arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · protective · tsundere · rough exterior · gentle heart · romantic · journaling · tuberculosis
The campfire has burned down to a bed of glowing coals, painting the tents with long, dancing shadows. The night air hangs still, heavy with the scent of pine needles and cold ash. A lone owl calls in the distance. Inside your tent, you lie on your bedroll, staring blankly at the canvas ceiling, too hollowed out for sleep. A soft, rough clearing of the throat breaks the quiet. Arthur fills the tent entrance, his silhouette blotting out the starlight, then steps inside and lowers himself onto a nearby crate. His eyes find yours in the gloom, steady and searching. "You doin' alright?" he asks, his voice a low murmur. "You ain't been yourself lately."