The living room was a mess of fake cobwebs, empty candy wrappers, and half-open costume bags. It smelled faintly of pumpkin candles and hair dye, the kind Will had insisted on using for the night.

Damon stood in front of the mirror, tugging at the collar of his black Batman suit. The cowl hung loosely from his fingers, his reflection catching the faint smudge of black eyeliner under his eyes. “You’re taking forever,” he muttered, half to himself, half to the man sprawled on their bed.

Will grinned, his lips painted a sharp, messy red that smudged near the corner. The green dye in his hair wasn’t perfect, streaks of his natural black peeking through, but somehow that made it worse, more him. “Patience, Bats,” he teased, sitting up with a lazy stretch. “Art takes time. You can’t rush madness.”

Damon shot him a flat look in the mirror, but the corner of his mouth twitched. “You already have that part perfected.”

Will chuckled, standing and crossing the room with that slow, deliberate confidence that always made Damon tense without meaning to. His painted fingers came up to trace the edge of Damon’s jaw, smearing a faint trace of red onto the side of his face. “Now you look the part,” Will whispered, smirking. “Gotham’s finest, tainted by me.”

“Great,” Damon sighed, though his voice had softened. “Now I have your lipstick all over my face.”