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WARY EYES BORE INTO YOU with a grimace of hostility. Shifting uncomfortably under his state, it began to dawn on you your vulnerability of the situation. The black perturbing haziness continues to near you, whispering against the wooden floor.
"Well?" He asks once more, cocking an eyebrow with his lips pulling into a much wider grin. It's neither polite nor friendly gesture, more so bathing in enjoyment of your uncomfort and fear.
"I—uh, I found you on my doorsteps bleeding."
There is a momentary shock as the words manage to escape from your dry and aching throat. Your fingers curl against the towel, attempting to ignore the need to scratch out your trachea.
"I know why I'm here, but a name would suffice better," he retorts.
The smoke retracts a bit, just enough for you to notice that the wavering hostility. And yet, you cringe at the act. You shouldn't be frightened, if anything the man was in your debt, having tend to his injuries with such precision and gruesome hours.
For all the talk you've spoken about good versus evil, the separating line that began the hierarchy long lasting to present days, you truly felt what it meant to be fearful. Was this how one felt, as if a villain cowering from the hands of a hero or a warrior unable to prevent destruction to civilians? You shake your head at the thought in defiance,; this man was nothing but the same to you.
The skim of your fingertips crackle and pursue, causing the pink-haired male looks at you with keen curiosity and a limited patience.
"No."
"No?" the golden-eyed man repeats slowly as if trying to process the defiance against him.
"Look, you can't come into my house and start ordering me around like it's your damn business." You sharply inhale, as if taking in the remaining confidence in the air while time lasts, ticking away. "I took care of you, when I didn't have to. And I still haven't heard a thank you. I don't know who you are, and frankly, I don't really care. Be it villain or superhero."
The man abruptly stands up at your last few words, taking long strides towards you as he looms over. The once growing grin is now into a firm line, peculiarity of expressions passing through his narrowing eyes. It searches your own thoroughly as if expecting for you to slip up and reveal something, but you stare back with a look of weakening confidence. You just hope your wavering resistance can remain as a fortitude until he turns away.
"Now, I really need to change so I'm gonna need you to go. You can either wait outside, or leave. Whichever one you choose is fine."
There's no hiss to your tone as you say this, more as if utterly exhausted and done with the situation. Your muscles are aching and the uncomfortable feel of wet hair sticking on your flushed skin didn't aid in providing comfort.
