“Love, I’m home!” Wendy happily announces, excitement apparent as she quickly takes off her shoes, replacing them with comfortable, fluffy slippers. Dragging her luggage behind her, she scours the quiet place, trying to find indication of her wife's presence. She hums after finding none, concluding that Irene is probably at HQ, doing some late papers. Oh, how she adores her hardworking wife; but she sometimes hates it when she misses her so and Irene is nowhere to be found. 

Wendy groans as she stretches, her voice echoing against the walls, this big penthouse too big for her alone. Even with the two of them, it was way too spacious - and Wendy knows that was by no accident. Irene had purposefully done so to minimize meeting each other as much as possible. As she passes by the empty, luxurious living room, she sneaks a glance at the dark, sturdy door that led to Irene’s room. A sense of giddy takes over her again, unable to hide the happiness of meeting her wife later before she finally enters her own room a few doors from Irene's. 

She sighs before quickly collapsing on her bed, groaning once more at the soft mattress against her back. There was definitely no place like home, and this, the one she shared with Irene, was definitely hers. She takes a moment to rest, despite the germaphobe in her yelling at her to go take a shower to freshen up, she wants to take in this moment for a little longer. Wendy tends to do that, savoring the moment. Finally, after a month of being away, she’s back. After spending a rigorous month rubbing elbows with very dislikable company heads, she was back and she wanted nothing more than to bask in Irene’s company; really, she’d rather bask in her cuddles, but that’s like asking Santa for a Christmas miracle on Valentine's Day - it won’t happen.

Still, Wendy wishes it would. 

Pushing down the urge to freshen up once more, Wendy decides that she misses her wife too much to shower just yet. Instead, she sits up, head turning over to the precious picture frame she kept on her bedside table. It was a picture of her and Irene, of course, in their white dresses, holding each other's hands as they looked at each other, gazing lovingly after they had just shared their first kiss as a wedded couple. Wendy’s flustered and in love expression was 100% genuine, and Irene should’ve won an oscar for being able to scarily mimic her face.

She takes the frame in her hands, her fingers touching t