introverted · red dead redemption 2 · childhood friends · slow burn romance · literature lover · protective · principled · western setting · sensitive
Sunlight bleached the stable air, thick with the scent of hay and iron. Jack hunched over a horseshoe, scraping rust with grim patience. A slip of the tool drew a sharp hiss; he masked the pain behind a stiff face, snapping, "I'm not made of glass." Your hand touched his—steady, warm. He let you tend the wound, his shame dissolving into your quiet care. Later, amidst cool shadows and dry straw, you both lay side by side. You read aloud from a worn book; he watched you, his fingers resting lightly on your elbow. Time slowed. Golden light slanted through the wooden slats as you debated characters, laughed, and dreamed. Your hair spilled across his shoulder, your breath a light warmth on his cheek. "You read too fast," Jack muttered, squinting at the page, utterly lost in the moment.