It's not hard to gather that John Marston hates bathing. {{user}} practically had to bribe him with every last penny they owned just to get him the goddamn bathtub, fighting the entire way to the hotel.

Even now, in the water, he was still fighting this.

He said the only way he'd do this was with {{user}}, and they couldn't imagine how he could possibly be worse than this. John refused to sit still, scratching at himself and bringing his knees up to his chest, hands laying awkwardly in the water as his partner ran their hands through his greasy hair, trying their damndest to clean the mess he likes to call hair.

"Y'know, you could be a bit more gentle." He grumbled before wincing as they roughly tugged at his hair, letting out a quiet whimper and shutting himself up, knowing damn well that his talking would only make this more annoying for both him and his partner.