CharlieMichaelsKorner

The whisper of a dawn wakes you in the quiet, and you feel the beginning of the day even with your closed eyelids. The comfort of the soft, warm sheets cradles you, tempting you to go back to slumber. A smile grazes your lips as you feel the dip in the mattress and recall the night before; you slowly open your eyes, and the piercing blue irises, full with ardent affection, meet your sleepy turquoise ones. The pieces of his messy chalk-white hair fall perfectly framing his beautiful face, on his stomach hugging the pillow, the ripples of muscles flex as he moves the arm draped over your waist, and what little distance between you disappears entirely, and you are enveloped in his tender embrace. Your nakedness entwines, and your skin prickles, the heat rising responding to his touch, and he nuzzles you deeper into him.

"I love you, darlin'." The word slips from his lips not as a declaration nor a confession but a truth which offers no refute. The weeks of your absence in his life brought on immeasurable heartache and emptiness that he has no desire to relive.

He kisses the top of your head, your temple, the tip of your nose, and slowly, his lips find yours, claiming you as his hand traces your silhouette, burning you with his touch. The impossibly large hands envelop your left, and his fingers slip something onto one of yours; your breath hitches as you pause, and the blue greens flicker, refusing to choose one, always both gaze into his oceanic sea-glass ones, holding your entirety into its reflection, glinting with tenderness and devotion. In the same breath, he lifts your hand, his lips softly touch your ring finger; you are mesmerized as you behold the simple band, with an impressive emerald-green stone surrounded by tiny blue sapphires.

The room settles into a quiet hush as if the whole of Eufaula silences and waits…

The thick drawl, dripping with passion, echoes a familiarity that soothes and anchors you in the present.

"Marry me…" The fabrics rustle as he moves to kiss you deeper. In between kisses, he spoke, "Be my wife…" The taste of him, saccharine and sunshine, coats your tongue, "Make me your husband…" An exhale escapes him, and his warm breath fills you, "Make me the happiest man in all of the free cities…" His tongues swirl with yours as his callused hands roam your body, burning as if branding every part of you as his, "Wherever you are is where I’ll be…" He bites your lower lip as he cages you under him, and anchors your leg on his waist…"Take me with you…"

His forehead presses on yours as you share a breath; he reaches, and you feel his fingers massaging your core.

A grunt akin to a growl escapes him, "Already so soaked for me…"

His two fingers enter, and you gasp at the intrusion; he withdraws, and your body clenches as you search for him, feeling the void he left. He raises his hand to his lips, a hint of lust in his eyes as he examines, separating his fingers, and a string of your desire stretches between, and he sucks them greedily.

"Oh, darlin', so sweet for me."

The lewd sounds of his mouth make you ache for more.

You reach with your left hand, grasping his length, half-hard for you; you stroke him, the little light from the drawn curtain catches on the jewel on your finger, making it sparkle. Your ring finger grazes his tip, taking the bead of precum leaking; you bring your finger to your mouth, and you suck, hungry, as he watches, eyes laced with lust.

A moan falls from you, "My monster hunter."

His lips engulf yours, tongue tasting the salty mixed in with your taste of honeyed water.

In between kisses, he growls gutturally, "I missed yer."

He rubs his tip on your wet folds, coating his whole length with your juices as he swallows all your sweet moans. You taste your arousal in him, coating your tongue; it was enough to make you come. He gasps as he sheaths, burying himself to the hilt, and holds you shaking in his arms. The sea-glass blues of his irises beheld your turquoise ones rimmed with sunlight, and he professes.

"Wherever you are is where my home would be. I love you…"

Your lips envelop his, cutting him mid-sentence, as your tongue rolls inside his mouth. A groan escapes him, traveling through your spine, ending in your core, the familiar knot tightens. The heat bleeds in the air around you as you breathe in the shape of him, as if he is to disappear into a mist from you.

You clench, urging him to move, "Please, Logan…" His name rolls off your lips like sin.

His eyes darken with something raw and hungry; he thrusts into you with slow, even strokes, swiveling his hips, hitting the spot he knows you teeter, your toes curl. The delicious friction, making you dig your nails in, creating crescents that cut and sting; his lips break into a smile at the familiar pain.

He grunts a growl, "I missed yer…"

The weight of his need consumes you, as he holds you caged in his arms; the cries that fall from your lips soothe something in him, and he aches for more.

"I could touch yer like this forever."

He reaches with his other hand, and his rough, callused thumb worships your clit; your walls begin to pulsate around him. A crack of heat runs up his spine. Delirious with desire, he drives into you, rough, hungry, without hesitation; he looks down at where wetness meets desire, and a low carnal groan releases from him. Lips feverish, you kiss him as if erasing the weeks spent apart; he grips you harder, grounding.

A breathy whine, almost a plea, escapes your lips as you climax, soaking him as the absolute pleasure crashes over you; you clench hard, and he is unable to hold himself. A low, dirty growl vibrates from him as his hips shudder, and his warm cum fills you. His lips find yours, kissing you deep, and the taste of him coats your tongue—lust and sunshine—the scent of vanilla with a hint of leather and sex surrounds you, drowning you in ecstasy.

The beads of sweat glisten on the tops of your skin as the impossibly large arms tuck under you, as he flips with you on top of him as if you have always belonged there; his half-hard cock still inside you as your walls continue to pulsate around him, milking every last drop.

His hand trails up and down your spine languidly as you feel his hard muscles under you. In between catching his breath, he asks, "It's a yes?"

You huff a quiet laugh, your body hums, settling deeper into his warm embrace. You answer, "I love you, Logan, my monster hunter."

"I love you, darlin'—forever, and then some."

The words settle comfortably within you, a vow deeper than any oath; a determination of a future of love in each other's embrace.

Chapter 6: The Unfortunate Events in the Wandering Y

The loud screams carry through the silence of the dawn, pulling you from deep slumber. A breathy groan leaves your lips as you try to discern if the commotion needs your immediate attention.

"Go, git! Dang rockynerolls"

An audible sigh escapes you as you thrust your pillow, covering your head, muffling Cooper's cries. Your eyelids are heavy, and your breath settles into a comfortable rhythm…

The sonic boom of rifle shots in succession, quickly followed by wood breaking and crashing, pierces the quiet. 

The sound of rustling fabric echoes as you throw the blanket off, your pulse pounding in your ears; the chair lands with a thud on the floor from you pulling your robe. The hurried footsteps resonate throughout the house as you hurriedly run through and out of the workshop, heading for the Wandering Y.

You arrive at a number of Sandrockers, all in different states of wakefulness, donning their dressing gowns, sleep pants, bonnets, and curlers, paired with work boots. All weary faces with furrowed brows, and wrestling, trying to rub off the cobwebs of sleep.

The familiar horned hat towers over most of the onlookers, and a smile dawns on your lips, catching a glimpse of him, mirroring the same expression of bewilderment and cantankerousness as the crowd surrounding him.

You station beside him, heart fluttering as he noticeably moves to give you room; under the brim of his hat, his eyes trace your silhouette, and you catch him focusing on what you are wearing beneath the robe, making your cheeks burn. The scent of vanilla and a hint of leather warps your senses. He gazes at you, and the blues of his eyes soften as he beholds your puffy ones; his fists flex, and he moves closer, bridging the gap ever further, but not touching.

The thick drawl pierces through the silence, "Ain't seen you a few days now, leavin' yer mounts at the stable. You've been hidin' under a rock or somethin'?"

You stare at him, shirtless, in pajama bottoms, boots, and his signature hat. The tips of his fingers brush against you, sending electric pulses through your skin.

"Why? Keeping tabs on me, monster hunter?"

"Always."

Your heart soars, and you bite the insides of your cheeks to keep from smiling, and you answer, "Mines, actually."

He chuckles, "Same difference."

You raise a brow, and you tease him, "You look good sober."

A bright blush dawns on his cheeks, spreading to his ears, and he leans closer, his hot breath prickling the tips of your skin, and confesses, "Not too drunk to remember, I love you, darlin'. Please, let me come home."

The townsfolk situated around you turn, giving the two of you knowing glances and quiet smiles.

The burn on your cheeks deepens as your heart somersaults, and you change the topic, "You're going to catch a cold. Where's your shirt?"

A smug smile laces his lips as he glances at you from the brim of his hat, a pitiful sigh escapes him, and he answers, "I misplaced my favorite one… I'd take it back, but the darn thing looks better on yer."

Your face is now a bright crimson color, and you bite the smile now edging at the corners of your lips.

The number of onlookers grows, and he positions himself behind you, close, and you feel the heat of his chest; his hands rest on your shoulders in a protective stance.

"Stay close, darlin'. Don't want yer bein' crushed."

His thumbs draw tiny circles, gently massaging; your body betrays you as you imperceptibly lean back, and before you can correct yourself, his arms move, hugging your shoulders, with your chin resting on his forearms. He whispers a kiss on the top of your head, lighter than a breath, as if testing the waters to see if you will pull away.

You do not, as the warmth of his presence settles you, quieting the ramblings in your mind.

The charged whispers rise to a fever pitch. The destruction is devastating as the whole wooden fence is in ruins, and the broken boards litter the gravel floor. The fake yakmel is frozen mid-stride, riddled with giant bullet holes from the rancher's rifle. The whole scene is devoid of the thing that should have been there—Cooper’s yakmels.

The whole herd is gone. 

On his soapbox, Cooper addresses the crowd, “Those dang rockynerolls got in this morning since the fake yakmel stopped working. I shot them, but those dang things were so fast, I ended up destroying the fence. Now, all my domesticated yakmel are out roaming the desert. It’s a tragedy—a tragedy I tel’ya.”

He dramatically gesticulates, screaming to the morning's captive audience; amongst those present are the mayor, the sheriff, and the commissioner, who try to pacify the situation.

A few moments later, the commissioner calls you, Mi-an, and the other builders into an impromptu meeting. The jobs are divided on sight; you are tasked with making another fake yakmel, while Mi-an, with the other women builders, is to start rebuilding the wooden fence. All the male builders are to assist in wrangling the yakmel. Every able-bodied man is to help in gathering the escaped yakmel.

There are to be no ropes; they are too delicate; instead, every single one needs to be coaxed and cooed to return peacefully.

The voice of the commissioner drifts to the background as you scan the area for Logan; you find him in a group huddled around the sheriff. The blues reflecting the morning light, gazing at your turquoise ones rimmed with sunlight, his stare holds you in their embrace. A bright blush blooms on your cheeks, and you watch his ears turn a nice crimson hue; he grins under the brim of his horned hat.

The gravel breaks underfoot as the mayor dismisses the crowd, with instructions to reconvene in an hour to start.

He approaches, "Can I walk you home?"

You open your mouth to answer, but hear Justice call out in the background, "Logan."

A precious pout forms on your lips, you whisper, "They need you, monster hunter."

The sand shifts as you turn to leave, and the warmth of his hand wispily drags down your arm. "They can wait. I'm walkin' yer home."

The gravel rolls off your boots as he escorts you back to the workshop; his hand lightly grazes the back of yours, sending shock waves down your spine.

At the gate, the sea-glass blues stare deep into your turquoise pools; in a barely audible voice, he spoke, "My builder?"

Your brows furrow as you meet his gaze, then your eyes widen, "What? Wait. You jealous?"

A scowl dawns, "The swimsuit."

You chuckle, "I was with my friends, hanging out at the oasis. What did you expect me to wear?"

Without missing a beat, he answers, "One of Grandma Vivi's mumu."

The sound of your laughter echoes as the tears gather at the ridiculousness of the suggestion. His heart soars as it is the most beautiful sound, and he has missed hearing it.

"You could have joined us; everyone else in town did."

He takes off his horned hat, raking his fingers through his hair, "Didn't think I was welcome?"

Your smile disappears, and you wispily drag your hand down his arm.

A breath escapes him, and he grins, "Uhm, so, where's builder boy?"

You pout at the dig and respond. "Max. He offered to defend me from you that night."

He nods, "Coz he did, I expected nothin' less."

"He's back in Atara. He wrote, inviting me to come visit."

A smile laces his lips, "That's mighty kind of him, I'd love to go, and we can visit Haru while we're there."

You raise a brow, "I'm not taking you."

"He's mistaken if he thinks I'll let my darlin' travel all by herself."

Your brows furrow as you correct him, "I ain't your darlin'."

"Guess, that's why there ain't no note." He huffs, "After seein' me naked and spendin' the night in my arms. I'm feelin' a bit used."

You lose your breath, and your eyes narrow into slits, "Owen!"

"Oh, and yer don’t snore, at least not when I’m holdin' you in my arms." He leans in and whispers in the shelf of your ear, "Never did, darlin'." He continues, his breath heavy, making your skin prickle. "Not that—that builder would ever find out. Yer already 'ave a monster hunter, no need for a builder—yer mine—I don't share."

"What-that-I," You lost all train of thought.

"I'll see yer back in the ranch." He tilts his horned hat and pivots, strolling back to the Wandering Y.

You return a couple of hours later with the newly built fake yakmel in tow, grumbling under your breath about having to build another one of the monstrosities.

The pounding sound grows louder, and you find Mi-an hard at work, together with the other female builders, building the fence. You carefully remove the ruined one, and you position the replacement in the same spot. As you continue to work installing the build, you begin to notice the women from town who came with chairs and set themselves comfortably near the barn with a clear view of the ranch. 

Your brow furrows as you scan the landscape and discover all the able, beautiful, unattached men of Sandrock, shirtless, glistening with sweat, roaming the perimeter and the desert, working tirelessly to wrangle the uncooperative yakmel. 

You pause, a smile laces your lips as you watch in awe.

The women take seats, enjoying the view, donning shades, fanning themselves a relief from the unforgiving heat, and drinking Cooper's special yakmel milk. Actively, taking on the mantle of cheerleaders for the fearless wranglers, as slowly, the men coax the yakmel back into the safety of the ranch.

The men return to a hero’s welcome with every successful retrieval.

Of course, not every yakmel is willing, and since the fence is only halfway done, they wander back outside the perimeter time and time again.

The Civil Corps, Justice and Unsuur, topless and perspiring, bear the whistles of admiration from the ladies who enthusiastically cheer them on. On occasion, the sheriff will give them a wave paired with a toothy grin, ever the consummate public servant.

"You could cuff me anytime, Sheriff." A voice calls out.

The owner of the Blue Moon, Owen, the most immaculate of the menfolk, with a physique sculpted to perfection, out on the field, garners a lot of laudation.

"Hey, I'm his girlfriend." A quip from Jane, the town's teacher, can be heard over the loud susurations.

An irate answer echoes, "We're just looking."

The Junior Minister, Burgess, returns to a standing ovation, wolf whistles, and applause, which makes him turn a nice crimson color.

"Bring them back to the Light, Pastor."

The doctor, Fang, quietly sits with the ladies, on standby, prepared with heart stroke medicine. The director of research, Qi, lends his expertise, as he observes the whole situation, armed with a map, he calculates the probabilities of where to find the wandering beasts, with a surprising ninety-nine percent accuracy.

The writer Earnest, with the businessman Arvio, having hardly any experience in performing the task, works in tandem. The same accolades are directed to the duo, to which they graciously accept.

The monster hunter Logan, his alabaster skin glistening under the Eufaula sun, and seemingly, unfairly blessed by the Light, his smile is evident from under the brim of his hat every time he makes a successful return. 

“You go, yakboy! You can wrangle me anytime."

He ignores, unbothered by the boisterous gathering; he constantly scans the ranch in search of you. When he finds you, he smiles and gazes at you a little too long, seemingly making sure you are fine. The actions attract more attention from the crowd of onlookers; the darting glances they throw at the two of you, burning the back of your skull.

You keep your head down as you, together with Mi-an and the other builders, pound hard on the mallet in an attempt to finish the fence.

By midday, the unforgiving sun scorches the desert, and the Mayor directs everyone to a one-hour break. The voices, together with the loud pounding of mallets, cease, and the desert exhales as everyone heads to the table where Mabel, Krystal, and Grandma Vivi, together with the children, lay out prepared food and drinks for everyone.

Your armor is unceremoniously discarded atop one of the posts, and the tee is now clinging, drenched in sweat.

His brows furrow as he searches for you working under such harsh conditions, half-naked, sweat glistening on top of his alabaster skin, with an air of easy confidence, he saunters over carrying two bottles of Sandberry juice, a canteen of water, and some cheese sandwiches. He squats beside you and gently brushes a stray hair that has fallen. In his signature drawl, he invites you."Com'now, time for a break."

Mi-an and Nia, dawning smiles as they watch you walk with Logan, heading for the nearest tree offering shade.

You settle, as he stations himself beside you, close but not touching, and your heart flutters; you smile. The blue-green pools peek over his shoulder, at the women on lawn chairs glancing towards the two of you. "You seem to have garnered a following.”

He maintains his position beside you, as he straightens his back and flexes the chiseled muscles of his chest. “Well, if that’s what they’re into, I can hardly be blamed for that, can I?”

You raise a brow and meet his gaze, and you both burst out laughing. The chain that has been holding your heart breaks, and you feel the release as you bask in the nearness of him.

You tease, "I think Owen bested you on that one."

The smile evaporates, and his lips tighten as he throws Owen a fleeting glance. "Tch. Yer not into that, are yer?" His voice is a mark octave higher.

"Why, Monster Hunter, are you jealous?"

The blue pools soft, waiting for an answer, as if holding his breath.

A smudge of dirt on his cheek, you reach and gently swipe your fingers across, removing the mud that is marring his handsome face. He is stunning, dusty, and sweaty under the sweltering heat, smelling of musk, perspiration mixed in with vanilla and a hint of leather; you inhale the shape of him. The pounding of your heart was deafening, and you could swear he and the other builders could hear it, wanting to leap out of your chest, having him this close to you. 

"No," your eyes drag through his face and his silhouette, and you bite your lower lip. "I like mine a little less perfect but with a lot of attitude."

A bright blush spreads across his cheeks.

"I'm sorry, I read your Monster Hunter journal."

"Uhm."

"Are you angry?

The line on his face deepens, and your gaze locks. "Left it out, didn't I."

"Still…"

A smirk lurks at the corner of his lips, he queries, What'cha think?"

An exhale escapes, with your voice barely audible, you ask, "The annotations at the back... Why?"

The horned hat turns in his hand as he fiddles with the brim. "Ain't never been in a relationship, I wanted to remember everythin' 'bout yer. How yer like your coffee, favorite recipes, color, anniversaries… I didn't wanna forget nothin' and mess things up."

"…and the sketches…"

A gentle breath escapes his lips, "Nights in the wilds, on quiet evenin's, sketchin' helped ease the pain of missin' yer."

The blue-greens of your eyes well up, his stare softens, and he reaches with his kerchief, wiping the tears brimming at the edges—smelling of vanilla, and a hint of leather.

"I love you, my builder."

The words land softly, you sniffle, holding the sob in your throat. “How can you still smell heavenly?

He cocks an eyebrow, feigning surprise, mirroring your sentiments, teasing, “I smell heavenly?”

You chuckle and roll your eyes.

He leans closer, and your breath hitches, his nose grazing the nape of your neck with his warm breath, prickling your skin. “You always smell delicious, darlin', jasmine and citrus," licking his top teeth, "I could eat yer up."

His cheek lightly grazes yours, and he slowly pulls back. You could almost taste him.

The pink gloss of your cheeks takes on a darker hue as the heat pools inside. The blue irises gaze into your turquoise ones; your eyes move to his parted lips. You card your fingers through his chalk-white hair, pulling them away from his face, tucking them behind his ears. The nice crimson color now spreads to his ears, and he smiles. The gesture, all too familiar; the rough edges filed down, and you know he reserves this soft side of himself only for you. 

You finish the canteen, and he gently holds your hands, lifting you to your feet; you both drag your heels, walking back.

The horned hat lands softly on your head, “I don’t want no one here gettin’ any ideas, who I belong to!” The gesture, however, does little to dissuade his adoring fans, as the cheering starts up again—the wide brim that hides your growing smile and continually darkening crimson face.

He withdraws before you are able to respond, turns to the crowd, which is now a mess of yells and howls, and with a slight bow, “Ladies,” he then struts on his way to wrangle more yakmel. 

You behold his silhouette, Mi-an nudges you, and you both giggle.

The last of the beams is hammered in place, and the fence is done; you, with the other builders, stand and dust yourselves, to the applause of those assembled. From the crowd, Nia emerges running toward Mi-an, and embraces her—sharing an intimate kiss.

Mi-an, glancing at you, tilts her head towards where Logan is, "Go get your man."

A smile tugs at your lips, you call out, "Hey, my monster hunter."

The crowd simmers down to a charged silence; he pivots on his heels and faces you smiling.

"Time to come home."

The words weave themselves into him, and he whispers, "Home."

The gravel and sand break under his heels as he sprints to you; he pauses right in front of you as he cups your face with both hands, the sea-glass blue pools glinting with ardent affection, he declares in his thick drawl, loud enough voice for everyone to hear, "I love you, darlin'." He presses his forehead onto you, and you both share a breath; his lips touch yours, not gentle or tentative, but claiming and demanding.

A heavy wave of euphoria crashes through you, and you respond in equal measure, wrapping your arms around him, pulling him deeper into you as your every breath hung in his. He tastes of sunshine and coffee, and you are intoxicated.

The world ceases and becomes irrelevant; there is only you, and everything else are mere set decorations.

In between kisses, you whisper, "My monster hunter."

"All yours, darlin'—I'll follow wherever you lead."

The air is feverish around you, and a glimmer of lust reflects in your eyes. His arms tighten and aim never to let you go; he picks you up with one arm, making you giggle, hugging him, you rest your head at the crook of his neck. The warmth of your breath on his skin sends electric pulses down his spine, making his body hum, and the blood rushes south. And with his other hand, he picks up all your stuff, and the two of you skedaddle home. In the background, Cooper protests, demanding that the two of you return, while your friends celebrate your reconciliation with cheerful chants and cajoling.

He is conscious of what he almost lost; you will never again question where his loyalties lie and whose heart he belongs to.

Author's Note

Chapter 5: Ramblings of the Heart

The cushions bend and release a silent groan as his massive figure settles into the soft couch. The cold bottle of yakmel milk leaves rings of condensation onto the wooden table as he watches the night's patrons shuffle in and out of the saloon.

His heart constricts as he remembers your first date as a couple, as he was still nursing his injury, after being shot by an arrow laced with poison, sitting at the same booth…

The subtle smiles and knowing glances of their friends, who frequent the Saloon after a long day under the Eufaula sun, were not lost on him, and he meets every single one he catches with a knowing nod. He reaches, tucking a stray hair behind your ear, and a bright blush blooms, staining your cheeks. Your legs feel the brush of his as he cages them in between his; his massive hand holds yours from across the table with his thumb gently massaging your knuckles.

After the meal, the scent of jasmine and citrus overwhelms his senses as you move to sit beside him to get a better view of the band playing. He instinctively wraps you in a half-hug, and you settle comfortably in his embrace. You feel the pounding in his chest and lean in, kissing his cheek, lighter than a breath, and a shock wave cascades down his spine ending in a pool of heat and want. He angles his head, and his lips touch yours, tongue tracing the seams, and you open, and you taste of honey water; he lost himself.

The beads of sweat form atop his skin as he breathes in deep, recalling the time later that same evening, in the workshop. The sea-glass blues hooded with lust as you gaze up at him from your thick lashes as you lick the precum at the tip of his cock, and an electric pulse travels the length of his spine, and a low guttural groan escapes him.

Your pretty mouth wraps around his whole length, and you whisper, "My monster hunter." The vibration reverberates through him, making him drunk with desire.

His hand moves to the back of your head, gently guiding you; he watches as your head bobs, cheeks hollowing, and his head falls back. The heat pools, and he involuntarily thrusts, and you take everything as the tears begin staining your cheeks. He is unable to hold off, and he grunts a growl as he shudders coming, and you swallow, emptying himself in you. The cum mixes with your saliva, drools down your chin, and you release him with a pop.

He pulls you onto his lap, and he cups your face, and his lips find yours, kissing you deeply, tasting the salty bitterness of him mixed with the sweetness of you.

The two of you end up naked, bodies intertwined in heat and passion with your sheets smelling of jasmine and sex; that evening, you unravel under him, and yet he is the one unmade—belonging only to you.

"Hey, pardner."

Justice's voice brings him back to the present. The bitter taste of yakmel scrapes a trail down his throat as he tries to drown the memory of that night, as he faces the pain of the present.

The hooves of Law outside the workshop echo in the desolate night air, calling your attention even before Unsuur utters your name, reeking with desperation.

You climb down from your roof to meet the deputy at the gates, your brows furrow as he is riding the sheriff's horse. The lines on his face deepen as he gleams your confusion, "Long story, but I need you to come with me to the Saloon."

Your breath hitches as you mount behind him. Law lets out an exasperating snort, and you are off.

The loud susurations permeated the night air, mixing with the music from Coogo's band, and then you hear it. The thick drawl rising above the noise, belligerent and demanding.

You quietly enter as Owen greets you, "I'm sorry, I know you're no longer…" He cut himself mid-sentence as the blue-greens of your eyes met his deepening blue ones. "He refuses to leave, and he is starting to scare the other patrons with his… well, you know."

"His winning personality?"

"Please, I can't throw out my best friend."

A breath escapes you as you roll your eyes, and your boots march with intention towards the loud slurring drawl, where you find Justice sitting across from him, an accomplice with the night's frivolities.

A flushed Logan stares up at you as a smile dawns on his lips so wide his eyes dance, he hiccups, "Hey, darlin', yer came."

You bite the insides of your cheeks to prevent yourself from scolding him; instead, you smile as you offer your hand, "Time to come home, yakboy."

He takes it, and before you know what happened, he has you on his lap in a tight embrace, muttering apologies on the crook of your neck. The smell of yakmel milk, potent enough to light a bonfire, mixed with vanilla and leather, surrounds you. The impossibly large hands wrap around your waist, holding tight as if you were to disappear into a mist. The warmth of his entirety engulfs you as you feel his bulging muscles and the hardness between his legs stirring to life.

"Sheriff!"

The whole saloon hushes, and time moves like smoke; everyone's attention focuses on Heidi, at the swinging door, glaring at Justice, who marches in a huff across the hardwood floor.

Justice finishes his drink in one gulp, supporting a goofy grin, and blurts out in a loud whisper, "Gotta go, folks, my lady here. hic."

He meets her halfway and wraps an arm around her. The music starts back up, and the patrons return to their conversations.

"Are yer takin' me home? hic." He asks as he buries his head deeper in your neck, his warm breath making your skin prickle.

A bright blush on your cheeks as you extricate yourself and coax him to his feet. He drapes an arm around you, leaning more than necessary, and you allow him; outside, the night air wakes him up, and he mumbles, "I'm sorry… I'm so sorry…"

The two of you pose at his door, and the blues of his eyes meet your turquoise ones, cocking an eyebrow, "What'd?"

"Home."

A precious pout forms on his lips as he grunts in protest.

"I want your home—the workshop, hic."

The demands fall on deaf ears as you push him inside, ascending the stairs. "You need a shower, monster hunter."

A haughty grin laces his lips as he tries to glance at you over his shoulder, and he queries, "We're showering?"

In a tone offering no refute, you answer, "Yes."

In the bathroom, you command, "Take your clothes off, yakboy."

In no time, he is naked and under the nozzle; you focus on his eyes as you glimpse his impressive silhouette, with muscles sculpted by the gods, taut from the cold air, the scars appearing like intricate tattoos on his alabaster skin, and him half-hard, aching for a release. Your hand rests on his ribcage, skin warm and prickling under your touch; you feel the pounding in his chest as he waits in anticipation. Your other hand reaches, turns the spigot, and closes the curtains.

A haughty grin laces your lips as you hear the loud grunts of protest mixed with the sounds of the ice-cold water pelting him, delivering a sobering truth, and pulling him back to reality. You hand him soap from behind the curtain, and he quietly follows your lead.

The water shuts off, and he opens the curtain, still naked. Your breath hitches as you behold him, his wet chalk-white hair, slicked back, displaying the cheekbones raised to the gods, emphasizing his chiseled jawline that can cut paper, and beads of water resting atop his perfectly chiseled musculature. You struggle to maintain eye contact, give him a towel, and you move to wait outside. The terrycloth hangs low on his hips, revealing his happy trail, and you stare.

In his room, he sits at the edge of the bed as you pull another towel, gently trying to dry his unruly locks; his forehead bashfully rests on your chest, and you feel the warmth of his breath through the fabric of your top, making your nipples pebble. His hands grip the dips of your hips, as if anchoring himself. You softly push him back, rifle through his drawers, and hand him pajama bottoms.

"Get dressed. I'll come right back."

The counter in the tiny kitchen holds your weight, and the cold sweat rolls down your back as you catch your breath.

You return to him, still sitting at the edge of the bed, leaning, elbows on his knees, with his head hanging, eyes fixed on the floor. He looks up as he hears your footsteps enter, the blues of his eyes soft, and you hand him a glass of water, together with Fang X.

"Take it."

His eyes never leave you as he follows without protest.

A jug of water and a lined bin lay next to his bed; the mattress dips as you take a seat on Andy's bed across from him. The lines of your face wrinkle as you search the room, you open your mouth, but before you are able to ask…

"Sleepover, all the kids at Pebbles tonight, Rocky and Crystal are hostin'."

You nod.

"Logan—we have to move…" Your gaze locks, you trail off as his sea-glass eyes' deepening stare into yours, mirroring your pain, and you shift.

"…s-sleep this off."

The warmth of his hands envelops yours, and you pause.

"I'm sorry."

You choke out a dry laugh, "One too many yakmels, happens to the best of us." The line between your brows deepens, and you continue, "Never seen you drunk, certainly not Owen calling… not important."

He shakes his head slowly, "Only one other time, when I was youn'… I'm sorry—" The sea-glass stares and holds your turquoise pools, "The broken promises, missin' our anniversary, not talkin' to yer 'bout trips to the desert…" A loud sigh escapes his lips, "What I said at the Square…" He visibly trembles as he struggles to find the words, "Yer need a partner…" His grip tightens as his thumb massages your knuckles, "At the oasis, seeing yer talking to that bloke, then callin' him yer builder—"

The blues in his eyes deepen. "I've been savin'… savin' for us… "

Your eyes widen, the words taking you out of your haze, and your voice breaks, asking, "What? Why? I live in a man… I—We have more than…"

He shakes his head and continues, "I want to provide for you and Andy—not to have to work so hard… yer deserve everythin' your heart desires… I wanna give you…"

The drawl thick and heavy with regret, he continues, his hands tighten as he anchors himself; a sob is caught in his throat.

"Instead, I lost yer, I want—need you back…"

He releases one hand, reaches, and softly caresses your cheek, his thumb grazing your bottom lip.

"I-I love you, darlin', ain't never… Light, I love you."

The confession makes your heart spasm.

You respond, "I'm sorry. What I said in Martle Square…"

He shakes his head, "You ain't wrong, I never wanted to… scared I'll end up like my Pa. Until—" The sea-glass blue pools meet mirroring your blue-green ones, "You." The tone deepens, offering no refute.

You lean in, devouring the distance between you as your cheek skims his; you gently push him to bed and pull the covers. His arms wrap around your waist, and you press your forehead onto his, and you share a breath.

Your body shifts, settling into the familiar and comfortable.

"You must really be drunk—sleep. We'll talk tomorrow."

You withdraw.

In a searing, desperate act, he grips the seams of your top, "I ain't, I love you. We-we're gud together. Please, stay… stay with me," he pleads, asking as if in prayer.

The blood rushes through your veins as you nod, and sit at the edge of his bed; he hugs your waist, nuzzling close, inhaling the shape of you, mumbling, "I love you, stay—stay with me."

You card your hand through his damp, chalk-white, messy hair, combing it into place, and the tips of your fingers gently massaging his scalp.

The moon moves further into the night sky, and soon fatigue and alcohol overcome him, and slumber claims him.

You move softly as you try to extricate yourself from his embrace, and you notice the monster hunting journal on the side table. A sigh falls from your lips as it is another testament of his deep devotion to protecting the Eufaula. You reach and riffle through the pages. The papers contain descriptions and meticulous notes on each of the beasts written in his beautiful cursive handwriting, accompanied by detailed sketches of the monsters. You trace the patterns with your fingers, and a smile laces your lips.

The lines of your face deepen as you flip through the blank pages and you come across scribbles on the very back pages, completely separate, far removed from all the other entries…

The tears gather as you read through the sweet annotations, discovering more transcriptions, paired with idyllic renderings, little vignettes of his life and of—

The room disappears as you lose yourself in the meticulous, detailed entries. The journal shaking between your fingers as your hands tremble, your gaze locked on the beautiful drawings, his words from earlier echo…

I love you. We-we're gud together.

The warmth of his presence stirs, and his embrace loosens, as he falls deeper into sleep but refuses to let go.

Everything I did was for us.

Your eyes dart between him and the words on the pages; you weave through the layers of emotions coursing through you, and you allow the tears to fall.

The warmth cradles you comfortably as your senses are overwhelmed with the smell of vanilla with a hint of leather; him spooning you, with his head nuzzling at the crook of your neck. His whole body contorts, conforming to the shape of you, neatly tucked into his embrace, and you nestle deeper.

The movement and noises outside the room call your attention, and you are awake even before you open your eyes. All the blood rushes through your head as the realization dawns, and you slip out as quickly and as quietly, skin grazing the cotton sheets, freeing yourself from his embrace. A moan escapes his lips, and you stuff a pillow in between his arms, wincing as you pick up your boots and armor vest

You button the tops of your armor in the hallway and come face-to-face with Owen. You both flinch, and you swallow a scream. A smug smile dawns on his face, and you glare at him. He makes a motion of shoveling food into his mouth and points to the kitchen. You nod, and you motion with your hand of zipping your mouth and slashing across your neck. The smile disappears, and he nods.

You grab his lapel and drag him outside.

"N-Nothing happened. This is your fault." You explain as you hop around, trying to put on your boots.

He shrugs, "I didn't say anythin'."

You huff, "You were thinking it."

He holds both of his hands up, in an expression of surrender, "Hey, it's none…"

The tone laced with fury, you cut him mid-sentence, "Zip it. Don't tell anyone."

He chuckles, "I'm hurt. I don't kiss and…"

You pinch the bridge of your nose, you snap, "Argh! There was no kissing."

A smirk tugs at his lips, "If you say so."

"Don't make me hurt you, barkeep."

You stifle a scream as you stomp home to your workshop, one tantrum away from decking Owen.

♃⭑𓂃

The next few days… no one has seen you as you decidedly burn daylight and evenings inside the mines—perfect place to hide. The constant pounding and grinding lull you into a meditative rhythm, drowning all thoughts of you and Logan, the monster hunting journal, and the decision that you need to make.

The gauge screams the number, and a silent sigh of relief leaves your lips as you still have half a tank of oxygen. You hand searches inside your pockets and find two heartstroke medicines. The doctor specially formulated, to restore your stamina to full; you scan your surroundings, you whisper, "Almost done."

You have been trudging through level 11 for days; Mi-an said that it will take a week to get through to the bottom. It has only a few days, not even close to a week, and except for a few pockets of dirt, you are standing on the metal surface, evident with the loud clanging of your boots echoing through the walls as you walk the perimeter—A smile dawns on your lips.

 The floor disappears from under you, and you are flying, feeling the rush of nothingness, then a loud thud. The shock and pain course through you, and you roll yourself into a fetal position, mumbling curses.

A whisper of trepidation courses through you, and you sit up, running your hands meticulously through the tops of your suit, checking for tears.

You look down, and that is when you see the metal sticking out of the floor, an inverted rebar, shaped like a U, attached to the metal ground. The blood rushing through your veins as you crawl to it to examine it further, your breath hitches, "It's a spinney wheel."

Another level?

 The gloved hand reaches and turns the wheel; stuck. You anchor your foot on either side, and you give it your full weight as a silent scream escapes you. It gives.

The heavy door opens, and you stand at the precipice; the pounding in your chest is deafening. I should inform the sheriff; they’d have to clear it first.

You roll her eyes and blurt out, "Protocol."

A haughty grin laces your lips. The sound of the boots echoes louder as you descend to the next level. "No sand."

The torch pierces through the oppressive darkness as you examine your surroundings; the whole level intact. The room shifts, and your hand holds one of the rungs of the metal ladder; the area is pristine, untouched by the age of calamity.

The silence is deafening as your hands tremble; your torch falls, rolling along the floor. No… No… NO!

You take small steps, aiming for the faint light of your flashlight.

The light in hand, you began to walk the perimeter; the whole place is quiet.

"It's like a tomb."

Hundreds of years holding onto secrets untouched by the outside world and time. "Beautiful."

You check your map, and you discover that your energy signature is not appearing on it. The machines upstairs are unable to penetrate the walls of this level; if you are trapped in here, no one will know where to find you.

You let out a sad chuckle, probably put out an ad for a builder, like what happened after The Goat mission.

The flashing red light calls your attention; your oxygen level is down to twenty percent, and an audible exhale leaves you. Begrudgingly, you walk towards the ladder, and that is when you see it: a rectangular object on the console. You pick it up, turn it over, your breath hitches, it was one of the most dangerous items from the old world—A mobile phone.

Your eyes widen, looking around as if expecting to find someone to tell you to put it back; the place is completely empty, devoid of life except for you. The decision is yours. You visibly tremble, and your torch almost falls; your hands play catch as you try to save it from hitting the floor.

The red light is blinking faster; you check it again, ten percent oxygen level.

Damn it.

You rummage through your pockets for a resealable bag; the sound of plastic reverberates as you flick it open, plopping the cellphone in it, and resealing the bag. The area echoes with the sound of your boots as you run to the ladder; before ascending, you turn and bow in reverence.

The hatch closes.

♃⭑𓂃

A few days later…

The hum of the machines reverberates through the walls, developing another diagram. A smile laces your lips as you stand a few minutes longer watching the Director run his experiments in the corner; the lines on his face deepen as he seems to be solving another puzzle the universe has thrown his way.

The sound of the boots announces your presence, and he looks up; his brows furrow as it takes him a minute to recognize you.

"Ah, you're here."

The smile stays on your lips, and you respond, "Your letter said urgent."

"Yes, ah, well, I finally found a way to charge the device you procured from the deepest level of the mines. I thought you'd appreciate us turning it on together." He mutters as he scrounges through the drawers to retrieve the device.

You visibly tremble, and it is not lost on him, and he offers, "I could do it alone and just report my findings if this makes you uncomfortable."

You shake your head, "No, I should take responsibility for the discovery and the repercussions."

"That's the spirit of a truly scientific mind, which I always thought you had."

The light flickers, as some kind of picture of a fruit flashes on the small screen, a few icons scattered on the display, but nothing much happens as you both tap on each one.

A loud sigh falls from his lips, "Ah, as I suspected, most of the data is corrupted."

Until you press one that looks like a speech bubble from the old world comics.

It shows several typed-out messages, mostly garbled ones except for a few, and the last one read:

l0g@n, I'm not sure if you'll get __$#*&. My bat tery is <[]*_ dead, and there's no way %# recharge it. There's no bar; I think all -__+= satellites ar3 g0ne I'll l3ave %$__ here __}[_* w3 g0. We'll try to see if anyone else survi__d. Mayb3 you'll try +0 find me, and you =!^cl this and read the message. I love you-^^@$ wrong. Having you in my l!fe ___ everything. I can't even remember what +43 argument was; all I know is —=0 !^^ sorry, and I wish you were wit_ me. Wher_^#_ U, I love you, I never stopp__, I've alw@ys been yours, my darli__ I l0ve you to the mo0n and back @__ round @gain, ch@rl!3

The director rubs the back of his head, "Never fails to disappoint. Whenever faced with one's mortality, people seem to revert to being sentimental. This, by no means, is any different from the others that have been unearthed."

"Others?"

He hands her the device, "Keep it, I have a drawer full of them, and they basically mirror the same triteness. Although that one seems to have retained some of the pictures, and oddly enough, one song. I've made a copy and sent it for analysis to Vega 5."

The door closes behind you, and your heart spasms acutely; you thought your chest would crumple. You look through your tears-soaked gaze at the few pictures that survived, happy faces of people living their best life—a few were of a couple.

You recall the last message typed out, and the memory of the sad, desolate space in the mines; you grip the cellphone tighter, which holds the evidence of the last vestiges of their existence—victims of the great calamity.

You stare into nothing until you realize you exited the wrong door; across from you, Logan's front door stares as if waiting. The sand rolls off your boots as you approach and tentatively knock, nothing. You imperceptibly tremble as you grip the knob; it yields, you hesitate…

"Hey."

The familiar tiny drawl, you freeze, and you drag your hands down your face, mustering a half-smile, and you turn to meet his gaze. The softness reflecting from the amber pools rimmed with sunlight stares right into yours, and you almost break.

"Hi." You open your arms…

The gravel shifts and rolls underneath as you take a few steps back, the weight of his tiny body slams onto you, and you engulf him in an all-encompassing embrace.

"I miss you too, my sweet-sweet boy."

He buries his head in the crook of your neck with his arms and legs tightening around you. He mumbles, "Logan's at the Outpost…"

A deep sigh releases from under your breath, "I came here for you. Would you like to have dinner with me at the Blue Moon?"

That night, the ache in your chest feels more like a gaping hole, as you stare into the vastness of the expanse stationed on your roof.

Logan misses you… A lot…

The tiny voice mirroring his familiar drawl reverberates inside the liminal spaces as you reminisce about the life you and Logan shared and the futures you both planned in the same space with only the moon and the stars as witnesses.

Why can't you just work things out?

The question repeats, and you recall the entries scribbled with his beautiful cursive handwriting on the pages of the journal paired with the exceptional sketches, and your vision blurs as you catch the sobs in your throat. You pull at the edges of the shirt you are wearing, hanging mid-thigh, which is not yours; you hold it up to your nose, smelling the vestiges of a mix of vanilla and leather lingering on the fabric. A chill resonates through you, and you instinctively pull the draped blanket tighter, yet you continue to shiver, unable to stave off the cold clutching you.

Fatigue threatens to claim you, and you reluctantly head inside. The bouquet on your nightstand welcomes you as you enter your desolate room; all your favorites, the same ones you threw in the bin that fateful morning, except now there are three dozen of them.

A smile tugs at your lips as you remember how the perfumed air greeted you early as you stepped out of the gate to check your mail. The knowing looks from the townsfolk, who happen to pass by, seeing you struggle to bring them all inside. You reread the card…

My darlin'. I wasn't drunk, I love you. I want to be your partner for life. Let's just talk. Please. Love your monster hunter.

…as you listen to the one song left on the old world device.

I walked a million miles before I came to you Heaven wide above my head, sand beneath my shoes Life is the saddest song But it was nothing until you came along '

Cause every road that I've been on

Leads me back to you Every road that I've been on Leads me back to you

In bed in a fetal position, you again cry yourself to sleep, as your hand grazes the empty space beside you, searching for the familiar comfort, your chest constricts and aches because of the absence.

I love you, Logan…choose me.

Author's Notes

The laughter echoes in the background as you sit with the Fleeting Youth Society for your weekly meeting. The venue today is at the water's edge at the oasis; your friends thought you all needed a break, and having a picnic is the solution. A large, elegant picnic blanket, courtesy of Pablo, is laid over the edge of the banks, a picnic basket with everyone bringing their share, cheese sandwiches from your kitchen, and, Amirah, with the help of Owen, bakes a mushroom forest cake. Nia and Mi-an share their homemade potato salad. Elsie arrives with Mabel's famous sand jujube cake and banana-orange gelatin.

Nia shrieks as she sees you wearing the swimsuit. The soft hands intertwine with yours as she spins you around, looking you up and down, "See, it's perfect," and plants a kiss on your cheek. She leans in closer, and you are engulfed in the sweet scent of roses, and she whispers. "I'm here."

You nod as you push the sunglasses up the bridge of your nose, the tinted lenses hiding your puffy eyes. The subtle gestures of hugs and softness when they spoke on topics of relationships are not lost on you, and you speak up. “We broke up. End of story,”

“Dahling, no lies, please,” Pablo reassures you as he leans back on the blanket. “The perils of falling in love in the heat of battle, the aftermath, struggling to live in the ordinary, such a cliché romance trope.”

"Shut it!" Nia calls out bitter through gritted teeth, and glares at him.

You let out an exasperated sigh, “I’m thinking about the offer from the General.”

The conversation comes to a screeching halt as all eyes focus on you with their mouths agape. The subtle splashing of the water hitting the edges of the shore permeates the space; the soft rays reflecting off the almost glass-like surface hold all of your attention, aware of their burning stares.

“There's nothing..."

"Hey, Y'all."

The words hang as you retreat, hearing Heidi's voice, interrupting you mid-sentence, arriving, accompanied by four strangers carrying a cooler.

The conversation shifts as Heidi introduces her four former schoolmates from Atarra.

You quietly move with everyone, making room for the new arrivals as the discussion revolves around a myriad of topics, taking you out of your melancholy state. A person stations himself right next to you, and you hardly notice.

A short while later, the loud susurations are relegated to background noise as he takes most of your attention. His honey amber eyes, rimmed with sunlight, stare deep but are unable to gaze into your blue-green ones hidden behind your sunnies. He follows your lead as you dip your feet in the water, his colorful shirt open, revealing his builder body, toned, ripped muscles perfectly proportionate to his height; his skin golden, from working outside, with the beads of sweat glistening, and he runs his hand across his brows.

"Heidi warned me of the heat, but I had no idea. How do you do it? It must have been hard when you first arrived. Highwind, with its lush greens and cool temperatures a stark contrast with the arid lands and extreme temperatures."

"You get used to it."

His rough, callused hands from building, grazing yours, linger a bit longer, as he hands you yakmel milk.

"Governor, that's quite an honor."

You shrug.

"I confess, I have ulterior motives for coming to Sandrock aside from visiting my friend."

The silence stretches, waiting.

A smile dawns on his lips, revealing beautiful dimples, softening his sharp features, "I wanted to meet the one who beat me and won builder of the decade."

A bright blush spreads through his cheeks and ears, and he rubs the back of his neck, "I heard you were brilliant and talented, but I didn't expect—well—you.

He is facing you, but your attention keeps to the water.

"I understand why Sandrock is thriving. The General would be lucky to have you running one of the settlements."

In a barely audible voice, "It's a team effort."

He chuckles and rolls his eyes, "And humble. Darn, do you have any flaws at all?"

Your thumb grazes the empty spot on your ring finger as you consider his question.

Pablo interjected, "Oh, dahling, she has many flaws, but if we tell you, we'll have to kill you." The whole party, you now notice, gazing at the two of you with unmitigated interest, broke out into laughter.

The loud chortles and susurations call the attention of the other Sandrockers to your little gathering, and slowly, one by one, they decided to join your little group. Arvio arrives with Earnest, contributing meat-stuffed mushrooms. The junior Pastor Burgess, sitting with a bowl of grits. Doctor Fang saunters over with his basket of herbs, soaking his feet, reminding you to stock up on heatstroke medicines.

Deputy Unsuur comes over to check for safety, and Sheriff Justice does a couple of rounds, eventually dismounting and sitting beside Heidi.

Teacher Jane arrives with the kids after class. Andy and Jasmine settle themselves around you, urging you to play skipping stones, which ended with Jasmine winning every round.

The last slivers of the day ebbs away, Owen arrives and helps Jane rein in the kids. The long faces, proceeds to dust themselves and gather their belongings as they prepare to head home.

Your imperceptively tremble as you help Andy with packing his rucksack. The warmth envelops you as his tiny arms wraps you in an embrace, and you hold him until he releases you, and whispers, "I miss yer."

A sob is caught in your throat as you card your fingers through his blond locks, combing the unruly strands into place. The tears gather as you watch the tiny figure saunter home on the same familiar path, grateful for the shades hiding the sadness in your eyes.

The long shadows of the evening urge your little get-together to disband. After the sweet goodbyes and lingering hugs, with the rucksack resting on your shoulders, and sunglasses atop your head pulling your hair back, you turn in the opposite direction for the workshop.

"Can I walk you home?"

You shake your head, "I live on the other side of the tracks…"

The heavy pack slips from your shoulders into his hands. "Lead the way."

The icy desert wind begins to blow, and you imperceptibly tremble, wrapping your pashmina tighter over your shoulders; the scent of cedar-wood and cinnamon with a hint of soap envelops you as he drapes his duster over your shawl.

The lamplight from the oasis disappears, and the two of you are at the mercy of the moon and stars; the gravel underfoot cracks as he pauses, and his breath hitches.

"Peach, this place is beautiful."

 You smile as you watch the wonder in his eyes.

He gazes and fixates on your blue-green pools, catching the slivers of moonlight, "You, and this place..."

A bright blush forms on your cheeks, and the two of you continue; he shifts closer, trying to shield you from the cold breeze as his hand ghosts the small of your back.

As you near the workshop, you recognize an impressive silhouette standing by the gates, and an audible sigh falls from your lips. The sand rolls as you pause and face your new friend; you relieve yourself of his cloak, returning it, and his hand grazes yours, tarrying a beat longer.

"I can take it from here."

The creases on his forehead deepen as he follows your line of sight, asking. "You sure? Who… Is he bothering you?" A loud exhale escapes him; he stands taller, with his beautiful, muscular frame towering over you. "I heard you can take care of yourself, the bandit, the Knight, and Duvos army…" The words hang as he notices your raised brow; he rubs the back of his neck, and he smiles sheepishly. "Okay, so Heidi did tell me some stuff 'bout you…"

You cough out a laugh, and you smile.

His tone deepens, "The offer still stands, you want me to…"

You talk over him and list, "I can't cook, snore like a freight train, and have ice-cold feet."

His brows furrow. "What?"

"Flaws, if you're defending me, you should know what you're fighting for."

His laughter echoes, "First, thick socks; second, noise-cancelling headphones, any Builder worth their salt has a pair; and lastly, I'm a great cook."

The blush now deepens into a crimson hue as your delicate hand wispily runs down his arm, feeling the roped muscles underneath flex and tighten under your touch; you continue smiling at his bravado, shaking your head. "He's a friend…"

"Funny, I didn't see him join us in the oasis."

"He's shy." The words fall from your lips before you have a chance to think, carry no weight.

"Yer heard the lady, she can handle it from here, builder boy." The thick drawl cut with the precision of a knife as he stations himself closer, joining the conversation.

The resolve did not waver as his honey-amber eyes met his wintery sea-glass blue pools, and the Eufaula hushed.

Your voice breaks through the tension. "I appreciate the offer and the company."

His gaze returns to meet yours, his eyes soften, the distance between you disappears; he approaches and whispers in the shelf of your ear, "I had a nice time. I'm staying a few days, and I'd like to take you out on a proper date."

A smile laces your lips, and you nod.

The gravel rolls off his boots as he throws Logan a fleeting glance, then slowly withdraws and heads towards the apartments.

Logan keeps an eye on him a moment longer before he shifts all his attention to you, “Hey,” the familiar drawl now softer.

A pout now replaces the smile, you hug yourself tighter as you try to stave off the cold air, and you walk past him, well aware he can smell the yakmel milk on your breath. “Come to insult me some more?”

He matches your pace as he takes his horned hat off, carding his finger through his chalk-white hair. “Please, can we talk?”

You pause and turn to watch him, eyes glassy, waiting. The blues of his eyes deepen as he traces your silhouette through your swimsuit, and you feel the familiar heat pooling, aching for his touch. You snap, "Eyes up here, yakboy."

"You wore that to the oasis?!"

The pout deepens into a scowl, "You wanna talk about my swimsuit?"

An audible exhale escapes him as his lips twitch in disgust, "Who's yer, new friend?"

"None…" You pause, a haughty grin laces your lips, and continue, "Oh, him? My builder."

The vein in his forehead becomes visible as he shifts uncomfortably, his muscles tense underneath the armor, and he glares in the direction of where the man sauntered off.

You roll your eyes and ask innocently, "Is that it?" In the same breath, you query, "Can I go now…"

“I’m sorry. The broken promises, not talkin' to you about trips in the desert, always assumin’ you'd be here waitin'. I understand now it ain’t fair to you.” 

He approaches, closer but not touching, and you feel the heat emanating from his skin.

“I care for you, we're no fuck-buddies—you're my darlin'." His head turns in the direction of the man who brought you home, his fists tighten with a heavy sigh, and his gaze returns to you. "I've never wanted anyone else after we met… We-we made love, I ache for you every damn minute of every day, only yer…"

The yakmel in your system is making you take liberties. "Sounds serious, you should see Fang about that."

His brows furrow, "I ain't joking."

You shrug, "Neither am I."

"Everything I did was for us, our future… please tell me how to fix this… give me another chance, darlin’.”

You meet his gaze, the blue-green irises flickering in the moonlight, turbulent, searching his sea-glass blue pools.

"First, I ain't yer, darlin'." Your voice mirrors his signature drawl.

"Second," your finger taps his chest, " You've never even said, I love you."

"Third," the slur in your voice is more pronounced, "You say, I care for you, yet break promises over and over and… you just agree to go into the desert without talking to me… What if I planned something, ha? What then?"

"Did you plan something?"

Your brows furrow, and you answer, "No," your voice two octaves higher, "That's not the point."

A deep sigh falls, and he drawls, "Yer drunk."

A derisive laugh falls from you, "Why, yes, I am."

Your demeanor shifts, taking up space, erasing the distance between you, speaking in a heavy tone. "Not so drunk as to forget, you insulted me in front of our friends."

You turn to leave, and at the door, you pause, "Go away."

The words cut like a well-crafted blade, and he lost his breath.

♃⭑𓂃

The pounding on your head mirrors the loud, screaming winds as you feel the pelting of the sand and gravel upon your roof. It is an assault on all your senses, exacerbated by the effects of the copious amounts of yakmel milk from the night before. You pull a pillow over your head as you try to stave off the incessant pummeling on the side of your head.

The fabric rustles as you throw the blanket off. A breath escapes your lips as the cold floor greets your warm, bare feet, and a shiver rolls down your spine.

Water. I need water.

The dark sky welcomes you as you step into your yard. The sand wall vibrates violently against the hostile winds and dirt blitzing it. The sandstorm today is particularly brutal, and you whisper a silent gratitude for the architect's brilliant design as you scan your perimeter. The pets are all accounted for as they played happily in the garden, and you smile, whispering. "Guess, we're all taking the day off."

You load the machines and peek at your mailbox before you sit alone for breakfast.

The silhouette traversing the vicious conditions calls your attention, approaching your gate. The only person you know who can navigate through the middle of a savage black blizzard and still cut an impressive figure. The pounding in your chest matches the violent winds, and you hold the gate. The line between your brows deepens, and you whisper, "Logan."

The relief evident on his face the moment he enters and dismounts. He wastes no time as he speaks, “Hey, uhm, sorry to bother yer.”

You bite the inside of your cheeks as you silently listen, waiting.

“Andy’s missin’...”

The concern dripping from his voice, and you lose your breath; you blow your whistle for Nemo. You stretch your arm towards Logan, demanding, “Give it to me.”

 A child's tiny shirt is placed in your outstretched palm; you immediately cuddle Nemo and give him several whiffs of the article of clothing. The dog barks and wiggles his tail, and you scratch behind his ears, "Good boy, Nemo. Find Andy. Go!"

Nemo barks and bolts out of the yard; the sound of the swinging gates echoes in his wake.

You blow the whistle, summoning Coco and Merle: you mount the goat.

“Yer don’t…” Logan protests.

A shadow crosses your feature as you glance at him, “Don’t!”

He nods as he moves out of the way, and he gets back on Rambo.

Coco continues to hover overhead, and you give the command. "Coco follow Nemo."

The owl circles twice and is gone; you nudge Merle, and follow with Logan right behind.

The sand and wind pelt you mercilessly. You ignore the pounding in your chest, focusing on finding the child. The numbness in your hand travels up to your arm as you tightly hold on to the reins, and cold sweat dampens your back as you struggle to focus on the terrain. The tears brim as you notice your owl heading deeper into the Eufaula expanse.

The heavy hooves of Rambo's hooves echo behind as Coco circles back several times, making sure the two of you are still on the right path.

The trail ends at the foot of the Shipwreck ruins in the Eufaula. 

You do not even remember ascending the ladder; on top, along the entryway near the door of the ruins, Andy is sitting with Nemo. The warmth envelops you as you hug the child.

A large smile on his lips as he tightens his tiny arms around you and whispers, “I knew you’d find me.”

Your hands tremble as you slowly run them along his body, searching for injuries, asking, “Are you hurt?”

The bright amber hazel eyes dart between you and Logan, and with a mischievous grin, he queries. "So have you guys made up yet?”

The honesty in the question makes your breath hitch, and you pull him into an all-encompassing embrace, "Time to come home."

He starts squirming out of your arms with his eyes, darting between you and Logan, demanding, “No, not until yer guys make up, we’re family, what’d matter with ya all?”

The protests lancing through your heart, the tears began to gather, and you withdrew.

Logan steps in, approaching the child; he runs his fingers through the blond locks, taming them in place. "Look, pal," he gazes at you, but your attention is in the storm, "Let's get yer home."

The child huffing, his brows furrowing, he plops himself on the floor as he anchors his arms and legs on the metal post. "I ain’t goin’.”

A loud exhale falls from Logan's lips, and he takes off his hat, fiddling with the brim, “I promise we’ll talk once we’re home and outta the storm.”

The misty-eyed amber-hazel pools meet his powder-blues and ask, "The workshop… our home?”

The utterance pulls you back, and you drag your hand across your face; you turn to gaze at them, finding the two staring at you. You manage a half-smile, holding back the tears. The gesture is all too familiar as Logan's breath hitches.

“Of course.” The answer falls from your lips as you extend your hand, offering it to the child. Andy's eyes light up as he sprints and hugs you, babbling in between sniffles, “I missed yer.”

Your embrace tightens as you whisper, "I missed you, too, my sweet-sweet boy. Let's go home."

The winds howl, and the storm continues to rage; Logan anchors Andy between the two of you as you descend the stairs. At the bottom, he wraps you and Andy in his duster and tethers Merle onto Rambo as he takes the lead; with almost zero visibility, he navigates towards the workshop.

 "Use the mudroom downstairs, towels in the cabinet…"

The back door slams shut as Andy sprints inside, no longer listening with Nemo in tow.

The gravel beneath your feet shifts, and your world spins; your knuckles turning white at how hard you are gripping the post, which anchors you to the present. Long labored breaths escape you as the tears stream down your cheeks, and you visibly tremble.

Logan hitches the goats, unloading the side saddles, turns, and notices your distress; he approaches and wraps you in his arms.

"I'm… I'm…." The words fall, and you are unable to form a coherent thought.

"Shhh."

His large arms tighten around you as his hand trails up and down your back, drawing small circles.

"He's fine now, thanks to yer."

The scent of vanilla and leather envelops you as you bury your head deeper into his chest; you mumble, "I'm sorry, I don't know why I'm cryin'… I could strangle him… "

He rests his head on the top of your head and releases a loud sigh, "He's home."

In between sobs, you question him, "How can you be so calm?"

A loud exhale escapes his lips, as his arms tighten, answers, "I ain't."

Your body betrays you, and you melt into his embrace.

"I'm sorry…"

"Hey-hey, ain't nothin'."

The walls vibrate as the winds howl, and he holds you.

When your sobs settle, he gently loosens his embrace enough to gaze into your eyes, and he proceeds to wipe your tears. His deep ocean blue irises stare into your turbulent blue-green ones; his breath hitches—

"You're beautiful."

You choke a laugh as your brows furrow, "Yeah, caked in gravel and mud, half the sand in the desert in my gullet, I'm the belle of the ball." A smile creeping at the corners of your lips.

"There she is."

The warmth envelopes you as his arms tighten, and you instinctively lean in.

A sigh falls from your lips, and you speak in a tone mirroring your sadness, "I gotta clean up, we both do, feel free to use the mudroom."

You release your hold, and he reluctantly follows your lead; you focus on the ground as you head upstairs.

The edge of the bed dips, cradling your weight. You sit, squeezing the ends of your wet hair in a towel, and a half-smile dawns on your lips as you listen to the sounds emanating from your kitchen through the open doors of your bedroom. The voices carry through vast empty spaces of your home, arguing and laughing amidst the clanging of the pots and pans, with cabinet doors opening and closing. The smell of a delicious meal permeates the air, the tears stain your cheeks, as you fist the tops of the sheets, and you weep.

A while later, you find an all too familiar sight, Logan busy cooking and boiling water, masterfully maneuvering your kitchen. The space buzzes to life as the accoutrements celebrate their release from the oppressive clutches of inactivity. The entryway bears your weight as you lean, watching, the white tee and jeans both hugging his impressive physique, with pieces of his chalk-white hair perfectly framing his well-cut jawline— a half-smile dawns on your lips, as a breath escapes you. You drag your hand across your face.

"Hey, beautiful."

A soft smile laces his lips, hearing the words, "Well, been told I do clean up nicely."

You nod in agreement, "Admire the confidence."

The impressive figure takes a deep breath and stands taller, taking up space. "I was hoping for more than admire."

A smirk forms on your lips, "Must work wonders on tourists."

His stare softens, filled with ardent affection, as he beholds your puffy eyes, "I ain't looking."

You dismiss the utterance and gaze out your window onto the desert, "Ya, the Eufaula is a cruel mistress."

His smile vanishes, and yet his gaze remains fixated on you.

You scan the space and find no sign of the runaway; he catches your eye, and you raise a brow, questioning.

"Our escape artist is asleep."

He longingly stares at you; a bright blush forms, and your heart skips several beats. The familiar feelings linger, and in the same breath, trepidation whispers along your spine, and the memory of nights alone waiting in the same space replays in your mind, and you avert your gaze.

A deep sigh falls from his lips, and he turns to the stove.

He places a bowl of beef noodles on the table, pulling a chair, "Come and eat."

You sit and take a spoonful, "It's delicious."

He smiles.

Your brows furrow, and you ask, "You're not eating."

"I ate with Andy."

An audible sigh escapes you, and your face drops, and you finish your food in silence.

Once done, he takes your bowl and hands you a mug, "I made yer tea, with honey, just the way yer like it."

His hand grazes yours, and they tarry a little longer. 

You bring your cup in front of the fireplace and settle; a short while later, he joins you with yakmel milk in hand and takes the space beside you. The silence stretches, questioning.

"How've you been?" You both utter at the same time, causing you to laugh in unison.

He clears his throat, "I didn't forget… I meant to make it up to yer when I got back... Best believe, it'll never happen again… Give me another ..."

"Martle Square?"

A loud exhale leaves his lips as his hand grazes his cheek. "I've no excuse; I deserve that slap and more."

The silent stretches…

"Please tell me how I can make it right."

"What, and give up all the gifts? I don't think so."

His voice drops to a whisper full of regret, "I wanted to apologize, didn't know how. I thought I'd give you something yer could use in the workshop. Did you like them?"

"…and the letters?" 

"I meant every word."

He takes a drink, "Out in the wilds, all the nights I wasn't with yer, I watched the campfire and imagined I was sitting right here with yer, like this. I missed yer so much my heart ached.

The lines on your face deepen, and you turn to him, "You never..."

"It would go away every time I saw yer."

 He gently lifts your chin, meets your gaze, "I care for you, darlin'."

The warmth spreads across your cheeks. The heat emanates through the two of you and bleeds through the room. You stare at the familiar face, memorizing each line and every imperceptible twitch of his muscle. You withdraw, "You should go to bed."

He reaches and holds your hand, thumb slowly massaging your knuckles, "Stay, we could just be like this."

♃⭑𓂃

The morning light slowly creeps through the windows, and the sandstorm is a distant memory. You find yourself awake long before your eyes open. The warmth envelopes you, and you lean into the familiar and comforting feelings. Your hands roam his bare skin under the shirt, and you tighten your hold, and a soft moan leaves your lips, asking for a few more minutes of slumber. The impossibly large arms tighten around you, creating a soothing space, and you settle, falling back to sleep.

You wake with your head buried on his chest; his arms completely enveloping you, lying comfortably on the couch, sharing a blanket. The pounding of your heart is deafening in stark contrast to his calm beats, as you find both your hands under his shirt, slowly, you try to get up; his arms tighten, and he mumbles. "Not yet."

In a hushed tone, you answer, "Andy's going to get up soon. What do we tell him?"

The weight of his body leans in deeper into you, and he lets out a breath, "That I care for yer"

"You're not helping."

In a panic, you try to crawl off him, failing as you end up on top of him, with him locking you in a tight embrace, holding you in place. Your heart starts beating in rhythm with his, and your body betrays you as you settle comfortably enveloped in his arms.

"Let me go."

"Not until you forgive me."

"Fine, you're forgiven."

"So we're back together."

"Wait-What? No!"

"So, I'm not forgiven."

"You're forgiven, but I can't. Not again."

"Why not?" His arm starts stroking your back as he utters, "I care for you, and you love me."

"Exactly that, I love you, and you care for me." The tone is crisp and curt as you extricate yourself from him.

"I'll make it up to you if it takes me the rest of my life to do it."

"That's not how love works."

He props himself up on his elbows, facing you, "Oh, Andy got up an hour ago, he already saw us. Made a heart sign thing with his hands, I think, he thinks we made up."

A loud sigh escapes your lips, and you snap, "Damn it, Logan."

His blue irises sparkle, reflecting the sun, with a giant smile on his face, "I didn't want to wake you up. Yer were so beautiful, comfortably nestled in my arms. Can yer blame me?"

You furrow your brows, "I do not nestle..." The words hang as you stare at him, with his messy hair, crumpled shirt, and cocky smile…

Swiftly, he is on his feet, "I'm making yer breakfast."

"I don't think…"

He waltzes into the kitchen with the confidence of a man who would not be denied, announcing with his whole chest, "Yer gotta eat."

A long sigh escapes you, and you begrudgingly follow, taking one of the chairs on the counter, watching him make breakfast. The kitchen buzzes to life as he expertly maneuvers inside the space, opening drawers and preheating the oven, as he makes your favorite, bacon, soft scrambled eggs, and toast. While waiting for food to come to the perfect temperature, he makes your morning coffee with just milk and his black. He clinks his mug with yours, and you both take a sip.

An air of melancholy reflects in your features, and you ask him, "What are we doing?" Your irises stare searching his, in between sips.

His eyes meet yours, soft, and he says, "I'm making yer breakfast because yer forget to eat…and apologizing. Making up for all the mornings I promised to be here but wasn't."

The honesty of the response makes your heart soar as a whisper of trepidation takes hold of your spine, and you ask. "To what end?"

A loud exhale leaves his lips as he leans his weight on the counter and responds, "Until you forgive me enough that I can finally come home… Maybe finally celebrate our anniversary."

The words land heavily, and your hands ball into fists on top of your pajamas, and you bite back, "You have a home."

The anger in your tone is evident, and his demeanor softens, and he responds, "You're my home, darlin'. Everything else is just walls with a roof."

The tears gather, and you avert your gaze, staring out your window, into the Eufaula, as a sob is caught in your throat.

"For a long time, you were my world," your voice threatens to break as more of your tears brim at the corners of your eyes, you continue, "… and, with every broken promise…" The tears fall, and your breath hitches, "… chipped at the home we built," your sob echoes in the silence, " you never even noticed." The blue-green irises meet his ocean blues, "Until-until, there was nothing left except rubble." Your voice finally breaks, and you continue weeping, shaking your head. "There's nothing left—nothing to celebrate."

The sea-glass blues mirror your sadness, and he reaches for your hand. You withdraw, pushing your chair back; you retrieve two pieces of paper from a drawer and hand them to him.

The lines on his face deepen, and he stills as his grip on the counter tightens, knuckles turn white as he anchors himself.

"What I wanted to talk to you about…" A breath falls from your lips, "It's a good offer…

The words hang as you cross your arms, hugging yourself.

"I deceived myself, making up excuses, reasons to stay… It was an illusion—there's nothing left to celebrate."

Slowly, he approaches you and gently caress you cheek, wiping the tears, "I messed up and hurt yer." The desperation dripping from his voice as his drawl deepens, "I don't expect yer to forgive me or believe me, when I've broken so many promises." The tears in his eyes gather as your gaze locks.

"We're family… I care for you."

A sadness drapes over you as the familiar ache settles, having heard the words.

He recognizes the shift and continues, "I will take care of you always."

"Like a pet." The utterance is laced with so much melancholy.

He swallows an impossibly large lump, and he snaps. "Anyone can say, I love you and not mean it. My ma said it all the time, and yet she left us." The tone is heavy with grit and conviction, offering no refute.

"I care for you—Is better? Yet, break promises over and over."

A half-smile laces your lips, your gaze soft, holding his, "Not much has changed. I love you, and I'm leaving." You avert your eyes as you glare at the Eufaula, and your shoulders drop. "At least you know why."

Author's Note:

Chapter 3: Memory in Water

The beads of sweat pool on the crest of your brows, and the buttons on your armor are already undone, revealing the shirt underneath, drenched in perspiration, clinging to your skin, as you continue to make your case, voice straining, "Please, increase my daily commission quota."

The Commissioner, Wei, refuses to meet your turbulent blue-green pools with his head buried in the folder he is reading, and simply answers, "No."

You lean both your hands on his desk, and you plead, asking, "Why?"

"Because we pride ourselves on work-life balance. You, young lady, have none."

The blue-green of your irises flickers as you mindlessly tap your fingers on the desk and utter, "I miss Yan."

A languid breath escapes him as he closes the folder and slowly meets your gaze, "What is this really about?"

"Sandrock needs rebuilding, and I need…"

The softness in his emerald-green eyes meets yours, the tears brim, and your voice breaks at the last syllable.

He pushes off and rounds the corner of his desk, approaches, bridging the distance, and reaches his hand. Your eyes widen, and you retreat, taking a few steps back.

He pauses, "I heard—"

You cross your arms, hugging yourself, and in a voice barely above a whisper, "This has… forget I asked."

A sigh falls from his lips, "You're going to burn out… machines running twenty-four seven… hours inside the mines… taking the big load commissions…"

Your arms tighten around you, and cut him mid-sentence in a tone laced with sadness. "Don't worry, I won't be your problem for long."

The room stills as he stares into your eyes; you avert your gaze, and the door closes.

A blur of faces passes you as you head back to the workshop.

I heard—

The words echo, and your thoughts wander to the contracts offering a promise of a new settlement, with anonymity.

A lone letter sitting inside your mailbox draws your attention as it welcomes you home; your brow furrows as you retrieve and mull over its contents.

The squished flower of the beaver tail cactus greets you, hiding within the folds of the paper, and your hands visibly tremble. A single tear falls, staining your cheek as your heart soars and breaks in the same breath; a sadness drapes over your eyes as the memories flood in…

“Bring your swimsuit.”

The drawl thickens as he shouts, pulling on the reins, heading home to Andy.

The lines between your brows become deep, and you respond with your own question, “What? Why?”

A sharp exhale escapes you as you watch him, further now, and you know that an answer is not forthcoming.

The following morning, before a whisper of dawn appears, the cold air is already running through you, sending shivers up your spine with the sand and gravel pelting you. A precious pout forms on your lips as you watch the impressive silhouette riding ahead of you. The cobwebs of sleep cling to you as you crave the warmth of your bed.

He shoots you fleeting glances and smiles as you struggle with the reins to keep pace.

A mischievous grin laces your lips as he is in no danger of losing you in the vast expanse, as his maniacal chortle carries, and you will just follow the echoes through the dunes.

The line between your brows deepens. In the distance, all you see up to the vanishing point are bare, arid lands. The first slivers of light break through the grays of the horizon, and the blues peek; soon, the ebullient hues of reds and oranges explode, dominating the sky.

He pauses and waits for you, and as you come up beside him, his warm lips touch yours in a kiss, "G'd mornin', darlin'."

A smile tugs at the edges of your lips as he tastes of sunshine and coffee.

He nudges Rambo, and he is off.

A short while later, you see it; amidst the sea of browns and tan is a sputtering of greens. Your breath hitches, and you whisper, "Peach, an oasis."

The gravel breaks as Merle rears to a stop, and you are greeted by an abundance of Joshua trees, chaparral yuccas, tobacco trees, and a sprinkling of wild flowers, creosote bushes, brittle bushes, and beaver tail cactus; the foliage surrounding the magnificent reservoir. Your best friend, Nia, the botanist, will die if she sees the assortment that is lying before you.

The sand explodes into tiny dust clouds as you hop off Merle and run through, the tiny grass bow underfoot, and the softness grazing the tips of your fingers, minding the sharp spines. The smell of scented greens surrounds you, and you query, “Is this real?”

A smug smirk laces his lips as he dismounts. “I found this place while mapping. I thought of you.”

You sprint, leaping into his arms, straddle-hugging him; the force makes him take a couple of steps back. He holds you, as if you are something sacred, burying his head in the crook of your neck.

“Oft! I guess you approve?”

You squeeze him tighter, “It’s perfect.”

“You're perfect, darlin'. Did yer try the water?”

You release him enough to meet his gaze, a brow raised. The blues in his eyes deepen, and yet he reveals nothing as he places you down, and you approach the water's edge; you glimpse at him, through your thick lashes, and run your hand through the crystal pool—hot. You open your mouth, but no sound comes out…

You smile so wide your eyes dance.

The moment is perfection, woven into existence as a drop from the heavens, and a whisper of trepidation breathes at the edges, a wicked reminder of the fragility of you and what the two of you share. He shifts as his breath catches, subtle, you pause a brow arches watching him and ask.

"You okay?"

A strangled sigh escapes him, "Right as rain, darlin'."

He is already immersed as you tentatively step out from behind some trees. The bikini is a gift from Nia from one of her trips to Walnut Grove and is the only bathing suit you own. The cut and the design are something you would not have picked for yourself, thus have never worn at the Oasis back in Sandrock.

The emerald green color mirrors your eyes, blue hues recede, making your irises sparkle like jewels, enchanting; the cut of the suit hugs every delicious curve of your body, emphasizing your perfect silhouette, supporting a scant back.

The blues of his irises seem to deepen as he trains his gaze on you, his breath hitches as he stares and roams your figure before he catches himself and returns to meet your gaze, supporting a haughty grin.

"Gotta send Nia flowers with a card thankin' her."

You wring your hands and ask, “How do I look?”

The words fail him, as all the blood rushes south.

The corners of your lips turn down into a cute pout, which he finds even more endearing.

"I knew it, I look awful."

“Not the words I’d use...glad yer never wore that in the oasis and never will without me.” The drawl is heavy, laced with finality.

A bright blush blooms, and you giggle. “You’re just saying that.”

The water splashes as he approaches the edge to meet you, mindful to keep his lower half under. “Come here, and I’ll show yer how beautiful I think yer are in that suit.”

He helps you enter, slowly getting used to the temperature.

“Yer gorgeous, Darlin'.” He kisses you, his tongue grazing the outline of your lips; you relent and open, and he tastes everything.

He settles on some smooth rocks. You straddle him; he cradles you as if you were something precious. Slowly, he scoops and lets the water run down your body, making the swimsuit cling like a second skin.

“I heard yer pay for stuff like this in the big cities called Spa. I guess we have our own private one free and right in our backyard.”

A slight haze of lustfulness grips him as he beholds the beads of water glistening dancing on your skin; his eyes breathe in your silhouette as if you were to disappear, and his hands roam your figure, memorizing every curve. His breath hitches as his body reacts to your softness and heat; his hand on your hips, the other ghosting your lower back, anchoring you firmly on him. He buries his head in the crook of your neck, intoxicated by your scent, as he feels the swell of your breast.

Your fingers trail through his chalk-white hair; you whisper, “You won’t take anyone else here?”

"No."

"What about those who commission you to take them exploring?"

He speaks in the shelf of your ear, “They're gettin' the caves and dunes. This-This is our own little piece of Eufaula, I ain’t sharing.” 

You feel him taut and warm inside his trunks against your core, and you ask, "Is this for me?"

He nods, his control teetering on the edge as you tease him and slowly grind down on him at a devastatingly glacial pace, feeling every inch of him against the flimsy cloth. A stuttering moan escapes him; he reflexively twitches up against your core as he tightens his embrace. The burn in your cheeks makes you blush, and you repeat the motion,

 You whisper, "I want you, Logan."

Tenderly, your lips find his, kissing him unhurried and purposeful, and he responds, hungry and consuming, passionately sharing a secret in a language that only the two of you understand. You taste the coffee and mint, and his warm breath on you.

Your nipples pebble, taut against your suit, and he leans down lower, sucking them through the thin fabric. A breathy moan escapes you as you card your fingers through his damp hair, pulling him closer. His warm hands take both straps of your swimsuit down, exposing your breasts, and he laps them both hungrily. You giggle as his teeth graze your sensitive nipples.

You move and remove all of the clothing while enjoying him sucking and biting your breasts, leaving purple marks on them.

Your hand moves inside his swim shorts and holds his length; you pump him as you feel the warm bead leaking from the tip. A groan falls in between him as he sucks and bites your sensitive skin.

"I want this off…"

He is naked even before you finish the sentence, and yet his lips never leave your skin.

His hand rests at the small of your back, anchoring, his thighs move to spread you wider, and his other hand massages your folds as he kisses your lips, taking away all your breath. Two fingers enter as his thick, callused thumb draws circles around your aching clit, you gasp.

"Gotta prepare you, darlin', don't wanna hurt yer."

You whimper, and he kisses you…

He drags in and out at a devastatingly slow, deliberate pace; you grind down to catch his. Your hips roll, matching his movements, your tongue swirls playfully around his, tasting fresh water and coffee. The fingers inside you fold, finding your sweet spot where he knows you teeter, and your arms tighten around him; your taut nipples grazing his chiseled chest as you move faster. The water ripples around you, mirroring your actions.

The rough ridges of his thumb relentlessly drawing on your engorged clit, as his fingers go in and out in rhythm with your body, making sure to hit the bundle of nerves. Sweet, delicious moans fall from your lips, and the coils tighten…

"Lo… Logan…"

…and snap. You scream, he swallows all the lewd sounds you make… You squeeze, and his fingers, bending, massage your walls, making your orgasm last.

You bury your flushed face at the crook of his neck as a smug smile tugs at his face; he brings his fingers to his lips, sucking them dry, tasting your arousal.

"Always so sweet, for me."

Your arm tightens around him as you feel him hard under you.

He begins rubbing the tip of his hard cock on your sensitive folds and clit, you mewl, as your hips chase his every movement.

He gasps as he bottoms out as if he owns you, and your scream is trapped in his kiss as he holds you in place, unmoving. The burn turns into a dull ache and an overwhelming need as you squeeze around him, urging him to move.

The rough pads of his fingers draw circles on your clit, and you moan his name, clenching hard, begging him to move, your eagerness almost obscene.

"Please, Logan…"

The sea-glass blues, glimmer with lust, as he stares deep into your turquoise ones, "I missed yer."

Your lips envelop his, desperate and reverent, tongue tasting every inch of his, a hint of your arousal still present; your fingers slip through the tufts of his chalk-white hair, pulling him deeper, to a space that no longer exists. His full length inside you, you feel him filling both parts of you; the thought alone was enough to make you come—him claiming every inch of you.

His hand grazes beneath your breast while the other holds on to the softness of your hips, squeezes, keeping you anchored, controlling your movements. A delicious ache forms as the familiar coils burn, begging for a release. He devours you like a man with something to prove…

He grunts, "Yer mine…"

His hips withdraw almost the full length, swiveling, and he rolls back in deep, hitting the bundle of nerves that drive you over the edge. You moan into his mouth as your hips grind down, burying him to the hilt; every inch, every vein, every twitch of him inside you. He pounds into you with heat and purpose, and you drive down on him with precision. The water splashes as his pace sharpens, engulfed in your wet heat, loud guttural groans escape him, vibrating through your spine as the knot inside you tightens. The crescent shapes of your nails dig into his skin as you match his movements, riding him like a promise.

Your name falls from his lips, your voice rough with arousal, losing yourself, drowning with heat and want and the sheer force of him. Your hips stutter, you clench all over him, the pleasure crashes over you, and you shatter.

A smug smirk laces his lips as he continues to pump hard, fast, and ruthlessly, making your orgasm last, coating him with your sweet juices and you kegel harder. His thrust becomes erratic as he chases his own high; he groans your name as thick, hot spurts spill into you with a shudder that burns. You tighten and relax, prolonging the sensation, his head tilts back, and his cock twitches as he empties himself inside you. His embrace tightens as he holds you as if you were something sacred, and he drowns in euphoric bliss, and both your bodies are humming, draped in the afterglow.

He whispers, "You're amazin', darlin'."

You rest your head at the crook of his neck; your hot breath makes his skin prickle. He is still half-hard inside you, and you tease. "So are you. I love you, my Monster Hunter."

A grunt escapes his lips as he twitches inside you, "You know what that does to me."

You giggle, and his lips find yours, kissing you unhurried, deep and purposeful, taking all your breath; you pulse around him, hungry, and he growls as he becomes hard again with his hands gripping the dips of your hips.

The water settles around you, as your heartbeat syncs in rhythm with his. The world now hushes and drifts, becoming irrelevant; for a twinkling of time, only the two of you matter.

The sound of the swinging gates brings you back as the pets return home from scavenging through the desert. The long shadows on the ground and the sun hang low over the horizon, and you hear the gentle lapping of the water against the shore of the oasis. The familiar, thick drawl carrying the words echoes in your head…

…yer never complained… screaming my name… begging for me to touch yer…

You visibly tremble and ball your hand into a fist, the poor paper is crumpled, trapped inside together with the flower.

Earlier that day, even before a sliver of light peeks over the vast expanse, the heavy hooves of Rambo echo through the silence as an impressive figure is riding hard, headed deeper into the middle of the Eufaula.

I thought you better than who you were.

The words repeat and gnaw at him, his brows crease, and he nudges Rambo to go faster.

The wind carrying sand and gravel pelts him unrelentingly as he pushes harder, making the massive goat snort but follow his lead… The dawn drags feeling wrong from all angles… The words mix in with doubt continue taunting him…

"Giddyup!"

A slight breeze plays with the tips of his chalk-white locks as it offers a temporary reprieve from the harsh rays of the unforgiving lord of the desert. The water shimmers as the sunlight touches and reflects off the still waters.

The pencil maniacally scrolls through the map in his hand as he records, scribbles, and erases repeatedly; an exasperated breath escapes him as he struggles to finish the final touches.

A dull ache in his chest persists, and he swallows an impossibly large lump in his throat as the memories of the day he first brought you here replay like a wicked movie.

The weight and heat of you lying on top of him, as he holds you naked in his arms with a thin sheet draped over your bare bodies. The smell of jasmine and citrus mixes with the scent of sex on your skin, a reminder of how many times you unraveled under his touch; of him repeatedly drawing out multiple orgasms, until only his name falls off your lips. The lush foliage hides and protects you both from the scorching sun.

The high of the afterglow lingers, and his body hums with the thought of you bashfully allowing him to touch you, reverent, almost worshipful. A smug smile laces his lips as he kisses your temple, lighter than a breath; you sigh slowly, and you stir, settling deeper into him. The nearness of you ushers in a peace, making his heart throb into a meditative rhythm—The moment is perfection, woven into existence as a drop from the heavens.

The warmth abruptly dissipates, and the confrontation in Martle Square rears its ugly head… the loud argument rings out…

At dinner, you were already running through your checklist—

The air becomes thick, suffocating, and he struggles to take a breath; a single bead of sweat runs down his temple as the sentiment echoes…

Fucking me, were you checking me off your list?—a chore?— a fuck buddy? A babysitter for Andy, when you’re busy out with your true love, the Eufaula?

A pit in his stomach grows…

Logan—the one fuck wonder—never getting attached.

The paleness of his cheeks darkens into a crimson hue as he recalls the old moniker his friends use to tease him with, which he wore like a badge of honor… until…

The cold sweat traces down the valley of his back as the same words echoed from your lips, that day at the Square, remembering the response he spewed. His hand grazes his cheek and the tears gather, and he loses all his breath…

Goodbye, Logan.

A hollowness is follows, and the emptiness settles…

The wind picks up, and the scent of fresh greens brings him back. He feels an icy-cold blade traces down his back as the constriction in his chest persists; he drags his hand across his face, and his focus sharpens as he surveys his surroundings.

The soft footsteps wander as his boots break the gravel underneath, through the lush foliage, and he picks up one of the flowers. He takes a piece of paper from his pocket, and he pens a letter.

My darlin', Our little piece of the Eufaula isn't the same without you. I'm sorry, the broken promises, what I said at the Square. Please, tell me how I can fix this, I miss you, let me come home. I care for you, your monster hunter.

The folded paper holds the delicate flower within. A heavy exhale escapes him as he scrutinizes the whole area. The beauty surrounding him fails to soothe the burning desire in his heart, a longing. The pencil maniacally scrolls across the map, erases the word oasis, and writes reservoir.

Author's Note