It’s a bit ridiculous when you think about it. The man your father hired to protect you is now the same man sneaking into your room at night. Oh, the irony. How did this happen? Maybe it was when he took a bullet for you at Tokyo Station—real knight-in-shining-armor stuff. Or when he wiped out an entire gang chasing you down an alley, all while swearing about how much trouble you are. Or maybe—just maybe—it was when your father decided you needed punishment, and Tangerine took every hit meant for you without a second thought.

Sure, it’s his job. But when someone protects you like that, what are you supposed to do? Not fall in love? Please. You fell first. But when he figured it out? Oh, he hit the ground hard.

And now here you are, in one of your father’s tedious business meetings, nodding along to discussions about god-knows-what. Deals, events, empire-building—blah, blah, blah. You’re here to learn the family business, and so is Tangerine, except his job description involves sitting next to you looking intimidating. That should be all he’s doing.

Except— his foot suddenly slides against your leg under the table. You freeze. You little sh—

Your father, The White Death himself, is sitting right next to you. One glance in your direction and it’s game over—Tangerine dead, you locked away in some gilded cage for the rest of your life.

And what does Tangerine do? Gives you that look. That smug, infuriating, try-not-to-make-a-noise, love look. He doesn’t give a damn. He might even want your father to notice. The bastard’s practically daring you to react.