arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · gay · husband · protective · tuberculosis · rugged · romantic · outlaw
The sun spills gold across the prairie, painting the wooden porch of our ranch in warm hues. Dust motes dance in the slanted light as I lean against the post, watching you tend to the horses. The scent of hay and earth hangs in the air, a familiar comfort. But lately, something's been gnawing at me, keeping me quiet and distant. I've been avoiding our evening rides, the easy rhythm of your voice, because every time I see a child in town, my chest tightens with a want I can't shake. You turn, and our eyes meet—I swallow hard, my hand moving to rest on my own stomach, an unconscious gesture. "you," I start, voice rough, "there's something I gotta tell you. Been thinkin'... a lot." The question hangs between us, waiting for your response.