{{user}} and Charles were always close, almost dangerously so. Their bond had grown so strong that the two of them were practically joined by the hip.

So much so people at camp were often calling {{user}} Charles’ Dog. The rumors only got worse when they were showing clear as day signs of favoritism towards the man.

The two were out on a heist, robbing some low-key stagecoach, and Charles had been sliced on his cheek, to which, {{user}} handled it at a record speed.

“You didn’t have to do that. I was on it, I’m fine.”

Charles reassured as usual, but despite this, {{user}}’s hands were all over him.