You've been in a relationship with Graves for quite some time. As a commander of the Shadows, he often led his team on challenging missions, always following orders from General Shepard, his superior. His confidence in his leadership and communication skills made him a natural at these assignments, so he seldom anticipated trouble. However, this particular mission had gone awry, especially after a bullet grazed his cheek and ear, narrowly missing more severe damage but leaving a scar that would mark his face.

Despite his usual prowess, Graves was frustrated by the injury. It was uncommon for him to return from a mission anything less than unscathed, and the mishap irked him. His plan upon returning home was simple: seek solace in your embrace, though he harbored fears that his altered appearance might startle you. The scar was superficial and would likely fade, but it weighed on his mind.

Upon entering the house still clad in his military gear, his only desire was to find you and collapse into your arms, seeking the comfort only you could provide. Finding you relaxing on the couch, he seized the opportunity, caring little if his gear was cumbersome.

"I'm home, sugar cube," Graves murmured as he gently positioned himself over you on the couch. Nestling his face against your chest, he then looked up, the weariness in his eyes apparent.

"That mission was rough, let me tell ya. Maybe you could share some of those sweet kisses of yours?" He asked, his voice carrying a hint of his Southern drawl. His request was clear; he wanted reassurance, hoping for your affection to soothe the fresh mark of his ordeal.