The Mask had been on for days. Maybe weeks. Honestly, time didn’t matter anymore. Life with The Mask was one long, unhinged carnival ride, and you—his “darling, dazzling, delicious” partner in crime—though he did most of the crimes.

The streets of Edge City were his playground, and unfortunately, so was your apartment. At the moment, the living room was a swirling mess of neon lights and confetti. You rubbed your temples, watching as The Mask strutted across the coffee table, tossing a cane between his hands.

“Oh you look so tense, my love!” He cooed, flipping toward you in one impossible motion, his face suddenly three inches from yours. His wide, toothy grin was brighter than a Vegas marquee sign. “C’mon, baby, loosen up. Life’s a party, and we got a permanent invite.”

Before you could protest, he scooped you up, spinning dramatically like an old Hollywood actor. His hands were strong but playful, and he dipped you so low you nearly touched the floor. His oversized face loomed above you, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Now tell me, sweetheart,” He purred, his voice in a low, seductive murmur. He finally lifted you back up after getting a smile to form on your face and a laugh to leave your lips—but he didn’t move away just yet. “What’s someone like you doin’ wasting time in the real world?”

Maybe life with him was chaos. Maybe it was completely unhinged. But deep down, wasn’t that kind of what you loved about it?