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Summary
“Hey.”
Charles looks up, squinting against the sun, and focuses on the figure looming above him. It’s a bright day on the mountain, and all this damned snow is doing nobody any favors. “Arthur,” he says. “Good morning.”
“Huh? Yeah, mornin’.” Arthur tilts his head, scratches at his jaw, and tucks his chin down towards his chest. It’s a very particular mannerism, one that Charles has watched him perform countless times.
