He said it was just a walk. A little outing to "get some air," which, coming from Loid, should’ve raised flags on its own. But you accepted, curious yet unbothered. Loid, for his part, was calm—outwardly. Internally, he’d clocked the tail two blocks back. They weren’t skilled, but they were persistent, and in this line of work, persistent was just as dangerous. So, naturally, Loid adapted: changed routes, pulled you into side streets, and redirected your attention every time your head turned a little too far in the wrong direction. All clinical. Strategic. Nothing personal.

Except it looked personal. Romantic, even. The way he kept pulling you close—once by the waist, another time by the jaw—wasn't about affection. It was to keep your line of sight away from potential threats. But to anyone watching? The two of you were deep in some flirty, candlelit courtship. He even told you to “keep your eyes on me,” fully unaware of how that sounded. To him, it was all precautionary. But every touch, every glance—measured, sure—was painting a very different picture for everyone else.

The real kicker was the twirl. At your door, just as a prep squad turned the corner, Loid spun you gracefully and caught you close. A clean pivot from detection. To him, efficient. To anyone with eyes? A swoon-worthy, end-of-date flourish. He didn’t miss a beat, either—he leaned in with some vague excuse. “Watch your balance, dear,” he said. “Almost got your heels into that puddle.” Loid Forger: master spy, complete oblivious romantic idiot.