Days go by.

I'm avoiding Delta's calls the whole time, trying to distance myself from the news and everything else. I don't know, it's just been too much for me. I wanted to focus on my flower shop for a while.

I finally answer Delta's calls on day 4 after the Solace Square confrontation. She's not happy with me, but she doesn't say mad very long. She just updates me on some of the fallout and tosses some ideas around about future missions.

After that, I begin closing up shop. It's cold, making me happy I have on even more layers than usual. Not by much, though, just a thicker sweater and my normal lounge pants, knee length socks on both legs and my usual cloth gloves on my hands. Delta and I ended up on the phone for a while, and by the time it's 11 PM I'm almost done watering my plants. I'm sleepy, I'm still sore, still mildly bruised, and I'm distracted.

No matter what I do, I can't stop thinking about Milan. Even as I finish locking up for the day, I'm deep in thought. I keep wondering what will happen when I see him again. I keep remembering the way he stared at me in the plaza, the way he threw me, the way he grabbed me and pinned me. It's stuck in my head.

I've never had so much physical contact with a person. Ever.

Something tells me Milan is just touchy in general, so I doubt he thinks much of it, but that doesn't make it any less shocking to my system. This is so new to me.

I want him to touch me again. Whether it's turning me into a projectile or just simply grabbing my arm again I don't care, I just can't stop thinking about it.

This sucks. I'm sure he's so busy all the time, what with being a celebrity hero, and I'm pretty sure we are enemies. Maybe I can find someone else with a probability manipulation power who is nicer to me and will let me hug them. Or touch their hair. His hair was really soft.

I run a hand down my face as I make my way upstairs, shutting off the lights and reaching the platform in front of my front door. I fumble with my keys, looking down as I push it open with my elbow. I have my hands full with a bunch of random stuff I found in the shop that actually belongs in my apartment but somehow needed up down there.

One of the items is the clover I made the night I stabbed Milan. Another is my horrifically terrible butterflyfish drawing. Absolute garbage. I'll keep it anyway.

I balance everything with one hand, carefully locking the door behind me, which doesn't take too long. I'm starting to get out of breath with all the multitasking and stair-climbing, I'm so ready to set all this down and relax. I've had a long week, and maybe I'll be able to stop thinking about Clover for—

All of the lights in my apartment are off. I know that. I made sure of it when I left.

So why is there golden light coming from behind me?

It shines my silhouette on my door, and I spin around.

Sure enough.

I jump, stumbling back into my front door and dropping everything I'd been trying so hard to balance. I let out a shout of surprise, all of the items falling to the floor and some hitting my legs on the way down. They all cluttered at my feet.

Before I can do anything, he's right there.

My eyes widen, head knocking back against the door as Milan boxes me against the wood. One hand on either side of me, purple eyes blazing and sharp teeth catching the light, his gaze flashes. Eyes narrow. The light of his presence is overwhelming, surrounding me from every angle, and I try not to make another freaked out noise.

"You're driving me crazy." low, through grit teeth, Milan annunciates each word clearly. "I can't predict you."

Alright. I take multiple issues with this.

One, this is my home, and he broke into it. The one place I'm supposed to be able to be calm and relax, and he's ambushing me. I do not appreciate it. Especially my apartment—this is my containment.

Two, what on earth is he talking about? A few days ago? Is he mad he lost again? Because that's not my problem, it isn't very difficult to just simply not get distracted by my face.

Three, he's a hero, he should act like it.

I narrow my eyes on him, reaching beside me and flicking on the light switch. I do not appreciate all these dramatics, I'm not at work right now.

Milan blinks a bunch, trying to get his eyes to adjust to the light. I continue to stare at him, unimpressed.

"It's almost midnight. Spooky man. You're a hero, act like it." I scold him, before ducking under his arm with ease—he definitely miscalculated, I don't know how tall he thinks I am. I only really need to tilt my head and bend a bit. "Pick all that up."

I walk into my kitchen and set my keys on the counter, heading over and turning the stove on before I forget. I'm so hungry, I haven't eaten all day, and I'm being sorely reminded of that now. Now that I'm ready to go to bed, of course. I'm so tired. Long week. Not even a long week, honestly. How long has this been going on? Long two weeks?

I grab a pot and begin filling it with water. As I do this, Milan hovers in the doorway.

"...what's this?" I hear him ask a second later, and I glance over to find him staring down at the clover I made. It's turning into the bane of my existence since every time I see it I think of him. I also keep coincidentally bringing it around with me while I walk through the shop. I don't know why.

"It's for you," I decide, because that's for the best. The pot is filled a sufficient amount a moment later, so I take it over to my stove so it can boil. As I prepare to wait for that to happen and hopefully get my things situated, I notice Milan staring at me.

He's in a t-shirt and dark pants with a lot of pockets. Also, sneakers. He looks very casual. It's so strange seeing him all normal and civillian-mode, since he's still obnoxiously glowy and ethereal. His hair is still pretty messy, though.

His eyebrows are pinched together in confusion as he stares down at it. I notice my drawing on the counter beside him, as well as the few other objects I had. "Where'd you get it?"

"I made it," I tell him, watching his eyebrows raise like he's impressed, continuing to stare down at it. "The night I put you in the ER."

His attention flicks up to me, squinting a bit. I don't think he appreciates being reminded of that experience. Either way he doesn't react with irritation like I expect, he just keeps questioning me. I don't understand why he's so fascinated. I refuse to believe nobody has ever handmade this man a present before, he's basically everyone's favorite person.

"Like an apology?" He specifies. I shrug.

"Sure," I decide, glancing over at the water and finding it beginning to boil. Wow, that was fast. Very fast. "The hydrangeas could've been too, but you made me kill them."

I can't help the leftover bitterness and slight hurt in my voice, deciding not to look at him because it would be a glare. I can't believe he made me do that. I still think about it every time I have to take care of my other hydrangeas. I feel like I betrayed them.

I'm met with silence as I open up a box and begin pouring macaroni noodles in the water. I decide to add enough for both of us in case he wants some. I mean, he's already here, and it doesn't seem like he will be going anywhere in the next ten minutes—if all the questions are anything to go off of. That should be about when I'm done.

He stays quiet for a while. I almost think he actually did leave and I will have leftover macaroni for tomorrow, since apparently he just makes no noise when he moves ever. However, when I glance up, he's still in the doorway. Staring at me. When we make eye contact, he looks away, and I notice his glow tint pink.

Hm. I'm starting to wonder if pink means embarrassment. It's hard for me to tell. It's hard for me to remember what's supposed to be embarrassing at all, it's not an emotion I feel frequently. It really only manifests when I have to depend on other people for things.

"Still can't believe The Executioner's real name is Sunny." Milan remarks offhandedly after a moment. I don't know why, that has nothing to do with the conversation.

I stir the macaroni. "It's not my full name, if that helps."

I almost think I slipped up. For a split second, my eyes widen as I freeze and wish I could go back in time.

Then, I remember that my cover is already blown. It literally doesn't matter. I'm still not telling him my real last name, though. I always get so many questions. I never have any answers, either, since I know literally nothing about my family aside from the basics. I guess it's on purpose at this point.

"...what's your full name?" Milan asks when I don't elaborate, sounding far more interested than anticipated. I can't help but to glance over at him with a quirked eyebrow. Wow. Okay, eager. And I thought he was bad about 'Sunny', what if he starts calling me exclusively by my full name after this?

Whatever. I already put it out there, kind of feels like I have to answer at this point.

"Sunday."

I continue to stir the macaroni, wondering what the rest of the week is going to hold. I actually can't believe this guy was throwing me across Solace square and pinning me in warehouses with his foot just at the start of the week.

I glance over at Milan, finding him now sitting up at my little breakfast bar. Sitting. Just... making himself at home, I guess. I didn't even hear him move, like usual. I notice him looking around my apartment in some sort of intrigue. His eyes linger on the art, the many plants, the little knick knacks and various creative stations for all my hobbies. If nothing else, at least I have an interesting apartment. Impossible to be bored here.

"Sunday," Milan says quietly, eyes lingering on a painting of a herd of sheep on my wall. I made it about a year ago and it turned out pretty good so it's the centerpiece above my couch.

Milan's gaze finally flicks to me. I'm having a hard time deciphering his expression right now. He seems strangely content. Which is odd so quickly after having a meltdown in the dark while waiting for me to come home for god knows how long.

"Sunday," he repeats, annunciating the word, sounding it out like he's testing how it feels in his mouth. I don't know why. It's a day of the week. There are only seven of those. I'm sure he's said it a thousand times. "Somehow that's worse."

I'm unsure what 'worse' means. I always liked my name. I've never had anyone to make me feel bad about it. I like any parts of me that distract from the darkness. I like anything that feels like the real me.

"Good thing I go by Sunny, then," I state absentmindedly. The macaroni is done cooking, so I take the pot over to the sink so I can drain it. Milan stays quiet the whole time I do this. He just sits up at the bar and watches me, and I try not to feel strange. I don't know, I'm not used to guests. I'm not used to being watched at all—not when I'm me, anyway.

After I mix in the cheese, I separate it out into two bowls. I give him a little bit more since I assume he eats more than I do due to being a giant apparently. After that I grab us spoons, and then I set a bowl in front of him. I put my own on the counter in front of me, opposite him, and begin to eat. Milan just blinks at me.

He looks so confused. Like his brain is glitching out trying to comprehend the fact that The Executioner just made him mac and cheese after weeks of intense altercations and a felony break in. Honestly, I don't blame him, I'd be surprised too. I guess I just assumed that he'd be hungry after evidently being in crisis for days.

Right as Milan finally, wordlessly, grabs his spoon to take a bite, my phone begins vibrating.

It's the Monarch one. I'm vaguely aware I probably shouldn't answer it in front of Milan, but to be fair, Delta talked my ear off for like an hour about trees or something right before I came up here. Last week the called me specifically to tell me she was on her way to a building I wasn't even at and had nothing to do with me. I think it was a bakery or something.

It's honestly rare I get a call from her where we discuss genuinely classified information

Ive also only answered about two of her many calls for days now, which she wasn't happy about.

So whatever. I'm already eating. Maybe Milan won't be able to hear even though my apartment is otherwise dead silence. I like dead silence. It's comfortable. I grab the device and I press the green button. I put the phone between my ear and shoulder, not even having checked the name.

"Delta?"

"Sunny, holy shit, you need to make a social media account. Now. On everything. All platforms, I'm officially requiring it for your job."

I should've just put my phone on silent and slept in the shop. What I'd do to go back in time 20 minutes.

"Why?" I ask, not planning on doing that unless she gives me a very good reason. And I mean very good. I've never had social media so I don't know, maybe I'd like it, but it just seems so stressful.

"Clovex has been trending for two days. I just found out."