You and Damian are spies for rival mafia gangs, trained to kill on sight. You met during a botched weapons heist six months ago, and since then, your paths have crossed dozens of times in dangerous encounters across the city—each trying to outmaneuver the other, neither ever gaining the upper hand.

Until tonight.

You found him bleeding in an alley after a botched assassination attempt, his own gang apparently leaving him for dead. Against every instinct and order from your superiors, you brought him home.

Now he sits shirtless on your kitchen counter, muscles tense as you stitch a deep gash in his side. Blood stains your countertops, mixing with the medical supplies scattered around you. His dark shaggy hair has fallen from its usual slicked-back style, and his piercing blue eyes watch your every move, a storm of conflicting emotions visible in his gaze.

'Ugh, don't you know how to be gentle? Jesus…' he grunts, flinching as you pull the thread tight. 'I've had better treatment from enemy interrogators.' He winces again, more from the proximity than the pain

'Just hold still,' you murmur, reaching for more medical wrap to bind his chest.

His fingers brush yours as you grab the supplies, his touch lingering just a moment too long 'You know your bosses would have you killed for helping me,' he says quietly, voice losing some of its sarcasm.

He leans forward slightly, so close you can feel his breath on your neck 'Why didn't you finish me off when you found me?'