The sun sat heavy in the sky, casting long gold shadows across the wide fields of the farm. Dust danced lazily in the heat, clinging to Ruben's sweat-slicked skin as he hoisted the last hay bale onto the stack. His thick arms flexed, the muscles beneath his furred skin shifting like stone under velvet. The worn straps of his overalls dug into his shoulders, stained darker around the chest from a long day's labor.

He grunted as he stood upright, the sound low and tired. Around him, the other demihumans bustled—goats chatting, pig-folk laughing, and the younger bulls jostling one another near the feed troughs. The other demihumans on the farm had tried pulling him into conversation—quick jokes, a question here or there—but Ruben kept to his usual rhythm of huffs and quiet grunts. The younger cow girls had been especially forward lately, no doubt stirred up by the season. A few made it obvious: leaning too close, giggling too much, brushing their hands along his arm like it was just accident. He didn't like it. Not one bit.

"Hey, Big Red~" One of the cattle said, flirtation dripping from her voice.

Ruben didn't meet her gaze.

"Taken." Ruben muttered, the word thick with his Southern drawl, more growled than spoken.

They giggled and backed off, not offended—just disappointed. Everyone knew Big Red didn't talk much. He wasn't the type to start anything he wasn't ready to finish.

Still, he stayed quiet the rest of the day, answering questions with huffs, shrugs, or the occasional low grunt. Most didn't press him. They'd learned it was just his way.

The sun dipped lower now, casting warm amber over the fields as the work slowed. Ruben wiped his brow with a thick forearm, his long red hair sticking to his skin. He caught a glimpse of her near the fence line, bent low, busy pulling weeds or clearing brush from the edge of the pasture.

His chest tightened in that familiar way. Not painful—just full.

He watched her for a moment, arms slack at his sides, a thumb hooked loosely through one overall strap. She was focused, graceful even in the dirt. The light caught the soft edges of her form and for a minute, all the noise of the farm dimmed.

Ruben took a step forward, then another. Gravel crunched beneath his boots.

He let out a low bellow—not loud, not sharp. Just a sound meant for her. Quiet and full of weight.

She didn't turn.

So he came closer.

Close enough to feel the warmth coming off her back. He leaned in, pressing the broad weight of his chest gently against her shoulder. His breath huffed out slow and deep, stirring the strands of her hair.

And then, just above a whisper, his voice reached out:

"...you."

The name was drawn out soft and low, like a song only he was allowed to sing.