A ginger-haired female fidgeted with her dark maroon dress, creasing the petticoat of the clothing. Her blue eyes darted at the front of the line, the urge to take the dress off seizing her mind.

The line inched forward, and a sudden wave of nausea rolled over her mind as she subconsciously tugged at the black collar around her neck, a habit she had developed over the past years.

Names were being called, and she readjusted her elaborate black mask for the nth time during the past hour.

"Mr. Killowo of Ariville!" The butler at the door of the mansion called out in a professional voice while the first person in the line descended the stairs to the ballroom.

Cold sweat formed at the base of her neck and she reached for the hem of her dress, her desire to be released from the red heels she wore underneath the piece of wretched clothing increasing per second.

Her hand stopped midway as a hand was placed on her shoulder, her back stiffening as she whipped her head around.

"First time here?" A man in formal attire asked with a thick Russian accent. His mask was in the shape of a bird's wings, jutting out from the curves of his face so she could only see his unusual dark brownish olive green eyes.

"Uh, yes," she hastily replied.

"No need to be nervous. It's only a masquerade." He smiled, patting her shoulder.

She was not nervous.

The sweat and her jittery movements weren't due to anxiety.

No, it wasn't because of the dress (though partially it was).

And it most definitely wasn't due to constipation.

"So, what's your name?"

The ginger-haired female tugged at her white gloves out of irritation. Why won't he just leave her alone? If this kept up, her agitation would get the best of her and she wouldn't hesitate anymore to punch him in the face.

"Ms. Nakahara," she responded with ease.

"Well, Ms. Nakahara." The man narrowed his eyes, something that the girl found lowkey suspicious. "It was nice meeting you, but I'm afraid you'll have to be on your way." He softly pushed her to the doors of the mansion, causing her to almost stumble over because of her heels.

"Ms. Chuuya Nakahara of the HighLands!"

Chuuya squinted at the myriad of chandeliers in the room as the trumpet blew, announcing her arrival.

Wobbling on her heels, Chuuya proceeded down the stairs, hoping that no one would notice her strong grip on the railing that helped her steady herself.

Fucking heels. Although they made her taller, they hurt like fuck and the dress didn't make anything any better.

Forcing her lips into a fake smile, the ginger-haired female dipped into a curtsey in front of the two hosts, he movements agile and steady.

Don't slip. Don't slip. Don't slip. She silently prayed.

The knot in her chest loosened as the hosts turned to the next person, granting her entrance into the dance floor.

People were dressed in an abundant amount of colors, their faces all hidden with exquisite masks of all kinds, varying from bird feathers to impressive designs.

The chandeliers were made of real diamonds, illuminating the room with a dim yellow glow as classical music echoed through the ballroom.

And oh, god- There was a bar. And it served red wine. The temptation was irresistible and Chuuya almost bolted across the marble floors.

Just when she was about to take a step toward the saloon, a gleaming black suitcase caught her eye out of her peripheral vision.

Her gaze stayed glued to the bag as she weaved through the crowd to get to her destination.

The suitcase was outlined with a familiar gold strip and the owner of this suitcase was a man, his face covered with a white mask.

Chuuya met the man's eyes, and her breath caught in her throat.

That's it. That was him. That was who Chuuya was sent here to find. Chuuya's hand reached to the corset of her dress, the reassuring weight of the gun heavy at her side.

Now all she needed to do was to steal the suitcase, and this whole ordeal would be over.

Of course, she wasn't technically 'stealing' the suitcase. It had been stolen from her organization a couple of days ago, so it wouldn't be called stealing if it was theirs in the first place.

Politely rejecting an offer to dance, Chuuya elegantly took a seat at the bar from which she could see the thief.

It didn't seem like the man was overly protective of the case for it was placed idly at his side and his eyes were someplace else.

Chuuya's eyes narrowed as calculations ran through her brain, strategies and similar popping up at the simultaneously.

There were several flaws to her plan, though. Her boss, Rintarou Mori, gave her exactly three hours to get the files back from the thief. By now, it was already eleven P.M., and Chuuya's mission had started at nine. She had approximately one more hour until backup came.

Backup meant more people, and more people meant a commotion, which was what Chuuya didn't want.

By now, it was already eleven P.M., and Chuuya's mission had started at nine. She had approximately three more hours until backup came.

The second flaw to her plan was that there were guards positioned everywhere, from the restroom doors to the balcony. Security was tight, and there was no way she could possibly snatch the suitcase without anyone noticing.

"'Scuse me, miss?"

Chuuya nearly panicked when she heard a voice speak up from behind her. Her heart rate slowed once she turned to face the old bartender who had just asked the question.

"Yes?"

"Would you like a drink?"

Would she like a drink? Most definitely, yes. Can she, though? No.

But the red wine looked so sweet and her throat was so parched- 

Ah, screw it.

"Yes, please."

"What type?"

"Red wine, please."

The bartender flashed her a tender smile before fulfilling her order. Chuuya accepted it gratefully, thanking the bartender before taking a sip of the wine.

The taste exploded in her mouth and for a moment, she forgot her purpose of attending this masquerade. Looking from beneath her eyelashes, Chuuya scanned the room again, and much to her surprise, the man with the suitcase had disappeared into the bathroom.

Downing the alcohol quickly with the aftertaste still lingering on her tongue, Chuuya speed- walked along the dance floor, her dress undulating behind her.

The man hadn't bothered to take the suitcase with him, which Chuuya found strange. Caution was number one on her list when she went on missions, but with the time limit she had, she didn't care anymore.

Once her gloved hand touched the suitcase, she was halfway through the ballroom, headed for the door.

"STOP! THIEF!"

Oh, shit.

The music stopped and everyone was stunned, their figures paralyzed on the dance floor. The man with the white mask was pointing a finger at Chuuya, his gaze intense.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck.

Chuuya charged up the stairs, the closest exit due to the perusing guards at the door in front of her.

Her heels and dress were slowing her down, but Chuuya had no time to take them off or do anything that would aid her in her escape.

She grabbed the gun in her pocket, aiming it for the chandelier above the guards' heads. Screams erupted from beneath her as the bullet came into contact with the lights, sending it crashing down upon the marble stairs.

Chuuya shot the balcony door, the glass shattering. Her heart rate increased as she looked down at the lawn. Guessing from the height, the fall would be about twelve meters, enough to send a shockwave through her legs, but not enough to break any bones.

"Chuuya Nakahara! Put the suitcase down or we'll shoot!"

Chuuya raised her gun behind her, her face twisted into a scowl.

"Go die, bitch."

Stepping on the balcony rails, she jumped off, her dress flowing upward while she fell. Chuuya had been trained for this since she was small. She doubted that she wouldn't land on her feet-

A searing pain shot through her leg as her ankle twisted sideways, knocking Chuuya down.

Fucking son of a bitch.

Like the idiot she was, Chuuya had forgotten that she was wearing heels.

Gritting her teeth, Chuuya limped toward the trees in the estate, her head cast downward at her leg.

The guards were yelling behind her now, indicating that she didn't have much time. But with a sprained ankle like this, how was she supposed to climb over the estate walls in time? It was literally impossible, even for a trained person like her.

"Ms. Nakahara! Surrender your weapon or we'll shoot!"

Ack. There was that line again. Bold of them to assume that they could shoot her, though.

Chuuya cocked her gun and-

Oh, for fuck's sake.

There were no more bullets.

"I'd rather die then!" She roared her gun still aimed at the guards. They had no idea that she was out of bullets, so the most she could do for now was stall.

"Oh, there you are." A suave voice spoke up from behind her as an arm wrapped around her waist. "I was starting to worry."

What the actual fuck?

Turning around and looking upward (fuck his height, Chuuya thought), the redhead saw brown eyes staring down at him. A black-haired boy was staring at the guards in front of them with a smirk plastered on his face.

What the fuck was he playing at?

"Lord Dazai!" The guards went down on one knee, instantly taking off their hats. "Please excuse our commotion. We were just-"

Dazai waved his hand lazily, brushing off the guard's apology.

"I know what you were doing. It seems like my date for tonight has run off, so I went to find her. And what a coincidence! She happens to run into my arms."

Run into his arms?! What the fuck did he think she was? A damsel in distress?!

"But, she stole one of our guest's suitcase!"

"Stole? Oh, no. I asked her to take it from him. I had been informed that this luggage carries loaded guns. Here. Take a look for yourself."

Gently, Dazai pried Chuuya's stubborn fingers off of the luggage, passing it to the head of the guard.

The guard opened the briefcase, and much to his astonishment, found that Dazai was indeed correct about his assumption.

"F-Forgive us, my lord."

"It's fine, it's fine." Dazai laughed. "Right, my dear? Surely you'll forgive them for their erroneous judgment."

Dear?! Hold the fuck up.

"Right?" Dazai raised an eyebrow, encouraging Chuuya to play along.

Oh, how he hated it.

"Yes, of course." She cleared her throat.

"I'll see to this briefcase myself, thank you." Dazai took the case, dismissing the guards.

They bowed hastily, exiting the garden.

Right after their figures disappeared around the corner of the house, Chuuya snatched the briefcase out of Dazai's hands, limping away.

"Hey, hey. Is that how you treat your savior now?" Dazai chuckled.

"I don't even know you." Chuuya snapped back, the irritating pain in her ankle fueling her rage.

"Aw, dearest," Dazai emphasized, his words dripping with sweet honey. "Won't you join me for a cup of tea before you go? Especially with a limp like that, you really should accept my offer with gratitude."

"Fuck you," Chuuya growled. throwing one of her heels at the male.

"Just one cup of tea?" Dazai wrapped his arm around Chuuya's waist, spinning her until her eyes met his.

"I swear I will kill you." Chuuya raised her good leg, preparing to hit Dazai where the sun didn't shine.

"Please, Ms. Chuuya Nakahara? Or should I say, Mr. Chuuya Nakahara?"

Chuuya froze, his eyes wide in fear. Dazai took off Chuuya's mask and the redhead did nothing to stop him since there wasn't really anything he could do now that Dazai knew his identity.

"Don't think I didn't do research on my guests. There weren't any Ms. Chuuya Nakaharas. Only a Mr. Chuuya Nakahara," Dazai said, playing with Chuuya's mask.

Chuuya bared his teeth at Dazai, struggling to get out of his grip.

"I'm late for work. Let me go."

"Work? At this hour? You could get caught on the streets pretty easily at night, miss."

"Well, sir. I'll be glad to inform you that I can manage on my own." Chuuya turned away, his bad leg weak with pain.

"I beg to differ then," Dazai said, scooping Chuuya up by the small of his back and the back of his knees.

Chuuya's face flushed, flailing his legs.

"LET. ME. GO!"

"At least let your savior help you with your sprained ankle." Dazai rolled his eyes in amusement.

"I don't even fucking know you."

"Well, then. Let me introduce myself." Dazai looked down at Chuuya while he walked back to the building, the suitcase secured in Chuuya's arms. "My name is Dazai Osamu, the son of the hosts of this party and also the so-called 'lord' of this mansion. I like suicide and dislike dogs."

"Suicide?" Chuuya blubbered, averting his gaze from Dazai's.

"It might hit people hard when I first tell them that, but I've been naturally born with the urge to commit suicide."

Okay. What.

"What about you, miss?"

"God-fucking-damn it. Stop calling me 'miss'."

"Ooh. A feisty woman with a foul tongue." Dazai continued to tease the raging redhead. "And short, too!"

"WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU CALLING SHORT?!" Chuuya's eyebrows creased. Height was his most sensitive topic, and he was being teased by a suicidal maniac for heaven's sake.

"Welcome back, Lord Dazai." Two maids bowed as Dazai entered the room.

Dazai dipped his head slightly as a sign of respect. Chuuya was just surprised at the fact that they didn't ask about him or why Dazai had brought him back.

They ascended a flight of stairs and into a large corridor in which Dazai pointed was the East wing of the house.

Closing the door behind him, Dazai placed Chuuya on his bed, rummaging through his closet.

"I don't need your help," Chuuya said, attempting to stand up by his own. His ankle immediately shrieked with pain, his knees buckling underneath him.

"Take it easy. Sprained ankles don't magically heal. And you certainly can't take care of yourself without my help." Dazai pushed Chuuya back onto the bed, sitting at his side.

Taking a roll of bandages, salve, and a piece of wood, Dazai tended to Chuuya's wound, humming softly as he did so.

With surprising gentleness, Dazai finished with a tight knot on the bandage, securing it in place.

"Finished," he said with a sigh. "It'll only take about three weeks to heal, and then you'll be fine."

Chuuya blinked once. Twice. Three times. He had never been in a situation like this before and he most certainly didn't know how to respond properly without offending the other.

"Th-Thank you." The statement came out more like a question, but nonetheless, it earned a satisfied smile from Dazai.

"Well, you should get going, don't you think? You might be late for your job," Dazai smiled slyly.

Chuuya kicked him in the shin. Dazai only laughed and lead him to the door, his face still plastered with that stupid seductive smile of his.

"Goodnight, Chuuya!" Dazai waved gleefully from the door.

"Fuck you, Dazai."