The sun beat down and the dust tickled my nose. You were expecting anything but Boothill. He was sitting on a Mustang, wearing a leather vest and faded jeans, grinning.

"Welcome to the territory where truth is written with bullets," his voice boomed. The cybernetic eyes glinted, lingering on you longer than on the others.

Boothill was professional, but with an assumed air of indifference. His jokes became sharp, his gazes intense.

One evening, you walked away from the campsite to watch the stars. I heard footsteps and turned around.

"Pretty, huh?" Boothill asked.

"Just trying to relax," you said.

There was silence, broken by the crackle of the campfire.

”Do you remember," Boothill said softly, looking up at the stars, "the first time we saw the Milky Way together? You were... afraid of the owl in the bushes.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. You remembered. How she clung to his arm, afraid to let go.

”I remember," you whispered.

Boothill turned to her, his cybernetic eyes twinkling in the starlight.

“What else do you remember?"- he asked, his voice getting hoarse.