Chapter Text
Jonathan hoped he could fly. Flying was the only way out of this. Maybe he’d sprout big bird wings and soar high in the skies, high enough to see his parents up in heaven. It didn’t look so far away, really, from the angle his body was in. The skyscraper he was falling from didn’t appear to be there either. It was just a big grey blur. Everything moved slow and fast at the same time. His arms reached skywards, grabbing for something not in reach, while his body plummeted towards concrete. He’d be dead in maybe another few seconds; a big pile of gore and corruption splattered across the street.
No one would miss a villain, right?
In the few seconds of his freefall, his brain shot out images of what would happen after his death. Parties, celebration, newspaper articles stating that the beast had been slain by the great Night Owl; it was clear in his mind. It was all over. Everything he’d done, all the chaos he’d caused, would just simply be over.
Well, that’s what Jonathan thought. A few tears slipped out when he felt arms suspend his body from its fall. They were strong arms, too, big and muscular. Those were the same arms that had pushed him off the building, weren’t they? The ones that shoved in pure rage right after he’d looked at that blank mask and whispered “I’m so tired” as the pistol he owned dropped to the ground. Why did the dumb pheasant suddenly get so upset? Sure they’ve fought before; nasty fights created bruises that lasted weeks and weeks. But, what ticked the arch nemesis off bad enough to try and kill him? Of course, it’s not like he would mind dying. The owl didn’t give him that satisfaction, though. He never finished him off. Even when Jonathan begged for it, even when he put the pistol to his villainous head and the hero had his finger on the trigger.
And now the good guy has once again saved the bad guy from imminent death. That’s something you aren’t supposed to see. The norm would be Night Owl taking down The Clown. Maybe things don’t always go the way you’d expect them to, or maybe Jonathan is just lucky.
He didn’t even bother looking at the deep yellow rubbery eyes as the grappling hook slowly pulled them upwards. The mechanism was making a faint buzzing noise as it pulled the rope up that held the two dangling men. It was annoying to him, a hum that proved he had to be rescued by someone who hated his guts. How dishonorable.
The two reached the top of the building quickly. It seemed to take forever to Jonathan, but Night Owl had become accustomed to his little toys. Toys, Jonathan internally scoffed. He grabbed the side of the rooftop and hoisted himself up, not bothering to move after the effort. With a groan, he landed on his back and stayed there, looking up at the creamy orange sky. “You know,” he mumbled, “it would have been better to let me go.”
The masked man shook his head from where he stood, arms crossed against his chest. Just that remark made him want to throw the idiot off the building again. Of course, the outcome of the situation wouldn’t change, but it would still prove a point. “You’re probably right. I should’ve watched you hit the ground. Maybe it would get me a statue in the city’s park.” His words were muffled by the mask and the hero wanted nothing more than to take it off to breathe in some fresh air.
The sunset was disappearing when Jonathan sat up. The owl still lingered, and was now lying on the concrete close by. Suddenly, the owl mask seemed very out of place. Why did he still wear it? Did he really think Jonathan would come and look for him or something? He wasn’t The Clown without the makeup. He was a normal guy in a stupid apartment with an Xbox that barely worked. His life was average, boring even, when he wasn’t on the run from Night Owl or the cops.
A sore sounding voice interrupted his thoughts. “Why do you feel the need to be a bad person? To steal things and hurt people?” The owl’s head turned towards him and tilted with interest.
Jonathan let out a giggle. “Why do you feel the need to save people? To save me?” He knew that question would probably cause the other to get up and walk off like always. Serious questions weren’t the hero’s forte. But, to Jonathan’s surprise, the man pulled up the mask a little to speak more clearly. It was the first time he ever saw part of his face, “Because I know you’re not all bad. I saw it when the pistol was to your head and I saw it again as you fell today. It’s like you want to die.”
Jonathan bit his bottom lip, “Take it off.”
The hero’s mouth twitched upwards into a smirk. He shrugged, as if to say ‘if you say so,’ and tugged the mask off harshly.
Jonathan gulped and a single thought ran through his head that made him want to throw himself back off the building. Oh no he’s hot. And, it was the honest truth. The guy’s jawline was sharp as a piece of glass, his hair was jet black and flipped up in a sexy, ridiculously messy way and to top it all off, his cheeks were dusted with a light pink hue. Everything about him was gorgeous. The way the dying sunset reflected off his dark eyes aimed at his stupid clown face made his palms sweaty and heart all fluttery. It was like walking by his high school crush again and it was absolutely fucking pathetic.
And then, and then, he ran his hand through his hair while smiling at the ground and it looked like one of those photographs illuminated on the wall in Hollister. That was enough to make Jonathan lose it all over again. God, why does fate make the only guy he’d want to bang, out of all the people in the world, his arch nemesis? It was cruel. No, actually, it was just his luck. Nothing good ever happened to him.
Then, the now hot owl looked up and leaned against the side of the wall behind him. He was obviously trying to hide a smile, and wasn’t doing so well at it, because his lips ended up failing him and stretched into a big grin you’d want to stare at for hours. “Oh, and by the way, my name’s Evan.”