Abruptly, Jerome considered the full picture. Five, if he were wearing a mask and had his long, dark hair messily upswept like he did now, wouldn’t obviously be a young man. He wouldn’t be anything—except oddly beautiful, which was hard to accept.
“You’re staring,” Five said, with an edge of defensiveness. “I don’t like it when people stare.”
Jerome rolled his eyes, amused again. “That makes two of us, precious. I don’t let on, though.”
Five scowled more fiercely than Bruce did on his worst days. “Why do you keep calling me—”
“Because you’re adorable,” Jerome said. “You’re like, what, a hundred-and-thirty-pound killing machine with hair that’d make a Disney princess jealous? Look at yourself.”
Five just stared at him, briefly chewing his lower lip. “I don’t like to. I bet you don’t, either.”