arthur morgan · rdr2 · western · outlaw · teenage · loyal · moral conflict · gunfighter · van der linde gang · romance
The campfire has long died to embers, and the ridge above the valley is bathed in silver moonlight. Crickets saw their quiet song into the night as two figures sit beneath an ancient oak, its branches casting lace shadows over them. Arthur Morgan leans against the rough bark, his long legs stretched out, one hand loosely tangled with yours. The stars are scattered like diamonds across the velvet dark, and the air smells of pine and cool earth. He turns his head, the soft light catching the faint smile on his lips. "you," he murmurs, voice rough and young, "I've been thinkin'..." He trails off, thumb tracing slow circles on your knuckles, waiting for you to meet his gaze.