kaylia

Boyfriend!Jobe who playfully messes up your clothes with flour, leaving powdery handprints on your thighs, chest and ass.

Boyfriend!Jobe who lets you spray whipped cream in his tongue even though he already knows you would miss purposely and get it around his mouth.

Boyfriend!Jobe who lets you lick and suck the cookie dough off his fingers. He loves the warmth of your mouth around his finger and doesn’t want to pull away. It kinda makes his stomach flutter… is that a normal thing?

Boyfriend!Jobe who takes turns with you rolling out the dough. His arms wrapping around waist when it’s your turn.

Boyfriend!Jobe who tries to throw dark chocolate chips at your mouth while you two wait for the cookies to rise in the oven.

Boyfriend!Jobe who gate keeps the cookies from you when they’re finished, keeping them out of your reach so you won’t be able to eat them.

KYLIAN MBAPPE: nights like this – the kid laroi

kylian is ready for you to train him on the art of soft launching. digi cam and disposable films? he’s ready. he’s the type to capture the most intimate soft launches ever and sneak them into his photo dumps. low exposure back shot of you in his room, the golden sunset blocking your face just right under the madrid sky. he’s also the type to post himself holding your things, like your handbag slung over his shoulder or helping you carry your heels when your feet are sore. he loves you so much and he wants to show the world he’s right where he wants to be.

LAMINE YAMAL: spin bout u – drake, 21 savage

lamine doesn’t understand (or care for) the concept of soft launching. he’s itching to scream it to the world that you’re the one he needs. he’d take pictures of himself manspreading with you standing between his legs, or of him kissing your cheek while you’re 95% out of frame. his favourites are intimate date nights where he gets to hold your hand across a candlelit dinner, with a massive bouquet of your favourite flowers beside you, just to let the world know you’re sitting across lamine yamal.

KENAN YILDIZ: no other heart – mac demarco

kenan is super private about his love life. his soft launches are really lowkey, in a way that you have to be crazy to cross reference stories and instagram posts. he’d start slowly by dropping a like (with his main account!) on your posts, or wearing matching necklaces in pictures, before moving to sharing the same hoodie, though people would only know that if they saw your story first. you were a little visible once, in the reflection of his sunglasses, when he sat across from you at a quaint cafe in turin. his followers went crazy on that bread crumb. being shown off subtly while protecting your identity from harassment is his top priority. such a gentleman.

JAMAL MUSIALA: apple cider – beabadoobee

not to be biased or whatever but his soft launches are my favourite… jamal is super adorable (nicknamed bambi for a reason!). he’d post a picture of you holding a bouquet of flowers covering your face (he got you those), photo-booth strips and polaroids beside two drinks, and selfies of you two sharing earpieces together. a candid photo of you squatting down to pet a cat, with your face out of frame, is his favourite. he unlocks his phone to that picture; he sees it right before he goes to sleep and the moment he wakes up. jamal wants to show the world that you’re a keeper, and being beside you is both a blessing and a gift.

MICHAEL OLISE: fell in luv – playboi carti ft. bryson tiller

michael’s soft launches are subtle yet loud. it’s less about the pictures for him, but more about the songs he posts you to. he doesn’t wanna reveal too much, yet he wants everyone to know he’s the one kissing your hand. casual pictures of your legs resting across his thighs, and matching maison margiela bracelets on his wrist. the closest anyone ever got to seeing your face was a shot of you wearing his diesel cap pulled low, covering your features as you sat proudly in his bayern jersey. you’re fine as wine, ten like diamonds, he treats you like his last dime.

You’re doing okay at work. It’s actually going bad, you kind of hate it, but you’re trying to convince yourself you don’t. When you moved cities to go work at the main office, accepting a promotion, you thought it’d would change your life in a way. New city, new me? Or whatever people say.

It’s actually been: new city, same me. You adjusted quickly to the fast pace of New York and you enjoy how walkable it is. No need for a car here. You made a few acquaintances here and there, mostly coworkers. You wouldn’t really call them friends. People at the office are older than you, so they all have kids. They’re not really free to go out. You mostly spend your days alone. You don’t mind, you like being independent.

There’s a lot to explore in New York, which is a big reason why you accepted the new job. When you’re not exploring the city, going to the movies or trying a new restaurant, you’re at home. You found a cute little apartment in Manhattan. You made it your home, decorating it how you like. Your landlord, Mrs. Smithers, is the sweetest lady. She let you do whatever you wanted with the place. It’s pretty cool.

There is one downside to your apartment: there’s no balcony. That’s why, this late in the night, you’re currently leaning your forearms on the railing of the fire escape, looking over at the dark alley. Since you don’t have a balcony, you come out here to take a breath or to think sometimes. The fire escape is useful but not spacious. It’s not ideal, but at least you’ve got that.

You know that other people come out on the fire escape too sometimes. One of the downstairs neighbour smokes, so when he comes out, you always go back inside.

Tonight, you’re alone. It is late so it’s normal that there’s no one else. That’s how you like it. You enjoy the peace you have, in silence. By silence, you mean the distant honks or sirens of the AVTF or the noises of the city that never sleeps. They sound so distant, so it’s not hard to filter them out.

Your peace is disturbed by a loud bang. It comes from below. You don’t think much of it, you live in New-York so that noise could come from anywhere.

Little do you know, you are seconds away from your life completely changing.

When Dex jumps on the first floor of the fire escape, he realizes there’s someone out here. He’s not alone. He sees your figure on the second floor through the metal cracks. He doesn’t make a sound as he goes up the stairs to the floor you’re on. He knows he’ll come face to face with you. Maybe he’ll just walk past you as if it was nothing. Maybe you’re high and he won’t even be noticed. Maybe he’ll have to threaten you. He’ll decide on the spot.

You see something moving from the corner of your left eye. You snap your head to see what it is. There he is, standing tall at the other end of your floor.

Well, this is how you die. Would it matter? You’re not sure after the week you had. He takes a step forward, and you look back in front of you, not really caring what he does.

“Are you gonna kill me?” You think aloud.

“Is there a reason I should?” He challenges, stepping closer.

You don’t reply immediately. You turn to face him and take a step forward, almost leaving no gap between you. You don’t know what comes over you, or where that confidence comes from. Maybe it’s from your shitty day. Maybe it’s cause you’d like to have a thrill. Maybe it’s cause your life has become mundane.

You look into his eyes, “You tell me. I don’t know what qualifies someone to be your target.”

He smirks underneath his mask. He looks you up and down before giving you a small nod.

“You’re cool. I won’t do anything to you.”

You nod in return. “Cool. Thanks”

He stands there, towering over you. It’s now your turn to look him up and down. You glaze stops on his arsenal of weapons. You’re intrigued. You’ve never been this close to a vigilante before. You’ve heard the stories, but have never witnessed anything with your own eyes.

You point at his gun and knives, as if silently asking if you can have a look at them. He doesn’t move so you take that as a yes.

You take out a knife from the belt around his waist. You examine it, it’s small but very sharp.

You hum in approval, “This is nice.”

You put it back in the knife pocket. Your hands slowly go to the gun strapped on his chest. You take it out and feel its weight in your hands. You examine the size.

“A .45. Good choice.”

You secure it back into the strap. Instead of letting your hands fall back to your sides, you rest them on his pecs. You feel him tense up, but he doesn’t step back or push your hands away. You run your hands on his chest, then slowly raise them to his shoulders before dragging them down his arms. He’s broad, muscular and built. You don’t need to see him shirtless to know he’s ripped.

“Your secret is safe with me.”

You walk to your window and kneel to open it. You look back at him. He hasn’t moved yet, only his head turns to follow your movement.

“Goodnight. Bullseye.”

You get back in your apartment and look at him for a second before closing the window.

Goodnight. Bullseye.

You knew who he was. He can’t get over that fact. You clearly made an impression on him. A big one. He replays the scene in his head. How you weren’t scared. How you complimented his weapon choices. How you felt his chest under your hands. There wasn’t any skin to skin contact, but he bets your touch is soft. He bets your touch could heal him.

Now he wants to feel your touch on his skin. He wants to feel your hands on his arms, his back, his chest. He wants you to trace his scars with your fingers. Would you find them intriguing? Would you ask him about where he got them?

This is a dangerous thing, because now he knows you exist, and he knows where you live.

The next night, he hopes you’ll be back out on the fire escape. He’s thought about it all day. He wants to look at you. To talk to you. He wants to feel you. He wants you to feel him.

His heart skips a beat when he sees a figure on your floor of the fire escape. He accelerates his steps to get to you faster. And there you are, for a second night in a row, face to face with him.

“Hey.” You nod his way, as if you’re greeting an old friend, before you turn back towards the alley.

“Hey.” He steps by your side, leaning his forearms on the railing, mirroring you. “I didn’t get your name last night.”

You turn your head and introduce yourself. He nods and repeats your name. You like how it sounds coming from his mouth. He likes how your name rolls off his tongue so easily.

He explains, “I’ve never seen you around before.”

“Just like how I’ve never seen you around before. It’s not every day I meet a vigilante.”

“Well, I’m not just any vigilante.”

“Oh. Don’t worry, I figured.” You grin.

“So, you know who I am?”

“I’ve heard about you. About things you’ve done.”

Dex notices you don’t look concerned about what you might have heard.

You continue, “Well, I don’t know what’s true cause you can’t believe everything you see online.”

“Smart girl.”

“But I’m guessing some of it is true.”

His eyes close a little, he’s probably smirking, “I guess.”

“Anyways, it’s getting late.”

You head to your window.

“Goodnight”

“Goodnight.”

He watches you get in your apartment before going up another flight of stairs. The interaction was short, but he’s just glad he got to see you. Baby step Dex, baby steps.

The next night, he’s eager to see you. In only two days, you’ve become the best part of his days. Well, his nights.

When he doesn’t see you outside, he decides he’ll try to see if you’re home. He knocks on your window. No response. He knocks again. No movement. You’re clearly not home. That doesn’t magically erase his need to see you. He takes a knife and unlocks your window, pulling it open to let himself in.

Where are you? Are you out with friends? Family? It’s too late for that. Are you over at your boyfriend’s place for the night? Dex hopes you don’t have a boyfriend. Perhaps the pictures in your apartment will help him determine if you’re single.

He takes a look around. Your living room is very cozy. There’s a fluffy blue blanket on the couch and a laptop on the coffee table in front of it. There are pictures on the walls, clearly family or friends. There’s no one that stands out as a life partner.

He walks into the kitchen, everything is in order. There’s a plate, a glass and utensils in the drying rack next to your sink. The counters are clean, nothing is out of place. He opens the fridge. He’s met with a lot of containers. You clearly meal prep for your week. He bets you love to have a routine.

He goes into the bathroom. There are a few bottles of different products in the shower, yet no sign of a man’s shampoo or body wash. That’s a good sign.

He opens the cabinet. There’s a single toothbrush, that’s an even better sign. He looks at your products, there’s a few for your face. There are bottles for your hair. He notices how everything is in order, even behind the closed doors in your bathroom.

He walks out and steps into the room he’s been dying to get into. He kept it for the end, like a cherry on top, like the grand finale to his illegal tour. He enters your bedroom.

Your bed is made. Does that mean you’re not coming over for the night? You’re probably just organized and like things in order. Like him. That’s his theory.

There are a few more pictures in your room, some from your travels, some with friends- or is it your family? Maybe your cousins? Dex is unsure about the link between you and the people on your pictures except one thing- you definitely are single.

He looks into your drawers, finds where your panties and bras are, where your pyjamas are and where you organize your sports clothes. He opens the closet and is met with your clothes, separated by colour.

He likes how you operate. You’re clearly a creature of habit, or order. Like him. You probably keep your scales balanced too. When you make a bad thing happen, even if it’s by accident, you probably rush to do a nice one to balance everything out. A good deed to reverse a bad one.

He closes the closet door and turns to look at the bed once again. He imagines you sleeping there. Would you sleep on your back? On your side? On your tummy? He wonders how you’d sleep if he was next to you in your bed. Would you wear a pyjama? Would you be completely naked next to him? He’d like that. Would you wear one of his shirts, even if it’d be clearly too big for you? He’d like that even more.

He takes a last good look at your place before getting out using the window. He goes up to his apartment.

After treating his small wounds and taking a hot shower, he lies in bed. He can’t fall asleep. You occupy all the space in his mind. How didn’t he meet you in the building before? Why didn’t life put you on his path sooner? Yes, he was in prison and as soon as he escaped, he moved here, but why has life not made you meet earlier?

He pictures you smiling at him, looking up through your lashes due to the height difference. He thinks about you lying next to him. How would he hold you? Would he lie on his back with you on his side, your leg over his own? Would he be the big spoon? He imagines how small you’d feel between his arms as he cuddles you.

Would you kiss him goodnight before resting your head on his chest? Would you draw random forms on his chest with your finger? Would you put your cold feet on his legs during the night, trying to steal his warmth? He wouldn’t even mind it. He’d love for you to always be touching him, never breaking contact in the night.

He realizes how crazy this all is. He’s spent about 15 minutes with you in total and he’s fantasizing about being domestic with you. What’s wrong with him? A lot actually. But this? This is so wrong. You’ve got him wrapped around your finger and you don’t even know it. He’d fall to his knees if you only asked him to. He’d kill anyone in a heartbeat for you. He’d do anything for you.

He’s got it bad. So bad that he can’t wait to see you again.

Lucky for him, you’re outside tonight. He walks over to you. He doesn’t even greet you, he needs to know why you weren’t there yesterday. He stands next to you, imposing.

“You weren’t here last night”

You turn to face him and lean on your side on the railing.

“Indeed I wasn’t. I went to the movies.”

“That late?”

You turn back to face the alley, leaning your forearms on the guardrail again.

“Yeah, I love the 11 pm or later showings. Always almost empty, no kids. It’s like I’m truly alone in the world. It’s just me and the movie.”

You see him take his gloves off from the corner of you eyes. He puts them in his pocket and joins you to look over the alley.

“Sounds nice.”

“It is.”

“Was the movie good?”

“It was.”

You’re chatting casually with a vigilante. A killer. A killer who- unknowingly to you- broke into your home last night to have a look around. A peak to learn more about you. The conversation feels natural, as if you’ve known him for way more than 3 days.

You turn your head in his direction and smile his way. “So, big night for you?”

“You could say.“

He doesn’t offer more and that doesn’t surprise you. He’s a criminal after all. He can’t be sharing info on his crimes with a stranger. You enjoy the silence for a few minutes, looking at the lights flickering in the alley.

“Goodnight.” You step back to head for your window.

He steps towards you, “Wait- are you gonna be out tomorrow night?”

“Maybe, I don’t know.”

“Oh okay.” He wants to say more, beg you to come out to see him, but doesn’t know how. He settles on calling this a night too, “Goodnight.”

You give him a small smile as you get inside your apartment and close the window. He continues up the fire escape stairs to get to his place.

For the next few weeks, you hang out on the fire escape with him when you can. You see each other about 4-5 times a week. He opens up a little more when you chat, but not about anything serious. He asks you for movie recommendations, and you tell him about the restaurants you’ve tried recently. Sometimes, words aren’t necessary. Sometimes, you just look over the dark alley together, enjoying each other’s presence. In those moments, it feels like you’re the only ones in the whole world. You like the way he makes you feel. He makes you feel seen.

Tonight will be different, Dex tells himself. He plans on making a move. A real one. Maybe he’ll ask you out. You could hang out on the roof of your building. He could bring pastries or something. You mentioned you like croissants. He could swing by that place you like and watch the sunrise with you. A night where you don’t work the next morning of course.

He shows up later than expected. He caught two AVTF officers on his way back home and he couldn’t let the opportunity pass by to fuck with them.

He runs back home, worried you’ll be asleep by the time he arrives. He goes up the steps two at a time before stopping when he sees you sitting on the edge of your window, a mug in hand. It’s a colder night, you’re probably drinking hot chocolate or tea.

You meet his eyes, “Hey, I was starting to think you weren’t coming.”

“Sorry. Things got a little crazier than planned.”

“No worries.” You put down the mug on the edge of the window and stand up until you’re in front of him.

You raise an eyebrow at him, “Want to tell me about it?”

He steps closer, “Well, if I do, I’d have to kill you.”

You take a step back, your back meeting the guardrail. You don’t do it cause you’re scared, you do it to avoid breaking eye contact with him. When he’s too close, you have to break your neck just to look up at his face. You put your hands on each side of you on the metal bar. A smirk creeps on your face.

“Yeah? With your gun or with one of your knives? Or maybe your hands? Huh? I know you could break my neck, or maybe you’d suffocate me? I don’t know your methods but that’s my theory.”

He’s speechless. Are you actually asking him how he would kill you? He’d never kill you, but maybe you don’t know that. Not for sure anyway. For all you know, he could snap at you one day and kill you. Or he could break into your place and kill you in your sleep. He knows where you live after all. You don’t truly know him. You don’t even know what he looks like. You’ve only even seen his eyes. His beautiful eyes that are now looking at you like he’s looking into your soul. Looking at you like you’re the only thing that matters on this earth. And his hands. He takes off his gloves when he meets you. His hands are dreamy. You’ve caught yourself thinking about them a few times at work, and at night. You wonder what he could do to you with them.

You don’t know why you said that. You become someone else when you’re around him. It’s like you’re drunk when he’s around. You’re more confident and you feel like nothing can stop you. Being around him is addictive.

“I’d never kill you.” To him it’s so obvious. Why would he kill the one person who makes him feel alive? Who makes him feel seen. Even if you only speak for a second, you make his day that much better. He always looks forward to seeing you. When you’re not there, he goes to bed disappointed. Unsatisfied.

“Sure.” You dismiss his statement. Could you really trust the word of a deranged killer? You want to. You really do.

He grabs your chin with his right hand, his thumb on your chin and his index finger under it, and lifts it until you meet his eyes.

“I. Would. Never. Kill. You.”

He traces your jawline with his finger until he reaches your hair. He briefly feels a strand of your hair before dropping his hand from your face. He puts his arms on both side on you, grabbing the railing with his hands. You’re trapped between him and the railing of the fire escape. Well, there’s worst places to be trapped.

“I’d never hurt you.” It’s almost a whisper.

His voice is low and it sends a shiver down your spine, “I’d never lay a hand on you. Unless you ask me to.”

You raise an eyebrow at that statement instinctively. Does this mean what you think it means? There aren’t a million ways to interpret what he just said. Fuck it, you’re shooting your shot.

Your hands go for the bottom of his mask. You pull it up just enough to see his mouth. You finally see his smirk. You’ve imagined it so many times, but now there’s no need to imagine it anymore.

You reach up slowly, looking out for any sign that you’ve completely misread the situation. There aren’t any, so you softly plant a kiss on his lips. It’s so delicate, Dex thinks he just imagined it.

A second later, he leans down and smashes his lips on yours. His approach is harder, tougher. He’s latching onto you as if the world is burning and you’re the last drop of water on the planet.

You wrap your arms around his neck, not wanting him to pull away. His hands go to your lower back and pull you closer to him, as if that’s possible. He’s kissing you like there’s no tomorrow; like these are his last seconds to live. If it were, he’d die happy. Your hands find their way to his jaw. You feel his stubble, it’s rough against your fingers.

You pull back, breathless. You reach for his mask, eager to see what he looks like. In a beat, his hands are wrapped around your wrists, stopping your plan. You drop your arms to your side. This is not a fight you’re winning.

He puts his hands on the bottom of his mask. You think he’s gonna take it off completely, maybe he wants to be the one to reveal his face, but he pulls it back down. He winks at you.

You roll your eyes playfully at him and lean back against the railing. You cross your arms over your chest and grin.

“You’re a mysterious man. I like it”

His heart skips a beat. Fuck, you’re so hot.

You walk over to the window and pick up your mug. You shoot him a look.

“I’ll see you around. Bullseye.” You said it just like that first night. The emphasis on his name felt different today. It felt playful. Flirty even.

You’re about to go back inside. “Wait-“

You turn around. He nods your way.

“You can call me Dex.”

You hum. “Dex? Sure.” You smile at him, stepping back towards him. You get on your tiptoes and plant a kiss on his covered cheek.

“Goodnight, Dex.”

You go inside before he can reply. He couldn’t reply even if he wanted to, he’s too shocked by what happened.

You kissed him. He kissed you back. You made out. Like- truly made out. He told you his real name. You kissed his cheek and wished him goodnight.

Yes, the night is about to be good. He’ll replay that moment in his head until the sun comes up. This is better than expected. He hadn’t asked you out like he planned, but he got to be physical with you. He got to kiss you, taste you. He got to feel your touch on his face, well, the bottom half of it.

He lies in bed wondering about what comes next. The next step is to ask you out, definitely.

He should take off his mask too, fully, but he loved your reaction to not seeing his face tonight. That roll of your eyes makes him smirk. You clearly were flustered by that and he loved every second of it. He clearly has an effect on you, just like you have on him.

He looks at the ceiling and wonders if he’s all that’s on your mind. If he’s infiltrated your thoughts like you had with his. You live rent free in his head. When he closes his eyes, he sees your face. Your beautiful smile and those playful eyes. He sees the face you made when he told you he’d never hurt you. Your eyes sparkled in that instant. What he said was true. He’d never hurt you. Unless it was in a consensual way. He won’t let anyone hurt you. You deserve the world. Dex hopes he can give it to you.

Dex. You had called him Dex. Even wished him goodnight using his name. The sound of his name leaving your lips was angelic. He thought he died and made it to heaven and you were the angel welcoming him into the golden gates. There’s no way Dex would go to heaven, but he’s so delusional that he doesn’t realize it.

He falls asleep fantasizing about you.

The next night, you’re not there. When he steps on the second floor of the fire escape, he’s met with nothing. Absolute emptiness. Absolute absence of you. Where are you? Why aren’t you out? He’s not earlier nor later than usual.

Fuck, did he scare you away? He won’t forgive himself if he did. Did the fact that he pulled his mask back down turn you off? Did you replay the scene at night just like he did but your conclusion was way different than his? Had you come to your senses and realize how crazy -fucked up, truly- what you’ve been doing with him is? He puts his hands on his head, trying to understand what went wrong.

He turns and sees a piece of paper in your window. He gets closer and sees there’s a message on it. He reads it.

I’m out! Work thing :/ Will be back tomorrow.

He breaths out and relaxes. He was so scared you wanted nothing more to do with him. It would’ve broken him, probably sent him on a rampage too.

He stays in front of your window for a while and enjoys the silence, like you’ve done so many times before. The emptiness next to him feels huge. He knows he’s got it bad, he’s clearly addicted to you. Only a night without you makes his head spiral. He can’t be apart from you. Not after that last night. Not after feeling you pressed against him. Not after you two became one for an instant, sharing a kiss so passionate, so hot. Not after you kissed his cheek through his mask. Not after you called him Dex.

After what feels like eternity, he goes up to his apartment. Tomorrow will be the day he asks you out. Tomorrow will be the start of forever together. He wouldn’t have it any other way.

The next night, you go outside and immediately look at the alley to see if maybe Dex is already on his way. You’re eager to see him. You couldn’t last night and you can’t get that kiss out of your head. That kiss was magical, the culmination of weeks, months of hanging out on the fire escape. Dex has been on your mind since he pushed you against the railing to make out with you two days ago. And that stupid grin, it’s been tattooed on your mind. You finally got to see his mouth, but nothing more. You need more. And you need it tonight. Now.

When he joins you, sitting next to you on the edge of your window, he doesn’t miss a beat to ask you where you were. You explain it was a last minute work dinner, an invitation from clients so you couldn’t refuse even if you wanted to. It was on the other side of the city and it turned into a never-ending night. You leave out the part that you hated your night. The way one of the clients was disrespectful, trying to get in your pants all night long. The meal was good, but that situation made the whole night awkward and unpleasant for you. Not that your coworkers seemed to care. They were enjoying a night without their kids, they couldn’t care less that you weren’t enjoying yourself or were getting hit on by a rich client. That’s one of the clients that pays all your salaries; for sure no one was coming to your rescue. Still, that doesn’t give him a pass to harass you all night.

“Next time you go out late, tell me. I’ll walk you home.”

“That’s nice of you, but I had to take a taxi, it was so far.”

He doesn’t reply. He doesn’t like the thought of you taking a taxi at 1 a.m.

You wonder what Dex would do if you mentioned what happened with the client last night. Would he find him? Probably. Would he make sure he’d never approach you or speak to you ever again? You’re pretty sure of it. You’re so caught up in your thoughts that you don’t register what he’s saying. You know he’s speaking, cause you hear his voice, but you don’t catch a word he’s saying.

You shake your head, gathering yourself. “Sorry, what did you say? My head’s all foggy tonight.”

He puts his hand on yours and his eyes soften. “Would you like to watch the sunrise with me?”

“Like today? I don’t think I can stay up that long. I’m so tired.”

“Not today, tomorrow.”

You think about it. You planned to catch up on sleep this weekend. “I’m not sure. I’ll think about it?”

He nods, clearly disappointed. Even if his face is covered, you can see it in his eyes. He sucks at hiding it. You put your other hand on top of his that’s already on yours and look into his eyes.

“I really do want to. I just had a long week, that’s all.”

That seems to reassure him. He nods.

“I’m glad the week is over. I’m free! For two days.” You chuckle at your misery.

“Why don’t you quit?”

“Quit my job? I can’t. I moved here for it. I’d have to find something else, quickly. And that’s not as easy as it sounds.”

“I’m sure you could. You’re brilliant.”

You blush at the compliment. “Thanks, Dex.”

“I mean it, any other place would be lucky to have you.”

He’s right. That’s a reason you’re the one who got offered the NY position. There’s a reason you’re one of the best at what you do.

You nod, confident, “I’ll speak to my manager about it next week. If she doesn’t do anything, I’ll look at other opportunities.”

He nods strongly, happy about your decision, “Good.”

There’s a silence. Dex knows you’re not in the best mood, your job is clearly affecting you. He doesn’t know the big picture, but he doesn’t need it to see you’re out of it tonight.

“I watched the movie you recommended last week. Inception.”

A smile takes over your features. If there’s one thing Dex knows will cheer you up, it’s talking about cinema.

“Oh yeah? And? Did it change your life?”

“I wouldn’t say that. It was nice. And trippy. But nice.”

“Good. I’m happy you didn’t hate it.”

You laugh. He smiles at your reaction.

“I liked it, don’t get me wrong! I’m just not a big movie buff like you.”

“I know.”

He clears his throat, “Maybe we could watch a movie together next time. You could tell me all about what you know about it. Make it a VIP experience?”

This is him asking you to hang out, inside. Elsewhere then out here, on the fire escape.

“Yeah, we should. I’ll think about what we could watch. How’s that?”

“Perfect.”

You look at him. You’ve been thinking about kissing him again. Clearly, he won’t make a move so you do.

“So, are you gonna lift your mask to kiss me or what?”

Dex wanted to kiss you the second he saw you tonight, but he caught onto the vibe and refrained from doing so. He’s been waiting for an opening and well- you just gave him one on a silver platter.

He grins, “I’ll do you one better.”

He reaches for his mask with one hand and pulls it off. You try to take it all in: his blonde hair, his scar, all of his features suit him so well. He’s more handsome than you imagined him to be. All those nights thinking about him and all that time daydreaming about him didn’t do him justice.

“Woah.” You can’t help the sound that escapes your lips.

“Woah? Is that good?” He chuckles.

“You’re stupidly hot. I figured but shit, you’re gorgeous Dex. You shouldn’t wear that mask. I like the whole mysterious act, but with a face like that? You should ditch it.”

Your hand goes to his cheek. You trace his scar with two fingers. The urge is stronger than you but he doesn’t seem to mind. He melts under your touch.

A blush creeps on his face. He’s known you to be direct and honest, but your reaction to his looks makes his tummy all fuzzy.

“Thanks.”

He leans down and kisses you. It’s the first time you’ve kissed since the other night. It feels less rushed than the first time. He rests his hands on your cheeks. Your own hands go to tug at the bottom of his dirty blonde hair. It’s wet from sweat, but you don’t care, at least you can finally feel it.

He rests his forehead on yours.

“So a movie, maybe a sunrise. How do you feel about dinner with me?”

You pull back to smile at him. “I feel good about dinner with you.”

“Good.” He looks down smiling, “You’re the restaurant expert, so I’ll follow your lead for that one.”

“Sure. Just let me know what you’d like to eat.”

“Whatever you’ll be feeling in that moment.”

You smile at him. He clearly doesn’t mind what you do, he just wants to take you on a date.

“I’ll let you know.”

You kiss him again. You shiver, the cold air getting to you. You don’t want to be without him, not after the week you had.

“As much as I love the sight of you in that suit, I’m cold. How do you feel about changing and meeting me back here? I’ll let the window open, unless you want to use the door. We could watch a movie.”

You’re inviting him inside. This is real.

He smirks, “Window is fine. Give me like 20 minutes?”

“Sure, I’ll be inside.”

He leans down to kiss you quickly.

“I’ll be right back”

You see him go up the stairs two at a time. You get back inside your apartment.

While Dex is showering and changing, you think about what movie you can watch. You really won’t care about the movie, you’ll be too occupied kissing him to watch it.

Dex runs down the stairs of the fire escape to reach your floor. He gets into your place.

“Should I close the window? We don’t want any more vigilantes joining us.”

You chuckle, walking to meet him by the window. You close it. “Good point. One vigilante is enough. I don’t need any more”

You kiss his cheek. Dex feels your lips on his scar and his heart drops. You’re perfect for him, in more ways than you can think.

“It’s my first time seeing you in anything other than your suit. You look- normal.”

He chuckles at the statement.

“Anyways, make yourself at home, I’ve got a few suggestions of movies we can watch.”

“Good.”

You walk to the kitchen. He looks around the living room, nothing’s changed since that time he broke in to look around. This time feels different though. You invited him in, he’s welcome inside.

“You want anything to drink?”

He remembers seeing a coffee machine on your counter. He walks over to the kitchen and points to the machine in the corner of your counter.

“Coffee, if that’s no trouble.”

“Not at all, come choose your pod.”

He didn’t take the time to open the drawers in the kitchen when he came. He walks behind the counter and you open a drawer, it’s full of coffee pods, arranged by taste and colour. He’s not surprised.

He picks one and hands it to you. You put it in the machine and it starts doing its magic. You look his way.

“I’m guessing caffeine doesn’t do much for you?”

“It doesn’t. I enjoy the taste of coffee, so I just grab one whenever I want to.”

“That’s nice, I can’t have a coffee after 3 p.m. or I won’t be able to sleep.”

“If you want to take one, I can keep you company all night. I’ve got nowhere to be.”

The invitation is sweet, in theory. The grin on his face tells you his company wouldn’t be innocent.

You dismiss his offer, “I do plan on sleeping, that’s why I’m getting-“ you reach in the drawer for a pink pod before closing the drawer. “This. Hot chocolate!”

He nods at your choice. The machine stops, you hand him the mug full of fresh coffee and put a new one under the reservoir. You pop the pink pod in the machine and it starts going.

“You take anything in your coffee?” You already have your hand on the handle of your refrigerator when he answers.

“No.” He smiles.

You let go of the handle, “I should’ve guessed.”

Once your mug is full, you take it and walk over to the living room. He follows suit.

You sit down and look at him, as he sits down next to you and sets his mug on the coffee table. You ask, “So, you in the mood for anything particular?”

“I’m here for the good company. I don’t mind what we watch.”

“Honest answer, I like it.” You rest your mug on the coffee table and pick up the remote.

You decide to put on a movie you’ve already seen, not wanting to waste time picking another, knowing you won’t pay it any attention anyway.

It doesn’t take 5 minutes that you’re kissing him, his hands going up and down your back.

The movie serves as background noise for your make out session. Between kisses, you exchange a few words. You’re trying to get to know more about him, but you’re too distracted by his good looks. Who can blame you? You’ll get plenty more opportunities to ask him questions once you go out to dinner. You spend the entire movie kissing each other and cuddling. There’s not a moment that goes by that you’re not connected to each other one way or another.

It’s 2:30 a.m. when he leaves.

You wake up and walk into your living room. Something in the window catches your attention. You walk over and see there’s a paper on the outside of your window. You read it through the glass.

Meet me outside at 5:00 tomorrow morning.

There’s no signature but it can only be from one person. You debate writing back that it’s too early and that you value your sleep.

Fuck it, you want to live a little. That’s the only reason you spoke to him in the first place that first night. You wanted to feel alive. To experience new things. This is it. It’s an opportunity to do just that.

You plan your day around that “date”. He didn’t state it was, but you’re sure it is. Or you hope it is, Dex is nice and hot. So hot. You feel weirdly safe with him. Like nothing can get to you when you’re next to him.

That’s why you’re out on the fire escape at 5:00 a.m. He comes down, in his street clothes- no mask. You really need to get used to that.

“Hey. I’m glad you came.”

You grin, “Didn’t know if it was an invitation or a threat.”

He chuckles before offering you his hand.

“Sure, I’m certain you felt very scared of what I’d do if you didn’t come out.”

You roll your eyes at him mocking you before taking his hand. He walks up the stairs, his hand behind his back, making sure your hands don’t separate, even for a second. You follow him up, all the way up. You reach the roof. You see lights on the floor, in the middle of the roof. He walks you over to them and you see the setup. There’s a thick blanket set down. A few pillows and a paper bag from your favorite bakery.

Your head snaps his way.

“You did all this for me? You weren’t even sure I was coming.”

“I was hopeful you would.”

You reach up and kiss him softly. He rests his hands on your waist, deepening the kiss. His tongue dances with yours so fluently, it’s like you were made for each other.

You wouldn’t have thought a vigilante, a killer as merciless as Bullseye would have such a soft side. You notice you’re with Dex right now, there’s no sign of Bullseye.

“How about we get settled? The sun should come up in 30 minutes”

You kiss him once more as a reply. You sit down on the blanket and he sits down next to you on your left side.

“We get to stargaze for a while then.” You lie on your back, staring at the night sky.

“I don’t know if the sky is clear enough, but let’s see.” He lies down next to you, arms touching.

“So? What do you say?”

“It’s okay. There’s a few stars over there.” He points to the East.

“I see them.”

You lie there, not exchanging any words. You grab his right hand with your left. He robs your hand with his thumb.

The sky starts changing colours, shades of orange and pink starting to take over the buildings.

“This is beautiful, Dex.”

You watch as the sun rises slowly, hearing more noises as time goes on, as if the city that never sleeps was waking up with the sun.

Dex is next to you, enjoying the view and the calmness you bring him. Being next to you is all he needs. You don’t even have to talk to be present, just your proximity does it for him. In those few weeks, you’ve become a huge part of his life, his routine. Dex tried to place a finger on what you mean to him since he saw you that first night. Looking at you take in the view of the sunrise right now, next to him, everything clicks. You’re home.

That’s what you feel to him. Like home. You are warmth, you are coziness, you are everything that makes him feel safe, feel loved. He is unsure what love is, but in this moment he would bet this is what love feels like. He doesn’t care about anything else but you in that moment. The faint sounds of police sirens in the distance don’t make him want to suit up and run into action. No- he wants to stay here, with you. Forever.

He hopes you feel the same way. When the sun is fully up, you turn to lie on your side.

“This was amazing.”

You get closer and kiss him. Pulling back, you smile at him. You put your head down on his chest. His arm goes around you and his hand now rests on your lower back.

“It was.”

He breathes in the scent of your shampoo. You always smell so good. At first, he was wondering what you smelled like, but when he let himself in your place, he noticed the coconut and vanilla shampoo. He can’t wait to shower with you. You’ll probably offer to wash his back and he’ll gladly accept. He loves it when your hands are on him.

You pack everything up in the bag Dex used to bring this all up to the roof. You realize you didn’t even eat the pasties. You didn’t even open the bag, but you’re sure he got you your favorite.

He nods to the stairs. “After you, beautiful.”

You start going down the stairs. You point to his bag. “You want to drop that off at your place first?

“Nah, I’ll leave it on the fire escape.”

You finally reach your window. You turn to face him, grab his shirt and pull him towards you to kiss him. He drops the bag he’s holding and pulls you closer by the waist.

You pull back and smile, “Thank you for doing that for me, it was amazing.” Dex loves how your eyes sparkle as you look at him. “Want to come in?”

“You know I can’t say no to you.”

You enter your apartment using the window. As soon as you’re both inside, you jump on each other. Clothes start to fly everywhere in the apartment as you try to make your way to your bedroom without taking your hands off each other.

You’ve been thinking about sleeping with him for a while now. Even before seeing his face, you’ve thought about having his hands on you. Now you want so much more.

Dex has been thinking about sleeping with you since you had run your hands on his body that first night. He’s been fantasizing about all the things he’d do to you. Would you like him to wear the mask once? Would you like if Bullseye showed up? He’ll ask you when the time is right. Right now? He wants to savour this moment. To savour you.

~

As you lie on your side to face him, you take in how everything changed over the last 2 months. How you went from complete strangers to whatever you are now. You know you’ll have to define this at some point but right now you only want to enjoy the moment. Defining the relationship and putting a label on it can definitely wait. Dex is worth the wait.

From coming face to face with Bullseye on the fire escape to being face to face in bed with Dex, you loved every step. Dex had manifested it and orchestrated it from the moment he saw you that first night. You had accepted him as Bullseye, which made it so much easier for him to be Dex around you. You love him as Bullseye and you love him as Dex. One comes with the other so how can you not? You like the softness of Dex and you like the roughness of Bullseye. You like how Dex remembers the small things you tell him. You like how Bullseye threatens anyone who makes you slightly mad or sad- anyone who dares to disrespect you.

Dex can’t wait to spend whatever time you’re ready to give him together. He hopes you’ll give him forever. Hopes that you won’t get enough of him anytime soon.

He can’t wait to make you breakfast, walk you to your job, or to your new job if you get one. He can’t wait to get home to you after his outings as Bullseye. He can’t wait for you to tell him all about your day over dinner. He can’t wait to watch the movies you love and try out restaurants with you. He can’t wait to go to sleep next to you and wake up with you in his arms. He can’t wait to tell you he loves you. He’ll wait for a few weeks to pass by first, but he knows he loves you already- whatever love is to him. And he can’t wait to hear you say you love him, too.

He can’t wait for the future. The future with you.

——

"i bet you can't do it, i bet it's all talk." you sighed, throwing your legs over his lap.

dex needn't say a word in response, only give you a daring glance. you knew his accuracy was pinpoint, you were goading him into giving into you. as he always did.

"i can poke holes in that pretty little vest you're wearing." he declared casually.

"i don't believe you."

"oh really?" he asked, hooking his arm around your ankles to move them onto the floor. "come on then."

you watched from around his arm as he gathered the knives into his hands, some with small engravings on them, some weathered by combat and fatalities.

"what do those symbols mean?" you asked, pointing at one only for it to be jerked away from you. dex was overly cautious about your safety, he'd never let you touch one, it was more than enough you were getting them thrown at you. he trusted his aim, but his heart still stammered at the idea of you in harms way.

"get bored waiting for the targets to arrive, so i doodle on them." he admitted softly. "go stand against the door for me, sweetheart."

only when your back was flush against the wooden door had your nerves set in. you trusted dex, with your life. you believed he would protect you with his very last breath. but knives being thrown at you was a different caliber, it exceeded your thoughts and presented itself in real time. you were in over your head.

"is it too late to back out?" you joked, anxiously laughing as dex held the blade end in his grip.

his face softened at your fear, taking a few strides to meet his face with yours. your eyes were glassy, a wobbly smile on your face as you tried to remain brave.

"do you trust me?" he whispered, dragging the pad of his thumb against the apple of your cheek.

you nodded.

"i would sooner kill myself with one of these things than hurt you with one, okay?" his words were comforting, although the ideation of his death hadn't comforted you at all.

he stepped back, a few metres away from you against the door. you flinched as he raised his hand.

"sweetheart, you need to be relaxed."

"do you think a knife being lobbed at you is relaxing?" you argued, fear biting at your temper. "don't answer that."

dex chuckled. "shoulders down, keep your eyes closed if you want."

you did. squeezing them shut as you forced your shoulders downward, soon hearing the collision between wood and metal. you felt the metal ghosting at your waist, but there hadn't been a sharp sting or a trail of wetness. nothing at all.

you opened your eyes and peered down, knives outlined the curve of your body. the blades sat mere millimetres away from your skin, catching the fabric of your shirt instead. three on each side.

"holy shit." you breathed.

dex yanked the knives from the door, giving your hair an affectionate ruffle. " my brave girl, hm?"

you smiled, feeling the rush of adrenaline you'd feel once you'd done something scary. like ride a fast rollercoaster, or take a cliff dive. you wanted to do it again, up the ante, have you believing your chances of safety were dangerously low.

"can i try?"

The camera had cost you four months of saved tips from a bartending job you quit the moment you sold your first photograph, and you still treated it like it was made of glass, wrapping the body in a strip of old towel before you zipped it into the bag every single night. Hell's Kitchen at eleven o'clock was a different city than the one people saw at noon, and the vigilantes who worked it moved through the dark like they owned it, which meant if you wanted a photograph worth anything, you had to learn to move through the dark just as well as they did. You had a devil in a black mask who worked the docks and the church steps of Hell's Kitchen. You had a man in a skull-marked jacket who left bodies instead of headlines. You had a kid in red and blue who swung through downtown some nights like he was chasing something faster than himself, and a handful of others besides, each one a story the paper paid good money for as long as the shot was clean and the face was clear.

Tonight you were perched on the lip of a parking garage across from the old cathedral on Fifty-Second, because a source inside the precinct had tipped you that the devil himself had a habit of using the bell tower to look out over his territory, and you had your six hundred millimeter lens braced against the concrete ledge, breathing slow and even the way you had taught yourself to when your heart wanted to race. Below you, the street was empty except for a stray cat picking through a tipped-over trash can, and above you, the bell tower sat dark and silent, giving away nothing. You had learned patience the hard way, through dozens of wasted nights and a handful of nights that had nearly gotten you killed, and so you simply waited, eye pressed to the viewfinder, watching the tower for any flicker of red.

It was the stillness that saved you, in the end, or at least you would come to think of it that way later. A sound reached you that did not belong to the empty street below, a soft scrape of a boot against gravel that came from somewhere behind you and slightly to your left, close enough that your whole body went cold before your mind had even finished processing the fact that you were not alone up here. You had picked this spot because the roof access door was the only way up, and you had checked that door twice before settling in, which meant whoever was behind you had not used the stairs at all.

"You've got good aim," a voice said, low and almost conversational, like he was commenting on the weather rather than announcing his presence four feet behind you. "For a civilian. Though I've got to say, the devil's a strange choice tonight. Heard he's not even in the city."

Your body reacted before your brain caught up, twisting around with the camera still gripped in one hand like it might somehow serve as a weapon, and the man crouched on the ledge behind you did not so much as flinch at the sudden movement. He was watching you with an expression you couldn't immediately place, something between curiosity and amusement, his head tilted at an angle that made him look almost boyish despite the black tactical gear and the twin blades sheathed at his thighs. You recognized the silhouette from photographs you had taken of him at a distance weeks ago, the ones the paper had run under a headline calling him Bullseye because nobody had bothered to learn his actual name, and every instinct you owned was screaming at you to run.

"I don't know what you're talking about," you said instead, because running from a man who could apparently climb four stories without making a sound seemed like a good way to end up dead in an alley. "I'm just out for a walk."

"With a lens built for tracking a man in a mask two hundred yards out." He rose from his crouch in one fluid motion, and you noted with some distant, professional part of your brain that he moved like he had never once in his life worried about being clumsy, every step deliberate and precise. "I've seen you before. Three weeks ago, camped out over the docks waiting on the Punisher. Before that, some rooftop downtown, trying to catch the kid in the suit mid-swing." He paused, tilting his head further, and something in his voice shifted into a register that made the hair on your arms stand up. "You collect us. That's what you do. You go looking for the ones who don't want to be found."

He's been watching me for three weeks. The thought landed in your stomach like a stone dropped into still water, sending ripples of genuine fear through you that you fought hard not to let show on your face, because you had learned a long time ago that fear was a currency dangerous men liked to spend. "Great, well, this has been a lovely chat, but I've got a deadline, so." You started to turn back toward the ledge, toward the bag that held your escape route down the fire stairs, and his hand closed around your wrist before you had taken a full step.

His grip was not bruising, not yet, but it was absolute, the kind of hold that told you resistance would only make it tighter. "I didn't say you could leave." He said it without any heat, almost gently, like he was correcting a small and forgivable mistake. "I want to know your name."

"You first," you shot back, surprising yourself with how steady your voice came out even as your pulse hammered against the hand circling your wrist. "Since apparently you already know my whole beat. Devil, Punisher, the kid in spandex. Feels only fair you give me something back."

Something flickered across his face at that, a small crack in the composed mask, and for just a moment he looked almost thrown, like nobody had ever answered him back before.

"Dex," he said finally, and it sounded like it cost him something to give you even that much. "You can call me Dex."

"Well, Dex, my mother taught me not to give my name to strange men who ambush me on rooftops, so you're going to have to live with the mystery." You tugged your wrist, testing, and to your genuine surprise he let go, though his eyes tracked the movement like he was cataloguing it for later. "So which one are you here for? Because if you're hunting the devil too, you can find your own rooftop. I called this one first."

"I'm not hunting anyone tonight." His mouth curved into something not quite a smile. "Tonight I just wanted to see who kept turning up in all the same places I did."

You told yourself it was a one-time thing. A fluke. A dangerous man had happened to notice you on a dangerous night, and now that the moment had passed, he would forget about you the way dangerous men forgot about anything that wasn't immediately useful to them, and you would go back to your careful, solitary work without ever crossing paths with him again. You almost believed it for the four days it took before you climbed onto the roof of a shuttered laundromat overlooking a stretch of the waterfront where a source swore the Punisher had been seen twice that week, and found Dex already there, sitting on an overturned bucket like he'd been waiting for you specifically, one knife spinning idly between his fingers.

"You're late," he said, not even looking up from the blade. "Castle already came and went. Wasn't much of a show tonight. Just some poor idiot who owed the wrong people money."

"I'm sorry, did we have an appointment?" You kept your voice light, deliberately casual, even as your mind raced through every possible explanation for how he could have known you'd be here tonight, because you certainly hadn't told anyone your schedule. "Because I don't remember agreeing to let you crash my stakeouts. And you owe me a shot of the Punisher, apparently, since you scared him off before I got here."

"I didn't scare him off. He left because the job was done." He finally looked up, and the small, satisfied smile on his face made your stomach do that uncomfortable twisting thing again, half dread and half something you refused to name. "I like surprising you."

"You're not surprising me, you're stalking me." You crossed the roof to your usual spot near the ledge, setting your bag down with deliberate slowness while you tried to figure out how alarmed you were actually allowed to be, given that he hadn't hurt you the first time and didn't seem inclined to now. "Do you know how many red flags that is? All of them. It's all of the red flags."

"I've never been very good at flags." He rose from the bucket and drifted closer, not quite crowding you but close enough that you were aware of every inch of space between your body and his, and the awareness sat strange and electric under your skin. "You smell like coffee and gun oil, which is an interesting combination for someone who claims not to carry a weapon."

"I never claimed that. I said I'm not asking a hitman for help. There's a difference." You pulled a small pistol from your jacket pocket just long enough to show him before tucking it back away, and something in his expression sharpened with what looked disturbingly like approval. "A girl in my line of work would be an idiot not to carry something. Doesn't mean I'm planning on using it on you specifically. Yet."

"Yet." He repeated the word with obvious relish, and the sound of it in his mouth made heat crawl up the back of your neck despite every rational part of you insisting this entire situation was insane. "I like that you said yet. Means you're not ruling it out. So tell me. Out of all of them, the devil, Castle, the kid, who's the one you actually want most? Everybody's got a favorite."

"That's like asking a photographer which of their kids they love best." You busied yourself with the camera, mostly to give your hands something to do besides fidgeting under the weight of his attention, and you were annoyed to discover your fingers weren't entirely steady. "Fine. The devil. He's harder to catch, which makes the shot worth more. And there's something about a guy who does all that in a suit and no gun that makes for a better story than a man with an arsenal."

"Interesting." Something shifted behind his eyes at that, calculating and quiet, before it smoothed back over into the easy, unsettling calm he seemed to wear like a second skin. "I could help with that too. I know where he likes to work."

"I'm not asking a hitman to hand-deliver Daredevil to me on a platter." You said it slowly, like you were explaining something to a child, though the reality was you weren't entirely sure what you were dealing with, whether he was joking or completely serious, and that uncertainty terrified you more than any clear threat would have. "That's not how any of this works."

"Then how does it work?" He seemed genuinely curious now, arms crossing loosely over his chest as he watched you with an intensity that made you feel pinned in place even though his hands were nowhere near you anymore. "You climb up here alone, in the dark, to take pictures of people who could kill you without blinking, and sell them to a paper that won't even put your name on the byline. Why?"

You considered lying, considered giving him some sanitized answer about journalism and public interest, but something about the directness of the question, the way he seemed to actually want to know rather than just filling silence, made you tell him the truth instead. "Because somebody has to document what's actually happening in this city, and the cops sure aren't doing it. Because I'm good at it. Because it pays better than bartending and I get to be my own boss." You shrugged, tucking the camera protectively against your side. "Same reason anybody does anything, probably. It's what I'm good at, and it matters."

"It matters." He turned the words over like he was tasting them, and for a moment his expression went distant, somewhere far away from the rooftop, before it snapped back to you with an unsettling focus. "I don't think anyone's ever asked me if what I do matters."

"Does it?" You asked before you could stop yourself, some reckless curiosity overriding your better judgment, and you watched him actually think about the question rather than deflect it.

"I don't know yet." His eyes moved over your face like he was memorizing it, cataloguing every feature with the same precision he probably used when he was choosing where to put a blade, and the intensity of that gaze sent something twisting low in your stomach that had nothing to do with fear and everything to do with a feeling you didn't want to examine too closely. "Ask me again sometime."

By the third week, you had stopped pretending to yourself that his appearances were coincidental, and had instead settled into something you didn't have a good name for, a strange rhythm where you would climb onto whichever rooftop your research had pointed you toward, and more nights than not, you would find him already there waiting, or he would arrive within the hour like your presence had summoned him. You told yourself repeatedly that this was a problem, that a normal, sensible person would go to the police or at the very least stop going out at night entirely, but the truth sitting uncomfortably in your chest was that you had started looking forward to the low scrape of his boots against gravel, the particular quality of silence he brought with him that felt less like danger and more like company.

Tonight found you both crouched behind an air conditioning unit on top of a residential building downtown, watching a stretch of avenue where a masked figure calling himself the Swordsman had reportedly clashed with a gang running counterfeit weapons two nights running, and Dex had brought coffee this time, two paper cups balanced with surprising care as he climbed up beside you.

"You didn't poison this, right?" You accepted the cup anyway, because the night air had turned cold enough that your fingers had gone stiff around the camera, and you told yourself the gesture didn't mean anything beyond simple practicality.

"If I wanted you dead, coffee would be a strange way to go about it." He settled beside you, close enough that his shoulder brushed yours, and neither of you moved to correct the contact. "Too slow. Too easy to survive. If I wanted you dead, you'd already know about it."

"That's supposed to be reassuring?" You took a sip anyway, watching him from the corner of your eye, and found him already watching you back with an attention that had stopped feeling entirely alarming and had started feeling, disturbingly, like something you craved. "You have a genuinely terrible bedside manner, has anyone ever told you that?"

"Only you." A faint smile pulled at the corner of his mouth, gone almost as soon as it appeared, and you had learned by now that these small cracks in his composure were rare enough to feel like victories when you managed to earn one. "I don't spend enough time at anyone's bedside to get complaints."

"Lucky them." You meant it as a joke, a light jab to keep the conversation from tipping into whatever dangerous territory it kept threatening to slide toward, but something in his expression shifted at the words, his jaw tightening in a way that told you the comment had landed somewhere you hadn't intended.

"Careful," he said, low and rough, his eyes fixed on yours with an intensity that made the cold night air feel suddenly warm. "I don't like thinking about anyone else's bed. Especially not in relation to you."

The words sat between you, thick with implication, and you felt the familiar coiling tension gather low in your stomach again, that particular twist that had become almost constant whenever he was close enough to touch. "That's a lot of possessiveness for a guy who's known me three weeks and doesn't even have my actual name."

"I don't need your name to know you're mine." He said it so simply, so certain, that it took several seconds for the full weight of the statement to land, and when it did you felt your breath catch somewhere in your throat, torn between the instinct to bolt and an entirely different instinct you were far less comfortable admitting to. "I've watched enough people to know what belongs to me when I find it."

"I'm not a thing you find, Dex. I'm a person. A person with her own apartment, her own bank account, and her own extremely strong opinions about being referred to as property." You kept your voice steady through sheer force of will, refusing to let him see just how much the low, certain way he'd said *mine* had unsettled something deep in your chest. "You can't just decide someone belongs to you because you like watching them work."

"I'm not deciding it." He shifted closer, and you let him, some traitorous part of you leaning into the warmth radiating off him despite every warning bell still ringing distantly in the back of your mind. "I already decided it, the first night. Everything since then has just been proving myself right."

"That's insane." You said it quietly, without much conviction, and he seemed to hear the lack of it in your voice because the smile that spread across his face this time was slower, more satisfied, the expression of a man who had just won an argument he'd never doubted the outcome of.

"Probably." He reached out then, tucking a loose strand of hair behind your ear with a gentleness that felt entirely at odds with the blades strapped to his thighs, his fingers lingering against your jaw a beat longer than the gesture required. "You keep coming back anyway. Every rooftop, every stakeout. You could've stopped taking these jobs weeks ago. Found somewhere I couldn't find you." His thumb traced the edge of your cheekbone, and you found yourself holding your breath, caught entirely still under the weight of his attention. "You didn't."

"Maybe I just like the work." The protest came out breathless, unconvincing even to your own ears, and the way his eyes darkened at the sound told you he didn't believe it for a second either.

"Maybe." His voice had dropped lower now, rougher, and the hand that had been cupping your jaw slid back to thread through your hair instead, not pulling, just holding, like he wanted to feel exactly how you'd react to the weight of it. "Or maybe you like being found. I think some part of you likes it. I think you've been waiting for someone to look at you the way I do." His gaze dropped to your mouth, deliberate and unhurried, and the air between you went taut enough that you could hear your own pulse in your ears. "Tell me I'm wrong."

You should have told him he was wrong. You opened your mouth to say exactly that, some sharp, deflecting retort already forming, and instead what came out was nothing at all, because he had closed the last inch of distance between you before the words had a chance to leave your throat. His mouth met yours slow at first, almost testing, like even now he was cataloguing your reaction, and then you felt your fingers curl into the front of his jacket and something in him seemed to break loose entirely. The hand in your hair tightened, angling your head exactly where he wanted it, and the kiss turned hungry and certain, all the coiled tension of the last three weeks finally finding somewhere to go. You kissed him back just as fiercely, some reckless, traitorous part of you no longer interested in pretending you didn't want this, and the low sound he made against your mouth sent a fresh wave of heat rolling straight down your spine.

"Dex," you managed, breaking away just far enough to breathe, though he didn't let you get far, his mouth finding the corner of your jaw instead, tracing down toward your throat with a deliberateness that made your knees go unsteady even sitting down. "This is a terrible idea."

"Probably," he agreed against your skin, and you felt the words more than heard them, his hand sliding from your hair down to settle warm and firm at your waist, pulling you in until there was no space left between you at all. "Tell me to stop, and I will."

You didn't tell him to stop. Instead your hand found the collar of his jacket and pulled him back to your mouth, and he came willingly, the kiss turning slower this time but no less consuming, deep and deliberate, like he had all the patience in the world now that he'd finally gotten what he'd been chasing for three weeks. His other hand came up to cradle your face, thumb brushing along your cheekbone with a tenderness that felt jarring against everything else you knew about him, and when he finally pulled back it was only far enough to rest his forehead against yours, both of you breathing unsteadily in the cold night air.

"I've been thinking about that since the church tower," he admitted quietly, his voice rougher than you'd ever heard it, stripped of its usual composure. "Longer than I probably should be telling you."

"You're not exactly subtle." You managed a shaky laugh, though your hands hadn't left his jacket, and neither of you seemed inclined to put any real distance back between you. "Coffee, showing up on every rooftop I pick, memorizing my patrol routes. A normal guy would've just asked me to dinner."

"I told you." His mouth curved against your temple, pressing a kiss there that felt startlingly gentle for a man who could put a knife through a target from three hundred yards. "I'm not a normal guy. Dinner felt insufficient." He pulled back enough to look at you properly, and the raw hunger still lingering in his eyes made your stomach twist all over again. "This felt like the truth."

Below you, on the avenue, the Swordsman's fight had apparently already come and gone, the street empty and quiet by the time either of you thought to check, and you found you couldn't bring yourself to care nearly as much as you should have about the missed shot. Dex noticed the direction of your gaze and huffed something that might have been a laugh, low and rough against your ear.

"Missed him too, huh." He didn't sound the least bit sorry about it. "Guess you'll just have to let me make it up to you next week."

"That's becoming a pattern." You pulled back enough to look at him properly, still catching your breath, still feeling the ghost of his mouth against yours. "You keep costing me my shots, Dex."

"I'll buy you a new lens." He said it with a straight face, like it was a perfectly reasonable trade, and something about the utter sincerity of the offer, paired with everything else you now knew about him, pulled a real laugh out of you despite yourself. "Whatever it takes to keep you climbing up here. I've decided I like it up here with you a lot more than I like being anywhere else."