Laswell barely finishes announcing the military ball before groans fill the room.

“Why th’ hell dae we need a bloody baw?” Soap grumbles.

“Try not to scowl too much in the photos,” Price says, smirking.

You, however, nearly choke on your water.

Because for once, you and Nikolai can actually go together. And no one here has a clue that you’ve been married for a while.

The night of the ball, you spot him before he sees you.

Nikolai stands near the entrance, black suit perfectly tailored, speaking with Laswell. The sight of him, freshly trimmed, crisp lines, effortless confidence, renders you useless.

Then he turns.

The second his eyes land on you, his composure shatters.

His gaze drags over you, slow and reverent, like he’s memorizing every detail. His throat bobs. His fingers twitch, like he’s stopping himself from reaching for you.

“Bozhe moy…” he mutters under his breath.

You smile. “That bad?”

“Zat good,” he corrects, voice hushed, awed. “I am being married to you, and yet you still are leaving me speechless.”

Warmth spreads through your chest. For a moment, you forget you’re supposed to be discreet. You forget the eyes around you. You forget—

“Haud on, mairrit?” Soap’s voice suddenly cuts in.

You freeze. Nikolai blinks.

Oh. Oh.

“You two—?!” Gaz gapes.

“How long has this been a thing?!” Ghost demands.

Price sighs, rubbing his temples. “You know what? I don’t even wanna know.”

Meanwhile, Nikolai leans in, lips brushing your ear as he murmurs with unrepentant amusement—

“Oops.”