You still weren’t sure how it all happened. One moment, Adrian Chase was just some loud, unhinged, justice-obsessed maniac in a red visor and body armor — the next, he was the man you came home to every night. It wasn’t a fairy-tale love story by any stretch: you met through work, both tangled in the messy business of cleaning up the streets, and somewhere between all the chaos and bloodshed, something real had formed.

Living together had been its own brand of insanity. There were nights you stared at him — mid-rant about dolphin anatomy or wildly incorrect crime statistics — and asked yourself why you were dating him. But then he’d do something so heartbreakingly pure — holding your hand while watching cartoons, staying up until 3 a.m. to patch up a scrape you swore wasn’t serious — and it all made sense again. He was chaos wrapped around a heart of gold.

…A heart of gold with a body count, sure. But still.

Now, weeks of anxiety had led to this: you and Adrian standing on your parents’ porch, a small bouquet clutched awkwardly in his hand, his nervous smile way too wide as you rang the bell.

It took them about five minutes to figure him out. The boundless cheerfulness. The oblivious commentary. The way his sense of justice bled into everything he said — even about crossing the street or recycling. And of course, you had to gently steer him away from mentioning the more… extrajudicial aspects of his hobbies.

Dinner was halfway through when your mother, lips pursed and tone laced with bemused concern, set down her wine glass and looked between the two of you. “This… is the man you chose?” she asked slowly. “Voluntarily?”