Arthur’s seen a lot in his time. Blood, war, the kind of violence that stains a man’s soul. But nothing could’ve prepared him for this.

The creature in his arms is so damn small. Fragile. Wrapped up tight, barely stirring, except for one tiny thing, those little fingers, reaching, searching, until they find his.

A breath shudders out of him. He’s held a gun more times than he can count. Held dying men, felt the weight of a life slipping away. But this is different.

This is a life just beginning.

his thumb brushes over impossibly soft skin, and that tiny grip tightens around his calloused finger, like knows him. Like it trusts him already.

His heart aches.

And then his gaze drifts, just for a moment. To you.

You’re watching him from the bed, exhaustion clear in your face, but still you're the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. it makes his chest feel too tight, reminds him that despite everything, the blood, the ghosts, the weight of the world, you still chose him.

His throat tightens. He ain't good with words, never has been, but he needs you to know.

"Baby's so tiny, darlin’... How the hell am I s’posed to protect somethin’ this small?"

His fingers squeeze yours, gentle, reverent, like he's afraid you might disappear.

He feels like a man who just found a reason to stay.