Page 6 of The Masks We Wear
“Penny for yer thoughts, Kitty Cat?”
That voice.
I spin around so fast my head gets dizzy. My breath catches in my throat at the sight—I have no doubt it’s Superhero. Gone is the Spider-Man costume; he’s wearing jeans, tight green spandex, and a green mask that covers his face like mine.
“Black Panther costume again? I ain’t complaining, but you oughta switch things up.”
He moves closer to me and leans on the ledge to my right. My body shifts like a magnet drawn only to him.
“Cat got yer tongue? Well, I guess you are the cat.” He chuckles again. That damn Southern drawl I’ve been beating off to all year is going to be the death of me. “That was a lame joke, I know.” He turns and looks directly at me. Unlike last year, I can see his eyes—they’re deep brown, soulful, and have this uncanny ability to reach into my soul.
“Let me start over—how ya been, Kitty Cat? Is it lame to say I was hoping to find you here?”
My throat is dry but I find my voice. “It would be lame if I wasn’t doing the same thing.”
He chuckles and pats me on the back. That simple contact sends shivers cascading through my skin. “Well, that strokes my ego, so thanks.”
I recall stroking both of us off, a memory I’ve latched on to for twelve months. Looking back out at the dark city, he asks, “So, how’s it been?”
I gulp. “I…you’re different, Superhero.”
He turns to me, and I think he’s quirking an eyebrow, but the green mask covers that. I try to memorize the color of his eyes, but the darkness makes that impossible. I point to his face and say, “You’re not Spider-Man anymore.”
He chuckles and his dimples emerge.Fuck. “No, I’m not. I wanted to switch things up.” He pulls a small green ring out of his pocket.
“Green Lantern,” I reply.
He grins again. “There weren’t too many African-American superheroes growing up, but John Stewart was my favorite.”
“But you’re wearing the Hal Jordan mask.” He laughs and my insides burst into a hundred butterflies.
“You know yer comics,” he remarks.
“Yeah, well…” I gaze out at the streets again, feeling that familiar comfort. Talking to Superhero feels like talking to my best friend. Maybe it’s the masks or maybe the magic of Halloween night, but I never want to let this feeling go. “There are even less Korean superheroes in comics.”
When I look back up, I find him gazing at me fondly. “I didn’t know you were Korean. But then again, ain’t that what the masks are for?”
I nod and we go back to gazing at the night sky in silence. “How’s college in New York been treating you?”
“Hey, I asked you first, Kitty Cat.”
I snicker. “My year’s been…really good actually.”
“That’s great.”
“I’m only here visiting my friends. I’m actually on sabbatical this semester.”
“Oh really?”
“I’m at a dance internship uptown. Hoping to get a spot in ‘The Christmas Pictuersque’this year.”
He grins at me. “That’s fucking awesome man!” His voice is laced with sincerity. When he lightly punches my arm, I resist the urge to grab his wrist and pull him into me. “Yer making a name for yerself, Kitty Cat.”
“Thanks,” I reply, my cheeks heating up.
“A rich and famous dancer. Pretty soon you’ll forget the likes of me.”
“I could never,” I mutter.
