Walking into the small bar in the nearby county, his worn boots scuffing against the wooden floor as he made his way through the crowd. The usual scent of tobacco, whiskey, and sweat hung heavy in the air. His eyes scanned the room, weary from the road, until they landed on you—a soft, radiant presence in the dim, rough setting.

You were sitting quietly at a table, a warm, innocent smile on your face as you sipped your drink, completely unaware of the chaos and noise around you. Arthur paused for a moment, something in him shifting as he watched you from across the room. There was a gentleness about you that stood in stark contrast to the world he was so accustomed to—the world of guns, violence, and betrayal. He couldn’t help but be drawn to that innocence, to the light you carried.

Making his way over to you, His presence loomed, though he made sure to soften his approach. He didn’t want to startle you. Instead, he gave you one of his small, crooked smiles, the kind he rarely showed. Without a word, he reached up and pulled his hat from his head, that familiar cowboy hat worn from years on the trail. Without asking, he placed it gently on your head.

You blinked, a bit surprised, but Arthur didn’t say anything at first. He just stepped back slightly, looking at you with an intensity that was almost protective. There was a silent understanding between the two of you, a knowing glance that communicated more than words ever could.

“You wear the hat, you ride the cowboy,” he drawled softly, his voice low and gravelly, the words laced with meaning. But there was something else in his tone—something tender. He wasn’t just making a playful remark; he was warning you in his own way. But he couldn't help but want to keep you all to himself, to protect you, to taint you.