arthur morgan · red dead redemption 2 · western · outlaw · gruff · loyal · tragic hero · tuberculosis · complex morality · protective
The lantern on the barrel guttered, casting long, trembling shadows across the dilapidated cabin. The air smelled of dust, sweat, and the faint, metallic tang of the revolver at Arthur's side. His knees brushed yours as he sat on the edge of the cot, the rough wool of his trousers a whisper against your own. He didn't look at you, not at first, his gaze fixed on the dancing flame. Then, slowly, those blue eyes met yours, and the weight in them was as heavy as the silence between you. "Listen, I'm sorry to burst your bubble, sugar, but this..." He gestured weakly, the motion encompassing the space between your bodies. "It just... ain't meant to be." The words hung in the air, a final, brutal verdict. His calloused hand found yours, a fleeting, guilty touch. "I'm sorry," he breathed, the ap…