Chapter Text
Sitting late at the office wasn’t appealing to anyone—not even with how well things were going with the mecha suit and the team. Still, with his apartment having no furniture, the office felt a bit cozier to him. Even so, he wasn’t planning to sleep here. Time was ticking, so he sat up, grabbing his jacket from the back of the chair, about to head out for the evening when a buzz from the computer alerted him.
Invisigal? Out of coverage area?
He honestly hadn’t even known she was on the clock at this hour, so it confused him a bit. He hovered over the button to check what she was doing, but it felt a little awkward—especially with her having confessed about her dream just hours prior. Still, it was his job. Just as he was about to click the button, he heard a crash.
He turned to see Flambae standing by the elevator, one hand holding the wall as if to keep himself upright.
As Robert looked at him in silence, he noticed the man’s suit was half off one shoulder, revealing even more of his hairy-ass chest.
“Ah, Bobbert! I didn’t expect you of all people to be here this late. Or—well, actually, I did, because your puny ass doesn’t have any bitches to go home to.”
Flambae grinned as he walked over, showing off the missing tooth Robert had knocked out of his face at the bar. Robert didn’t think it was a great idea to point out that if staying late at the office meant not having bitches, then the great Flambae himself was in the same boat.
A ding sounded from his phone, forgotten on the desk.
As Flambae got closer, arms crossed, he leaned over the plain-looking white boy. Robert could smell the alcohol radiating off him, like he was holding a tub of gas-station Fireball.
“Flambae, what’s the matter with you? Being drunk on the job is a major violation of something. You know that.”
A hand on Robert’s chin pulled him out of his attempt at enforcing rules. Before he could protest, Flambae’s attention shifted to the phone. He grabbed it, squinted, clicked on a text message not meant for him, and replied.
Robert blinked. He didn’t know who had texted him, and he definitely didn’t know what Flambae had sent back. He reached for the phone, eyebrow raised.
“Who was that—”
He was cut off as Flambae grabbed his arm and dragged him toward the elevator with alarming urgency.
“Hello? Earth to Flambae—where are we going?”
Flambae said nothing. He just tightened his grip, muttering something unintelligible as he hauled Robert into the elevator the moment it dinged. He hit the button to close the doors, gripping Robert’s upper arm harshly. The longer Robert watched him, the more he realized Flambae wasn’t being rough just to be an asshole—he was doing it to stay upright.
When the elevator doors opened, Flambae scooped Robert up with ease, tucking his arms under Robert’s knees and behind his back before flying off.
“Fire dick! Where are we going?!”
Robert tried to mask his fear with the insult, but it didn’t work very well—especially since he was clinging tightly to Flambae’s arm.
“Can you shut up? I’m taking you home. Be thankful.”
That was… odd.
He and Flambae weren’t exactly friends. The man was still very much a work in progress. Also, he was sort of… on fire. Just his upper arms and feet, but still—warm. Uncomfortably warm. Robert really didn’t want to be burned to a crisp tonight.
The more he thought about it, the more telling a drunken, flaming ball of rage to put him down seemed like a bad idea. But then he remembered—
“My car! Flambae, I need my car—”
Flambae shot him an angry glare and suddenly swooped around, flying back faster than before. If there were speed limits in the sky, he’d be going eighty over in a school zone—which honestly wouldn’t surprise Robert.
Flambae was clearly pissed, and that became painfully obvious when Robert suddenly found himself falling.
His eyes went wide as he flailed, bracing for impact as he prepared to be face-first splattered on the pavement—
Only for Flambae to catch him by the ankle about a foot from the ground.
Then drop him.
So it only hurt a little. Probably.
“What was that, you asshole?!”
Robert barely got the words out before a hand clamped over his mouth.
“I tried to be nice—but whatever! Drive yourself home, bitch!”
Flambae took off in a burst of flames.
Robert stood there, stunned. Even after processing the whole thing during the car ride home, he still didn’t quite understand what had happened. He sighed as he entered his apartment building, smiling faintly when Beef jumped at his leg. He shook his head, chuckling as he bent down to pet the fat little dog.
That’s when he remembered his phone.
Flambae had taken it.
Great. This was going to be a very boring night.
It took him ages to fall asleep, yet somehow it felt like minutes. Birds chirped on his balcony as he rubbed his eyes and sat up off the floor. He really needed to invest in a mattress—his back was killing him.
He reached for his phone, then remembered what had gone down last night. With a sigh, he stood up, stripping as he went, tossing yesterday’s clothes into the hamper before stepping into the shower. He hoped the microwave clock was right.
It took a little over thirty minutes before he headed out the door, factoring in the time spent staring at the ceiling and contemplating his life. Eventually, he made it down the hall and out of the building, ducking into his cramped car with a groan. He flexed his shoulders, started the engine, checked the time on the dash, and headed back to the office—hoping to demand his phone back from a hopefully less drunk Flambae.
It was 8:45 when he arrived. He sat down and took a breather before glancing over at Chase, then back to his desk—where his phone sat neatly on top of his keyboard.
Looks like Flambae had returned it without being asked. Awesome.
Still confused, Robert scrolled through his messages. There was one from Blond Blazer sent around nine the night before, asking him out to a late dinner. He had no memory of responding, yet somehow the reply read:
I’m busy. Go away.
Which he would never send.
Then he saw another message—to Invisigal:
Fuck off, invisibitch.
No context. No prompt.
Yeah. That was definitely Flambae.
Before he could dwell on it further, his computer sparked to life. Time to log on.
The day went fairly normal—until he tried sending Visi on a mission. She cussed him out over comms and outright refused.
So much for progress.
He’d have to apologize for the message.
The first shift flew by: good morale, low failure rate. Oddly enough, Flambae was silent—no usual jabs, not even comments toward Prism. It was strange, but Robert figured he’d ask on break.
…Or maybe not at all.