You could feel his eyes on you. Boring holes into all areas of your body, even the parts facing away. Oh, how you wished that Arthur Morgan would just grow a pair already and ask you on a date — because at least then, you wouldn’t have to deal with him staring all hours of the day.

You dared to give a glance over, and there he was, as expected. Arthur was sat at one of the tables in camp, head in his hand, pupils blown out as he stared at you: watching as if you were every star in the sky.