slid into the seat across from you like a scene lifted straight out of a film, tilting her head with a soft, “What?”

“…You look—” You cleared your throat. “—very nice.”

“Just ‘nice’?”

“…Stunning. You look stunning.”

She smiled—slow and knowing.

“That’s more like it.”

You glanced around the seat beside her and tilted your head.
“…Where’d your disguise go?”

Hana gave you a lazy look, raising a single brow like it was obvious. “In my purse. Folded it like a pro.”

You squinted. “You folded sunglasses, a hoodie, and a mask and fit it into that tiny thing ?”

She sipped her water, the side of her lips twitching upward. “The art of travel-sized espionage.”

You huffed, shaking your head as the server approached with the menu. Hana perked up immediately.

“Okay—so there’s a set course, or we can order à la carte. But I already know what I want.”

You peeked over the gold-trimmed menu at her. “Let me guess. Something traditional?”

She shot you a cheeky smile. “Of course . I brought you to Seoul to experience Seoul, didn’t I?”

You both ended up ordering galbijjim —braised short ribs so tender they practically fell off the bone—along with jeon assortments, hobakjuk (sweet pumpkin porridge), and a gorgeous array of banchan side dishes that covered nearly the entire table by the time it all arrived.

As you picked up a slice of spicy kimchi, your eyes trailed toward the huge glass window, the faint flashes of phones still visible even this high up.

“Hey… about the people outside.”
You kept your voice low. “The paparazzi. That whole thing. Does it ever get easier?”

She didn’t answer at first, just took a quiet bite of lotus root. Then—

“You remember what you said back at my parents’ place?”

You blinked. “Huh?”

“That you’d help carry the weight.” She put her chopsticks down gently. “That I didn’t have to do this alone anymore.”

“…Yeah.”

Hana exhaled slowly. Her voice dropped, softer than you’d ever heard it.

“Before you came along… it was always about keeping the mask on. Being ‘Hana the Star.’ D.Va the gamer. The fighter. The icon. But the real me?”
She paused.
“She had to smile when she wanted to cry. Laugh when the internet tore her apart. Pretend she didn’t notice friends keeping a polite distance. Like I was gonna combust into brand deals or something.”

You felt something tighten in your chest. You reached over slowly and took her hand.

“You don’t have to fake it anymore. Not with me.”

Her gaze met yours across the table. Her fingers curled around yours, the dim restaurant light catching the faint shimmer in her eyes. Then—

“…You also don’t have to shove me out of a limo like that,” you said, deadpan.

That broke her.

She burst into laughter, hand flying up to cover her mouth. “Oh my god , you’re still mad about that?”

“Yes! My tie almost flipped inside out!”
You narrowed your eyes. “Do you know how hellish it is to re-tie a tie with zero mirrors and flash mobs outside the car?”

She giggled harder, wiping at her eyes now. “I offered ! If it was such a big deal, I could’ve just tied it for you, you dramatic nerd.”

“…Wait, you know how to tie ties?”

She leaned forward, elbows on the table, that smirk blooming again.
“I’m a woman of many talents. Including styling panicking boyfriends.”

You tried to act affronted but you couldn’t hide your grin.

The food was delicious. The skyline shimmered like Seoul was winking just for the two of you. Her hand stayed in yours most of the night.

_________________

The mood shifted the moment the limo slowed near the observation post.

The roads quieted. No more city chatter or neon signs. Just the soft hum of the engine and the dull skyline ahead, where barbed wire and rolling hills stretched across the border.

Hana stepped out first, her long black coat swaying in the chilly breeze. You followed behind her, tugging your scarf closer.

The DMZ hadn’t changed much over the years.

Still surrounded by fences, landmines buried somewhere in the thick grass, towers watching from afar. The silence here was deafening. Not a place of peace. A place of pause.

You and Hana climbed to the lookout platform. She paid for the binoculars—no celebrity discount this time—and handed them to you first.

“Take a look,” she murmured.

You peered through.

A landscape stretched ahead. Forested hills, a few tall buildings far in the distance, and…

“…Are those… hover cars?”

“Mmhm,” she replied, her arms folded over the railing. “Government-sanctioned fly lanes.”

It didn’t look too bad, honestly. Better than what you were used to back home. Your world’s North Korea had long collapsed into deeper famine and ruin. The regime barely held on.

“It’s… more advanced than I thought,” you admitted. “Still feels off, though.”

Hana didn’t look at you. Her voice dropped.

“It could all be fake.”

You turned to her.

“Projections. Drone shows. Hollow buildings with AI actors in the windows,” she went on. “They’ve pulled stuff like that before during peace talks. Just enough to show the world something sparkly.”

“…But not real.”

“Exactly.”

You handed the binoculars back. She took them, hesitated, then set them down beside her.

“I used to wish,” she began, “that one day we’d be like Vietnam. Unified. A whole Korea. One language. One people. One history.”

You listened quietly.

“But it never came. Not in this world, anyway.”

“…In mine, it didn’t either.”

She looked over at you, then down again. “It sucks.”

“Yeah,” you echoed. “It really does.”

You both stood there for a long while. Just watching.

Chapter Text

The ride back to the hanok is quiet. Not heavy—just… calm.

Hana's fingers are laced with yours, resting between you like an unspoken secret. Her head leans gently against your shoulder as the driver cuts through the soft night glow of Seoul.

You keep thinking about how natural it felt. The meal. The disguised glances. The comfort.

It’s strange how easy it is to forget the world when you’re just with her.

The car slows in front of her family’s hanok.

You don’t let go of her hand as you both climb out.

The front steps creak under your feet as you both giggle your way toward the door. You’re mid-kiss—her lips brushing yours, her hands curled into the fabric of your jacket—when a sharp voice cuts through the moment:

“Hana?!”

You both freeze.

Your lips barely part before she’s already jumped a full step away from you like you were a liability . The silence after that one word is piercing .

“…Mom?” she says, voice suddenly about three octaves higher.

Footsteps approach. Then, a woman appears at the hallway’s edge—mid-40s, regal as hell, wearing what looks like a luxurious loungewear set and absolutely no makeup—and she still manages to look like a CF model.

Behind her is a taller man in a zip-up hoodie and sweatpants, holding a can of 맥콜 .

You recognize him immediately.

You nod awkwardly. “Sir.”

He grins. “Hey. Long time.”

Hana does a full bow. “Uh—Mom, Dad… this is my friend. The one I mentioned? The, uh. The pilot.”

Her mom stares. Then smiles. “The pilot?” she echoes. “Oh! You’re that one. Come in, come in!”

You barely have time to take off your shoes before Hana’s mom has ushered you both inside.

_____________________

The kitchen is filled with the sounds of sizzling and boiling and knives against a cutting board.

You sit stiffly at the low table. Hana slouches beside you, eyes wide and panicked in your direction. Her mom is already bustling around the kitchen like she’s filming an episode of Housewives With Knives .

“You don’t have to—!” Hana tries.

“Shh,” her mom cuts in, smiling sweetly. “You brought someone important home. I haven’t fed anyone since Seol last week. I’m starved for it.”

Her dad sits across from you, stretching his legs. “So. You’re with Overwatch, huh?”

“Technically,” you say.

“You fly?”

You nod. “A MEKA Unit. Custom one. I designed it myself.”

His eyebrows raise a little at that. “Impressive.”

“What’s it called?” he asks, curious now.

“Well, the division I’m currently under is called BANTAY, but I named my mech Diwa,” you reply. “It means spirit. My… heritage is kind of all over the place, but that name stuck.”

He hums in approval, then glances toward the kitchen. “You eat meat?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Good.”

You try not to look at Hana, but she’s giving you that internal screaming expression, mouthing “I’m so sorry” every ten seconds.

The table fills with homemade dishes one after another. The smell of galbi-jjim hits first, followed by banchan arranged like art, fresh kimchi , sizzling pajeon , and warm rice scooped into ceramic bowls.

“You’re not allergic to anything, right?” her mom asks casually as she pours you barley tea.

“No, ma’am.”

“Excellent.”

Her mom is all elegance and precision, but she talks with warmth—asking questions between bites, always refilling your side dishes before you can decline. Her dad is quieter, but steady. Direct. Less formal.

Eventually, her mom sets down her chopsticks.

“So, how long have you been seeing my daughter?” she asks with a smile that somehow sounds like both a tease and a threat.

“MOM—” Hana nearly spits out her water.

You almost laugh. Almost.

“We’re… close,” you say honestly.

“That’s obvious.” Her dad chuckles. “She doesn’t let just anyone wear her hoodie.”

You glance down.

It was her hoodie, wasn’t it? The one she threw over your shoulders earlier.

“Nice color on you,” her mom says. Then, quieter, “She’s always liked red.”

You meet her gaze and nod.

She softens.

After dinner, you stand up without being asked and start clearing dishes. Hana jumps up too.

“I’ll do it,” she says.

“You’ll help ,” her mom corrects.

“I’ll… rinse?” Hana offers meekly.

You’re scrubbing a plate when her dad leans beside you.

“She doesn’t talk about people much,” he says, voice low. “So when she does, we listen.”

You pause, plate still under the water.

“She really trusts you,” he adds.

“…I trust her too.”

He pats your shoulder. “Good.”

______________________

Playlist | See You in My 19th Life [Full Album OST] (drag and drop to another tab :3 )

You close the door behind you, the hallway now silent.

Hana sinks into her bed with a groan and throws her pillow over her face.

“I didn’t think they’d be home,” she mutters, voice muffled. “They’re never home.”

You sit on the edge of the mattress.

“They seem… nice.”

“They are ,” she says. “They’re just always working. Always somewhere. We’ve got a place in Gangnam, another one near Jeju… and still, they’re hardly in any of them. They say they’re ‘invested in their careers,’ but really it’s just… how they cope with being exhausted.”

She pulls the pillow away, looking at you now.

“Honestly? It felt fake for a second. Like, seeing them here. Sitting down with us. I didn’t know if it was real or a weird K-drama side quest.”

You chuckle lightly, leaning back beside her.

“They’re trying. That counts.”

She shrugs. “They always try when I’m around. But then they disappear again. It’s not their fault. I just… it makes me feel like I have to keep going. Like I don’t get to stop either.”

You stay quiet.

“I didn’t choose this life,” she admits. “It just kind of… formed around me. Streaming was fun. Then the sponsors came. Then MEKA. Then the media. Then suddenly I’m twenty-something with a brand and a fandom and no time to breathe.”

She shifts, curling slightly into herself.

“Like, they literally named me “Hana”. As if they wanted me to be number one since before I was born. I know I act like I love the spotlight. And sometimes I do. But most days? I just wanna sit in my room. Order fried chicken. Queue for a comp match. Not think about what version of me I have to be next.”

Her voice breaks a little.

“But I can’t say that. Not out loud. If I stop, I feel like I’ll lose everything. Like I’ll stop being… Hana.”

You reach for her hand again, fingers tangling in hers.

“You don’t have to be anything else with me,” you say, quiet but firm. “Just you.”

She doesn’t respond.

Instead, she lays her head on your shoulder.

And for the first time in what feels like forever—she lets herself be still .

Chapter Text

You wake up to the sound of birds and the smell of… leftover pajeon ?

Your eyes blink open slowly, vision adjusting to the soft morning light streaming through the rice paper windows. You're still in your suit. Half-unbuttoned. Half-sprawled across Hana’s bed.

And so is she.

Her arm's draped across your stomach, her hair a soft tangle on your chest. Her face is smushed against you, mouth slightly open. There's a smear of kimchi sauce near her lip.

You don’t dare move.

"아이씨…"

She jolts upright with a groan, slapping her forehead with the heel of her palm. “I fell asleep like that ? Didn’t even change ?”

You sit up too, stretching out a sore shoulder. “Food comas. We never stood a chance.”

She swings her legs off the bed and stumbles toward her closet, muttering in Korean under her breath. Something about her mom's galbi being “too OP.”

You glance around the room. No footsteps. No murmurs. No parents.

“Where are they?”

“Gone,” Hana replies. “They left already. Probably had some early meeting in Tokyo or something. Told me in a note they’d restock the fridge next week.”

You find your hoodie in a heap on the floor and pull it back on, still smelling faintly of sesame oil and shampoo.

Hana’s quick. She yanks a loose ponytail into place, throws on black joggers and an oversized tee with a MEKA emblem and some small tears at the hem. Still looks cool.

She pulls her boots on by the door, mumbling, “Can’t believe I crashed in full gear. That’s how dad sleeps.”

You raise an eyebrow. “He sleeps in a hoodie and shorts?”

“Don’t tempt fate. He might.”

You both share a lazy, quiet laugh. That soft morning kind—the kind that slips past your teeth without effort.

She grabs her keys.

“Ready?” she asks.

You nod, already stepping out into the sunlight beside her.

Back to Gibraltar.

Back to duty.

____________________________

You and Hana touch down in Gibraltar mid-afternoon.

The skies here are clear. Too clear.

The calm before something.

As you step off the transport ramp, she gives your hand one last squeeze before vanishing toward the MEKA hangars to sync up with her tech team.

You’ve got a meeting to catch.

Underground Bay—Intel Archives.

The hum of servers echoes off the rock walls. You spot her before she speaks—boots propped on a desk, twirling a holochip between her fingers like a coin.

Sombra.

“¿Mira quién volvió,”** she purrs, dropping the chip and swinging around to face you. “Still jetlagged from your little K-drama vacation?”

You don’t take the bait.

She sees that, smirks harder.

You drop your weight into the chair across from her, arms folded. “You said you had something.”

“Always,” she says, flicking her fingers. The chip she was playing with earlier lights up mid-air, expanding into a 3D image of—

Illari’s Pylon.

More than one, actually. Three different variants. Some incomplete. Some scarily advanced.

“Where’d you get these?” you ask, voice low.

“Same place I always get my candy,” Sombra hums, pulling up another screen—this one showing encrypted Talon comms, surveillance footage, and a red-stamped dossier that reads:

Project VIRTU — STATUS: Active

“We intercepted data packets bouncing between an ex-Helix contractor and a rogue biotech lab in Morocco. They had Pylon schematics. Not just the solar bits either. Energy dispersal, terrain manipulation—stuff not even Illari’s seen before.”

You narrow your eyes at the files.

“It’s not just about energy output, is it?”

She shakes her head slowly. “Nope. They’re trying to weaponize it. Fold it into crowd control tech. Mind you—Your Talon’s not exactly our Talon.”

That makes you pause.

Sombra flicks the feed again. This time, an image of a familiar face—Gabriel Reyes .

Then Amélie Lacroix.

Then Doomfist. Standing beside Orisa, on Numbani’s skyline. Public protectors. Smiling. Armored. Unbroken.

It’s like looking at a funhouse mirror.

“This is insane,” you mutter. “Back in my world—in the game even—they were villains. Always on the other side.”

Sombra leans forward, eyes sharp now. “Well, surprise. Here? They flipped the script.”

You run a hand through your hair. “How’d that even happen?”

“People forget,” she says, almost absently. “But sometimes... the world doesn't change people. People change the world."

She lets that linger.

Then continues, “I talked to Cho about it to, just to make sure you’re well fileld in. Reyes was never interested in chaos. Not really. He wanted justice. Retribution was just his means. Doomfist? Strategic. Thinks big picture. Amélie? She doesn’t even go by Widowmaker here. Doesn’t need to.”

You stare at the screen.

Talon, as protectors.

It’s... weird. Comforting. But weird.

Sombra finally kicks her feet off the desk and walks around to you, voice quieter now. “Don’t worry. You’ll get your bearings. And when you do... maybe help us figure out who’s behind VIRTU before they turn that Pylon into a ticking time bomb.”

You nod once.

“I’ll talk to Illari.”

“Good,” she says, tapping your shoulder. “But don’t wait too long. Someone’s playing with solar fire. And they don’t plan to keep it in one piece.”

Chapter Text

[PROJECT FOLDBACK]

FILE 07 — "Failsafe Breach / Cross-Stream Panic"
Logged By: Dr. Euna Cho
Timestamp: 03:07 KST / Location: Seoul Science Annex - Classified Wing
Security Clearance: RED-ECLIPSE

[BEGIN LOG]

::SYSTEM BOOTING… CONNECTION TO SIMULATION GRID IN PROGRESS::
::POCKET UNIVERSE NODE: PRIMARY SYNC FAILED::
::BACKUP REDIRECT: NON-RECOGNIZED COORDINATES::

Dr. Cho:
(mutters) “No, no, no—this shouldn’t be failing. The fallback was supposed to—okay. Run integrity scan. Check player sync—now.”

::SCAN COMPLETE::
Status: Subject #1 — (Y/N): Stable. Localized in Sector 8 (Gibraltar). Sync Index: 94%
Subject #2 — Mercedes: Data Fragmented. Sync Trail Severed. Last Location: Unknown
Subject #3 — Nimbex: Not Found. Total Integration Detected. Identity: UNKNOWN.

Dr. Cho:
(stands abruptly, knocking over coffee mug)
“What the hell—Fragmented? NO no no no no, they weren’t supposed to be consumed, they were supposed to be RETURNED—!”

(starts typing furiously)

“Override failsafe reroute. Run tracer. GIVE ME THEIR COORDINATES—!”

::Override Denied. Simulation Environment Breached. Failsafe Timeline Collapsed::
::Recalculating destination… Destination unknown. Possibility: External Reality Injection — 67% Confidence Level.

Dr. Cho:
(frantically grabs headset)
“Contacting: SOMBRA. Priority Level RED.”

::Connecting...Connection Stable::

Sombra (Olivia Colomar):
“Hola, Doc. Didn’t expect a booty call this late.”

Dr. Cho:
(ignores sarcasm)
“Olivia—they’re GONE. Two of them. Mercedes is fragmented, I still have partial sync—but Nimbex? The system restructured him. He's completely integrated. Like he's... been rewritten into someone here. ”

Sombra:
(silence, then a low whistle)
“Damn. That’s a nasty glitch. Let me guess—simulation collapse?”

Dr. Cho:
“Yes. And instead of rerouting them back here, it looks like they may have jumped universes. Yours. Can you trace anything?”

Sombra:
“I’ll sweep. I’ve got eyes in places you wouldn’t believe. If anyone’s hanging around my side, I’ll find ‘em. Especially if they’ve got… that sort of ‘off-world’ flavor.”

Dr. Cho:
“There’s more. (Y/N)… he’s alive. But something happened. Last sync I got, he collapsed. He was near your side—”

[::INCOMING VISUAL - LIVE FEED (SOMBRA’S POV)::]
::SUBJECT: (Y/N) DETECTED. LOCATION: CLASSIFIED. STATUS: UNCONSCIOUS. SURROUNDED BY NULL DATA CLUSTERS.::

Sombra:
(grinning at the screen)
“Well, well. Would you look at that. Got yourself into some drama, chico.”

Dr. Cho:
"Is he okay? My systems said he fell at least 40 stories…"

Sombra:
“Oh, he’s breathing. Probably passed out on entry. But you’re lucky. I know someone who’s been dying to meet him.”

(smirks)
“I’ll keep him safe. And I’ll let her know. She’s gonna flip.”

Dr. Cho:
(sighs, slumps in chair)
“Thank you, Olivia. Please… find Mercedes too, if you can.”

Sombra:
“Got it. I’ll start tracing. And hey, doc?”

Dr. Cho:
“…Yeah?”

Sombra:
“This is so much bigger than just a simulation now. You know that, right?”

Dr. Cho:
(staring at the flickering monitors)
“…Yeah. I know.”

[TRANSMISSION ENDED.]

[END LOG]

1. CHO – PRIVATE NOTES
   Only for my eyes. Not Athena. Not anyone.

Mercedes. Half-absorbed. System still recognizes her as an anomaly—out of sync, but present. There's… still choice in her thread. Like a glitch refusing to be overwritten. Like she knows.

Nimbex, though?
Gone. Not even a breadcrumb trail. No residual ping. No fragmented data signature. It’s like the system didn’t just take him—it recast him.

If I’m right, he isn’t gone.
He’s someone else now.
Someone native to this world.
That terrifies me more than deletion.

(Y/N) remains the control thread. The only one still actively syncing between both universes. The only one who can choose which world to belong to.

I need to make sure they understand this.

Chapter Text

LOG 10 — “Red Carpet, Cracked Code”
POV: Dr. Euna Cho
Location: Global Quantum-Tech Expo Gala — Marina Bay Sands, Singapore
Status: Active Presentation Mode — Recording Enabled

I smile so wide my cheekbones ache.

The lights are too hot on this stage. I can feel the fabric of my blazer sticking to my spine, the way my pulse drums against the collar like it's trying to escape me. The air smells like polished metal and wine I can’t afford to sip. And still—I smile.

Stage in two, my assistant whispers in my ear. Clean answers. No reference to Subject Loss.

Right. No Mercedes. No Nimbex. No imploded simulation code and shredded location logs. Just (Y/n). A technical success —because he’s still there, sort of. Enough to sell it.

I nod once. My shoes are too tight. My stomach’s been in knots since we landed.

They call my name. I step into the light.

“Good evening,” I begin, my voice calm, unwavering. “My name is Dr. Euna Cho. And I’m here to introduce a breakthrough fifteen years in the making. A prototype built from desperation, hope, and science that touches the impossible.”

Click.

The screen behind me flickers to life: a ripple of neurons, a wireframe globe that shatters into kaleidoscopic fragments. Pocket Universes. Real ones.

“Project: Pocket Universe,” I say smoothly. “A gateway to alternate realities—artificial, imagined, or naturally occurring. A fusion of neurolink mapping, quantum sync technology, and raw desire.”

The crowd leans in. I’m aware of every flash of every camera. Every tight smile. Every investor waiting for the words that will make them rich.

They don’t know I’ve barely slept in four weeks.

They don’t know I’m holding this entire operation together with duct tape, charm, and ethically ambiguous math.

I walk them through it. Observer-mode. Immersive mode. Full-integration tethering. I rattle off statistics that’ve been massaged by our PR department. A 99.99% success rate. You can practically hear the money being funneled into our account.

I don’t mention the 1%.

I don’t mention Mercedes—how she was halfway through a retrieval when the signal cut and never resumed. How she knows she’s not from there. How it eats her alive.

I don’t mention Nimbex—how the system rerouted him to survive and dumped him straight into a different version of himself. And now he’s gone. Completely gone.

But I do mention (Y/n).

Our little miracle. Still operating. Still functioning. Still proof that the damn thing works.

For now.

“Unlike lucid dreaming or theoretical ‘shifting’ methods,” I say, “this project operates through grounded science. Stabilized neurosync. Re-entry protocols. Reality traversal you can actually return from. ”

A hand raises near the front. Polished, well-fed fingers with designer rings.

A woman asks, “How do we know this isn’t going to be another Sword Art Online situation?”

The room titters. Laughter echoes. I feel my knuckles tighten around the mic.

I breathe in. Keep my smile.

“That was a fictional anime,” I say, perfectly neutral. “This is real tech. Every traversal is monitored. Every participant is tagged and traceable. We’ve eliminated variables. And we do not— ever —leave anyone behind.”

I swallow.

They don’t hear the lie. They hear confidence.

The speech wraps. Applause swells. I answer a few more questions, take a bow, and walk offstage into a swarm of praise and polite smiles and the clink of champagne flutes.

I head straight for the bathroom and lock the stall.

Then I finally let myself shake.

__________________

[ENCRYPTED CALL LOG — PRIVATE ACCESS ONLY]

TIME: 03:14 AM
LOCATION: Marina Bay Sands Hotel, Singapore
PARTY 1: Dr. Euna Cho
PARTY 2: [REDACTED] — "Sombra"

Connection encrypted… Handshake verified… Transmission begins.]

CHO: (sighs) I hope you’re somewhere quiet.

SOMBRA: (light laugh) Hola, doctora. You always call me at the weirdest times. What’s up? Gala didn’t go well?

CHO: The gala went... fine. Not the issue.
(rubs her forehead, glancing at the sleeping skyline outside)
I need a status update. On the three anomalies. Please tell me what you’ve found.

SOMBRA: Wow, no “how are you,” no “thank you for saving your nerdy science project”?
(beat)
Relax. I got what you need.

CHO: (tightly) Sombra.

SOMBRA: Okay, okay.
Let’s start with Mercedes. She’s doing great, honestly. Fitting in like she was always supposed to be here.
She’s been spending a lot of time with McCree. Or—sorry— Cole Cassidy for you now, right?

CHO: (eyebrows furrow) Spending time?

SOMBRA: Mhm. You didn’t hear it from me, but… I’d put money on them already sharing quarters.
Kinda cute, in a reckless, gunslinger romance kinda way.

CHO: (whispers to herself) That’s… not unexpected.

SOMBRA: But not what you wanted , right?

CHO: (ignores her) And Nimbex?

SOMBRA: Now he was tricky. Took me longer to trace. No digital trail matched—not even scrap data. But then I got a lucky hit.

CHO: (leans forward) You found him?

SOMBRA: Found someone who used to be someone else , yeah.
He’s stationed at Gibraltar now. Dropship pilot. New name. No known history. Slid into that world like melted butter.
Personality traits match your file. Looks… vaguely familiar. And the kicker? He doesn’t suspect a damn thing.

CHO: (blinks) You mean… he doesn’t know he’s—

SOMBRA: Hijacked a body? Yep. Full overwrite. No signs of identity conflict.
Whatever transfer happened… erased the original, or buried them deep enough that he’s the only one driving now.

CHO: (quietly) God.

SOMBRA: You worried he’ll snap?

CHO: I’m worried I’ve created something I can’t control.

SOMBRA: (laughs softly) Too late, doc.

CHO: (pauses) …And (Y/n)?

SOMBRA: Cute as ever. Got himself tangled up with a certain MEKA pilot, but hey, at least he’s still upright.

CHO: (immediately stands up, pacing) Hana knows?

SOMBRA: Not everything . But she likes him. A lot. I’m just saying—if he collapses again, he’ll be in good hands.
…And I do know someone who’d be ecstatic to finally meet him.

CHO: (stops pacing) Is he stable?

SOMBRA: He’s not dead, if that’s what you’re asking. But whatever’s going on in his head?
Let’s just say his connection to your simulation isn’t exactly dormant. It could be something else, really, who knows?.

CHO: (sits back down slowly) …I need more time.

SOMBRA: Don’t we all.

CHO: If things spiral—promise me you’ll contact me. 

SOMBRA: Relax, doctora.
I always get what I’m looking for.

CHO: (softly) Even when I don't want you to.

[Transmission ended. Encryption terminated.]

Chapter Text

You slam the door behind you just as another explosion rips through the sky. Dust and leaves scatter. Chuño screams somewhere behind you—probably pissed you didn’t take him.

“DIWA, NOW!”

Your voice echoes through the open air as your fingers flick through the command panel on your glove. The ground vibrates. A shadow cuts across the sun.

Your BANTAY unit descends like a hawk, metal wings shuddering, the cockpit opening with a warm hiss. You leap in first, your body hitting the familiar cushions with a satisfying fwump .

It’s stupid how comfortable it is. Reyes’ chair guy really went off.

“Di naman upuan, pero ang sarap sa tiyan…” you mutter in Tagalog with a grin, letting the mech’s warmth curl around you like a hug.

Illari doesn’t need an invitation. She’s already launching into the air beside you, her rifle glowing like a goddamn sunblade, still in her llama pajamas, her hair now tied into a high ponytail mid-flight.

You’re not gonna lie—she looks badass.

And pissed.

She soars above you, flipping her gun-sword like a baton before locking it forward and blasting a solar beam straight through a drone’s torso.
No bullets.

You tilt the BANTAY into a dive and descend into the chaos below. Fires burn in the distance. Civilians—human and omnic alike—scramble for shelter. You see children, shopkeepers, elders. A market stall collapses under a misfire.

“We need to get them OUT!” Illari yells from above, her voice over your comms.

“Cover me!” you shout back.

She peels off, arcing into the sky. You activate your Defensive Matrix, shielding a group of villagers as they scramble toward a van.

A purple drone lunges from the smoke, blade arms raised. You spin the mech, it’s feet shoulder-check it into a wall. It explodes in a burst of sparks.

Illari dives beside you, dropping her one Healing Pylon—its radiant gold glow pulses and throws up a dome of light.

Too bad she only has one.

“Make it count!” you call out.

She nods, panting.

You scan the skies again. That’s when you see it.

Omnic citizens. Being taken.

The drones aren’t just attacking—they’re abducting them. Grabbing them by the limbs, locking them in place with tractor beams, and lifting off like soulless vultures.

“Oh hell no.”

You blast upward, engines flaring. Your legs pull tight against the foot locks inside Diwa—held upward, bent in a way that screams cramp incoming . You hiss.

“Legs… cramping… toes asleep—worth it—!”

You fire pulses at the drone carriers. Two drop their cargo. You descend, matching speed, and extend the feet of your mech. The freed omnics grab on, some hugging the cold metal like it’s salvation.

“Hold on!” you yell.

Behind you, Illari streaks like a comet, tearing through enemy ranks. The light on her weapon glows white-hot.

You swing back down to the evacuation zone. There’s screaming. You land, letting the rescued omnics climb off. You’re about to pivot to the next—

“(Y/n)!” Illari calls. Her voice is sharp. Rattled.

You whirl.

Across the field—at least four omnics lay collapsed. You recognize their faces. They’d waved to you earlier. Shopkeepers. A young delivery bot.

Now?

Their eyes flicker dimly.

Something’s been latched to their heads—devices humming with purple wires, pulsing with the same signature you’ve seen across what Illari tells you is one Null Sector’s machines. They aren’t moving. No signs of life. No system activity.

Just still.

Unconscious.

Taken… from the inside out.

“They're assimilating them,” Illari breathes.

Your jaw tightens.

“We’re not letting them take another.”

She nods, stepping beside you. She adjusts the sun-fused coils on her back. Her llamas on her pajamas are covered in ash now, but somehow, the look just makes her even more unstoppable.

You raise your weapon.

She raises hers.

Together, you walk toward the next wave.

The sky's too quiet for how loud the ground is.

Your thrusters burn hot as Diwa whirs past burning rooftops and shattered solar panels. Illari’s right beside you, the golden glow from her rifle-sword hybrid illuminating the smoke around her like a beacon of the sun itself. She’s still in her llama pajamas. It's… kind of amazing.

She doesn’t notice your glance. Her eyes are locked on the civilians running below.

“Keep your altitude—focus on the transports!” she shouts. Her voice shakes, not from fear, but fury.

She fires, and a Null Sector drone spirals out of the air, its frame turning into fractured violet sparks. Another one dives from above, and you swing Diwa’s torso, catching the attacker in a burst of pulse rounds from your shoulder cannon. Your feet are strapped tight into the cockpit, still held awkwardly behind you by those cursed stabilizer prongs—"for optimal balance," Reyes’s chair guy said.

“We’re not done,” she says. Her voice is hoarse. “This wasn’t just some attack. This was a message .”

Your HUD flickers. Sombra’s voice chimes in, her tone sharp.

“You might wanna check this out, cariño. Got a Null Sector relay tower not far from your location. And it’s transmitting.”

You’re not sure what’s louder—the hum of your thrusters or the blood pounding in your ears.

Null Sector’s still clinging to the edges of Runasapi like rot. Drone units swarm the sky, trying to regroup and sweep the town clean, but you and Illari are two streaks of fury cutting through them. You swoop down again, grabbing a barely-conscious teen from the rubble and flinging him into the arms of his mother.

She tears through the sky like a missile made of moonlight, folding into a dive with wings trailing neon cyan. In one movement, she spins and unleashes a barrage of energy into a dropship's intake— boom . It sputters, spins, and crashes into the trees beyond the town.

“I’m here. Scanning for heat signatures and Null Sector frequencies. Prioritizing suppression.”
Her voice is calm. Almost too calm for the chaos below.

“Glad you could make it,” you say through grit teeth as you raise your arm cannon and let off another charged pulse.

“Glad you’re alive,” she responds. “But this town won’t be if we don’t finish them off.”

You both turn mid-air and go back in.

_______________________

The fight drags on, fierce and fast. Illari’s light bursts illuminate the rooftops, disorienting enemies. Echo maneuvers too quickly for them to target, her voice echoing through your comms as she relays enemy locations.

You’re barely dodging another blast when a familiar voice cuts in.

“Guess who’s back from snack break?!”
It’s D.Va. Perky. Loud. A bit... late.

“Took you long enough,” you pant.

“Air traffic was a nightmare ,” she chirps. “But hey, I brought party favors.”

Her MEKA lands with a deafening slam just outside the town plaza, sending a small shockwave that topples a couple of Null Sector soldiers like dominos. She opens fire instantly—missiles cutting through the sky, green tracer fire blazing past your shoulder.

It’s not long after that the three of you, plus Illari, finally beat them back. D.Va’s making quips. Echo’s guiding civilians with tactical grace. You’re wrangling fallen drones out of the path of a medic unit that showed up late.

You hover for a moment, wind beating against the cockpit glass, and watch the last few stragglers of Null Sector retreat.

There’s this low, mechanical groan.

The air shifts— pulls —as if being sucked upward. You tilt your mech’s camera up and there it is.

“No way...”

A massive carrier, easily the size of a stadium, hovers above the valley like a god from some long-forgotten religion. It blocks out the sun. Metal, smooth and glowing at the seams. You feel the sound before you hear it—a deep, distorted roar that echoes in your bones and leaves your ears ringing.

The Null Sector ship begins to rise slowly. As it leaves, it drops something. A cluster of junk? No—

Bodies. Drones. Scrapped parts of their own. Like they’re discarding the weak .

“They’re leaving,” Echo says, her voice quiet. “That was… a sample run.”

Illari floats up beside your cockpit, glowing with anger, gripping her rifle close to her chest.

“They’ll be back.”

Two hours later, when the fighting’s done and the fires are out, D.Va’s sitting cross-legged on a ledge with her MEKA parked behind her, drinking from a juice box she “borrowed” from a nearby stall. Echo's scanning rubble. Illari is with the villagers, helping carry solar panels back into place.

You’re exhausted, slouched in Diwa, cockpit still open to the wind.

And then she arrives.

“Apologies for the delay,” Satya Vaswani— Symmetra —says as she walks through the smoke, untouched, draped in elegant robes reinforced with hard-light tech. “I had to retrieve enough generators to properly restore the local infrastructure.”

You blink. She already has three drones behind her building scaffolding from pure light.

“You really can make anything,” you say.

“I do not make... ‘anything,’” she says flatly. “I make what is needed.”

She raises one hand, and in seconds, a shattered building reforms, crystal by glowing crystal. Walls. Beams. Even a small solar light post. People gasp. Someone cries.

You smile to yourself.

Later, you stand outside what’s left of the plaza. The townspeople are safe, resting. Kids stare wide-eyed at D.Va and Echo. Illari leans on her rifle like a staff.

Everyone’s quiet.

Your HUD flickers again. A message from Winston:

“You did good. They’re safe. For now.”

But your eyes drift back to the sky. That carrier… it’s not gone.

It’s waiting.

And next time, it won’t be a sample run.

Chapter Text

You’re standing in a hallway.
That hallway.

The light buzzes above you in a broken rhythm, flickering like it’s debating whether to die or keep going just a bit longer. The walls are that same sickening shade of plain, monotone yellow. The kind that coats the inside of every school building. Lifeless, artificial, and too clean to be real.

It looks almost sterile—except for the smudges near the bottom edges where shoes had scuffed over time. And the bulletin boards cluttered with curling flyers for clubs and events you never got invited to.

And the whispers.
They’re back again.

“Did you hear what he did with her?”
“He looks so normal… gross.”
“Wasn’t he with someone else last week?”
“Such a player, right? God, I hate boys like him.”

You swallow.

No one’s around you. No faces. Just shadows in locker reflections, voices bouncing off tile floors like echoes from a time you wish never existed.

Your legs feel heavy. Your throat dry. But you keep walking. You always keep walking.

Down the yellow hall.
Left at the bend.
Right past the fire extinguisher.
Then—

There’s a girl waiting there.
Her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes.

She’s radiant. Popular. A little too perfect. Long dark hair, smooth as silk. Glossed lips that match the rosy tint on her cheeks. Her name floats in your mind like a whispered curse:

Minji Khanh.

You remember the way everyone adored her. Worshipped her. How lucky you were—how she made you feel lucky—when she noticed you. Chose you.

Her fingers had always been cold. You remember that.
Cold against your wrist when she pulled you into empty classrooms. Cold when she brushed hair out of your eyes. Cold when she leaned in too close.

You didn’t want it.
Not like that.
Not like her .

But she always told you how special you were. How she only did this with you . That you should be grateful .

“Don’t ruin this for me, (Y/n).”
“You’re not a baby, right?”
“Just relax.”

Your heart begins pounding. You feel the air leaving your lungs. You try to look away—

—but her face changes.
It’s everyone’s face now.

The teachers who turned a blind eye.
The friends who laughed behind your back.
The girl in your old class who passed the rumors along like gum wrappers.

They all blur together, their mouths open in laughter.
Minji’s smile is still there. But now, it’s crooked.

She whispers:

“No one’s going to believe you.”

And then you’re back in the yellow hallway. Alone again. Except this time…
You can’t move.

Your limbs are glued to the floor. Your feet cemented in guilt.
Dirty.
Used.
Thrown out.

And the walls. The walls are pressing in.

That horrible yellow wallpaper closes around you like jaws. Like it remembers. Like it knows . It’s the last thing you see before—

Before waking up,  you can tell you’re in your mech still—lying across the pilot cushions you took out, drenched in sweat. The cockpit's ambient lights flicker low orange in night mode. You're curled up to fit between the stabilizers.

The last real sound in the dream was Hana’s voice.
Her laughter. Her breathless giggle from that first night.
The warmth of her lips against yours.

It should’ve been comforting. But it wasn’t. Not then.
Not when you pulled back too quickly and muttered something like “I need air,” before all the memories flooded in and drowned you.

You didn’t even realize what it meant, until now.

Why that kiss broke something in you.
Why that yellow in Chase’s hallway made your skin crawl.
Why you wanted to shut down every time someone got too close.

It wasn’t just embarrassment.
It was fear.
Memory.

The kind that eats you from the inside out.

You sit upright slowly, hugging your knees.

You don’t cry. You haven’t in a long time.

But you do whisper to yourself, in a voice so small it could disappear into the shadows:

“I didn’t want it. I never did.”

And now you know.

You remember.

You remember why you ran.
Why you build shields.
Why you pushed people away.

It wasn’t just trauma.
It was betrayal.
By someone who should’ve known better.

Yourself.

Chapter Text

“Love me once, I know you love me twice.”

Chapter Mood Rec Song Recs:

• "Love Me Like That" – Sam Kim
  
  
• "Love You Twice" – Huh Yunjin
  
  
• "Ending Scene" – IU
  
  
• "What If" – Seventeen

The sound of quiet wind brushing against the cliffs of Runasapi is the first thing you register when you stir awake. The stars above are dim—smudged by ash and the lingering weight of what happened hours ago. Your back aches a little, but not enough to complain.

Honestly, it was kind of comfy.

If anyone saw you now, crammed into the cockpit of your BANTAY unit—cushions yanked out of the pilot’s seat, curled up between stabilizers like a cat—they’d probably laugh. Echo or D.Va would call it “hella tragic.” But it felt safe. Warm. Especially with the soft, fuzzy blanket still draped over your shoulders.

Illari’s llama blanket. Pastel pinks and yellows, embroidered with tiny suns and smiling clouds. Dumb cute. You loved it.

Too bad it couldn’t protect you from that dream.

You exhale. Your breath feels tight in your chest. You blink away the film of sleep sticking to your lashes, then slowly peel yourself out from the cockpit. Your feet touch the earth again. It’s cold. Still damp with memory.

Runasapi sleeps under your boots—scarred but healing.

You spot her, just a few meters off. Hana.

She’s perched on a stack of supply crates, still in her gear, still awake, her gaze cast toward the horizon like she’s trying to read the future. The moonlight glints off the leftover ash in her hair. There’s a glow to her, not just from her mech’s dim pulse behind her—but from her . That kind of glow only the stubbornly alive carry.

You sit next to her without saying anything.

She doesn’t look at you at first. Just lifts the corner of the blanket around her shoulders and drapes it over yours like instinct.

“You okay?” she asks softly.

You should lie. You always do.

But your silence answers for you.

She turns to face you then. Not her pilot-self. Not D.Va, the poster girl, the war machine. Just Hana. Just a girl.

“What was it?” she asks.

You swallow. Your hands find each other in your lap, fidgeting without a goal.

“A memory,” you murmur. “From before. From my world.”

She waits. You can feel it. No pressure, no rush. Just space. So you take it.

“There was this girl,” you start, your voice low. “Back in high school.”

She nods, eyes softening.

“She was the golden one. Everyone loved her. Transfer student, real smart, real pretty. And she picked me .”

You laugh once—hollow.

“She told me I was special. Treated me like I mattered. And for a while, I believed her. I thought... maybe this was it, you know? My turn.”

Hana says nothing, but her hand grazes your wrist gently.

“She got what she wanted,” you continue. “Then turned on me. Said I was the one who chased her. That I wouldn’t take no for an answer.”

The words feel foreign, like glass on your tongue. They’ve never been spoken out loud.

“I didn’t want it. What she did. I didn’t want any of it.”

There’s a pause. You breathe in deep. Let it sting.

“People talked. Called me a creep. Said I was a girl-hopper. Some said I was gay. Others said I was hiding it. Like it was their business. Like I was a freak either way.”

You turn to her. Finally.

“I didn’t have a voice. No one listened.”

Hana’s eyes are glistening, but she doesn’t cry. Instead, she shifts. Takes your hand in hers, and squeezes.

“I hear you now,” she whispers.

And damn it, that’s all it takes.

You look away, blinking furiously at nothing. “That hallway,” you mutter. “The yellow walls in Morrison’s office building? It reminds me of my school. Same color. Same silence. Same hell.”

Silence wraps around you both. But this time, it feels like understanding.

“I kissed you that day,” you say, quieter now. “And after... it wasn’t you. I panicked. You just reminded me of her. Not because you’re like her, you’re not. I was just scared.”

“I know,” she replies. “I could tell. That’s why I never pushed.”

A small smile creeps into your voice. “You're kind of amazing, you know.”

She nudges your shoulder. “Took you long enough to notice.”

You both sit there for a while. Watching the stars blink against the sky like tired eyes. Diwa hums quietly in the background. Illari’s llama blanket is still wrapped around you. Your heartbeat feels slower now. More grounded.

And for once, that memory doesn't own you.

_______________________________

You’re still sitting next to Hana, sharing Illari’s llama blanket, under a quiet Runasapi sky that doesn’t seem so heavy anymore. The last few stars are starting to fade into the early light. You can see where the sun wants to rise, though it’s still shy about it.

You finally let yourself breathe again.

“I don’t know why I told you all that,” you say after a long pause.

She smiles sideways at you, still holding onto your hand. “Because you trusted me.”

You glance down. Your fingers are still laced with hers. You don’t pull away.

“I think I wanted to forget,” you admit. “But I also didn’t want to lose it completely. It’s weird. Like… if I forget it happened, then it didn’t matter. But it did matter. It hurt. And I lived through it.”

Hana’s thumb gently brushes over your knuckles. “You don’t have to forget to move on.”

There’s a flicker in her eyes—like maybe she knows a thing or two about hurting in silence too.

You look out across the plateau. The broken village below, now lit by the low light of hard-light scaffolding, glowing gold and pale blue. Symmetra really did a number on rebuilding overnight.

“Wanna hear something stupid?” you ask, voice softer now.

“Always,” she grins.

You smirk. “You were my first kiss.”

Her brows raise. “No way.”

You nod, a little embarrassed. “First real one anyway. One I cared about.”

She’s quiet for a moment. Then, she bumps your shoulder with hers.

“Well, first is the worst,” she says in a matter-of-fact tone, eyes flicking toward you with a soft grin. “Second’s the best.”

You let out a tiny laugh through your nose, still not totally used to the weight of her gaze when it’s this... sincere. Comforting. Warm. The kind of warmth that doesn’t burn. Just fills you up.

“You should forget her,” Hana says suddenly, voice more firm now. “What she did to you was horrible.”

You look away, but she doesn’t let the moment drift into silence again. Her fingers wrap around yours again, deliberate this time.

“I mean it,” she says, gently but with weight. “You didn’t deserve any of that. No one does.”

You bite your tongue, unsure of what to say. A tiny part of you wants to argue. Wants to say yeah, but I let it happen, or I didn’t speak up , or I should’ve known better.

But she beats you to it.

“You didn’t get dropped into a multiversal experiment when that was happening to you,” Hana says, eyes still on you, unwavering. “You didn’t get some cool new mech, or some life-changing adventure to pull you out of it. You were alone. And you survived anyway.”

Your breath catches a little at that.

“You shouldn’t have had to go through that,” she adds, quieter this time. “But you’re here now. And I’m glad you are.”

You manage a small smile, more out of instinct than anything.

“I’m glad I’m here too,” you whisper.

“I wanna make sure you get everything you deserve from now on,” she says, nodding, like she’s already made that promise to herself a while ago. “The good things. The real things. The soft, cheesy, K-drama stuff if you want it. All of it.”

You chuckle, eyes stinging in a way that makes you blink fast and pretend it’s the cold air.

“Even the dramatic slow-motion run under the rain?” you tease.

“Especially that part,” she laughs. “But you’re the one running. I’m under an umbrella with bubble tea waiting for you.”

“Fair,” you say, your grin returning. “Guess I better start training.”

“Guess you better,” she smirks.

You both fall quiet for a while, watching the horizon where Runasapi stretches out beyond the cliffs. There’s a breeze that plays with the edge of the llama blanket draped over your shoulders. Somewhere behind you, you hear Echo’s faint voice helping with repairs, Symmetra's hard-light scaffolding humming as it rebuilds shattered stone.

But here, in this moment, none of it matters.

Just you, Hana, and a quiet understanding that you’re okay now.

Or at least... you will be.

Winston’s voice hums through the comms again, calm but focused.

“As for next steps... you’ve done more than enough.”

You blink, shifting slightly on the rock you’re perched on. The skies over Runasapi are soft now—sunset streaks of orange and violet gliding across the horizon like brushstrokes. The chaos has passed. It almost feels like peace.

“Satya—uh, Vaswani—is already restoring the town at about 300% ahead of schedule,” Winston continues. “Her hard-light drones have restructured at least 89% of the broken infrastructure, and she’s implemented a new perimeter system.”

Your brows lift a little. “A perimeter?”

“Yes. A drone-generated forcefield around the village’s outer bounds. Think of it as... an immune system. Only verified transports, merchants, and approved agents can enter or leave. No more Null Sector raids from this angle.”

You let out a breath you didn’t even know you were holding. Your shoulders ease.

“So... we’re done here?” you ask. “Like, we can go?”

There’s a pause on the other side, and then Winston’s voice softens.

“Yes. You’ve done more than enough for them. And for us.”

The comm line quiets, only a small soft bloop indicating the call has ended. You exhale slowly, turning your head to see Hana in the distance, laughing with Illari about something—probably Chuno’s new llama sweater.

Chapter Text

The train cuts silently across the ocean, suspended on magnetic railways that hum like a lullaby. Outside the windows, the sea is a blur of silver and navy under the moonlight—stars reflected on the water like the sky dropped glitter.

Inside, everything is low-lit, polished, quiet. There aren’t many other passengers. Just the low mechanical whir of the train’s core and the occasional voice from the intercom reading out the next checkpoint.

You’re curled into a plush booth, knees drawn slightly up, staring at your reflection in the darkened window. You can barely see yourself. Just the vague shape of your silhouette and the distant lights of the train’s soft blue glow.

Across from you, Hana stretches, her pink hoodie slightly bunched at the sleeves. She’s holding a warm drink—maybe something like ssanghwa-cha —and glancing at you like she’s reading your whole mood in real time.

“You good?”
A soft nudge of her foot under the table.
“You’re acting like we’re about to be thrown into a mech pit with no armor on.”

You blink, then smirk. "Feels like it. Reyes said it's supposed to be a public initiation... I don’t know. There’s gonna be cameras. And drones. And officials. And—"

“—And glitter, fireworks, fangirls, and press who probably think you’re secretly dating me. Trust me, I’ve seen the speculation threads.”

She says it dryly, but there’s a lightness in her tone. A joke meant to cut through the anxiety. You groan and cover your face.

“Oh god. They really think that?”
“Mhm.”
“…well they aren’t wrong are they?”

“True.”

There’s a pause. Not awkward, just quiet. Comfortable. The kind of stillness that only happens at 3 AM, when the world feels far away.

Then she leans forward, cup still in hand.

“You know, you’ve got it lucky.”

Her tone’s softer now. More honest. “You’re getting a warm welcome. A celebration. People ready to cheer for you. When I got drafted? It wasn’t like that.”

You glance up at her. She’s not looking at you. Just out the window now.

“I was barely out of high school when the Gwishin hit Busan harder than we expected. The auto-mechs failed. Whole units went offline. No backup. I had to climb into mine on instinct. I only had so much training. If we could even call it that.”

A breath. “No ceremony. No approval. No support. Just... 'Go out there and try not to die.'”

She chuckles under her breath—humorless. You stay quiet, letting her talk.

“I mean, I did it. I always do. But it’s different, you know? Watching someone get the welcome I never had? Feels kinda nice. Like... maybe things are changing.”

You swallow, guilt and gratitude battling somewhere behind your ribs.

“Sorry.”
“Don’t be.” She meets your gaze again. “You’re not stealing anything. You’re earning it. And I signed off on the whole thing, didn’t I?”

You narrow your eyes. "Technically, you weren’t allowed to—"

“Shhhh.”
She presses a finger to your lips. “Illegal? Maybe. Necessary? Absolutely. Athena helped. She processed the backend approvals in a private thread. No one knows. No one needs to.”

“Athena’s been rooting for you since you got dropped into this multiversal chaos. Trust me. You might not remember her... but she remembered you.”

A wink. “And she knows how to bend a rule or two. Just like me.”

You laugh softly. The weight on your chest lightens. The train glides on.

“So... joint defense program?”
“South Korea and the Philippines, side by side.” She lifts her cup. “Here’s to international friendships built on bending protocol and breaking mechs.”

You clink your bottle against her cup. “Cheers.”

The train pulls into the station with a deep mechanical hiss, lights flaring along the docking bay. You step out into warm night air and a city buzzing with preparation. You barely have time to stretch your legs before agents usher you into a private car—bulletproof, polished, and armed with soft leather seats.

Inside already waiting—Commander Gabriel Reyes, Gabe to you– arms folded, eyes half-amused as you slide in next to Hana.

“You sleep on the train?”
“Define sleep.”
“I’ll take that as a no.”

He hands you a tablet. Your name is displayed across a digital briefing: Public Integration and Pilot Declaration Ceremony .

You scroll through the notes—flight path, stunt routines, press introductions, even wardrobe.

Reyes watches you read, then taps the screen.

“We’ll be in front of half the country tomorrow. Maybe more, once the broadcast hits East Asia. But we’ve got a lot more pull now. Thanks to someone’s questionably legal partnership agreement.”
He glances sideways at Hana.

“Hey,” she shrugs, “if it keeps the people safe, it’s worth it.”

An older woman in an official barong nods from the front seat. She turns back to you with a kind smile.

“You’re not just a pilot, (Y/n). You’re a symbol now. A link between our two nations. And, if I’m being honest…”

She chuckles. “A breath of fresh air.”

______________________

The air is thick with electric energy. Not from tension—but from celebration. All eyes are on the launch zone near the bay, where floodlights pierce the dusk and camera drones hover in the air like fireflies on duty. The golden-orange sun melts behind the horizon, casting a glow that makes every spotlight, every stage screen, every banner shimmer like a starburst.

A giant platform rests over the water—custom built for one purpose:

To welcome you.

Crowds line the waterfront. Cheering. Singing. Chanting your name.

There’s an official stage, yes—dressed with flags and sponsors and powerful people—but all of that fades behind the spotlight that waits for you.

Behind the gates, you adjust your pilot suit. Clean, custom-tailored navy and gold with holographic trim—your name, callsign, and unit marked boldly across the chest and sleeves. You press your hands to the chestplate, feeling the beat of your heart.

Diwa stands before you in launch position, the Filipino sun emblem glows from her chestplate, flanked by proud accents of crimson, indigo, and white. 

She’s a symbol now.
You are.

Reyes, the other one, approaches behind you, slow and quiet, arms crossed, voice low.

“They’re not just watching. They’re hoping. No pressure or anything.”
(A smirk.) “Now go show them who you are.”

You nod. Slide the headset over your hair.
The moment clicks.

“Pilot (Y/n), this is Command. You’re cleared for takeoff.”

“Give them a show.”

FWOOOOM — Diwa launches.

You climb into the cockpit mid-sprint, the interior cushions warming to your body as if welcoming you home. The boosters activate full throttle. You rip into the sky like a firework, Diwa doing a barrel roll through the clouds before plunging downward, then spiraling up like a comet—your mech’s newly-upgraded thrusters forming a heart-shaped sonic trail behind you.

But before you hit the water , you pull the controls and flip—a flawless, spinning reverse-launch that throws Diwa upward again like a phoenix reborn.

The shoulder cannons pop open—
And instead of missiles— FIREWORKS.

Loud, vibrant, synchronized to music.
The crowd goes feral. Some kids scream. Some cry. One girl in the front row literally faints.

You curve through the sky in S-shapes, your mech dancing to the beat. You’ve trained for this. You’ve lived for this.

Then—

The Final Move.

You fly high. Too high. It’s silent.

Then you drop.

And mid-drop, you set the joysticks to override—

The mech’s cockpit bursts open. The stabilizers extend, pushing you out like one of those tennis ball launchers.

You eject cleanly—twist, flip, land.
Perfectly.

Diwa continues upward—just for a moment—
Then BOOM.

She bursts into a carefully-timed, engineered fireworks bloom. The explosion isn’t lethal—it’s all choreographed. She breaks into thousands of glowing fragments that form the BANTAY crest mid-air. And in the center, a heart made of digital data pulses once, twice—

DOKI... DOKI...
[BOOP]

And it fades into a glimmer.

________

Jumping off your platform, you land with a roll—hit the ground clean. headset off.

The crowd ROARS. People scream. Some are crying. Some are stunned.

The mic floats toward you on a little drone.

You smile softly. Hold it.

Then say, simply—

“Wala akong kailangang sabihin.”
I don’t need to say much.

“Andyan na ako.”
I’m here now.

You raise your fist to your chest.

The crowd does the same.

“And I’m not leaving.”

Your mech, Diwa , slowly lowers into standby mode behind you—still radiating digital light and pride, even after her show-stopping display.

The crowd is electric , scattered with streamers, waving flags, glowing wristbands, and smiling faces. A whole five-story building watching. Cameras hovering. Drones flashing. Everyone waiting for what you’ll say.

You step toward the podium, the breeze tugging lightly at your flight suit , now slightly dusted with flecks of light from Diwa’s firework-laced finale. You breathe in.

Then you speak—raw, honest, real .

"To be honest, I didn’t think I’d get this far. Not in a million years. I used to be that kid in the back of the class with a laptop in his bag, skipping lunch just to get ranked. I practiced every night. I trained like my life depended on it. Because maybe, in a way... it did.

And now? I’m standing here. With all of you. And I just wanna say—

I promise.
I promise to protect my people. My family. My country.
And not just ours—but Busan’s too. Because we’re stronger together.

Alam n’yo, totoo lang—nakarating ako dito sa totoo lang...
dahil sa paglalaro ng video games.

(You know, honestly—I got here, for real… because of video games.)

"At kung kaya ko, kaya niyo rin.
Parang isang diva—kilala niyo na siya, mahal niyo na siya—
D.Va!!!"

(And if I can do it, then you can too. Just like a certain diva—you know her, you love her—D.Va!!!)

The audience erupts . Cheers and claps and people chanting her name— “D.Va! D.Va!” The stage lights flicker pink and blue, and through the color and confetti—

Hana Song skips up to the stage, all poise and pride in her signature pastel blue and pink flight suit.

" Anyeong~!! " she beams, throwing up two peace signs before waving to the crowd. “Aigoo, (Y/n), that entrance? 10 out of 10. S-tier.”

You grin, stepping beside her with a mic in hand. “Okay, okay. Tagalog mode activated. ” You wink at the crowd. “Para sa mga hindi nakaintindi, ako na bahala.”

(For those who didn’t understand, I got you.)

Hana continues, speaking in her signature mix of Korean and English, her words full of playful energy—yet grounded with purpose.

“I thought long and hard about how to help. About what I could give that wasn’t just another mech or another squadron.”

“And then I remembered... partnership. Unity. That’s what Overwatch was about. That’s what we are about.”

“So when the opportunity came to support (Y/n) as a BANTAY pilot... I didn’t hesitate.”

You translate, eyes never leaving hers.

“Matagal ko nang iniisip kung paano ako makakatulong.
Hindi lang basta teknolohiya—pero isang tunay na pagkakaisa.

Kasi ‘yun ang tunay na lakas ng Overwatch. At ng mga tao.

Kaya nang lumabas ang oportunidad para suportahan si (Y/n) bilang pilot ng BANTAY—hindi na ako nag-alinlangan.”

There’s silence for a breath, like the air’s waiting to exhale.

Then—thunderous applause. People stand, wave, chant again. You and Hana bow together. Not just as teammates. But as two nations standing as one.

And behind you, Diwa hums quietly. A living, glowing symbol of everything that brought you here—and everything you’ll fight to protect.

The hall pulses with life—each of the five floors of the building bursting with festive energy. You step into the grand celebration space near the beach. The warm night air mingles with the soft beat of traditional drums and modern synth, a soundtrack that feels both timeless and new.

In one corner, children giggle and dance, their nimble bodies weaving through the bamboo poles as they perform tinikling. The rhythm is contagious: every leap, every clap of bamboo in sync, echoing like a heartbeat in the night. Adults watch with smiles and gentle claps, caught up in the joy of the moment.

Across the room, you catch sight of Hana. Tonight, she’s wearing an exquisite hanbok—puffy sleeves in delicate pastel tones with intricate embroidery that sparkles under the ambient lights. The hanbok flows around her, lending an air of elegance to every movement, yet it holds her signature playfulness in the way the skirt swirls with each step.

You feel a surge of pride mixed with nerves as you step forward. You’ve changed into your own traditional attire—a crisp, comfortable barong crafted in a deep navy with subtle gold accents. The fabric feels like a promise against your skin, light yet dignified.

Starry skies peek through, promising that the night is just starting.

You mingle with guests—both kids and adults—exchanging friendly greetings, laughing along as you get autographs and take a few selfies with well-wishers. At one point, an omnic reporter—sleek, with a voice modulator that adds a soft, mesmerizing lilt—approaches you.

“Pilot (Y/n), care to share your thoughts on tonight’s celebration?” the reporter asks, eyes glowing faintly beneath a translucent visor.

You smile, a bit self-conscious but more than willing to share, “It’s an honor. Tonight feels like a rebirth—a chance to redefine who I am, and to protect what matters most.”

The reporter nods, scribbling notes on a digital pad, while you exchange more pleasantries. 

You find Hana standing by a panoramic window that overlooks the moonlit shoreline, the gentle sway of palm trees visible in the distance. Without a word, she tugs at your arm, and together you slip away from the crowd.

You both board an elevator that hums softly as it descends through the building. The quiet inside contrasts sharply with the jubilant chaos you just left behind. When the door finally slides open, the cool night air and the soft sound of rushing waves greet you as you step onto a private section of the beach.

Barefoot, you kick off your shoes. The sand is cool and welcoming beneath your toes, tiny grains slipping slowly into the spaces between your feet as the ocean breeze whispers secrets through the dunes. Hana laughs softly as she kicks away any remnants of formal wear, her eyes gleaming in the moonlight.

“Isn’t this just perfect?” she murmurs, her tone a mix of mischief and contentment.

You turn to her as you both walk along the tide line. The moon casts soft, silver light over her face, accentuating the delicate curve of her smile. As you stroll, she leans in closer—so close that the faint scent of her flowery perfume catches your nostrils.

For a heartbeat, the world narrows to the gentle rhythm of your steps and the sound of the surf. Your heart beats faster, unsure if it’s the gentle splashes or the magnetic pull between you. And then, as if decided by fate, Hana stops walking. She turns, her gaze locked on yours, and for a long moment, neither of you speak.

Slowly, almost reverently, you step closer. Her hand reaches up to smooth your hair, and you feel the softness of her touch like a vow. The night is hushed, and the world outside seems to pause as you lean in—your lips meeting in a tender kiss.

Hana’s kiss tastes intoxicating—the cool sweetness of blueberry wine, the gentle warmth of cherry lip gloss—melding into something that feels like home.

The kiss lingers in your thoughts even as your lips part. The moon above watches in silence, stars twinkling like nosy little onlookers to your moment. The waves continue their hush-hush conversation with the shore, and Hana’s eyes sparkle—half because of the light, half because she’s still dazed from the kiss.

You both stay like that for a second, just letting the breeze cool your flushed faces. Then Hana speaks up, a little breathless, her voice dropping into something soft and unguarded.

“You always do that,” she says, nudging your arm playfully.

“Do what?”

“Make the world feel like it’s not trying to kill me.” She chuckles, but there’s a layer of honesty underneath it that hits a little deep.

You sit together on the sand, knees pulled up, shoulders brushing. 

“I used to dream about nights like this,” you say, drawing patterns into the sand with your finger. “I mean, not the rooftop ceremony, or the mech—though, hey, that was sick —but just… peace. And someone who actually wants to be here with me.”

Hana’s hand finds yours, gently threading her fingers between yours. “You’ve got me. Okay? No matter how complicated it gets, I’m here.”

There’s a pause. Then—

“You ever done tinikling?” you ask, a sly grin growing on your lips.

Hana groans. “Ugh. No. And I’m not even gonna lie—I suck at footwork. Like… girl group choreo? Easy. I can body-roll, hip pop, all that. But my feet?” She lifts her leg slightly and wiggles her foot. “These? They betray me every time.”

You laugh, heart bubbling over. “Okay, okay—but tonight, that changes. C’mon.”

You stand up and start scanning the area, eventually finding a few half-buried driftwood branches along the edge of the sand. You yank out four—weather-worn but sturdy—and bring them over.

Setting two down in the sand parallel to each other, you prop the ends up slightly with a few small rocks. Then, for the remaining two? You step closer to the ocean, holding your hands out. With a few practiced, precise gestures, you draw thin ribbons of water out from the sea, shaping them around the driftwood like puppet strings. They rise, hover… and then click together softly.

“Tada.” You grin. “A tinikling set. Water-powered edition.”

Hana stands with her arms crossed, raising an eyebrow. “Okay, okay, I’ll admit. That’s hot.”

You smirk. “Not as hot as you’re about to look doing it.”

“EW. Shut up .” She tries to hide her smile but fails spectacularly. “If I trip, I’m blaming you and the water.”

You step into position first, demonstrating slowly. “It’s all rhythm. Right foot, left foot, right out. Then left in, out again, in. You get it?”

She watches, biting her lip. “Yeah. No.”

You laugh and hold out your hand. “Come on. I’ll go slow.”

She takes it. And then— click click—Hana jumps in. First few steps? Surprisingly okay. Then— smack —the bamboo claps against both your ankles.

“OW—dude!” she whines. “Are you doing that on purpose!?”

“Swear I’m not!” you protest through your laughter. “Controlling water like this is weird. It's like… trying to move an extra limb that's only kinda attached to your brain.”

“Yeah, well your brain sucks,” she mutters, rubbing her shin.

You wince. “That’s fair.”

After a couple more tries—more ankle bumps, more stifled swearing, more giggles—she starts to get the hang of it. You ease up on the tempo, letting her find a groove. She’s bouncing now, light on her feet, eyes locked on yours. You step with her, both of you flowing in sync between the clacking sticks like a real duo.

“You’re doing it!” you cheer.

“OH MY GOD I’M DOING IT!!” she screams, and then— trip —you both tumble into the sand, laughing so hard it feels like your stomach might cramp.

Lying there side by side, grains of sand stuck to your clothes and faces, she turns to you, brushing hair from her eyes.

“Okay, fine,” she says, breathless. “That was worth the ankle abuse.”

You look over at her, heart feeling a little too full. “Told you.”

The sticks fall still, water drifting back to the sea like it’s bowing out of the moment. The celebration above fades into the background, distant music and laughter carried on the wind. But down here, it’s just you, Hana, and the sound of the stars whispering secrets into the ocean breeze.

Chapter Text

The sticks fall still, water drifting back to the sea like it’s bowing out of the moment. The celebration above fades into the background, distant music and laughter carried on the wind. But down here, it’s just you, Hana, and the sound of the stars whispering secrets into the ocean breeze.

You and Hana walk side by side down the dimly lit street, shoes in hand, your footprints trailing behind in the sand-speckled sidewalk. The salty breeze tousles your hair as the stars wink down, the last of the fireworks still echoing faintly from a few rooftops away.

Hana’s still laughing from earlier, her cheeks flushed from the wine and the dancing and the compliments she kept humbly shrugging off.

You twist your wrist, letting a small stream of water follow like a ribbon. With a flick, it spirals past her like a playful ghost.

“Hey!” she gasps, pulling her arm close. “You’re gonna get this silk soaked!”

“Oh no,” you smirk, “not the precious hanbok.”

She narrows her eyes. “Don’t tempt me. I will retaliate.”

You don’t even see it coming. A leftover water balloon—one of the kids must’ve missed it during the tinikling chaos—is in her hand, and within seconds, it’s splattered against your side.

You freeze. Eyes wide. “You did not just—”

“Oh I did,” she grins, smug as hell.

Technically, you could take the water she just threw at you and absolutely drench her with it. But... you don’t. You let her win this one.

“Whatever,” you laugh, brushing a few wet streaks off your barong. “I let you have that.”

“Sure, sure,” she chirps, walking ahead of you like she owns the night. You trail behind, grinning like an idiot.

________________________

You trail behind her through the quiet station, luggage wheels barely humming against the tile. Seoul had faded into a glowing blur hours ago. The intercontinental train back to Busan was mostly quiet—just the occasional passenger humming a song or watching something on their holo-tabs. You’d both curled up side by side in silence. A comfortable one.

Now, she’s got a small grin on her face, leading you down dark city streets like she has a secret.

You squint up at the building she stops in front of.

“…This isn’t your place.”

Hana smirks over her shoulder, raising a brow. “Isn’t it?”

“This looks like the kinda place rich CEOs live in,” you mutter, eyes wide as you take in the glossy black windows, the automatic doors, the gold emblem near the entrance that probably cost more than your entire childhood house.

“I am kinda a CEO,” she sings. “Brand, endorsements, merchandising. You know the drill.”

You follow her inside, still dazed.

The lobby is marble. Like, real marble. A chandelier hangs above like something out of a drama set. Everything smells faintly of expensive perfumes and air-purifiers trying too hard.

“Don’t act so surprised,” she teases, stepping into the elevator. “You’ve seen my highlight reels.”

“I thought you lived in like…a normal apartment,” you mutter as you step in beside her, eyes still scanning the ridiculously fancy elevator panel.

She glances up at you with a tilt of her head. “What, like in one of those gamer basements with neon lights and noodle cups stacked to the ceiling?”

“…Kinda, yeah.”

Hana snorts.

The elevator hums quietly as it rises, lights soft and gold around you. The higher you go, the quieter everything feels. Like the city’s heartbeat gets left behind floor by floor.

“…So,” you murmur, hands tucked in your pockets, “what’re we doing after this?”

“Celebrating,” she says. “Or, y’know, decompressing . Your call.”

You nudge her with your elbow. “You always this mysterious after missions?”

“Only when it’s cute,” she replies smoothly, and you swear your ears burn.

The elevator dings softly.

She leads you down a short hall before tapping her wristband against a door sensor. A soft click —and the doors glide open.

And there it is.

The penthouse.

Windows stretching from floor to ceiling, the whole of Busan glittering beyond. Sleek furniture in creams and warm browns. A spiral staircase on one side. The moon reflects in the glass coffee table. Somewhere far off, waves crash faintly against the shore.

You just…stand there.

“...Holy shit,” you breathe.

“Told you to trust me,” she says smugly, slipping off her shoes.

You wander in, dropping your bag somewhere near the couch.

She flops onto the cushions, sprawling dramatically. “So? You like it?”

You sit beside her, still wide-eyed. “This isn’t an apartment. This is a drama set. Like—where’s the male lead with the tragic backstory and the second lead syndrome?”

Hana raises a brow. “You are the male lead.”

You pause. Then grin. “Damn. Guess I better step it up.”

She snickers and pushes herself up. “Gimme five minutes. Don’t touch the popcorn setting on the microwave. You’ll burn it.”

You salute her playfully, watching as she disappears into the kitchen.

You flip through channels, eventually landing on one of the newer K-dramas Hana raved about on the train— Eternal Echoes. You recognize the opening song. Melancholy piano. Rain falling. Definitely tearjerker territory.

Five minutes later, she returns—carrying a bowl of kettle popcorn, chocolate drizzles melting slightly, and another full of gummy bears.

“I feel spoiled,” you mutter, accepting your share.

“You are ,” she says, half a grin tugging at her lips as she plops down beside you, blanket wrapped over her legs.

The next few hours pass in golden glow and shared snacks. Two episodes in, Hana’s curled against you, eyes red-rimmed, tears glinting in the light.

“She forgot everything,” she murmurs. “All of it. And he—he still waited for her. Loved her even when she didn’t know who he was anymore.”

You turn to look at her, brows slightly knit.

“She forgot him, but everyone else remembered,” Hana continues, voice barely above a whisper. “How’s that fair?”

You don’t say anything right away. You just shift closer, brushing a tear from her cheek with your thumb.

“It's just a show,” you say gently.

But she turns, eyes wide and raw.

“What if that happens to us ?”

Your breath catches.

“What if you find your way back? To wherever you came from?” she says softly. “What if I just…become a save file? A memory?”

Your heart twists.

You take her hand, fingers curling around hers.

“Even if I found a way home,” you whisper, “I’d want to bring you with me.”

Her eyes shimmer in the dark.

“I wouldn’t leave you behind,” you promise. “And even if I had to go alone...I’d still remember everything. Every second.”

Her voice wavers. “But what if I forget? What if something happens to me in a mission? What if I get amnesia?”

You lean in, forehead against hers.

“Then I’ll remind you. Over and over again. As many times as it takes.”

Silence settles between you. Fragile. Sacred.

And then you kiss her.

It’s slow. Careful. Like you’re both trying not to break something that hasn’t even fully formed yet. Her hands slip up around your neck. Yours tangle in the fabric of her shirt. Her breath hitches when your fingers graze her skin. You fall back into the cushions. The popcorn bowl tips somewhere to the side.

There’s laughter between kisses, and soft breaths. Fingers tracing cheekbones. Palms skimming warm skin. Something unspoken curls between you like silk—something that’s been waiting for the right time.

And tonight, it just is.

No dramatics. No confessions shouted across battlefields. Just quiet, closeness, and the quiet hum of the city behind you.

You don’t know how you made it from the couch to the bed in the penthouse’s guest room—it just sort of happened.

Everything was unhurried. Your fingers brushed the hem of her shirt. She pulled yours over your head with a laugh, her hands cool against your skin. The lights dimmed behind her, and for a second, all you could see was her silhouette framed by the city lights outside.

You kissed her again, slower this time, and she wrapped her arms around your neck like she never wanted to let go.

There were quiet gasps. Soft sighs. Gentle laughter. Her legs tangled with yours beneath the blankets, your hand drawing lazy shapes on the small of her back.

Hours passed. Or maybe it was just minutes that felt like hours. When everything stilled, your body curved around hers like you were made for it, and she nestled into your chest like it was the safest place in the world.

She didn’t speak for a while. Just breathed, her fingers idly tracing small circles along your side.

“…You’re warm,” she mumbled.

“You’re a heater,” you murmured into her hair.

“Shut up,” she whispered back, voice laced with a giggle.

Silence returned—but this time it was comfortable. Full. Home.

Eventually, her voice returned, quieter this time. Hesitant.

“...Promise me again?”

You shifted slightly, just enough to look at her. Her eyes were half-lidded, but still searching yours.

“As long as I’m still with you,” you said, voice steady.

She smiled then, the kind that made your chest ache with something good. She leaned up, pressed a kiss to your collarbone, then settled back down, her arm wrapped snugly around your waist.

Chapter Text

The wind howls outside the dome, cold and relentless. Ice crystals clatter softly against the transparent shielding, like static from an old radio. I sip the last of my tea—lukewarm now—and pull my scarf tighter around my neck. Snowball floats nearby, chirping quietly while running atmospheric scans.

“Mmhm… temperatures are dropping faster than expected,” I murmur, tapping at the console with gloved fingers. “Pressure system’s shifting too. Might be a storm.”

Snowball lets out a worried beep.

I smile. “Don’t worry, we’ve seen worse. Remember that whiteout in Sector Nine?”

The little bot spins, clearly recalling it with equal parts excitement and panic.

The terminal chimes, a soft digital ping that breaks the moment.

“Huh?” I glance up.

An email. I pull up the message, squinting past the blue glow.

From: Winston ([email protected])
Subject: Incoming Assistance – Familiar Face :)

My brows lift.

Dr. Zhou,
We’re assigning additional field support to your station temporarily. You’ll be working with a familiar face—(Y/n), if you remember. They listed you as one of his first teammates back when you were stationed in Gibraltar briefly. Thought it might be nice for you two to reconnect.
Stay warm.
– Winston

I blink at the screen. My hands still hover over the keys.

(Y/n).

I haven’t heard that name in… wow. Months? A year?

A warmth starts to bloom in my chest, slow but steady, like the kind of heat that cuts through a freezing storm.

I spin in my chair toward Snowball, barely containing the giddy grin on my face.

“Snowball! Did you hear that?” I laugh. “(Y/n) is coming here! He's coming back! ”

Snowball blinks its blue eyes, spinning in circles and letting out a celebratory whoop .

“Oh my gosh, we haven’t seen them since—since before I went into Cryo-Stasis!” I stand up, suddenly full of energy. “They’re going to freeze if they don’t pack right—I should make extra thermal packs! Maybe I can cook for them… oh! Or knit them a new scarf!”

I feel my cheeks flush and not from the cold this time. “A-Anyway,” I say, flustered, “This could be really good. 也许我们终于会有机会了...”

Snowball tilts, inquisitive.

I wave him off, laughing as I brush a hand through my hair.

“Nothing, nothing,” I hum. “I just… I didn’t think I’d ever get to see him again. Not like this. Not with time.”

I glance out the icy window, where the wind is dying down.

Chapter Text

You can still feel the warmth of Hana’s hand in yours. The goodbye at the station was short—on purpose. She smiled too wide, hugged too tight. Said she'd be fine. Said, "Don’t freeze out there, dumbass," with tears in her lashes.

And now you’re here.

The transport ship descends into blinding white. Clouds swirl below like a tundra ocean, and beyond them lies the Antarctic base, half-buried in snow and ice.

Cold air hits you the second the doors slide open.

You adjust the thermal collar around your neck, stepping onto the platform. Your boots crunch over the snow-packed metal grating. Everything around you hums—low, mechanical, like a heartbeat buried beneath frost.

“She really works out here every day…?” you mutter.

Ahead, the base dome looms like a glass-topped snow globe. You spot movement through the outer layer of shielding. A tiny robot zips toward the airlock, chattering excitedly.

“Snowball?” you blink. “No way…”

The doors slide open just in time to reveal her.

Mei stands at the threshold, bundled in a heavy coat with that same oversized scarf. Her cheeks are pink from the cold—or maybe from something else.

She’s staring at you like she can’t quite believe it.

“…Hey,” you say, pulling your bag higher on your shoulder. “Long time.”

She blinks once. Then twice.

And then she runs at you.

Your breath hitches when she barrels into you, arms wrapping tight around your middle. Snowball zips in frantic circles behind her, letting out beeps that sound almost like cheering.

“I thought you forgot about me,” she mumbles into your jacket.

You laugh, steadying her. “Mei, how could I forget the first hero I ever mained?”

She steps back, just slightly, her eyes shining behind her goggles. “Main? 什么? ?”

You tilt your head and try and cover up what you said. “Uh… 这是一个俚语，类似于……‘迷恋’或者‘偏爱’。”

“Really? Still?”

“Still,” you nod. “You were the one that taught me how to make walls of ice and how to NOT panic at the worst possible times.”

She giggles, the sound breathy and warm. “You were so bad at it.”

“I got better,” you grin.

A pause lingers between you, the kind where everything slows. Her fingers brush your coat sleeve before she steps back.

“C'mon inside,” she says. “I set up your bunk. It's not... Gibraltar. But it’s cozy.”

You follow her through the airlock, where warmth creeps back into your limbs. The lights inside the dome flicker to life—orange and soft. Computers hum quietly. A kettle whistles somewhere in the background.

Mei chats while leading you through the corridors. About her research, the storm systems, Snowball’s new upgrades. Her voice fills the space like sunshine on ice.

_______________________________

Later that evening, you’re sitting in what Mei calls her "living nook" : a cozy patch of the dome lit by a salt lamp and string lights taped around a stack of data servers. Snowball hums softly on its charger nearby. A steaming mug of tea rests in your hands, and across from you, Mei sits cross-legged, wearing a fluffy penguin-patterned sweater and sipping from a chipped mug that says “SCIENCE IS COOL.”

The kettle hisses again in the background, and the Arctic wind rattles faintly outside the dome walls.

She looks at you over the rim of her glasses.

“So… What have you really been up to, mystery boy?”

You smile into your drink, then sigh. “It’s kind of a long story.”

“I’ve got time,” she says, setting her mug down. “No better way to warm up.”

You run a hand through your hair and lean back, watching your breath mist faintly in the cold air.

“…You ever hear the other agents talk about that multiverse theory stuff? Pocket universe ruptures? Crossovers that aren’t supposed to happen?”

Mei tilts her head. “You mean like the whole temporal displacement mess that brought Echo back from stasis too early? Or Tracer’s weird time skip training simulations?”

“Sort of,” you nod slowly. “But not tech-based. It wasn’t this universe's fault.”

She frowns, her brow knitting slightly. “...Wait.”

“I’m not from here, Mei.”

Silence.

Outside, snow drifts against the dome like tiny whispers.

She blinks. “Come again?”

You exhale through your nose, watching the steam curl up like a cloud of truth.

“I mean it. I’m from a different universe. A place where Overwatch was just a game. Where I was just a guy—just a gamer who played you . A lot, actually. You were my first hero. I didn’t even think you were real.”

Mei’s expression twists between confusion and awe. Her lips part as if to speak, but no words come.

“Then,” you continue, softer now, “some kind of cosmic glitch happens. Pocket universe thing. Suddenly… I’m here. And I’m real here. You all are.”

Mei covers her mouth with one hand, wide-eyed.

“I’m actually sort of surprised you haven’t heard of it before…Hanzo told me almost all of you knew..”

She fixes her glasses. “Exactly. ALMOST everyone. I was never informed of this.”

She lets out a startled breath that becomes a quiet laugh, shaken but real.

“And I thought I was the weird one in the group,” she murmurs.

You chuckle. “You’re still the weird one. But you’re brilliant.”

She swats at you playfully. “So you’re telling me… in your world, we’re a video game?”

“Yeah. A damn good one, too. You were the first person I ever tried to get good at. I loved how you controlled the battlefield. Smart. Strategic.”

“And… D.Va?” she asks, and there’s a small tremble under the question.

Your eyes shift. “She became my favorite later. But it doesn’t mean I ever forgot you.”

Her gaze softens.

There’s a weight in the air now. Familiar, like snow before it falls.

“I think I remember something,” she says suddenly.

Your head snaps up.

“I mean… I thought it was a dream at the time,” she continues. “I used to have these dreams—little flashes. Someone behind a screen. Playing me. Yelling when they got frozen. Laughing when the wall blocked a D.Va bomb.”

You stare at her, heart beating faster.

“You’re saying…”

She nods slowly. “Maybe I wasn’t imagining things.”

Snowball chirps from its dock, almost like it’s agreeing.

You lean forward, elbows on your knees. “So maybe we’ve known each other longer than either of us realized.”

She looks at you, eyes shining behind the fogged-up lenses of her glasses.

“That’s kind of beautiful,” she whispers.

Silence again.

And then she scoots just a little closer, knees touching yours. “So, Mr. 外星人 … what now?”

You smile faintly. “Now? I help you do your weather readings. File reports. Watch the sky.”

“And after?”

“…After, I figure out how to keep the people I care about safe—on both sides of the world. Right?.”

Mei’s quiet. Then she leans her head on your shoulder.

“I’m glad you came back,” she says softly.

You nod.

Chapter Text

The dome doors seal shut behind you with a hiss, locking out the icy wind. Your breath fogs in the air as you pull your coat tighter. Mei’s already tugging on her thermal hood, cheeks flushed from the cold and something else—nerves, maybe.

"Okay!" she chirps, suddenly chipper. “Come on. We’ll start the tour!”

You follow her through a small hatch leading into the main corridor. The walls here are metal, but warmer in tone, lined with safety instructions and worn-down directional arrows. Snowball floats beside her, whirring quietly.

“We’re in the main dome,” Mei explains. “It’s mostly residential here—my greenhouse, research journal station, basic medbay, and the kitchen-slash-dining room, which I clean... sometimes.” She peeks at you sheepishly. “I didn’t really expect company, so forgive the mess.”

You glance around. It’s spotless.

“I’ll try to survive,” you say, flashing her a grin. “Brave of me, I know.”

She lets out a breathy laugh and leads you toward a short hallway.

Past the first door: a compact greenhouse glowing with soft, bioluminescent light. Rows of leafy greens grow inside UV-lined boxes. Next to them, what looks like a tiny citrus tree trying to thrive in a box of snow.

“Vegetables keep me company," she says with a shrug. “They don’t talk back.”

You raise a brow. “But Snowball does?”

Snowball beeps indignantly.

“He’s sassy,” she mutters, clearly fond of the little bot.

You both continue into the adjacent dome, crunching over metal catwalks.

“Okay, so... that’s the cryo chamber,” she points out. “Where I do all the temperature regulation testing and particle research. Don’t touch anything glowing blue.”

You glance toward the door. “Noted.”

“And that’s where I sleep,” she adds quickly, pointing toward a hatch labeled Living Quarters 01 , “but you’ll be over there!” She spins on her heel, gesturing toward a pod on the opposite side. “Totally separate. Not like I assumed you’d be staying in my room. Haha. That would be... weird. Yep. Separate rooms are great. Haha.”

You bite the inside of your cheek, trying not to laugh. “Mhm. Separate rooms. Very professional.”

She groans into her scarf, face turning beet red.

“Anyway—this way!”

You trail behind her as she leads you to the lab dome. The interior hums with energy. Screens flash with graphs and live temperature feeds from across the polar ice. A holographic projection of Earth spins slowly in the center, speckled with blinking data points.

It’s a little overwhelming. But also kind of... cozy, in that strangely Mei kind of way.

She turns back to face you, arms crossed, lips quirking. “So? What do you think?”

You lean against the nearest wall, looking around thoughtfully. “Honestly? It’s cool. And I mean, literally cool.”

“Ugh,” she groans, turning away. “You were always like this...”

You grin. “You say that like it's a bad thing.”

She doesn’t answer right away—just keeps walking, her voice quieter this time.

“I didn’t think I’d ever see you again,” she says. “Back then... when you were still—well, when you were still just a friend I “chatted” with online... I always kind of thought that was it. You’d just be... gone one day. Your signal was only one way. I could only hear so much…”

Your smile falters a little.

“Yeah. I thought so too.”

There’s a pause.

Then she turns, gesturing toward the mess hall like nothing happened. “Okay! Final stop! Food. It’s basic, but I did smuggle a few instant hotpot packs.”

“And bubble tea mix,” Snowball beeps.

“Snowball!”

You chuckle, watching Mei fluster and bicker with her tiny floaty robot. Something about it feels familiar. And warm.

Maybe you’re imagining it. But maybe not.

You can’t help but wonder if she really was that excited to see you again.

The stars stretch far above the dome now, dimmed only slightly by the heat lamps buzzing above the outside deck. You and Mei sit in bundled coats on the edge of the station’s small viewing platform, sipping ginger tea from mismatched mugs. Snowball drifts lazily nearby, acting as a mobile heater.

Mei hugs her knees to her chest, watching the sky with a quiet look.

"You know..." she starts, “I’ve been thinking about it ever since Winston sent me that message….I can’t believe that this whole time…you weren’t even from here.”

You blink, taking a slow sip. “Yeah. It’s weird, right?”

“It is,” she admits, laughing softly. “But also not. I guess I always believed there were other versions of us out there. Not just alternate timelines or decisions... but whole worlds. And with how everything’s been lately—the disturbances, the pocket collisions, the way you arrived—it kind of… makes sense. In a weird science-fiction-meets-reality way.”

She turns to you then, mug balanced in her gloves.

“So... how much do you think you know about this world?”

You pause, thinking.

“Well... bits and pieces. Like, I thought I knew a lot. In my world, Overwatch was just a game. A pretty detailed one, sure, but still fictional. You were one of the playable heroes—nervous, sweet, carried a giant freeze gun. Always working to save the planet.”

Mei chuckles lightly. “So... not too different.”

You smile.

“I remember there was this big moment called the ‘Recall’—Winston tried to bring the old agents back. Tracer responded first, I think. Then you. One of the earliest to step forward.” You shake your head slowly. “But here... that didn’t happen, right?”

Mei nods. “Nope. Not exactly.”

She tucks her knees in closer.

“There was a similar event... but it wasn’t Winston calling everyone back. It was more chaotic. We had a massive operation go wrong in Italy—turned out to be Reflector omnics impersonating Blackwatch. Reyes, McCree, Moira... they were devastated. Moira threw a chair through a lab monitor.”

You wince. “Yikes.”

“Overwatch covered it up. Gave us time off, quietly cleaned up the mess. McCree still carries that guilt.”

Your gaze shifts to the frost-covered field beyond the platform, the icy wind brushing past in a low hush.

Then your eyes wander—back toward the dome, toward the small panel of stasis pods dimly visible through a window.

You lower your voice. “And... that?”

Mei follows your gaze. Her smile fades, just slightly.

She sets her mug down beside her and folds her hands in her lap.

“Yes,” she says quietly. “That happened.”

She doesn’t say more at first. Just watches the sky with an unreadable expression.

“It wasn’t supposed to,” she murmurs. “We were only meant to be in stasis for a short time. Just until the storm passed and supply drones could reach us. But the storm lasted months. And... well... my chamber was connected to the base’s main battery. It drained power from the others... little by little.”

Your heart tightens. “Mei... I’m sorry.”

She shakes her head gently.

“They didn’t suffer, I think. Probably passed in their sleep. Peaceful.”

There’s a long pause.

Then she speaks again—softer this time, in Mandarin.

“一失足成千古恨，再回头已百年身.”

You turn to her.

She meets your eyes.

“It means... ‘A single misstep brings a thousand years of regret. By the time you turn back, a hundred years have already passed.’”

You don’t say anything.

She smiles, bittersweet. “I made a mistake. I know that. But I also know... if I spend the rest of my life dwelling on it, I’ll never move forward. I’d rather carry them with me, in the memories I still have. In the work I do. They’d want that.”

You nod, letting the silence sit between you.

“I think they’d be proud of you,” you say.

Mei looks down, cheeks warming against the cold.

“Thank you.”

You clink your mug gently against hers.

“To moving forward,” you murmur.

She smiles, and this time, it reaches her eyes.

Chapter Text

The dome glows soft amber against the pale blue of the polar sky, a bubble of warmth in a land of cold and silence. Inside, the air is filled with the subtle whirr of machines and the faint click of Mei’s typing as she logs data from her latest climate readings. You’re finishing off a mug of tea—sweet, with a strange flower note Mei insisted would “help your lungs adjust.”

She’s crouched by her blaster on a spread of blueprints and wires, tinkering with what looks like a backup temperature regulator.

“Alright,” she says, looking up at you with flushed cheeks and goggles pushed to her forehead. “Want to see how I really freeze the air?”

You come over, crouching beside her workstation as she holds up a clunky, plastic-and-metal monstrosity—her original prototype.

“This,” she announces proudly, “was my first cryo blaster. I made it in a university lab with spare parts and some... creative improvisation.”

You raise an eyebrow, eyeing the mismatched tubing and dented casing. “Is that… a humidifier tank?”

Mei grins sheepishly. “And a camping cooler. And an old soda bottle I found near the trash bins.”

“Genius or dangerous?”

“Both,” she admits, flicking a toggle switch. The old blaster sputters and hisses before emitting a tiny puff of cold mist. “It used to overheat if I fired it for more than five seconds. I had to wear gloves because the handle would shock me sometimes.”

You chuckle and pick up one of the tubes. “Hard to believe you used this to survive a cryo malfunction.”

Mei’s eyes flicker with something unreadable. “I was lucky,” she says softly, then quickly changes the subject. “Here—let me show you the new version.”

She reaches behind the bench and lifts out the sleeker model: a high-efficiency, custom-crafted design Winston helped optimize. She explains the mechanisms while you assist—holding up parts, helping her screw in adjustments, running diagnostics from the work terminal she walks you through.

“So this part,” she says, guiding your hand to the frost chamber, “compresses air moisture at negative thirty-seven Celsius before the energy pulse freezes it instantly. I added this regulator after my last expedition—too much buildup made the nozzle clog.”

You nod, genuinely fascinated. “It’s like a mini weather system in your hands.”

“I like that,” Mei smiles, pushing her goggles back into place. “Winston said the same thing once.”

You share a quiet look, both of you aware of how much you’ve both grown since your respective journeys started.

Then, casually, you smirk.
“You know, I can pull moisture from the air too. Ice, even. Sometimes I can become water.”

She blinks. “Become it?”

You nod. “Yeah. Liquid, vapor, even just... mist.”

There’s a pause. Then:

“What do you think would happen,” you muse, gesturing to her blaster, “if I turned into water and went inside this thing?”

Mei’s eyes widen in horror. “No no no! You’d get flash-frozen, accelerated through a high-pressure coil, and ejected as vaporized crystals at over 300 PSI!”

“English?”

“You’d be turned into snowflakes…”

You grin. “So you’re saying I’d be beautiful.”

She deadpans. “You’d clog the filter. ”

__________________________________________

Bundled up in heavy jackets, you and Mei step outside the dome, into the vast white silence of the Antarctic plains. Snow crunches beneath your boots as Mei sets down a field tripod and begins unpacking her portable weather scanner.

You assist her in planting collection rods into the snow, syncing data between her tablet and the drones buzzing overhead.

“You’re a natural,” Mei says, handing you a crystalline ice core sample.

You shrug. “Back home, I was more of a digital guy. But this…? This is grounding.”

She smiles. “This data will help us understand global wind shifts. We’re tracking jet stream behavior after the atmospheric rift.”

You glance upward. The auroras ripple faintly against the dim sky, like paint swirls in a bowl of water.

“It’s strange,” you admit, “being here. In a place I used to see on a screen. And now… helping you track climate drift in real time.”

She studies you for a second.

“Do you think your world and ours were always connected?” she asks softly.

You take a moment, then nod. “Maybe not physically. But spiritually? Emotionally? Yeah. In my world, you were always someone I admired. Smart, kind. People joked about picking you in-game just to be annoying… but I picked you because I thought you were cool. Literally.”

She blushes slightly, laughing. “That’s… surprisingly sweet.”

You both turn to the horizon, wind brushing snow across your boots, the sky stretching endlessly above.

Later, you help Mei log the samples. She lets you hold Snowball for a moment, who beeps in delight at your face before doing a small spin.

Mei looks up from her terminal. “Thanks for helping today.”

You lean back in the chair across from her. “Thanks for letting me. I know I just dropped into your world, but it’s nice… being useful again.”

She nods, eyes warm.

The cold had started creeping in as the sun dipped beneath the endless Antarctic horizon, staining the snowfield with lavender shadows. Mei finishes logging the last batch of sensor readings and shuts her laptop with a satisfied sigh.

“Whew… I think that’s it for the day,” she says, rubbing her gloved hands together. “Time to warm up.”

You follow her through the connecting hallway back to the dome, snow melting from your boots into the floor grating as you step inside. The heat hits you like a soft wall, comforting and dry. A long, quiet day behind you, and somehow, it doesn’t feel like work—it feels like something meaningful.

Mei leads you toward the sleeping quarters, deeper into the quieter parts of the station. A subtle hum of the base’s systems underlines the silence between you.

“The pod they assigned you is just across from mine,” she says over her shoulder, brushing a few stray strands of hair out of her eyes. “It’s not big, but it’s cozy.”

She taps a panel beside a curved metallic door, and it slides open with a pneumatic hiss.

And sure enough—it’s small. But warm. Soft lighting glows from the curved ceiling. A folded fleece blanket rests at the edge of a bed tucked neatly against the wall. Shelves are stacked with a few welcome essentials: basic toiletries, some protein bars, a mug labeled “Science is Cool!” (definitely Mei’s doing), and a book about deep-sea ecosystems.

You step in, shoulders relaxing immediately.

“This is… really nice,” you murmur, glancing around. “You decorated it?”

Mei steps inside behind you, her breath puffing slightly in the cooled air near the doorway. “Well… I had some time before you arrived. I wasn’t sure what you'd need. I tried to guess.”

You smile at her. “You guessed right.”

She lingers a little, hands clasped in front of her. “You did good work today,” she says, a little softer. “It’s strange… but having you here makes everything feel a little less lonely.”

There’s a quiet beat. You nod, meaning it.

“Same,” you reply. “I know it’s temporary, but… I’m glad I get to work with you.”

She smiles gently, her eyes glinting in the low light. “Me too.”

Snowball floats in with a small ding , clearly deciding the moment had become too serious. He zips up to Mei, projecting a little gif of a cartoon penguin slipping on ice, which makes her giggle.

“Well,” she says, turning to leave, “Get some rest. I’ll see you bright and early for the next data run.”

As the door closes behind her, you sink onto the bed and stare at the soft ceiling lights above. You feel the quiet cold beyond the walls—but in here, surrounded by the hum of tech, the soft scent of mint tea lingering from the thermos she left behind, and the faint echo of her voice…

_________________

Two Weeks Later
The wind hasn’t changed.

It still roars like a wild animal across the Antarctic plains, rattling the sides of the dome and singing through the ice tunnels. But somehow, the base feels quieter. Or maybe you’ve just gotten used to the rhythm of this frozen place.

You zip up your jacket, backpack slung over your shoulder, filled with research samples, frozen vials, and a datapad loaded with the two weeks’ worth of field data you helped Mei collect. It feels heavier than it should.

Mei’s waiting for you by the shuttle bay. Her goggles are tucked up onto her head, bangs tousled by the wind. Snowball hovers beside her, unusually quiet.

“I, um…” she starts, but you both laugh at the awkward timing of your words overlapping.

You rub the back of your neck. “You go first.”

Mei presses her lips together, then looks at you with a soft smile. “I was just going to say… thank you. I know this was supposed to be work, but it felt more than that. You helped me finish a month's worth of sampling in half the time.”

You chuckle. “What can I say? I have a gift for lugging ice sensors through subzero wind tunnels.”

She grins, but her expression falters slightly. “Still. I meant what I said. Having you here… it changed the atmosphere. Even in a place like this.”

You glance out the window to the white expanse. “I think I needed this too. Not just the research… the quiet. The time to think.”

Mei folds her arms, then looks up at you. “You never told me what you were thinking.”

You offer a half-smile. “That I might miss this more than I expected.”