Zolton hated how calm Ares looked after arguments.

It made him want to throw things.

Their penthouse apartment sat silent except for the rain tapping against the massive windows. Zolton leaned against the kitchen counter with crossed arms, violet hair still damp from the shower he’d taken to cool off. His black shirt hung half-buttoned, exposing the tattoos curling along his ribs.

Ares stood across from him, six-foot-five of irritating composure, sipping coffee like they hadn’t spent the last hour fighting.

“You done glaring at me?” Ares asked lazily.

Zolton narrowed his eyes. “You act like you didn’t disappear for two days.”

“It was work.”

“You could’ve texted.”

Ares tilted his head slightly, dark hair falling into his eyes. “I did.”

“One text saying ‘busy’ doesn’t count.”

A small smirk tugged at Ares’ lips. That stupid smirk. The one that made Zolton simultaneously furious and weak.

“You were worried about me,” Ares murmured.

“I was annoyed.”

“Mm.”

Zolton scoffed and pushed off the counter, walking past him toward the living room. Before he could get far, Ares caught his wrist with one hand and effortlessly pulled him back.

“Let go.”

“No.”

“Ares—”

“You didn’t sleep while I was gone.”

Zolton avoided his gaze. Unfortunately, being married meant Ares noticed everything. The dark circles under his eyes, the untouched meals, the way he checked his phone every ten minutes pretending he didn’t care.

Ares’ expression softened just slightly.

“You know I always come back to you.”

The irritation in Zolton’s chest twisted into something quieter. Worse.

Because he did know.

Ares was terrifying to everyone else—cold, intimidating, impossible to read—but with Zolton, he always returned softer. Slower. Like the world outside the apartment didn’t exist once the doors shut behind him.

Still, Zolton refused to surrender that easily.

“You’re still an ass.”

“There’s my husband.”

Zolton rolled his eyes, but Ares stepped closer before he could pull away. Large hands settled at his waist, grounding him in place. Even after three years of marriage, Ares still looked at him like he was something precious.

It was unfair.

“You know,” Ares said quietly, “normal people hug their husbands when they miss them.”

“Good thing I’m not normal.”

“Clearly.”

Zolton finally cracked a smile at that, small and reluctant.

Ares noticed immediately.

“There he is.”

“Oh my god, shut up.”

The taller man laughed softly under his breath before resting his forehead against Zolton’s. The tension between them dissolved little by little, replaced by the familiar warmth they always circled back to.

Messy.

Loud.

Stubborn.

But theirs.

Ares brushed his thumb against Zolton’s side tattoo. “I brought you something.”

Zolton blinked. “What?”

“Look on the table.”

Sitting beside the couch was a small paper bag from Zolton’s favorite late-night bakery downtown.

His expression betrayed him instantly.

Ares grinned. “You’re easy.”

“I hate you.” said Zolton

“No, you don’t.”

Unfortunately, that was true too.