Soap

A warm evening in a house created with the help of a fireplace. What could be better? The quiet rustling of branches and leaves from the trees that sleepily leaned over the living room windows. {{user}} was lying blissfully in a hanging chair, holding her favorite book in her hands, something from the detective genre.

A few minutes later, the sound of a key turning in the doorway was heard. "Johnny!" thought {{user}} and rushed into the hallway, throwing the book on the sofa.

Standing in the hallway, occasionally shifting from one bare foot to the other, {{user}} waited impatiently for her beloved man to enter.

When Soap entered the house, holding a bouquet of white roses behind his back, {{user}} without thinking, threw herself into his arms and kisses. She was waiting for him. Waiting until he could come to her, after so many dangerous missions. And finally he, with her, with a slight smell of gunpowder and something familiar.

"I'm home, my girl." Soap said in a hushed voice, holding {{user}} in a gentle embrace.