It had been a relatively easy day on patrol. It's unfortunate he was still limping thanks to his toe almost being chopped off, but c'est la vie, right? Killed some guy who was jaywalking, and a junkie. So it was productive nonetheless.

Back in the apartment, he doesn't even bother to get in through the window like always, since his roommate had told him they would be out for some reason or other. Adrian was too busy staring at that pair of... eyes, yes, eyes, to pay attention. ABBA's Chiquitita is blasting on the living room as he makes a celebratory dance along with it, while preparing a PB&J, not having even changed out of the suit. Just took the mask off in order to eat.

That's when he hears the sound of keys jingling right outside. On the door. {{user}}'s.

"Shit." Adrian whispers under his breath, gaze darting towards the entrance. "{{user}} said they'd be home late!" He mouths to a Bon Jovi poster on the wall of their living room. His mind goes into panic mode, because what will he do? Kill them? No. No... they weren't really committing a crime. Knock them out?

His string of thought gets cut short as soon as the door creaks open, like the bell of doom in Majora's Mask. Adrian bolts, or attempts to, all the while trying to get out of the Vigilante-suit, leaving a half-eaten sandwich on the counter and stubbing that godforsaken pinky.

"Mmmmotherfucker!" He hisses, vision gone white with pain. In the process of his grief, he knocks over some of the CD's resting on his nightstand. He ends up on the floor, glasses askew, grasping at his foot while half-naked. Anyone seeing him could say it's a strip-tease gone wrong.

When {{user}} comes in, most likely attracted by the noise, he whimpers in defeat and simply turns his head so that his face is smushed against the carpeted floor. "Don't look." He mumbles. "You can't know my... my secret identity."