Disclaimer: I don't own Sky High, Warren Peace, or anything else you recognize from the franchise.
He doesn't move out of his own apartment, but somehow most of his stuff ends up at hers anyway. She can't do laundry without finding his t-shirts and boxers in with her own clothes, and his laptop is always charging at her kitchen table when she wakes up.
He works as a website designer, which pays well even if it has odd hours. Sometimes, he'll be working at a project for days on a deadline, and then go weeks without any work. It's good for the hero life, though.
She owns a tattoo parlor down the road from her apartment. It rankles her to follow in her father's footsteps, but it's one thing that she actually loves to do. Plus, she can decide her own hours, which comes in handy when wrangling injured superheroes.
He was fighting some villain downtown earlier, him and that purple friend of his, and he came home bruised and coughing up blood.
She was not hysterical, even if she did swear at him extensively and run around finding her first aid kit and bandages and a new set of clothing.
"Fuck, Warren, what the fucking hell were you thinking," she mutters, even if he can't do anything but groan in response.
She doesn't hesitate to open a moment.
It's in the moment that time stops, and stretches, and gives her the space to work. She doesn't have to worry about him bleeding out or choking on his own blood, because she has all the time in the world.
He has two broken ribs, and a punctured lung, and enough bruises to make him regret being alive.
But she's a trained medic, and she has the skill to fix this. It takes her a long time, slowly teasing apart each problem and blinking moments open and closed so the stress of her treatments don't all hit at once, and by the time he's stable, she's exhausted.
She brings him with her into another moment, and sleeps. He needs the time to heal, and she knows he would not hesitate to go back out to save someone if they needed him.