NO LIGHT. ✹ E.W.

i.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: this story uses y/n for the reader. stop bitching and don't read it if you don't like that term, fuck. thank you to everyone who loves and supports this book still!! you're wonderful!!

The Tipsy Bison wraps your chilled form in warmth and a soft blanket of light. You'd always enjoyed coming there upon your arrival to Jackson some years prior, hands wrapped snugly around a mug of warm liquid that severely contrasted to the biting cold outside. A shiver runs down your spine at the thought of it and you bring the mug up to your lips, gently puffing air on the liquid before allowing it to scald your tongue.

The space next to you is occupied by a box of string lights, needed for the night's party. You should be going, needing to finish up your tasks for the night before Maria could scold you, but an older member of the community is hindering your progress with talks of her son. To be fair, you knew her son, knew how reckless he could be on patrols and understood her worries.

And if you were being honest with yourself, the later you finished everything, the less of a chance you had at being held to your word of attending said party. Because you truly did not want to see her.

No, you absolutely were not ready to see Ellie Williams, your girlfriend, just yet.

But to your dismay, the elderly woman sighs. "I reckon I best stop holding you up from your duties, I know Maria's got you working hard these days." She pats your shoulder just as you swallow the remaining lukewarm liquid in the mug, cringing at the bitter dark coffee taste left behind.

"I'll talk to Dean about it, he's usually on patrol with your son," you assure her, softening when you catch a glimpse of her concerned expression.

She watches you shuffle through the crowd, muttering apologies to bystanders who you bump into, stopping with a light huff at the storage closet in the back of the old restaurant. To your surprise there is a box of string lights waiting inside for you, as promised, despite your worries of the owner hiding them to make your job harder. The man had never liked you, and while you had your suspicions of why, you'd never bothered to make an effort to care for his opinions.

With some effort–and minor tidying the closet from Seth's very poor stacking–you managed to get the lights and escape from the Tipsy Bison before another member of the community could stop you to ask about patrols or tell you a riveting story.

A bitter gust of wind swirls up and across your exposed skin as you exit the door; your eyes pull shut, wincing at the contact on your skin. For a moment you wish you could return to the beckoning warm lights, and the twangy warm liquid that never quite made you satisfied. If anything, it just left you wanting something to wash the taste away. But instead, you continue your stroll into the snowy landscape, cursing under your breath at the troublesome winters of Jackson, Wyoming.