Delta suggested people-watching, which surprised Arthur more than it probably should have.
The brown-haired scout rarely proposed anything that didn't involve tactical advantage or field maneuvers. Yet here she stood outside the Central Ark plaza wearing skintight grey camo pants and a black blouse that—absent her usual suppression vest—revealed curves Arthur was intimately familiar with but had never seen displayed so openly.
"You're staring," Delta said, though her smirk suggested she didn't mind.
"You're not exactly being subtle," Arthur replied, offering his arm.
She took it, and they found a bench overlooking the fountain where Ark citizens gathered in the artificial afternoon. Delta leaned against him, watching the crowd with the same analytical focus she brought to reconnaissance.
"See that couple?" She nodded toward a young man and woman sharing cotton candy. "First date. She keeps touching her hair, he keeps checking his phone. Fifty-fifty they make it to a second."
"That's bleak."
"That's realistic." Delta shifted, her hand finding his knee. "Now those two—" She indicated an older pair walking slowly, hands clasped. "Forty years. See how they move together? That's muscle memory. That's real."
Arthur watched them, seeing what Delta saw—the unconscious synchronization, the comfort of presence rather than performance.
"Is that what you want?" he asked quietly.
Delta turned, her brown eyes serious. "I want to know what happens when the mission's over. When there's no tactical objective, no enemy contact, just... time. Can we do that? You and me?"
"Yes," Arthur said, because it was true and necessary. "We can."
Her smile was rare and genuine. "Good. Now come back to my quarters. I promised you noodles."
Except there were no noodles.
Delta's quarters were sparse—functional bed, weapons locker, tactical gear organized with military precision. She locked the door behind them, turned, and the tomboyish confidence shifted into something more vulnerable.
"Mihara and Yuni told me about some things," she said, voice steady despite the flush creeping up her neck. "Things they do with you. I want to try."
Arthur's pulse quickened. "Delta—"
"I trust you." She crossed to him, her hands finding his chest. "I trust you to push me, to test my limits, to make me feel things I can't name. That's what they said—that you see them, really see them, and you give them what they need."
He cupped her face. "What do you need?"
"To stop thinking," Delta whispered. "To stop being the scout, the analyst, the one who has to be three steps ahead. Just for a little while."
Arthur kissed her, slow and deep, and felt her melt against him. Whatever Mihara and Yuni had taught her, she was a quick study—bold and eager, her usual tactical mind surrendered to sensation and trust.
Afterward, tangled in sheets with Delta's head on his chest, Arthur realized this was what she'd been asking about. Not the physical act, but the after—the quiet, the stillness, the muscle memory of two people who fit.
"Yeah," Delta murmured, half-asleep. "We can definitely do this."
---
Phantom surprised him by requesting the opera.
More specifically, she'd acquired tickets to a rare performance of *Phantom of the Opera* in the Ark's theater—a venue Arthur hadn't known existed until she'd sent him the invitation along with a dress code: formal.
He arrived early and still wasn't prepared.
Phantom stood beneath the theater's chandelier wearing a blue-grey dress that left her back bare, silver hair pulled into an elegant bun that exposed the graceful line of her neck. Her heterochromatic eyes—one blue, one yellow—caught the light as she turned, and Arthur forgot how to breathe.
"Mon cher," she said, her French accent more pronounced than usual. "You clean up well."
"You're stunning," Arthur managed.
Her smile was pleased and private. "Come. We have excellent seats."
The theater filled quickly, the performance beginning with swelling music that Arthur couldn't focus on because Phantom was beside him, leaning close to whisper translations of French phrases, her hand resting on his arm, her perfume—something floral and subtle—filling his senses.
He had no idea what the opera was about. The Phantom, the music, the tragedy unfolding on stage—all of it blurred into background noise because his Phantom was here, eyes shining with emotion, lips parted in wonder, completely transported.
During intermission, she turned to him, radiant.
"Are you enjoying it?"
"I'm enjoying you," Arthur said honestly.
Phantom's expression softened. "I brought you here because this story—it resonates. The Phantom is a monster who loves, who creates beauty despite his nature. People fear him, reject him, but he loves anyway." She touched his prosthetic hand. "You understand that, yes? To be seen as dangerous, as other, but to love anyway?"
"Yes," Arthur said, throat tight.
"Then you understand why I chose this." She leaned in, kissing him softly. "Because you see past the monster. You see the person. Always."
The second act passed in a haze. When the final note faded and the audience erupted in applause, Phantom was crying—elegant, silent tears tracking down her face. Arthur pulled her close, and she pressed against him, shaking with emotions she rarely allowed herself.
"Thank you," she whispered. "For seeing me."
---
Rupee wanted to stream, which Arthur had expected.
What he hadn't expected was her plan to catalogue "The Most Romantic Locations in the Ark" for her Lupins, turning their date into interactive content. She met him at the plaza wearing a pink jacket over a white blouse, camera drone hovering at her shoulder.
"Commander Cousland has graciously agreed to be my date today!" she announced to the camera, then pulled Arthur into frame. "Say hi to the Lupins!"
"Hi, Lupins," Arthur said, amused despite himself.
Rupee dragged him through the Ark with infectious enthusiasm, pointing out hidden gardens, overlooked cafes, scenic overlooks—each location accompanied by commentary about "romantic potential" and "aesthetic value" delivered with her trademark bubbly energy.
The Lupins ate it up, the live chat scrolling with hearts and encouragement.
But Arthur noticed the real moments—when Rupee forgot the camera and just looked at him, when her scripted commentary dissolved into genuine laughter, when she took his hand not for the stream but because she wanted to.
They ended on the observation deck atop one of the Ark's tallest towers, the artificial sky stretching overhead, the city sprawling below. Rupee positioned the camera for the perfect shot, preparing her closing remarks.
"Well, Lupins, that's our romantic tour! I hope you all—"
Arthur pulled her into a kiss.
Not a gentle, camera-friendly peck. A real kiss—deep, passionate, claiming, the kind that said exactly how much she meant to him. Rupee made a surprised noise that became a pleased hum, melting against him, the camera forgotten.
When they broke apart, she was flushed and breathless, eyes wide.
"That was..." she started.
"Overdue," Arthur finished. "Rupee, you're not just content. You're not just the shopaholic with the cute stream. You're—"
He thought of her with Anne during Christmas, patient and kind and maternal in ways that made his chest ache with want.
"You're wife material," he said quietly, aware the camera was still recording. "And I'm head over heels for you."
Rupee's eyes went glossy. "You can't just say things like that on stream!"
"Why not? It's true."
She laughed, crying, and kissed him again while the Lupins lost their collective minds in the chat. When she finally ended the stream, she buried her face in his chest.
"I love you too," she whispered. "So much it scares me."
"Don't be scared," Arthur said, holding her against the artificial sky. "We've got this."
---
Mihara and Yuni wanted to share their date, which made a certain kind of sense.
The pair were inseparable—Mihara's pain distribution and Yuni's sensation control creating a symbiotic relationship that extended beyond their Wardress designation. They met Arthur at a seedy bar in the Outpost's lower levels, a place with dim lighting and clientele who knew not to ask questions.
"Commander," Mihara purred, her long hair swaying as she approached. "Right on time."
Yuni smiled her serene smile, fingers already tracing patterns on Arthur's arm. "We've been looking forward to this."
They claimed a corner booth, drinks appearing without ordering—apparently this was their territory, their domain. The conversation flowed easily, punctuated by touches that grew bolder, kisses shared between all three, the careful navigation of boundaries they'd established over months.
"There's something we want to show you," Mihara said eventually, her eyes gleaming with mischief and invitation.
She led him behind the bar, through a storage room, to a reinforced door that opened to stairs descending into darkness. Yuni followed, locking the door behind them.
The space below was unexpected—clean, climate-controlled, outfitted with equipment that ranged from medical to decidedly recreational. A secret sanctuary designed for their specific needs.
"Our dungeon," Yuni explained, her usual softness edged with something hungry. "Only you, Mihara, and I know about it. Only we have access."
Mihara circled him, fingers trailing across his shoulders. "We wanted a place where we could explore without judgment. Where our modifications aren't handicaps but tools for pleasure."
"Will you play with us, Commander?" Yuni asked, and the question held layers of meaning—trust, desire, the unique connection they'd built.
Arthur looked at them both, these women who'd been modified, who'd turned trauma into intimacy, who'd chosen him as their safe harbor.
"Yes," he said simply.
What followed was intense and consensual, a careful dance of pain and pleasure, control and surrender, trust expressed through boundaries pushed and honored. Mihara distributed sensation between them while Yuni modulated intensity, creating feedback loops of shared experience that transcended typical intimacy.
Hours later, tangled together in the aftermath, Mihara traced the scars on Arthur's chest—the ones from Sector Seven, from battling Tyrants, from a hundred battles.
"You wear your damage like we wear ours," she observed. "Maybe that's why this works."
"Because we're all broken?" Arthur asked.
"Because we're all honest about it," Yuni corrected, kissing his jaw. "And because you let us be ourselves, modifications and all."
Arthur held them both, these brilliant, damaged, perfect women, and felt the weight of love settle deeper into his bones.
The dates continued, each one a thread in the tapestry he was weaving—not to possess, but to honor. Not to own, but to cherish.
And as February drew to a close, Arthur understood that the final chapter was approaching. Whatever came next, he would face it with an army of women who'd chosen him, a network of love that defied doctrine and redefined what humanity could be.
But first, he had a few more hearts to honor.