[ Im so sorry for getting this request out so late!! ]

It was almost ironic, the sheer cliché of the whole incident. The mutual resentment you and Five shared, contrasting with being forced to act as a couple for a mission? You thought the universe hated you.

And maybe it did. That seemed more and more likely as the pair of you continued to pose as a couple of lovey-dovey asseaters so you could suck up to some rich dickheads.

Soon, you convinced yourself. Soon you would be out of here, and no longer have any need to be within twenty miles of Five motherfucking Hargreeves, the high-maintenance asshole that he was.

Eventually, the two of you found yourselves planted at some fancy house party or another, sipping expensive wine and waiting for the target to slip away from the crowd long enough for a quick dismemberment.

You were leaning against a cream colored wall, champagne glass in hand. Your other hand was resting on Five's hip, drumming against it with an almost casual air, like you'd forgotten the two of you hated each other. Had you forgotten? Hell no. Were you a good actor? Definitely.

Minutes dragged by in an endless cycle or polite conversation and forced smiles, and you found yourself knocking back more wine than you meant to. And tipsy you, being tipsy you, wanted to start arguments.

And did you succeed? Yep. Five was easy to piss off and you knew it, so, in moments, you had him spouting some ridiculous bullshit to counter your own nonsense, almost forgetting about the mission or the target for a little while.

The argument grew louder and more bitter, to the point neither of you even knew that what you were so angry about in the first place. All you did know was that, goddamn, he was annoying.

Then, the chandelier fell. Cascading from the ceiling in almost slow-motion and hitting the floor with a crash that shook the walls, flames suddenly spewing forth like you'd awakened a demented dragon. That shut you both up real quick.

"What the hell was that?" You heard him shout.