#pbaer

Tired eyes strained open, cautiously. The final wave of the day’s rays just barely filtering through the cracked, broken windows.

How long had he been out for…?

His vision refocused, he scanned all that he could without turning his head – god, how his neck ached – struggling to remember…

How did he get here?

And then, a gentle touch to his stinging cheek; a cloth, slightly dampened. Not quite cold, not quite warm – laced with the striking scent of rubbing alcohol.

Pale eyes wandered further to his left – damn that neck again – and there they noticed a boy. No, not exactly a boy… A young man, close to his own age.

Immediately did he recognize the curled, light brown hair, carefully framing the reserved expression on his face. The apathetic, yet somehow warm eyes looking his way. The soft glow of twilight shining from behind; it almost made him look like a...

...wow, what a lame thought.

“…Am I dead?” were the first words his hoarse voice could muster.

The makeshift nurse sighed, shaking his head. Of course he would say something stupid.

“You’re lucky you aren’t. They were telling me how Jackrabbit fought off an entire opposing gang before they could raid our warehouse,” the brunet explained.

“They…? You mean your family,” the bedridden vigilante quizzed.

“Our lowly band of thieves.”

“So your family, then,” he confirmed, smirking.

Rolling his eyes, the brunet continued his treatment. He began to realize that there was only so much he could treat without unmasking his patient. The damage spread well beyond what little skin showed, he was certain... That gang did a real number on him. He never even had to get involved -- Jackrabbit was supposed to be aiding his mentor, doing “hero things” and saving the city and all that, not defending one gang from another -- and yet...

“...Pretty gutsy, for a sidekick,” he commented.

Said injured sidekick watched his caretaker fondly, noting the thoughtful way he moved, so as not to hurt him further. He was still masked, his ragged costume still on... any one of them could have easily revealed his identity while he was unconscious, yet they respected his secrecy, as far as he knew.

Even him...

"Let me guess; they had you fix me up ‘cause of our history together? They tease you ‘bout your crush often?” The bunny-themed hero’s tone was playful.

“Crushes are for kids,” the brunet dismissed. “Do you mind pulling your hood back just a bit? ...If it makes you uncomfortable you don’t have to, you have an identity to keep and all--”

“Jeez, I don’t mind,” Jackrabbit lilted, raising his sore arms to lower his rabbit-eared cowl, delicately feathering out a head of platinum, nearly pure-white hair.

The brunet hesitated. He didn’t think the boy wonder would be so open to it, and so quickly... He almost felt the need to protect his identity himself. Pale eyes, pale hair, pale skin... albino? Already that was more than he had ever known about the vigilante. This was all happening a little too fast.

“Wait--” He found himself grasping the other’s costumed wrist, just as the sidekick’s thumb had wedged itself under the pitch-black mask -- the only thing left obscuring the upper half of his face.

“What? It’s okay,” he assured, softly. “I trust you.”

The brunet found his heart rate picking up as they gazed at each other. How childish, he thought. The heat rushing to his cheeks and ears proved to make him look just as immature, surely.

Jackrabbit found himself getting lost in the other’s eyes, corny as it is. All these years he kept coming back, running into this boy, checking on him and his kin, often going out of his way during patrolling hours to make sure they were still safe, even keeping them somewhat a secret from his mentor, his own family. Yes, he’d quickly admit it; he had something to protect here.

“...Remember that li’l cheek-peck you gave me back when we were kids?”

The brunet blinked. Of course he would remember. He’s still embarrassed about it to this very day. It was meant as a thankful gesture, but evidently somebody took it the wrong way--

“I do,” the sidekick whispered, supporting his still battered torso on his elbows, leaning closer.

Soon, the junior crime-stopper’s lips met the junior criminal’s, locking them into their first real kiss. A more mature kiss.

A lovers’ kiss.

Their thoughts both stopped, frozen in that first moment. Nothing but soft, hormone-driven touches and quick parts to catch their breath. They melted into each other, honey-brown curls tangled in white waves, as creamy foam would melt into a milky latte.

Finally, as his eyes opened, the brunet peeled off that pesky mask.

And the unmasked hero stared adoringly, not paying one bit of attention to his own exposure. All he wanted was to taste the junior criminal’s lips once more.

No, not “criminal...” They were not criminal and crime-stopper, any longer. Now, they were just... human. Two humans who felt similar sparks for each other.