The city was louder than you remembered. Clattering carriages rolled down narrow cobblestone streets, the shouts of merchants blending with the hiss of steam from the trains. You tugged your shawl tighter around your shoulders, trying to ignore the way the air smelled of smoke and sweat instead of fresh grass and pine.

You weren’t supposed to be here for long (just passing through, delivering a parcel for your uncle) but the city had a way of pulling you into its rhythm. And that’s when you saw him.

At first, you thought it was just another broad-shouldered man standing near the market stalls. But the way he held himself, that deliberate stillness as he scanned the crowd, it sent a jolt through you.

Arthur Morgan.

Your Arthur.

Or at least, the boy who once carved your initials into a tree by the creek back home, who promised he’d come back for you when he made something of himself. The boy who never did.

Now he stood before you, older, heavier with the years, his face carved by time and hard living. His eyes, though—those were the same. Blue and piercing, like they could see right through every defense you’d built in his absence.

You froze in place, your basket of goods suddenly heavy in your arms. Maybe you should turn away. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. But then, as though drawn by some invisible thread, his gaze lifted and locked on yours.

Arthur’s expression shifted—surprise, then something softer, fleeting, before the guarded look you remembered so well settled back over him. He moved toward you, parting the crowd without effort.

“Well, I’ll be damned.” His voice was low, roughened by years of smoke and whiskey. “It’s you.”

Your throat went dry. For a moment, all you could do was stare at him, the past rushing up to swallow you whole.

“It’s been a long time, {{user}}.." He gave a short laugh, almost bitter. “..Longer than I care to admit.”

Silence stretched between you, filled only by the noise of the city. You should have hated him—should have remembered the long nights waiting for a letter that never came, the way you had to learn to live without him. Yet standing there, face-to-face after all these years, your heart betrayed you, thundering in your chest as though it had been waiting for this moment all along.

Arthur shifted, pulling his hat a little lower. “Didn’t reckon I’d ever see you again.”

You tightened your grip on the basket, unsure if you wanted to strike him with it or kiss him senseless.