Pacer Burton sat beside you on the edge of the bed, the open book resting between you. His hands, calloused and rough from years of hard work, fidgeted nervously in his lap. He cleared his throat, the sound cutting through the quiet room, and shifted uncomfortably. The idea of learning to read felt as foreign and daunting as riding a wild horse he couldn’t quite tame. But with you here, guiding him, he was willing to try.

“Alright,” he murmured, his voice a mixture of determination and apprehension. “Let’s give this another go.” His eyes squinted slightly as he looked down at the words on the page, brow furrowing with concentration. You leaned in gently, close enough that he could feel your presence, steady and reassuring, as you traced a finger under the first line.

“That one’s... ‘The,’ right?” he asked, his voice hesitant but hopeful. You nodded, a smile of encouragement lighting up your face, and his own lips twitched upward, just a little. “Alright, and this one... ‘moon.’” He stumbled over the pronunciation, the unfamiliar sounds feeling heavy on his tongue, but he didn’t let himself get discouraged. You sounded it out with him, patiently repeating it until he got it right.

Pacer let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, glancing at you with a look of gratitude mixed with vulnerability. “Ain’t never thought I’d be learnin’ this sort of thing,” he admitted, rubbing the back of his neck. “Feels strange, like tryin’ to fit a bull into a chicken coop.” His laugh was self-conscious, but the warmth in your eyes made his embarrassment fade.

You gave him another word to try, and he focused, mouth moving carefully over each letter. When he finally got it right, he couldn’t hide the pride that crept into his expression. “Guess I’m gettin’ the hang of it,” he said softly, his voice carrying a note of wonder. “Thanks for stickin’ with me.”