#(aaahhhhhhh)

He was across the room, perched casually on the edge of a desk, long fingers looping a spool of thread around his knuckles like he was toying with something alive. He looked calm. Per usual. That smile of his was all surface, but you’d seen the way his eyes never rested, the quiet awareness behind every movement.

You tapped your pen against the page, thinking. There was something about him that didn’t add up. Something a little too perfect in the way he fit into the team, like he was always performing.

Well, hypocrite. You weren’t exactly innocent either.

You’d learned to hide your own sharper edges behind a lazy smile and easy tone. Nobody needed to know the things that really made your blood race— the messier urges, the curiosity toward the darker side of people.

So when you caught Tamsy watching you back, something deep inside you thrummed.

He stood up first, straightening his tie and walking over with that smooth, confident gait. “You’ve been pretending to fill that page for twenty minutes,” he said lightly, stopping in front of your desk. “You planning to submit a blank report?”

You raised a brow, tapping your pen once more. “Ummm, maybe I’m just waiting for the inspiration to hit.”

“Oh?” He leaned a little closer, clasping his hands behind his back. “You don’t strike me as the ‘wait for it to come to you’ type.”

You met his gaze; unflinching, curious. “You’d be surprised what I think, Tamsy.”

He smiled at that, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I don’t think much surprises me anymore, dear.”

“Hmm...you must be boring,” you said, tilting your head. You wanted a reaction.

For a second, his composure cracked— a tiny, amused laugh slipped through. “Touché...”

You watched as he stood up straight, the threads slide between his fingers, the metallic spool flashing under the light. “Why are you fiddling with it?”

“It helps me think.”

“About what?”

He looked up, and the room felt smaller all of a sudden. “About people.” It'smyintstrumentdon'tquestionmebitchwhyhaven'tIhungyouyet Inner Tamsy responded. He hates being questioned.

You set your pen down slowly. “You spend a lot of time thinking about people, huh?” Just itching for any reaction other than nonchalance from this bird man.

“I like to understand them,” he said, voice quiet now, “what moves them. What possibly, hm...breaks them. Ah, their weakness I mean.”

That made you smile— slow, deliberate. “See, that sounds like you’re hiding something.” After all, you understood.

He chuckled softly. “Everyone is, my dear.”

The silence that followed wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. A slow-burning tension that neither of you tried to break.

Your eyes still locked on his. “You might do a lot of studying on people, but you look like someone who’s been studied too.” Because you're not special bitch, there are always others watching you watch others. Like Corvus, like me, Inner you responded.

His expression flickered— quick, but you caught it. “In that case, perhaps I’m both.”

You grinned. “So I’m right about you then.”

“Right about what?”

“That you’ve got something strange going on underneath all that calm.”

He tilted his head, the smile on his face sharpening just slightly. “Funny. I was about to say the same thing about you.”

You laughed quietly, shaking your head. “Y'know, we’d make terrible poker partners.”

“Or perfect ones.”

He said it with such certainty that your heartbeat skipped. For all his polished composure, there was something in his tone— something that sounded like recognition. Like he saw the same shadows you kept carefully hidden behind your own simper.

You stood, pushing your chair back just enough to create a challenge in the movement. “I guess we'll never know.”

His gaze dropped for a fraction of a second — not out of shyness, but calculation. “So you're plotting?" Tamsy could relate.

“Maybe I am,” you said, stepping past him, brushing just close enough for him to smell the faint trace of metal and smoke on you. “Or maybe I’m just simply testing a theory.”

“And what theory is that?”

“That you’re not half as good at hiding what you are as you think you are.”

Oh but I am, he thought in his head. How else could I have gotten past Semiu who sees you for who you are? Ah right, he thought with playful sarcasm. —the watchman book. Had to clear her memory and create a fake one after she seen the real me.

You left him standing there, still smiling to himself in a weird way— but the look in his eyes wasn’t amusement anymore. It was something else.

Later that night, as you walked the dimly lit hall toward your quarters, you could feel that he was watching you again.

Unbeknownst to you, it was just his string puppet he crafted a long while ago. Not to stalk you, no no. Just to watch over you. Like an ang e l..-.....—

And somewhere in the dark, Tamsy smiled to himself.

So…they noticed.

He wasn’t sure if that excited him— or if it hindered his plans. Rest assured, he had absolutely no issue getting rid of a problem.

—

Tamsy’s coat brushed your arm for the fifth time. Fifth. You didn’t even bother pretending it was an accident anymore.

“Stop. You’re doing that on purpose,” you muttered, scribbling notes onto the mission log.

He leaned down just enough for his breath to skim your ear. “Doing what?”

That calm tone—that “I’m innocent” act—had your jaw tightening. Nobody is innocent, stop this shit. You slid his chair leg out with your foot just as he leaned back.

CLACK.

He barely caught himself, one hand on the desk, his eyes cutting toward you with a spark that was way too amused.

“You’re childish,” he said, brushing dust from his sleeve.

“Okay, and you’re in my personal space.”

“Maybe I just like the view from here...”

“Then enjoy it from the floor,” you said, kicking the chair leg again.

He didn’t fall—he caught your ankle mid-swing, fingers curling around your boot with infuriating gentleness. The kind that screamed control.

He smiled, all teeth and quiet mockery. “Be. Careful.”

“Or what?” I mean, what?

His fingers caressed your ankle for a mere second before he let go, smirk widening as you shoved your chair back. You hated that your heartbeat jumped.

—

Tamsy was all composure again the next day, sparring calmly with Delmon until he noticed you by the door. Then, without warning, he switched targets.

“Need a warm-up?” he asked, tone sugary sweet. Of course it was, he had to keep up the facade with everyone else.

"TAMSY COME BACK! YOU'RE NOT SUPPOSED TO SWITCH OPPONENTS!" Delmon shouted. "HI Y/N!" He added.

You waved, before stepping in the room. Tamsy was always calm before he did something chaotic.

"Sorry Delmon. I have to take my chances," was all Tamsy said before you stood before him while Delmon grunted and left the room.

The match started slow—too slow—until you realized he was deliberately aiming his attacks to mess up your stance. Every hit of the ropes just close enough to make you stumble, never actually connecting.

“Oh, so we’re playing that game,” you muttered.

He tilted his head. “Hmm? What game?” Inner Tamsy cackled, having the time of his life.

You grabbed his coat collar and used his momentum to flip him—except he twisted at the last second, hooking your leg with the rope and pulling you down with him.

Now you were both on the floor, breathing hard, staring each other down from inches apart.

He grinned like he’d just won the lottery. You shoved his face away. “You’re extremely annoying, you know this right.”

“Woooow,” he said, still holding on to you rather tightly. “I have the same opinion about you!”

You hit him in the ribs. Lightly. Maybe.

He coughed a laugh, rubbing his side. They're insane, he thought, eyes flicking over you like he wasn’t sure whether to strangle you or kiss you. Perfect.

A red mark was left on your leg that day.

—

By the time the third incident rolled around, everyone had learned to not leave you two alone.

Unfortunately, Enjin did. Of course he did. The man would rather hookup with women than do a simple task. So he left it to you two.

You and Tamsy had been told to organize mission files. Innocent enough—until he started “accidentally” mixing the stacks you’d just sorted.

You snapped your head toward him. “Once again, you’re doing this on purpose. Why are you like this?”

He didn’t even look up. “Am I?”

You stepped closer. “Yes.”

He kept moving files, so you reached over and swiped one from his hand.

That got his attention. He slowly leaned up, gaze dropping from your face to the file you were holding hostage. “You really want to start this?”

You backed up toward the shelves, smirking. “Guess so.”

First, he steadily walked your direction. As if giving you a chance to simply return it to him. You didn'tyoudidyoudidn'tyoudid know this particular file was Rudo's. But then, he lunged for it. You dodged. The two of you danced between shelves, the sound of footsteps echoing like a chase scene that’d gone too far.

You ducked around a corner, but he caught you by the wrist, pinning you lightly against the shelf. Not rough—just controlled. Annoyingly so.

The silence stretched. The only sound was your breathing and the creak of paper files shifting.

“You’re not good at following orders,” he said softly. BooootomatotomatoIhaaaaaatepeoplewhodon'tdowhatIsay, Inner Tamsy complained as he sat forward in his chair with his arms on his thighs.

You met his eyes, defiant. “Neither are you, so now what.”

Something flickered in his expression—something intense, slightly amused, and a little too dark.

He leaned close enough to distract you with his yellow pupils that had no soul, then took the file from your hand so slowly it felt deliberate.

“Don't do that again dear,” he murmured, turning away like nothing happened.

You stood there, jaw tight, watching him go. “Unbelievable,” you muttered under your breath.

Behind you, he smiled. Manic and giddy. Got them.

—

The next few days were simply unbearable. Every mission, every briefing, every shared hallway— you could feel him there, that same silent tension pulling at your nerves like wire.

Then, one night, you walked into the supply room. And there he was. Sitting down, his jacket draped against the chair. One of his shirt sleeves was rolled up as he bandaged a cut on his arm. Gosh, is he gonna have yet another scar?

He looked up when you entered, and you froze.

“Need something?” he asked, like nothing was wrong.

You crossed your arms. “No. Just—didn’t know you were here.” Liar

He shrugged, then hissed when the bandage slipped. You sighed, walking over before you could stop yourself. “You’re doing it wrong.”

“Hm. Then fix it.”

You snatched the roll from his hand and started wrapping it, tighter than necessary. He flinched but didn’t stop you.

“Happy now?” you said.

He looked at the bandage, then back at you. “Not really.”

Before you could respond, his hand shot up, grabbing your wrist. Then his other hand caught your jaw, thumb resting near your mouth.

You froze again.

“I’m tired of this,” he said, voice low. “Your games.”

You glared up at him. “Then stop.”

He smiled— small, humorless. “I believe it was you who started this..." his thumb traced your cheek. “—so you first.”

You hated how close his breath felt. It smelt like he had cake recently. He probably did. There were quite a few times he’s returned with cake either for himself or for Rudo. Never for any of the other kids....whatever though.

You hated that you didn’t want to step back.

“Fine,” you muttered, leaning in just enough for your nose to brush his. “Game over...” you muttered, looking into his endless yellow eyes.

For one second, neither of you moved. Just silence, heavy and warm.

Then you pulled back— too fast, and he laughed under his breath like he couldn’t believe you did that.

“Well. Looks like it was a tie,” he murmured.

You smacked his shoulder, hard enough to make him grunt. “You wish.” You two still haven’t discovered each other’s intentions yet after all.

He caught your wrist again, this time slower, more deliberate. “No,” he said, eyes narrowing just slightly. “It was a tie.”