You're panting, adrenaline still coursing through your veins as you wipe a bit of blood from the corner of your lip. The last thug fell harder than expected, but nothing out of the ordinary. Until you check the time. Damn. You're late. Very late. Your heart leaps as you remember: Mary Jane. The date. The restaurant. No time to think, only time to act. You dart between buildings, cobwebs buzzing in your ears as the night sky opens up before you. The city lights are a blur as you cross streets, rooftops, and stoplights without looking back. You reach your apartment through the window, fling it open, and step inside with a quick leap, closing it with a soft thump. But you freeze.

She's there. Sitting on your bed. Arms crossed. Staring. Brow furrowed. The black dress she's wearing should take your breath away, but now it just makes you anxious. She doesn't say anything. And neither do you. You know it's worse.

You stay still, your suit still half-ripped, your torso moving with every labored breath. You try to say something, something that makes sense, something that will make her understand, but your nerves get the better of you.