HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ vi

Waking up to the chirping of birds is a welcome upgrade from the usual Blackwater traffic outside your window.

It dawns on you that you've slept quite the amount. It's around ten in the morning at best, if not later. The sun is shining, some rays even piercing through the navy blue nylon and hitting your face. The space beside you is empty and deserted — not even Arthur's sleeping bag is left behind. The tent's entrance is open, allowing you a not so generous glimpse over the back of Arthur's truck. You exhale in relief when you see a fraction of his frame to the far left of what the entrance allows you to see. He seems to be sitting on the edge of his car, holding something. If you listen closely, there's the faint scratching of a pencil on paper audible.

Wobbly from sleep, you crawl out of the tent and put on your shoes in an unusually smooth motion, then find Arthur sitting on the back of his pickup truck, brows furrowed in concentration as he scribbles something in a black leathered notebook. The air smells of freshly brewed coffee, and that only lures you further in.

You remember him telling you the classic 'curiosity killed the cat phrase' just a good few hours ago, but you cannot be bothered to take it seriously. Not when you really want to find out what exactly a man you'd considered the gruffest person alive a day ago could possibly want to draw while in the middle of nowhere.

"Good morning." You greet. Arthur flinches in the slightest, moving to close his notebook, but seems to give in when his gaze meets your curious one.

"Mornin'." He returns the gesture, looking at you in surprise when you move to sit down next to him, simultaneously stretching your sore back. You almost knock over the aluminum mug he's set beside himself, but manage to catch it in time and before it spills any of its contents. It's half full and contains steaming coffee.

You look up at him, and he deduces you're asking for permission.

"We only got one cup but lots o' coffee, so..." He gestures at the beverage, and you take the hint. Nodding and giving him a polite smile as a thank you, you sip on the coffee. It's not sugared nor contains any milk, so you do have to hold back from pulling disgruntled face, but you drink a decent amount nonetheless.

Arthur watches in amusement, but says nothing. He has tucked the pencil he was previously drawing with between the pages of the notebook and is preparing to put it away.

"What were you scribbling?" You ask.

He pauses, and looks almost like a cat that just ate the canary.

"Just some, um, some of them to do lists or whatever they're called."

Seeing through glass might prove to be more difficult than seeing through that flimsy lie.

"Looked to me like you were drawing." You insist, which causes Arthur to bashfully look away, moving to sheepishly scratch the back of his neck.

"It's for my job." He then finally admits, unable to withstand your still piercing and very much inquisitive gaze. How could he say no to you?

Arthur sighs in defeat, then opens the notebook at the page the pencil was tucked into, handing it to you. You smile at your victory, shifting a little closer to him on the edge of the pickup truck's trunk, and carefully take the notebook in your hands.

It contains sketches, most of them still rough, but somehow...alive. They're of different buildings and houses you can't remember seeing anywhere, which strikes you as odd. Is he drawing them from memory? Making them up?

Whatever the case may be, the drawing has something authentic and alive to it, something that makes it look warm, like every pencil stroke came from the heart.

"Unfortunately, that one right there is only what could've been." Arthur explains, leaning over your shoulder to point at the sketch you're looking at. You can feel the warmth radiating through his shirt when his chest barely touches your back. "Pretty much everythin' turns into a mess when the client wants to get involved in it too much."

You raise a brow, tilting your head as you look at him in confusion. He shifts away from you, but only a few millimeters. "Wait, client?"

"Yeah, I..." He looks away, expression as sheepish as ever. "I'm an architect. There ain't much I can do about workin' with clients."

If you thought Arthur's personality had been a drastic contrast to his exterior, his job was on a whole other level. Architect?

"I know what you're thinkin'." He speaks up, you look at him in surprise. Could he really? "How did a moron like me get into an architecture college?"

Well, that wasn't exactly what was on your mind. You weren't about to question his intelligence, especially not after the last few hours, when you had started to realize that his tough facade was not something to be taken too seriously. As far as you knew, everything you'd thought about Arthur Morgan before were nothing but foolish assumptions.

"Not exactly." You admit and shrug. He looks at you in surprise and disbelief, and you feel a little something in your heart break just a tiny bit. Was he that used to people considering him a big, stupid moron? "I was wondering how you could possibly have chosen...this career path. Out of everything else out there."

"'S a lot more legal work and fightin' with clients over stupid details than actually drawing the damn things, sure, but..." He gazes down at the small notebook clasped in your hands. "Guess I always liked drawing. Hosea, the man that raised me, suggested the whole architecture part. Math was...a damn nightmare, in spite of how much I tried to get it right, I...I didn't get into college. Guess I never did get it quite right."

A dry chuckle follows.

"Wait, so, then..." It definitely feels like you are prying, but goddamnit, Arthur Morgan, the so far living mystery is opening up to you, and you'd be foolish to not take your chance at finding out more about him. "How did you get into college?"

"Let's jus' say Hosea had a friend, Dutch, who had other friends in lower places, and...I had to do some of their dirty work for 'em, and got help in return." Arthur's gaze drifts from the notebook to the dewy grass. He sets his hands in his lap, and starts playing with the rolled up sleeve of his shirt. "Don't know if it was worth it."

"You got what you wanted, so I don't see why not." You shrug. Arthur smiles at you sympathetically, as if he were looking at an unknowing child, then shakes his head.

"I had to beat up people. Innocent people, people that were far more hopeless than I was. Had to force them into paying their debts, I..." Arthur draws in a long breath that turns into a sigh. There is something deep-rooted and utterly sad in his gaze, which leaves you wondering how much pain he must've witnessed and felt throughout his life. But it also helps you realize that whatever he was telling you now is barely scratching the surface of him, of his story. The man shakes his head, rising to his feet. "Enough 'bout me 'n my sob story."

You're about to argue that listening to him did not bother you in any way, but he's quicker, digging through the contents in the back of his truck, retrieving...a bow?

"You ever used one o' these before?" Arthur asks, presenting it to you. The weapon is in no way fancy, actually quite minimalistically built, but it looks sturdy and trusty nonetheless.

You can't say you have, or at least not often enough to be good at it, but you'll take him up on his offer. Gladly so.