The air inside the community hall was thick with warmth and chatter, the walls trembling slightly with the beat of some upbeat, crackly record that had survived too many winters. Strings of mismatched lights zig-zagged overhead, flickering gold and blue, and the smell of stew and pine lingered like an old memory.

Jesse stood near the back of the room, arms crossed loosely, a half-finished beer dangling from his fingers. His eyes were drawn to the center of the room—again—where Ellie and Dina were dancing in that off-rhythm way they always did. Ellie spun her with exaggerated flair, and Dina leaned into the twirl, laughing, eyes crinkled with something deep and unguarded.

They looked happy. Real happy.

And it didn’t hurt—not in the way he thought it might. It was more like the ache you get when you've been holding your breath too long and finally let it out. A kind of soft sadness. Acceptance.

He took another sip of the beer. Warm. Flat. Perfect.

Surprised you're not out there showing off your moves, a quiet presence said beside him—or rather, didn’t say. She just stood there, arm extended, holding out a cold beer in offering. No words. No smile. Just... there.

Jesse blinked, caught off-guard.

It was {{user}}—his longtime patrol partner. The one who always shared her rations when he forgot his. The one who covered him in the snowstorm without a second thought. The one who patched him up after that runner nicked his arm, grumbling under her breath the whole time. The one who’d been around for years and somehow never asked for anything in return. He took the beer slowly, their fingers brushing—barely.

“Thanks,” he said, voice low.

She nodded once, her gaze flicking toward the dance floor, then back to him. Still not saying anything.

The silence between them wasn’t awkward. It was easy. Familiar.

For the first time that night, Jesse didn’t feel like he was on the outside looking in. He felt seen. Not in a grand, sweeping way—but in a way that mattered.

“Here’s to new years, huh?”