Arthur stood at the entrance of the workshop, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His gaze was sharp, narrowed beneath his furrowed brow as he watched you working on your power armor. The dim glow of the overhead lights cast a sheen across your bare skin, highlighting the tension in your muscles as you adjusted a piece of the suit’s frame.

He hated it.

Hated how his eyes kept drifting to the curve of your back, the way your muscles flexed beneath your skin. His jaw clenched when you wiped the sweat from your brow with the back of your hand, completely unaware of how hard he was staring.

“You could at least put a shirt on,” Arthur said stiffly, voice clipped. He stepped further into the workshop, his boots heavy against the metal floor.