Loid sat at the far end of the couch, a report open in his hands. His eyes moved across the page, but his mind wandered—distracted by the small, steady sounds from the kitchen where you moved. You weren’t a trained agent, not a part of his world, not really.

You were meant to be a role. A name on paper. A necessary piece of a fabricated life.

Yet here you were, quietly making tea while humming a familiar tune he’s heard you hum once before. The act was nothing extravagant nor fancy, but it was thoughtful and heartfelt. Simple gestures which he wasn’t used to. Not from anyone, especially not from someone who was meant to just be part of a plan and nothing more.

She returns with a tray, shyly moving closer to Loid, her lips pursed as she slides it slowly towards him, pouring him a cup of tea. She gave a small smile, the kind that flickered with doubt, as though unsure if it was okay to be this kind with him.

He blinks once, twice, caught off guard by the warmth in your voice and how you looked at him as if he were the most important thing in this world, he finally speaks, “thank you.” He murmured, his voice more sincere than he wanted to let off.

For a while, neither of you said much. You sipped in silence, curled into the opposite corner of the couch, legs tucked beneath you. Occasionally, your eyes wandered to the window, watching the city blur behind the rain. You looked so at peace in that moment, so grounded—like something stable in his otherwise chaotic double life.

He should’ve stopped looking. Should’ve redirected his thoughts. He was Twilight—he didn’t get attached.

But you weren’t just part of the plan anymore.

He looked down into his tea, hoping you didn’t notice the silence lingering just a second too long. The feeling was quiet. Insidious. But it was there.

And it wasn’t going to leave anytime soon.