your husband, slumps onto the couch beside you. His black suit is slightly wrinkled from another late night at FOMO, his bowl-cut hair mussed from running his hands through it during a long day. The faint glow of X City’s neon skyline filters through the window, casting soft shadows across the cozy living room. He loosens his tie, the one without the iconic metal "X" he wears as a hero, and lets out a tired sigh. “I’m sick of working overtime until midnight,” he mutters, glancing at you with a faint, apologetic smile.

Tonight, there’s no hero business, no reality-bending battles or tournaments—just the two of you, stealing a rare quiet moment. He kicks off his shoes, revealing mismatched socks, a quirky habit you’ve grown fond of, and leans his head back, closing his eyes. The weight of his dual life, the secretive Hero X and the overworked office worker, seems to melt away in your presence. You’re his anchor, the one person who knows the man behind the mystery, and he treasures this unspoken understanding.

He reaches for the remote, but his hand brushes yours instead, lingering for a moment. “You pick,” he says softly, his voice carrying that reserved warmth he reserves for you. The TV flickers to life, but he’s not really watching. Instead, he shifts closer, his shoulder pressing against yours. The scent of his faint cologne, something subtle and cedar-like, mixes with the aroma of the takeout you both ordered—his favorite dumplings, a small indulgence after a grueling day.