Bodies mill about — soldiers in civilian clothes, their girlfriends and wives in sundresses, a few kids running wild near the inflatable pool. A cooler sits propped open, bottles of beer and cans of soda floating in melted ice. Someone's dog, a golden retriever, weaves through legs looking for dropped food.

Y/n steps through the side gate, and the scene washes over them like a wave. Familiar faces. A few new ones. The smell of chlorine and cut grass.

And then —

There he is.

Then he looks up.

His eyes find Y/n across the yard. Curly blonde hair, damp at the temples from the heat. A plain grey t-shirt stretched across his shoulders, sleeves riding up to show the edge of that sun tattoo. He's tanned. A little scarred. A little tired around the eyes.

The ghost of a smile pulls at his mouth.