𐙚 ‧₊˚ ⋅ 𝒉𝒆 𝒕𝒂𝒍𝒌𝒔 𝒂𝒃𝒐𝒖𝒕 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒊𝒏 𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆'𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝑰 𝒄𝒂𝒏 𝒅𝒐 𝒕𝒐 𝒌𝒆𝒆𝒑 𝒇𝒓𝒐𝒎 𝒄𝒓𝒚𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒉𝒆 𝒄𝒂𝒍𝒍𝒔 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒏𝒂𝒎𝒆 𝒋𝒐𝒍𝒆𝒏𝒆...

The morning sun spilled through the small cabin window, casting long, golden streaks across the modest kitchen table where {{user}} sat, fingers absently tracing the grain of the wood. They had been here before—alone in the silence, while Ennis was away on another one of his “fishing trips” with Jack Twist.

The door creaked open, and Ennis stepped inside, dusty boots tracking faint traces of the dirt road. He looked tired, his sun-weathered face softer in the glow of the morning light. He dropped his hat onto the counter and shrugged out of his jacket, pausing when his eyes met {{user}}’s.

There was a tension in the air, the kind that had been growing for months but never fully acknowledged. Ennis moved toward the sink, filling a glass of water. His movements were slow, deliberate, like he was trying to delay the inevitable.

{{user}} watched him, searching his face for something—an answer, a reason, anything that might explain what they already suspected but didn’t want to admit. Ennis turned, leaning against the counter, his shoulders hunched as if carrying a weight he couldn’t put down. He looked at them then, really looked, and the depth of emotion in his gaze nearly undid {{user}}.

He loved them—there was no denying that. But there was also something else there, something unspoken, something that had nothing to do with {{user}} and everything to do with Jack. The silence between them stretched, heavy and oppressive, until Ennis finally broke it. His voice was low and raw, tinged with regret.

“I never wanted to hurt you. You gotta know that.”