HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ xii

Waking up to the sound of rain is one of the finer things in life. You're certain Arthur would agree, if he were still beside you in the tent — no such luck.

The pitter patter of raindrops sounds even more peaceful when it drums on the nylon, barely centimeters away from you, and yet far away. You cuddle further into your sleeping bag, sighing in satisfaction. You could spend hours like this — and you will.

The tent's entrance zips open, and someone peeks inside. You have to refrain from kicking the intruder before you realize it's Arthur.

His hair is damp and slicked back. Raindrops are pearling down his face and neck, seeping into the plain, soaked shirt he's wearing, assuring you of what you'd thought since the moment you'd met him: This man is quite a sight to behold. And he's been in the rain for a while.

"Sorry to disturb your sleep, but I'm afraid you gotta move."

"Huh? Why?" You sit up, rubbing your eyes to avoid staring at him for an unhealthy amount of time, which works to some extent.

"Apparently there's a storm comin'. We should leave, or at least pack up 'n wait it out."

As much as you like nature, it certainly has a way of ruining things.

Or improving them, you tell yourself with a fugitive glance towards Arthur as you get out of the sleeping bag.

"I'll put on a clean shirt and be with you in a minute."

He nods, retreats out of the tent. "Take your time." Arthur speaks up once he's outside. "'S not like I can get much more soaked than I already am."

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Stepping into the rain is like standing under a literal shower. The only positive aspect about the downpour you can find (aside from the aforementioned purely visual one) is that it's temperature is comfortable to some extent, if not slightly warm. New Austin and its perks.

If setting up the tent had been a pain, picking it up while being under a figurative shower is a challenge. Arthur proves to be as helpful as always, though either his or your hands do slip over the nylon from time to time and force you to restart folding the material.

You almost can't believe it when the two of you store it into the back of Arthur's truck. With a huff, you lean against the side of the car, glancing at Arthur with a smile.

His soaked shirt hugs his wide frame, and does a stellar job at showing off the muscles of his back and arms when he stretches across the bed of his pickup truck to unroll the cover. You can swear he stares at you, too, but when you do finally get the courage to find out wether that is the case or not, Arthur reacts before you can get your answer.

Your clothes are stuck to you as well, and you have to admit it's not exactly comfortable, but not the worst you've had either. At least the rain isn't cold.

He makes sure no water is seeping through the cover he's pulled over the bed of his pickup truck, then takes a step backwards.

"Now what?" You ask, and Arthur shrugs.

"We can...wait it out."

You furrow your brows. The thought of staying in a dry place with wet clothes sounds somehow worse than standing in the rain. "That's no fun."

Arthur looks at you with a quirk of his brow and a smirk tugging on one corner of his lips. A few strands of his hair fall out of place and stick to his damp visage. "Didn't know rain had to be fun."

You settle your hands on your clothed hips, over the soaked fabric of your shirt, and look around. What to do, aside from sit inside Arthur's car and wait out the storm?

The lake.

An idea pops into your mind, and you don't even have time to process it properly before you blurt it out. Talk about elegance and eloquence.

"How about we go for a swim?"

Arthur looks at you skeptically. "In the lake?"

"Yeah?"

"During a storm?"

"I don't see any lightnings."

He leans his back against the car, reaches inside his pocket, retrieves a pack of cigarettes. He thumbs it open, peeks inside with a sigh, the closes it. No point in lighting a cigarette in the rain. He straightens himself up, then looks at you.

"I hope you're aware swimmin' in a lake ain't like takin' a dip in the city pool."

"Of course. But it's still water, at the end of the day."

"Mm, no..." Arthur hooks his thumbs around his belt, then glances at you with an unusually serious expression. "There's eels, 'n those ugly fish with sharp teeth that bite, 'n worms, 'n seaweed..." As the sentence progresses, his voice gets lower and lower, but his expression gradually loses its sternness, revealing a smirk. "And how could I forget, maybe even decayin' corpses of murder victims."

He's trying to frighten you, the jackass. But you won't have it.

"If there were any dead bodies, I'd see them. Corpses float on water, Arthur."

"Most of 'em." His smile widens, yours fades. He crosses his arms, waits for a few seconds in which you hesitate, then looks at you with a cheeky tilt of his head. "Did I scare you?"

You huff, shake your head. Only scarcely so, is the truth, but lying is a favorable option to shield your pride.

"Not at all." You reach for the hem of your shirt, starting to lift it, and kick off your shoes simultaneously. "In fact, I'll race you to the water."

Arthur watches in surprise, the smallest of blushes dusting his cheeks before he shakes his head as if to clear his thoughts. Suddenly, the widest, most demure grin you have ever seen grace his face tugs on his lips. Your heart is speeding up, as if it is trying to rival the rhythm of the raindrops falling on your warm, tingling skin.

"A'right, count me in." Arthur says and reaches for the hem of his shirt. His eyes don't leave yours for a second. "Do your worst."