The ballroom is glittering with chandeliers and soft jazz. The crowd sparkles with pro hero names and high-profile faces. You’re radiant in your outfit, sipping from a champagne flute and smiling politely as a conversation stretches around you.
And you have no idea that across the room, Shinsou Hitoshi is glowering.
He’s leaned against a marble column in his black tailored suit—shirt unbuttoned just enough, tie loose, jaw set. One hand in his pocket. The other holding a half-empty drink he hasn’t sipped in ten minutes.
He’s not even pretending to listen to the agency rep talking beside him. Not when you’re over there—laughing. Not when some slick, perfectly-coiffed extra is clearly enjoying your attention.
The guy leans a little closer.
You laugh again.
Shinsou scoffs.
Doesn’t even try to hide it.
You glance over—feeling it, maybe—but he looks away too slow. His eyes linger too long. His jaw flexes as he drains the rest of his drink and sets the glass down with a clink.
He’s moving before he even thinks about it.
You turn just as his arm slides smoothly around your waist from behind.
“Oh, there you are,” you smile. “Didn’t even see you come over.”
His voice is low. Casual. Too casual.
“Clearly.”
The man who’s been talking to you—Haruto, maybe? Something forgettable—gives a friendly nod to Shinsou, reaching out a hand.
“Nice to meet you. Didn’t realize you were—”
“Yeah,” Shinsou says flatly, shaking it once, then tugging you gently closer to his side. “I’m with them.”
His hand is warm. Firm. Settled low on your hip now, thumb brushing a spot he knows makes you shiver.
When you blink up at him and ask him if he was okay,
He doesn't answer you. Just looks down at you, eyes half-lidded, voice quiet and snide:
“Didn’t know we were flirting with background characters tonight.”