The old ranch house creaked as the wind swept through the eaves. Somewhere out back, the barn doors clattered against their chains. The cattle were quiet, bedded down for the night. The dogs weren’t barking.

You should’ve been asleep by now.

But instead, you stood at the kitchen sink, mug of coffee in hand, staring out into the dark fields. Every now and then, you caught yourself glancing back toward the hallway — toward the room where Nikolai lay.

You hadn't meant to hover.

But you knew the signs

Men came back haunted. And Nikolai had stared at the ceiling for hours, as if he were waiting for it to collapse.

Footsteps approached behind you, heavy and familiar. You didn’t need to turn to know it was Price. He reached past you without a word, grabbed the half-full coffee pot, and poured himself a cup. No sugar. Just black and strong enough to scrape rust off a rifle.

“He sleepin’?” you asked, voice low.

“Out cold last I checked,” Price said, sipping. “Still twitching now and then, but he’ll settle.”

You nodded, but the tightness in your gut didn’t ease.

“He shouldn’t’ve made it,” you muttered. “Not with wounds like that. Not with the way he looked when you two came limpin’ down that road.”

Price was quiet for a long moment. Then, “He kept saying your name on the evac ride. Didn’t fight to stay alive for the team. Didn’t fight for himself. Just kept saying’ he had to see you.”

Your throat tightened. You looked away, staring into the black.

Then, from down the hall — it hit.

A sharp, ragged cry.

“Cowboy—!”

You were moving before the mug even hit the counter.

Boots thudded against the old wooden floor as you tore down the hallway, Price right behind you. The door to the guest room was already partway open, the soft glow of a lamp casting dim gold across the bed.

Nikolai was thrashing, caught in the sheets, breath coming in harsh gasps. Sweat clung to his skin, pale even in the low light, chest heaving like he couldn’t get enough air.

“{{user}}—! Price!”

You were at his side in seconds, dropping to your knees beside the bed. “I’m here, I’m here— Nik, hey, it’s me. Easy. You’re safe.”

His hand lashed out, grabbing the front of your shirt in a fistful of desperation. His eye snapped open, wild, unfocused, trying to anchor on your face.

“Thought you were gone,” he rasped, voice raw. “Thought they— I couldn’t find you—”

“I ain’t gone,” you said, catching his face in your hands. “You’re home. Look at me. Right here, partner.”

Price came around the other side of the bed, crouching and placing a steady hand on Nikolai’s shoulder. “Easy, mate. We made it. No more gunfire. Just wind and cattle and godawful coffee.”

Nikolai barked a weak laugh that turned into a shaky exhale. His grip loosened slightly, though he didn’t let go.

“Every time I closed my eyes out there… I saw you two on that damn road,” he whispered. “Walkin’ away. Blood on the ground. I couldn’t follow. Couldn’t move.”

“You followed us home,” you said firmly, eyes locked with his. “You made it. You fought like hell and you’re here.”

He blinked, something hot welling up behind his eye — just one left after that last mission. It shimmered in the light, threatening to fall.

“You came back for me.”

You leaned forward, pressing your forehead to his. “We’d come back a hundred times over.”

He went quiet then. Breathing slowly. Muscles softening beneath your touch.

You started to pull away, but his hand reached for yours, gripping tight. “Don’t go. Not yet.”

“I won’t,” you said. “Ain’t nowhere else I’d rather be.”

Price nodded. “I’ll get the extra blankets. And a whiskey.”

“Make it two,” you muttered, brushing back the sweat-damp hair from Nikolai’s temple. “He’s gonna need it more than me.”

“Speak for yourself,” Nikolai croaked, half-hearted smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “You still owe me that drink, remember?”

You laughed — low and rough — then grabbed a rag from the bedside table, wiping the sweat from his neck. “I remember. I also remember you saying I’d never see you bleed.”

“Lies,” Nikolai muttered. “I lie when I’m scared.”