He stood, causing the dingy office chair -with fabric beginning to pill on the seat- to noisily roll backwards and permeate the heavy silence building in the room. He crossed the room to her in a few wide steps and cornered her against a wall. Her eyes widened, terrified that maybe she went too far, that maybe she'd end up like the many supers she killed under his watchful eye. How long before he snapped her neck? When would he snap and reduce her to a stain to be removed from the carpet? Mirage held his stare for a few seconds, his expression was unreadable. She glanced toward the exit, her closest means of escape. He placed his arm to the side of her causing thoughts of escape to dwindle. Unbidden, she returned her eyes to his. The tension was agony. "Mirage, I don't even know your real name," he finally said, "but I think you're the closest person I have here. A-and," the stuttering was odd for him. Syndrome always had a plan, and always had swagger. Even his meltdowns seemed to be planned. He was a perfect storm, "I am… sorry."

"For what?" The declaration took her by surprise. Syndrome was never sorry, he joked that he and Jesus were currently fighting for who was more important. It was his turn to look towards the exit, "Sorry for everything, Mirage. Do tell me your name, please?" She didn't answer him. She wasn't too sure what to say. She swallowed the fear rising in her throat, "Why do you want to know?" His brows furrowed in mild frustration. Then, a pink warmth tinted his cheeks. He avoided her gaze. Softly, unsure, he mumbled, "I… I think I really, really, really, really, really," he trailed off. Mirage could hardly believe what she was hearing and wondered if this was going where she thought it was. "Really, really, really, really like you. I like, like you." He bashfully finished, looking into her eyes with a new expression she'd never seen from him before. She wasn't sure how she felt about it. She lifted a brow at his confession, "Like?" She asked, "Is this the third grade?"

"I'm too scared to say the other word," he whispered. His blush deepened and slowly leaned in, like an animal stalking its prey. He closed his eyes and tilted his head, but stopped midway, hesitant. Mirage didn't know what possessed her, but she didn't take time to find out. She pressed her lips to his. Soft and quick. She immediately drew away, bumping her head into the wall behind her. He chased her there, kissing her deeply. He curled the arm he put to the wall behind her head; gently entangling his thick, calloused fingers in her white hair. He tentatively placed his hand on her waist, and she pressed it there with her delicate fingers. Mirage felt herself being subtly pulled away from the wall. The hand he placed on her waist crept to the small of her back. She shuddered under his touch. The distance between the two was growing smaller and smaller. She placed one dainty hand on his chest, the other on his bicep. The kiss deepened. She instigated it. Gently creeping forward, pressing her lips harder to his. Both of his hands pulled her closer; impossibly closer. Her hands grew weary, crushed between their two bodies. She slipped her arms under his, and found a hold on his back. He stirred under her touch, the faint feeling of his shoulder blades quivered beneath her fingers. Their bodies were flush together. They broke apart to catch their breath. "Wow," Syndrome began. His mouth was mere centimeters from her own, she couldn't even see his eyes, "this is perfect. You are perf-" She cut him off. He hated being interrupted, she knew that. She saw what happened to people who cut him off on his bad days. But, the way he melted into her touch -the way he melted into their kiss- indicated she might be able to get away with it. Now was perhaps the worst time to remember a lesson Sister Alejandra gave on the book of Isaiah. It had been years ago. "Woe unto them that call evil good, and good evil; that put darkness for light, and light for darkness; that put bitter for sweet, and sweet for bitter!" She had told her class. It was them. This was sweet. This was bitter. Kissing him made so many memories she didn't know she had circle through her foggy brain. The time she lost her first kiss to a dare to kiss a classmate. When she once held a puppy the wrong way for too long and killed it. Her mother's funeral. The fall out with her father. Losing her virginity in the back of her high school boyfriend's car. Beginning arduous training to be an espionage agent. Tonight. She was pulled out of her thoughts and back to him as they once again broke apart for breath. She leaned her cheek onto his chest, finding her own hands behind him, she truly embraced him. She held him in her arms. Now he was just as trapped as she was. Both had unknowingly trapped one another; both were dragging one another beneath the surface. Both didn't care.

Syndrome gave an experimental pull on Mirage's hair. It was firm but forgiving. Her eyes rolled up, a sinful smile curled her kiss swollen lips, and she breathed out a salacious moan. He gulped, his grip loosening. She realized his relinquished touch and swiftly stepped away from him. "I am so sorry," they said at the same time. "I should've controlled myself," she spewed out. "I didn't know I could make you do tha- pardon?" Syndrome stopped himself. He was blushing bright vermilion not too dissimilar to the shade of his hair, which clashed horribly. His ice blue eyes were blown wide, pupils dilated. He adjusted his pants, which did nothing but pull Mirage's attention to the bulge there. This only served to fluster her further. She quickly swiped a hand through her disheveled hair, but got it caught at the tangled ends, "I merely meant, well, I- hmmm," she stuttered. The estimated foot between them suddenly felt far too large. She missed the way she could feel his hands on her. She missed the way she could feel his labored breathing on her cheek. The sound of her stilettos shuffling on the carpet of his study filled the silence she left behind, but it was gone as quick as it came. "I should've kept it a quick kiss I apologize Syndrome." When he didn't say anything she kept rambling, "And, now it's awkward and I really did not mean to moan, it just felt better than I thought it would. I mean… that was… oh my god." She buried her face in her hands. She wanted to scream. Tentatively, she risked peeking at him between her fingers. A toothy, dorky grin resided where a scowl usually sat. He put his hands on his hips, his head bowed and his shoulders began to shake. He was laughing. It sounded a lot less maniacal than it usually did. "What?" Mirage risked asking, "What are you laughing at?"

"This whole thing," he conceded. "Mirage, control yourself? I was the one who crossed this whole damn room and cornered you!" He took a few steps toward her, but suddenly stepped back. His smile was gone, replaced with disdain and concern, "Oh my god, then I placed my arm between you and the door. Oh god…" He nervously muttered as he pressed his palm between his eyes, "That was a lot more rapey than I meant it to be… oh god. I am so sorry Mirage. I should've thought this out a bit more. I always thought I'd be a lot more romantic than this."

"You've thought about this before?" she took a step closer to him and bit her lip, "you've thought about us before?" He stopped monologuing, his mouth snapped shut and his face burned red. He crossed his arms over his chest. "Wow, this is," he paused, looking for the right word, "embarrassing," he gave her a shy smile. Mirage returned it and closed the gap between them, "First dates usually are," she jokingly murmured. She held out her hand and he quickly took it. Their fingers intertwined. He rubbed his thumb over her's. "First date, huh? I don't think I'd call it that," his voice suddenly had a masculine rasp to it. It was driving Mirage insane. She didn't just want to hold his hand, there were more obscene things to attend to right now. "Then what would you call it?" She purred. He pulled his hand from her touch slowly, as though he couldn't decide whether or not he should. He placed both hands around her waist, pulling her back to his chest. She felt his warm breath on her neck and tilted her head allowing him as much access as she could grant. "I don't really know. For possibly the first time ever, my mind has gone blank," he hummed into her skin. Her eyebrows knit together, aching for intimacy. He pressed a soft kiss to where her shoulder met her neck, leaving a delightful, red hot sensation. He trailed his way up her neck and to her jawline with gentle kisses, each one heavier than the last. Each kiss was more desperate than the last and by the time he got back to her lips, he was kissing her with an ardor she'd never known before. She threw her arms around his shoulders, clasping her hands behind the nape of his neck. He groaned into her mouth and moved his hands to her hips. He stopped again, hesitantly raising his hands from her thin frame. She hastily pressed his hands firmly to where he hesitated and guided them further to her ass. He sighed. She gave a quick press with her tongue to his closed lips. He eagerly opened his mouth, fighting her tongue with his. She felt his teeth beneath her tongue. He closed his lips around her sweet tongue, tasting of breath mints and red wine. She draped her arms over his shoulders once more, pressing one hand into his hair. He lifted her off the ground. She wrapped her legs around him and rolled her hips. The friction made her gasp. He carried her like that a room over (she silently praised herself on forgetting to close the door to his study when she barged in) to his bed. She couldn't even remember what she was pissed at him for.