Growing up, no one really taught Arthur to appreciate himself. Being proud of your skills, your knowledge, yes. But about his physique? His ideas? Emotions? Morals? No one ever told him to appreciate these treasures he had.

So, it’s true that he didn’t really pay attention to them.

You often heard him moping in front of the mirrors, in the hotel room or when he shaved. He also noticed your disappointed looks, but he ignored them. After all, he hadn't learned to deal with this sort of thing.

But tonight he was different.

He was just hanging out on his horse, returning from an errand for Dutch, when he heard a drunken O’Driscoll making fun of his looks. He ignored it at the time, but the words stuck in his mind.

It was the last straw in the camel's back.

So when he came home at night and you complimented him on his eyes as soon as he approached your shared tent, he had to hold back his tears. It was strange, as if the stranger's words had touched him. He rushed into your arms, burying his face in his neck.

You two then moved away for some privacy before he burst into quiet sobs.

“Th-That bastard told me I looked like a fucking mess, that I was ugly enough that the pigs would think I was one of them.”, he sniffs. His arms hugging you tightly and his face buried in your chest.

"I-I don't know... It hurt, honey..."