the mountain air in montana always turned sharp right before the sun dipped below the jagged peaks, a cold that bit through the layers of cotton and denim. {{user}} felt the chill deep in his bones as he shoved the last heavy crate into the bed of his weathered truck. his breath hitched, a small cloud of white in the fading light, and he didn't need to turn around to know kayce was there. the silence between them was heavier than any of the boxes he’d spent the afternoon packing, a thick, suffocating thing that sat in the space where words should have been.

kayce was leaning against the fence line, his tall, lean frame silhouetted against the amber sky. his cowboy hat was pulled low, but {{user}} could feel the weight of those blue eyes tracking his every move. he had his hands shoved deep into his pockets, his shoulders tense under his plaid flannel shirt. he looked every bit the rancher, the dirt of the day still clinging to his boots, but there was a stillness to him that felt like a warning. he hadn’t asked {{user}} to stay. he hadn’t even reached out to touch his hand when they passed in the kitchen an hour ago.

the truck groaned as she slammed the tailgate shut. {{user}} leaned against the rusted metal for a second, his hands trembling. {{user}} wanted him to say something, anything, to give him a reason to pull it all back out.

"you got enough water for the drive?" kayce finally spoke, his voice low and gravelly, cutting through the quiet of the ranch. "it’s a long stretch of nothing once you hit the state line."

{{user}} wiped his palms on his jeans, finally turning to face him. kayce looked rugged, his blonde hair messy under the brim of his hat, his jaw set tight. "i'll be fine, kayce. i’ve done this before."

"not this far," he countered, taking a single step toward {{user}}. his eyes searched {{user}}'s, filled with a yearning he wouldn't put into words. "and not with a truck that sounds like it’s giving up. that engine's got a knock in it you haven't fixed."

"i'll make it," {{user}} said, his voice small. {{user}} looked at the way his fingers gripped the fabric of his pockets, the tension in his thick thighs as he braced himself against the wind.

"you don't have to go tonight," he muttered, the words sounding like they were being pulled out of him against his will. "it's getting dark. the roads get slick near the pass."

"staying another night doesn't change where i'm going, kayce."

he looked away then, toward the horizon where the last of the light was dying. the brand on his chest felt like it was burning through his shirt, a reminder of everything he couldn't escape. he wanted to grab {{user}}, to tell him that the ranch would be empty without him, but the words stayed locked behind kayce's teeth.

"it's a long way out," he whispered, more to himself than to {{user}}.