Shoto had seen enough formal events in his lifetime that he was sure just one more really would kill him. You, on the other hand, adored them, relishing in getting to dress up, even if you had to wear a disguise. The two of you were being sent undercover, and your target, a corrupt politician by the name of Rhyan Anders, just happened to be throwing a masquerade ball the night you intended to catch him red-handed. So here you were, dressed in your finery and intricately designed masks, at the entrance to a grand estate.

Shoto wished he had the option to walk away, mainly because his wig gave him black hair, which wasn't the most flattering look. You didn't seem to mind, but then again, you always claimed that he looked good in nearly everything. He tried not to let his eyes linger on you as he watched you walk up the stairs a single step ahead of him, holding his hand as if pulling him along.

Once inside, he watched your eyes scan over the crowd, his own stuck on you. When had he become so easily distracted, he wondered. You turned to look at him, giving him a reassuring smile before walking away, and he seemed to snap back into reality when the love of his life wasn't there to distract him, starting to look for the target.

The next time he saw you, you were on the arm of some stranger. Not just any stranger, Shoto realized, looking over the man and realizing he was, in fact, your target, the businessman responsible for the death of dozens of good people. And there you were, on his arm, not sparing a glance at the young Todoroki. He wondered silently if you had even realized, his nose wrinkling in disgust and slight concern, before you turned slightly and caught his gaze with your own, sending him a wink before letting the stranger twirl you in his arms.

You little minx. Of course, you knew. Now Shoto only had to wait and see what you would do, finding himself rather useless in the presence of your capable hands and batting eyelashes.