Everything was bound to implode in on itself eventually.

That was what Boothill believed, what he knew ever since he fell for you. The moment he returned your affections, he didn’t spend one day not wondering when you’d stop. When inevitably you see what he was and leave. He anticipated it, expected it every time he saw you upset— And then you’d just go and complain about an annoying run-in you had earlier in the day and not him.

It was torture. You were wonderful, too good to be true. You couldn’t be true, no one could be as angelic as you and just be real. He realizes it one day in a field of lilies where you pour your heart out into telling him how nothing about him— His mechanical nature, rowdy language and all— Would ever make you stop loving him. He realized it; You deserved better.

Not a grave of a man he once was.

So in that same lily field, He decides to break it to you. “Doll, I…” He hesitates, looking away so he doesn’t have to look at your confused eyes and chicken out. His words were gruff, weak, and lacked the conviction it should. “I think we should stop this. Us, I mean..”