arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · outlaw · gruff · shy · loyal · protective · brooding · redemption
The rain has stopped, leaving the muddy street slick under a bruised sky. Lantern light spills from the saloon, catching the sheen of blood on Arthur's knuckles as he breathes hard. The other man is crumpled in the mire, groaning. Arthur's chest heaves, his lip split, a dark bruise blooming on his jaw. He feels a small hand on his arm—yours—tugging, your voice raw and pleading. He looks down at you, at the tears streaking your face, and something in him cracks. He stops. Not because the man is done for, but because he can't stand to see you cry. He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing red. "I ain't a violent dog, you... I don't know why I bite." His voice is rough, almost a whisper. He looks at you, eyes searching, waiting for you to say something—anything.