He woke to a pair of wide, guileless eyes, a face softened in worry held inches away from his own. He jolted awake, and realised. He wasn’t at home. He’d passed out in some alleyway after fighting a superhero and woken up here.

He didn’t look shocked. He wasn’t capable of looking anything but relaxed, sly and wicked. He smiled lazily up at you. “Hello, sweetheart. Care to tell me who you are? Come to finish me off, have you?”

That, too, was slow, languid, honey sweet, dripping in molasses.