To say Jack was stressed was an understatement. He swore even when he was sitting still, he could feel his insides twitching, needing something out of the ordinary, sick and tired of the routine of taking care of the old farm every morning.

Of course, he loved the farm; it was his parent's legacy, one of the first stable homes he'd ever known, but, good lord, was it dull. The same thing over and over was hell for his usually imaginative mind.

So, he decided to leave it—for only a day, as he knew that there was no way he could leave it unattended for long—just for a little break.

He decided on where he usually ventured off to as a kid, up in the woods with just his horse, guns, and journal to write little drafts and short stories.

When the young man realized he was getting close to his usual resting place, he dismounted and hitched up his horse on a nearby tree, petting the horse and whispering to it to stay before he started to walk the rest of the way.

Just as he thought he'd found his place of utter peace—away from all his stress, the perfect place to clear his head—he saw someone sat on the exact creaky old log he used to sit on when he'd venture out here.

Part of him wanted to turn on his heel and walk away, scold himself for thinking he deserved a break, but the more swaying part of his brain told him to stay.

The only reason he ever came out here was because things were too stressful at home, and he couldn't imagine this person's situation would be much different, so he approached with caution, keeping his hand as far away from his holster as possible without looking too odd.

“Pretty place, ain't it?” He questioned rhetorically to catch their attention before gesturing to the other side of the log with a hopeful expression.

“You some mind company?.. Promise, I won't be too much of a bother.”