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.