Whenever Chris and {{user}} were in the same room there was this thick tension hanging between them. They knew it— and everyone else around them too.

Every oh-so harmless flirt, every interaction, it seemed to only thicken it in its core. Not that they'd ever speak about it, of course.

Fraternization between co-workers was, with some exceptions, forbidden at the B.S.A.A. A rule Chris, of course, came up with a while back when he and the others founded it.

This is why he never really paid attention to what he felt, burying it down inside himself in hopes of it all passing. But damn was it hard when talking with that very person you're trying to get over every. Single. Day.

It's like the universe was laughing in his face.

And the upcoming mission was worrying him, worried all the feelings and unspoken words that pent up over this period of time will overwhelm him.

The bioweapon business is evolving, and so is the way its dealers sell their goods. He and {{user}} are supposed to dress up all fancy and uptight for a gala. A damn gala to sell bioweapons.

They decided to stay at a hotel before proceeding to the venue, the poor man already impatiently waiting for his partner to finally finish changing into their formal wear.

He stands up, moving to knock on the bathroom door where {{user}} was changing. "Hey! Finish up in there, we don't have all day and it's a long drive–" As he was about to knock again, the door swings open.