Arthur wasn't trying to look. He swore he wasn't.
It was just one of those stupid, accidental moments that felt like they froze time — the kind of thing that shouldn't happen… but did.
He was walking past Rosie's room, half-lost in his own thoughts, when her door was slightly ajar. Just a sliver. Just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror as she changed into her loose sleep shirt. Her bare back, smooth and soft under the glow of her night lamp, caught him off guard. She didn't notice him — her hair was still tied up, her frame delicate, the curve of her spine etched in his memory instantly.
He turned his head fast, heart pounding.
"Fuck," he muttered under his breath, leaning against the wall with his eyes shut tight."God, get it together…"
It was barely two seconds. But it was enough. Enough to mess with his head all night. Enough to keep him awake, staring at the ceiling, his breath shallow, heart thumping like he'd run a marathon.
He knew it wasn't right — not just because she was his stepsister, but because of how… vulnerable she looked. Innocent. Unaware.
But it didn't stop the images from playing over and over in his head. He didn't sleep that night.
Days passed. Life went on. Nothing like that happened again.
Until Saturday afternoon.
Rosie, in her usual quiet way, walked into the kitchen for a glass of water. The house was nearly empty — Charles and Jane had taken the day to themselves, off for brunch and shopping, leaving the mansion calm and unusually quiet.
She turned the corner and stopped dead.
Arthur was on the floor, leaned against the cabinet, shirtless, sweat beading on his chest, eyes closed, breathing uneven. He looked pale, drained.
"Arthur?" Rosie dropped the glass and rushed to him, kneeling beside him.
His eyes fluttered open, barely focused. "Hey," he croaked, voice low and dry. "Didn't think I'd pass out in front of you."
"You don't look okay." She pressed her palm to his forehead. "Jesus… you're burning up."
Arthur flinched slightly — not from the fever, but from her touch. It made him feel… seen. Cared for.
"Guess I overdid it," he murmured, eyes locked on her face.
"Stay here," Rosie said softly. "Don't move."
Within minutes, she came back with a bowl of warm water and a soaked cloth. She sat close, too close, and began gently dabbing his forehead and neck. Her fingers trailed over his skin like a whisper.
"You don't have to do this," Arthur said, voice raspy, but low. Almost uncertain.
"I want to." Rosie met his eyes for a second. "I'm not just going to leave you like this."
Her words hit deeper than she realized.
He stared at her — the softness in her face, the calm in her touch. She wasn't just helping. She was caring, in a way that no one had done in a long time.
"You smell like strawberries," he murmured, barely audible.
"What?"
"Nothing," he said quickly, eyes flicking away.
She dipped the cloth again, brushed his cheek. "You always act tough. But you're the most reckless person I've ever met."
He let out a low laugh, which turned into a cough. "You say that like it's a surprise."
Rosie shook her head, a slight smile playing on her lips. "You just… push too hard. Like you're running from something."
"Maybe I am."
Rosie paused, eyes softening.
"Then maybe stop running. Just for a second."
The fever started to fade, and the silence grew warmer — not awkward, but charged. Arthur stared at her profile as she concentrated on cooling him down.
"You're dangerous, you know," he whispered.
Rosie tilted her head. "Me?"
"Yeah. You walk around all quiet, but you shake shit up in ways I don't even understand."
She looked at him, blinking. "And you… you think pretending not to feel anything is a good way to protect yourself."
Arthur didn't reply.
But something in his chest shifted.
Later that night, after a light dinner with Charles and Jane, both parents retreated upstairs, exhausted. Arthur stayed downstairs, his mind still tangled with the earlier moment.
"You wanna come for a ride?" he asked Rosie, casually, but his voice held weight.
She turned, surprised. "Now?"
"Yeah. No parties. Just me and you."
Rosie hesitated. "I don't know…"
"No expectations. Just the road."
She looked at him for a long second, then nodded. "Alright."
The drive was quiet — no music, just the wind and streetlights giving way to the openness of the countryside. Arthur pulled over in a secluded spot, where stars scattered across the sky.
"Wow…" Rosie whispered as she stepped out. "I've never seen the sky like this."
Arthur watched her as she turned slowly in the field, her face lifted toward the stars, glowing.
They sat together on the ground, knees almost touching.
"This is where I go when I want to feel like I'm not breaking apart," Arthur said suddenly.
Rosie turned to him. "Feel like that often?"
He nodded. "More than I'd ever admit."
"I used to feel that way when I lost Dad," Rosie said, eyes on the sky. "It felt like I had to hide the parts of me that still hurt."
Arthur glanced sideways. "You don't have to hide with me."
Rosie looked down, a tear slipping out before she could stop it.
He noticed. "Hey…" he whispered.
"I just miss him so much sometimes," she said, voice cracking. "And I don't even talk about it because I feel like it'll make people uncomfortable."
Arthur reached for her instinctively, and Rosie didn't hold back — she leaned into him and wrapped her arms tightly around his chest.
"I'm here," he murmured, pressing his cheek to her hair. "You don't have to do this alone."
They sat in silence, heartbeats slowly syncing.
On the ride home, they didn't speak. No music. Just breath and thought.
At the door, Arthur handed her a glass of water.
"Drink. You didn't eat properly earlier."
Rosie took it, grateful. "Thanks…"
As she turned to go, she paused.
"Arthur?"
"Yeah?"
She stepped a little closer and quietly said, "Thank you for being here. For… everything tonight."
Then, without a word more, Rosie gently took his hand and held it — firmly.
Arthur stilled. Her touch wasn't timid this time. It was steady. Intentional. It wasn't just gratitude — it was a message.
His breath caught.
He looked down at their hands and then back up at her. She didn't let go.
And neither did he.