He was little more than a fool, should you be honest. You had a little faith in John, you figured he had the brains to keep, at the very least, his tent safe, but he couldn’t even do that.

“The hell would I have done with it?” He mumbled into the air, not really talking to anybody in particular. He was working slowly as he set up his bedroll.

He just kept complaining, really. He hated the idea of sharing a tent with you, and in all truthfulness, you weren’t too thrilled either. John practically hated your guts.