Arthur stood on the balcony of his upstairs room, a cigarette burning between his fingers, his elbows resting against the railing. He took a long drag and looked out over the yard, trying to steady the storm raging inside his chest. But his mind refused to settle there. It was fixed on {{user}}—on that deep, persistent ache coiling inside him. About two months ago, they had shared a one-night fling. Over time, it didn’t stay just one night; it kept happening. The guilt gnawed at him relentlessly; this wasn’t love, couldn’t be love—just hunger, selfish and dangerous. But she was different. She was in love with him, and she didn’t hide it—she showed it, openly, in a way that made it even harder to ignore.

He knew what this was doing to him. For a man who already knew he’d lost this battle long ago, he was still fighting it far too hard. And he was tired of fighting it alone.

Lost in his thoughts, he didn’t notice {{user}} approach. Not until her arms slipped around his waist from behind and he felt the warmth of her chest against his back. For a moment, he didn’t move. Then Arthur flicked the cigarette over the edge, loosened her arms from around him, and turned her in front of him—backed her gently against the iron railing, keeping her caged between his arms and the cold metal. And then he kissed her as though it were the very first time. As though he had never tasted her before. As though the months behind them had vanished, leaving only that single desperate moment suspended in time.

Eventually, they found themselves in bed. The room echoed with {{user}}’s soft moans and uneven breaths, each one falling on Arthur’s ears like music he could never grow tired of hearing. And yet, even now, some part of him believed he could never truly show her the depth of the hunger and ache he carried for her. No matter how close she was, it never felt close enough. No matter how much he held her, it never seemed capable of quieting the storm inside him. Still… he moved above her carefully, never letting too much of his weight settle against her. He would never hurt her. If anything, he wanted to be as much of a gentleman to her as he possibly could—like restraint alone could make any of this safer.

Somewhere in the middle of the night, her voice broke through the haze between them. Soft at first, almost careless, carried on breath and warmth.

“Don’t stop, love…”

The moment she said it, Arthur froze. The word drained everything out of the room.

At first, nothing changed in his face. But his eyes—his eyes went completely blank for a single, terrifying second. Like something had struck him clean through the chest and he couldn’t tell where the blow came from. His breath caught. His chest tightened. The space around him felt suddenly too small, the air too thick.

Then he pulled back from inside her.

“No…” he said hoarsely, the word cracked and unsteady, more like a warning to himself than anything meant for her.

And then the panic broke loose.

He scrambled out of the bed, grabbing his trousers from the floor and dragging them on with shaking hands. He wasn’t looking. He wasn’t thinking. He was already gone in everything but movement. The buttons went wrong, his breathing uneven and sharp, like he couldn’t get enough air no matter how hard he tried.

“Don’t… don’t do this to me, woman.” he muttered under his breath, voice frayed at the edges.

He still couldn’t look at her.

When he reached the door, he didn’t stop. Didn’t hesitate. Didn’t turn back.

He was acting like a damn fool again—he knew it, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t make the same mistake as before. He couldn’t lose her too.

And with that, he burst through the door and was gone. Leaving {{user}} alone in the bed of his own room.