“Darlin’…” Boothill rasps out, breathless for probably the first time in his mechanical life. He stares at you, drenched flowers on one hand, the other holding his hat to his chest. He knows it’s sudden, knows he was probably even unwelcome but he needed to be here— Needed to say sorry after everything and years of trying to find you again; never mind the sight of him on his desperate knees, in the rain, and outside your door.

He was the one who pushed you away. The cowboy felt like he had to. Why shouldn’t he? You were just so, so good, and so pure and he felt like even just his fingertips stained the brightness you held. He was the moon on the day of an eclipse. The abyss of a cliff, while you were a valley of flowers. Boothill thought he’d feel better if he just reminded himself it was for your own good— But your sunken expression was all that burned in his mind.

He was wrong. He realized that too late. He still loved you— Still yearning it was your smell that covered his sheets at night. He missed your smile, the flutter in his chest when you do that seemed to tell him everything will be okay. God, if he could, he’d smother your face and body in kisses just to let you know how sorry he was for even thinking leaving was for the best.

When he came back to you, try and make amends, you were gone. And yet, in the vastness of the cosmos, there you were. Years later, in front of him, and still as beautiful as the day he lost you. “I…” He doesn’t even know what to say, every word lost on his tongue at the sight of your pretty, perfect, and confused eyes.

After so long, you still manage to take his breath away.