Chapter Text
The footsteps are getting closer. You tried glancing behind you when you turned a corner, but all you saw was the looming figure of a man backlit by streetlights.
Do you walk faster? Just run? So far, you’ve been keeping a normal pace, but you don’t know what to do. You start reaching for your phone, wanting to call Matt, but your hands are shaking.
The screen lights up when you hold it in front of your face, momentarily blinding you.
A hand on your shoulder quickly spins you around.
You raise a fist and immediately swing it into the face of the unsuspecting man behind you.
With a gasp, you raise your hands to your own face, shocked at what you had done. All the terror drains from your body at the sight of your boyfriend, the Devil of Hell’s Kitchen himself, standing there stunned in all his red-suited glory.
“I am so sorry–” you try to say.
Even with the mask covering most of his face and the dark of the night, you can still make out the red flush on Matt’s face, though it’s not from a blooming bruise–your punches are, unfortunately, rather weak–nor from anger.
“You can do it again if you want,” he blurts as the blush turns a deeper red, creeping down his neck.