Archive of Our Own

Mount Ethel. What a boring name.

You kicked a rock on the trail, something you knew would piss him off.

“Hey.”

There it is.

“No more environmental impact than necessary, remember?”

His voice was grating at this point. The day’s journey before had been somewhat irritating, and now you were simply annoyed. You barely looked at the scenery anymore since you passed Lost Lake, not far from where the volunteer had dropped you off.

“I just can't believe it,” you muttered to yourself. It being the fact that you’d both been assigned to this same position. ‘Four hands are better than two’ the project supervisor had said. Sure, if you were under the delusion that four hands that argue with each other could somehow get any work done.

When you’d joined the national parks service, you had immediately heard rumors of this job. Restoring a decrepit, currently-unused rental cabin, on one of the many trails in the Rockies. You knew it was the assignment for you – isolated, in a beautiful place, and with plenty of work to do. You’d busted your ass during the winter months at other posts to prove to them that you would be the pick for the job. But he wanted it too.

Him, the guy walking a few dozen feet behind you. Robby, you liked to call him. It made him mad. “It’s Bo,” he’d say every time. He was exceptional at his job. Tall, strong, fit, and a deep love for this part of the country made him a perfect match for the assignment. From the day you met him, you knew the two of you would be bitter rivals. You just didn't realize how badly he would piss you off.

He did every little thing he could to one-up you. Like right now, walking behind you to catch you if you kicked a rock or didn't move a twig off of the trail correctly. He’d done sinister things, too. Sabotaging your work on cleanup after storms, reporting you for every minor slip-up.

The trail ahead curved into a switchback. These were your favorite parts of the trail, where you could lose sight of him, even if it was for only a moment. You could feel a headache coming on. You rubbed your temples, and fumbled for the water bottle on the side of your pack. The day had been an exhausting one. It was a two-day journey, and you’d elected to cowboy camp last night, and let him take the tent. It was big enough for three people, but you preferred being mauled by a mountain lion to sharing a tent with him.

You could still remember the heat of the anger that welled up inside you when it was announced that both of you would be taking on this assignment. The supervisor had played dumb, acting as if he hadn't heard any of the complaints either of you had made about the other. When you voiced your protests to him after the fact, he’d only given you an obnoxious, all-knowing smirk, telling you that nobody else made the cut, and surviving out there alone for such a length of time was not a risk they were willing to take.

You understood their reasoning, but why did it have to be you and him?

You kept on walking for the next several hours, badgered by the occasional comment from him to the tune of “we should be there by now” and “at my natural pace I would have arrived hours ago.” Until finally, in the distance, you could see it.

A small A-frame building in a clearing of aspen trees and ponderosa pines, butting up against a nearby lake. Solar panels dotted the roof on each side towards the tip, and the rest of the roof looked nearly rotted, covered with dead leaves and twigs. The screen door hung off its hinges and waved back and forth in the breeze. As you approached, you noticed a second door into the cabin, still secured with a heavy padlock.

The clearing had been set just right so that the sun cast down into the circle of trees, bathing the cabin in a ring of light like something out of a fairy tale. You wouldn't have been surprised if a garden gnome walked out from behind it at that very moment. Past the cabin, the trees had been cut back to make a path down to the lake. It was decently sized, and the view was breathtaking.

You dropped your pack onto the ground, heard Bo grumble about precious equipment in there, and you took off walking down the path towards the lake.

Mountains rose and fell on the horizon, blocking out a third of the sky. The biggest one was Mount Ethel, its old-fashioned name disguising its stunning beauty. The tallest of the peaks were capped with snow, the trees only daring to reach halfway up before falling away into little islands of green, then giving up entirely, making way for fields of rock. They seemed impossibly tall, and steep, yet you felt a sudden urge to run across the lake to them, and try to climb them. You didn't even know how to climb a mountain, but something about those white-tipped peaks was alluring.

It seemed that the view had captured Bo as well. You heard his footsteps come to a rest beside you, your peripheral vision picking up the navy color of his shirt.

“I didn't realize the view was this…grand,” he said, seemingly to himself.

“It sure is.” You were too tired from the hike, and breathless from the beauty, to be annoyed with him right now.

“No bugs either, just like they said.” He turned to look at you, then looked back at the cabin. “We’ll see what it looks like on the inside, though.”

He headed back down the trail, and you followed at a distance, glancing back at the mountains.

The cabin was a disaster on the inside. It seemed like the last group had trashed the place, and it had been left to rot since then. Yet the damage was entirely cosmetic, to your and Bo’s mutual shock and relief. You’d spent most of the past few weeks simply cleaning, wearing the bristles out on the old broom, trying to get it to a livable state.

The back wall of the cabin was mostly windows, casting a pleasant amount of natural light into your new home for the summer. The solar panels needed new wiring, however, and without them working, at night you had to rely on the old gas lamps that had been left behind when the cabin was abandoned. They worked well enough, casting a soft orange glow across the wooden walls at night. Repair of the solar panels would come later, and you both seemed anxious for it. The battery on your radio wouldn’t last forever, and it would be dangerous to go without it in these parts.

The layout of the cabin was perfectly cozy – there was a small area with counters and a kitchen towards the front. An old couch and a large wood-burning stove sat in the living area under a loft, facing the window. There was a ladder to the loft, where you both slept.

The area was big enough for two people, yet you despised the fact that there was no wall between you. Your first order of business was moving the two simple twin-size metal frames to opposite sides of the loft. The mattresses you’d brought tied to the top of your packs were thin, but better than nothing. You almost got what could be considered a good amount of sleep last night. Although, your sleep was plagued by thoughts of him. As if he’d cast some spell on you, he ended up in what felt like every dream you had. And he always had that same obnoxious, boastful way about him. Always hyping his own achievements and downplaying yours. You wished he’d just go away already.

Today, you were both clearing the area around the cabin. Over the years, limbs had splintered off from the trees above and now littered the yard, blocking off the trails near the cabin, and to the outhouse. It was backbreaking work and you were drenched in sweat despite the cool summer air, and the breeze off the lake.

You stopped for a moment, chasing your hair back into a ponytail, and wiping the sweat from your face. The sun was getting low, and the work was almost done.

Of course, Bo had to say something in the silence. “You're lifting wrong.”

You huffed, letting your arms drop to your sides. “My lifting technique is fine.” You knew that. The number of times you’d been instructed and tested on how to properly lift logs and rocks from trails was more than you could even count.

“No, you need to use your legs more.” Bo threw a branch off his shoulder into the brush. “They're the strongest part of your body.”

“I know that, Robby.” You rolled a branch out from under the eve of the house and dragged it out into the sunlight.

“Quit calling me that. My name’s Bo.”

You grabbed the underside of the branch with both hands, hauling it up to chest level.

“No, no no no. Drop that.”

You immediately dropped the branch back to the ground. “What?”

He clicked his tongue at you, feet crunching across the dry grass. He motioned for you to move away from the log, and you took a few steps back. “Watch.”

He squatted on the ground, grabbed the branch with two hands, and hoisted it up onto his shoulder. He stood with ease, and dragged it away to the edges of the camp, letting it roll off his shoulder. It hit the ground with a satisfying thump. “That’s how you should be lifting.”

“Fine.” You figured you might as well try his technique, if for no reason other than to prove to him that it didn't work for you. You grabbed a particularly heavy branch, and copied his movements, throwing it up and over your shoulder. Anger was the strongest emotion that flushed through your body as you easily lifted up the branch and carried it over to the trees. He was always right, and it pissed you off.

“Wasn't that easier?” He called out.

You shrugged, brushing the bits of bark off your shoulder. “The way I was lifting was just fine. And why’d you wait until we were basically done to correct me?” You gestured to the yard, nearly entirely cleared of debris.

He ignored you, tossing some sticks further into the forest. But you weren't having that.

“Hello? Answer me.” You took a few steps closer to him.

He looked back over his shoulder at you and waved his hand in the air dismissively. “Just thought it’d help you.”

“Help me how, exactly? That was the last branch. We’re done.”

You saw his shoulders rise and fall with a sigh. “For the future. If we have to lift shit on the trails. Why are you offended by me trying to help you?”

“Because I can figure it out on my own. I’m not a helpless little girl.” You probably sounded like a bitch right now, but you didn't really care. What was he going to do? Judge you? He already hated you. You started to walk away. “I’m sure you were just trying to get one up on me.”

“Now, hold on. That's not true.” His voice got closer, and you could hear his footfalls on the grass.

“Why not?” You spun to face him. “It–” He was closer than you were expecting, and you nearly jumped at the sight of him right behind you. Your gaze didn't even land on his eyes – instead, you were staring at the design on the front of his shirt. You had to take a step back to look at him properly. “It seems like that's what you've been doing to me since day one.”

“Jesus. Can’t we just try to get along?”

“I'm trying, but you never speak to me other than to correct me.”

“And what the hell are we supposed to talk about?”

You turned your back to him, giving an exasperated shrug. “I don't know, maybe literally anything besides our work?”

His next words were softer, genuine. “We have nothing in common.”

“I guess so. What a shame.” You headed back towards the cabin, rounding the corner without looking back. You didn't hear him follow you.

The inside of the cabin was still a mess, but livable for now. Bo had no interest in helping you clean it, apparently.

You climbed up the creaky ladder to the loft, pacing the length of the tiny area a few times. You ran your fingers over your arms, examining them in the light from the windows, feeling along all the cuts and scratches you’d sustained over the past few days of heavy lifting. Banged-up, physically and mentally. Every part of your body hurt. The work you’d done back home was nothing compared to this. You’d always had many hands to make the work lighter. But here, it was only four. And two of those hands had the world’s most obnoxious mouth attached to them.

You kicked off your shoes and peeled off your sweat-soaked clothes, changing into the shorts and tank top you slept in. It got hot up in the loft sometimes, and the less clothing, the better. A pang of annoyance hit you – if he wasn't here, you could sleep naked, with no worries, not sweating through the sheets at night.

You collapsed into bed, absolutely exhausted as the light drained from the cabin. You stared at the ceiling, your thoughts drifting away from you over to him, yet again. He was something like a parasite. Once he entered your mind, you could not get him out, no matter how hard you tried. And try you certainly did. You attempted to busy your mind with thoughts of work, trying to organize and reorganize your to-do list a hundred times, yet you always wandered right back to him.

It had been nearly a month straight of this now. You thought perhaps it would be easier when you were finished caring for the grounds and could instead care for the trail, going your separate ways each day for some much-needed solitude. But that was weeks away at minimum. For now, you just had to deal with him.

You thought back for a moment on what you’d said before you stormed inside. The bit about trying wasn't really true. You had been making an effort to speak to him as little as physically possible, only responding to his questions or giving him an update on which tasks you completed at the end of the day. But he would go out of his way to speak to you. Always coming up to you mid-chore and trying to strike up a conversation about some interesting plant species he found outside, or a bird call he didn't recognize. It was what you were asking for, but only felt like a way to prove his dominance at the end of every conversation. Implying your stupidity by not knowing the answers to every question he asked you.

Honestly, he seemed a little obsessed with you. It was pathetic how someone like him, with all his strengths, talents, and smarts, would stoop to such lows for validation.

The light was gone from the cabin now. You were too tired to light the lantern, so you simply faced the wall, and you were dead asleep within minutes.

You didn't even hear him come in and lock the door behind him. You didn't stir when he climbed up the ladder. You breathed deeply in your sleep, dreaming of lifting logs and pushing boulders, as he stood at the side of your bed and stared at you. It could have been a few seconds, it could have been a few hours. Even he wasn't sure. His eyes adjusted to the dark just enough that he could make out the curve of your jaw, the ridges of your collarbones, the flush on your cheeks from the heat. You were fast asleep when he crawled into his own bed, and dreamed about you.

You awoke to the morning light shining in through the window. Rubbing the cobwebs of sleep from your eyes, you turned over to see if, for once, you were the first one awake. Of course not. Bo was gone, his bed empty and his sheets made up.

Getting up at this elevation was hard sometimes. It felt like you could comfortably sleep all day. They’d told you any symptoms of altitude sickness would go away within a week, which they had – but you wouldn't fully adjust for at least a few months. And sometimes, on mornings like these, you could tell you’d be having a rough day. Sometimes it was hard mentally, sometimes it was hard physically, sometimes it was both. You just prayed he’d be in a better mood today, and that you could patch things up from yesterday. Or, at least, pretend like nothing had happened.

You brushed your teeth at the sink and threw on a hat, changing into the least-dirty clothes you had. Tomorrow was “laundry” day, where you went down to the water and scrubbed your clothes on river rocks before soaking them in a tub with soapy water. It was an annoying task, but it felt very old-fashioned. Primal, even.

On the agenda today, Bo was set to fix the solar panels. You were taking the day off, but would likely help him with the panels, since it was certainly not going to be easy. You had been a bit impressed when he offered to fix them up. You can do electrical work? You’d asked. My dad’s a contractor. Of course I can do electrical work. As if he’d ever told you even a lick of information about his family.

You wandered outside, looking to see if he was already at it. An old wooden ladder was leaned against the side of the cabin, an array of tools and wires on the ground beside it. The ladder had been stashed under the eve of the roof, and at first glance you doubted it was still safe to use.

Bo was nowhere in sight. The outhouse door was open, so he wasn't in there, either. You rounded the cabin and peered down the trail towards the lake. There he was, on the shore.

His tall frame was bent in an awkward position, and he moved rapidly, his arm whipping forward. The soft sound of a few splashes echoed off the pines behind you. He was skipping stones. You watched for a minute, mesmerized, as he bent down and searched for another rock, finding one, and tossing it out over the lake again. You were admittedly quite surprised. He didn't seem like the type to waste his time on frivolous activities. In fact, it didn't seem like he found anything to be fun at all.

The lake was still shrouded in the shade from the mountains, a blue fog obscuring the banks. You watched him toss another rock, as it disappeared into that grayish cloud.

He turned around to grab another one, and seemed to jump a little when you caught his eye. He froze, then waved one hand slightly. You waved back.

“Good morning.” Just loud enough that you knew the echo would carry your words to him.

“Morning.”

You gestured for him to come back, and headed back over to where he’d set up the ladder. You heard him trodding across the lawn behind you.

“You’re not really gonna use that ladder, are you?” You folded your arms.

“Of course. What else am I supposed to use?” He put a hand on one of the rungs, pulling on it a bit. “It seems perfectly fine to me.”

“Fine. But if you fall I’m not calling for an airlift,” you joked.

“If I fall I’ll be out of commission for a long time. And then you’ll never get solar.” He clearly didn't find it very funny.

“Well,” you sighed. “What do you want me to do? Do you need help?”

He shook his head. “No, not right away.”

“Somethin’ else I can do in the meantime for you?”

“No clue.” He started rummaging around in the tools, grabbing what he needed. “Just go clean the cabin or something.”

He was in one of those moods today. The type where he’s dismissive of you all day, until he fucks something up, then blames you for not helping him sooner. It was infuriating. You sighed, and walked back into the cabin, grabbing the broom out of the cupboard. At least there was plenty to do in here to busy your mind.

The hours ticked by, and the sun rose over the trees, casting more light down into the cabin. You were smacking the dust out of the couch cushions on the porch when you heard him.

“Hey, can you give me a hand?” Bo’s voice echoed off the trees.

Steeling yourself to face him, you dropped the cushion inside and headed down the porch steps. He was perched on the roof, one foot on the old rickety ladder. Typical that he would not only use that old piece of junk, but would use it in the most unsafe way possible.

He had a bundle of wires in his hand, attached to the solar panels. He threw them down at you, and the bundle unraveled as it went.

“Put those through the hole in that corner.”

You did as he said, routing them through a small hole he’d drilled in the side of the cabin as he watched from his perch on the roof.

“You're not doing it right.”

You huffed angrily. “Doing what? Putting wires through a hole? How can I not do that right?”

“You're messing up the ends.” He descended the ladder and came to kneel down next to you, pushing you out of the way to do it himself.

You stood up and threw your hands in the air. “Fine. I’ll just keep cleaning, since that’s apparently the only thing I can do right.”

“Thanks anyway,” he chimed, in a mocking tone.

You snapped.

“Fuck off, Robby.”

He stopped what he was doing and stood to face you. “How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?”

“How long are you gonna keep being a dick for? I can call you whatever I fucking want.” You'd had enough. The passive-aggressive feud between you two over the past month had reached a boiling point for you.

He raised his voice slightly. "If you’d just do shit right the first time we wouldn't have to have these arguments."

“I can never do shit right by you! Everything I do is always fucked up in some way!” You were yelling now, scaring the birds out of the trees nearby.

“No, you can't do shit right!” He was shouting back as he took a step closer to you, so close that you had to crane your neck up to look at him. “I can't believe they let you come out here.” He prodded a finger at your chest, and you swatted it away.

“Don't fucking touch me.”

“I can touch you all I want.”

You raised an eyebrow. “That's a fucked up thing to say, Robby. I’ll bet headquarters wouldn't be pleased to hear me repeat that.”

He bared his teeth in a mocking, sickening smile. “Aw, you're threatening me. How cute.”

“It's not a fucking threat. I’ll call them right now. Don't think I won't.”

He laughed in your face, a short, single tone. “As if you could do any of this shit out here alone. You didn't even know how to lift a tree limb properly!” He gestured to the lawn.

“They’ll send someone else, then. I’d be happy with fucking anyone–” you leaned in a bit closer. “–literally anyone but you.”

He leaned down in response, and your faces were merely inches apart now. You wanted to punch that stupid grinning mouth of his right now. “You. Need. Me.”

“No. I. Don’t.”

“Yes you fucking do. You know why?”

“Why, Robby?”

He just shook his head. “Zero fucking respect. I should be out here alone.”

You scoffed and turned away, taking a step away from him. “Yeah. Because you’re so stable. You’d do so well isolated out here. No, I bet you’d go fucking crazy if you didn't have someone to fucking criticize all the time.”

“That, right there. That’s why you need me. Because you didn't deserve this job. Because you’re nothing more than a stubborn, rude little bitch.”

You spun back around. Your hand moved of its own accord, slapping him across the face. He barely moved.

You saw the ground before you even felt the impact of the back of his hand on your cheek. You caught yourself with one hand on the dirt, ears ringing and tasting blood. That was a mean fucking hit.

You didn't even look at him, didn't bother to hear his cried pleas of apology as you ran away towards the trail to the lake.

You sat on the rocky shore, running your fingers over your swollen cheek. Tears dripped from your chin onto your crossed legs. This job was supposed to be heaven, the assignment you’d been dreaming about for months. You’d worked your ass off to get here, just to end up with the worst possible partner. This really couldn't be much worse, you thought. You had half a mind to march back into the cabin, pick up the two-way radio between you and headquarters, and demand your immediate dismissal from this job.

But you knew how things like that would go, given your experience with the higher-ups. Even if you showed them the mark from his backhanded slap, even if you gave them a fully accurate testimony of the events of today, they wouldn't believe you. They'd make up their own story as to how you were injured, and they would look down on you for being so weak, so afraid of hard work that you would bail out after such a short amount of time. You’d certainly be blackballed from future jobs such as this one, perhaps even marked as unstable, and you could kiss all your past praises goodbye.

Perhaps they’d be right, though. Just a weak little girl, willing to be pushed around by some guy only a few years older than you. You should have thicker skin than this.

You sniffled, and wiped your cheeks with the sleeve of your shirt. Behind you came the sound of crunching footsteps on the gravelly dirt.

He sat down next to you, keeping a good amount of distance. You sat in silence for a while, listening to the tiny waves lapping at the rocky shore. A marmot called somewhere in the distance, and a hawk circled overhead. You were surprised he hadn't yet asked you to identify either animal – that was his typical conversation starter.

“I’m sorry.” His voice cracked.

You didn't want to give him the satisfaction of a response. He didn't deserve one yet.

“I know you don't want to be here with me. I don't know…” He stopped, drawing in a shaky breath.

You looked over at him. His eyelashes were wet and his eyes were bloodshot. He’d been crying. He turned his head away quickly.

“I don't know why I did that. I don't know why I’m so mean to you.”

You kept silent. There was no response you could give that would make sense to you right now.

“I do this every time.” He picked up a rock from the shore and turned it over in his fingers. “I just hurt people close to me.” He tossed the rock out onto the lake, skipping it along the surface more times than you could count.

“That was a good throw.”

You could see the smirk on his face even as he was turned away from you. “Thanks.” He picked up another one, clutching it tightly in his palm this time. “You're…not stupid. I didn't mean that. I just meant…I don't know why I said that. I needed to be here alone. Because I knew this would happen.”

“But even back home, you were still–”

“An asshole? To you. Only to you.” He threw the rock into the water. “I thought that maybe they’d see that, and wouldn't put us together.”

“Really?” It sounded like a half-baked excuse, something he’d thought up on the walk over. “How'd you know there would be two people on this job?”

“Yes, really. Did you seriously think they'd only choose one person for this job? It’s a cabin repair at Mount Ethel. This isn't a place you should be alone in.”

You shrugged. “I don't know.” They’d said they were choosing one person out of the volunteers, which was your entire division of course, but you’d assumed they didn't have the resources to actually send more than one. “But why only me? How could you be so sure I’d be the one they chose?”

He turned his head to you, an incredulous look on his face. “What? You were the best worker they had besides myself. Of course it would be you.”

It still didn't make sense. If he knew there would have to be two people on this job, why wouldn't he try to be nice?

“Was there…someone else you’d have preferred to be on this job with?”

He hesitated. Searching for an answer he didn't want to give, perhaps. “Not really. Most of them kind of annoyed me.”

In that case, it made no sense at all. Unless he was bullshitting you right now, and he simply hated you and enjoyed making you miserable.

You shook your head, looking away from him back over the lake, and the tears started to fall again.

“If you knew it would be me, why wouldn't you just try to be nice?” You weren't sure you even wanted to hear whatever excuse he was about to come up with.

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“It's because of you. There's something about you. You’re…I just…” he ran his hands through his hair, and scratched at the scruffy beard he’d grown these past weeks. “You're just so…” he broadly gestured at you.

“What are you trying to say? What's wrong with me?”

“God, there's nothing wrong with you, it's just that you’re so– you’re like, so good at all this shit, and you're really nice, and, I mean, have you looked in a mirror lately? And I’m just me.” He stumbled over his words, like they were trying to come out faster than he could speak them.

You weren't sure how to process what he was saying. Did he just call you pretty? “We don't have a mirror. And I’m sure I look awful right now. I mean…” you pointed at your eyes, the tracks from the tears still fresh.

“Nonsense. You look so beautiful when you cry.”

There was a pause. Like the entire world had ground to a halt for a moment, everything stopped. It seemed as if even the waves on the shore had taken a break, holding their breath.

What was this? Was this guy, this fucking guy, Robby, your mortal enemy and bitter rival, calling you…beautiful? What was he gaining from this? You figured there had to be some ulterior motive. Perhaps he was just trying to butter you up, get back on your good side after hitting you so hard you couldn't see straight. Maybe he wanted to prevent losing you as a worker – this work would be nearly impossible with one person alone. Some of the tasks you'd done clearing fallen trees from the trails, or making repairs to the cabin – those would have been entirely impossible for a single set of hands.

“You think so?”

He nodded.

You wished you could believe what he was saying. You really did. But he gave you no reason to trust him. For now, you would go along with it. Pretend like he’d fixed his mistake, and see what kind of bullshit he’d try to pull as a result of all this.

“Well, I can't sit around crying all day.” You poked at the rocks in front of you. “We have to get those panels working.”

He pulled himself up from the ground, brushing the dirt off the backs of his legs. Then he offered his hand to you. Such a simple gesture of kindness. But right now, it meant a lot. You gripped onto his hand and allowed yourself to be hoisted to your feet. His hands were bigger than you thought – your own hand nearly disappeared into his when he grabbed it. You wiped your eyes one last time and attempted a smile. He smiled back. And you walked back down the trail together.

Nothing had felt the same since that day. There had been some kind of shift, and everything just felt a little different. He was still a little shit, of course, but he was just the slightest bit kinder. It was like he was fighting against himself – he wanted to be mean, but some part of him didn’t. And you couldn't get those words out of your head. Beautiful.

Clouds loomed menacingly in the distance over Mount Ethel. The peaks of their anvil shapes grew larger and darker, and you were both scrambling to get everything inside. You hadn't seen rain in at least a week – a rarity at this elevation. You were taking down your clothes from the drying line when thunder crackled in the distance.

“Looks like it's gonna be a bad one.”

You pushed past him, arms full of clothes. “Yeah, no shit.”

“Did you lock the outhouse?”

“No. You do it.”

He grumbled something, and walked down the short trail towards the tiny shack. The door was barely holding itself together, and a strong gust of wind was liable to take it right off the hinges.

You were folding the laundry up on the kitchen counter when the rain started, coming down in sheets on the windows. You sped over to the screen door, whipping it open and scanning the lawn for Bo. Nowhere to be seen. You called his name, peeking out from the cover of the porch to search for him.

“I’m over here!” You heard him call over the sound of the rain. He poked his head out from behind the back of the cabin, smiling at you. “The rain feels incredible! Come out here!”

You rolled your eyes at him. As if you had time for something so childish. “Get in here and help me fold the laundry.” You figured this was some kind of ridiculous procrastination tactic.

“The laundry’s not going anywhere.” He walked around the cabin towards the porch, and you noticed he’d taken his shoes off at some point. You leaned back against the wall, huddling just out of reach of the downpour. “Scared you'll melt or something? Come on!”

The torrent of rain darkened the fabric of his shirt to a dark gray. Lightning lit up the sky, quickly followed by thunder, and a bird in a nearby tree flew for cover. Looking across the lake, fog had settled over the mountains in the distance. Fingers of clouds crawled down through the pines.

Something wet grabbed your hand. Startled, you turned, and he was standing there – his hand in yours. His shirt was soaked, skin-tight against his body, and beads of water dripped from the tips of his hair. He gave you a goofy smile, then shook his head, like a dog shaking off its fur, spraying you with rainwater.

“Now you have no excuse. You're wet. Come on.” He tugged at your hand, pulling you along, and you reluctantly shuffled behind him.

He led you by the hand off the porch, holding tight as you navigated the slippery stairs onto the dirt. A gust of wind shook the rain from the trees above and showered you in cool water, making you gasp.

“Doesn't it feel good?!” He let go of your hand and danced away, bare feet kicking up puddles of mud and aspen leaves.

You shrugged, not moving from your spot at the foot of the steps. “It’s cold!” you shouted over the roar of the storm.

He spun in a circle, stopping to face you. “It's been so hot, we should appreciate this!” He took a few bounding steps towards you.

You’d never seen him so…animated. He always had that air of cool stoicism around him, as if he seldom felt anything but boredom. The man dancing in the rain in front of you felt like a completely different person.

He grabbed your hand again, taking it in both of his. “We never get to have any fun around here. It's not gonna kill you to run around like a kid for a little bit.” His voice was so eager, like he really, genuinely wanted you to join him.

He was right. You’d done nothing but hard physical labor for the past month straight. Who were you to say no?

Your inhibitions abandoned you, and you pulled your hand out of his and ran past him. You kicked at the dirt, sending a spray of rainwater and mud into the air, painting the white bark of one of the aspens.

“Do you think this counts as disturbing the environment?” You shouted back at him playfully.

“Who cares?!” He laughed – a clear, hearty sound you weren't sure you’d ever heard before. He threw his head back and laughed into the air before taking off in a sprint around the cabin, leaping as he went.

You followed him, chasing after him, even though you knew you could never catch him with how long his strides were.

It was childish and unprofessional, what you were both doing right now. You should be inside, watching from the windows for danger of falling trees, taking notes on any trail damage you may have to clear later. But who was here to stop you? Tens of miles from the nearest settlement, it was just the two of you. Just the two of you, nobody else. All you had was each other. Maybe that wasn't so bad after all.

You caught up to him as he rounded the final corner of the cabin. He spun to face you, getting into a low stance as if he meant to tackle you as you ran past. You took on his challenge, feinting to the left, then to the right, then slipping past him on the left. You felt the tips of his fingers graze your arm as you ran past – you weren't quick enough.

Wet fabric pressed up against your back and a pair of long arms wrapped around your body. He’d caught you. He flipped you around to face him, embracing you.

He was so tall.

You strained your neck to look up at him, squirming in his grasp. “Lemme go!” you cried playfully.

He held you for what felt like far too long. It was hard to look at him through the rain, but from what you could gather, he looked…distant. Like he was thinking of something. His grip around your torso loosened, his hands lingering on your soaked shirt.

Fingers trailed up your arm towards your neck, settling on the sides of your face. His palms cradled your jaw, tilting your head back even further.

This man, who would normally go out of his way to avoid touching you, was pressed up against you, both of you soaking wet, and your head was in his hands. His touch was surprisingly gentle, given the roughness of his hands, calloused from years of hard work out in these mountains.

Looking up at him, his eyelashes stuck together in a way that made his blue eyes look even brighter in the light from the storm. His hair was messy, sticking out in every direction and soaking wet, but he looked…cute. He was a good looking guy, of course. But like this, in his arms, it was all very different.

There was a wild look in those eyes, a predatory smile on those lips.

The tension was unbearable.

“You've got mud on your face.” You gestured with your chin towards his cheek.

He dropped his arms, wiping his face with a few fingers as you took a step back from him.

The silence was deafening. The rain had dulled to a drizzle in an instant, and the chirping of birds returned, yet it sounded too quiet. Like your head had been filled with static, and someone had abruptly turned it off.

Without a word, he turned away from you, trudging his way over the wet ground towards the porch.

He wasn't all that bad, it seemed.

Your clothes hung over the railing in the loft, soaking into a towel. You paced back and forth across the living area, running your hands over your wet hair. That was too much. Far too much for you. It was something so simple, a gesture that could have been shared between friends. No, that's not true. He grabbed your face. Maybe he didn't mean to. Maybe it meant something more.

You wanted to rip your hair out. You couldn't stop asking yourself why? It had to just be some ploy for manipulation. From the day he called you beautiful, to right now, it must have all just been some way to get under your skin. But what did he gain from this? If he hated you as much as you thought he did, all of this was meaningless. The gestures, the kind words, it just didn't make sense.

He was out on the porch, sitting with his back against the wall of the cabin. Oblivious to you, and the breakdown you were having inside.

What bothered you the most was that you didn't know why you cared so much. So what if this was all just some ploy – you could simply ignore him, like you normally did. Whatever he was doing, it was working, and he was already under your skin. This was all just some game to him, apparently.

The screen door creaked open, and you whipped around to face him embarrassingly fast as he ducked through it.

“Hey.” He nodded at you.

His hair was still damp, perfectly disheveled. He held his shirt in one tightly clenched fist, and you had to force your body to turn away so you wouldn't stare. The energy in the room was unbearable. Everything was changing between you far too fast. You hated him even more for this.

But to ask about it now would be weird. It would make it real, make it something you couldn't just ignore and pretend never happened. So you had to keep your mouth shut.

“We should, uh, go check the trails.” You blurted out the first thing that came to mind.

“Let’s wait for it to dry out a bit first, yeah?”

Just more time alone with him. Great. You sighed, and mumbled out a “sure.”

“Hey, listen.” He sat down on the couch, and you froze in your spot on the carpet. “I, uh…”

Here it comes.

“I’m sorry. About…all that.” He gestured towards the front door, flashing you back to the way his hands felt on the sides of your face. You could feel yourself starting to blush, and turned towards the window, hoping he couldn't tell. “Don’t know what came over me.”

“It’s fine.” It was anything but fine.

“That was…it was really fun, though. Thank you. For coming out there with me.”

You shrugged. “You dragged me out, I didn't have a choice.”

“Did I force you to smile, too?”

He was so fucking annoying. You didn't bother answering.

You heard him get up from the couch, his footsteps drawing closer, then– a hand on your shoulder. And he spoke in a deep tone, far too close to your ear.

“The isolation must be getting to me.”

You couldn't move. Couldn't speak. You could only bring yourself to turn once you heard the screen door slam shut, and by then, he was gone.

He didn't come back for a long time. Long enough for you to find yourself in the loft, under the cover of your blankets, ravaging yourself with your own fingers. Hatred and frustration clouding your mind like a fog, encouraging you to fuck yourself harder than ever before, and when the throes of your orgasm wracked your body, you buried your face in the pillow, choking back the urge to scream his name.

By the time Bo returned, you were asleep, and he crept his way up into the loft. Unwise to your actions only hours earlier, he did much the same to himself, glancing over at you – he told himself it was just to check if you were still asleep. But his eyes lingered a bit too long, and each look pushed him a little closer to the edge, until he whispered your name as he came.

Nothing would be the same now, and you both knew it.

It was colder these days. It was only August, but the lake would soon freeze over in the coming months. First snow was projected for late September, early October, and the nights were getting down into the forties. You’d started to utilize the big stove in the living area to heat the cabin on those cold nights.

A small pile of firewood had accumulated in the metal holder next to the stove, thanks to Bo’s constant insistence that you needed more stored up. He’d found an axe in the storage closet not too long ago, and it seemed his fingers couldn't stray from its handle for more than a few days. Today, you were both taking a rest, yet Bo was too fidgety to simply sit.

You sat in the grass under the shade of the roof, your back resting against the wooden beams of the cabin as you watched him chopping up more firewood. He grabbed a log from the unchopped pile, placing it on the large stump that had been left from a recent clearcut. He eyed it up, turning it this way and that, before grabbing the axe with both hands. He sucked in a sharp breath, and swung it over his head, landing a clean blow directly in the center of the log, sending the two pieces flying in opposite directions.

Something about it made your heart beat a little faster. He lined up another log, and you watched his arms, the way his muscles tensed and the veins in his biceps stood out. You’d been having strange dreams, and had found yourself fixated on those arms, those hands. You couldn't stop envisioning them wrapped around your–

“Can you take this inside?” He gestured to the wheelbarrow full of wood next to him.

He caught you staring.

You nodded, and pulled yourself up from the ground. His eyes followed you the entire time, yet you tried to avoid his gaze, cheeks flush with embarrassment. You were pretty sure he was still watching you as you emptied the wheelbarrow onto the porch, but you were too afraid to look.

You nearly jumped out of your skin when you felt his hand on your shoulder. He loved doing that to you, apparently.

“Let me help.” He grabbed a few logs – the biggest ones, of course – and carried them through the door.

It only took a few trips, and the circle-shaped holder next to the stove was full. He stood in the light from the window, shirt off, stretching out his arms. When you’d arrived here he was a little scrawny. But the trail had trained him, as they say. His biceps were defined, his back and shoulders muscular. His skin had a glow to it, from both the high-altitude sun and the sheen of sweat. You crossed your legs a little tighter, and ran your fingers over your neck absentmindedly.

He turned around, catching you staring once again. You had to force yourself to drag your eyes away from his navel and up to his face. But that didn't help much, either. Not with the way his hair was messy, or the pink tint on his cheeks, or that little bit of stubble that had grown in since the last time he shaved.

“Why do you keep staring at me like that? Is something wrong?”

You turned away quickly. “I’m not.”

He chuckled. “Yes you are. What is it? Is there something you need?”

It's like he could read your mind. But you refused. You weren't doing this. You couldn't. Whatever had been building inside you ever since that day he grabbed you in the rain, you had to bury it. This guy was an asshole. He didn't care about you. Fucking him would be a terrible mistake. And why was that the first thing you just thought of? Was that what your brain wanted? Was the isolation getting to you? Maybe the altitude was driving you crazy.

Yet…it had been several months now since you'd last had sex. And the short moments you had to yourself were never fully satisfying. Always listening for his quiet footsteps or the sound of the door opening. You were just sexually frustrated, that was it. Nothing more to it. You refused to admit any more.

He took a few steps closer to you, slowly. “Why aren't you answering?”

You’d been too lost in your thoughts, staring at him. “I’m fine.”

“It doesn't seem like it.” He was right above you now. He reached an arm over you, gripping the back of the couch. “You haven't seemed fine since…since it rained.”

You were shaking now, though you weren't sure why. “I'm fine. Sorry I’ve been staring. The altitude is probably getting to me.” You couldn't admit to yourself how badly you wanted him to just lean down a little further. Maybe he could read you better than you could read yourself.

“Come on, now. We both know that’s not true.”

He’s really gonna do it, isn't he?

He did.

In one fluid motion, his hand caught the side of your face, and his lips met yours. And you simply melted. He smelled like fall. Fallen leaves, smoke, and cold air. Under it all, the scent of sweat, a day’s hard work, but you liked it. No – you loved it. Needed it.

You grabbed at his jaw, forcing him down onto the couch. You broke away as you climbed on top of him, and something inside you snapped. The thing you needed was him.

He weaved his fingers up along the back of your head, pulling you back by your hair. With you in his arms, he slid off the couch onto his knees, laying you gracefully onto the rug with such ease it took your breath away. His body weight pressed up against you, he caught your lips with his, shoving his tongue past your teeth roughly.

You wrapped a leg around his waist, throwing your weight to the side to knock him over, letting you climb on top of him. His eyes widened, then narrowed back down into that look he gave you when he was pissed off. It gave you butterflies.

He tried to throw you off again as you leaned down to bite at his neck, sucking bruises into his skin. His grunts of effort turned into soft whines as you nipped at his collarbones, running your fingers through his tangled hair.

He grabbed you by the waist and pulled you back, throwing you backwards against the couch. The impact didn't hurt, but it made you gasp. This was a fight now. And neither of you intended to lose.

His hands gripped the hem of your shirt and lifted it up, nearly ripping it as he tore it off you. He stopped, just looking at you, admiring the flush of red across your chest, the way your body was covered in bruises and scars from months of hard work. You couldn't be more perfect to him.

He kissed you harder, with a purpose, like he had something to prove, and maybe he did. He ran his fingers over your hips and up your back, reaching for the clasp on your bra, struggling to unhook it with frenzied, shaking hands. You could feel him practically buzzing. He clearly wasn't as cool and collected underneath as he was on the surface.

You saw an opportunity and took it. You shoved him away, and he lost his balance, falling backwards to the rug. You clamored on top of him, straddling his hips and planting your full weight on him.

“Fuck you,” he hissed.

“I bet you’d like to.”

He wrestled you back down, this time pinning you to the rug by your wrists. “You're the one who couldn't stop staring at me.”

“And you're the one who nearly kissed me in the rain.” You used all your strength to try to pull away, but he had a firm grip on you. Knowing he was so much stronger than you – that he would most certainly win this fight – it had you downright dripping.

“I should have done it right then and there.” He kissed you again, hard enough to bruise your lips. “I should have known you fucking wanted it.”

“Maybe–” You swallowed down a moan as his teeth nipped at your neck. “Maybe I don't.” Defiant, even as you allowed him to leave dark marks on your skin. Not just on your neck – you were sure the force with which he was pressing your wrists into the rug would leave them black and blue.

“That true?” He pulled back to look at you. That predatory grin spread across his face again.

“Of course it is.” You smiled nervously.

“Should we test that?” Before you could object, or even react, the fingers of his right hand were disappearing beneath the waistband of your pants and gliding over the soaked fabric of your panties.

He turned his eyebrows up in mock pity. “Oh, sweetheart, you shouldn't lie to me.”

You could only gasp and writhe under his touch as he slipped his hand into your panties to dip a finger into the pool of wetness. “You hate me? You don't want it? What’s this, then?” He pushed his finger just a little further in, but not quite far enough, only enough to make you want to beg for more.

“Please…” You squirmed, trying to take more.

“Please what?”

“Come on,” you whined, slamming a fist onto the rug. “Just– please!”

He gave in to your pleading, sliding a finger into you, groaning in tune with you. You never thought just a single finger could feel so filling, so satisfying. You were already grabbing onto his arm with your free hand.

“You really needed this, huh?”

You didn't respond, letting your moans speak for you, your eyes squeezing shut.

“No, no, none of that.” His hand left your other wrist and grabbed you by the chin. “Keep your eyes open.”

You obeyed, reluctantly, squinting at him.

“That’s better.” His thumb found your clit, rubbing it in time with the strokes of his finger. “I want to see your eyes. They're so gorgeous.”

“Fuck” was all you could whimper out, your hips bucking at his touch.

He was mirroring your expressions. It was almost unbearable to watch, seeing your own pleasure reflected on his face. Of course, he had to add a bit of his own sass, turning up his eyebrows in pity when he hit a spot you particularly liked.

And, god, the way he bit his lip when he added a second finger had you reaching for him, digging your nails into his chest.

He pulled at the waist of your pants, unable to force them down with one hand. “Take these off,” he ordered.

You did as he said, immediately, shoving them down your legs. He didn't stop the entire time you did so, not even to move out of the way to let you pull them all the way down. He could only sit there and stare. Until he wanted to see more.

He ripped your pants off with the same force he took off your shirt with, untangling your panties from the mess of fabric and shoving them into the pocket of his jeans.

“Hey! I need those!”

“Well, I need them more.” He grinned at you.

You were already nearly there, embarrassingly fast. Your breath caught on your moans, louder, faster, increasing in pitch. There was a knot of humiliation in your stomach, knowing how little it took for him to get you there.

You needed this release, more badly than you’d needed anything in your life. Your senses had already abandoned you in anticipation. And you didn't even have to tell him, he simply knew.

“No. Not until I let you.” His fingers stopped, and that crest you’d been so close to slipped away. You arched your back, thrashed your legs, howled in frustration, begging him.

“Please.” You could feel a bead of sweat rolling down the back of your neck. “Please, I can't take any more–”

He quieted you with gentle shushes, brushing your hair from your face. “Yes you can. You can take whatever I give you.”

“No! Seriously, I can’t, I can’t–" you huffed, breathless.

“You can. You want to be good for me, don't you?”

Oh, god. Where had he pulled that from? You simply nodded. Of course you wanted to. But you simply didn't know if you could be.

He leaned down, slowly resuming the movement of his fingers. “You’ve been so good. You can keep going.” He cooed, his lips brushing the shell of your ear, making you squirm. “Looks like you've got…” he glanced at his watch. “Six more minutes. Can you hold on that long?”

Jesus christ, he set a time limit? Down to the minute? That was just like him. So exact. So punctual. A little annoying.

You genuinely didn't believe you could. But you wanted to try. In fact, you needed to try. You had to beat him at something.

His fingers found that perfect spot inside you, leaving you clawing at his back, gasping, the cold air of the cabin sending shivers through your body.

You couldn't hold on. Not when he crawled down the length of your body, leaving little kisses on your flesh, biting at the skin of your thighs. You fought it with every bit of strength you had left.

“Please– Bo, please, I need a break–”

His eyes shot up towards you, and he stopped. Only for a moment. “You actually said my name,” he smirked.

“Fuck you,” you gasped.

Within seconds he was diving his head back down. His breath warmed your clit, and you begged him not to do it, you wouldn't last if he did. But he wanted to challenge you. Push you even further.

His tongue laved over your clit, delicately, the precise amount of pressure you needed. You grabbed at his hair, both trying to push him away and pull him closer at the same time – your mind wasn't sure which one you needed.

He seemed to be able to feel how close you were, keeping you right at the tipping point, edging you harder than you knew you could be edged. Until you couldn't take it anymore.

“Aww. Hit your limit already, baby?”

The little pet name – it was the tiniest push, but it proved to be too much. Your eyes widened, your vision whiting out as you plunged down into the deepest depths of ecstasy you’d ever experienced in your life, your entire body trembling with the force of it. Your back arched off the rug, pressing yourself further against him, his coos of encouragement rumbling through your body.

And when you finally came down from the high, only then did the anxiety hit you. You'd failed his test. You’d lost to him, once again, just like always. It was infuriating, yet motivating – right now, all you wanted was for him to fuck you. To make you feel that good again, but this time even better, face to face.

He crawled up your body to you, planting a kiss on your panting mouth, his lips carrying the sweet taste of you. He drew in a breath to speak, hesitating for a moment.

“I’m disappointed.”

With that, he got up from the floor, and walked out the front door, the screen slamming shut behind him. He left you there, a sweating, mostly-naked, shaking mess on the cabin floor.

You didn't get to see him try to collect himself just outside the door, running his hands through his hair, pulling at it hard enough to hurt. You didn't see him fail to keep his cool, fail to calm himself down, and walk down the trail in a desperate attempt to keep it together.

You didn't see him digging his nails into the bark of a tree only a few steps down the trail. You didn't hear his groans, his heavy breathing; didn't see his shoulder flicking rhythmically, or hear the wet, slick sounds echoing out onto the lake. And you certainly didn't hear him as he bit his knuckles to stop himself from groaning out your name at the end of it all.

You were trying to force your body to carry you up the ladder to the loft when you heard his footsteps on the porch. He didn't pause for even a moment as he ducked through the door and came to you. Your back against that old ladder, he boxed you in, his hands cradling your face, a mirror image of the pose you’d found yourself in the day you had danced in the rain with him. He kissed you, so tenderly, with the utmost passion behind it, as if he’d been waiting his entire life to do this.

He whispered three words against your lips. “I love you.”

“I hate you.”

You buried your face in his chest. He had his shirt back on, and god did you love the scent of him on the fabric.

“Do you, really?”

You nuzzled your face against him. “No.”

“You should lay down for a minute.”

You hadn't noticed him slip his hands under your arms. You were swaying, and your knees wanted to simply give out. He scooped you off your feet, effortlessly, cradling you against his chest.

He laid you down on the couch, pressing a kiss to your forehead. He walked away, and you heard the creak of a ladder, and then he was back by your side, a bundle of clothes in one hand. A pair of underwear and the shorts you wore to bed. He slipped them on to you, and even in your half-awake state you noticed the way he paused and stared.

He spoke softly, just loud enough to hear. “Goodnight.”

You were asleep before he even left the room.

The morning light streamed in through the windows, blinding you for a moment when you first opened your eyes. You rubbed your face, sitting up and stretching. Your body ached, worse than it normally did, but it felt good. The same feeling you get the morning after a massage – a release of tension so relieving it almost hurt.

The ceiling was wrong. You realized you were on the couch. And it all came back to you in one swift memory, knocking you flat back onto the couch while you stared at a knot in one of the wooden beams on the ceiling. Everything you’d done together, those words he’d said, it was real, though it still felt like a dream.

You could smell something cooking. Hesitantly, you looked over towards the kitchen, and of course, there he was. Shirt on this time, though looking disheveled and sleepy. He was making pancakes on the electric griddle. Those were a luxury for you both – you’d only packed in a small amount of mix for them, and only had them on special days.

He turned your way, giving you a warm, inviting smile. “Good morning.” His smile had never looked so genuine.

You groaned and flopped back down onto the couch, your body and mind both exhausted. This was too much. It had happened far too quickly.

“I didn't hurt you or anything, did I?”

You couldn't even speak, much less pick yourself up to look at him.

This wasn't supposed to happen. You were supposed to hate each other for a few months, then part ways without a word. You remembered a conversation you’d had with one of the older ladies back home, working on a job.

You’d better be careful around him, she said. You’d scoffed, told her he was nothing to worry about – all bark and no bite.

She’d explained further, insisting that’s not what she meant. People tend to fall in love in those isolated places. You with an attractive young man is a recipe for disaster. You assured her nothing of the sort would happen, you mentioned how you hated each other. You should have listened to her when you had the chance.

“Hey.” He was standing over the back of the couch with a plate in one hand. “You want to take the day off?”

You sat up to face him, taking the plate from his hands, but you were unable to look him in the eye. “Probably.”

He usually refused to cook, and now you saw why – the heap of pancakes in front of you looked somehow burnt and underdone at the same time. But you still wolfed them down gratefully. Any food was good food up here.

The silence in the room was painfully awkward. He ate in the kitchen, glancing over at you every so often, looking away when you turned to meet his gaze.

You just had to say something. “Now who’s the one staring?”

You saw him fight back a giggle, swallowing it down with another bite. “Fuck off.”

He looked at his watch, and the simple gesture sent you spiraling into thoughts of last night. You had to turn away so he wouldn't see the way you blushed, a grin spreading across your face. This would be hard to get used to.

“It’s shower day,” he sighed.

Your favorite and least favorite day of the week, when you both went down to the lake and bathed in the frigid water. When you had been packing for the trip, he insisted you didn't need a solar shower, and you foolishly believed him.

“My favorite. I told you we should have brought that shower.”

He shook his head at you, cleaning off his plate in the sink. “Already arguing, huh?”

“Don't start.”

“You brought up the shower.”

“Whatever, Robby.”

“Oh, so now you can't say my name properly?”

You couldn't find a response, only blushing and turning away. You made a point not to make eye contact as you gathered your things for the lake – you’re pretty sure if you looked too deeply into his eyes you would shatter.

You went first, hiking down to the shore with your bag in one hand and a towel over your shoulder. Stripping down in front of the mountains, you could swear you felt a pair of eyes on you. That sense of yours had gotten quite good these days. You whipped around, convinced he was staring at you – nobody there.

You took a deep breath and waded into the icy water. It sent a shock through your body as it always did. You’d told yourself you would get used to that feeling, but that day never came. You dove under the tiny waves, running your fingers over your tangled hair.

Your instinct hadn't been wrong, you simply didn't know. As you brushed through your hair, working out the knots, he sat on the couch, staring from the perfect vantage point he’d found the very first day you came here. A gap in the trees gave him a perfect view of you through the window. He'd made good use of this spot many times in the past few months. He did nothing – simply stared, appreciating you. He needed more of you, now that he’d had a taste. And he had an idea of how to get it.

You dried yourself off, put on your clean clothes, and trudged your way back to the cabin, body still shivering from the cold water.

“Your turn,” you shouted through the screen door, kicking your shoes off at the entrance and heading inside to wrap yourself in a blanket.

He stopped you. He blocked your path, staring down at you.

A familiar question, coming from your lips this time. “Need something?”

He cupped your cheek with one hand, and leaned down to kiss you. You stood on your toes to reach him better. He kissed you softly, lovingly, without the fervor and frenzy of the day before.

“Just that,” he whispered against your lips, before heading out the door down to the lake.

You sat on the couch, wrapped in a blanket with your chin resting on your palm, staring out the window and simply thinking. Your head felt like it was full of cotton, all your thoughts blurred and obscured by a thousand other things. This man would be your downfall.

But, you figured, maybe that was okay. Maybe this entire thing would be alright in the end. That idea triggered an entire slew of louder thoughts – what if he was unloyal? What if he ultimately was bad boyfriend material? Boyfriend?

The static in your mind ground to a screeching halt, all of them focusing to one point: do I love him?

You genuinely weren't sure. If this was love, you’d never felt a love quite like this before. To go from hating him, to whatever this was, so quickly…it was jarring to say the least. Nothing seemed to make sense anymore. Your thoughts, and the words he said, the way you looked at him, and the way he looked at you. It was all too different.

You had to wonder how long he’d been waiting to do…all that. You ran a hand over your face, the memories of last night coming back once again. It felt calculated. He was a calculating person, after all. Doubt started to creep in – had he only intended to make you fall under his spell for some ulterior motive?

You’d sat there thinking in silence for so long that you jumped when you heard the sound of the screen door. An awkward silence settled into the room as he put his things away. You prayed he wouldn't sit down next to you on the couch–

But he did. He even wrapped an arm around you. You didn't protest. You felt safe in his arms now. It was hard being away from home for so long, but he felt like home these days. You nuzzled your head against his chest, wrapping an arm around his waist, and your entire body felt like it was on fire.

You opened your mouth, and the words came out before your conscious mind could stop you. “Did you mean what you said last night?”

He laughed, a sound you didn't think you would ever get tired of hearing. “Which part?”

You wanted to take back your words already. You didn't want to know the answer, because you were certain you already knew it. But it was too late. “What you said…after. About…” you couldn't force it out. You opened and closed your mouth around the silent words.

“That I love you?”

It was too much. It hadn't fully registered with you at the time, those words. But now, it was all too real. You didn't want to even attempt speaking in this state, and only nodded against his chest.

“Of course.”

“Then, why…”

“I had to convince myself I hated you. Because I knew you hated me. Do you?”

“Do you think I do?”

“I think that's a question only you can answer.”

You were being avoidant, and you knew it. You’d already hidden from your real feelings for so long, it was second nature by now. You had to take a breath before you could even say it. “I don't hate you.”

“Do you love me?”

“I…” You couldn't say that. Not yet. But to tell him that would be as good as saying no. In this moment, you wanted to crawl into a hole on the floor and disappear.

“Do you…not love me?”

You couldn't answer him. You felt completely frozen, even your breathing paused.

He sighed, and smiled. “That’s alright. If you do one day in the future, or you never do, that's alright.” His voice was a bit shaky. You couldn't see his face, and you were thankful for that right now. “I’m only glad I got to love you, here, alone. I’ll always cherish this time with you.”

“Bo, that’s…that's really sweet.”

“I try.” He chuckled, and pulled you a bit closer. “Wait–” he loosened his grip on you. “Is this okay?”

“Of course it is.”

You sat that way for a while, listening to his breathing and watching the aspens sway in the breeze. Some of them had even started turning color, not uncommon for this time in the mountains.

You closed your eyes, and let your weight fall heavier on him. You didn't even realize you were nodding off until he jolted you out of it with his voice.

“Want coffee?”

“Mmm.”

He pried you off of him, and you laid down on the couch, listening to him banging cupboards and lighting the stove. The sound of boiling water and the aroma of instant coffee filled the room.

He came back over, handing you a mug filled with the steaming liquid. “You know, I was thinking...if they’d asked us to race out here to see who got the job, you’d never have gotten it.”

You raised an eyebrow at him over the rim of your mug. “You’re tall, but that doesn't mean you're fast.” You took a sip of the bitter instant coffee, trying to swallow it in a way that avoided having to actually taste it. “I bet you’d trip over your own giant feet in those woods.”

He clutched at his chest, gasping as if you’d dished out a horrific insult. “How dare you.”

“It's true,” you shrugged.

“Wanna bet?”

Now he had your interest. “A challenge?”

“How about this.” He scooted forward to the edge of his seat, looking at you intently. “I’ll give you three minutes to run as far as you can into the woods. And then, I have to catch you.”

“We’d get lost. Absolutely not.”

“Seriously? We both know these woods like the back of our hand. What’s one mile that way?” He pointed some random direction.

You immediately visualized that part of the forest. “The old ponderosa with the curly trunk.”

“See?” He smiled. “No way we’re getting lost.”

You rolled your eyes at him. Always such a know-it-all. “Fine. But you’re not gonna catch me.”

“Oh, I will.”

“And when you don't?”

He had a gleam in his eye. Something mischievous. “Good question. Maybe we can raise the stakes a little, since you're so confident.” He stood up and walked over to the window, bathed in sunlight as he spoke. “If you successfully evade me, we can come back here and you can gloat all you want. But if I catch you…” He looked back over his shoulder at you, a wicked grin on his face. “I get to take whatever I want from you. Finders keepers.”

Finally, a chance to win. He was fast, and his strides long, but there was no way he could maneuver in the brush the way you could with your smaller frame. “Deal.”

“Start running, then.”

“Now?”

“Yes. Now. You’ve got three minutes.”

You stood up casually. “I didn't mean right now–”

“Go.”

You stared at him. He checked his watch. You took one last sip of coffee and set the mug down on the kitchen counter. And you turned and sprinted out the door and into the forest.

Aspen leaves whipped your face and budding pines scratched at your calves as you zig-zagged through the woods. You were lighter on your feet now after months of physical labor, stronger and faster than you’d ever been. You leapt over roots and old stumps, dashing behind trees and through clearings. It felt freeing. As if this was some primal thing your body was built to do.

You had no way to tell the time, but you knew he was after you. You could feel it. Your own feet crunching on the dried pine needles and leaves drowned out any sound, and you convinced yourself he was close behind you. You hesitated, then skidded to a stop, catching yourself on the trunk of a tree.

…Silence.

You grinned to yourself. He was nowhere near you. He probably didn't even watch you closely enough to know which way you went. Your breathing slowed as you waited, listening for any sound of him in the distance, but there was nothing. Only the rustling of the trees in the breeze, and the calls of birds.

And then – all at once – you heard it. The sound of cracking branches and crunching leaves. Heavy footfalls not far in the distance. Somehow, he’d already found you. Peeking out from behind the tree, you could see the blur of his body cascading through the forest. He was moving faster than you’d expected. He looked your way. You made eye contact. And you ran.

The running felt different now – your heart thumped in your chest, and a constricting, anxious sensation gripped you, making your feet feel heavy and your limbs uncoordinated. You could practically feel him at the backs of your heels. You chose to hazard a glance over your shoulder, and he wasn't even that close, but it was too close for your comfort.

You were turned around. Confused, lost, your heart in your throat. You didn't know which way to turn, and he was getting closer. You couldn't remember where the terrain turned too steep to climb. Not until it was too late, and you found yourself facing a sheer rock wall, with him close in tow.

You tried to dodge him, evade him at the last second, but you were simply not fast enough, too dazed from the anxiety and adrenaline coursing through your veins to think clearly. He grabbed your wrist, pulled you close, and wrapped his arms around you.

“Caught you.”

You wanted to protest, tell him it wasn't fair, he was too strong, too fast, too tall. But you’d made a deal. You lost.

He started walking back the other direction, pulling you along by the wrist.

“Let go. I can walk on my own,” you grumbled, trying to yank your arm out of his grip.

“You lost. You don't get to make demands now.”

He walked through the forest as if he knew every inch of it. Before you knew it, you could see the cabin in the distance.

“Where are we going? What are you going to do?” Your voice was shaky with nerves.

“Something I should have done weeks ago. That's what I’m going to do.”

He barely made it into the cabin before he was ripping your pants off like a wild animal. You yelped in shock as he exposed your skin to the cool air, stripping your bottom half naked in a matter of seconds. It felt nice on your sweat-soaked skin. He wrangled you down to the floor, your back against the foot of the couch. His hands roaming your naked body already had you whimpering.

And then he was diving headfirst between your legs, his tongue finding every single one of your favorite spots and devouring them. You grabbed at his hair, speechless, gasping around words that wouldn't come out.

“That feel good, baby?” He purred, adding two fingers, opening you up just for him.

Your drawn-out fuck was enough of an answer for him.

He dragged himself up your body, pressing his lips to every inch of your skin, leaving kisses and bites in a trail up to your mouth. He kissed you, the sweet tang of yourself on his lips, bracing himself with one hand on the couch.

“Am I moving too fast?”

Suddenly it was your turn to call the shots? Hesitantly, you nodded.

He nipped at your ear, whispering into it in a way that made you squirm. “I got too excited. Needed to taste you.”

He ran a hand down the center of your body to where you were making a mess of your own thighs, spreading your legs apart a bit further, slowly this time, gently. He grazed a finger over your clit, making your hips jerk towards him.

“Be patient,” he commanded, resting his forehead against yours as he ran a finger through your folds.

Your mind brought you back to the first time you’d found yourself on this carpet, like this with him. Silently, you begged him not to torture you like that again. He seemed too eager to hold himself back this time.

He only hesitated for a moment before sliding a single digit inside you, moving as slowly as his shaking hands would allow. His fingers were much bigger than yours, after all. You tried to muffle your moans with the sleeve of your sweater, a little humiliated to be so desperate that only a single finger could feel so good.

He followed your responses to his movements, finding that perfect spot inside you with ease, and absolutely abusing it. You abandoned your hopes at keeping quiet, your hands instead weaving through his hair and caressing his neck. He groaned along with you, much like the way he’d copied your expressions your first time. You were practically begging for it by the time he added a second finger.

“Had enough?”

You groaned, begging him to do something.

He got the message. He shoved his pants down, not even bothering to unzip them. His shirt was next, and you stared wantonly at his pale, muscular form in front of you. There was something cute about the way his tanned arms faded into milky white skin at his biceps.

You could feel his cock pressing against your abdomen, an unmistakable feeling. Hesitantly, you looked down to where he knelt between your legs. In all honesty, you felt a bit shaken – he wasn't compensating for anything with that boastful, obnoxious demeanor of his.

He grabbed you around the waist and lowered you to the ground, not-so-gently.

“You think you're ready?”

You nodded frantically.

“Speak.” Like he was talking to a dog.

“I am!”

He sighed, sitting back on his heels. “You should know that's not good enough.”

You snapped. You needed this and you couldn't wait a second longer. “God, you're so fucking annoying, just fuck me already!”

You couldn't tell if the stunned expression on his face was mocking you, or if he genuinely couldn't believe you’d speak to him like that. He grabbed you around the waist and maneuvered you down to lay on the rug, looming over you.

“Fine, then.” He lifted your hips up against his knees. “Since you asked so nicely…”

He guided himself into you with a groan, with no regard for his own size. Too fast, too hard, and you thought for a moment you might just be ripped apart. The only sounds you could make were strangled gasps and moans, the wind knocked out of you from the sheer size of him.

It was intense in the best way. He gripped your waist, and slid you back and forth on his cock a few times, a move that left you absolutely dripping onto the rug below. You were completely and totally at his mercy, and he wanted you to know it.

“How's that? Happy now?”

You clawed at his forearms, trying to force your mouth to form anything resembling a word. “I can’t– you’re too– fuck!”

“Too what?” He settled into a rhythm, properly fucking you now. “Too big for you?”

You couldn't even manage to think of an answer to that.

He wrapped his arms around you, weaving his fingers into your hair and pulling you close as he ground his hips into you relentlessly. Searing pain blended into pleasure as his teeth sank into your shoulder. This was primal, raw, dirty. You clawed at his back, hard enough to break the skin – you’re pretty sure you did, by the way he hissed and snapped his hips forward roughly.

At first, it had been too much, far too much all at once. You wanted to push him away, tell him to get off of you. But you needed him too badly, needed every single inch of his body on yours.

Your moans grew louder as you got accustomed to his size, every sensation in your body melting together down into one of mind-breaking bliss.

He spoke in time with his thrusts. “I can't believe you got caught. Kinda felt like you wanted me to catch you.”

“You're just too fast–”

“You're better than that. Dumb bitch.”

It didn't mean anything anymore, the meanness of the words. And yet, you dug in deeper, wrapping your legs around him so tightly he could barely move.

He pulled himself up to look at you. “Too much? You need a break?”

You shook your head. Even in a situation like this, you were too defiant against him to admit any sort of defeat. You were already pissed enough that he caught you. Yet you could feel tears welling up in the corners of your eyes – it was too much, but you didn't want it to stop.

He pressed a hand on your body just above the point where he was thrusting into you. Just the right amount of pressure to make you writhe underneath him, your back arching off the carpet, quickly losing yourself in bliss.

You’d needed this for far too long. And it was evident in the way your stomach was knotting up, and you were clenching tighter around him, gasping his name while you clutched at his forearm.

“I won't stop you this time, baby.” He pressed on you a touch harder. “Go on.”

And then– you felt like you were falling, cascading into some deep pit of immeasurable ecstasy, digging your fingers into him desperately in search of some sort of grounding.

You could hear his voice through your cries of pleasure.

“Oh, god. You feel so fucking good.”

His pace faltered, and he grabbed the side of your face, planting a few kisses to your lips between his own panting moans as he followed you down, the sight and feeling of you coming undone underneath him proving too much despite his steely exterior.

You stayed locked in that position for god knows how long, wrapping your limbs around him to keep him close. You couldn't bear to let him go right now. Your body trembled, broken to pieces by him.

Your breathing slowed, and you unhooked your legs and arms from around him, the strained muscles in your thighs refusing to fully cooperate with you.

But his hands clamped down onto your legs, pulling them back around his waist. You raised your head off the ground, and he was staring at you, his chest heaving with labored breaths.

“I’m not finished.”

“But, you–”

He wiped his forehead with the back of his arm. Every little movement he made had you gasping – you were certain you couldn't handle another drop of him.

“I said, I’m not finished. You lost, now take it.”

His words had you digging your fingers into the carpet.

He kept going, groaning with each thrust, each one hard enough to push you along the carpet, his hands on your hips pulling you back to him.

“You can take a little more, right?” His voice was a low growl now.

“I– You’re…a lot,”

Your words had him digging his fingers into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“You’re so full of me, aren't you? Think you can fit a little more?”

When he talked like that, you couldn't hold on. You could feel that fire heating up inside you once again, building faster this time, and he fucked you right through it. He held you down by your shoulders as you thrashed under him, your second orgasm hitting you even harder than the first, all of your senses abandoning you.

You couldn't process anything but the feeling of bliss, fullness, and the sensation of his cum dripping out of you, running down your thighs to the rug below.

He slowed his pace, giving a few last thrusts into you before coming to a rest, half-laying on your chest. You reached a shaky hand up to run it through his hair, wiping a bead of sweat from his forehead.

“Fuck,” he breathed out.

“Yeah.”

“You okay?”

“Uh…that remains to be seen.”

He chuckled, the warm sound resonating through your body. He lifted himself up, watching as he pulled out of you, brows furrowed and jaw slack in awe.

“Don’t move.”

You laid naked on the carpet, motionless, assessing yourself. Everything hurt, and everything felt good.

He hurried back to you with a spare towel, throwing it down to you and pulling his pants back on.

“Not even gonna help with cleanup? Some man you are,” you teased.

“What, you want me to eat it out of you? There's a three course meal in there right now. I’m full, thanks.”

His words sent you into a laughing fit. Your current situation was so absurd, you had to laugh. Bo, this asshole you’d come up here with, just fucked you raw on the floor of the cabin. It was surreal.

“It wasn't that funny,” he mumbled, tossing you your pants that had ended up on the other side of the couch.

“No, but all this is.” You gestured broadly between the two of you.

He shook his head, laughing along with you. He offered his hand, helping you stand up from your position on the floor. The smile dropped from your face, and you immediately felt lightheaded, a little disoriented, leaning against him for support.

“Hey, don't pass out on me. Come on.”

He sat you down on the couch, taking a seat next to you and slipping your shirt over your head. Everything felt fuzzy. None of this could possibly be real. The best sex you’d ever had in your life, and it was with this guy? The idea made your head hurt. It didn't make sense.

You laid on your side, your head in his lap as he absentmindedly played with your hair. He wasn't that bad. Yeah, he wasn't bad at all. But it still didn't feel real at all. You’d been forced to reconcile so many things in such a short period of time that it was nauseating.

“I think I like you.” You blurted it out without a single thought. A flare of regret burned you, while a wave of relief soothed your worries.

“You do?”

“I mean…I, uh…yeah.”

“I like you too.”

“I know.”

He ran a thumb over your cheek. “How strange is this, huh?”

“I think you gave me rug burn.”

He laughed through a tight-lipped smile, running a hand over his face. “And I’m pretty sure you have enough of my DNA under your fingernails to convict me of a crime.”

“I don't think my nails are the place they’d be taking your DNA from at this point, Bo.”

That high-pitched laugh was music to your ears. It was a sound you thought you’d never hear.

He gently moved you off of him and stood up, walking over to his favorite spot in front of the window. You watched him, surveying the lines you’d left on his back. At least one of them was bleeding, a small trickle of red leaving a trail down his skin.

“Did you break the skin?” He asked, turning his head back to you.

You blinked a few times, until you realized what he was asking. “Uh…perhaps.”

“Bold of you to inflict an open wound on your project partner.”

“Shut up.” You stood on unsteady legs, heading to the kitchen to rummage around in the drawers until you found what you were searching for. The first aid kit you’d used several times since you arrived here.

“Baby, I got it.” He came over to where you stood with the red plastic box in your hands.

You cocked your head. “Yeah? How?”

“I can do it myself, you just go sit down–”

“Bo, shut up and go sit on the floor.”

He obeyed your command, which may have been the first time he’d ever done such a thing, sitting down cross legged in the center of the rug.

You patched him up as well as you could, slapping a few bandages across the spots that threatened to bleed.

“Who woulda thought, huh?” He said, filling the silence.

“What’s that mean?”

“Us.”

You didn't want to think about it. Your brain wouldn't even let you reflect on what just happened, yet the persistent tugging soreness in your abdomen prevented you from forgetting.

“Are you satisfied with what you took from me?”

He looked back at you out of the corner of his eye, that nefarious grin on his lips.

“I was hoping you’d just take, like, another pair of my panties or something. Not…that.”

He whipped around, knocking a band-aid out of your hand and onto the rug. “Wait, you're– were–”

You realized he'd misunderstood you. Was he really so naive to think you were a virgin?

“Bo, of course not, for the love of god. Turn around.” He sighed, like you’d nearly given him a heart attack. “To be fair though, that was so good, I wish you’d been my first.”

You stopped. How did this man manage to pull every word out of you that you would never normally say? “I mean–”

“Nah, you can't take that back now that you've said it. Don’t even try.”

“I will put alcohol on these cuts, don’t tempt me.”

He shook his head at you, staying still for the rest of the time while you patched him up.

“Done, I think.”

“Thanks.” He spun around, pressing a kiss to your lips before standing up. “So…now what?”

It was a silly question, but one you had to think about regardless. What now? You’d fallen in love with each other. Neither of you could hide from it or pretend it wasn't there anymore.

He drew in a breath, hesitated, then asked a second question. “How do you feel about me now?”

“Do you want an honest answer?”

He nodded once.

“I hate you. You're an asshole, a know-it-all, you sabotage my work, you make my life a living hell. But I…I think I’m in love with you.” It was like the weight of the world had been lifted off your shoulders with a few short sentences.

He grinned. “I hate you too.”

The rest of the day was a bit awkward, to say the least. You weren't sure how to move around each other. He seemed to want to touch you a lot, going out of his way when walking past you to run a hand across your hip or pull you into a kiss. As if he'd been waiting these past months to do all these little things.

He had. And, as much as it hurt to admit it, you had, too.

His demeanor softened immediately. These days, he was kind, loving, and wanted to wait on you hand and foot. It didn't feel natural at all yet, given your past. It wasn't right – you were supposed to be at each other’s throats day and night. And now, you would sit on the couch while he sat on the floor between your legs.

Although it didn't feel right yet, it felt nice to not live in agony anymore. No longer counting down the days to the first snowfall, when you’d be whisked away from this retreat. Most of your work at the cabin was done, and you only did light trail maintenance every once in a while – of course, headquarters didn't know that. As far as they knew, you were horribly behind schedule, and would need to stay as long as physically possible.

It was September now. You only had a few weeks left until it got too cold to survive out here. Most nights were near or below freezing, and you depended on the stove to keep the cabin warm. Bo’s unrelenting work chopping firewood had proved useful, now that you had what felt like an endless supply of fuel for the fire you kept burning day and night.

On the warmer days, the two of you would go sit down by the lake, watching the birds and listening for animal calls. He taught you how to skip stones, celebrating whenever you got more than three skips.

On the colder days, you would sit together on the couch in your favorite position. Your head in his lap, a book in your hands, a roaring fire in the furnace. Sometimes he’d play music on his phone – typically slow, instrumental tunes you'd never heard before. And other times, if it was too cold to work outside, and you were stuck indoors, he’d ask you to dance with him. And that’s what he was doing today.

You didn't know how. And he didn't either. But you made it work. He grabbed your hand, and wrapped an arm around your waist, and swayed you gently to the beat of the music, sometimes pushing you away to spin you in a circle. He pulled you close against his chest, his hand splayed over the small of your back.

It was almost too idyllic. Dancing in circles with him on the rug where you’d laid with him only weeks ago. The blue sunlight streaming through clouds and through the windows, illuminating the peaks of the mountains in the distance. Everything was simply perfect.

“I don't think I’ll ever get used to this,” he mumbled, his chin resting on the top of your head.

“I hope I never do,” you replied.

He kissed you on the forehead and pulled you into a hug, still swaying with the beat of the music. You gripped at the soft fabric of his sweater, pressing your cheek against him. He smelled like home. Cedar, smoke, and the unmistakable scent of the cabin. Sweet and woodsy.

“I spoke with headquarters yesterday.” He said it softly, like he didn't want to say the words.

You knew what that meant. But you wouldn't let it hit you yet. “How long?”

“One week.” He pulled you even closer. “Snow is coming early this year.”

You could feel the tears welling up in your eyes, and you didn't bother fighting them back. They would come eventually anyways.

He hesitated, feeling your shuddering breaths. “They're sending me to Estes, and you to Grand Lake.”

That was just cruel. Those two towns were on opposite sides of the park, over a road that would likely be impossible to traverse very soon.

He cupped your tear-stained face in his hands, looking you in the eyes. “Please don't cry. If you cry, then I’ll start crying, too.”

“I can't help it,” you sniffled.

“You’ll see me again.”

“But I can’t bear to be away from you all winter.”

“Sweetheart, listen to me. It’s going to be alright.

“You're gonna forget about me. You’ll find someone else out there and I’ll never see you again.”

You were making problems where there weren't any, you knew that. To anyone else, it would have looked like you were starting an argument for no reason. But he knew you better than that. He knew these were the deep-seated insecurities you would be battling with.

“You know that’s not going to happen.”

“Why not?”

“Look at what we’ve been through.” He gestured at the cabin, and out at the lake. “Look at how things have changed. Look at how hard I’ve tried to be better for you.”

You wiped the tears from your chin.

“Do you have any idea how long I prayed for this? Dreamed of this? How badly I wish I could go back in time and treat you better?” His brows were upturned in an expression of pleading.

That part caught you off guard. You weren't even sure what to say. “You…?”

“I’ve loved you since the day I laid eyes on you.” He sighed your name with a smile on his lips. “I just…I was angry at you. I hated you for making me feel something so…strongly.”

“Bo, I didn't– If I’d known, I–”

“I don't think I knew it myself until I kissed you.” He chuckled. “How sickeningly romantic.”

“Can we talk every day when you’re gone?”

“Of course.”

“Even on the days you work?”

“I’ll find time.”

“Even if you don't feel like talking?”

“Then you can talk and I'll listen.”

“What if you find someone better?”

“No one could be better than you.”

His answers felt rehearsed. As if he’d gone through every scenario in his mind, and he’d seen every future with you.

“You’re too good to me.”

“You deserve it. Now, stop.” He put a hand on the back of your head and pulled you against his chest, enveloping you in an embrace. “You’re overthinking.”

“You’re right.”

You stayed locked together for a long time. It felt natural, like there was a perfect spot for you in his arms. He was too sweet. It almost hurt, a man like him had simply dropped into your lap like this. And you regretted the time you’d both wasted hating each other at the start of this journey. But we have the rest of our lives.

You spent the rest of your final week together doing all the things you’d wished you had done in the past months. You chased each other through the woods, climbed up rock faces, danced together, played every kind of game you could think of together.

The days ticked by frustratingly fast. You’d pushed the two twin beds together so you could sleep next to each other, and most nights you fell asleep in the warmth of his arms.

You’d packed up your bags, and they sat awaiting the journey ahead next to the door of the cabin. It made you feel sick to look at them.

The final night was the worst. You spent the day down at the lake, just talking. Learning everything about each other. Nothing particularly important – things like his favorite color, his favorite time of day, his favorite food. But they were little things that you’d never had the chance to learn. And you wanted to know everything about him.

He gave you a gift that day. A little piece of wood from one of the aspen trees. He’d stripped the bark off, and had carved a small stick figure with hair into it. “That’s you!” he’d proclaimed, pointing to it, then pointing at you. On the other side, he’d carved your initials in a heart. “We can’t do that to any of the trees around here, so I made a mini version,” he told you.

You’d cried over it. Of course you had. He’d kissed you and hugged you and wiped the tears from your face. He told you over and over that it would all be okay, and you would see him again. He planned on trying to take a job somewhere in Grand Lake, so he could see you.

You both went to bed early, turning off the lights for the last time. You held each other closer than you’d ever done before, and tried not to think about your final goodbye.

The hike began early the next morning. You slung on your packs and began to walk through the morning fog, side by side this time. You didn't say much the whole journey, just enjoyed each other’s company. It was an easy hike, downhill most of the way, with not many steep areas.

It was a two-day journey, and you shared the tent that night. The tent you’d actively avoided sleeping in during the trek up. You didn't get much sleep though, using your last precious moments together to memorize every inch of each other’s bodies. He held you close the entire night, and you did the same to him, praying that you could simply leave reality and stay this way with him forever. You tried to memorize his scent, the way his voice sounded when he whispered praises in your ear, the look in his eyes from the dim glow of the lantern. Eternity wouldn't be enough time with him.

Separate cars would be coming to take you both away. You wouldn't be very far away, but it was no guarantee you would see each other once the road through the Rockies closed. It was a treacherous journey to make once the snow fell. You could still go down and around the park, but the roads were never certain and storms formed quickly. You’d be hours and hours of driving away.

As you sat at the pickup spot, you exchanged a few last words with him. You exchanged numbers and took silly photos together for your contact images. You couldn't cry anymore, your body simply wouldn't let you, and you just tried to bask in his presence for a bit longer. Until you heard the sound of a car coming down the road.

An SUV pulled up, with a driver you didn’t recognize. He called for Bo to get in the car, and told you the next car would be there for you soon, they were just a little ways down the road. You nodded, gave Bo one last hug, and he walked away. The sound of the car door closing rattled you to the core.

You couldn't find it in you to wave as the car drove him away, though he twisted around to peer at you through the back glass. It may have been a trick of the light, but you could have sworn you saw tears in his eyes. You could do nothing else but sit on the ground, your head in your hands. Somehow, your body found more tears to cry, and you watched as they dripped off your chin and soaked into the dirt.

He’d kept in touch, as promised. You’d been talking back and forth for a week now, keeping each other updated on how things were going on your side of the Rockies. Today, you sat in bed with your knees to your chin and your phone by your side, staring out the window at the falling snow.

You heard your phone buzz.

You picked it up.

A text from him.

Transferring to Grand Lake in two weeks.