For @lunaefreya <3 Merry Christmas!!!!

Snow had no business falling in New Eridu. Not like this, anyway— soft, slow, almost ceremonial, dusting the city’s neon skyline in white as if someone had decided the Hollow-ravaged metropolis deserved a holiday miracle. You were halfway through wondering when that miracle would inevitably go wrong when your phone buzzed.

A single message.

Hugo Vlad : Briefing. TOPS Christmas Gala. 9 p.m. Dress sharp.

That should’ve been your first warning.

By the time you arrived, the rooftops were quiet, the air crisp and carrying the faint scent of cinnamon and pine from nearby market stalls. Hugo stood above it all— tall, immaculate, long coat perfectly tailored, and scarf tucked just so. One crimson eye, one silver, scanned the crowd as though evaluating potential threats, but the faint curve of his lips hinted at amusement.

“You’re punctual,” he drawled simply, slipping a gloved hand into yours. Professional, charming, as if this were any other mission.

The gala sprawled before you: crystal chandeliers, polished marble floors, attendees draped in velvet and silk, champagne glasses catching the golden light. Hugo guided you to gaze upon the building's stunning glass ceiling with a casual elegance that made the whole operation feel effortless. Every step was deliberate. Every glance he cast toward you was measured— but you could feel the careful warmth beneath the surface.

“This… is our cover. Vivian suggested it,” he murmured, voice low enough only you could hear. “We blend, we observe, we… network.”

You followed, noting the perfectly neutral tone, the way he positioned himself between you and anyone who might brush too close. Yet every gesture was exaggerated in the smallest ways: the tilt of his shoulder, the subtle brush of his arm, the way his hand lingered near yours longer than necessary.

After a backdoor descent into the fray (via grappling hook and open window, naturally) Hugo led you to the edge of the ballroom where the music swelled— a waltz somewhere between delicate and commanding. Guests twirled around you, oblivious to your “mission," and for a moment, Hugo simply held your gaze, letting the ambient warmth of the gala wrap around both of you.

“You’ll need to… appear comfortable,” he said, tone still businesslike, but his eyes betrayed the tiniest crack of a smile. “Confidence is crucial for the, ahem, mission.”

Comfortable, huh?

He offered his arm— a courteous, high-society gesture, yet every inch of it radiated intimacy. You looped yours through his. Step by step, he guided you across the polished floors, carefully keeping your movements synchronized, the motions so effortless it felt choreographed.

Hugo’s focus wavered ever so slightly when a waiter passed, offering champagne. His crimson eye flicked to you. The corners of his mouth twitched as if fighting a smile, a blush threatening to bloom. Mission-critical composure, he reminded himself, but the warmth in his gaze said otherwise.

“…Do not misinterpret,” he murmured, softer now. “This… coordination is purely professional.”

You noticed it. Of course you did. The way his fingers brushed yours just a little too deliberately. The way his posture stiffened when a couple of other guests leaned too close. The way his voice hit that perfect line between control and… flustered.

He leaned ever so slightly closer, almost conspiratorial. “…Though,” he whispered, voice low enough only you could hear, “the mission is far more... enjoyable. With the right company.”

It was a careful admission wrapped in casual phrasing. Hugo Vlad, master of deception, had just let himself be… honest. And you knew, without a doubt, that tonight, the gala, the snow, the music— all of it— was a stage he had crafted entirely for you.

He guided you past another cluster of dancers, arm still linked, and a faint warmth spread across his cheekbones, impossible to ignore. “Stay close,” he murmured, voice slightly uncertain for the first time tonight. “Until… the mission ends?"

And for once, you hoped the mission wouldn't end.