Adrian Chase had been talking for nearly an hour.

Not exaggerating—an hour. You’d timed it once. He didn’t even seem to need to breathe between sentences. He was pacing across your living room in his Vigilante suit, mask off, hands flying around like he was conducting an orchestra no one else could hear.

“And then, right, Peacemaker says, ‘Adrian, you can’t just stab someone in the shoulder because they’re rude to a waitress,’ and I’m like, actually, yes I can! That’s literally what vigilantes do. We stab the bad guys! We just—uh—don’t always agree on who’s bad. Which is fine! Conflict’s healthy for friendship. Builds character. Like in The Lord of the Rings, when Sam and Frodo—”

You leaned back on the couch, trying not to laugh. It wasn’t just the words—it was the way he said them. So earnest, so intense, like every thought in his head demanded immediate release. He’d launch into these tangents, switching topics mid-sentence, and yet somehow it all made sense in his own bizarre, Adrian Chase way.

You’d thought he was a little creepy at first. He had a tendency to… appear. Unannounced. Outside your apartment, at the grocery store, once even behind a bush across the street “just keeping an eye out for assassins.” He’d admit it cheerfully, too, no shame at all—just this unfiltered, puppyish affection that somehow managed to be more endearing than alarming.

He wasn’t dangerous. Not to you, anyway. Just lonely. Devoted. Like someone who’d forgotten what boundaries were supposed to look like.

“—and I know Peacemaker thinks I’m, like, weirdly attached to you, but I’m not! I mean, okay, I am, but it’s not creepy. It’s just—I like hanging out here. You don’t yell at me, and your couch smells nice. Not in a weird way! Just—uh—comforting. Like dryer sheets. And, I don’t know, you actually listen when I talk. Most people tune me out, but you—”

You didn’t think. You just acted.

You stood, reached up, and kissed him mid-sentence.

The words stopped cold. His whole body went rigid—arms frozen in midair, eyes wide, mouth still half open beneath yours. You felt his breath catch, warm against your lips, and then—slowly—he responded. Hesitant at first, then with all the clumsy, overenthusiastic energy that was so him.

When you pulled away, he just stared at you.

For the first time since you’d met him, Adrian Chase was completely silent.

His lips were slightly swollen, his glasses a little crooked, his hair standing up where your fingers had brushed through it. He looked dazed. Like his brain had short-circuited and rebooted into a new dimension.

You blinked, suddenly self-conscious. “Adrian? You okay?”

He didn’t answer. Just blinked again, slow.

You rubbed the back of your neck. “Sorry. I shouldn’t’ve just—uh—done that. You were talking and I—”

“You kissed me,” he whispered, voice barely audible.

“Yeah. I did.”

He stared another few seconds, then his lips twitched into a grin so wide it was almost boyish. “That was literally the best thing that’s ever happened to me. Ever. Like, forget the time I caught that guy smuggling heroin in a vending machine. This wins. By a landslide.”

You couldn’t help but laugh. “That’s your comparison? Really?”

“Yeah! I mean, think about it.” He leaned closer, still grinning like an idiot. “You. Kissed. Me. Voluntarily. I didn’t even have to get shot first. That’s a huge deal.”

“Adrian—”

He waved his hands wildly. “No, no, I get it, maybe it was an accident kiss. Like one of those ‘you talk too much’ kisses, right? Still counts, though. Mouths touched. Very romantic. Ten out of ten experience. Would absolutely do again.”

You snorted, trying not to smile. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been told that before,” he said proudly. Then, softer, his tone dipping just slightly: “But not like that. Not with… that look on your face.”

Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he added quietly, “So… are we gonna talk about it, or are you gonna kiss me again? I’m cool with either, just saying.”