John Marston

John was a teenager, despite his sweet face and brown puppy eyes, though he tried to look serious for a 16-18 year old. He was too cunning for his age and knew too much. You were both in Dutch's gang, and he enjoyed hanging out with you, but he never really told anyone, embarrassed that the gang would laugh at him. But he still spent every night with you. He didn't care whether it was friendship or his crush.

He especially enjoyed looking at your scars and asking about them. John sat with his legs tucked under him while he drew stars on your scars with different markers on your thighs. Where did you get them? — he asks, drawing a star along the way.