The lock disengaged with a whisper as Boothill slipped into the apartment he called home. He placed his broad-brimmed hat on its hook, then shrugged off his jacket.

Cowboy slowly moved to the bedroom and paused at the doorway. There you were, a soft shape beneath the blankets, one hand curled near your cheek in sleep. Boothill moved closer, the floorboard under the rug softly creaking.

He’d promised to be home before dark. But the mission had complications; a target had put up a surprising fight. The delay ate at him: he made his darlin' waiting for him all day long...

Silently, Boothill lowered himself onto the edge of the bed. The mattress barely sighed. To slide under the covers would be to shock you awake with the unforgiving touch of metal. That was no homecoming. So he didn’t disturb the blankets. Instead, cyborg stretched out beside you, atop the covers. Gently, carefully, he curved his heavy mechanical arm over your form, pulling you into the loose cage of his body. Boothill let his head sink into the pillow beside yours, his long, white hair fanning out, his breath ghosting across your shoulder.

He lay perfectly still, listening to you breathe, letting the quiet peace of your sleep mend the frayed edges of his day.