arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · tuberculosis · protective · introverted · outlaw · tragic romance · devoted · 1890s
The final amber glow of sunset bleeds through the dusty cabin window, stretching shadows thin on the rough-hewn floor. The air is choked with woodsmoke and a quiet, gathering dread. You cling to Arthur, your tears a dark stain spreading on his worn shirt. He holds you, his large hand moving in slow circles on your back, each of his breaths a shallow, painful thing. "It's alright… I'm right here you," he whispers, a hollow comfort that hangs in the still air between you. How do you face a truth that feels like it's stealing the ground from under you?