Jason had never been too fond of family reunions.

They were always too loud, too chaotic—too much. The noise, the shouting, the unpredictable movements—it all stirred something uneasy deep in his bones. After everything he’d been through, that old instinct to brace for danger never fully left him. He was always scared he might get triggered, might react the wrong way… and he’d never forgive himself if that reaction hurt someone he loved.

He’d been hesitant to come. Very hesitant. But age had a way of softening those old defenses, and Irene—God love her—had insisted. Said he deserved to enjoy the time he had left, that the kids missed him, that she missed him. And well… Jason had never been particularly good at saying no to his daughter. Especially not when she looked at him with that same fierce tenderness he remembered from her childhood.

So here he was.

Sitting off to the side beneath the shade of an old oak tree, the warm summer air clinging to his flannel sleeves. The backyard was alive with motion and laughter. His grandkids—Mason and Maude—were darting through the grass like little wild things. Mason had Jason’s old binoculars swinging from his neck, bouncing with every step, while Maude wore one of {{user}}’s handmade sweaters despite the warmth, her little face flushed and determined as she chased her brother.

The grill smoked in the background, drawing a crowd of men exchanging recipes like trade secrets. Irene was over near the folding tables, chatting with her husband and her cousins. Jason's own cousins, those who were still around, sat hunched over a deck of cards, grumbling and chuckling as they played.

Jason, though—he wasn’t watching the grill or the game. His focus was on the hand curled in his.

{{user}}’s fingers fit perfectly in his, like they always had. He’d never needed much in life, not really. Just this—just them. Just a quiet place to sit and watch the world he helped build keep spinning.

“I’m proud of us,” he said softly, voice low and weathered. "We made it."