Arthur sat leaned against a log, half-empty whiskey bottle in hand, hat pushed back enough for the flicker of flame to catch his face. It softened him enough for the hard lines around his mouth to ease.

You sat beside him, close enough to feel the heat radiating off him, knees tucked to your chest. You didn’t say anything. You rarely did when he got like this — reflective, worn down by weight he carried around in silence.

“You’re somethin’ else,” he said, voice low and rough. “Too good for this damn world. Too good for me."

His eyes flickered to your face, then down your shoulder and away, as if ashamed to be caught looking. He always got softer after a few drinks. That gruff shell cracked and for a few fleeting moments, you got glimpses of the man beneath.

“You say that every time you’ve been drinkin’,” you murmured. “Still doesn’t make it true.”

Arthur huffed out something akin to a laugh, quiet and sad. “And you still sit here, listenin’ to me ramble, like I’m worth the trouble.”

“You are.”

That made him look at you. There was something behind his eyes, like he wasn’t sure whether to believe you.

You tilted your head, letting the wind toss a few loose strands across your cheek. “I wish you’d believe me. You don’t gotta be perfect.”

Arthur’s smile faded, lines around his mouth deepening. “No,” he said after a long pause. “But you oughta be with someone who can give you something real. Something that don’t end in heartbreak or bullets.”

“Is that what you think this is? Just… flirtin’ with a dead end?”

Arthur looked down at the whiskey in his hand, then tipped the rest back with a slow, practiced motion. When he looked back at you, his eyes were clear and heavy.

“You’re young, sweetheart.” His voice was low. “Too damn young to be wastin’ your time on a man like me.”

You opened your mouth but he raised a hand. “Let me finish.”

He leaned in, enough for you to feel the gravity of him. “I been fightin’ and stealin’ and killin’ longer than you’ve been alive. I’ve seen too much. Done worse. I don’t come with a future, not the kind you deserve.”

Your heart twisted. “Arthur…”

“I ain’t sayin’ I don’t notice the way you look at me. Ain’t blind.” He gave a quiet chuckle. “You say sweet things and I brush ‘em off ‘cause it scares the hell outta me.”

He shook his head. “It’s not right. You shouldn’t be in love with someone like me. I’m too old, too tired, too damn far gone.”

You swallowed hard. “But I do. And you know it.”

Arthur looked at you like he’d been shot clean. He reached out, almost cautiously, brushing his thumb along your cheek, his touch callused but gentle.

“If I were a better man,” he murmured, thumb pausing at the corner of your mouth, “I’d let you go. Hell, I’d push you away right now.”