Being sacked into editing was as close to InfoBYTE’s version of waterboarding as he imagined they could legally get away with. Article after article, (though he assumed the word “article” was something used much more loosely here than it should be with some of the things he had seen) he could feel a tiny sliver of his sanity slip into the void with every word he read.

Elliot knew how he got his job- he was a damned genius. But how anyone else here managed to gain employment was evidently a miracle.

The fashion articles were perhaps, in his opinion, the absolute worst. It wasn’t even the vapidity of it all that drained him so much as it was the complete lack of human soul or emotion. Pandering was perhaps the best term, he realized.

Not that he had any room to talk, but he at least tried to write like he was capable of feeling something.

The day passed and regardless of his inner monologue telling him consistently not to get so engrossed in fixing other people’s horrifically written redundant garbage, it definitely helped time not feel so concretely tangible.

Elliot sighed as he finally made his way out onto the streets, pulling his phone from his back pocket. It was always a strange sensation to him when he realized he hadn’t checked on it for any period of time, especially one longer than about ten minutes. He scrolled through his notifications for a moment before making his trek back home as it would be the only actual exercise he would manage for the day.

It was mostly mundane things, social media blurbs he couldn’t force himself to care about and Winn begging him to pick up Chinese food on his way home. As the notification directly underneath that was a notice that she’d sent him money for it, it appeared that he did not have the choice to refuse.

It was the moment he reached the end of his notifications that he realized he was a little disappointed that no one else had messaged him.

Mostly Daniel Chae, if he was allowing himself to be specific.

Which he wasn’t.

Elliot began his walk home in hopes that the slight endorphins from movement of any sort would help him clear his head. Instead, it seemed to only agitate the stiffness in his back from sitting at a desk all day and make his thoughts only grow louder. He swore under his breath at himself for forgetting headphones. Noise of any sort would have helped, would have given himself something to focus on other than...well, himself.

It would be assumed that the various noises of the city would have been enough to distract him, and when he first arrived that was certainly the case. Now, however, it was simply a hum in the back of his senses. What once overwhelmed him was now familiar. Hell, he’d argue it was more than that. Anytime he went home he realized that without the sound of sirens and street bustle he couldn’t sleep.

Sighing, Elliot decided to stop resisting the inevitable and allow himself to wallow in his feelings. The briefest of pity parties could be excused, he figured. Besides, this was hardly even a pity party. He had six months to show up, on time, every day. It wasn’t like it would be difficult, per se, it was just that he didn’t want to.

It was more that Elliot was painfully aware that he was better than this. He was too good for bi-weekly quizzes and thinkpieces with no thought required to read or write them. He was talented, he just didn’t know how or where to channel it. He had spent his life under the assumption that the answer to that would just...come to him. He’d write and hone in his talent his entire life and then move to the big city and have some Carrie Bradshaw-esque vague rise to journalistic fame. Then he’d make entirely too much money to be writing an advice column, make at least three really great friends, and then find some rich, hot guy to have a will-they-won’t-they-but-hey-let’s-make-out-in-an-elevator fling with.

Of course he was well aware the picture painted on TV was a little bit unrealistic, but a man can dream.

A hollow feeling began to creep it’s way into Elliot’s chest and he began to walk faster, hoping the change of pace might chase away the all too familiar feeling. He could see the chinese restaurant just a block away, all he needed to do was get in, get food, get out, and then he could drink away the rest of this mental nonsense the minute he got home.

Elliot felt his breath grow shorter and his chest grew much heavier as he walked.

Maybe I won’t ever get there, He thought before he could stop himself, Maybe I’m not as good as I think I am. Maybe I’ll never be any better than I am right now. Maybe I can’t get better because I’m just that  bad. I suck and everyone else is too nice to tell me to my face. Which would certainly explain why I keep getting stuck doing editorial work. And it definitely explains why I can’t keep more than one friend, let alone a relationship. Go on, check your phone. You know Danny hasn’t texted back because he’s realized you’re not as interesting as you think you are, and you’re not as anything as you think you are.

Elliot was growing closer to the Chinese restaurant near his apartment and he prayed he was also growing closer to solace from the awful voice in the back of his head, when suddenly, something flew into the building just a few feet ahead. Were he walking any faster, the flying debris would have certainly ended his soliloquy, along with every other part of his existence. Three masked figures flew overhead, one of them darting down, checking on the wreckage.

Elliot recognized him, but intangibly so.

“Are you alright?” The man asked, his concerned tone being the only thing that drew Elliot’s attention to the fact that he probably looked a bit shaken. Elliot looked down at his own hands, grasping at his jacket, and back up at the masked figure.

There were so many things he could have responded with. A nod, a simple “yes”, even a “thank you” would have sufficed as a response, as the man was simply concerned. It was his job, or whatever.

Elliot could have even had said “no”.

But Elliot’s response was none of those things. He could have went with anything from the most polite reply to something from shock, but his primary focus was reflected in his reply. Elliot could only see that, mask aside, this was sweatpants guy. Forget almost being impaled by a chunk of building, forget the shock of snapping from his reverie- this guy had the audacity to wear actual, clearly from a local store, plain sweatpants.

“Holy shit,” Elliot swallowed, “Your outfit is fucking awful.”

The man blinked, perhaps more in shock by Elliot’s response than Elliot was from everything else. Before Elliot could respond, the man smiled and gave a little nod, “I’ll take that as a yes, then.”

Elliot’s mouth felt dry. He wanted to respond with literally anything at this point, but he seemed unable to form the words as the man dashed away, leaping back into the sky to join the fray.

At least he’s got a sense of humor, I guess, Elliot thought as he decided that the sooner he was home, the better.

         ✵

Danny watched as the building came back together, pieces slowly building back onto themselves, restoring what that idiot from moments ago had knocked out before. It still hadn’t really set in that he was the one fixing the building. That this was something he could do now. A part of him didn’t think he’d ever get used to it, but superpowers were like that Danny guessed.

“Holy shit”, he had said, “Your outfit is fucking awful.” Danny chuckled, replaying the memory in his head as his friends stood by idly watching him restore their collateral damage. Of all the people to run into while on the job, Danny hadn’t expected to run into Elliot, and he could not have possibly predicted how….charming  Elliot was apparently when caught off guard.

The world really could be a small place.

“Stop giggling to yourself,” Bolt frowned, crossing her arms, “It’s creepy, man.”

“I told you,” Dr. Odd said, nodding at Danny, “The energy manipulation gives him physical gratification. You owe me five dollars.”

“Was there a bet on that or something?” Danny asked with disgust that he wasn’t entirely sure if it was genuine or not.

Bolt nodded enthusiastically, “We’ve got a few, man. Including how long it’ll take you to come up with a name.”

Danny frowned, “It’s not that easy!”

“Surely, you could have used a name generating website or something by this point.” Dr. Odd frowned, “At this point I’m almost bitter you’re the only one the media pays any attention to.”

“I mean,” Danny said with a smug grin, “That’s probably just because I do the most work...and don’t call me Shirley.”

“Some of us have to maintain jobs.” The older man muttered with a tight-lipped frown, “So of course that would be the case.”

Having a teammate bring up the fact that he didn’t quite need to work should not have stung Danny quite like it had, but here he was. Sufficiently stung.

He stepped away from where he stood, brushing his hands on the legs of his pants dramatically as a gesture of triumph, deciding to ignore Dr. Odd’s comment altogether. He had more pressing matters anyways.

“I’ll figure it out eventually.” Danny smiled, “You guys go on home, I’ll double check for any stragglers.”

Dr. Odd didn’t bother with a proper farewell, disappearing into thin air the moment the words escaped from his unofficial leader’s lips.

“You sure you’re alright?” Bolt frowned, more observant than anyone would have ever given her credit for being, “You seem kind of out of it today.”

Danny smiled warmly, “Yeah, I’m alright. Go enjoy the rest of your evening.”

He could tell she left begrudgingly, but sighed with relief once she was gone. Danny made quick work of surveying the area, quickly regretting it as he had wanted to avoid going home to his empty apartment. It wasn’t that he was lonely, of course. It was more that he didn’t want to rush home because he knew he’d spend the rest of the evening overthinking himself to death on how exactly he was going to ask Elliot out on their hypothetical next date. Especially now that he knew Elliot had rather...peculiarly adorable reactions when caught off guard.

I have to find some way to exploit that, Danny thought with warm amusement, It seems like it’d be fun to watch.

✵

A cigarette dangled haphazardly from Elliot’s lips while he (equally) haphazardly sat in the windowsill of his apartment, phone cradled between his neck and shoulder and a thumb drive in his clenched fist.

It felt like the longest he had been on hold in the entirety of his life, but if he played his cards right it would be entirely worth it.

Patricia only answered calls past ten at night. An odd business practice, but it delegated a small window for her employees to contact her and in a moment of panic, a thought had struck Elliot for a series of articles detailing collateral damage from these superhero skirmishes. This had to get him off of the shit-list.

The holding music dribbled on, reminding Elliot he needed to listen to more pop because he knew that’s what this was but couldn’t identify anything else about it beyond that. A faint gust of wind from behind caught him off guard, startling him.

Elliot turned far too quickly, however, watching as the cigarette fell from his mouth and the thumb drive tumbled down the fire escape alongside it.

Swearing under his breath, he swung himself onto the opposite-of-trustworthy metal grating, hanging up his phone before shoving it into the pocket of his shorts.

Briefly, he wondered if anyone else was outside or in view, as he was sporting the same t-shirt he’d been wearing all day but had substituted a rather nice pair of slacks for a pair of pajama bottoms he’d stolen from Winn’s floor, some entirely-too-short shorts, phosphorescent green and covered in rainbow llamas clad in sombreros. He’d meant to ask where they came from, as they were too ridiculous to exist in the first place, but in lieu of asking he decided to borrow them instead.

Not that he felt any shame in his ass being covered by llamas, but it wasn’t necessarily an outfit he’d want to be mugged in...He’d want his newspaper photo to be a flattering one.

Who am I kidding? He thought to himself as he grimaced at the slight dampness of the fire escape ladder, These shorts are incredibly flattering.

Making his way down, Elliot noticed it was far more windy than it had been before. It wasn’t something he was thrilled about, but at least the weather had briefly taken his mind off of today.

Unfortunately, he found his cigarette far before he found his thumb drive, and his heart sank as he realized that the drive may have fallen behind the dumpster. Of course you fell there, asshole, He thought as he pushed the large, green bin away from the building wall, just enough to squeeze behind it. Almost immediately his eyes fell on the bright red drive, Hell of a lot of good you’ll do me now though, Patricia is probably on her last call for the night.

He slid the thumb drive into his empty pocket, wiping his hands on his shirt before grabbing his phone.

Elliot had pulled his phone out long enough to turn it on when a figure descended from the sky.

He froze, staying in his place behind the dumpster as he scrambled to turn on his phone’s camera, hitting the buttons for zoom and record faster than his phone could keep up with.

The man who was now in the alleyway was one of the good masked freaks that had been roaming the streets of Starlight City, and to Elliot’s recollection, he may be the only good one.

The Magician? Magic-Man? Elliot tried to remember as the phone recorded the scene before him, Hocus Pocus? It’s something… something  really  stupid.

Clearly the masked figure had not noticed Elliot. That or he didn’t have a face and therefore had nothing to worry about in regards to secret identities. Elliot struggled to calm himself against his rather loud heartbeat.

Holy shit, I’m going to be famous.

The man shrugged off his shirt first, his back covered in a nasty wound but also revealing that those sweatpants looked even cheaper than Elliot previously assumed.

Perhaps it was just the fact that he was stunned, but Elliot felt as though time had stopped as he waited on the figure to remove his mask. Even if it was just enough to guess at the identity of Starlight City’s masked hero, it would be enough to make Elliot an internet sensation in the least.

Slowly, the figure slipped his thumbs beneath the dark green ski mask, pulling it over his head. Fluffy black hair puffed out from the release, sticking out awkwardly in some places and plastered to his head in others.

Elliot felt his heart sink.

But he also felt an odd surge of relief.

Slowly, he eased his way out from behind the dumpster, phone still recording, as the figure shrugged back on a vaguely familiar looking blue sweater.

“Daniel Chae,” Elliot said, almost embarrassed at how smug he thought he sounded, “I gotta say, I wasn’t expecting to see you.”

Danny spun, eyes wide in horror.

“At least” Elliot cooed, “Not so soon.”