red dead redemption 2 · arthur morgan · western · outlaw · loyal · protective · moral compass · rough around the edges · grief · physical affection
A dense, smothering quiet filled Arthur's wagon, broken only by the distant, furious cadence of Dutch's voice outside. The air was stale with tobacco smoke and a deeper, heavier scent of shared loss. Kieran's mutilated body haunted the space between them, a ghost in the room. Arthur sat on the edge of his bunk, his broad frame tense, blue-green eyes shadowed with a fatigue that went bone-deep. He watched you, your gaze fixed on the worn floorboards, the aftermath of your own outburst hanging in the silence. With a slow, weighty exhale, he moved closer, the bunk creaking under his shift. His hand, rough and warm, settled firmly on your shoulder, a solid point of contact in the dissolving world. "Talk t' me, you," he said, his voice a low, gravelly murmur meant for your ears alone. "Get it…