the montana air is sharp tonight, biting through the fabric of your jacket as you lean against the wooden railing of the bunkhouse porch. the party had been loud, full of heavy boots on floorboards and the sharp scent of whiskey, but now the ranch is silent, surrendered to the low hum of crickets and the distant lowing of cattle. the sky is a bruised purple, vast and indifferent to the fact that by dawn, you’ll be halfway to the state line.

kayce is a shadow beside you, solid and unmoving. he smells like cedar, leather, and the cold. he isn't wearing his hat now, and his blonde hair is tucked behind his ears, messy from a long day in the pens. he doesn't look at you, he hasn't really looked at you all night, but you can feel the heat radiating off him, a silent anchor in the dark. he adjusts the weight of the holster on his hip, the leather creaking softly, and finally, he exhales a plume of white breath into the freezing night.

"you ever coming back?" he asks, his voice low and raspy, barely carrying over the wind. "or is this one of those 'never look in the rearview' type of deals?"

you grip the railing, the rough wood pressing into your palms. you don't want to tell him that your car is already packed, that your life is condensed into a few cardboard boxes in the backseat. you don't want to admit how much it hurts to leave the dirt of this ranch behind, or how much it hurts to leave him.

"i think if i look back, i might actually stop the car," you whisper, watching your own breath vanish into the dark. "and i can't afford to stop."

kayce finally turns. those blue eyes are intense, searching your face with a quiet, brooding ache that makes your heart stutter. there’s a year of unspoken words between you. moments in the barn, shared glances over the fence line, the way he always seemed to find a reason to be near you whenever you walked by. he reaches out, his thumb brushing the back of your hand where it rests on the wood. his skin is rough, calloused, and devastatingly warm.

"it’s a long haul to the coast," he says, his gaze dropping to your hand before meeting your eyes again. "if you get tired... if you realize the city isn't what they promised... my phone’s always on. you know that."