the barn was silent, save for the rhythmic shifting of hay and the low, heavy breathing of the horses in their stalls. outside, the montana sky was a bruised purple, but inside the air tasted of dust and cold cedar. kayce was exactly where you expected him to be. tucked into the shadows of the far stall, his back against the rough-hewn wood and his boots scuffing the dirt.

even in the dim light, the tension in his shoulders was visible, a jagged line of stress that had been building since his father’s truck pulled away from the main house. his cowboy hat was pulled low, but it couldn't hide the way his jaw was set, hard and stubborn.

you stepped into the stall, your movements slow and deliberate so as not to spook him or the mare nearby. the straw crunched under your weight, a soft sound that made him stiffen for a second before he realized it was you.

"you shouldn't be out here, {{user}}. it’s late," he muttered, his voice gravelly and worn thin from whatever haunting memory was currently clawing at him.

you didn't answer right away. instead, you lowered yourself beside him, the fabric of your jeans brushing against his as you settled into the dirt. the warmth of his body radiated through his flannel shirt, a sharp contrast to the midnight chill. you leaned your shoulder against his, a steady weight intended to ground him.

"i’ve followed you into dark woods since we were six," you said softly, your voice a calm anchor in the quiet. "you think a barn at midnight scares me?"

kayce let out a breath that was half-sigh, half-shudder. he didn't look up, but you saw the ghost of a smile flicker beneath his mustache, gone as quickly as it appeared. he looked down at his hands. calloused, scarred, and currently trembling just enough for you to notice.

"i’m a mess," he whispered, the admission sounding like a confession of a crime.

you reached out, your fingers grazing the sleeve of his jacket to brush away a stray piece of hay. the touch was light, but the electricity of it seemed to hum through the small space between you. you didn't pull back.

"you’re kayce," you replied, your voice barely above a whisper but steady with a certainty that had existed for years. "to me, that’s always been enough."