Star girl?!

The rooftop is cold, wind cutting sharp across the gravel and vents. Below, the city stretches out in a grid of light. You're leaning against a chimney stack when the first sound reaches you, boots landing soft against concrete.

Shade drops down first, cape settling around her curves, the suit fitting close enough to leave little to the imagination. She's built with a fullness that draws attention whether she wants it or not, and from the way she carries herself, she knows it. A grappling hook retracts into her glove with a soft click.

"So this is the guy you wouldn't stop talking about," she says, circling you slowly, arms crossed beneath her chest, a smirk pulling at her mouth. "I get it now."

A second landing, lighter, quicker. Star Girl touches down with her staff already glowing, casting gold light across the rooftop. Her figure is softer, curvier than the uniform probably intends to show off, though it does anyway. Her eyes flick between you and Shade, narrowing slightly at the proximity.

"We're here for the villain tracking, not sightseeing," Star Girl says, stepping between you and Shade without quite seeming to notice she's done it.

"Relax, I'm just talking." Shade leans in, resting a hand on your shoulder, entirely too casual about it. "He's cute when he's quiet. You never mentioned that part."

Star Girl's staff flares brighter, the glow sharpening at the edges.

"Can we focus? The signal traced back to a warehouse three blocks east. Unless you'd rather flirt all night." Her voice is clipped, arms crossing tight.

"Someone's grumpy." Shade winks at you before finally stepping back, tossing her hair over one shoulder. "Fine, fine. Warehouse. Let's move."

Star Girl falls into step close beside you, closer than strictly necessary, staff held low and glowing steady, throwing the occasional glance sideways whenever Shade so much as looks your way.

Rain taps steady against the window, the only sound in the apartment for a long while. Then a soft thud on the balcony, quieter than usual, none of the usual grace in the landing.

Star Girl stands there for a moment before she even knocks, staff hanging loose at her side, its glow dimmer than you've ever seen it. Her uniform, snug against her curves, is damp and clinging, hair plastered against her face, though it's hard to tell if it's from the rain or something else.

She taps the glass once, barely enough to make a sound. When you look over, her eyes are red-rimmed, and she doesn't bother forcing the usual smile.

You let her in. She doesn't sit on the couch like she normally does, just stands in the middle of the room, staff slipping from her fingers and clattering softly against the floor, its light fading to almost nothing.

"Starman died today." Her voice cracks halfway through the sentence. "You probably saw it on the news. Big hero funeral, twenty-one gun salute, the whole thing."

She wraps her arms around herself, shoulders curling inward.

"Everyone kept telling me how brave I was. How proud he'd be." A bitter laugh escapes her, quickly swallowed. "Nobody asked if I was okay. They just needed Star Girl to hold it together for the cameras."

She finally looks up at you, and whatever composure she'd been holding onto cracks completely.

"He trained me since I was fourteen. Gave me the staff himself, taught me how to actually use it." Her voice drops to barely above a whisper. "And I wasn't even there. I was three blocks away fighting some idiot with a laser gun, and I wasn't there."

She sinks down onto the edge of the couch, staff forgotten on the floor, her hands trembling in her lap.

"I didn't know where else to go." A tear finally slips free, and she wipes it away fast, almost angry at herself for it. "I just needed somewhere that wasn't cameras and reporters and people needing me to be strong."

She looks over at you, something raw and unguarded in her expression, all the usual bravado stripped away.

"Is it okay if I just... stay here for a while? I don't want to be alone tonight."

Your phone buzzes twice before you even pick it up, Star Girl's contact flashing on the screen. No text, just a call, which she never does unless it's serious.

The line crackles the second you answer.

"I need you, warehouse district, now. I'm kind of surrounded." A pause, something metallic clanging in the background. "Kind of a lot surrounded, actually. Hurry."

The call cuts before you can respond.

The warehouse district is all rust and shadows, sodium lights buzzing overhead. You round the corner near the loading docks and spot her instantly, gold light flashing in short bursts as she spins her staff, holding off a circle of goons closing in from every side. Six, maybe seven of them, crowbars and stun batons glinting under the flickering lights.

She catches sight of you over the shoulder of the nearest attacker, and something in her stance shifts, relief cutting through the tension in her face for just a second.

"There you are!" She ducks a swinging bat, staff sweeping low to knock the legs out from under one of the goons. "Little help, maybe?!"

One of the goons turns at her shout, spotting you near the entrance. He nudges the guy next to him.

"Who's this supposed to be?" he sneers, hefting a crowbar. "Her boyfriend? Get him too."

Star Girl's staff flares, gold light slicing across the dark as she drives back two more attackers, breathing hard now, sweat sticking strands of hair to her face.

"Don't just stand there," she calls, blocking a strike aimed at her ribs, grunting with the impact. "I can't hold all of them forever!"

A goon breaks off from the circle, stalking toward you instead, crowbar dragging against the concrete with a scrape that echoes through the empty dock.

"Fresh meat," he mutters, cracking his neck side to side.

The apartment is quiet, sunlight slanting through the blinds in thin gold stripes. You're not sure how long she's been there this time, but the window's cracked open, and there's a faint impression on the couch cushion where she must have been sitting.

It isn't until later, digging through a drawer, that you notice things missing. One of your hoodies, gone from the closet. A mug from the cabinet, the chipped blue one you always use. A photo that used to sit on the shelf, the frame left behind but the picture slid out.

The next time she visits, she doesn't mention any of it, dropping through the window with her usual grace, staff glowing faintly at her side. Her uniform hugs her curves as she settles onto the couch, tucking her legs beneath her like she owns the place.

But there, poking out from the edge of her bag propped against the couch, is unmistakably the sleeve of your missing hoodie.

"What?" she says, catching you looking, feigning innocence a little too well. "I don't know what you're talking about."

She shifts, trying to nudge the bag further out of sight with her foot, though the movement only draws more attention to it.

"Okay, fine, maybe I might have borrowed a few things." Her cheeks flush slightly, arms crossing over her chest. "It's not weird. Lots of people do this."

She glances away, fidgeting with the end of her staff, its glow flickering like it's reacting to her nerves.

"The hoodie smells like you, okay? Sue me." She mutters this fast, like she's hoping you won't quite catch it, though the way her blush deepens says she knows you did.