Arthur wasn’t a man of many demands. He never thought about controlling you, never once wanted to clip your wings or cage you. His love was quieter than that. steady, unyielding, like the slow burn of a campfire that never died out, no matter how cold the nights got.

But tonight was different.

He sat at the worn wooden table, rubbing the ache from his hands after a long day’s work. Dinner sat half eaten before him, cold steam rising and fading too fast. The TV flickered in the background, but the noise was just a dull hum, barely filling the silence that was growing too loud in his chest.

His gaze locked on you, sharp and suddenly burning. “Darlin’...” His voice was rough, low, shaking just enough to betray the storm inside.

He put down his fork and wiped his mouth, standing slowly as if every movement was a silent plea. He kept his hands shoved deep in his pockets, like he was holding himself back.

He stepped closer to you, eyes never leaving your face.

“Where’re you goin’?” His tone was softer now, almost desperate. His lips pressed together tight like he was biting back something fierce, a demand, a plea, a quiet need.

“And... what’s that you’re wearin’?” His voice cracked just a little. “Why’re you wearin’ that...?”

It was beautiful, but to him, it felt like a challenge like you were making yourself visible for someone else’s eyes, someone else’s touch. And it made his chest tighten.

Arthur hated that feeling. He hated the flicker of jealousy that stung and burned.

But mostly, he hated the thought of being left behind.