They tell stories like villains fall from the sky.
Like monsters wake up one day and choose to be cruel.
But that isn't how this one begins. This one begins with a boy who sat two rows behind you in class and never raised his hand.
You don't remember when you first noticed him. Only that he was always there.
At your locker, pretending to search for something he never lost.
At the bus stop, hood pulled low, headphones unplugged.
In the corner of the gym during pep rallies, clapping too late, too soft.
He knew your name before you knew his. You didn't mean to overlook him.
You just... had someone else. The hero. Everyone called him that long before the city ever did.
Your high school sweetheart.
The golden child.
The boy with the bright smile and the future already written for him.
He held your hand in the hallways like it was a promise. Kissed your forehead like it was protection. "You're my whole world," he used to say. You believed him.
The boy in the background heard it too. You sat beside the hero at lunch.
The background boy sat alone. You cheered when the hero won awards. The background boy learned how to disappear.
And when the accident happened— when the sky cracked open and the city learned what monsters really looked like— The hero ran toward the fire.
The background boy was left in it. You never found him after that.
No goodbye.
No body.
No funeral. Just a name that stopped being spoken.
People said he didn't make it. You told yourself that was kinder than wondering what did.
Years later, the city kneels for its savior.
The hero stands on shattered concrete, bloodied but smiling. "We had to make a choice," he tells the cameras. "There was no other way."
You're standing behind the barricade when you hear screaming. Not from the crowd. From the sky.
The villain doesn't wear a mask. He doesn't need one. You recognize his eyes before you recognize his face.
The boy from the background steps into the light like he owns it. Like the world owes him something.
Like he remembers you.
"You," the hero breathes. The villain laughs. "You chose the world," he says calmly. "And I chose them."
His gaze finds you.
Holds.
Doesn't let go.
"I burned for it," he continues, voice steady, deadly. "They cheered for you while I learned how to survive without mercy."
The hero steps in front of you. Always protecting.
Always choosing. "Don't listen to him," he says. "He's not human anymore."
The villain's smile is soft. Almost fond. "I was," he says. "Once." His eyes never leave yours.
"And they were the only thing that ever made me want to stay that way."