The first and only time you worked with Minho had gone horribly. One of the worst done missions in JYP history. The two of you were bickering about something, and it had quickly turned personal with him making a snide remark about how he couldn’t believe he, best in the business, had to work with a rookie with no almost no field experience. He was right, but you were fed up with his stuck-up attitude and promptly stormed off. Neither of you realized the target left the hotel until a call from headquarters reported that his car had been spotted by traffic cameras and why was he there? Long story short, a short pursuit and one vehicular manslaughter later, the mission was complete, and you and Minho limped out of the situation with several broken bones, still arguing.

Needless to say, you and Minho got along as well as oil and a match.  

However, direct orders are not to be ignored, so you could only huff and complain to Nayeon who was all but sympathetic to your plight. Minutes into your venting (“Did you know that his phone lockscreen is a picture of himself? What kind of egotistical person does that?”), she was called to another meeting. She left with a cheerful “Have fun!” and a promise to buy you lunch if you returned unscathed.

On your walk to your office, you skimmed the rest of the contents of the file. It seemed simple enough: be Minho’s arm candy at some fancy party tonight and kill the target in a discreet fashion. The only worrying part to you, Minho aside, was the window of opportunity. The target was a foreign businessman, and he would only be at the location for a few hours.

You had already finished reading the information about the target and started compiling a list of possible poisons to use when you arrived at your office. Upon your arrival, a black garment bag and a shoe box that weren’t there before greeted you. There was a yellow sticky note attached to the box.

“Good luck!” it read and was signed by Sana from wardrobe.

Word must have gotten out that the most dysfunctional team in company history was working together again.

You moved aside the garment bag and sunk down into your chair. Truth be told, you weren’t sure if you could face seeing Minho again. The disastrous mission was technically your fault because you had broken one of the most important rules of your job: don’t lose your cool. You had also succeeded in proving Minho right-- you were just an amateur and were not qualified for the mission. That bothered you the most. You pushed the thought of him out of your head and refocused on the task at hand-- preparing for the mission. The bottom drawer of your desk was filled with vials of different poisons, and after much deliberation, you selected tetrodotoxin and, as a backup, batrachotoxin. You unzipped the garment bag to find a black dress and a clutch. With care, you placed three vials of each neurotoxin and two syringes into the clutch. It was more than overkill, but it never hurt to be prepared. Then you reopened the file to review the mission.

As per the instructions, at seven o’clock you packed your uniform for the mission into an overnight bag, and a company driver took you to the ritzy hotel on the other side of the city. The company had made a reservation for the mission, and the driver handed you the card key for the room. The elevator ride up was quiet, and the gentleman who rode with you got off on the ninth floor. You were on the sixteenth and dreading the moment you arrived.

The elevator chimed, and you got off and walked down the hall to find room 1618. You timed your footsteps to the beat of your racing heart and found the gold number plate looking back at you in less than a minute. The card key easily slid in, but the door opened before you even reached for the handle.

“Hey, baby,” was the greeting you received. Lee Minho leaned against the doorframe and gave you an appraising look up and down.

You wanted to personally kill the person who designed this cover story. And maybe the director too for assigning it to you.

“Hey,” you replied back with the same sultry tone he used. You gave him a quick kiss on the cheek. “Did you miss me?”

“Of course I did,” he purred. He let you inside the room, and as soon as the door shut, he dropped his facade. “I checked out the room and hotel already. It's not bugged."

Thank goodness. At least you didn’t have to put on your persona for at least one more hour.

"I hope you got more field experience these past years. We don’t need another repeat of last time,” he said. He still loomed by the doorway and watched you carefully as you scanned the room. “I was out for months thanks to you.”

His tie was unknotted, and you resisted the urge to choke him with it. He was as condescending as you remembered. “I’m well aware.” You headed to the bathroom and called over your shoulder, “I’ll be ready before eight thirty.”

Without waiting for an answer, you went inside and locked the door. It wouldn’t take you that long to do your hair and makeup, but you intended to take your sweet time, so you could have minimal contact with him.

However, you forgot about the dreaded dress zipper problem. You were able to get it up a little bit more than halfway, but the zipper refused to budge after that. Already there were beads of sweat on your forehead, threatening to ruin your makeup.  

There was a knock on the door. “It’s almost eight thirty.”

Curses. “I’m almost done,” you lied. Why was this happening to you?

A few minutes later, you were still struggling with the same issue, and Minho knocked again. “It’s eight thirty, Y/N. We’re supposed to leave in ten minutes.”

You softly swore and reluctantly cracked open the door. Despite how much you despised him, you really needed him now. With a sigh, you called out, “Minho? I need help.” With one hand holding the front of the cursed dress, you stepped out and stood with your back facing him. “Can you zip me up?”

Minho choked on air when you stepped out, and he turned his head to the side.

“What?” you frowned.

“I was just surprised. JYP’s best chemist defeated by a mere zipper?” he teased.

“We’re in a rush here,” you said through gritted teeth. “I would appreciate it if you just simply do what I requested.”

“Prickly, are we?” he mumbled, but he did what you asked.

“Thank you.”

You disappeared back into the bathroom to clean up the mess you made and to grab your poison-filled clutch. When you emerged, Minho was holding his phone in front of him with one hand and tousling his hair with the other. So he was still full of himself. He noticed you staring, or rather glaring.

“Can I help you?”

“I’m fine, thanks.”

He sighed. “Could you put your personal vendetta against me away for tonight?”

“That’s rich coming from you considering the first thing you said to me today was a dig at what happened two years ago,” you spat out. “If anything, it’s you with something against me.”

“If I remember correctly, the first thing I said was, ‘Hey, baby.”’

“First thing coming from you, not your persona.”

“Fine. I’m sorry,” he said. He looked at you directly. “About everything. Now can you not screw up this time?”

You pressed your lips together. You had plenty of poison to kill him and the target at your literal fingertips. Instead, you swallowed the retort at the back of your throat and agreed.

“The car should be here now,” you tightly said. “Let’s go.”

In a normal setting, you would have left without waiting for a reply. But this was a mission, and you had to cling to Minho’s arm for dear life like the trophy girlfriend you were supposed to be. He looked as excited as you felt. The elevator ride down felt too long, and every little thing about Minho was bothering you.

“Why is your cologne so strong?” you muttered. “I feel like I have to sneeze every five seconds.”

“Your perfume isn’t that great either,” he shot back. “Did you purposely choose the worst smelling one?”

The door chimed and opened, revealing a lobby full of well-to-do people dressed in velvet and silk. Their eyes were trained on you and Minho, trying to discern exactly who you two were.

“Anything for you, babe,” you sweetly replied through a false relaxed smile.

There were whispers and pointing fingers, and you were suddenly aware of how intent the stares were. Most of your past covers involved you being a wallflower, so this was an entirely new experience.

Sensing your nervousness, Minho pulled you closer. Just as you were about to feel grateful, he leaned down a little and hissed, “Stop being so stiff,” in your ear.

So much for reassurance.

You gripped his arm tighter than necessary and dug your nails in. You doubted he would feel anything through his suit jacket, but it felt good to inflict some damage onto him. Still, you relaxed your body and pretended to laugh at his nonexistent comment.

There was not a car outside the hotel but a limousine. A middle-aged man dressed in formal wear opened the door for you, and you thanked him with a coy smile. He winked in return.

Goodness, you hated this cover.

Minho slid onto the seat beside you, and as soon as the door was shut, the ride to the party began. He kept one hand on your knee, and it burned. A perfectly appropriate act for a young playboy businessman and his trophy girlfriend, but not for two almost-enemies who wanted nothing more than to stay twenty feet away from each other. You could feel his heat through the thin fabric of your dress. Uncomfortable was a bit of an understatement.

You rested your head on his shoulder and whispered, “Could you not do that?” while subtly jutting your chin out towards your leg.

He smirked, and you wanted to dig your nail into the corners of his mouth and rip it off. “Sorry, sweetheart,” he said out loud. “I have to. I have a meeting tomorrow.”

The pout on your face was a combination of the cover and your own reaction. “Please?” you whined, using the highest pitch you could muster. You saw him wince, and you happily continued. “Please? I know you like the pufferfish at that restaurant.” You tapped your clutch.

Take the hint already, dang it!

The threat of a potential poisoning had no effect on him. You had to admire that; most people would comply with your demands almost immediately, but Minho wasn't "most people." Unfortunately for you, that meant you and Minho would be playing a perpetual game of tug of war.

There was a scowl forming on your features, but you quickly rearranged it into another pout. Your chin was starting to hurt from sticking your lower lip out so much. You dramatically sighed and pretended to concede. The rest of the ride Minho kept his hand on your knee, and you plotted ways to poison his food.

The driver announced your arrival at the location of the party, a mansion with tall windows and balconies across the walls and water features decorating the front lawn. It was beautiful. Too bad there would be a murder happening here.

The door on Minho's side opened. He stepped out first, tipped the bellhop, and held out a hand for you. You flashed your second coy smile of the night. This one blushed and looked away.

You linked your arm with Minho's, and the two of you began to make your way to the entrance while surveying the area. His cologne tickled your nose, and you inched as far away as you possibly could be. Unfortunately, any empty space between the two of you was deemed unacceptable by Minho.

"Could you be more obvious? I think everyone’s noticed you trying to escape me at this point," he whispered. He moved his arm to your waist and pulled you closer. "Play the pestilential part."

You slithered out of his hold and stood in front of him, pretending to adjust his tie. "Will do, darling," you said aloud, enunciating every word with a tight tug. You hummed, pretending to think. "Is that too tight?"

You were sure he was going to turn blue if he didn't loosen his tie in the next few minutes. But he only smirked and replied, "It's perfect."

If he ended up dying from a lack of oxygen, it would be his own fault, you reasoned.

Some guests stopped to introduce themselves, and Minho easily answered their thinly veiled questions of "So, who are you exactly?"

"An entrepreneur from Australia," he would breezily reply. The guests would praise his Korean, remarking how fluent he sounded for a foreigner. Minho would laugh and would launch into a story about how he fell in love with Korean culture after a trip here. "I saw an excellent opportunity to expand my business here. And there are other reasons of course." Here, he would give you a sidelong glance, and you would giggle and pretend to be flattered.

After the fifth round of introductions-- how were there so many businessmen named Lee Minhyuk-- you spotted the target. He slipped out of a limousine, and a horde of opportunists greeted him with handshakes and what you were sure was flattery. At this point, you realized you and Minho had never formally come up with a plan to kill him. There was a woman half his age by his side, and you recognized her as his new wife. No instructions were given how to deal with her; the only guideline was to make sure there were no witnesses.

"Ooh! Look at her dress!" you interjected during Businessman Lee Minhyuk #3's story about his latest trip to Malaysia. You pointed a finger at the wife and called your partner’s code name. "Daniel, baby, will you buy me one like that?"

Minho, thankfully, got the signal. "Sure. Whatever you want, babe," he nonchalantly replied. He pretended to do a double take. "Is that Yoshifumi Shido?" he asked Lee Minhyuk #3. "I didn't know he was going to be here."

Lee Minhyuk #3 started talking, but you tuned him out and kept your eye on the target. His wife's dress was fortunately a bright red, making her easy to spot in a sea of dark colors. She weaved in and out of the crowd, occasionally pausing to give cheek kisses to other women who you assumed were her friends. The target shook hands and made light conversation, but it was clear that he was in a hurry to get inside the mansion.

"We must get going now," you heard Minho say. "I wanted to talk to him about business."

Lee Minhyuk #3 nodded understandingly. "Of course. Pleasure to meet you."

Minho gave him one of his charismatic smiles. "It was all mine, sir."

You tried to link arms with Minho again when the two of you started the walk to the mansion, but he wanted you as close as possible. Your right side was flushed to his left, and you could feel every move he made. The burning sensation blossomed from your chest. It crawled up to your cheeks and down your spine until it spread everywhere.

"How's the noose around your neck?" you asked to distract yourself.

The tight knot around his neck had to be cutting into his esophagus by now, yet there was still no sign of visible distress from him. How was he not dead?

"I don't think your pathetic attempt even qualifies as one. Your lack of field work is showing," he said in a sing-song voice. He smirked and looked down to see your reaction but instead found that a section of your bangs fell from its pin.

“Wait,” he told you.

You were about to snap back an angry, “What?” when he turned you towards him and tucked in the locks for you. You looked up at him, shocked by his sudden kindness. He muttered something, and although you couldn’t quite make it out, you swore he said, “Lovely.”

“What?” you said, still incredulous.

“Let’s go,” he coughed.

There were too many people around now to make snarky remarks, and the both of you silently agreed to keep quiet. The two of you entered and momentarily stood by the front entrance. You rested your head against Minho's arm and pretended to be in awe of the chandelier and high ceiling when you were really looking at the people on the second floor balcony. There was no red dress in sight.

Minho, meanwhile, was scanning the first floor. From the way his brows were furrowed, he didn't see them either. He mindlessly took glasses of champagne from the waiters while doing so, and handed them to you. You were now juggling three different glasses and desperately trying to flag down another waiter. You could see Minho hiding a grin from the corner of your eye. Finally one of them noticed your distress, and you gratefully smiled at him while you placed two on the tray.

You sipped on your one remaining drink. "Can we go up to the balcony, baby?" you asked Minho. "I want to see the view from up there."

"Good idea."

Was that sarcasm or a genuine compliment?

You had to follow Minho from behind to the balcony since there was barely any room. There were crowds on the stairs, and you wondered how they hadn’t collapsed from the weight. Men and women were packed together like sardines in a can, and you said, “Pardon” and “Sorry” more times in those minutes than you had in the past week. Minho looked back occasionally to ensure you were still with him.

Fortunately, you and Minho made it to the balcony intact where he found a spot near the railing. The space was small, so you were forced to face him instead of the scene below you. You held your drink in front of you to create some sense of personal space, but he insisted on having one hand on your waist. Luckily, with more pressing matters at hand, you could ignore the burning sensation that had returned again.

“Any sign of him?” you asked after a few minutes of looking down at the main floor. You only saw tuxedoed strangers and dark dresses. No spot of red in sight.

“Not yet.”

Without warning-- or maybe you just didn’t notice-- he leaned dangerously close to you, and you tried not to flinch. You kept an amused smile on your lips, but your eyes told a different story.

“What are you doing?” you worriedly asked.

He whispered, “Apologies in advance,” in your ear before pecking you on the temple.

As you stood there, frozen by his affection, you didn’t notice him tipping over your glass of champagne with a sly hand.

You jolted back, but it was too late; you could already feel the cold seeping through the front of your dress. You stood there, gasping in both surprise and anger. This was a new low even for Lee Minho.

“Search for the target while you’re finding a bathroom. I’ll stay and ask around here,” he continued in your ear. Then he said out loud with false concern, “You okay, babe? You know you can’t drink too much.”

So, this was his grand plan. “It was just a little champagne,” you airily replied. You pressed the empty glass into Minho’s hands. “I’m okay. I’ll clean up in the bathroom.”

You stumble-walked through the crowd and down the connecting hallway. You weren’t even close to tipsy, but people had to believe it. You tried all the doors nearby, but none of the rooms yielded the target or a bathroom. There were, however, several drawing rooms filled with kissing couples. You left those as quickly as you could. As you furthered away from where the main party was taking place, there were more locked doors. You almost considered taking out a hairpin from your hairdo and picking the lock before realizing that the target wouldn’t even have been able to get in anyway.

“Miss, can I help you?”

You stopped tugging on the doorknob and looked to your right to see a waiter with a tray of hors devours.

“Do you know where the bathroom is?” you sheepishly asked.

If you were him, you would have been suspicious. But he must have had too many dealings with ditzy, champagne-drunk, rich people, so he merely showed you to the nearest bathroom which was inside a bedroom further down. You thanked him, and he left, presumably to get back to his job of handing out food and collecting dishes.

You left your clutch on the sink counter and blotted at the wet spot with a towel from a wicker basket before realizing that it did absolutely nothing. Then you tried with water, but you only succeeded in making the stain more visible. You sighed. Screw Lee Minho.

Luckily, it was a black dress, so the spot wasn’t too offensive. Just as you resigned to your predicament and were about to leave, you heard two pairs of footsteps and a door closing. The lock clicked.

Someone came into the bedroom. If you had to guess based off of the footsteps and your previous encounters, it was a couple. It would be awkward, but you could just hurry out, apologize, and get back to the work.

“Check the bathroom,” you heard a man say in Japanese.

Japanese? It had to be the target.

“There’s no one here,” snapped a female voice, also in Japanese.

That was definitely his wife.

“Just do it.”

“Fine.”

You grabbed your clutch and quickly climbed into the enormous bathtub at the far end of the room. If you laid yourself flat against the bottom, no one should be able to see you if they stood at the entrance. You were pretty sure she wouldn’t even go past the door frame.

You were right. You heard her heels approach the bathroom, but she quickly said, “There’s no one,” after. Her footsteps sounded farther away now, and you took that opportunity to get out your phone.

You messaged Minho the directions to the room.

You: They're in the bedroom. East wing, second floor.

Minho: Wife too?

You: Yes.

Minho: Omw

Minho: Are you in danger?

You: No, I’m hiding in the bathtub.

Minho: Is that sarcasm?

Minho: Are you hurt? Have they spotted you?

You: No! Why are you asking? Just get here quickly.

Minho: No reason. Text me if anything changes.

You frowned at your exchanges of texts. A proud field agent such as Minho wouldn’t be wasting time idly asking questions that didn’t pertain to the end goal. You shook your head at his skills and decided to prepare for the killing.

As you loaded up the first syringe of tetrodotoxin, you listened to the argument between the target and his wife. Yes, an argument and not a makeout session. It was a loud one with lots of shouting and accusations. You learned that the target and his wife’s marriage was on the rocks. He apparently was caught cheating with his wife’s sister. You were busy loading up the second syringe when you learned that said sister was possibly pregnant.

If only they weren’t going to die. You could have made an obscene amount of money from the blackmail.

Your phone, face up on your stomach, turned on with a message from Minho: “Get ready.”

You tucked your phone into the waistband of your spandex and positioned both syringes between your fingers. Then you pushed yourself up and out of the tub. When you glanced into the bedroom, you could see that the target was still being berated by his wife. You hid behind the door and hoped no one would notice the door slightly moving. Now all you had to do was wait for Minho to arrive.

The shouting suddenly stopped, and the target called out, “Occupied,” in Korean. He repeated it when Minho presumably persisted trying to open the door.

“Yoshifumi Shido! Is that you?” you heard Minho shout. What kind of stunt was he going to pull now? “I wanted to discuss my business plans with you.”

“I’m busy right now.”

“I think you’ll really like it! Just hear me out!”

“I’m busy!” the target snapped.

From the tiny gap between the door and the wall, you saw Minho walk in. He must have finally picked the lock. He shut the door behind him, and the lock clicked shut again.

“Yoshifumi Shido!” Minho loudly exclaimed with his arms open. He began walking towards the target. “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I thought you locked the door,” the target roughly said in Japanese to his wife.

“I did!” she replied. She was confused, and her face was tinted red from screaming.

They bickered for a minute about whether she did lock the door or not. Their voices were hushed, but even you could tell they were both making accusations about each other. All the while, Minho stood in front of them with a patient smile, pretending he didn’t know what they were talking about.

Finally, the target ordered his wife, “Go fix your hair or something while I sort this out.”

Oh, how perfect.

The wife huffed in both anger and annoyance but complied. She snatched her purse from the bed and stormed away. Minho, seeing her leave, launched into his fake business plan. Through the gap, you carefully watched the wife approach the bathroom. You felt bad for her; she was innocent in all this. But there could be no witnesses to the crime.

You waited until she was just inside the bathroom. She was mumbling to herself, and she sounded like she was sniffling. You held your breath in fear of ruining your plan. Her back was turned, and she seemed focused on her thoughts.

Perfect.

Quick as lightning, you clamped your free hand over her mouth and dragged her behind the door. She tried to scream and flail, but you held her tight as you injected her with tetrodotoxin. At that moment, Minho started talking loudly to drown out the noise. He didn’t need to though. She stopped trying to scream and started gasping for air. You could see how dilated her pupils were. Seconds later, she suddenly convulsed and went limp. You placed two fingers on her neck, and sure enough, she had no pulse. You released your hold on her, and the body fell to the floor with a loud thud.

“What was that?” you heard the target say. “Kaguya?” he called.

“I’m sure it was nothing,” Minho replied. “Anyway, in the third quarter--”

The target apparently did care about his wife. He cut Minho off with a glare. His wedding ring flashed in the light, and you positioned the next syringe in your hand.

“Kaguya? Answer me!”

When there was no reply, he stalked towards the bathroom, Minho following close behind. You watched the target closely. He saw the red dress first, the skirt spilled onto the marble floor like blood. He rushed inside and shouted his dead wife’s name.

He never saw it coming.

Minho swiftly punched the back of his head. The target cried out and crumpled onto the floor. He was hurt but not dead yet. Minho pinned him down while you stepped over the body. The target, dazed but still conscious, threatened vengeance, begged for mercy, promised money, but his pleas fell on deaf ears. You injected the poison into his neck with no hesitation. He thrashed around, but it was useless. He was dead a few seconds later.

“No pulse,” Minho reported. He got up from the ground and turned to you. “We’re done here.”

“Finally,” you muttered as you gathered the rest of your belongings. You wrapped the used syringes in a hand towel and placed it in your clutch. Being discreet meant leaving no evidence behind. “Call the car.”

Minho, who already left the bathroom, called over his shoulder, “Later. We have to get out first.”

You turned off the light and shut the bathroom door. The maids-- you assumed this giant place had maids-- would be getting an unpleasant surprise tomorrow. Minho stood in front of the vanity mirror, ruffling his hair like he did in the hotel room.

“Are you done?” you asked. Not that you minded waiting for him, as long as he didn’t catch you watching the way he fluffed his hair. “Let’s go.”

“Yeah, lets go.”

You placed your hand habitually on his arm again when you realized your cover wasn’t as important anymore. You quickly shot a look at Minho. If he minded, he didn’t show it. Still, you decided it was better to walk on your own for now. You lifted up your hand, but he pressed it down again.

“Just a little longer,” he muttered. “We’re not safe yet.”

“Right,” you mumbled back.

The two of you walked out the door, and you locked it behind you. The hallway was empty, but you couldn’t help but feel that there was a person lurking around the corner. You got flashbacks to your first mission, and all you could think about was potentially being caught and failing.

“You’re being stiff again,” he whispered.

You relaxed your raised shoulders. “No, I’m not.”

“We’ll be fine,” he said, as if he could read your thoughts. “We’re JYP’s best team.”

You almost snorted. “‘Team’ is highly debatable.”

There was a giggle from around the corner, and both of you went silent. Minho’s whole demeanor shifted, and the lazy grin from earlier in the night returned. He slipped his arm to your waist, and you rearranged your own features into something more adoring. Then you heard footsteps coming down the connecting hallway.

A champagne-drunk young woman stumbled in front of the two of you. Still giggling, she sloppily pushed her hair back to get a closer look. Her eyes lit up as if she recognized you, and the anxiety of being caught came flowing back.

“Did you guys have fun?” she slurred, drawing out the ‘u’ in ‘fun.’ At your raised brow and possibly alarmed eyes, she smirked. “It’s okay. Wanna know a secret?” Without waiting for an answer, she leaned forward conspiratorially and whispered, “Everybody hooks up at these parties.”

Minho choked on air for the second time that night, and you tried to control your raging blush. “It-it’s not--”

“Don’t deny it!” she sang out. She stumble-walked forward to you and nodded to Minho. “He’s cute,” she said in a whisper everyone could hear. “Don’t mess it up.”

You opened your mouth to deny everything. “I--”

“We’re going to miss our ride,” Minho smoothly cut in. Thank goodness his head was working because you were pretty sure you were short-circuiting. “Nice meeting you,” he said before ushering you down the hall.

The woman only called out, “Byeeee!”

It was silent between you and Minho again. You placed the back of your free hand against your warm cheeks. The thought of being in a relationship with Minho was ridiculous, although you had to admit he was a little cute. That horrifying realization wasn’t the only part that made your head spin though. The sound of music grew louder, but that didn’t distract you from your swirling thoughts.

Don’t mess it up.

She was talking about the perceived relationship, but you were thinking about the cover. You almost did mess it up. You were so close to denying the woman’s claims, and you almost blew your cover. Again.

“I’m sorry,” you blurted out. Though right then likely wasn’t the best time; there were more people in the vicinity. “For almost… ruining the night.”

“It’s almost over anyway.” It was soft and assuring, so you decided to take it as an acceptance.

The stairs to the main floor were in sight. To your annoyance, there were still people congregating on the stairs, but at least they did not seem to be on the verge of collapsing. Minho pulled out his phone and dialled a number. Even with loud music playing, you could hear the keypad tones. He murmured into the device for a minute before sticking it into his pocket again.

“Changbin’s going to take us back to headquarters since he’s nearby. Chaeyoung needed a hotel room last minute for her cover, so HQ just gave her ours.”

“But we have our stuff at the hotel.”

“Chaeng already sent it back to HQ.”

You hummed a response, and the two of you walked down. There was a faint smile on Minho’s face, and you tried to keep one on yours. He made fake conversation with you, asking if you wanted to have pufferfish for dinner tomorrow night. You squealed with equally-fake excitement loud enough that turned several heads. You rattled off a list of non-existent outfits that you could wear, hoping that your rambling would be enough to fill the emptiness in the air.

You stopped talking once the both of you made it to the curb. There was no one outside; the party had only just begun. However, he made no move to remove his arm from your waist.

“You did better than I thought,” he said, looking directly at you. “You didn’t screw up.”

“This is a joint mission,” you replied, looking back at him. He meant it as a compliment, but after his previous digs, it didn’t feel like one. “It’s not dependent only on me.”

“You were the one that had to take him out. It’s mostly on you.”

“That’s not how joint missions work.”

“I’m the field agent here. Best in the business, mind you. I know how they work.”

“Then you should know that success depends on both of us.”

“The company knows I’m capable. You know I’m capable. It’s not my success that’s in question. It’s you that they’re worried about.” He brushed your cheek free of an eyelash and softly added, “It’s you that I’m worried about.”

“Oh,” was the only reply you could think of. You looked down at the pavement and noticed how the tip of your heels lined up with the cracks.

“I can’t protect you all the time. If something happens to you, I can’t save you. What would have happened if you got caught in the bedroom?” he continued. You swore he held you tighter.

You stood there, quiet. Everything he did and said tonight conflicted with everything from the first time you had worked with him. You thought he hated you, and you were sure you hated him. You felt him staring at you, and when you glanced up at him, and suddenly, you weren’t so sure.

“What?” you tried to snap, but it only came out as a whisper.

“I just thought you looked pretty in the moonlight.” He didn’t seem like he was teasing the least bit.

You were even more confused now. And you told him so. “I don’t understand you! Why are you being so… sweet now? You hate me!” You stepped out of his hold and pointed a finger at his chest. “Don’t tell me it’s for the cover either! Because we both know it’s a lie!”

“People change,” he replied. “Like how you’re better at field work and like how I have a greater appreciation for your skills now. You know why.”

“There’s no universe where you and I actually like each other,” you harshly laughed. “You hate me.”

“Maybe I do.” He reached out and cupped your face. You were too shocked to do anything but stand frozen. “I hate that you’re smart and pretty and funny and make me lose focus.” He traced your jaw with his thumb as he continued listing his reasons. “I hate that you make me deviate from my plans and make me worry about you. I hate that you make me feel weak whenever you’re around. I hate that you’re too stupid to realize it.”

“I have a PhD in Chemistry,” you breathed as he placed his forehead on yours. You could count his eyelashes and see the ring of black around his iris.

“I know.” His lips were centimeters away from yours. Just like he did on the balcony, he said, “Apologies in advance.”

You saw him twist his head a few degrees. Out of the corner of your eye, you saw Changbin’s car’s headlights approaching and wished Minho would hurry. He dropped his left hand and slowly traced your jaw with his right. His lips parted and then stretched into a smirk.

“Just kidding!” he jeered.

Changbin pulled up, and Minho removed his hand from your face, his index finger drawing one final line before flicking your chin up. You inhaled sharply and recoiled at the motion.

“You’re not too mad, right?” he called as he got into the passenger seat. The smirk was still there when he said, “I’ll see you back at headquarters.”

The car sped down the street, leaving you at the curb. You could only watch the taillights grow dimmer. Your fingers twitched, and you felt yourself loading up your third syringe of the night.

You had plenty of poison to go around, and they all had his name on them.