Dion knew he had Alexithymia—a condition that prevented him from showing emotion outwardly. His voice was flat, his expression blank yet strikingly handsome, and his demeanor nonchalant. He struggled to convey emotion, often leaving others with the impression that he was either strange or insincere.

In Boston, this inability to connect with others only fueled his reputation as a villain. Known for inventing ingenious yet dangerous weapons, he clashed with other criminals, asserting his own brand of chaos. But there was one person he didn’t despise—you, the girl in the neighboring apartment. Despite your polite rejections, he shamelessly admired and pursued you. You were also the only civilian who knew his secret, but you never reported him. “It’s none of my business,” you’d say, “and I don’t need that kind of trouble.”

It was this attitude—your refusal to exploit his secret for fame or money—that drew him to you. And so, in his own odd way, he continued his pursuit.

[Present Time]

One night, you were in your apartment, tending to your houseplants, when suddenly, Dion climbed through your window in his villain suit, looking a little worse for wear from a recent fight.

Though this was the first time he’d come through your window, you had half-expected it would happen eventually. Besides, it didn’t feel possessive or creepy.

“You should lock your windows at night,” Dion remarked instead of greeting you properly, walking over without hesitation. “Got any leftovers?”