The Policemen’s parade was about to start and you were supposed to be photographing for the local paper. Elbowing your way through the tight crowds of bustling citizens, you thought about the threat that still hung over the city’s head.
The mayor’s assassination.
Having put his obituary in the paper, the Joker had guaranteed the utmost precaution of the entire city- whether that had already been his plan or not, still haunted the back of your mind.
Paying no attention to where you were walking, as you fiddled with the lens on your camera, you suddenly felt yourself bump into someone.
“Oh, I am so sorry,” you apologised automatically, glancing up and addressing the person with your eyes. For a moment, your eyes danced over his features: acknowledging and noting each of them- he had fair brown hair combed neatly under an issued police cap; hazel eyes that searched your own with a peculiar glint that resembled a mix of fatigue and desperation; broad shoulders and a lean stance.
Your eyes rested for a second on the two, almost identical, scars curving upwards from each corner of his lips. It looked as though the cause of the wounds had been sincerely agonising and you felt a small pinch of sympathy for the stranger before you twitched you own lips and offered him a smile.
“I’m Y/N,” you greeted, producing a hand that wasn’t way-laid under a camera or bag. “Sorry, again.”
He took your hand with a note of surprise and gave it a small shake. “That’s quite alright,” he mumbled, as though in shock. “Y-you…” he seemed to be wanting to say something but the right words wouldn’t come forwards and the attractive policeman’s voice trailed off.
“I…what?” you asked, a small smile still settled on your face.
With eyes that had lost the odd glimmer for now- and had instead adopted a look of curiosity- he watched you for a moment longer than necessary, before answering absently, “Most people are afraid of my face…”
“Why?” you frowned. Then you realised, well done, Y/L/N, real quick one there. “Y-your scars? Do you mean?”
A vague nod.
Shrugging, you told him, “It doesn’t bother me. I think it adds a little butch to your appearance. Kind of attractive…” Did I actually just say that to a complete stranger? This guy could be a psycho killer for all I know.
Spreading across his face was a -surprised, slightly wary, all kinds of suspicious, but delighted- smile.
But then something made him snap back to reality and he looked afraid for an instance. Grabbing your arm tightly, he leant closer to you- eyes flicking left and right- before telling you, firmly, just one word.