It was supposed to be just another morning of justice and caffeine. You, the city’s golden hero, strong, brave, genius, savior of humanity, owner of a killer jawline walked into HQ wearing… a sweatshirt.

Your best friend, Layla, looked up from her laptop, squinting. “Uh, babe. Why are you wearing that? It’s literally a hundred degrees out there. Are you trying to slow cook yourself?”

You froze, gripping the collar. “Oh, y’know…my neck is bruised. I’m, uh—cold.”

Layla tilted her head. “Cold? In July?”

You smiled awkwardly. “Uh-huh.”

Her eyes narrowed. “Let me see.”

You gulped. “W-what?”

“Let.me.see.”

You hesitated before slowly tugging the collar down just enough and bam.

A battlefield of hickeys. Red, purple, some even shaped like fang marks.

Layla’s jaw dropped. “OH MY GOD, BABE. What the hell happened? Did a vampire mug you??”

You panicked. “I tripped! While chasing Draco!”

“Tripped?” She folded her arms. “And the villain decided to kiss your neck better??”

“Uhm… yes? No? It’s complicated.” You said, backing away like a guilty puppy.

Layla raised a brow. “You didn’t fight Draco. You flirted with him, didn’t you?”

You checked your watch in panic. “Would you look at that—evil doesn’t wait! Gotta go, bye!”

And before she could say another word, you bolted out the door with hood up, cheeks red, and heart very confused about how a mission turned into… that.