So maybe Roxanne has watched this silly romance movie more times than is reasonable, but she feels like she is allowed to be a little unreasonable right now, since she's recently realized that she's—that she's—

—oh god, she doesn't even want to think it in, in words—it's entirely too embarrassing and ridiculous and—and really just sad.

(he's a supervillain for god's sake; she shouldn't even like him, let alone—)

Roxanne pushes the rewind button on her remote, watches the big kiss scene reverse, then plays it again.

"What are you doing?" the girl asks breathlessly, as the man strides towards her.

"Something I should have done a long time ago," he says, eyes smoldering.

The romantic music swells as he pulls her into his arms and the two of them begin to kiss passionately.

Roxanne heaves a loud sigh and rewinds the movie again.

The giant ugly painting of Wayne in the corner of her living room seems to be giving her a knowing stare—the same one the real Wayne gave her, actually, in the coffee shop last week, when he said come on Roxy I've seen the way you look at him when you think nobody's watching, why don't you just admit—

"Shut up," Roxanne mutters to the painting, and then feels like even more of an idiot than before.

She glares balefully at the painting—just about time to take the stupid thing down, she thinks; Wayne got it for her as a gag gift for her birthday, a month ago; she would have thrown it in the trash then, except for the way Megamind pitches a fit every time he sees it.

(god, she's pathetic; he is not jealous over her; he just hates Wayne, and she knows it, but she likes to pretend—)

She rewinds the film a little farther this time; misery loves company and she wants to see some goddamn fictional suffering before the big happy ending, damn it.

Why. Why is she in love with him. Megamind is—

Ugh, she's going to go get a drink.

Roxanne gets up and starts for the kitchen, then jumps in surprise as the door to her balcony slams open and—

Megamind strides into her apartment.

(Roxanne's heart turns over in her chest like an engine jumping to life at the twist of a key)

Shitshitshit she isn't ready to see him yet; she hasn't mentally prepared herself for—

Megamind's gaze falls on her and his expression goes fierce and intent and then he's moving towards her purposefully, and Roxanne notes, distantly, that he's holding what appears to be an uncapped permanent marker, but most of her thoughts are taken up with the way Megamind is coming closer, with the way she can hear the music begin to play, softly, in the background, and—

"Megamind," Roxanne says, way more breathlessly than she intends, "what—what are you doing?"

"Something I should have done a long time ago," Megamind growls and takes that last step towards her, his hands going up and Roxanne steps forward in a sort of trance and reaches for him and—

—and then reality intrudes and everything goes all to hell, because-

"—what?" Megamind says, looking beyond baffled, almost panicked, as he raises his hands to push her out of the way, because of course, he was looking at the painting behind her, and that's why he has the permanent marker, of course, but Roxanne realizes what he's doing and what she's doing half a second too late to stop herself and—

Everything is terrible.

Megamind's arms end up trapped between their bodies, his hands awkwardly near her chest. He tries to pull them back, but Roxanne's arms are around his neck and—

(why, Roxanne; her brain is screaming at her, by this point; whywouldyoudothisohmygod)

—and so he can't really go anywhere and, as a consequence, he ends up sort of smacking her in the face—not hard, but—

—he's still holding the permanent marker.

Oh yeah. Everything is terrible.

Roxanne screeches—screeches, she would like it noted, not screams-

"—it was not a goddamn scream, Megamind; people tend to make noises of outrage when you nearly jam a goddamn permanent marker up their left nostril oh my god I've got permanent marker all over my face and I'm supposed to be on air tomorrow and this is all your fault—"

It's not, of course, and she knows it, but maybe if she blames Megamind loudly enough, he won't notice the television on in the background, playing that scene, with that bit of dialogue, yet again because Roxanne is a pathetic sap who likes to rewind her favorite romance scenes and re-watch them; maybe if she glares hard enough, he'll forget to ask why the hell she decided to throw her arms around his neck.

Her plan succeeds; Megamind ends up flapping his hands soothingly at her and apologizing frantically, saying that he'll fix this; he can fix it—

The two of them wind up in her bathroom, Roxanne sitting on the floor and leaning against the bathtub, watching as Megamind goes through her medicine cabinet, checking the ingredient list of her face wash, her toothpaste, her-

"What are you looking for?" she asks, breaking the silence.

Megamind's gaze flicks down to her; he pauses for a moment with a can of hairspray in his hand, as if he's forgotten what he's doing.

"Um—you don't have any rubbing alcohol," he says. "I'm—" he holds the hairspray up, "—improvising?"

Roxanne snorts.

"Of course you are," she says.

Megamind's lips quirk sideways in what might be wry amusement and might be a grimace—stop staring at his mouth, Roxanne.

"The alcohol content of this—product," he says, holding up the bottle of hairspray, "should be—high enough to—" he takes out a washcloth and waves it in an explanatory manner, "—remove the marks."

He takes the cap off the hairspray with a flourish and tries to spray the washcloth. It's an aerosol can, though, so or course that doesn't work.

"You have to shake it, first," Roxanne murmurs, when Megamind frowns down at the bottle of hairspray as though it has personally betrayed him.

(of course; he's never used hairspray before)

"Ah," Megamind says, looking embarrassed.

He shakes the can vigorously, sprays the cloth, then sets the hairspray aside.

Megamind looks down at her and—hesitates, just for a moment, before dropping down to his knees in front of her, so that the two of them are at eye level now.

(Roxanne's heart sort of—oh wow, so that's what people mean when they talk about your heart skipping a beat—)

"If you'll—if you'll let me," Megamind says uncertainly, reaching out with one hand so that his fingertips are nearly touching her face—but not touching, not quite.

Roxanne stares at him for a moment that is probably a little too long, and then she tips her head so that her cheek is resting against his fingertips.

He's surprised; she can tell by the sharp breath he takes, but he gently tilts her head to the side and starts to scrub at the marks on her cheek with the hairspray-soaked washcloth.

Roxanne lets her eyes slip shut and hears Megamind take another sharp breath.

Megamind's hand is still resting on the side of her face, holding her lightly in place, and the hairspray on the cloth is cold against her skin and Megamind is right there, right in front of her with his hands on her face, so close to her that she can feel his breath across her lips and Roxanne is feeling more than a little light headed, and it is definitely not just because of the smell of the hairspray and-

Megamind makes a startled, strangled noise as Roxanne reaches up, entirely without meaning to, and places her hand on the side of his face.

And Roxanne squeezes her already-closed eyes shut tight and thinks oh hell, now you've done it, you—

—but she doesn't complete the thought, because—she feels Megamind lean ever so slightly, into her hand.

Roxanne's eyes fly open and-she sees the expression in his face, impossible to miss, this close up.

(I've seen the way he looks at you, too, she remembers Wayne telling her, last week, the way he looks at you when he thinks nobody's watching.)

Oh, Roxanne thinks, joy blooming in her heart—soft and gentle at first, like a flower; then bright and fierce, like a flame—oh.

"—w-what are you doing?" Megamind asks, voice hushed and wavering, his heart in his eyes.

"Something I should have done a long time ago," Roxanne murmurs, and leans forward to kiss him.

The next morning, Wayne wakes up to find a very large, very ugly painting of himself on his doorstep. Someone has scribbled a beard over the lower portion of the face of his likeness with permanent marker—pretty clear who that someone was, judging by the M-and-two-lightning-bolts symbol scrawled proudly at the top of the painting.

At the bottom of the painting, written in more permanent marker, are the words: you were right.

Wayne laughs suddenly, his heart lifting—he recognizes Roxanne's handwriting, knows exactly which conversation she must be referring to, what this means.

He picks up the painting and hauls it inside.

Things are going to be different now; going to be better; he just knows it.

Wayne glances down at the painting again, rubs absently at his chin, still grinning.

He thinks he might look pretty good with a beard.