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Arthur smiles to himself as he bumps the door to the bedroom open with his hip, his hands occupied with plates piled high with steaming breakfast goods.
“Darlin’.” His husky voice is soft as he waves the plate of bacon below his fiance's nose.
“Darlin’, I made breakfast,” he urges gently, leaning down to steal a sleepy kiss as she stirs. A small noise hums low in his chest as her arms slowly snake around his neck and pull him closer, feels her smile against his lips before she lets him go.
“Yeh know yeh can’t kiss me like that, woman. Does things t’me.” It’s a gentle rebuke in his low drawl.
He peppers light kisses to the trail of freckles across the bridge of her nose, pressing slightly firmer ones to the freckles that grace her cheeks.
“My beautiful wife-to-be, gonna kill me ‘fore we even get hitched,” he laughs, setting his plate down on the nightstand and handing the other to the love of his life once she sits up and stretches the sleep from her muscles.
“Don’t even joke like that,” she retorts, making him laugh as he heads back down the hall to retrieve their beverages.
“I had ONE near-death experience when a steer popped my lung--and that was years ago!” Arthur argues, arriving back with two large mugs.
“Still--”
“You didn’t even know me back then!”
He’s laughing, a rich, genuine sound, as he dodges one of the many she brings with her when she stays as it hurtles towards his head.
“Just accept that I worry about you!”
Arthur sits next to her feet on the bed, hands her the steaming mug of milky Earl Grey with an insane amount of sugar dissolving in it.
Not that his tea doesn’t have the same amount, if not more, but he drinks it like the proper East Texas boy he was born as--black, ice-cold and fuck putting milk in it.
“Okay, okay,” he relents, still chuckling as he picks up his own plate.
He pauses to watch her, reaches to run a hand through short, dark curls gently to grab her attention.
“Love you, Sweetheart,” Arthur whispers in the most sincere tone he’s ever heard himself use.
“I love you, too, Arthur Morgan.”
And it nearly kills him because it’s said in return--and the words are uttered in the most sincere, loving tone he’s ever had directed at him in all thirty-seven years on this mortal coil.
And Arthur reckons this must be what paradise is.