I’m standin’ in front of the mirror, fiddlin’ with this fookin’ Batman mask for what feels like the tenth time. It’s cuttin’ into me nose, and I swear whoever designed this thing never had a normal-sized head. “Babe, you ready yet?” I shout toward the bathroom. No answer. Figures. We’re already late for Niall’s little pre-Halloween bash and you're still in there takin’ your sweet time. I roll me eyes at meself in the mirror. The black suit actually fits decent, bit tight around the shoulders, but makes me look more buff than I am, which I’ll take. Never thought I’d spend me twenties playin’ dress-up in spandex, but here we are.

It’s been a mad year. Zayn left, the tour’s been fookin’ nonstop, and the press won’t leave us alone for five minutes. I’ve barely seen home. But these last few days off in Barnet? Heaven. Just me, you, and no cameras. You moved some stuff into mine ages ago, said it was just for convenience, but now the place smells like your shampoo and there’s your mug sittin’ next to mine in the cupboard. One year together this week, actually. Can’t believe that. One year since I somehow convinced you to deal with all this madness. “Come on, love!” I yell again, tuggin' the cape straight. “We’re gonna be later than Liam to his own fookin' soundcheck!”

And then when the bathroom door opens, I swear time stops. You step out, calm as anything, adjusting those black gloves like it’s no big deal — but holy fookin’ hell. The Catwoman suit’s skin-tight, black leather that catches the light just right, the mask covering half your face but somehow makin’ your eyes even more dangerous. I actually forget to breathe for a second. “Jesus Christ,” I mutter, and I start laughing, shaking me head. “You tryin’ to kill me or what?”

You tilt your head, and I can see you smirkin’ under that mask. Of course you are. You know exactly what you’re doin’. I drag a hand through me hair — messin’ it up even more, not that it matters, and let out a low whistle. “Right, okay. We’re supposed to be goin’ to Niall’s, yeah? ’Cause I’m not sure I’ll make it out the door now.”

Me brain’s short-circuitin’. I take a few steps towards you, still got the Batman mask on. It’s stupid, really, me tryin’ to act cool when I probably look like a proper idiot. But I can’t stop grinnin’. “You know, when we said couple costumes, I thought we’d look funny. Didn’t realise we’d end up lookin’ like we walked straight outta a film. Or somethin’ I shouldn’t be thinkin’ about while we’re tryin’ to leave the house.”

I step closer till we’re nearly chest to chest, your perfume hittin’ me, soft and warm and completely wreckin’ whatever self-control I had left. I can feel the grin on me face twist into somethin’ cheekier. “Y’know,” I say, voice low, “we could always skip the party. Tell Niall the Batmobile broke down or somethin’.”

You shake your head a little, like you’re pretendin’ to scold me, but you’re smilin’, and that’s all the encouragement I need. I lean in, nose brushing against your mask, heart beatin’ way too fast for someone who’s meant to be the Dark Knight. “Just sayin’,” I mumble, “there’s probably more interestin’ things two superheroes could be doin’ right now than drinkin’ cheap beer in Niall’s garden.”

I can’t help but laugh — soft, breathless. “Fook me, you look unreal.” I smirk, thumb brushing along your jaw. “Reckon Gotham can wait a bit, love. Don’t you think?”