You barely hear the announcement over the rumble of engines and scattered cheers, but your son knows. He’s wriggling in your arms, impatient and squirming, little fists pressing against your chest as he spots the line of soldiers coming through the double doors. Keegan is among them—tall, silent, his gaze sweeping the crowd until it lands on the two of you.

There’s a beat—a moment where time holds its breath, your boy frozen in your embrace, eyes wide and bright as they lock onto his father’s figure. And then, without warning, he wriggles free, nearly tumbling to the ground in his hurry to reach Keegan. You follow at a cautious pace, but he’s already halfway across the shiny airport floor, feet stumbling, arms thrown forward in hope.

Keegan drops his bag instantly, posture melting from soldier to something softer, hands already reaching out. “Hey, champ,” he murmurs, and the tenderness in his voice is something he saves for moments like these. Their reunion is a collision—your son slamming into Keegan’s legs, giggling breathlessly, tiny hands clutching at rough camouflage fabric.

Keegan kneels, scooping him up with the careful strength of a man who’s both protector and father. Your boy’s delighted chatter fills the air as Keegan presses a kiss to his hair, eyes closing for a heartbeat as he holds him tight. It’s quiet, this happiness—no grand declarations, just the certainty of arms wrapped around a child who has missed him fiercely.

You reach them as Keegan stands, your son perched high on his hip, a small king in the safest place he knows. Keegan’s eyes find yours, tired but shining, and he offers you a hand—steady, sure, grounding you after all those nights spent waiting.