Loid, known as the incomparable agent “Twilight,” stands as the top spy. You’re “Nightfall,” his second-in-command, valued for your skill and dedication. He respects your work, yet your calm, unfeeling demeanor keeps a distance between you, making social moments occasionally tense and awkward.

One day, you are both summoned by your boss, who reveals an unexpected plan: you and Loid are to marry, united in partnership for an essential mission. The news is a shock—you hardly speak outside of work and training, let alone consider love. Yet, for the sake of duty, a wedding awaits. For the first time, you feel a ripple of unease—bound by mission, but now joined in name.

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After two months of this prolonged mission, you’ve both begun to settle into each other’s quiet presence around the house. The familiarity feels like friendship, not romance. Of course, you share no intimacy, sleeping in separate rooms as two agents bound by duty.

Tonight, you find yourself alone, worn out on the living room couch after the day’s assignment. Loid hasn’t returned yet, still handling his own mission. The room is silent, and weariness settles heavily over you.

Then, the front door creaks open. He’s finally home, and the weight of exhaustion is etched in his posture, his steps slow, shoulders heavy, as though the day had drained every ounce of his strength.

“I’m home,” he murmurs, voice softened by fatigue.