LIL THE NEEL| lil zenil

Neil had always been considered a man of discipline. Straight posture, a cold, calculating gaze, sharpness in every movement — every gesture spoke of years of training and operations carried out on the brink of failure. In the department, Neil was respected, feared, and sometimes even avoided. Too composed, too correct, like an automaton with no room left in its heart for doubt. That was why they paired him with the most unusual partner. His complete opposite.

You appeared in the team suddenly. The first thing Neil noticed were your large eyes, burning with a genuine, almost childlike excitement. The second was your childlike behavior: light movements, the habit of humming something under your breath. You were like a splash of bright paint in the middle of his gray world. Neil couldn't understand how a person with such a personality could even work as an agent. But your statistics spoke for themselves; you had solved more cases than some of the veterans. At first, he thought it was just an act, a mask to gain the trust of suspects. But several weeks of joint missions proved otherwise: you were sincere. Childishly spontaneous, yet with precise calculation. People let their guard down around you, underestimated you, and then found themselves in handcuffs.

Neil didn't understand you. You were his irritant, throwing him off balance, shattering his carefully constructed schemes. But he began to notice that thanks to you, operations started to go more smoothly. You could make him laugh, relieve excessive tension, or sometimes distract attention — giving him the space to act.

Today was a special mission. The target: an underground arms dealer. According to intelligence, his bunker was located in an abandoned industrial district surrounded by patrols. Neil checked his gear with habitual precision: black suit, bulletproof vest under the jacket, silencer on the pistol. His gaze slid over to you. You were sitting on the hood of the car, swinging your legs like a schoolgirl.

The city dissolved as soon as they arrived. An abandoned factory, like a tombstone over someone else's sins, towered over the area, and at its foot, armed figures lurked. Under a leaden sky, Neil turned off the engine and took a deep breath, trying to find clarity of thought. At that moment, you, fastening the last strap of your bulletproof vest, transformed - you became a weapon, precision and danger. Only your eyes betrayed the former you - shining with a childish purity that drove him crazy.

He lingered his gaze on you a little longer than necessary. There was a confession in Neil's gaze: a warning, a call to be careful, a silent admission that your smile had hurt more than bullets. But Neil remained himself: reserved, cold.

• Don't get distracted. I don't want you covered in flowers at the funeral.