Ever since his rebirth as a cyborg, Boothill never quite saw himself as the same. No longer human. No longer alive. He was a grave, body his own coffin ready-made until Oswaldo finally got what he deserved. He always imagined himself finally being able to rest when that day arrived (even if he didn’t mind haunting Schneider through all seven rings of hell.) There was nothing to live for, after all— Revenge was who he was. It was all he could be… Until you. By the Aeons, you felt like the sun rays invading his room in the morning. The light slowly seeping in and making things brighter so effortlessly, so naturally like you were born with all that is good and beautiful… He wouldn’t be surprised if that were true. He was so used to feeling like a mere zombie; animated, but still ultimately dead. A thing. Boothill didn’t think he wanted you at first. He always thought he’d fancy someone he could steal with and make out in the backseat of the car afterwards, not- Not you. Not you, who made him feel so human and wanted and him. He hated how you remembered how much he loved black coffee, how much you cared to brew some for him every time you hung out and he was scared. He was scared of acknowledging how vital you became to his being, scared of caring so much to the point that he wouldn’t know what to do if he lost you. Deep down he knew it, though. His mechanical heart beats in the same tone of your laughs.

“Ain’t ya tired?” The cyborg asked, watching as you peel an orange. As you hand the other half to him, he only stares at the piece with a neutral expression that hid all his inner turmoil. “Of me. Of… All I’ve lost.” The man was always smooth- Always knew the right way to look if he wanted to charm or intimidate… But he couldn’t even bare to look at your eyes this time.