I see Milan tense out of the corner of my eye. What, does he know what she's talking about? I'm still confused. That sounds like a cleaning chemical or a medicine or something.

"What's that?" I ask her, taking another bite.

"The ship name for you and Clover. Everyone is talking about the fight a couple days ago. And your secret little first meeting. There's a lot of tension."

Ship name? Secret meeting? The one that ended with him bleeding out on the ground? I'm too tired for this. I still haven't looked up at Milan, but it doesn't appear as though his tension has eased in the slightest. Maybe he'd be able to explain this better than she is.

"Like the mail?" I ask, before chewing. Ship name. An address, maybe?

"No. Like relation-ship. They think you and Clover look good together."

Oh. What kind of relationship? Enemies? Delta said 'good', though. Maybe friendship? Like... people want us to be friends? I guess that's pretty wholesome. I don't see why I'd care enough to make a whole social media account about it. At least people aren't talking about how scared they are of me for once.

I'm still confused, though. What would give them that idea? "But we were fighting."

"Never stopped the internet before, won't stop it now." Delta says dismissively, and she sounds like she's busy. Like she's typing. I still don't understand why people would be so fixated on us being friends. "I've already seen five different edits of the 'you look less dead' line specifically. Ten with 'Bye, Milan'."

What does that have to do with us being friends? I'm so lost. I finally look up at Milan to see if his expression gives anything away, and it surprisingly does. He's sitting there, tense, lips pursed and gaze drilling into mine. Studying me. Intently. His Mac and cheese is somehow already gone. That was fast. Well, glad I made some for him. Clearly he didn't have dinner.

He's still pink.

I don't know, I think it looks good on him, honestly. It might be my favorite color that he turns, I just wish I could figure out what causes it specifically, so I could do it more.

"What does that have to do with us being friends?" I voice my thoughts, unable to keep myself from giving Milan a confused look. I watch him facepalm. It doesn't help.

Silence.

"Not friendship, Sunny. They want you two to fuck."

Everything goes still.

Oh.

Oh. Okay.

That one might be on me. I basically forced her to spell it out.

Milan has both his elbows on the bartop in front of him, covering his face with both hands, not looking at me. Not moving. I wonder if he's regretting his timing. Guess he should've ambushed me tomorrow. Preferably the morning when I'm not exhausted.

That clears a lot of stuff up. Most of the things I had questions about are answered. However, I just developed many more. "Why?"

"Maybe the fact you're the only person who has ever beat him? And you did it twice?" Delta answers like it's obvious. Milan lets out a long, heavy sigh. He can't even be miserable, though. He's the one who came here. He can leave whenever he wants, and he's not. "I'm serious. Research it. It's for work. We might even start leaning into it—press is press, and I want everyone talking about Monarch."

On the surface level, I wouldn't want to do that. I probably won't. I'm not leaning into anything, but I definitely won't fight or complain.

I'll take anything but fear.

I don't care if it takes putting me and Milan in a metaphorical ship for people to stop being scared of me, whatever they need to do. I'm just enjoying the lack of terror. I hated how scared everyone was that first time I hurt him.

Milan finally drops his hands, face still glowing pink, although it is shifting a bit more back to his normal warm yellow. Like he's finished composing himself or something. His expression is mostly neutral, gaze on me. He just seems curious now.

"Make the accounts and send them to me. I'm calling Flora. Get some rest, My Love! Big day tomorrow!" Delta bids farewell, making kissing noises before abruptly hanging up.

I blink at Milan. He averts his eyes.

Interesting.

Whatever. I just go back to eating my mac and cheese. I'll probably spend time with my fish after this, I don't care that it's late.

"It's normal, you know," Milan remarks after a moment. I glance up at him, in the middle of wiping my mouth. "Clover Sphere. Clovano. Clovershot. Not usually with villains, but it happens."

I shrug. None of this affects me at all. Again, I'm just excited to see myself associated with hearts and not corpses. "Whatever makes Delta happy."

Milan sighs. I watch him run a hand through his hair, glancing down at his own phone. Which is resting on the counter. It must be on silent since it keeps lighting up but no noises or vibrations play.

"My team doesn't like it."

That makes sense. I doubt this makes him look very good. Even if he is a celebrity hero, heroes are still just commercialized police officers with specific specialities. They go through similar training. I've never viewed them as anything separate from law enforcement.

So, people saying he and a villain have chemistry probably isn't very good. "Why's that?"

Except, that's not the answer I get. "They don't like shipping at all. It ruins the whole 'heartthrob' thing. You know, if people think I'm interested in someone."

I pause, staring at him, beginning to frown. What? Heartthrob? I don't know what that is but it doesn't sound good. I wonder if he's gotten medical treatment for it. It's not a good sign if his team doesn't like this. Maybe it's caused by worry or something—does he have a heart condition? Is this stressing him out?

I can't help the concern I feel. "That sounds serious."

Milan blinks, eyebrows twitching together in confusion before something seems to click. He huffs out some sort of amused noise, a more genuine smile on his face than what I'm used to. I get the feeling I misunderstood the term.

I'm correct.

"No, 'heartthrob' means like... I'm supposed to be available. Attainable. People want to date me, it's part of the appeal."

I continue to stare at him. To try and comprehend what he is saying to me right now. Is he aware that he's a superhero? He knows he's not a walking action figure, right? A doll?

"Like you're being objectified?"

"No, no, that's not— I'm fine with it." Milan shakes his head, smiling and blinking at me. I'm beginning to feel dumb. Like I'm not picking up on something. "People find me attractive. That's part of my brand. My popularity."

Good for him. I guess?

I hum disinterestedly at that, realizing that this whole thing is a lot more shallow than I initially understood. Whatever, still preferable to people treating me like the grim reaper. At least it doesn't appear as though any real harm comes from it. Milan doesn't seem bothered.

Still, I thought they reformed hero society? Sounds like it's not much better than before. Maybe the only metric on that is corruption and not how strange it is for a superhero to have to be attractive for his job.

Then again, I can't really speak on that. I'm literally a villain. One of the big ones, too.

I finish my food and grab his bowl, stacking it with mine and heading over to the sink. As I begin scrubbing out the dishes, I hear Milan talk again from behind me.

"...Do you not agree?"

I frown at the question, finishing the cleaning a moment later and putting them away. Milan is standing again. Pink again. Shifting slightly in discomfort but still staring at me expectantly. I don't think I've ever been asked that before.

I turn back to face him, drying my hands on a dish towel and sizing him up.

He has on a fitted, dark t-shirt, loose black khaki pants, and large boots. Glowing golden skin with a light that becomes increasingly more pink under my gaze. Maybe it means he's nervous?

My eyes finally land back on his face. Angular. Strong jawline, high cheekbones, full eyebrows, just the most basic features that make someone conventionally attractive. The bioluminescence and glowing freckles that cover his body add a sort of otherworldliness to him.

The sharp teeth and glowing purple gaze add a danger. So does his size. It all comes together to form...

"You look radioactive."

Like a peacock, maybe. Like if I stood next to him too long then my descendants would be at an increased risk of birth defects. He appears biologically unsafe and visually excessive, upon a first impression. I'd know.

Milan's face scrunches up at that, which I do vaguely find funny. However, now that I have eaten, I'm tired. I'm ready to go to sleep and I'll probably sleep in the fish room tonight since it's so late but I still want to see them.

I can't do all that if I have to keep catering to a moody, impulsive golden hero, however. So, I walk over to him with the dish towel still in hand. I keep a good distance between us out of reflex.

"Okay. I fed you and I said I'm sorry. I don't know what else you want from me."

Milan is tense, staring down at me with wide eyes. His gaze flicks up and down my face, studying, before he seems to think of something. I quirk an eyebrow at the man as he rolls his shoulder a bit. Then, holds out is hand, staring at it for a moment. Focused. The skin there begins to glow, and then a shimmer appears in the air.

It's really pretty, whatever he's doing. It looks like magic, and I'm transfixed. I watch the shimmering specs arrange themselves into a vaguely familiar shape. A shape that grows more and more recognizable and solid with every passing second, until...

I'm met with the sight of a bouquet of hydrangeas.

I freeze.

Milan holds the bouquet out to me, looking at me like he means it. Like he understands. Like he realizes what he did wrong. It makes me short of breath.

"I'm sorry too, Sunday," he apologizes with real sincerity, holding them out to me. It's been so long since someone called me by my full name, so long since someone apologized to me that I feel like I just got whiplash. The entire sentence just throws me off.

Luckily I still have the dish towel in my hand, so I'm able to reach out and take them. I don't even hesitate to do so, I love flowers, and these ones look exactly like the ones he made me kill. Obviously they're not the exact same, I had to unfortunately bury those, but... they look like them.

My heart swells. I begin to smile, though it's not only because of the flowers. It's also because of him. I can't remember the last time a person made me so happy.

I look down at them in fascination, feeling like a week-old weight has been lifted from my shoulders. The guilt from killing the last bouquet almost fully leaves me.

I want to hug him.

I remember doing it when we were flying. I remember feeling a little safer.

He's the only person I can safely touch. He did something nice for me. He apologized. He made me flowers. They're beautiful.

I want to hug him.

I want to hug him.

I look up at him, smiling, and he just freezes. Like a statue, staring down at me, and I can't take it anymore. I close the distance between us in only two steps, wrapping my arms around him and being careful where I rest my head on his chest. The flowers press against his back, and I'm not even expecting a hug in return. I plan on pulling away after a moment.

Eventually.

I'll definitely pull away.

Sometime.

Milan flattens a hand on my upper back, which causes my breathing to falter, but I just focus on enjoying the contact. Warm. His breathing is slightly uneven and his heart is racing, and I wonder if that's his natural state or something. Maybe he does have a heart condition. Maybe it's needed to produce all the ridiculous light.

Then again, I've never been able to appreciate the glow before since it's always happened when other things were going on. He doesn't put much pressure. Every movement he makes is very restrained, and when I open my eyes, neon pink is lighting up my kitchen.

I frown, realizing that Milan has basically been that color the entire time he's been here. Finally, I can't take it, tilting my head up and resting my chin on his chest. I look up and find him already staring down at me. When we make eye contact, he stops breathing.

"Why are you so pink?"

"A-Alright, uh..." Milan chuckles nervously, moving his hold to gently grasp my shoulders and stepping away. "Thanks for, thanks for dinner uh—sorry for breaking into your house."

He winces. Takes another step back. Doesn't make eye contact again. "Bye."

I watch Milan turn around and hurry out the door so fast I nearly miss it. He barely makes a sound when he does it. It's not teleportation or super speed but definitely something akin. So that's how he's always sneaking up on me.

Whatever, I can handle his weirdness. I can handle anything for someone with the ability touch me and make me flowers. I think his fans are right—or... partially. They're right about my first impression of what 'ship' meant. I want to be friends with him.

For now, I'm content to fall asleep on the small, fluffy couch in my fish room with the hydrangeas beside me.