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Hosea was beyond joyous when Mary came along and Arthur found in her an age-appropriate love interest. John, on the other hand, wasn't.
"When's he coming back?" The small boy croaked, his small arms wrapped around Hosea's. So, so small; so fragile and innocent. Hosea felt sickness on his tongue thinking about how anybody would dare view John in such a risque light.
Maybe he'd never comprehend it. John was spitfire in all aspects, with an attitude that never faltered. He was 4'10, and almost worryingly thin, accompanied by a lithe figure. His face was childlike and round. All of him was childlike.
Maybe that's what Arthur liked so much about John. Maybe it stemmed from the inherent sadism of a heartless outlaw with no place in the world, maybe he'd still like John if he was older, as long as he was still easy to manipulate. But Hosea knew deep down that wasn't the case. You like little boys, don't you?
Admitting it made Hosea want to gag, and he had to fight back the urge in front of John. He failed Arthur long ago, when he fell short on his duty of good influence. And he was failing John now, as he stood idly by as the two did God knows what.
"Soon, I reckon. He's never gone for longer than twenty-four hours."
John wasn't content with this answer. He whined in petulance, clinging tighter to Hosea's arm. "Why did he leave?"
You should be happy. If Hosea told John what he already knew, that Arthur's sights were now split between two people, John may pass away on the spot. "I take it he's just busy, Johnny. I bet he'll bring you a treat when he returns." Hosea cringed at his own words, but it was worth it to soothe John.
"Yeah. You're right." John replied. He pronounces his r's like w's, Hosea thought. He swore he and Dutch did a better job at teaching him speech.
Speaking of Dutch.
"Here— give me a moment, son." Hosea dismissed himself, having to pry John off of his arm. He patted the small cowboy on the shoulder after noticing how his eyes welled up quickly with tears. He never used to be so clingy.
"I'll be back in a jiffy. Say, you can play with my revolver while I'm away." Hosea thought it'd be a cold day in Hell when he spoke those words, but the sun blazed overhead. The gun was unloaded and broken, the trigger hanging loosely off of the lousy thing. Still, it invoked some sort of primal paternal anxiety inside of Hosea.
John was placated, fidgeting with the revolver, stuffing it between his pants and belt and pretending to draw. That's exactly how Arthur does it.
Hosea was getting mighty tired of the constant disgust that soured his mood each time he noticed John taking after Arthur, or trailing him, or doing anything involving the two of them in a room. He strode over to Dutch's tent, tapping his knuckle against a wooden beam; he heard shuffling from inside and out came Molly, shoving past him.
Hosea let out a short chuckle. "Hello to you too, Madam."
She only huffed frustratedly in response.
Molly had fight, had fire burning inside of her and scorching her skin. If she knew what Arthur was doing then he'd be bedded down in the Valentine cemetery before Hosea could convince her not to. But, unfortunately, that'd never happen; who would believe Hosea over Arthur?
Hosea pulled open the flap of Dutch's tent, smiling warmly at his friend. The sight of his face, marked with age yet charming all the same, was enough to ease the raging inferno inside of Hosea. He wished the two of them could take John and run far, far away, just the three of them. Dutch returned Hosea's smile and it filled the older man's stomach with butterflies. It made him nauseous.
Dutch was a bad person. There weren't no two things about it. He operated off of the expectations of those who looked up to him. He always had the urge to be above everybody, to be a contrarian. Hosea prayed at night that Dutch could just be normal, like the rest of them.
'Like the rest of them.' What a foolish thought.
"Well, if it isn't Mr. Matthews!" Dutch greeted cheerfully, his naturally booming voice startling Hosea. Hosea offered a soft smile.
"Yes, this is he."
"What brings you to my humble abode?"
"Rather coarse, are you? I thought you'd be less eager to discuss business."
"Who said anything about business?"
"That's the only reason I come to you, isn't it?"
It was. In the dead of night, Dutch would slip out of his tent and into Hosea's, and only under the night sky would things feel normal.
Hosea was getting off track; he always did. Dutch had a miraculous tendency to distract the older man and it made Hosea want to strangle him and strip in front of him, simultaneously.
But he wasn't here for either of those things. He was here for John. He made himself at home, taking a seat on the edge of Dutch's cot.
"It's about Arthur and John." The directness of the question gave to Hosea a dollop of hope. "Yes, yes, I know all too well how much you love to discuss our 'golden boys.'"
"That I do. What did they do this time?"
What didn't they do? "Do you reckon John's a bit too clingy by standards of what's normal?"
"Since when are any of us normal?" Dutch laughed, and Hosea gave him a strained smile. Asshole. Hosea lacked patience today.
"Yes, yes, that's true. But don't you think it's rather… I dunno. Unhealthy?" Hosea crossed his fingers, hoping the use of the word might spark something inside of Dutch. It didn't.
Hosea noticed, he noticed long ago, and Dutch raised John just as much as Hosea. Did he simply not care enough about John to notice? Would it only click once John became a worthy asset and was no longer disposable?
Dutch didn't love his 'children' like a father should.
"No, I reckon you're wrong. He just looks up to Arthur, that's all. I would too if I were his age."
Hosea gritted his teeth together and dug his nails into his palms so deep they bled. He opened his mouth without a response prepared; if he was lucky, all of his concerns would flow out of him and Dutch would, by some miracle, get the memo. He was interrupted by his eldest son's name being shouted.
Arthur had returned.
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Arthur had returned!
John was convinced he'd abandoned him, gotten bored of him and left for somebody who could offer more, more than a scrawny little kid like John could. John beamed at Arthur as he dismounted his horse, the older man wearing a wide grin.
He was back. And now John wasn't alone anymore. He had Hosea, who offered to play games with him or take him hunting at every turn, but it just wasn't the same. John only wanted Arthur, only wanted to please Arthur, only wanted to be around Arthur. That was all that really mattered.
But today, Arthur wouldn't even breathe in his direction, and it made John want to claw off his own skin, like Arthur's eyes on his body were the sole cure for an otherwise incurable ailment.
John craved Arthur, carnally. Needed him to ruffle his hair, smile at him, hug him and slide his large hands up his shirt. John couldn't deny how wrong it felt. So, so wrong, sprouting shame John couldn't identify the source of.
But nobody had ever looked at John like that. His father was hardly present, and he never knew his mother. He was alone for so, so long, and Arthur's attention was a rush of welcomed euphoria. He needed it like a drug. He wanted to shoot Arthur up his wrists.
"How was it, Arthur? Tell me everything!" Squealed Tilly, nearly collapsing beside Arthur. John grimaced, and Arthur flashed him a look that commanded him to pipe down.
John watched him like a hawk from the outskirts of camp as Arthur went about his business, paying mind to everybody except for John, and for a moment the young cowboy wished Hosea's revolver worked.
Why won't you look at me? John screamed internally, giving himself a headache with the volume of his own inner monologue. Please look at me. I need to know that you know I still exist.
John's thoughts immediately drifted into the realm of his own shortcomings. Had he upset Arthur recently? No, he'd been exceptionally obedient, just like Arthur asked. I did what you wanted.
John stared as Arthur finished his latest task, which was cleaning his guns. The way his fingers glided across the cool steel made John envy the guns. Arthur stood to his feet, holstering his revolver and slinging his repeater over his back.
John emerged from his hiding spot behind the tree, stalking towards a barrel for cover as he continued studying Arthur. He was heading for the treeline, in an area without a path. John's curiosity was piqued and he promptly followed suit, sneaking after him.
The trees kept getting denser and denser, making it harder for John not to step on a twig and alert Arthur. It's only fair, John reasoned. He stalks me all the time. Burning holes in the back of my head.
The sun couldn't break through the dense canopy of tree cover, plunging the two of them in complete darkness. Two? John wasn't sure anymore. He put his entire body weight into pushing through the thicket, being spat out in a small clearing. Arthur's satchel was hooked on a branch. What—
He felt a sudden, insurmountable weight shove into him, pinning him against a thick oak tree. The heavy scent of whiskey mixed with blood and smoke assaulted John's nostrils in the most intoxicating manner. Arthur. The warmth radiating off the older man's body burned John's soft skin.
He took both of John's wrists in one hand, gripping them tight enough to bruise, and pinned them above John's head. The young cowboy gulped.
"What're you stalking me for, Johnny?" John felt a bolt of arousal shoot through him.
"I— you— you weren't talking to me all day. I wanted to—" John didn't actually know what his goal was. He just knew that where Arthur went, he'd follow. John was Arthur's ghost.
Arthur growled lowly, pushing further into John, knocking the oxygen out of his lungs. John felt Arthur's erection brush against his own.
"If I'm ignoring you, best know it's for damn good reason. We clear?"
It'd be remarkably dangerous to avoid the question. "Where were you all day?"
Arthur didn't miss a beat. "With a woman."
John's heart clenched, and he felt each hair on his body stand on end. He stared into Arthur's eyes, icy and piercing, with a look of utter betrayal. Arthur appeared amused. "What? It's not like I belong to you."
That's the thing; John was certain he did. They acted like a couple. Arthur touched him, spoke to him, loved him like they were married. They might as well be.
"B-but isn't that—"
"Cheating? No."
"Yes it is! If you can go fooling around with other people, so can—"
A sharp stinging burnt John's cheek, knocking his head sideways. Arthur's nails dug into John's wrists. Do that again, John thought. If that's what you choose to give me, then that's what I've earned.
"If you so much as look at anybody else, I'll kill her in front of you." Arthur said flatly, and John felt the weight of Arthur's threat. Knew he wasn't bluffing, not in the slightest.
Let go of me. Please, it hurts. No, don't; whatever you have to give to me, I'll take it. Just please be gentle. I don't want to be in pain anymore.
"Do you understand?"
"Yes. Yes sir."
John felt sheepish all of a sudden. "Does this mean you don't love me anymore?" He asked, his voice choked with tears.
It was like Arthur transformed into an entire different person, his grip on John's wrist softening. He cupped John's cheek, caressing the tender skin with the pad of his thumb. John relished in it.
"Of course I love you, John. More than I've loved anybody before. You'll always mean the most to me." He purred.
John was on Cloud 9 all the way back to camp, nearly skipping rather than walking. Arthur decided to hang back for a moment, but didn't give John an explanation as to why.
Oh well, John thought. As long as he loves me. Nothing matters more than him loving me.