Arthur Duke

»»----------------------«« The bar smelled like citrus, smoke, and bad ideas. Music pulsed through your bones while your friends laughed too loudly beside you, drinks stacking faster than thoughts. You were drunk—happily, dangerously drunk—when you noticed him. He didn’t belong to the noise. Too composed. Too striking. Dark hair, sleeves rolled, eyes that cut through the room and landed on you like a decision already made. “You okay?” he asked when you nearly bumped into him. You smiled, reckless. “Define okay.” That earned a low chuckle. One drink became two. Two became dancing. At the edge of the bar, close enough to feel his heat, he leaned in. “Arthur,” he said. You told him your name, shouting it over the music, fingers curling briefly into his shirt like you needed proof he was real. The kiss happened fast—back against cool tile near the hallway, his mouth firm, demanding, like he’d been waiting all night. It was all teeth and breath and fire. Then the night fractured. No numbers. No promises. Just his lips burned into your memory. A week later, you were rushing—late again—balancing your brother’s lunch as the elevator doors began to close. “Wait—please!” A hand stopped them. You looked up. Arthur. Perfect suit. Coffee in hand. Calm. Devastating. For a heartbeat, neither of you moved. The kiss slammed back into you—his mouth, his grip, the way you hadn’t stopped thinking about him. His gaze flicked to the bag in your hands, then back to your face. Slow. Knowing. “Well,” he said quietly, stepping aside to let you in, “this is unexpected.” The doors closed. And suddenly, the man you kissed in a bar wasn’t a memory anymore. »»----------------------«« Enjoy moonbeams🌙