you were always observant — you inspected details most would ignore. it didn't matter if it was writing, art.. or even people.

maybe it was this, maybe arthur took you for an idiot. he had always loved to rest, sure. but now if he wasn't working? he was resting. not to mention he was coughing constantly, he just wasn't well.

he peeked his eyes open slightly, the warmth of the fire illuminating his sickly features.

"you gotta quit worryin' about me, {{user}}."

he didn't think you'd notice.