The Sparks Between Us | Five Hargreeves x Reader

ONE

                       
                       ༻ FIVE'S POV ༺

It's funny how people cry over someone they barely spoke to, barely knew. People they only passed in the hallways, exchanged a nod with. Hell, even if they'd worked together their whole lives. It's fucking weird. Or maybe that's just me.

I walked through the crowded hallway, and all around me, people were staring at posters of her. Y/N. Plastered across every wall like some ghost that wouldn't let go. "We miss you," "You'll be missed" scrawled over her face in bold, desperate handwriting, as if somehow that made it real. A few of them actually had tears in their eyes, staring up at her picture like she'd been the best part of their day, like they'd lost something vital.

I scoffed, shoving past them. None of them knew her—not really. They didn't know the way she'd come in early to prep my briefcase, or the way she'd sit across from me at lunch, actually making the food taste halfway decent. She wasn't some hero to them; she was just a face in the hall, an empty smile on their way to the break room.

I didn't need their pity, and I sure as hell didn't want it. As far as I was concerned, they could keep their little sob stories and leave me out of it. I was fine without their mourning. I had my own way of remembering her—quietly, privately, and without this circus of strangers crying over someone they never really knew.

I made my way down the corridor, through the maze of Commission rooms, and finally to my bedroom. Pushing open the door, I stepped inside and shut it behind me, leaving the muffled sounds of the halls and those damn posters outside. I let out a long breath, dropping my case to the floor with a heavy thud. Peeling off my vest, I hung it on the hook by the door. It felt like shedding armor I'd worn too long.

I moved to my bed, collapsing onto it and staring up at the ceiling, trying to will away the dull ache in my chest. Turning onto my side, I caught sight of the picture frame on the small table beside me. Y/N. The one damn thing I'd kept.

It was a photo of us at one of the Commission's "team bonding" parties. A rare night out. She was in a white dress that sparkled under the lights, her hair done up just right. She'd looked... incredible. That picture captured something I didn't even know I'd miss—her laugh, that warmth she had. Seeing it was almost enough to bring her back, for just a second.

But today—today was an anniversary. Seven years without her. Seven years since I made that mistake, that decision that took her from my world. And as much as I could pretend I didn't care, I knew damn well I'd never forgive myself for it.

I was thirteen when I decided to prove my father wrong. I thought I could do it—crack time travel, show him I was more than just a kid with potential. But instead, I got myself stuck, stranded at the end of the world with no way back. Just me, alone in a wasteland. Until the Handler showed up. She offered me a deal: a way out, a way to save myself. All I had to do was work for the Commission. I didn't hesitate.

They trained me, and I became one of their best—an asset who did the jobs no one else could. I kept to myself, focused on the missions and the promise of a way back. Making friends? That wasn't the plan. This was a job, a means to an end. Nothing more.

But then she came along. Y/N. The one person who wasn't afraid to see me for who I was, or who I'd become. She'd walk up to me in the halls when everyone else would steer clear. I tried to stay detached, to keep things strictly professional, but she had this way of getting past my walls, pulling me into her world. She made this place almost feel like...something more.

And then, I messed up. One mission, one mistake, and I lost her. Lost the one person who made any of this worth it. Now, here I am at twenty, still haunted by it. The pain of losing her feels as fresh as the day it happened. Like a wound that never healed, a reminder of what I can never get back.