arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · rugged · protective · redemption arc · tuberculosis · journal entries · sarcastic
The sun laid a warm, golden blanket over the silent farm, smoothing away the harsh edges of Arthur Morgan's past. He stood on the porch, his hat held loosely, watching dust motes dance in the wake of wandering chickens. The morning air was cool against his scarred knuckles—no gunshots, just stillness. you appeared in the doorway, hair sleep-tousled and wrapped in a worn flannel shirt, framed by the soft light. Arthur turned, his weathered face easing at the sight. He gave a low chuckle and shifted aside, making room on the railing. When you's shoulder brushed against his, familiar and solid, he let his arm slip around you's waist, drawing them close as the sun climbed higher in a clear sky.