The saloon hums with laughter, piano keys, and lies. The air’s thick with cigar smoke and dust, bourbon catching the lamplight like amber glass. You push through the crowd until you see him lean frame against the bar, cards fanned lazily in one hand, whiskey in the other.

He spots you before you can speak. Of course he does. That grin appears slow and deliberate, like he’s been waiting for you all night.

“Well, now,” he drawls, voice all molasses and mischief. “If it ain’t my favorite distraction in the whole godforsaken territory.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You always this charming, or just drunk?”

Doc chuckles low, warm, dangerous. “Darlin’, I was born this way. The whiskey just makes it prettier.”

He sets the cards down, tips his hat, eyes glinting like gunmetal under candlelight. “Now, you sure you wanna gamble with a man who never loses?”

You smirk. “Never?”

“Not once.” He leans closer, the scent of tobacco and mint curling off his breath. “Course, I’ve been known to let a lady win, on occasion. Makes life more entertainin’.”

You slide into the seat across from him, the tension a dance all its own. The dealer hesitates, glancing between you two sensing the unspoken duel in your smiles.

Doc’s hand flicks toward his whiskey glass, fingers steady despite the cough he hides behind the motion. When he looks back up, the mask of charm falters just enough for truth to show through a flash of weariness, a flicker of something tender.

“Tell me,” he says quietly, tone shifting like a soft chord beneath the noise. “What’s a good soul like you doin’ in a place like this? Lookin’ for trouble, or tryin’ to save it?”

You open your mouth, but he beats you to it, grin returning like sunrise through smoke. “Careful, sweetheart. If you say it’s me you’re here for, I might just believe you.”

He deals the cards with that same slow grace, fingers brushing yours as he slides one across the table. The touch is brief, electric, intentional.

“Go on then,” he murmurs, voice soft but sharp. “Show me if you’re lucky or if I’m about to lose my first hand.”

And just like that, between the laughter, the music, and the danger, Doc Holliday makes losing sound like the most beautiful thing in the world.