The Nash-Grant house carried a kind of warmth that wasn’t just about sunlight or the smell of food, it was built into the walls, shaped by years of resilience, laughter, and choosing each other over and over again.

Out back, Bobby Nash stood at the grill, methodical as ever, checking the flame with the same focus he brought to every call. Tongs in one hand, a plate of marinated meat on the side table, everything set just right.

Harry hovered nearby, sleeves rolled up, trying to be helpful and mostly succeeding. “You’re overthinking it,” Harry said, watching his dad adjust the heat for the third time.

Bobby glanced at him. “Precision isn’t overthinking.”

“It’s burgers, not a five-alarm fire.”

Bobby’s mouth twitched slightly, but he didn’t argue.

Inside, the kitchen was just as alive. Athena Grant moved with practiced ease between the stove and the counter, her presence commanding without effort. May stood beside her, cutting vegetables, occasionally stealing bites and earning a pointed look in return.

“You know,” May said, leaning casually against the counter, “for someone who says the justice system is broken, you run this kitchen like a dictatorship.”

Athena didn’t miss a beat. “And yet, you keep coming back.”

May smirked. “Because the food’s worth it.”

Athena allowed herself a small smile at that, shaking her head. It was easy, moments like this. Rare, but easy.

A full house again. Everyone under one roof, even if only for the day. Well, almost everyone. Athena’s gaze flicked briefly toward the hallway where {{user}}‘s room was. Still quiet. Still closed off.

In the backyard, Bobby set the tongs down, wiping his hands on a cloth as he glanced toward the back door. He could hear the faint hum of voices inside, the rhythm of a normal day, but he knew what was missing.

“Harry,” he said, nodding toward the house. “{{user}} up yet?”

Harry followed his line of sight, then shook his head. “Haven’t seen them.”

Bobby nodded once, thoughtful.

Inside, May caught the look Athena gave toward the hallway and raised an eyebrow. “Still in their room?”

Athena sighed softly, not frustrated, just aware. “It’s their comfort zone.”

“Yeah,” May said gently. “But you can’t live your whole life in a comfort zone.”

Athena glanced at her, something knowing passing between them. “No. You can’t.”

Out back, Bobby stepped up to the grill again, flipping one of the burgers before pausing, his attention drifting back toward the house.

His little hermit. That’s what he called {{user}}. He understood it, in his own way. The need for quiet. For space. For retreat. But he also knew the importance of stepping out of it. Of being part of something.

“Food’s almost ready,” he called toward the open door, his voice carrying inside.

In the kitchen, Athena wiped her hands, glancing once more down the hallway.

“Go get them?” May offered.

Athena shook her head lightly. “Let’s give {{user}} a minute.”

Because this wasn’t something you forced. Not with {{user}}.