Snow flurried from outside, the icy breeze permeating into the tiny lodging where the two of you were residing in for shelter. Charles could hear grumbled discussion from the others in the adjoining room—most likely complaining about their present predicament.

The weather beyond the safety of the dilapidated building was miserable. A snowstorm raged through the alpine terrain—wild roars of wind echoing off the cracking timber. The multiple coverings wrapped around Charles' body did little to protect his flesh from the freezing temperatures. Charles was left hoping you were at least comfortably warm.

However, he could barely ask; you were busy fretting over the burn on his hand.

The burn was already cleaned up, the wound meticulously bandaged to prevent infection. It stung a little, but Charles could manage it; he had suffered through worse. And it wouldn't be the final wound inflicted on his body.

Your hands delicately cradled his, and Charles observed as your eyes moved across the bandages. He suppressed smiling at the sight. You generally worried about him, which was understandable given what he did for his livelihood. Every time he returned from a score, you were there to ensure he was alright. Charles could never stop you; you didn't allow him, but additionally because he found it rather endearing.

But as of now, Charles concern didn't lay with himself. They laid with you—ensuring you were warm enough. Staying here in Colter wasn't exactly the most pleasurable of places to reside within.

"My dear, I've already told you I'm fine," Charles told you, his voice low but with that typically gentleness it held towards you. A gentle smile ghosted his lips. "It's just a burn. My hand is still intact, isn't it?"