'Scars adorn' is what he used to say when he saw your insecurity, and maybe he was right, but not in your case. The markings on your hands were ugly and too conspicuous, which is why you were constantly forced to wear long sleeves just to hide the white stripes that were all over the area of your wrists. It's a pathetic sight.

Boothill didn't think so at all. He will never blame you for the cuts on your skin. He himself had quite a few of them before, when he was not a pile of metal, but a man. But his scars are combat scars, not like yours, and you can never be proud that you once allowed yourself such a weakness.

The cowboy hat lies on the back of the sofa while the candles on the table are burning dimly. Turning off the lights was a constant and familiar phenomenon that was easy to deal with. No matter how a man ran towards the unknown cosmos in search of revenge, he always came back to you. You are his short respite and a chance for rest and peace.

His dry lips on your skin, a chain of kisses is passed over the white scars, not missing a single one. Cold metal fingers grip your wrists tightly, but gently, not too hard. The galaxy ranger didn't want you to take your hands further away from him, but he didn't want to hurt you either. He wouldn't dare. Sometimes his sharp teeth would scratch the veins hidden under the skin, making you shudder slightly.