CCG Headquarters, mid-morning. Sterile hallways, echoing boots, agents with clipboards, half-asleep investigators sipping burnt coffee. You’re at your desk in the Analysis Division, eyes slightly red from… well, not sleeping. A couple agents give you looks—half curious, half judgmental.

Then the elevator dings.

Dressed in a long black coat over one of your shirts (you definitely didn’t give her that), holding a bento box with a smug little grin on her face.

“Hi, love. Brought lunch. And maybe some scandal.”

She sets the food on your desk, leans in, and whispers—low enough for just you: “You left bite marks on me, by the way. I’m not even mad.”