Otto has never met anyone that's as into hockey as he is. That's definitely what started all of this.

The game was on the dingy flat screen the hair salon had "acquired" a few weeks ago. Knowing this place and its usual customers, it's highly likely that there's someone out there missing a TV from their living room. Sabina had started yelling at the referee at how he hadn't caught the obvious ice manipulation before the foul, and had left the comb abandoned in Otto's curls in favor of doing so

"I work with villains everyday," Sabina had complained, "and the worst kind of crime is cheating! What the hell?! Who even lets a cryokinetic on an ice hockey team?!"

Otto falls in love almost instantly. He's never been able to gush about his favorite sport like this, not even with his husband. Vincent's never liked hockey; he says telekinetics don't engage in mindless things like "watching tv." Otto's learned to stop arguing about it. He understands that the two of them don't necessarily have to have the same interests or anything, but it's still frustrating when your significant other dismisses something you care about as not worth his time. He should be content with the fact that Vincent even lets him come to this salon in the first place, considering its unsavory reputation.

The connection with Sabina, on the other hand, is instant. Otto wishes she'd been the one to cut his hair the first time he came here, and not his normal stylist. He could have found this kindred spirit a lot sooner.

They talk and argue and laugh for far longer than his initial appointment was scheduled for. If he were thinking about it, he would have remembered Vincent waiting in the car outside. He isn't thinking, though, which is the entire joy of this conversation. He's not overthinking everything that comes out of his mouth, like he has to do with Vincent. He's allowed to just say whatever he wants. He shares what it's like to be a psychologist, and she recalls stories of her more interesting customers, from petty villains to big names like Mr. Von Doom.

They've circled back to hockey now, though it's a bit different than what they were initially discussing.

Tonsil hockey, to be exact.

The salon, Supervillain's Styles, is abandoned because its a Friday and Fridays are "prime time for crime," as Sabina says. The perks of owning a salon for supervillains, she'd explained, was that she could always pretty much do whatever she wanted on Friday afternoons and still technically get paid for it.

She pulls away from his lips and giggles when another drop of water lands on her nose. "Maybe I should have dried your hair, first?" she says.

"Nah, I got it," Otto responds, shaking his head like a puppy and grinning at her resulting laugh. Her incredibly loud laugh. It's a beautiful, carefree sound, like the harmonious melody of nails on a chalkboard, or the sound of broken bells jingling in the wind. He can't remember the last time he felt this happy. Not with Vincent. Not with anyone. He's on cloud nine, and it's really nice.
Otto kisses Sabina again, right as the door to the closet opens.

"WHAT is going on here?!"

Crap. Turns out the bell sound was actually the entrance to the shop opening… wow. Otto has never seen Vincent look so angry, not even when he's out fighting crime on the streets.

"Wanna join?" Sabina giggles, and Otto remembers that his hands are up her shirt. He yanks them out and moves away from her, stepping towards Vincent and starting to try to explain.

Vincent glares at her. She stops giggling as her head violently snaps to the left, and her neck is broken before she hits the ground. Otto stares at her body, speechless. Vincent never actually used his powers to kill anyone before…

"You're coming with me," Vincent growls, grabbing Otto's wrist and starting to stalk out of the salon. Otto says nothing.

As they walk past the tv, it's screen shatters. Vincent has never liked hockey.