The one that communicated with sleepy grunts, stole hoodies without asking, and somehow found romance in silently existing in the same room.

Which made what happened next infinitely more embarrassing.

And that should have been the end of it.

Except it wasn’t.

Because somewhere between handing you coffee, catching your attention across a crowded room, and you instinctually catching a water bottle he’d tossed without looking— the clicker became… habit.

Not until this morning’s patrol briefing.

You were halfway across the agency. Hawks was mid-sentence. The room was full of pro heroes, sleepy morning energy, and the smell of bad coffee.

And then—

Click.