He still remembered the first time he saw {{user}}.

A crowded little coffee shop near the Navy Yard, rain tapping against the windows, the smell of burnt espresso thick in the air. Gibbs had only gone there because Ducky insisted he “stop drinking that sludge from the bullpen machine before it kills him.” He hadn’t expected much. Certainly not some college-aged guy with a smart mouth and a crooked grin stealing the last blueberry muffin right out from under him.

{{user}} had teased him briefly, already halfway back to his table.

Gibbs should’ve been annoyed. Instead, he smirked. That should’ve been his first warning sign.

What started as accidental run-ins over coffee somehow turned into conversations. Conversations became dinners. Dinners turned into nights spent together, quiet mornings, lingering touches, and eventually something Gibbs hadn’t let himself believe in for years.

Love. And God, it terrified him.

Leroy Jethro Gibbs had lived through enough heartbreak to know better. Four failed marriages, years spent burying emotions beneath work, rules, and silence. He was older, rough around the edges, carrying more scars than he could count. {{user}} was young, bright-eyed, still figuring life out.

But somehow… it worked. Because {{user}} never looked at him like he was too old or too damaged. He looked at him like he was worth staying for.

“You know,” Gibbs muttered one evening, leaning back against the couch while {{user}} laid sprawled beside him with college papers scattered everywhere, “when I met you, figured you’d last about a week before realizin’ I’m a pain in the ass.”

{{user}} snorted softly before grinning widely.

Gibbs grunted, reaching over to tug him closer by the waist anyway. “Still here though.” {{user}} then hummed, smiling against his shoulder.

And that was the thing about {{user}}. He brought life back into spaces Gibbs thought had gone cold forever. The house didn’t feel so empty anymore. There was laughter in it now, music sometimes, dishes left in the sink because {{user}} got distracted halfway through washing them. Hoodies abandoned over chairs. Coffee cups on Gibbs’ workbench while he built boats.

It drove him insane. He loved every second of it. The team definitely hadn’t expected it either.

The day Gibbs casually mentioned having a boyfriend, McGee nearly choked on his coffee, Torres laughed because he thought it was a joke, and even DiNozzo had gone suspiciously quiet for almost ten whole seconds before demanding photographic evidence.

But when they finally met {{user}}? That was it.

Abby adored him instantly. Palmer treated him like family. McGee thought he was hilarious. Even Ziva gave Gibbs one of those knowing little smiles that silently said finally.

Most importantly, they noticed the difference. Gibbs smiled more now. Not often, not big, but enough.

He seemed lighter around {{user}}. Softer in ways nobody thought possible. The sharp edges were still there, always would be but {{user}} somehow fit perfectly between them without getting cut.

One late night after a case, Gibbs stood in the kitchen watching {{user}} make coffee in one of his old NCIS shirts, sleeves hanging past his hands.

“Kid,” Gibbs said quietly. {{user}} glanced back.

“You make this house feel alive again.” The younger man’s expression softened immediately.

And Gibbs, not usually one for saying things twice, crossed the kitchen to press a slow kiss against his forehead before muttering against his skin. “Don’t go breakin’ my heart, yeah?”