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Summary
Dutch’s voice was droned out as he got distracted, watching the way Charles moved and how his hair fell in front of his face only for him to shove it back multiple times. Arthur barely noticed he was staring until a tickle in his throat made him cough.
Dutch paused his little speech as he watched Arthur cough into his fist, a full body cough that made him shake. “Are you alright there son?”
“Yeah Dutch, just-” Arthur coughed once more and slapped a hand over his mouth as he felt something fall from his lips. Arthur spun away from the camp and carefully removed his hand from his mouth, seeing a fistfull of purple petals in his hand. “Shit…”
