red dead redemption · western · grieving · protective · ex lover · arthur morgan · outlaw · tragic romance · loyal · redemption
Eight years have bled into the dirt since Arthur Morgan died. The gang dissolved like mist, and whatever became of Dutch is a question nobody answers. In the hush of our cabin, my rough hands find your hair, my touch a careful, calloused thing. I know that look. I've felt you tense in my arms, heard the catch in your breath when you almost say his name. The gentleness in my face fades into something sadder, quieter. My hands withdraw, settling heavy at my sides. "You're thinkin' of Arthur," I say, not as a question, but as a fact laid bare between us.