Chapter Text
Tilly tries to focus in on her sewing. Karen is complaining about Sean again as she sits with both her and Mary-Beth, trying to hide from the baking sun and the drunken ramblings of the oldest men that are lazing about. It’s too hot for Miss Grimshaw to come bother them, too. All in all, it’s a day where they can only really laze around (unless you’re Arthur, in which case he can never sit still).
“I mean, why’s he goin’ ‘round stickin’ his grimy hands in my things?”
“Maybe he’s low on funds,” Mary-Beth muses. Her book lays flat across her skirt and her finger keeps her spot as she engages. “You know how those boys can be- spendin’ it all on drink as soon as they get it.”
“Then he can ask. I wouldn’t mind bein’ taken out to the town on a date night!”
“I ain’t think he thinks that far.”
“’Sides,” Karen frowns. “He was rootin’ ‘round in my makeup, not my jewelry.”
Tilly pauses.
“Looked right embarrassed at bein’ caught, too. Like I wouldn’t notice him doin’ such a thing.”
“What would he want those for?”
Mary-Beth’s confusion is understandable. None of the boys have had any interest in their makeup unless it’s to make a ridiculous comment or praise a new look they’re trying out. For one of them to go rummaging around in a makeup stash for fun is odd. Tilly’s mind is turning the curiosity over as the other two girls continue to speculate and complain.
She’s still thinking about it when she wakes up the next day and is bustled over to wash some clothes. Mulls it over as she scrubs. The fabrics end up a little cleaner than usual since she’s so distracted; Grimshaw praises her an annoying amount for it.
Her distraction is enough for Abigail to inquire about it. Tilly nudges them a bit out of earshot and bluntly asks the other woman if Sean’s ever messed with her things.
“Not that I’ve seen,” Abigail’s brows furrow in thought. “Lotta these fellas like to snoop around, though, so I wouldn’t be surprised. Why?”
She glances over at Karen. “He was lookin’ around Karen’s makeup box. Didn’t seem like him.”
“No, that doesn’t…”
They both look over to where Sean is leaning back against a tree, rifle propped against his shoulder, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. A standard sight for him, and he gives no hints as to what he’d been up to; it is a bit funny to see him straighten when Hosea passes him. He looks as normal as ever.
“If he does, maybe I’ll let you know,” Abigail says finally, thoughtfully, one hand on her cheek. Tilly knows she’ll be thinking about it as much as she is. If there’s anyone who can find some answers besides her, it’s Abigail.
Since nothing happens for a while, Tilly shelves the concept away in her mind. Puts it in the back so she can focus on her chores and her hobbies. It’s not until most of the men go on a particularly large robbery, ammo refilled, and promising a big haul that’ll get them rich food and good liquor that it comes back up. The girls know better than to expect it for sure, but it’s an eager thing to hope.
Tilly knows her brothers are a bit stupid, though. No doubt Hosea will have to keep John and Arthur reined in before they collapse the whole plan. Some of the lesser useful members stay behind. Uncle stays slumped against a tree, snoring away. She only realizes Sean hasn’t gone, either, when she catches him trying to sneak away from the girls’ wagon.
“Lookin’ for somethin’?”
Sean jumps a foot in the air. “Uh- n- I- um, naw!”
“No?” She props her hands on her hips.
“N-no.”
The longer she doesn’t respond, the more fidgety he gets. It’s no surprise- Sean’s more impatient than a puppy in a crate. He looks nervous, but less so in the way of stealing and more like he’s trying to not give anything away. Something is bothering him and he won’t say.
“If you need anythin’ you just gotta ask,” she says finally. Watches the way he startles and shakes his head a little too fast.
“No, I… I’ll be right fine, thanks,” he mumbles, scratching his cheek. Before she can say anything further he ducks away and disappears into the trees. She wonders if he’s going to hide for a little bit.
Tilly may be young, but she’s not stupid. She knows he’s lying and she’s going to figure out what the hell is going on.
Sean doesn’t know what the hell he’s doing. It feels more wrong than ever to try and snoop around the girls’ things, but he can’t help himself from getting curious, nosy, and wanting to look at everything without being steered one way or another. He’s just too… itchy. Too weirdly desperate.
He doesn’t understand the purpose of makeup other than for it to make them look better. To pretty up their faces so that the men will look for longer. But watching them take the time to apply all the little bits stirs something weird in his chest; he’s been told off for staring at Karen a few times already.
Karen’s noticed his odd demeanor. Maybe it’s because he hasn’t been flirting or talking up a storm like usual, not giving excuses to get into her trousers like he tends to do whenever he sees the woman. He can’t help that she looks right gorgeous even when she’s mad. A slap or two doesn’t stop his starstruck attitude. And her makeup is done so carefully.
The feelings are a bit too uncomfortable to confront right now. He picks at his nails as he stands guard, shifting the rifle every few minutes so his shoulder doesn’t hurt. Every time he does the perimeter watch Hosea gives him a pointed glare as if he doesn’t already know he can’t slack off.
Like it’s his fault for being so damn exhausted all the time. If he wasn’t next to the Reverand he’d get much better sleep. It doesn’t help that his jaw still aches sometimes.
He rubs his nose and tries not to think about what makeup feels like. What it would be like to spend time putting it on. Those shiny little compacts that hold the powder. His fingers twitch with the urge to pilfer one.
She’s folding the laundry when she overhears Sean and Lenny coming back into the camp. From the sounds of it, they got a pretty big haul and are damn proud of it. It’s no surprise that there’s the promise of a lot of drinking later.
She watches out of the corner of her eye as they hand off the money and jewelry and watches to Dutch, who organizes it all, hands back their share, then passes the jewelry and the like off to Arthur to take to a fence (he’s the most trustworthy to come back with the right cash amount after).
Lenny goes right back to reading like usual. He has some new book he was rather excited about and chatted to Hosea about for what felt like hours the other day. In contrast, Sean just… wanders off to do whatever he does in his free time. Sleeping or drinking.
He’s still missing when they start the party. When he comes back, he waltzes into the circle around the fire like it’s nothing, dodging questions and starting on about some story or other they’ve all heard a million times before. Both Lenny and him go into the events of their robbery earlier; it mostly earns laughs, since the two can’t help but invite trouble when they try to be serious, but a few of the other men give gruff congratulations.
The girls drink too, of course. Karen and Grimshaw go deep into the bottle. Tilly herself doesn’t partake too much, but she does like the liquor that they’d brought back this time. As she’s downing the last bits of her first bottle, she catches sight of Sean ducking away, glancing behind him as if to check nobody is following. She does exactly that.
She doesn’t think he’s going to steal from them. She knows the other girls might feel differently. The party is getting loud. Even Sean has his mental limits.
Said man is currently on the edge of camp, head bobbing side to side. It sounds like he’s humming. She can’t place the tune, really. That’s not the point.
“Sean?”
He jumps a little, whirls around, and stumbles. Stutters and looks around for an exit. But he doesn’t bolt when she steps closer to talk quieter (his shoulders do rise, though, which is a bit funny).
“Come with me,” she says, and it comes out more like an order than she means. Maybe that’s why Sean obediently trots after her as she heads towards her bedroll. It’s a miracle he hasn’t started talking right away. “Here, sit.”
He sits. Blinks up at her owlishly.
It doesn’t take her long to find her makeup chest and to start rummaging through it, pulling out compacts and making sure they’re sturdy before she turns and holds one out to him. He gapes in both shock and confusion but fumbles to take it. It’s smaller in his hand. She doesn’t stop him from turning it over and flicking it open. She hands him a few more and watches as he picks at them in a refreshingly amateur fashion; the more expensive one takes him a moment to figure out and he looks so damn pleased when it finally opens for him.
She thinks she sees why Karen called him ‘infuriatingly cute’ the other day. He’s like a little fox. Poking and staring and snatching little glittery things. She can see the appeal in his boyish habits.
“Wha… wha’s this for?”
“Cover bad spots. This other one you put on your eyelids.”
Sean makes a small ‘huh’ kind of noise.
“Karen likes this color the most,” she adds.
“’S pretty,” he mumbles automatically. He turns pink right after.
“I think so, too. Doesn’t work with my skin, though.”
“R-really…”
The conversation feels nice. It’s flowing easily, if a bit awkwardly, and he actually seems to be listening to her explanations. Even the other girls tend to be stuck in their own heads (not that she can blame them in this muggy weather).
“Whatchu two doin’?” Arthur’s rough voice startles them both out of the lull. He leans over the barrels behind Sean to peer at them.
“Talkin’,” she returns with all the attitude a younger sister can. It has the intended effect of making his brow raise. She doesn’t waver, though. “What’re you doin’?”
“Interruptin’.”
“Get lost, Arthur.”
“Naw, I think I wanna know what y’all are doin’. Is that your makeup?”
Sean’s shoulders jump. It probably feels like Arthur is breathing down his neck. He looks terrified.
“Yes. He’s holdin’ it for me while I reorganize it.”
“Ain’t you just do that?”
“I’m doin’ it again,” she snaps back. “I don’t like it anymore.”
“I just ain’t able to understand you girls,” her brother sighs. The bottle in his hand tips dangerously to the side. “Doin’ all these things for no reason. Ropin’ poor Sean into it.”
“We both needed a break from the rest of you fools.”
“Yeah?”
“Mhm.”
“You ain’t want another drink?”
“No, Arthur, I’m fine.”
“Sure, sure.” He falls silent just long enough to take a drink. Then, in a cheeky tone, he leans down again and smirks as he tells Sean, “Make sure you ain’t break any of those. She’ll be right pissed.” And then he stands up with a grunting laugh. Before he can walk away, though, Sean bolts up onto his own feet, shoves the compacts into Tilly’s hands, mumbles something about ‘needing space’, and nearly shoots off into the darkness. Arthur stares after him, baffled, as he finally heads back to the party.
Tilly doesn’t think she’s been more mad at her brother in her life. Goddamnit, Arthur, she thinks, seething, as she puts her makeup away. She can hear him laughing at something Uncle said and it makes her see red. I got so damn close just then.
A few of the men quiet down when they see her approaching. The back of Arthur’s head is square ahead in her vision. She whips his hat off his head and promptly whacks him as hard as she can in the neck with it. The choked noise he makes is like music to her ears. She’s half his size and she nearly knocked him off the log.
She doesn’t bother seeing his expression as she stalks away. The silence is enough for her to know she made her point. Just as she gets to her bedroll, she hears John break the silence with a mutter.
“The hell did you do?”
Sean is noticably moodier the next few days. He does the chores Grimshaw doles out to him and doesn’t even argue against being on watch. It has Hosea wondering if someone’s replaced him with a duplicate behind their backs. Arthur offers to take the younger man out on some jobs if only to cheer him up, but Sean turns him down and quickly exits the conversations.
Her fool of a brother doesn’t seem to realize what he’s done. A normally harmless comment has struck the redhead to the core in a vulnerable moment. Just as Tilly had been about to get Sean to open up, Arthur had come in and slammed the doors shut. Too drunk to read the mood.
“What happened?” Abigail asks quietly, watching her stab stitches into a jacket. “It ain’t like Sean to be so… withdrawn.”
“Arthur happened,” she snips back. Then sighs. “Sorry.” She recounts the events of the night before as calmly as she can. When she finishes, they sit in silence for a moment before Abigail speaks up.
“Him and John ain’t got an ounce of common sense in them. Less so when they’re drunk.”
“He just- he looked so happy to be talkin’ about it.”
“The makeup?”
“Mhm. Didn’t have any plans to steal anythin’; he just wanted to know what he was lookin’ at.”
Abigail purses her lips. She keeps her eyes on Jack as she thinks. The boy is sitting with a bundle of flowers, tying them together. He’s been doing that a lot lately. Various members of the gang end up with flowers of some sort on their person. It’s a harmless hobby that Abigail has had no problem helping him cultivate.
“Do you think he wants some?”
Tilly pauses. The question is so quiet she almost didn’t hear it. But it makes something click in her head- the sneaking around, the embarrassment, the terror when Arthur had interrupted them. He’s not just curious. He’s interested in the makeup.
When she looks up, she makes direct eye contact with Abigail. The other woman nods. Quickly, she finishes up her stitching and sets it aside. Within minutes, they’ve come up with something close to a plan. She wasn’t sure how well it will work, but it’s better than sitting around doing nothing.
Abigail will go to John and ask for some extra money to get new makeup. Tilly will do the same with Dutch, though she’ll have to put on a bit more of a performance. He’ll cave in the end, so she isn’t too worried.
After that, they’ll go out to the town and to the shops, but they won’t be looking for anything for themselves. She knows of at least one color Sean finds pretty, so they’ll start with that one then work based on their prior knowledge of skin and comfort. It won’t do to have him try something that feels too heavy.
Tilly entertains Jack while Abigail buys the makeup. The boy gets candy as a reward for behaving so well and for trailing along. When they get back, they cheerfully answer Dutch’s teasing questions about how well it went with confirmations and exchange a small, amused look when he nods as if he understands.
Lenny is one of his closest confidants in the gang, he thinks. He’s like a goddamn saint or something. He should be crowned a saint, actually, in Sean’s opinion. Is that even how saints are made?
Anyway, Lenny is being remarkably patient right now as he struggles to find the words to describe his feelings. The other man had caught him sitting outside the camp and, very gently, asked him what was wrong. Closed his book and turned to face him and everything.
His eyes are like melted chocolate. Deep and brown and warm. Like if Sean stuck his fingers in the color it’d get all over his hands. It’s making him kind of hungry in a tooth-achey way. He pulls his knees up to his chest and tucks his chin against them. His stomach is swirling funny; he doesn’t want to think about what it might mean right now.
“Dunno,” he mumbles. “Just- just ain’t feelin’ up t’ anythin’.”
“Are you sick?”
“Ain’t think so.”
Lenny presses his lips into a thin line. “Don’t think you need Hosea or Miss Grimshaw to check you out, then?”
“Uh, no thanks.” His face flushes when the other man laughs, soft. “I’ll be fine, Len, just ain’t feelin’ like bein’ an idiot right now.”
“You’re not an idiot.”
He startles. The look he’s given is very serious. His usual snarky remarks die in his throat. Instead of a response, he buries his face in his arms. Lenny doesn’t force him to talk anymore and he’s not sure whether to be thankful or upset about it. It’s a good few minutes before the silence is broken.
“...You ain’t gotta tell me, Sean. Some things you just can’t tell others. But I’ll listen if you want to.”
Warmth blooms in his chest. It’s bordering on corny but it’s just so sweet. If there’s anyone that won’t judge him, it’s Lenny. Despite his throat feeling like syrup, he manages to get out, “...if- if a man was interested in somethin’ that ain’t manly, what…”
“Somethin’ that ain’t manly? Like somethin’ women like?”
He nods. Blinks as his eyes sting.
Lenny tilts his head and genuinely considers it. His fingers drum on the cover of his book. “I wouldn’t mind. Most people would, I guess, but you know I ain’t liked by most people, either.”
“Yeah…”
“I can’t say for sure what the other guys would think. But if they made fun of you, you could just give ‘em a good fight.”
Sean laughs before he can stop himself. It’s wet and shaky, but it’s the first time he’s genuinely laughed in a week. The fact that Lenny is the one to pull it out of him isn’t surprising- it’s like a splash of cold water to his face. “S’pose I could do that.”
“Done it before. This is botherin’ you pretty bad, huh?”
“...Yeah.”
“Does it have anything to do with Tilly hittin’ Arthur the other day?”
“She did what?”
“Yeah, after Arthur came back to the fire she came over all in a huff and just-” Lenny mimes pulling a hat off, “-took his hat off and hit him with it. Left him real confused. Left us all real confused, really, but nobody’s asked her about it yet.”
He blinks once, then twice. Sits up straighter in surprise. “She did? I… yeah, prob’ly.”
“I figured.”
“Yer a smart cookie, eh?”
Lenny snorts. “Just doin’ what I can. Sean?”
“Uh-huh?”
“Thanks for tellin’ me.”
“...Thanks fer listenin’.”
Tilly snags Sean when most of the bigger men (the ones that are the best shots) go out on a train robbery. She chooses today of all days because Dutch also goes on the job. There’s less chance of being interrupted if his booming figure is gone. All she has to do is tell Hosea she’s borrowing Sean for something and even he will leave the redhead alone.
Sean is, understandably, real confused. He’s less miserable after some talk with Lenny (Mary-Beth owes her money for that) but he’s still rather sullen about everything. It’s made the rest of camp a bit miserable, too, because they rely way too much on his cheer to get them going.
“Ain’t think ye need someone like me t’ help.”
“I asked you on purpose.”
He frowns, but follows her across the grass anyway. He nearly trips over Uncle in the process. Scowls down at the snoring old man.
She leads him over to John’s tent, which Abigail has co-opted for now, annoyingly messy. She kicks some dirty clothes out of the way- ew, John- and motions for him to sit. Abigail, who is busy messing with their boxes of makeup, the new compacts shiny against the used ones, doesn’t pay them any mind. He looks between the two, still confused, but continues to obey.
“Um, I ain’t really in the mood-”
“We’re not fuckin’ you, Sean,” Abigail interrupts. The redhead turns the color of his hair and shrugs.
The box of makeup is dropped in front of Sean, opened so he can see all the bits and bobs inside. He blinks down at it. Once, twice. Then looks back up to them with wide, baffled eyes. More like a deer in the scope of a rifle than a curious little fox.
“You can look at them,” Tilly starts, finding a clean enough space to sit for herself. She begins taking some of the bigger ones out as he watches. He still doesn’t move. She has to actually hand him one before he kicks into gear and starts looking it over. It’s the same routine as last time; flip it around, pick at the seam, open the lid. Poke at the packed powder.
It’s amazing to see him light up when she hands him one of the color he’d praised. He spends an extra long time just staring at it. Like he doesn’t want to put it down. It’s a bit bigger than their other compacts- it fits near perfectly in his palm.
They have to tread carefully. Sean’s too emotional and loud to just come out and ask certain things. Tilly chews on her lip as she thinks, as Sean rubs at the indents on the eye powder container with a pleased look on his face. She’s a little terrified the moment will slip away.
“You can keep it,” she blurts.
“...Huh?”
“That one. You can keep it so you ain’t gotta keep lookin’ through ours.”
“R- uh, really?”
She nods.
He stares at her. Then down at the makeup. The makeup that fits so neatly in his hand and is so nice and new. The look on his face is, for once, hard to parse out. Blank and muddled.
Is he not understanding me? She leans in a little. “Or a different one. If you don’t like this one-”
“No! No, I… uh, I do.”
“Good.”
And then it’s awkward again. In all honesty, Tilly isn’t too used to treading carefully. Her brothers are Arthur and John. They’re not exactly the epitome of ‘treading carefully’. Then, Abigail swoops in like a knight in shining armor. She crouches next to them (a lot like the way she does with Jack) and speaks in a quiet tone.
“Do you want help puttin’ it on?”
Sean gawks at her.
If Tilly had asked the same of her aforementioned brothers, John would’ve given her a weirded out look, said ‘are you crazy?’ and ignored her. Arthur would’ve been more polite, but he would have awkwardly turned her down with a ‘er, not right now, sorry’ and pretended she hadn’t asked. Maybe if she was younger Hosea would have entertained her sillyness. Asking Sean something like that has never crossed her mind.
“I don’t… That’s- shit, that’s a real silly question, ain’t it?”
Tilly knows this tone. It’s his ‘the conversation is weird, I need to save it’ tone. His eyes are darting towards the tent flaps. Neither her nor Abigail get up to block his way; he knows he can just leave, even if it would be rather rude.
“It ain’t silly at all,” Tilly says firmly. “I made John model for me when we was younger.”
The corner of Sean’s mouth tilts up.
“Really?” Abigail turns to her.
“Uh-huh. Arthur was always busy with them jobs, so I made John do it. Won’t admit to it, though, even if I got him outta chores for it.”
“...Maybe a little,” Sean mumbles. The grip he has on the compact is so tight it’s a marvel it doesn’t break. “Just- just a little, okay? I ain’t wantin’ t’ go t’ the circus.”
Tilly could slap him, but she refrains in this instance. She has to remind herself that he’s just trying to reassure himself. A mouthy idiot who doesn’t think before he speaks; he’s likely about to have a heart attack right now. She scoots over for Abigail to sit instead and dutifully hands over a brush.
“Ye ain’t gonna stab me, are ye?”
“Does it look like this has a sharp end?”
“Ye never know!”
“Scoot closer.”
He squirms when she takes him by the chin and tilts his head up. After a moment, she nods to herself and starts talking him through the process- it’s simple, but it seems to made him less jittery anyway.
Tilly stays on lookout. Keeps her ears peeled to ensure the other guys don’t come back too early. Listens as Abigail tells Sean to ‘stay still, or your eye is gonna get poked’, which he makes a somewhat fearful noise to.
“It tickles,” he hisses.
“You’re not used to it,” Abigail counters.
“It feels weird!”
“I can stop.”
It’s just an offer, but he seems to take it as a threat, because he quiets down immediately.
She only looks back when Abigail triumphantly announces she’s done. The other woman’s touch with the makeup had been so light that it takes her a moment to even realize there’s anything different. The faintest hint of color at the edges of his eyelids, just enough to highlight. His eyes are so startingly green against the eyeshadow. Sean’s head dips, suddenly shy, and it makes his lashes look long.
...She’s a little jealous. She thinks she needs to ask Abigail for tips later. For now, they need to reassure the poor guy.
“It looks really good,” she tells him, and she means it.
“It can be too heavy if you do too much right away,” Abigail explains as she packs the brush away. The compact gets given back to Sean, who takes it like it’s a stick of dynamite. “It’s easier to wipe off this way, too.”
Sean says nothing even when handed a mirror. He just stares and stares. Tilly worries they’ve broken him. Then, the corners of his eyes tighten and he just folds in on himself, clutching the mirror like it’s a lifeline. His shoulder blades tremble with some barely concealed emotion.
Now she can’t say anything. Was it bothering him that bad? Desperately, she looks to Abigail, but the other woman is just watching with an oddly sympathetic look.
“...I dun understan’,” he finally manages, wet and muffled. “Why’re ye bein’ so nice? I just ain’t…” He flinches when Abigail gently touches his shoulder.
“Why wouldn’t we be?”
“Because!” He jerks away from her, eyes wild, face tear-stained already. “It’s- why-” There’s a pause long enough for him to scrub at his nose, then he’s back into snapping, “-’cause it ain’t right! Why- why- there ain’t no good reason.”
“Why not?”
“It ain’t right,” he mumbles. And he just looks so goddamn miserable saying it.
“Says who?” Tilly blurts. When Sean blinks up at her, she sits up straighter and puts her fists on her hips. Puts on her no-nonsense face (the same one she learned from Grimshaw and has used on her brothers plenty of times). “If you wanna do it, then do it. We already live stupid, abnormal lives. What’s wrong with doin’ these kinds of things?”
“Ain’t right fer a man,” he repeats, like he’s one of Dutch’s scratched records.
“So?”
His face contorts. Jaw working back and forth as he tries to come up with the words. Tears are already threatening the edges of his eyes again. The eyeshadow is smeared, just a little.
Abigail tips up the edge of the mirror, trying to turn it so he can see himself again. He outright shakes his head and drops it onto the grass. Tucks his hands into his lap and looks away from both of them. His shoulders shake with each slow, careful breath.
“...I ain’t able t’ keep that.”
“Then I’ll hold onto it for you. Either of us can.”
It’s handed over without much else said. Tilly doesn’t know if Sean will ever ask for it again or even want to try to do this again, but she sure hopes so. It feels like they’ve cracked the edge of something here. It’s up to him if he wants to bust the wall all the way down.
She just hopes the others don’t destroy him before that happens.
His whole face hurts. It’s been so long since he’d cried so hard. He rubs at his cheeks and tries to will the splotchy redness away; it’s more likely he’s making it worse. Figures that he can’t fix it.
The girls… confuse him. They’d berated him and shooed him away from their belongings, then turned around and invited him in. And even gave him things. New, shiny things that aren’t cheap. Gone out of their way to get the things for him.
He can still feel the weight of the makeup container in his hand. He flexes his fingers and stares at his palm.
“You can keep it.”
He just doesn’t understand why. Tilly confuses the absolute hell out of him, if he’s entirely honest. She’s firm and kind and sticks to her morals so well that it makes his head spin. She’s not afraid to speak her mind though she’s half the size of most of the men. He does his best to keep from bothering her, since she’s shown she’ll throw back as good as she can get (and why wouldn’t she, with Arthur and John being her playmates when she was a kid).
The sight of himself in the mirror- it still makes his chest ache. Just a couple of stupid spots of color. That’s all it was.
...Wasn’t it?
“We already live stupid, abnormal lives.”
“Get outta me head.”
“Whatchu mumblin’ about?”
Sean jumps, nearly bowling Arthur over in the process. Immediately, he steps back, then a little further when he realizes who it is. The older man tilts his head. “Nothin’.”
“Everythin’ and nothin’, huh? Like always.”
The tone is amused, teasing, but Sean frowns before he can stop himself. The lack of laughter makes Arthur pause and shift awkwardly. Sean hates, a bit, how easy it is for the others to tell when he’s really not in the mood. It’s like he’s readable from an eagle eye view; he needs to learn how to close the pages.
“Er, listen, you wanna go on a job?”
“...No, thanks.”
Arthur’s brows furrow. “You sure? I was gonna ask Javier, but-”
“Yeah, I’m- I’m tired, was gonna take a nap.” Only half a lie, but Arthur believes it. He slumps down onto his bedroll and watches the camp move around him.
Luck comes his way- maybe out of sympathy- and Grimshaw doesn’t get on his case for just sitting on the sidelines. When the fires are started up and everyone starts settling down a little, Lenny comes and sits by his side. Only when Javier’s guitar starts up and Uncle’s usual crooning follows does the other man break their shared silence.
“You feelin’ alright?”
“...No.”
“Didn’t figure. Ain’t wanna talk about it?”
“Not really.”
Lenny nods and opens his book. The cover has some mess of flowers and words, and the pages are dense with ink. Sean’s asked the premise a few times before but he can’t remember it. But Lenny sits there with his flower covered book and doesn’t push him. Doesn’t speak to fill the silence that Sean usually occupies. It’s comfortable.
He wets his lips and spares a glance. Lenny’s side profile is so striking he can’t look for long. The fire makes his dark skin all gold. That funny feeling is back in Sean’s gut. Something vaguely tied to his weird feelings about the makeup, he thinks. But it’s hard to tell.
I have this weird feeling about you.
He can’t say that. He can barely tell Lenny about the stupid makeup issue. They just aren’t comprehendible right now- his head is spinning too much. Uncle’s singing is too loud.
Instead, he picks at his thumb and stares at his bedroll. Lets the feeling sit for a bit, settling, while he steals peeks at Lenny out of the corner of his eye. Memorizes the way he reads. The page flips, the pursing of his lips, the way he grins a little when one of the other gang members crack a drunken joke. He knows every bit of it and still burns it into his brain.
It’s a good thing it’s so dark out, because his face feels like it’s going to burn off. He almost wishes he hadn’t scrubbed off the eyeshadow- is that what it’s called?- because he might’ve been able to worm a compliment out of the other man.
Pain snaps through his nail and he hisses. No blood, but damn, that hurt. He needs to stop fantasizing about stupid shit.
“There’s a job,” Lenny says suddenly, sticking his finger in his book to keep his place, shuffling around to face him better. “Some stagecoach robbery. Supposed to go through the forest trail tomorrow. Wanna go?”
“Yes,” Sean responds automatically, because it’s a job with Lenny, and he always agrees to those. Always.