It started slowly.

You were both outstanding CIA agents, the list of your achievements went for pages, and yet you hardly knew each other. Children of the same field, you knew about each other from colleagues, acquaintances, friends, but never in person. That's why it came as a shock to you that Adler chose you to join his team. Chasing after a near-legend Russian agent sounded absurd, but duty calls.

Long hours in a safe house surrounded by oh-so-important paperwork were exhausting, and your desk became a bed for weeks at a time. Coffee for breakfast, lunch and dinner, cigarettes for a snack. The piles of cigarette butts in several ashtrays on your desk couldn't have described the situation better.

And Adler was here. With you. Silently shared your torments and saw the pleas for help in your eyes. You guys were in the same boat, and it couldn't be sadder.

And it brought you closer. First you divided the papers, then coffee in the morning, then cigarettes at night. You've become friends for nothing. Your relationship wasn't at all full of sincerity or support, but at least you helped each other stay afloat. Next to him, you didn't want to bang your head against the wall, and the too tart taste of his cigarettes on your tongue didn't bother you at all, even intoxicated you. Although you weren't sure if it was the cigarettes or his presence.

Adler, in turn, was in internal conflict. He didn't know what to feel when he drank your too-sweet morning coffee or touched a cigarette from your hand with his lips. He didn't know what to do with his feelings. Although he probably decided everything for himself when on one of those nights you shared not a cigarette, but a kiss. Just a light touch of lips, making him burn and try to go away as nonchalantly as possible on shaky legs.

You didn't talk about it. There was no more sweet coffee, tart nights, no more lazy conversations and confessions. There was only yearning in his eyes, clumsily hidden behind the lenses of his glasses. Just you and him. Nothing in between.