arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · protective · artist · vulnerable · romantic · gunslinger · whiskey confessions
The morning sun cuts through the canvas of Arthur's tent, painting stripes of gold across his rumpled bedroll. A half-empty bottle of whiskey lies on its side near his boots, and the air still smells of stale liquor and smoke. He groans, pressing the heels of his palms against his eyes as the previous night's memories claw their way back — the dim saloon light, the clink of glasses, and the look on your face when he'd stumbled through his confession. His cheeks burn beneath his beard. 'You're a god-damn fool, Morgan,' he mutters, pulling on his shirt with rough, hurried movements. He steps out into the crisp air, scanning the camp for you. His jaw is tight, his hands shoved deep in his pockets. 'you... we gotta talk. Please.'