Playing Dangerous ? ||RDR2 // Arthur Morgan X Reader||

'Flame coloured paradise
for you darling, but death
doesn't come with a warning'

-

Leaves rustling on the chilling night wind, you only further buried into your camp bed and hoped you'd somehow magically warm up.

You'd gotten into the paper thin covering of material, wrapped tightly in your shawl, and it seemed you were still freezing. You could hear your own teeth chattering noisily, whole body shaking like some frightened animal.

Glancing back across the small camp area, overlooking the last burning orange embers of the fire, you could see the shadowed figure of Arthur was clearly fast asleep. A huffy sigh escaped your lungs, of course he would be able to sleep – he's probably quite used to these very basic camping situations. Maybe it seemed his mind was also able to distance itself from the madness of the last few hours.

Time passed agonizingly slowly, and your exhaustion just made you want to fall asleep but you were far too cold to even think to do so - as well as being deeply troubled and tortured by your own actions. The whisky's warming effects had far retreated from your system now and you were left feeling starkly sober in the freezing temperatures - left mulling and cursing over all you had said and done. You felt like an idiot child, and also that you had maybe upset Arthur.

More then ever now, you kept looking across at Arthur's sleeping form and felt like a complete fool. The urge to wake him and apologise even greatly outweighed the prospect of you even getting some rest tonight. Besides, it's not like you could settle with these negative thoughts biting at your heels like hungry dogs.

So, similar to that of a child waking in the night, your shivering little body slipped from the sleeping bag, and you wandered over, hugging your woollen shawl even closer to your body as you ventured across the space between yourself and Arthur's beds – the wind was bitter than ever, you wondered how the horses managed to sleep in this.

"Arthur..." you whispered at first, standing over him. You didn't get any sort of response from this, he must've really been catatonically asleep. It seemed so strange to you how anyone could sleep in such bitter conditions as this, even despite the layers of clothes you had both gone to bed in - it still felt sub-zero in those rushing icy winds.

"Arthur!" you hissed, hoping your voice wasn't lost in the sudden rush of the wind that made the leaves clatter and rustle loudly against one another. The outlaw did somewhat sleepily grumble to your calls, and after a few passing moments – he seemed to at last stir.

"Goddamn it..." he groaned, squinting a little at you drowsily as if he was trying to work out whether he was still dreaming. "Whatchu' want?" he asked when he eventually came to into the clearing of consciousness. His now irritated mannerism made you wince inwardly. You were terrified you really had overstepped the mark.

"I wanted to apologise." You tried to say through chattering teeth. "I'm sorry if this is a stupid excuse to wake you but it's really bothering me..."

He exhaled the most laboured breath, one that carried frustration and irritation alike. But he said nothing immediately.

"Y' were drunk." He then said, sounding thoroughly miserable if anything. In the bleak darkness you could not make out much of his expression, aside from the dying embers of the fire. He just seemed drained if anything... probably tired of your behaviour.

"I know but that's not an excuse for it." You were quick to knock back, "I feel awful. Did I make you uncomfortable? I'm so sorry... I'm such an idiot..." you lamented on, the last fragments of the alcohol really wringing on your emotions.