the air in montana always felt a little thinner when a goodbye was hanging in it. {{user}} stood by the hitch of his truck, cinching down a heavy nylon strap over a wooden crate that held the last of his life in paradise valley. the gravel crunched behind him. a sound he’d know anywhere, steady and sure.

kayce didn't say anything at first. he just leaned against the side of the truck bed, his stetson pulled low over his blue eyes, watching {{user}}'s hands work. his tall, lean frame cast a long shadow over the dust, and the silence between them wasn't empty; it was heavy, filled with three years of shared fence repairs, quiet porch sits, and the kind of looks that lasted a second too long to be just friendly.

"you're really doing it, then," he said, his voice barely pulling over the low whistle of the wind.

{{user}} didn't look up. he couldn't. {{user}} kept his focus on the tension of the strap, his fingers white-knuckled against the fabric. "the job starts monday. i can't exactly push it back, kayce."

"i know." he moved closer, the leather of his jacket creaking. he reached out to steady a shifting box, his fingers brushing against {{user}}'s for a fleeting heartbeat. he didn't pull away. "just feels like the ranch is gonna be a hell of a lot quieter without you around to tell me when i'm being stubborn."

{{user}} let out a soft, jagged laugh, finally glancing at him. he looked every bit the soldier turned cowboy, rugged and worn in all the right places, with his golden-blonde hair tucked behind his ears. "you'll find someone else to keep you in line. it's a full-time job, but someone will take it."

kayce stepped into {{user}}'s line of sight, forcing him to really see him. his eyes were searching {{user}}'s with an intensity that made his breath hitch in his chest. there was so much he wasn't saying. about the nights he’d almost walked over to {{user}}'s cabin, or the way he watched him ride out every morning.

"{{user}}," he started, his voice dropping an octave as he took a half-step forward. the scent of dust, cedar, and old whiskey clung to him. "you know you don't have to go. there's plenty of work here. there's... other reasons to stay."