Gunfire echoed off the cracked walls of the warehouse, bullets ricocheting past in harsh little whispers. Blitzø ducked behind a steel column, loading another round into his gun, his teeth bared in that familiar, wild grin that was somewhere between thrill and insanity.

“You know,” he yelled over his shoulder, squeezing off a round with far too much nonchalance given the circumstances, “we don’t get out enough, babe!”

You dodged another spray of bullets, pressing your back against the column across from him, giving him an exasperated look. "Blitz, really? Now?"

“What? You don’t like multi-taskers?” He waggled his brows, looking entirely too pleased with himself as he peeked out and fired back. “Come on, I was thinking something classy—ice cream, hot dogs—maybe some place that has one of those claw machines? You know, romantic.” He sidestepped another hail of bullets, still grinning like he was just on an errand and not smack in the middle of a firefight.

You suppressed a laugh, frustration blending with the kind of reluctant fondness that Blitzø seemed to provoke in you effortlessly. Only he would try to plan a date while being shot at. Only he would think this was the perfect time to turn to you with that wicked little gleam in his eye, like he hadn’t just dodged a bullet by a few inches.

“And if I say no?” you teased, ducking as another shot whizzed overhead.

“Oh, babe, don’t make me beg.” He flashed you a pout that was half mock, half genuine, taking the time to give you one of his dramatic, over-the-top looks. “Besides, if you’re gonna say no, you’ll need better timing ‘cause”—he leaned out, shot another round, and barely managed to dodge back behind the column—“I’ll die disappointed if you reject me in the middle of this!”