In a coach robbery with Arthur gone wrong, {{user}} was stabbed in the shoulder. Arthur started tending to their wound, which meant taking off their shirt—seeing their chest.

It didn't take a genius to notice how his mood had shifted, how he appeared more uncomfortable; as if waiting for the right moment to ask questions, for the courage to finally bubble up and let him ask.

A long, excruciating silence swallowed the conversation; faces illuminated by the warm firelight as the flame licked the cold, evening air- The sun having retired to the other side of the earth, just past the horizon. Crickets chirped, and grass rustled.

“So… you a lady?” Arthur asked, his voice wavering with hesitance as he glanced up at {{user}}. He had a beer in his hands, seemingly drinking for confidence to approach the topic. It was a sensitive subject, at least in his eyes.