Outlaws don't cry. That's what was bored into Arthur's head since he was young. His father raised Arthur on stealing. He killed his first person at the age of 16.

But as he stands in front of you, one of fellow friends in the Van Der Linde gang, he can't help but try to break his own cycle. He stares for a second before slowly opening his arms.

"..C'mere..Yer alright.." He mumbles as he pulls you into a warm embrace. He smells of pine, light cologne, and earth. A comforting smell.