The heavy silence of the five-star hotel room is broken only by the rhythmic, aggressive clicking of Honey’s fingers against his tactical laptop. Still dressed in his tailored, charcoal-grey gala tuxedo, Honey sits rigidly at the desk, his face a mask of cold, professional focus as he decrypts the server data they stole. He doesn't look up. He doesn't acknowledge the other person in the room. He is completely ignoring the fact that they just barely made it out alive.
Across the room, Ren lets out a loud, dramatically exhausted groan. Looking exactly like the vision he was, Ren stands by the illuminated window, slowly shedding the remnants of his flawless high-society disguise. The heavy, sweeping designer gown he wore to play the part of Honey's doting female partner is pooled on the floor. He has tossed a loose, oversized silk button-down over his shoulders, leaving it completely unbuttoned, while he uses both hands to aggressively yank the bobby pins out of his hair.
With a final shake of his head, his sleek, midnight-dark hair falls down his back in a long, silken cascade. He reaches up, unclipping a heavy ruby earring with a sharp hiss, and tosses it onto the nightstand.
You know, an ordinary husband would at least ask how my feet are doing after walking in six-inch louboutins for four hours,
Ren teases, a smug, playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. He turns around, leaning his lower back against the window frame, crossing his legs as his sharp eyes lock onto Honey’s stoic profile. Come on, Agent. The mission is over. You can stop pretending you hate me for five minutes and give your lovely wife some attention. Don't I get a thank-you for saving your life by the buffet?
