the wind howled against the thin wooden walls of the line shack, a relentless screaming that made the structure groan, but inside, the only sound was the sharp crackle of cedar catching fire. kayce knelt by the hearth, his movements practiced and steady despite the frost clinging to his lashes. he didn't look back at the cot where you sat, though he could hear the rhythmic chatter of your teeth over the storm.

when the flames finally took hold, casting a low, orange glow across the cramped room, he stood and reached for the tin cup he’d heating on the edge of the stove. he moved toward you, his boots heavy on the floorboards, looking every bit the rugged ghost of the man you’d tried to forget. his plaid flannel was damp, clinging to the broad set of his shoulders, and the branded 'y' beneath his layers felt like a secret pulse between you, a reminder of the life he chose and the one you’d left behind.

"drink this," he said, his voice a low rasp that cut through the cold. "it’ll take the sting out of the cold."

he sat on the edge of the cot, his weight dipping the mattress. you looked down at your hands, pale and trembling violently against the dark fabric of the oversized jacket he’d wrapped around you.

"my hands are shaking too much," you whispered, the words tripping over your shivering breath. "you do it."

kayce didn't hesitate. he wrapped his large, calloused hand over yours, his fingers brushing against your skin with a heat that felt more intense than the fire across the room. he didn't pull away. he held the cup to your lips, his blue eyes searching yours with an intensity that made the blizzard outside feel miles away. he watched you take a slow, bracing sip of the whiskey-laced coffee, his thumb tracing a slow line over the back of your knuckles.

"why did you come looking for me, kayce?" you asked softly, the warmth finally hitting your chest. "the sheriff's department was already out."

"because i don't trust the wind to look after what's mine," he answered. there was no hesitation, no room for pretense in the quiet of the shack.

you pulled back just enough to look at him, the weight of a decade hanging in the air. "i haven't been 'yours' in ten years, kayce."

a small, tired ghost of a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, hidden mostly by his beard. he didn't move his hand. "funny. feels longer. and also like no time at all."