Archive of Our Own ^beta

The next few weeks went by without incident. Before you’d gone to bed on that traumatic night, you'd debated calling off work the next day, but as you woke up, you felt you’d fare better going to work to keep your mind off everything. 

So it was business as usual, and the only thing that was remarkably different was your free time – as soon as you stood still, you’d think about none other than the masked man. 

This was especially true during the first few days, as it dawned on you exactly what he had done – he’d saved your life. After realizing this, your heart would swell and tears would well up in your eyes every time you thought of him. Eventually, though your body stopped reacting so intensely when thinking of him, your spirits began to lift. You became more optimistic, making it a point to enjoy even the small parts of your day. The whole experience made you acutely aware of your mortality. Life wasn’t guaranteed. You could die within seconds or in 100 years. 

He'd invigorated you, awakening something that had been dormant for years. The years of studying and fulfilling your responsibilities dutifully and without question had numbed you, and that night had made you realize that you were, in fact, alive. 

And about a month later, as you completed a sweet, elderly 80-year-old’s chart at work, you overheard some nurses gossiping. 

“…yeah but if he’s so bad, then why’s the crime rate going down?”

“Listen, I’m all for a safer city. You know that. But there should be rules for that kind of thing. What if he’s wrong about someone and he kills innocent people? We have cops for a reason.”

“Yeah and those innocent people are already dying every day by real criminals while cops have to go through the proper procedures. Anyways they usually give up on finding those people after two days just so they can sit on their asses. I’m right and you know it. This Vigilante guy is good for Evergreen”

Curiosity piqued, you’d looked up ‘Vigilante Evergreen WA’ and came upon a few news reports of a masked man being seen saving people and killing others, mostly convicts or wanted criminals. 

Since then, you’d kept tabs on this ‘Vigilante’, confident that he was who had saved you that other night. 

Now, as you sit at the computer, looking at the upcoming week’s schedule at the end of your shift, your mind wanders back to him yet again. Is he out there every night? You think about the cold that seems to leak into your skin no matter how many layers of clothes you wear, and shiver at the thought of being outside all night. 

Snapping out of your trance, you realize you’ve already started wrapping up while lost in your thoughts. You clean your area and begin trudging down the path to the front door to leave the hospital. As you exit the building, you make sure to palm your keys, pointing the metal out between your fingers through a closed fist. 

Shivering by the time you get to your car, you throw your bag haphazardly into the passenger seat and start the engine. Not even waiting for the car to warm up, you back out of the parking lot and head home. As you drive, you notice your eyes absentmindedly combing the streets around you for a glimpse at Vigilante. 

Who could blame you for your obsession? No one knew what had happened that night, the night he saved you. You’d decided against telling your parents and friends; they were all busy and would only bother you with their worry. In fact, you were too busy to deal with all the fussing. 

I need to focus. As you weave through the city to get home, your mind begins to relax thinking of the shower waiting for you. 

Finally pulling into your garage, you grab your bags and close the garage door, taking off your shoes to hastily step inside your home. Setting your bags on the kitchen counter, you start stripping the layers from your body. Peeling the scrubs off as you enter your bedroom, you grab a fresh set of underclothes and your towel before heading to the bathroom. 

As you turn the shower on to let it warm, you search through your phone and play your favorite playlist, pushing the volume to its highest setting as you step into the shower. Setting your phone on the sink counter, you close the shower door and start humming. The cold sloughs off of you, enveloping you in much needed comfort. 

After covering yourself in soap and shampoo, you allow your hands to run up and down your body to clear the suds. Humming turns into singing, and you cradle your body, touching and holding your hips, traveling up your waist and breasts until you finally just hug your torso. You stand under the warm water and breathe in deeply, inhaling the scent of your lavender and vanilla bodywash. 

Completely clean, you smile to yourself as you turn your shower off and grab your towel. Using the hair dryer to partially dry your hair and body, you drop the towel to gently apply a thin layer of moisturizer on yourself before pulling on your matching pink underwear set. 

Turning down the music, you walk out of the bathroom. You’re still looking for a set of pajamas to pull on when you hear David Attenborough’s voice coming from the living room. 

You immediately tense, your blood running cold. The tv had been off when you’d gotten home 20 minutes ago. You reach into the back of your closet to grab the metal baseball bat you’d purchased when you moved in. 

Gripping the bat tight, you turn off your music as you tiptoe to the living room. You’re almost shaking with anticipation, and the only thing louder than Attenborough’s voice talking about penguins is your heartbeat thumping in your ears. 

A familiar booming laugh fills the room just as Attenborough narrates the penguins tripping over each other to jump into the ocean. You falter, the bat in your hands lowering a few inches. As you round the corner, you’re beyond shocked to see none other than the masked man himself sitting on your couch, legs resting on top of a large, misshapen garbage bag. 

You’re still holding the bat above your head as your eyebrows furrow and jaw drops in shock, “What the hell?”

He looks at you, speechless for a beat, “Why are you always naked?”

You drop the bat. “I’m not naked. Why are you in my house?”

“Well, I sort of needed a favor…” he trails off, and you notice his head slowly going down, stopping twice, once at your cleavage and waist, and again at your hips.

“Stop that.”

He whips his head back to the tv, “What? I’m not a pervert. You’re just naked. Where am I supposed to look?”

“What’s the favor?” you sigh, disillusioned by the man in costume after weeks of imagining him as a sort of Superman, gallant and kind, but with a stronger sense of righteousness. No, you decide, I don’t think there’s anyone who’s like Superman. He’s just in a league of his own. This is just some guy who happens to heal quickly.

“I may have accidentally went a little too far with this dude but I still need, like, a lot more information about his friends. I couldn’t wake him up and you already know I can’t take him to the hospital because I don’t do –” 

“—hospitals yes, you don’t do hospitals,” you close your eyes and rub your forehead with the back of your hand, leaning the bat between the sofa and wall, “Okay, so where is this guy?”

The man on your couch perks up, finally turning back to you, “Right here!” as he pulls his feet down and points at the garbage bag, “Don’t worry, I made sure he was knocked out before I brought him here.”

“…in the trash bag?” you question, looking at him skeptically. 

He kicks the bag, eliciting a soft groan from within. You glance at the bag, eyebrows raised, “What’s wrong with him?”

“Nothing! Well, not nothing, he’s an asshole for starters. But I was kinda trying this new thing on him to get some information. Actually, I was in a similar situation not that long ago, and it was really uncomfortable, I’m actually not sure I’ve fully regained feeling in my—”

“Okay, I need a bit more information on just him right now,” you interject. 

The masked man nods, “Right. I electrocuted him then shot him 5 times because he wouldn’t tell me where him and his friends kept their…stuff.”

This takes you a minute to digest. Stuff? Drugs, maybe weapons. Actually, you know what? I’d rather not know. “So you need me to…?” 

“I wanted to ask you if you could wake him up, because he’s not waking up, so I can get him to tell me where the dr- stuff is,” he corrects himself. 

I owe him. I doubt he’ll come back after this, it’s such a big ask. And he said the guy was knocked out and doesn’t know where he is…Do no harm, right? It’s in my job description to heal. I’ll just be ‘healing’. Technically nothing morally wrong with this. You look around your pristine living room. Mmmm. Blood on my carpet. No. “Take him to the garage, I don’t want to make a mess in my house,” you tell him as you start walking back to your bedroom, “I’m going to put some clothes on.”

“Don’t,” he pauses when you look back at him, “you don’t want to get blood on your normal clothes. It’s way easier to throw away your underwear than your clothes.” 

You stare at him, unsure whether that was the only reason, as his face was angled directly at your chest while he spoke. “Okay, let me grab some things,” you sigh, heading to the kitchen to grab every item you can find that might help, while the man grabs the garbage bag with ease, throwing it over his shoulder as if it weighed nothing. With the first aid kit, suturing set, and even the dissecting kit from your med school days in hand, you follow him into the garage. 

As he opens the garbage bag but leaves the man laying inside it, you assess the situation quickly. The beaten-up man, criminal in all likelihood, was bloody and bruised. Blood had pooled in the bag and formed a small puddle under him. The sight doesn’t make you as sick as you’d have imagined, to your surprise. 

You bend down to check his pulse, noting it isn’t too weak to necessitate an emergency. You count the gunshots – two in each arm, “Where’s the fifth?” you look back at the masked man, who’s standing behind your crouched body, arms folded across his chest and head tilted to the side, staring much lower than where your eyes are. 

Your heart flutters, either from growing anxiety or something else that you can’t quite place. “Hey! I know you’re not looking at my face,” you frown.

He doesn’t even bother to look up as he replies, “Foot. I shot his foot. And I am looking at your face I don’t know what you’re talking about. You can’t even see my eyes.”

You take a second to glare at him before turning back to the man lying in the garbage bag. As you start making work to expose his arms and the wounds fully, a small movement of the body’s hand catches your attention.

There’s no time to react. Within seconds, you’re on your back with a blinding pain pulsing at the center of your face and behind your eyes. You hear a gun go off. It’s close by, based on the ringing in your ears, but seems so far away. 

As you close your eyes in pain, you feel hands snake around you and gently pull you up. Your head is spinning until you realize it’s because you’re laying upside down, bent in half over the masked man’s shoulder.

Half-conscious, you register that you’re being laid down on the couch.

You hear a voice just as the back of your head starts thumping wildly, “hey, hey, hey, you’re okay. I’ve got you. I’m sorry, I’m so sorry I didn’t mean for you to get hurt. He was completely knocked out…I shouldn’t have been distracted I’m so sorry. Fuck, shit, you hit your head pretty hard, I’m gonna get you some ice.”

At that, you close your eyes and see black.

Cold pushes against your forehead and cheek. You groan and turn to get away from the uncomfortable chill and feel your face pressed against a rough surface. 

“Shhh, you’re okay just don’t fall asleep. I am riiight here,” a voice above you says. What the hell…? What’s going on? You painstakingly pry your eyes open, and as you squint, you see the masked man hovering just a few inches above you.

“Wha-?” 

“Don’t fall asleep. I’m going to keep you awake, you hit your head really hard,” he says gently. It takes you a few seconds to assess what's going on – you're laying on your couch, your head on his lap as he holds a cold, ice-filled towel against you, covering most of your right cheek, eye, and forehead. 

But everything is too bright, too loud. The penguin documentary is still playing on your tv, and your living room lights, though dim, are making your head hurt even more. “Too much…loud. Bright,” you croak out.

“I can fix that!” he says a little too enthusiastically, as he jumps up to turn the lights off, jostling your head and upper body. You moan, the whole world going dizzy before you close your eyes. He looks back at you just as he flicks the switch, “Sorry.” Grabbing the remote before he sits down, he mutes the channel and scoops your head back onto his lap, replacing the cold towel on your face.

Eventually, the room calms down and you’re able to open your eyes to look up at him as he watches the penguins. It feels so unreal, like a weird dream, to have this good murderer taking care of you. Good murderer…Vigilante. Wait, is he Vigilante? Brown hair Vigilante. Curly hair Vigilante. My fingers in his hair, loop loop loop loo –

You reach up and touch his masked face, “Are you Vigilante?”

“Yes.”

When your arm becomes too heavy to stretch up to his face, you let it fall to his shoulder, holding his armor, feeling the texture under your fingertips. 

“So you kill bad people,” you continue. 

“Yes. Bad people. People who break the law.”

“Hmm. Good.” At that, he breaks from the screen to look at you. You’re not sure whether you’re imagining seeing his eyes through the red visor, or whether you can actually see them, but you think of all the different colors they could be. He looks back at the television.

A sudden revelation hits you and you drop your arm, now way too heavy to hold above your head, “Why are you – why’s my life such a – a – mess?”

“I don’t know. You don’t seem like a mess. You seem like you have it all together. You have a job, a house, a pretty big tv.”

“TV? I can’t talk to my tv? Why sh-should I even have any…of these things; no use. No body… but I love cooking, I want to have food with friends…don’t even talk to people…there’s no one,” you’re babbling now, and your brain feels fuzzy. “Why don’t you? have breakfast with me. We can be friends,” you slur. 

Again he moves too fast for your liking as he whips his head to you, “Really!? Yeah, I mean we can definitely have breakfast. We can be friends if you want to be friends! I’d love t—I mean, I’d be cool with that.” You shut your eyes at the volume of his voice, head pounding. Sleep starts to come over you in waves, and a small voice inside you raises alarm. 

“I think…hospital,” you mutter, unsure whether he heard you. 

_________________________

That is, until you come to and realize you’re wrapped in a blanket in your own car, Vigilante driving faster than he should. You see his hands gripping the steering wheel tight. For a moment, it sounds like he’s shushing himself before you realize he’s whispering, “shit, shit, shit” on repeat. 

The concept of time evades you, and when you open your eyes again, you’re in front of the emergency room at the hospital. 

“Listen, I can’t stay. I’m going to drop you off and I’ll drive your car home. Sorry about this, I didn’t think it would go this bad. I’ll fix it,” he rushes to get your seatbelt off. He reaches over you and opens your door, half-pushing you out before speeding away. You’re left in front of the emergency room, shocked, until a nurse rushes out with a wheelchair. 

_________________________

You’re taken in and wheeled to different parts of the hospital. The nurse who had brought you in takes the time to get you a gown to put over your underwear set, and eventually, after some scans and a thorough history (during which you keep claiming that you had simply slipped on some water while exiting the bathroom), you’re told you had sustained a concussion. 

After some time, the confusion and incoherency that had taken over your mind fade, and you’re discharged from the hospital around 5AM with a note to return to work after 1 week.

As you take off your hospital gown and pull your blanket around you, you realize not only do you not have your car, but you have no way of calling anyone or getting an Uber, as your phone is still at home. I’m going to kill him.

Thankfully, the emergency room nurses have a few taxi vouchers on hand. As you’re stepping into the cab, you make note to buy the nurses something nice the next time you come into work.

The taxi ride is silent, so you take the time to watch the slowly lightening horizon. God, what a day. 

As the car pulls to a stop in front of your house, a wave of dread and anxiety take over. My car. My car was in the garage next to a dead man in a garbage bag. There’s a dead man in a garbage bag. In my garage. You quickly thank the taxi driver and rush to your front door, only to realize you don’t have your keys. 

Jiggling the door handle, you try to think where Vigilante put your keys, or if he even brought your car home. He probably came in from the back, people would’ve noticed if he’d come in from the front…or maybe he came in from the garage…?

You walk around to the side of your house, looking for signs of damage. It’s at the very back that you see the sliding door to the backyard slightly ajar. Sighing in relief, you push open the door and walk in. 

Strangely enough, nothing seems any different. The tv is off, and your house seems as clean as ever. Taking a deep breath, you head toward the garage, a cold chill slowly spreading throughout your body. 

You pause at the garage door, holding the handle. Should I call the police? What would I even say? How the fuck am I supposed to get rid of a body? God, why is Vigilante in my life? Why did any of this have to happen?

It takes a few minutes before you’re able to calm yourself and resign to the idea that you may just be going to jail tonight. You turn the handle and enter the garage. 

You’re expecting blood to be splattered everywhere, when you see… nothing. No body, not even a drop of blood. Your garage is clean; too clean. In fact, it looks like your car has just been washed. You look around, but you’re alone. 

Inching toward where the man was laid, you gingerly lean down to check the floor, but it’s spotless. Looking up at your car, your suspicions are confirmed when you see tiny water droplets threatening to fall from the bottom of trunk. 

You smile. So he cleaned up after himself? And he washed my car? Cute. The content of your thoughts dawn on you and you shake your head, your smile turning into a look of disgust. Bro what am I thinking? Cute? That was the least he could do. I was in the fucking hospital because of him. 

You’re still grimacing when you walk back into your house. Just as you're about to head to bed, something catches your eye on your kitchen counter. As you walk over, your heart melts. 

In the middle of your counter is a bowl and spoon next to a half-eaten box of cereal. (You're pretty sure you hadn't opened that...since you had bought it just a few days ago.) A flower, which looks suspiciously similar to your neighbor’s alleged award-winning roses, is on top of a note with a message scribbled across. 

You can’t help but smile as you read aloud, “I’m sorry. I’ll make it up to you. -V.”

Just as you finish reading the note, a small movement by the bushes of your garden catches your eye. Your body immediately tenses until a few moments later, when a cat jumps out of the shrubs onto the ledge of the fence. 

You sigh and pick up the rose, inhaling the sweet smell. It’s definitely from your neighbor’s front yard. You rub your finger on the signed “V” at the bottom of the note. 

Your eyes start watering from exhaustion, and you decide to tuck in for the day and catch up on sleep, looking forward to the upcoming week without work. 

Taking the note and rose with you to your bedroom, you close the door and knock out. 

This was your first week off in months. Residency rarely gave breaks like this, and you found yourself intensely grateful for your concussion. And the person who lead you to your concussion. 

Hands gripping onto your hips for dear life, his tongue slides into your mouth. You moan against him as the kiss intensifies. 

“Oh, fuck,” he breaks away and whimpers against you, gripping your hips tighter and rocking you into his pelvis. You’re straddling him, wearing nothing but a red lace thong. You can feel him straining against his pants, Vigilante costume in the way. He kisses and sucks on your neck; the friction building between the two of you is too good, but you need more. You fumble with his suit as he leaves hickeys along your body; you’re desperate to find a way to strip him so you can get what you both need. 

He understands quickly and separates, lifting you to stand as he gets up and yanks off the suit. Underneath is a simple white tank and underwear, a little wet spot right where his length is pushing to get out. You can’t take your eyes off his shoulders and biceps, seeing small beads of sweat at his neck and chest where the heat couldn’t escape his suit. You drag your hands up his body and into his tank, feeling the muscles tense under your touch. But you’re only given a moment to take it all in before he sits back down onto your bed, pulling you into him. 

With one less piece of clothing between the two of you, you can feel him so much more. You can’t help yourself when you take your hands from his chest and wrap your arms around his head. Bringing your knees back onto the bed to straddle him, you grind down on his cock. Wrapping an arm around your back to support your head, he inhales deeply as your lips crash, devouring you. While your hands tangle in his curly brown hair, he brings his free hand down your underwear and finds your clit, using his thumb to gently rub around the area in circles, careful to not apply direct pressure. 

You arch into him before breaking the kiss to moan, pulling away slightly, but his arm keeps you in place. “Stay with me,” he mumbles against your lips. 

None of this is enough – you release his straining cock from his underwear and lift your hips. He lets out a slur of curses when you grip him, angling him at your entrance. As he buries his head between your breasts, kissing and sucking, he pulls his thumb away from your clit to move and hold your underwear to the side. 

Rubbing the tip of his cock up and down your folds makes you realize just how wet you are. But you’re not the only one who notices, “Shiiiiit,” his eyes roll back and he grimaces, almost in pain. Lining him up against your entrance when you can’t take it anymore, you start sinking down -

Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep Beep

_________________________

You startle awake and turn off your alarm. Oh my god it was a dream. It was all a dream. Except your body isn’t entirely convinced – you can feel just how worked up you are without reaching into your underwear. All you remember about the man in your dreams is his curly brown hair. This wasn’t the first fantasy you had of Vigilante, but it was the first that you’d had while asleep, and it was definitely the furthest you’d gotten into the fantasy. 

While contemplating whether to release the built-up tension or to keep it in and save it for later tonight, you notice the time. You start to panic at the ‘WED 08:45AM’ displayed on your clock, but almost immediately remember you had intentionally set a late alarm because it was the final day you had off before going back into work. 

Squeezing your eyes shut, you think back to your last real encounter with Vigilante. Did he break into your house? Yes, but he made you breakfast. If he was an actual perv, he’d have been doing something weird like spying on me sleeping or showering. But he hadn’t, as far as you knew, and instead took care of you, slowly becoming one of your only friends in the city. Unfortunately, that was a few days back, and you haven’t heard from him since. 

You aren’t necessarily obsessed, but it doesn’t help that you have no way to contact him, and your only hope is to wait for him to pop into your house without warning. 

It might be better to just stop thinking about him…it’s not going to get him here any faster. God, of all people, why him? I do not want to be caught up in his bullshit. Yet the thrill you get from thinking of him, from seeing him, is unmatched by anything in your current, rather dull, life. 

You end up playing tug-of-war with yourself throughout the rest of the day, your brain and heart wrestling each other for what “made sense.” Eventually, while washing dishes after dinner, you settle on making sure to prioritize yourself. And if he comes into my life every once in a while, so be it. But I can’t keep him at the forefront, just thinking about when he’s gonna show up next. I have shit to do.

_________________________

Thursday came and went. No one had seemed to even notice that you’d been gone from work for an entire week. This hadn’t surprised you, but it did remind you to buy the emergency department (ED) nurses something nice for the other night. 

Friday morning, you stopped at the local donut shop to pick-up a couple dozen, one for your department’s nurses (it was high time you made some friends, to break away from the Vigilante craze), and another for the ED’s. 

The gesture makes a bigger impact than you expect, a couple nurses from your department hugging you (an uncomfortable experience, at best), and the ED nurses spending half an hour asking you how you're doing and gossiping about the week you’d missed as if you are all the best of friends. 

You finally manage to peel yourself away from the ED, not wanting to risk the freshly cultivated friendships by dismissing them too early. Besides, you missed casual conversation and gossip sessions, and while the anxiety inside you grew from possibly missing a patient or getting behind on paperwork, it helped fill the hole in your heart. 

Smiling at the thought of memories past, you’re violently jostled on your way back up the stairs to your floor. The man who’d ran into you catches you just as you lose your balance. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to bump you!” he apologizes profusely as he lets you go. You look up at him, heart still thumping against your chest: he’s not staff. Must be a patient. Is he one of mine? He sounds so familiar..

“No problem, I was zoned-out myself. Do you need help getting somewhere?” you offer, unable to place his voice. 

“Uh. No. I just came to see someone,” he looks away from you. He’s handsome. Tall, brown hair, styled back and out of his face, with silver-rimmed aviator eyeglasses. 

“Alright, well, I hope they’re doing okay,” you lamely respond. If he came to see a patient, staff member, or whoever, I guess that’s a neutral enough statement to say.

“Yeah, thank you. Sorry again,” he rushes downstairs. You linger for a moment before continuing up the stairs to your desk. 

As you sit, you note the time. Just a few more hours and I’m free. So glad tomorrow’s Saturday.

_________________________

On your drive home, you decide to call your parents and check-in. When they ask about anything new or interesting in your life, you stick to your initial instinct and lie. You’d lied to them when you were robbed at gunpoint, and you definitely weren’t going to be telling them about everything that had happened since then. 

As you pull into your garage, you relax as your body goes through its ritual of dropping your bags by the kitchen, stripping, and taking a long shower. 

Singing along to the song stuck in your head, you dry yourself from the shower and step into your bedroom to slip on underwear and an oversized tee. As you reach into your underwear drawer and lift the first one you see, red catches your eye. You remember the dream you had last morning and smile. 

Fuck it. You leave the initial underwear in the drawer and pick up the red lace thong, pulling it on. Foregoing a bra, you pull on your Metallica tee and moisturize before leaving your room. 

Treat yourself…it feels like a Ben & Jerry’s kind of night. Rounding the corner to the kitchen, you nearly have a heart attack when you see Vigilante sitting on your counter, legs swinging. 

You gasp and clutch your chest, “S-serious? At least make some noise.”

“I didn’t mean to scare you, I just heard you singing and wanted to listen,” he jumps down from the counter. You look up his body slowly, with the pretense of still catching your breath. I wonder if he looks like what I imagined under that sweater; and under those jeans. You force yourself to turn away as a blush spreads across your face. 

“Since it’s Friday night I thought you might be off work tomorrow and we’d watch a movie,” he suggests. Weird. That’s a weirdly good guess at when I’m off work…lot of people are off on weekends though. 

You shrug off your suspicions, “I am. I’m off work tomorrow,” you pause, “What movie?”

“I thought we could watch a documentary on oceans, I heard some stuff about manta rays and I thought you might think that was cool,” he made his way to the living room. 

Grabbing a spoon and your ice cream, you follow him, “You really like animals, huh?” So I guess this is what I’m doing tonight. 

He turns the tv on as he answers, “Yeah! Love them. They’re the best. I know so many facts on so many.”

You smile, sitting next to him, “Here, hold this for a sec.” You hand him the ice cream and spoon, stretching to reach the blanket hanging over the side of the couch. As you grab the blanket, you feel your shirt riding up to your waist. Your eyes widen as you remember you’re not wearing any pants under the baggy shirt. 

Pulling the blanket onto your lap, you try to sneak a glance at Vigilante to make sure he hadn’t seen. Except he had, and you realize just how close the two of you are sitting when he looks up from the underwear on your hip to your face. You can feel the warmth of his body radiating into you…or was that you? Are you the one radiating this insane heat? You blush again, looking away. At this rate, you’ll never make it to the end of the movie without completely embarrassing yourself, if you haven’t done that already. 

He’s just here for a movie and here I am having all kinds of insane fantasies about him. He’s sitting right next to me and expecting to watch a documentary… I really need to pull it together. Just act casual, just act like friends would act. 

You grab the ice cream and spoon back from him, “Thanks.” Deciding that you’re all too close to him, you opt to lay down, head leaning on a pillow pushed against the armrest of the couch. You lay your legs over his lap. There, that’s more friendly. 

He presses play on the documentary, and you breathe a sigh of relief. Everything’s fine. Everything’s normal. 

The two of you watch the documentary, and you’re both mostly quiet other than a few comments on the beauty of certain scenic areas and on the complex simplicity of nature. He declines every time you offer him ice cream, pointing at his mask. You’re thoroughly enjoying the way the evening has panned out as you go to place the pint back in the fridge about 30 minutes in. 

Returning to the couch, you lie back down, getting comfortable. Absorbed in the documentary, you don’t notice when Vigilante touches your leg. It’s not until you feel him massaging the muscles in your calves and feet that you look at him. 

“You don’t need to do that, I was just stretching out,” you go to sit up, bending your knees for leverage. 

He grabs your thigh and gently pulls your leg down, pushing your shoulder to have you lay back, “I know. But it was your first couple days back at work. You should relax.”

Again with knowing my schedule. Does he watch me, or something? You can’t help yourself when you look at him, “You seem to know my schedule pretty well.”

Vigilante shifts in his seat but doesn’t take his eyes off the screen or his hands off you, “Ec—my friend—is good with hacking.” 

“So you looked into me,” your eyebrows raise, and you shift your hips to tilt toward the tv, your shirt rising a bit higher, red peeking underneath. 

“No, well – I. I needed to make sure you weren’t a criminal,” he tries to shrug, as if not flustered at all. 

But you can hear it in his voice, “Huh.” You want to push further, but between the tranquility of the ocean and his hands kneading your legs, you don’t have the energy to. “Alright,” you take a deep breath and relax back into the pillow to watch the documentary. 

_________________________

You’re not sure when it is you fall asleep, but you slip back into the beginning of the dream you had the other night. Except this time, Vigilante is wearing his mask, along with the sweater and jeans he had on today.

As you straddle him, he reaches down to rub circles on your clit. 

You try to stifle a moan, “Vi—” 

_________________________

You jerk awake and see Vigilante looking at you, tv paused, “Are you alright?”

Holy shit what’s wrong with me?

“Yeah, I’m, I’m good,” you wipe sweat from your forehead, “I think I just fell asleep.”

“Let’s get you to bed then,” he grabs your legs and places them on the floor. You’ve almost calmed down from the dream until he stands. As you sit up, you’re nearly positive his jeans are tented. You look up at him slowly, traces of hunger still lingering behind your eyes. 

But he simply reaches his hand out to help you up. You sigh. 

“Too tired? That’s okay,” he bends down, hooking his arm beneath your knees. You yelp as he picks you up bridal style and carries you to your bedroom. 

You can’t keep your eyes off him as he carries you. You’re aware that your lace underwear is fully exposed, and a big part of you hopes he’s noticed as well. Just as he’s about to set you down, he finally looks at you. 

The tension is almost palpable. You wait for him to do something, to do anything. 

You come crashing down to reality when he sets you down on your bed, pulling the covers over you. Disappointment is quickly replaced by embarrassment as you realize you’ve been interpreting this relationship wrong. It has always just been a friendship, just as the two of you had talked about. It was you who’d been fantasizing about something more. 

He bends down and gives what could be interpreted as a masked kiss on your forehead, “Goodnight,” he whispers. 

“Goodnight,” you whisper back, closing your eyes and willing your brain to think about genuinely anything other than him. 

You hear him leave your bedroom, and just as you fall asleep, your backyard sliding door closes.

After that “night of delusion,” as you called it, you made a promise to yourself to refocus your life and cultivate the friendships you’d recently started at work. So when you find yourself once again zoning out thinking about Vigilante as you spend lunch with Julia and Kassie, an ED doctor and the nurse from the ED who’d helped you the other night, you mentally slap yourself back to reality. 

“…and my god, I can’t even imagine how it fit up there! I mean I’ve seen some things, I’ve seen some things, but a whole ass 3-wick candle? No flared base, no grip of any kind. How did he think it was gonna come out? Some men, I tell you, they just don’t think things through,” Kassie says pointedly, waving a French fry at the two of you. 

“Yeah? When do they ever think things through?” Julia snorts, rolling her eyes. The more you hang out with these girls, the more you like them. 

“Good point,” you wipe your hands on your napkin, discarding it onto your tray. But what does that say about you, stuck thinking about some guy, about Vigilante. I need to break this cycle, “Listen, can we do something this weekend? Are you guys free?”

Julia’s eyes widen, “Girls’ night?”

Kassie covers her mouth in feigned surprise, “I know the perfect thing! My cousin and his friends invited me to go to this bar opening downtown. I think one of them is a co-owner or something. Let’s go as a throuple, I will die if I have to be around my cousin all night.”

Just like that, the three of you make plans to meet in front of the new bar Friday night, creating a group chat in the process. 

_________________________

Work on Friday seemed to stretch on forever, and you were itching to leave by the time your shift was over at 8PM. On the drive home, you contemplate all the different outfit combinations that might look good for this occasion. But with no information on what kind of bar it is, or what the girls are wearing, you decide to shoot a text in the group chat as you pull into your garage.

You – Girls, what’s the dress code? 

With a sigh, you enter your house and start unpacking. As you pass by your kitchen to drop off your bags, you suddenly realize Vigilante may come by, as you're off work tomorrow. You scan your house, but it’s empty. 

Ding! The sounds of the notification startle you but you quickly pull your phone out of your pocket. Ding! Ding!

Julia – I’m going for a cute LBD, classy but leaning casual

Kassie – Skirt and top. Nothing crazy

Kassie – Wth is a LBD

Julia – Girl??? Little black dress bffr

You almost laugh as you read through the messages. Mentally narrowing down your outfit options as you step into the bathroom, you crack open the bathroom window and relax under the warmth of the water as you take an ‘everything’ shower for the first time since last week. 

Completely immersed in the process, you jump a little when you hear your phone ringing a while later.

“Hello?” you answer, placing the phone on speaker.

“Girl don’t fall asleep on us. Are you almost ready? Please tell me you’re almost ready. You went MIA for, like, 45 minutes since you last texted,” Kassie’s voice rings through the bathroom. 

“Oh god, has it been that long?” you check the time: 9:26PM, “My bad, I just need 30 minutes and I’ll be ready to leave. The bar’s like 10 minutes away from me.”

You hear a sigh of relief from the other end of the phone, “Okay great, that’s not bad. Julia also needs another 20 so we’ll aim to meet around 10-ish.” As the two of you end the call, you place your phone on the counter, wrapping up the shower as fast as you can. 

With a final tug of the belt on your robe, you make your way to your room to grab the outfit you mentally put together. As you place your favorite black bodysuit on your duvet and pair it with a short faux leather skirt, you step back and nod. Cute. Now makeup.

You turn up your music as your phone connects to the speaker, your 'favorites' playlist reverberating through the room, dragging your attention to the task at hand. With a quick glance back at your outfit, you decide on a bold eye over a bold lip. Every step you complete, anticipation for the night ahead beats in your chest, and halfway through, you head to your kitchen for a little pre-drink to settle the nerves of your first night out since moving to Washington. 

Singing along to with your music, you open your fridge and quickly grab the bottle of wine you'd picked up in anticipation of tonight to pour yourself a glass.

As you move to head back, a rustle in the bushes of your backyard catches your eye. Cat! She’s back! You quickly scamper over to the sliding door, pushing it open. 

“Kitty!” you call out. “T-t-t-t,” you tsk, attempting to bring her nearby. You sip the wine. It’s good luck to see a cat… come on baby….

You call out again, in hopes she might oblige you, but to no avail. You exhale in defeat, closing the sliding door to head to your room. 

_________________________

Grabbing a pair of heeled boots from your collection, you call your Uber and text the girls. Their messages come in as you make your way down the hall.

You – Heading out in 5! Uber says I’ll be there around 9:56

Kassie – I’m 9:50

Julia – I’m 10:01

Dropping your purse onto the kitchen counter to fix your shoes, you look around your apartment. No Vigilante today, huh? Must have been freaked out by last weekend… You cringe, glancing at your fridge. It’s too embarrassing to think about: you, head over heels for absolutely no reason at all. Well, other than him saving me. You cringe again, you putting the moves on him, or whatever that was last weekend, went against everything you believed in. The thought pushes you over the edge, and you open the fridge to pull out the wine and take a big swig. 

I’m not feeling that shit tonight.

Ding! The phone notification almost causes you to spill wine down your top. As you put down the bottle, you glance at your phone to check who had messaged you. Uber is waiting for you.

Swiftly, you grab your keys and exit the warmth of your home, making sure to lock up behind you.

The ride doesn’t take long, and when the car stops in front of the bar, you thank the driver and exit. With a deep breath, you head into bar with a big wooden board engraved with the word “Highway” plastered above a propped-open entrance. Weird ass name for a bar.

It’s packed, and you spend a couple minutes looking around for Kassie, until you give up and pull out your phone. As you’re about to send an SOS text, a hand touches your lower back. 

Looking up disgusted, you see a man leaning into your ear, “Kassie’s over here, gorgeous.”

How the fuck – “You’re Kassie’s cousin?” realization dawns on you as you note the family resemblance. 

His hand moves a little higher on your back and lingers, and you wince at the discomfort. “Yeah, I’m Parker, but YOU, you can call me yours’. Come on, I’ll take you to her,” he winks at you, trapping your hand in his clammy grip as he pulls you toward the back. 

He’s disgusting, which is unfortunate because he’s not bad to look at. I hate when they know. So full of themselves, god and so gross...

But your revulsion quickly dissipates the moment you spot Kassie, dressed in a bright pink top and sequin skirt, waving at you. “Hiiiii!” you squeal, tugging your hand from his grip.

“Oh my gosh thank god Parker found you! I told him to keep an eye out. It’s so packed in here!” she hugs you, “Let’s get drinks, Julia’s at the bar, her Uber was early so she got here a few minutes ago.”

_________________________

A couple of drinks in, you and the girls are laughing like hyenas in your reserved booth at the back of the establishment. 

Kassie checks the time and shrieks, “Oh shit it’s almost 1! I have work in 6 hours!” She downs the remainder of her drink, grabs her purse, and pushes out a hasty, “Girls, it’s been great, but I gotta go!”

Julia and you look at her, bewildered. “I thought you were free tonight?!” you clutch your chest with genuine concern for the girl. 

“Yeah, free for a few hours! Okay, I’ve called myself an Uber, I’ll text you guys when I get home,” she hugs both of you goodbye. 

As you watch her weave her way through the packed bar and out the exit, you turn towards Julia, “You know, she might have the right idea. It is getting pretty late, even though I’d have loved to spend all night here with you guys.”

Julia nods in agreement, “Let’s just finish these and we’ll go. It’s way past my bedtime for sure.”

Soon, the two of you are standing outside of the bar, nearly falling over in a fit of giggles as you wait for your rides.

“Listeeeennnn, we should do this more! It’s so fun, we’re so funnnn!” Julia slurs, grabbing your hands and shaking them. You laugh and enthusiastically agree. 

As a car pulls up to Highway, the two of you check your phones to match the license. Yours’ is still 8 minutes away. 

“This is me!” Julia exclaims, reaching for the door handle, "Wait! No I can't leave you what the hell? How far is your Uber?"

You laugh, "No, it's fine! It's just a few minutes away. Plus, it's so crowded. Go! Just text when you’re home, yeah?” Finally able to convince her, you wish her goodnight and watch as she enters the car. She blows you a kiss and closes the door behind her.

As her ride drives away, you hear something behind you. 

“Leaving so soon?” Parker smirks. You turn toward the vile sound.

“Yep,” you look away, busying yourself on your phone. 7 minutes.

“Why don’t you come back in? We didn’t get to have a drink together all night,” he presses, his voice getting closer.

“No. I already called my Uber,” you roll your eyes, still staring at the slowly moving icon of the car on the app, trying to suppress the anxiety creeping up your throat. 

But he’s as persistent as you are dead set, “Just one drink, on me. The night’s just beginning.” 

He’s barely hooked his hand into your elbow to drag you into the bar when you hear another voice, “Honeymuffin! Are you ready to go home?” You look up just the air is knocked out of you and you’re engulfed in a hug. 

“Wha –” you start, voice muffled against the man’s sweater and coat.

“I’m here to pick you up! You’re drunk! You remember texting me, silly, don’t you?” he laughs. You try to focus your vision, and he looks familiar, sounds familiar. Do I know this guy? 

“Yeahhh…” you manage to get out, still confused but relieved when you glance back at the bar, seeing Parker walking toward it. 

Hospital. “It’s you!” you suddenly remember, loosening the hug. You’d bumped into him on the stairway the other day. Squinting a bit to clear your head and get a better look at him, you notice that it is, in fact, the same guy. He’s wearing his aviator eyeglasses. His dark brown hair, curly now, is a sharp contrast to the green eyes stuck glaring at Parker returning to the bar. 

He looks back at you with a wide smile and lets you go, hands dropping down to your shoulders as he stretches out his arms to hold you in front of him. His smile is genuine and eager, extending into a set of dimples, making him that much more handsome. “It’s me!” he counters excitedly, “I saw that guy wasn’t leaving you alone.”

“Yeah, he was way too persistent,” you roll your eyes, “But thank you! I never got your name…”

“Adrian,” he looks deep into your eyes, smile faltering. You feel his hands let go of your shoulders. He hesitates before gently brushing the right side of your face, moving a strand of hair out of the way to pull your hood above your head. The look he gives you takes you back, and there’s an emotion in his eyes that you can’t name. 

He’s about to say something when a sudden outburst breaks the tension. You look back at the bar to see Parker breaking away from a rowdy group, waving goodbye at them. You turn toward Adrian just as he starts walking away. 

“I gotta go, see you later!” he blurts out before rushing away. You frown, disappointed. Before you’re able to respond, he’s halfway down the block. 

A vibration from your phone brings your attention back. The Uber is here. You look down the street to see a pair of headlights slowly coming to a stop in front of the bar. You double check the license and get in, more than ready to get out of your shoes and go to bed. 

_________________________

Finally home, you yawn, the last drink starting to hit you. Before you’re completely incapacitated, you make sure your front door is locked and take off your coat and shoes. As you get to your bedroom, you strip out of the tight clothes, tossing them into the laundry basket. 

You almost sit on your bed before you think better of it and head to the bathroom. If I even touch the bed, I’m gonna wanna lay down. Makeup first. 

Within 5 minutes, your makeup is washed off your face and your teeth are brushed. 

“Finally,” you grumble, dragging yourself to your bed. Plugging your phone in to charge on your bedside table, you spot a bottle of water next to two Tylenol. Did I put them there? You pick them up and wash them down with the water. Smart me.

The second your head hits the pillow, you’re out cold. 

You feel like you’ve barely slept when your phone starts blowing up with messages. Annoyed, you reach out to your bedside table, groping around until you find it and turn the ringer off. 

With a huff, you adjust your body back to its sleeping position and try to go back to bed. Despite the warmth that meets you, you’re wide awake. I swear to god… You've never had a restful sleep after a night of drinking, and today was no exception. So, you reach back to your table and grab your phone. You wince at the initial blinding light before lowering the brightness.

Kassie – Guys, someone was killed outside the bar yesterday, and Parker hasn’t messaged me since I left last night

Julia – OMG? What do you mean someone died? Like actually died?

Kassie – Yes. It’s all over the news.

Kassie – I keep calling Parker but he’s not responding 

Kassie – I don’t know what to do

Julia – Everything’s going to be fine, I’m sure he just hooked up with someone like the last time he went MIA

The intensity of the light hurts your eyes, and you wince, trying to blink away the tears. What the hell? Killed? Shit, we were there all night…

You – Wait what

You – Someone died?

Thinking back, you remember seeing Parker saying goodbye to his friends and leaving the bar. Another message comes in.

Kassie – Police just called

Kassie – It’s Parker

Kassie – He’s dead

Your heart drops. Oh, Kassie. You and Julia send messages of condolences and comfort, offering to come over, but Kassie responds to neither of you. Would she want to be alone? Should we make sure she’s okay? Or…

You debate the topic with Julia. The two of you decide it best to at least check-in on her in-person. As you two set a time to visit her, a message from Kassie comes into the group chat. 

Kassie – Yeah 

Kassie – Just need to be with family 

You set your phone down. The hangover certainly isn’t helping the shock of the news. You feel incredibly bad for Kassie, knowing how hard the next few weeks will be for her, for her family. You try to muster up some of the same sympathy for Parker, but mentally berate yourself when you can’t. 

He was an asshole…I’m sure, maybe, on some level, that he might have been decent but…he also seemed pretty pushy and toxic. It almost feels like you’re playing devil’s advocate, but with you as the devil. Was it the years of tragedy you’d seen in your line of work that numbed you? Was it witnessing death yourself that numbed you? You had learned in school that everyone responded to grief in different ways, but you never really seemed to have much of a reaction when it was someone you knew. Sure, you’d tear up hearing news of atrocities and the toll of war, but when it came to those in your life, you didn’t have much to say, or feel for that matter, in the event of a death. 

In fact, before Kassie responded in the group chat, you’d been hoping that Julia would agree to give Kassie some space. It isn’t that you don’t care for Kassie, you note, but that you really aren’t sure what you should say to her at a time like this. 

But what to do? You know that. Pulling up a note on your phone, you make a short grocery list. Flour, eggs, sugar, cocoa… As you try to remember what you have in your pantry, you start to slowly sit up. Grabbing the bottle on your table, you take a sip. Wait, did I put this here last night? Hmm. Must have. Who else…Vigilante didn’t come by, couldn’t have been him.

Peeling yourself from your bed, you yawn and make your way to the kitchen, list in hand. Anyway, I’ll make her brownies, everyone likes brownies. Maybe some scones? Andddd maybe lasagna? That way it’s not all one type of food. 

You have a few necessary items in your pantry, but currently only enough to make the scones. Scones it is. Opening your fridge, you grab four oranges, butter, Greek yogurt, and two eggs. Might as well make a double batch. You pull out a couple mixing bowls and measuring cups. As you open the pantry cabinet, taking out flour, salt, and baking soda and powder, you grab your phone to turn on your ‘Relax’ playlist. 

Your hands move with a mind of their own, and as you relax into the process of measuring and mixing, you catch yourself humming. You stop and close your eyes, exhaling deeply. I’m a psychopath. Someone has died and I’m humming. Like a psychopath.

_________________________

Finally placing the tray of scones into the oven to bake, you smile in satisfaction and start cleaning up the kitchen. 

Yawning again as you rinse the soap from the final dish, you decide to make a bit of tea as a pick-me-up. You start the kettle, reaching into your cabinet for the tea box. You almost drop it when you hear your sliding door opening.

“Holy shit it smells good in here,” a voice booms. Your brain goes through a million thoughts at once. Always barging in. You cringe. Jeez, I hope he forgot about last time…

You’re snatched out of your thoughts when you turn to see Vigilante, dressed in a long-sleeved polo and jeans, crossing the kitchen to open the oven door, “What’s in here?”

“No. Close that!” you exclaim, rushing over to him, squeezing in between him and the oven to close it. You turn to face him and half-heartedly frown, “You’ll let the heat out. Turn the light on instead.” 

You reach back and point at the light switch on the oven’s control center. He goes to turn it on, but you’re in the way. You start losing your balance before there’s time to move, and he reaches around to grab your waist and steady you. You blush at the feeling, setting your hand over his to loosen his grip and step aside. Vigilante crouches, seemingly unphased. 

“What are these? They smell so good! Did you make them? What is that? Is it orange?” he gushes, staring intently into the oven. 

Turning back to your kettle and waiting for it to finish, you reply, “They’re orange scones. Thanks, yeah, I made them.” You hesitate, “You can have a couple if you want.”

“Really? Awhh, thank you! I’m starving, I’ve been running around,” he stands to turn the oven light off, leaning against the kitchen counter, arms folded over his chest. God, his chest. You pull out two mugs. 

“Tea?” you offer, shaking the box of tea. 

“Sure, if it tastes good together,” he shrugs. As you place the tea bags and pour the boiling water, the oven timer goes off. Carefully, you pull the tray out and let it cool on top of the stove. 

“Milk?” you ask him. 

“Oh, no thanks,” he stares at you going around the kitchen. After placing the two mugs on the kitchen island, you grab the orange glaze, taking a spoon to drizzle it over three of the scones while the rest cool. 

Vigilante reaches into a cabinet above you, grabbing two plates. As he brings them down, you feel his body brush against yours. You feel goosebumps spread across your skin, your heartrate picking up. He places the plates down on the counter, looking at you intently. 

You look up at him, and you find yourself wanting to rip his mask off and just kiss him. Despite all the speeches you’ve given yourself about focusing on you and making real friends, you still want to feel, grab, pull, and bite all over his body. Is it the mask? The anonymity? Not sure. But for the life of you, you can’t seem to shake these feelings.

Yet you don’t do anything. You know your fantasies can run as wild as they want, but the boundaries the two of you set (well, that he set) are still very much there. 

“Thanks,” you look away, hoping your face hadn’t betrayed your thoughts. You try to cool your cheeks and forehead with the back of your hands before quickly plating the scones and handing Vigilante his. 

The two of you make your way to the kitchen island. “Fuck, I’m gonna stuff my face with these, I cannot wait,” he examines his plate. As you sit on your chair, you smile when he gently turns you to face away from his seat.

He grunts as you hear him pulling of his mask, setting it on the counter and sitting down behind you. You grab your tea and for his verdict. 

“Hmmmfff,” he moans through a full mouth, “vvvssss sss ggggooo.”

You laugh, “Yeah?”

“This..is so good. I need these, like, every day. Holy shit,” he says, taking another bite and leaning back slightly in his seat. His back touches yours, and you’re momentarily startled. But before he can pull away, you lean into him, grateful for the support. Standing and working is one thing, but now that you’ve sat down, you can feel the remnants of the hangover. 

“Are you alright?” he asks softly. 

“I’m okay; just had a long night,” you reply. The warmth from your mug and his body is comforting. 

“Oh…did something…happen?”

“No, well, yes. Some freak that was messing with me all night was killed,” you sip your tea. 

“Right. How do you, uh, feel about that?” he asks tentatively. It’s like I’m at the therapist. Great line of questioning so far. 

“Honestly? I just wish he hadn’t been bothering me. But he’s my friend’s cousin. So she’s pretty broken up, I think. That’s why I made her some food,” you gesture toward the kitchen. 

“What?! You’re telling me I’m eating death scones?”

Definitely not at the therapist. “I made two batches,” you bite into yours. Not bad. 

“Oh. Okay,” he resumes eating. Oddball. You smile, enjoying the feeling of his body against yours. He sets the plate onto the counter after a few minutes and starts on his tea. You check the time. 8:02AM. 

“What are you up to today?” you question. I wonder what his daytimes look like.

“Me? Oh, nothing crazy. Just the usual. Keeping up my secret identity, cleaning my gear, playing a little DND,” he pauses, “Do you think I can take some of these with me?”

“What, the scones? Yeah, I can pack some for you,” a deep satisfaction blooms in your heart. As he continues talking, you indulge a little, allowing yourself to feel a fraction of the ache you’ve been holding in your heart for the man sitting behind you. You sigh after some time, trying to reel it back. 

“…and I’m in the middle of refreshing the paint on a few of the pieces—” 

“Hey,” you interrupt, unable to control the words spilling out of you.

“Yeah?”

“Do you think you’ll ever…I mean, do you think we’ll ever sit face to face?” you bite your lip, waiting for a response. You know the answer, you’re sure you’ve asked him before. But you can’t help but hope for something different. He’s quiet for a while, and you swear you can feel him sink in his chair a little.

“I don’t know. I really want to but it’s not safe for you to know a lot about me. It kinda sucks but, like, we can still hang out. This is still fun, right?”

‘Fun’ isn’t exactly how you’d describe what this was. You can agree with ‘exciting’, ‘unpredictable’, and even ‘embarrassing’ (especially during your weaker moments), but the feelings you can’t quite shake don’t feel synonymous to ‘fun’.

And yet, you don’t want any of it to stop, so you force yourself to agree, “Right.” As you zone out, lost in your thoughts, Vigilante collects the dishes on the counter, stacking them. He stands to grab the empty cup from your hand, his hand overlapping your own, waiting patiently for you to release it. When you do, he doesn’t move. Brushing your eyes closed with his free hand, you feel him approach the side of your chair and wrap you in an embrace. 

“I’m glad you’re okay,” he mumbles against your hair. You hold his arm closer to your chest. As you let go, he straightens and clears his throat, “You wanna watch a crow documentary? It’s called ‘A Murder of Crows’. I think because a group of crows is called a murder, but honestly, I’m kinda hoping it’s because they caught a bunch of crows murdering someone.”

“It’s kind of fitting, isn’t it? Because of the murder last night?” you remark. Okay maybe that was a little too far. A little ironic, a little morbid…

But his loud, boisterous laugh thunders behind you, shocking your eyes open. “That was…so good!” he squeezes out between laughs, “I didn’t even think of that!” You can’t help but laugh along. God, he was so contagious. Even when what he was laughing at was completely inappropriate.

You hear him pulling his mask on. Standing to turn the tv on, you hear him washing the dishes. As you queue up the documentary, you fall back onto the couch. 

Quickly finishing and making his way over to you, Vigilante takes a seat, shaking his fists in excitement. “I have a good feeling about this,” he vibrates with excitement, turning toward the tv. 

Pressing ‘Play’, you rest your head on his shoulder and watch as the National Geographic logo takes over the screen. 

How am I ever going to get over him?