[Not the exact prompt. This was my first assignment for my Intro to Fiction class at PVA, so I ran with it. And, if you know who these characters really are(Tyson and Sergei are replacement names), you need to keep your mouth shut. I love you <3 have fun.]

“I’m not an actor, Sergei, and you goddamn know it,” Tyson seethes, eyes wide in the darkness of the ballroom corner he had ducked into. “If you make me talk to anyone, I will personally blow this whole place up and make you work with Jack every single day of your life for the rest of forever.”

Sergei’s mouth twists into a frown, but his eyes crinkle with amusement. “So dramatic, Tyson. Not like they are going to eat you, big strong government agent,” he says, reaching up to adjust Tyson’s tie from where he had pulled it loose in a nervous tic.

“Just- oh my god, okay,” Tyson huffs, looking over his friend’s shoulder at the high-life folk puttering around talking nonsense about the upcoming auction. He can’t believe he’s so enraptured by a guy who can’t clock it when he sees it. “Tabloid reporter, dog statue by the main entrance,” he says, nodding his head in that direction. Sergei looks over, and sure enough, there’s some young, bright nobody scribbling on a tiny notepad as the world twirls around her. “Another by the bar,” he continues, crossing his arms. “If I slip up and say something stupid, they will find out by the horrible power of tabloid journalism, and it will end up on some forum, and I will be fired. Got it?”

Sergei tilts his head slightly. Which means that he’s just ignored everything Tyson just said.

“Я не глупый,” he replies gently, stepping forward. The refractions of the crystal chandelier above them glide over his black suit like water. “Хочешь, чтобы я говорил, я буду говорить. Но тебе нужно остаться.” _I’m not stupid. If you want me to talk, I will talk. But you need to stay._

“No. No! You don’t need me here. We have comms, they have cameras I can hack, and you don’t need me to follow you around like I’m lost.”

“Okay, Tyson,” Sergei says, folding his hands in front of himself, and oh no he’s about to do the thing. The long, ridiculous spiel that absolutely should not work, but-

“You are going to leave and somehow get past security,” He starts, and Tyson immediately groans and scrubs his hands over his face, sighing heavily through his nose. “And I will get myself lost in this ridiculous mansion, and then I will get shot,” he continues, cheerfully ticking off his fingers, “and stabbed, and maybe even kidnapped, and then I will die, and it will be all your fault because you’re being a pussy."

A woman passing by makes a strange face at him, but Sergei either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care.

Tyson laughs dryly, and he tries leveling him with one of his signature _‘seriously?’_ looks, but Sergei’s expression doesn’t change.

“Come on, Tyson. I promise nothing will happen.”

Tyson sighs again. Looking around, he notices that most of the guests have moved to the lower terrace to dance, the orchestra having switched to a slower melody at some point. Sergei taps the side of his face, an unsaid _pay attention to me._ Tyson swats his hand away, blinking up at the other man with a raised eyebrow.

“And if I say yes?”

Sergei shrugs. “I won’t kill anyone.”

Tyson drops his face into his hands again, palms pressing into his eyes. “Hmmph,” he mumbles, unbelievably swayed by Sergei’s godawful attempt at convincing him.

Everybody’s seen this part in movies. This looks like several bad decisions, and he’s about to make them.

“You’re the worst,” Tyson sighs, dropping his hands, and Sergei’s face lights up with glee. “Let’s go.”