The worst part of adjusting to life post-Paradoors, Cortez thought, wasn't recovering after the idiotic hunger strike he had decided to go on. It wasn't coming home and cleaning out a dusty apartment. It wasn't even tolerating Tippy again, despite the everything the self-proclaimed God had done to the city, as well as Cortez personally.

No, the worst part was going back to work as a doorman, as if he was expected to be normal about his unfortunate choice of occupation.

Cortez tapped his foot and checked the time again. Still an hour before his shift ended. Granted, the last time he checked, it had been an hour and eight minutes, so this was an improvement. He sighed and stared blankly into space, pedestrians walking in and out of his vision without a care.

Not for the first time, his eyes drifted to Tippy's old post.

They hadn't hired anyone to take the position, and maybe they never would. Cortez hoped they wouldn't, at least. He would rather give Tippy his job back over having to interact with someone new.

He sighed and checked his watch again.

It was going to be a long shift.

---

After a few weeks, Cortez thought he had fallen into a routine.

He went to work. He spent his shift counting the hours until he went home. He went home and watched TV until he fell asleep. Sometimes he woke up in time to turn the TV off and crawl into his actual bed for the rest of the night. Other times? He didn't.

He occasionally had lunch with Shirley on a day off. "Have you talked to the others lately?" she asked one afternoon.

"Which others?" said Cortez.

"You know." Shirley paused to take a sip of her drink. "Freya, Harl… Mostly Harl, really. He's been asking about you."

A lump formed in Cortez's throat. "I haven't," was all he said.

Shirley nodded. "Any reason why?"

"Well, Freya's so busy, and since she's the fire chief—"

"You know who I'm talking about."

Cortez sighed. "Being around Harl brings up a lot of complex emotions," he said. "It's… hard to process."

Shirley raised an eyebrow. "Any bad emotions?"

"No, of course not, I just—" His voice caught. "Shirley, he died for me."

"Oh," Shirley said. "I guess… yeah, I get that."

They fell silent for a few moments. Cortez covered his face with his hands. "Even if he didn't actually die," he said, "he was still willing to. How do I act around him after that?"

"I don't think there's a right answer. At least, not an easy one." Shirley shook her head. "But I don't think avoiding him is it."

"I know," he mumbled. "I should talk to him. Even if I can't, I have to."

Shirley smiled. "Be honest with him, alright? He'll understand."

Of course he would, Cortez thought. Harl was so utterly patient, kind, selfless to the point of putting other's lives before his own, and so forgiving he would reach to the one who hurt all of them and pull him out of the darkness.

He wondered how Tippy was doing. Hopefully he appreciated how good his boyfriend was. Cortez snorted.

"What's so funny?" Shirley asked.

"Nothing," said Cortez. "So what have you been up to?"

---

Harl showed up during a work shift. Cortez spotted him down the street on his cart, waving so hard he wasn't steering properly. When he pulled up, one of his wheels had a new dent in it. "Hi, Cortez!" he said brightly. "Shirley said you wanted to talk to me!"

"Uh," Cortez said. His uniform suddenly felt much too hot. "I, uh, wanted to catch up, yes."

"That's good!" Harl dismounted and beamed at him. "You're working now, right? I can pick you up after your shift?"

He swallowed hard. "Yes, that would be good. I'm normally very tired after my shift, but… it'll be nice to talk to you again."

"Yeah! I guess Shirley said I mentioned you, right?" Harl laughed. "I dunno, I just haven't talked to you since that dinner a while back, and I wanted to know how you were doing. Is everything good?"

Cortez nodded. "Everything's fine. Back to work, back in my apartment…"

"Back to normal, huh?"

As if he could be. "Yes," Cortez said. "Speaking of, it's nice to see you, but I am still on the clock. My shift ends at five, so I'll see you then?"

"Right!" Harl got back on his bike. "See you later, Cortez!"

He started pedaling again, struggling to move the damaged wheel. A few feet away, he stopped, grabbed it, and bent it back into shape. Somehow, it looked better than it did before.

The next time Cortez went to let a guest in, the entrance led to a swirling vortex of brightly-colored doors. He shut it, apologized, and reopened it to the actual hotel lobby. He overheard them telling the receptionist inside. Cortez decided not to care.

---

Cortez clocked out as early as his boss would let him and went outside to wait for Harl. He took off his jacket and tucked it under his arm; the air was pleasantly cool, this time of day. It was nice to be able to enjoy it.

"Cortez?"

He snapped out of it. "Harl!" he said, turning around. "I didn't see you!"

Harl giggled. "I just got here," he said. "Where did you want to go?"

"Dinner, maybe?" Cortez shrugged. "We could get takeout and sit at the park. It's a nice evening."

"That sounds nice," Harl said. "What kinds of food do you like?"

Cortez found a nice Indian place on his phone that he remembered enjoying, and sat down on the bike behind Harl. "It's a block down from Sinclair's side of the arch," he said. "I can give you directions, if you need them."

"Oh, I know where that is!" Harl started pedaling with a jolt that almost knocked Cortez off. "Hold on," he said belatedly.

There was nothing to hold on to. Cortez put his hands on Harl's shoulders. He didn't object, so Cortez assumed it was okay.

Harl rode straight past the turn towards the tower. Cortez opened his mouth, then decided not to say anything. Harl knew what he was doing, right?

---

They ended up eating at a sub shop after Harl got hopelessly lost. "Sorry," he said with a sheepish grin. "I'm not used to this."

"Don't worry about it." Cortez paused. "Used to what?"

"Oh," said Harl. "I was trying to use my powers."

"How so?"

Harl furrowed his brow. "I can sort of… feel where things are, by feeling where the doors are. It was easier in Paradoors, because everything was doors, but I thought I could do it here, too." He looked at the menu. "Oh! They have cheesesteaks!"

Cortez smiled. "You're doing better than I am if you can get any use from your powers," he said. "I just end up opening doors to the wrong places."

"I do that too!" Harl laughed. "But they are useful, I think? They've already helped me a lot!"

"Fair enough." Cortez squinted at the menu. "They have a taco sandwich? That can't possibly taste good."

They got their food and sat down. Harl took a huge bite and immediately started talking through it. "What have you been up to? Shirley said you were busy with work."

"You could say that," said Cortez. "Work is draining. I haven't had the energy for anything else."

Harl beamed at him. "I'm glad you had the energy for this!"

Cortez smiled back. "Me too. So what have you been up to?"

"Not much, I guess? Just trying to…" Harl gestured with one hand. "…do things again. I keep trying to help people like I did before, but it's not the same. People look at me differently, and… I dunno. Sometimes I'm not sure I like how they treat me."

Cortez blinked. "Surely they can't be treating you poorly. You saved the city, after all."

"They don't, but…" Harl swallowed his food and sighed. "I still don't like it. It feels like they don't see me as me anymore, just… some hero. I'm not. I'm still me. I kinda wish they'd go back to not wanting me around."

"What?" Cortez shook his head. "You didn't deserve that back then, Harl, and you don't deserve it now."

"Yeah, but… "

"They didn't see you then, either." Cortez reached across the table and put his hand on Harl's. "Anyone who knows who you are would want you around, hero or not. I know I do."

Harl managed a smile. "Thanks, Cortez," he said. "Um, but let's talk about something else."

"Fair enough." Cortez's face flushed and he retracted his hand. "Have you seen anything good on TV lately?"

"I don't watch a lot, but I heard on the radio there's a show that's supposed to be good! Have you seen it?"

They chatted late into the day, long after they finished their sandwiches. Eventually, the sun sank low to the horizon, and they had to admit it was time to go home. Cortez got on the bike again and Harl got him to his apartment without getting lost.

"Bye, Cortez," he said. "Do you want to do this again?"

"Oh, of course. When were you thinking?"

Harl shrugged. "In a week? We could make it a Sunday thing."

"That would be wonderful," Cortez said. "Then I'll see you next Sunday. Goodnight, Harl."

"Okay!" Harl grinned. "See you then!"

They parted. Harl rode back down the street with a wave. Cortez waved back, a small smile on his face, before exhaustion set in and he went inside.

---

The job began wearing at him—well, it was always wearing at him after the whole Paradoors incident, but when he started to notice it wearing at him was a few months later, when the city collectively decided to move on without him. Cortez stood in front of that damned building all day, and went home at the end of his shifts to sit in front of the television and maybe eat something. He was either losing or gaining weight, whichever was worse, he was sleeping horribly, and as the days dragged on, Cortez knew that it would never end.

Harl kept him going. No matter how awful he felt, every Sunday he cleaned up, put on something decent, and went to their weekly lunch. He loved to see Harl's face light up when Cortez walked in, loved for him to wave him over to the same table they ate at every week, loved to listen to Harl excitedly chatting about the past few days while Cortez got to sit and stare at him with a dopey smile.

He left their lunch and waved to Harl until his bike's jingle faded into the distance, and after weeks of their routine he realized: Cortez was deeply in love with Harl Hubbs.

His face fell into a frown. He stood there, staring at where Harl's bike had been, and didn't move to leave until a passerby stopped to ask him if he was okay. He walked away without answering.

Obviously his crush wouldn't go anywhere. Harl was already in a relationship, and Cortez had no intention of getting between him and Tippy. They loved each other dearly, he knew that much. Harl may have saved his life, but he would have done that for anyone.

Cortez's breath caught. That was the truth, wasn't it? Harl didn't die for him because he liked him—how could he, after how Cortez had treated him? Harl died for him because Harl always put others before himself, even when it came to his own life.

He reached his apartment and collapsed on his bed. Tomorrow he had work, again. The next day, too. Saturday he had a long shift, and then Sunday it was time to see Harl again. He could at least make it until Sunday, and then he could make it until the next, and the next, and the next.

He told himself that was all he needed.

---

Midway through a shift, Cortez heard a familiar jingle.

His head snapped up. Sure enough, he saw Harl on his bike waving at him from down the street. Cortez raised a hand and slowly waved back.

Harl pulled up with a smile. "Hi, Cortez!" he said. "I was in the area, so I thought I'd stop by! How are you?"

Cortez's feet moved without thinking, carrying him to the bike. Harl's cheerful expression turned to a concerned frown. "Are you alright?" he asked.

"I…" Cortez wrung his hands together. "I've been better," he said, trying to use a casual tone but unsure how well he succeeded. He glanced back at his workplace. He was still on the clock with another two hours left on his shift. He had taken his last break already. The thought of staying for the remaining hours, only to go home and pass out until the next day, and the next day, and the next…

"Anything I can do to help?"

Cortez moved in a daze, barely feeling in control of his own body. He swung his leg over the bike seat, Harl scooching forward to give him room, and sat down with his arms wrapped around Harl's waist.

"Just pedal," he said.

"Okay," said Harl.

Harl rode in silence. Cortez rested his head on Harl's back and closed his eyes. He could feel every bump in the road they passed over, rattling the bike and bouncing him in his seat. He focused on the buzz of Harl's powers, flowing just under his skin. Cortez had it, too; Harl's was much stronger, but they both came from the same source. Harl had even shared some of that power with him.

Cortez' heart jumped when he remembered Harl's lips against his own.

It hadn't meant anything, he told himself. It was how Tippy shared his with Harl, and so Harl had done the same to Cortez. Despite knowing this, he couldn't help but think—what if it had been something more?

Maybe he could pretend it could happen again.

"Do you want me to take you anywhere?"

Harl's voice jolted him out of his daze. The cart had stopped moving. Cortez sat up and looked around.

"We're close to my apartment," he said.

Harl nodded. "Do you want to go home?"

God, what was there for him at his apartment? "Sure," he said. "Thank you, Harl."

"Of course," Harl said. "I hope you feel better. Let me know how I can help, okay?"

His heart ached. "You've done more than enough, Harl," he said. "Just take me home."

In his bedroom, his phone buzzed with angry texts from his boss. Cortez silenced it and collapsed on his bed.

---

Shirley heard the knock on her door at seven in the evening, after she was done with work. "Shirley? Are you home?"

"That you, Harl?" she called. "Come on in!"

Harl came in and attempted to greet her with a smile. Shirley raised an eyebrow at how clearly forced it was, and he dropped it the next moment. "Something's got you down," Shirley said. "What's wrong?"

"I just wanted to ask you something," Harl said. "Um… you're friends with Cortez, right?"

"Yeah, I'd say so. Is something up with him?"

"I guess?" Harl wrung his hands together. "I'm worried about him."

Shirley frowned. "You and me both," she said. "Come on, have a seat."

They sat at the kitchen table. Shirley put water on to boil, though Harl said he wasn't in the mood for tea. "It's there if you change your mind," Shirley said, "and no harm done if you don't. Tell me what's going on."

Harl stared at the table. "We've been meeting for lunch every week," he said, "and… I dunno. He doesn't like his job, but he seemed okay until today."

Shirley nodded. When Harl didn't continue, she prompted him. "What happened today?"

"I stopped by while he was working, and he kind of… left his shift to ride around with me, I guess?" Harl smiled, a real one this time. "It was nice, but… it kind of worried me. He didn't tell me anything, just that he was having a bad day, and I don't know if I really helped or not."

"Believe me, Harl, you've been helping."

He looked up. "I have?"

"Cortez's always had depression, and the whole Paradoors thing made it real bad. He's been better in the past couple of weeks." Shirley cracked a smile. "I didn't know about your lunches, but it makes sense that it would be your influence. He cares about you a lot."

"That's… good to hear." Harl paused. "But he's still depressed. How can I help him?"

Shirley sighed. "Cortez never really recovered from Paradoors," she said. "I mean… he told you what happened when you were gone, right?"

"Um…" Harl shook his head. "I know he was… sick, or something?"

"Not exactly." Shirley looked away. "He should probably be the one to tell you this, but…"

She trailed off. Behind her, the kettle started to whistle.

"But what?" Harl pressed. "If he wasn't sick…"

Shirley stood up and took the kettle off the burner. "He was doing really bad," she said as she made her tea. "The doctors wouldn't let him leave the medical tent. Cortez… he said it didn't matter what happened to him, because everyone was gonna die anyway." She paused. "He stopped eating. We could barely convince him to have water."

When she looked back at Harl, he was wide-eyed in horror. "He was that bad?" he whispered.

"Harl, we thought you were dead, and Cortez thought you died to save him." Shirley sat back down at the table. "It was hard for all of us, but…"

Harl slowly shook his head. "I had no idea," he said. "I didn't…"

He lapsed into silence. Shirley cleared her throat. "You should talk to him," she said. "About… you know. What happened."

"Will that help him?"

"All I know is that it's not helping to not talk about it."

"I guess so," Harl said.

He sat there for a few minutes longer. Shirley drank her tea and let him think for a time. "You want to stay longer?" she asked. "If you want the tea…"

"I should go home," Harl said. "Thanks, Shirley."

"No problem, Harl." She smiled at him. "I'm here for you, too."

Harl nodded and managed a smile back.