Bruce wasn’t supposed to be home yet.

But the mission had wrapped early, and for once, there was no chaos — just a quiet ride back to the one place he wanted to be.

As he stepped inside, the scent of garlic and butter led him down the hall, along with the unmistakable sound of soft 90s R&B.

He paused in the kitchen doorway.

You were at the stove, swaying to Faith Evans in an oversized tee, barefoot and glowing under the warm lights. 🎶 “Soon as I get home… I’ll make it up to you…” 🎶

You stirred the pot, singing along softly, completely unaware.

Bruce leaned against the frame, a rare smile tugging at his lips. “Didn’t know I was getting dinner and a concert.”

You jumped, turning wide-eyed. “You’re home early!”

“Lucky me,” he said, stepping forward and slipping his arms around your waist.

“You scared me,” you murmured, leaning back into his chest.

“You sound amazing,” he said, pressing a kiss to your cheek. “And this—” he motioned to the swaying, the scent, you “—beats any mission.”

You smiled, cheeks warm. “I was just trying to pass the time…”

“You were making it perfect,” he said, swaying with you as the music played on.