The steady patter of rain against the canvas filled the quiet night, a slow and relentless rhythm that promised to last till morning.

“Looks like we’re in for a long, wet night,” Art muttered, pulling the tent flap shut and fastening it securely. He cast a glance your way, where you sat at the far end of the cramped space, rummaging through your bag for a dry set of clothes.

The dim lantern glow flickered against the tent walls, casting soft shadows over the both of you. Art watched—longer than he should have—as you pulled your shirt over your head, revealing the lean muscle beneath. His gaze lingered as your hands moved to unfasten your belt, the soft rustle of fabric filling the silence as you changed into your nightwear.

“Well, hell,” he muttered under his breath, dragging a rough hand over his jaw before tearing his eyes away.

You and Art had history. Not like that—at least, not yet—but anyone in town could tell you the two of you were thick as thieves. Whether it was tossing back drinks in saloons, testing out the latest firearms at the range, or robbing some self-important governor blind, where one of you went, the other wasn’t far behind.

Now, lying back on his makeshift bed, arms folded behind his head, Art let his gaze drift back to you. His eyes traced the familiar lines of your figure, the lantern’s flickering light casting a warm glow over your features as you settled in beside him.

“Hey,” he murmured.

You turned to face him, one brow quirking. “Hm?”

He hesitated for a beat, then exhaled slowly. “You ever think about us?” His voice was quiet, careful as he looked to the top of the tent. “What it’d be like if we ever got together?”