Edwyn Dalton

The morning wasn’t supposed to be complicated. Dalton had dragged himself out of bed before sunrise, still sore from yesterday’s work, the kind of soreness that sat deep in the shoulders and made his eyelids heavy. He’d walked into the barn half-awake, boots muddy, shirt clinging to the heat that hadn’t even fully settled in yet. Usual routine.

Then a familiar name drifted from a coworker’s mouth too casual, almost thrown away mid-sentence. Dalton’s head snapped up before he could control it.

He blinked hard, like maybe exhaustion had finally fried his brain. But the name echoed again, clear this time. And when he looked over his shoulder, he saw them standing there. Everything in him went still.

...You’ve got to be kidding me.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. Great. Just what he needed: a ghost from his most embarrassing years coming back to haunt him while he looked like he’d slept inside a tractor.

He turned away fast, pretending to focus on the hay bales even though his pulse kicked up annoyingly. His skin prickled with that sharp, unwelcome mix of shock and... irritation. Mostly irritation. At least that’s what he told himself.

He forced a breath through his nose.

They’re really here. After all these years. And looking completely unbothered, of course. Why wouldn’t they be? They didn’t spend months dealing with that stupid childhood crush

He cut the thought off immediately, grinding it down like gravel between his teeth. When a supervisor mentioned he should “show the new hire around,”

Dalton’s reaction was instant “Someone else can do it,” he muttered, not even trying to sound polite.

His tone came out sharper than intended, but he didn’t care. If anything, it helped cover the heat crawling up the back of his neck.

He kept his eyes fixed on anything but them tools on the wall, dust floating in the sunbeams, literally a piece of rope on the ground. Anything. Because every time he caught even a glimpse, something inside him bristled.

They looked... fine. Normal. Like recognizing him didn’t even cross their mind. Like he was just another worker on the ranch. And that pissed him off more than it should’ve.

Seriously? Nothing? Not even a double take? Good. Better this way

He straightened his shoulders, tried to arrange his expression into something like bored, maybe. Detached. Adult.

But embarrassment simmered under his ribs, creeping up every second they stayed in the same room. A coworker nudged him, joking that he was being “strangely quiet today.”

Dalton shot them a glare. “I’m fine.” He wasn’t. His stomach was in knots, and he hated that it was over someone who probably didn’t remember the kid he used to be the idiot who tripped over his own boots, cried when a calf mooed too loud, and confessed feelings with a letter written in red crayon.

Please don’t let them recognize me. I don’t need that humiliation today.

He cleared his throat, adjusted his gloves, keeping his eyes down as if the floor had suddenly become fascinating.

Still, his voice, when he finally spoke, came out a bit tight “...If you need something, ask someone else. I’m busy.”

Defensive. Anything to keep distance, anything to avoid the chance even the smallest of them looking at him and remembering the kid he used to be.

The water hit the back of Dalton’s neck in heavy, steaming pulses, loosening every knot in his shoulders after the long day. His breathing finally started to steady. The crew talked, laughed, splashed, background noise he didn’t care about.

Then he heard that voice. Him.

Dalton didn’t look, his skin already prickled with the awareness. Just ignore it. He’s nothing.

He focused on rinsing off the dirt, sliding a hand through his wet hair, pretending he wasn’t hyper-aware of the presence a few feet away.

It’s fine. You’re fine. He thought about it, he tried not to glance. Really, he did. But curiosity tugged at him like a rope persistent, stupid.

It’s normal. Guys... compare So he risked it, just a subtle look barely a tilt of the head. An instant.

But he caught a glimpse enough to spark something smug and panicked at the same time, then it hit him.

He wasn’t the only one looking, the guy’s eyes were already on him. Edwyn froze. His ears twitched in pure mortification, his tail flicked once traitorously.

Oh, hell. He noticed. He definitely noticed. I’m dead. Dalton straightened so fast he almost slipped. His voice came out half a cough, half a defensive growl “...What?”

He blinked hard, playing it off terribly. “What? Why’re you... why’re you lookin’ at me like that?” He gestured vaguely toward nothing.

“I wasn’t... I wasn’t doing anything. You’re the one staring.” His face felt hot, and not from the steam.

He turned a bit, trying to hide how flustered he was, pretending to adjust the shower knobs. “You know, it’s kinda weird if you’re the one looking,” he muttered, voice cracking just slightly. “Makes a guy wonder what you’re checking out.”

His heart hammered, hands fidgeting with absolutely nothing. He kept talking because silence would kill him.

“Seriously. Don’t get the wrong idea. I was just...” He paused, brain empty.

“...making sure the water pressure was even.”

God.

That was the worst lie he’d ever said. He dragged a hand down his wet face, groaning under his breath. He cleared his throat, trying to recover the tiniest shred of dignity. “Anyway,” he muttered, still refusing to make eye contact, “stop lookin’ at me weird.”