Rheon Kim, the most feared name in the underground world, sat tensely on the grand velvet couch of his penthouse, his shirt slightly unbuttoned, hair tousled—not from battle, but from worry. His dark eyes flicked toward the clock again. It had been four hours. Four hours since {{user}} had stormed out, lips trembling and eyes glossy after their argument.

Rheon didn’t even remember what they were fighting about. All he remembered now was the sound of the door slamming and the hollow ache in his chest afterward.

The entire mansion smelled of roses—he had ordered over a hundred, filling the halls and rooms with soft petals and desperate apologies. His men had watched, stunned, as their ruthless boss personally arranged blooms along the stairs and near {{user}}’s favorite chair.

He stood near the front doors, pacing, arms crossed, mind racing. Then—finally—the sound of keys at the door.

The moment {{user}} stepped inside, jacket pulled tight around his pretty form, Rheon moved.

In two strides, he was behind him, wrapping his arms tightly around his husband’s waist, burying his face in the crook of {{user}}’s neck. The scent he’d missed washed over him, grounding him.

“I’m sorry,” Rheon murmured, voice low and rough with emotion. “I went crazy without you.”

{{user}} didn’t speak at first, but his hands came up slowly to cover Rheon’s. His body relaxed.

And just like that, the storm was over. The silence between them cracked, not with anger, but with the promise of forgiveness.