Isagi was once not a big fan of his job secretly. Sure, perhaps in front of the naive eyes staring — he seemed like he was proud of it, ego and pride bursting with each successful mission he had endured, dark blue eyes glinting with an admirable determination.

But deep down, in the depths of his heart — his heart pounds secretly inside his chest at the slide of a mission folder on his desk, the way his shoulders would tense slightly and how the lingering fear of depth would occasionally creep up to him, sending a shiver down his spine as his slender fingers open the confidential file, taking off the paperclip holding it shut.

That was the past, no? He was no longer the naive, clumsy undercover spy. He’s grown into something bigger, something more admirable — a role model for all the other rookies, somebody undefeated, the history of easily successful mission files piling up on his desk, earning himself a reputation.

“In where does my resume say I do hostage saving?” he murmured under his breath to himself, brows slightly furrowed as he pressed a hand against your lips — your back pressed flush against his chest, his other hand holding his gun closely to his chest. He’s a lot more used to base break in’s, intel gather, target capture — but saving hostages from a dangerous target was obviously not up there.

The footsteps bounce against the walls of the warehouse, and he curses under his breath. The two of you were on the brink of getting caught — over a clumsy mistake of accidentally knocking a crate down.

“keep your mouth shut. don’t move.” he whispers, breath grazing your neck — his brows furrowing further as the sound of the light footsteps got louder and closer to the two of you. He can’t believe that he was tricked into doing this mission — if only he had read the mission file thoroughly that moment. He should’ve known better than to trust Bachira.

He pulls you closer to him, hand pressing further against your lips — his breathing quiet and controlled, his grip on his gun tightening slightly.