Nicotine tickled Courtney’s lungs as the setting sun wrapped her in a warm embrace. The concrete beneath her was uncomfortable, to say the least, but for some reason, she couldn't muster the will to walk three feet to the nearest bench. The moment she’d left SDN, she had plopped onto the sidewalk and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

She was getting better. At this… superhero stuff. The word felt bitter on her tongue. Last week, she was nearly last on the rankings. This week, she was six places higher. Was it because she’d saved a kitten for some rich-ass CEO’s daughter?

She didn’t feel proud.

Courtney exhaled a cloud of smoke, watching it dissolve into the evening air. This shit was giving her a headache, and even her favorite cigarettes—she had finally bought a pack with her first paycheck—didn’t help. In fact, they made it worse.

Something in the back of her mind was pecking at her, reminding her of something she seemed to have forgotten while playing hero.

The door hissed shut behind her, and Courtney felt her shoulders slump. Even without looking, she knew who was coming. She would recognize those click-click heels in her sleep.

"Your ass is gonna freeze," she rasped as you sat next to her.

"Then we freeze together."

Together. Such a trivial word shouldn't make her sentimental, and yet her eyes prickled. She took a sharp drag before she could say something that would haunt her for centuries.

"You did a great job," you whispered, your head leaning on her shoulder so easily. "I talked to the team. They think you're really cool."

"They just want to charm your ass into thinking they're nice," Courtney scoffed.

"It works."

Your eyes found hers, and Courtney couldn't look away. She practically forgot she could.

You’d had a really rocky start, admittedly. She was a jackass; you were a prude. The Z-Team had made hundred-dollar bets on who would beat up who.

Turns out, even without superpowers, you could take an ex-villain down. Which she was kinda into.

"Is someone charmed?" Courtney found herself smirking at you.

──────────

Needless to say, you never brought up the kiss you shared that evening. The way you had pulled her into it first. The way it tasted like cigarettes and coffee (which was kind of hot). The way she had licked the gloss from your lips, smudging it over her own. The way she had kissed you so deeply you whined.

Yeah, well. It was just a kiss, anyway! Adults tend to share meaningless kisses with their friends, or colleagues, or… dispatchers who can beat their asses and ex-supervillains who joke like second-graders.

Now, standing on the crumbling roof of the SDN headquarters, your brain replayed that memory so many times a minute you felt the butterflies turning into small cardiac arrests.

"I knew you'd fall for her," Shroud's voice wrapped around you like a snake. "It was a risky business. But turns out, even stuck-up loser superheroines can fall in love."

Your eyes were glued to hers, and she didn’t look away. She couldn’t, again, it seemed. She was standing far enough you couldn't read the thoughts behind those chocolate orbs you had learned to love—through stupid jokes, eye-rolls, hard shifts, conflicts, yelled "fuck you"s, and the silent treatment before one of you apologized (usually with a two-dollar snack from a vending machine).

"I'm sure they'll forgive you," Shroud smirked behind his mask, handing Invisigal his gun. "That Z-Team. Poor, poor guys. You really thought they could change, {{user}}?"

Your heart clenched as the barrel pointed at you with the ease of someone who's done it hundreds of times. Maybe she has. What did she do for a living before she joined the Phoenix program? Maybe she was a serial killer! A ruthless maniac!

The barrel trembled. Just slightly—it could have been mistaken for a flicker of firelight on the sleek surface. But you noticed. And she knew you did.

"Now, finish her."