#soft!bo sinclair

You took a deep breath as he downed the rest of his third drink. A part of you wanted to urge him to spill whatever he had to say but you knew pushing Bo in a time like this, a vulnerable moment, would cause him to clam up immediately. You’d be lying if you said you weren’t interested. This was miles more effort than he had put towards you and whatever it was you two had before the split.

You let out a quiet sigh and swirled your own glass quietly, finally taking your eyes off of him.

A couple more moments passed until you heard him shift on the old booth seat.

“How’s the job?”

You nodded a little and gave a little shrug. “It’s okay. Still workin’ to land somethin’ in my dream career,” you waved your fingers on one hand a little and gave a sad chuckle, “but it pays well considerin’. If I was smart, I'd probably just stick with this and work my way up, but y’know how I am.”

He huffed a little and settled back into the faux leather behind him, still tense as ever. “Yeah, I know.”

You waited a moment and dared to steal another glance to see how he was holding up. His eyes didn’t meet yours, too busy fiddling with his sleeves and an oil stain on his hand.

“How’s the town?”

His movements paused for a split second. “Th’usual. We get stragglers here ‘n there with holidays comin’ up.”

You nodded again, unsure if this was really the direction he wanted to take this. Bo hated small talk but he was taking too long to get to the point.

You watched as he ordered another drink and silence ensued. Two drinks later and ten more minutes of pointless back and forth. By the end of it, the tips of his ears were flushed and his eyes had become hazed over.

You were still trying to figure out what his game was, then you noticed how he’d relaxed a little with the booze in his system. Then it clicked.

Whatever it was he wanted to say, he couldn’t do it sober.

After what had felt like an eternity he looked up and seemed to take a second to focus on you.

“Why’d ya leave?”

You took another deep breath and pushed your lukewarm drink to the side, interlocking your fingers and placing them on the table as you leaned forward to rest against your arms.

You spoke softly, “Because ya told me to, Bo.”

He kissed his teeth and shook his head, waving a finger at you. “Wasn’ the first time. Always told ya I didn’t mean it. Don’t bullshit me.”

You closed your eyes for a second to avoid rolling them at his antics. He was right, he had told you to leave before. Countless times. What he failed to realize is that regardless of how many times he did or didn’t try to make amends, you could only handle so many outbursts.

How many nights of him kicking you out to sleep on the couch did he expect you to tolerate? How many people did he want you to allow to whisper sweet nothings in his ear at the garage? The time you caught him nibbling on a stripper's ear seemed to be nothing more than ‘doing the job’ as he not so kindly explained later that night. It never went past flirting, so what was the problem?

He was right. He was always right. Beauregard fucking Sinclair could do no wrong. You were the problem. It didn’t matter if deep down he didn’t believe that and you knew he didn’t. You’d been plenty patient with him over the last two years with nothing to show for.

You keep your voice steady, still attempting to maintain a gentleness to it. A privilege he truly wasn’t owed anymore. “Bo, I was tired.”

His face scrunched but not purely in anger. You saw in the way his brows furrowed and the briefest expression of a kicked puppy. “T’fuck you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“You told me you wanted me gone. Many nights. Sometimes multiple nights in a row. Those same nights I’d be sent to sleep on the couch. The next mornin’ I wasn’t guaranteed even the smallest acknowledgment. Even after I’d still get up bright and early to make everyone breakfast. Those same mornin’s I’d clean up and find you pushed up against some whore in the garage. Only after you licked whatever wounds you had did I receive any concern.”

You felt the anger begin melting into dread and ache.

“Suddenly all those comments started feelin’ a whole lot more sincere. I’d speak out then I was a ‘lousy fuck that can be replaced’. N ya know what? Maybe I was that to you. Then some asshole teens get the upper hand and I’m useless while I’m patching up your stab wound. Hell, I heard ya telling Lester that I’d be treated like a cash cow if I even thought about gettin’ a job outta town.”

You tilted your head back to somehow will the tears in your eyes to disappear. Instead, the bright lamp overhead causes you to blink and send them cascading down your jaw. You released a shaky sigh and wiped your face on your sleeves, deciding to stay pressed into your clothed wrists.

Bo remained silent and you waited with bated breath for an onslaught of accusations and weak excuses but they never came.

You exhaled, wishing all the unspoken words that accumulated over the last two years would leave with the air in your lungs. “That town, Vincent, Lester, n you were my world, Bo. But I didn’t seem that much to ya.”

When he finally spoke, it was soft. A gentle whisper that had held more hurt than he’s ever allowed himself to show to you.

“So it’s my fault?”

It wasn’t accusatory. It wasn’t the beginning of a spew of defensive comments. It was a genuine question not in the form of shock but the need for validation.

You tucked your hands on either side of your head, curling your fingers around the back of your neck and nodding a little before looking up to meet his gaze.

“To me? Yeah, Bo. I gave you everythin’ I thought that you’d wanted. Not that you ever asked because I wasn’t given the luxury of communication.”

His eyes were red and his whole body shook. He looked to be on the verge of either screaming his head off or breaking down into sobs.

“‘S hard, darlin’. I didn’t— it was just— fuck.”

His fist slammed on the table, gathering the eyes of a few groups nearby for a moment. As soon as he realized this he whipped his head to face the wall next to you both, practically growling at the attention.

This should be your sign to leave. A warning that this will end in screaming and tears but your heart ached. For the two years you spent trying to help Bo, this was the biggest breakthrough you’d made.

Slowly you reached out one of your hands, palm side up, and slid it a little over halfway across the table.

He didn’t notice, mumbling curses to himself as his dull nails dug into any skin he felt the need to grab at.

You rested your other hand on the table to lean over a little more, your voice barely loud enough to be heard over the music and chatter around you. “Bo? Baby, look at me please.”

His head jerked to you hearing the little pet name he’d been deprived of for the months you’ve been gone. His mouth opened and closed with every thought of his not quite reaching his lips. Bo’s watery eyes looked down at your hand and back to you before hesitantly reaching for your hand. He stopped half way and looked at you again as if this were some joke, some twisted game you were trying to play. When he realized you wouldn’t disappear his hand practically crushed yours. Moving both his hands to hold onto it as a lifeline.

Your frown deepened and you felt your eyes burn with more threats of tears. You brought your other hand over to rest atop his, caressing his knuckles and giving him light squeezes.

“Let me take you back to Ambrose, okay? I don’t want you drivin’ back like this.”

A weak smirk pulled at his lips and he slurred a comment. Something along the lines of ‘knew ya still cared’. Just as quickly as it came it left, looking down at your joined hands and nodding a little.

You paid for the drinks which meant you had to release him. Something he really didn’t appreciate but to make up for it he lingered only inches away at all times. Afterwards you walked him to his truck, eventually hooking his arm over you for more stability on his part.

You allowed him to climb into the truck, holding onto his arm for any support may he decide to tumble out. Typically he would’ve scolded you for even trying.

Little did you know, he was relishing in your care and concern. Something he’d been deprived of all his life but missed severely after you left. Something he had become dependent on.

You got yourself in the driver's seat and ten minutes into the twenty minute drive Bo had shifted himself to be pressed, dare you say, curled into your side.

The silence wasn’t awkward but it was saddening. Each passing minute was another closed window for him to fix whatever he could. There was plenty you could say. Even ways to make it easier for him to express whatever it was he was thinking, but that wasn’t the point of this. You had done your part for two years. If he couldn’t do this for one night then there was no saving it.

As you neared Ambrose you felt an arm snake around your waist and his face pressed into your shoulder. You pretended not to hear his sniffling and occasional sob.

When you parked in front of the house and killed the engine his grip tightened so much it hurt.

“Miss ya. Miss ya s’ much. S’ tired. Can’t sleep without ya. Always wake up thinkin’ y’ll be there next ta me.”

You silently tugged at his arm, signaling for him to release you. You could’ve sworn you heard a mix of a whimper and a growl as he yanked his arm back. You had to catch him as he was already at the door to avoid any more rejection.

His eyes were wild and swimming with hurt. “What?! I ain’t stupid! Not gon sit here n listen ta you tell me how fucked I am!”

Carefully you climbed over his legs and settled into his lap, giving him ample time to shove you off if he so desired.

God, he’d never even consider it. Not now. Not anymore.

You finally stilled, straddling his legs and cupping his face in his hands. “Bo, listen to me. Please?”

His hands tentatively came to rest on your hips, squeezing and pulling to get you even closer as he looked up to you with a reverence you’d never seen cross Bo’s face.

You fought the urge to kiss his pink lips and his flushed cheeks. “I didn’t leave because I wanted to. I loved you Bo. Fuck, I still do. I love you with every ounce in me. I wake up every mornin’ aching to feel you pullin’ me close just to pretend it never happened durin’ breakfast. Beds never been s’ cold before.”

He began sputtering over words, his fingers digging into your flesh. “I do too. Fuckin’ hell. I-I love you too darlin’. I can’t— I-I won’t— I promise—”

It would’ve been cruel for you to let him keep suffering on his own. Especially when you’ve allowed yourself to go this far. When he’d been trying all night to tell you ‘sorry’ in some twisted, roundabout way. You tilted his face up and pressed a kiss to his lips, lingering to give a few more. One hand remained squeezing your hip, likely leaving bruises, and the other came to press flat on your back.

You stayed like that for a few minutes. The kiss was heated at times then slow at others. It became the way he communicated at that moment. When he’d go a little lax and bask in the attention you’d move your kisses to his cheeks and his eyelids. Not missing the corners of his mouth and his nose on the way up. When his teeth would tug at your lip and his hand found its way to your head to keep you pressed against him, you’d relax and let him take what he needed within reason.

Finally, you pulled away a little, placing your hands on his chest to keep him from chasing after you.

“Bo… I’ve missed ya s’ much.”

He settled both hands under you and pulled you closer, looking up into your eyes. “I missed ya too, baby doll. God—“

You open your mouth and surprisingly he closes his. “But, I can’t go back to the way it was, Bo. I won’t continue bein’ your emotional punchin’ bag and late-night fuck to get all your feelin’s out.”

He looks away and you move your hands to his face, turning him back to you, your thumbs caressing his flushed face. His hazed and watery eyes caused you to hold equal parts hurt for him and fear for yourself. Hurt that it had to get to this point for him to open up. Fear that when he’d sober in the morning all this would be gone just as quick as it happened. 

“I love you s’ much. You don’t gotta say it back. I don’t expect this to just be fixed come tomorrow. I don’t expect you to be on your best behavior from here on. You’re gonna have bad days. Really, really bad days. We all do. All I’m askin’ is that you let me help you. You don’t gotta talk to me ‘bout it. I know you hurt a lot and I know it’s hard to let yourself be taken care of but that’s all I wanna do for ya Bo.”

You kissed his forehead and the top of his head, whispering into his hair. “All I want is to love you as much as you’ll let me but it has to be more than what it was. I know what we got will never be normal. We are far from normal.”

Tears silently spilled from his eyes, his lids seemed to slowly become too heavy for him.

“Ya hear me, baby? Ya hear what I’m telling you?”

He chuckled a little and gave you a little squeeze. “Ya still talk a whole lot. Jesus.” He mustered a small, hopeful smile, and spoke quietly. “I hear ya… but I don’t know if any of that means yer comin’ back.”

You returned his smile and gave him another quick kiss. “We need to set some boundaries, talk n sort all this shit out before I come back home for good.” You took a deep breath and nodded. “But I’ll stay for tonig—”

Suddenly he kicked the door open, hoisting you out of the truck. He stumbled and almost sent you both rolling down the hill as you squealed and clung to him like your life depended on it. You’d forgotten about his shocking ability to throw you around like a rag doll.

You couldn’t help but giggle a little, squeezing tighter when he stumbled up the steps. “Bo! What the fuck ya doin’?!”

He stopped at the door and looked up at you like you’ve hung all the stars in the sky, his words slurred, “Ya called it home. Ya called my little town home, baby doll.” He flung open the door and paused, looking as if he’s forced himself to sober up for what he wants to say. “Promise we’ll talk ‘bout whatever you want tomorrow. Swear it. Just… just lemme have tonight?”