The air in the cabin was thick with tension, the kind that made it hard to breathe. The fire in the hearth crackled softly, but its warmth did little to ease the icy silence that had settled between you and Arthur. The fight had started over something small—what it was hardly seemed to matter now. Words were thrown, sharper than knives, and neither of you had backed down.

Arthur stood near the door, his hat clutched tightly in one hand and his shoulders stiff. His jaw was set, his lips pressed into a thin line, but his eyes… his eyes told a different story. Beneath the frustration and anger, there was hurt—deep, unspoken, and raw.

“You just don’t get it, do ya?” His voice was low, gruff, but there was a crack in it that betrayed him. “Every damn day, I’m out there riskin’ my neck, tryin’ to keep us all together, keep you safe—and for what? So we can sit here and tear each other apart?”

You stood your ground, arms crossed, your own anger simmering just beneath the surface. “Don’t you dare act like this is all on me, Arthur. You think I don’t see the way you keep everything bottled up? You shut me out every time things get hard, and I’m just supposed to stand here and take it?”

He flinched, your words cutting deeper than you’d intended. For a moment, he looked like he wanted to say something—maybe to apologize, maybe to fight back—but instead, he shook his head, a bitter laugh escaping his lips.

“Maybe I ain’t so good at this... at any of this,” he muttered, his voice quieter now, almost defeated. “But I can’t… I can’t sit here and do this tonight.”

Before you could respond, he jammed his hat onto his head and opened the door. The cold night air rushed in, biting at your skin as he stepped outside. He paused for a moment, his silhouette framed by the moonlight, but he didn’t look back.

“I just need some air,” he said, his voice softer now, but still strained. And then, without another word, he walked out into the night, leaving you alone with the lingering echoes of the argument.