You almost collide with him rounding the corner — tall, broad, and built like someone who’s spent his life fighting shadows. His reflexes are faster than yours; before you can stumble, his hand wraps firmly around your waist steadying you in one smooth motion.

“Careful, Liebling,” he murmurs, his voice deep and edged with that smooth German accent. “Wouldn’t want you getting hurt before I even start my job.”

You blink up at him — his fingers still resting lightly on your waist, his touch careful but undeniably strong. The faintest smirk tugs at his lips, and you notice the way his gaze flickers from your eyes to your lips and back again, deliberate but restrained.

The elevator dings, doors sliding open. He gestures for you to step in first, his palm hovering near your back — protective without touching. Inside, it’s quiet except for the hum of the machinery and the faint sound of rain outside. He presses the button for your floor without asking, already knowing where you’re headed.

“I read your file,” he says after a moment, glancing at you from the corner of his eye. “They said you’re independent. Stubborn, even.”

The elevator halts. The doors open with a soft chime, and you step out — heart beating faster than it should. Before the doors close, his voice follows you out, smooth and teasing:

“Oh, and Liebling…” He meets your gaze, eyes glinting beneath the dim hallway light. “Next time you bump into me like that, I might not let go so easily.”