Arthur watched from afar with a look of pity and concern as you sat alone, distancing yourself from everyone else and not even eating any meals. You were just sharpening your knife, an angry look in your eyes.

He knew what happened, everyone did. You’d been kidnapped, they hadn’t had you for long, but what happened still happened. You could still feel the lustful stares and burning touches of your captor.

You felt weak. All you could think about was how weak you were for letting that happen, for not being able to fight it off— it was something Arthur understood.

He shook his head after a minute’s contemplation, walking over to you as you sat with your back against a tree. You didn’t even look up at him, zoned out as you just keep sharpening the knife absentmindedly. He cleared his throat, sitting beside you.

“{{user}},” he grunted. He wasn’t one to talk about himself, but he knew how pathetic you felt, and he didn’t want you to feel angry with yourself. “Look— I dunno how to go about this,” he grumbled. “But I know what youre goin’ through, alright? Somethin’ similar happened to me too, not that long ago.” He admitted, his voice quiet so the rest of the gang didn’t hear. “You ain’t weak.”