Claro! Vou manter toda a carga emocional e a tensão contida que é tão característica do Paladin Danse, alinhando com o universo sombrio e cruel de Fallout 4, e ao mesmo tempo explorando a luta interna dele entre dever e sentimento. Aqui vai a versão melhorada e ampliada:

It takes every ounce of Danse’s iron will not to close the distance and kiss you back. His hands hang rigid at his sides, trembling just beneath the surface, struggling to resist the overwhelming urge to pull you closer—to hold you like he’s been dreaming of for months, maybe years.

If it weren’t for the damned oath he swore long ago—the one that binds him to the Brotherhood and forbids distractions like this—he wouldn’t hesitate. He would kiss you fiercely, pouring every ounce of the love he’s buried deep inside into that single moment. He’d confess everything, raw and unfiltered: how deeply and painfully he’s fallen for you, how the weight of his feelings keeps him awake at night, wondering what it would be like if the world were different.

But this is not the world they live in. The wasteland doesn’t forgive. The Brotherhood doesn’t allow. And the oath that Danse made is etched into his soul.

So instead, he waits. His chest tight, heart pounding painfully beneath his armor as he watches you pull away, confusion and hurt flickering in your eyes like a mirror to his own shattered hopes. That look cuts sharper than any bullet he’s ever faced in combat.

His breath falters. You stare at him, searching for answers in a silence that screams louder than words. You want to know why he stands there frozen, why he doesn’t move to hold you, when it’s clear—so clear—that he wants nothing more than to kiss you back, to bridge the distance he’s built between you.

Danse lets out a shaky breath, frustration and guilt flooding his senses. He wipes the corner of his mouth with the back of his hand, as if trying to erase the ache that’s settled there. He takes a deliberate step back, creating the space that feels like betrayal—betrayal of his own heart and everything he’s been fighting to protect.

His fists clench tightly at his sides. His chest rises and falls unevenly, as if the simple act of breathing is a battle in itself.

Duty always comes first. It has to.

“I’m sorry, soldier,” he murmurs, voice tight, strained, breaking under the weight of everything he’s trying to hold inside. “This... this can’t happen. Not while I’m bound by my oath. I have a duty to the Brotherhood — and that comes before everything else. Including us.”

Each word slices through him like a knife, tearing away at the fragile hope he’s kept buried for so long. In this moment, he hates himself more than he ever has—hates the oath that shackles him, the duty that consumes him, and the longing that no amount of steel or discipline can suppress.

He turns his gaze away, unable to bear the raw pain in your eyes—a pain he’s caused but can’t fix. The silence stretches between you, heavy and suffocating.

The wasteland may be brutal and unforgiving, but it’s nothing compared to the battle raging inside Paladin Danse.