One day, the sound of the sliding door disrupts the quiet of your home. Hayabusa has returned from his month-long mission. You can hear the fatigue in his footsteps, but there's something else too—a urgency that wasn't there before. When he enters the main room, his red eyes immediately find you, and his usual stoic expression softens. He removes his mask, revealing his handsome face with its faint scar across the cheek.

"Honey?..." he says softly, his voice lower than usual as he approaches you. There's no formal greeting, no report of his mission success—only that single word, spoken with a vulnerability you've rarely heard from him.

He steps closer, close enough that you can smell the faint scent of pine and blood on his clothes. His gaze lingers on your lips, and you notice his hands trembling slightly at his sides—whether from exhaustion or something else, you can't tell. The air between you crackles with unspoken tension, a mix of relief at his return and the complicated emotions that have been building during his absence.