Chapter 47
DARE
Not every origin story starts with a bang. Some start with a dare, a truth, and a sketchbook full of what-ifs.
I’d never seen so many people wearing spandex in my life.
There was a guy in a full-body blue morphsuit next to us, and someone just walked by with a cardboard dragon tail taped to their jeans, but I couldn’t focus on any of that. I was too busy watching him.
Tru sat behind a table stacked with glossy, hot-off-the-press copies of The Carters: Origins.
His hair was longer now, but still curled behind his ears the way it used to back in college.
He had ink smudged on the side of his hand from signing nonstop.
A line of fans wrapped around the booth, all of them gushing about how “raw” and “emotional” and “visually stunning” the comic was.
And every time someone asked if the characters were based on anyone, Tru said the same thing.
“They’re me and my husband.”
He’d glance at me when he said it, as if he hadn’t already said it a hundred times. It still hit him right in the chest.
It did the same to me.
Technically, we weren’t married yet, but the way he said it—like it was inevitable—made my heart do this full-body lurch.
For the past two years, we’d talked about it, dreamed about it, even sketched out tuxes on napkins.
Hell, we signed the lease on our new apartment under The Carters just to mess with the landlord.
But standing there, surrounded by cosplay, overpriced churros, and screaming fans, it somehow felt more real.
I wandered closer to the banner behind his booth, where the two main characters—TRUTH and DARE—stood back-to-back, capes billowing, the city skyline blazing behind them.
TRUTH looked suspiciously like Tru would if he had glowing lasso powers and bigger biceps.
DARE looked like me with broad shoulders, reckless eyes, and great hair.
He even got my scar right. The little one above my brow from when I’d fallen off the monkey bars in second grade. I didn’t think he remembered.
“You kept the scar,” I said, nudging him as I ducked behind the table.
Tru looked up, blinking. “Of course, I kept the scar. It’s iconic.”
I wasn’t sure about iconic, but I knew Tru loved to trace it with his tongue.
“You really think we’re superhero material?”
“You survived the closet, Dare. I survived losing you. We earned our capes.”
Damn. His words robbed me of a comeback, so I just reached for his hand under the table and squeezed.
A volunteer in a Naruto shirt came over and whispered something to him. Tru nodded, then turned to me with a ridiculous smirk.
“You should go stand by the panel stage,” he said.
“Why?”
“Because I have a surprise. And you’re gonna want a front-row seat.”
Thank God he hadn’t made me dress up as his character.
Ten minutes later, I was wedged between two overexcited teens dressed like anime princes while Tru took the stage. A hush fell as the lights dimmed. A spotlight clicked on. Behind him, a massive screen flickered to life.
It was a brand-new comic panel, one no one had seen before.
TRUTH and DARE stood on a rooftop at sunset against a skyline that looked suspiciously like the mural in our old apartment. TRUTH was holding something behind his back.
In the next panel, he dropped to one knee. The crowd gasped. My stomach did a weird flip.
Then another panel. DARE’s face filled with shock, awe, and love. Then: YES.
Followed by the ring. The kiss. The caption at the bottom of the page:
“Even superheroes need a partner.”
The crowd went absolutely feral. Someone in a Deadpool costume screamed, “SAY YES, DARE!” and a whole section started chanting it like a battle cry.
I didn’t realize I was crying until Tru came down from the stage, holding the real version of that same ring, a black tungsten band like his own, but with three small diamonds inlaid down the center.
He stopped in front of me, kind of awkward, a bit flushed, and completely perfect.
“Dare Carter,” he said, loud enough for everyone to hear, “will you be my forever co-creator?”
The crowd roared. A Princess Leia fainted. Someone yelled, “Ship confirmed!”
My voice failed, so I nodded, then pulled him into a kiss that made at least three cosplayers swoon and one guy shout, “TRUE LOVE IS CANON!”
Fuck, I needed to stop dragging my feet and marry this man already. We’d been playing fiancés for two years, and now, at twenty-four, the bit was getting stale.
Later, backstage, Tru pulled something crinkled from his pocket.
“I made this years ago,” he said. “Back when I didn’t know if we’d even end up in the same city, let alone the same life.”
He handed it to me. It was a drawing of our superhero versions, at least twenty years older, sitting on a porch swing, hands laced.
No capes. No villains. Just peace. They were so similar to the ones I used to steal and pin to our dorm room walls, before I realized Tru was the talent behind the art.
At the bottom, he’d written: “Maybe this is the real origin story.”
I folded it carefully, like it was sacred. Because it was. I used to think love was something you had to hide. Now it was printed in full color on a banner hanging above a Comic Con stage.
Tears burned my eyes, and I wiped them away with a short laugh. “So this is how our story ends?”
Tru shook his head, smiling softly. “No. It’s just the last page of volume one.”
I laughed under my breath, pulling him close until his forehead bumped mine. Around us, the noise of the convention roared back to life. Fans shouted, music blared, and someone in a Pikachu suit tripped over a foam sword. But all I could see was him.
“This mean we’re getting a sequel?” I murmured.
“Oh, definitely,” he said. “Long series. Ongoing. Maybe even a crossover event.”
“Think the fans will stick around?”
He grinned, eyes bright and stupidly in love. “They’ve been rooting for us since the first issue.”
I kissed him again, soft, quick, the kind you save for when the world feels too big and perfect all at once.
Because it hit me right then, surrounded by capes and face paint and cardboard armor: we’d survived the awkward middle school years, the heartbreak, the long-distance stretch, every stupid dare life threw our way. And somehow, we’d turned it all into a story worth telling.
The crowd outside erupted again. Someone must’ve spotted us through the curtain. But Tru only laughed, tucking the drawing safely into my jacket pocket.
“Ready to head home, superhero?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I said, lacing our fingers together. “Let’s go write the next chapter.”