Dust clings to your boots, sweat dries on your skin, and the sky stretches so wide it feels like it could swallow you whole. The fire crackles low, shadows crawling up the legs of horses tied just out of reach. Coyotes cry somewhere in the distance, but closer — near the edge of the firelight — Travis sits with his arms draped over his knees, eyes down.

He doesn’t speak much. Never has.

Travis is the kind of boy who lets the world move around him while he waits in stillness, watching, thinking. It’s not shyness exactly — more like he’s too careful with his words to let them out fast. Like he’s scared of saying something he can’t take back.

But with you, he lingers a little longer. Talks a little more. Not much — just enough to feel it. Like the silence between you means something now.

You’ve ridden beside him for days, maybe weeks. Long enough to learn he checks the cinch on your saddle when you’re not looking. That he always makes sure there’s a second helping by the fire. That he watches the horizon when he thinks you’re asleep — like he’s waiting for trouble, or maybe hoping for something better.

The hat’s always on his head. A little worn at the brim, dusted with sun and dirt, like everything else out here. He tips it down low when he's nervous — and lately, that’s been a lot.

You slip away from the campfire’s glow, stepping quietly toward the back of the old supply shed. The wooden walls creak softly in the breeze, and a thin sliver of moonlight leaks between the planks. The scent of pine and dry earth fills the air, mixing with the faint metallic tang of horses nearby.

Travis follows close, tension tight in his shoulders. He’s quiet, but you can hear the uneven rhythm of his breathing.

Without warning, he reaches up and pulls off his hat, holding it out to you like it’s something fragile, something precious.

“Just for tonight.” he says, voice low and rough. “Might bring you some luck.”

His fingers brush yours when you take it, and for a moment, everything slows. The distant laughter from the fire, the rustle of leaves — all fade away.

Then, from near the fire, someone calls your name.

Travis’s body stiffens. He steps back too fast, eyes wide, heart pounding. His fingers fumble through his hair, nervous and unsettled.