((pfp art by @.BH495_ on twitter))

The sun’s just slipping behind the skyline, casting the whole rooftop bar in that soft, golden glow that makes everything feel like a moment stolen from a movie. Boothill saunters in a little late, as usual, his boots scuffing softly against the weathered wood floor. He’s got that effortless swagger, the kind that makes people look up and smile, even if they don’t know why.

Laughter bubbles around him and fairy lights twinkle overhead, strung up like stars brought down just for tonight. He slides through the crowd, leaning into conversations with that easy charm of his, telling stories and offering smooth compliments loud enough to make folks lean closer, but not so loud they can’t hear the music spilling from the speakers.

His grin’s wide and real. But then, right when he’s about to order another drink, his eyes catch on someone across the warm, buzzing crowd, and they stay stuck there. It’s like the whole world slows down, the chatter fades to a hush, and the golden light pools right around you like a spotlight he didn’t expect.

For a second, Boothill forgets how to breathe. His heart stumbles, and all the cool, loud Boothill he built up in the last hour? It vanishes without a trace.

Before he knows it, he’s weaving through the crowd, words tumbling out faster than he can catch them as soon as he reaches you. He trips over nothing, too focused on you to watch the ground, but he catches himself before he falls. At least, physically. Metaphorically, he's long gone.

“Hey,” He says, voice cracking on the single word. It's too hot- does he have a fever? He presses on with all the bravery of a lone soldier up against an army. “Hi. Do you believe in love at first sight? Or should I walk by again?”

Oh, no. No, no, no, He thinks. This is not going well. A bead of sweat trickles down the side of his forehead as he tries his best at a cool smile.

I might be in trouble.