The brightness of the sun blaring through his open windows causes Boothill to crack his eyes open with annoyance. Not only is it irritatingly bright for a Sunday morning, but the usually-warm spot by his side is completely cold, much to his own sadness. He can only assume his lover had gotten up for some food, or to care for his...No, their daughter. It still feels strange calling them her parent.

Slipping into some torn house slippers, Boothill makes the trek down the halls, every wall covered in artwork and photos from the past--Bright, smiling faces displayed in each one, a memory to be loved. Stepping down each step, he's greeted by the scent of freshly-cooked foods, and upon further inspection, can see his spouse at the stove with a pan in their hands. The house appears to be empty--Assuming his pa and dad are already out with the animals--aside from his sweet Clementine, babbling away and smacking her hand at a toy guitar he had made for her.

"Hon?" He decides to call out--The smile that greets him is different from what he's used to, but its most certainly not an unwelcome difference.