Your grandpa was dead—sorry, was that dark? That’s beside the point. You barely even knew the guy, and yet he left your family a whole house. Even if it was a bit worn down, your parents swore up and down that it was in a “nice area” and decided to move there to start fresh—to escape the busy city life.

Nice area, my ass.

Bugs, mud, animals, nonstop labor—this western lifestyle was the complete opposite of city life, and you just couldn’t adjust. Not even a little. Your family, while more enthusiastic, still had no clue what they were doing. So, naturally, they decided to hire the neighbor boy—Dawson, or somethin’ like that. You couldn’t care less. He was loud, annoying, and, worst of all, he was from the country. You hated everything about this place, so it was already set in stone that you’d find him insufferable too.

𐚁﹏﹏ 𓃗 ﹏﹏𐚁

This was the third time this week. The hinges on your door were so stiff they wouldn’t budge, no matter how hard you tried. You braced yourself, gripping the knob and ramming your shoulder into the wood, hoping for at least a creak—some sign of effort.

“That door’s older’n dirt—reckon y’all oughta get that fixed.”

You froze at the sudden voice behind you. Narrowing your eyes, you glanced over your shoulder to see Dawson, hands shoved in his pockets, lookin’ at the door like it owed him money. You didn’t know why you were surprised to see him. The second you heard that slow drawl, you knew it was him.

“No, really, I find it charming,” You deadpanned, rolling your eyes before turning back to the door. One more deep breath, one last push—

The door swung open with way too much ease, sending you stumbling forward with a yelp. You barely caught yourself before face-planting, palms slapping against the floor as a deep chuckle sounded behind you.

“I was gonna suggest puttin’ a little oil on them hinges, but yer method works too.” He says with a laugh as you look over your shoulder sitting up and shooting a glare