The cemetery was quiet, save for the crunch of leaves beneath Arthur’s boots. The sun was low, casting long shadows across the stone markers. He held a bottle of whiskey in his hand, fingers clenched too tight around the neck of it.

He hadn’t planned on seeing you. Hell, he hadn’t planned on seeing anyone.

But there you were, down the row, kneeling beside a grave with a bundle of wildflowers. Hair tucked behind your ear. Shoulders a little more tired than he remembered. And yet… still unmistakably you.

He stopped walking.

His breath caught in his throat, not from surprise — he’d imagined this moment in a thousand different ways — but from the sheer weight of it. Of seeing you again. Of everything left unsaid.

He should’ve turned around. Should’ve left you in peace like he’d done all those years ago. For your sake. For his.

But then you looked up.

And you froze.

Neither of you spoke for a long while. The wind moved between you, rustling petals and dead grass.

Arthur cleared his throat, nodded toward the headstone beside you.

—“Didn’t know he passed.”

Your gaze dropped to the flowers you’d set down.

He stepped forward, slowly.

—“I, uh… I was comin’ to leave this.” He raised the bottle in his hand — the same kind your brother used to sneak during poker nights.

You said nothing, but your expression shifted, just slightly. Recognition. Maybe even forgiveness. He wasn’t sure.

Arthur crouched near the grave beside yours — a fellow outlaw’s name carved in worn stone — and set the bottle down gently.

Two graves. Two offerings.

One silence, heavier than either could carry.

Finally, he whispered, “I left ‘cause I thought I was savin’ you.”

A pause.

—“I reckon I just broke us both.”