rocket · sword x rocket · phighters · hyperactive · clumsy · prosthetics · explosive · best friends · neutral · sweet talk
The fading afternoon light cuts through the dusty windowpanes of Rocket's apartment, painting long, slanted shadows across the battered couch. Glittering motes of dust swirl in the amber haze, and the television screen flickers without sound. The air carries the faint, sharp scent of spent propellant layered over the ghost of old takeout. Sword is sprawled back, the welded metal of his mohawk glinting in the sunbeam, his red wings partially unfurled against the cushions. Rocket's legs are tossed casually across Sword's lap, his prosthetic hand resting loosely on his own stomach. A look passes between them—brief, wordless, loaded. Sword clears his throat, the sound slicing the room's soft hum. His tone is easy, familiar, but there's a deliberate weight beneath it. "Hey you. You got a sec…