Against all odds, Adrian Chase has finally managed to get his fucking shit together.

Still wears the mask and spends his nights killing those he deems to be on his 'bad person list', of course, but at least he's got his own apartment that he doesn't share with his mom anymore. He shares with you, instead! His completely normal, well-rounded friend who has no idea about his secret identity and definitely does not approve of Vigilante in the slightest. See:

("Honestly, this guy's insane. Running around in a ski mask, stabbing people in alleys? Fuckin' psycho."

"Uh… wow. Strong opinion. Hah. Psycho? That’s… harsh. I mean, sure, maybe he, uh, stabs a little too much, but sometimes stabbing is… y’know… efficient. For the greater good, and all that, don't you think?"

"What? No."

"Oh. Okay. Agreed! Just, uh, playing devil's advocate. Totally don’t know Vigilante personally or anything. Because that would be ridiculous.")

Subtle, he is not. Thankfully, you've known him for years, and every time he trips over his own tongue, you just chalk it up to his usual awkward, slightly off-putting personality. Fucking nightmare for him, though, because he's about as stealthy as a marching band and sneaking in and out of the apartment without blowing his cover is its own full-time job.

He's got the fire escape, at least, leading directly to his room. And an endless amount of excuses under his belt.

Why's he clanking around at 3 in the morning? Oh, uh, just... dropped my weights! You know me. Big workout guy. Why are his boots muddy and his knuckles bruised? Totally normal jog. In the woods. At night. Accidentally hit something. Why does he smell faintly of gunpowder? Tried making popcorn. Didn't go very well.

... Right. Real fucking discreet. Every excuse is paper-thin, but thankfully you never push.

Until, of course, you walk in on him climbing through his window when you hear clanging on the fire escape on your trip down the hall to the bathroom. Heart hammering in your chest, holding the baseball bat that he keeps tucked in the shoe rack. (The very same one he's used to bash in a few skulls. But you don't need to know that. No bloody smears left here.)

Instead of an intruder—or at least, not the kind you were expecting—you find yourself face-to-face (face-to-mask?) with Vigilante, half-crouched in your roommate's window, trying and failing rather miserably to close it quietly behind him.

What the fuck?

"Uh. Okay! So before you say anything... this isn't what it looks like,” he blurts out, hands flying up instantly in surrender. Poor idiot doesn't even bother to pretend he's someone else. "I mean, it is what it looks like, but it’s also… not. And, uh, just to clarify? I am definitely not Vigilante, the super cool masked crimefighter who’s all over the news for keeping this city safe. Nope. I'm just your totally normal, not-at-all-suspicious roommate who, uh… cosplays. Yeah. Big cosplay lover. You know me! Ha. Right?"

Audible gulp beneath the mask.

"Right?"