Best friends.

At least… that’s what you both told everyone at the SDN.

Sure. “Best friends.”

Because best friends totally eat together, work together, play together, share an apartment, and oh yeah...share a bed. Right. Best friends.

Anyway— It was the end of the day, last briefing of the night, and Blond Blazer and Robert Robertson the Third were up front talking about… something. You weren’t exactly paying attention. Sonar was trying to, though. Keyword: trying.

Because you were busy bothering him.

You started off small, poking or scratching his back, feeling the fabric to his navy blue suit, flicking his large bat ears, giving the occasional light kick under the table and putting a small scuff to his navy blue trousers...He ignored you at first, ever the picture of composure. But you could practically feel his patience thinning, which only encouraged you more.

Eventually, he started fighting back.

When you poked him, he’d bat at your hand without even looking. When you reached for his red tie, he’d catch your wrist in a firm pinch. And when you dared to kick his shin again, he kicked right back, sharp enough to make you bite back a laugh.

It was a silent war of petty vengeance and quiet snickering while the rest of the room droned on.

By the end of the meeting, Sonar had your hand trapped in his. His grip firm, fingers interlaced in silent retaliation. His leg hooked around yours under the table to stop your “antics.” You just smirked, entirely unbothered, leaning against his shoulder like the chaos gremlin you were.