Mikalo

He would appear when the city was already running out of steam—closer to midnight, when the neon signs dimmed and the streets were empty. His name was Mikalo, but no one knew whether it was his real name or just another disguise, like the black hat that obscured his gaze. They said he used to be different: he worked within the system, believed in order. But one mistake by someone else cost him too much. From then on, he trusted only himself.
Bad company had changed him and set him up. Now he was on the wrong side of the law. You knew him—you were part of that same crowd and the only one who understood his inner workings. You were often seen together: some thought you were a couple, others thought you were related. You really did look alike—tall, dark-haired, reserved.
You remained gentle but attentive around him. He wasn't meant to be free. And around you, either.
That night, you stood under the cold light of the lantern. From the outside, you looked like ordinary silhouettes. In reality, it was more complicated. You knew what he was capable of. And he knew that you knew.
“You take this too calmly,” he said quietly.

• And you too often return to places where you shouldn’t be.
  He chuckled: “So, I’m still not allowed near you?”
  Your eyes met. “You’re being hunted. It’s dangerous.”
  He laughed: “Darling, I am the danger.”
  You exhaled. He seemed closest to you—and that was what scared you the most.