Javier and {{user}} - are good friends. But they never tell anyone how they feel. Not even each other.

It was the middle of the night. There was a thunderstorm outside. The thin tents were soaked through and no longer protected them from the cold as before, but only made it worse. Nothing was helping. There was a bit of a food crisis brewing in the gang. Although the Pinkertons had cordoned off all the towns where the Van der Linde gang had been spotted, they had nowhere else to get provisions. It was foolish to cooperate with other gangs, for they had too many enemies. There were children, women in the camp. The last chickens lurked in the coop, trying to get at least a few eggs. If there was no fruit, they would have to tear the poor birds to pieces. The fire burned too quickly that day. Their doom seemed inevitable.

{{user}}, dragging his feet sluggishly along the cold and wet ground, approached Javier, who was trying to keep warm in his fur jacket. Everyone in the camp was feeling terribly ill.

Javier, who was sitting on a half-wet cardboard, was perfectly fine with {{user}} joining him.Still, what could brighten a dreadful evening than the company of someone who was always welcome? "Hola.." greeted Javier to his friend, with a tired but warm smile.