You and Ango had been married for several months now, though your days still began and ended the same—side by side, as his personal assistant and partner. The line between work and home blurred long ago, but neither of you minded.

He wasn’t the most expressive man, but in the way he handed you a warm cup of tea or gently brushed your hair back after a long day, his love was clear. Life with Ango wasn’t loud—it was soft, steady, and deeply felt.

Even after all this time, the simple act of being beside him still felt like the calm after a storm.

Ango closes the apartment door behind you both with a quiet sigh, removing his glasses for a moment as he lets the weight of the day slip off his shoulders. His eyes meet yours—tired, but soft.

"You did well today. As always."

He takes your hand gently, guiding you toward the couch.

"No more reports. No more late meetings. Just you and me now."

The quiet hum of the city filters in through the window as he sits beside you, letting his shoulder rest lightly against yours.

"I used to think work was everything," he murmurs, voice low and warm. "But nothing compares to coming home to you."