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The saloon was winding down for the night. The music had stopped, chairs were being stacked lazily onto tables, and the air smelled like spilled whiskey and worn leather. The warmth had faded into a sleepy kind of stillness—the kind that made everything feel too close and too quiet.
Blake stood near the far end of the room, leaned up against the wood-paneled wall, arms crossed and watching.
Collin was still behind the bar, finishing up a drink for a regular—a woman with sharp eyes, red nails, and a laugh that grated under Blake’s skin. She reached across the counter to brush her fingers along Collin’s wrist as he handed her the glass.
Too familiar.
A new routine began to take place over the last couple of weeks—Collin started to go out on dates with people. They were casual dates, sure,—or that’s what Collin called them—but that didn’t mean it hurt any less. Not when Blake believed he was supposed to be going on those dates.
Not when Blake wanted Collin for himself.
And surely not when Collin said that him and Blake weren’t a thing.
Blake’s mouth tightened, but he said nothing. His jaw tensed, eyes narrowed as he watched her laugh, lean in close, and whisper something in Collin’s ear.
Collin grinned. Not his fake customer smile — his real one. The kind that crinkled the corners of his eyes and made Blake’s stomach turn.
Then, he turned, beckoning the woman behind the counter with a flick of his wrist. And she didn’t turn down that offer, for she would be named a fool. She stepped behind the bar, following Collin out through the back door.
A sting bloomed deep in his chest, burn intensifying even more with every pump of blood. He didn’t want to see. He didn’t want to hear. He didn’t want to know— and yet, curiosity tugged at him anyway. He hated that he cared enough to find out. But he did. And so, he followed.
His heels clicked against the wooden floor as he rounded the bar, hesitating as he neared the tall door leading to the back. His hand found the doorknob, twisting it with particular carefulness as to not make a sound.
He pushed the door open, just barely—enough to poke his head out from behind—and suddenly, he regretted ever going to America at all.
Curiosity kills the cat.
This woman stood on her tiptoes, arms slung over Collin’s shoulders, her lips on his. It wasn’t a quick peck either. It lingered—bold, like she had done it before and expected to do it over and over again.
The worst part wasn’t that they were kissing.
Or that her lipstick smeared on his lips, staining them slightly red.
It was that Collin didn’t pull away, allowing her to do all this. To kiss him like it was a daily routine.
It was that his hands rested calmly on her waist, even, serving to ground her and keep her in place.
Blake knew Collin was doing this—he knew the late nights out and lipstick stained collars all too well. But seeing it happen—there was something nauseating about witnessing it unfold in real time.
He clasped his hand over his mouth, preventing himself from curling over in disgust. He promptly shut the door, listening to it close with a soft click.
He stumbled over to his previous position across the room, his shoulder hitting the wall as his stomach churned and twisted with something sharp and bitter. He fought the uneasy feeling, pressing his back against something solid.
A shaky breath escaped his lips, followed by a string of muttered curses. He was cut off when the backdoor opened abruptly, followed by a woman marching out with a head held high and long hair bobbing behind her. Collin didn’t take long to file in after.
The woman kissed Collin’s cheek before finally stepping away, purse slung over her shoulder like nothing happened. She tossed Blake a once-over as she walked past him and out the door.
He didn’t move. Just watched the door swing shut behind her, sickening perfume left in her wake. God, it only served to provoke his stomach even further.
Collin finally looked his way and raised an eyebrow, a grin etched on his face unknowingly. “You gonna help clean or just brood over there?”
Blake didn’t answer. He didn’t even look up. He didn’t want to see those familiar lipstick stained lips or the mark of foreign lips left behind on his cheek.
Collin blinked, grabbed a rag, and came around the bar, tossing it toward Blake’s chest. “Come on. Tables don’t wipe themselves.”
Blake caught the rag without looking at it. His knuckles were white around the fabric.
“What’s her name?” He asked, voice flat.
Collin turned. “What?”
“The woman. The one with her hands all over you like she was tryna buy you.”
Collin snorted. “That’s dramatic.”
Blake finally looked up, and it hit Collin then—the sharp edge in his eyes. That wasn’t nothing.
“She was just talkin’—”
“She kissed you.”
Collin opened his mouth, then closed it again. “And how do you know that?”
Blake’s eyes widened, his slip-up sticking with him. Then his voice dipped quieter, eyes searching for anywhere to look other than Collin. “Nevermind.”
That struck. Collin straightened, suddenly more serious. “Okay. What’s really goin’ on?”
Blake turned, tossing the rag onto a table. He placed his palm flat on the door, shoving it open. “Nothing.”
And he left the saloon without another word or second glance.
No ‘good night’, no explanation—just silence.
The rag lay where Blake had thrown it, balled up on the empty table—discarded. Seems familiar.
The saloon was dead silent now, save for the door still swinging softly after Blake’s exit, hinges creaking painfully in his ears.
Collin stood there a moment too long, eyes still on the door Blake had shoved open like it personally offended him. The door finally came to a halt, and that was when Collin realized he had been standing there emptily for too long.
Collin let out a slow breath and ran a hand through his hair.
He didn’t know what just happened. Not exactly. But he knew the look Blake gave him before walking out—that sharp, quiet disappointment and betrayal that said more than shouting ever could.
And that twisted the knife further in his gut.
“She kissed you.”
The words still echoed, sticking somewhere deep in Collin’s chest like a stubborn thorn.
He hadn’t thought much of it—it was nothing serious to him. The woman flirted, he flirted back, they shared a kiss. A one time thing, something to get his mind off things—it didn’t mean much.
But maybe.. maybe to Blake, it did.
Collin sat down heavily in one of the chairs Blake had stormed past, elbows on the table, hands clasped together.
Blake knew that he and the woman kissed; that meant he followed. And that meant that he was curious—that meant he wanted to know. He wouldn’t just follow for no reason.
Now that he thought about it, Blake had been quiet lately. Sure, he typically was, but it was more than usual. He was watching, always watching, from the edge of the room like he was waiting for something to go awry.
And Collin hadn’t asked.
Because asking meant acknowledging what was between them—and if he did that, there’d be no way back.
He remembered the way Blake’s voice dropped when he said, “What’s her name?”
The flatness. The weight behind it.
The dejection.
That wasn’t casual.
That was someone trying to hold back.
Trying not to break.
Shit.
Collin leaned back in the chair, staring up at the ceiling like it could give him answers. Maybe he was being cruel—not on purpose, but by dancing around it. Letting Blake linger in the in-between while he followed little distractions in red lipstick and flirty laughs.
He thought Blake didn’t want to be tied down. That the two of them were just something undefined.
Something easy.
But the way Blake looked at him tonight… there was nothing easy in it.
There was hurt. And worse—there was care.
A part of Collin wanted to brush it off. Go back to wiping tables, lock up, forget it happened.
But that rag on the table kept staring at him.
The rag, and the silence Blake left behind.
He stood up and sighed.
I’ll talk to him tomorrow.
Blake hadn’t shown up.
The first night Blake didn’t turn up, Collin figured he just needed space.
Sure, they’d fought before. They clashed, exchanged harsh looks, even walked away mid-sentence—but Blake always came back. He never stayed away for too long—he couldn’t.
So Collin waited.
And then the second night came.
No Blake.
Collin poured a drink without thinking, sliding it across the counter, only to realize the space was empty. He stared at the untouched glass for too long before knocking it back himself.
Jessica noticed first.
“Where’s broody boots?” She asked, leaning over the counter with a curious raise of her brow. “He usually shows up by now to glare at someone.”
Collin forced a shrug. “He’s probably laying low.”
“He went ghost. Did y’all fight?” She asked cautiously. Like she already knew the answer.
Jonathan, halfway through a pint of beer, snorted. “Not surprised. That dude acts like he’s constantly ready to burn the whole place down! So grump—”
“Alright,” Collin grunted, sharper than he meant to. “drop it.”
And they did—for now.
But by the third day, even Jacob asked, “You heard from him?”
Collin didn’t answer right away. Just shook his head in silence and tried not to let the worry twist too obviously in his gut. Because this wasn’t normal anymore. This wasn’t brooding or space.
It was absence.
And Collin felt it everywhere—in the empty seat, in the missed glared across the room, in the way muscle memory took over more times than he’d admit to pour a glass of beer.
By the fourth day, he could hardly think. worry was consuming him. He wished he could search for him—but the worst thing was that he didn’t even know where to look.
It was the fifth night.
Collin had stopped looking up at every creak of the door he heard. Not because he stopped caring; but because he didn’t want to get his hopes up. He tried to keep his head down and focus on cleaning glasses—trying to play it cool.
He wasn’t doing a great job at it.
The saloon was empty by now. All that was left behind were the emptied cups—signs of earlier company.
And then, just past midnight, the door creaked open.
Collin wasn’t expecting any more customers, so he lifted his head to inform them that they were now closing.
The words got caught in his throat, mouth gone dry.
He listened to the click of heels against wooden flooring, tiredness in every drag.
For a second, nobody said a word. Blake didn’t even meet Collin’s gaze. He couldn’t in fear that his heart may burn more.
“Blake?”
Blake didn’t move from where he stood by the front door.
“‘M sorry,” Blake muttered.
Collin blinked. “What?”
“I’m sorry. I.. Shit, I’m such a fool.” He groaned. His shoulders curled inward as he dragged his hands over his face, slow and tired.
“You.. what?”
“I don’t care what you do. I shouldn’t,” he muttered. “It’s not like you owe me anything.”
“Blake…”
“You said we didn’t need a label. Said we were just…” Blake’s lips twisted like the words themself left a bad taste in his mouth. “Figuring it out.”
“I didn’t mean—”
“Didn’t say it to hurt me, right? Yeah, I remember.” Blake laughed, though it was dry, no humor behind it. “Still did, anyway.”
The saloon fell quiet. Blake swiftly picked up on what he said and muttered a quick apology, nails picking absentmindedly at his skin.
Collin leaned against a nearby table, arms folded, face unreadable. “Are you jealous?”
Blake scoffed, eyes still fixed on the floor. “Would it matter if I was? Would anything change?”
“Of course it would.”
“I don’t have the right to be jealous, Collin.” His voice cracked, barely. “Not when I’m not even yours.”
That shut Collin up.
Blake finally met his eyes. “I stand in the corner while people paw at you. Laugh in your ear. Dance with you. Kiss you. And you just let it happen like it doesn’t mean anything.”
Blake felt tears threatening to spill, lining his vision and beginning to render it blurry. He quickly lifted his hands back up, rubbing the tears away from his eyes before they could fall. “Hah, fuck..”
“It doesn’t mean anything—”
“But it looks like it does.”
He took a breath.
“And it feels like I mean less.”
Those words hurt. They landed sharp and low, somewhere just under Collin’s ribs.
Blake shook his head. “You don’t even have to lie. If you’re waiting on something better—if I’m just the warm body till it shows up—you can say that.” He paused, taking in a sharp breath before lifting a hand up to press against his chest. “I can be that. I’ll handle it,”
Collin pushed off the table. “Don’t say that.”
“Why not?”
“Because that ain’t true.” His voice was firm now, a little rough around the edges. “You really think I’d bring someone into my life like this if it didn’t mean anything? You think I let just anyone see the shit parts of me?”
Blake was still, expression unreadable. But his voice wavered.
“You let everyone touch you but me.”
Collin froze.
“I sit across from you. I sleep next to you. But I don’t get you. Not like they do.”
“You have more of me.”
“Do I? Then why does it feel like I’m always on the outside?”
Blake’s voice broke on that last word, and suddenly the anger underneath everything cracked. What was left wasn’t jealousy. It was fear. Vulnerability. Loneliness.
Collin stepped forward slowly, carefully—like approaching a wounded animal that might still run.
“I know I mess things up sometimes,” He said softly. “I joke when I shouldn’t. I keep things casual when I should be honest. But you’re not replaceable, Blake. You never were.”
Blake didn’t move.
Collin reached out and tugged gently at the hem of his shirt.
“You think I come home to you for convenience? Blake… I come home to you ‘cause I want to.”
Blake still didn’t look at him.
“Tell me to stop coming around,” Blake whispered. “And I will.”
Collin stepped in, close enough for their chests to nearly touch. He reached up and gently touched Blake’s face, thumb ghosting across his jaw.
“I don’t want you to stop coming around,” he said. “I want you to stay . I want you to stop thinking you’re temporary.”
Silence. The kind of silence that says too much.
“Hah, I’m so bad at this ‘talking’ shit,” Finally, Blake’s shoulders dropped. The fight slowly drained out of him like he’d been holding his breath this whole time.
He didn’t say anything. Just leaned forward—not to kiss, not to make a scene—but to rest his forehead against Collin’s collarbone. His hands gripped Collin’s arms like he needed to hold onto something before the ground gave out.
Collin wrapped his arms around him, tight. Protective. Familiar.
And neither of them said another word.
The morning light crept in slow and pale, bleeding in through the half-closed blinds and casting soft golden stripes across Collin’s bedroom.
The air smelled faintly of morning dew and alcohol, lingering in the air even after the world quiets down.
Blake lay still.
Awake before Collin, unusually.
Simply because he was lost in thought.
He was sprawled lazily over Collin, arm and leg draped over him for warmth. His face was buried somewhere between Collin’s neck and collarbone.
It was quiet, peacefully so.
His hand found space on Collin’s chest, feeling as it rose up and down softly with each breath, giving him a sense of comfort—knowing Collin was still there. Still here with him.
He closed his eyes, pressing his face further into the junction of his neck and shoulder, inhaling his scent.
His eyes fluttered open again to stare at the wall, expression unreadable. His fingers twitched a little against Collin’s chest like he was thinking too hard. Like the thoughts were louder than the silence.
Eventually, Collin stirred.
A muffled groan against Blake’s hair, followed by a lazy shift as he blinked blearily at the warm light in the room.
“Mornin’,” Collin rasped, voice still thick with sleep.
Blake hummed in reply.
Collin blinked at him, smiling faintly. “You been awake long?”
Blake gave the smallest nod.
“You okay?”
A pause.
Then, softly, “Yeah.”
Collin shifted to sit up slightly, bracing himself on one elbow—forcing Blake to adjust his position as well, laying back down on the bed; which remained slightly cold from Blake replacing it with Collin instead.
“What’s on your mind?” Collin asked with a tilt of his head.
Blake didn’t answer right away. Just stared at the ceiling, jaw tight, lips pressed thin.
Then, finally, he closed his eyes.
“I don’t want to lose this,”
Collin froze. His expression softened immediately, a small smile resting easily on his face. He stayed quiet, allowing Blake to speak—it certainly was not often that he was this open.
“I don’t know what we are, exactly. But you don’t push me away. Never. And everytime I see someone else look at you… I get this feeling in my gut.”
He swallowed. It hurt to say it.
“Like it’s only a matter of time before you figure out I’m not what you want.”
Collin’s brows furrowed. “Hey—”
“I’m not easy, Collin. I don’t trust people. I say the wrong shit. I go quiet for hours when I’m overwhelmed. And I—”
He paused.
“I don’t know how to be with someone without constantly waiting for them to get tired of me.”
Collin sat all the way up now, hand reaching out to cup Blake’s cheek gently.
“Blake,” He said, firm but soft. “Me neither. But I’m not going to get tired of you.”
“You don’t know that.”
“Yes, I do. I know I wake up every morning hoping you’re still next to me.”
Collin smiled faintly. “And I know every time I hear your boots at the saloon door, I feel better. Safer.”
Blake opened his eyes and they flicked toward him, cautious and vulnerable.
“I’m not waitin’ on something better. I’m not wishin’ you were someone else. I’m not lookin’ for a version of you that talks more or smiles on command.”
His fingers gently found their way to Blake’s hand, slotting his fingers with the other’s.
“I’m just lookin’ for you. I need you. ”
Blake didn’t speak, but something in his chest cracked, just a little. His fingers tightened their hold on Collin’s hand—unsure, but needing to hold on.
And then—in a voice so quiet it was almost a whisper;
“I don’t know what I’d do without this.”
Collin leaned down, pressing numerous pecks to Blake’s face—on his cheeks, forehead, nose, then finally lips—causing Blake’s nose to scrunch up and mouth curl in feigned discomfort.
Collin chuckled at the display, pulling Blake closer to continue cuddling with him under the covers. “Good thing you don’t have to find out.”
They lay like that for a while—tangled in the beams of sunlight, breathing slow, hearts steadier now.
Because for once, Blake didn’t feel like he was waiting for something to fall apart. He felt like he finally found something worth keeping.
And Collin finally felt like he found someone that loved him despite all his troubles and complications.
The morning had stretched into mid-morning. Sunlight poured across the floor in long, sleepy beams, dust drifting through the air like snowflakes. Collin’s bed was warm and unmade, and neither of them had really moved in a while—not because they were asleep, but because it was the kind of quiet where nothing needed to be said.
“Alright, I’m done making this day unproductive.”
Blake sat at the edge of the bed now, tugging on his boots, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair still a soft mess from sleep. Collin was behind him, laying back against the pillows with his arms folded behind his head, watching him with a whine.
“You’re weirdly quiet,” Blake muttered without turning around.
“I’m always quiet in the morning.”
“No, you’re always humming something or complaining about being tired of work.”
Collin gave a soft, amused hum. “I am tired of work, for the record.”
Blake let out a scoff.
His fingers hesitated on his buttons.
Collin watched him. He could tell there was something still sitting heavy on Blake’s chest—the same weight that hadn’t fully lifted since the night before.
So Collin sat up, scooted to the edge of the bed, and leaned against Blake’s back, resting his chin on his shoulder.
“You don’t gotta rush out,” he said gently. “Not today.”
Blake was quiet for a second, but his voice came out softer than before. “I know.”
Another beat.
“I just… keep thinking about what you said.”
Collin didn’t move.
“I’m not used to being wanted. Not really. I know I said I don’t wanna lose this, but I don’t even know what this is.”
Collin’s arms slid around his waist slowly, pulling him back into the warmth of the bed frame.
“Well,” Collin murmured, “maybe it’s time we figured it out.”
Blake blinked. “What?”
Collin pulled back slightly so Blake could turn his head and see his face. There was a wide grin on his face.
“What are we?” Collin asked. “Not just what I call you when Jess starts getting nosy. Not just what we do when the lights are off. I mean really—what are we ?”
Blake’s heart thudded hard once.
Then twice.
“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’ve never… had a word for this. I don’t think I’ve ever been in something like this.”
Collin nodded. “Well, I know what I want it to be.”
Blake met his gaze, uncertain. “Yeah?”
Collin’s fingers found Blake’s again—gently, grounding.
“I want you to stay. I want to call you mine and not feel like I’m gonna scare you off if I say it out loud.”
Blake looked down at their hands, then back at Collin. His voice dropped to a near-whisper.
“You want this to be real.”
“It already is,” Collin asserted. “We just… never let ourselves say it.”
Blake let that settle.
He felt the quiet between them differently now — not like silence, but like breath. Space to grow something. Space to finally let himself have this.
And so, with a deep breath, Blake nodded.
“Alright,” he said. “Then I’m.. yours.”
Collin blinked—eyes wide, a little surprised. “Yeah?” He couldn’t help himself from whipping up the most mischievous smile he could.
Blake gave the faintest scowl. “You’ve been mine for a while. About time I caught up.”
Collin laughed—a breathy, warm sound as he pulled Blake into a real kiss. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just real .
When they pulled apart, Blake leaned his forehead against Collin’s.
“Don’t gotta say it out loud all the time,” Blake murmured. “But just so you know… you’re the only place I’ve ever wanted to come back to.”
Collin’s chest ached in the best way possible.
“You don’t ever have to leave.” Collin replied—and Blake could swear he has never seen a brighter smile before.
And he would be lying if he said he didn’t resemble an overly excited puppy wagging its tail at the sight of a treat.
They were sitting outside the saloon, the night air crisp and quiet around them. Collin’s hand found Blake’s, fingers lacing naturally like they’d been doing it forever.
Blake’s eyes were on the stars—restless, distracted—and Collin felt the moment hanging in the air between them like electricity.
Finally, Collin took a breath, heart pounding.
“Blake…”
Blake didn’t look at him.
“I love you.”
The words hung there, soft but heavy.
Blake’s hand stilled in his.
His breath hitched.
His eyes snapped to Collin’s, wide and searching.
For a long second, Blake said nothing.
Then his jaw tightened. His fingers clenched.
He looked away, voice barely above a whisper:
“I don’t know if I’m ready for that.”
Collin squeezed his hand gently. “I’m not asking you to say it back. Not yet. I just… I had to tell you.”
Blake swallowed hard, the tension visible in his whole body.
After a beat, he spoke again—quieter, more certain this time.
“I’m not good at those words.”
“But you show me every day.”
Blake’s eyes flicked back to Collin’s. And in that silent look, in the way he squeezed Collin’s hand back, there was something clearer than any ‘I love you.’
Something real.
Something deep.
Collin smiled softly and leaned his forehead against Blake’s.
“I’ll wait. As long as it takes.”
And Blake let himself believe maybe, just maybe, one day, he’d say those words, too—without fear.
It was late, and the quiet hum of the saloon was gone. Only the soft creak of floorboards and the distant sound of wind outside filled the space.
Blake sat close to Collin on the faded couch, shoulders touching, fingers loosely intertwined.
For a long while, neither spoke. The silence was warm, comfortable—but Blake felt something pressing in his chest, something he’d been holding back for so long.
He swallowed hard and looked up at Collin, who was watching him with that patient, steady gaze.
Blake’s voice came out low, rough around the edges.
“I just.. Uhm—I’ve been.. thinking about this for a long time..”
Collin smiled softly, squeezing Blake’s hand gently.
Blake took a shaky breath before spilling everything out, saying his words with such speed as if he may forget them. “I’m not good with words. You know that. I always mess things up or say the wrong thing or keep it all inside. But I want you to know… you mean more to me than I ever thought I could say.”
He paused, heart pounding. His fingers tightened just a little.
Then, finally,
“I love you.”
The words trembled out, raw and honest—like a weight lifted off his chest.
Collin’s eyes softened, and he pulled Blake into a gentle hug, suppressing the urge to squeeze the life out of him.
“I love you too,” Collin whispered, voice thick with emotion.
Blake closed his eyes, resting his forehead against Collin’s.
Finally, they allowed their lips to meet, pressing against each other with such intensified love it made their hearts ache.
And in that quiet moment, all the fears and doubts faded away—leaving only the truth between them.