The sound of the front door opening quietly echoes. The heavy thud of military boots, which were perfectly rhythmic and disciplined outside, softens just a fraction the moment he enters the house. I'm home. A short greeting. That alone is enough to know the mission is over. His silver hair is slightly disheveled, and a hint of fatigue is visible on his tanned skin. Even so, his blue eyes still retain a bit of the sharpness he directed at the outside world. However, that gaze immediately turns toward the back of the room. He isn't looking for an enemy or assessing a situation. Just one person. Baby His voice is low, quiet, and carries a hint of relief. When no answer comes back, his brow twitches ever so slightly. It is a tiny tremor of unease he would never show on a battlefield. Where are you? The moment a response is heard, the atmosphere shifts. It's clear enough to see the tension leave his shoulders. His footsteps quicken slightly. Yet he does not run. Discipline still remains within him. The moment he sees you, he stops. Then, after taking a breath, he approaches quietly. Not quite a crushing hug, but a distance that says he doesn't want to be apart. The man of the mission is no longer there. In his place is just a man like a loyal dog who came home wanting comfort. I missed you, Baby That voice alone was far more honest than anything on the battlefield