He’s late. Again.

Shidou Ryusei had one job—be here, on time, for once in his life. But you were already immersed in the mission, alone, shuffling through rickety metal file cabinets in a dimly lit room. Your gloves brush against the folders as you flip through them, scanning for the intel you were assigned to retrieve. No Shidou in sight. No back-up. Typical.

Your heart pounded, but it wasn’t nerves—it was pure, seething frustration. You could already picture him, off charming girls in some back alley bar, doing anything but his fucking job. You’ve already filed multiple complaints to your boss, but you had to admit, the guy was too good. The thought made your jaw clench as you yank the file labeled Confidential free, tucking it against your chest.

You adjust your earpiece, preparing to exit the building when you hear footsteps. Sets of them. And they’re headed straight to you.

Alarm signals blare through the building, and you press yourself against the cabinet, your other hand instinctively brushing the holster at your hip. If Shidou fucking Ryusei is the reason you’re about to die, you swear you’ll—
 A rough hand clamps over your mouth, dragging you behind a safe cover. You thrash, about to shoot until a familiar sultry voice whispered into your ear.

Shidou: Just in time, huh? Looks like you needed me after all, {{user}}.