I'm The King of Business & Technology in the Modern World

November 24, 2024 — 7:30 AM

NAIA Terminal 3, Arrival Gate

The clatter of rolling luggage and the low murmur of announcements greeted them the moment they stepped off the jet bridge.

Matthew adjusted the strap of his carry-on and glanced sideways at Angel, who was yawning behind her sunglasses, half-hidden in his hoodie that she'd borrowed for the flight.

She looked tired.

Beautiful, but tired.

He reached over, gently plucking her boarding pass from where it was threatening to fall out of her bag. "You're a mess."

"I'm a married mess," Angel mumbled, bumping her shoulder against him.

He smiled. "Lucky me."

They weaved through the crowds toward the baggage claim, the familiar weight of Manila's humidity already settling around them like a thick, well-worn blanket.

Home.

Chaotic, relentless, wonderful home.

Angel exhaled slowly as they reached the carousel, watching the first wave of battered suitcases tumble onto the belt. "Reality check."

Matthew slid his fingers between hers. "Reality can wait five more minutes."

She leaned lightly against him. "Deal."

Their duffel bags arrived—dusted with a fine layer of Bohol sand—and they grabbed them, shouldering the weight like muscle memory.

Back in Manila.

Back to their lives.

Only this time, everything was different.

Everything was theirs.

—

9:00 AM — Rockwell, Their Apartment

The door swung open with a familiar squeak, and the cool, filtered air of their apartment washed over them like a sigh.

Angel dropped her bag unceremoniously by the couch and immediately flopped face-first onto the cushions.

Matthew chuckled, locking the door behind them and setting down his own bag with considerably more precision.

He stood for a moment, just looking.

The framed photos on the side table. The stack of half-finished books. The coat she always forgot to hang up. The little notes he'd left taped to the fridge back when they were still "almost, maybe" something more.

It hit him harder than he expected.

This wasn't just an apartment anymore.

This was their first home.

He crossed the living room in a few steps and crouched beside the couch, poking Angel's side gently. "Wife privileges expire after forty-eight hours."

She groaned into the pillow. "No take-backs."

"Fine," he said, grinning. "But I'm officially upgrading you from 'guest' to 'permanent resident.'"

Angel lifted her head enough to smirk at him. "Good. I have a lot of complaints for management."

Matthew laughed and kissed her forehead. "Submit them in triplicate."

"Bureaucrat," she muttered fondly, letting her head fall back onto the pillow.

They didn't rush to unpack.

Didn't rush to clean.

For once, they let the world spin without them for a little while longer.

—

11:30 AM — Sentinel HQ, BGC

Of course, reality eventually caught up.

Despite planning to take a few more days off, both of them received "urgent but not life-threatening" pings from HQ by mid-morning. Nothing catastrophic. Just operational hiccups needing review before the next Pulse handover.

Reluctantly, they threw on fresh clothes—Angel in a loose dress, Matthew in jeans and a clean button-down—and headed for the office.

They arrived separately to avoid causing a scene, but it hardly mattered.

The moment Matthew stepped into the elevator, he caught two junior analysts whispering and glancing at him.

By the time he reached his desk, a "Congratulations!" sticky note was already attached to his monitor.

Angel's arrival was greeted with less subtlety.

Someone had crafted a truly chaotic slideshow looping through pictures of wedding cakes, subway tunnels, and tiny cartoon brides in hard hats.

Angel stopped dead in the hallway, hand to her forehead. "I'm going to kill them."

Matthew appeared at her side, deadpan. "You're the one who made jokes about a project management-themed wedding."

She groaned. "I thought they'd forget."

"They're engineers," he said. "We remember everything. Especially memes."

Despite herself, Angel laughed.

The rest of the day passed in a strange, busy blur.

Meetings. Site updates. Contract reviews.

But every time their eyes met across a conference table, every time their shoulders brushed in passing, the world seemed to tilt back into place.

This was their life now.

Work.

Laughter.

Late-night coffees.

And a whole future they were still figuring out.

—

5:45 PM — HQ Rooftop Garden

They ended the day where they often did: up on the roof.

The garden was still rough around the edges, with young plants struggling against the urban heat, but it was theirs—just like everything else they'd built.

Matthew leaned against the railing, sipping from a bottle of water, while Angel sat cross-legged on the low stone bench, tugging idly at a loose thread on her sleeve.

For a long time, neither spoke.

They didn't need to.

Finally, Angel said, "Think it'll always feel like this?"

Matthew glanced at her. "Like what?"

"Like... stepping off a moving train and finding you're still standing."

He thought about that.

Then set his bottle down and crossed over to her, crouching in front of her so they were eye to eye.

"It will," he said. "Because we're not standing still."

She blinked.

"We're just building the next platform," he added quietly. "One section at a time."

Angel reached out and cupped his face briefly, affection shining through her exhaustion. "God, you're such a nerd."

He smiled. "You married it."

She laughed under her breath. "Lucky me."

Matthew kissed the inside of her wrist, light and brief. "Very lucky."

She leaned forward, resting her forehead against his. "Let's build slow for a while. No emergency schedules. No mad races."

"Agreed," he murmured. "Foundation first."

Angel smiled, closing her eyes. "Good. I want to live in the foundation a little longer."

They sat like that until the sun set, the city glowing to life below them, and somewhere between the hum of traffic and the sigh of the breeze, it felt like a new blueprint was being quietly sketched between their hearts.

—

8:30 PM — Rockwell, Their Apartment

Back home again.

Shoes kicked off.

Jackets shrugged away.

Leftover takeout ordered without guilt.

Angel curled up in one corner of the couch, a blanket over her legs and a container of dumplings in her lap. Matthew sprawled beside her, chopsticks in hand, reading something from his tablet without really seeing it.

Eventually, he set the device down and reached over to steal a dumpling from her container.

Angel yelped, batting at his hand. "Boundaries!"

"No such thing," he said around a mouthful.

"You're worse now that you're legally entitled."

He grinned. "I plan to abuse my privileges."

Angel laughed, tucking herself closer to him. "Remind me why I married you again?"

"Brilliant project management skills," Matthew said.

"Mm. And the dumpling theft?"

"Bonus feature."

She shook her head but didn't move away.

They ate in companionable silence, watching reruns of old movies, occasionally trading lazy kisses or stealing bites off each other's plates.

It was domestic.

Ordinary.

Perfect.

Not because it was grand or dramatic.

But because it was real.

And as the hours slipped past, and the city thrummed on around them, Angel realized something.

They weren't stepping off moving trains anymore.

They weren't even racing deadlines.

They were just living.

Together.

Building something slow, steady, and almost terrifyingly beautiful.

The kind of life you could only construct when you stopped chasing the finish line and started laying down tracks side by side.

One breath at a time.

One choice at a time.

One quiet, ordinary, extraordinary day at a time.

And here, wrapped in soft blankets and stolen dumplings and the quiet certainty of him beside her—

Angel knew she was exactly where she was meant to be.

At last.

At home.