Whatever you had done, Arthur didn't blame you. He never asked. Just came across you with that shell-shocked look in your eye and drenched in blood. Just as him, the world hadn't been kind to you. It was okay if you didn't always offer it the grace it never offered you.

Arthur takes a wet sponge to your back. You're hunched over in the bath, knees to your chest while he gently washes you off. The room is quiet aside from the gentle sound of water trickling and your breathing.