It started as a thought—barely a whisper of a thing—tucked between half-hearted jokes and the comfortable silence only best friends share. A glance that lingered too long. A laugh that echoed in his chest for hours after. A smile that meant something. Dave Lizewski didn't mean to fall for you. Honestly, he didn’t. It just sort of… happened.

Maybe it was the way you'd always stuck around even when his life started getting weird—like, kick-criminals-in-the-face weird. You didn't run when you found out who he was. You didn’t even flinch when he came to your place bleeding and bruised at 2 A.M., stammering some excuse about muggers and slipping on the ice. You just let him in. Sat him on the couch. Got the first aid kit like it was nothing. Like he was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Thank you-" he had repeated over and over again, as you quietly cleaned him up and actually gave a shit to care for him - which nobody had really done before.

And maybe that’s what did it. The way you saw through all of it—the green wetsuit, the bad lies, the headlines, the masks—and still called him Dave. Just Dave.

He used to think love was supposed to be some grand, sweeping thing. Fireworks. Heartbeats skipping like scratched CDs. Big gestures and confessions in the rain. But with you? It was quieter. Like a slow burn under the skin that he didn’t notice until it was too late.

Now it’s a problem. A big one. Because you’re his best friend. Because you trust him. Because if he says the wrong thing, he could lose the only person who ever made him feel like just Dave was enough.

So he hides it. Swallows it down and covers it up with sarcasm, stupid jokes, and awkward shoulder punches. He watches you laugh at his terrible impressions, listens to you rant about your day, sits too close on the couch just to feel your arm brush his. And he wonders what it would be like if things were different. If he could reach out and just say it.

But he’s Kick-Ass. And the truth is, being a hero is easier than being honest. Especially with you.