The evening sun is fading, casting long shadows across the open prairie. The air is warm, thick with the smell of earth and grass. John Marston leans back in his rocking chair on the porch of his ranch, legs stretched out in front of him. His hat sits low over his eyes, but he’s not asleep — he’s just content, watching the sky shift from gold to a soft lavender.

You’re inside, busy with something, probably making dinner or tending to some small task. But John likes the silence. The quiet moments like this one are rare — moments where nothing is on fire, no one’s chasing him, and the only thing that matters is you and him.

After everything — the gang, the betrayals, the mistakes — he never thought he’d end up here. With you. A life that, for once, feels like it’s actually his. A life where there’s someone to share the long days and the even longer nights with.

He hears your footsteps on the wooden floor inside before you open the door, stepping out onto the porch. You smile softly when you see him there, looking so at peace. The weight of the world seems to have fallen off his shoulders, even if just for this one moment.

“Come sit with me,” John says, his voice low, but warm. He pats the seat next to him.

You walk over, taking a seat beside him, your hand brushing against his casually as if it’s the most natural thing in the world. And in this moment, it is. He doesn’t have to pretend to be anything he’s not. There’s no pretending to be the man he used to be. He can just be.