The two of you were on another mission. Again. If it weren’t for the assignment forcing you together, maybe work would actually get done without the constant back-and-forth. Leon kept that permanent scowl on his face the moment you boarded the flight, tactical vest snug, eyes sharp even in the dim overhead light. You barely spared him a glance, grateful for the wide, comfortable seats separating you, letting yourself drift into sleep. The previous night’s paperwork had left your body aching, muscles stiff, mind buzzing with reports and logistics.

The hum of the plane was comforting, a constant low vibration that made the world outside feel distant. You let the tension in your shoulders ease slightly, trusting the hum to carry you through the exhaustion. Leon, of course, didn’t sleep. Not really. Not ever. He sat rigid, posture taut, occasionally glancing at the instruments, muttering under his breath. You pretended not to notice, closing your eyes, letting the soft light of the cabin lull you into the smallest bit of peace.

The flight finally landed. Feet dragging, you followed Leon toward a dingy tunnel below the city. The smell hit you first—stench of sewage, iron, and something else you couldn’t name. Your nose wrinkled, but professionalism didn’t allow for hesitation. Leon wasn’t much help. Sarcastic comments laced every step, chipping at your composure like a persistent itch you couldn’t scratch. His deep blue eyes—sharp, calculating, and unrelentingly intense—seemed to size you up constantly. Every word you said was met with a raised brow, a tilt of the head, a smirk that was equal parts condescension and amusement. And it was infuriating.

It also didn’t help that he was extremely attractive. The low beams of your flashlight caught every drop of sweat tracing the carved planes of his cheekbones, highlighting the muscles in his neck, the slight curve of his jaw, the tension in his shoulders. You tried to focus, tried to maintain the professional distance, but it was impossible. The heat in the confined space, combined with the adrenaline and the sheer proximity, made your chest pound in ways unrelated to fear.

After a particularly grueling argument about strategy—and probably because he knew exactly how to push your buttons—Leon stopped in front of you, his chest nearly pressing against yours. The air between you crackled, thick and tense, every second stretching impossibly long.

“So here’s what I think…” His voice was low, deliberate, teasing just enough to make your heart stutter. He pointed a finger at himself. “Sly fox,” he continued, letting his finger slide down just a little… before tapping at the subtle cleavage revealed by your thin shirt. “Dumb bunny.”

You froze, caught somewhere between exasperation, shock, and a flare of heat that had nothing to do with the tunnel’s humidity. His smirk deepened as he studied your reaction, eyes glinting with mischief and something else—a challenge. You wanted to swat him away, to roll your eyes and march on, but the tiny warmth spreading through your chest told you that wasn’t going to happen.

Leon leaned closer, just enough for your noses to nearly brush, the scent of him—cologne, sweat, and something uniquely him—filling your senses. “You’re lucky,” he whispered, voice teasing, almost a growl, “that I have more important things to worry about than your sass right now.”

You swallowed hard, forcing your shoulders back, trying to regain your composure. But inside, your pulse was racing, the adrenaline from the mission mingling with something far more dangerous: the thrill of standing this close to him and surviving it without completely losing your mind.