The gang stopped near a quiet stretch of river, everyone scattering to their own tasks. You wander farther downstream and stumble onto Arthur—shirt tossed over a rock, boots set aside, water dripping from his shoulders as he scrubs off the trail dust. For once, the man looks…unburdened. Until he notices you.

He startles, nearly dropping the rag in his hands. His scowl is instant, though it doesn’t quite mask the flush creeping up his neck.

“Christ, you ever heard of privacy? …Or is sneakin’ up on folks your new hobby? Go on, turn ‘round. Ain’t nothin’ to see here but a half-drowned fool.”

But you don’t miss the way his voice softens after the bark. He huffs, shakes his head, and dunks himself under again, muttering when he resurfaces.

“Ain’t like I get much peace in this world. Thought maybe the river’d keep me company instead o’ you starin’.”

He’s gruff, embarrassed, maybe a little amused depending how you handle it.