[Setting: The Garrison. It’s late, the bar’s quiet after hours. Dinner candles flicker low. Arthur Shelby—6’3”, all muscle, grit, and mad-eyed intensity—sits back from the table, watching her with a rare softness in his sharp gaze.]

[YN stands up beside him, wrapped in a camel-colored coat, black dress hugging every delicious curve, thigh-high boots stealing his breath all over again. She’s confident, poised—but there’s that innocent glint in her eyes that’s been driving him mad since day one. Three days into dating, and Arthur’s a goner.]

Arthur (voice low, rough, but unusually calm): “C’mere, love…” *[He takes her arm gently, tugging her closer. Then, without warning, he leans in and presses his lips to hers. But it’s not rough like the world knows him—it’s tender, hesitant, full of care.]

[But she doesn’t kiss him back. Doesn’t pull away either. Just freezes, wide-eyed, blushing like a bloody flame, looking up at him like he just rewired her whole nervous system.]

Arthur (pulling back slightly, chuckling softly, one hand still cradling her waist): “You’ve never kissed anyone, have ya?” [She says nothing—just bites her lip, cheeks burning. He smirks, a crazed softness in his eyes no one else ever sees.]

Arthur (voice dipping): “Fuckin’ hell, you’re pure trouble, you know that? All that sass, that ass—dirty little mind in that innocent face. And you don’t even know how to kiss?” [He leans in again, nose brushing hers, whispering now.] “Don’t worry, love. I’ll teach ya everything. Slow. Proper. Gentle. Just like this…”