I always assume that whether you live with Ray or not, you never really get a chance to see him in his Binary Star work mode much. He likes to be comfortable around you. He likes to just be himself.
So when he gets off work, he tends to come pick you up as Ray, not as the hero. Or when he comes home, it is already late and you have already fallen asleep, your body curled up on the side of the bed that still smells like him. And if he happens to return home early, the first thing he does is rush to the bathroom, not because he is in a hurry, but because he wants to hold you while he is not so sweaty. He wants to bury his face in your hair without the smell of blood and exhaustion getting in the way of that soft moment.
So seeing him return home through the balcony with his hero suit on is really not something unfamiliar to you. You have seen him land there a hundred times, tired, quiet, already pulling off his gloves before his feet even touch the floor. But him giving you a chance to take a close look, to really see him still wearing the mask and the suit, that is a rather different story.
But if you stay with him long enough, if you love him deep enough into the bones of the relationship, he would eventually give in. He would let you see both sides of him, not because he has to, but because he trusts you with every version of himself.
Especially, I like to imagine this. He returns all sweaty and bloody, tired and drained from his hero duty. His body is heavy, his limbs feel like stone and his chest rises and falls in shallow, ragged breaths. He really wants to lie down on the floor right there on the balcony.
Just collapse like that. Just let the cold tiles take the weight off his shoulders for one second. But he is afraid he might dirty it, so he does not. He just leans against the glass sliding door slightly, his forehead pressing against the cool surface, and waits until you notice him.
He does not call out. He just stands there, breathing and existing in your orbit, hoping you will feel him nearby.
I would say he likes it the most not when you greet him home with a quick "welcome back" or when you give him those soft, distracted kisses.
No. What he loves, what he craves deep in his chest where he does not even have words for it, is when you rush to him like you are skittling across the floor, your footsteps quick and light, that smile already blooming on your lips before you even reach him. Your eyes seem glistening when you saw him, like he is not a tired, bloody hero coming home from a fight, but like he is the sunrise after a very long night. Like you have been waiting for him. Like you always wait for him.
And then you would cup his face. Your hands are so warm against his cold, rough skin. You reach up slightly, your fingers feel so gentle and steady, and you help him take off his mask. You do it so slowly, so carefully, like you are unwrapping something precious.
The mask comes away, and his eyes would slowly turn from that ruby red, sharp and distant, to dark black eyes, soft and familiar. His whole face changes. The tension melts away. And he is smiling when he sees your face so clearly now, without the barrier of the mask between you.
"Hi, Ray," you finally give him that small greeting smile.
The way his name rolls off your tongue is so sweet that he grew addicted to it the very first time you said it. It is not Binary Star. It is not the hero. It is just Ray. And you say it like it is the most precious word in the world.
"Hi, Star," he would greet you back with as much tenderness as he places a soft kiss on your forehead. His lips linger there for a second longer than necessary. His breath is warm against your skin. His hands, still bloody and bruised, find your waist anyway, holding you like you are the only thing keeping him standing.
Yeah, at home he is Ray after all. Your Ray. Not the city's. Not the world's. Just yours. And in the quiet of that moment, with his mask in your hands and his forehead still resting against yours, nothing else exists.
