♧♡♧

and how you wish you could come undone and put an end to it all: your suffering, and that of others because of you. yet, you never felt the audacity, the courage, the bravery to stop; you had gotten too used to the continuous chaos, so much so, that it felt perplexing to admit that eternal silence terrified you even more.

and when days like these occured— which happened more often than not—, only one person managed to soothe your unrest and quiet your mind, without making the absence of thoughts feel just as uncomfortable as the abundant presence of them.

charles smith.

it often puzzled you; that simply being in the man's vicinity managed to appease you, no words uttered, plunging you in that kind of stillness that mollified your nerves, instead of heightening them.

a beacon of light amidst the fog, that's what he was. guiding you through the maze without even doing anything grand. his simple gestures managed to reach you far more than any extravagant display.

because, in times like these, you didn't need sugar-coated words filled with optimism that, even though coming from good intentions, only served to exacerbate your state even more. you didn't want to be pitied— you did it enough for yourself— and at this point, wanting to be understood felt like asking for the moon.

you just wanted to be seen. to feel like you mattered. for someone to ackowledge you were a person, despite the cruel thoughts that swarmed every bit of your mind, and the ever-present sorrow that ran in your veins.

and he somehow managed to do just that.

most said you were being too dramatic; the world was harsh on everyone and there was no reason for it to be harsher on you specifically.

but he never judged, he never complained. he simply obliged everytime you needed solace, never doing more than what you ask of him.

charles was that pile of hard rocks on shore that would keep the crashing waves of the tempestuous sea of your thoughts from pulling you again into that all-too familiar gloomy abyss, a dreaded place he has also found himself dragged into countless times. and yet, it doesn't scare him to stand by your side. at least, it doesn't seem like it. he felt strong, and sturdy. reliable, and completely unphazed, like the surface of a water body that would only ripple graciously when disturbed, no matter what you throw at it. and maybe that's enough for you to believe you can make it out.

so when he comes back from hunting at night, and sees your exhausted form stumble inside his tent... he just knows, wordlessly. you didn't have to explain; not like you would know how. one look on you and he had it figured out, beckoning you closer with a wave of his hand.

one moment you were on the verge of crying and the next, you felt a warmth so wonderful surround you, akin to the sun embracing your shivering form on a cold winter day.

he held you like one would an antique— with utmost delicacy, afraid to break you in half if he held on too tight, or to accidentally drop you if he held on too light. and you remembered it had pleasantly surprised you in the beginning; that hands which begrudgingly grew numb from labor and violence could still be fluent in the language of tender acts at all.

you allow yourself to fall down the cliff of sadness to sink into a sea of self-pity and something worse, something profoundly more than fleeting sadness, something wretched and utterly cursed about you. you've always felt it, you've always known; that somebody drawn to sadder things had little hope to caress even the slightest hints of felicity.

but the moment you brace yourself for the descent, tripping, expecting the coldness of the ocean of blues to engulf you, something holds you back, keeps you safe and out of reach. a safety net, protecting you, allowing you to peer at the abyss underneath but never to come in contact.

it's him, and it could only be him.

he doesn't rush you, he never does. he doesn't string words of comfort together in a haste, as so many do because they deem the display of emotions so intense to be a disconcerting inconvenience they must avoid and cover up with awkward phrasings of how 'it will get better someday' and that 'this happens to everyone'.

it almost seems like he's effectively with you, navigating the storm alongside you, and not a simple bystander affected by your state out of mere sympathy.

he isn't scared of dipping his toes in the water, he isn't scared of getting dirty in the process of calming the maelstrom and its merciless attempts to pull you in. he was your bravery when yours lacked, your resilience when yours wavered.

and when the storm calms and the clouds subside, you feel gentle fingers wipe away the remainders of it on your face.

a soft whisper reaches you.

i've got you.

your smile was wobbly.

your heart, already so overwhelmed, feels even fuller now... but in a good way. in all the right ways.

and for some reason, his words, his acts... he was the closest thing you've ever got to salvation.

it had been a week of you trying to seclude yourself from the world. you did get the occasional concerned question that you dismissed with a polite smile. and you always heaved out a sigh of relief when they wouldn't insist because, one more 'are you alright?' and you were going to melt into tears.

you had to stay strong, because that's what others saw you as. it's what others know you by. what would they think if they saw you falter for a moment? you, who had always managed to pick everyone up no matter how far down the rabbit hole of despair they've fallen into.

it was in your nature to care, and to feel everything very deeply. you had been blessed with the gift of empathy. yet, you never allowed any for yourself, whether from you, or from others. at times, it felt like it fed into your strength: you didn't need to rely on anybody— or so you liked to believe. because, if you really had no issue with that, then why did you feel resentment, when you were the one who deliberately gave too much? who refused to receive anything in return? it was unfortunately part of the many things that made you feel like a walking paradox.

it had been seven days of you isolating yourself from the loud outside world, yet for arthur it felt like an eternity.

he understood your need for personal space— he respected it, and it's the very reason why he's forced himself to wait this long before deciding to spring into action.

you were always so self-reliant, and really, he admired that about you. but not when it drove you so far away from him.

it wasn't the first time this happened; he knew about your unpredictable melancholia attacks, where it felt like the sky had fallen on the earth and that only you had come to realize it. sadness wasn't an emotion too foreign for him, he had his fair share of morose episodes. and you, as nurturing as you are, had carried him through a whole lot of them. yet, he always found himself unable to do the same for you. in fact, it seemed like nobody could.

moreover, it never usually lasted this long, you were normally back to your usual self in no time, which never really allowed him to properly ponder on how to proceed when you do get into this state.

and even after a whole week, he still wasn't too sure of what to do. but if he was certain of one thing, it's that he had to try. because he couldn't simply watch helplessly as the light of his life slowly dimmed more and more with the passing days. could he even call himself your lover if he just idly stood by?

that is why he had divided a plan. a simple but hopefully effective one: convince you to come get some coffee with him in the morning— because, yes, your seclusion also included halting your little morning ritual for the time being— and then, get you to open up to him. to tell him everything he has been unable to conjecture from the way you've been behaving with him.

that's precisely why after making sure coffee was ready just like how you prefered it to be, he made a beeline straight for your shared tent.

he swiftly moves under the flaps you had pulled down in hopes of further immersing yourself in the darkness of your isolation. he found you tidying around your joint space which, quite frankly, didn't need to be that tidy in arthur's opinion, as he found comfort in the messy, communal aspect of the place, but, you do you.

seeing as you hadn't noticed him yet, he clears his throat and greets you, still lingering around the entrance, like he was ready to flee if things somehow managed to go south. after all, you did get quite moody during these times and unpredictably so.

"hiya darlin'."

you turn around and cast a glance on arthur. it was the first time he had gotten a proper look into your eyes in days, and he felt remorse mercilessly sinking its sharp claws into his already aching heart. because he didn't know that your eyes could get so lifeless.

you mumble out a response before turning around again, cleaning up god knows what.

"hi arthur."

arthur. not 'honey', or 'my love'. or 'mister morgan' to tease him like you always loved to do. just... arthur. he couldn't lie that he always adored hearing you pronounce his name, but now, it felt like you only used it to put more distance between the two of you, driving a wedge.

he fiddles with his hat for a bit before tossing it onto a nearby crate. what was he supposed to say now? how should he go about this? you were right here, in front of him. your body was so close, within arm's reach, but somehow, you felt so far away.

he clears his throat as he leans against a tent pole, watching as you occupied yourself with some clothes that needed folding.

"um", he attempts, "coffee's ready by the way."

"already grabbed one." your words came out colder than you had intended.

nevertheless, it was a lie; you simply didn't want to spend time with him because avoiding everyone else is what you did when you were feeling down, unable to be yourself. or at least, the self the others know. the self the others are used to. the self the others 'love'.

it took him a few seconds to reply, completely dumbfounded by your quick response.

"oh. i... i see."

arthur's mind tiptoed as he thought of what could possibly explain the rain cloud above your head. he hadn't done anything out of the ordinary to earn your silent treatment, and if it were, it wouldn't last so long; you would usually spare him the torture of your pitiless sulking when he'd hold you close at night, murmuring the softest of apologies to appease you. this was something else entirely.

he comes up behind you and pulls you back against him in a gentle embrace, one that allowed you to pull away if need be.

"i've missed you." he murmurs against your ear.

and pull away you do.

"arthur... i'm a little busy right now."

god, since when was folding laundry this entertaining?

yet he backs away and helplessly watches as the perfectly folded clothes' pile only kept growing.

"... okay."

it felt like you had successfully managed to build a fortress of ice around you, freezing anybody who dared trespass. even him. even him.

his plan had failed, miserably. not that he was expecting an easy surrender from you: you were tough to crack, hard to read, locking your emotions behind a wall of verglas, so thick and foggy it could not allow anybody to make out the tiniest bit of what was hidden on the other side.

but he had to try, to muster the most warmth he could to attempt to melt down your cage.

"you... you doin' alright? it's just...", he falters. "you've been like this for days and i... i'm getting worried."

you shrugged. "no need."

"clearly there's a need." he huffs. "you know y'can talk t'me about it right?"

"again, no need."

he grabs your forearm, to stop you from tending to the damn laundry when he was right here, trying, patiently. he easily turned you around to face him, getting increasingly frustrated at your dismissive demeanor.

"____, quit that. look me in the eye and tell me you're fine."

and the moment you do lock eyes with him, you couldn't help the tears that filled them, reflecting the little sun rays that the closed flaps allowed inside. arthur adored when your eyes shined, just never when they did so because of tears.

you feel his warm hand envelop your cheek and you curse yourself and your avoidant tendencies for forbidding you from enjoying the feeling of his touch for days on end.

you cave in and lean against it, closing your eyes and allowing a few tears to escape them, like a dam that finally broke free from the building pressure.

you had missed him too, truly, you did. and you wanted to tell him everything— so why couldn't you?

he pulls you closer, surrounding you with the familiar smell of leather, cigarettes and sweat that you had grown to love over time. his free hand gently ran up and down your side.

his voice softens, like he was afraid that if he spoke a teeny bit louder, he would scare you off and lose all the progress he had made with you until now. good thing he had quite the experience with taming wild horses.

"sweetpea... why don't you ever tell me about stuff like this? i'm here for you, y'know?"

he allows you to take your time, to let you sob and weep against him as he held you steady, and his heart broke just a bit more when it seemed like you tried to muffle your sounds, as if you didn't trust yourself to fully surrender to your emotions, afraid they would consume you whole.

"i'm sorry", you manage after calming down thanks to his touch, "but it's... complicated."

you think i wouldn't understand...

"try me."

"i said try."

you look up at him with a gaze that said no, you don't have to. "arthur..."

he pulls you away just a little to get a proper look at you, wiping the remainders of your crying with his thumb.

he watched how your mouth opened and closed, how your lips quivered and yet, came no word at all.

it felt strange. that when it was about anyone else, it seemed like you had a whole speech already on your tongue, patiently waiting for the chance to be heard. you talked of love, passions and emotions in a way that felt innate to you and with such ease, that one might believe you spoke of them as if those feelings were yours.

and yet, they weren't; because the moment it is about your feelings, all that wisdom, all those words, and all that seamless understanding of all things tied to emotions just... disappears. as if it were all a lie.

how strange, arthur thought. that you could be so compassionate with anyone but yourself. as if you had been forbidden from the taste of the very fruit only you had the ability to grow.

your eyes darted from the side to the floor, to him again then repeating that pattern over and over so much and so quickly that it would've caused one to become lightheaded from the motion.

and you were indeed feeling dizzy, because of the thoughts racing through your head uncessantly. your mind had no choice but to jump from a cruel idea to the other. a river stream viciously ushering you towards the nearby waterfall.

arthur took notice of that and gently shook you to snap you out of it.

"that, right there. all of that thinkin' you're doing. i wanna know."

you shake your head frantically. "trust me you don't-"

"darlin'... deep breaths", he squeezes your arm to ground you further, to get you to come back to him and save you from spiraling away from him. "you're okay. you're with me."

you try to match your breathing with his, to make sense of the tangled mess of thoughts inside your head so you could hope to make something out of them. but would he understand? could anyone else do? you barely did yourself.

"arthur i'm... i'm sorry. i don't mean to push you away but i... i have to. i need to."

"but why?"

he sounded so pained, his words uttered in a hushed, yet strained fashion, a reflection of him trying, desperately, to make out a somewhat plausible understanding of the cryptic messages you've been sending him.

and how sweet of him to care all this much about you. but you knew better than he could; you knew you couldn't keep letting him waste his heart away on you. you weren't worth his time. you weren't worth anyone's, for that matter, and you were such a fool for believing that this feeling of inadequacy you've been carrying all your life would die down the moment you would get with arthur.

you shake your head, gripped by a sense of fatality. "you won't understand. hell, even i don't."

"well i don't understand myself most times either. doesn't stop you from trying to."

no, you don't get it. you're... different.

you sigh. "... it's not the same."

"an' why the hell not? why do you always run away when it comes to you?"

his words echo and it feels like time goes still for a few moments.

an eternity of silence ensues. it feels like you're both bracing yourselves for something, anything, holding your breaths, unsure what to expect, but expecting nonetheless.

your shoulders drop as you try to think of a way to counter what he says, but deep down, you knew he was right. you knew it was true. and you have known the answer to that for a long time.

you're worth fretting over, so is everyone else. but i have been born with a curse that allows me to heal others with the power of my gentle chant, that soothes the disarray of even the most hard-headed of men. but when i sing it for my own open wounds, i somehow become deaf to it, as the cries of my heart while it bleeds out, become so unbearably defeaning they forbid me from hearing my song.

arthur bites his tongue and curses himself inwardly: his words had probably come out too harsh, out of frustration, out of a need so dire to know and to understand the one he had pledged his heart to. he didn't mean to raise his voice. he didn't mean to scare you off, to make you flinch. even if you had done so ever so slighty, he had noticed.

and you, who had chosen to read this situation differently, were ready to bet that arthur was about to give up on you right now. this was the most heated he had gotten with you. you were used to his petrifyingly intimidating demeanor with others, that earned him the 'highly dangerous' attribute on his wanted poster. but that was with everyone else.

he wouldn't hurt you, you knew that. you conceded that he had every right to be annoyed, every right to be angry. you hadn't given him much to work with.

so in the end ... you were the one hurting him. to see you so adamant to refuse his albeit sorry attempts of caring about you? arthur had to admit it stung, far more than he would've wanted it to.

though he wasn't about to give up on you. sure, he adored how headstrong you were, even though it was the bane of his existence at the moment. but fortunately, patience is one of the many things he had learnt through you. even though its scope was currently limited to you. but it was... progress, nonetheless.

his fingers find your hair, gently tucking an unruly strand that hid your face from him.

he wanted to see all of you, so let him.

"sweetheart..." his voice had softened considerably, "you always keep... brushing me off like this. pushing me away. waving everyone else off with a smile. i saw it, i did. i just... i never knew. how to ask. how to get you to tell me. y'know me... i ain't good with words, and don't even get me started on... all that 'feelings' crap. but... i can't keep hiding behind that excuse. and you too, can't keep hiding behind yours."

gently, he lifted your face towards him, to make sure you heard him, that you were indeed listening, and letting him get through your fortress of solitude.

"i can't... watch you hurt and trust that 'it'll pass', like you always tell me. what kind of man am i, to leave my girl hurting all on her own?"

you couldn't help but return his smile— although yours was wobbly, as he murmured those last words.

you shake your head. "you're a great lover. for putting up with me and my bullshit all this time."

"oh darlin', i think you mean i'm a terrible one for not helping you through it."

he stays quiet for a moment, mumbling to himself as he gazed at you lovingly. "reassuring me even when you're the one hurting... isn't that so awfully like ya."

he takes your hand in his and gently tugs you to sit down with him on his cot.

"i... i want you to tell me. what this is all about. what's gotten my lovely girl to be this way. why she runs away when i try to show i care and avoids me like i got the damn plague."

you stay quiet for a few moments, trying to gather your emotions so you could attempt to translate them into words.

"i... i've always been like this. i've always cared too much. i've always been inclined to be kind, to listen. to be there for others, because..."

you falter. but arthur's grip on you doesn't. he gives your hand a long squeeze, to let you know he was there; to anchor you, so you don't get too lost in the labyrinth of thoughts in your mind.

"because... the world is already so... harsh. on all of us. everyone's struggling, whether they choose to show that or not. and i... i've always felt it was my duty, my... purpose to help. i've discovered i had an abundance of love and empathy within me. what better to do with it if not to give it away?"

"and why shouldn't you get some of that too?"

the simple thought of that filled your body with a sensation of dread, as if it were physically rejecting the idea that you could be on the receiving end of that sort of care.

"i can't. i don't..."

"you don't deserve it?" he prompts, his gaze never leaving you.

you take a few moments to nod, a bit relieved he said it for you. "yeah. i always thought so."

arthur nods quietly and you feel him turn away from you a little.

"i understand better now. that's why yer always brushing off anybody who gets concerned bout ya."

you didn't miss the slight hint of bitterness to his words and, you knew why. you understood: that he believed he was still not able to gain your trust even if he was your partner. even if it wasn't about trust at all. it was just... something that's always been in you.

"i... don't mean to do it in an ungrateful way", you attempt, "it just feels... like instinct. to avoid letting people get close. and to push everyone away when they try to."

you add. "plus... you already have so much on your shoulders and i would feel bad. adding more onto your plate with my silly mood swings."

he tuts and brings you closer to him by the waist. "there ain't no such thing. i... i wanna be there f'you darlin'. you come before all of what i deal with, y'know that."

he takes a deep breath, tracing idle shapes on the back of your hand with his thumb, like he always did whenever he tried to soothe his own nerves.

"listen to me, okay? i... i ain't any good at words but i'll try. for you."

"arthur, you don't have to-"

"ah ah ah. shhhh."

he scans around the room, looking for his satchel and once his eyes land on it, he reluctantly lets you go to search for something in it.

he comes back with a worn leather diary that awfully looks like...

his journal?

he opens it up, skimming through the pages before handing it to you.

you take it hesitantly, not daring to look at it at all, even if he's the one knowingly giving it to you. you always sensed his diary was something very intimate and invaluable for him, and you always made sure not to pry on him too much while he was using it.

"here, um... i wrote this entry a few days ago. 'bout you. y'can... read it."

you... couldn't believe your ears.

just because you've always respected arthur's privacy doesn't mean you didn't secretly want to go through his journal, at least to contemplate the many sketches of the things he thought had a beauty worth getting captured by his controlled pencil strokes. it would let you have a clearer grasp of who he is, of how the gears inside his mind turn, of what he thinks is important, of how he perceives the world around him.

reading one of his entries that he wrote for and about you? that was just icing on the cake.

you gaze at the journal in your hands, at arthur's pretty handwriting, then at the heart surrounding your and his initals at the bottom corner of the entry. you chuckled at that and traced the heart with your index.

though... you couldn't help the guilt that creeped up on you. this... this was the key, the opening, to his psyche, to everything he ever was. it was no easy exploit, to share such sensitive matters with someone, even your partner.

still, you knew arthur would've never allowed you a glimpse into his inner world if he wasn't ready. so you fight back the urge to make sure that he was entirely alright with you reading, and instead, ask something else of him in a surge of sheepish boldness.

"could you perhaps... read it to me?"

you bat your eyelashes at him and watch as his ocean-blue eyes widen for a fraction of seconds before looking away, a hand scratching at the back of his neck.

he huffs out a surprised chuckle. "y'ain't makin' this easy for me, are ya sweetheart..."

he clears his throat and reads albeit awkwardly at first, cheeks reddening further at every word he uttered.

she hasn't been talking much. not over coffee, not before bed. she barely looks me in the eye, just like when we had first met. but even a dumb fool like me knew it wasn't playing coy.

when she does look at me though, i can barely recognize the sun of a woman that always manages to fascinate me, with how much love and affection she carries in that small frame of hers. and it tears me apart to see her lose her light, which could even rival that of all the stars.

she gives endlessly, she loves with an abundance that makes even the worst of sinners believe in god's angels, that she descended all the way from heaven, gracing us all with her very presence.

that woman, her sheer obstinacy is both my bane and my pride; it's as alluring as it is maddening. i've rarely considered myself to be fluent in matters of emotions but, it pains me to feel so powerless. doomed to watch her suffer on her own before she finds herself again through the storm.

what a pair of fools we are. me, for watching helplessly, and her, for choosing a man so ignorant and illiterate on matters of high sensibility.

it should be that easy though, to say how i feel as i write it. and yet, i manage to make myself look more daft every time i open my trap.

i care about her. i love her more than i thought myself capable of. and i need to find a way to pull her back from the abyss before it swallows her whole, or else, i would never be able to live with myself.

his voice shook at times as he read, and was uncharacteristically soft; he was letting you in his headspace, his diary, shedding light on parts of himself that he often hid away, even from you.

he smiles as he feels you quietly lean against his shoulder, and his head settles on top of yours. he followed your fingertips as they traced some doodles he had made on the page next to his entry.

your fingers slow on a drawing of flowers in a bouquet.

"i thought i could bring you flowers, something... anything. just to see you smile. just to remind you i'm here, always."

he puts aside his journal when he feels you shift quietly to sit on his lap, embracing him tightly as your face found itself a home in the crook of his neck.

"i don't deserve you..."

your words make him scoff.

"y'deserve far more than this world can give ya. but i'll always try to get you anything y'want. y'just gotta ask."

he lets his warm hands settle on your back, tenderly caressing your shoulder blades.

"so, what d'you want now, baby? tell me an' i'll do my best. anything."

you felt your eyes water again as he murmured that. though this time, you felt... happy. and seen. basking in the closeness of the man you loved and whom you were sure now loved you back just as much, or even more.

"just... be with me right now. please."

you can feel his smile as his lips pressed a kiss on the top of your head.

"of course."

so, his initial plan didn't fail that badly, after all.