Chapter Text
She notices him the second he walks in.
She doesn’t really know why, there’s just something magnetic about him. She can’t stop watching him.
He unpacks his bow with a smooth rhythm that looks like muscle memory a thousand repetitions deep. It’s almost hypnotic.
He chooses a lane three targets down from her, as far away as he can go, and starts shooting.
She shoots as well, though she’s more aware of him than the target. When their eyes meet, he gives her a small nod to show he’s done shooting too. She returns it, feeling suddenly self-conscious about her form. She can tell that she’s messed up again.
They go get their arrows, no words spoken between them. His are all perfect bullseyes. Hers are, again, tight but off centre. Noticeable, even from a distance. It’s a little disheartening.
They repeat the same ritual a few times. On the third round, she doesn’t nock an arrow immediately. Instead, she watches him.
The way he draws the bow is smooth and strong, no wasted effort, no flashy movement. His face is completely focused, like nothing else exists but the target. He moves like the bow is part of him.
She’s equal parts impressed and, honestly, a little turned on. She’s always had a thing for competency.
It helps that he’s handsome. His dark hair falls past his eyes from her position at his side. It makes her want to reach out and comb it back to see more of his face.
His brows are low, making his eyes shaded, piercing. He has a strong nose and some facial hair.
Her eyes wander further down, admiring his lean build. His bow is bigger, and must be heavier, which makes her think he surely has some nice musculature underneath his layered camo clothing.
She thinks about her next move, wanting his help but also scared to go and ask for it.
When he finishes his set, she makes up her mind and approaches. He notices her approach immediately, eyeing her almost warily.
“Hi, I’m sorry to disturb you. I’m Louise,” she says, holding out her hand, a friendly smile on her face.
He stares at it for a second, like he’s running a quick calculation, then takes it in a brief, slightly awkward shake. His grip is careful, like he’s worried he might hold too tight.
“Johnny,” he returns. His tone is neutral, but his eyes flick up to hers for a heartbeat before darting away again. That makes it seem more shy than rude.
Louise still hesitates at the flat delivery, but presses on.
“Johnny. I, um, noticed you’re… amazing at this,” she compliments bashfully, and now she’s the one looking away with a blush creeping up her neck. She brushes a few curls behind her ear to self-soothe. Compliments are easier in her head. It’s not really like her to trip over words.
Johnny shifts his weight at her words, and puts his hands in his pockets as if to hide a part of himself away.
“I just shoot a lot,” he mumbles, almost defensively.
She’s charmed by the simple, straightforward answer. Her eyes fill with warmth, her nervousness fading.
“I would really appreciate it if you could help me with my form,” she says. “I keep hitting off-centre, and I don’t know what I’m doing wrong.”
She looks up and gets caught in his eyes. They’re more intense up close than she expected, like he’s taking in every detail of her and her bow.
It goes quiet for a moment. She can practically see him debating with himself.
“Please?” she adds softly, offering a small, hopeful smile.
Johnny swallows at that. Here’s a pretty girl, asking him for help. That’s not his usual.
And she really is attractive, he ascertains as he checks her out discreetly. With her round face, golden brown messy curls and expressive blue eyes. An inch shorter than him, even with the boots she’s wearing.
He doesn’t let his eyes wander over her body, scared that she’ll misinterpret it. But he’d watched her while shooting, and had noticed her curves.
Her being pretty only serves to make him feel more confused. These things don’t happen to him. What should he do?
He’s used to Paul and Uncle Joe in his head, telling him what to do and how to do it. But their voices are silent now, so he figures this is his own decision to make.
Finally, he nods.
“Yeah. Sure. Show me,” he says, crossing his arms.
His shoulders are relaxed, but his fingers tap against his sleeve, betraying his nerves.
“Great, thanks!” she chirps.
Louise feels a thrill of excitement as she sets up. It’s intimidating to have eyes focused on her, especially those of someone as skilled as Johnny. But it’s also a little arousing. She didn’t expect that. Didn’t know that about herself.
Louise clears her throat and forces herself to focus.
She draws an arrow and shoots. It lands where all of them land: a tight group, just off the bullseye. She’s lining up her next shot when she senses someone behind her. She hadn’t noticed Johnny move closer, but now she sees him in the corner of her eye.
She lowers the bow and turns to him with a questioning look.
“I know what’s wrong,” he says quietly. There’s a certainty in his voice that makes her straighten up. “Let’s get the arrows first.”
They walk to the targets together. He steps into her lane to look at her grouping.
“Group is good,” he says. “All in the same place. Real close together.” He glances sideways at her. “But your release needs adjusting.”
Louise pulls out her arrows, then faces him fully. “Okay, thanks. How would I go about that?”
He doesn’t answer right away. They go to his target next. Once again, all perfect bullseyes. She feels another curl of admiration. He pulls his arrows without comment and leads the way back.
“I’ll show you first,” he says softly. “Watch me.”
Yes, please, she thinks. She watches the way his wrist, elbow, and shoulder line up perfectly when he draws the string. He explains that once she has her aim and wants to release, her wrist and elbow need to stay aligned.
He shows her with three arrows, each one landing dead centre. She doesn’t understand why it makes her feel aroused—makes her breath hitch and face flush. He steps aside and nods toward her lane.
“Now you.”
She walks back to her target, aware of him at her back. She sighs out slowly to calm down and sets herself up, going through the motions until she reaches the point where he’d started his explanation.
“Here,” he says. His voice is closer now, right by her ear. Her whole body flushes at his proximity.
She feels his hand come over hers, the heat of his palm steady and firm as he keeps the string taut. She bites her lip and tries to concentrate. “You’re curving your wrist.” He taps lightly at her wrist, then moves his other hand to her elbow, guiding it up. His touch is careful, almost reverent, as if he’s afraid of pushing too hard. It’s endearing.
“Your wrist and shoulder should be in a straight line,” he explains. “Keep it like this.” He lets go of her elbow. “And take the shot.”
Louise nods, exhaling slowly. She tries to ignore how close he is and focus on what he said. She releases the arrow. It lands just outside the bullseye. She looks back at him in surprise, eyes wide.
He’s stepped back again, arms crossed, a small, proud smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. It makes her a little breathless.
“Do it again,” he says, this time with clear encouragement.
She does it twice more. Both shots are much closer than anything she managed earlier. Each success makes her stomach flip—not just because of the shots, but because of the way he watches her now, a little less guarded.
They walk together toward the targets. Louise stays close to his side.
“Looking better,” he says.
His words are simple, but they make warmth bloom in her chest. She beams, and suddenly feels bold. She puts a hand on his shoulder to steady herself, lifting up on her toes to lean in and press a soft kiss to his cheek.
“Thank you, Johnny,” she says quietly, eyes warm with gratitude as she looks up at him.
Johnny freezes for half a second. His brain stutters. Girls don’t just kiss him. That’s not how his life works. His cheek tingles where her—soft, pretty—lips touched, and he doesn’t know what to do with the feeling.
“Uh…” is all he manages. It’s not much, but the faint flush on his face gives him away.
Louise notices the blush and the stunned look, and it makes him even more attractive to her. This man can hit a bullseye so confidently easy, but one kiss short-circuits him. It’s the cutest thing.
They both shoot a few more rounds, though not as focused as before. Louise now catches him watching her as often as she watches him. When he finally starts packing up, she finds herself walking over before she can overthink it.
He’s zipping his case when she stops in front of him. He looks up, then quickly down again, as if he doesn’t want to be caught staring.
“Hey Johnny,” she starts, suddenly nervous. She brushes a strand of hair behind her ear, easing her nerves. “Would you like to have a drink together?”
His brows shoot up. “Just you and me?” he asks, sounding honestly surprised. There’s no swagger in it, just pure disbelief.
She feels her face go hot. “Yes, just us. I-if you want to.” The stutter slips out before she can stop it. She wishes the floor would open up.
He stares at her, fascinated by the way her cheeks redden. Her skin is fair, so it’s really obvious. She’s embarrassed? Over asking him? He’s used to being the one who feels like he’s in trouble, like he’s done something wrong. He doesn’t want to make her feel that way.
“Yeah,” he says finally. “I’d like that.” He rubs the back of his neck, mirroring her bashfulness without meaning to. He manages a quick, crooked smile. “Next door?”
“Yes,” she says, this time without hesitation. Her heart feels light as she smiles at him, eyes twinkling. She grabs her bag and slings it over her shoulder. As he shoulders his own, she reaches for his hand.
Johnny goes stiff for a split second. Louise feels it. She immediately bites her lip.
“Is this okay?” she asks quietly.
He looks down at their joined hands. Her fingers are smaller than his, warm and certain. No one’s held his hand like this since he was a kid, and that was usually to pull him somewhere he didn’t want to go. This feels… different. He squeezes gently.
“Yeah,” he says, voice softer. “It’s okay.”
She smiles softly, relief washing over her, and intertwines their fingers. They walk out together, side by side, into the bar next door.
They sit in a booth, next to each other. Louise only lets go of his hand when the waitress comes to take their order. They both ask for whiskey—his neat, hers on the rocks. Johnny blinks at that. He’d expected her to order something sweeter, more ‘girly,’ because that’s what women do on TV. Maybe TV is wrong. Wouldn’t be the first time, he thinks.
After the waitress leaves, an awkward silence stretches. Johnny looks around, eyes skimming over other patrons. Paul would fill the silence. Make a joke. Say something smooth. Johnny’s never been good at that part.
Louise saves them. “So,” she starts, turning her body fully toward him and resting her arm on the table, her interested gaze on him. “how long have you been shooting a bow?”
Johnny latches onto the concrete question like a lifeline. Facts are safer than feelings. “Been hunting since I was a little boy,” he answers. “Used to go with my uncle and my brother. Now it’s just me and my brother.” His voice softens noticeably when he mentions Paul. Louise hears it and files it away. They’re close, amd that matters.
“That’s nice,” she says genuinely. “Spending so much time with your family. You must know these woods really well.”
He gives a small nod. “Yeah. If it’s not hunting, we’re camping.” As he shifts, their thighs brush under the table. He becomes painfully aware of how close she’s sitting, but she doesn’t move away. Instead, she leans in a little more.
Their shoulders touch. His pulse jumps.
“Cheers,” she says, lifting her glass.
He taps his against hers and takes a gulp. The whiskey burns pleasantly down his throat—a less confusing warmth than the one in his chest.
He watches, mesmerised, as she traces a finger along the rim of her glass. She has long fingers, the kind that looked graceful wrapped around a bowstring. Now they’re drawing lazy circles, and he has no idea why that’s suddenly the most interesting thing in the room.
“Johnny,” she says softly.
His eyes snap to hers immediately. “Yeah?” She has that look again, the one she had at the range when she kissed his cheek. Nervous and determined at the same time.
“Can I kiss you?” she asks.
He feels like someone just yanked the floor out from under him. His brain hitches. She’s asking first. No one ever asks first. They just… do. Or they don’t. Right? He stares, eyes flicking quickly between hers, searching for a joke.
She tilts her head slightly. “Only if you want to,” she adds. There’s no pressure in her tone, just honesty.
“Yeah,” he says, the word barely above a breath. “I… yeah.”
Her smile is small and relieved. She reaches up and tucks his loose hair behind his ear, fingers trailing down his jaw. His skin prickles under her touch. She rests her hand lightly at the back of his head and leans in.
The first brush of her lips is soft and tentative, testing. He sits rigid for a second, then something in him loosens. He leans in too, kissing her back.
Louise plays with his hair, scratching his scalp lightly as she deepens the kiss. He inhales sharply, surprise and pleasure blending. When her tongue flicks against his, Johnny makes a low, involuntary sound in his throat. She feels it and smiles against his mouth. He seems surprised by his own reactions. That’s… adorable and ridiculously hot at the same time.
When she pulls back for air, she slides a quick sip of whiskey, then kisses him again, sharing the taste. He startles, then hums in approval, kissing her more eagerly. His hands finally move—one hovering at her waist before resting there, hesitant but firm. The other moving behind her head.
They break apart again, breathing hard. Louise lets her forehead fall to his shoulder and presses a kiss to his neck. She feels his heart pounding under her lips.
“Louise?” he asks in a low voice after she doesn’t move, his hand tentatively stroking her hair. “You okay?”
She smiles against his skin. He sounds genuinely worried. “Yes, Johnny,” she says, looking up at him. Her eyes are a little glassy, but they’re bright. “I just needed to catch my breath. You’re… amazing.”
He looks stunned, like she just told him the sky is green. Then his expression tightens with stubborn resolve, deciding that he wants to live up to that word.
His fingers brush over her lips. “You ready for more?” he asks boldly, only a hint of shyness in his tone.
Louise nods, an eager grin tugging at her mouth. “Definitely.”
He grins back—small but genuine—and leans in. The next kiss is less hesitant and more hungry. And for the first time in a long time, Johnny doesn’t think about aiming at anything. He just thinks about her.
They kiss until their whiskeys are gone, glasses sweating on the table. Heaving chests press together, lips bruised and tingling.
Louise drops her head to his shoulder with a groan, reluctant to break the spell. She sighs, looking up at him, her hand caressing his jawline—strong, shadowed with faint stubble. “I have to go,” she says regretfully. “Will I see you at the range again? Tomorrow?” Her voice lifts hopefully, eyes searching his.
Say no, Johnny thinks. You have chores to do, and you don’t want to disappoint Paul. But her eyes—big, warm, pulling at something in his chest he doesn’t name—undo him. “Yeah,” he says, the promise slipping out before he can stop it. “I’ll be there.”
She smiles so brightly it almost hurts to look at, like pure sunshine. She leaves cash on the table, kisses him sweetly one last time—a soft, lingering thing—then waves as she goes, curls bouncing.
That night, alone in the dim house, Johnny thinks back on his day. It sure went differently than he had expected. He was only going to get new arrows and test them out on the range for the next hunt. Paul still had plenty, but he was at least a bundle short. Now he was prepared, too. That’s all it was meant to be.
His thoughts shift. He hadn’t expected her at all. Louise. He’s seen her around town before. It’s a small place. But a pretty girl like that? Way out of his league. He wonders about it. What caught her attention? Why did she kiss me? Hold my hand?
He runs a hand over his face, the ghost of her warmth still on his skin contrasting the empty silence. Paul’s not back yet, so he can’t ask him. Doesn’t even know if he should ask. Maybe he should ask Louise tomorrow. He just wants to make sense of it. Tomorrow couldn’t come fast enough.