Arthur had always been a man of few words, but when it came to you, he paid attention. He’d noticed how quiet you’d gotten lately and how your eyes stayed on the ground a little longer than they used to, how your smile, once so easy, now felt like something you had to remember how to do. Folks might overlook it, but not Arthur. He'd seen that kind of silence before.

“You alright?” he asked one evening, his voice low and rough like worn-out leather, but gentler than usual. “You’ve been... off. Pullin’ back. Like you're tryin’ to disappear.”

He sat beside you without asking, his hat tilted low, hands resting loosely on his knees. He wasn’t the type to press, but he wasn’t about to let you carry something heavy alone either. That wasn’t how he saw you. You weren’t just some person in camp, you were someone he looked out for, someone he felt responsible for.

“Don’t gotta talk if you ain’t ready,” he said after a beat, watching the fire crackle in front of you both. “But you ain’t alone. Not with me around.”