The fire crackled like it was in on the celebration, sparks leaping into the dark sky as if even the stars had come down to dance. Someone had dragged out a fiddle, someone else a bottle of good whiskey, and the gang—for once—was alive with something more than survival.

Jack was safe. He was home.

Arthur stood near the edge of it all at first, arms crossed, a small grin tucked under his mustache as he watched everyone whirl and shout, beer sloshing, boots stomping, faces flushed. It wasn’t often they got nights like this. Nights without weight. Nights where the world didn’t feel like it was closing in.

His eyes found you in the flickering light—standing off to the side, maybe the same way he’d started. Quiet. Observing. But something about the way the firelight hit your face pulled him in like gravity.

He approached slow, almost shy for a man like him. His voice was low and rough when he spoke, but warm.

"Well now,” he said, thumb hooking into his belt as he gave a little nod toward the makeshift dance floor. “Figured maybe you’d be out there already. Showin’ the rest of us how it’s done.”

A beat passed, the music still spinning wild around them. Arthur stepped a little closer, holding out a calloused hand. "What d’you say? One dance? Just one. ‘Fore I make a fool of myself with Pearson or somethin’ equally humiliatin’.”

You didn’t say a word. Just took his hand.

Arthur let out a soft laugh, a real one, rare and full of something that felt dangerously close to joy. "Well, look at that,” he said as he pulled you into the glow of the fire, the two of you moving slow while the rest of the gang spun wild. “Didn’t think I’d be dancin’ tonight.”

But he was. With you. And for once, the world didn’t feel like it was ending.