Chapter Text
Infume is a hero for the fun of it. He loves using his abilities and testing his limits. He wants to be a good person, be doing it for the right reasons, but he really isn't.
He values life and moral goodness and all that, just not as much as the other heros. He longs for the adrenalin of it all, not that he'd ever admit it.
It's like a drug, almost, heightening his senses and singing through his veins when he does something reckless. He'll complain, he'll complain a lot about being sent on high-stakes missions or shoved in the middle of the action, but he loves it.
He's pretty sure he'd go though withdrawals if he stopped at this point.
Permafrost emodies this. Permafrost embodies the thrill of it all. The chases, the fights, the teasing banter.
Infume hates himself for how much he loves it. He should be planning the villain's downfall, but instead he finds himself interfering whenever it seems like Permafrost is close to getting busted. Interfering just enough that Permafrost gets away, but not enough for the heros to notice.
It truly is just like an addiction.
So when Permafrost seeks him out more and more, when normal hero-villain banter turns to flirting, to something far too intimate for what they should have, Infume falls. Desperately, irrefutably.
This thrill, this drug, it's everything.
Permafrost is everything.
He wishes he were a better person, one not so easily swayed by adrenaline so easily. But he is, and he is swayed so very easily.
Permafrost is fun, and exhilarating, and Infume doesn't think he'll ever be bored again.