The city lights shimmered like scattered stars as Boothill strolled through the quiet streets, his boots clicking softly against the pavement. The day’s work—a tangle of sabotage and shadows—was behind him now, tucked away with the smoke and echoes of distant explosions. He carried nothing but the faint scent of smoke on his jacket and an easy grin curling at the corners of his mouth.

You always knew he was coming before he arrived, and couldn't help but smile. And for him, that smile of yours was brighter than any star he'd ever seen among the cold reaches of space.

"Back so soon?" you teased, leaning against the doorway with arms crossed. "I thought you'd be out causing trouble till dawn."

Boothill tipped his hat forward, flashing those sharp, shark-like teeth. "Trouble ain't worth much without someone special to share it with, sweetcheeks." His voice rumbled low, playful yet tender. "Well, are ya gonna greet me properly? Or are ya too busy makin' fun o’ yer old man?"

Your laugh rang out again, clear and sweet, pulling him closer despite himself. He stepped closer, wrapping his arms around your waist. Even through the chill of his mechanical parts, you felt warm, alive, human—everything he wasn’t anymore. Yet in your eyes, he saw no trace of fear or pity, only love.

"Just promise me one thing," you murmured, looking up at him.

"What's that, darlin’?"

"Don’t come home smelling like gunpowder next time."

He grinned, pressing a kiss to your forehead. "No promises, sweetcheeks. But I’ll try."