The soft buzz of the alarm roused the small apartment just past five in the morning. Outside, the city was still yawning awake, the first streaks of dawn casting a pale glow over the streets. Inside, Nox's steady breath mixed with the faint scrape of leather against floor as he slipped on his worn sneakers and stretched taut muscles, still tender where the bullet had grazed him.
Leo was already up, perched near the window with a cup of black coffee, eyes sharp and restless as always. His icy blue gaze flicked to Nox, then back out to the city skyline.
"Come on," Leo said, voice low but firm. Roles have changed "Training. We're losing time."
Nox grunted his assent and followed. Their morning routine was carved into muscle memory by now—stretches, weights, and sparring drills that set their bodies humming and minds sharpening. But today, Leo's focus was razor-thin, his irritation simmering under every controlled movement.
After training, the small kitchen filled with the smell of strong coffee and burnt toast as Leo prepared breakfast with robotic efficiency. Nox joined him, leaning lazily against the counter, still feeling the ache from last night's hurried sniper mission—the one Leo had specifically forbade.
"You shouldn't have snuck out last night," Leo finally said, cutting into the quiet.
Nox flinched, spoon paused mid-air. "The wound is healing," he said, voice guarded.
"Not fast enough. Not for you to risk your life on a bullet wound still fresh." Leo's tone was clipped, edged with frustration and something deeper—fear masked poorly by anger.
Nox shifted uncomfortably. He wasn't used to this level of direct confrontation from Leo, and it threw him off balance. "I needed to. The target was moving."
"Next time, you tell me. Don't disappear on me." Leo's eyes narrowed. "You're not invincible."
There was silence, thick and tense, before Nox finally nodded, the awkwardness settling between them like a weight.
College was a blur of bland lectures and paperwork, but Nox found a small escape in his hacking. Between classes, he slipped into the school's security systems, ensuring no one was tailing them or breaching their perimeter. Leo buried himself in legal documents and company registration forms, eyes flickering over pages with meticulous precision.
Ash passed them in the hallway—cool, distant, and aloof. No glances, no acknowledgement. It was unspoken: avoid them like a plague.
They had more pressing matters to care.
After school, they headed to their company headquarters together—a sleek building nestled in the city's industrial zone. Machinery hummed, blueprints sprawled across tables, workers busy with new assignments. The loyal mafia members had been integrated into the staff, each vetted and trained to keep the operation smooth and tight.
Leo's mood didn't lighten, not even with the familiar buzz of productivity. "You can't keep doing this, Nox. Your bullet wound hasn't even fully healed. What if something goes wrong?"
Nox rubbed the back of his neck, the way he always did when unsure. "I'm not reckless. I'm careful."
"Careful isn't enough."
The words hung there as they moved to check the arsenal—a vault of weapons Nox had dubbed "toys." Each piece was carefully selected, deadly in its precision, enough to spark a small war if unleashed.
Later, they headed to the villa for lunch, where Dominik and Leo's father waited. The villa was a brief respite from their double lives—an oasis of calm and stiff drinks, undercut by the constant undercurrent of business talk and security updates.
Dominik, the ever-dramatic right-hand man, eyed Nox's wound and Leo's tight expression with theatrical dismay.
"You two look like you're about to start a war over a scar," he said, voice dripping with mockery.
Leo shot him a glare. "I'm concerned."
Dominik threw up his hands. "Concerned? More like possessive. Honestly, you both could star in a soap opera."
Dinner back at the apartment was a quieter affair. Nox took a deep breath and pulled out a small sketchpad, flipping to a fresh page. With careful strokes, he drew two figures sitting side by side, gazing up at a full moon—their silhouettes familiar in shape, their posture quiet but intimate.
"For last night," Nox said softly, sliding the drawing across the table. "Sorry for sneaking out."
Leo glanced at the sketch, eyebrows raised. "Really? A drawing?"
Nox shrugged, trying not to smile. "It's the best I could do."
Leo scoffed but pocketed the paper without protest.
Later, as the night stretched on, they collapsed onto the couch, the glow of a light comedy flickering across the room. Leo's fingers idly dangled Nox's belly piercing between them, a teasing grin tugging at his lips.
"Why are they acting like that? That makes no sense," Nox muttered, furrowing his brow at the absurd antics on screen.
Leo laughed. "It's comedy, Nox. You're too serious all the time."
Nox crossed his arms, pretending to pout. "I'm trying to understand the human condition."
Leo snorted, shaking his head.
Far from their quiet bubble, Dominik was experiencing his own form of chaos. In the dim light of his office, he pored over the surveillance reports and activity logs with increasing disbelief.
"They're literally acting like an old married couple. What is this?!" Dominik exclaimed, tossing down the file. "Nox looks like he's walking on eggshells, and Leo—Leo is borderline petulant."
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing. "Who sneaks out on a sniper mission with a fresh bullet wound? That's insane. And then, at dinner, this… 'sorry' drawing? What is this emotional roleplay?"
Dominik shook his head, muttering to himself. "I don't sign up for this drama. I'm a professional right-hand man, not a soap opera fan. And they've gone soft."
His phone buzzed with a message from Leo's dad, who shared his concerns, which only fueled Dominik's mental meltdown.
"They're too balanced," Dominik grumbled. "Too domestic. Too normal. Where's the chaos? The danger? The tension? I swear, if one more report mentions a movie night or a drawing apology, I'm going to lose my mind."
Back in the apartment, the tension between Leo and Nox began to dissolve into quiet camaraderie. Leo lit a cigarette from Nox's flame, the smoke curling between them.
"Next time, just ask. I'm not here to cage you."
Nox met his gaze, violet eyes steady. "I know. I'll try."
Leo's lips twitched, the barest hint of a smile.
"Good."
Outside, the city pulsed with a million stories—some dangerous, some tender. For now, they had found a fragile peace between them, held together by quiet moments and imperfect apologies.