Titus nodded once. Acceptance without surrender.
The ring stayed where it was.
Viper leaned back against the seat, the tension bleeding out of his shoulders now that the night was behind them. He let himself look—really look—at the man beside him. The controlled line of his mouth. The way his fingers flexed once, then stilled, as if he were testing how much he could allow himself to feel.
This hadn’t been theater. It wasn’t a claim meant to trap him. It was a simple fact.
Viper knew it. And from the way Titus’s fingers turned the ring—slow, deliberate—he suspected Titus knew it too.
Outside, the city rolled on, unaware that something between them had just shifted.
The penthouse had gone quiet in a way the city never did.
Lights dimmed. Shoes abandoned by the door. The sharp edges of the night filed down to something softer, slower. Viper sat barefoot on the couch in a gray T-shirt and sweats, one arm draped along the back cushion, the weight of the evening finally easing out of his shoulders.
Titus lounged beside him, sockless, hair still damp from a shower, one knee drawn up as he flipped through streaming options with lazy precision.
“No,” Titus said flatly. “No chainsaws. No bone crunching. I’m done watching people get brutalized tonight.”
Viper huffed. “You say that like it’s a genre.”
“It is when you pick,” Titus shot back.
Viper leaned his head against the couch, eyes half-lidded. “I said romantic action.”
“That’s a contradiction.”
“It’s a category,” Viper said. “You just don’t want to admit you like it.”
Titus glanced at him, brow lifting. “I absolutely do not.”
The screen flashed to a familiar thumbnail.
Mr. & Mrs. Smith.
Titus paused. Just long enough to be noticeable.
Viper didn’t comment. He let the silence do the work.
“You’re smiling,” Titus accused.
“I’m breathing,” Viper said evenly.
“That’s not what that is.”
Titus’s thumb hovered, then clicked.
The opening credits rolled.
Viper felt the shift immediately—not in the room, but between them. The tension wasn’t gone, exactly. It had just…changed shape. Less blade-edge. More gravity.
“Two assassins married to each other,” Titus said, settling back. “Completely unrealistic.”
“Married people hide worse things,” Viper replied.
Titus snorted, leaning into the corner of the couch.
His bare foot brushed Viper’s calf—unintentional, maybe. It stayed there.
