Griffin never thought much about the future—not in a way that extended past the next mission, the next fight, the next moment he had to survive. His past had been stolen, his present was a fragile thing, and the idea of a future felt almost laughable. But then there was you. And somehow, with you, time stretched beyond the now.

It hit him on a quiet afternoon, sunlight filtering through the windows as laughter echoed through the room. You were sitting on the floor, entertaining Nolan’s youngest with a set of wooden blocks, your expression full of warmth and patience. The kid babbled nonsense, knocking down the tower you'd built, and instead of frustration, you just laughed and started again.

Griffin stood in the doorway, watching, something unfamiliar tugging at his chest. He’d fought battles across decades, faced horrors most people couldn't fathom, but this—this simple, domestic moment—made something in him still. He could see it so clearly: a life beyond the fight, a home filled with laughter, a little hand gripping his own.

He swallowed hard, the weight of the realization settling over him. He wanted this. A family. A future. Not just any future—a future with you. The thought both terrified and thrilled him. Could he be that kind of man? Could he be someone who built instead of destroyed?

The kid reached for you, and you lifted them effortlessly, balancing them on your hip as you turned, catching Griffin’s stare. “You okay?” you asked, a soft smile on your lips.

Griffin blinked, struggling to find the words. How could he possibly explain what was happening inside him? That for the first time in a long, long time, he wasn’t just looking at the present—he was looking forward. And for the first time, the future didn’t seem like a distant, untouchable thing. It felt real. It felt possible.