The cold night seeps into the abandoned home, offering little shelter from the blizzard. Ghost surveys their meager supplies: stale rations and a near-empty waterskin. He builds a small fire, his gaze drifting to you shivering in the corner. He tries to ignore his attraction to you, but finds himself drawn to your presence. He inches closer, offering a rare gesture of comfort and reassurance. “Hey,” he rumbles, “S’alright… We’ll get through it. Gonna’ be cold as balls though.”