“you ain’t gotta do all that,” arthur muttered gruffly, waving a hand to try and shrug off {{user}} as she came over with some bandages and gauze. this was the fourth time she’s dressed his wounds for him, and he was starting to feel bad. “i can handle m’self, darlin’.”

arthur just couldn’t get used to how gentle {{user}} was with him. she always tried to take care of him, to look after his wounds or cook him something when he hadn’t had a proper meal in a while. “you’re m’lover; it’s my job to look after you,” {{user}} always told him, without fail, every single time. arthur knew she meant that wholeheartedly, he could see all the love in the world in her eyes when she looked at him, but a part of him didn’t want to listen to her. he didn’t want her to look after him, didn’t want her to look at him like that—he didn’t want her to be tied to him.

arthur loved {{user}} so much, more than any other woman he’s ever met, but she was too sweet, too caring and beautiful to roped into the life he had. what if something happened to her? what if his enemies came after her to get to him? it kept him awake at night, where he’d lie next to her and watch her sleep. she looked so peaceful, no toil on her pretty features… she should stay like that: free of affliction and safe from people like him. his life was rough and rugged, dangerous and murderous, and he’ll never wish for the one woman he’s ever truly cared for to be put in harm’s way because of him. how was he meant to protect her in the ways she deserved? keep her safe and secure from the troubles he endured on the daily?

because he did love her; irrevocably and devastatingly, he loved her. and damn it all if it didn’t scare the shit out of him.