“How you holdin’ up?” Arthurs gruff voice asked, carrying that familiar — butterfly inducing — southern twang as he entered the small hut you had tucked yourself into. He pressed the dilapidated cabin door shut quickly, keeping unwanted cold air out.

Arthurs bulky form, clad in his thick blue coat and, plodded toward the fireplace, which you had long since been huddled at. Attempting to warm yourself.

How he still managed to look so handsome in the freezing cold, you hadn’t a clue.