By Linc

Owen dropped him at the end of the drive a little after lunch, where the gravel met the county road and the fields stretched out like they had all the time in the world.

Jack swung his duffel down from the passenger seat and set it at his feet. The wind had teeth today, not biting hard yet, but sharp enough to remind him the season was turning.

“Thanks,” Jack said.

Owen nodded, hands still on the wheel. He started to speak, stopped, then offered, “Text me when you’re settled.”

Jack gave him a small smile. “Yeah. I will.”

Owen’s truck rolled away, tires crunching until the sound thinned into the wider quiet. Jack watched the taillights until they disappeared behind a rise.

Then he turned and started walking.

The farm came into view piece by piece as he approached. It met him where it always had.

Ethan was by the shed, sleeves rolled to his forearms, sorting a stack of clipped paperwork with the kind of focus that made it look like a physical task. A clipboard. A pencil. A logbook opened flat against the tailgate.

Jack crossed the yard. His boots sounded too loud on the gravel.

Ethan looked up briefly, then went back to his notes.

“You good?” he asked.

Jack nodded. “Yeah.”

They fell into the afternoon without ceremony, work passing between them in practiced rhythm. Tools changed hands. Numbers got logged. Equipment settled into its places for winter.

Jack noticed the difference not in what Ethan said, but in what he didn’t need to ask.

By the time Ethan tucked the papers under his arm, the work was done and the farm felt ready to hold itself.

Jack found himself watching Ethan without realizing it. He wanted to understand him in a different way than he had before.

When the clipboard finally got tucked under Ethan’s arm, Jack cleared his throat.

“I realized something,” Jack said.

Ethan waited. He did not fill the space.

Jack stared at the tire tread for a second, then forced himself to keep going. “The belt was doing its job. At first. It got me focused.”

Ethan gave a small sound that could have been agreement.

“And then,” Jack continued, “somewhere along the line it turned into… another thing I chased. Like I found a new way to spin my wheels.”

Ethan’s gaze stayed on Jack’s face. It was not judging. It was measuring. Like he was checking the fence line for sag without making a fuss about it.

Jack swallowed. “I was treating it like it could solve something, or like it could keep me from feeling certain things.”

Ethan’s mouth twitched, almost a smirk, but it did not land as a joke. “That tends to happen when you hand a man a tool.”

Jack let out a short breath that might have been a laugh if it had come easier. “You knew.”

Ethan shrugged. “I had a hunch.”

“You didn’t say anything.”

Ethan looked past Jack toward the fields, the way he always did when he was about to be honest in a way that would stick. “Some things you can’t be led to. You can be pointed at ’em. That’s it.”

Jack nodded, with a slight wince.

The rest of the afternoon went back to normal, but steadier. Inside, Jack felt something finally quiet.

They washed up near dusk and ate without hurry, in a familiar quiet that did not demand performance.

When they finished, Ethan got up, rinsed his plate, and set it in the rack.

“You wanna invite your friend out,” Ethan said, like he was asking about weather. “Do it on a night we ain’t pressed.”

Jack blinked. He had not even asked yet. Not directly.

Ethan glanced back over his shoulder. “It’s almost written on your face.”

Jack felt his ears warm. “Yeah. I was thinking it’d be nice to make introductions.”

Ethan dried his hands on a towel and sat back down with his coffee.

The next few days were honest work. The not-so-urgent kind that made sense in November when the big pushes were behind them and what was left was care and preparation.

Jack woke early out of habit despite no sun to greet him these days. He found himself taking initiative without waiting for assignment. He tightened what needed tightening. He swept. He logged a number without being told.

Ethan did not offer any praise, nor did he need to.

It showed in the way Ethan left space for Jack to do it. In the way he did not hover. In the way he confirmed instead of commanded.

One evening, when the sky went copper behind the shed and the air smelled like cold earth, Jack pulled his phone out and stared at Owen’s name longer than necessary.

Finally he sent something simple.

“Made it back. Settling in. If you’re around later this week, coffee out here?”

The reply came a few minutes later.

“Works for me.”

Jack read it, then read it again and smiled.

Jack put the phone away and went back to the porch where Ethan was nursing a mug and watching the last light drain out of the fields.

Ethan glanced at him. “All right?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah.”

***

They sorted the details the day before, just after midday.

Jack was leaning against the porch rail, phone warm in his hand, when the reply came through.

“With morning that early, can I come out after supper tonight?.”

Jack smiled before he meant to.

He typed back.

That works. We’ll be done by 7.

There was a pause, then another message.

“Good. I’ll bring something for coffee so I don’t feel useless.”

Jack let out a quiet laugh and tucked the phone away.

Ethan glanced over from where he was checking a bin gauge. “That him?”

“Yeah,” Jack said. “He figured out mornings mean something different out here.”

Ethan nodded once. “Smart man.”

The rest of the afternoon carried on like any other. The kind of work that filled the hands without crowding the head. By the time the light started thinning and the air sharpened, the farm had settled into its evening shape.

Jack found himself thinking less about what might happen and more enjoying the new sensation of how it would feel to let it happen without rushing.

Headlights appeared down the drive right as dusk ended and darkness really set in.

Owen got out with a small carryout box of bagels which met with a welcoming nod from Ethan.

“There a good place for these? figured I’d make less trouble on my account and brought bagels for tomorrow.”

Ethan looked at Jack and cocked his head to go greet his guest, “They should still be good overnight on the table”

Owen looked sheepishly at Jack struggling to form a question with a grin, but Ethan just answered for them both saying “I’ll grab the belt”

Owen looked at Jack with a confused expression

“Ethan’s been around the block it seems, the more things change, the more they stay the same to him”

Ethan returned with the belt unlocked and primed and handed it off to Jack and they made their way to the bunkhouse while Ethan went to wind down for the night.

With some coaching Owen was secured and they cuddled as best they could on a bed not meant for two.

Jack was drifting off already when Owen asked “Should I take it off before or after breakfast?”

“Well, it’ll be hard to get off before, I’m used to the key staying with Ethan, and it’s only fair since this way he knows we’ll have to check in with him at some point. The belt is special to him though I don’t know all the details.”

“That does actually sound convincing, it wouldn’t be a trial if I could get the key off the nightstand”

They slept close, keeping each other warm against the cold that pressed in from the night air.

***

Jack woke before the light did.

He lay there longer than he usually would, listening to Owen breathe, until stillness started to feel like lying to himself. The belt was there. Present, but not loud. A steady weight that faded once his mind found something else to hold.

He shifted carefully, mindful of the narrow bed. Owen stirred, blinking awake with a quiet groan.

“Morning,” Owen said, voice rough with sleep.

“Yeah,” Jack replied. “Welcome to farm early.”

Owen squinted toward the window. “I knew it was early. I did not know it was this early.”

Jack smiled. “Coffee helps. Ethan takes it seriously.”

That got a tired laugh out of Owen.

They made their way back toward the house, breath fogging faintly in the cold air. Ethan was already up, mug in hand, standing by the counter like he’d been there awhile. He looked over once as they came in.

“Sleep all right?” he asked.

Owen nodded. “As well as a night owl can on a farm’s pacing.”

Ethan gave a short, approving sound and poured another cup, sliding it across the counter without comment.

Breakfast was simple. Eggs. Toast. The bagels Owen had brought, now doing their job. Conversation came in short stretches. Enough to be comfortable. Not enough to crowd the morning.

Afterward, Jack pulled on his jacket and nodded toward the door. “You up for helping with something easy?”

Owen hesitated, then smiled. “Define easy.”

They spent the morning on light work. Nothing urgent. Carrying feed buckets. Checking a gate latch. Rolling hoses that did not really need rolling. Owen moved a little stiff at first, more aware of the belt than he wanted to be, then gradually less so as his attention got pulled elsewhere.

At one point he paused, hand on his hip. “It is weird how fast you forget about it.”

Jack nodded. “Thats kind of the point.”

By the time the sun was climbing, Owen was flushed from the cold and the effort, moving more easily now. The belt was still there without drawing attention.

Close to noon, Ethan set his mug down and looked between them. “If youre going to take it off, now would be the time.”

Owen exhaled, a mix of relief and reluctance. Jack held his hand out.

“I’ll take care of it,” Jack said, holding his hand out for the key.

Ethan nodded and took the key from his pocket, holding it out without comment.

Jack adjusted the waistband of Owen’s sweats just enough, as was practical, to work the key.

Once he was satisfied, he directed Owen to the washroom to finish removing it while he handed the key back to Ethan.

Owen returned a minute later, the belt held awkwardly in one hand, despite a gracious posture.

Jack took it gently from Owen and headed to the bunkhouse, leaving Owen and Ethan to finish breakfast, coffee, and anything that needed saying.

Cleaning took time. Warm water. Cloth moving in careful passes. No rush. When he was done, he dried it and set it aside to catch the light.

When Jack came back, Ethan and Owen were still at the table, mugs refilled. Jack caught the end of a conversation.

“You track humidity overnight?” Owen was asking.

Ethan nodded. “Grains forgiving if you listen to it. Sensors help. But you still check.”

“Redundant systems,” Owen said, interest clear. “Paper and digital.”

“And a second set of eyes,” Ethan added.

Owen smiled. “I can respect that.”

Jack paused in the doorway, enjoying a strange comfort he couldn’t explain.

By the time the dishes were cleared, the belt sat where it belonged. Clean. Returned. Untangled from the moment.

Owen stood, stretching. “I should get moving if I’m going to pretend to function today.”

Ethan walked him to the door. Jack followed.

“You’re welcome back,” Ethan said, like it was obvious. “Just give us a little notice next time.”

Owen nodded. “I will. Thanks for the coffee. And the trust.”

Ethan gave a single nod in return.

Jack watched Owen head down the drive, then turned back toward the house. The day waited. Work waited. And for once, none of it felt like something to escape.

***

Jack finished the last of the afternoon work alone.

The light was already thinning by the time he shut the shed door and crossed back toward the bunkhouse. The farm had settled into that quiet that meant nothing urgent was waiting. Just the long arc toward winter.

He showered quickly. Hot water. Soap. Steam curling against the ceiling. When he stepped out, he let the steam roll off his toweled form as he walked from the stall to his room.

He sat on the bed, catching sight of the belt on the nearby low shelf where he had left it, clean and ready.

Memory flashed between the chaos that stepped off the bus and the man he knew he had become. From challenge then to connection now, his thoughts of both Owen and Ethan as he positioned it.

He fastened it on, steady hands, no rush. Locked. Secured. When he stood, the weight felt familiar in a different way. Not a distraction. An anchor.

Jack finished dressing and made his way toward the house.

Ethan was already at the table, papers spread out, a pencil resting across a legal pad. He looked up once as Jack came in.

His gaze flicked down, then back up. One eyebrow lifted.

Jack stopped short. “Yeah,” he said. “But do you mind?”

Ethan considered him for a beat, then gave a small smirk and nodded toward the chair. “Sit. Winters not gonna plan itself.”

They got to it.

Talk turned practical fast. Storage checks. Moisture thresholds. How often to walk the bins once snow set in. Jack listened, then started asking questions of his own. What readings mattered most. What could wait. Who to call if something went sideways when roads closed.

Ethan answered without patronizing. Corrected when needed. Let Jack take notes.

“You thinking about town,” Ethan said eventually, not looking up.

Jack nodded. “Some. Not all the time. Just more.”

Ethan tapped the pencil once. “Aint wrong with that. Ive thought about leaving too. Even if just for a bit.”

Jack looked up. “You?”

Ethan shrugged. “Someone’s gotta keep an eye on things. Doesnt always have to be me.”

They mapped it out. Emergency contacts. Snow removal. How to get eyes on the place if Ethan took a week somewhere warm. Jack offered solutions instead of questions this time.

Ethan watched him do it.

By the time they were done, the pad was full. The plan was workable. The farm would hold.

Ethan set the pencil down. “Youll do.”

Jack smiled at that. Not wide. Just enough.

They sat a moment longer, the quiet easy. The belt was there. Not center stage. Just part of the shape of things.

For the first time, Jack felt like he was standing on his own feet, even while staying exactly where he was.

***

Owen showed up just before dusk, truck crunching down the drive as the light thinned.

Jack was finishing up near the shed when he spotted him, a cardboard box tucked under one arm like Owen was afraid it might bolt if he let go.

“I got something just recently,” Owen said as soon as Jack reached him, sounding almost sheepish. “Want to see?”

Jack smiled and took the box, surprised by the weight. Not heavy, exactly. Just dense.

They took it to the bunkhouse.

Inside, Owen hovered while Jack cut the tape. The box opened cleanly, revealing coils of rope packed carefully in brown paper. Deep red. Smooth braid. The kind of thing chosen on purpose.

“Polybraided nylon,” Owen said, a little too fast. “Five sixteenths. Fifty foot lengths. Ive watched enough videos to know better than to start cheap.”

Jack ran the rope through his hands. It was softer than he expected. Warmed quickly.

“Ive wanted to learn,” Owen continued, quieter now. “But its not something you just try alone. And I didnt want to buy things just to let them sit.”

They spent the evening not tying so much as figuring out how things worked. Knots practiced loose and undone again. Harnesses sketched in the air, then abandoned halfway through with laughter when something didnt sit right.

They practiced, untied, and practiced again until the evening ran out. The rope ended the night coiled neatly on the shelf.

That felt right.

Over the next weeks, it became a pattern.

Owen came out when he could, bringing questions and curiosity in equal measure. Jack answered what he knew and admitted what he didnt. Farm work filled the gaps between visits, grounding everything in sweat and routine.

Jack stayed locked the whole time. Not because anyone asked him to. Because it kept his attention where it needed to be. On the quiet satisfaction of helping someone else step carefully into something new.

Ethan supported them in his own way, giving space when Owen was around and flagging farm things early so nothing blindsided Jack.

The invitation for Thanksgiving came without ceremony.

“You boys eating here or in town,” Ethan asked one evening, pencil tapping once against the table.

Jack glanced at Owen.

Owen hesitated only a moment. “If thats all right.”

Ethan shrugged. “Plenty of food. More hands make less work.”

Warm cider followed, a simple ward against the cold that had settled in early this year. They finished the evening easy, conversation thinning as the day wound down. When Ethan headed off to turn in, Jack and Owen gathered their things and made their way back toward the bunkhouse, breath faint in the air.

***

The week between felt shorter than it should have.

By Thursday afternoon, the drive was dusted white, just enough snow to soften the gravel without hiding it. Owen’s tires were the first to cut through, leaving clean tracks up to the house.

He arrived with the same quiet enthusiasm he always carried and a couple of pies balanced carefully in both hands.

Ethan was already tending the venison, having opted out of tradition without comment. It left more room on the table, more time to sit, and less pressure to make the day into anything it wasn’t.

They ate well.

Afterward, with plates cleared and coffee poured, the evening settled into something slower. Not an ending. Not a beginning. Just a pause where things could be said without needing to be rushed.

Owen shifted in his chair, then stood. “I brought something else,” he said, glancing toward the door. “For later. If that’s okay.”

Jack felt the question in it, even if the words were plain.

Ethan nodded once. “We’ll be here.”

Owen stood and grabbed his jacket. “I’ll go grab it,” he said, already halfway toward the door. “Didn’t want to leave it sitting in the cold all night.”

Ethan grunted, shifting in his chair. He looked comfortable in the way a man does when he knows he is done for the evening, food settling heavy and earned. He reached into his pocket and set the key down on the coffee table, sliding it toward Jack with two fingers.

“In case you need out of it,” he said. Not a question.

Jack nodded. He stood, adjusted his waistband just enough to reach the lock, and turned the key. He made sure the belt would come free if he wanted it to, then set the key back on the table beside Ethan.

Ethan settled deeper into his chair. “You might as well go see if he needs a hand,” he added.

Jack pulled on his boots and stepped outside, the cold snapping sharper now that the day was truly done. Owen was at the trunk, wrestling a worn cardboard box free from under a blanket.

“Need help?” Jack asked.

Owen looked up and grinned. “Not really. But wait until you see what I brought.”

Jack took the box. It had seen better days and felt heavier than it looked. Together they carried it toward the bunkhouse.

Inside, Owen took it back and set it on the floor. He knelt, resting his hands on the lid for a moment, like he was steadying himself before opening it.

“I figured,” Owen said finally, “it was time Ethan got his belt back. And that you had one that was yours.”

Jack did not answer right away. He just nodded once, feeling the weight of it settle in a way that had nothing to do with steel.

Owen opened the flaps and lifted out the two belts. They were similar to Ethan’s, but new, almost sterile beside the one Jack had come to know so well.

The bunkhouse was warm enough now, the small heater ticking quietly as the night settled in around the walls. Jack set the belts out on the low shelf by the bed, keys beside them, spaced with the same care he used when laying out tools.

Owen watched, curious without being intrusive.

“You want to check fit before anything else?” Jack asked.

Owen nodded. “Yeah. I do.”

They treated it like a shared problem to solve. Symmetry compared. Waistbands adjusted. Jack guiding without directing, hands steady, explaining what mattered and what did not. Where pressure should sit. Where it should not. Owen listened closely, asking questions, testing small movements.

The cold steel warmed, the weight fading into the background once everything was where it belonged.

“Huh,” Owen said quietly. “That is… not what I expected.”

Jack smiled. “How so? You’ve not forgotten what Ethan’s belt was like have you?”

“Not at all, but it’s different, like I needed distraction to forget Ethan’s belt, but well, let’s get yours on you and you’ll see”

They switched places, the process repeating with familiarity on Jack’s side. Owen moved carefully, respectful, learning by doing. When they were done, both belts sat where they belonged. Secure. Correct. No urgency left in the room.

“I think I see what you mean, it’s smoother, settled, sitting cleaner”, said Jack

They sat on the edge of the bed for a while after that, shoulders touching, the quiet doing its work. Eventually they lay back, boots kicked aside, jackets draped over a chair.

Two men settling into something that night which felt like it would hold.

***

Jack woke before the light, as he usually did, but he stayed still longer than habit demanded. Owen was breathing slow beside him, the room holding that deep quiet that only came in winter.

When Jack finally got up, he moved carefully, pulling on clothes and slipping out into the hall with Ethan’s belt.

He cleaned it the way he always did. Warm water. Cloth. Time. When it was done, he dried it, and brought it back to the house.

The farm was already stirring in its own way. Ethan was up, mug in hand, moving about the kitchen through the window.

“Morning,” Ethan said greeting Jack at the kitchen door, exchanging a mug of hot coffee for the belt.

Jack nodded. “Morning.”

Ethan set the belt aside without comment, but a knowing glance.

By midmorning, the work was finished before it had fully started. A walk-through. A few checks. Nothing pressing.

More coffee followed. Eggs. Toast. Quiet conversation that did not need filling. Owen joined them a little later, hair still half asleep, mug warming his hands as much as the drink inside.

Owen pulled on his jacket, stretching. “So,” he said, glancing toward Jack, “you still good for town today?”

Jack nodded. “Yeah. Long weekend, right?”

“Yeah,” Owen said. “Took Friday off.”

Ethan watched them from the table, then gave a short nod. “Be safe.”

Jack smiled. “We will.”

The hatchback rolled out a little later, carrying them toward town and whatever came next, the farm settling back into its winter rhythm behind them.

Lunch happened early, more practical than planned. A counter place with vinyl stools and a grill that never really cooled off. Jack ordered out of habit. Owen ordered out of curiosity. They ate without ceremony, jackets draped over chair backs.

On the way back, Owen pulled into a big box computer store seated between a hardware place and a print shop. Jack waited while Owen grabbed a couple SD cards, then got caught listening as Owen launched into an enthusiastic explanation about single board computers and a recent project involving sensors, logging, and something that Jack followed only in spirit.

Jack nodded along, catching maybe half of it, but all of the excitement.

At some point Owen laughed, stopped himself, and said, “Sorry. I forget not everyone lives in their head like that.”

Jack smiled. “Its fine. I like listening.”

That was how they ended up agreeing that another slice of pie sounded good, probably not raspberry though given the season.

They each got a slice at a coffee shop with tables too close together and drinks that came in sizes better suited to dessert than caffeine. Jack took a sip and made a face. Owen grinned and said something about Jack missing the coffee they could almost chew.

The afternoon loosened after that.

Back at Owen’s place, they settled into separate comforts. Owen pulled up a game that seemed like digital building blocks and disappeared into it with quiet focus. Jack stretched out on the couch, surprised at how easily he relaxed into something softer than the bunkhouse bed, where even scrolling on his phone seemed like it could wait until later.

By the time evening crept in, the day felt full without being crowded.

Pizza came uncomplicated and shared from the box, the hum of town life outside and the sense that whatever came next could wait until they were ready for it.

The quiet shifted, starting small. A hand finding another. A thumb brushing cold steel by accident. Owen stilled at the contact, then looked up at Jack, something unspoken passing between them.

Jack exhaled, slow. “Hey.”

Owen nodded. “Yeah.”

They leaned in without hurry, the closeness carrying more weight than it needed to. Hands traced familiar paths until metal interrupted skin, cool and unmistakable. Jack laughed softly, more surprised than annoyed.

Owen frowned, thinking. “Keys?”

Jack reached for the clothes scattered on the floor, checking pockets out of habit.

Owen, still half lost in the moment, said, “Wouldnt they be in yours?”

“If you didnt grab them,” Jack said, pausing, “then I think theyre still at the farm.”

Owen huffed a quiet laugh and leaned back against the couch. “Of course they are.”

Jack sat with it for a second, then shook his head. “Its fine. We dont have to solve everything tonight.”

Owen studied him, then nodded. “Okay. Then come here.”

They shifted instead. Closer. Slower. Steel forgotten as attention moved elsewhere. Breath grew heavier, then steadied again. The night settled until the excitement no longer needed an outlet to be real.

They slept tangled together, passion easing into exhaustion that felt earned and uncomplicated.

Morning came pale. Jack woke first, as he always did, and lay there listening to Owen breathe. He smiled to himself.

Some things could wait. Still, he sent off a quick text so assurance could greet Owen when he woke.

“Hey, can you check my room, see if we left anything on the low shelf?”

The reply came soon enough, clipped and familiar in a shorthand that predated predictive text, confirming that the keys were waiting at the bunkhouse.

The weekend unfolded without plans so much as habits. Mornings came late. Coffee was shared, then forgotten and reheated. Jack found himself noticing how easily they seemed to fit into eachothers spaces, not asking to be accommodated, not trying to disappear either. They wore their days lightly. Errands, walks, time passing in a way that did not need accounting.

When evening came, it came gently, and they lay awake longer than they meant to. The constraints between them did not feel like obstacles anymore so much as context.

When sleep finally took them, it did so easily.

Monday pressed in without ceremony.

Jack and Owen made the drive back, highways giving way to side streets, then to gravel crunching underneath.

They talked in bursts, ideas shared and set aside without needing to become plans.

They checked in with Ethan, who wore a faint smirk beneath his otherwise relaxed calm, then headed to the bunkhouse. Their things were exactly where they had left them.

Owen stayed the night. It was late, and his Monday did not need to start before his first meeting.

Morning came cold and clear. Jack helped Owen get sorted while Ethan poured coffee and slid a mug across the table.

“Internet is solid,” Ethan said, casual. “Wifi blinks sometimes if you want to look at it.”

Owen considered that for a moment. “I will,” he said, already half-thinking ahead.

Jack walked Owen out to his hatchback, then came back inside for another mug. The cold outside did more to wake Owen than the coffee ever could.

“Would you be good for a few weeks on your own?” Ethan asked, like the conversation had already been underway.

“Cold,” Jack said. “But manageable.”

Ethan nodded. “Good. I’ll need a ride to the airport Wednesday.”

Jack felt the rhythm settle back into place.

The next mornings passed easily. Jack took point. Ethan watched without hovering.

Soon enough, Jack was at the airport, unloading Ethan’s bags and trading a brief goodbye that did not need ceremony.

The drive back was quieter. The road emptied. The fields widened.

No longer a cog or an interruption, he knew he was part of something that could hold itself.

Winter settled in the way it always did, without asking permission.

The farm held. The systems worked. Messages came and went.

Ethan traveled and returned. Owen came and went. Jack was where he chose to be.

Guidance, desire, and responsibility shared the same ground now. Whatever came next would grow from that, and that was enough.

To be continued …

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Metal would like to thank the author, Linc, for this story, which originated on LockedMEN