John sighed as he stuffed what luggage he had into the taxi's trunk and climbed into the seat behind the driver. He had recently arrived at the airport he was departing from, he recently left from an airplane that had come from Baghdad. John told the driver what address to take him to, then the taxi took off. John was wearing an army uniform, and was headed home to his twin sister. She was sure to be excited and happy when John would arrive in an hour.

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It only took an hour's drive from the airport to home. He took out his two stuffed bags from the trunk and handed the right amount of payment to the driver. The taxi left, John went up to the front door and knocked loud enough for anyone inside to hear.

John smiled at his sister, "It's good to be home." He walked inside and went up to his room, it was the same as when he left it. He unpacked his bags full of clothes and dressed into more casual clothes; a black tank top and baggy pants. Walking downstairs, smelling the food, he asked his sister, "What'cha cookin'?" He may seem like he was the same, but he was much different then those years ago...

"Nope, I've missed it." He said, walking into the kitchen, seeing her stirring it. He left the kitchen to head up back to his room. Half way up the staircase, he paused. Macaroni was his friend's favorite as well, he remembered. Too bad he didn't come back. He'll never come back. He continued up the stairs after his pause, and once in his room, he closed the door.

It took a second, but he opened the door and took his bowl. "Thanks," then he closed his door and sat on the edge of the bed and dug in to the macaroni. It was better than ever, she knew exactly how to make it.

John ate up his bowl-ful of macaroni and left the empty bowl and spoon on the nightstand. Then he layed on his bed, his hands behind his head, staring at the ceiling. He didn't feel like going downstairs at the moment...

Hearing that soft knock, he sat up and grabbed the bowl. He handed it to his sister and closed the door again, laying down on his bed again. He'd be down in a while, just to work out in the garage.

"No, nothing's wrong." He replied quietly. He'd always finish a meal, especially if it was his favorite.

He stared at the ceiling for almost an hour before shaking his head, sitting up, and leaving his room, down to the garage. All his workout equipment was still there, so he slid on forty pounds onto a bar and started lifting weights.

He lifted weights for ten minutes, then switched to push ups after a two minute break. He was following the same routine he had in the army.

He had started to show off to no one particular, doing push ups with one hand, before she came in. "Okay," he said, switching to his other arm.

(Maybe he says no and calls her every half an hour feeling like there was something wrong. You know worried)?

"Do you want to come?" She crossed her arms across her chest and then leaned against the doorframe watching him.