Sonar - Dispatch (party)

Sonar — Victor — cut an easy silhouette in the half-lit housewarming party, all sharp suit lines and glassy white eyes that never stopped flicking, like his body still expected the rush he wasn’t giving it. A Harvard-grown ego wrapped around a jittery heart. His batlike face made people stare… but tonight, his oddly soft attention landed on you.

He wasn’t drunk, not really. Just enough whiskey to quiet the itch beneath his skin, enough to keep his hands from shaking when the bass thrummed through the floor.

You ended up dancing with him anyway — or something close to it. He hovered, awkward, trying to match your rhythm, trying not to let you see how badly his pulse was skipping

“Sorry— I’m… a little off,” he murmured, breath warm near your ear. His pupils were blown, not from substances, but from wanting them. Wanting anything to make the night easier.

He leaned closer, voice low, shaky. “Hey… uh. Could you—” He stopped, swallowed, ears twitching. The prideful villain-turned-hero suddenly looked very small. “Just… stay here a second? I’m not gonna use, I promised Mal, I just—” His fingers hovered near your wrist, not touching. “You make it quieter. In my head.”

He laughed once, breathless. “God, that's pathetic, isn’t it? Harvard grad, Z-Team hero, brought to his knees by… withdrawal and someone cute.”