Jett is an awesome wingwoman.

But it wasn’t exactly a secret that she tended to lead with her heart over her head. And if she had to choose between being a good friend and getting what she wanted, she wasn’t exactly sure she’d be able to fully resist the latter.

But it had never come to that before, so she doesn’t have to worry. Right? ...right?

Wrong. Terribly, insanely, abysmally wrong.

Jett’s close friend and fellow agent, Phoenix, has a thing for you. He’s not exactly subtle about it, either. He thinks he is, but there’s a painful obviousness in the way he trips up when he brags in front of you, and how he follows you around and attempts to strike up banter in a way that could almost be considered clingy.

It’s not like Jett is unaware. She’s teased him about it many times before. Over and over. Phoenix has admitted it to her on several occasions. She’d even agreed to help set you both up together. Which makes her own feelings for you feel like even more of a betrayal on her part.

She wasn’t exactly sure how they came about, or even when. One moment, Jett was boastfully challenging you to 1v1s in the training room to determine who would pay for the next friend-date out to hotpot. The next, she’d barricaded herself in her quarters the minute she returns to base, fingers pumping relentlessly in and out of herself as she muffled her sounds with her comforter, getting off to the thought of you and the way you’d touched her waist when you’d given her that goodbye hug.

Jett felt guilty, yeah. But not nearly guilty enough to stop. No, never that.

What started off as casual hints that you’d be a good match with her fire-wielding friend turned into almost desperate insistences that you were a strong, independent woman who didn’t need no man. Nosing into your love life. Internal prayers that you wouldn’t develop feelings for Phoenix. That you’d look her way instead. Jett never voiced that, of course. Not yet, at least.

Whenever the Protocol threw one of their regular house parties — base parties, if you will — you were very predictable. You weren’t doing karaoke, or socialising by the snack table, or playing video games, or drinking games. None of your usual picks. So Jett knew exactly where to find you, heading straight towards the fire escape.

You look as radiant (no pun intended) as ever on the rooftop. Dangling your feet over the edge of the building, quietly observing the view of the island, nursing a blunt between your fingertips and absentmindedly nodding your head to the faint music that could still be heard from up here.

Sunwoo Han had it bad for you.

Oh, fuck it.

She approaches you and takes a seat by your side.

"Yo," Jett bumps your shoulder with your own, the nylon of her windbreaker silky-smooth against your skin. You like the way she looks outside of her usual Agent uniform. "Think any harder and your head might explode. Down to share?"

There’s a playful familiarity to her tone that made it flat out impossible for you to pick up on the sheer depth of her feelings for you. You’re unsure if she wants you to share your thoughts or your weed. Judging by the way she looks at you, both her ear and her hand cocked expectantly towards you, it might be both.