(Person A is a superhero and Person B is a supervillain who operates in the same general area. They know each other's secret identities, and during the day they go out and fight, and at night they come home and get it on.)

"Albarn, get your ass in here."

"Sir?" She asked, shuffling her papers and fixing her glasses on her nose. Liz and Patty, the infamous "Beaters" sat on a desk and smoked. Letting the large puffs of smokes drizzle out of them like broken sinks. Soul Evans was shuffling papers, unaffected by the Beaters skimpy outfits and the white smoke. "What is it?" She crossed her arms and looked at him.

"Any news on that Death Lord?"

"If I know anything, you'll hear."

"So you don't?"

"No sir." She groaned and they glared at each other. She was fully capable of being able to catch a villain, that was if she wanted to catch her boyfriend, which she didn't. Not at all, things were going well.

"Is he the Mafia Lord?" One broken sink whispered near Soul's lips as she leaned in and he nodded. She was taller and she blew out white curling smoke like vines.

"Powerful mafia lord that is, he doesn't even do his own work. The others do. Calls themselves the Angels of Death or Shinigamis." Maka said and shuffled her papers once again. "Lord of weapons, drugs, power."

"Oh my!" Giggled the shorter Beater.

"I'll take my leave, sir."

"Maka, you are a prized Soldier of Justice, don't screw this up." How many times had she heard that? She was a Soldier of Justice. Hardly meant anything these days to be a damned Soldier of Justice. She liked the comic books, they made her and her troops look like superheros, generally promoting her. She would have liked to be a superhero, all she had was a jacket with her last name stitched onto it and the patches of a few victories.

She had begun working on Death Lord's case one year ago, he was attractive, young and arrogant, she had met him in an alley behind a bowling facility. They had caught each other at gunpoint and daring each other to make the next move. The Death Lord did and asked her on a date, said she was smart, funny, and not naive enough to turn him down. She didn't. She didn't' know why, but he and her went to a small cricket-like restaurant outside of town and he was funny, and charming to watch. She had asked him why he watched her and he had smiled. She liked it. He liked her. And now, here they were, living in her apartment just over a hat shop called "Tsubaki's Hats and Star Dresses" it was blue and black. They seemed unfazed when the tall man walked up the stairs with a gun in his coat and a snarky smile after an officer. He would wave and they would say 'good morning' or 'afternoon sir' and what not.

She stuffed her hands into her pockets and looked down at the street, it was so plain under her glare and she was almost impatient to get home. 'Home to Kid' she thought. His real name was Death the Kid and even his father was in the whole "mafia overlord" career. He was bred for it. Being an optimist, she believed he had had a choice, everyone has a choice, but he chose an easier path. He was not a bad person, but after meeting him and loving him, it fogged her morals and perspectives of "good" and "bad" and "evil" and "hero." She was not a hero, nor was he, but in ways, they both were to their own parties.

"Maka!" Tsubaki said, she was the blue haired man's partner, in life or in business, no one really knew. "How are you?" She asked and dropped the teal hat with white roses on the glass counter. The door rang a bird bell and Maka waved.

"Fine. You?"

"Rent's due, Maka." The blue-haired man spat. He was sitting in front of a mannequin and stitching the hem of a pink dress.

"Thanks Black-Star." She hissed and trudged up the stairs miserably, unlocking the door, as was custom. They always locked the door, even when he was home. He was supposed to be home today, he had had to go on a trip with some of his men for a deal in France and the worst part was missing him, she was tired of missing people. He had this effect on her, even just at work, she missed his touch and his laughter and him.

"Kid!" She screamed and dropped her bag and jacket and ran to him. He hugged her tightly and swung her about, kissing her sandy hair. She took his face and kissed him and they smiled in each other. Leaning in once again so not to ever be apart they smiled as they kissed with such happiness and grief of ever being without each other. "I missed you." She said and kissed him once more, and swung her arms around his neck, making her stand on her toes.

"I think I missed you more." He held her waist tightly, never wanting to let go and kissed her head over and over again, her neck and her forehead.

"You are so sappy and a liar."

"You're pathetically cheesy.
"I know." She laughed and they both just smiled into each other's chests.

"I made food."

"Take out?" She said as they went to the kitchen and he opened one pot and she leaned

down to peer in. "Not take out, wow. Color me in love."

"Good, color me happy." He said and kissed her. He whispered. She

smiled and took off her shoes. His shoes were placed neatly on both sides of the doors, her sheets were made, his jacket folded, and her furniture seemed different. She looked at his feet trapped in green cotton socks, like her eyes. His sleeves were rolled up and he turned abou the kitchen with confusion. "I should clean up your jacket and shoes."

"Yes, you should." She mocked and he nodded, thanking her. She had grown so accustomed to his habits and OCD, he might like that best, he loved that she knew how to calm him and hold him when he sobbed or had an attack. She knew how to help him and soothe him and talk about it. "So what is it?"

"I'm offended. It's orange chicken, except," he held up a finger, "except, homemade." She took him by the waist and kissed him.

"Really? Doesn't look like chicken."

"You aren't a good judge, you could be on a cooking show so shush." He muttered to the chicken that was slightly melted and closed the pot.

"Kid, that's not even how you make chicken. Let me make something."

"No no, it's my treat, so I shall."

"Fine well," she smirked at him and he kissed her forehead. "I'm happy you are home."

"Me too."

They sat at the small table and ate the sandwiches he had badly prepared. There wasn't much you could do to make a sandwich with only cabbage, pulled pork, rice, and cheese. That was, it also had to be symmetrical, so they ate cabbage cheese sandwiches over chipped plates. She refused to use any of his mafia money, that was until he brought up marriage and she almost choked.

"We can't get married!" She had said.
"Why not?" He had demanded and she crossed her arms.

"I would loose my job, I can't lose my job. I don't want to be the wife of a criminal!"
"A criminal! Is that all you think? Just a criminal?" He had screamed. "Not the wife to someone you love?" He had slammed the door and slept outside the door. That was until Maka said that if they were to get married, they would elope, he had agreed. It was almost like an unsaid agreement of love, like an almost marriage, just a screwed up one between opposing sides. It mad Maka doubt many things that she could love someone like him.

"They want to know more about you."

"The Soldiers? Say I don't like cabbage, nor do I like cheese."

"Idiot. How do you not like cheese?"

"Lovable idiot, that is." he stared at the sandwich that flopped on his plate. "It smells bad and the texture." He stuck out his tongue.

"Yes, well, I like cheese." She said, the sandwich wasn't very good and she was more interested in the science experiment that was the melting chicken.

"Tell them you found my old apartment, I'll move my things here tomorrow and they can study it in two days."

"Really?" She asked. "Thank you."

"I really hate cheese."

" , let me take you to dinner." She widened her eyes as she stood from her desk and stared at her boss. "The apartment you found was a major lead and we are close. We think he goes under a fake name and can track him."

"Really?" She swallowed, choking.

"Yes, so let me take you out to celebrate." Soul Evans asked once more.

"Sorry, I cannot."

"Oh, you're taken by a mystery man?"

"Yes."

"You never bring him around, it must not be serious."

"Excuse me?"

"He never comes around, what is he too busy to even meet their girlfriend's friends?"

"Yes." 'You aren't really my friends' she thought and kept her eyes on the blue pen that was on the desk.

"A relationship is built on sacrifices."

"It is built on love." She hissed and taking her bag, she was about to go to this eleged apartment and help out a team. "I dont need advice, sir."

"Sounds unhealthy if they can't even show up."

"Shut up."

"Just saying, listen Albarn, I'm helping you." He followed her down the hallway to the brass doors with the word 'Justice' engraved on it.

"I do not need your help!" She yelled and walked to her car, opening the door and slamming it. She stared at her hands and shook her head. She had been to this apartment three times, the first night they had ever spent together, he made coffee and had burnt the toast.

It was gloomier than she remembered, the third time she had come to his apartment, over the subway and hovering just over the gunfare factory, was when she came bearing lamps and colored table cloths and posters. They put them up and he said something about having the "dream home of a twelve year old" she had elbowed him and told him to appreciate her work.

"At least it's symmetrical, thank you." He had kissed her by leaning down to her and she smiled a weak smile.

A sick guilty smile.

She smiled the same smile now, in his apartment as she walked about it and took samples. She sighed and check some dressers in his room; he had a lot. She rummaged about, sliding her hand here and there and back. She peeled some tape back on the top of the drawer and held up the picture of them. Them. She covered her mouth to keep from laughing and traced his face with her glove and smiled, shoving it into her bag and sighing. He was pushing his luck, his "subtle" way of saying things should change. They couldn't.

She left his old room and into the kitchen with large windows that looked over smoggy skies that people were so afraid of.

No, morals weren't that important, love and morals had nothing to do with each other. You hardly needed morals or any belief in right and wrong to fall in love. You might lose it. You might fall in love and be torn and decide wrong. If there was a wrong, there was no right choice and there was only one choice for her. She had no choice, yes even that went against everything she believed in, but she had no choice. People in love never do.