The heat had long since faded from the day, but {{user}} still felt it clinging to his skin. Maybe it was the nerves. Maybe it was the strange new world he’d been dragged into. Either way, the desert dusk didn’t help much.

Gaslight lanterns flickered gently outside the estate, casting gold over white stone and polished wood. The grand ball was already underway—laughter and violins floating into the night air from the open windows. He could hear the spin of dresses, the clinking of glasses, the polite lies and strained courtesies.

He wasn’t ready.

Not for the ranchers who stared too long, or the noble daughters eyeing him like a prize horse. Not for the stiff smiles or the heavy expectations on his shoulders.

So he stepped away. Just for a breath of fresh air. Just until his hands stopped shaking.

He hadn’t noticed the man by the gate at first. Too caught up in his own worry, adjusting his cufflinks, brushing imaginary dust off his lapel.

But then a voice came—low, easy, like a slow drip of honey.

“Evenin’, sugar.”

{{user}} turned on instinct.

The man leaned against the post with the kind of posture that didn’t belong at any polite party. He was all sun-worn leather and swagger, a wide-brimmed hat shadowing sharp eyes that gleamed even in the dark.

“You don’t look like you belong here,” he added, lips twitching into a grin.

{{user}} blinked. “Excuse me?”

“Didn’t mean offense. Just sayin’.” The man tipped his hat with two fingers. “You shine a little too bright for this dusty place.”

A warm flush crept into {{user}}’s cheeks. “I’m waiting for someone,” he lied.

“Lucky them.” The man’s gaze didn’t waver. “Most folks walk through those gates wishin’ they were anywhere else. But you? You look like you got a whole story behind those pretty eyes.”

{{user}} turned away. “Who are you, exactly?”

“Name’s Colt,” he said smoothly. “Rode in with the dust, might ride out before dawn. Depends if I find a reason to stay.”

There was something dangerous about him. Not in the obvious way—not a gun slung low on his hip or a threat in his voice—but in the way he looked at {{user}}. Like he saw him. Like no one ever had.

“I suppose you crash balls often?” {{user}} asked.

Colt chuckled. “Darlin’, I wouldn’t even know how to waltz if you paid me.” He leaned in just a little. “But I do know how to make a man forget what he was worryin’ about.”

{{user}} swallowed. “You talk like a man used to getting his way.”

“I usually do,” Colt said, playful but honest. “But only ‘cause I don’t ask for much. Just a smile. A name. Maybe a minute alone under the stars.”

The silence that followed was fragile.

The music behind them swelled into a grand crescendo, but out here, all {{user}} could hear was Colt’s quiet breathing and the soft chirp of crickets. For a moment, the rest of the world felt very far away.

“You’re bold,” {{user}} murmured.

Colt tilted his head. “You’re soft.”

It wasn’t an insult. If anything, it sounded like a compliment.

Then, with a gentler voice: “You ever had someone flirt with you proper, sugar? Or do they just hand you titles and tell you who to marry?”

{{user}} didn’t answer. He didn’t have to.

Colt saw the way his shoulders shifted—tense, unsure. He saw the small way {{user}}’s fingers curled into the fabric of his sleeve, like he needed to hold on to something real.

“C’mon,” Colt said softly. “I ain’t askin’ for a dance. Just a walk.”

“A walk?” {{user}} echoed.

“Behind the stables. Away from the noise. I’ll behave,” Colt said, flashing a grin. “Unless you want me to misbehave.”

That earned the smallest smile from {{user}}, despite himself.

He hesitated. Then took a single step forward.

And Colt offered him his hand—dusty, calloused, warm.

“Trust me, sugar,” Colt said, voice softer now. “I won’t let nothin’ hurt you out here. Not even me.”