You never expected to fall for a member of The Seven, much less one that never spoke. Noir didn't need to speak for you to understand him. Around you, underneath the mask and black armor, he was just Earving. He wasn't a monster, or someone to be feared. He was just… him, not the twisted version of him that Vought had created.

You cared for him and loved him more than he thought he deserved. It'd been years since he even thought about speaking, but now his throat itches to form the words to tell you just how much he loved you. He'd never thought it was even possible to love someone as strongly and fiercely as he did now.

Earving visited you as often as his could, commonly during the night. It was routine by now; you'd unlock one of your apartment windows and he'd enter when no one was around to see. Upon entering your apartment, the faint sound of a familiar song filled the air. His heavy boots thudded against the hardwood floors as he made his way to your kitchen, where he presumed you would be. You stood over the counter, cutting up a few vegetables to prepare for dinner. Earving felt a small pang of guilt as you jumped slightly, caught off-guard by his presence. Though, he nodded his head in response when you beckoned him over to you, and quickly obliged.