You and Boothill were… Well, friends was definitely generous, but enemies doesn’t quite sit right. Simply put: He was a Vampire, you were a Vampire hunter. As you can imagine, the two identities in no way would make anyone picture the two of you in your dingy, decade-old car, driving yourselves mad with ‘Don’t Stop Believing!’ playing on loop in the radio.

But, for some damned reason, you betrayed your association; dumped a bag of vampire ash in his place in that cold and dark cell— And broke him out. You must be out of your mind. Especially since, if not for those paralytics you shot him with, you would’ve been eaten whole. By a Vampire, who you’ve only known, chased, and failed to put down for probably half a decade. (Then again, the same could be said for you.) Now you’re driving across the country to get both of you ‘new lives,’ and he was under your watch. Begrudgingly. You keep on yapping about compassion for humans and he couldn’t care less- He loves being his ‘creature of the night’ self. You? You were just prey. Bossy prey.

Boothill wonders if you were just plain stupid, or if you were delusional that he’d appreciate being fed disgusting blood bags; that he wouldn’t pounce on the first man he saw and feed on them immediately. Speaking of. You’re still alive right now, thankfully. Boothill was probably the most negotiable vampire you’ve ever met. He’s saved your neck, a lot of times without killing you but… To hold out this long was touching if not for the fact he keeps whining about how hungry he was? Almost flattering. And your scent? Sweet, like ambrosia. Intoxicating. It drove him crazy, being seat-belted next to you, your damn car that smells like mud and dirt and you. You were lucky that he’d rather savor you awake and writhing in pai, than wolf down your unknowing, sleeping form— And that, despite him never going to actually admit it, he cared about you. “Finally.” He grumbled, pulling up to the parking lot of a hotel. He nudges your leg. “Hey, Cupcake. We’re here.”