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Arthur took his shot of whiskey, throwing his cards down onto the makeshift poker table with a huff. It was the third time in a row he had lost at poker. Without Strauss helping him, he was a lost cause at the game. Arthur had gambled away nearly half of the pocket money that he was carrying. With how much he lost, it might as well count as a donation to the gang. A few nights ago, he had lost to Uncle at dominoes. Uncle. Even though he was a few drinks in at the time, it was still intensely embarrassing. Imagine losing five whole dollars. To Uncle.
Arthur took a seat on the ground, his boots shifting the dust beneath him. It was quiet for a moment. The ambient sounds of the camp seemed to fade away. He pulled at the stray blades of grass growing into the dirt path. Eventually, he heard the familiar sound of footsteps and clinking spurs. The man loomed over him for a moment, before taking a knee beside him. It was Javier; which Arthur knew before he even turned to face him. He had this distinct scent, like a sweet, warm campfire and worn leather.
“Hey, Arthur. Got your ass handed to you again, I take it?” Javier chuckled under his breath. Arthur normally wouldn’t have put up with being talked down to like this, but somehow it felt… Different.
“Lenny’s gotten real good. Him and Pearson were gangin’ up on me, swear.”
“Come sit by the fire. They can keep playing, but I think you should take a breather, yeah?” Javier’s smile was so inviting, and absolutely impossible to turn down. Arthur stood, following close behind as they approached the campfire.
Arthur took a seat on one of the logs bordering the fire, watching the orange flames dance against the shadowy background. Javier sat down beside him, already having retrieved his guitar. The smoke rose far above the fire, curling before fading into the night sky. The heat kissed his face and hands, and the fire danced in his eyes. Arthur struggled to keep his gaze forward. He wanted to turn to Javier, watch the light gleam in his eyes, maybe even reach out to feel the warmth in his cheeks. God, he shouldn’t be thinking like this. It was probably just the whiskey talking. That’s what Arthur told himself, anyway.
Javier strummed his guitar, a single note reverberating through the air before he began playing. Arthur was too preoccupied with his own thoughts, barely even registering the first half of the song. Only when he finally turned to face his companion did he realize that Javier was nearly finished singing through Cielito Lindo.
“Ese lunar que tienes, cielito lindo, junto a la boca
No se lo des a nadie, cielito lindo, que a mí me toca
Ese lunar que tienes, cielito lindo, junto a la boca
No sе lo des a nadie, cielito lindo, quе a mí me toca
Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores
Porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones
Ay, ay, ay, ay, canta y no llores
Porque cantando se alegran, cielito lindo, los corazones.”
Arthur was so lost in the song, even if he didn’t understand a word of it. He moved closer, just to hear Javier sing better. Just for the song. But they were so, so close to each other, and Javier was looking into Arthur’s eyes like this song was just for him, and he felt an electricity in the air, and their legs were almost touching, and–
The song ended. Arthur cleared his throat, quietly scooting back to his original seat. He stared down at his boots, trying to think of something, anything to say.
“You’re, uh… You’ve got a talent there, Javier.”
They talked for a couple minutes after, but Arthur had mentally checked out. He knew they would never speak of this again. They couldn’t. But something was stirring in Arthur’s chest, and deep down he knew what it was. But maybe it was just him. Maybe, somehow, things wouldn’t be awkward. Maybe he would wake up tomorrow and everything would be as it always was.
A few weeks earlier was when Arthur noticed something was different between him and Javier. That fishing trip had changed things. An hour of quiet closeness, sitting at the edge of the water, watching the leaves rustle in the wind. They came back to camp to say that the fish weren’t biting, and they hadn’t caught a thing. But really? They gave up on fishing after not even fifteen minutes.
The men folded up their fishing rods, instead watching the serene forest. Laying in the tall grass, pressed against each other. They spoke in a hushed tone, like they were afraid of being caught by some unseen stranger. Arthur moved as slow as he could, like he might scare away the other if he went too fast. Small, imperceptible movements, reaching until he could feel Javier’s hand.
He hoped, prayed that his friend’s hand wouldn’t move away. And it didn’t. Arthur pressed his hand into Javier’s, fingers slowly intertwining. He felt this warm sparking in his stomach, like the moment before a storm, when the air hums with this indescribable power. Something you couldn’t harness. Wild, untameable, raw. Turning to face each other, breath hot, eyes searching for confirmation. This tension felt easier to drown in than the pond they were feet away from.
But now it’s silent. The poker table was completely dead. They said they were missing four cards that they couldn’t play without. Presumably the four that Arthur had in his hand before storming off. They searched all over camp, but it was like those four cards had completely vanished. Everyone was waiting on Pearson to go into town and buy a new deck. A good, sturdy deck from Saint Denis.
Javier and Arthur hadn’t spoken at all, save for a ‘good morning’ or two. It was odd enough to garner the attention of a few of the other gang members, who tried to pry for details. Each one was dismissed with a harsh reminder to mind their business.
Arthur rode down to the nearby pond, trying to do something—anything—to clear his mind. He sat in a grass patch, skipping stones across the murky water. He wasn’t sure how he let this happen, let alone how to rectify the situation. Just as he was about to get up to search for more skippable rocks, Arthur heard a horse’s hooves steadily approaching. He looked up, expecting someone different. Most likely a stranger, maybe Charles sent out to look for him. But it was Javier. He should’ve known. Arthur watched the man slide down off of his saddle, holding a fishing rod. He didn’t say a word, just nodded and sat by Arthur’s side to cast his line.
After a long silence that was only broken by the ambient sounds of the surrounding forest, Javier finally spoke up. He was quiet, so quiet that Arthur didn’t know if he only imagined the man speaking or not. “I showed you this spot.” He stated matter-of-factly.
Arthur froze up for a moment. That was true. He had never been to this pond until Javier took him fishing here. He would’ve never known how peaceful it was if not for that trip. It soon turned into a habit, coming down to the water’s edge to think. “You did. I come down here t’clear my mind sometimes.” Arthur remarked, trying desperately to sound casual.
“Are we gonna talk about it?” Javier posed the question, not looking up from the water. Arthur briefly considered feigning ignorance. Pretending not to know what Javier was talking about seemed so much easier than confronting his feelings.
“What’s there to talk about? Nothin’ happened.” This was a lie. Not just a lie, a bold-faced one. Maybe if he acted like nothing was wrong, everything would blow over. But it was impossible to ignore that nagging, sinking sensation in the pit of his stomach.
“¡Carajo! This is why you’re so bad at poker, Arthur. I don’t think I’ve ever met a worse liar.” Javier smirked, the morning light catching his hair and giving it a reddish-brown tint. It was a small, easy-to-miss detail, but something that Arthur couldn’t ignore. It almost reminded him of the fire that night.
“I ain’t like that. Or, maybe… God, I don’t know, Javi. I just don’t know.” Arthur wasn’t one to stumble through sentences, and was never one to stutter. But this confrontation had him slurring sentences like a drunk. He just couldn’t make heads or tails of the situation. It was like he was caught in a snare with no way out. He had to face the music. Arthur wasn’t a man who scared easily. He had nerves of steel in a shootout, robbed trains and banks without fear, but this? He was absolutely petrified of acknowledging his feelings in any way.
Javier closed the distance between the two, dropping his voice to just above a whisper. “You don’t have to say anything. Just…”
Arthur barely had time to react before there was a hand following the curve of his jaw, smoothing over the rough stubble. Javier drew nearer, slowly, almost like he was giving time for Arthur to pull back. He didn’t. There wasn’t a world in which he would’ve thought to retreat from this moment. Both men closed their eyes, clumsily falling into a kiss. Arthur couldn’t believe how right it felt. The feeling of Javier’s lips against his own was like pressing his mouth into a ripe peach; velvet and yielding and sweet. They pulled away, both grinning like idiots.
“Took you long enou–” Was all Javier managed to say before he was grabbed by the shirt collar and dragged back into another kiss. They were laid out in the tall grass, birds singing overhead as the sun dappled their bodies through the leaves.
Somewhere, lost in the camp, were four cards. Black aces over eights. A dead man’s hand.