Walking up to a bound hero, holding them by the chin, teasing that you'll unmask them even though you both know you'd never do that. Regardless of faces or names, they've left their mark on you as a person, and deep down, you hope your flirting has helped you do the same to them.

Their ropes, tied with enough resistance that you hope they can't tell you kept them slightly loose on purpose, break apart, and you try not to look too pleased when the balance shifts and they throw you back against your laboratory wall.

Yes, it is six in the morning, and no, I am not the least bit sorry