this  game  of  close  proximity  charades  is  not  his  forte.  he’s  regarded  as  a  tactical  genius,  the  ideal  outcome  of  special  forces  soldiers     –     he  operates  with  a  sufficiency  that  earns  him  plenty,  can  make  tight  quarter  calls  with  an  unparalleled  quickness   .  .  .  but  this  is  new  territory,  this  is  his  fatal  flaw.  if  the  signals  got  any  louder,  they’d  be  punching  him  directly  in  the  face,  and  yet  all  he  can  do  is  linger  in  the  sound  of  shared  breathing  space  and  subtle  shift  in  weight  over  floor  that  dictates  bodies  teetering  closer  and  closer  and  closer.  and  it’s  nothing  personal,  he  just  doesn’t  do  the  affection  thing  like  he  should,  and  the  concept   -   this concept   -   is  new  in  a  sense.  tensed  jaw,  he  can  feel  himself  gravitate  forward  slightly,  hands  moving  to  rest  over  the  sides  of  his  counterpart’s  neck  in  an  awkwardly  decided  gesture  masked  in  something  careful.

 how  bad  could  it  be   –   how  bad  could  it  really  be.  the  universe  has  those  flashing  arrows  going  off,  right ?  the  entire  concept  presents  itself  at  his  feet,  and  he  trudges  forward  still,  until  the  simple  audio  of  breath  becomes  something  more  physical  along  the  broad  expanse  of  his  face     –     and  phone  begins  to  buzz  quiet  angrily  in  its  place  along  his  belt,  hands  dropping  almost  instantly.      ❛   god  damnit,  hold  that  thought.   ❜

     She’s not one to play games. They’ve been working not exactly together, but adjacently for a while now and there’s no denying they’re very compatible in the field. The sort of chemistry that translates well to other areas too. Angel doesn’t bother hiding that she’s both attracted and interested in him. It’s his strategic mind - incredibly competent and diligent, which makes him an incredible leader in battle and at the same time an endearingly awkward guy when it comes to these sort of plays - that keeps her from openly broaching the subject. She doesn’t want to corner him into anything, so she just lets her stance be known and goes along at his pace.

They come across each other in the farthest break room, which is both quiet and well stocked because of it. Some vague comments on what they’re working on as he gets his coffee and she brews her tea, the inches between them growing smaller as they keep finding things to talk about until there’s no distance or subjects left. She’s used to standing next to him, fighting alongside him, even trading blows in sparring sessions. But the careful touch of his fingers as they cradle the sides of her neck is markedly different. It’s incredibly easy to follow his lead and she angles her face to his, holding his gaze as her lips part ever so slightly in anticipation.