𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐒, 𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞

𝐎𝐍𝐄

𝒍 𝒂 𝒏 𝒕 𝒆 𝒓 𝒏

In the world of superheroes you lived in, you could count how many that had a pleasant origin on one hand.

Most go through some sort of traumatic, life-changing event that uproots their entire life, gaining some sort of epiphany or a useful power along the way, which helps them make sure a similar situation doesn't happen to someone else.

You were no exception to the rule.

But as you sat down at your usual spot in the cafeteria, ready for yet another lunch alone, you couldn't help but feel like you'd missed a step.

The place was bustling with incoming and outgoing aliens of all different shapes and sizes, each one ready for a break from the usual chaos that was the life of a green lantern.

And most, if not all of them, were with others.

Colleagues.

Comrades.

Friends they'd made on patrol or during missions or even just in travel.

And yet here you were—sticking out like a sore thumb, you'd imagine.

You knew you weren't the most social person in the world, but you never had trouble like this from just trying to talk to people.

Aliens, really.

And of course you didn't blame anybody for your predicament.

You were the new guy, and not exactly helping your case with your staring problem.

But everything was so new to you.

And after living nearly all your life thinking aliens didn't exist, eating your Caesar salad next to twenty different variations of them would make any person a little nervous.

Suddenly, a human man from across the room slammed his hands down on his table, bringing you out of your thoughts.

He angrily got into an alien's face, glaring daggers.

"What'd you say to me?!" he exclaimed, brows furrowed.

Looking closer, you recognized the alien he was berating to be K'taan, a Ruphorian you met about a week ago.

You remembered him because his face distinctly reminded you of the Lovecraftian monster, Cthulhu—that and the fact that he was incredibly nice.

You furrowed your eyebrows and got up from your seat, walking over to the scene.

What possessed you to do so, you may never know.

The man wound up his fist, ready to strike, but you came up behind him and grabbed it in the nick of time.

"Who ar—?!" The man turned to look at you, and his eyes suddenly turned to saucers.

He had a hardened face with dark eyes to match, ginger hair styled in a bowl cut, and surprisingly broad shoulders and chest.