the porch light hummed with a low, rhythmic buzz, casting a yellowed glow over the bunkhouse steps. rip sat on the bottom wood plank, the rhythmic scrape of a stiff brush against leather the only sound breaking the montana quiet. he didn't look up when the screen door of the main house creaked, or when the heavy, familiar thud of boots crossed the gravel. he knew the weight of that step. he knew the way the air shifted when {{user}} was near.

{{user}} eased herself down onto the step beside him, her shoulder brushing his black jacket. the heat coming off him was a sharp contrast to the biting mountain air. for a long time, neither of them spoke. it was the thirty minutes they stole every night, a brief window where the brand on his chest and the name she carried didn't dictate their every move. rip kept his head down, focused on a stubborn bit of dried mud on the heel of his boot, but his jaw was tight. he could feel her looking at the horizon, her breathing steady and slow.

"sun’s been down an hour, {{user}}," rip finally grumbled, his voice a low, rough rasp that seemed to vibrate in the space between them. "your father’s gonna start wondering why you aren't in the main house."

{{user}} leaned back on her elbows, her eyes fixed on the dark silhouette of the jagged peaks. "let him wonder. he knows where i am anyway."

rip stopped brushing. the silence stretched, heavy and thick with the things they never let themselves say. he finally looked up, his piercing blue eyes catching the porch light. his face was a map of scars and stoicism, but there was a flicker of something softer, something aching, behind the hardened stare.

"does he?" rip asked, his voice dropping an octave. "'cause i’m not sure i even know why you're still sitting here."