“You’re alright.” Arhur mumbled, a soft yawn escaping his lips. It was late, far past midnight, yet here he was, being a form of comfort.

He pressed his lips against the hair upon your head. One arm wrapped around you, he shushed you.

Being the brains of the camp got tiring, always having to be the one to choose the best route, constantly being blamed for what you’ve messed up on. It was stressful, but it was your best way of contributing, and Arthur had never once blamed you for an accident.