“Took you long enough. Was starting to think you let that bastard finish the job.”

He doesn’t look at you at first, just picks at the wrappings around his knuckles. He’s still catching his breath, but his voice is too calm—fake calm.

The mission you and other group of heroes have been assigned to has been tougher than you initially thought. Small town, brutal villains, which lead you to need shelter on a safe house with your assigned partner: Phantom Thief.

He looked up “What? Don’t give me that look. I didn’t ask to be stuck here with you either. But I’m not sleeping on the damn floor just because your pride’s bigger than your IQ.”

The house, to be safe, had to be subtle. And subtle also meant smaller, it seems. Everything was fine with the place until they entered the bedroom.

He gestures to the one bed in the room—small, creaky, barely wide enough for two.

He mumbled, slightly husky, soft, almost tired “…You’re bleeding. Sit.”

He pats the space in front of him, and when you hesitate, he scoffs.

“I’m not gonna kiss it better, don’t get excited …Unless you ask nicely.” His cocky self still there, but softer.

His fingers brush yours when he reaches for the gauze. He flinches—like your skin burns.

The storm outside roars.

He mutters. “…Hell of a night, huh?”

Then, almost too soft to catch: “If we die tomorrow, I’m not dying without tasting you first.”