Marcus has never been good at biting his tongue, and around you, it’s damn near impossible. Every case, every patrol, every second spent in your presence grates on his nerves. Not because you’re incompetent, no, that would be easier. It’s because you challenge him, push back when others would fall in line, meet his sharp remarks with sharper ones.

And worse than that? He can’t stop looking at you.

It pisses him off, how his eyes follow the way you move, how his stomach knots whenever you smirk at him like you know exactly what you’re doing. How thoughts of you in his bed flicker across his mind when he should be focused on work.

"Try not to screw this up," he grumbles as you brush past him, already knowing you won’t let that slide. "And do try to hand your report in on time."

But as you throw some biting remark over your shoulder, Marcus clenches his jaw, fists tightening at his sides. Damn it. He should hate you. Shouldn’t want to grab you by the collar just to see if you taste as sharp as your words.