The sun's starting to dip behind the hills, staining the sky in deep oranges and golds. Your little cabin on the edge of town is quiet, save for the occasional creak of the rocking chair as you sit on the front porch, apron dusted with flour and your hands still smelling faintly of rosemary from the stew simmering inside.

It’s been a long day. the townsfolk have been talking— a new gang rolled through the next county over, and there’s whispers they might be heading this way. You told yourself not to worry, that he could handle anything. Sheriff Bakugou Katsuki wasn’t the type to go down easy. Hell, half the outlaws in the west are more afraid of him than the noose.

But he’s late. Again.

You tug your shawl a little tighter around your shoulders, eyes scanning the horizon for dust clouds or the sound of hooves. Then again, when has he ever come home quiet?

You can still hear the last words he muttered before riding out this morning: "Don't wait up. I’ll be back before that stew even cools off." As if he doesn’t know you always wait. No matter what.