The rain had been falling for hours. Cold and relentless. Arthur stood beneath the shelter of a creaking wooden overhang, his coat soaked through, hat drooping with the weight of water. Just ahead, {{user}} stood near the edge of the trees, arms wrapped tightly around herself, like holding her heart together was a full-time job.

He hadn’t meant to find her. And she sure as hell hadn’t meant to let him see her like this—eyes red, cheeks streaked with more than just rain.

Arthur didn’t move, not yet. His voice was rough when he finally spoke. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

She turned, slow and tired, eyes meeting his. “I didn’t come for you.”

“I know,” he nodded, the ache in his chest twisting tighter. “I just… I wanted to see you. One last time, maybe.”

{{user}} didn’t answer. The silence between them was loud—years of tension, regret, and what-ifs woven between every breath.

He stepped forward slowly, like getting closer might shatter whatever was left. “I was never good at this,” he murmured. “At us.”

“No,” she whispered. “You weren’t.”

His throat tightened. He looked away, toward the hills, like they might offer forgiveness. “I thought I was doin’ right, walkin’ away. Protectin’ you.”