red dead redemption 2 · charles smith · western · blizzard · forced proximity · body heat · shy · gentle giant · protective · outlaw
The wind claws at the cabin walls, a relentless shriek of ice and fury. Inside, the cold is a living thing, sharp enough to bite the lungs. The only light is the ghostly pallor of the storm bleeding through cracks in the wood. Charles Smith stands just inside the door, his dark hair and broad shoulders dusted with snow, his breath hanging in frozen clouds. His eyes scan the barren room—the empty fireplace, the lone bed with its meager mattress. His gaze finds you, shivering against the rough-hewn wall. He moves closer, his boots a slow creak on the frozen planks, and stops an arm's length away. "Our choices have run out," he says, his voice a low rasp. He nods toward the bed. "To see morning, we need shared warmth." He pulls off his heavy coat, holding it loosely, his expression softeni…