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It was the afterparty for a job that had gone remarkably well - shockingly well, honestly. A severely underpaid and apathetic group of guards had missed them completely as Arthur belly-crawled through a hole dug under the barn wall by a fox, or a coyote, maybe. He had relayed the bags of stolen silverware quickly and silently back through the hole, to Charles' waiting hands, and they had slid away under the brush to Taima and Sooty. It had gone without a hitch, and without casualty.
It was far from a big take, but the utter lack of fuss that it caused was cause enough for a celebration. People sat, lay, swayed on their feet, raucous and messy and joyful. Javier strummed on his guitar, stamping his feet as he sang, stirring the gang into joining him.
Sadie, hair coming loose from her braid and shirt half-untucked from her jeans, her smile splitting her face in two, pulled a perplexed Tilly into her lap, shifting with her in time to the music; she was still for a moment, before starting to giggle, moving with her and throwing her arms around her shoulders.
It warmed Charles to see it as he sat on a box near the lean-to, nursing a whiskey bottle. He was just a little tipsy, not feeling the need to get as far under the table as the other seemed to; that didn’t mean he didn't love the gang when they were like this, so carefree they were silly with it.
Arthur came barrelling towards him from behind, he guessed from a piss break in the trees, slurring his name. "Charles… Charlie! My boy!" One hand landed on his shoulder, the other on his knee, and he was confronted by Arthur's grinning face as he leant over him, whiskey breath huffing across his cheeks, suddenly so close that he could count the crinkles round his eyes, and the few whiskers that he missed trimming his beard, and the freckles scattered across his forehead.
He chuckled, a little dazed, looking away to the rest of the group. "Hey, Arthur."
"We did a grand ol' job today, Mr. Smith," Arthur said, standing up, puffing out his chest, and hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, his look of self-satisfaction so theatrical and goofy that Charles' mouth twisted up into a smile without him giving it the go-ahead.
"That we did, my friend," said Charles, voice fonder than he intended. Arthur clapped his hand on his back, laughing for no clear reason, before strutting unsteadily off to try and borrow Pearson's accordion, unmoved by the gang's fervent protests and hoots of encouragement.
It went on like that until the small hours approached, the singing dying down and the fire starting to mellow. Folks gradually trickling away to their bedrolls, sleepy and spent. Charles was still sat on his box, working on a whittling project in his lap (not going hugely well, as he was still a little sloshed) - at least he was, until ten minutes ago, when he realised Arthur had been staring up at the sky in wonder, or maybe puzzlement, for about that long. His feet were plonked near the gently glowing embers of the fire, his back against the log they used as a bench, head leaning all the way back, mouth slightly open, a little crease between his brows.
Charles smiled again, and put down his project. He leant forward, elbows on his knees, and tilted his head. "Found anything interesting up there?"
There was a beat before Arthur responded. "There's so many of 'em," he says, voice a soft rumble.
Charles looked up. Specks of piercing light were scattered across the inky sky like grains of sand across a shop floor. They were different colours if you looked properly - red and yellow and crystal blue. The milky way spread from one horizon to the other, and if he looked at that for too long, tried to imagine how many bright little dots came together to make it up, he felt such swelling awe that it left him breathless.
"Yeah, there are."
Charles felt Arthur's eyes on him, and looked back down to meet them.
"Dutch's music is still playin'."
Charles only then noticed Dutch's record still spinning in front of the closed door to his tent, the pompous orchestral piece sounding tinny in the dark.
"Right again." Trying for smooth, sounding just a touch too starry-eyed.
Then Arthur hauled himself to his feet, steadier than earlier but only a little. He walked around the dying fire and held his hand out to Charles.
He looked from the offered hand up to Arthur's face; red from the drink, eyes droopy and gentle, green-blue and glinting in the soft light. A wonky smile crinkled his rough cheeks. Charles, only shaking a little, took his hand.
Arthur pulled him to his feet and laced their fingers together, resting his other hand on Charles' shoulder. Without any thought on his part, Charles' hand finds Arthur's waist; he's wearing a blue silk vest over his pale grey shirt, with what Charles thinks is a paisley print on it. The fabric is stiff and a little misshapen, the weave is wearing through in places, and the buttons are scuffed.
Arthur likes to buy himself fancy clothes but doesn’t really know how to care for them. Somehow, the thought nearly brings Charles to tears.
Arthur is still smiling drunkenly at him, flexing his fingers in their joined hands, as he begins to clumsily sway them to the music, a touch out of rhythm. Charles tries not to look too dumbstruck as he cautiously begins to move too. He feels drunker than he did five minutes ago.
Then they're off, stepping in an awkward little waltz, swaying from side to side, joined hands bobbing up and down. Arthur laughs again, and Charles can feel it through him, and he starts to laugh too - silently, but enough to shake his shoulders and dip his head forward. Arthur suddenly picks up the pace, so aggressively swinging them around that Charles can't stay quiet any more, giggling giddily into Arthur's shoulder. He looks up in time to see Arthur almost pull them into the still-hot coals of the fire, and he pulls them back, wheezing. "Arth- Arthur! Careful, you fool," his words broken by his joy. Arthur throws his head back again, eyes slipping closed, smiling so wide that Charles can't quite look away.
A few yards away, Cain sits up, looks blearily over at the pair of them. Satisfied that they're just fine, he flops back down into the dirt, letting out a sleepy groan. A little further off, lying in the cool, rich grass, stirring it gently with their soft puffs of breath, Taima and Sooty doze.