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It was refreshing, he thought. It felt nice to set down the roles of heroes for a night and just be people, go out into the world without the expectation of helping whoever needed help at that moment.
That didn’t stop Prism from attracting lost, recently heartbroken girls in the bathroom of whatever club they’d go to and making it her personal mission to talk them into making better decisions, but at least it was a choice, then. She would return to find Flambae on the dancefloor, often accompanied by some other man, and whoever she didn’t approve of would be pushed to the side and told he was taken, because she’d apparently made it her mission to get him to make better decisions, too.
Hence the dread. Hence the gradual fade of her music as she read his silence exactly for what it was.
“Okay,” she said, “get your ass over here and tell me what’s up.”
/////
Or: Flambae has a confession to make.
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