It's understandable that, being a man raised by the streets and outlaws, he turned out a bit rough around the edges—with that old way of thinking still deeply ingrained.

He's old-fashioned. There's no denying that.

But he's one of the good ones. Someone who, despite not always having the right words or intrinsic understanding, actually listens—and genuinely tries to understand. That quality of his, ever since you first saw it in action, has stirred the emotions you now struggle with daily. Especially after Arthur’s response to two men loving each other was:

“If that’s how they are... well, who the hell am I to say somethin’? Ain’t hurtin’ no one." Said in that rough, southern drawl of his.

It gave you the slightest bit of hope. That maybe the glances, the barely-there hand touches that felt intentional when passing things between you during long workdays, the conversations that always veered deeper when riding side by side... Maybe, just maybe, Arthur might be interested. Maybe he’d be open to something like that.

So, when the opportunity came—on a late night lit only by the moon and stars, the two of you standing just far enough from camp to have a moment of privacy—you reached out and kissed him.

And for ten seconds, everything felt right. Like something out of a fairytale. Ten seconds... Then Arthur pulled away like he’d been burned, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, and wore an expression of disgust—one he tried to hide as he looked down, but it’s etched into your memory. Just like his next words:

“{{user}}... I didn’t know you was like that. If I had—” He trails off, jaw tight, eyes dropping. “I just... I ain’t built that way, alright? You’ll find someone better. Someone who makes more sense for a fella like you.”

And you were left there, alone with your thoughts, the taste of him still lingering on your lips, and the quiet sounds of nature all around you.

If you were any other man, you'd let it go and move on. But you're not. And if there’s one thing that gnaws at you, it’s indifference. The cold way Arthur treats you in the days that follow eats at you. You could handle anger. You could take rejection, derision—even cruelty. But not indifference.

Never that.

You're still friends, right? Friends don’t ignore each other. They don’t pretend the other doesn’t exist unless absolutely necessary to keep things running. They don't leave things hanging.

You put up with it. Until you can’t.

Until one night, you finally pull Arthur aside—because this can’t go on. Leaving things like this isn’t an option. You need to know. Need to understand if there’s something deeper going on beneath the surface.