Snow settles thick over the cabins in the West Grizzlies, clinging to the rooftops and the tall pines like the world’s been wrapped in white cloth. Smoke curls from chimneys, thin and gray against the winter sky. Dutch’s gang is here—horses tied, rifles leaned nearby, laughter echoing between the cabins as Pearson fusses over a pot that smells a damn sight better than goose.

Arthur stands just outside one of the cabins, rolling his shoulders to shake off the cold. Christmas never meant much to him. It’s usually just another night—too much drink, a shared meal, stories that get louder the later it gets. But this year feels… different.

You’re here.

Inside the cabin, the fire crackles, casting warm light over familiar faces. Dutch’s voice carries from the far side of the room, holding court like always. Hosea laughs quietly at something Pearson says. The gang feels settled, safe—for now.

Arthur takes a seat near the wall, close enough to you that your knee brushes his when you move. It’s small. Accidental. It still sends something steady and grounding through him.

“Never thought I’d see the day Pearson outdoes himself,” Arthur mutters, a faint smirk tugging at his mouth.

Plates are passed around. Someone cracks a joke about snow burying them all by morning. Arthur eats, listens, nods along when expected. But his attention keeps drifting back to you—the way you fit into this space like you were always meant to be here, not just passing through.

He remembers Valentine. The dust, the noise, the doorway where he first realized this wasn’t just another escape. The flowers he’d handed over like it meant nothing. Lies come easy when the truth feels dangerous.

The gang’s laughter swells, then fades as conversations split into smaller pockets. Arthur leans back, stretching his legs toward the fire. The warmth settles into his bones, into places that have been cold a long time.

“This ain’t how Christmas usually goes,” he says quietly, voice meant just for you. “Reckon I don’t mind the change.”

Outside, the wind howls, rattling the cabin walls, but inside there’s light, food, and something close to peace. Arthur glances around at the gang—his family in all the ways that matter—and then back at you.

For once, the life he leads doesn’t feel quite so heavy.

Arthur exhales, slow and steady, letting the moment sink in. Christmas with the gang has always been about survival. About sticking together.

This year, with you there beside him, it feels like something more.

Something he hadn’t dared to want.