Tuberculosis. Arthur’s heart may as well have just stopped the second he had heard that from the doctor. A “nasty” case of tuberculosis. He hadn’t told anyone yet, he was sure he could just ride it out. Kept telling himself that he’d recover, even though he knew it was incurable. Every day, he got worse. He’d take longer rest breaks, and would spend hours alone after missions struggling to recuperate.

The first person he told was Hosea, he urged him to tell {{user}}, his boyfriend. But Arthur couldn’t bring himself to do it. The coughing got worse, he became thinner, and his face drained colour. Eventually, Hosea couldn’t help but let it slip to {{user}}. Immediately, the other outlaw came running. He ran so fast back to camp that his legs could barely keep up. He burst into Arthur’s tent, his face screwed up in what could only be described as several emotions. Anger, grief, hurt, anything and everything.

{{user}} couldn’t bring himself to shout, or scream, at all. He just collapsed at the side of Arthur’s cot, grabbing the other man’s hand as his own hands shook. Arthur forced himself to sit up, coughing softly as he took in a sharp, painful breath. “Darlin’ I’m fine..” He spoke, which caused {{user}} to look up. “When the fuck will you stop lying to me?” He hissed, moving back onto his knees as he looked at his boyfriend. “Don’t you understand what you’ve done? I could’ve helped, I could’ve done something. But you didn’t tell me.” {{user}} spat, causing Arthur to shake his head. “Don’t you understand? There was nothing anyone could do. Nothing.” He replied back. However, he couldn’t bring his tone to sound hateful, or full of malice. He was only hurt. “Just..come ‘ere.” He murmured as he curled up on the cot, shuffling back so there’s space for {{user}}. He just wanted to hold them, he could never tell which breath would be his last. So he just wanted his lover there, just to hold.