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The garden had become their primary hangout spot—Lucy's idea, of course. She’d insisted they all take tea outdoors for the sake of “air and sanity.” There was no real argument from the others, as the heat from being inside the house all summer had begun to slowly drive them mad. Two of the men hesitantly complied, eyeing the bugs and uneven lawn. Quincey, however, had already slung a worn blanket over his shoulder and carried the teacups in his free hand, whistling a tune that Arthur found quite irritating. He was ever eager to please and unbothered by the disorder.
Lucy laced her arm through John's in an effortlessly affectionate way, claiming she needed to help him locate the “good" honey in the kitchen. Arthur was sure he could've easily found it on his own, but they disappeared into the house nonetheless, leaving Arthur and Quincey alone among the bristling leaves and buzzing bees as her soft laughter faded out.
"Think she's right about the sanity party?"
Arthur looked up at the cowboy, slightly tilting his head at the question and then looked away again. "We shall see." He stood stiffly, holding the teacup and intensely examining it, trying not to look at Quincey. He, meanwhile, contrasted the other man's demeanor by flopping back into the grass like a man with no bones, arms folded behind his head and legs crossed at the ankle. He looked up at Arthur with one eye, the other shut against the sun.
“You’re wound up tighter than a mantel clock,” he chuckled.
Arthur, at first, didn't dignify that with a response. Instead, he took a slow sip of his tea and looked at the far end of the garden. "Some of us have posture,” he said at last.
“And some of us have fun," Quincey responded with a low, lazy laugh. "Sit down, for Lord’s sake."
Arthur sighed, but he sat nonetheless. Not on the grass, of course, but on the blanket. His legs were folded, spine still straight.
They were quiet a moment. It was quite a comfortable, or at least tolerable, silence, birds chirping to accompany them. Somewhere inside, Lucy laughed, and John murmured something just low enough that the men couldn't make it out.
Quincey plucked a daisy from nearby and twirled the stem between his fingers, holding it up like it might tell him something if he looked long enough. “Y’know,” he started casually, “you don’t have to act like you dislike me.”
Arthur blinked, confused. “I don’t.”
“Could've fooled me."
"I don't dislike you," Arthur repeated, a little more firmly this time, setting his cup down and then looking at him.
"Well, you act like I’m embarrassing you. Which, fair, as I can act quite... incautious, at times. Though I think we both know that’s not really it.”
Arthur opened his mouth only to close it shortly after. He looked at the flower, a fragile thing in strong hands. It was small and white, a little wilted. A bee was flying around it, though Quincey didn’t seem the slightest bit bothered. “You tease,” started Arthur. “Constantly. And you never seem to care how people see you.”
Quincey shrugged, eyes fixed on the insect. “Grew up in a house where you got ignored if you didn’t shine bright enough. Got good at shining after a while.”
Arthur's gaze softened a little. He was handed the flower and after a beat, he took it. Fiddling with the petals, he responded, “I wasn’t raised to... shine.”
Quincey rolled onto his side, propping himself up on one elbow. "Maybe that's why you're wound up so tight. You think you're supposed to be perfect."
"It's easier."
"Maybe," he reached out and gently put his hand on top of the Arthur's, a light gesture. Their hands now both rested on the daisy. "But it's a hell of a lot lonelier, isn't it?"
...
"You don’t have to pretend you’re not soft," he continued.
Arthur’s head snapped up. “Sorry?”
Quincey met his eyes without flinching. “You get this look, sometimes," he went on, almost smiling. "When Lucy says something kind. You look like you’ve been shot but don’t want to show it.”
The curly-haired man felt exposed, as if someone had turned him inside out. “And what would you know about softness?” he scoffed, though it came out quieter than intended.
“I know it in other people," Quincey responded, expression unchanged. "I know it in you."
Arthur stared at him, only now aware of how his heart was thudding. Quincey's hand was warm on his own. He wasn't sure if his breath had sped up or stopped entirely. He leaned in just a little.
He didn’t notice Lucy and John returning until Lucy leaned over him, dropping a kiss to the top of his head. He startled, turning his head up to look at her. “I like when you two talk,” she teased, the corner of her mouth lifting. “You sound like you’re about to kiss or duel.”
Arthur flushed and withdrew his head from beneath Quincey's, brushing it on the side of his trousers, ignoring the grin that had appeared on the tough man.
John sat carefully beside Quincey and offered Arthur the small jar of honey. “It was behind the marmalade."
Arthur nodded, accepting the jar with a muttered thanks.
Quincey stretched and sat up, leaning into John but keeping his eyes on Arthur, still gleaming with the mischievous light that was ever prevalent. “So. What’ll it be, Artie?” he asked with his eyes closed, grinning. “Kiss or duel?”
Lucy, seated now with her knees drawn up to her chest and her hands cupping her chin, gave a delighted laugh. Arthur, on the other hand, wasn't amused. "That's not a serious question," he grumbled, rolling his eyes. "You're not serious."
"Deadly serious," Quincey returned.
John let out a low breath, something between a sigh and a chuckle. "You'd both be terrible sports about a duel."
Arthur looked at him, looking jokingly betrayed. "I would be perfectly civil!"
"No, you would get nicked once and insist something was wrong with the blade."
Arthur opened his mouth to object, but Quincey beat him to it.
"And I'd be the one who cheats and kisses him while he's distracted. See, that's how I'd win."
They all looked at him until Arthur awkwardly repeated, "you're not serious."
Quincey tilted his head. "What, you want me to be?"
No response.
"So, I'll ask you once more, Artie," he stated, now lying down with his head in his hands and his feet kicking up in the air. "Kiss or duel?"