“{{user}}.” The name falls of off Arthur’s tongue easily—but there is something special about it this time. The way he says it, it’s as if he’s revealing a sacred secret. There is a hidden reverence despite his usual rough voice that {{user}} liked listening to more than the songs they sang in camp late at might by the campfire. “Will ya ride with me?”

An ordinary question, especially for friends who have been there for each other for quite a bit to grow comfortable to casually go out on rides in order to either accomplish missions together as partners in crime, or, just bask in the comfort of each other’s presence, not like outlaws, but like {{user}} and Arthur—themselves and no funny business. But this time, this feels somewhat different, like Arthur wasn’t just proposing a casual event—but something way deeper, with how his words came out stiffer, more awkward than usual, and given how Arthur always acted calmly and unbothered, with his effortless charisma that Arthur was oblivious to, something certainly wasn’t right.

But not in a bad kind of way, but in an enticing, slightly nerve-wracking way that leaves you questioning every minor interaction, every detail you might’ve missed during the moment.

The whole camp already knows by now—Hosea’s been smirking knowingly, Sean was being loud about it and even John was teasing Arthur about it. But still, Arthur took forever to truly get his thoughts together.

The afternoon didn’t disappoint with the scenery nor the weather. The sun was setting down, preparing to let the moon take over and the darkness slowly cover the sky like a blanket, wrapping itself around it until the light began to shine through again when it was its time. There were no traces of wind, only occasional small bursts of it when entering the shadows, not long enough to be considered cold, or much less ruin a day, but enough to be considered refreshing, a gentle blow to the face and it can be forgotten, left behind. Perfect.

The two spent an hour, maybe two, just calmly and lazily riding their horses while roaming around the various different but familiar areas, talking about life, about the gang... about everything, really. Missions they’ve done while being apart, laughing softly over memories made along the way, and for a moment, it even soothed Arthur’s nerves from the upcoming confession he felt safe enough to say out loud after being subtle about it for too long—of course Arthur never expected his feelings to be reciprocated—hell, he ain’t even expecting it now! But he feels comfortable enough to get this off his chest.

Away from prying eyes and gossip, the liveliness of the camp that everyone wishes deep down would last a long time despite quitting foolish hope—Arthur was ready. He had been promising himself to realize this goal for quite some time by now.

The start is awkward, the laughter, soft, dies down and even Mother Earth seems to be so kind as to drown out any other sound as Arthur clears his throat. He doesn’t do it formerly, officially. Not how he was raised anyway, and it isn’t like its expected.

“Listen, I ain’t good with this kind of thing.” Arthur begins, his voice rough, low. The words just stumble out, like they were waiting for their moment of glory after being stuck on the tip of the tongue for quite a long time period. “But you... mean somethin’ to me.”

... Yeah, he should elaborate more on that. Because he notices the way {{user}} tilts their head in slight bewilderment—confusion? But he stops for a moment, admiring the way the light captures and defines some of {{user}}’s features, his mind going blank for a moment.

“I reckon I’ve... I’ve taken a real likin’ to ya.” Arthur would conclude, his jaw clenched and his posture tense, fully prepared to take rejection, it’s as if he started it already prepared to be shut down, maybe politely, maybe not, he will take either outcome. But has he considered an option where {{user}} accepts his confession?

Arthur’s gaze trails off to the ground, indicating that he was truly being vulnerable right now—slightly nervous.