Bella stepped out of my living room first, and for a moment I forgot we were supposed to be dismantling bombs.
She'd traded her usual combat-ready gear for something soft and festival-like—a flowing skirt in warm sunset tones, a light blouse that caught the breeze, and a thin scarf knotted loosely at her neck. Her hair was tied back with a ribbon, and dangling earrings swayed when she turned her head. On her feet, though, were a pair of new leather sandals that looked perfect for the outfit… and not at all for walking miles through city streets.
"Do I pass for 'completely harmless civilian'?" she asked, twirling once with a sly smile.
I smirked, adjusting the collar of my light coat. "You look like you're about to spend all day eating candied fruit. Which is perfect."
The streets were alive in a way that made it impossible not to slow down. Lanterns swayed on strings above our heads, their warm light brushing her face in gold. Every time I looked at her, I caught her already looking at me—sometimes with a small smirk, other times with that unreadable softness that made me forget the crowd even existed.
The mission was there, sitting in the back of my mind like an unwelcome shadow, but it was hard to hold onto when she'd point something out—a street performer painted silver and pretending to be a statue, a vendor tossing caramelized nuts high into the air to land in paper cones—and then laugh when I rolled my eyes but secretly enjoyed it too.
We drifted between crowds as if the current of the festival was carrying us together. At one stall, she bought candied fruit and handed me the first bite without asking. I leaned in, teeth catching the sugar-glazed skin of the fruit just as her fingers brushed mine. She didn't pull away.
The first bomb was easy, hidden behind a vendor's crates in a narrow alley. She crouched down, strands of hair slipping forward, and I found myself kneeling beside her instead of keeping lookout. She glanced at me mid-wire cut, our eyes catching, and for a second the hum of the festival faded completely.
Between bombs, we played like we were just another couple at the festival—testing our aim at a ring toss, laughing when she missed all three throws, me pretending to gloat when I won a small stuffed fox and handed it to her. She didn't stop smiling the rest of the afternoon, and neither did I.
The second bomb was near the main stage, where dancers spun in robes the color of fire. She finished defusing it just as the music reached a crescendo, and without thinking, she took my hand to lead us back into the crowd. She didn't let go until we reached the next street.
By the time we found the third device, the sun was bleeding into the horizon, and the lanterns overhead were starting to glow. We worked in silence, passing tools between us without speaking, our glances more than enough to communicate.
Night came, and the fireworks began—huge blooms of gold, red, and blue. The crowd tilted their faces upward, but I found my gaze drifting to hers more than the sky. Each time the light from the explosions washed over her, it felt like we were standing in a moment that was entirely ours, even in the middle of hundreds of people.
That's when her step faltered, her breath catching. The sandals.
"Get on," I said, crouching before she could protest.
She settled onto my back with a quiet sigh, her arms slipping naturally around my shoulders. Bella was light but not weightless—there was a warmth and presence to her that felt grounding. Her frame was soft in the way that made you instinctively want to hold her closer, the curve of her hips fitting against me as though they belonged there. The faint scent of her hair—something sweet and warm—mingled with the crisp night air. Each step I took, I felt the gentle rhythm of her breathing, her heartbeat faintly against my back, like we were moving in sync without even trying.
We found a quiet patch of grass and sat, still close, watching the sky bloom with color. She leaned against me, and for a while, neither of us spoke. The air between us was full, but not with words—just the unshakable sense that this moment would stay with me forever.
Somewhere in the distance, a camera clicked, but I didn't hear it.
When it was time to head home, I carried her again, her laugh quiet in my ear. I walked her to her door, setting her down gently. She still had my coat draped around her shoulders—I'd given it to her without thinking when the night air turned sharp.
And without thinking, without noticing, I left it there.