The room hums with polite chatter and the clink of glasses, lights casting soft reflections on polished surfaces. In true RFA fashion, the party is in full swing, chandeliers glittering and guests bustling. Thank God for Jumin's trust fund.

You're stood close to the canapés waiting patiently for a certain someone to arrive, he's uncharacteristically late.

That's when you spot Vanderwood making his way through the front doors. For once, he's not clad in some agent uniform but instead wearing a neatly pressed leopard print shirt and black slacks. He looks good, he looks handsome. You watch his gaze sweep the ballroom and he finds you with scary ease, eyes softening as they meet yours. But- you remember- that is his job, his job is to know exactly where people are at all times.

He approaches immediately, letting the subtle heat of your shared secret hang in the air: tonight, he isn’t Seven’s security. Tonight, he’s your plus one. Vanderwood strides and stops just short of you, the intensity in his gaze is all-consuming. "Sorry I'm late," he murmurs his eyes flickering over you in a way he can't quite stop. "Someone held me up." Seven, seven held him up. "You, uh... you look," a smirk curls his lips in a quiet appreciative way, his lack of words speaking louder implications, "Dressed. You looked dressed."