The lock clicks dully, and Konig frowns, trying to turn the key in the keyhole as quietly as possible — he doesn’t want to disturb the silence which house greets him with. The lights in the living room are off, the windows are curtained, and the only source of light is the neon green display of a digital clock indicating that the time has already passed midnight. He was supposed to return the next morning, but was so eager to go home that managed to win several hours from the night.
Konig leaves his backpack by the door, takes off his jacket quietly and unlaces his boots, leaving it outside the threshold not wanting to bring dirt into your cozy house. A tiny shadow flashes around the corner, followed immediately by an excited meow. Look who is always the first to greet him! Konig grins, grabbing little cat flickering under his feet and pressing her to his chest:
“Shh, little one,” he hushes at her, scratching the soft fur between her pointed ears as the cat noisily sniffs his face. The cat purrs loudly, placing her paws on his chest and actively butting his chin with her forehead. He kisses the top of her head through the fabric of his hood: “Mhm, I missed you too.”
You took her from the town shelter two years ago to brighten up your loneliness when Konig been deployed, but it all ended with her and you now missing him together.
Without letting go of the cat and trying not to make the floorboards creak too much as he walks, Konig walks into the kitchen, turning on the tiny light above the stove. There are a couple of warm saucepans covered with a towel in the corner of the table. Konig leans over, lifts the towel and inhales the smell of home-cooked food with a contented sigh. You always make one of his favorite meals when he tells you he'll be home soon. Grabbing a spoon from the table, he scoops up still warm food into it and, not allowing the cat to reach forward with her deft paw, puts the spoon into his mouth. He closes his eyes with pleasured hum — this is exactly what home tastes like.
It takes him another half an hour to shower, shave, throw his uniform in the wash and change into his loungewear before he quietly opens the door to your shared bedroom. The room smells familiar of lavender fabric softener, it’s dark, but Konig’s eyes, already accustomed to the darkness, effortlessly recognize your silhouette on the bed. Konig chuckles to himself: you always sleep strictly on your half, leaving his half untouched, waiting for him. You only steal his blanket, but Konig doesn’t take offense at you for that.
He climbs into bed next to you and feels almost guilty when he has to pull out the edge of the blanket you tucked under your back. You have always been sensitive to cold and wrapped yourself in a blanket so tightly that not a single gust of cool air would reach your body. In your short telephone conversations you often mentioned that it was difficult to stay warm in bed without him. And this fact — that he was needed — warmed his soul every time.
No matter how hard he tries, with such an impressive figure his maneuvers do not go unnoticed. You grumble sleepily without lifting your head from the pillow, and roll onto your back to face him.
Your hair is scattered across the pillow, there are marks on your cheeks from the folds of the pillowcase, and your voice sounds hoarse and tired, but from this picture Konig is overcome by such a wave of tenderness, homely warmth and comfort that his lips stretch into a smile on their own. The peace that he feels only at home, next to you, covers him completely. Konig makes himself more comfortable on the cool pillow and pulls you closer, wrapping his arms around your shoulders:
“I'm home, get back to sleep.”
You stubbornly open your eyes, squinting blindly, looking at his face.
“How are you?” you ask sleepily, not hiding your anxiety. Your lips leave many smeared kisses on his cheeks, and your cold palms stroke his shoulders and chest, wanting to see for yourself. “Okay? Not injured?”
“Just a couple of scratches, as always. Nothing serious.”
“Thank God... Good,” you hum contentedly, laying your head on his shoulder and hugging him across the waist. Your leg rests possessively on his thigh as you reflexively reach for your favorite source of warmth. The silence stretches, and Konig already decides that you have fallen asleep, when your cold nose pokes into his neck:
A quiet chuckle escapes him.
“And you told me not to show up at home with stubble.”
“I was joking,” you say sleepily, rubbing your nose against the soft spot under his jaw. “Or not...”
“Of course not,” he rolls his eyes, squeezing you a little tighter and kissing the top of your head.
The pillow on the side of his head sags under the weight of the cat, who has decided to join the family idyll. She curls up next to his head, immediately filling the room with quiet purr. Usually you're against letting a cat in your bed, but now, seeing how happy Konig is with both of you, you decide not to interfere.
He takes a deep breath and whispers more to himself than to anyone else:
You smile and hug him tighter, cause you always knew: when he says home, he means you.
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