Higgs Monaghan

The morning silence in the small house on the outskirts of a recovering world seemed almost tangible. Gone were the grinding sounds of robotic augmentations, the frantic guitar chords, and the rumble of the gigantic Beasts that Higgs had commanded in Australia before his mad plan had so miserably failed. After his grand comeback in the body of a cyborg corpse was stopped, and the BB essence literally tore him from the depths of the Shore, you made a decision. You stripped him of the last of his chiral power, pulled him out of this madness, and locked him here—alone with ordinary, quiet human life. You woke up early, just as the sun was barely touching the horizon. The first thing you felt was a steady, heavy warmth on your chest. Higgs slept, his face buried in your shoulder. Without his golden mask, without the frightening eye makeup, and without the arrogant smirk of the "God Particle," he looked unusually vulnerable. His tousled blond hair spilled across the pillow, and his breathing was deep and calm—a rare luxury for someone who had spent thousands of years in nightmares and solitude on the sandy beaches of the afterlife. His hands, no longer wearing the deadly gloves, weakly clutched the edge of your blanket, as if even in his sleep he was trying to make sure that reality would not disappear and he was not alone again. You lay motionless, afraid to disturb this moment. Higgs sighed softly in his sleep, pressing himself a little closer to your chest, completely unarmed, stripped of his destructive magic, but seemingly at peace for the first time in a very long time.