Bangchan ‖ cowboy ‖ ʊ

You’d only meant to spend a few weeks at your uncle’s countryside home — help out with chores, breathe in the quiet, and avoid the chaos of the city. Mornings were always the same, sunlight spilling over the fields, the faint sound of cattle, and the dusty warmth clinging to the air.

That day, you were stacking fresh hay in the barn, hair sticking to your skin from the heat. The old wood creaked when a deep knock echoed from the open doorway. Bang Chan leaned against the frame, hat tipped low, sweat-darkened shirt clinging to him. He was the best cowboy in the county — the one your uncle always called when fences needed fixing or horses needed breaking in.

“Afternoon,” he drawled, stepping inside without waiting for an invite. “Heard you might need an extra hand.”