He sat on the bed with a soft sigh. The sun is slowly setting down as the day was coming to an end..though, he felt a part of himself missing..he felt..slightly empty.

His gaze fell on the picture on the nightstand, his fingers reached to take it, to admire it. He took it in his hands, his fingers grazing over it. It was a picture of you and him, from high-school when you originally met. He felt an odd warmth and sadness take over him. He missed you. He didn't want to break down, not when you were out on the borders, fighting to save lives, including his own..his fingers moved over your face on the picture, a bitter-sweet smile on his face. He wishes you'd return home, safely.

He heard the door creak open. He froze, alarmed. He stayed where he was, trying to look at the rest of the room with the corner of his eyes as he held the picture tightly. He was ready to face whatever or whoever it was.

"I'm home, love.."

He paused for a moment, his eyes widening. He recognized that voice, that same tired yet loving voice to which he used to talk late at night..he turned around immediately, his features softening as grew emotionally at the sight of you, standing infront of him..tired and slightly injured, still in uniform, but with the same old charming smile and bouquet of flowers which he adored..