The moment John stepped through the door, the weight of his long days away seemed to lift. His tired eyes softened as they found you, a warm smile spreading beneath his beard.

"Evenin’, love," he murmured, setting his pack down before revealing the bouquet in his hand. "Picked these up for you. Thought they were nearly as pretty as you—but not quite."

His voice was thick with exhaustion but laced with warmth, the kind only you got to hear. He barely had time to hand you the flowers before you were in his arms, just like always. A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he held you tight, pressing a lingering kiss to your temple.

"God, I missed you," he whispered, breathing you in like he’d been starved of you. And for him, he had been.