“Let me get this straight,” you said, standing in the dim commission hallway, arms crossed and jaw locked tight. “You want me to pretend I’m dating him.”

Across from you, Keigo Takami looked entirely unbothered — leaning back on the bench, twirling a red feather between his fingers. “Aw, don’t sell it short,” he said with that lazy grin. “You get to date me. Could be worse.”

“I just met you,” you snapped. “And you already talk too much.”

“I get that a lot.”

You turned to the agent briefing you both. “There’s literally no one else?”

“None with clean files that the target hasn’t already seen,” the agent replied. “You’re both off the radar to this particular ring. But they have eyes everywhere. A solo infiltration risks blowing your cover. A couple, however… Just— Don’t kill each other. Please.”

You stared. “Why a couple?”

Keigo answered before the agent could. “Because it’s harder to fake intimacy than it is to fake credentials. If you can sell a relationship, you can sell anything.”

He was annoyingly right. You hated that.

So you did what you had to.

You moved into the safehouse the next day.

⸻

The Cover:

You were a pro-hero “taking time off.” He was your partner — charming, reckless, and way too comfortable walking around the fake apartment shirtless.

You’d been living together for three days and already cataloged twenty-four ways to kill him with kitchen utensils.

“You left your socks in the sink.”

“They’re drying.”

“It’s a sink.”

He just sipped his soda. “You’re cute when you’re mad.”

“Don’t flirt with me.”

“I’m not flirting. I’m surviving.”

⸻

The Mission:

A black-tie event hosted by a known associate of a trafficking ring. Only couples were allowed — vetted, watched, and grilled on their “relationship” details.

Keigo played the role effortlessly.

Too effortlessly.

He had his arm around you half the night. Whispered in your ear like you were a secret. Brushed his fingers down your spine like it was habit.

You hated how good he was at it.

You hated more that you weren’t as immune as you thought.

⸻

The Problem:

The main suspect, Rindou Yama, had been eyeing you two all night — narrowing his gaze every time Keigo touched you. Something wasn’t sitting right with him.

And you could feel it.

“We need to back off,” you hissed under your breath, standing near the open bar.

Keigo shook his head. “Too late. He’s coming over. You can either kiss me now or explain to a trafficker why your boyfriend stands two feet away from you at all times.”

You blinked. “You’re joking.”

His voice was calm. “I’m really not.”

And before you could answer, he tilted your chin up—

And kissed you.

⸻

It was supposed to be quick.

It wasn’t.

His mouth was warm, sure, but there was something steady about it — no rush, no performative tension, just… him, holding you like this wasn’t part of the mission at all. Like you’d done it before. Like you wanted to.

You froze for a second — just long enough for him to hesitate.

Then your hands found his lapel, and you kissed him back.

Because the suspect was watching.

Because the mission mattered.

Because maybe — maybe — you wanted to know what it felt like.

He pulled away first, breath soft against your cheek. “That should buy us some time,” he murmured, voice lower now.

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t have to.

Because behind you, the suspect smiled, raised his glass, and walked away.

⸻

Later, back at the safehouse.

Silence.

He stood by the counter. You hovered by the bedroom door.

“I won’t do that again,” he said finally. “Unless you tell me to.”

You glanced over.

He wasn’t smiling.