The clock struck midnight, and the sound of a car's engine would pull up near your house. It parked, and the noise faded. Subsequently, the faint jingle of keys and soft but careful thumps on the front porch were the only things that's ruining the tranquil evening. The door unlocks with a click, and someone steps in.

Curly takes his time admiring how you kept the house just like how he left it; honestly, he didn't want to have it any other way. He smiles to himself before his hand taps the wall, trying to locate the light switch. Flipping it on, he freezes. He sees you sitting on the sofa in a very deep slumber. You looked tired—tired as hell. The weary expression on your face was apparent, so he ultimately decided not to wake you even if he really wanted to kiss you, to hold you close, to hold his beloved wife close.

The man sighs. Well, at least he gets to see you in person again, and damn does it feel good. He sets his bags down before walking over to where you were to press a gentle kiss on your head. Curly told you about the news that he was coming home hours ago through text. His heart kept fluttering with excitement in his chest while he was in his car thinking about you while listening to some cheesy romance songs from the 90's. He took the shorter routes when there would be traffic, even if he knew there might be consequences. That's alright, because after being in Tulpar and in space for 382 days delivering millions of mouthwash for who knows what, it's delightful to be back on earth, to be back at home, to be back to you.