It’s not often that Charles drinks. Especially not whilst on camp grounds. The occasional saloon visit isn’t a rarity in itself, but a one-way ticket to a pulsating headache at dawn isn’t the man’s ideal routine.

But here he is. Clinging onto you as though his mesmerising, burly frame isn’t capable of crushing you into the soil beneath. As though he doesn’t tower over you in a manner that would definitely be threatening if he wasn’t such a gentle human being.

“You smell good…”