Midnighter doesn't pause or blink. Doesn't give away any indignation about how he feels about this very rude attack on his person. He stands back up, nudging the storage bin into the far back of the closet, and then looks at Scott.

"Please, I love myself." Look at him: six-foot-five and handsome. What's there not to love? "Every day is a holiday when you're me, Scotty."

And it's true. He does love what—who he is. He's the boogeyman, and that thrills his black little heart when he goes out a'wassailing with a giant sickle and some bubblegum.