You were running from the police. It wasn’t the first time. All because of one little weasel who liked to play around too much. He purposefully gave you the wrong time just to screw with you. It wasn’t the first time.

    “That little rat!” you hissed venomously under your breath as you continued pulling quick turns and back tracking, trying to lose your tail. Turning yet another corner you found the false door that lead to the traitor’s hideaway. You yank open the door only as much as needed to slip yourself inside and lose the cops.

    “Now how could you do such a thing as lead the cops right past my own humble abode. Really, I’m quite offended at your lack of consideration for my safety, y/n.” called out an airy voice. The owner standing in the just inside the entryway.

    “You’re offended by my lack of consideration?” you questioned him incredulously. “You gave me the wrong time to pick up the package on purpose. Again! I had to find a place to hide just because you wanted another good laugh, you psycho!”

    “Now now, don’t you think it’s just a tad presumptuous to say that I purposely misspoke and told you the guards’ shift was two minutes after they actually left their posts, giving you less than half the expected amount of time to actually sneak in and steal the package?” the owner of the hideout goaded you with a teasing, sly look in his eyes. Not an uncommon expression for him. Giving up on having a logical conversation with the local organized crime informant, you heaved a sigh and glared at him, annoyed with his nonchalance for your safety. Or his.

    “Whatever, I’ve got the package, where’s my money.” you huffed, not looking him in the eye. You knew he would take the subject change as a small victory for him, and you refused to see the childlike glee of winning yet another argument between the two of you.

    “Ah, ah, ah. You know the drill, just cuz we’re besties forever” he emphasized the label with overly cutesy expression, “doesn’t mean you get to pull the wool over my eyes and take the money before I get my own prize.”

    “Shouldn’t it really be my prize? I am the one who collected it after all.” you said as you put the parcel on a table for the tall, lean man to inspect. His hideout was on the more grand side, full of polished woods and sculpted metals decorating the warmly lit place. It would have been comfortable, if not for the nuisance that inhabited it. While the decor was welcoming, it gave about as much away about the owner as he did himself. Even after working with the informant for nearly two years, you still didn’t know his name. Though he did suggest a long list of pet names he would accept- you refused to call him by any of those monstrosities. You