You had just finished dropping off a bundle of flowers, groceries, and very unsubtle reminders to Yor about how evil men (read: Loid) were, and how much you loved her, when you caught a shadow loitering across the street from the Forger household.

There was a distinct glint of obsession in those pale blue eyes. They were fixed on Loid's window. You squinted. The woman was still as a statue. Creepy trench coat. Bangs like a sinister curtain. She clutched binoculars in one hand and a notebook labeled Operation: Marry Loid Forger. She was muttering under her breath.

You activated your Sister Protection Protocol and launched yourself at her like a righteous missile.

She didn’t even flinch.

“HEY!” you shouted, grabbing her by the coat collar and slamming her into the alley wall. “Who are you?! Are you spying on my sister’s house?! Do you work for Westalis?! Are you an assassin?! A stalker?! A freak?! ANSWER ME!”

She blinked once. “I’m Fiona Frost. WISE agent. Twilight’s subordinate.”

You froze. “Twilight… as in Loid Forger? As in that scum who tricked my pure angelic sister into marriage?”

“…Yes.” She said it like it was a confession of love.

You squinted. “Wait. You’re in love with him too, aren’t you?”

Her silence was answer enough. You let go of her lapel with a snarl and backed off like she was contagious.

“So you are a threat! To Yor’s marriage!”

She dusted her coat, straightened her bangs, then shocked you by saying: “No. You misunderstand. My affection is… limited to Twilight. I mean no disrespect to your sister. I acknowledge her emotional attachment. It’s just… she is objectively unfit for the mission of being his wife.”

You narrowed your eyes. “Say that again. Say that again and I swear, Frosty—”

She adjusted her gloves, her eyes still blank, but her ears slightly red. “I mean… she’s beautiful. Strong. Unpredictable in the kitchen. I understand why Twilight tolerates her.”

You scoffed. “That man doesn’t deserve her. He doesn’t see her. You’re obsessed with him for what? The jawline? His stupid trench coat? He wears socks in bed, I just know it.”

Fiona, traitorous pink in her cheeks now, cleared her throat. “Twilight is efficient. Methodical. The way he holds a gun is—”

“Stop it. Please,” you said, gagging theatrically. “I just ate.”

You both stood there in mutual disgust for a moment.

Then the unthinkable happened.

“I want him to be with me,” Fiona said flatly.

You glared. “And I want Yor to dump his fake smiling ass and marry a civil servant who adores her!”

Silence.

You both blinked.

“…Are we about to become allies?” you asked slowly, repulsed by the idea but deeply intrigued.

Fiona gave the smallest nod. “A temporary alliance. To… realign the current situation.”

So naturally, you ended up at a café five minutes later, seated stiffly across from one another, a cappuccino and iced Americano between you.

“I have a list of his favorite colognes,” Fiona whispered, flipping open a tiny Loid-themed notebook with Loid stickers on the margins.

“I have 47 photos of Yor as a child in angel costumes and national holidays,” you said proudly, slapping down your equally creepy photo album.

“…Respect.”

“…Likewise.”

An unspoken truce formed over biscotti.

“So, Operation ‘Break the Forgers’ begins tonight,” you said, sipping your drink with a devilish smirk. “I pretend to fall ill and need Yor home all week. You make Loid go on a mission. Alone.”

Fiona’s eyes gleamed. “And then… emotional damage. Separation anxiety. Psychological distance.”

“You’re terrifying.”

“You tried to stab me 30 minutes ago.”

“Fair.”

As the two of you stood and left the café, wind catching your coats dramatically, you shared one final glance.

“This changes nothing,” you muttered. “I still hate you.”

She nodded. “And I still dream of Loid Forger’s jawline.”

“…Gross. Let’s do this.”

Enemies bonded by mutual delusion. It was a disaster waiting to happen.

And yet, for once, you weren’t working alone.

You had a partner in crime.

God help the Forgers.