After hearing the doorbell, Ethan turned to glance at Venom, who curled up from his shoulder and grinned knowingly. "Relax," Venom said with a chuckle, his fanged smile spreading across Ethan's collarbone like a creeping shadow. "Not an enemy. Open it."
Ethan narrowed his eyes. Venom rarely gave reassurances unless he was absolutely certain—and given their symbiotic connection, he usually was. So, Ethan calmly approached the door, already guessing who might be standing on the other side.
As he opened it, the familiar sight confirmed his suspicion—Felicia Hardy, the enigmatic and captivating woman also known as Black Cat, stood in the doorway.
She wore a sleek, off-shoulder black dress that exuded grace without appearing overly formal. In her hand was a charming wicker basket containing a small bonsai tree and a handwritten card, her version of a quiet offering—comforting, subtle, but unmistakably personal.
Her choice of attire and gift reflected that she had given this visit careful thought. Felicia clearly didn't want to evoke the pain of recent losses by dressing too formally, but she also wanted to express her care with appropriate respect.
Ethan gave a small, polite smile and took the basket from her, stepping aside to let her in. "Thanks," he said, his voice calm but with an undertone of fatigue. "Come in."
Felicia stepped inside gracefully, her heels soft against the floorboards. She paused briefly in the living room, eyeing her surroundings. The layout was still familiar from her previous visits—tidy, minimalistic—but one new detail caught her eye.
"…Why do you have so many chocolate boxes?" she asked curiously, spotting at least four different varieties stacked near the computer desk.
Venom, who had retracted back into Ethan's body, murmured from within, "You can't expect mental stability on an empty stomach."
Ethan rolled his eyes but said aloud, "Leon—that's what Venom insists on calling himself lately—he's got a thing for chocolate now. Says it calms my spirit."
Felicia blinked in amusement but didn't press further. Instead, she glanced toward the kitchen where Ethan was heading. "Coffee? Or tea?" he asked over his shoulder.
"Coffee, please."
He nodded and began operating the sleek espresso machine. While it gurgled to life, he also filled the kettle for tea. Felicia, meanwhile, walked toward the kitchen counter and noticed a chopping board prepped with fresh vegetables.
"Were you about to cook?" she asked, stepping closer.
"Yeah," Ethan replied, handing her the steaming cup. "Pulled an all-nighter on something… just woke up. You eaten yet?"
Felicia hesitated, then gave a sheepish shrug. "Actually… I skipped lunch."
Ethan gave a slight smirk. "Then stay. I remember you like chicken, so I'm thinking sweet and sour chicken strips—kind of like those dumplings you tried last time."
Felicia's eyes lit up at the memory. "Yes! That flavor was amazing. Most Chinese food here's too sweet, but yours has layers."
Ethan got to work efficiently, pulling out fresh chicken breast, scallions, and ginger while the rice cooker hummed in the corner. Felicia watched, feeling slightly embarrassed. She hadn't meant to intrude during a meal, much less join it. Originally, she had come to talk—to check in on him after York's death and his visible disappearance from campus life.
But now, here she was, watching him cook again.
"Hope I'm not just a freeloader," she muttered, almost to herself.
Ethan looked up from slicing ginger. "You're not. Honestly, it's nice to have company—especially someone who doesn't look at me like I'm… broken."
Felicia didn't reply immediately. Instead, she took a sip of the coffee and stared out the window, hiding her expression. The truth was, she'd noticed Ethan pulling away from others. People whispered after York's death—about Ethan's strange resilience, his sudden brilliance in class, and his coldness. But Felicia, who knew what it was to wear masks, saw the strain behind his calm exterior.
And while she didn't know about Venom, she sensed something different in him. Something darker… but not evil.
She turned back to Ethan. "So… were you working on something important last night?"
"Just tightening a net," Ethan said cryptically. "Waiting for a rat to walk into it."
Felicia blinked, unsure if he was being metaphorical. But something about his tone—the cold, methodical edge to it—made her realize this wasn't schoolwork.
Ethan shifted to the stove and added oil to a pan. As the sizzling began, he changed the subject. "Still planning to transfer out of ESU next semester?"
"Yeah, maybe Empire State West," she said. "But I'm still deciding."
"Got your eye on any new… extracurriculars?"
Felicia smiled slyly. "Maybe. Something a little more exciting than just fencing club."
They shared a glance. Beneath the surface of casual words and sizzling oil, a current of unspoken things passed between them. Unfinished stories. Secrets.
As the sweet and tangy scent of caramelizing sauce filled the air, Ethan stirred the chicken thoughtfully.
Outside, the city remained oblivious. But inside this quiet apartment, something was beginning to shift—subtle, but inevitable.
And Felicia Hardy, whether she realized it yet or not, had just stepped deeper into Ethan's world.
Felicia regretted her words the moment they left her lips. God, what had she just said? Had she forgotten to pick up her brain before leaving the house? Flustered, she quickly waved her hands in protest and blurted out, "No—I just meant that I'm actually not… very good at eating."
Even as the words stumbled out, she realized it sounded worse than before. What did that even mean? That she wasn't good at eating? What is wrong with me today? she thought, mortified. It was as if her mouth had gone rogue, spilling nonsense she couldn't reel back in.
Across from her, Ethan raised a brow before breaking into a soft chuckle. Watching Felicia flounder in awkward self-explanation was uncharacteristic for someone usually so composed—especially for Black Cat. He wasn't sure what was going on with her today. She kept saying things that came completely out of left field.
Still smiling, Ethan tactfully shifted the conversation to something lighter. But in his mind, he couldn't help but wonder: What's going on with this girl? Is she nervous? Or is it just me being slow after sleeping for what feels like days? Am I missing something here?
In the back of his mind, Venom burst into quiet, gleeful laughter. "She's malfunctioning!" the symbiote snickered. "This is delicious. Forget chocolate, awkward humans are my new favorite snack."
Felicia, meanwhile, was silently screaming inside. Her face still maintained a semblance of calm as she leaned against the counter, engaging Ethan in light small talk like nothing had happened. She forced herself to match his energy, pretending she hadn't just embarrassed herself for no apparent reason.
Fortunately, as their banter continued, the awkward moment began to dissolve. Laughter filled the kitchen—a mixture of genuine amusement and mutual understanding. Bit by bit, the tension eased. Felicia started to feel like she hadn't completely ruined things. Maybe, just maybe, she was getting through to him.
I hope Leon can pull himself out of his grief, she thought quietly, watching Ethan as he stirred the sauce. He looks better than the last time I saw him. Not as heavy, not as shut off. Maybe he's starting to heal…
Had Ethan known what she was thinking, he would have agreed. Felicia's intuition was spot-on—he was feeling lighter. The pain from York's death hadn't vanished, but it had dulled, especially after eliminating some of the Bloodhead Gang's lower ranks. Clues about the Harmon brothers were finally in place. Once he dealt with them, maybe then he could give Old Man York some peace.
With Felicia's presence, the apartment felt warmer tonight. The kitchen buzzed with a rare joy. Her laughter danced off the walls, blending with the sound of the simmering pan. Even Venom, who was sulking inside Ethan's mind, couldn't completely ruin the moment—though he was certainly trying.
Why am I even here if I can't eat? Venom grumbled. This human bonding nonsense better be worth skipping dinner for. Can't she leave already?
But there were silver linings to the symbiote's disappointment. Though Venom couldn't join in on the meal without terrifying Felicia, he at least didn't have to wash the dishes—a small but meaningful victory in his book.
Or so he thought.
"It's alright," Ethan said aloud, his voice casual as he stood up from the table. "Felicia, just help me carry the plates to the sink. I'll wash them later."
Venom's mood plummeted. You dare… he hissed mentally. You scheming human! You were planning to make me clean up after she leaves, weren't you? Treacherous! I refuse!
Ethan, expression neutral, ignored the mental protest and quietly began gathering the dishes, his face calm as ever.
Felicia, of course, didn't take him at his word. Once they reached the kitchen, she rolled up her sleeves and started rinsing and scrubbing. "I'm not just going to sit there while you clean everything," she said with a small grin.
Ethan tried to argue, but she was already washing. Relenting, he joined her, drying the dishes and handing her clean ones as they worked in quiet tandem.
For Ethan, it was a strange, nostalgic feeling—standing side by side with someone in the kitchen, laughing, sharing the task of cleanup. Ever since the symbiote came into his life, these simple domestic moments had been rare. And as much as Venom complained about losing chocolate privileges, Ethan felt grounded again.
Not everything had to be about vengeance.
Back inside his head, Venom muttered bitterly. This is extortion. Just wait. No more chocolate for you unless I get full TV rights next week.
Ethan didn't respond. He merely smirked and handed Felicia another plate, the quiet warmth of the moment anchoring him more than words ever could.