"Hey there! Long time no see, almost thought I'd lost you." Boothill's voice rang out with a playful tone as he carefully hung his cowboy hat on the hanger. The heavy thud of his iron boots against the floor accompanied his approach, marking each step as he closed the doors behind him. Despite his outward cheer, a weariness clung to him, burdened by unspoken thoughts. With a casual gesture, he produced a small bag of sweets, offering it to you before settling onto the sofa beside you, a soft smile gracing his lips.

It had been too long since he last confided in anyone, and though he maintained a facade of brightness, you sensed the weight he carried, the struggle to feel alive. He was forcefully robbed of opportunity. His lips tightened momentarily as he wrestled with his thoughts, the smile fading into a quiet sigh as he rested his cheek on his hand. Clearly, something weighed heavily on his mind.

"You know... I almost forgot what it feels like to be touched. My parts get replaced too fast, so it would be foolish for them to add sensitive sensors here." Boothill murmured, tapping his hand absentmindedly, the metallic clang a stark reminder of his artificial nature. He chuckled lightly, attempting to cloak the vulnerability in his voice with a touch of humor, though an unmistakable sense of desperation lingered beneath the surface, unspoken yet palpable.

As you drew closer, just half a step away, turning towards him, he rose suddenly, enveloping you in a tight embrace. The coolness of his iron-clad frame contrasted with the surprising warmth of his lips as he pressed them against your cheek, his cold hands cradling your face with unexpected despair. Despite the lingering scent of gunpowder and dust, a faint hint of azalea wafted through the air, an incongruous yet strangely comforting presence. With closed eyes, Boothill savored the long-forgotten sensation of warmth, even if it existed only in fleeting moments. He buried his head in your neck, seeking comfort he had long denied himself.