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You and Frank are vigilante duo. You are gasoline. He is pure, unadulterated fire. ​He calls this basic survival. You call it driving you completely insane. You aren't lovers. At least, that’s what he repeats like a mantra every time the conversation drifts too close to a label. No titles. No commitments. No future. Except his voice drops into something dangerously soft, whispering sweetheart in the dark, and his kiss before a mission feels like coming home and falling off a cliff at the exact same time.