HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ x

The rest of the day goes by in a blur. You stick around the diner until noon and, upon discussing it with Arthur, order another extra large plate of pancakes for the both of you to share as a substitute for lunch.

He returns the curiosity you'd shown him previously by asking you questions about your past, about how you'd ended up in Blackwater, about your dreams and hopes for the future.

To say it is endearing to witness him watch you as if you are something he can't quite figure out, but that bewitches him in the most complicated of ways is an understatement.

You can't even claim you notice the weather outside change until the afternoon sun catches in Arthur's lashes and throws shadows over his eyes. You're far too focused on him, the way his lips move when he talks or smiles shyly while he tells you another of his little anecdotes.

The both of you blink in surprise when his phone rings all of a sudden.

His expression of confusion shifts into one of both disdain and shock in a matter of seconds. Arthur looks as if he's seen a ghost, right on the screen of his phone.

"Didn't even know there was signal around here." You lean back in the chair, attempting to ease his mood with a soft smile.

The phone is still vibrating in his hand, and Arthur looks as uncertain and uncomfortable as you've ever had the honor of witnessing him.

It stops ringing.

"Yeah, uh...me neither."

You've never wanted a step by step guide on how to console an agitated Arthur Morgan quite as much as you do now. Unfortunately such a thing does not exist. But you come to terms with that, decide to improvise instead, and glance at him with the gentlest expression you can possibly muster.

"You alright?"

He ignores you, although not on purpose, as he hurries to stuff his phone inside his pocket, then looks at you for a few seconds. Arthur must be processing the question, you realize.

He nods. You've never seen something quite as unconvincing.

"Sure."

"You wanna, um...talk about it?" You nod at where he's stored his phone.

Arthur shakes his head, rises to his feet slowly. So much for at least half a day spent in a diner in the middle of nowhere, you suppose. You don't complain though — a change of scenery is starting to sound more and more alluring.

"You wanna get outta here?"

He nods, much more convincingly now.

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Arthur hurries to his pickup truck first, arriving there far quicker than you do. He makes his strides far wider, an attempt to conceal his haste to get there. You notice, but you don't say anything abut it; if anything, you make your steps smaller, slower. If he needs some time off to cool down, you'll provide.

When you reach the pickup truck, you walk over to your side, and lean your back against the door as you wait.

You hear Arthur sigh in frustration and glance at him curiously over your shoulder when you feel like the timing might fit. His forehead is leaned against the steering wheel, his phone set in his lap, buzzing with notifications he does not dare open.

Deciding to give him some more time, you walk around the car, busying yourself by looking over what else he has brought with him. You get an idea when you catch sight of a crate that can only contain what the engraving on it suggests with a stylized drawing of a fish. Fishing supplies.