The barn was quiet that afternoon, sun filtering in through the cracks in the old wood panels, dust swirling lazily in the air. You were busy cleaning out one of the stalls when you heard it again, a low, impatient snort from the far end. You didn’t have to look to know who it was.

Simon.

The massive bull-headed milk cow, broad and imposing, always tucked in the shadows of his stall like he didn’t want to be seen… but always watching you. He had a reputation among the rest of the 141 herd, he was temperamental, standoffish, hard to manage. But around you? He melted like butter under sun.

He pawed the hay with one hand as you approached, tail flicking anxiously. His masked face, a custom muzzle covering most of his features, tilted as you got close, dark eyes following every movement. He let out a needy huff, pressing his side to the stall gate.

Every time you tried to walk away, he let out a low groan, stepping forward with a soft mrrph like he was trying to speak. Needy. Restless. Eyes locked on you like you were the only thing that kept him grounded.

And maybe… to him, you were.