He looks up.
Our eyes meet.
Something passes between us — not warmth, not anger either. Something older than both. My pulse does something inconvenient that I choose not to examine.
Recognition, maybe. The quiet acknowledgment of shared space. Of shared history. Of the fact that neither of us is a stranger here, even if we feel like strangers to each other now.
He straightens slowly, wiping his hands on his jeans. The movement is unhurried, but I catch the tension in his shoulders. The way his jaw flexes slightly before he speaks.
"Hey," he says.
It isn't unfriendly. It isn't anything.
"Hey," I reply.
The word feels thin, insufficient, but it's all I trust myself to offer.
I should move. Should head to Blaze's stall and go about my business like this is normal. Like we're just two people sharing a barn, nothing more complicated than that.
But I don't.
Instead, I stay where I am, hands curling around the halter I'm holding. The silence stretches between us—dense but not awkward. The kind that comes from history, not absence. From years of working side by side without needing to speak.
It makes my chest ache.
"We can't keep doing this," I say.
Eli's gaze sharpens slightly. "Doing what?"
"Pretending the other doesn't exist."
He doesn't look away. Doesn't soften. "I'm not pretending anything."
The words land heavier than they should. There's no anger in his voice, no edge. Just a flat statement of fact that somehow cuts deeper than if he'd yelled.
I swallow hard. "Eli—"
"You need something?" he asks, nodding toward the halter in my hands. "Or you just here to talk?"
It's not cruel. It's not even dismissive. It's just… controlled. Professional. Like he's already decided how much space to give this conversation and won't let it spill past those boundaries.
I stare at him for a beat longer, searching his face for something—anything—that looks like the person I used to know.The one who laughed with me in open fields and sat beside me in silence when words were too much.
Something hot pricks behind my eyes. I blink it back before it can become anything more.
He's still in there somewhere. I know he is.
But right now, he's locked down tight, and I don't have the key.
"I'm taking Blaze out," I say finally.
Eli nods once. "Gate's clear."
That's it. No questions. No commentary. No acknowledgment of the tension hanging between us like a held breath.
He turns back to the latch, dismissing me without another word.
I move past him toward Blaze's stall, acutely aware of every inch of space between us. Aware of the way his attention tracks me without being obvious. Aware of how careful he is not to step closer, as if proximity itself might say too much.
