Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

He sighed deeply, swirling the amber liquid in his cup and watching with relative disinterest as the foam bubbles burst on the surface. The dim lighting in the bar created a subdued atmosphere, with the low hum of the small crowd inside. Bringing the glass up to his lips, he took a sip and wrinkled his nose; American beer was something he hadn't quite gotten used to yet. Though, to be fair, he was never a fan of beer in Japan either.

Placing the glass back on the small paper coaster on the grimy counter, he glanced around the room with another small sigh. It wasn’t his first time coming here, but the decor always made him question himself. It was just so different from what he was used to seeing in Japanese bars.

The walls were all wood paneling adorned with various country and western elements and pictures, though he didn’t know what half of them represented. Framed pictures included various shots of rolling countryside with wheat—or maybe that was corn—growing through them. A small stage behind where he was currently sitting allowed people to sing or perform throughout the night. The air carried the faint smell of lingering cigarette smoke, another thing that seemed to be commonplace in American bars.

A small flatscreen in the corner displayed an American football game, The Cowboys vs. The Titans. As far as he could understand, the Cowboys were winning, much to the displeasure of everyone in the bar. It only made sense since the Titans hailed from Tennessee, which is where the bar was located. Overall, it wasn’t too bad; at least it provided him with a place to come and get drunk when those dark thoughts started to creep back in.

It had been almost three years since the war ended, but he never stopped thinking about it. Sometimes he still woke up in cold sweats, the screams of UA’s children echoing in his ears as he scrambled to his bathroom to vomit.

For months, he tortured himself as Fumikage learned to walk again, as Jiro went through surgery to fix her ear. He supported Endeavor as they laid his oldest to rest and put his youngest through physical therapy due to his injuries. He pushed and pushed, never once stopping to think about himself and what he lost. He ignored the changes in his body from the loss of his quirk, not bothering to consider the way that changed things for him.

No, instead, he decided to reform the Commission. He changed policies, started fundraisers, delivered speeches, and led marches until finally, it was over. The damage and hurt were put behind them, Japan finally healing from the war that had so brutally ravaged its shores. People went on with their lives, a new Commission President was fairly elected, the students went back to classes, and Endeavor and his wife moved to the countryside to enjoy his retirement.

People moved on, but they moved on without him. He was left alone, with no quirk and no purpose. There was nobody to see, nothing to do, and slowly, he started to lose himself.

Every day felt like an endless black pit as he screamed and cried for someone, anyone, to help him. But nobody was coming to save him, and he struggled to adjust to the changes that came with the loss of Fierce Wings. His eyesight was worse than he remembered, his balance constantly off, and his body never felt quite right. He hardly ate, unable to sleep as his thoughts tormented him. He tried so hard to push through it, to ignore the darkness slowly taking over his brain, but he couldn’t fight it forever.

It all quickly reached the breaking point.

He finally succumbed to the need for sleep, aided by one of the pills prescribed by the doctors before he left the hospital. The dream started pleasantly enough, with him soaring freely through the light blue sky, but it gradually shifted to something much darker. A sense of nausea overcame him as the dream suddenly twisted and changed, coming to an unsettling halt.

No, he didn’t want to be here. He needed to wake up, needed to get out.

He attempted to get up, but it was too late. The bottom of a boot pressed roughly into his head, and his flight visor cracked and shattered across his face. Tiny pieces of yellow plastic dug into his skin, terror spreading through him as he slowly allowed his eyes to look upward.

“Dabi, please,” he begged, squirming as he tried to escape from under him. His face already wet from a mixture of blood and tears, his stomach twisted sickly as Dabi sneered down at him in disgust. “Please don’t do this. I won’t kill him. I won’t kill him, I promise!”

“You already did, Hawks,” Dabi shot back, moving so he could see the body lying behind him. Hawks shifted his eyes, widening as they landed on it. His chest tightened as he cried out, unable to stop it as tears traced their way down his cheeks.

He was a murderer.

He was supposed to be a hero, yet he had taken the life of someone who was trying to run away from him. He had killed someone who had reached out as a friend. Twice had shown him nothing but kindness, made an effort to fucking connect with him, and he had repaid that friendship by betraying him, stabbing him in the fucking back as he fled.

“Twice!” he cried out, watching helplessly as blood pooled around his fallen friend. His once black suit, torn to shreds by his feathers, lay soaked in crimson. He could do nothing but watch as a gust of wind scattered the red feathers strewn around his body, blending into the crimson liquid around him. Keigo retched slightly, eyes watering as he screamed again, desperately begging Twice to just wake up.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, Twice! I’m so fucking sorry! I’m—” his words were abruptly cut off, the pressure from Dabi’s boot intensifying as the man above him laughed. Leaning down, the light blue of his eyes met Keigo’s golden gaze, and Dabi shook his head in disgust.

“You fucking will be,” he declared, his palms igniting in the signature blue fire of his quirk before turning it on Hawks. Keigo screamed, attempting to scramble away, but it was futile. He felt his skin melting, feathers burning instantly as he writhed in pain. His body suddenly turned cold, shivering despite the heat, as Dabi continued to laugh above him.

He woke up screaming, Dabi’s laughter still echoing in his ears, and the scar along his neck and back felt as though it were in fucking flames. He stumbled from bed, retching as he raced to the bathroom. Ignoring the need to vomit, he desperately grasped the shower handle, turning the water as cold as it could go before flinging himself inside, still fully clothed. Sitting on the floor with knees drawn up to his chest, he allowed the cold water to pelt and soothe the burning of his skin as he stared blanky at the wall. Water dripped from his face, mixing with his tears, until finally, his mind went silent, and his body went numb.

He had been chasing that numbness ever since.

Opting to skip the logical first step of alcoholism, he turned to drugs. Anything he could get his hands on to help him forget the things he had witnessed, the atrocities he had committed. He lost weight, stopped going out in public, and withdrew from life completely. Nothing mattered anymore except securing his next fix, numbing himself so he could breathe and sleep, avoiding the haunting memories of his actions.

It worked, providing the escape he so desperately needed, but his luck couldn’t last forever. Eventually, he reached rock bottom, passing out in an alleyway after his latest hit. It had been too much, his body finally giving out as he slumped against the trash cans. He got lucky when Best Jeanist found him on his way home from the corner store, promptly taking him to the hospital upon realizing something was wrong. It wasn’t until after his release that he learned if Best Jeanist had been just fifteen minutes later, he would have died in that filthy alleyway.

This incident prompted him to get his shit together, allowing Best Jeanist to enroll him in a rehab program. Spending the better part of the last year there, he worked on getting clean, focusing on his mental health. They prescribed anxiety and depression medication, subjected him to various therapies, and gradually, he started to regain the weight lost during his drug use. Progress was evident, so much so that they were ready to release him. However, before that could happen, he needed to discuss his plans for the next steps in his recovery.

“I honestly don’t know,” he said, furrowing his brows as he pondered the options. Returning to his apartment and getting a job was a possibility, but was that what he really wanted? His gaze shifted to the wall of his doctor's office, where a picture of scenic countryside caught his eye. The idea of starting fresh somewhere new, escaping his past in Japan, honestly sounded kind of nice.

His doctors seemed to support his decision, and within the next few weeks, he was finally released, free to pursue his second chance beyond Japan. Returning to his apartment, he hastily packed a suitcase and a backpack, swiftly going through his belongings. Clothes with holes for his wings were bagged up for donation on his way to the airport. His suitcase was filled with the newer clothing he had acquired since the war, and his backpack was loaded with essentials like his laptop, snacks, and medication. Everything else in the apartment could be donated; he no longer needed it. He slung the backpack over his shoulders, grabbed the handle of the suitcase, and paused at the front door with a frown.

Releasing the suitcase handle, he hurried back to his bedroom, stopping by the nightstand. Opening the drawer, he sighed softly and reached inside, retrieving pictures and a small doll safely nestled within. The pictures captured various moments, including shots of him with his sidekicks, one with Fumikage during his internship, and others with various heroes and friends. As he flipped through them with a bittersweet smile, he tucked them into his pocket. He then turned his attention to the small Endeavor doll in his hand.

It was worn, the edges starting to fray from age, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave it behind. He had a feeling he would need it wherever the hell he ended up.

With the doll safely clutched to his chest, he made his way back to his front door. Grasping the handle of his suitcase, he walked out of his front door, out of Japan, and hadn't really looked back since.

Upon reaching the airport, he secured a ticket for the first available flight, which happened to be heading to America. Uncertain about what he would do upon arrival, he decided to figure it out as he went. Swiftly navigating through security, he just managed to reach the gate as the first passengers were starting to board the flight. Catching his breath, he pulled out his phone, steeling himself for the moment. This was it; there was no turning back now. Hovering over the contacts, he created a large group text and began typing.

Keigo:
I just wanted to tell you all thank you. Thank you for everything you’ve done for me throughout my hero career, thank you for having my back in the war, thank you for believing in me. I wouldn’t be alive without Jeanist, so thank you to him specifically. I’m leaving Japan. I’m not fully sure where I’ll end up, but I need a fresh start. I already let my landlord know that I will not be returning, and there is a spare key under the mat. If someone could be kind enough to donate everything I left behind, I would appreciate it. I wish you all nothing but the best. Goodbye for now!

He quickly exited his messaging app, proceeding to delete his social media accounts. It wasn’t that he wanted to cut himself off from Japan completely, but he needed space and time to heal before reconnecting with anyone here. Once he finished the digital purge, he swiftly switched the device off, pulled out the SIM card, and snapped it in half. He discarded it, slipping his phone into his pocket. He would get a new one when he got himself settled.

The flight had been long, and upon landing in California, he was beyond exhausted. Spending the next few days in a hotel near the airport, he tried his hardest to sleep off his jet lag. When he finally felt halfway decent again, he repacked his bags before booking a ticket across the country. He wasn't sure why he settled on Tennessee, but something about it sounded appealing.

He found a home in a rural town called Sewanee. Purchasing a small house on the outskirts, he lived relatively undisturbed. Instead of working, he decided to live off his savings from his hero days. Taking up gardening, he planted and tended to a small crop bed in his backyard. He even managed to set up a chicken coop, enjoying the company of a small brood of chickens whom he loved dearly. Mostly keeping to himself, his struggles with English only contributed to his isolation. It was challenging enough without the addition of the heavy southern accents people seemed to carry there, but he was trying his best to learn anyway. He was slowly picking up a few things, but it still wasn't enough for a full conversation.

Continuing to heal from the scars left by the war, he took his medication, checked in with his sponsor, and attended meetings through Zoom. Though nightmares persisted, they were becoming less intense and frequent. Things were finally looking up, and he was beginning to feel better, reinforcing his belief that moving to America was the right choice.

The sound of a guitar being tuned brought him back to the present as he took another small sip of his beer. Someone was getting ready to perform on stage, and he sighed, contemplating how quickly he could finish his drink. He wasn't a huge fan of live performances, especially with the football game getting louder, making it only a matter of time before the confined space became far too noisy.

He swiftly drained his glass, nearly gagging on the taste when the sound of the guitar behind him abruptly changed. He frowned, listening to the chords being gently strummed now. Whatever they were planning to play seemed different from the usual shit they normally sang in this place. Slowly turning towards the stage, he furrowed his brows at the sight that greeted him.

A young woman stood on the stage, and a hushed silence fell over the bar as everyone watched her. She couldn't have been much older than him, her eyes wide and haunted as they scanned the crowd. Her hair was pulled back, with a few strands left out to frame her face. Clad in a black shirt with lace at the neckline and a pair of dark blue jeans so tight they could've been painted on, she was truly breathtaking. Yet, he didn't recognize her. Despite having been here a few times, he'd never seen her before, and he was certain he would've remembered. She was exactly his type.

Observing her clutching the guitar, he felt the atmosphere in the bar shift as she slowly approached the mic. It didn't take long for him to understand why, the mood changing completely as soon as she began to sing. Her voice was beyond beautiful, but the lyrics were lost on him. The song she sang sounded so profoundly sad, haunting him in a way he hadn't realized music could. It didn't take long for the people around him to confirm his thoughts, witnessing tears welling up in their eyes as she sang into the mic. It was truly breathtaking, her voice captivating him until, halfway through the song, he watched tears start to slide down her cheeks.

Fuck, this song was personal.

Seemingly undeterred, she continued singing, evidently lost in the song as people around him began to unravel emotionally. He struggled, attempting to make out the lyrics. He wanted so badly to understand, to know the meaning behind her song, but he could only grasp bits and pieces. It just wasn't enough, and he resigned himself to figuring out the name of the song to translate later. It pained him to watch her, and when the song finally concluded, she stood in front of the crowd, catching her breath before letting out a choked sob and hastily running from the stage.

The impulse to chase after her, to ensure she was okay, tugged at him, but he resisted. What could he possibly say? How could he offer comfort when he felt just as broken inside as she appeared to be? Instead, he pulled out his wallet, swiftly flipping through the bills before tossing them at the bartender with a small smile.

Exiting the bar into the fresh air, he scanned the surroundings, half-expecting her to take a break outside before returning for a drink, but the sidewalk was empty. He sighed, shaking his head as he shoved his hands into his pockets and headed toward home. He really wanted to know more about her, to comprehend the source of her sadness, but how the hell could he save her when he couldn't even save himself?

Chapter Text

You stood in front of the crowd, your cheeks dripping with tears as you struggled to catch your breath. What the hell possessed you to come out here and do this today? You glanced around the bar, everyone's eyes wide as they stared at you in shock. You recognized most of them as they stared at you, their concern obvious in their expressions.

There was a man you didn't know sitting at the bar, but you couldn't help but feel like he looked familiar in some way. His golden eyes seemed to echo your hurt in a way you didn't quite understand, the concern on his face so painfully obvious as you quickly looked away.

Out of the corner of your eye, you recognized a group of your coworkers in the back at a table, whispering to one another as they glanced your way. You watched in horror as one of them, Anthony, started to stand like he was going to come talk to you. A sob escaped your lips at the thought before you could stop it. Gripping your guitar tightly, you tore from the stage and out of the bar before he could follow you out. The last thing you wanted was to talk about it.

You ran down the sidewalk, your vision blurry as the tears kept falling. Everyone in the bar knew exactly why you picked that song tonight, after all; most of them had heard the story or been there to witness it all happen.

Three years ago to the damn day, you had been at your job, laughing and talking with your coworkers as you sorted various fruits and vegetables to sell. You didn't do anything big, working at the local farmers market. The sun was high in the sky, the birds chirping beautifully, soaring through a sky so blue it was almost unreal. You had the radio blasting, Luke Bryan floating through the speakers as you worked. It was so serene, so normal, it was hard to imagine that just an ocean away an entire war was raging when everything seemed so normal at home.

“Can ya believe it?” Anthony asked, frowning as he picked up his phone to look at a notification. “There ain’t been any updates on Star in fuckin’ days. You would think with her there the Japanese heroes would have this whole shit under control by now. I seriously can’t believe they would let shit escalate this far. Should’ve taken care of it when they kidnapped those fuckin’ kids months ago.”

You rolled your eyes at his comment, turning around to sort through the cabbage that had just been harvested before letting out a soft sigh, your heart twisting as your thoughts drifted towards your husband. He had been deployed with Star, and you hadn't heard anything from him either. You sniffled slightly, unable to stop the tears that threatened to suddenly spill as Anthony sucked in a breath beside you.

"Shit Cowgirl, I didn't mean-"

"Go easy on ‘em," you replied, cutting him off as you tilted your head and rubbed your eyes to stop the tears from falling. "I can't imagine how scary it is bein’ in a warzone like that. They were completely unprepared for whatever happened over there, accordin’ to the newest reports. They've had a hard time without All Might there to help ‘em."

"He's comin’ home," Anthony whispered, and you swallowed the lump in your throat as you nodded in agreement. You couldn't afford to believe otherwise because Luke was your entire life. You'd been together since your freshman year of high school; he was your everything. He was your first, your only, your forever. You had gotten married just two months before he was deployed, and he promised when he got home, you were going to start your family.

You'd technically already started trying; your cycle just happened to sync perfectly to allow you one chance before he left. He'd kissed you goodbye that day, leaning down to kiss your stomach before giving you a large smile.

"Just in case," he whispered, his hand hovering on your abdomen before he pressed his lips to your temple. You wiped tears from your eyes as you watched him load up his jeep, waving him off from your front yard.

The excitement had filled you as symptoms started appearing one by one in the weeks that followed, only to be completely devastated when your cycle showed up right on time. Shaking it off quickly, you didn't allow yourself time to sulk. You would just have to try again once he was home; that was the best part, after all.

The thought of that little baby was what kept you going when things seemed impossible. A little boy that looked just like his daddy, cradled safely in your arms with your eyes. Luke was only two years away from being able to leave the military from his initial contract if he wanted. He would be around to help you with the farmstead as you raised your kids together.

Not even half an hour later, the entire Farmers Market seemed to go deathly quiet, the only sound coming from the radio. You would never forget the song that was playing, still unable to listen to it even today.

Bent over, checking on something, you didn't notice the sudden silence until Anthony nudged you with his foot. Glancing upwards in confusion, he wasn't looking at you. His eyes were wide and locked on something in front of him.

Pale, his hands gripping the sides of the stool he was sitting on so tightly that his knuckles were white. It almost made you want to laugh; he looked like he'd seen a damn ghost. Tilted your head in curiosity when he whispered your name, his voice strained as he sucked in a deep breath.

"What the hell is your problem?" you asked in confusion, straightening yourself up and dusting off your pants before turning around. Nothing could've prepared you for the sight that greeted you—two men in uniform stood before you. Your breath hitched as your stomach twisted so tightly you could've lost your lunch then and there.

They stood in front of you, their expressions grim as they shifted their weight. The man directly in front of you was holding a folded flag, and your heart pounded in your chest as your eyes widened in understanding. You were being notified. You couldn’t hear anything except the blood rushing through your ears as you stood frozen, their eyes locked on yours.

"Mrs. Mason?" the first man asked, using Luke’s last name to address you. His voice was soft as he looked at you sadly. You nodded, but it hardly registered as your stomach suddenly lurched.

There was no way this was happening; no, it couldn't be possible. He was supposed to come home; you were supposed to have a life together; you were supposed to be having a baby.

The service member spoke to you, but you hardly heard anything he said as he confirmed your husband had been killed in combat in Japan. He wasn’t coming home; there was no happily ever after for you. Your entire life ended the day they handed you that folded flag. You remember falling to your knees clutching it, tears streaming as you sobbed, before everything became a blur.

You'd be lying if you said you remember anything leading up to the funeral. Quickly agreeing to just let his mother do most of the planning, you were hardly functioning, unable to imagine planning or accomplishing anything. Instead, you opted to lie in bed for days. Hardly eating, spending most days crying until you fell into an uneasy sleep. This continued until you were finally forced out of bed, into a black dress, and dragged to the church to say your final goodbye.

You heard the deafening silence as people watched you walk down the exact same aisle you had happily strolled downs not even two whole months ago, dressed in white. You stopped at the end, remembering the pink flowers and the altar that once stood there, as you said I do. As you promised each other forever. You blinked, your vision blurring as you reached out and ran your hand along the smooth wood of his coffin. This wasn’t the way it was supposed to be.

How the hell were you supposed to do this without him?

"Til death do we part," you whispered, finally breaking down as you flung yourself over it and cried. Your chest felt like it was on fire as your tears dripped onto the wood. God, it hurt so fucking bad; you weren’t sure how you were managing to even breathe. You wanted nothing more than to crawl inside, to lay with him just one more time, but instead, you were swiftly gathered and led away.

It had been three fucking years since that day, and while it had gotten easier to breathe, the sadness never fully left. For a while, you leaned on his family, but they decided to move, unable to handle the hurt of remaining in the town they raised their son in without him. You understood it, wishing them nothing but the best, but you couldn’t leave. He was here, and you were his wife; how could you abandon him like that?

Instead, you sold the little house that you both had shared together, unable to bring yourself to stay there without him. You managed to snag a property closer to the farmer’s market with enough land that you were able to start your own little homestead. It was modest work, allowing you to lose yourself for hours as you worked the land. You had a couple of different fields that you rotated crops on. You even had a few chickens, and a couple of horses that you loved to take for rides out through the trails in the woods.

Grief was such a funny thing, coming in waves and changing your mood in the blink of an eye. They’d warned you about it in counseling, but it was different when it was something you were actually going through. Nothing could’ve prepared you for the ways it would change your life. Sometimes you were totally fine, only to break down over something stupid not even ten minutes later. Then sometimes you were so fucking angry that he left you, despite knowing it wasn’t his fault. It was confusing, draining, and you hated that you felt that way all the time.

You needed an outlet, and that is when you decided to channel all those frustrating, confusing emotions into music. You picked up a guitar, slowly teaching yourself to play as you put all your sadness and anger into a song. You would go to his grave on the nights you couldn’t sleep, singing him love songs until your eyes grew heavy, and you had no other choice but to return home.

Tonight had been one of those nights, your body aching with restlessness as you grappled with the human-sized hole in your heart. You went to his grave like you normally did, laying next to him and recounting the last year to him before singing to him, but it wasn’t enough. How could this ever be enough? You angrily gathered your things, saying goodbye before stomping back towards the Jeep, feeling just as lost and angry as you had been before you arrived.

When you drove past the bar, you pulled over. You’d only been there once since Luke had died, shortly after his funeral as you tried your hardest to drown your sorrows in beer. You were the town widow; everyone knew the story, which meant nobody dared to try and stop you.

You sat for hours, drinking beer after beer until you were disgustingly drunk. You cried over the counter, until finally, the bartender took your phone and called Anthony to come and get you. You fought him as he carried you to his car, screaming and crying that your husband should be the one picking you up. It had been the talk of the town the next day, but you didn’t care. Your name had been the only thing people had been talking about since you’d received the news.

You’d avoided the place ever since, ashamed of how out of control you’d been.

Tonight was different; tonight you were angry, and you needed to fucking sing. You tore out of your car like a bat out of hell, marching onto the stage and quickly tuning your guitar. You knew people were staring, but you didn’t care. You sang your fucking heart out, turning into a crying mess right in the middle as the words struck deep. It was only after you were done when your actions caught up to you, your anxiety rising as you rushed out of the bar.

You reached your car, ripping the door open and throwing in the guitar before quickly pulling yourself in after it. You slammed it shut, quickly turning the ignition, before peeling down the street towards the farm. You already knew people would be talking tomorrow, but you no longer cared. After three years of being the subject of everyone’s conversation and pity, you were used to it. You had better things to worry about than what anyone thought about the way you chose to cope with your loss.

You traveled up your gravel road, watching the fireflies flicker through the grass as the rocks under your car crunched. You sighed as you parked, quickly cutting the engine and leaning your head back to look at the stars above you through your windshield.

“Will this ever get any easier, Luke? I love you, and I miss you so fuckin’ much, but I don’t know how much longer I can feel like this. Please, I’m beggin’ ya, just send me some type of sign. That you’re okay, that I’m gonna be okay. Just tell me what to do, just one more time.”

You held your breath, but the only response was the symphony of crickets waiting for you outside the car door. You groaned, resting your head against the steering wheel before climbing out of his Jeep with a sigh. You walked towards the house, pausing as you noticed something fluttering in the wind, seemingly caught on the number nailed to the front door.

You furrowed your brows in confusion, reaching forward to snag the singular crimson feather that had somehow caught itself there. You ran it through your fingers, allowing it to tickle your skin as you examined it. Where the hell had this come from?

You looked it over with a sigh, holding it up before finally releasing it back to the wind. You watched as it seemed to dance before fluttering away, making you smile slightly as you watched it go.

At least something around here was able to fly free.

Chapter Text

“Hey there, girl,” you cooed softly, your hand stroking the muzzle of your chestnut-colored horse gently.

Large brown eyes blinked back at you as she nuzzled herself into your hand, and you couldn’t help but smile as you brought the brush up to comb through her fur. She let out a soft snort of approval at the sensation, causing you to let out a small giggle.

“What do ya say we go for a ride this weekend out in the field, huh? You and me and nothin’ but a wide-open space to run through.”

She let out a small sigh in return, and you chuckled again as you continued to work the brush over her shoulder, slowly moving it towards her flank. This was one of your favorite parts of the day, brushing and bonding with the animals who helped your heart feel whole again.

Owning horses had always been a dream for you as long as you could remember. You were that child who used to ask Santa to bring you a pony every year, only to receive small plastic versions instead. Despite your disappointment, it only made sense. You mostly grew up in the suburbs; there was no way in hell you’d be able to keep a pony in your backyard.

When your pleading reached a fever peak at just ten, your parents had signed you up for riding lessons as a compromise. You had fallen in love with it as soon as you started, quickly picking up on it. You attended your weekly lessons and begged your parents to take you to the ranch in your free time between them. It was your favorite thing in the world; you never felt more free than you did on the back of a horse.

You spent your high school years showing and competing until eventually, your hobby became too much to keep up with. Balancing study, work, and wanting to spend time with Luke took priority, leading you to give up competitions. However, you never abandoned riding completely. Once or twice a week, Luke would take you to dinner before you headed out to the ranch. Riding the same two horses every time, you explored the trails together until you practically had them memorized.

Everything changed after Luke died, much like everything else in your life. You stopped riding for months, unable to bring yourself even to visit the ranch. Only after you received his life insurance check and sold your old house did you start showing an interest in it again. Both provided more than enough money to cover his funeral and the purchase of your little farm. Once you moved in and got settled, you finally decided to visit the horses.

You took yourself to the diner where Luke took you every date night, ignoring the sad stares people gave you as you ate your meal alone. After finishing, you headed out, smiling as you pulled into the parking lot.

"Well, no shit," Abigail, one of the instructors, called out as you got out of your jeep. You'd taken lessons from her since you were a child; she was basically family by that point. "It’s been so damn long since we’ve seen ya. I thought maybe ya forgot all about us!" She walked over towards the car, her eyes soft as she examined you before opening her arms and giving you a tight hug.

“I was so sorry to hear about Luke,” she whispered gently, your eyes starting to water slightly at his name. Would there ever come a day where you could hear it and not cry? “If there is anythin’ we can do to help, please just tell us.”

You sniffled, separating from her embrace before wiping away a stray tear. Taking a breath, an idea suddenly popped into your mind. Your eyes drifted towards the stables, nibbling your lip before you let out a sigh.

“Actually, there is somethin’ I wanted to ask…”

A soft nudge to your shoulder brought your attention back to the present, and you chuckled as you reached back to pat the jet-black muzzle of the horse behind you. You smiled as your fingers ran through the soft fur, his nose nudging you gently.

“Such a jealous boy, ain’t ya?” You giggled at him, shaking your head slightly. It honestly surprised you how quickly he had warmed up to you after Abigail agreed to sell them both to you that day. Out of everyone who’d ever ridden him, oddly enough, Luke seemed to have been his favorite.

He’d always given everyone else a hard time, ignoring commands, fighting directions. People avoided him, quickly requesting an easier horse, but Luke loved him, calling him his stubborn old boy. They just seemed to have a bond, and leaving him at the ranch to be ridden by anyone just hadn’t felt right.

The sound of crunching gravel drew your attention to the driveway, and you could've groaned when Anthony’s red truck turned the corner, quickly making its way towards your house. You groaned to yourself slightly, but you would be lying if you said you were surprised to see him. You should've known he would be by at some point to check on you after your little performance yesterday. You were honestly impressed it had taken him this long; you had almost expected him to be knocking on your door last night.

You’d known Anthony just as long as you’d known Luke; after all, they were childhood best friends. While you had moved here in late middle school, Luke and Anthony had grown up in Sewanee, their parents had been neighbors. Best friends since diapers is what they would always say to each other. You’d met them both your freshman year in high school, and the rest was honestly history.

The three of you just got along so easily, and Anthony had been your biggest support when you and Luke had decided to start dating. After graduation, you and Anthony ended up working at the Farmer’s Market together, while Luke joined the military.

You gave the horses one last pat, leaving them in the paddock and walking towards your house. You hauled yourself over the fence, watching as he got out of the truck. Anthony wasn’t bad looking, but he’d never really been your type. Chestnut-brown hair and emerald-green eyes. He wasn’t as tall as Luke had been, shorter by just a few inches. His time helping on his parents' farm had helped him remain in decent shape. Overall, he was charming, caring, and had been there for you since Luke’s parents had decided they were moving out of town.

"I was wonderin’ when you’d show up," you called out, causing him to spin from your front door, his green eyes meeting yours. He looked tired, like he hadn’t slept, and you couldn’t help but wonder if you were the reason. "Ya look like shit."

"Well, that’s what happens when your best friend shows up at the bar, pours her fuckin’ heart out through song, and then vanishes into thin air. Refusin’ to reply to my texts was just the cherry on top," he retorted, shoving his hands in his pockets with a frown. "And since when do ya play the guitar? I ain’t heard that song sung so beautifully in I don’t even know how long. Ever thought about going up to Nashville and gettin’ a gig?"

"Now you’re just ridiculous," you said with a laugh, rolling your eyes as you gave him a large hug. He chuckled but was quick to return it, squeezing you tightly before letting go with a loud sigh.

He looked you up and down, his concern so painfully obvious in the way he was looking at you. You were used to it by now. Even three years later, people treated you like you were made of glass, though you supposed that was your own fault. After all, your performance last night only reinforced that image.

"Now you stop lookin’ at me like that, Anthony Tucker!" you demanded, running a hand through your hair with a large sigh.

"Stop lookin’ at you like what?" he asked, rocking on his heels and avoiding your gaze.

"Like I’m gonna break down in tears any second. I didn’t do nothin’ crazy last night. I just needed a quick vent, that's all," you insisted, crossing your arms up at him as he blinked at you, seemingly unconvinced.

You nibbled your lip as you both blinked at each other, and you already knew that you needed to change the subject quickly. You didn’t have it in you to talk about Luke today; you were all cried out from last night.

You thought back to the bar last night, a sly smile lighting your face as you remembered who he was with. "Besides, I have a feelin’ your lack of sleep had less to do with me and a little more to do with a certain lil’ blonde that was with ya at the bar last night."

His face flushed instantly, his eyes widening before he grimaced. He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising with it before he shot you a teasing smile. "What? Ya jealous? Wish it was you instead?" He teased, and you couldn’t help but laugh at the jab, shaking your head at him. The thought of you and Anthony together was absolutely ridiculous; he was basically your brother at this point.

He let out a scoff at your reaction, covering his chest with mock offense, and you quickly reached up to playfully shove him, causing him to start laughing in return. It took a few seconds for both of you to catch your breath before he kicked at the gravel with a large sigh.

"Yeah, alright. Ya got me there. I was with Mary last night, but how the hell was I supposed to get it up when I was worried about you?"

"By not worryin’ about me," you said firmly, frowning at him. "I’m fine, Anthony. I swear. Yesterday was just—"

"Three years," he quickly cut you off, nibbling his own lip now as his face shifted to guilt. "Can I tell you somethin’ without ya getting upset?"

"Of course."

"I forgot," he admitted, turning his head to avoid your gaze, choosing to focus on the horses grazing in their small paddock. You grappled with that admission but chose to stay silent. What the hell was there to even say to that? He sucked in a large breath of air, shaking his head as he quickly looked back down at you.

"I mean, how the hell did I manage to forget that? He was my best friend; I shoulda remembered it was the anniversary. I promised him I’d look after ya when he left, and instead of doin’ what I promised, I left ya alone on the day you needed me the most. I shoulda been with ya yesterday, but I was too busy tryin’ to get laid. I feel like absolute shit over it, and I’m so fuckin’ sorry."

You swallowed the lump forming in your throat, taking a deep breath before shaking your head. “Don’t apologize. You have your own life to live; ya can’t babysit me every day. You deserve to fall in love, start a family, and all that domestic shit. I’m tellin’ you, I’m fine. I just needed an outlet for the night. I’m as right as rain this mornin’, promise.”

He looked at you, unconvinced, but he let out a sigh of defeat anyway. “Alright, well. I’ve gotta get down to the Market today. I promised Ash I would help out with some things; ya wanna come? Bring your guitar; maybe ya could play a little for the people there. Gotta see if you can sing just as well when you're not so damn emotional.”

You laughed, unable to stop yourself, “But that’s my secret, I’m always emotional. Comes with the whole widow at only twenty-six thing. Either way, I still gotta get the chickens fed, but yeah. I’ll come down with you and help out today. Better to face the gossip than hear it secondhand anyway.”

Anthony was quick to offer his help with the chickens, and together you made quick work of getting it done. He insisted you bring your guitar despite your protests, and you eventually gave in, not wanting to argue with him further. He helped you into the truck, rolling down the windows and turning the radio up, and you just couldn’t stop yourself from singing along.

There was something different about today, though you weren’t sure what it was. The sky was just the perfect shade of blue, not a single cloud in sight. The sun was warm on your face, the breeze was strong but fresh. You honestly felt lighter than you had in a long while. Maybe your outburst yesterday was exactly what you needed to finally enjoy the rest of the year? Luke would want you to be happy, wouldn’t he?

Anthony sat quietly as he listened to you sing, and before long, you pulled into the Farmer’s Market parking lot. He was quick to help you out of the truck, and together you walked into the stand.

“Oh God,” a young girl called out, quickly racing over and wrapping you up in a hug. “We’ve been so worried since ya ran out of Moe’s last night. I was just so relieved when Anthony said he was goin’ to check up on you.”

“Thanks, Lacy,” you replied, her grip only tightening, causing you to let out a groan as you fought for air. “I’m alright. Just needed a moment, I promise.”

“You let that poor girl go before you suffocate her, Lacy Ann,” a deep voice suddenly called out, causing you to quickly turn your head towards the sound. You locked eyes with your boss, looking every inch the stereotypical country boy he was.

Messy blonde hair, the same color as wheat before harvest, with deep blue eyes and a smile that could absolutely fucking kill. Today he’d decided to wear a tight white t-shirt, clinging to his body almost like a second skin, allowing everyone a glance at the hard-earned muscle underneath. A fitted pair of blue jeans, held up by a dark brown leather belt and his favorite pair of cowboy boots, completed the look.

“Sorry, Ash,” Lacy mumbled, her face flushed as she quickly stepped away. You watched her with interest as she twirled her mousy brown hair between her fingers, the other hand toying with the blue fabric of her sundress. It was no secret that Lacy had it bad for Asher; everyone was well aware of it, except for maybe him.

“Awh now, Asher,” you gently chided with a smirk as he walked towards you. You watched as he grimaced at his full name, but that only served to further your amusement. You were one of the only people allowed to call him that, despite how much he hated it.

“Ya can’t go makin’ lil’ Lacy blush like that without askin’ her on a proper date.”

A hand quickly collided with your arm, making you laugh as Lacy looked at you in horror, her brown eyes wide with shock. She glanced between you and Asher before quickly excusing herself, scurrying off towards the back supply room. Asher let out a gruff laugh as Anthony chuckled beside you, and you just shook your head in amusement.

One day you’d figure out a way to get those two together.

“Well, I guess I lost the bet. I didn’t think there was a single chance in hell that Anthony would get ya to come down here today. Not with how you looked up on that stage yesterday, but I have to say, I’m glad I lost. You doin’ okay?” Asher asked, and you struggled to keep your annoyance in check.

Was everyone going to ask you this all day? Maybe you should've stayed home and avoided everyone altogether. At least the chickens, Lady, and Loki didn’t ask questions about your well-being.

“I’m fine,” you answered, trying to keep your voice from sounding strained. “Anthony said ya needed help with some stuff, so tell me what ya need, and I’ll get started.”

He frowned, seemingly unhappy with your quick brush-off of his questions, but you didn’t care. You were in a fairly decent mood, and the last thing you wanted was to have it ruined by dragging up your tragic past every five fucking minutes.

“Tell her she’s here to sing!” Anthony said, causing you to elbow him directly in the ribs. He let out a small huff, rubbing the sore spot as he glared at you. “Now what the hell did ya do that for? It’s not my fault you kept your talent a secret for so long, and now everyone wants to hear more.”

“Give me somethin’ real to do, Asher, please. If I have time at the end of my shift, I’ll sing for whoever is here, alright?”

Asher sighed, rubbing the stubble along his jaw before nodding. “Actually, if ya wanna set yourself up at the front counter, I’ve got paperwork and receipts that all need filing. Should keep ya busy for a few hours at least.”

“Perfect,” you agreed with a large smile, and within a matter of minutes, you were fully set up and ready to start organizing the papers.

It was fairly mindless work, various bills, receipts, and contracts from vendors needing to be sorted through and put into the correct folders. You were glad that Asher had allowed you to sit up in the front; you always enjoyed people-watching. Despite knowing mostly everyone who came through the stand, you always liked to make up stories about their lives anyway. It kept you entertained and gave your mind something else to focus on as you worked.

You sighed in contentment as you watched them all looking through the vegetables and fruits when a sudden burst of wind sent the very last paper flying from your hand. You clenched your jaw, quickly pushing back and standing from the stool you’d been sitting on.

Where the hell had that wind come from like that? It’d been calm almost all day.

You quickly scrambled after it, watching as it twisted and fluttered along the floor. You stayed low to the ground, completely focused on it, and you had almost caught up to it when you reached forward to snatch it. You let out a small sound of surprise as you knocked into something headfirst, sending whatever it was crashing to the floor.

“Shit!” You cursed, rubbing your head as you quickly realized you crashed into someone’s leg.

Your eyes widened with horror as the poor man groaned, and you scrambled to help them up. You ran over, quickly extending your hand to help them up. Who the hell had you managed to knock over? He was quick to take it, and he was actually easy to assist in standing. He bent over, quickly dusting off his jeans before letting out a small sigh.

“I’m so sorry! I didn’t mean to-” Your words died in your throat as he looked at you fully for the first time, your brows pinching as you took him in. It was the man from the bar, the one you didn’t recognize, but you swore looked familiar.

He was dressed nicely, a plaid shirt buttoned up with the sleeves rolled up to combat some of the late summer heat. Just like Asher, he was wearing tight blue jeans and a pair of dark brown cowboy boots, little feathers etched into the leather.

He ran a hand through messy blonde hair, shaved short in the back. Sharp amber eyes quickly met yours, beautiful dark markings surrounding them in a way that didn’t quite make sense. Was that eyeliner or maybe a birthmark? You had to resist the urge to reach out and find out, as your eyes continued to travel his face, unable to stop yourself from staring.

It didn’t take much longer before you noticed the pink of the scar that ran along his cheek, down his neck, before vanishing under the collar of his shirt. It looked severe, and you couldn’t help but wonder what the hell had happened to him for him to have a scar that large. Did it stop at his shoulder or did it keep going?

The sound of paper fluttering broke your staring, glancing down and seeing the paper fluttering against his leg. He quickly followed your gaze, looking down and letting out a small 'ah' of understanding.

He bent forward, grasping it before straightening himself back up and staring at you intently. The wind suddenly blew again, your own hair flying in the breeze as you stared at each other, seemingly lost in some kind of trance. You could see the pain in his eyes, it wasn’t hard to recognize; after all, you’d seen that same look in your own eyes for years. Your heart pounded in your chest, something invisible seeming to tug at you, drawing you towards him.

But who the hell was he?