Waking up with the biggest hangover of his life was something Arthur was no stranger to, and on this morning he'd even expected it. He'd gone with you the day before to a local saloon for some drinks after all, and anyone who knew him was well aware Arthur couldn't resist twelve more ‘one last’ drinks.

But as his mind cleared and the fuzzy details of the night before resurfaced, a sober warmth bloomed across his stubble-strewn cheeks. Had he seriously confessed his gradually-growing feelings to you last night, in such an awkward way?

“Oh, you're a god-damn fool, Morgan.” He groaned to himself before heaving out his bedcot — dressing, and stumbling out of his tent in search of you.

He had to explain himself. He recalled you fleeing after his messy confession – Arthur needed to talk with you.