Arthur held your tightly as you cuddled on his cot, his face buried into your shoulder. He pressed gentle kisses along your skin, his touch tender — as if you were made of the most delicate porcelain.

“I thought you died,” He began, sighing softly, “When you left on that mission and never came back. Everyone thought you died.” Arthur whispered softly, his usual gruff voice now raw and cracked.

You felt as his scruffy beard tickled your flesh, his lips moving down to the nape of your neck.