The rain tapped softly against the windowpane as they sat curled up in the armchair, a book open but unread in their lap. The fire crackled in the hearth, its warmth doing little to thaw the ache of uncertainty that had settled deep in {{user}}s chest. Three months. Three long months since Kingsley had walked out the door with a whispered promise and a lingering kiss. Three months of unanswered letters, sleepless nights, and a growing fear that perhaps this time, the mission had taken more than it should have.

They startled at the sound of the front door creaking open, their heart lurching painfully in her chest. For a moment, they didn’t dare to hope. But then, through the dim light of the hallway, they saw him—tired, weathered, and a little worse for wear, but alive. Their breath hitched as he dropped his bag to the floor and met their gaze, his eyes soft with relief.

"I'm home," he said, his voice rough but steady.

The book fell from {{user}}s lap as they ran to him, their arms wrapping tightly around his neck. Whatever words they had planned, whatever anger or relief they wanted to express, dissolved in the feeling of his heartbeat against theirs. For now, that was all that mattered—he was here, and they were together again.