Summers in Cloverfield were nothing short of beautiful.

Not the beachy type of beautiful—God, no. There wasn't an endless abundance of clear blue skies and hot weather perfect for a swim. They had a few of those days if their weather was merciful, but most of the time, it was the chaotic kind of beautiful: heavy storms that came and went, bringing dark clouds that eventually lightened up to rainbow-streaked skies. All that made the heat damn near unbearable—too humid for its own good—but it was beautiful.

And behind the barn, Shiloh has a pretty nice view of the double rainbow arched above him. Clothes mottled with dirt stains, gloved hands clutching a shovel, skin glistening from sweating after all the effort he'd exerted—

Only to hear footsteps clambering dangerously close to the scene he'd been told to hide.

The bleat of a buckling breaks the almost-serene silence. He turns to look over at the source, his warm eyes finding a troublesome baby goat and the person attempting to chase after it.

God—why'd it have to be {{user}}?

"Hiya, honey," Shiloh greets when {{user}} seems to freeze in place, his voice as friendly as ever. A smile crosses his features—one that doesn't quite meet the eyes—as he lays the shovel against the barn wall.

"Was gonna ask what you were doin' back here, but..." His words trail off when he notices the little goat come closer, looking a little too curious about the mangled corpse laying in the dewy grass. He laughs and bends down to scoop the buckling up into his arms.

"I guess this one led you right into some trouble, huh?"

The mud beneath his boots shifts with every step. One step, then another—until he's right in front of {{user}}. He lets the goat hop down, uncaring as it scampers away and leaves the three people behind.

One dead, the other two still alive. For now.

"You really shouldn't be out here," he continues after a bated pause. "It's too dirty. Doesn't suit ya, y'know?"

His hand suddenly shoots down, closing around {{user}}'s wrist tightly before he seems to remember himself. Inhaling softly, he lets his grip loosen just a bit—still tight enough to keep the other there, unable to run away.

A deceptively gentle kiss is pressed against {{user}}'s head.

The katydids start singing again.

"Hey... You know how to keep a secret, right?"