This one’s for the mornings you swear you’ll never agree to again.
For bad sleep, strong coffee, and the people who drag us upright anyway.
If you’re reading this tired — you’re not alone. Get the rest you need, for Arthurs sake.
— 🔥
Five More Minutes
Arthur knows he’s in trouble the moment you don’t move.
The sun’s barely crested the treeline, camp still wrapped in that quiet hour where the world feels like it’s holding its breath. Horses shift softly. Someone coughs in the distance. Morning, whether anyone’s ready for it or not.
Arthur nudges the cabin door open and peers inside.
You’re still in bed.
Not resting. Not dozing. Out cold. Curled around the pillow like it personally wronged you sometime during the night. Hair everywhere. Blanket pulled up to your chin in clear defiance of the day.
Arthur sighs.
He steps closer, boots soft on the floor, and clears his throat. “Mornin’.”
Nothing.
He leans over slightly. “We gotta get movin’. Job’s waitin’.”
You shift just enough to pull the blanket higher.
Arthur squints. “…Did you hear me?”
“Mmh,” you mumble, face buried. “No.”
That’s a lie and you both know it.
Arthur tries again, softer this time. “Sun’s up.”
“Tell it to go back down,” you mutter.
He rubs a hand over his face. “You said you’d be ready.”
“I was,” you say thickly. “Last night.”
Arthur pauses. “How late did you stay up?”
You don’t answer.
Arthur narrows his eyes. “How. Late.”
“…Time’s fake.”
He exhales through his nose. “You sleep at all?”
“Technically.”
He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning down so his voice carries closer. “How much?”
You groan into the pillow. “Like… three. Maybe three and a half. But it was bad sleep. Doesn’t count.”
Arthur closes his eyes briefly like he’s praying for patience. “You got a job to do.”
“I know,” you whine. “That’s future me’s problem.”
Arthur presses his thumb into the mattress, steadying himself. “Future you is gonna be real mad at past you.”
You roll onto your back, squinting up at him with bleary, unfocused eyes. “Future me should’ve gone to bed earlier.”
“Past you’s the one who didn’t.”
“Well,” you say solemnly, “past me was makin’ poor choices.”
Arthur snorts despite himself. “Clearly.”
He reaches over and nudges your shoulder. “C’mon. Up.”
You make a noise somewhere between a protest and a wounded animal.
“No.”
Arthur blinks. “…No?”
“I physically cannot,” you say. “My bones are heavy.”
“Your bones are fine.”
“They are not. They are tired.”
Arthur shakes his head, amused and exasperated. “You promised.”
“I was delusional.”
He leans closer, lowering his voice. “I made coffee.”
Your eye cracks open.
“…You did?”
“Yes.”
“Strong?”
Arthur nods. “Strong.”
You consider this deeply, then roll back onto your side. “Bring it here.”
Arthur laughs quietly. “Nice try.”
You groan again. “Arthur, please. I am so tired.”
He studies you for a moment — really looks. The dark smudges under your eyes. The way you’re barely holding yourself together. The way your stubbornness has softened into something closer to exhaustion.
His tone changes.
“Alright,” he says gently. “Sit up.”
You shake your head. “Can’t.”
Arthur sighs, then reaches for you — one arm slipping under your shoulders, the other bracing your back as he helps you upright slowly. You slump immediately, forehead dropping against his chest.
“See?” you mumble. “Broken.”
Arthur steadies you without comment, one hand warm at your back. “You’re just tired.”
“Mhm. Dangerously.”
He chuckles under his breath and holds you there for a second longer than necessary. Then he presses a kiss into your hair.
“Drink the coffee,” he murmurs. “Then we’ll talk.”
You sigh but don’t pull away.
Arthur hands you the cup once you’re semi-conscious, watching closely as you take a careful sip.
“…Okay,” you admit. “That helps.”
“Told you.”
You rest your head back against his shoulder. “I hate mornings.”
“I know.”
“I hate early mornings more.”
“I know that too.”
“And I hate that I agreed to this job.”
Arthur smirks. “I noticed.”
You sigh, draining the cup slowly. When you finally hand it back, you sit there for a second, gathering yourself.
“…Okay,” you say. “I’m up.”
Arthur raises a brow. “You sure?”
“No,” you reply honestly. “But I’m vertical. That’s progress.”
He laughs, standing and offering you his hand. “C’mon, then.”
You take it, letting him pull you to your feet — wobbling slightly but upright all the same.
“Next time,” you mutter, “remind me to go to bed.”
Arthur grins. “I tried.”
You squint at him. “Did you?”
He shrugs. “You said ‘five more minutes’ about six times.”
You sigh dramatically. “I can’t be held accountable for sleepy lies.”
Arthur laughs again, squeezing your hand once. “You’re somethin’ else.”
You lean into him briefly, eyes half-closed. “You love me.”
He doesn’t hesitate. “Unfortunately.”
But the way he steadies you as you stumble toward the door — the way he slows his steps to match yours — tells a different story.
And even on three and a half hours of sleep…
You’ll make it.
Mostly because Arthur won’t let you fall back into bed.
