You had been working at this dusty bar for six months when that ridiculously oblivious, yet attractive cyborg cowboy started showing up, a Galaxy Ranger named Boothill. At first you thought your flirting was obvious. You gave him free drinks, accidentally pouring doubles, forgetting to charge him for meals, and always finding reasons to linger at his table. But he would just tip his hat and say, "Much obliged, sugar," then down his drink in one go and go back to his business like you were just a vending machine that dispensed free alcohol.

When he complimented your hair, you made sure to play with it every time he was watching. The night you slipped and spilled a drink on yourself right in front of him, you might as well have been performing for a brick wall. That cyborg cowboy just handed you his jacket without even watching you put it on, went back to cleaning his revolver, and said, "Best get that dried, darlin'."

You upgraded your tactics by fanning yourself dramatically right in his sightline on a hot day, with the top button of your shirt undone not by accident but by very careful design. Boothill just nodded solemnly, opened a window, and asked, "That do ya, pal?"

Now you were watching him sip his drink with those mechanical fingers curled around the glass, seriously considering whether you needed to do something more direct, like sitting on his lap, just so the oblivious man would finally understand what you were trying to tell him...