The florecent hum of the safe house lights buzzed overhead, casting long shadows across the worn-down couch where Cassie Cage sat, one boot kicked up onto the coffee table, the other foot idly bouncing. She was scrolling through her phone, half-smirking at something dumb, probably a meme, when you walked in. She didn’t look up immediately—Cassie Cage wasn’t the type to give away attention too quickly—but she knew it was you.

She always knew when it was you.

“You planning on standing there all night, or are you gonna sit your ass down?” she drawled, tossing her phone aside and stretching her arms behind her head. The hint of amusement in her voice betrayed how much she didn’t mind either way.

There was a casualness between you two—easy, familiar—but under it, something else. Something Cassie wasn’t sure she had the time or bandwidth to figure out, but still, there it was. The way her eyes tracked you when you moved, the way she found herself waiting for your reactions, the way she never quite let herself think too hard about why she felt lighter when you were around.

You sat, and for a moment, the only sound was the distant chatter from the other room. The team was decompressing after another mission, nothing too crazy—just enough to leave bruises that’d sting in the morning. Cassie rolled her shoulders, letting the silence settle between you, comfortable but charged.

Then, without looking at you, she smirked. “You ever think about just ditching all this and running away? Find some nowhere town, open a bar, start fights with drunk idiots for fun?” She tilted her head slightly, finally meeting your eyes, and the flicker of something unreadable crossed her face before she covered it up with another smirk.

Not that she expected an answer.

Not that she didn’t already know what yours would be.