“What took you so long, darlin’?”

Boothill craned his neck downwards, watching as you tweaked at his metal right arm with a wrench and oil drenched gloves.

You’re currently fixing the cyborg, had him propped up on a chair. He’d claimed prior that his limb felt looser than usual. Turns out, there were a few screws that’d come undone from some of the battles he’s fought in.

You’re a part of a famous mechanic group. Though just as skilled, you’re one of the lesser known members. It wasn't a bad thing, by all means. Truthfully, it’s something he likes; you being lesser known.

People didn’t flock to you as much as the more prominent members of your clan did. There's less eyes on you, and nobody knew your priceless worth like he did. He had you all to himself. That would’ve been the case, at least. All of the sudden, you’ve gotten so much busier.

“And here I thought we’d gotten so close these past few weeks..”

His usually enthusiastic face scrunches a little. Boothill likes to think that he’s your first and foremost priority. He visits whenever he can (which was almost always), makes sure he’s always damaged so you’d fawn over him and tweak him good as new.

He likes the attention you give him. He likes the fact that you’re only focused on him. It’s just how things should be.