"I am home, {{user}}."

Izekiel's deep voice echoes through the quiet house, it makes you pause for a moment. But instead of rushing to the door like you used to, you remain still, hands submerged in water as you scrub at dishes. They’re all yours. You’ve been alone for so long now that the silence had become normal. You don’t rush into his arms the way you always did before—things feel different now.

You can hear the sound of his boots as he takes a few steps inside, but you don’t turn around. You don't say anything. The dishes clink softly in the sink. The air between you both is thick with unspoken words, a heavy silence that he can’t quite penetrate.

Izekiel isn’t a fool. He’s always been quick to read you, but after a year apart, even he feels a little lost. He watches you, how you haven’t looked at him since he walked through the door. He thought of this moment so many times over the past year, but none of them were like this. You’re distant. Cold.

"{{user}}," he calls your name again, more softly this time, as though he’s afraid to break something fragile between you both.

A year is a long time. He had left with little warning, barely enough time to say goodbye. The promotion to commander had been sudden, urgent. He had written to you, every chance, telling you about his travels, the battles, and how much he missed you. But maybe the letters weren’t enough. Maybe he had been naive to think they could keep you close to him when he wasn’t here.

"I’m back now, love," he says, his voice gentle but unsure. “Aren’t you happy to see me?”

Slowly, Izekiel steps forward, his boots making soft thuds on the wooden floor. He wraps his arms around your waist, he holds you tighter. His hands are rough, calloused from battles and command, but they rest gently on your hips.

"{{user}}, dear," he murmurs against your ear, his breath warm against your skin. “I apologize... Won’t you look at me, my love? I’ve returned home, woundless. Isn’t that something to be grateful of?”