ā¦ strangers to lovers, slow burn, johnās pov
Synopsis: John, your lonesome neighbor, continues to pester you every chance he gets. Other than ranching and journaling, he sure seems to have nothing better to do.
Note: finished ! ! ! rdr makes me want to kill myself, but at least john exists (ą¹Ł>o<)Łā”ā finally got this thing out of the trenches, and after requests iāll follow-up w a jack fic. YAY <3
i kind of imagined the whole thing with a studio ghibli animation in my head. thereās only one inaccuracy: ācanāt help falling in loveā by elvis presley wasnāt out until 1961. letās just pretend he was early by a few decades ~
Heard there werenāt much people here, guess they were right. All of this is to retire from all of that business, and live out my remaininā days in peace. When Arthur gave me his journal, I didnāt expect it to have so much written. He was poetic ā in a way. I try my best to recreate the way he drew all those animals and people, even though I canāt pick up a pencil.
For the most part, it has been peaceful here. Not much people to talk to, though. Takinā care of this ranch aināt much work, either, I always find myself having spare time. And Iām sure Iāll develop a lung disease with how much cigarettes Iāve been smokinā.
Guess weāll see, though, how this whole thingāll work out.
John writes in his journal, flipping the pages without noise. No one disturbs, and there is no one to disturb. Mellow streaks of light from the sun mark on the paper, and from his view are the snowy trees and the ice melting on the grass.
Only faint mooing and baas of animals are heard from the distance, other than rustling of the trees ā due to cold wind ā that also hits him in the face like a brick.
It was quiet. And as much as John had been searching for that quiet, he found himself doubting ā about all of this. About all his actions and choices.
Iām not sure if Iām capable of settlinā down and livinā a quiet life, at least like this. The only person I can talk to here is Uncle, and heās a damn leech.
So this is the normal life.
John paused his writing, sighing and closing the journal.
Nothing is quite interesting here. Heās thankful for the peace, however, thereās something thatās always been bugging him since he moved here.
The stillness of everything. How only leaves seemed to fall, how no one passes by, the chirping of the birds as they flap their feathers above. John does ranch work in a systematic manner ā and the more he spends time with himself, the more he notices the tiny things he used not to.
He felt alone, but he refused to call himself lonely.
Heās gone out and reeled up fish, attempted to cook ā only that didnāt work out, and he found himself sweeping the wooden floors of his home.
For a person that lived alone, the walls seemed to expand without an end.
Heās cute, Iāll say that. Named him Rufus. Iād rather talk to him than Uncle. Nice to have someone here who actually has a contribution in the ranch.
Damn it, I forgot to feed the chickens. John remembers, while he hurriedly walked over to the chicken pen.
āYouāve been hungry, aināt ya? Sorry ābout that.ā He talks to the chickens, as if they could understand him.
It wasnāt hard to manage the ranch. All he had to do was to not forget, and he had more time than he needed to do these things. Thereās never been a struggle taking care of the cattle, or his horse, or lifting up the crates and sacks.
But someone looked to be having more trouble than he was.
You ā his neighbor. One that didnāt talk, nor did he see much. But you seemed to live alone, and worked all day without any help.
āHey, miss!ā John calls, seeing you lift up crates with a posture that would definitely result in a broken back.
āNo? Donāt talk much?ā He asks softly, walking closely to the fence as his eyes followed you. He rested his forearms on the hard wood, leaning in as he raised a brow.
āThatāsā¦ youāre gonna break your back, miss.ā He persists, before you finally place the crate on the ground.
You look at him, wiping the beads of sweat that dripped from your forehead. āWhat?ā
John speaks up again. āIā¦ think you need help.ā Truly, he wanted to help you, but he couldnāt help that sheepish look of embarrassment on his face. He felt like he was being judged, hard.
āIāve been ranching for years.ā
John thought you were stubborn. But before he could say anything else, you went back to your business with clogged ears.
In addition to this day, I met a strange woman. I shouldāve met her earlier, since her home had already been here before mine ā but regardless, I think she doesnāt want to have anything to do with me.
I offered to help her earlier, but she ignored it and stubbornly went back to breakinā her back. Wonder why sheās workinā on her ranch all by herself.
And it happened a few more weeks after.
āHey, missy!ā John calls out the second time this morning.
āI really think you should let me help.ā Heās leaning on the fence again, the same spot every time. He tilts his head upwards to see what else youāre doing, as he lifts up the brim of his hat slightly.
You respond, this time, which makes him have a sliver of hope.
āYouāre somethinā, alrightā¦ā He murmurs. āā¦that was a compliment!ā
āLook, miss, youāre gonna kill yourself like that. Why donāt you let me help you?ā He insists, a pleading tone seeping in his voice as he watched you helplessly.
You stopped for a moment, catching your breath as you turned to look at him.
āIām sure you have something else better to do, sir.ā
John shakes his head and rubs the back of his neck. āNotā¦ really,ā
āAnd itās John. Johnā¦ Marston. I mean, weāre neighbors, arenāt we?ā
The silence made him cringe. He awaited your next response with impatience ā not because he was irritated, but because he was getting awkward.
Then you said your name. Johnās face lit up, almost immediately.
āSo let me help you, [Reader]!ā He sounded like an eager kid. It seemed he really did have nothing better to do.
But you still insisted and refused.
Itās been the same since then. John coming up to the fence to stare at you while you worked. Well, not really stare ā but it sure felt like he was. He tried to subtly glance over you while working on his own ranch, but John doesnāt know a single thing about being subtle. So he ends up coming off as creepy either way.
I aināt writinā down her name here, but she told me it. Yeah, my neighbor. That stubborn one. Told her she was gonna kill herself few days ago because of her stubbornness, yet she still insisted. I really do wonder why she keeps on persistinā like that.
John writes on his journal with focus and his foreheads knotting slightly. His back is pressed against the wooden wall of his porch.
Every morning sheās wakinā up to carry āround crates and sacks and chasing down cattle. I do commend her for that, though. I just watch helplessly from afar. I got a feelinā she sees me as some kind of competition ā which I aināt.
Canāt help but feel bad for her, in a way, even though sheās capable. Wish I could help, since I got nothinā better to do here. Donāt wanna turn myself crazy talkinā to animals.
His eyes glance over to your figure, again, for about the fourth time. Youāre a hard-working one. Youāve always got that hair of yours in a ponytail, and youāve always been quite neat.
āMissy! Your chickens are escaping!ā John says as he notices the open pen and the overwhelming amount of chickens flooding outside.
Your hands were full with taking care of a horse. You had no time to chase them all down before theyād fully escaped.
Seeing your alarmed expression and unfortunate position, John climbs over the fence with haste.
āThese damned things,ā He mutters to himself while he chased them down. āHey! Come back!ā He scoops them up while some try to protest. The chickens were flailing and batting their wings endlessly, feathers shooting up by Johnās eyes in an attempt to resist.
āYou aināt goinā anywhere,ā He continues to talk to them. One by one, all of the chickens are returned inside the coop.
Except for one ā which was securing a safe escape to the water.
John hurriedly chased it down, determined to hunt every last chicken.
While it happened, you stood there with awe and a certain dumbfounded expression.
What the hell was he doing?
He looked stupid. He really did. He chased down the last chicken with a tackle, his body hitting the ground with a thud and a loud grunt.
āI gotcha, damn chicken.ā He murmurs, getting up as he dusted his pants and made his way back to the pen.
You stood there. āWhyād youā¦ do that?ā
He stopped in front of you, with a chicken in hand. āWell they were gonnaā¦ escape. So I chased them. I hope you didnāt mind?ā
John thought maybe he should have let the chickens escape, with that puzzled look on your face. He was covered in mud and dirt, all from that tackling that he did.
āā¦Thank you.ā You said, looking hesitant. āYou didnāt have to do that. Iāve caused you trouble.ā
He was surprised of how guilty you looked. John was nothing more than a bored-to-death rancher. You acted as if you took all his precious time.
āI told you, miss. I aināt got nothing else better to do. Tackling these chickens for ya aināt trouble at all.ā He replied, once again dusting himself off in a futile attempt to get all the dirt off of him. He gently drops the chicken back in the pen.
And his ears perk up at your barely-contained snort behind him. He turns his head to your direction almost immediately, to see you muffling a laugh with your hand.
āWhatās so funny?ā He asks with confusion.
He didnāt know how incredibly stupid he looked right now. All because of chickens. He looked like he had gone through a storm. A real rough one ā with his hair all messed up and his clothes practically drenched in dirt and mud.
āNothing,ā You say, failing to contain your laughter. John puts on a confused smile, taking off his hat as he approached you.
āItās justā¦ youā¦ look stupid, John.ā
He thought your comment was the sweetest thing youāve said to him yet. Itās degrading, but youāre laughing, and youāre saying his name. Which is more than your usual ignorance ā so heāll forgive you for now.
He lights up for a moment, before he tries to dust off all the mud off of him again. He can hear your chuckles while he did so. āAlright, yeah, yeahā¦ make fun of me.ā
He canāt help but smile himself, despite all of that. He was the reason of your laughing, even though he did look stupid.
āSorry, sorryā¦ā You mumbled with a sigh.
āWell? You saw how helpful I am. Think that makes me worthy of helpinā you out now?ā John says with a small smile.
āI think you need to clean yourself off first.ā
Made a fool of myself chasing around chickens. You know, my neighborās. Ran around the field scooping them up and got dirt and mud all over myself.
She called me an idiot. But I guess it doesnāt really sting much, since she laughed along with the words. Guess she aināt that much of a stubborn woman, more of a closed-off one.
Today John is by his usual spot ā resting on your fence. Heās as early as morning, awaking along the crowing of roosters. Dawn barely cracks and heās already blabbing his mouth.
āYou gonna let me help out?ā He asks. Youāre off to carrying another heavy sack.
āDepends. Will you?ā You said with a huff, panting quietly.
John took that as a yes, and he didnāt need to be said twice. He was already up and going with a sack over his shoulders. Heās swift, already on the job without a single complain.
He already had two in by the time you put yours over the wagon.
The early morning shining on his figure didnāt help, you thought. It distracted you more than it made you work.
He wasnāt anything special. Just an average male with a lean physique, but you could tell he did more than ranching. He lifted those sacks up like they were nothing, and he was more than happy to do so.
As the action prolonged you could notice the tiny beads of sweat forming on his forehead. One trickled down until his chin, dropping down to his throat, dragging itself along his skin.
āI appreciate the admiration, but aināt it rude to stare?ā He says with a small smile, stopping in his tracks momentarily to tease you.
āI wasnāt.ā You replied almost immediately, picking up another sack with determination and striding towards the wagon without error.
āAh you werenāt? āM sorry for the assumption.ā He says with light sarcasm. You rolled your eyes in response.
It was kind of fun, in a way. More on Johnās part. He seemed a little too happy for lifting up sacks and crates.
āYou really do have nothing to do, huh?ā
āNo maāam,ā At this point your work had been reduced by hours. He was an effective ranch-hand, that much was true. āTold ya Iād be helpful.ā
But you were far from done for todayās work. You still had a few more things to check on.
āWell, thank you.ā You replied, making your way to the pens. You did expect him to say something like another offer of help, but instead the man followed behind you like a puppy.
Maybe it wasnāt that bad to have him here.
Hours upon hours had passed since then. He was insistent in helping with every single activity you had on your list. You could swear his eyes lit up every time you said āokayā.
When the sun set in the horizon, John, who smelled all sweaty and like the sun, leaned on the wall of your porch. āWe finished a lot, huh?ā
He had a proud smile on his face, but you looked at him with uncertainty. āIām grateful for your help, but I donāt have anything in return.ā
Johnās head snapped to you with squinted eyes and a lifted brow. āDid you seriously think I helped you ācause I expected somethinā in return?ā
āI aināt that bad of a person. I helped ya ācause I wanted to.ā
āBut I owe you.ā You replied.
āYou donāt owe nothinā. Let that be it.ā
She let me help her. All that work definitely paid off, since I slept one hell of a good night then. Maybe this peaceful life aināt so bad after all.
Iāve learned a few things, too. One is that she does live alone, but I donāt know why. Second is that sheās got a little cat, but I aināt that blessed yet to see her.
Note: gotta feed the horses later.
Weeks pass again, and John continues to insist on helping you every chance he gets. Itās a nice deal, honestly ā he gets to do something, and your ranch gets more taken care of.
And youāve become somewhat friends, if he could dare say that. He hasnāt asked yet ā but heās sure you two are.
Like usual, the day is slow. John stares at the blank paper in his journal, taking in his surroundings. Not a single soul in sight he found. All too quiet for his taste. Sometimes his bones still ached for that life or being rough and rugged.
Though he guessed this was better than settling down in those bustling, putrid cities. The civilians and rich politicians would kill him before the smoke and smell did. And heād convinced himself he was not alone anymore, but the pain of loneliness lingers in his chest from time to time.
He couldnāt slide the pencil in any direction ā his eyes remain stagnant on the land before him, while his thoughts move in a state he couldnāt quite describe himself. It isnāt running, it isnāt racing ā but he certainly wouldnāt call it calm.
The past few months since heād met you filled that little gap in his heart, at least, for the moment.
āHey, Mr. Marston.ā He heard you call, snapping him out of his thoughts.
āYeah?,ā He tucks away his journal and he sees you leaning on the fence this time. āAnd just call me John ā please.ā
āI canāt help but notice you didnāt come?ā You asked.
āYouāre waitinā for me?ā He replies with slight surprise, his eyebrows lifted. A an impudent smile creeps up his lips ā though it remains affectionate.
āDonāt put words in my mouth. I didnāt say that.ā You said with a dismissive wave, glancing at another direction.
John stood up, standing in front of you. āDo you need help?ā
āNo, but youāve got that lonely look in your eyes.ā
āYeah? Howād you know?ā He replied, scratching the stubble of his beard with his index, trying to appear unbothered by your reckoning.
āSeen it somewhere before.ā
āItās nothing, you know. I was just thinkinā.ā
He seemed distant, without eagerness to talk about whatever plagued his mind.
There was a fence between the two of you. It was ironic ā you spent all this time with him helping you out and you know not a thing about him except his name and a few niche things.
That was the same for him, too. He wondered a lot about you; but he knew asking you was off-limits.
So you opened the fence ā along with your mouth, even if it was just a little push.
āMy ranchā¦ Itās family-owned,ā You started. This grabbed Johnās attention almost immediately. āMy mama and papa worked on it. I remember them building it when I was a kid.ā
With a sigh, you continued. āPapa was a smart man. He paid off his debts with what we were earning at the ranch.ā
āBut I donāt know, something happened. Mama wouldnāt tell me. Papa almost worked himself to death, but it wouldnāt cover our debts.ā
John listened to you without distraction, eyes not breaking contact. You couldnāt help but smile ā despite the sorrow that began to build in your heart.
āThey told me to live a city life, to marry, and leave this place. But I couldnāt leave, and I needed to take care of papa and work.ā
Hesitantly, John asked. āSoā¦ what happened?ā
āPapa died last year.ā
āā¦āM sorry to hear that, [Reader].ā
āSo I know that look. I know those eyes more than anyone.ā
John opened the fence a little more, and he let out a soft chuckle. āI aināt got anybody to talk to, nor a family. Not anymore.ā
āThen that makes us both?ā You asked with a short laugh.
He shook his head. āNo, no. Youāreā¦ Iā¦ā
āI aināt exactly the man you think I am. I aināt a good man.ā
He was rough around the edges. Heād gone through a lot, you could see, just from the scars on his face and how he helped you without breaking much of a sweat. Though despite that, you could sense he was better than he described himself.
Your eyes scanned his face a little more, resting on the scars of his face.
He saw not eyes of judging, but curiosity instead; so he decided to open the gate a little more. āā¦Got attacked by a wolf a few years ago.ā
He never talked to anyone about it. Well, not that he had someone to talk to. He didnāt bother to, either way.
āI used to ride with a gang,ā His voice quieted down, eyes averting for a moment before they landed on you once again. āWe was outlaws. Robbed people, killed people, ran ātill we couldnāt.ā
āThen it falls apart, my family. Them.ā
John takes a deep breath. He couldnāt look at you, he couldnāt bear to imagine the face you were making. āI guess I was lucky. Stupidly ā even though I argue some of āem deserved this life more than I did.ā
āGuess I aināt built for this sort of thing, ranchinā and livinā peacefully like I donāt have the blood of countless innocents in my hands.ā
And before you knew it, he waved you a goodbye.
āā¦Maybe not today, missy.ā
I donāt know why I told her about my past. Maybe itās because she said hers, so I felt indebted to do so as well. But I know that aināt the case.
Guess I felt bad? Maybe. I couldnāt keep on pretendinā to be some innocent man next door, either way.
She told me her parents used to own the ranch. Sheād been tending to her father before he died last year, so now sheās runninā the ranch by herself to pay off all her familyās debts. I guess thatās why she was so hell-bent on workinā hard every day.
I felt kind of an ass for leavinā her after that. Scratch that, I was an ass. I just couldnāt look her in the eye, even if I wanted to. It was like I was skinning myself alive in front of her, telling her things I couldnāt even repeat to myself.
But she just listened, I donāt know why. Maybe she was disgusted, or offended, or too shocked to speak. Though I felt as her eyes werenāt judging me at all, maybe thatās why I continued talkinā.
You didnāt think any lesser of him since he said that. In fact, you admired how he was able to bring up his past, even though he clearly looked pained at the thought of it.
He wasnāt a good man. At least he used to be.
But wasnāt it a big step already if he decided to give up on that life? You were sure it was.
Or maybe you were justifying him because you took a liking to him.
Truth be told ā you did like John. His company, how he carried himself, how he talked. He made you forget about the problems you were sinking in.
āJohn, youāre my friend,ā You admitted, while the both of you sat on hay bales. With your back hunched and arms on your lap, you continued.
āI donāt see you any lesser because youāve got a complicated past.ā
āDonāt think you understand, missy,ā He says beside you, smoking a cigarette. āI killed people.ā
āBut youāve quit that life, havenāt you? Youāve got no one to redeem yourself to ā but yourself.ā
Despite what John said about himself, he himself didnāt have a choice. In a way, to be able to live normally has set him in the right direction. He could understand you thinking that.
āā¦Maybe, I donāt know.ā He inhales the smoke, letting the nicotine fill his lungs.
Could I really live this life? Did I deserve it?
The events of the past few years altered how his brain worked. He was reckless, and avoided responsibility ā only caring about himself like the immature man he was.
Have I really changed at all?
āIs that why helpingās been too easy for you?ā You asked.
āWhy, you think Iām strong?ā He replied with a short snort.
You looked at him, as if imagining what he had looked like years ago. He mustāve looked rough ā maybe more intimidating than he was now. And now he was a rancher insisting on pestering you every chance he got.
He looked confused, again. āYouāre laughing at me again. You really like doinā that, donāt ya?ā
āSorry. I just thought you looked a little silly, is all.ā
āSilly? Iām the most serious man youāve met, miss.ā
It was as if you saw him for himself. You awfully reminded him of his family. In a way, it hurt, remembering all those things again.
āā¦Gunslinger.ā You snickered to yourself, shooting him with finger guns.
āYouāre makinā fun of me.ā He shook his head, resisting the urge to smile.
āSo youāre good at shooting, arenāt you? My papa kept a rifle, though he never used it,ā
āI keep cleaning it, though. I bet it still works.ā
āAre you threatening me?ā John asks with mock-offense, laughing.
After minutes of persuasion, John caved in and stood behind you.
You aimed with the rifle, closing your right eye as you listened to Johnās instructions.
āYou need to relax your shoulders.ā He says from behind you, adjusting your form. The palms of his hand rest on your shoulders, pressing slight pressure so it would lower. His fingers graze over the soft fabric, gliding through the wrinkles as he spoke.
āYouāre really set on learninā this thing, huh? You know I can protect you.ā John said, both jokingly and seriously.
You huffed, relaxing your shoulders under his guidance and touch. His back pressed nearly completely against you, and his breath soft by your ear.
He whispers you further insurrections, placing your hand on the grip of the gun, careful to let you know not to hover your index over the trigger yet.
āSo weāre aiminā for that rock over there. You focus your eyes near it, but not there exactly.ā
āUse this part of the gun for a reference on where itās pointing.ā
You let out a sigh, eye completely still on the target. Your index finger lay on the trigger without pressure, awaiting for further notice.
John murmured, behind you, closing an eye as well. He turned the gun a little to the left. You could feel his warm breath on your neck as he spoke, āBreathe in, focus.ā
āAnd when you breathe out ā shoot, alright?ā
You did what he asked, taking in a deep breath. With the air out of your lungs, and with Johnās words of approval, you shot.
A loud noise came echoing through the trees, the bullet hitting the target merely a few inches away. He released his hand from yours, leaning away with a small smile.
āI wouldnāt want to get on your bad side,ā He chuckled. āThat was clean.ā
You faced him, lowering the gun. āYouāre a good teacher.ā
āI try, Iām far from being great, though,ā
āhad a friend, or more of a brother ā aimed without closinā his eyes.ā
You could see the fondness in his eyes, and how his voice softened when he talked about him. You hummed, nodding your head with a slight tilt.
āā¦Yeah.ā He murmured, looking over at the several bullet marks on the rock. āBut youāre a natural, huh?ā
John borrowed the gun, closing one of his eyes and attempting to shoot another smaller rock.
He chuckled to himself, looking back at you with a dorky smile. āBut you aināt ever gonna beat me, missy.ā
āYeah?ā You shook your head. āMaybe I will, just you wait.ā
He chuckled again. āThink youāre gettinā far too ahead of yourself.ā
The next few days John had continued to teach you every now and then. He was great at it, even though he argued the opposite. You could tell he had many mentors, as he told you stories.
With his continuous help, the ranchās been earning quite a lot more than it did, and youāve learned to hunt as well.
John was a sweetheart, well, for an ex-outlaw. You always thought his smiles were a little crooked, and his ideas were idiotic ā but it was part of his charm.
You found yourself thinking about him more often than youād admit. This hushed ranch was becoming one of liveliness and laughs.
So, now, as John carried a basket full of vegetables and fruits, you spoke.
āYou know, thatās a lot weāve harvested today.ā
John wiped off the sweat on his forehead as he nodded.
āThink itād do nice for tomato soup,ā You added.
John didnāt seem to understand what you were implying, so he continued nodding and humming in acknowledgement as he busied himself with picking tomatoes.
āAre you busy? We couldā¦ have dinner, later.ā
He froze. He was crouched down with a face full of bewilderment and surprise. āYouāre invitinā me forā¦ dinner?ā
His eyes were narrowed, as you smiled. āDo you know how to cook?ā
Heād been surviving off of canned beans and fruit half of the year heād been here. He didnāt know a single thing about the art of cooking.
I really am an idiot, huh?
Thatās when John found himself in your humble abode.
Polished wooden floors, painted walls with mild cracks ā it showed how you kept it all nice and well-kept. Many rooms of the house were unoccupied, void of any presence ā but only remains of what used to be; represented by the paintings and pictures, with the faint smell of of you.
Corners of each room remained tranquil and solitary. It reminded him of his own, however this one had soul.
The first thing he laid eyes upon was a family picture. Not a speck of dust was on it, and it hanged on the wall proudly. There, in black and white ā what seemed to be your father, mother, and you, barely a teenager.
He thought it was nice. It reminded him of his own family, as big as it was compared to yours. His eyes laid upon your young self, who grinned widely, teeth showing.
āHey, you look cute here.ā He comments without a thought, letting out a soft snort.
You gave him a look of confusion and a smile. āI looked like a dork.ā
āBut you were happy.ā He replies, his eyes still glued on the picture.
You let out a thoughtful hum, watching him. āYeah, I was.ā
And the other thing he notices, is a menacing look ā from a powerful being above: your cat.
āAināt thatā¦ā He says, feeling threatened by its presence. He feels as if heās being told to leave, unwelcomely and unkindly so.
āMhm. He never leaves the house.ā Your cat approaches you warmly, asking for a pet you generously give.
āAre you hungry, Sir?ā You asked, while the cat continued to purr.
John blinked. āHis name isā¦ sir?ā
āFits him, doesnāt it? Bossy fella.ā You watched the cat avoid John, again, as his tail flopped down. āHeās usuallyā¦ unbothered.ā
John crossed his arm, before attempting to approach the cat gently. āSir?ā
He almost gets scratched, if he didnāt dodge last minute. Your cat growled and hissed, clearly not fond of John.
āHe already disapproves of me.ā
You couldnāt help but laugh at the interaction. Clearly he wasnāt liked ā he failed the first impression.
āThat doesnāt make you like me less, does it?ā John jokes lightly, wary of the closeness with the cat.
As Sir leaves, he gave John one last nasty look.
āIāll think about it.ā You joked back, earning a playful complaint from John.
Heād been helping you all this time, so you decided to return the favor today.
āSo you said you were going to cook?ā John asked, looking around the kitchen.
āNo, we are. You donāt know how, donāt you?ā
John stiffened, scratching his neck awkwardly. āWhat are you planning?ā
You shrugged, washing the tomatoes. āTo return the favor, of course ā to add knowledge in that tough skull of yours.ā
He mumbled something incoherent ā presumably a weak protest. But you didnāt bother entertaining it.
āHere.ā You gave John carrots, onions, and celery.
He looked at you with a confused face. āThought we were makinā tomato soup? Whereās the tomato here?ā
āI need you to cut this, and we can put this in it, so itāll have flavor.ā You replied.
John looked at the knife for a few seconds, before hesitantly cutting up the vegetables. At least he knew how to do that.
At first he thought so too ā and you quickly reprimanded him for cutting it the wrong way.
āWhat wrong way? Thereās a right way? This is too complicated.ā He said, frustrated, looking over to you for guidance.
With a sigh, you peered over his work, behind him and your chin barely ghosting over his shoulder. You grabbed the knife from his hands, holding it yourself. āCut it like this.ā
You cut the carrots up, and John tried really hard to focus on that and only that. But with you so close behind him? It was proving to be difficult.
With a shaky sigh, he took the knife again, attempting to cut the way you taught him to. He didnāt understand a single thing, but he guessed good enough that you gave him an approving hum.
But you didnāt let go ā didnāt go away. You were still there, so incredibly close, and it bothered John. Not in a bad way, no, not at all.
āYouāre still doing it wrong.ā You corrected gently. This time, instead of taking the knife ā you took his hands, and guided it with the knife. āYou getting it yet?ā
He nodded. āAhā¦ yeah, yeah, I got it.ā
So when you let go if his hand, lean away ā to be honest, John had felt both relief and disappointment.
What the hell is wrong with me? John thought.
You shook your head and chuckled. With a silly and impulsive thought, you draped one of your aprons over John. āCanāt have you being messy, can you?ā
He grumbled, watching you put on yours, too. In a way ā you matched.
A few minutes pass as you continue teaching John instructions, to which he obeys quite nicely, except for some whispers of complain.
You laugh softly at his predicament. He was stirring the filled pot with a ladle. This was unbelievable.
āI swear youāre jusā makinā fun of me, are ya?ā John says, but he canāt help but smile himself.
āWell? I think youāve done a good job,ā You grinned, approaching him and the steaming pot. It smelled good, for the mistakes that he had made earlier. āYou gotta taste it.ā
You took a small spoon, dipping it in the hot soup and lifting it up to your lips, blowing it softly.
āHere.ā You neared the food to his mouth.
John stared at the spoon, blinking a few times, before his lips went agape for you.
This is stupid, so, incredibly stupid.
But it tasted good. The savory taste of the soup melted in his mouth ā earning a hum from John. For some moments, he let his ego inflate once more at his cooking.
He licked his lips absentmindedly as he nodded. āYeahā¦ it tastes good.ā
You hummed, dipping the same spoon again to taste for yourself. āMm, this is it.ā
āYouāre a quick-learner, huh?ā You said, stirring the pot a little more.
John watched as you stood over the counter. Of course he was a quick leaner, he had the dumbest luck in history. āYeahā¦ ācourse, only ācause you taught me.ā
Still, he wasnāt going to be cooking anytime soon, but it was worth the shot and the lesson. He coughed and fixed his throat, leaning over the counter.
āI guess, ever since ma died,ā You said.
āHad to teach myself or else Iād starve to death. I didnāt want to survive on canned goods, likeā¦ maybe you.ā You chuckled, pointing the ladle at him.
He feigned offense, preparing a retort. āHey, Iāmā¦ Well, I guess thatās true.ā His voice quieted down. And it was adorable.
That night, your once-quiet home, was filled with light teasings and conversations after a long while of silence.
John stared at the ceiling in his living room, where he lay on the couch. He rested his hands on his stomach, as the fan continued to circle around his motionless body. He didnāt use the bedroom at all ā never did. Never saw a use for it.
He couldnāt sleep tonight, not after what had happened today.
Was he overreacting, or did something else happen, but so incredibly discreet that both of you didnāt notice? He couldnāt put his finger on it even if he tried ā his brain would short-circuit at the attempt.
With a sigh, he put a hand over his forehead, desperate for sleep.
I donāt even know why Iām writing this. Guess I kind of had to? Hell if I know. But a few days ago she invited me over to have dinner with her. Saw that devilish cat, Sir, who didnāt like me ā not one bit
Saw her family pictures, too. Looked real happy then. Her home felt devoid of people, much like mine. I wonder, whatās the point of a big house with only one person living in it? Could that be called a home, either way?
So then we cooked tomato soup ā tasted good. Even if I made it.
Her hand brushed against hers a few times, did I mention we shared the same spoon? This is too much, even for me. Feel like a damn schoolboy, fussinā over small things. Why do I? Itās all confusinā me.
Well, to be completely honest ā John never slept well or had a full nightās rest in the first place. With all thatās happened, and how long it had been since then ā he still got nightmares occasionally.
The guilt clawed at his chest, rising up and down in the night to keep his dreaded mind going and his tired eyes open.
The moon lit up the sky with its beauty. Outside the breezes of wind made him shiver ever so slightly, the cold passing through the fabric of his clothes. John looked up at the sight, lighting up a cigarette in an attempt to comfort his restlessness. It had become a habit for him, tapping his feet on the planks, until the nicotine filled his lungs and calmed him down.
Goddamn it, I canāt stop thinking of her.
Ever since those chickens, ever since those crates, I havenāt been able to stop thinking.
Do I really deserve this?
John felt guilty, again. With every surge of happiness and joy his heart felt, there came an equal doubt to bring it back down again.
With every waking day, he was beginning to fall deeper and deeper.
It wasnāt a lie, it wasnāt false. He knew it in himself. He had tried to deny the truth, push it down, over and over again ā since he didnāt feel worthy enough to feel it.
āYou arenāt a bad man,ā Your words echoed in his ears. āAt least, not to me, and at least, not anymore.ā
Maybe he did wake up early and help you because he wanted to see you. Maybe he did all of that work so he could hear your words of thanks. Maybe he did like your smile, too much than he would like to admit.
And the world seemed to revolve around you. It seemed to only move when he was with you, it only seemed to exist when he was beside you.
The next day he stared at his journal, once again. The past few months have only been about you, mostly, aside from irrelevant things that he had been doing himself.
āI always see you writing around in that journal,ā You curiously tried to peek over his shoulder. John quickly tucked it away and closed it, leaving you no room to steal even a single glance at it.
āAināt yours,ā He says, hiding it away.
āI know, I know. Youāre always in it, and I suppose I canāt help but be curious. Are you a poet?ā You asked, sitting beside him.
He chuckled ā no, not at all.
Every time he was with you he felt like a teenager. He felt something indescribable, something so unfamiliar, yet familiar at the same time.
And damn it, he was acting like one.
It never struck him, but he could have sworn someone by your age should have already had someone already. He isnāt complaining.
āNo, I aināt. I just like writing down my thoughts, that are private, and I donāt need ya readinā āem, missy.ā He shoos you away.
You werenāt deterred by his actions at all. Instead, you only leaned in further. āWhy not?ā
āJust because, alright? Donāt get all pouty like that. Iām bringinā this to the grave.ā
He was a an idiot, still is.
Life felt nice. It felt worth it.
If he could describe it, in the best that he could ā maybe it was akin to winning the lottery, except even more. Maybe it was the peace of mind. Like he had thought he couldnāt feel anymore better at one point in his life, that he had hit the meter ā but you proved him wrong, time and time again. It was like the comfort of a warm blanket on a cold, raining night. It was the feeling of satisfaction in a right after numerous trials of wrong.
It was the clasp that perfectly fit with one try, that click, that feeling.
Everything made sense. Everything had reason, and everything fit together in the complete essence of perfection.
You tried to grab his journal playfully, hands reaching down with haste. Of course, John didnāt let you. āHeyā!ā
His other hand grabbed your arm, and your free hand made an attempt to snag the journal again.
With a grunt and a laugh, he let go of the journal, only for his other hand to take yours.
You pulled back, and unexpectedly Johnās body followed your force, which resulted in your back hitting the grass.
He supported his body upward, as he was on top of you, and his hands still held your arms. You laughed, persisting still and squirming under to escape his grasp. āHey, let me go!ā You yelled playfully.
John huffed, shaking his head with a goofy grin. āNo way.ā
His grip was tight, but not too tight to hurt you ā just enough to keep you pinned down. āAināt you gonna give up? I swear, youāre a pain.ā
He looked down at you and saw your flushed face, due to how hard you were laughing and chuckling. You panted, making an attempt to escape once again. āYouāre no fair!ā
He laughed dryly. āAināt nothinā fair in life.ā
As you continued to laugh, John shook his head, eyes still glued on you.
Just watching and hearing you like this made him feel giddy.
Of course he noticed he was on top of you, of course he noticed his hands on yours ā how could he not? He tried desperately to shake the thoughts off, before his eyes locked with yours once again.
Despite his heart racing, he could swear everything went slow-motion, like a movie. The sun hit your face in the best way possible, it lit up your eyes, it reflected his own face.
It felt like an eternity, and when it ended, it felt like merely a second.
You relented, sighing. āAlright, fine.ā
He snapped out of his trance. āThatās what I thought.ā and lightened his grip, beginning to sit back up.
You huffed, crossing your arms, still laying on the grass. āOne day Iāll get a peek. Mark my words, John.ā
āYeah? Iād like to see you try.ā
In a sense, nothing was ever safe. Nothing was ever free of the threatening presence of danger. Nothing was, at least, thatās what he had thought.
But you? You were different. He had yet to find out why, but it just felt so right, and so undeniably safe.
More months pass by like speed. He could barely count the days before fall came.
Leaves turned into hues of orange, every time he walked on piles of them it would leave that crisp sound. Warmth drifted around, the tepid temperature accompanying the falling petals.
Feel like I need to bang my head in a hard, rock-wall. Iāve gone crazy, havenāt I? Things have been the same, kind of. No, I canāt say they have been, truthfully.
Guess Iāve always been wrong in the head, talkinā to myself. But when I say I feel like a fool, I really do. Tell me why do I start smellinā her scent? Tell me why I picked these flowers up? Damn crazy, I am.
And I went to get stuff in the town today, still reeks of smoke ān shit. Just went in and out.
John left the messily-picked flowers by the windowsill in his house, not planning to show it to you.
He kept looking at it. He kept glancing at it. He kept squinting his eyes, he kept thinking about what youād say.
And damn it, why couldnāt he stop?
Rain fell heavily; it had been, ever since this day started. He wondered what you were doing ā he always did. Maybe particularly more today.
He glanced at the window again, his eyes landing on your quiet home ā the constant and distant flickering thunder making deafening clamor.
You didnāt need help, did you? And yet he stood up anyway, stuffing the flowers right in his pockets. He tried to rush it, but his hands still gently shook, either way.
And so he grabbed an umbrella, looking for you.
But you werenāt there, at least, not where you usually were.
She aināt here, you dumbass.
John wanted to punch himself.
But before he turned around and left, he heard a quiet sob.
Just outside by your backyard, there you were, kneeling down in front of two graves.
You were soaked in the rain, completely wet. The rain was particularly harsh today, and John couldnāt fathom at all why the scene before him hurt him, himself.
Without a second thought, he put the umbrella over your head. The feeling of the droplets ceased, and a shadow by you was cast, but you didnāt bother looking at him.
āAm I that obvious?ā He replies, his gruff voice turned soft and quiet. He looked at you with eyes of worry.
āAre you alright?ā He follows up, kneeling beside you. āYouāreā¦ wet.ā
āIām fine.ā You murmur quietly. āJustā¦ā
You took a deep breath, composing yourself before you faced him. āItās their death anniversary.ā
āā¦After mama died, papa followed a year later. Quite romantic, isnāt it?ā You said with a dry chuckle ā a forced one, a futile attempt to light the mood.
He didnāt find it funny at all ā but if it was how you coped with the matter, how could he blame you? āIām sure they were great.ā
āThey were.ā You say, facing the tombstones once again.
A long pause passes, and he speaks again. āYou can let it out, you know. I aināt here to judge ya.ā
His words echoed in your ears like a ring unable to escape.
Johnās voice had always been comforting to you, at least, it grew to be.
So before you even knew it, tears were falling down your cheeks again.
And you did that, for a long, long while ā even going silent for what seemed to be half an hour.
John knew you had many things in your mind, just too much to leave your mouth in a way that could be clearly understood. He knew the feeling, and he understood.
And it puzzled you, it confused you. Youād expected him to leave after the first few hours, though even after the rain had hailed, he stayed still beside you and hung that same umbrella over your figure.
He didnāt know exactly why either ā he only knew one thing: that heād stay there for as long as it took, even if rain fell all over again, even if the sun returned to rest.
It was all stupid. He wasnāt a patient man, no, not any of that sort. He much preferred to get things over with and get to chase.
But with you? It was different, somehow. Somehow heād wait, heād learn, heād stay.
In the silence that ensued, you asked him a question. āWhyād you stay?ā
Even if you hadnāt uttered a word for those hours, even if he was treated like some ghost ā he stayed, like some statue watching over you.
He shrugged. āI wanted to.ā
āYāknow, my pa, and my ma ā I aināt had nothing of a close relationship with them like you had, but I understand what it feels like losinā family.ā
Sometimes he felt like he was treading this Earth without any meaning and direction ā and truth be told, for some time, he really was.
He was quite glad that he stayed for a bit more, though.
āThank you, John. Really.ā He heard you say, sincerely.
He was never a man so soft. But you made him feel different, and he found himself not minding it at all.
His hand reached for his pocket, where the small flowers are tucked. He brings it out with a slight shake in his hands.
He knows that it isnāt perfect, with it all battered and messed up.
But with it tucked by your ear, he swore he hadnāt seen anyone this beautiful before.
āI donāt like seeinā you cryinā, is all.ā
He felt an overwhelming urge to wipe away your tears, to shield you away ā to hold you in his arms. He wanted to hold your hand, for his thumb to caress yours, for his hand to cup your cheek.
And of course, he did not do it.
āIf I have to keep watchinā you drool, I swear Iāll load a gun and shoot myself,ā Uncle dramatically says, chugging another bottle of beer as his back laid by the porch.
āWhat do you mean?ā John questions, stopping in his tracks as he looked at uncle with a judgmental and confusion-filled stare.
What is he talkinā about now?
āI got some insight for ya, as a person thatās got many experience with the ladies.ā Uncle wipes the remains of beer on his mouth and beard, with a shit-eating grin.
āYouāve experienced everythinā. You sure you aināt immortal?ā John retorts.
āAnd it aināt like that, Uncle,ā He declines right after, shaking his head with a sigh.
āI aināt drooling, either. Iām justā¦ simply admiring.ā He adds, shrugging, stealing another glance at you.
āUh-huh. You look like a man begginā to be unleashed. A man chained.ā
John stutters. āIt-Itās not like that. And what the hell does that even mean?ā
āSure it aināt. I can see smell it from a mile away ā you smell like hormones. Disgustinā, but I understand.ā
āYouāre disgustinā.ā John grimaces. Uncle still spews out the most out-of-hand things, despite allās that happened; he claims itās knowledge.
Well, to some extent ā it is; but most of the time it isnāt.
The man attempts to sling a hand over Johnās shoulder, as John swiftly dodges. āYou get the girl flowers, and listen to when she talks ā and you look at her eyes. āS gonna be sparklinā.ā He chuckles lowly ā eyeing John with a knowing look.
He was sure Uncle was going to say something incredibly dumb, but this time, it was plausible to do.
āIāll take it, but that donāt mean Iāll do it, alright?ā John says, and Uncle pats his back with a laugh.
āThis old manās got a lot more to offer, if yāwanna get right into that actionāā
That night, John talked to the stars, and himself.
He couldnāt help but keep replaying Uncleās words in his head. He surely didnāt feel that way, did he?
You were something pure. You were like life and light itself. But he? He was the complete opposite. He could taint you and your goodness.
He put a hand over his head, ruffling and messing up his own hair in annoyance.
Iām so confused. I donāt know what to feel.
One part of me wants me to let go, wants me to acknowledge the truth.
But the other part is nagging me, yellinā at me to keep quiet and push those thoughts away ā since I could never even begin dreaming about it.
Feels like I have to cut my body and soul in half. Feels like I already have.
Being with her makes me want to smile, but Iāve always felt bad for doing so.
With another, quieter sigh ā John closes his eyes, with an attempt to calm down his thoughts.
And before he knows it, he drifts into sleep; and this time ā his mind does not think of nightmares.
Itās a warm, mellow feeling. He feels like heās being coddled, and he feels the warmth of the morning sun on his skin.
He breathes, and it feels fresh, itās not of smoke ā but freedom.
He hears voices. Faint, muffled ones. It was all too familiar.
He could still hear them. The voices of what he had done, and what people see him for. They are distorted, low, some more recognizable than others as his brain continued replaying and racking itself for that taste of sweet taste of guilt.
But one voice overpowers them all, coming into a clear tone.
āI donāt see you any lesser because youāve got a complicated past.ā
āBut youāve quit that life, havenāt you? Youāve got no one to redeem yourself to ā but yourself.ā
āI think youāreā¦ good.ā
He remembers the scene without an error.
You were beside him, sitting on those hay bales. It was barely a few months ago, and yet it was stuck in his mind.
It was beautiful, that day ā he was just too blind to notice it. To notice how deep your words cut through him.
He bled, and he covered himself back up. And somehow, while you continued prying away his ribs, one by one ā it felt as if his heart was close to beating again.
How can you look at me and see good, when Iāve looked at myself and only known bad my whole life?
He awakes the next morning with Rufus licking his face, barking and panting excitedly.
He groans, wiping the saliva of his face. āGood morning, boy,ā
āAināt you excitedā¦ā He rubs his eyes. āWhat for? You hungry?ā
He too, was strangely excited. He fed Rufus, undoubtedly in a good mood as he combed his hair, looking at the mirror.
He showed his teeth, wiping it quickly and flashing an attempt at grinning.
No, that wasnāt quite right.
He tried again ā it was a little too crooked.
That wasnāt quite right, either.
He smiled awkwardly at himself.
Now, this was stupid. He looked stupid.
He sighed, fixing his hair and trying a softer smile this time.
āYāknow what? Good enough.ā
And then he sets off, after tidying himself up, working on his ranch, with a light-hearted tune ā humming around.
For once, he doesnāt mind cleaning up the horseās manure, or any other animalās ā to be exact. He goes about his early morning without a care. No complaint leaves his lips this time, even as the stench hit his nostrils hard.
Today was a normal day. It should be, but it felt different. Like heās made some kind of breakthrough; and yet he doesnāt know exactly what it is.
He catches himself staring at you, again.
And Uncleās words repeat in his mind again, even while John busies himself with sweeping off the fallen leaves on his courtyard.
When your eyes meet his, he feels like heās been caught red-handed. So he coughs to himself, quickly snapping his head back down and pretending that he wasnāt doing anything.
Then afternoon comes ā he rides his horse, trotting over nearby fields and rivers with his mind in the clouds.
Flowers, flowers, flowersā¦
And before he knew it, heād made himself a bouquet of flowers that lookedā¦ alright ā to say the least. He tried his best to make it look presentable.
They did remind him of you. Surviving out here in harsh winds and weather, and yet being able to bloom ever so beautifully.
In that moment, he thought: maybe he was a poet.
And his hands picked them up softly, with attention to how the petals could fall off if he did it any harsher.
Now, he didnāt have an eye for these things. Not at all.
He knows you arenāt easy ā not that he thinks you are, not that you ever were. And thatās just another compelling part of you.
But he was willing to go through this whole unfamiliar thing. And damn it, Uncle was right.
Heās never had much experience with women anyway.
So when evening came, and he knocked on your door ā hell, he wanted to bury himself in a hole right then and there.
You opened the door to a John that rubbed the side of his neck, attempting to smile ā and obviously hiding something within his back.
āGood evening, John,ā You said, hands on the doorknob.
āGoodā¦ eveninā,ā He greets back, standing up straight now as he fixed his posture and his hand grasped by his own collar.
āI justā¦ Iā¦ā Now he was trailing off, stuttering and stumbling over the words he so religiously practiced earlier. He decides to simply put out the bouquet, or if you could say it was even one ā right in front of you.
āā¦āS for you. Thought youād like āem. Picked up a few, it doesnāt look much ā but I hope itās still by your taste.ā He added, pushing the flowers closer to you.
If you squinted your eyes, you could see how shy he looked. His hands shook, unable to stay still as his eyes darted frequently away. He definitely was not made for this.
āI donāt believe thereās an event?ā You said softly, taking the flowers with a small smile.
He smiled back sheepishly. āDo I have to have a reason to give you flowers?ā
āAnd I got this for Sir, too.ā He says, grabbing a fish he had gotten earlier by the river. āThought Iād try to get his approval, this time.ā
Giving fish after a flower was certainly not romantic ā but it was the thought that counted.
It looked like the mention of his name alerted him, as Sir climbed over your shoulder and peered over the fish in Johnās hands ā carefully, as if examining it.
You looked at your cat with a smile. āIs it good enough for you, Sir? Or should we send him back?ā
āPlease donāt do that.ā John playfully quips back.
Sir meowed in response. He seemed to approve of it, this time. āLooks like he likes it. Lucky you, huh?ā You laughed quietly.
While chuckling back, Johnās gaze continued to glance over how your fingers clutched the flowers. It was of delicacy. Despite it being in a less-than-fortunate look, you handled it with care and fragility.
Heās getting all sweet on you now ā not that he wasnāt already in the first place.
He couldnāt stop himself. Not after he saw how your eyes twinkled. Shortly after he gave you those flowers the both of you indulged in conversations that lasted hours ā despite feeling like minutes.
He notices the little, seemingly unimportant and specific things about you. He notices the touches, and how he finds his own mouth tumbling out excuses just for it to prolong.
John starts to see your name in the stars.
He starts to smell you in the flowers he gives.
He starts to hear your voice in every waking day.
I did follow Uncleās advice, even if I said I wouldnāt. I did see sparkles in her eyes, and how she lit up when I looked at her. I donāt know why Iāve been trying so hard to impress her these days. Hell, Iām lookinā in the mirror every time I go out.
And Iāve been giving her flowers when I see some on the way. Is it so wrong for my fingertips to linger a little bit? It probably is. I realize Iām even more of a fool than I thought I was, stumbling and stuttering with my words the moment she looks my way.
Itās changed, the way I look at her. I know it has. But I aināt sure if I can admit it to myself yet.
He doesnāt look at you with hearts for eyes, does he? He prays you couldnāt tell.
For this afternoon it was a simple supply run. Of course, he had offered to take you there with him ā the reason of some company you might like.
The road stretched out until it reached the outskirts of the nearby town, and while on the journey ā you two talked casually about how your days have been.
He tells you stories of fellers he occasionally meet, all the while he remains seated on next to you on the wagon, with your hands gripping the reins.
But most of the time he is quiet. Not that he was a talker in the first place ā with comfortable silence ensuing on the way, you repeated your checklist internally.
You did visit Blackwater occasionally, as he did. Most of the streets are covered in cobbled roads, lamps littered by the sidewalk. You looked over to the river nearby, as the slightly salty air hit your nostrils.
Civilization had truly improved ā with all of these shops and restaurants lurking about, standing tall with pristine designs and walls. Although it was definitely more busier at this time, the distant chatter and business of people heard throughout each corner of the town.
You stopped the wagon, facing John. āIām gonna stop by the store, I assume you have something to get, too?ā
He nods, helping you off. āYeah, Iāll just check sumthinā.ā
With one last look, you made your way to the general store as you bought supplies, food, and fertilizer.
āThatāll be ten dollars and fifty-two cents, miss.ā The cashier says, looking at you while he opens his palm.
āTen dollars?ā You repeat. Had the prices gone up? You didnāt remember it being this high ā not since the last time you came for a supply run. With a sigh, you grabbed money from your pocket ā looking at the cashier with doubt.
āSir, it canāt possibly be that high. I got a ranch to handle. If every supply run is this expensive, then the debts wouldāā
He sighs. āAināt nothinā you could do about it, miss. If you want to, you can lessen some of the things you bought.ā
āBut I barely bought anything,ā You replied, biting your lip in worry.
That was when a voice came from behind you ā a quite unpleasant tone. You could smell the booze coming off from him, as he stumbled across the plank floorboards with a grin of a bastard. āYou havinā trouble payinā there, sweetheart?ā
The drunk man leaned over the counter ā while the cashier grunted in distaste.
āAināt gotta worry ābout it, I could lend you some money, yeah? A woman like youā¦ā
āI donāt need your money, sir.ā You interrupted, not wanting to hear anything out of his nasty mouth. You stepped backwards, furrowing your eyebrows.
āAwe, donāt be like that now,ā He stumbled ever so closer, trying to put his hands on you before you swat him off and give him a glare. āFeisty, huh? I love it when ya women do that, playinā hard to get.ā
Looks like you were going to have to stab someone today.
Although, someone had probably done it for you already. āHey! Get your hands off of āer, you Goddamn creep.ā John snapped, walking in the store closer and closer to the man.
With every closing step, the drunk man raised a brow higher. āAināt doinā nothinā to her. Whoāre you, huh?ā
āIām your old friend amnesia.ā He answers both seriously and sarcastically.
The man avoids him and tries to look at you again with a smile. āI donāt see a ring, miss.ā
āNot yet you donāt,ā John says, cutting him off. āSheāll punch you alright, but not before I beat you the hell up.ā
āYou her husband or sumthinā?ā The man kept pressing, hissing and slurring his words.
āYeah, hands off. Stop botherinā my wife.ā
The man stumbled over his own feet ā trying to keep himself uptight as his legs wobbled. āI donāt see why I canāt borrow āer.ā
āThatās enough!ā That was when John landed a punch straight to his face ā which was enough for the man to land on the ground.
You stopped John before he could kill the guy ā seeing as heās just about prepared himself for another punch, rolling up his sleeves.
He sighed, getting up as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth ā result of the manās broken nose.
All sorts of condescending nicknames he muttered to himself, looking at the body on the floor. āYou alright?ā He asks softly.
You nod, as the man behind the counter sighed. āYou gonna buy this or not, miss?ā
You shook your head, counting the money you had on hand. āā¦Just lessen the food, sir. Weāre sorry for the trouble.ā
He stood beside you, looking at what you had bought ā confused. āWhat do you mean?ā
āNo, weāll buy it,ā He answers. āIāll pay.ā
Walking back to the wagon with him, you spoke, thanking him. āIāll pay you back.ā
He shook his head. āDonāt got to.ā
His tone left no space to argue. But you were starting feel like heād done too much for you. āIām not a maiden in distress. I can pay you back.ā
āJust treat me to a game of poker later, then?ā He looked at you with a charming grin as he helped you up the wagon.
Idiotic, reckless, and unnecessarily charming: that was what youād describe John. You were sure some of what happened earlier ā although impressive, were his theatrics and bravado. You couldnāt help but chuckle.
He choked on his own saliva, as his confidence simmered down.
God, he truly was an idiot, wasnāt he? He argued it wouldāve been more effective that way ā but the words that left his mouth were indeed satisfying.
āYeah, wife.ā He replied, looking elsewhere.
When you played poker with him, he saw you stealing the chips sneakily. You both would erupt in a fit of laughter and chuckles once he called you out, but his hand that captured yours would linger, reluctantly pulling away.
There are times when his thoughts get ahead of him, when he would think about crossing a line. Impulsive thoughts make his mind a home, thoughts that he wouldnāt dare to do. Even though his hands itched to capture yours, or to simply stare at you.
Every subtle and accidental touch he was aware of. Every time youād say his name, every time you were there.
There was this bastard from the day before. Reeked of alcohol. Tried to touch her. Men really are damn fools.
Wish I couldāve beat that piece of shit, but he went unconscious from one punch. Still irks me when I think of him.
I didnāt mean to agree when he asked me that question, but somehow it just left my mouth. I called her my wife. She teased me ābout it after. Was it a bad thing that I enjoyed doing so?
Now I canāt stop thinkinā about it. Have I really lost all logic and reason?
There never was a need for the two of you to talk. Sitting beside each other, on some rocks ā perhaps by the riverbank, were enough words spoken.
The wind whispers to him all thoughts of impulsiveness and irrationality. By then the cold water smoothly laps against his skin, feeling your knee brushing next to his.
Quiet fills the atmosphere. Thoughts run adamant, hesitation wins over.
Perhaps by the grass, laying down and looking at the stars. You point out and tell him of the Big Dipper, of the stars ā but the only thing his eyes rest on is you.
Breezes of wind compose songs, melodic harmonies that murmur in his ear. Blades of the pointy grass tickle his skin ā the moon above peering over his pathetic figure.
Or another could be by home, simply discussing over things that donāt matter. Chuckling over the smallest things. Telling stories that get lost in night.
āYou have a phonograph?ā He asks, looking at you with curiosity, his hands behind him.
āThat? Was my mamaās. She liked to dance, my papa would dance was with her even if he didnāt know how.ā You chuckled at the memory, trying to see if the thing still worked.
With the blessings of whom above, it started playing.
He hummed to the tune, as he spoke with a small smile. āWe used to have one of those, too. My family.ā
āSo you know how?ā You let a smile curve up your lips.
He huffed a short, quiet laugh. He saw your eyes twinkle with hope ā but he shook his head. āHell no. I donāt know a single thing ābout dancinā.ā
āI donāt believe you.ā You mused, smiling fully now as every step of yours synched with the music.
Soft, slow, piano played, a sweet melodic tune ringing by his ears. The voice continued to sing out, in a slow manner, as smooth as dripping honey.
āWell, Iām no good at it,ā He shrugged, shoving his palms in his pockets.
āHow can you be so sure?ā
He froze, watching you start slowly approach him, as your feet swayed with the music.
He heard your soft query, that rendered him speechless the moment he heard it. āDance with me?ā
John refused, shaking his head as he waved his hands. āI aināt good at it ā I got two left legs.ā
But to no avail was his pleadings. You took his hand in yours, dragging him gently across the living room ā now filled with easy swaying. āDonāt complain when I step on your feet!ā
āYouāll be alright! Dance with me!ā
With a reluctant sigh and the tiniest hint of a smile, he took his hat off, placed it somewhere he wouldnāt remember before your left hand interlocked with his.
It was so soft ā he thought. Palm to palm ā fingers wrapped around each other. If he wasnāt going to step on you, heād fall down instead.
He feels heat rise up his neck, feeling your hand gripping his shoulder languidly.
And without a single thought left in his head, his shaky hand twined around your waist.
āNow follow me. Just sway.ā If you hadnāt had your head faced to your feet, he wouldāve sworn youād saw his embarrassing predicament of utter inexperience and bewilderment.
Take my whole life, too āŖ
He followed your footing, merely swaying back and forth along the tempo of the music. Slow and steady he went, although his heart was otherwise.
āLike this?ā He asked.
You lift your head up, eyes meeting his in an endless gaze. āMhn. Hey, you arenāt stepping one me yet?ā
He snickered, face all scrunched up with emotion. āNot yet I havenāt. Donāt trust me too much.ā
You hummed with the melody. John couldnāt fathom the situation ā hence his quietness, as he needed to absorb the fact that you were holding his hands, your hand placed on his shoulder, and his own rested around your waist.
Time seemed to slow down.
He thought to himself, now that he could formulate one.
You looked happy. Your grin was most wide as heād ever seen ā almost reaching the ends of your ears.
He wished this moment would last forever. He wished he could see you smile like this every waking day.
All the while the music continued to play in the background, John finally let a smile slip on his lips.
Take my whole life, too āŖ
A long time it was since heād met you. He couldnāt imagine a day without interrupting your day, without thinking what to pester you with each time.
As the chorus came by, you swayed with him with more emotion, almost as if you were in synch.
With a large grin, he tightened his grip on your hand, letting go of your waist as he spun you around.
You let out a brief laugh of pleasant surprise, as your body dipped down ā his hand back on your waist to support you.
While stagnant, eyes were locked onto each other, breaths were kept. With close and suffocating proximity ā you jested lightly. āDidnāt know you could do that.ā
John, at first, couldnāt reply at all.
In that moment ā the way you laughed, the way you felt in his arms felt so incredibly right ā he never wanted to pull away. He didnāt.
And damn it, damn it all ā he thought.
āŖ Take my whole life, too
That was when John Marston realized he truly had been an idiot, all his life ā even until now.
āI didnāt know either.ā
āŖ Falling in love, with you.
You smiled, watching his dumbfounded expression fade into one of calmness and content.
āLet me spin ya around again?ā
āŖ Falling in love, with you.
John Marston, turned lover boy ā was sat on his porch, with his cheek on his palm and his elbow on his knee.
The realization shouldnāt have hit him as much as he did ā but here he was.
He feels the weight of the world fade from his mind and shoulders, words ever the clearer now in his mind.
He let out a shuddering breath.
Now, like all things ā he didnāt know what to do about it. These feelings, once more confusing, it seemed as if after solving them there would arise more problems.
The thought of you made his heart beat a million times. Did you love him back? Or perhaps he was merely holding onto a weak, unsupported thread of delusion.
Even if months passed by, his eyes would dart to you, his hands would shake near yours ā but that was all it was.
John knew he loved you in the spring ā and until by late summer, he couldnāt quite get the words out of his chest the way he wanted it to.
Rain fell heavily, as John had just come back from errands ā saddled up on his horse ā wet from the rain.
āDamn this rainā¦ā He mutters irritatedly, hitching his horse by the stable, rushing a dry cloth over his wet hair, entering his home with small puddles building up on the floor.
Thunder clapped roughly, a reminder of the terrible weather outside. After he had dried himself up, he had to go outside once again to herd the cattle somewhere drier; the slippery and muddy dirt and the loud noise of lightning a reason.
Then he caught a glimpse of you, working still, even under the heavy rainfall. Covered in wet clothes, hair all soggy ā and stubbornly walking around even with exhaustion prominent from far away.
When he approached you, he yelled out, āWhy are you workinā out in this rain?ā
āYouāre wet as a hen! Youāre gonna get sick.ā
āI have to.ā You replied, not indulging in any more talk.
He saw how red your nose was, how you shivered under the cold.
āAlright, you stubborn woman, come on. Letās go inside.ā
āI have to get this done,ā You protested weakly as he stopped you from continuing any further, his hand gripping your arm.
He let go of you momentarily, pressing the back of his hand on your forehead.
āI mean, temperature-wise.ā He adds after, looking at you with concern.
āYou couldāve had me fooled,ā He says sarcastically, lightly flicking your forehead. āAināt stoppinā the workinā to death business, huh? That can wait.ā
You let John drag you inside your house, as you took off your coat and he went rummaging for a clean cloth to dry you off with.
You sat on a wooden chair just by your door, afraid walking in more would make a mess. With a sneeze, you let out a quiet groan, as your eyes followed Johnās figure ā who slowly approached you.
John kneeled down on one foot, getting on your level as the cloth lightly dabbed around your face. Although focused on the task, he couldnāt help but notice how tired you looked, how warm your skin was.
There was no denying it ā you were sick.
After drier hair and drier clothes, you sat on your sofa, watching John struggle but pretend not to.
āYou have to wash it.ā You say, voice slightly groggy.
John groaned softly, nodding. āYeah, yeah, I know. Just sit there, alright?ā
What the hell was he doing, trying to cook soup?
After learning that you had no medicine, but rather herbs, he tried to cook something up with his prior knowledge.
He boiled the water, standing over the counter with a hand on his hip. He was determined, even though he had made a mess of your kitchen ā much to his own dismay ā but he was going to clean it. He promised.
With a sneeze, you stood up, approaching him. āHere, let meāā
āHey, didnāt I just tell ya to rest? Uh-uh. Get back.ā He said, stopping you before you could even got close.
āYouāre always helping me,ā You murmur.
Your voice quieted down. āI swore I could take care of myself, but Iām still as useless as Iāve always been.ā
āYou ainātā¦ useless, alright? Youāre sick.ā He says, watching you stumble, holding your head that throbbed. āCome on. Go rest.ā
He wish he couldāve said more, but the words couldnāt leave his throat. With a hand on your shoulder, he guided you back to the velvety cushions of the sofa ā to which your body sank in when you laid quietly.
The soup tasted like shit ā after a reluctant taste test. He grimaced at the flavor; bitter, harsh, and unforgiving.
With a bowl of piping hot soup in his hands, he approached you slowly and sat beside where you lay. The putrid smell hit your nose, but you knew this was how it normally was.
āCāmon, sit up,ā He tells you softly.
He stirs the spoon in the bowl as you did so, blowing out air from his mouth.
āIt tastes awful, but youāre gonna have to take this so you get better,ā He says, inching the spoonful by your mouth. āSay ah.ā
If you werenāt going to die from exhaustion, youād die from food poisoning. āThis is terrible.ā
āYeah, it is. Aināt nothinā we can do ābout it, though.ā
You grabbed a blanket, wrapping it around yourself as he continued to feed you. With every passing second, youād get colder, and your head would continue to drill inside you.
āDonāt be difficult,ā He sighs as you tried to minimize the amount of soup youād drink.
āYou donāt have to do this.ā You protest.
āNo, but I want toāā
It was like you were swallowing nails and fire.
āāācause I care for you.ā And I love you.
He confesses, a little too quick. He coughed right after, rendering himself speechless.
āI thought I was doing pretty well by myself,ā You mumbled. āI thought had it all under control.ā
āTurns out I really hadnāt.ā
He furrows his brows lightly. āIf you push yourself more, you wonāt be able to do anythinā.ā
āGriefās swallowed me whole, then.ā With another spoonful of soup, you grimaced.
āLook, I donāt want ya to kill yourself, workinā so hard,ā He looks at you with empathy. āWhy were you out in the rain? You knew youād get sick.ā
āMaybe Iā¦ā You trailed off, shaking your head. āThe debt collectors came to visit a few days ago.ā
Hearing this, his eyes narrowed slightly, the words ringing in his ears.
āThe money I had wasnāt nearly enough. I-I thought Iād been doing well, but even with all your help, it wasnāt enough.ā
Your words were barely above a whisper as you continued. āAm I really that weak?ā
āNo,ā He answers ā quicker than he could think. āYou aināt weak, no. Youāreā¦ā
āYouāre more than you think you are,ā He adds, clutching the now-empty bowl in his hands as he looked straight in your eyes. He could see how you shook, how you looked so hesitant to talk ā but you did, anyway.
āYouāre the strongest woman Iāve met. You remember that.ā
You stole my heart, thatās what you did. You brought me back from the dead.
You looked away briefly, as his hands came to softly graze over your cheek. āLook at me.ā
The words poured out of his mouth involuntarily, though it felt so good. āYouāll get through this, alright? Iāll help you.ā
āWhy are you so insistent on helping me?ā You asked. āI donāt deserve even half of what youāve done.ā
āHell, I donāt deserve what youāve done either.ā He replies.
He wanted to say more ā he wanted to say how much you meant to him. How much heād done to you. You took his rotting heart and nursed it back to health.
He wanted to say how much he loved you ā but he couldnāt.
Now, he sits beside your sleeping figure, running a cold cloth over your forehead and neck.
The bags under your eyes werenāt getting much better, either. You were sweating, as his fingers swayed over the wet strands of hair on your forehead.
Without much thought about his actions, his fingertips continued to caress the strands of your hair.
I swear, sheās gonna work herself to death.
I wish I could do somethinā about it. If she keeps this up, I donāt know whatāll happen to her.
What a stubborn woman Iāve fallen for.
You were soft, so much so. He could keep caressing you like this until he couldnāt.
His eyes glanced over you, darting over your lips.
It wasnāt a good time to let his feelings get ahead of him.
And suddenly, the words āI love youā threaten to leave his mouth. Even as an inaudible whisper, he hoped he could let it escape, fade into the never-ending rain.
Inside him were two different people. He wished he could let himself go, let those words leave his mouth ā but he couldnāt help it. He was a coward, he knew that.
Even until now, where you couldnāt possibly hear anything he could say.
He couldnāt keep watching you beat yourself up like this.
His fingers trace down your cheek, down to your jaw, as your chest heaved up and down slowly in deep slumber.
When the cold cloth traced down your warm arms, you shifted. āHold me.ā
He froze when your fingers intertwined with his. āāS cold.ā
He let a warm smile creep up his lips as your antics. āYeah, alright.ā
His thumb grazes over yours, slowly tracing small circles on the skin, watching you fade back into unconsciousness. Hell ā you probably werenāt conscious when you asked for that, too.
Hours pass by until then ā John falls asleep next to you, sitting down on a chair, with his hat draped over his face ā and his hands still intertwined with yours.
You got better a week after, though John told you to lay off working for a bit ā promising you heād do your work instead.
But he noticed it ā he noticed how despite he told you to rest, you were counting coins in the night. You were barely eating ā buying provisions only for the animals.
He sat by your porch, watching as you hid and flicked away a cigarette.
āYou know I see ya, right?ā
You huffed, placing your chin on your palm. āIām justā¦ stressed.ā
He plopped down beside you and sighed. āI know,ā
āBut I donātā¦ā He trailed off, taking a moment to gather his own thoughts and words before he said something stupid. āLook at you.ā
He tucked the loose strands of hair covering your face behind your ear.
You didnāt look the best.
āYou need rest, and you need to stop thinking about it.ā
Your feet tapped against the wood rhythmically fast. āI canāt.ā
āāS hard to not think about, John. One day, theyāre gonna come, and everything Iāve fought so hard for will disappear like nothing.ā
You considered taking it all, running away, leaving your problems there in that ranch. But you didnāt; you stayed, and you worked so hard to bring it all back to life ā to make the most of what was left.
The only thing your family left for you was that ranch, after all. And other than that, what was your place in life? What was your identity ā your reason?
Even while the day, it seemed so gloomy. Clouds hovered over the place, all dark and moody.
āBut it wonāt. Trust me, it wonāt.ā John said ā even though he knew nothing about comforting, he knew not of what was going to happen.
He could tell, any more of this, and youād spiral back to a hard shell. Back to when youād push everyone away.
Things aināt goinā good. I donāt know. She aināt doinā good ā as far as I could tell.
Debtās a nasty thing. I fear she might work too hard these days and somethinā badāll happen. Am I worryinā too much? No, I think I worry just the right amount.
She was sick the other week, I had to take care of her. Still stubborn. Wish I could tell her.
Iām a damn coward and a fool.
Itās been raining more than ever. The clouds are constantly dark ā along with the moist air.
And youāve been worser than ever, as well ā much to his dismay.
Only weeks after that whole ordeal, it seems the debt collectors finally had enough.
When you sat next to him, he felt something somber.
āYou alright?ā He asked softly ā almost immediately, upon noticing your quiet nature.
Youāve been more quiet then usual, of course, but today was different.
With a deep and sharp breath in, you spoke. āCan you take care of Sir?ā
He felt confused. More than it.
What were you asking for?
āSure I can, if he doesnāt claw my face off. Whyā¦ do you ask?ā
āCan I ask you a favor? Just one.ā You asked, hesitant. āCan you take care of him? When I leave.ā
Cold, unforgiving breezes of wind brushed against the both of you ā filling in the silent and palpable atmosphere.
You added, when he went quiet. āItās alright if you canāt.ā
āYouāre leaving?ā He asks ā the mere idea of you doing so made his entire world go still.
You looked at the clouds. No sun, no light ā just shadow and fullness. You were afraid of what he would say ā so you looked in front, you kept your eyes glued away when you nodded.
āThey came back. Andā¦ I was still short, soā¦ I donāt think I have much of a choice.ā
He looked at you, no he had been looking at you, with confused eyes and furrowed eyebrows. āWhere will you go?ā
You shrugged. āIāll get by.ā
āDo you have to leave?ā He asked. It was a stupid question. He knew you were set on leaving, and he knew you had nothing else to stay here for.
In his heart, he really meant, āDo you have to leave me?ā
Which, once again, was a stupid question. He was only your neighbor. Only a friend ā only a man.
But he did see it in your eyes. You had to leave ā but you didnāt want to, either. He knew how much the ranch meant to you ā and now after inevitably losing it, you had no other choice.
Could his words mean anything to you? If he tried ā if he held your hand, if he pulled your arm, if he told you, with pleading eyes āDonāt.ā
For some time, he thought he could. But in the end, he couldnāt.
He took your hand in his.
You intertwined your fingers with his ā looking at him with warm eyes. āTheyā¦ took everything,ā
Not even in a physical way. Memories, they took. You wanted to say more ā to cry in his arms ā but you wanted to make your leaving clean and short.
You didnāt want to regret it all. Except you already did, in a way; could it possibly be worse?
āHere, John,ā You took something from your pocket. āIt was papaās ring.ā
He put the gold material between the tips of his index and thumb, looking at it briefly before his eyes landed on you again.
āIāll take the train by tomorrow.ā
āWill youāā He shifted, squeezing your hand. āWill you write to me?ā
Right now, he wanted to kiss you. He wanted to push his lips softly against yours, and murmur prayers of denial.
He felt bittersweet. All about this. It didnāt feel right, and yet he couldnāt do anything about it. This time, he was truly helpless.
Did she enter my life and fix me just to leave me broken and helpless?
Is she gonna take my soul with her, too?
Itās likeā¦ I got all close to her, and life rips her away once sheās close enough for me to hold. Goddamn cruel.
With Rufus on his lap and Sir on his shoulder, he couldnāt seem to write anything that night.
With a woof from Rufus, he patted his head. āI know, boy. Weāre back to zero.ā
And a meow from Sir, he sighed. āYou aināt the only one missinā her. Hell, she hasnāt even left yet.ā
You smell exactly like her, Sir. Thatās a problem.
He lets the pen fall from his hands. The journal is tucked away by his side. He stares at the ring you gave him ā drowning in his own thoughts.
His fingertips feel the engraving on the ring.
The thought of her leavinā sickens me. My stomach churns, and I feel like I might drop dead the next second.
I shouldāve said it, huh?
He continues fiddling with the ring.
Thatās it? Thatās what happens? Thatās what happened?
It aināt her fault sheās leavinā. Maybe I couldāve done somethinā. Hell, I know I could.
What the hell is wrong with me?
The ring in his fingers continue to jog around, as more of his relentless come to attack him.
Even if we werenāt all of that, I believed we were at least somethinā. It ended so suddenly, like all things. I was a fool.
With everything now so quiet, his thoughts are loud again.
God, I donāt deserve anything good. I donāt.
But if You believe Iāve redeemed myself, even just a little bit ā could You bring her back to me?
I knowā¦ Iāve done bad things. But I donāt want to lose her. I canāt lose her.
The ring drops to the ground ā the clinking and clammer echoing in the empty room. For a light ring, it was loud.
He doesnāt sleep that night. Morning showed itself ā roosters howled, light cracked from his window, rain fell heavily. And yet he still rotted in the comfort of his couch.
His heart felt heavy, it felt like it was dragging down every inch of his body. Like his flesh had turned into weights, like his lungs were under water.
He was the rain himself ā sulking around the walls of his house.
He was beginning to truly drown in his own guilt and regret ā until Uncle slapped him in the face.
āOuch! What was that for?ā He asked, sitting up straight and nursing the pain with his hand.
āYou get up, John,ā Uncle says, unamused.
John wanted to say something snappy, or poke fun at him ā but he wasnāt exactly in the mood. John grumpily retorted with a āWhat?ā.
āI canāt stand you sulkinā āround here.ā
āWhat do you mean?ā John says, confused.
Uncle fumes, slapping him a second time. āDonāt āwhat do you meanā me, dumbass!ā
John let out a yelp of hurt, as Uncle continued, with a mocking tone. āYouāre lookinā at me with a face that says āitās all overā,ā
Uncle tries to slap him a third time, āOf course it is! And itāll be, if you donāt do anythinā!ā
But John swiftly dodges, finally standing up now.
Uncle continues. āYou try to use that brain of yours, or itāll rot.ā
āHell, maybe we could use it as horse-food so itād be used,ā He just kept going.
āIāve seen children with greater will. Hell, Iāve got more will than you!ā
āPoint is, I could run after her māself. And I canāt even run.ā
John looks away, rubbing the back of his neck. He was getting what Uncle was pointing at, but he didnāt have to be that cruel, did he?
āI canātā¦ do nothinā ābout it. Sheās probably left already.ā
Uncle interrupts him. āShe is gonna be gone, if ya donāt try! Get your head outta the gutter, John!ā
āItās embarrassinā and all, but aināt nothinā gonna happen if you do nothinā!ā
Despite being quite hypocritical, John still felt attacked. āI get itāI get it,ā He raised his arms up in surrender. āWhat dāya want me to do?ā
āIām tellinā ya to go after her before that damn train leaves.ā Uncle shakes his head, looking serious for once.
John finally realizes. He did have one last chance. Uncle made sense. Instead of sulking around all day, he could do something one last time.
āRight now?ā He asks, before answering the question himself.
Of course right now, John. Damn idiot.
āRight now! Iāmāgoingāyouāre right!ā John hurries away, putting on his coat and hat ā which he knew was ineffective against the heavy rain, but heāll be damned if he let that stop him. Heās already let too many chances pass.
When he leaves, he can hear Uncle yelling one last time ā faintly now. āIāve always been right ā you just been too dumb to comprehend!ā
With every second passing, he swore he could hear the honking of the trains get louder. He didnāt want to hear it at all.
If he doesnāt do this right, he might just be lonely for the rest of his damn life.
He murmurs an apology to his horse for riding out in this ridiculous rain. āReal sorry for this, boy. Wonāt take too long, alright?ā
Already completely soaked from the downfall of rain ā he didnāt care. At this point, the sun was about to set ā and he wouldnāt make it.
Damn it. I shouldāve done this a long time ago.
Heād go faster than ever. Like his life was on the line. Because truth be told ā it is ā to some extent. His horse understands that this is urgent, its hooves clacking along the dirt and mud without stopping.
Please be there, please be there. He repeated internally, gripping the reins so much his knuckles had gone white.
Still on his horse, he sees the train just about departing ā slowly picking up the pace against the rails.
He cursed under his breath. Desperation filled his very being.
āHey! Stop!ā He shouts at the train ā even though itās useless ā with the loud honking and rain. It muffled his voice.
It wasnāt stopping. It wasnāt slowing. But he wasnāt going to, either.
Heād never see your face, your smile. Heād never hear your laugh, your voice, your taunts and sweet voice again.
So, without you, who the hell would he wake up for in the morning?
Who would drag him to dance?
Who would he write about in his journal?
Who would soothe the lonely ache in his heart?
He couldnāt live with the thought that you would be gone. That you would just disappear ā like thin air. Like you had never existed at all. Like he wasnāt in love with you.
John was right by the tail of the train ā but he had yet to catch up with it. He yelled out again, louder, this time. ā[Reader]!ā
Of course, he had foreseen that he would look like a lunatic. Like heād lost his mind.
Inside the train, passengers seemed to have noticed his chasing figure outside the train. Some of them sticked their noses by the window ā murmuring amongst themselves ā who was this man yelling for?
With all the fuss and talk, you looked outside the window of your seat.
It was all too familiar, that man.
Your heart raced, along with your feet that stepped outside the moment your heard a faint calling of your name. Running to the outside of the last car ā with the many passengers you bumped with ā with every sorry ā you could feel your heart beat faster.
There he was, John Marston, chasing the train on his horse ā wet by the rain.
And you swore he was shouting your name.
Your hands gripped the railing, watching him struggle to keep pace. But he was yelling, and you knew he was saying something incredibly important ā but you couldnāt hear it.
He yelled out again, muffled by all the noise. āDonāt go!ā
But you couldnāt hear him. You tried to ā but it seemed everything was against the two of you at this very moment.
āI canāt hear you!ā You yelled.
You couldnāt hear what he had just said ā you could only attempt to make out the words he was saying with his mouth.
You could finally hear him.
āSTAY! STAY WITH ME!ā
He could only watch as you froze, before you ran back inside the car. Just then, while Johnās heart seemed to explode ā everything made sense for you.
āExāExcuse me, sir!ā You ran to the conductor, panting heavily. āI need you to stop the train, please!ā
āI made a big mistake.ā
When the train slowly stopped, you thanked the conductor profusely as you made your way out. Peopleās eyes followed your steps, they watched as you ran outside in the cold rain right to John.
In that moment, he quickly got off his horse, running to you himself.
You jumped right in his arms ā he caught you. He always did.
With his arms supporting your weight and your limbs wrapped tightly around him, he spun you around like a princess.
He exclaimed your name, grinning so widely.
āJohn, you idiot, youā¦ā
When you settled down, he still held you up in his arms.
He couldnāt believe what he was hearing. But was he complaining? No.
You soon followed with a light scoff. āChasing a trainā¦ who does that?ā
āWho wouldnāt?ā He asked, before leaning in and capturing your lips in a kiss.
He never thought heād be able to do that.
In honor of our marriage anniversary ā I decided to transfer all those journal pages to a new one. Itās been years since then. I never thought Iād actually use Arthurās ring.
I still remember the moment I met her. Still remember that whole dramatic process. If you asked me, was it worth it? It was worth every damn penny. It was worth the universe.
I love her so much. I really do. I wouldnāt change a thing. Despite everything that happened, sometimes, even to myself ā I canāt believe that sheās here with me. That she stayed ā that she accepted my offer ā and even married a man like me. Iām the luckiest man alive.
Iām right here, makinā tomato soup. Rufus and Sir are fightinā for the food. Aināt nothinā separates the two. And thā
āOh, darlinā, please,ā John sighs, watching you steal his journal from his hands.
āWhat, John?ā You said coyly, reading it in front of him as you flipped the pages.
With an over-exaggerated gasp, you spoke in disbelief. āAre these love letters? Oh, you poet, John Marston,ā
āI married a poet!ā You giggled.
Take my whole life, too āŖ
John tries to take back the journal ā was he blushing? Yes. Like a schoolboy that had confessed to his crush. āShut up. Stop readinā it.ā
āAnd your first impression of me was strange and stubborn?āā You followed up.
He shrugged after, attempting to steal it back with a light lunge forward. āOf course. And heyāgive it back!ā
āYou try!ā You chuckled, watching him fail miserably ā before kissing you instead.
