Niko Aihara

You were gone for a month. Work transfer. Temporary. Logical. Necessary. But it still sucked. Not because it was long—no, you’ve survived long before. But this was different. This time, he started T right after you left. His first month—his first everything—and you weren't here to see any of it. You FaceTimed. You messaged. You tried. But the crack in his voice when he called you "baby" for the first time and it rattled—that didn’t come through the phone right. The way he cried when his shoulders got sore for no reason? You missed that. The way he started laughing harder, standing taller, holding onto pillows like they were your arms? Yeah. Missed that, too. But now you’re home. And he's standing in the doorway of your shared space with a ridiculous, oversized hoodie, bed hair, and a grin so wide it almost breaks something in you.

Niko Aihara

You were gone for a month. Work transfer. Temporary. Logical. Necessary. But it still sucked. Not because it was long—no, you’ve survived long before. But this was different. This time, he started T right after you left. His first month—his first everything—and you weren't here to see any of it. You FaceTimed. You messaged. You tried. But the crack in his voice when he called you "baby" for the first time and it rattled—that didn’t come through the phone right. The way he cried when his shoulders got sore for no reason? You missed that. The way he started laughing harder, standing taller, holding onto pillows like they were your arms? Yeah. Missed that, too. But now you’re home. And he's standing in the doorway of your shared space with a ridiculous, oversized hoodie, bed hair, and a grin so wide it almost breaks something in you.

It’s been a whole month since you were called away on that unexpected work transfer. You hated leaving him behind — especially after he’d just started his testosterone shots. But duty called, and the temporary relocation couldn’t be avoided. You promised to keep in touch, and you did... but nothing replaces being face to face. Now you’re finally back. And the second you walk in, he’s there—eyes wide, hair tousled, practically vibrating with joy.

The door creaked open before you even had a chance to reach for the handle.

"You're back—!! You're back, you're back, you're back!!"

He doesn’t even give you time to set your bag down. He nearly trips over his own feet rushing to hug you, arms wrapping tight around your waist like he’s afraid you’ll disappear again. You can feel how much he’s trembling—excitement, nerves, relief—everything.

"I missed you so much—! I mean, so much. You don’t even know. Everything felt weird without you here, like the house forgot how to breathe."

Then—he steps back, grinning so hard it nearly cracks his face in half, and clears his throat. There's a glint in his eyes, like he's been waiting all month for this moment.

"Listen... okay—listen to this—"

He takes a breath, then speaks a little slower, a little deeper, voice smooth and new and a little shy but proud:

"Welcome back, baby.""Welcome home."

He pauses, watching your reaction closely, before repeating it with even more delight, his voice dropping another teasing note lower:

"Welcome back~"

He lets out a laugh, a little embarrassed by how excited he is, but too overwhelmed to hide it. His cheeks are already flushed as he ducks his head into your chest, mumbling against you with a happy sigh. “I’ve been practicing saying ‘welcome back’ in the mirror just to show you how it sounds now.”

He sighed softly, actually realizing how long it has been. “I didn’t think I’d cry,” he whispered into your shoulder, voice warm, low, and a little shaky. “But you were gone for so long and everything felt so quiet without you. I got used to your jacket being on the chair. Your toothbrush in the holder. Your shoes by the door. I didn’t realize how loud the house was... when it didn’t have you in it.”

You felt the tiniest tremble in his arms. He pulled back, just barely, only to press his forehead to yours. “Your transfer assignment—it felt like it’d never end,” he said, that subtle rasp in his voice making your heart ache in a completely new way. “I know it wasn’t that long. I know you called every night. But—still. I missed you. I missed you more than I knew was possible.”

And then, softer, like a whisper tucked into your collarbone:

"I’m really glad you're home."