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Jumping from roof to roof, above the still city life, he replayed the night in his mind, deciding that while it was straightforward, it was fairly entertaining. And the pay wasn’t too bad either. Screams become replaced with silence, flashing artificial light being replaced with darkness or the gentle glow of the moon. As he made his way to his flat, his thoughts shifted from the dim, messy room he had been in to the neat, almost sterile, shapes and lines of his rooms.
The soft thunk echoed in the quiet and stillness as he landed on the dark wooden floor. He brushed his thighs off as he always did after standing up and turned around to close the window he had just snuck in through. Although, is it really sneaking into when it’s your house? A small, amused smile flitted on his face at the thought, but it quickly dissolved as he noticed the red staining his white windowsill from where his hands had touched the frame and lock. He knew that trying to wipe it off or clean it now would have only an adverse effect. Despite that, it still made his movements more stiff with annoyance as he turned away to his bedroom to change out of his suit.
First, he unbuckled his belt, placing it in the bottom of the little plastic bin he retrieved from his closet. It was medium-sized and a rich black colour, still having a shiny ‘new’ looking effect. The old one had been grey instead of black and therefore had received too many stains that he just couldn’t wash off, no matter how much elbow grease. He made sure the belt was hooked again and placed it in a straight line in the middle of the bottom. The white colour of the item was very slightly tarnished from the night's activities. Gunpowder and ash, he suspected.
Following his belt, he took off each kneepad, right following left, and put them in the bin alongside his belt. He then slipped off his boots, right following left, took off his gloves, right following left, unzipped his pants, slid them off, pulled off his shirt, and finally took off his mask, putting each item into the bin right after removing it. All through this, he had a sour look on his face. The image of the red splotches on the window, possibly staining it, irked him greatly. He couldn’t care less about the substance staining the painted wood; it was the fact that it’d be stained that made him frown.
Not so gently shaking himself out of that train of thought, he continued with his routine, which could be considered more of a ritual given how seriously he took its perfection. He picked up the bin and walked over to his bathroom. His bathroom wasn’t big, just a simple shower, toilet, and small counter with a sink. He did like the mirror he had, which doubled as a medicine cabinet, which was where he kept all his medical supplies, which he didn’t need this particular night. Setting the bin on the floor right in front of the tub, he turned on the faucet and plugged the drain before turning around to wash his hands in the sink, using two pumps of his soap dispenser, which he really needed to remember to refill.
After the bathtub was sufficiently filled, he knelt on the cold, hard tile and began to wash each piece of his suit. His mask first, as it was on top of the pile, and his belt last, which was empty from his night's activities, making another mental note to refill that as well. Although he did enjoy being able to improvise with items around him, he hated not having anything to fall back on.
In cleaning his clothing, he used three different types of soap and plenty of water. First, he had a pump of dish soap, unscented, which was like a base layer to get the worst out. The soap and water eventually made his hands prune-like and covered in suds. After that, he would get a bar of soap, unscented, to rub over each piece; it was finer than the other layer. This was when he’d focus his efforts on the remaining pieces of dirt or stains. Finally, he’d take a fabric refresher, very lightly scented, but he could never make out what it was supposed to be.
Once every piece of his costume was completely clean, not a speck of anything tainting even the white, He hung them up to dry on the small makeshift clothing line he had made in his shower by attaching a string to two hooks on either side of the wall and pinning the pieces of his suit to the line, leaving them to dry as he left the plastic bin and returned to his room to get clothes.
Running his fingers along the soft fabrics, he picked out a tight, black long-sleeve shirt and a pair of simple grey sweatpants. He didn’t have a plethora of clothes to pick from, thought. He had his work clothes and his non-work clothes, which mainly consisted of two jackets, two pairs of jeans, and a handful- maybe five- shirts. He grew up never having much for himself, and clothing was no different. Honestly, he felt like he’d dislike having too many clothes; it’d be far too cluttered and just unnecessary.
Finally, he got a towel from his cabinet and his small basket of cleaning supplies, then went back to his windowsill. He knelt down in front of it and wiped the small drops of red off. Since it was only a few small stains, he didn’t have to worry too much; a gentle spray of hydrogen peroxide made the red colour fade from the wood, and, in any case, if push came to shove, he reassured himself he could just paint over it if it wasn’t gone by morning.
Since he already had all his cleaning supplies out, he was waiting for his suit to dry to put away, and he wasn’t particularly tired after an uneventful and honestly boring job, He started to give his flat a shallow clean. Although his shelves had no dust, he dusted them; although his counters had no crumbs left, he wiped them off and then swept the floor for good measure. He washed his favourite mug again, even though he had already done that after he finished his morning cup of coffee.
After a few more menial tasks, he made his way to his bathroom, where he wiped down the spotless mirror and then checked to see if his suit was dry. After seeing that it was, he took down the belt and laid it on the bottom of the plastic tub, then his knee pads, then his boots, then his gloves, pants, shirt, and finally laid the mask with the cascading circles on where his forehead was when he wore it. Once he fixed the layout just a bit, making sure it was all inside the bin nicely, he picked up the black box and put it back in his closet.
Putting his suit away marked the start of his nightly regimen; he brushed his teeth and washed his face with just a splash of water. Next, he would set out his clothes for the next day, even though he wore the same thing every day. A white shirt, grey trousers, and a matching suit jacket. Finally, he would set his alarm and let sleep overtake him. He used to have such a problem falling asleep, but he wasn’t anymore. He must be doing something right.