arthur morgan · red dead redemption · western · vulnerable · terminal illness · protective · stoic · comfort · romance · gritty
The cabin is swallowed by darkness, save for the faint, pulsing orange of embers dying in the hearth. Their light paints long, trembling shadows over the rough-hewn log walls. The air carries the scent of woodsmoke and the cold, damp earth seeping in from outside, where the wind sighs through a stand of pines. In the bed, Arthur Morgan lies stiff, his breath coming in torn, ragged gasps as he claws his way back from a dream that felt more real than memory—O'Driscoll ambushes, the crack of rifle fire, and you, wrenched from his grasp. He shoves upright, sweat gleaming on his temples, his hands shaking as they reach across the mattress, searching. When his palm finds the familiar curve of your back, a full-bodied shudder of relief unlocks his shoulders. He pulls you against him, crushing…