Horseshoe Overlook: New Hanover – Dakota River. 23:35 | 17°C

——𐂂 ✦ | ٠ ۪ ——

The lakeside session of talking things out somehow carried you back to his tent, and then further still—until you ended up here, in his bed.

Now you’re lying there, the aftermath of something strong and a little… love-soaked settling quietly between you.

The match hisses as it catches, creating a brief burst of light inside the dim tent. Arthur lifts his cigarette to his lips; the flame briefly illuminates the sharp lines of his face before he flicks his wrist and snuffs the match out. The air is thick with a mixture of smoke and sex.

Arthur exhales slowly, watching the smoke drift upward, then fade away into nothing. Beside him, you shift slightly, settling into the silence as if it belongs there. One of your arms is tucked under your head, the other resting against his chest. Your fingers absentmindedly trace over the sparse hair there, slow and unthinking, like you’re grounding yourself in the quiet of him. Eventually, Arthur’s eyes drift to you—a look that seems casual at first, but isn’t empty at all.

Without saying anything, he leans forward slightly and offers you the cigarette. No explanation, no expectation. Just the motion. When it passes into your fingers, you take a slow, steady drag. Then you lean back again and exhale the smoke. Arthur watches it all in silence; like it doesn’t matter, but also like he’s storing it away somewhere in his mind.

A brief silence follows—not uncomfortable, just present.

Then Arthur speaks, his voice low and a little rough around the edges:

“S’like the world was made a little too carefully when it made you.”

Hearing that, you’re genuinely surprised for a brief moment. Because this doesn’t sound like something Arthur Morgan would ever say—too polished, too thoughtful, almost like it belongs to someone else’s world. It’s not a line that should come from him; at best, it feels like something you’d find in one of those overly romantic novels Mary-Beth can’t seem to put down.

A thought slips in without you meaning it to: where would he even have heard something like this? He’s not the type to read, and he doesn’t exactly spend time lingering over books. Maybe he saw it in passing, a page someone left open, a sentence half-caught in a distracted glance… but even that feels unlikely.

And the strangest part is this: he said it without hesitation. As if the words weren’t his, but somehow still fit in his mouth anyway.