The stables are quiet for once—no shouting, no sudden stampedes, just the low sound of horses breathing and sunlight filtering through the dust in golden streaks. Jean’s leaned against the fence, sleeves rolled up, arms flecked with dirt, and that cocky little half-smile already tugging at his mouth before you even say a word.

He gives you a once-over—nothing bold, just familiar. He’s looked at you like that before.

“What, you following me now? Or just hoping I’ll do all the work while you stand there lookin’ pretty?”

It’s playful, not mocking. You’ve known him long enough to catch the difference. Long enough to know that when he says stuff like that, he’s not actually trying to impress anyone else.

He jerks his chin toward the stable door without losing that smirk.

“C’mon. If I’m stuck here, you’re not getting out of it either.”