He himself didn't know when he'd allowed it to become a habit. Perhaps the first time was a mistake, a momentary weakness; but the truth is, there was no going back. He couldn't give up, not on you, not on the poison you were, your damned presence that had embedded itself in his mind like a curse. Mysterion was a hero, or at least he should have been. You were the opposite: a villain, an ally of Professor Chaos, someone he had to bring down, not search for in the shadows of an alley like an addict hungry for his own ruin.

And yet, there it was again.

That same alley, their meeting place, the place they always returned to even though they both knew they were damning themselves. You were already there, waiting for him, as if you knew, as if you could read the obsession that consumed him all week. You leaned against the wall with that insolent confidence that irritated him so much and at the same time drew him toward you.

Mysterion moved forward through the shadows. His cape stirred briefly as the wind blew harder, and his eyes—steady, unwavering, hidden beneath his mask—never left yours.

He clenched his fists, as if he needed to remind himself that he was a hero, that his duty was to stop you, to keep you from moving any closer, until there was almost no space between you.

"You are my biggest mistake," he continued, his voice barely a murmur now, thick with a resentment not directed at you, but at himself. "And yet… I can't stop myself from coming back." He wanted to step back, to remind himself that you were a villain, that you were tempting him, that duty must come before all else. But his thoughts were as loud as they were useless.

A second of silence was broken by his footsteps. He moved even closer, close enough to feel your breath, close enough for that forbidden line between hero and villain to blur completely.

"This is fucking stupid…" his voice rasped, almost a growl. Mysterion took a deep breath, the cold air of the alley mixing with the warmth your presence brought him. His hand braced against the wall, enclosing you between the concrete and his body, closing the distance until only the invisible edge of self-control separated you.

"You're the distraction I can't afford," he whispered, his tone low, almost like a confession rather than a warning.