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The hot summer evening was alive with music out in the thoroughfare. Seth was certain he hadn’t seen The Gem so empty in a long time, perhaps ever. The deal that had roused Seth from his home and brought him in was closed, and yet he lingered. He’d politely asked Davey to leave him the bottle and fuck off, and Davey had reasoned that arguing wasn’t worth the ballache and the Sheriff was technically the most trustworthy man in the camp.
Better in here than out there with the jubilance of the revellers toasting the wedding. He had never been much fun at parties.
Seth found himself only one drink down and not yet feeling any better when a man appeared on the landing and gave away his presence with a cough. His hair had been parted at the side and been combed down, with a touch of white at the front. He looked dressed for the party, with a frock coat in dark green. He looked of a similar age to Seth, though the scruffiness of his patchy facial hair made him look a little younger than he perhaps was.
“Sheriff Bullock,” he said as he came down the stairs. “I’m quite surprised to see you here this evening.”
Seth frowned. He knew this man, by face alone. He had seen him before in the Gem, chatting with people in the bar. The little patch of white in his hair was distinctive enough. Though a man with one arm was no uncommon sight after the war, he remembered him as a man who talked with the hand he had left. He tended to flit around the joint happy to converse with anyone. He remembered him sat by the piano once. Seth had just assumed he was one of Al’s men, keeping tabs on the goings-on.
“Where the fuck else should I be?” Seth said as he was joined at the bar by this stranger.
“Same place as where I’m going, I suppose. Enjoying the festivities.”
“I find my mood today not suitable for polite company,” Seth said, downing the rest of his measure of whiskey with a slight wince.
The other man scoffed a little at that. “You and I both know the majority of this camp are not fellows I would call polite by any stretch of the imagination.”
Seth grunted in acknowledgement and reached for the bottle again, but he was beaten by the other man’s fingers closing around its neck before he could get there. He’s closer now, leaning on the bar beside him.
"You don't know me," Seth said to Ezra.
“Either way, I was always taught it was never a good thing to leave a man drinkin’ alone,” he said.
Ezra reached over and refilled Bullock’s glass for him. The other man had such a sense of comfort in the Gem, that Seth had certainly never had, he didn’t seem to think anything of it to lean up over the bar and grab a glass for himself and pour a generous helping.
“What if that man is alone by design, Mr...?” Seth said, raising an eyebrow at him.
“May. Ezra May. ‘By design’ is even more of a tragedy, Mr Bullock,” said Ezra.
“Too much fuckin’ tragedy, I’d say,” Seth responded.
Ezra bowed his head slightly as though remembering himself. “I am sorry about your loss, Sheriff. Your dear son,” he said. “I tried my best to console the girls when they heard but, truly, such grief cannot be easily tempered - in women who were not even blessed to know the child, too.”
“Thank you,” Seth said, a little awkwardly. “I would avoid that topic of conversation, if it’s all the same to you, Mr May.”
“Ezra, if you will,” he said. “A change of subject, then, since you do not seem to be throwing me out for bothering you in your contemplation.”
“I can’t throw you out, you live here,” Seth frowned.
“Some steps between us and that balcony for sure,” Ezra chuckled and sipped his drink.
Seth shrugged. He wasn't proud of his violent outburst against Al, but he couldn't say he didn't deserve it.
"The bride looks radiant, does she not?"
Seth stiffened. "I haven't seen her. I have been otherwise occupied with business today."
"On this special occasion? Why, I heard that the two of you had been close,” Ezra said, leaning forward conspiratorially.
Seth looked sideways at the man and drained the rest of his drink. "I didn't take Al to be a gossip," he said, his voice taking an edge of terseness.
Ezra responded with a smile, undeterred. "A misjudgement on your part, then. His propensity for gossip is outstanding, he considers it necessary for his work. Though in this case not needed. In this fine establishment, one becomes accustomed to the sight of a man walking away in joy, which I had witnessed from you on many a morning across the thoroughfare. Mr Bullock, I don’t believe you’re one to be subtle about a thing."
Seth's jaw clenched. “I don’t know what the fuck you’re getting at, Mr May. You don’t know me or her.”
"Forgive me, I mean not to disrespect the lady - or you, Sheriff," Ezra elaborated before he added, quieter, "You looked happy."
His annoyance fizzled away at Ezra’s calm and steady voice. Perhaps the liquor had gotten to him already.
“Mr Ellsworth is a good man,” Seth said, not looking his companion in the eye. “I am sure he will make a fine husband.”
He’s not sure what he knows about being a good husband. He likes to think he’s doing his best for Martha, as well as he can without fucking everything up.
Ezra shoved the bottle aside and decided the piss Davey had left him with was unsuitable. Without breaking the conversation, Ezra made it behind the bar and reached for a bottle on a shelf. It tasted marginally better than the previous, but Seth hadn't been drinking it for the pleasant flavours. Mr May left it on the bartop as he returned to Seth's side, dragging the stool slightly closer as he hooked his ankle around its leg.
It was pleasant, Seth thought, to talk to someone who didn’t seem to want anything from him. He had missed his conversations out front of the store smoking with Sol - too caught up in business and affairs of other sorts. Speaking to Alma, which had felt so natural those autumn months tucked in her room, was out of the question now. Martha didn’t speak to him much too recently, and he wouldn’t begrudge her the silence, not now. Al only seemed to want to talk to him through some scheme, though what else he would have to discuss with the man, he didn’t know. Ezra though, he just seemed content to enjoy his company. That’s why people came to this joint in the first place, Seth supposed, for company.
He couldn’t help but feel like he wasn’t supposed to be here. Ezra wasn’t either, he would imagine. Al’s man spending the evening with fucking Bullock . It was as though the empty space between where both of them were meant, in this gap, was timeless and spaceless and irrelevant to whatever was happening elsewhere. The contrast of the coursing people, that Seth had his back to, made the empty room of just him and Ezra surprisingly intimate.
The companionable air was broken by Ezra’s voice. “You must think it’s too late for you,” Ezra said softly like he'd been thinking about it for a little while.
“You always talk in fuckin’ riddles?” Seth almost growled.
“I think I make perfect sense to the right ears,” Ezra said and sipped his drink.
Seth said nothing. The music from the party was building enough that they can hear the low tones of it from where they sat in The Gem.
“We could just sit here and say nothing until dawn. However, I have been told that I am a very good listener and if I do say so myself, good sir, you look like whatever is in there that head of yours gonna eat you.”
“I don't know what you mean,” Seth said. He played with the empty glass, sliding it across the wood from hand to hand.
“Hmm. Why aren’t you at the wedding?” he asked casually.
“Told you. Wasn’t in the mood to pretend to be happy.”
“Your period of mourning is quite reasonable, Mr Bullock.”
“Happy for her,” Seth huffed. He sure as fuck didn't want to talk about the boy.
“You’re not?” Ezra prodded, gently.
“I don’t fucking know. Mr Ellsworth is a good man. He’ll see to it she’s taken care of.” Seth hesitated before adding, slower. “I shouldn’t talk to you.”
“Why, don’t you know there’s a certain confidentiality between a man and his bartender?” Ezra said and refilled Seth’s glass.
Seth stared at him, dark eyes meeting in the low light. He couldn't help but wonder if Ezra is just a nosy fuck or if he doesn't even know he's starting to prise Seth's chest open when he's vulnerable.
“Thought that was priests. And you’re not a bartender.”
“I am when the situation calls for it,” Ezra said and filled his own to the brim.
Seth continued, “And I know Dan Dority talks a lot of shit, if you don’t mind me saying so.”
“He never seems to have much to say about you, Sheriff,” he said.
"Why, you asked him?" Seth challenged.
"Might have," Ezra shrugged. "As I said, the gossip is part of the business."
"You said that about Al," Seth corrected.
"Well, you won't hold it against me if we are alike in some of our ways," Ezra grinned.
“I mind myself not to talk too much to Dority. Last I came across him he gave me the worst fuckin’ headache. Not the most pleasant discourse,” Seth added.
Ezra hummed. Slowly, he reached up and touched the scar from that fight, the most gentle graze of the back of one finger. Seth flinched.
“Sorry. I’m sorry,” Ezra whispered, holding his hand in front of him open-palmed where Seth could see it, like some sort of spooked animal. He lowered it and took up his glass for a sip.
“I’m keeping you from the party,” Seth said, his tipsy brain catching up with him and realising they had been there quite a while.
“Hmm?” Ezra said, he ran his hand over his hair. “You are! And here I am dressed in my finery to celebrate these nuptials - between who , it does not matter, I wouldn’t know him from Adam. Why, Mr Bullock, you have deprived the camp of a promenade of this splendour!”
He chuckled and stood, and stretched out his arm as if showing Seth the quality cut of the frock coat. It was shabby but tailored, as though it had once been expensive. The right sleeve had been modified and stitched with delicate yet uneven stitches where one of the girls had sat and sewn it for him in candlelight a few nights ago. He gave a turn on the spot to showcase his outfit.
“The compliments I would’ve been showered with, did you not need my undivided attention.” He shook his head solemnly. “I must insist that I am recompensed.”
Seth didn’t need Ezra’s attention, that was absurd. He stayed here to be alone. Ezra was free to leave whenever he wanted. But then, the spell would be broken, wouldn’t it? The evening would be over.
“You look nice,” Seth nodded. He leaned forward and reached out, but stopped himself short and hoped Ezra didn't notice- “It’s a fine cravat.”
Ezra tsked at him. “I suppose that’ll have to do.”
“Your hair. It’s beautiful,” Seth continued and hated that he could feel his face redden slightly at the admission.
Ezra’s smile lit up his face and a dimple appeared on his cheek. It made Seth’s head swim a little. "Thank you."
—
The conversation lulled after that. Seth doesn't find himself having much to say, though not hard-pressed about it. Ezra seemed content enough to fill the silence by telling some story about a man he met on the road that swore he once fought twenty men at once and got away. The man punctuated his tirade with gestures with the glass in his one hand, making an effortless show of not spilling it. It was honestly hard to follow, and Seth lost track of what was happening around the time the man’s brother’s wife’s sister had entered the fray, but the tones of his voice were nice enough to listen to as he nursed his drink more slowly now. He occasionally sought Seth's input with a curious, “Did you know about this?” Seth did not.
“Now, do not think me some believer of these men’s tall tales, Sheriff, but I like to hear the telling of them, you see. Some men are a lot more willing to tell their stories.”
Seth could at least understand that part. He nodded.
“What about you? What is it you actually do for Swearengen? I haven’t seen you around so much," Seth said, curious about the man beside him. He had seen him around before, he knew, but they had never been introduced before. Idly, he wondered how Al would’ve introduced them.
“Ah, I keep myself to myself for the most part. I do whatever is needed of me around here. No job too gritty. Some things I’m willing to admit to a lawman such as yourself and some that I’m not," he pushed his hair out of his face. His hair was longer than Seth's own, and he idly thought the way it curled at the ends was a pretty thing on a man with some capacity for hardness. "I find myself more often these days looking after the girls. Sometimes looking after our patrons."
The whiskey in Seth left him slower to mask his reaction than he normally would. He let his glance flit over Ezra’s features in the lamplight, making the briefest eye contact, before looking back down into his drink and nodding.
“Mr Bullock, I allude to any number of wrongdoings in your presence and the latter is what turns your attention.”
“Forgive me, I just wasn’t expecting,” the sentence trailed off and he rephrased. “I just wasn’t expecting.”
“To meet a whore in a brothel?” Ezra said, in a low and conspiratorial voice tinged with almost amusement.
“Well, when you put it that way.” He considered for a moment and then added. “I don’t think Trixie likes me much.”
“Ah, who am I to say what’s in the heart of a woman? Though she did just yesterday morning tell me that you’re a sanctimonious prick.”
Seth frowned but didn’t attempt to argue.
“She won’t admit it but she is very fond of your Mr Star,” Ezra said. “What do you think of the matter?”
“Far be it from me to question Sol, he’s got his head screwed on much better than I do,” Seth replied. “I don’t image Al is too pleased."
“Al knows the price of sex, but not the price of love, I find,” Ezra said, with a slight furrow of his brow.
Seth remembered the insult that had started the fight with Al. The world abounds in cunt of every kind, including hers. Like it was something as simple as a bath and a blowjob and not something that had clouded his mind and surged in his veins until he had to remind himself to focus on documents and accounts before he could hold her. He wondered if Ezra has ever been in love like that, and he'll admit to himself now that’s what it was, if Ezra has ever known the same heartbreak he’s feeling, or the loss of control over his body and spirit.
He can hear laughter and joy coming from the party outside and it's like the air is gone from The Gem. Maybe it’s the whiskey, or the absolute trainwreck of his affections as of late, but Seth found himself looking at Ezra in the lamplight. How did he not notice the scar across his cheek before? It looks nice, Seth thought, adding harshness to those pretty features.
His eyes darted to the curve of Ezra’s lower lip. Ezra is so close, he could press his knee against his if he wanted to. He leaned forward. Ezra’s gaze fell to see the slightest peek of Seth’s tongue, as though chasing the taste of the whiskey from his own lip. His elbow dipped to rest on the bar as he leaned on the bar for support, moving closer, and he felt from here how warm Ezra would be. Ezra’s lips parted slightly and he looked almost inviting. It’s too fucking warm in here.
Fuck , Seth thinks. Don’t .
Instead, he dipped his head and rubbed his hand against the side of his nose. The guilt burned through him like a flash, he didn't even know what in particular he felt guilty about. The wanting, the denial, everything . The familiar unfamiliarity of the interest of his cock at the thought of just kissing this man.
“I think I’m drunk,” Seth said and sniffed. He does’t look up right away.
Then, as though summoned, Al stepped out of his room, bottle in hand. He looked over at the two of them huddled together by the bar. The tension fizzled away abruptly. Seth blinked up at him, his face burning.
“Don’t you have a fuckin’ home to get to?” Swearengen called from the gallery. “Ez, I better not come down these fuckin’ stairs tomorrow and find you’ve been plying fuckin’ Bullock with the good whiskey. No offence, Sheriff.”
He pulled a face as though reconsidering, but seemed to deny the thought traction before turning and slamming his door behind him.
Ezra waved his hand at the closed door in defiance and laughed. It sounded nice to Seth’s ears. Genuine.
“I know I should go,” Seth said, in a level voice, then sighed. “But now Swearengen wants me gone, I find myself wishing more to stay.”
Ezra’s smile widened and Seth matched it for once. Ezra leans forward again, his chin propped on his fist. “For the sake of being cantankerous, but not for the quality of the company.”
"Good company. All the same, I should go,” Seth repeats. He closed his eyes and sighed. He stood for the first time in a few hours and found the ground beneath him a little less stable under his feet than he remembered.
Ezra rose too, his one hand hovering under Seth’s elbow. “I find that a good night’s rest could have you certainly refreshed for the morning. I have a couch in my room that can be quite accommodating,” Ezra said, nodding towards the stairs. “If you’re amenable.”
“That’s a kind offer, Mr May but my wife,” Seth explained. His wife would be expecting him home. His wife would not want her dutiful husband to spend the night in a saloon. The thought of a warm bed just a short distance away was tempting. Seth didn’t want to invite that level of scrutiny from Al or whoever the fuck else cared what he was doing.
“You’ll give her my apologies if she waited up for your return when I have kept you occupied,” he said.
“Yes,” Seth said, reaching to grab his hat from the bar. They both knew he wouldn’t.
“You know, I do think I should show my face at the party, after all, check up on the girls and that, give them a twirl or two,” Ezra said, brushing down his coat. “Perhaps I could accompany you on part of your walk home.”
“That would be… nice,” Seth responded.
Ezra put on his hat for the first time that evening, covering the streak of white in his hair. They left The Gem together, Ezra easily falling into step beside him. The crowd of revellers enveloped them almost instantly. He spotted Sol across the way, who looked between the pair of them curiously. He raised an eyebrow in question and Seth nodded back to him. He's fine. It's fine.
“Thank you for your company,” Seth said. He added in a low voice, "I don't know what I would've done left alone."
“Not every day I find a drinking companion with such patience for my conversation,” Ezra said.
Seth didn’t think he had ever been called patient in his life, but he wasn’t going to argue now. He nodded and crossed his arms, not quite knowing what to do.
“If you ever need to talk, come find me. I mean it. You know where to find me. Don’t let it eat you,” Ezra said. “It’s not good.”
"I don't really make social calls there," Seth said awkwardly. He wanted to, which was scary enough in itself, but The Gem felt like a beacon of everything he didn't want out of this town.
"Drop by when you're on business. Al will have you back soon enough," he said. "My room's the third on the left. Perhaps if I decide I like you enough I’ll tell you a better story."
"Okay," Seth said. He's not entirely convinced he'll remember the direction with the way his head feels. "Okay."
Ezra looked him up and down. He smiled and offered his hand. "Good night, Sheriff. I trust you won't fall to mischief between here and your home."
"I'll be alright," he says. "Good night, Mr May." He clasps his hand to shake it. The left-handed clasp feels foreign. He must be drunk because he's reluctant to let go, too much enjoying the warm press against him.
He turned homeward and saw her there, she looked shocked to see him but not displeased. Alma had stopped to look at him before she got into the carriage that will take her and Mr Ellsworth off to their honeymoon. She did look beautiful, Ezra was right. Don't let it eat you. Don't let it eat you. He does his best to smile politely, to keep walking. Away from Alma, away from Ezra, and straight on towards the house he built.
When he doubted home, swaying only slightly, Seth doubted Martha would appreciate her husband crawling into their bed reeking of whiskey and the perfumes of The Gem. She needed her sleep after the shitty week they've had, and he’s not looking to give her any more reason to flee for the hills. She had left a lamp on for him, which he appreciated. His boots are kicked off and his hat makes it to the vicinity of where it should be.
In the dim light of his house, Seth was determined to write in his journal before he could sleep - a habit years in the making not to be lightly undone by a few whiskeys. He managed to scrawl out one word before he found himself nodding off at the kitchen table:
Ezra
. He sighed and rubbed his hand over bleary eyes before giving up the fight and settling down on his couch to sleep.