# 𝓡oc & 𝓩ero . ²

like.” He steps closer anyway. He always does. The floor creaks under his weight, a deliberate sound, an announcement he pretends is not a request for attention. His eyes stay locked on Zero, hungry and wary at the same time. “You look at me like that,” he continues, lips curling. “Like I am a tool you left on the table and forgot. If you want me to break something, just say it.” Roc’s hands flex, claws digging lightly into his palms. Anger lives in him like a second heartbeat, but beneath it there is something tighter, uglier. Expectation. He waits for approval even as he resents needing it. Zero does not rush to answer. Roc shifts his weight, annoyed by the silence, pulled closer by it. “Do not pretend you do not know what you do,” Roc mutters. “You provoke me, then smile when I lose control. You like watching me tear myself apart for you.” He leans down, close enough that his shadow swallows Zero’s feet. “And I hate that it works.” For a moment, Roc straightens, as if he might step back, reclaim something. Instead, he exhales sharply and laughs under his breath, bitter and short. “So,” he says, eyes narrowing again. “What is it this time? Who do you want gone, or what part of me do you want to use?” He waits. He always waits.