the wood of the line shack groaned under the weight of the montana rain, a relentless drumming that turned the world outside into a blurred smear of grey and green. inside, the air was thick with the scent of cedar, damp denim, and the sharp, metallic tang of the coming storm. the power had flickered and died minutes ago, leaving them anchored in the amber glow of a single kerosene lamp that sat between them on the scarred wooden table.

kayce sat across from you, his frame seemingly too large for the cramped quarters of the cabin. the brim of his hat cast a shadow over his blue eyes, but you could still feel the weight of his gaze. he looked every bit the man the valley had carved him into. rugged, lean, and carrying the quiet exhaustion of someone who lived his life between the dirt and the sky.

you wrapped your hands around a warm mug, the steam dampening your face as you looked at him. the silence between you wasn't empty; it was heavy, filled with the ten years of distance you’d finally closed by coming home.

"beth told me you don't stay in the main house much anymore," you said, your voice soft against the roar of the wind. "said you prefer the bunkhouse or the fields. avoiding something?"

kayce didn't look up immediately. he reached for his own coffee, his movements slow and deliberate. "just looking for a little peace, {{user}}. hard to find in a house with that many ghosts."

you let out a small, hollowing breath, your thumb tracing the rim of your cup. "i'm a ghost, too, kayce. i’ve been gone long enough to be one."

at that, he moved. he leaned forward, reaching out to hand you a fresh carafe of coffee, but as he did, his fingers brushed against yours. he didn't pull away. the contact was electric, warm skin against yours in a way that made the small room feel even smaller. his calloused thumb lingered over your knuckles for a second too long, a silent acknowledgment of everything that hadn't been said since you stepped off the plane.

"you’re not a ghost," he muttered, his voice dropping to a low, intense rasp that vibrated in your chest. "you’re the only thing in this valley that feels real right now."

the honesty in his eyes caught you off guard, making your heart hammer against your ribs. you pulled your hand back slowly, the loss of his touch feeling like a physical chill.

"don't say things like that," you whispered, shaking your head. "not if you don't mean them."

kayce set the carafe down, his eyes locking onto yours with a brooding intensity that made it impossible to look away. "that’s my problem. i’ve meant them for ten years."