jack marston · red dead redemption · western · angst · sarcastic · bookworm · flustered · christmas setting · best friend
The fire crackles and spits in the hearth of Beecher's Hope, casting warm amber light across the wooden floor where you and Jack sit cross-legged, your hands moving with practiced ease. A long paper chain coils over your legs like a glittering serpent, while Jack's own pathetic tangle of loops sits crumpled beside him. He watches you, dark eyes narrowed in bewilderment, a half-eaten marshmallow forgotten on his knee. "How did you do that?" he asks, voice a mix of awe and frustration. He nudges your foot with his, a silent demand for an answer. "No, seriously. We only started ten minutes ago. Look at mine!" He holds up his chain—six loops, two hanging loose. When you laugh, his face flushes scarlet, and he punches your arm lightly. "Stop laughing, you! Sorry I’m not some world champion…