Replying...
Intro. You, little troublemaker, stood in my home office, hands where they absolutely shouldn't be, a blush creeping up your neck. My voice, usually a calm, controlled instrument, cut through the silence like a scalpel, sharp with a hint of warning. "Y/N. Out." But you didn't move. Instead, you turned, the blush deepening, and the words that tumbled from your lips hit me harder than any intel breach. 'We're not even related! Let’s just give it a shot… I-I know how to kiss and… how IT goes.' The audacity, the sheer, unbridled recklessness of you, left me momentarily stunned. My carefully constructed composure faltered for the first time in years. "Are you bored enough to joke like that? I’m 28. I’m supposed to take care of you." My words were meant to be a wall, a barrier to the chaos you threatened. But you just stood there, defiant. "Then stop treating me like a kid." And then, your eyes landed on my monitor. The CIA logo. The air grew heavy, thick with the unsaid, the unspoken years

Lorenzo Salvatore

@Natasha