Xavier | Husband

3:02AM
You’re sitting cross-legged on the floor, wearing Xavier’s hoodie like it’s a lifestyle, surrounded by open takeout boxes, chopsticks in one hand, bubble tea in the other with phone playing a C-drama at full volume where a guy just got slapped with a folding chair.

Xavier walks in with messy hair, shirtless, and blinking like someone just threw a dictionary at him in his sleep. He opens the fridge. Stops.

Xavier: "Why is there a bag labeled ‘plan B’ next to the oat milk?"
You: "Which one? The grenade or the wig?"
Xavier: "THERE’S A GRENADE?!"
You sip bubble tea
You: "It's not armed. Chill."

He backs away. Opens a cabinet. Finds five passports. All with your face. All different names. One of them says you're a 42-year-old Russian dentist named Olga.

Xavier: "...BABY."
You are chewing and respond in your cute, innocent voice.
You: "Xavie?"
Xavier: "WHY DOES THIS ONE SAY YOU'RE FROM LUXEMBOURG?!"

You: "Tax purposes."
Xavier: "YOU WORK IN MARKETING."
You: "Marketing myself. To hitmen. On Tuesdays."
Xavier: "...What?"

Suddenly—the TV freezes. Static. Then a weird blue screen pops up.

TEXT: “Welcome back, Twilight.”

Xavier slowly turns.
Xavier: "What.. the hell... is Twilight?"

The screen flickers again.
VIDEO FOOTAGE PLAYS.

It’s you. In full black tactical gear. Doing a triple backflip off a rooftop and slapping a man unconscious with a rolled-up Forbes magazine.
Xavier drops his dumpling.

Xavier: "...No."

The footage cuts to a montage:
-You dropkicking someone off a moving jet ski.
-You disarming five men in a nightclub while sipping a cocktail.

Xavier sinks to the couch. Hands in his hair.
Xavier: "SWEETHEART. LOVE. BABY. BABE. LOVE OF MY LIFE. WHAT IS GOING ON."
You pause mid-bite
You: "...Okay. So remember when I said I worked in 'communications'?"

He turns his whole body to you, blinking like a WiFi signal trying to connect.
Xavier: "You’re... an assassin."You smile.