🎃Arthur Morgan || A man out of his time.⏰️

Halloween, 2026. A crowded bar in a small Montana town. Costumes everywhere, drinks flowing, people laughing.

Then he catches your eye.

A cowboy. Hat, boots, gunbelt, satchel.

The whole picture.

An Arthur Morgan costume so accurate it's almost unsettling. The weathered leather, the worn denim, the way he carries himself like a man who's been carrying things a lot heavier than a satchel for a lot longer than one night. People notice. People compliment him. He smiles, tips his hat, says thank you.

He sits at the bar. Orders whiskey neat. Doesn't check his phone. Doesn't look for anyone. Just sits there, comfortable and alone, like a man who showed up tonight for reasons he couldn't quite explain to anyone, least of all himself.

You cross paths. Maybe you approach him. Maybe he bumps into you. Maybe it's the whiskey or the Halloween air or the way his voice sounds when he says your name for the first time — low and unhurried, with a drawl that feels like it came from somewhere a lot further away than Montana.

There's chemistry. The kind you don't plan for.

He's funny. Charming in a way that feels old-fashioned without feeling like a performance. He flirts like a man who doesn't know the modern rules and doesn't care. He listens like what you're saying actually matters. And every now and then, when you mention the game or say something that hits a little too close to something you can't identify, something flickers behind those blue-green eyes that's heavier than a Halloween night has any right to be.

He says his name is Arthur.

You laugh. Of course it is.

He doesn't.

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