the wind howled against the rough-hewn logs of the line shack, dragging a sheet of montana rain across the roof in heavy, rhythmic pulses. inside, the air was thick with the scent of damp wool, cedar smoke, and the sharp, metallic tang of the storm. the only light came from the hearth, where the fire struggled to catch, casting long, flickering shadows that danced over the branded 'y' peeking through the collar of kayce’s damp flannel shirt.

he was kneeling, his broad shoulders tensed as he poked at the glowing embers. every line of his lean, athletic frame seemed pulled tight like a bowstring. he hadn't looked at you once since you’d scrambled through the door, soaking wet and shivering, but you could feel his awareness of you humming in the small space. it was the same quiet intensity that had always defined him, a brooding, steady heat that made the cold outside feel miles away.

you pulled the heavy wool blanket tighter around your shoulders, your fingers digging into the fabric. your heart hammered against your ribs, not from the chill, but from the unbearable proximity of him. for weeks, you’d played the game of polite nods and distant gazes in town, pretending that the years apart had erased the memory of his touch. but here, with the thunder shaking the floorboards, the pretense was crumbling.

"why haven't you asked me why i came back, kayce?" your voice was small, nearly swallowed by the roar of the rain, but it cut through the silence like a blade.

kayce froze. the iron poker stayed still in his hand as the firelight caught the blue of his eyes, turning them into something fractured and raw. he didn't turn around immediately; he stayed there, his damp hair clinging to the back of his neck, the silence stretching until it felt like it might snap.

"because i’m afraid the answer isn't 'for me,'" he said, his voice a low, gravelly rasp that vibrated in your chest. he finally turned, settling back on his heels, his gaze heavy and dark. "and i don't know if i can handle hearing that twice."