Akbar didn't like Matt being gone. He'd been gone for far too long, at least a year.

For one, he had no one to cook for him. He'd been living off of what he could get from his friends. Second, it wasn't enjoyable being alone. Even if Matt yelled a lot, or threw the occasional skillet, he liked his presence. Third, he was worried about his lover. He'd once been to war himself; he knew all the possibilities of what could happen to Matt.

The cabin seemed darker without him there. A lot colder, too. Akbar did not like it at all.

Some things didn't change, though. Matt's side of the bed still softly retained the scent of his blonde Canadian – freshly cut grass, the earth, the air after it rains . . . Like home.

Most mornings, it took a while for Akbar to get out of bed. He would pull the blankets up to his nose and bury his face into the parts of the sheets that still held Matt's fragrance. It held proof his lover had rested there; it held proof that he would return there, as far as Akbar was concerned.

Every morning there used to be a small squabble between them. Matt would attempt to shove him out of bed, grumbling about how cold he was. Akbar would resist the shoves, wishing to crawl back into Matt's warm embrace. It always ended with Matt literally kicking Akbar out of bed.

Now that Matt wasn't here anymore, Akbar would roll out of bed to purposely crash onto the floor. He'd spend a second staring at the ceiling, before whispering to himself, "Time to get up."

It had taken several months for Akbar to achieve the next step of the routine. Every day, he would turn on the television, watching just long enough to see if there were any useful updates about Matt's troop. This step was much more difficult, as Akbar was a bit of a technophobe. He had needed three months to bring himself to turn on the television, one more to change the channels.

He never expected letters. Living in the middle of the forest, the mailman didn't come around very often. Even if Matt did write, which he doubted, it probably wouldn't get to him anytime soon.

His days were usually spent either wandering about or paying visits to friends. That much wasn't very different from usual. But the feeling of returning to an empty house at the end of the day snatched away the normality from it. He had come to realize over the past few months that there was a disruption in his life. He could wander about like he did, and everything could be the same, but home was where Matt was. No matter where he went, he could never have the feeling of everything being okay. That one little thing in his world was missing.

And many things changed because of its disappearance.

Before, at the end of the day, they would lie on the couch and Matt would hold up a book for them to read together. Akbar would rest his head on the other's chest, listening to the steady beating of Matt's heart.

Now, he simply read on his own, curled up in a blanket. The pillows made a poor substitute for Matt's body, but would have to do.

Nights were significantly different. Whereas nights prior to Matt leaving held warmth and closeness, now all they contained were the silence and the cold. There were no more nights of making love, just Akbar lying on his side, staring at where Matt once laid with him. His hand would clutch at the sheets on Matt's side, wondering if Matt was somewhere thinking of him, too. He would fall asleep dreaming his beloved Canadian was next to him.

Every day the routine repeated, with only small alterations from time to time. It went on for months, adding up to a little over two years. There was nothing to do but wait, just like always. Akbar knew Matt would return from war eventually, it was just a matter of time.

He refused to acknowledge the possibility of Matt not coming back.

Matt was strong; he could do anything. Akbar didn't doubt him.

So he sat on the couch for the evening, reading his book, perfectly prepared to wait another year.

Then his vision went black.

Akbar's face changed just the smallest bit to confusion. As he raised his hand to his eyes, a pair of lips pressed against his cheek.

"Miss me, asshole?"

A small smile played at Akbar's lips. "Ah, I was just getting to the best part, Matt," He said as he closed the book.

Matt groaned. "I should have known you wouldn't even notice I was gone. . ."

The silverette turned around, pulling Matt's hands away from his eyes. He placed one of his own hands on Matt's cheek, getting a good look at the man he hadn't seen in so long.

His blonde hair was cut very short, as opposed to before when it fell past his shoulders, but the stubborn curl was still there. He didn't have his sunglasses on, leaving his rusty red eyes visible. He was in uniform, his boots kicked off at the door.

Akbar pulled Matt into a kiss, pressing tenderly against his lips. Matt returned it whole-heartedly, wrapping his arms around Akbar's waist as best he could. It was made a bit more difficult with the couch between them, but they managed.

The shorter of the two broke away by an inch, leaning forward so their foreheads touched.

"I love you, Matt," Akbar spoke, still smiling.

The Canadian blushed dark crimson, jolting back. He rubbed the back of his neck, looking away and stuttering, "I- uh. . . I mean, um- Well, I. . ."

Akbar cut him off with a quiet "kesesesese~", bringing him into another kiss.

He was finally home.

A/N: what do I even write here oh my god does anyone even read these? *friend crying in the distance*

Akbar quotes, this time around:

"For one, he had no one to cook for him- tragedy."

"He was worried about his new lover. *pause* Wait, no, I did that wrong. Matt, don't hit me."

"The smell means he was real. That also means it was real when we- wait no that was a pillow."

"It had taken Akbar several months to achieve the next step of the routine – *Gilbert voice* What did he just zone out on the floor!?"

"Akbar was a bit of a technophobe – What does that word mean."

*Alfie voice* "There were no more nights of HOT LOVIN~"

Me speaking: "He's happy! Matt's back, he's not dead!" *Akbar voice*: ". . . That's nice."

"Then his vision went black – Oh god I'm dying. Not again."

"The silverette – *coughs* – coughed."