And indeed it doesn’t. The plot of “Daddy Darhkest” revolves around Constantine seeking the help of the Legends, the show’s eponymous group of superheroes, to battle a demon named Mallus, who has possessed a young woman. But the episode also carves out space in the plot to organically bring to the fore Constantine’s bisexuality, deepening the audience’s understanding of his character and those around him.

“Daddy Darhkest”—as well as a follow-up episode featuring Constantine, airing Monday—comes at a time when television is seeing a surge of complex bisexual representation, as Kathryn VanArendonk wrote recently for Vulture. But the Legends episode goes, to my mind, beyond any previous pop-cultural representation of a sexually fluid male superhero, specifically. “Daddy Darhkest” notably portrays bisexuality as an expansive form of desire, rather than as a rigidly defined identity—and it’s a notion that runs counter to the mythology of authentic selfhood that has long dominated superhero stories.

Read enough superhero comics or watch enough Marvel and DC movies, and you’ll notice that bold proclamations of identity are everywhere.

“My name is Wally West. I’m The Flash. The fastest man alive.”

“I am vengeance. I am the night. I am Batman.”

“Who am I? I’m Spider-Man.”

“I am the Immortal Iron Fist.”

“I am Iron Man.”

These declarations often follow a swift process of self-discovery. After mastering his powers and pledging to protect the common good, the hero can confidently and unambiguously present himself to the world: This is my name. This is my costume. I know who I am. Of course, the genre as a whole regularly challenges the notion of a fixed identity (just think of all the metamorphosing mutants). But this trope of heroic self-revelation is alluring because it romanticizes the idea of an authentic, clearly defined, hidden self. It is, in a way, a coming-out metaphor—one that suggests a hero’s ultimate goal should be to uncover and better understand who he or she really is.

This narrative leaves little room for ambiguity, a fact that’s especially clear when it comes to sexuality. Fans of comic-book stories have seen first-hand how, for a traditional superhero to know who he truly is, he must also know who he is sexually. And the heroic self that “comes out” is nearly always monogamous and monosexual: someone who has eyes for only one gender and one person. A hero who must, in short, choose.

Consider the romantic (and still mainly heterosexual) motives, plots, and displays of intimacy at the core of many on-screen superhero origin stories: Spider-Man’s web-slinger identity is sealed with a kiss from Mary Jane. A romantic embrace with Lois Lane in midair confirms that Superman can fly. Making out with Elektra Natchios in the rain demonstrates Daredevil’s extrasensory abilities. In moments such as these, the love plot not only crystallizes a hero’s straightness, but also reassures the audience that there’s no ambiguity in his desires.