word count -> 2.1k

plot summary -> you finally meet the strange masked figure you've seen roaming the streets under the cover of darkness

a/n -> thank you for this ask anon! sorry it took me so long to get around to it and for the unimaginative title, i hope you enjoy regardless<3 

...

The night sky sprawls above you, littered with specks of light from stars which burn and shine through space to reach you sat on the cold, empty rooftop.

You're not paying attention to the sky, though, as you shiver and wrap your jacket tighter around you, trapping your hands under your arms to try and preserve some heat, fighting the urge to give up and return to your room. Your bed.

The thought of getting in the under the covers and closing your eyes elicits a longing sigh from you, but you don't move. It's a nice thought, but not as nice as the thought of finally catching and unmasking the mysterious figure you've been seeing roaming the streets near your apartment for a while now.

The figure, always dressed in a strange, white outfit that looked to you as though it might be ceremonial, had been taunting you for weeks now. You'd see him in the dead of night, running along rooftops or slinking through the dark alley below your window, but before you could get a proper look at him, he'd always disappear, as if into nothingness.

It was as though the night simply swallowed him up.

The police hadn't been interested when you'd tried to talk to them about it, exchanging sceptical glances over the top of your head as you told them what you'd seen. So you'd decided to take matters into your own hands.

Not that your hands were necessarily the best place for said matters to be taken, but you couldn't just sit back and let this mystery go unsolved. Well, you could, but your curiosity always had got the better of you.

Which is why you're sat on the roof of your apartment block at half past one in the morning, shivering beneath the stars. Your eyes flit intermittently between the roof tops around you and the alleys far below you, waiting for any sign of movement at all.

You've been sat there for almost three hours, and so far you have seen a fox fall into a bin and scare some nearby dogs, and a man who was definitely not your masked figure shuffling along and mumbling to himself quietly.

Two o' clock comes and goes, along with the feeling in your limbs. You shift in annoyance every time you glance at your phone, the minutes creeping by deliberately slowly, specifically to annoy you.

It's half past two in the morning when you finally stand up, deciding to call it a night. Your legs wobble in protest as you relinquish your weight from the chair back to them instead, and you stretch your arms above your head, groaning as the bones in your shoulders and upper back crunch and crack.

Thud.

You freeze. That wasn't you. Was it?

You don't move a muscle, frozen with your arms above your head as you strain your ears, listening for another sound. It comes soon after, in the form of a groan from the alley below you. You drop your arms and hasten as silently as you can to the edge of the roof, peeking down over the edge.

A figure in all white is staggering along, half shrouded in darkness, holding on to the wall for support. You move quicker than you ever thought yourself capable of, stiff limbs and cold hands forgotten as you fly over to the fire escape and practically launch yourself down it.

Discreetness forgotten, you miss the last five steps and land hard, pain shooting up through your calves to your knees as you land, hard, on the concrete floor of the alley.

You're certain the figure will have heard you and made a run for it, but to your immense surprise when you turn around they're standing right in front of you.

He is standing right in front of you. Because your mystery figure in white is now sans his hood and mask which is how you can tell that he is a man, and you say standing but he's really leaning against the wall, and he looks... well, he doesn't look good.

He's bleeding, quite profusely, and is covered in small wounds and blood. His hand that isn't pressed against the wall is pressed hard to a horribly dark looking stain on the left side of his torso, just below his rib cage.

His gaze meets yours, and you stare at him, acutely aware that you should be doing something, anything really, other than just standing there and looking.

So you open your mouth, and say, 'You're bleeding.'

The man looks slowly down at the wound in his side, and then back at you, his eyebrows slightly raised.

'Yes,' he rasps, the sound of his voice making you wince, and then he's passing out. You dive forward as he slumps against the wall, softening his landing ever so slightly, but only slightly because he's heavy, and you end up on the floor with him.

You sit in shock, looking down at the unconscious man covered in blood half sprawled across your lap, and start to panic. How, why had you allowed yourself to end up in this situation?

What if someone were to walk past and see you now? You hardly looked innocent. Incidentally, neither did this strange man in his strange outfit. He was covered in blood, but was it all his? Where was he going to get in this state?

A low groan emerges from the man's throat, and your eyes flick from his face to the wound in his side, which is still seeping blood. You move instinctively, pressing your hand against the wound as he had, your throat tightening as you feel warm blood against your cold skin.

Hospital. He needs a hospital. You reach for your phone before realising you left it on the roof.

'Shit,' you curse under your breath, feeling fresh panic rise in your chest as his blood stains your fingers crimson.

'Cold.'

You jump violently despite the fact he'd whispered, and the man grunts in pain, jolted by your movement.

'Sorry, sorry,' you apologise, falling still again. 'Cold? I-'

The man opens his mouth to speak again but is seized by a coughing fit, his body tensing and shaking as he chokes up blood.

'Fuck,' you breathe, taking your hand away from him, but he grabs your wrist and presses your hand back against the wound as he fights through the last of the fit, before finally falling limp back against you.

'Don't move,' he rasps, his voice dangerously quiet. Your heart is hammering in your chest. What if this man dies on top of you? You're slightly reassured as he presses his hand firmly over yours, covering it, and the wound, completely.

'Your hands are fucking freezing,' he comments, looking up at you. You're too stunned to speak, but only for a second.

'That's what you're worried about right now?' you exclaim, louder than you'd meant to.

'Shut up! Someone will hear,' he hisses, turning his head to look around and wincing in pain.

'Stay still,' you snap, and his eyebrows rise in surprise as he looks back at you, without moving his head this time. 'I don't want you bleeding out and dying on me, we need to get you to a hospital-'

'No,' he says.

'I- what do you mean no? It may have escaped your notice, but you happen to be bleeding out,' you say blatantly.

'I'm fine. Just give me a minute,' he tells you, closing his eyes again. This time you truly are too stunned to speak.

'What's your name?' the man asks you, his eyes still closed. You only answer truthfully because you're in shock, and you cannot think of a single thing else to say.

'Y/N,' the man repeats, one corner of his mouth tugging upwards. 'I've been calling you vigilante.'

You blink.

'Why?'

'Well, aren't you? You're the only one who sees me around here. No one else has ever seen me, or if they have they've just decided to ignore me. I see you watching, though.'

He's breathing hard as he talks, as though it costs him great effort to get the words out, and you want to tell him to stop. But you're also overly curious.

'What's your name?' you ask, not expecting an answer.

'Marc,' he breathes, a frown gracing his features as his hand tightens over yours suddenly.

'What?' you ask, but he just shakes his head ever so slightly.

'Wouldn't believe me if I told you,' he tells you through gritted teeth. Your interest is instantly sparked.

'Try me,' you say, and he opens his eyes to look at you. They're such a deep brown that they almost look entirely black, his pupils barely detectable from his irises. He seems to be sizing you up as he observes you.

'I'm healing,' he tells you, and disbelief must flood your expression because he shrugs as if to say I told you so before wincing in pain again.

'Healing?' you repeat, frowning in confusion.

'See for yourself,' he says, removing his large hand from over yours, still pressed against his wound. His wound... which is now half the size. And he's not bleeding anymore. You stop breathing.

'Don't freak out,' Marc says, watching you as you stare. You don't hear him.

'Hey, breathe, vigilante,' he says, slightly louder, digging an elbow into your leg. You gasp in a lungful of air at the sensation, and then try to calm yourself down. This can't be real. You're dreaming.

'You okay?' he asks, propping himself up on his elbows with a huff of effort. You just stare at him. A few minutes ago he was on death's door, and now he looks fine. Sure he's got a few cuts and bruises, but his face looks less drawn, his expression bright and alert where minutes ago he'd been slack-jawed and glassy eyed.

'How-?' you breathe, watching him sit up by himself and poke experimentally at the wound in his side, which is now almost gone.

'I told you, you wouldn't believe me,' he says, and then he grins and you frown because he's actually quite handsome when he's not half dead at your feet.

'No, I'm seeing; I'm believing,' you murmur, looking again at the wound in his side. The blood stains remain, but his skin and the suit which had previously covered it have inexplicably knitted themselves back together.

'What is this?' you ask, reaching forward to touch the material of his suit. It's coarse and solid beneath your fingers, almost like sandpaper, but ever so slightly softer.

'D'you know, I'm not actually sure. Useful, though,' Marc replies, and you find yourself looking at him with utter incredulity. He's sat up properly now, leaning on his hands which are placed on the floor behind him, his legs stretched out in front of him. His blood has stained the floor around him.

'So you – you're just... okay? Now?' you ask, removing your hand from his suit.

'Yep,' he says, getting to his feet and swaying slightly. You scramble to your feet after him, ready to catch him if he falls again.

'You lost a lot of blood,' you say, looking at the ground around you and your own clothes and hands. You hope the stains come out of your jacket.

'Ah, sorry about that,' Marc says, gesturing at your blood-stained clothes and skin.

'Don't be,' you say.

There's an awkward pause.

'Do you have somewhere to go?' you ask, wondering as you do what you'll say if he says no. There's hardly room in your apartment.

'Yes,' he tells you with a small smile, and you feel a twinge of disappointment which you shove away quickly.

'Okay. And, if I ask you where it is you go on nights like these, could I expect a truthful response?'

He smiles again, wider this time. 'Nope.'

You can't help but smile back at him. 'Fair.'

He holds out a hand. 'It was good meeting you, vigilante.'

You shake his hand firmly, marvelling at how five minutes ago you'd thought the man in front of you was as good as dead.

'You too. See you... around, I guess,' you say.

He smiles like he finds you funny.

'See you round.'

And then he's gone.

You don't waste any time hanging around in the alley, which is now covered in Marc's blood, climbing back up the fire escape to collect your phone and empty flask of coffee before heading swiftly back to your apartment, thanking higher powers that you don't meet anyone on your way.

You dump your blood-stained clothes straight in the wash before having a hot shower to make sure there's no blood left on your skin before you crawl into bed, suddenly exhausted, but your mind too busy to sleep.

Somehow, after tonight, you have more questions than you'd started out with.