#irinap25

[dustandthought]

Did Charles commit suicide?

What if he didn’t go north... What if he left for good? (A soul-crushing headcanon about Charles Smith)

What if Charles took his own life? Yes, yes, just like that — what if he left, not north, but FOR GOOD. I keep thinking about this more and more. Because so much about him screams — “I can’t do this anymore.”

Everyone says: he went to Canada. Oh sure, sure. But maybe it’s time to stop repeating that comforting bedtime story. Canada was mentioned once, barely, like a breath. But in another dialogue — he says he wants to go to INDOCHINA. Can you imagine? Indochina! Where is that, and where’s Canada, and where is he? He’s lost. He’s torn. He doesn’t know where to go. Because he feels at home NOWHERE. And all of this — it’s not a plan. It’s emptiness. It’s pain wrapped in scraps of fantasy.

And when he tells John: “What does your family need an old gunslinger for?” — that’s NOT A JOKE. That’s a scream. A plea. A wound masked as a smile. Because he’s the outsider among friends. He’s the extra. He’s just... there. But he’s not part of it. And he knows that. Feels it in his bones. In his heart.

He doesn’t even sleep in the house. Doesn’t sleep on the property. Wanders into the woods. Into the dark. Into solitude. Some would say — it’s just habit, right? He’s used to the wild. Used to isolation. Bullshit. It’s not habit. It’s escape. Because being close — hurts. Watching Abigail, watching John, watching their child — it’s like a blade across the soul. Their dream came true. And him? Who is he? He’s — no one. Once, he was an outcast among outcasts. Now he’s just... the only one left. Alone among the joyful.

And the doubts he voices to John — “Will this life be enough for you?” — that’s not about John. That’s about himself. He’s asking himself. He doesn’t believe happiness is possible for him. That he deserves it. That he’s even capable of feeling something other than this tight, choking loneliness.

And that talk about going north, starting a family, finding a woman... I DON’T BELIEVE IT. NOT A SINGLE WORD. It sounds like a script. A rehearsed line. A mask. A way to say something so they’ll stop asking. He has no plan. No place. No direction. He says it himself. “I don’t know where.”

Not Canada. Not Wapiti. He could’ve gone back there a hundred times. In eight years. But he didn’t. Because he never saw it as home. It was something lost, something nostalgic — not a place he was needed.

And just finding a woman? Really? This is Charles. A man who lets NO ONE in. He’s built like a fortress. In his mind. In his soul. In his silence. And if he lets someone in — it’s forever. And if he doesn’t — no one gets close. This isn’t about “settling down.” This is about finding a soul that moves him. And those are rare. Maybe one. Maybe none.

He says: “These last eight years, I’ve come to accept the things I can’t change.” Is that supposed to be hope? It’s not acceptance. It’s surrender. That’s not light at the end of the tunnel — it’s the tunnel closing in. It’s numbness. It’s emptiness.

And John, dear John… tells him: “You’re the strongest man I know.” I HATE THAT PHRASE. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SAY IT ABOUT HIM. I HATE WHEN PEOPLE SAY IT ABOUT ME. It’s NOT strength. It’s survival. It’s when life beats you so hard, all you learn is not to fall. It’s not a choice. It’s endurance. He’s not strong. He’s exhausted. He’s shattered. He’s lonely, he’s silent, and he’s so, so tired.

Even if he met “the one” — would she love him? The real him? The broken one? The quiet one? The distant one? Or would she fall for the mask — for the “I’ve made peace with the past” lie? And if she never sees the real Charles — how could he ever be happy with her? He doesn’t do halfway. Not him.

Abigail and John are different. She knew his pain. All of it. His monsters. His sorrow. She accepted it. Who would accept Charles? Who even knows who he became?

And in that last ride... he says: “I’m heading north.” Turns down Sadie’s offer to work together. Says it’s time to move on. But what if he wasn’t moving forward. What if he was moving toward the end.

(Another powerful and unwavering argument for me: we all remember how Charles and John ride out to save Uncle in the epilogue — and how Charles, with a chilling steadiness, says that if the uncle’s wounds are too severe, the only mercy left would be to help him cross over. He speaks of killing — not driven by hatred, not poisoned by cruelty — but as a final act of love, a broken, desperate kindness to release a soul from agony. And I ask: was it only uncle’s suffering Charles wished to end? Or was he, too, reaching for a way to quiet his own howling grief? I believe he was. I believe he desperately was.)

What if that was his way of saying goodbye. Softly. Quietly. Not “farewell.” Just — gone. So they could keep living, believing he’s somewhere out there. Alive. Just... far. But in truth — he had already made peace. He had written his ending.

Not to the north. Not to Wapiti. Not to a woman. But to the place where nothing hurts anymore.

And if that’s what happened... if he really left...

...maybe, finally, he found peace.

[dustandthought]

PINKERTON'S FAVORITE WHORE

He Paid to Be Betrayed

I can’t stop thinking about that girl. That shot from the credits — where the Pinkertons approach her with a casual smile, while she’s servicing another client. I’m absolutely sure Charles had been with her more than once, not just during that mission in the Valentine saloon. We’re not shown everything, right? We don’t see how the gang members spend their downtime, when they go into town, who they spend it with.

I’m almost certain Charles wasn’t the only one. Half the guys in the gang clearly had a thing for whores. And that woman — that prostitute — I’m sure she was one of the people who gave information to the Pinkertons. Maybe even about Charles himself, though he managed to leave Beecher’s Hope. In the end, she definitely helped lead them to John.

Working girls don’t care what they get paid for — whether it’s to spread their legs or spill someone’s secrets. Especially if they get paid twice as much. And her clients — even Charles — couldn’t really hide their identity from her. Sure, he’s the quiet type, but if you watch that saloon scene before the cutscene triggers, you can clearly see him talking nonstop to the girls — his mouth never stops moving. We don’t hear any of it, but his lips are constantly moving, like he’s deep in conversation. Javier, by comparison, barely moves his mouth.

Prostitutes aren’t stupid. They take mental notes on their clients — who they are, how much they’re worth, and whether there’s more to gain than just cash. So here’s what I’m thinking… I once read this crackpot theory that Charles was the real rat in the gang. Probably a joke, because the arguments were like: “He drinks coffee. Dutch drinks coffee. Boom — traitor.” Seriously.

But my theory? The girls — the prostitutes — were the real rats. Or at least, they played a way bigger role than anyone realizes. Maybe that sounds even more insane, because I’ve got no hard evidence — except for that one frame in the credits, where she’s clearly giving information to the agents. Maybe not directly about John, but about Charles and Javier? Very likely. And if so, all she did was pass along what the guys themselves told her — in drunken confidence, far too trusting of their smugly satisfied, rented companion for the night.

Where the Gang Fell Apart

We only see things through Arthur’s eyes, but we have no idea what the others are doing. Dutch told them to blend in, act like civilized workers, and find ways to make an honest living. But he didn’t tell them to get black-out drunk, hire whores, and start bar fights. And yet that’s exactly what they did — so recklessly it borders on stupidity. When you’re that drunk, you don’t care who’s listening or what you’re saying.

There’s even a line in a conversation between O’Driscoll members, where they say Colm ordered them not to mess with whores until their job was done. And honestly? He was right. A drunk man whose dick is doing the thinking is no friend to his own brain. And yes — scientific studies confirm that sexual hormones impair both cognitive and physical performance. Aroused men are less rational, more impulsive, and their coordination drops. (This is a bit of a tangent, but it fits.)

So, is it possible that one of the biggest reasons behind the gang’s constant failures wasn’t just Dutch’s madness or Micah’s betrayal — but the reckless, indulgent lifestyle of its men? I’m not blaming them for wanting to satisfy basic urges. But, seriously — showing up as a group of four (Arthur, Javier, Charles, Bill) at the saloon, all of them among the most wanted criminals in the country, openly using their real names, and then starting a fight?

That’s not just carelessness. That’s self-destruction.

[dustandthought]

Charles and Manipulations of Arthur

Yesterday, I came across a post about what happened in Chapter 6: Charles asked Arthur to help Wapiti. And when Arthur began to hesitate and refuse, Charles asked him to do it for him and mentioned that he had saved Arthur's life.

My thoughts: Charles is a brazen, manipulative bastard!!!

I really love Charles, but this is not the case. Dude, this is your friend, what kind of transactional relationship is this? I did this for you, so you do this for me; I gave you this, now you owe me that. First of all! The fact that he supposedly saved Arthur's life was his duty, not a personal favor. Could there have been another option? They went together to rescue Trelawny; they are members of the same gang; they were supposed to work together and protect each other. And the fact that Charles killed a bounty hunter is just a natural process. Could it have been otherwise? It’s like a work process and his duty—to protect Arthur, and it's mutual. So, it's a professional obligation, not a personal request from Arthur or some random favor. Charles, are you serious?

Secondly! If he had no other leverage to pressure Arthur besides manipulation, why didn't he first say: "Arthur, you are the only person I can rely on and trust, please help," instead of: "I saved your life"?

He forces Arthur to do this out of a sense of duty, out of a feeling of obligation, guilt-tripping him. Charles is not as perfect as he is often portrayed: the abuse in this situation cannot be ignored. Neither friendship nor relationships, if they are sincere, can be built on transactional relationships, manipulation, or "you do this for me, I do that for you." They are built on "I will do this for you because you are my friend," not "I owe you." Arthur wouldn’t have refused Charles anyway; he only hesitated at first for show.

And one more thing. Saving someone's life is always a personal choice, not a binding contract. Just because Charles protected Arthur doesn’t mean Arthur is forever in his debt. That was simply the choice Charles made in that moment.

To be fair to Charles, though, I’ll say this: he is not used to being cared for or receiving help. Perhaps that’s why his understanding of friendship and relationships is built on "you do something for me, I do something for you." He may not even realize that someone could care about him without expecting anything in return.

[dustandthought]

Abigail from RDR2

She gives me such mixed feelings. Judgment. Respect. Hatred. Admiration.

Probably the most controversial and complex character for me.

Let’s start with the cons:

A terrible mother.

2. A completely unremarkable person.

1. ⚘️ Mother.🤱

Let’s start with this: when you bring a person into this world, give them life — you carry responsibility. (Many might judge me for criticizing a beloved character, but I speak as a mother .)

I won’t criticize Abigail for her early “job,” where she serviced men. That’s her business. But the fact that she willingly slept with anyone — knowing it could lead to pregnancy — and still got pregnant and gave birth… There’s no excuse for that. Not her age. Not life circumstances. It was completely her responsibility, her choice. (I’m not talking about John here — this post isn’t about him. But yes, I have no fewer complaints about him either — and no excuses.)

It’s terrifying to think that with the number of men she was with, literally anyone could’ve been the father.

And then, when she realizes she’s pregnant, she’s already in the gang, and she tells the potential father — and he refuses to take responsibility.

Okay. So what does Abigail do next? She stays in a gang full of criminals and killers with a child. She raises her son in that environment.

The first thing that surprised me when I played Chapter 1 and got to camp was: “What’s a kid doing here?” I thought maybe he was an orphan they took in or something like that. Because he stayed on the sidelines, didn’t hang around anyone, was always on his own through so many chapters…

And then I realized — this child has a mother. And a father. A father who doesn’t even acknowledge him.

And in my head, I immediately thought: What are you even doing here, woman???

Why would you drag a 4-year-old, dressed in rags and light clothing (while you’re dressed warmly), into the mountains, into snow and a blizzard, where all of you could’ve starved to death if not for Arthur and Charles?

Are you a wanted criminal? No. Do you need to hide? No. Is your child a wanted criminal? No!

Then why the hell are you dragging him into this?

Because of a man who’s ignored you and your child for four years? Because of some fake sense of family with people you used to partially service?

So what’s more important… Your own child, who didn’t ask to be born and was your decision? Or a group of murderers you hang around with, who put your child at risk?

HE DIDN’T ASK TO BE BORN!!! HE DIDN’T ASK TO BE PART OF THIS LIFE!!! HE DIDN’T ASK TO SEE DEATH, STARVATION, THREATS, CRIME, SHOOTOUTS, OR THE ITALIAN MOB!!! HE JUST WANTED TO BE A CHILD — WITH A MOM, A HOME, AND BOOKS!!! 🤬🤬🤬

GIVE HIM A LIFE, NOT JUST SURVIVAL!!!

I was furious at the moment when Abigail told Jack he was wearing rags — then asked Arthur for $5 to buy him clothes…

But then she talks with Grimshaw. Susan says they need money, hints that Abigail should go back to her old job.

And what does Abigail say?

“I don’t do that anymore.”

She refuses. Wants to be better.

Okay… WHAT??? 🤨

Woman, your personal values — that’s admirable. But you have little Jack. He’s hungry. He needs clothes. Not torn boots. BOOKS!

You used to sell yourself when you were hungry — But when your child says, “Mommy, I’m hungry,” you suddenly become moral and above all that?!

Any mother should be willing to do anything for her child — You should go above and beyond, but he shouldn’t have to cry from hunger!!!

And then this moment…

When Jack says he’ll grow up to be a gunslinger — and she tells him he’ll be a lawyer…

…Oh sure, growing up in a gang hideout, of course he’ll be a lawyer…

The only truly selfless, right decision she could’ve made then — Was to leave the gang. Cut ties. Escape. Try — at any cost — to give Jack a better life.

No matter what people say about how hard life was for women back then, about how “there were no jobs” — There WERE jobs. !!! Yes, they were few. Yes, hard. But they existed.

Take Tilly as an example — she got a job as a governess with rich people. You could work in the fields, on a farm, or even still be a prostitute, for all I care — But it would be safer than handing your child over to a mob boss like Angelo Bronte, And after getting him back — doing NOTHING. Not even saying, “That’s it! We’re done here!” No, you go on — keeping him in that nightmare.

2. ⚘️ Wife and Person. 🧘‍♀️

Let’s skip to the epilogue. Abigail, John, and Jack. No more gang. Years have passed.

If in the first half of this post I was completely judging her — Here I’m just… confused.

Why doesn’t she grow as a person? Why doesn’t she learn to read? Why doesn’t she learn to cook? Why is she still making Pearson’s stew eight years later, and still doing it badly?

She knew Pearson way less time than she’s been cooking his damn stew after the gang fell apart!

I never saw any ambition in her. No drive to grow in any area. To become better, to be a role model for her son… Even when she had the chance.

But now — the Pros. Admiration.

Yes, despite everything, Abigail has strong qualities, and I want to highlight them:

1. Even if it took eight years — she goes out and gets a job.

.......................................

And she works! It makes her happy, and it makes me, as a player, happy. Because I am proud of her choice. She starts small, but she earns an honest living, she tries to leave the past behind. She grew up. It’s like watching a messed-up kid finally decide to get their act together. And you think: “Now you’re doing it right. Now — good job.”

2. She chose her child over a man.

......................................

That was the moment I truly respected her. She leaves. She doesn’t want Jack to see death. She doesn’t want that fate for him. Yes, it’s late, but she realized it. She left John, clearly stating what she wants. She didn’t choose herself, or John — she chose Jack. And finally — she acted like a mother.

3. The Ranch.

...........................................

She set a goal. She realized she deserved more than to be a whore or a camp maid. She wanted stability. And she was ready to fight for it. She’s strong. She can do it.

100% respect.

4. She loved John.

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Madly loved him. This woman was ready to do anything for him. And she did everything she could. Loyalty. Courage. Patience. And the ability to look past flaws for the sake of love. It’s crazy. It’s foolish. But in our cruel world — it’s also precious.

5. The dialogue before “American Venom.”

..............................................

I wanted to punch John. Seriously. When he ignored his woman, when she was begging him through tears, and he still walked away to do his thing.

Revenge? Settling scores? The past? I understand John — the need for justice, closure to old pain…

BUT I UNDERSTAND HER TOO.

Anyone who judges Abigail for “throwing a fit” in that moment — Are you serious?! That was a tiny meltdown!

WOMAN, YOU SHOULD’VE KICKED HIM IN THE BALLS.

What kind of man hears his wife cry and still walks off for revenge, risking EVERYTHING? EVERYTHING they built together. Risking making her a widow, and Jack — an orphan.

MIKA COULD’VE WON!!!

Conclusion.

If you compare Abigail Roberts and Abigail Marston — they are two completely different people.

Yes, at the start she fills me with rage and horror. But by the end — I see growth. I see a woman who — late, but still — tried to give Jack the best she could.

She’s not perfect. She’s — just like the rest of us.

And that’s exactly why her character is — beautiful.

I love her. 🩷🩷🩷

(This analysis is only about RDR2, without considering RDR1 events.)

[dustandthought]

Charles and Sadie.

“You remind me of the man I used to be.”

Charles and Sadie. Why he was kind to her, but kept his distance. There’s a theory in psychology that says we’re drawn to those who reflect parts of ourselves—consciously or not. Sometimes it’s clear, sometimes it’s distorted, but we recognize something familiar. It’s an attempt to understand our own inner world through another’s pain. And if you’ve ever looked at someone and thought, “You’re like me, only earlier”—you’ll understand this.

Charles was never romantically interested in Sadie. But in her, he saw echoes of himself. Unshaped. Untamed. Pain turned into rage. 🍂 Impulsiveness. Revenge. Loyalty. Devotion to one love. These traits define them both.

The difference is, Charles faced his trauma much earlier. He didn’t become calm and centered by default. He had to earn that balance—through blood, through fire, through loss. 🍁 I am certain he killed more than a few people who simply happened to be in the wrong place during the storm of his grief.

He slaughtered poachers not only for the buffalo, but in memory of his people. Of his mother. That was never just justice—it was fury. 🌾

And here’s the thing: the only person who ever loved Charles was his mother. A woman. And he had no father figure. This, psychologically, builds a very particular attachment style. He wouldn’t seek dominance in a relationship. Subconsciously, he would always look for a trace of that lost maternal care. A woman he could protect physically, but who would protect his soul with warmth and steady love. 🌿 He lost that too early, and never found it again.

Sadie wasn’t that woman. She wasn’t a mother figure. She was a reflection. A younger brother, if anything. The Charles that once was—wild, reckless, eyes burning with vengeance. 🍃 And while he respected her deeply, admired her strength, she wasn’t someone he wanted to let in. She reminded him of himself, not of what he needed.

But Sadie... I think she liked him. Not in a romantic, dreamy way—but he intrigued her. She mentions him to John, lightly, but there’s something there. And her offer—inviting Charles to work with her after the epilogue—it wasn’t just casual. 🌸

Sadie, you knew that wasn’t his path. You knew before you asked. So why did you ask? Was it a test? A quiet hope that, maybe, if you got close, something could grow?

She saw his wounds and recognized her own. That’s what drew her in. 🍂 He would understand her in a way others couldn’t. He would understand why she doesn’t bake cherry pies and wear flowers in her hair. Because he knows. But any bond between them would never be about passion or love. It would be about understanding. About having a place where you don’t have to explain the ache.

Friendship, maybe. Something more, unlikely.

And Charles made the right choice when he walked away. 🌾 He’s not the kind of man to try and see “what happens.” He knows.

Now about Sadie. Honestly, I don’t see anyone beside her—not for a long time. Jack died while still perfect in her eyes. He never had time to disappoint her. He will always be a symbol of something pure and untouchable. 🍁 And psychologically, when love is frozen in that idealized state—no real man can ever measure up.

No one will ever be “Jack enough.” They’ll all fall short.

So yes, I believe her path lies in solitude. 🍃 Not forever, perhaps. But at least for the years it will take her to let go. To mourn him truly. To stop living for vengeance.

Because sometimes, two wounded people don’t heal each other. They just look at each other and see scars they know too well. 🌿

[dustandthought]

Why He’s Itching (and It’s Not the Mosquitos)

Charles Smith and Sex: Observations & Conclusions(yeah, I’m writing this and yeah, you’re reading it) 🫠 AAAAA!!!!

1. Orientation.I’m not here to start a war. I know there are people with different headcanons and I respect that. But in my personal interpretation? It’s women. You’re welcome to your own opinion, just don’t throw dynamite in the comments. ☺️

2. Testosterone levels: through the goddamn roof.Remember when he straight up YEETED a chair in the saloon? That wasn’t just rage. That was raw, boiling testosterone. And guess what triggered it? Arthur cockblocking his date with a prostitute. That man needs a release — it’s either sex or violence. Choose your fighter. 🤩

3. The ball-scratching epidemic.He’s constantly adjusting himself in camp. CONSTANTLY. Yeah, lots of men do it, but Charles? It's obsessive. My theory? Morning wood. Uncontrollable. He’s just trying to discreetly fix the problem. Also—what’s the first thing he does when he wakes up? Goes to pee. Why? Erection. Science, babe.😏

4. He likes whores.Not because he’s emotionally broken. Because he needs them. Look at the way he watches Karen by the fire. Practically drooling. I’m willing to bet they hooked up once or twice. No strings. No names. Just a good ol' stress dump. Karen’s into Sean, sure — but she’d still bang Charles. (Just not Micah. Never Micah.) 🤪🤔

5. High. Drive. Like, scary high.Morning? Ready. Night? Still ready. That exact window of time where he scratches himself in camp? Yeah. That’s when the urge hits. Man’s got needs, and no outlet. Dangerous combo. 😚😍

6. He’d watch you bathe.And you’d never know. Man’s a stealth expert — he could track a deer through fog. You think you’re alone at the river? You’re not. Also, he sniffs things. Not in a gross way — he just loves scents. Ever notice how he sniffs his cigarettes and rolls his eyes back like he's ascending? Yeah. Now imagine him picking up your shirt when you're gone, just to get a whiff. Creepy? A little. Hot? Also a little. 💋💕💛

7. Not very experienced.Don’t get it twisted — he’s had sex. But it’s been samey, soulless, and mostly with working girls. Lots of quantity, low on quality. He wants something real. He just doesn’t know how to get there yet. But he’s open to learning — very open. You just gotta take the lead. 🫠🫠🫠

8. Fast finisher.Like, real fast. You touch him the right way and it’s over. Man’s got no self-control. But hey — enthusiasm counts for something, right? 🤠❣️

In conclusion: He’s primal, he’s horny, he’s emotionally constipated. A perfect storm of repressed lust and pent-up tenderness. God help the person who actually decides to love him. 💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥💥

[dustandthought]

Arthur is Charles's father.

What if Arthur and Charles had met earlier?..

I recently stumbled upon a post about the age gap between Arthur Morgan and Charles Smith in Red Dead Redemption 2, and it got me thinking… What if they had actually met earlier? Like, back when Charles ran away from his father (or killed him, according to Noshir Dalal’s version). At that time, Charles was just a lost, scared kid — alone in the world with no guidance, no safety net.

Meanwhile, Arthur was almost ten years older and going through one of the hardest moments of his life — the loss of his only son, Isaac. It’s only mentioned briefly in the game, but that doesn’t mean it wasn’t important. Arthur just doesn’t talk much about the things that hurt him the most.

So here’s the scenario I can’t stop thinking about: Arthur is wandering through the mountains. Charles tries to rob him. Arthur beats the hell out of him (classic), but then realizes the boy is just hungry and terrified. No threats, no weapons. Just fear.

And maybe — just maybe — Arthur decides to take care of him. Could Arthur have become to Charles what Dutch once was to Arthur? A mentor, a protector. Maybe even… a father figure?

The age difference between Dutch and Arthur is actually smaller than between Arthur and Charles, so why not? Would Charles have called Arthur “dad” instead of “friend”? Would Dutch become the “grandpa”? (That thought cracks me up, honestly — Grandpa Dutch!)

But jokes aside… I think it would’ve changed Arthur deeply. He never truly healed from losing Isaac. He didn’t talk about it, but that pain never left him. And Charles — loyal like a damn dog, tough but so full of heart — he would’ve loved Arthur as a father, not just a friend. That’s exactly what he needed back then. Not a gun, not a gang — a parent. A safe place.

I imagine Charles still full of fear but naïve enough to trust this gruff stranger who didn’t kill him when he had the chance. A scared little pup, growling at the world but still hopeful.

It’s such a shame we never got that. They could’ve healed each other — not just as friends, but as family. And if not “father and son,” then maybe “big brother and little brother.” Still… it would’ve meant everything.

P.S. If you hate this idea, just scroll past. No need to start another hate fest like last time. Show some respect — to yourself, first and foremost. Peace and love to everyone.

[dustandthought]

Charles is in your house

Let's imagine!

You found yourself in the Wild West. Charles is in trouble—on the verge of life and death. The only way to save him is to take him into your home. Your modern home, regardless of the country. He agrees, having nowhere else to go: his strength is drained, the bitter cold rages outside, and the lawmen are already on his trail. Only in your home can he hide and recover.

You rush inside. Exhausted and starving, Charles nearly collapses. His eyes show fatigue, distrust, and a faint glimmer of hope—weak, almost extinguished, yet still flickering. There is no ready-made food at home, but while you prepare something quick, you offer him a shower. He grimaces—not out of reluctance, but rather surprise. It’s unfamiliar to him; he expected a basin, maybe a bathtub, but instead, there’s a modern showerhead and mysterious bottles labeled "shampoo." He runs his fingers over the smooth surface, as if testing its reality. You explain how everything works and ask him to undress so you can wash his clothes.

He refuses, not wanting to trouble you, but you laugh and show him the washing machine, explaining that hardly anyone washes clothes by hand anymore. He scoffs, shakes his head, but doesn’t argue. Embarrassed, he agrees.

While the machine does its job, you boil water for instant noodles and head to the room to prepare his sleeping place. The air still carries traces of his road-worn scent, now mixed with the freshness of cleanliness. On the nightstand, beneath a magazine, you casually leave a photo of yourself—partially unclothed. It has been there for a month… but now, it feels particularly well-placed.

Charles emerges from the shower, wrapped in a towel. Droplets still slide down his hair, and his body appears unusually relaxed. You hand him clean clothes—left behind by a relative who visited a year ago and never returned for them. The fabric is oddly soft to him, lacking the rough texture of his usual wool. He hesitates but accepts them gratefully.

At dinner, he cautiously takes a bite of the noodles, as if expecting a trick. But by the second spoonful, he devours them with an appetite, as if it’s the most delicious thing he has ever eaten. He notices your gaze, looks up… and sees your smile. In that moment, he is more grateful to you than ever, because he has nothing to compare your food to—only what he made himself or what Pearson used to prepare. He doesn’t say the words aloud, but his eyes convey everything.

When it’s time to sleep, Charles hesitates again—he’d rather sleep in the barn, so as not to inconvenience you. But the barn is already full, and you insist he stays inside. He doesn’t argue, though it’s clear he’s uneasy about it. You explain that you’ll be in the next room and tell him to call you if he needs anything.

Night falls. He can’t sleep. The mattress is too soft, the thoughts are too heavy. Fear, despair, uncertainty. His eyelids grow heavy, yet his mind remains awake. His gaze drifts to the magazine on the nightstand. He picks it up, lazily flipping through the pages… and suddenly, he sees your photo. He blinks sharply, as if making sure he isn’t imagining it. Damn it… It’s been so long since he’s been with a woman.

Thirst forces him to get up. He quietly makes his way to the kitchen, trying not to make a sound. Under the moonlight, he sees you. You are silently sipping tea. The warm steam rises from the cup, and the light reflects in your eyes.

"I… umm…" he mumbles awkwardly.

You stand up, smirking, and say you understand how hard it is to fall asleep in a new place. There’s no teasing in your voice, only quiet confidence. You step closer and, before he can say anything, whisper, "You’re so beautiful…"

He remains silent, stunned. And then, you take a bold step—a quick, fleeting kiss. You pull back, waiting for his reaction. It doesn’t take long—at first, his eyes are filled with surprise, but then, his hand reaches for your waist. He hesitates, but then he gives in… And the next kiss marks the beginning of an unforgettable night.