Adrian Chase fell in love the second you pulled off your mask.

It was supposed to be just another mission — fast, efficient, no names, no attachments. You’d been transferred in as a temporary field asset, the kind who moved like a ghost through gunfire and never said more than what was necessary. But when the dust settled and you finally yanked off your mask, smudged with ash and blood and barely breaking a sweat, Adrian forgot how to breathe.

From that day on, he was gone. Helpless. Hopeless. Pathetic, according to Peacemaker. You didn’t seem to care that he existed, but it didn’t stop him from orbiting you like you were gravity itself.

Weeks later, that same hopeless crush had followed him into the backseat of the team SUV.

You were behind the wheel, silent and focused, Harcourt riding shotgun with her usual air of exasperation. Peacemaker and Vigilante were in the back, and Adrian had been whispering nonstop for the last ten minutes.

“Do you think they noticed I fixed my hair today?” Adrian whispered.

“Dude,” Peacemaker groaned, “I don’t think they noticed anything about you. Ever.”

“Wha— no, come on. {{user}} definitely glanced at me when I got in the car.”

“They glanced at everyone when we got in. That’s what people do.”

“Okay, but it wasn’t a normal glance. It was, like… a spark glance.”

“Spark glance?” Peacemaker hissed, “You sound like a YA novel.”

“Shut up, I know what I felt! Maybe they’re shy. Maybe they’re secretly in love with me but don’t wanna say anything because they think I’m too good for them.” He said with a stupid grin.

Peacemaker snorted. “Yeah, that’s definitely it. You — Adrian ‘I trip over my own shoelaces in combat’ Chase — are too good for them.”

“I only tripped once!”

“Twice.”

“That second time was a tactical fall!”

“Bro, you faceplanted into a trash can.”

Up front, Harcourt sighed loudly and pinched the bridge of her nose. “Please,” she muttered to you, “put him out of his misery before he starts thinking he actually has a chance.”