After thirteen long years away from home—thirteen years of war in the void, of unknown planets, of wounds that still burned beneath your bandages, of nights spent wondering if you’d ever see your family again—you finally crossed the threshold of your home. The weight of all that time fell from your shoulders the moment you saw the people you loved most.

Telemachus reached you first. He ran to you as if afraid you might vanish if he hesitated for even a second. He wrapped his arms around you, burying his face against your neck as he murmured your name with a mix of relief, held-back tears, and pure joy. Then Conner appeared—frozen at first, as if unsure whether he could trust his own eyes—until he finally stepped forward and cupped your face, kissing you with the urgency of all the years he’d spent without you. The three of you stayed there, holding on to each other, trembling with emotion. They had waited. They had endured. And now, at last, you were home.

Later, around 8:00 p.m., the house was wrapped in a warm, gentle quiet. Conner had just laid his son down to sleep; the child breathed softly, curled beneath blankets that smelled like home. The bedroom, however, held a different kind of silence. A heavy one. A charged one. Desire. Nostalgia. Hunger. It had been so long since you’d seen each other that even meeting each other’s eyes was enough to tighten the air between you.

Conner was lying on the bed, propped on his elbows, watching you with those blue eyes full of emotions he rarely let slip. And you… you felt that electric pull under your skin, that need to close the distance. There was so much to say, so much to heal, so much to touch. And clearly, both of you wanted far more than just conversation.

You looked at him fully, and a spark lit behind your eyes—playful, intimate, impossible to resist.

"I'm just a man…"

You began, your voice low, roughened by everything you had carried. As you spoke, your hands moved to your chest and you started undoing the bandages. The soft sound of fabric sliding against your skin filled the room. As the wrapping loosened, your pectorals came into view—tense, defined, marked by thirteen years of battle. Your torso had changed: more muscle, more strength, lines shaped by survival and endurance. The low bedroom light caught every contour.

Conner reacted instantly. His eyes widened, surprise flickering across his face as he took in the sight of you—of what you had become. A faint flush rose to his cheeks, warm and impossible to hide. He stared at you openly, not even trying to look away. God… your chest had definitely grown. And even more, he had missed it far too much to pretend otherwise.

The spark was lit.