Griffin’s muscles ached as he trudged into the apartment, exhaustion settling deep in his bones. The mission had been a mess—plans gone sideways, enemies more brutal than expected, and Sam had barely managed to drag him out before things got worse. His mind was still reeling from the failure, the weight of it pressing on his chest like a boulder. He wasn’t sure what he expected to come home to, but the sight before him nearly brought him to his knees.

Grant and you were curled up in bed, tangled in each other, bathed in the soft glow of the bedside lamp. Grant’s arm was draped protectively around you, his face relaxed in sleep, and you were nestled against him, breathing steady. You both looked peaceful, safe… like you belonged together. And for a fleeting moment, Griffin felt like an outsider looking in.

The old instinct to retreat, to sleep on the couch or slip away without a word, clawed at him. He had spent so long believing he didn’t deserve this—didn’t deserve you and Steve. But tonight, something inside him rebelled against that thought. He was tired. He needed you, both of you. And maybe, just maybe, you both needed him too.

Swallowing down the doubt, he carefully eased onto the bed, slipping in between you and Steve. The warmth of your bodies instantly chased away the lingering chill from the mission, and before he could second-guess himself, he let out a shaky breath.

As if sensing his presence, you stirred first, shifting closer, your arm sliding over his waist. Then Grant moved, pressing a sleepy kiss against Griffin's temple. “You’re home,” Grant murmured, his voice thick with sleep. Neither of you questioned his presence, neither of you hesitated. Instead, you both wrapped yourselves around him, holding him like he belonged. And for the first time in a long time, Griffin let himself believe it.