#thread002

PENNY SYLVESTER:

Following the earthquake, being locked down without Logan for a week and not knowing for sure whether he was safe or not, Penny thought she had a new perspective on their relationship; she thought that maybe the problems she'd felt in their marriage were all in her head. Reuniting with him was exciting, and emotional, and passionate—all of the things she hadn't felt in the longest time. It had been short-lived, though, and when she'd woken up the next morning wrapped safely in his arms, it was like the lockdown had never happened, like those negative feelings had all come flooding back. Penny found herself, that very night, sitting alone in a low-lit, quiet dive bar, perched on a stool at the bar with her elbow resting atop something sticky while she nursed a bottle of beer and, quite frankly, felt more sorry for herself than she had in years.

PATRICK FLANAGAN:

Patrick sat in the corner of the dive bar, nursing a glass of whiskey, his eyes trained on the quiet woman at the bar. He'd noticed her the moment she walked in - something about the way she carried herself, heavy with exhaustion but still holding an edge of dignity, caught his attention. He wasn’t usually one for distractions; he liked to keep his nights simple, routine. But tonight, something felt different. He leaned back in his chair, the rough leather of the booth squeaking slightly beneath him, and studied her without staring. He’d been a professor long enough to know when someone’s mind was preoccupied - students lost in thought were easy to spot. But this was different. This was personal. Patrick had no business getting involved. His life was already complicated enough, with shadows of old decisions still clinging to his heels. But watching her now, he couldn’t shake the feeling that she was sitting on the edge of something. He took a slow sip, savoring the burn of the whiskey as he debated his next move. He had no intention of being her savior, no interest in getting tangled up in someone else’s life. But something in him pulled him towards her - like a magnet. He stood up, slipping his hands into the pockets of pants as he walked over to the bar, settling beside her with just enough distance to seem casual but close enough to catch her attention. “You know,” he said, his voice low but smooth, “there are better places to be miserable than this one.” His eyes flicked to hers, careful, assessing. He wasn’t offering sympathy; he wasn’t offering anything really. Just an observation, something to break the quiet tension that surrounded her like a heavy cloak.

PENNY SYLVESTER:

Save for the two bartenders who seemed to have nothing much to do, Penny hadn't taken much notice of anybody else in the room. It was quiet enough that she noticed when another patron approached the bar, and she looked at him from the corner of her eye, but the thought of making conversation never even entered her mind. When he spoke, though, she wasn't annoyed; she'd come here to be alone, but she found immediately that she didn't mind the company. "I'm not miserable." She responded in a tone that definitely betrayed her words. A quiet, self-deprecating chuckle followed. "I'm also not a very good liar." Sitting up slightly straighter, she twisted her body to better face him. "This place is kinda miserable, I feel like it's as good a place as any. You have to be feeling shitty to be here, too."

PATRICK FLANAGAN:

Patrick let her words settle between them, facing towards the woman next to him. Her attempt at humor was a thin veil, transparent enough to let him see the edges of the cracks beneath. He’d met people who lied to survive, to protect themselves - he’d been one of them - but she wasn’t. He finally gave in, cracking a smile though, and shook his head. “No, you’re not,” He had to agree with her, and watched her correct her posture, seeming more interested in having a conversation with him. “They have good whiskey,” He said, nodding to the bartender to pour him another drink of that exact beverage. “Name’s Patrick,” he offered, his voice steady and unassuming. He didn’t bother with any unnecessary small talk - he’d learned that when people were in this kind of mood, they didn’t need empty words. They needed an excuse to speak, to unload the weight a little. “Seems we’ve both found the same miserable hole to drown whatever’s eating at us,” he continued, a slight smirk playing at his lips. “But you’re right - places like these tend to collect people with something in common.” He tilted his head, his voice growing softer, as if letting her in on a secret. “Doesn’t mean we have to be honest about what it is, though.” It was a subtle invitation; no pressure to share more than she wanted, no expectation beyond what she was comfortable revealing. He lifted his glass, a quiet toast to the irony of their shared silence.

PENNY SYLVESTER:

"Whiskey's....whiskey, right?" Penny asked with a subtle look of amusement. She was more a beer and wine girl herself, something she could get anywhere; she'd picked this specific bar for its relative quiet, and could only assume anybody else who found themselves here did so for the same reason. There was something almost mysterious about this guy, something that made him intriguing, and for reasons she couldn't fully explain, she found herself wanting to know more. "Penny," she said with a small nod, appreciative of having a name to put to the face. Maybe it sounded stupid, or even selfish, but there was something almost comforting about knowing she wasn't the only one stewing in her misery, and as Patrick lowered his volume, like he was inviting her to spill her sorrows, she couldn't deny feeling inexplicably like she was safe to do so. "Do you smoke, Patrick?" She asked rather than a response at first. "Or have a seat somewhere that isn't right here at the bar?" Although the bartenders were keeping to themselves, the idea of privacy was appealing to her.

PATRICK FLANAGAN:

"You'd think so, but some are better than others. I'll take a Glenlivet over a Crown Royal anyday," Patrick's Scottish accent came through, and a small smirk rested on his lips, as his blue eyes remained on hers. He could so easily get into the huge differences between a scotch, a bourbon and a proper Scottish whiskey, but he wasn't about to the torture the poor girl; she seemed like she was in enough misery as it was. If anything, he was going to do his best to distract her from whatever was on her mind, and he had a few tricks up his sleeve. "Penny? It's nice to meet you," he extended his hand, so he could shake hers. He didn't think too much of it when she asked if he smoked, but only dug into the inner pocket of his blazer, and pulled out a half-smoked pack of cigarettes, as well as a lighter, and placed them on the wooden bar in front of Penny, so she could take what she needed. "Let's go over here," Patrick motioned, grabbing his glass and getting off of his seat to head to the corner booth, where he'd sat before coming over. He hadn't come here to talk to strangers, but there was almost a gravitational pull to Penny that Patrick felt the need to explore. So as he slid into the booth, his eyes took her properly in. Blonde, accentuated features like her jawline and curves instantly had her stand out, and those smokey green eyes of hers stood out in the dimmed setting of the bar. She was gorgeous. "You're not a whiskey girl yourself, I take it?" Patrick motioned to the bottle of beer, and smirked. "Or maybe you've just never tried a good kind of whiskey?"

PENNY SYLVESTER:

Penny blinked a couple of times. "That's basically a whole other language to me," she said with a small chuckle, despite the fact that she hadn't felt very much like laughing all day. She reached out to shake his hand, the formality something she'd usually lift a brow at, but for some reason she found it endearing. She also couldn't deny enjoying the feeling of somebody, anybody else's touch, even in such an innocent manner. "Likewise." She watched as he produced the cigarettes from his pocket, offering him a grateful nod of her head, though she didn't actually want them, so as he stood to lead the way to the booth, she simply picked them up along with her beer and followed. Although she wasn't exactly studying him, she could feel his eyes on her, and she had to admit if only to herself, she liked it. She liked feeling desirable, or whatever he might've thought she was. "Mm, no, not a whiskey girl." She shook her head, setting the cigarettes and lighter down on the table as she made herself comfortable. "Also not a smoker... I don't even know why I asked." Her cheeks heated up slightly, and she let out another quiet, this time almost embarrassed chuckle. "I think I just wanted to, I don't know, feel something?" It was a statement but sounded more like a question. Penny scrunched her nose. "That came out deeper than I meant it to." Now seated, she finally allowed herself to look at him—to really look at him, and she was sure it was clear from her expression that she didn't dislike what she saw. "I feel like I should tell you I'm married, Patrick." Penny gently shrugged a shoulder. "Just so you know."

PATRICK FLANAGAN:

Patrick gave her a slow, contemplative smile as he settled into the booth. Her awkward confession about smoking had him intrigued - people usually masked their deeper intentions with rehearsed smiles and casual lies. But not Penny, it seemed. She was raw, and it interested him in ways he hadn’t anticipated. “Feeling something,” he echoed, his tone carrying an undercurrent of understanding. He met her gaze, holding it for just a beat longer than necessary before glancing down, feigning a bit of thoughtfulness. “Honesty suits you,” he said finally, leaning back slightly and resting his arm along the back of the booth. He made the gesture open, inviting, though the look in his eyes was more calculated than friendly. “And trust me, I’ve heard deeper. You’re in the right company for that.” He paused, watching her closely as he lifted his glass and took a sip. It wasn’t that he ignored the mention of her marriage - he acknowledged it with a subtle lift of his brow, a small nod - but didn’t give it more weight than she seemed to want it to have. A lot of people who mentioned being married did it out of guilt, like a confession they weren’t sure they should be making. But Penny didn’t seem to be seeking absolution, just... clarification. “You know,” he said, shifting the conversation to give her a way out if she wanted it, “you’re not the first person I’ve met in this bar tonight with a wedding ring and a drink in hand. It’s not as rare as you’d think.” He paused for a bit, his thumb tracing patterns on his whiskey glass. “Married or not,” he continued softly, his tone almost teasing, “if you want to feel something, there are easier ways than pretending to smoke.” He glanced at the unlit cigarettes on the table, the corner of his mouth twitching in amusement. “So,” he said, leaning forward slightly, his eyes steady on hers, “what do you want to feel?” It was a direct question, but his tone was light, almost daring her to answer honestly.

PENNY SYLVESTER:

It said something that, until last night, the way he held her stare was probably the most intimacy she'd experienced in a long time. It sent a distinct shiver throughout her body, and the slight curl to the corner of her mouth wasn't intentional, but she felt almost smug, knowing she could still hold someone's attention like that. "I feel like you're baiting me, Patrick," Penny said with that same subtle smirk playing on her lips. Then again, she didn't know him, but from what she could glean from their brief time together so far, he didn't seem like the subtle type. "Don't worry, I won't bore you with the details. And they really are boring, so I promise I'm not baiting you." The admission about her marital status was for nothing more than making sure he know. She didn't know for sure what was happening here, but in her experience, people didn't usually hang out with strangers in bars without some kind of end goal. If Patrick had one in mind, so did she, and she wanted to make sure he had all of the information. It didn't seem to deter him, and the realization caused a tension to leave Penny's shoulders that she didn't quite know she'd been holding. Again, she didn't know him, didn't have to keep talking to him, but she also knew she didn't want to stop, so as he spoke, she felt that familiar shiver again. Excitement? Anticipation? She didn't know, she just knew she liked it, much like the tone of his voice and the implication behind his question. "Mm, something." Penny hummed, leaning back in her seat as he leaned forward, all the while keeping her gaze locked on his. Beneath the table, her foot rose to experimentally touch his ankle, a test to see if she was corretly picking up what he was putting down and vice versa. "I'm open to suggestions."

PATRICK FLANAGAN:

Patrick felt the light pressure of her foot against his ankle, and a slow, almost imperceptible smile curved his lips. The gesture was small, but it spoke volumes - a confirmation of what he’d suspected, a shared understanding of the dance they were starting. “Baiting you?” he repeated, his voice a quiet murmur. There was a flicker of amusement in his eyes, a spark that suggested he was enjoying this as much as she seemed to be. He kept his posture relaxed, his fingers tracing idle circles on the edge of his glass, making no sudden moves. He didn’t need to; the tension between them was doing all the heavy lifting. “I don’t think I need to bait you, Penny,” he continued, his words careful and deliberate, like each one was chosen with a purpose. “You’re already here, and you’re still talking to me. That tells me you’re not looking for an escape - not yet, anyway.” He let that hang in the air for a moment, watching her reaction. When she said she was open to suggestions, Patrick took his time responding, as if weighing his options. He could feel the slight pressure of her foot against his, the lightest of touches that spoke of hesitation mixed with daring. It would have been easy to push further, to test how far she was willing to go. But he wasn’t interested in easy; he wanted to see what she’d choose if he left the door open. “Well,” he said finally, his voice almost a whisper, “if I’m being honest, my suggestions depend entirely on what you’re hoping to feel. Are you looking to forget, or to remember?” The way he said it made it clear he wasn’t asking for the details - he didn’t need them. It was a question of intent, of purpose. He let his knee press back lightly against hers, a subtle signal that he’d picked up on her cue and was willing to play along. But he didn’t push beyond that - didn’t lean closer or crowd her space. “Or maybe,” he added with a small, almost conspiratorial smile, “you’re just here to see what happens next.”

PENNY SYLVESTER:

She carefully watched his expression, the light touch of her foot to his ankle eliciting the exact reaction she’d hoped for. She chose not to move it away, and instead proceeded to push slightly further, now softly grazing where her foot rested. In spite of her small smirk, her eyes shifted to an almost teasing glare as he called her out—he was right, she certainly wasn’t looking for an escape. Not from Patrick, anyway. “Oh, you’re good. You’re not a shrink, right?” Not that she couldn’t use one of those… just not right then. His question caused a slight twitch to her lip, because fuck, it was a good one. What was she looking for? She contemplated for a moment, eyes shifting from his only to glance down at the bottle that’d gone forgotten since they’d taken their seats. Penny wrapped her fingers around it, allowing the cool feeling against her skin to ground her some, bring her back to the present. “I was looking for quiet, maybe to forget.” She responded with a small shrug. Her gaze drifted back up to meet his. “I kinda think I want to get out of here now, though.” Her subtle smirk twitched back into place as she allowed her eyes to track down his torso until the table blocked her view, then rose back up to meet his. “What do you say?”

PATRICK FLANAGAN:

Patrick held her stare, the brief flicker of a smirk barely shifting his expression, but enough to reveal he understood exactly what she was doing. He hadn’t needed to be a shrink to read Penny; just observant enough to see the signals she wasn’t bothering to mask. Her teasing glare, her lingering touch, the way she tested his reactions - it was all a game, one he was more than comfortable playing. “Not a shrink,” he replied smoothly, letting his eyes crinkle slightly with amusement. “But I’ve been told I’m a good listener.” He didn’t elaborate; the implication was left hanging between them, the weight of what she didn’t need to explain adding layers to the tension. As she shifted her gaze and spoke, Patrick listened without interrupting, giving her the room to choose her words carefully. Then she said it: she wanted to leave. And with that, the dance changed its rhythm. But instead of rushing, instead of letting the pulse of the moment dictate his actions, he stayed where he was for just a second longer, giving her the chance to see him consider her words. He let his gaze linger on hers, searching for any flicker of doubt, any sign that she might be second-guessing her choice. When he saw none, he gave a small nod, as if confirming something to himself. “You’re not as bored as you think you are.” He said, the slightest tilt to his head suggesting a hint of playfulness, and he let the corner of his mouth curve into a knowing smile, motioning for them to get out of their seats. “My place is just around the corner from here.” Patrick revealed and knew that the night was full of possibilities, and he didn’t need to control the pace - Penny had already shown she was willing to follow the current, and he was more than ready to see where it led.

LATER

PENNY SYLVESTER:

Unclothed and tangled in somebody else’s bedsheets might’ve been the perfect time for Penny to finally freak out, to realize that what she’d just done was wrong. Then again, she had the walk over here to come to that realization, or the time they’d spent eye-fucking each other in the bar before that. Hell, maybe even when they were haphazardly undressing one another could’ve been a good time to put a stop to whatever this was, but she hadn’t, because there was no shock realization to come to; Penny had walked this path with full awareness right from the start, so as she propped herself up against Patrick’s pillows, her bottom half covered by the sheets but her top half entirely exposed, she saw no reason to freak out, nor to cover up. He’d seen everything now anyway. She flashed him a smile, soft and warm. “I hope you know I didn’t go looking for this tonight,” she said, her voice slightly raspy thanks to the way she hadn’t held back, volume included. It was the first time in a long time she hadn’t censored herself—or had to fake anything—in fact. “I’m not—I don’t know. It’s complicated...” She leaned in Patrick’s direction, resting her fingers beneath his chin and pressing a light yet lingering kiss to his cheek. “So thank you. You definitely helped me remember.”

PATRICK FLANAGAN:

Patrick lay beside her, head turned just enough to watch the rise and fall of her chest in the dimly lit room. He didn't bother to cover up either, resting his arm comfortably behind his head as if this was just another night, another calculated decision made in the midst of a long string of choices. But that wasn’t quite the truth - not this time. Penny wasn’t just another impulsive fling, and the moment he’d noticed the way her eyes had changed during their conversation at the bar, he knew he wasn’t dealing with someone who sought him out of convenience. When she spoke, her raspy voice breaking the quiet, Patrick caught the weight in her words. Her candidness, her lack of regret. The blue-eyed man turned slightly, his gaze drifting from her face to the point where his fingers brushed hers under the sheets, just on her hip. He felt the warmth of her skin against his, she was so soft. Her admission that she hadn’t been looking for this made him raise an eyebrow, the smallest sign of acknowledgment. When she leaned in and pressed a lingering kiss to his cheek, he felt her fingers under his chin, guiding him with a softness that contrasted sharply with the edge she’d shown earlier. “Complicated is good,” he murmured, voice low and steady. “Means you’re not settling for simple answers.” He reached up and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, an uncharacteristically gentle gesture from a man who rarely showed tenderness outside of carefully constructed moments. But this wasn’t about calculated charm now; this was about showing her that he’d listened, that he’d understood what she wasn’t saying as much as what she had. He moved slightly, turning more towards her, as his hand cupped her cheek and he leaned in to press a gentle kiss against her lips; a sharp contrast to the activity they’d just spent the night doing.

PENNY SYLVESTER:

It spoke to the poor state of her relationship that Penny wasn't in any hurry to leave, and that she knew it didn't matter how late she showed up back at home, Logan wouldn't question it, because there was nothing to question. There was nothing left to fight for anymore, so they never fought at all. Their house was calm, quiet, yet lying here with someone who wasn't her husband, in the kind of state only her husband should see her, this was the calmest she'd felt in the longest time. There was something so soothing about the way Patrick's fingers stroked her skin, his presence all consuming. As he leaned in, she easily reciprocated, their lips pressing in a very natural way to one another's. Penny eventually pulled back with a small, contented smile. "You don't say much, do you?" She rasped, tilting her face into the touch of his hand, her eyes up on his. Her gaze wasn't suggestive anymore, just calm, comfortable. Almost like she was talking to someone, a friend, she'd known her whole life. "Talk to me. Tell me something. What are you thinking?"

PATRICK FLANAGAN:

Patrick’s fingers continued their slow, rhythmic path along Penny’s cheek, a casual intimacy that seemed more deliberate than most might notice. The quiet between them wasn’t awkward or heavy - it was something they both seemed to find a measure of solace in. He wasn’t the type to fill silences with idle words; there was always something to be said for letting the silence breathe, for letting actions speak louder. Her small smile caught his attention though, and when she broke the silence, he tilted his head, watching her as if weighing her words. Talk to me. Tell me something. Patrick wasn’t the type to lay all his cards on the table. But he also understood when someone needed more than the surface level. He held her gaze, letting the moment stretch out just long enough to feel intentional before he responded. “You want to know what I'm thinking?” he murmured, his voice carrying that same understated confidence. Leaning in again, Patrick started sprinkling kisses along Penny's jawline, to the soft velvet-like skin of her earlobe and down her neck. "I'm thinking about how strange it is that people can feel like strangers and something else entirely at the same time," he muttered against the safety of her neck, the Scottish accent strong, before giving it a light nibble, and bringing his head back up to catch her reaction. He let his gaze linger on hers, giving her space to respond, not just with words but with whatever she chose to offer next. Patrick wasn’t in a hurry, and he sensed she wasn’t either. They’d found this unexpected connection, and for now, that was enough.

PENNY SYLVESTER:

Andy Pierce

Andy knew coming to California was going to be hard. It was going to be such a change from the life they had in Montana, but they wanted to be close to family. Needed to be close to family. They loved Oakley but it was hard doing it alone. But, that didn't mean that they had to give up everything about home. They'd heard from a few people that there were a few places outside the city that had horses. And so, with Oakley strapped into his carseat, country in the radio, Andy went driving. The place they ended up looked promising and even if it wasn't, they'd been driving around long enough that Oakley was getting restless so they'd need to let him out to run around as it were. Kid had more energy than Andy knew what to do with most days. So, they parked their truck and climbed out to get Oakley out. The minute his feet hit the ground he was off running towards the fence line, not a care in the world that the horses might not wish to see him. "OAKLEY JAMES!" Andy shouted as they ran after him, easily catching up to him and picking him up in the process, continuing to walk towards the fence. "You know better, you don't wanna scare 'em, do ya?" They pressed a kiss to his nose as he shook his head, smiling as he giggled and tried to squirm out of their hold.

Morgan Weston

It had been a rough weekend. Not in any kind of mental sense. No, Morgan was spent physically. He’d gone to Puck’s birthday on Friday night, and that night going into Saturday hadn’t exactly been calm. He’d used his body and certain muscles in ways he didn’t even know was possible. All of that certainly wouldn’t have happened back in Montana, that was for damn sure. But even after a busy Friday night and Saturday morning, and despite the hangover, the tall cowboy still had so much pent-up energy that he needed to get out. Had he slept? Maybe an hour or two, but did that even matter? No. With his farrier apron on over his old jeans, and a worn-out t-shirt that might have been too tight on his body, Morgan stood outside one of the barns, working away. Being bent over and changing the horse’s shoes had been on his agenda for too long, but it was finally happening; and it was a pretty mindless task. Hungover, tired and thinking back on how last night’s activities wouldn’t have happened back in Montana, Morgan started dreaming away to his past. He'd been doing a lot of thinking lately, about how he was too concerned about the ranch, making sure that it was running exactly the way his granddad has done so, for as long as he could remember. But it came with a price; being a bad boyfri- ”OAKLEY JAMES” echoed through the air, and it caused the man to look up from the pedicure he was in the middle of giving a horse. He let go of the leg and stood up straight, seeing a short-haired person with a kid. Morgan smiled to himself and rubbed his hands together to get rid of the keratin from them, walking towards them. “D’ya wanna try and feed it?” Morgan said, his voice loud enough for the mother and child to hear. On his way, he passed by a bucket of apples and carrots. He got closer and held out the bucket. “Just use a flat hand.”

Andy Pierce

Andy did their best to hide the upset that flickered across their face at just who happened to be making his way over. They'd know him anywhere. Morgan. Oakley's father. Their once upon a time best friend and boyfriend. But that was behind them both now. Oakley continued to squirm until Andy let him down. "Know how!" He announced, seemingly offended. "Oy, you don't have a right to be rude. He didn't know." Andy chastised. "What do you say?" "Sorry." Oakley bowed his head a little and Andy ruffled his dark hair. It curled over his head and longer pieces fell in ringlets, the way their own did. He then took an apple from the bucket, waiting patiently. "I, on the other hand, have plenty of reasons, don't I, Morgan?" His name was said with the slightest bit of animosity.

Morgan Weston

The little kid sure was cheeky – it had Morgan chuckling at his confidence, but also impressed by the fact that a, what, 2-year-old knew how to feed horses. Not many kids around LA did. They knew about sushi and Teslas and whatever pixelated video game was in style now. But this kid seemed different, more in tune with nature somehow. That was a credit to the parent, obviously. Morgan watched as he took an apple and turned to feed the horse who gently started to munch on the fruit. He rarely got visitors out on the ranch, unless it was big-shot producers who wanted to make a deal and see if one of the horses fit whatever movie was in pre-production stages. And it was even rarer that a child was on the plot of land. A little lost in his thoughts over how impressed he was with the kid, Morgan barely heard what the adult had to say, until his own name came out of their mouth. ’Morgan’. It was said in such a…tone. He instantly turned his gaze up, looking at them with squinted eyes, trying to figure out how they knew it. He didn’t have his name on the ranch’s welcome sign yet, so it couldn’t have been from that. Eyes raking over their beautiful features, Morgan took it all in, almost like a computer scanning every pixel. The brown eyes, the sharp jawline, the full lips…if they’d had long hair, they would have looked exactly like- his eyes widened. That couldn’t be- was that- Morgan’s jaw dropped. “Andy?!” Stuttering, the bucket dropping from his hands to the ground. He couldn’t believe it! “What’re ya doin’ here?” That was not the politest question to ask, Morgan! “I mean, how are ya?”

Andy Pierce

The bucket dropping had both Andy and Oakley jumping, the young boy's offense at the man seeming to grow as his mother leveled what was best described as a death glare in Morgan's direction. He'd never been the sharpest crayon in the box, and once upon the time it had made him endearing. Now? Now it just made them want to hit him. "My family lives out this way now and as Oaks gets older I'd rather him be around family. So, packed up everything and moved." They sighed. "As for how I am," a shrug, "surviving."

Morgan Weston

Morgan had seen that look in their eyes before. It was a look that didn't shout, or scream. It wasn't a look that threw things. No, it was scarier than that. It was calm, but angry. It was enough to have him swallowing hard in fear of what was to come. Nodding, Morgan's eyes darted between Andy and Oakley, not entirely sure where to look. If he looked into Andy's eyes for too long, he was sure that he'd be a walking fried chicken, with the laser focus they had on him. And if he stared too long at Oakley, he was scared that he would be eaten alive, by the overprotective parent, like a lioness looking after its cubs. "That's...good. So you're- um..." Morgan scratched the back of his head, not entirely knowing what to say. "You're here for a while then." God, he wished he was still back at the barn, breaking his back over a horses hooves, than this. "That's good."

Andy Pierce

Andy almost delighted in the way he couldn't figure out where to look. Oakley had turned his attention back to the horse, giving it gentle pets the way he knew how. Andy watched their son for a few moments before letting their gaze return to Morgan. The way he as clearly nervous and uncomfortable. "Yeah, for the foreseeable future. Got a job as an RN at PSU, figure it'll give me more time with Oakley than anywhere else might. We'll see how things go."

Morgan Weston

"A-at PSU?" Well, wasn't this just great? Everyone he knew and their damn grannies were attending PSU - even people that he was sleeping with. And now his ex was working there too. Just great! "Nice, congratulations," Morgan stuttered, and swallowed hard. "It, er...sounds like it's goin' great for ya. And ya look good too! The short hair's really," Morgan motioned to it, looking for the right word to use. "It's workin' for ya." He cleared his throat, eyes finally looking up and into theirs. God, they were still so dark and mysterious. It almost had him breathless. "Everything seems to be workin' for ya."

Andy Pierce

Andy cocked an eyebrow at the way he stuttered. "Something wrong with PSU?" They were curious why that seemed to be an issue. The nervousness couldn't be played off as just them being there. "I'm going what I can, what I have to." Their head tilted at his compliments, he was rambling. Again, something they'd once found endearing, and while it wasn't annoying now, they weren't sure how it made unemployment feel. "Thanks. I wouldn't say everything is working for me, but the hair at least quiets some of the stuff that isn't." The worst part about being nonbinary, Andy had come to realize, was that most days they didn't have an issue with their body, but the days they did were rougher than they had any right to be. But they couldn't do much about that.

Morgan Weston

Just that I'm flirting with half of the alumni there, but I'm sure it's fine, Morgan first thought to himself, after hearing Andy's question. But he couldn't say that, for obvious reasons. He'd already left them for LA, and on top of that, he'd been a lousy boyfriend to them, back in Montana. "No no, I'm just doin' a summer course there, right now. It's almost over though." So you won't have to worry about sending me a daily death glare. Nodding along, Morgan finally felt confident enough to let his frozen body move, and he leaned against a fencepost. "So, um...how's dating goin' for ya?" Not a single braincell was telling him to ask about Oakley - it could be their nephew! Probably a reach, but again, Morgan didn't spare it one single thought.

Andy Pierce

Andy squinted slightly, but said nothing. It was curious but they didn't start until just after the summer session was over, right before the fall, they'd requested time to settle into life before actually starting and they'd been more than accommodating. Though his next question had them rolling their eyes. "It's not. Not being a woman in Montana and being a single mother? Yeah right." Not that they'd actually tried dating after him, but it wasn't hard to guess how it would go.

Morgan Weston

Even if he hadn't been the most loving and sweetest boyfriend, he still cared about them so very much. There had definitely been feelings. And despite not having seen them for the past three or so years, Morgan still felt a knot in his stomach, as he awaited their answer. Mentally, he did a celebratory fist pump as they revealed they hadn't been dating, but the 'single mother' reason had him remembering the kid that was petting the horse behind the fence. Nodding, Morgan understood, and decided to change subject. He knelt down to be at the kid's height and handed him a carrot from the bucket to feed the animal. "D'ya like horses, buddy?" He asked him, not really knowing how to converse with kids, but trying very hard. "This one is called Prince. He likes nose rubs. Like this," Morgan reached in through the wooden beams, and showed Oakley exactly how the horse liked it, earning them a low pleased grunt from Prince.

Andy Pierce

Oakley took the carrot with a quiet "thanks" and began to feed the horse. He nodded at the question. "Love." Oakley loved horses. People tried to get him to start with ponies, something more his size, but he'd gone straight for the big boys. Always seemed to Andy that the bigger the horse the more interested he was in them. Not that they could blame him. He was growing like a weed, not that they were surprised, given Andy was 5'9 and Morgan was well over 6'. Kid was going to be taller than anyone he knew for most of his life. Oakley nodded, looking over his shoulder at his mother. "Go on, it's alright." They encouraged, but he didn't move toward the horse, instead moved back to where they were and grabbed their hand, which he then proceeded to try and tug them closer. "You were perfectly happy to pet him without me," But Oakley was determined and Andy let him pull them over to Prince. Let him press their hand against the horse's nose. They gave Prince a nose rub, smiling as they did so. Kid wasn't always the brightest, but he did little things that were brilliant. Usually to make someone, but usually Andy, smile. It was that little moments that always made the worst days worth it.

Morgan Weston

Morgan liked kids. They were cute, in their little outfits, and funny, saying the darnedest things. Some day, he wanted kids too, but not right now. He had only just started to put work on the shelf, and live life a little bit. With the right person, at the right time, he'd be ecstatic to have his own mini-me running around. But for the time being, he could appreciate Oakley, and how sweet he was being. Watching the kid pull Andy forward to give the horse the pets, Morgan smiled. It was almost like re-living the past, and he remembered how he'd done the same thing, back at his grandparents' ranch in Montana; he'd gently pulled Andy forward to his horse, introducing them. "Have ya ever been on a horse, Oakley?" Morgan asked, but looked up at Andy, eyes showing a little worry, but also a little cautious excitement. He didn't want to overstep any boundaries with their kid, but at the same time, he also wanted Andy to walk away with a semi-decent experience, so they weren't completely filled with hatred for Morgan.

Andy Pierce

Oakley made a sound and moved to hug his mother's leg. They ruffled his hair. "It's alright, bud. He ain't gonna make you." They reasured, leaning down and wrapping him in a quick hug. Making sure he was alright before standing again, hand still on his head, fingers gently scratching his scalp. "He fell off, managed to catch him, but he's been skeptical since. We'll try again when he's older, more stable on his own. If he wants." It had been a terrifying moment for them both, but Andy was glad it hadn't ruined horses for him. And they figured when he was older they'd never be able to get him off a horse. They wouldn't mind a ride, but they weren't about to leave their son alone with Morgan for that to happen. They'd find someplace else to ride if they got the itch bad enough and leave Oakley with a sitter.

Morgan Weston

Eyebrows raised at Oakley's reaction - he figured that the kid would've been crazy for being on a horse, since they seemed to dig the whole feeding thing, but then Morgan got the explanation. A quiet 'ahh' escaped his lips, and he stood back up again, not wanting to seem forceful or intruding in any kind of way. "That's a fair reaction. I fell off a lot as a kid, too. It was always scary, and it usually took me a few months but I always warmed back up to them again," he mostly said to Oakley, figuring that Andy remembered those stories. "Well, if ya wanna walk around, say hi to the other horses, you're more than welcome to. Some are in the barn, and some are out in the pasture. Feel free to take the bucket with ya." It was the least that he could do for them, after having been such a shitty boyfriend to Andy. "Um...let me know if there's anythin' I can help with. Y'know, other than letting you meet the horses. I'm here. I ain't goin' anywhere." Morgan promised them, looking straight into those deep brown eyes. God, they were enticing. Clearing his throat, he motioned for the barn he just came from. "If there's nothin' else, I'm just gonna- errr...leave you to it."

Andy Pierce

Andy rolled their eyes. Morgan had been the definition of "try, try again" even if it was probably bad for his well being. They could more than remember the times he'd fallen and the older he got, the shorter the times were between falling and getting back on, even when injuries implied he shouldn't have gone back so quick. Sometimes they wondered if he was an idiot because of the brain damage or had the brain damage because he was an idiot. They were pretty sure that at this point no one would be able to tell them one way or the other. Oakley looked up at Andy expectantly and they nodded, watching as the young boy took off further into the pasture. This is why Andy dressed him in bright colors, otherwise they'd never find him in a crowd. Well, ignoring the air tag in the holder that was sewn into the leg of his pants. "I'll let you know." They gave him a tight smile and picked up the bucket. "Better go catch up before he starts trying to make friends without me." They gave a slight wave before heading off at a sprint after Oakley. California was going to prove much more interesting than first expected. Though, whether that was a good thing or not, only time would tell.

Morgan Weston