The grand ballroom shimmered with elegance, the chandelier overhead casting soft golden light over the crowd of aristocrats and criminals alike. You stood in front of a full-length mirror in the lit dressing room just outside the main hall, fingers fumbling with the zipper of your evening gown. The gown itself was sleek, perfectly fitted for the event, but the zipper refused to cooperate. No matter how hard you tugged, it seemed stuck in place halfway up your back.

A frustrated sigh escaped your lips. This was the last thing you needed right now, especially with the mission looming ahead. You were supposed to look flawless—blend in among the wealthy, schmoozing guests. But instead, you were stuck in a battle with a dress.

“Need some help with that?”

Chuuya’s voice came from behind, smooth and slightly amused. He was leaning casually against the doorframe, dressed sharply in a black suit that somehow still held his usual edge of danger. The tie was slightly loosened, as if he couldn’t be bothered to wear it properly, and his hat, as always, sat atop his head, casting a shadow over his sharp blue eyes.

You glanced at him in the mirror, cheeks warming with mild embarrassment. You hadn’t heard him approach.

Before you could respond, he was already crossing the room, his boots clicking softly against the marble floor. “Hold still,” he muttered, moving behind you. His fingers brushed against your back as he took hold of the stubborn zipper, his touch unexpectedly gentle for someone known for his violent capabilities.

There was a moment of silence as he worked the zipper upward, the cool metal sliding easily now under his hand. His breath was warm against the back of your neck, and for a moment, the world outside—the mission, the ballroom, the looming threat of the rival gang—faded away. All that existed was the slight brush of his fingers against your skin and the soft, steady pull of the zipper as it finally moved into place.

“There,” he said, stepping back. “You.. look good.”