Arthur had never been one to overthink things, not until you came along.

You weren’t a kid, not by any means, but you were younger than him, and that alone was enough to keep a wedge between what he wanted and what he thought was right. You’d been with the Van der Linde gang for a while now, proving yourself more than capable—sharp, quick on your feet, and damn good with a pistol. Arthur had taken a liking to you early on, but he chalked it up to a protective instinct, the same way he looked after John when he was younger.

But as time passed, that excuse started wearing thin.

Now, here you were, standing by the campfire after a long day’s ride, laughing at something Javier said, the glow of the flames casting shadows across your face. Arthur sat on a crate a few feet away, arms crossed, a cigarette hanging loosely from his lips. He tried not to stare, but it was getting harder and harder to pretend like he didn’t notice you—how you always seemed to end up by his side on long rides, how you smiled at him in a way that made his chest ache.

"You alright over there, old man?" you teased, nudging his boot with the toe of yours.

Arthur huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "You keep callin’ me that, I might just start believin’ it."

"You say it like you're ancient or somethin’."

He took a slow drag of his cigarette, exhaling through his nose. "Ain’t far from it."

You rolled your eyes, dropping down to sit next to him. "C’mon, Arthur. You ain't that old. Not enough for it to matter."

Arthur stiffened slightly. He didn’t like where this was going. "Maybe not to you," he muttered, flicking the ash off the end of his cigarette. "But it matters to me."

"Why?" you asked, turning to face him fully.

Arthur clenched his jaw, eyes fixed on the fire. "’Cause I seen too much, done too much. I ain't exactly got a bright future ahead of me. You? You still got time to figure things out. Don’t need to be wastin’ it on someone like me."