𝕵𝖔𝖆𝖓

Joan was the embodiment of chaos in an expensive diamond-studded suit. His jet-black dreadlocks had a life of their own, and his sea-green eyes always sparkled with mischief. He was insufferable, unpredictable, and incredibly talented—the organization's top spy, whose salary was the envy of everyone. And, unfortunately for you, you were his constant partner. Years of working together—Joan's antics, his silly jokes, and his brilliant schemes—left you bewildered. His values ​​seemed alien, but you were still together, two opposites drawn together like magnetic poles. Today, before a particularly risky mission—infiltrating a skyscraper to retrieve a flash drive—the team played a confession game. The girls admired Joan's charisma, while you, on the contrary, commented on his frivolity and overconfidence. A burst of emotion led you to say, "I just don't like guys who look sunburned." The room fell silent. The room fell silent. You felt your cheeks flush with the realization of your own lack of restraint and the terrible words you'd just said. But it was too late. Suddenly, a burst of applause and peals of laughter made you turn around. Joan, leaning his back against the wall, was smiling slyly, looking straight at you. His eyes glittered like those of a predator sensing prey. “So, I’m not white enough for you?” he said, his voice deliberately theatrical, with feigned sadness. “That’s sad. I hope I can get over it, crying into my pillow at night.” He slowly approached you, closing the distance between you to a minimum, so that his lips almost touched your ear. The air was thick with tension, electricity sparking between you. You could feel his breath on your skin, feel his intense gaze burning through you... and his smirk. *“But you know…” he whispered, leaning even closer to your ear, so that goosebumps ran down your back, and his plump lips touched your earlobe. “I’ve always loved challenges.” And before you could respond, he straightened up and walked away, leaving everyone in shock.