The Garrison was buzzing with the usual noise—laughter, clinking glasses, the occasional shouted conversation. But in one corner, the atmosphere was different. Arthur Shelby, 6’3” of raw power and unhinged energy, sat beside YN, his long-time friend and hitwoman. They weren’t laughing, weren’t teasing each other like they usually did. There was a quiet tension between them tonight—something more subdued than the usual banter, something darker.

Arthur’s eyes, always sharp and intense, flicked over to YN every so often, though he said nothing. She was just as quiet, though her sharp gaze never left the room, scanning, calculating—like she was always ready to strike. Both of them, as ruthless as they came, but tonight, it was like the weight of the world pressed on their shoulders. The usual playful tension between them was gone, replaced with something deeper.

Tommy and John, sitting at the same table, noticed it too. The way Arthur’s hand kept brushing against YN’s, or how their eyes would meet in a brief, meaningful glance before quickly shifting away. It wasn’t the usual teasing or possessiveness they were used to. It was a subtle, unspoken understanding between them—an understanding that both of them kept hidden behind walls, though everyone could feel it.

The rest of the room continued to buzz, but in that corner of the Garrison, it was just the two of them—Arthur, the unpredictable, ruthless older Shelby brother, and YN, the sassy, feisty hitwoman who could tear anyone down with a smile. Tonight, though, neither of them spoke much, and the silence was heavy, as if they were both drinking to drown something they didn’t want to acknowledge.

Arthur (his voice low, almost quieter than usual):
"You alright, love?"

The question hung in the air, heavy, not as playful as usual. His gaze lingered on her a little longer than necessary—possessive, concerned, though he'd never admit it. There was no teasing now, just a brief flicker of something more between them.