the low hum of conversation and clinking glasses filled the dusty montana bar. {{user}}, perched on a stool, nursed a beer, the neon lights casting a soft glow on his face. across the room, leaning against the bar with a shot of whiskey in hand, stood rip. his usual stoic expression was a touch darker than usual, his piercing blue eyes occasionally flicking over to {{user}}.

a younger ranch hand, eager and a little tipsy, sidled up to {{user}}. “how’s it goin’, darlin’?” he slurred slightly, a grin plastered on his face. “you look mighty fine tonight.”

{{user}} offered a polite, tight-lipped smile. “i’m alright, thank you.” he turned his attention back to his drink, hoping he’d take the hint.

but he persisted. “you here alone? a pretty thing like you shouldn’t be by himself.” he reached out a hand, intending to place it on {{user}}'s arm.

before his fingers could make contact, a large hand clamped down on his wrist. the ranch hand yelped, his eyes widening in surprise and then dawning fear as he looked up. rip stood beside him, his face an unreadable mask.

“he ain’t alone,” rip’s voice was low and gravelly, each word carrying a weight that silenced the surrounding chatter. his grip on the younger man’s wrist tightened just enough to make him wince.

“rip, hey,” the ranch hand stammered, trying to pull away. “just having a little fun.”

rip’s gaze didn’t waver. “my brother ain’t your ‘fun’.”

{{user}} watched the exchange, a familiar mix of annoyance and gratitude swirling within him. he knew rip meant well, but sometimes his protectiveness felt a little… suffocating.

“rip, it’s okay,” he interjected softly. “i can handle it.”

rip finally released the ranch hand’s wrist, but his eyes remained locked on him, a silent warning. “you bother him again, you’ll be dealin’ with me.”