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It was hardly a secret around camp, when it came to what Arthur thought about himself. They'd all heard his hardly coherent ramblings about how bad of a person he was and how he wished he was different, and later, when the drinks were hidden away by Mrs. Grimshaw, and all the boys had been scolded by Hosea, someone would always try and convince him different.
Tilly would bring up how he helped to save her from them Foremen boys all those years ago. Karen would talk about how if Arthur hadn't been there to stop and care for her when she first came to the gang, she would’ve drank herself dead if not for his kindness and the fact he was willing to spend an entire day talking her down.
Javier had always said if he weren't a good man, he wouldn't have helped him learn English. No bad man wastes weeks of his life to help an immigrant he just met learn how to say important words in English, like “help” and “please” and “no”...even though “no” in Spanish was “no” in English, but that's not important.
Recently, John would try and bring up all the favors Arthur had done for him, and the number of times he saved his ass but Arthur would always brush him off, not wanting to hear a word from his idiot, younger counterpart.
Hosea, bless his heart, would always show up to Arthur's tent the morning after with that concerned, fond look on his face and try in numerous ways to convince Arthur that he deserves to feel good about himself, because he, in fact, is a good man. You always have been, Arthur, the moment I met you I knew you were different than the rest of those boy thieves, Dutch would say. And to Arthur's begrudging agreement, it was true. He, unlike many others, refuses to steal from the poor, or women, or the ill.
Even back then, when he was a hungry little boy on the streets, he wasn't quite sure why even the idea of stealing from a blind man on the street made his stomach churn with guilt and disgust, it just did, and for a while, he thought that it did for everyone. Boy, was he wrong. He was so, terribly wrong.
The point is, that no one in camp, no one in the world could convince Arthur he was a good person, one that deserved love despite every sin he committed. Except for Charles.
Arthur had been away from camp for days, scoping for jobs, robbing bastards, hunting for food, and generally just working his ass off before he finally decided it was enough for him to return home. He was already irritated and upset before he pulled Fruitfly into camp, because on the ride home he would always try and guess what the people in camp were doing, and usually, he was right. The idea of them all drinking and partying together, not a care in the world, while Arthur was alone, hundreds of miles away, treating a new wound he gained just for a twenty-dollar bill angered him greatly, it made him not want to come home at all, actually. And he felt terrible for thinking that, because they were his family, and a good man wouldn't want to leave his family.
The first thing he heard as he pulled into camp were sounds of laughter and drunken back-and-forth loud banter between people. He sighed tiredly, as he hitched Fruitfly to a pole, and groaned as he lifted the deer off of her and brought her slowly to Pearsons' “kitchen”.
He was exhausted. He always was, but lately, it had been… different. It wasn't just his body that was tired, Arthur felt like it was his mind too. He knew something was wrong, he just didn't know what. And when he talked to Hosea about it, the best treatment he was offered was taking a few days off. He was forced to, actually.
It didn't help, it made things worse. It made him work harder after he realized how fucked the gang would be if he quit working.
“Ayy! It’s the big man!” Sean called out from in front of the main campfire as Arthur walked passed, and stopped in front of them. Several people cheered for his arrival. Arthur crossed his arms and angrily dug his nails into the meat of his arm as he sighed soundlessly. It pissed him off, how they all seemed so happy to not have to work. “Come an’ join us! Have a drink, Arthur! We missed ya!” Seans' words flew through one ear and out the other as Arthur stormed away. It wasn't fair, really, it wasn't. He doesn't want to sound like Jack at bedtime, but none of this was fair. Why does everyone get to party and laze about at camp so carefree and happy, while Arthur remains miserable? And why, when he takes a day off does he remain miserable? Why does-
“Hi, Arthur.” A quiet, smooth voice calls out and Arthur joins back into reality. Arthur looks around for a moment, momentarily confused as to how he got into the woods so quickly. Had he been walking and thinking for that long? He couldn't tell.
“Hi, Charles.. What uh,” Arthur stutters nervously as Charles gives him a warm look, and pats the space on the ground beside him “What are you doing out here?” He sits down next to the long-haired man, maybe a little too quickly.. Maybe a little too closely. Charles is whittling something, but he's too early in the process for Arthur to be able to guess what.
“Hm, I was about to ask you the same thing..” Charles looks up from his project to his left, to Arthur. “Not going on another one of your “I’m a bad man.” tangents, are you?”
Arthur scoffs “No.” Charles smiles, and gives him a knowing look, and Arthur looks away. “Maybe. What do you care?”
“I know you want me to say that I don’t but.. I really do, Arthur.” Charles pauses to think for a moment, and who is Arthur to stop him? “We don't talk too much, you and me, and I don't know you all that well but I think that.. I know who you are.” The way in which this is said, softly, confidently, and carefully has Arthur feeling a multitude of things. He swallows.
“And..who am I, Charles?”
“A hard worker. Too hard of a worker.”
Arthur laughs quite hard at that and nods.
“You’re an animal person, I think, you like horses a lot that much is clear, but I’ve seen some of you’re drawings. They’re detailed and they're beautiful.” Arthur bites his lip, beautiful? “And youre a damn good man, Arthur, and I know you are because..” Charles stops and looks down, now Arthur is looking at him. He’s probably thinking up a lie, or something corny to say. Just like everyone else because-
“Because I just know.” Their eyes are locked together now, Arthur looks away, and then back anxiously. “You…you’re different Arthur, I can tell. I feel like youre the only person here who I can just..talk to and not worry about being judged. You look at me the same way you look at Tilly, and Hosea, and Sean, like im a person and….not a lot of people have done that before. There's just..something about you, Arthur. And I…”
They’re closer now. Closer than they’ve ever been before.
“Youre wrong,” Arthur says quietly “About one thing, Charles. I don't just look at you like you're just another person you… you're more than that-” Arthur quickly corrects himself, Charles places his hand softly on Arthur's face, Arthur brings his own hand to Charles’ free one “I want you, to be more than that.”
They sit like that, for a moment, staring deep into each other's eyes like nothing else matters and suddenly, Charles sees it. The longing passion hidden behind Arthur's mismatched, green and blue eyes. The want, the need to love, and be loved back.
“I want to, too.”