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Gunpowder hits Katsuki's nose with an acrid and smoky scent. The expanse of red-orange canyon stretches out around him, silent witnesses to the events unfolding. What started as a shootout quickly became him corralling his mark against the canyon wall, the echoes of gunfire still ringing in the air. The other's gun had jammed, and given the sound of metal rattling and clanking, it isn't going to be useful anytime soon. All that stands between them now is a rock baking in the early sunlight and years of animosity.
Katsuki's voice cuts through the tense silence. "You gunna man up and come out?"
There isn't an answer, so Katsuki fires a warning shot. The bullet clips the side of the rock, sending a spray of shards upwards into the air like angry hornets. It's enough of a threat to send the mark shuffling a bit too far to the left, revealing the edge of something clad in dusty fabric from behind the rock. Katsuki's eyes narrow, his finger tightening on the trigger. He aims again, exhales slowly, and shoots. The crack of the gunshot echoes off the canyon walls as he hits his target.
"Goddamnit, Katsuki!" The voice is both heaven and hell to his ears. "You got my shoulder!"
It's followed by a hiss, a whine, and a curse so colorful it'd shock even the most hardened of outlaws. The words paint the air with a familiar shade of defiance that Katsuki remembers all too well. He gave up that life a long time ago and has since been called every name under the damn sun. He remains unfazed.
"Coulda been your head; bounty's the same dead or alive." Katsuki readies his Colt again and trains it on the rock. His voice is steady, betraying none of the turmoil beneath. "Stand up."
Nervous hands rise above the rock, fingers splayed and free of any gun. One palm is smeared red with blood from the freshly acquired wound. Cautiously, the mark gets to his feet and unfurls himself from behind the cover.
Katsuki's breath catches in his chest at the sight. It's the first time in years that he's been able to properly see him in person. He's not grainy and blurred on worn paper tacked up outside a sheriff's office, nor a fleeting glimpse of a figure running off behind a plume of gunsmoke. The man whose crumpled photograph is tucked away in Katsuki's pocket stands before him; real and looking the same as he did when they last met, save for a few lines tattling on the sands of time.
Eijirou.
Katsuki is greeted with a sheepish, toothy smile that urges his heart to skip and mourn within the confines of his chest. That smile, once a source of warmth and comfort, now feels like a knife twisting in his gut. He refuses to reveal the conflict on his face, keeping his expression blank. With a curt motion, he waves Eijirou forward with his gun.
Defeated and looking very much like a mongrel that has been booted by a horse, Eijirou complies and rounds the rock with his hands still at the sides of his head. Each step he takes is slow and deliberate, so as not to set off the weapon aimed at his skull.
"Hear you've been huntin' us down," Eijirou says with forced cheerfulness, his voice carrying a hint of the easy charm that once captivated Katsuki. "Kinda sweet that you came all this way for little ol' me."
Katsuki's jaw tightens, unmoved by the attempt at levity. "Drop your weapons. Use your left hand."
Eijirou's smile falls. Wincing from the wound on his shoulder, he lowers a hand and fumbles with the jammed gun he had tucked up against him and the knife holstered to his hip. The items create small clouds of dust as he tosses them to the ground at Katsuki's feet, where they are promptly kicked away by his boot-clad foot.
"Careful! That knife's a family heirloom!" Eijirou protests, a hint of his old playfulness seeping through.
Now that's a lie. Katsuki's never seen that knife before. "No, it ain't."
Eijirou's mouth twists in frustration, caught in his bluff. His gaze darts around, searching for an escape that doesn't exist. "Can I at least pack up my stuff before you haul me off?" He nods his head towards where the shootout started just minutes ago.
There's a canvas lean-to nestled against the canyon's wall, a threadbare blanket visible inside, and a small fire still burning. Whatever scraps Eijirou had on the flame for a sorry excuse of a breakfast are now charred beyond recognition.
Katsuki turns his attention to the satchel at his side, the leather worn and cracked from years of use. He flips it open and produces a length of coarse rope. "You're not goin' to need anythin' when we hit town." He fixes Eijirou with a stern look, daring him to move, and holsters his gun with practiced ease. "We can get this over with or you can try and run and see where the next bullet hits. S'your choice."
Without much of a choice at all, Eijirou drops his arms heavily to his sides and lets his shoulders sag. He lifts his hands and presses his wrists together, holding them out to Katsuki in a gesture of surrender. Katsuki closes the space between them in a few short steps and weaves the rope around and between Eijirou's wrists, securing the bind tightly with a knot. He ignores the muted protest about the rope biting into skin, his movements efficient and impersonal. Enough length is left over as a lead to tug Eijirou along, which Katsuki does none too gently. Eijirou stumbles as they start to move, surprised by the abrupt pull on his wrists, and barely has enough time to stop himself from falling entirely.
"How far's town?" he asks Katsuki's back once he regains his balance, his voice tinged with a mix of curiosity and dread.
"Two days."
Eijirou groans. An involuntary smirk pulls at Katsuki's lips.
"We're gunna walk for two days? "
The smirk is much more voluntary now as Katsuki's eyes shift upwards to the lip of the canyon, where the sky meets the jagged rock in a harsh line. "My horse is up on the ridge. I'm not walkin' anywhere."
The next groan goes on longer than the last and the slack of rope lessens as Eijirou deliberately drags his feet.
"Nice to see nothin' changed with you," he grumbles. "Still an ass."
✸ ✸ ✸
The relentless sun hangs low on the horizon and Katsuki squints against the glare, his eyes scanning the endless expanse before them. The day's heat still radiates from the parched earth, promising little respite even as evening approaches.
"Sun's gunna set," Eijirou observes, his voice rough from hours of dust and thirst.
As he speaks, Eijirou slows his pace with purpose, every step heavy and stubborn, a subtle act of defiance. He's been moving at this god-awful pace for the better part of the day, and every scrape and scuff of his boots against the dry earth drives another barb of annoyance under Katsuki's skin. The sound grates on Katsuki's nerves, a constant reminder of the man he's hauling to justice—the man who once meant everything to him.
Hours ago, maybe due to heat-induced delirium, Katsuki had entertained the idea of allowing Eijirou to hop on the horse behind him if only to stop the incessant whining and shuffling. But the moment he imagined their proximity—Eijirou's hands curled around his waist, his chest pressed to his back—Katsuki abandoned the idea. Keeping the lingering feelings at a simmer is hard enough; he doesn't need a physical reminder of what they once were. Eijirou stays tethered to the saddle by the rope around his wrists.
"That's what the sun does."
“Are we going to stop, then?” Katsuki doesn’t answer and Eijirou takes it as a sign to continue. “Because it’ll be night soon and no one likes to set up camp in the dark. You can’t see nothin’ and then you have to somehow watch out for critters. Spiders, scorpions… They’re crawlin’ all over th–”
"I’ve camped out before," Katsuki cuts in. "We've camped out before, for Christ's sake. I don't need you tellin' me how to do it."
"Okay, but also my feet are killin' me and I don't think I'll be able to walk much longer."
"Then I drag you."
"Also, I ain't gunna be no good to you if this wound goes bad and starts rottin'."
Katsuki closes his eyes and searches for patience, the internal struggle evident in the tightness of his shoulders and the white-knuckled grip on the reins. He lets out a long, deep exhale, and when he opens his eyes again, all he finds staring back is an endless horizon taunting him with the distance yet to cover. "Dead or alive, Eijirou," he says, his voice low and strained. "The poster said dead or alive."
"My corpse will start to stink. Remember when we had to lop off Denki's finger because the idiot went and got an infection? I'll smell like that. The whole way. Do you really wanna be stuck with that?"
“I’d rather not be stuck with you at all.” The memory is still embedded in Katsuki’s nasal passages, but it pulls at something in his chest. A fond nostalgia maybe; a memory they both share from when times were good. Katsuki clears his throat and shoves that oddly sentimental feeling down. “‘Sides, you’re not gunna die– ”
Before Katsuki can finish, Eijirou plants his feet and wraps what little rope he can around his fists. He tugs—not hard enough to startle the horse, but enough that it snorts in protest and veers slightly. Katsuki pulls back on the reins to ease the horse to a stop, then twists in the saddle to glare down at Eijirou. Vexed and venomous words are poised on his tongue, ready to lash out, but they die in his throat when he meets Eijirou's eyes.
"Katsuki," Eijirou says, and the hairs on the back of Katsuki's neck stand to attention, goosebumps flooding his skin. Eijirou's tone is somber, stripped of all pretense, nothing like the complaintive cadence from moments before. "They're gunna hang me."
Katsuki's jaw flexes as he attempts to feign indifference. "That's the plan."
"And you're gunna let 'em." The words hang heavily over them. Katsuki can’t deny it. He’s practically leading Eijirou right to the gallows. He may as well be tying the noose. The realization sits like a stone in his stomach, cold and heavy.
Eijirou's next words are quiet, almost pleading. "So, can we please just stop for the night?"
Their gazes remain locked, a silent battle of wills. Katsuki searches Eijirou's face for any signs of deception, but all he sees is bone-deep exhaustion and a flicker of something that might be fear—or worse, acceptance. The sight chips away at Katsuki's resolve, stirring up emotions he's tried so hard to bury.
Finally, Katsuki allows the tension to fall from his shoulders, slumping slightly as he cranes his neck to check their surroundings. The sun is setting in earnest now, painting the world in deepening shades of copper and gold. Long, dramatic shadows from the rocks and cacti stretch across the ground like grasping fingers. Begrudgingly, Katsuki has to admit that Eijirou is right. Setting up camp in the dark is a pain in the ass.
A towering butte stands not too far off, offering at least some shelter should the weather shift. It's as good a place as any to make camp, and Katsuki knows it.
He returns his attention to Eijirou, noting the way the fading light softens the lines of his face, making him look achingly familiar. Katsuki nods in the direction of the sandstone pillar, his voice gruff as he speaks. "I ain't playin' no games," he warns.
A ghost of a smile flickers across Eijirou's face. "I can't get far without the supplies you made me abandon," he quips back, a hint of their old banter creeping in. But when Katsuki glares again, Eijirou's expression sobers. He shakes his head as if to shirk off the momentary lapse into familiarity and sighs. "I'm just tired, Katsuki. That's all."
"Fine," Katsuki grunts, the word coming out more like a surrender than he'd like. "Stop draggin' your feet and we'll get there by nightfall."
As they change course towards the butte, the tension between them shifts. It's still there, a tangible thing, but it's tempered now by mutual exhaustion and the unspoken acknowledgment of the journey ahead—not just the physical distance to be covered, but the emotional chasm they're also navigating.
The desert around them grows quieter as the day fades, the only sounds the steady clip-clop of the horse's hooves and the scrape of Eijirou's boots on the hardpacked earth. As they walk, Katsuki can't help but steal glances at his captive, each look a battle between the man he once knew and the outlaw he's sworn to bring in.
For his part, Eijirou moves with a newfound purpose, his steps more deliberate now that a rest is in sight. But there's a slump to his shoulders that speaks of more than just physical weariness. It's the posture of a man walking towards an ending, and despite everything, Katsuki feels a pang in his chest at the sight.
By the time they reach the base of the butte, Katsuki's ready to claw himself out of his own skin just to rid himself of thoughts and emotions. He gestures toward a small, rocky outcrop offering a semblance of shelter, and assigns Eijirou the more burdensome task of gathering kindling.
He expected a barrage of complaints given his bound hands, but to his surprise, Eijirou works diligently, only occasionally muttering about splinters or startling at a wayward lizard. This unexpected compliance stirs something in Katsuki, a bittersweet ache he's long tried to ignore. The urge to claw builds.
As Eijirou returns with armfuls of desert brooms and rattleweed, Katsuki finds himself swept up in a tide of memories. He recalls countless nights under star-studded skies, the two of them working in perfect sync to set up camp. Back then, Eijirou's laughter would echo across the desert, his eyes gleaming with mischief as he'd try to distract Katsuki from his tasks. They'd bicker and tease, hearts still pounding from gunfights or narrow escapes. He recalls the sharp burn of stolen whiskey, the electric rush of Eijirou’s presence.
Katsuki's hands move automatically, arranging the kindling Eijirou brings. Each twig feels like a fragment of their shared past—a stolen kiss behind a saloon, a whispered promise under a harvest moon, the warmth of Eijirou's hand in his as they planned their future. He piles these memories into the fire pit, a part of him wishing he could burn away the pain they now bring.
Striking a match, Katsuki watches the small flame flicker to life. As he touches it to the kindling, the fire spreads quickly, crackling and popping as it devours the dry brush. The blaze grows, intense and all-consuming, and Katsuki stares into the flames, willing them to incinerate the lingering tendrils of affection that still wrap around his heart.
But as the wood blackens and crumbles, Katsuki realizes the futility of his efforts. These memories, these feelings, they're a part of him now. They've shaped him, scarred him, made him who he is. Try as he might to burn them away, they cling stubbornly, refusing to be forgotten.
The fire roars before him, but it's the warmth of Eijirou's presence at his side that Katsuki feels most keenly. He doesn't turn around, doesn't acknowledge it, but he can't deny the way his body instinctively relaxes, falling into old patterns despite the years and hurt between them.
By now, all that remains of sunlight is a hint of pink on the horizon. The sky has plummeted to an inky black freckled with glittering stars. Smoke dances upwards in a grey plume, and the orange sparks lick at the sky, melding with the specks of white. It's quiet in the desert. Coyotes yip and bugs sing an evening song, but it's quiet. Eijirou doesn't speak. Katsuki doesn't either. The air is heavy and aching, longing and mournful, and it sits in Katsuki's chest like a weight.
Eijirou huffs out a laugh, and it jars Katsuki from his thoughts.
"What?"
Eijirou purses his lips in an attempt to hide his smile and shrugs. "Nothin'."
"Bullshit nothin'. What?"
Eijirou doesn't hide his grin this time, and there's a mischievous glint in his eyes highlighted by the firelight. "You remind me of a cactus. I can't believe I've never noticed it before."
Katsuki bristles at the comment, a scowl forming on his face. He sneers and then scoffs when Eijirou laughs again.
"No, no! Listen!" Eijirou insists, his voice taking on that familiar, teasing tone that used to make Katsuki's heart skip. "You're all mean and dangerous. People can't get too close to you because you're, y'know, prickly like that. Like a cactus."
"Christ, you're stupid," Katsuki mutters, but there's less bite in his words than he'd like.
"But we both know that's just you bein' defensive and protectin' yourself. And sometimes you can be real pretty," Eijirou says this without skipping a beat and without changing his tone—it nearly makes Katsuki choke. "Anyway, I noticed 'cause your hair goes all orange when you're near a fire. Like a cactus flower."
Eijirou stretches until his back pops and he sags back down with a sigh like he's having a perfectly normal conversation under perfectly normal circumstances. Like Katsuki isn't gawking at him with cheeks burning hot. Eijirou shrugs again and gives a lopsided smile. "Prickly as a cactus and as pretty as its flower."
Katsuki can't respond. His blood turns cold and sluggish in his veins. The words are conflicting. They sound like words that would've been said years ago under the same firelight. Words that would've been said in the presence of the promise of tomorrow and beyond. They're taunting now. Tomorrow will come, and then there will be nothing.
Katsuki swallows around the lump in his throat. "Maybe you are getting an infection," he says dismissively, and Eijirou hums in agreement. Katsuki drags his satchel closer and waves his hand in Eijirou's direction as he digs. "I'll clean it. Let me see the rope."
"Ooh," Eijirou says teasingly but holds out his hands. "I'm not a threat anymore?"
Katsuki snorts and works on the knotting around Eijirou's wrists. "You never were."
"Not scared I'll stab you in the back?"
Katsuki speaks before thinking, the words tumbling out raw and honest. "You already did." His fingers freeze on the rope, lingering on the frayed ends. The tendons in Eijirou's arms tense. They're both caught off guard, and a chill creeps into the air despite the campfire. Katsuki blinks, sucks in a breath, and unravels the rope. "Show me your shoulder."
Without a word, Eijirou shrugs off his vest and works at the buttons on his shirt. As more and more skin is revealed, Katsuki is confronted by new scars. They blend with the ones he knows the history of, and it's a painful reminder of their separate lives. His attention moves to Eijirou's shoulder once it's revealed, the skin there inflamed and tinged with dried blood, but non-life-threatening.
Katsuki removes a cloth from his bag and saturates it with water from his canteen. "Don't look bad."
"Feels bad," Eijirou counters.
Katsuki wipes away some of the blood and when he can see the wound properly, he lets out a short laugh. “It’s just a graze.”
Eijirou turns to look at the wound himself, cutting off an indignant protest as he sees it. "Hurts way more than 'just a graze'!"
"Then you've gotten soft since I last saw you."
Katsuki cleans the shoulder without too much fuss. Eijirou hisses at the sting of alcohol, and Katsuki, with proper bedside manner, shakes his head in disappointment. He applies the bandages with a lighter touch, though he'd never admit it. Eijirou's skin is warm against his fingertips, and Katsuki's nerves ignite at the familiarity. New scars or not, it feels as if no time has passed at all.
"I didn't stab you in the back, by the way." Eijirou gives no warning when he speaks, the words spilling out like he’s been holding them back, and it's like alcohol on an open sore. It stings, and Katsuki's certain there's not enough gauze to staunch a wound this big.
Katsuki secures the bandage and wipes his hands on his jeans. "We're not doing this," he states, busying himself with the bag.
"I want you to know what happened–"
"I was in a cell in Fort James, and you left me. There's not much else to say."
"I was comin' back for y–"
Katsuki grinds his teeth together and interrupts. "But you didn't. None of y'all did."
"You were safer–"
"Oh, fuck you!" Now he looks up. Now he meets Eijirou's eyes. There is no other way to spin the story, and Katsuki has been forced to recite it every damn day. He knows it inside and out, and no matter what Eijirou has to say, it won't change the ending.
"Stop cuttin' me off!" Eijirou's voice rises, frustration evident in every line of his body. "That heist was a damn death wish, and I didn't want you anywhere near it!"
"I didn't want us anywhere near it!" Katsuki snaps back, years of pent-up anger and hurt pouring out. "I wanted us to get the hell away from them and that shit life!"
Eijirou drops his head back in frustration. "We didn't have money to get out! I was supposed to get my cut, get you, and get as far east as we could go. That was the plan. Leaving you was never part of it." Eijirou's shoulders sag after a moment, and he turns his gaze to the fire and then to the ground. He won't look at Katsuki anymore, and all that does is scream guilty, guilty, guilty. "You were right about the heist. We left with no money and two people shorter."
"Three," Katsuki corrects, his voice barely above a whisper. "Three people shorter."
Eijirou's face twists painfully, but he nods. He agrees. "I didn't know how to come back to you after that and, when I did, you were already gone."
"I wasn't gunna wait for you."
"I know, and I'm sorry, but I need you to know that I came back." At this, Eijirou looks back at Katsuki's face, and something about the way he says it makes Katsuki's heart stumble. "So don't for one goddamn second think I planned on leaving you or that I wanted to leave you."
Katsuki feels his jaw tighten, his teeth grinding as Eijirou’s words batter against the walls he’s worked so hard to keep up. He can’t listen to this—doesn’t want to listen. Not when it’s cracking him wide open.
"You need to stop talking. Right now." Katsuki's voice is strained, caught between anger and something dangerously close to hope.
"I mean it, Katsuki. You were—are—everything to me."
“Shut up,” Katsuki growls, but it’s more plea than command. Eijirou doesn’t stop—his voice steady, soft, and far too sincere. Katsuki’s heart hammers against his ribs, his breath coming shallow and uneven. His body moves before his mind can catch up, and before he knows it, his hands are on Eijirou, dragging him closer.
Katsuki doesn’t know why, but he wants—no, needs—Eijirou to stop talking. In a flurry of panicked movements, Katsuki grabs Eijirou’s face and slams their lips together to shut him up.
It hurts. His lip splits on impact, and he can taste blood, but, fuck, suddenly he can breathe.
"Shut up," he rasps against Eijirou's lips again. "I hate you so fuckin' much."
Eijirou's hands settle on his waist, like they belong there, heavy and warm. "I know you do, darlin'," he whispers and kisses Katsuki again.
They kiss slowly at first, as if dawn isn't fast approaching, as if they have all the time in the world. Katsuki blindly cups the back of Eijirou's neck to tug him closer, and Eijirou's hands shift over his body as steadily as the movement of their mouths. It steals Katsuki's breath all over again, and he's left fumbling through a broken dam of emotions. He can no longer pretend Eijirou's absence didn't leave a scar on his heart, and he isn't sure he even wants to as he's leaned back against the bedroll.
The kiss deepens, years of longing and regret pouring into every touch. Eijirou maps the contours of Katsuki's body with rough, calloused hands, relearning every plane and curve. He rucks up Katsuki's shirt to trace the heated skin of his stomach and fights with the buckle of his belt, all while keeping his lips attached to Katsuki in one way or another. He kisses his mouth, his cheeks, his jaw, his neck; an onslaught of affection built up over the years.
Katsuki returns each gesture in kind, spurring Eijirou on with grabbing hands and muttered words of affirmation. His fingers tangle in Eijirou's hair, pulling him closer, desperate to erase the years between them. It's frantic, it's clumsy, and nowhere near romantic, but Katsuki finds himself letting out desperate little sounds into the night air with every press of Eijirou's body and every shift of his hands.
Katsuki fixes his eyes on the sky, on the stars and sparks, and gasps around the teeth nipping at his collarbone. The weight of tomorrow presses down on him, and he knows he should stop this, end it before it goes too far. But the warmth of Eijirou's body against his own, the familiar scent of him mixed with desert dust, makes it impossible to pull away.
"You need to leave," Katsuki whispers, even as his body arches into Eijirou's touch. A star shoots across the sky, and Katsuki snaps his eyes shut, dragging in a rough breath as he rolls his hips.
"M'not gunna leave you," Eijirou grits out. "Not again. Never again."
Katsuki knows he won't. He wishes he would.
✸ ✸ ✸
They don’t talk much the next morning. Eijirou lingers by the dying embers of their campfire while Katsuki saddles the horse, his movements terse and efficient. The quiet isn’t unusual, but it feels sharper, heavier. It clings to the chill of the desert morning as they ride out.
Katsuki lets Eijirou sit behind him on the horse, the weight of the other man a suffocating presence against his back. It isn’t like the night before when they shared touches under the cloak of darkness. Now, every shift, every breath feels like a reminder of what Katsuki has to do. The reins burn against his hands as he grips them tighter.
It's late afternoon when the welcome sign comes into view, weathered and leaning. A dead tree sits nearby, its gnarled branches casting shadows across the sign's faded paint like skeletal fingers. It feels like a warning.
Katsuki rolls his shoulders to jostle Eijirou awake. “We’re here.”
Eijirou stirs with a groggy sigh and lifts his head from Katsuki’s back. “God, I hope I’m worth somethin' decent. Awful embarrassing if it’s a couple’a cents.”
Katsuki snorts. “You're worth more than that.”
Eijirou pulls back, leaving Katsuki cold, and swings his leg over the horse with practiced ease, boots crunching against the dirt as he lands. He adjusts his shirt, dusty and rumpled from the ride, and stretches until his shoulders pop. Turning back to Katsuki, he holds out his hands with his wrists upturned.
“Well,” he says lightly, though his voice carries a faint tremor, “guess this bounty got his dyin’ wish. I suppose I won’t have to kick up much of a fuss when the noose comes out.”
The words make Katsuki’s stomach twist. He’s staring at a man—a man he still loves—who has accepted his fate. A fate Katsuki is personally delivering. He feels sick.
Eijirou notices his hesitation, a flicker of confusion crossing his face, but Katsuki forces himself to move. He dismounts and busies himself with the satchel strapped to the saddle. He freezes once he feels the rough fibers of the rope graze his fingers and recalls the reddened marks still embedded into Eijirou's wrists. Katsuki’s mind flashes to the noose—how it’ll bite into that same tender skin, leaving bruises that’ll outlast him. He imagines the image, love bites and bruises tangled together in a grotesque mockery of intimacy. The thought sends a jolt of nausea through him.
Eijirou starts to speak, but Katsuki shoves the satchel into his chest before he can get the words out.
“South,” Katsuki says, pointing toward the open desert. His voice is steady, though his heart pounds in his chest. “Another day or so. There’s a town you hopefully haven’t pissed off yet.”
“Kats–"
“Shut up before you say something stupid.” Katsuki swallows the lump in his throat and squares his shoulders, trying to look more sure than he feels. “There’s water in there, rations, and some money. Don’t act like a glutton, and you’ll make it fine. And if I see your dumbass on another poster, I’ll be huntin’ you down.”
The bewildered expression on Eijirou’s face slowly melts. One of those giant, toothy smiles that still manages to make Katsuki’s heart swoon appears and he nods his head.
“I wouldn’t have it any other way.” Eijirou pulls Katsuki in for a kiss that’s light, fleeting, and sickeningly sweet, and then whispers, “Thank you, darlin’.”
Katsuki takes a breath to calm his racing heart and savours how close they are. He shoves Eijirou back and glares with no real heat. “Go, asshole.”
He watches as Eijirou leaves, taking time to burn the image of Eijirou’s smile into his memory. He doesn’t know when or if he will see him again, but, while the notion makes his heart ache, there’s a sort of peace that comes with it. Katsuki knows Eijirou is alive. He knows he steered him away from the gallows. He knows he came back for him.
✸ ✸ ✸
It’s a few months later when Katsuki finds the poster nailed to the board outside the sheriff’s office. The wood is splintered and sun-bleached, littered with other bounties—some torn, others forgotten. This one is fresh, the ink still sharp and bold against the paper, the edges curling faintly in the dry heat. Katsuki tilts his head as he studies it, his eyes narrowing on the familiar details etched in black.
There’s no photograph this time, just an artist’s attempt to capture something untamable. But Katsuki recognizes those eyes anywhere.
“What’d you do this time, idiot?” he mumbles to himself, a fond smile tugging at his lips.
The bounty is higher than before—a lot higher. Katsuki whistles low, a sound lost in the hum of the town around him. He tears the poster free with a practiced hand and scans it once more, his heart kicking up despite himself. Satisfied, he folds the paper with care and tucks it securely into his saddlebag.
With one boot in the stirrup, Katsuki swings himself onto the saddle in one fluid motion. He adjusts his hat to shield his eyes from the midday glare and clicks his tongue, urging the horse forward.
He’s going to find his bounty.
