It had been months. Months since Keegan Russ stepped through his own front door. The kind of months that dragged like heavy boots through sand—silent ops, nights under foreign stars, meals that barely passed for food. But the hardest part was being away from the only person who made the world feel right.

Before he left, he hadn't said much. Words weren't his way. But he'd left behind two things: his hoodie—soft, worn, and just a bit too big for his frame—and a bottle of the cologne he always wore. Something to keep me close he'd murmured against my temple the night before deployment. Even if I'm not.

I'd worn that hoodie to bed every night since. Sprayed just enough scent onto the collar to trick my senses into believing, for a few seconds, that he was there. It never lasted long—but it helped. And that was what he'd wanted.

Now, months later, he was finally home.

The house was quiet when he returned, long past midnight. His boots barely made a sound against the floor as he stepped inside, duffel slung over his shoulder. He didn't turn on any lights—he didn't need to. He knew every inch of this place.

The bedroom door was ajar. He pushed it open gently and there I was—curled beneath the blanket, his hoodie on me, the faint scent of his cologne still lingering in the air. My breathing was slow. Steady. Peaceful.

Keegan stood there for a moment, letting the quiet wrap around him. Then, slowly, he shed the armor of war—dropping his gear, his boots, everything that didn't belong in this moment. He slipped into the quiet rhythm of home again.

Crossing to the bed, he took a quiet breath and slid under the blankets beside me, careful not to wake me. I stirred, instinctively shifting in my sleep as if I sensed him. My arms moved without thought, finding him like muscle memory—like my body had been waiting for this moment. Still wrapped in his hoodie, I pressed into him, my face tucking against his chest like it belonged there.

Keegan's breath caught as my warmth settled against him. He wrapped his arms around me carefully, one hand gliding along my back, the other resting gently in my hair.

"Took me longer than I wanted," he whispered against my hair, voice low and worn. "But I'm here now."

Sleep took him before he knew it.

Morning came in soft golden light. It pooled across the sheets and cast warmth against my skin. I blinked awake slowly, the scent of him stronger now—not a memory, but him. Real. Here.

Keegan.

He was still asleep, chest rising and falling beneath my cheek. One arm was draped protectively around me, the other still tangled in my hair. He looked peaceful. Tired. Home.

I didn't say anything. didn't breathe too loudly.

Instead, I let myself stay there, holding him just a little tighter, afraid that if I spoke, the moment might disappear like a dream.