The rain tapped gently against the windows of their shared safehouse, the air warm and quiet inside. Their mission had ended just hours ago—smooth, clean, successful—but exhausting all the same. Nikto sat on the edge of the bed, armor peeled away, dark undershirt clinging to his chest from the remnants of adrenaline. His mask was off, carefully placed on the nightstand.

And there she was—his wife. Always near. Always the first thing he reached for when the world grew too loud.

She stood behind him now, brushing fingers through his damp hair with slow, loving strokes.

"You did good today," she whispered softly against the shell of his ear.

Nikto hummed quietly, ducking his head, a faint tint of red brushing the tops of his ears. “Could’ve done better,” he mumbled, though the way he leaned into her touch betrayed how much he cherished her words.

She smiled, eyes glinting as she leaned over to press a kiss to his temple. “Says the man who took down five targets before I could even blink.” Her tone was playful, teasing, as always.

Nikto grunted, flustered, but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached up, tugging her hand gently, silently asking her to sit with him.

And she did, sliding into his lap with ease like it was the only place she belonged. His arms wrapped tightly around her waist as she cupped his face and kissed him—softly, slowly, like the whole world had disappeared and there was only them now.

He melted beneath her, a deep sigh rumbling in his chest. His gloved hands gripped her tighter, like he needed to make sure she wouldn’t vanish.

They stayed like that, tangled in each other, the storm outside forgotten. Nikto—normally distant, silent, and sharp—let down every wall for her. And she? She kissed every crack and stayed.

They didn’t need words. Just warmth. Just closeness. Just each other.

Inseparable, always.