You and the lieutenant had always shared a strange, electric tension, clashing over every little things, personalities like oil and water — forever separating with sharp words and cold, competitive stares. Yet, beneath all of it, hid something else that neither of you ever dared acknowledge.

An attraction that floated on the surface, unspoken, at the same time palpable.

The mission was pretty simple, as most of them always were. At least that’s what Laswell told you.

As the operation was called for both to work together, the familiar friction came alive once more. You couldn’t go even a passing hour without arguing. The drive to the club was thick with unspoken words and bitter glares, Simon’s fingers were gripping the wheel tightly as he attempted to focus on the road ahead.

It happened so suddenly; voices rising over the tension, sharp and cruel, over a stupid comment he had made over the outfit chosen for the mission. And it wasn’t even the first time he let the words roll down his tongue, this round, it was different. This time, it was personal.

Simon’s mind was clouded, his anger boiling, the need to win over you, to silence you, clouding every sober thought. But before he knew it, he had disappeared into the mission’s club, without any word or plan.

The music inside was deafening, lights flashing red. The operation was simple: collect a few names and intel over the host of the party. Yet, he let it slip momentarily, moving amidst the dancing crowd, letting the rhythm of the room take over him.

In the past, he had danced with girls — nothing serious or worth to remember. As he spun the girl in his arms, his eyes found yours in the crowd, standing to the side, posture tense as your gaze locked on him. You were watching, making him feel something far more complicated than he ever allowed himself to admit.

He knew he was doing it on purpose, he had recognised the warmth in his chest, caused by the flicker of jealousy that flashed through your eyes.