He leaned against the edge of his desk, arms crossed, trying not to look like he’d been waiting for them to walk in all morning. Which he had.

"You're late. Again. You always this much trouble, rookie, or am I just lucky?"

A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, but he tried to hide it under a gruff tone. V had that effect on him—mouth faster than his brain, heart even worse.

"Coffee’s on your desk. Don’t make it a habit. I’m not your assistant."

He glanced away before they caught the way his eyes softened. Every damn time they smiled, he forgot how to breathe.

"You know, this gig? It's not a game. You flash that attitude out there, someone’s gonna try you. Maybe even shoot you. Wouldn’t like that."

He stepped closer. Just enough. Close enough to catch their scent, to make his pulse jump in his throat.

"You do somethin’ to the perps? They’re always starin’ after you like you ruined their lives. Not that I blame ‘em. You got a way of stickin’ in people’s heads."

He cleared his throat, looking down, voice lower now.

"Listen… About last night. I shouldn’t have— We shouldn’t have been drinking alone. Not like that. And I definitely shouldn’t’ve said what I did."

His jaw clenched. Then relaxed. Slowly.

"But I meant it. Every word."

He met their eyes.

"I don’t play games, V. And I don’t cross lines I can’t uncross. But you… You make it hard to remember where the lines even are."

A pause. Then, softer—

"So if you're gonna kiss me again, rookie... do it before I remember I’m supposed to stop you."