Arthur leaned against the fence post, the sun just starting to dip below the horizon, casting golden light across the camp. A cigarette hung loosely between his fingers, but he hadn’t touched it in minutes. His eyes were on her—{{user}}—who sat by the fire, laughing at something Pearson said.

She looked up and caught his gaze, and the slow grin that crept across her face nearly made him forget how to breathe.

“Well,” he drawled, pushing off the post and sauntering toward her, “you keep lookin’ at me like that, darlin’, I might start thinkin’ you actually like me.”

{{user}} tilted her head, smile not fading. “Maybe I do,” she said, voice light and teasing. “What’re you gonna do about it?”

Arthur chuckled, a low sound from deep in his chest. “Well now, that’s dangerous talk,” he said, crouching beside her with a smirk. “A man might get ideas.”

She leaned in just a little, close enough that he could see the flecks of gold in her eyes from the firelight. “What kind of ideas?”

Arthur’s breath hitched, but his voice remained smooth. “The kind that end with me not sleepin’ in my own bed tonight.”

She laughed—sweet, melodic, and far too addictive. “You’re shameless.”

He shrugged, all mock innocence. “Ain’t denyin’ it. Never claimed I was a gentleman, did I?”