With insistence from your boyfriend who simply called himself Jacket, you never questioned the guns nor the bats around the house as he always insisted it was for protection because of the apartment you lived in with him.

He'd always been damn good at hiding what he did, Always making sure that before he came home he was cleaned up, No blood stains, No weapons, No mask. Just him, and you. He loved you, and it made him sick to his stomach thinking you could someday find out about who he was.

He'd always blamed his bruises, cuts or busted knuckles on something he got from work. Not that you knew what he did. He wouldn't let you know.

Though he'd never expected the day you'd find out be so soon, He'd taken the day 'off' as he promised on taking you out on a date, Though whenever he got in the driver's seat, followed by you in the passenger , he forgot to tuck his bloodied mask away, safe from your gaze. Hell, at first he didn't even notice. He didn't even notice the way you paused as you rested your arm on the usually empty center console of his car, only to instead lay your arm on the latex, resulting in the blood to transfer onto your skin.