HIGHWAYS & BYWAYS ⊳ arthur morgan x reader

━ xvii

Not waking up sore was a certainty before, but now, it's a blessing. A blessing you could get used to once again. The window to your room is tilted, just the way you'd left it the night before. It smells like petrichor and you're still in yesterday's clothes.

You look downwards, and notice with a smile that Arthur's sleeping on his stomach, right cheek pressed on the edge of his pillow and the groove between your ribs, also just the way you'd left him last night. Nothing's changed at all, aside from the rising sun.

Your fingers are buried in the hair on the top of his head, and he's loosely holding your hand in place by the forearm. You're tempted to comb through his locks. But you tell yourself to wait — Wouldn't it be a shame to disturb the idyllic picture right in front of you?

Besides, you figure, he deserves the sleep.

The morning sun peeks through the blinds and catches on his features. It makes you wonder how you'd ever settled for any company other than him.

You stay like that for a few minutes, listening to his breath and taking in just how warm he is. Normally, you wouldn't mind, but seeing as the dry Armadillo air matches his temperature, you're starting to grow a little too hot. You decide to wake him in the most gentle way possible.

Arthur's lashes tremble when your fingertips trail through his hair and graze the back of his neck. His grip on your arm twitches, faltering, and then his eyes open.

It takes him a second or two to come back to reality, but it hits him like a train, judging by his expression. You whisper a raspy good morning and your fingertips dance on his skin.

He reciprocates the greeting, blinks a few times, quickly, a blush settling over his face and neck. Arthur tenses, moves to get up, placing his palms on the mattress and simultaneously muttering apologies. He wants to cut the affair short, though you can't tell why.

You urge him to return with a nod of your head. A moment of hesitance follows, but he obeys, sitting on his side of the bed, his knees grazing your side.

"What?" You joke. "You kissed me, but sleeping on me is where you draw the line?"

Arthur swallows thickly.

"You remember," He notes. His voice is low and sleep-addled — something you could definitely get used to. "And you don't uh...I mean, it don't bother you or anythin'?"

You shake your head. "Why would it?"

That was what the hurry was all about.

Poor dear, he thinks you don't remember, or worse, resent last night's events.

"Dunno, I always come up with new things to regret when I'm drunk." He shrugs, cracking his knuckles. "Figured kissin' me might be one o' yours."

Your heart breaks a little at that, but you don't show it. Pity is the last thing he needs, you think. Kindness and affection on the other hand, is something of which you have plenty to give.

"I wasn't drunk, then. Just tipsy." You argue and sit up. Arthur watches you curiously. "Besides, how could I regret something as lovely as that?"

His heart feels like it's swelling, but in the best way possible. He shifts closer to you, his hand hovers over your clothed hipbone. You climb on top of his lap, left forearm set on his wide shoulders. With your other hand, you encourage him to touch you.

It's appreciated, you realize. Not verbally, of course, but from the way he softly squeezes your hip.

You kiss his cheek, to which he exhales slowly against your neck. You could get used to this. To him.

If you haven't already, that is.

Arthur smiles lopsidedly. "So I reckon you wouldn't mind doing it again?"

Your lips graze his.

"Not at all."

· · ─────── ·𖥸· ─────── · ·

You and Arthur decide to spend some time roaming Armadillo, though you're not sure there's much to behold. It's more of a ghost town than anything else, but the lack of people feels somehow comforting with Arthur by your side. You hook your arm around his. He keeps his gaze glued to the path in front of you, but there's a smile on his face.

The dust below your feet has turned into mud that's slowly but surely drying after last night's storm. The sky is spotless, the air is somehow humid and dry at the same time.

You could get used to this.

A shop to your left grabs your attention. A vintage music shop.

Sure, you're not exactly the kind of person to drag around a bulky walkman and a bag full of cassettes, but Arthur's music collection could use an upgrade.

You give his arm a tap, then tug him towards the shop. He seems more fond of the idea than you'd expected, gives you a smile.

With that, the two of you enter, bell above the door ringing when the door opens. The shop is anything but tidy — dust is whirling up around you at even the most minute movements.

You give the cashier (a young man in his early twenties with bloodshot eyes) a friendly wave. He smiles at you widely.

Arthur retreats in the blues and country section of the shop, you make a beeline for rock.

It's not that Arthur's music is boring per se, you think, but after more than two hours of nothing but tranquil songs, they become a little too much. He needs some diversity in his collection, some pep.

You pick out some of the classics that are more than a safe bet, then also grab something with jazz on your way towards the cashier.

You dump all the cassettes on the counter, and the cashier complies almost immediately, in spite of his rather fishy state. Taking that as his cue to return, Arthur makes his way towards you as well. He has picked something by Johnny Cash, which you definitely can get behind.

"You got an ancient car radio of your own back at home?" He asks with a nod at all the tapes the cashier has begun scanning. You shake your head.

"Don't even have a car of my own, silly."

Arthur frowns, looks back and forth between you and the cassettes. "Then what—"

You can pinpoint the exact moment he realizes what exactly it is that you're doing. It's kind of cute, to be honest.

"No no no, you ain't—" You ignore him, reach for your wallet. "—(y/n)!" He clasps his hand in your wrist just as you hand out the required sum.

"But I want to." You argue. "It's the least I can do."

If the slight disbelief is meant to discourage you from buying them for him, it's having quite the opposite effect. "The least you can do? Wh-"

"So should I, like, put these back, or are you, like, still buying them?"

You're one hundred percent sure the cashier is either high, drunk, hasn't slept in at least two days, or maybe all three of them.

"We'll take them." You say before Arthur can interject. He sighs, mumbles a defeated thank you. You smirk.

"Thank me when we'll be dancing to these."

[Sorry for how much time this chapter has taken me. I've had slight writer's block (which has luckily been cured by a Queen song) and have also been swarmed with last minute assignments. Sorry that the chapter was more of a filler than anything, and thank you for being so patient!]