The tavern was alive with noise—laughter, the clatter of mugs, the hum of a minstrel’s tune in the corner—but Wyatt barely noticed. His world had narrowed to the amber liquid in his glass and the ache in his chest that no amount of ale seemed to dull.
He leaned heavily against the bar, his hat tipped low over his face, casting shadows that hid the storm brewing behind his tired eyes. The bartender slid another drink his way without a word; this wasn’t the first time Wyatt had nursed his regrets here, and it wouldn’t be the last.
He picked up the glass, swirling the contents absently as he stared into it like the answer to all his troubles might be hiding in the bottom. His voice, low and rough like the scrape of boots on gravel, broke through the din around him.
Funny thing about a man’s shadow... follows you everywhere, don’t it? No matter how fast you run or how deep you dig yourself in, there it is. Just... starin’ back.
He took a long sip, the burn in his throat a poor substitute for the fire in his chest. Wyatt shook his head, a humorless chuckle slipping past his lips.
Spent years thinkin’ I was somethin’. Tough guy with a gun, no ties, no cares. Thought the past couldn’t touch me, but turns out it ain’t so easy to outrun the devil when you’ve been ridin’ shotgun with him.
The bartender raised an eyebrow, but Wyatt waved him off before draining his glass. He set it down with a heavy thunk, gesturing for another. As the barkeep refilled his drink, Wyatt muttered to himself, his words half-slurred and coated in bitterness.
Now she’s back. Bright-eyed, like the world ain’t gone and chewed her up like the rest of us. Always was better than me... still is. And me? I’m just a man tryin’ to drown the fact that I ain’t even close to good enough.
He tipped his hat back slightly, just enough to let the light catch the smirk tugging at his lips—a crooked, self-deprecating thing. Wyatt raised his glass in a mock toast, his voice a little louder now, though the melancholy never left.
To shadows, devils, and women who deserve better. Cheers.
He drank deeply, setting the glass down again and letting his head hang low. For all the bravado and wit Wyatt carried in spades, it was clear he was a man unraveling, one drink at a time. The noise of the tavern carried on, indifferent to his spiral, leaving him to wrestle with his ghosts in the haze of ale and dim lantern light.
Rosalie had been asleep when a knock had woken her in the middle of the night. It was Tim, one of the young men that volunteered in the clinic since he had practice with cures and bandages. Tim also knew Wyatt since as they had agreed, he brought her elfroot which she traded for chocolate cake.
“Miss..Rosalie” Tim said, stopping himself mid sentence, remembering that Rosalie hated to be addressed formally “I think that maybe you should bring Wyatt to his home. He’s drunk and babbling and looks a bit miserable, perhaps he’d feel better after resting and not drinking?” Tim was polite enough to not share his speech which Rosie. The blonde nodded, dressing quite fast and hoping that Lucien would be fine the half an hour that would take to bring him home.
She rushed towards the bar, mainly because she had a baby at home. Once she entered she looked around, spotting immediately her friend. “It’s time to go home Wyatt” she said sweetly as she put a hand on the one that he was about to lift for another drink. “You had enough for tonight” she said, looking also at the bartender, sending a clear message of not pouring him more.
Wyatt’s glass froze midway to his lips at the sound of Rosalie’s voice. His amber eyes lifted slowly, the weight of her presence pulling him out of his spiral. For a moment, he just stared at her, his expression a mix of surprise and shame that he couldn’t quite mask.
Rosie, he drawled, his voice carrying a lazy warmth despite the haze of alcohol. Didn’t think I was makin’ enough noise to summon an angel tonight.
He set the glass down, letting her hand rest over his. The gesture was grounding in a way that made him feel more exposed than he liked. With a faint smirk, he tipped his hat back further, giving her a better look at his flushed cheeks and tired eyes.
Guessin’ Tim sent you. That boy’s got too big a heart for his own good.
The humor in his tone couldn’t mask the edge of vulnerability underneath. He knew he looked like a mess—because he was one—and Rosalie didn’t deserve to be dragged into it. But here she was, like always, trying to pull him out of the quicksand he kept sinking into.
Wyatt sighed, leaning back against the bar with a lazy shrug.
Alright, darlin’, you win. Can’t say no to you, even if I tried.
He turned to the bartender, lifting a hand in mock surrender.
Looks like my tab’s closed for the night. She’s got me wrangled.
The bartender snorted but nodded, and Wyatt slid off the stool, stumbling slightly before catching his balance. He looked at Rosalie, his crooked smirk returning, but there was a softness in his eyes now—a quiet gratitude he didn’t know how to put into words.
Hope you know you’re wastin’ your time on me, Rosie, he said as they made their way to the door. But... thanks. For whatever it’s worth.
His words were quiet, nearly swallowed by the noise of the tavern as they stepped into the cool night air.
Rosalie shook her head as she heard her old friend talk “I think that you have really drank too much if you consider me an angel with the way that I look tonight” she hated to see him like this, she thought that he deserved better than to be sad and miserable while wallowing in alcohol.
“Tim made the right call, no offense but you don’t look at your best right now Wyatt” she said frowning a little, worry clear in her expression as she looked at him. She waited patiently as he spoke with the bartender and she rose her finger at him “Thomas, next time you call me instead of letting him drink this much” she knew that he wouldn’t do it, but apparently she was turning into her own mother who believed that she could get away with saying stuff like this.
“Well I don’t consider it a waste of time, but if it is then there’s nothing else I’d rather spend my time in” she said with a small shrug as they headed towards the exit.
“It’s freezing” she said under her breath “You will bunk with me tonight alright? The living room is too cold for tonight and tomorrow morning we will have breakfast and talk about what’s going on alright?” she said as she headed them towards home.
Wyatt chuckled softly, though there was no real mirth in it. His breath fogged the cold night air as he glanced at Rosalie, her worry cutting through the lingering haze of alcohol.
You always were stubborn, Rosie. Guess some things never change, he said, his drawl carrying a faint rasp. He tugged his coat tighter around himself, his steps uneven but steady enough as they made their way down the quiet street.
Her offer—or command, really—made him smirk faintly, though the warmth in her words stirred something deep in him that he wasn’t ready to confront.
You’re somethin’ else, you know that? Draggin’ my sorry hide outta that place, freezin’ your own tail off to make sure I don’t fall apart completely. Not many would bother, Wyatt said, his voice quieter now, his tone tinged with a raw honesty he rarely let anyone hear.
He glanced at her again, noting the determination in her expression, the set of her jaw. The familiar sight of it made his chest tighten, a bittersweet reminder of the kind of woman she’d always been—too good for him, by any measure.
Alright, you win again. I’ll take the couch... but only if you promise not to burn breakfast in the mornin’. His teasing tone returned briefly, masking the guilt and gratitude that churned beneath the surface.
They walked in silence for a moment, the crunch of snow under their boots the only sound between them. Wyatt shoved his hands into his coat pockets, his head bowed against the chill. Finally, he spoke again, his voice softer, almost hesitant.
Rosie... I don’t deserve this. Don’t deserve you. But... thanks. For draggin’ me outta that place. For givin’ a damn when I don’t.
His words trailed off into the cold night, the vulnerability in them hanging in the air as they made their way toward the warmth of her home.
“I am, remember that when we were kids I chased you for like two hours so that you would return me my favourite book while pouting through the entire ordeal” she said with a smile as she rubbed his back comfortingly “And I managed to get it back, so I have learned that kind perseverance is the key” she said with a chuckle “That said someday you will have to tell my why you took so much enjoyment of making me mad when we were kids”
“Well I am bothering, if you want to make me a favor drink more moderately because I will do this again and again until it’s necessary” she said a bit more sternly “I am not banning you from alcohol, maker knows I am not your mother but you need to consume it in moderate amounts”
“Excuse you, I take offense on that I am a good cook and even better baker” she said putting up her chin in playful defiance. With Wyatt she felt lighthearted, perhaps because he reminded her of her childhood.
“I will always care” she said simply “I don’t know how not to”. The wind howled and the snowflakes adhered to her cheeks as they made the way to her home, the warmth a contrast to the freezing outdoors “I have a question Wyatt, don’t you have anybody from…your previous endeavors?” someone to care for him: family, friends or even lovers, even a twitch of unexpected envy stirred on her gut at the last thought. She was too tired to dwell or analyze it.
Wyatt let out a low chuckle, shaking his head at the memory.
Hell, I remember that. Thought I was real clever back then, keepin’ that book just outta reach. Didn’t count on you bein’ more stubborn than a mule in a rainstorm.
He smirked, but the warmth in his expression softened it, a rare thing that only Rosalie ever seemed to bring out in him.
Why’d I do it? Guess I just liked seein’ that fire in you. Still do.
Her next words, though, sobered him some. He ran a hand through his hair, shaking off a few stray snowflakes as he listened to her talk about moderation. The concern in her voice settled deep in his chest, somewhere between guilt and gratitude.
You sure you ain’t my mother? ‘Cause that sure sounded like somethin’ mine would say... back when she still had words for me.
His tone was teasing, but there was an edge there, something rougher beneath the surface. He waved a hand, brushing it off before the conversation could dig too deep.
Alright, alright. I’ll try not to drink myself stupid so often. No promises, but... I’ll try.
At her indignation over his breakfast comment, he chuckled again, a little more genuine this time.
Best baker, huh? Guess I’ll be the judge of that in the mornin’.
But it was her next words that really stopped him short.
I will always care. I don’t know how not to.
Something about the way she said it—so simple, so certain—made his throat feel tight. He swallowed, eyes trained on the snowy path ahead, letting the cold bite at his skin as if it could pull him back from whatever emotion was threatening to take hold.
Then she asked the question. The one that settled into his chest like a weight.
Wyatt let out a slow breath, watching it curl into the night air before he finally answered.
Ain’t much left of my past worth holdin’ on to, Rosie.
He shifted, rolling his shoulders like he could shrug off the heaviness in his voice.
Had a family once. Ain’t seen ‘em in years. Don’t reckon they’d be all too pleased to see me now, either.
His fingers curled into fists inside his coat pockets.
Friends? Yeah, I had those too. Most of ‘em are dead. The rest... well, let’s just say we ain’t on writin’ terms.
He hesitated for a second before answering the last unspoken part of her question, a wry smirk tugging at his lips, though there wasn’t much humor in it.
Lovers? Now that’s a different story. Had a few, sure. Some I walked away from. Some walked away from me. Guess I ain’t exactly the keepin’ kind.
His smirk faded, replaced by something more unreadable. He glanced at her then, his amber eyes searching hers, as if trying to figure out why she’d even ask.
Why? You think I got someone out there losin’ sleep over me?
The teasing lilt was there, but there was something else underneath it—something quieter, something unsure.
