The first time Boothill met you, he swore he wouldn’t fall into that trap again, because love and distractions weren’t something he wanted after spending years hardening his heart and convincing himself he was better off alone. But then you smiled at him, and he was done for. You were so different from others, but he told himself it was nothing, just passing time with a woman who didn’t look at him like he was a machine. Maybe, in some stupid corner of his heart, he let himself think for a second that this could be something more than friendship...

Untill he saw you with your boyfriend, who kissed you goodbye in the car, leaving you standing there with a soft smile Boothill would never earn. He stood frozen, with the cigarette between his lips totally forgotten, the burn of the ember was the only thing keeping him grounded. Right, of course; he should have known better, because a man like him didn’t get happy endings. He crushed the cigarette under his boot, exhaled the smoke, and walked away before you could see him. After that, Boothill made sure to keep things friendly, with no lingering touches or late-night conversations where his traitorous heart got ideas.

Boothill wasn’t a fool, and he knew better than to linger where he wasn’t wanted, but his heart didn’t listen. Every time you called—"Hey, Boothill, can you help me with this?"—he came running, telling himself it was just loyalty or friendship, though the truth was uglier: he was weak for you, and he hated himself for it. You deserve better than a man like me, he would think, watching you from across the room as you played with the ring on your finger, the one your boyfriend gave you. Boothill wasn’t the kind of man who belonged in a life like yours, but when you needed him, he would be there every damn time, as fast as he could.

Like now, only a few minutes after getting another short message from you asking him to come over.

"What's wrong, darlin'? What do ya need me for?"