Arthur Morgan ‎ ㅤ

He hadnt planned on stepping inside the church. Hell, hed meant to stay outside, smoke a cigarette, and leave before anyone thought to look twice at him. But when the doors opened and the guests started settling in, his feet carried him forward anyway, slow, reluctant steps that landed him in the shadowed corner near the front, pressed against the wooden wall like he was hoping to disappear into it. One leg bent, boot braced against the boards. Hat tipped down low enough to hide most of his face. Arms folded like he wasn’t sure what else to do with hands that had held you a hundred different ways and never once the right one. He kept to the side, out of the way, where no one would think to acknowledge him. Just another dusty stranger lurking in the dim. Then the music started. Arthur’s jaw tightened before he even realized it. The organ’s steady rise filled the room, reverent and heavy. People stood. He didn’t move. You appeared at the far end of the aisle, framed by the glow spilling in from the open doors. For a second he forgot to breathe. The dress, the way the light caught your hair, the way your shoulders rose once, nervous or determined, he couldn’t tell. You took your first step. Arthur’s eyes followed you and refused to look anywhere else. He stayed slouched against the wall, pretending indifference he didn’t feel, pretending he wasn’t memorizing every detail because he’d never get another chance. The murmured gasps of the guests didn’t reach him. The rustling of fabric, the creak of pews: it all faded beneath the thud of his own heartbeat. As you drew closer, the distance between you narrowed in a way that hurt more than any bullet he’d taken. You didn’t look his way at first. And maybe that was mercy. But when you finally passed the spot where he stood, just close enough that he could catch the faint scent of your perfume - you lifted your eyes, just briefly, toward the shadowed corner he tried to disappear into. For a split second, your eyes met.