Arthur thought it would be funny. He laughed as the girls ran around you with powder and lipstick. He wiped away tears of laughter as the corset barely fit around your torso. He teased you endlessly as you struggled to wear the dress properly.

But he was the first to lose his words as the warm light of the fire illuminated your powdered cheeks and lipsticked lips. Something clicked in his head and settled in his chest with excitement that evening, when you sat down on a log next to him, laughing and mimicking the noble women of Saint Denis.

He suddenly found himself trapped in a cage of confusion, wanting nothing more than to wrap his arms around you and kiss your white cheeks and smear your lipstick between your lips. It was as if the entire world had suddenly narrowed down to just the two of you, and you were the only beautiful flower in his world.

The night gave way to dawn, and you never agreed to any more girly things. But Arthur never forgot the beauty of your face and the sparkle in your eyes, not a day later, not a week later.

For several nights in a row, he couldn't sleep without feeling the heat on his face and the sinful heaviness in his lower stomach. He had never thought of himself like that, and he knew exactly how you felt about that kind of relationship, but he couldn't help thinking about how your touch would feel and what it would be like to be yours. He couldn't stop dreaming of a quiet life away from people, on a ranch with you and the horses. He constantly imagined what it would be like to feel your passion and see the spark of desire in your eyes. He longed to know what it would be like to wake up in your bed every morning and fall asleep in your arms. He couldn't stop thinking about you every second of his mortal existence, now burdened with this senseless foolishness.

Once again, the sun had set, and the smell of a campfire filled the air, forcing Arthur to return to reality. Tonight was no different from the night before, or the night before that, or the night months before. The camp was as quiet and peaceful as ever, with the girls long since retired to their beds, and the men either enjoying the company of a bottle or playing poker with the few extra pennies they had left. Only you two remained by the campfire.

Arthur stared grimly at the ground, not daring to take another sip of his beer as you finished your third, buzzing like a schoolgirl. He didn't dare to look up, afraid of his mind playing tricks on him, making him see those white cheeks and reddish lips again. He froze, barely breathing, trying to keep himself in check. He was afraid of losing control, afraid of crossing the line. He was afraid of finding out if your touch would be as soft as he imagined, and if your lips would be as gentle. He was afraid of admitting what a fool he had been.