the sun was dipping behind the jagged peaks of the gallatin range, staining the montana sky in shades of bruised purple and deep gold. on the porch of the dutton ranch, the only sound was the rhythmic, metallic scrape of kayce’s cleaning rod against the barrel of his rifle. he sat on the top step, his wide shoulders hunched, the sleeves of his plaid flannel rolled up to reveal tanned, scarred forearms.

behind him, the porch swing creaked. a slow, steady heartbeat of wooden slats and rusted chains. {{user}} sat there, his fingers tracing the frayed edge of his sweater. {{user}} had been part of this family since he was a teenager, a sanctuary granted by john dutton after his world collapsed, but lately, the air between his and kayce felt less like family and more like a storm waiting to break.

"you're going out with the livestock agents tomorrow," {{user}} said softly. it wasn't a question; he’d seen the way kayce's jaw had been set since breakfast.

kayce didn’t turn around, though his hands stilled for a fraction of a second. "it's just work, {{user}}."

"it’s never just work with this family, kayce. you know that better than anyone." he stood up, the floorboards groaning under his feet as he walked to the edge of the railing. {{user}} looked out at the vast, darkening acres of the ranch. the empire that demanded so much blood to keep.

"john took me in so i’d be safe. he wanted me away from the chaos. but i don't think he realized the safest place for me is wherever you are. and that’s the most dangerous place in montana."

the cleaning cloth dropped to the porch floor. kayce stood up, his tall, lean frame casting a long shadow that swallowed {{user}}'s. he took a half-step toward him, his blue eyes intense and clouded with a yearning he’d spent years trying to bury. he looked at {{user}}, really looked at him, and the air felt heavy with everything they hadn't said since they were kids.

"i spent years trying to run away from this name," kayce whispered, his voice rough, like gravel under a boot. "i went halfway around the world to forget the brand on my chest. but then i’d come back and see you... in the kitchen, or out in these fields... and i realized i wasn't staying for the land. i wasn't staying for him."

he stepped closer, close enough that he could smell the faint scent of gun oil, pine, and woodsmoke. his hand hovered near {{user}}'s, twitching as if he wanted to reach out but feared the betrayal it would represent to the man who gave him a home.

"i was staying so i wouldn't have to imagine a world where i didn't see you every morning," he finished, his jaw tightening as he stared at {{user}}.