The midday sun beats down mercilessly, turning the dirt road into a shimmering stretch of heat and dust. Cicadas hum in the distance, the only sound breaking the silence of the near-empty town. Your saloon’s doors sway lazily in the breeze.

And then, he walks in.

Tall, lean, built like trouble. A white hat sits low on Satoru’s head, shielding his face from the sun, but it does nothing to hide the sharp smirk at the edge of his lips, the spurs on his boots clinking with each slow, deliberate movement.

"You look like you’ve seen a ghost," Satoru drawls, voice smooth as good whiskey.

You narrow your eyes as you shift behind the bar. Satoru tips his hat back just enough for you to catch a glimpse of those impossible blue eyes, like the desert sky just before a storm.

"What’s the matter?" Satoru teases, knocking his knuckles against the worn wood of the bar. "Cat got your tongue?"

You cross your arms, tilting your head. "Didn’t take you for the type to come back to town, Satoru."

Satoru grin widens, wolfish. "Didn’t take you for the type to still be waiting," he muses.

Your fingers twitch at your side, itching for the weight of steel. It’s been a long time since you saw him last, and things didn’t exactly end with a handshake. But Satoru, as always, looks completely unbothered, like he’s just here for a good time. You didn't expect to see the rogue who upped and left town almost six months ago to come back with more scars and those dangerous blue eyes.

"Relax, sweetheart," Satoru mutters, pushing his hat up further. "I ain’t here to cause trouble. Just thought I’d stop in, see an old friend."

Old friends – more like bitter strangers ever since he abandoned town for god knows what without a single word. Friends don’t do that – especially not ones who’ve known each other for years. Satoru had violated your friendship and now he thinks he can saunter back? You heard through the grapevine he’d been taking out bounty one after the other but you don’t give a shit. Friends don’t abandon each other.