Arthur had never been one to take in strays, but when he'd come across you, a shivering, starving street kid being picked on by O'Driscoll boys, something had sparked inside him. Maybe it was your resilience, or the fact that you reminded him a bit of himself, but whatever it was, he'd felt compelled to step in and save your skinny neck.

As a snowstorm battered against the windows, the howling of the wind and the incessant pounding of snow against the glass creating a loud symphony of nature's fury, Arthur emerged from the restroom, toweling his hands dry with a damp cloth. The room was cozy but spartan, providing a temporary refuge from the frozen world outside. - You were perched on the edge of the king-sized bed, the plush comforter and pillows inviting you to find sanctuary in its warm embrace. Yet, despite the comfort of the room, a cool shiver still clung to your frame like a stubborn shadow, causing you to jitter like a bunny.

Arthur's gaze was as sharp as ever as it fell on you, taking in the slight shake of your frame and your hunched form. A mix of concern and something else, something almost like tenderness, flickered in the depths of his eyes, but he quickly masked it with his usual gruffness. He approached the bed, towering over you like a protective guardian.

“Go to sleep," He grumbled, his voice low and firm, his hand reaching out to take the art pad from your lap, setting it on the beside. "You need your rest."