The Objects of My Obsessions

As the months grew colder, the time for the parish’s annual Thanksgiving potluck rolled around, which included a canned food drive, silent auction, and Thanksgiving raffle—all of which the proceeds went to help support the local women’s shelter. In other words, John had a lot of work. But when the big day finally arrived, he remembered exactly why he’d put in so much effort in the first place.

There was a great turnout, heaps upon heaps of salads, casseroles, and pies adorned the tables set up in the community hall of the church basement. Friendly chatter filled the room, making the whole basement feel warm and homey, despite the chill in the air outside. Days like today made John remember why he originally decided to become a priest. There was nothing quite like the open arms of a community coming together to help others.

As the parish priest, it was his job to help serve everyone, making sure everyone got equal portions of food. It was a nice assignment, allowing him to chat and catch up with parishioners he otherwise might not have spoken to much. He was in the middle of a conversation with a young couple about their new baby when he was made aware of a presence at his side. An insistent elbow to his ribs drew his attention down to the sight of a smiling Y/N, who was struggling to carry a (ridiculously) large pot of macaroni and cheese. “H-hey John!” she wheezed. “Where do you want me to put this?”

His eyebrows shot up. “Y/N? I didn’t think you were coming today—and, uh, right here with the rest of the main dishes is fine. Do you need some help with that?”

She ignored his offer, instead plopping the pot down on the table with a grunt. She turned to him with a cheeky grin on her face. “And miss seeing the fruit of all your hard work? I had to at least drop by, offer moral support, you know? I probably won’t stay too long, though.”

He felt a smile pull at his lips. “Thank you, I’m glad you decided to come.” His gaze landed on the steaming crockpot, and he smiled a little wider. “And thank you for your generous contribution to the potluck. Did you make all that yourself?”

“Yes sir, I did indeed. It’s my own special recipe, you’ll have to try some when you get a free minute.” She leaned casually against the wall, hands in her pockets, posture relaxed. It was nice to see her in such a good mood.

The couple he’d been talking to previously looked between the two of them, curiosity alight in their eyes. The wife turned her attention back to John, a strangely sly smile on her lips. “Well, we won’t keep you any longer and let you catch up with your friend, Father Ward.” They quickly dismissed themselves and scurried away with their plates, but John noticed the woman whisper something excitedly in her husband’s ear as they left. Strange.

But he paid it no mind, his attention drawn back to his side by movement in his periphery. “You wouldn’t mind an extra set of hands, would you? I don’t mind helping you pass out food.”

“Oh no, you don’t have to do that. You should go socialize.”

“It’s no trouble,” she was quick to refute. She shrugged. “Besides, I, um… don’t really know anyone else here. I… think I’d be more comfortable staying with you.”

His heart thudded loudly in his chest, but he couldn’t find a reason to refuse. “…Alright then. Thank you for the help.”

They quickly fell into a comfortable rhythm, chatting with each other and the other parishioners as they served up plates of mashed potatoes and casserole (along with generous helpings of the mac and cheese Y/N brought). It was nice, John thought. Really nice. And it gave Y/N an opportunity to get to know some of the other members of the church, which was even better. He could see her slowly loosen up throughout the evening.

He was glad they’d been able to move past the lingering awkwardness from their night in the rectory together. They didn’t end up having to stay the night, thank God, but John’s nerves were left thoroughly shot from their little run-in in the dark. Frankly, he’d been thinking about it… far more than he probably should be. But despite his own frequent recollections of the interaction, Y/N seemed to have forgotten all about it, thankfully. Either that, or she was just a far more sensible person than he was and was able to let it go.

Once the line for food thinned out and John and Y/N were left alone for a moment, he gave her a soft smile and said, “I hope this hasn’t been too boring for you so far. I’m sure there’s a lot of other people you’d rather spend your Saturday evening with than a frigid old priest.” He punctuated the self-deprecating comment with a chuckle, though he did genuinely feel a little bad for robbing her of her night.

“Oh hush.” She playfully swatted at his shoulder with a roll of her eyes. “First of all, you’re hardly old. I’m not that much younger than you, remember? And secondly, there’s far worse things I could be doing than helping with a charity event—let’s just say you’re doing your job in saving my wayward soul,” she said with a teasing grin. But then her smile faded, and her eyes darted to the floor. “…Besides, you’re one of the kindest people I know. It’s not a burden for me to spend time with you.”

His immediate instinct was to protest—insist that he was not kind. She didn’t know him, not really. She didn’t know the things he’d done, the judgement he deserved. But the words died on his lips when she glanced back up at him with a shy smile. Suddenly he couldn’t find it in him to argue with her. A brief moment to collect himself, and then all that left him was a quiet, “…Thank you. I’m… very glad you feel that way.”

He was saved from having to say anything else by another family approaching the table for seconds. His back straightened. For some reason, he felt almost like he’d been caught doing something he shouldn’t. But despite his anxiety, he schooled his expression into a practiced smile, greeting them warmly.

As he and Y/N refilled their plates, he noticed the curious looks the adults shot Y/N’s way. For once, she seemed a little clammed up under their scrutiny, so John stepped in. “Ah, have you all gotten the chance to meet Y/N yet? Y/N, these are the Petersons: Mary, her son Mitchel, his wife Danielle, and their son Lukas. They’re one of the parish’s most involved families—they’re actually the ones who donated most of the items for the silent auction. Heavens know what we’d do without them.”

The elderly Mrs. Peterson laughed airily. “You’re too kind, Father Ward. But no, I don’t believe we’ve properly met yet. Y/N, was it? You’re the new singer Mr. Davidson hired on, correct?” Something about Mrs. Peterson’s spectacled gaze seemed almost sharp as she directed it towards Y/N, her thin lips pressed into an even thinner smile.

Y/N stood up straighter. “Yes, that’s me. It’s nice to meet you all.”

John watched the interaction tensely. The Petersons were incredibly important members of the parish, he could understand her being a little nervous to meet them. But that still didn’t explain why he felt so abundantly anxious.

But before he could think about it too hard, his attention was drawn towards Lukas’s curious, wide-eyed gaze as he looked up at John and Y/N. The boy couldn’t have been much older than five or six, but John found his staring slightly unnerving. One of his little fists was balled up in the hem of his mother’s dress, but suddenly his free hand shot out from his side to point at Y/N. “Is she your wife?” he blurted out while looking straight at John, full of childish innocence.

A furious blush overtook John’s face, his heart leaping up to jam his throat. He stammered out something that sounded vaguely like a denial, but luckily Mitchel grabbed his son’s hand and gently interjected. “Don’t be silly Lukas, priests can’t get married.”

Y/N let out a long breath that would have been inaudible had John not been standing directly next to her. “Yes, that’s right,” she said. “Father Ward and I are just friends.” She glanced to the side at him as she spoke, her eyes warm.

John dug his blunt nails into his palm under the table. His heart beat faster all while his stomach twisted—a disorienting combination of sensations. But amid all the panic and dread, there was something else. A spark of something sharper, almost piercing, just behind his ribs. It felt foreign, yet not unnatural. Something like… pride.

Because even though everything in him knew it wasn’t right… a part of him saw Y/N as his. Not just a member of his flock to watch over, or even a part of his inner circle of friends, but something wholly entwined with him. And even the mistaken assumption of a child was enough to make that part of him sing.

He desperately shoved those feelings into the back of his mind, locking them away to be dealt with at a more appropriate time (which would hopefully be never). But despite his best efforts to compartmentalize as he’d done so many times before, this time he couldn’t quite shake the lingering satisfaction that clung to his sternum. Just acknowledging it filled him with guilt.

He said a silent prayer in his mind, but he was shaken by how little it seemed to help.

Danielle gave John an apologetic look, snapping his attention back to reality. “Sorry about him, Father. You know how children can be. Come along sweetheart, let’s not bother Father Ward any longer.” With their plates now full, the Petersons made their way back to their table, leaving John and Y/N alone again.

He let out a long sigh. His nerves were completely shot now—as if running the most important parish event of the fall wasn’t nerve-wracking enough. Talking to the Petersons always made him a little antsy, since their donations accounted for almost a quarter of the church’s funding. They were good people, but he couldn’t help but feel the need to walk on eggshells around them.

“Hey, you okay?” Y/N asked, pulling him out of his thoughts. She grabbed his hand and gently uncurled his fist, revealing the red indents left engraved into his palm. She looked up at him with a raised eyebrow. “Are you nervous?”

The feeling of her soft hands cradling his so tenderly nearly made him short-circuit. His mind went blank for a moment, but once he registered what she’d said he let out another sigh, this one actually serving to release some of the tension wound up in his body. “You could say that,” he admitted. “It’s my first time organizing the Thanksgiving potluck. There’s been other events since I joined this parish, of course, but they’ve been doing this for years. It’s had me a little on edge, I suppose.”

Her eyebrows furrowed. “Really? I didn’t realize that. I figured you’d been here for a long time.”

“I’m glad you thought that, means I must be doing something right.” He gave her a shaky smile. “In truth, I was assigned to this parish only a few months before you were hired.”

She tilted her head to the side curiously, and he could almost see the gears in her head turning. “Huh. I didn’t know that. Were you at another church before then?”

John’s blood ran cold at the seemingly innocuous question. Images flashed through his mind, the same ones that haunted his dreams. He sucked in a harsh breath, forcing himself to swallow the down the bile that had risen in his throat. He exhaled slowly, collecting himself just enough to reply tensely, “…N-no, not quite. I was… doing other work for the church.” He prayed she would accept his answer as sufficient and leave it at that.

She looked at him for a long moment, an unreadable expression in her eyes. But then, by the grace of God, her lips curved into a small smile. “Ah, I see. Well, you could’ve fooled me. You’ve certainly managed to make me feel welcome here, even if you’re also pretty new.” She gave his hand a gentle squeeze before releasing it, leaving John with an overwhelming feeling of both warmth and loss. The whiplash from all the starkly different emotions she’d managed to drudge up from within him in just the past few minutes nearly made him lightheaded.

He cleared his throat, attempting to regain his bearings. “Would you like to sit down and eat with everyone? I’m sure you’re probably hungry by now.”

She waffled for a moment, shifting her weight from foot to foot. He could see her gnawing on the inside of her cheek. “Well… I really wasn’t planning on staying this long…” The corner of her lips quirked upwards in a little half smile. “But, I’m having more fun than I thought I would, so sure. Besides, what kind of wife would I be if I left you all by yourself, huh?” She nudged her elbow into his side playfully, a teasing grin on her face.

He tried to laugh, but it came out pathetically weak sounding. At least she was willing to stay a bit longer, even if he could’ve done without the reminder of those dangerous emotions the whole ‘wife’ fiasco dragged out of him.

Once they got some food of their own, Y/N led them over to a small table where Mr. Davidson and his son were sitting. She gave a friendly little wave to the elderly music director. “Good to see you Mr. Davidson. Do you mind if we sit with you?”

Mr. Davidson’s whole demeanor brightened as they approached. “Y/N, Father Ward! Of course, of course, feel free! So long as you don’t mind listening to an old man ramble.

Y/N chuckled. “Not at all. In fact, I was just thinking I needed to hear some more obscure facts about sheet music,” she replied with a wink.

“Aha! Then you’ve come to exactly the right place!”

It warmed John’s heart to see the playful banter between Y/N and Mr. Davidson. He was glad she was starting to make friends in the parish.

When they sat down, Mr. Davidson’s son shot John a grin. “What’s got you all smiley today, Father? Should we be worried?”

“Oh, um, nothing in particular.” Heat rose to John’s face. He realized that perhaps he needed to be a bit more careful about letting his emotions show on his face. People were always watching, after all.

John had always enjoyed the rain. It was especially comforting on evenings like this, where paperwork kept him holed up in the rectory late, leaving him with nothing to do but focus on his work and enjoy a warm cup of tea. It was obvious a storm was brewing outside, with the way the rain began to pound against the windows. If it kept up like this, he just may have to spend the night at the rectory.

No later did the thought cross his mind than did another harsh pounding sound fill his ears—the sound of someone knocking on the door. He jumped, his blood pressure spiking. Who on earth would be out in this weather? He quickly stood from his desk to rush over to the door, sneaking a glimpse out of the peephole. He breathed out a sigh of relief when he saw who it was, only for his concern to spike again when he saw that she was completely soaked to the bone. He unlocked the door and flung it open, ushering her inside. “Y/N! What are you doing here, come in before you catch a cold!”

Y/N just grinned as he shut the door behind her, even though her teeth chattered a little. “Y-you sound like my mom. I just needed to drop off something for Mr. Davidson, I didn’t realize how late it’d gotten until I was already here. So I figured I could just leave it here for him to pick up in the morning.”

John sighed, taking in the sight of her drenched form. Her hair was stuck to her forehead, droplets of rainwater dripping down her flushed skin, her clothes practically painted onto her curves, leaving nothing to the imagination—

A rush of heat filled his cheeks. Mercy, where was his head at?! He respectfully averted his eyes, lest he have to pluck them out for looking lustfully at a woman according to Matthew 29. He said a silent ‘Hail Mary’ in his head, praying to the Blessed Mother for strength, and took off his jacket, quickly wrapping it around Y/N’s shoulders. “Y-you must be freezing, here put this on.” He cringed a little at his minor deception—he knew all too well the gesture was more for his sake than hers.

Y/N smiled gratefully, pulling his coat around herself tighter. And was it just his imagination, or did she seem to… melt into it a little bit? “Thank you, John,” she said, pulling him out of his thoughts. “I forgot to check the weather this morning, really should’ve brought a jacket. I didn’t expect for it to start raining so hard.

As if to punctuate her statement, a crack of lightning shot across the sky through the window, accompanied by a peal of thunder. John’s eyebrows furrowed with worry at the thought of her driving in this weather. “You shouldn’t be out and about while it’s storming like this. I insist that you stay here until it passes.”

Y/N sighed, though her eyes shone with understanding. “Now you really sound like my mom. But you’re probably right.” She gave him a pointed look. “What if it keeps storming all night, though?”

If that were the case, he probably wouldn’t be able to go home either. He cracked a small smile. “It wouldn’t be the first night I’ve spent in the rectory. I keep a futon in the storage closet for this exact reason.” Upon seeing her cheeks flush bright red, he was quick to add, “A-and there’s also a couch in my office.”

He could visibly see her shoulders relax in relief. It would be wildly inappropriate for the two of them to sleep in the same bed, let alone a tiny futon, where’d they’d be practically guaranteed to be lying on top of each other.

He could feel the blood begin to rush to his face at just the thought. He immediately put a stop to that line of thinking before it could carry him away with it. But it did remind him of the conundrum he’d found himself in (not that he’d ever forgotten)—the coffee cup. It still sat on his nightstand even days later, that damnable heart taunting him, goading him to finally work up the courage to put her number in his phone and text her. Even though she was the one who offered it to him, he wasn’t sure if it’d be crossing a line or not.

Should he bring it up? Would that make things worse? What if she’d meant it as a friendly gesture—there wasn’t anything inherently unethical about her giving him her phone number, there was a chance that it was purely innocent.

Yes, that was likely the case. She probably drew hearts on everyone’s cups, she seemed like the type to do that. It was simply his own concupiscence that led him to believe it meant anything else. Was jumping to conclusions considered a sin? Either way, he felt he needed to ask for forgiveness for it the next time he went to confession.

He was drawn back to reality by the sound of fabric shuffling. He tuned back in just in time to see Y/N pull out a binder from her bag and hold it out to him. “This is what I needed to give Mr. Davidson. It’s just some sheet music he asked me to track down for Advent—I know it’s still a ways off, but he wants us to start rehearsing now.”

John blinked, taking the binder instinctively. He cleared his throat in an attempt to recollect himself. “Ah, yes. I’ll make sure he receives it.” As the storm outside raged on, he suddenly became more aware of the situation—while not in his home, he was technically hosting a guest. He tucked the binder under his arm and beckoned for her to follow him into his office. “Make yourself comfortable. I still have a little bit of work I need to finish up, but afterwards I can brew us a pot of tea to share.”

She sat down on the couch opposite his desk, slipping her shoes off so she could pull her knees up to her chest. The sight of her sitting so casually made his chest feel warm. She smirked as he sat down at his desk to continue writing the homily he was working on. “What a busy bee you are,” she crooned teasingly. “Do priests ever get days off?”

He looked back up at her with a slightly weary smile. “No, not really. Especially considering I’m the only priest this parish has. There’s always something to be done.”

She rested her head on her arm, squishing her cheek a little. She looked at him with a curious glint in her eyes. “Sounds difficult to maintain friendships that way, doesn’t it?”

He stiffened. He wasn’t exactly sure why her comment made him feel embarrassed, but he felt the need to defend himself. “I-I have friends.” But when he wracked his brain for examples, all he could come up with was Father Garcia, who was more of a mentor than a friend, and Lisa, who he’d been friends with his whole life. Somehow it didn’t feel like either of those counted.

Y/N’s soft laughter filled the office, the sound not dissimilar to the hand chimes they brought out at mass on special feast days. “Relax, I’m just teasing.” She shot him an impish wink. “I’ll be your friend, John. If you ask nicely, that is. We can play together at recess and everything.”

He gave her an unimpressed look. “Very funny,” he deadpanned.

He only managed to type a few more sentences before Y/N spoke up again. “What are you writing?”

“The homily for this Sunday’s mass,” he replied without looking up from his laptop. “It’s about forgiveness, how God gives us endless grace even when we may not deserve it.”

“Forgiveness, huh?” In the brief silence that followed, he could practically hear her turning over the idea in her head. Then, she let out a wry chuckle. “The church could certainly benefit from being reminded of that. Growing up, I remember hearing a lot more about repentance than forgiveness. Leaves you with an odd sort of guilt.”

He looked up from his writing at her. She wasn’t looking at him, instead opting to stare down at the floor. But upon studying her closely, he could see the tension in her jaw.

He dropped his hands from the keyboard, folding them in his lap. “I’m so sorry that’s been your experience.” Normally, those words might have rang hollow, but he truly meant them, remorse and empathy evident in his voice. He knew exactly what she was talking about, after all.

She snapped her head up, making eye contact with him. She didn’t respond, but he hadn’t expected her to.

He cracked a smile before glancing back down at his laptop screen. “I’m hoping to encourage more of the congregation to participate in confession.” He chuckled, trying to lighten the mood. “As of right now, I mostly just see the same few people every week. Mrs. Peters has probably said enough ‘Glory Be’s to be set on penance for the rest of her life.”

That earned him a quiet laugh, which made his chest fill with triumph. “Damn, I haven’t been to confession in… well, probably not since I was a teenager. And I’m pretty sure my mom forced me to go,” Y/N admitted.

He chose to overlook her profanity just this once. “Well, if you ever feel compelled to, I’m always willing to listen. If and when you feel ready, of course.”

“How much time do you have?” She snickered, her eyes shining with amusement. “But, in all seriousness… thanks. I’ll keep that in mind. But don’t be expecting to hear any sins out of me anytime soon.”

“No rush. Just whenever you feel comfortable.” He smiled. “I can wait.”

The words left his mouth sounding far weightier than he’d intended them to, surprising them both. Y/N’s eyes widened a fraction, and John suddenly felt pinned by those clear, sharp irises. His mouth was oddly dry.

He cleared his throat. Obviously, he wasn’t going to be able to get any work done if he kept getting distracted like this, so he closed his laptop and stood. “I’ll, uh… get started on that pot of tea.”

He practically ran to the rectory kitchen, tail between his legs. What was wrong with him??? Why was it that every time they managed to have a normal conversation, he somehow ended up making it weird? He felt like an awkward teenager again, and he was thirty-four for Christ’s sake!

He cringed as he set the teapot on the stove to boil, muttering a prayer of apology for his internal blasphemy. He sighed heavily, watching steam rise out of the teapot’s opening, wishing that he too could evaporate into thin air and fly away from this situation. But, as the howling wind outside reminded him, he was going to be stuck here for the foreseeable future.

A sharp crack of thunder made him jump, before darkness suddenly enveloped the rectory. He heard Y/N yelp from the other room. “Y/N? Are you okay?” he called out into the dark. “It looks like the power went out.” He pushed down his own anxiety and stumbled around the pitch-black rectory until he found the doorway back to his office, where he immediately ran straight into a soft yet solid form.

He heard a quiet ‘oof’ as he crashed into the mass, and he suddenly felt a hand wrap around his wrist and nearly pull him down. His free hand instinctively shot out, only to find purchase on something soft and slightly squishy. Just at that moment, the lights flickered back on, revealing that it was Y/N who had grabbed onto his wrist to keep from falling, and that the soft place his hand had landed on was her hip.

She stared up at him with wide, owlish eyes, her face just as red as he was sure his was. This close up, he could see that an eyelash had fallen onto her cheek. He had to physically fight back the urge to brush it away.

“Um… John?”

The sound of her voice was like a bucket of ice water being dumped down his shirt, bringing him crashing back down to reality. He immediately snatched his hand away as though he’d been burned and scurried a few steps backwards. But even though the distance between them had been re-established, he still found his heart pounding like it was going to jump out of his chest. “I-I am so sorry. I-I didn’t mean to—”

“I-it’s okay,” she squeaked out, not meeting his eyes. “It was just an accident. No harm done.”

Somehow, John found himself doubting that statement. Because to him, it felt like something had been irreparably damaged. What exactly that was, he wasn’t sure. But what he did know, without a shadow of a doubt, was that the phantom of the soft curve of her hip would linger on his hand for days to come.

The high-pitched whistling of the teapot pierced through John’s jumbled thoughts. Mentally thanking the Lord for the excuse for no longer having to stand awkwardly with Y/N for the moment, he scurried back to the kitchen. As he poured the hot water into their mugs, his hands shook slightly.

John jolted awake, heart pounding and sweat dripping down his forehead. He fumbled for the switch on the lamp on his nightstand, even though the sudden light made his red eyes burn even more than they already were. His frantic gaze darted around the room, searching every corner for a threat that wasn’t there.

Once he managed to convince his scrambled mind that there was nothing lurking in the shadows there then came the much more difficult task of quieting his heart. He stumbled out of bed, nearly tripping as his foot caught on one of the blankets, and made his way to the bathroom. He turned on the faucet and splashed his face with cold water. The sudden chill helped to settle his frazzled nerves some. He pressed a hand to his chest as if he could reach inside it and force his heart to settle down, taking a few long, slow breaths.

He raised his head to look at his reflection in the mirror. God, he looked terrible. Dark hair stuck to his forehead in greasy clumps from sweat, pallid skin making his cheeks look practically gaunt. Not to mention the deep, dark circles around his eyes from far too many nights of being woken up this way. He sighed and ran a hand through his hair, trying to comb it out somewhat.

His nightmares hadn’t been nearly as persistent as they used to be, but this had been a particularly bad one. From experience, he knew all he could do was mutter a prayer under his breath and try to forget about it. He grabbed his phone and checked the time, 5:30am. The sun would have just barely begun to rise. Well, there was no way he was going to get any more sleep, so he decided to take a cold shower and find the nearest coffee shop that opened at six—he’d need it to get through the rest of the day.

Once he’d made himself at least presentable enough to not be easily mistaken for a walking corpse, he got in the car and searched for a source of caffeine. Despite his best efforts to not think about his nightmare, in the silence of his car, it was almost impossible not to. Images of faceless people kneeling at his feet, reaching out to him in desperation for help, for salvation… Only for him to run away, overcome by fear, just as he had been years ago. The dreams were no longer direct reflections of specific events, instead a swirling cacophony of all his fears and regrets surrounding them. But if anything, that only made them more difficult to swallow.

He shook his head, as though he could physically shake the thoughts from his mind. He turned on the radio, drowning out the memories with the sound of some random pop song.

It was only mid-September, but there was already a brisk chill in the air as he got out of his car. It made the moment he walked into the cozy café a relief. The warm, yellow lighting was almost enough to chase away the cold that clung to him from his nightmare.

Understandably, he was the only person in the coffee shop this early, other than the young woman behind the counter. She didn’t seem to notice him yet, busying herself with rolling silverware and napkins into little bundles. This gave him plenty of time to notice the dense collection of tattoos up and down both her arms. Most people in town were rather conservative, so such a sight was rare for John.

As he approached the counter, the sound of his footsteps alerted the barista to his presence. She turned around with a cheery, “Hi, welcome in!” and he nearly stumbled backward upon seeing who it was.

The woman covered in tattoos was in fact, actually Y/N. It just now occurred to him that this was the first time he’d seen her in short sleeves. He suddenly felt self-conscious of his ghastly appearance, running a hand through his hair in a desperate last-ditch attempt to make it look presentable.

She must have been just as shocked to see him, if her wide eyes and slightly flushed cheeks were anything to go by. But her surprise quickly morphed into a warm, welcoming smile. “Oh! Father Ward, it’s good to see you! I didn’t take you for an early riser!”

“I’m, uh… not, really,” he replied with a sheepish chuckle, stuffing his hands in his pockets so he could fiddle with the beads of his rosary. “And please, just call me John. We’re not at the church.” Not to mention that hearing her call him ‘father’ right now felt wrong, not when he was so disheveled.

But maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say, since her cheeks went pink again and she stood up a little bit straighter. “O-oh, um, okay then, if you’re sure.”

He found his attention being drawn to her arms again. It really shouldn’t have surprised him as much as it did, but he’d just never seen someone with so many tattoos before. It must have been a pain to cover them up, he thought. The art was very beautifully done, he had to admit, lots of flowers and vines and the like. He wondered if any of them had any special meaning.

He was made aware of the fact that he’d been staring at her for an inordinately long amount of time by the sound of her clearing her throat. She shuffled her weight from foot to foot, holding her forearm in her opposite hand. “I, um, uh… usually cover up all the tattoos when I’m at the church. I know not everyone is super comfortable seeing them. I don’t suppose you’re going to give me a lecture about it, are you?”

He blinked, snapping out of his reverie. The thought that he might have offended her made his stomach twist. “N-no, no, not at all…! I, uh… was actually just thinking that they’re… quite beautiful.”

Her gaze snapped back up to his, wide-eyed. “Oh. Um… thank you.”

They stood in awkward silence for a moment, both red-faced. Why had he said that? He’d meant it as a genuine compliment, but it seemed like he’d somehow made it weird.

After an unbearably long moment, Y/N cleared her throat again. “So, um, what can I get for you, Fa—I-I mean, John?” He couldn’t help but find the way she stumbled over his name endearing. A little smile appeared on her lips as she continued, “You certainly look like you could use some coffee.”

Ah, yes. Caffeine. The whole reason he’d come here in the first place. He sighed heavily. “Yes, very much so. Just a, um…” He glanced at the menu board only to immediately be overwhelmed by choices. He didn’t even understand what half of the words meant. “J-just a black coffee is fine.”

She looked at him skeptically, one eyebrow raised. “Are you sure? Not even any cream? Don’t take this the wrong way, but you don’t exactly seem like a black coffee kind of guy.”

He sighed again, dejected at how easily she saw through him. “I’m not usually much of a coffee drinker at all, but I really need the caffeine.” Without thinking, he added under his breath, “…Haven’t been sleeping well.”

Her eyes softened with sympathy. “One of those mornings, huh? I understand, I get like that too sometimes. Hmm…” She hummed, thinking for a moment. “How about I make you something, and you let me know if you like it or not? If you don’t, I can just make you something else.”

He gave her a smile, relieved that he wouldn’t have to make a choice on his own. “That sounds great, thank you.”

She grinned brightly at him, making his breathing falter a bit. “Perfect! Hey Melissa? Do you think you could watch the register for me for a second?”

Her coworker (presumably Melissa) popped her head out of the door leading to the kitchen. “Yeah sure. What’s u—Oh!” She gave John a quick once over, her eyes lingering on the clerical collar around his neck. Her eyes began to glint mischievously. “Oooooh, is this that priest you keep talking about?”

Y/N and John both stiffened, though Y/N’s face was notably redder than his. She… talked about him? Y/N pointedly didn’t look his way as she began to steam some milk. “Y-yes, this is Father Ward. He’s the pries of the church I’ve been singing at recently.”

“I see, I see…” Melissa looked over at Y/N knowingly, a shit-eating grin plastered on her face. John had no idea what was going on with the two of them, but he decided to stay out of it. That was, until Melissa glanced his way with a playful wink. “Good on you, Father. Never thought I’d see the day this one would willingly step foot in a church,”

Y/N shot her an unimpressed look, but John just chuckled. “You’d have to thank our music director for that, he’s the one who brought her on.”

A couple minutes later, Y/N handed him a cup of steaming hot liquid. He blew on it first before taking a tentative sip, finding the flavor quite pleasant. He hummed in satisfaction. “This is wonderful, thank you. What is it?”

Y/N grinned. “I’m glad you like it. It’s called a London fog— it’s earl grey tea with steamed milk and some vanilla. It doesn’t have quite as much caffeine as coffee, but it should still help perk you up a bit, especially since I put an extra tea bag in there. It’s one of my favorite drinks for a cold day.”

Her smile was infectious, as he couldn’t help but smile back. “It’s perfect. How much do I owe you?”

“Don’t worry about it, this one’s on the house.” She looked away and bit her bottom lip. “I’m just, um… glad that you like it.”

“Oh! Well then, uh, thank you.” His hands suddenly felt very warm around the cup, but not uncomfortably so. “That’s very kind of you.”

She chuckled. “Maybe going to church has been a good influence on me.”

His heart fluttered a bit as he watched her tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. His voice came out slightly airy as he said, “I’d be very glad if that’s the case.” He looked at her for just a moment longer, taking in the sight of her shy smile. Another strand of hair had come loose from her ponytail, and his fingers itched with the desire to tuck it back into place.

Before his body could react on any inappropriate urges, he glanced away, tightening his grip around his cup. “Well then, I’ll… let you get back to work It was nice seeing you, Miss Y/N.”

“Likewise! See you later, John.”

As he began to walk away, he heard a snippet of the not-so quiet conversation between Y/N and her coworker.

“You know, he’s not really my type, but I can totally see it.”

“Melissa! Keep it down!”

John’s ears burned. He had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to hear that. But what really made his heart stop was the string of numbers he found written on the back of his cup, followed by a tiny doodle of a heart. He sat in his car staring at the looping sharpie for far too long. He traced the numbers with his thumb over and over again, as though with a single swipe of his finger he could make them vanish and make all this complicatedness go away.

That little heart on the cup pulled the one in his chest into two very different directions. Guilt, shame, dread for the conversation that would surely have to come from it. That was, if tokens such as these became too much of a commonality as opposed to a rarity.

And on the other hand… he didn’t even want to name the other direction his heart went to. One that made it flip and race like an acrobat in his chest.

He should ignore it. He should throw the cup away and pretend like he never saw it. He should pray.

Although John hadn’t been with his parish for very long, it was a small enough community that it was easy to pick out a new face. Especially when said face was often seen speaking to the music director after mass, despite never being seen among the congregation during it. The young woman seemed normal enough—always dressed appropriately, friendly smile on her red-painted lips—but John couldn’t help the initial feeling of unease he experienced upon seeing a stranger in his church. Though, he admitted that such a feeling was likely due to paranoia on his part. The memories of what took place just upstate in Sterling were far too fresh in his mind, despite all his efforts to forget.

It seemed he wouldn’t have to worry about seeking out the young woman, however, as this time after mass was over and most of the congregation had filed out of the sanctuary, the mystery woman approached him instead of the elderly music director. The click of her heels against the stone floor alerted him to her presence, and when he looked up she met his gaze with a gentle smile. “Hello Father Ward, I don’t suppose you have a minute, do you?”

He closed the lectionary he’d been skimming and turned his attention to her fully. A part of him felt relieved that he wouldn’t have to track her down. “Yes, of course. What is it that you need?”

“I just wanted to introduce myself. I’m Y/N, Mr. Davidson hired me to sing at a few upcoming masses. Said the congregation’ gotten tired of hearing his voice every week.” She chuckled, a light, ringing sound. “So, we’ll be seeing a lot of each other for a while, since I’m going to be rehearsing with Mr. Davidson during the week and then leading at services on the weekends.”

That news made a small smile appear on John’s lips. While Mr. Davidson played the piano and the organ beautifully, his decades of chain smoking showed through his voice. “Ah, wonderful. Thank you for letting me know. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Y/N.”

“The pleasure’s all mine, Father. It’s been quite some time since I’ve sung hymns, so I’m afraid you’ll have to bear with me if I’m a little out of practice at first, but I’m sure it’ll all come back to me in no time.” That comment had him raising a curious eyebrow, but before he could decide if he should ask or not, she explained. “I’m, uh, not practicing, you see,” she said with a sheepish look on her face as she wrung her hands together in front of herself. “I was raised in the faith, but I’ve, um… not been an active participant for quite some time.”

The twinge of vulnerability he heard in her voice made John’s practiced smile soften just a little into something more genuine. “No worries. We all have trials of faith in our lives. I’m glad you’re choosing to be here regardless.”

Some of the tension in her shoulders relaxed. “Thank you for understanding, Father. Even though I won’t be an official member of the congregation, I’m… looking forward to working here.”

He could clearly see her hesitance, but he could also see the curiosity within her, like the tentative willingness of a fawn taking its first steps. He’d been a priest long enough to recognize it. These were always his favorite cases, when one had clearly been injured by the Church before, but was still trying to reconcile their faith with the pain. He knew the feeling all-too well himself.

“Of course,” he said. “I look forward to seeing more of you. If you’d ever like to talk about anything, know that I’m always willing to listen.”

“Thank you, Father Ward. I’ll keep that in mind. I’ll be seeing you, then.”

He bid her farewell, and she left the sanctuary, the clicking of her heels reverberating in his ears for a moment even after she was gone. He let out a breath. He was glad to discover that his earlier wariness had merely been paranoia. She seemed like a perfectly kind soul—he really was looking forward to seeing more of her.

Like clockwork, every Wednesday afternoon for the next few weeks once daily mass had concluded, John noticed the young woman quietly slip into the sanctuary to rehearse with Mr. Davidson. He hadn’t gotten a chance to speak with her again yet, but he hoped she’d take him up on his offer to talk soon. Patience was a virtue he knew well, though, and he knew better than to risk scaring her off by being too insistent.

The first mass she sang at, he was surprised to learn that she pronounced the bits of Latin thrown in throughout the hymns perfectly. That wasn’t a feat most lay people could boast of, so it sparked his curiosity. And it didn’t hurt that her voice was absolutely lovely, like a sweet bell that rang throughout the vaulted arches of the church. He couldn’t stop himself from approaching her after the closing procession this time. “For someone who’s self-proclaimedly rusty, you did an excellent job today, Miss Y/N. Where did you learn Latin, if you don’t mind me asking?”

She swallowed the drink she was in the middle of taking and set her water bottle down on the music stand before giving him a slightly shy smile, her cheeks rosy. “You’re too kind, Father Ward. And, actually, I don’t speak a lick of Latin. I just know how to sing in it—they teach you a lot of Bach and Mozart in music school.”

“Oh, I see.” It didn’t surprise him in the slightest that she’d studied music before, but it did impress him. “I’ve always admired those who are musically inclined. It’s a goal of mine to pick up the piano someday, myself. Though, I’m afraid it’s something I’ve put off for a long time,” he added with a slightly sheepish chuckle.

“I could always show you a few things. I’m not the best pianist, but I know the basics. I wouldn’t mind teaching you a few chords or scales sometime.” Her cheeks suddenly flushed pink, and her eyes darted down to the ground. She worried at her bottom lip with her teeth. “That is, only if you’d want to, of course.”

John blinked, finding her reaction strange. He chose not to comment on it, instead offering her another warm smile. “That sounds lovely. I’ll definitely give it some thought.”

She looked back up at him with eyes a little wider than before, but her expression quickly softened back into a shy smile. “O-okay. Just let me know what you decide.”

But it seemed like John’s decision would soon be made for him. That Wednesday, as he was going to lock up the church for the night, he heard the faint sound of piano. His initial response to any unexpected sound while it was dark was usually terror, and this time was no exception. His mind immediately flashed to another church, where strange noises abounded. Before his blood pressure could spike too high, he took a few deep breaths and reminded himself of where he was. Mr. Davidson probably just lost track of time, there was no need to assume anything else.

He took one last breath to calm himself and pushed open the door. As he passed though the foyer and into the sanctuary, his trepidation completely evaporated. There, sitting at the piano bench was Y/N. He now recognized the song she was playing as a fairly famous classical piece. She looked very peaceful, the setting sun filtering in through the stained-glass windows casting her form in a soft, colorful glow.

She must not have heard him open the door or his approach, because she jumped when he came up beside the piano and said, “You play beautifully, Miss Y/N.”

She let out a little yelp and whipped her head around, her fingers slamming down on a dissonant chord. When her eyes landed on him, she sighed in relief and pressed a hand over her heart. “Father Ward! You scared me, I didn’t even hear you come in!”

John frowned, remorseful. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He glanced over at the sheet music propped up on the piano stand. “What were you playing?”

“Oh, um, Minuet in G. Nothing too fancy.” She glanced away, that rosy hue once again returning to her cheeks. She suddenly looked back up at him. “Actually, this is a great piece for beginners… I could show you how to play some of it if you want.”

Now it was his turn to be flustered. “Oh no, I wouldn’t want to trouble you.”

“It’s no trouble at all, really.” She scooted over on the bench and patted the space next to her, smiling up at him invitingly. “Come, sit.”

He didn’t have the heart to refuse her, so he did as she asked. On the tiny piano bench, he was painfully aware of the softness of her thigh pressing against his. It had been a long time since he’d been this close to a woman, and it made his collar feel slightly tighter than normal.

‘God have mercy, what am I thinking???’ he mentally berated himself. He forced the thoughts out of his head, only for his brain to short-circuit once more as Y/N took his hands in her own and guided them to the keys on the piano.

“You want to make sure you apply the right amount of pressure, not too light, not too harsh.” For some reason, her voice had lowered, and he found himself leaning in slightly to better hear her. “It’s simplest to start with the melody, so let’s do that.”

He swallowed down the lump in his throat and nodded. It felt strangely intimate as she guided his fingers to the correct keys, but he attributed that to his lack of experience with physical touch. Just like his elevated heart rate.

She showed him the basic progression of the melody, the sound of his clumsy playing ringing throughout the sanctuary. Eventually, she spoke again, though she didn’t stop guiding his hands through the song. “You know, my mom is the one who got me the job here,” she said softly. “She convinced Mr. Davidson to hire me. She’s been really upset that I’ve not been going to mass for the past few years, and she knew this was probably the only way I’d go willingly.” She let out a wry chuckle. “No offense. I hope you don’t think poorly of me for that.”

“Not at all,” he replied honestly. “…May I ask why you’ve stepped away from the faith? You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to though, of course.”

She sighed heavily, in time with the decrescendo of the music. “I don’t know, I guess it’s just… all the rules, you know? Do this, don’t do that. It feels a little unnecessary to me, is all. I mean, isn’t it enough to just be a good person? Isn’t that the point?”

He nodded slowly, turning over her words in his head. It was a complaint he’d heard from parishioners before, especially younger ones, though he rarely received it so directly. A part of him understood. “Yes, I suppose it is. But the rules give us guidelines for how to be a good person. It’s not easy to figure that out on your own.”

She chuckled, gaze planted down at their hands on the piano keys. “That’s true enough. But good according to who’s standard? Does it really make a difference to my moral character what clothes I wear or what kind of language I use? At least, I don’t think it does.”

“Well… according to God.” He said it so plainly, as if it were obvious, but it was anything but. “Who else gets to decide what’s right and wrong but Him?”

She sighed again, even heavier this time. “I suppose you would say something like that, being a priest and all. I dunno, I just don’t find that argument very convincing, I guess.”

“I’m not trying to convince you.” The words left his mouth before he had the time to realize what he said. It was in his job description to convince people of these things, but he found that he meant his words regardless. “There’s lots of reasons one might begin to doubt, and they’re not all unfounded. Just because I’m ordained doesn’t mean I’m immune to them.”

Throughout their conversation, John hadn’t realized just how much the already small gap between them had begun to close, physically speaking. She guided his hands to a long, unresolved chord, the sound reverberating throughout the empty sanctuary. When she looked back up at him with an odd expression, strangely vulnerable yet also seeking, he was startled to find that their breaths nearly intermingled. He snapped back upright in an attempt to reestablish a respectable distance, but the sweet, slightly musky scent of her perfume lingered in his nose, making his head swim just a little.

Y/N removed her hands from on top of his to fold them in her lap (had the sanctuary always been this cold? Maybe he needed to get the heating checked out). Staring down at her lap, she cleared her throat before breaking the silence. “Well… that’d be a first. Not an unwelcome one, though.” She took a breath as if to steel herself and looked back up at him, her eyes warm like burnt kindling. “Thank you for talking with me, Father.”

It took him a brief moment to remember what exactly they’d been talking about. He cracked a small smile. “Of course.” Slowly, so as not to aggravate his bad leg, he stood up from the bench. “I should really start locking up now, and you ought to be heading home. It’s not safe for a young lady to be out after dark.”

She laughed under her breath, but she didn’t argue with him. She rose to her feet as well and stretched her back with an audible ‘pop.’ “Alright. I’ll be seeing you then, Father Ward.”

Zagreus wished he could take his time. He wished he could spend hours and hours lavishing Y/N’s body with all the passion and affection she deserved, pay every dip and curve its due respect. But the Fates were cruel mistresses. Their time together was limited, even with the extra dose of potion she had him retrieve from her kitchen. He hastily fumbled with his armor and the fastenings of his chiton as he returned to her bedroom, far too eager to make good use of the moment. As he emerged from the doorway still fighting with the clasps and adornments on his clothes, he heard her chuckle. “Eager, are we?” came her voice, playful yet also slightly shy.

“You have no idea,” he said a little breathlessly. Finally, he managed to strip himself of his chiton, leaving him only in his leggings.

She stood from the bed and strode over to him, the gentle sway of her hips as she walked nearly driving him mad. “It’s okay.” One of her hands looped around his neck while the other found its place trailing along his bare chest, her touch leaving burning streaks of fire along his skin in its wake. “I am too.” This time, she pulled him down into a bruising kiss, the gentle yet insistent press of her tongue against the seam of his lips making him groan. He was all too enthusiastic to accept the sensual invitation, opening his mouth to allow their tongues to mingle and swirl against each other.

The sinful taste of her mouth whetted his appetite for something even more decadent. It wasn’t long before he pulled away to trail hot, open-mouthed kisses down the tender column of her throat, relishing the sensation of her pulse quickening under his ministrations. She let out a shaky breath and tilted her head back, gifting him with further access to her supple flesh. “Zagreus…”

His name on her lips made a low groan bubble in his throat. He stepped forward, forcing her to back up until her knees hit the edge of the bed, gently guiding her to sit with her feet on the floor. He continued his exploration of her skin, and he felt her shiver when he lavished extra attention onto the sparse green scales still dotting her shoulders. He could sense she was about to protest, but he shushed her before she could say anything. “They’re a part of you,” he murmured against her collarbones. “Just as deserving of my affections as everything else.”

That made her release a breathless laugh. “Somehow I doubt just how deserving any part of me is.”

“Then allow me to reassure you.” He grinned devilishly as he lowered himself to his knees before her, his hands coming to rest on the tops of her plush thighs as he coaxed them apart. He hiked her skirt up around her hips, exposing her undergarments to his hungry gaze.

She squeaked, a pretty red flush covering her face. “Z-Zagreus, you… Th-that’s not really necessary…” But even as she spoke, she opened her legs for him a little wider, as though inviting him to indulge.

Zagreus laughed, shaking his head. “Perhaps not necessary, no, but I’d rather enjoy doing it anyway.” His expression grew tender as he gazed up at her, his thumbs rubbing soothing circles into the softness of her inner thighs. “Please, let me show you the depths of my adoration. I may not have the time to worship you properly, but at least allow me this much. I need to taste you.”

Her cheeks burned even darker, and he could feel tiny goosebumps rise along her skin under his palms. She squirmed a little, not meeting his gaze. But after a moment, she sighed and relented, gingerly lifting up her skirts some more so they were well and truly out of his way. “You’re the god here—if anyone should be on their knees in worship, it should be me.”

His lips curled upwards in a tender smile, his heart fluttering at the sweet sentiment. “Ah, but that is where you’re mistaken, my love,” he murmured, his hands skating across the delectable expanse of her thighs. “I may have divine blood in my veins, but before your magnificence, I am but a man. It is my honor and privilege to kneel before your altar.”

A ghost of a laugh escaped her lips, her eyes shining with affection as she looked down at him. “Quite the silver tongue you have there. Let’s see what else that pretty mouth of yours can do, hmm?”

He grinned wickedly. “With pleasure.” He ran his thumb teasingly up her slit over the fabric of her undergarments, letting out a low groan as he felt just how soaked she already was. “Blood and darkness, you’re practically dripping. Do I really have such a powerful effect on you?”

She wouldn’t meet his eyes as he peered back up at her, her hands clenched tightly in her skirts. “You… you underestimate just how… enticing you can be, Zagreus. B-besides, it’s not like anyone has ever touched me like this before…”

Zagreus’ eyes widened a fraction. Ah, yes, she’d lived the majority of her extended life in complete solitude. He couldn’t imagine how lonely that would be, spending centuries having never experienced the companionship of another. It made his heart ache for her, knowing that she’d never known the pleasure of a lover’s tender touch before, but the knowledge that he would be the first to bring it to her sparked a sense of satisfaction within his chest. “Well,” he said, his warm breath ghosting across her clothed sex, “Allow me to change that. Lift your hips for me, dearest.”

She did as he asked, allowing him to tug her undergarments down to her ankles and then off entirely. He couldn’t hold back a groan once the sight of her glistening pussy was fully bared before him, juices practically oozing out of her entrance. Gods, even just the scent of her arousal was enough to leave him lightheaded and drooling. “Absolutely breathtaking. Such a pretty little cunt.” He ran a finger through her folds, collecting as much of her wetness as he could before sticking it in his mouth. He moaned lowly as the heady, decadent flavor bloomed across his tongue. “And fucking delicious as well. What a heavenly treat.”

She let out an adorably frustrated whine, squirming in her seat. “Are you just going to keep talking? Or are you actually going to do something?”

He chuckled lowly. “No need to fret, my love. As much as I love to chat, there are certain uses for my mouth that I find even more appealing at the moment.” Without further preamble, he flicked the tip of his tongue across her clit, delighted by the way she bucked her hips from just the slight touch. “So sensitive…” he breathed, but before she could chide him again he licked a long stripe along the length of her slit, promptly shutting up her complaints before they began.

Gods, she tasted divine. Not even the finest ambrosia could compare. He could have happily drowned himself in her essence, perfectly content to suffocate between her thighs. He could imagine no sweeter death, and the firm tugging of her hands fisted in his hair was the cherry on top.

He could hear her breath audibly hitch as he continued his pleasurable assault on her sensitive little pearl, alternating between kitten licks and firmer strokes. There were few activities he found himself to be particularly gifted at, but in that moment, listening to her little gasps of surprised pleasure, he was immensely grateful that this was one of them. A wicked, triumphant grin stretched across his face once he discovered a pattern that made her thighs clench around his head, urging him to exploit it mercilessly. He swirled his tongue around her clit in slow, deliberate circles, maintaining a constant pressure that made her breathy moans tilt a few pitches higher.

Her thighs began to tremble in his firm grasp. “F-faster…” she urged breathlessly, a request he was all too happy to oblige. She released a high-pitched squeal as he suddenly plunged two fingers into her sopping hole, and he couldn’t help but let out a groan of his own as he felt just how tightly she clenched around his digits as they rhythmically pumped in and out of her.

Fuck, with how snugly she gripped his fingers alone, he knew it would require a lot of preparation before she was ready to take him. While he was much shorter than the rest of his relatives, he was still a god, and she was still a mortal (sort of), so the size difference between them was quite noticeable. But, damn, if the thought of seeing his sizeable length slowly disappear within her comparably tiny entrance didn’t make his head spin. His tongue instinctively lapped at her a little faster from the delicious mental image.

The whines and whimpers that fell from her mouth as she drew closer to her peak only spurred Zagreus on further, desperate to feel her fall apart on his tongue. His free hand wandered upwards to grip the meat of her hip as he feasted on her cunt, holding her in place even as she bucked and squirmed wildly against him.

“Hah… hah… p-please, oh gods…!” She panted, her voice pitching higher and higher with every stroke of his tongue. Her grip on his hair almost became painful, but it was an exquisite discomfort that made him moan against her supple flesh. The obscene slurping and squelching noises created by his ministrations mingled with her gasps and moans, creating a symphony of debauchery that would have nearly made his ears turn red had he even a modicum of shame.

It didn’t take much longer for him to have her trembling in his grasp, her inner walls clenching and unclenching around his fingers rhythmically as her orgasm crashed over her in waves. The airy gasps and sighs that fell from her lips were like the sweetest music to his ears, more melodic than even the finest ballads Orpheus had to offer. Zagreus gave her clit a few more kitten licks to help prolong her pleasure, but by the time she started shying away from oversensitivity he migrated to pressing fervent yet tender kisses to her inner thighs. “You did so wonderful, my love,” he whispered against her skin. “So perfect, so beautiful…”

He continued to pepper her thighs with lingering kisses until her breathing evened out again. He rose from his knees to meet her eyes, which were still slightly cloudy with bliss, and skated his fingertips across the soft curve of her jawline. She took the opportunity to wrap her arms around his neck once again and pull him down into a slow, heated kiss. A low moan rumbled in her throat when his tongue brushed against hers, undoubtedly tasting herself on his mouth.

When they parted, Y/N scooted backwards on the bed, allowing Zagreus to climb over her. He slid his hands up her soft stomach to her waist where her skirts were still bunched up, looking to her for permission. “May I?”

She nodded, that pretty pink flush back on her cheeks. “Yes. Please.”

He didn’t need any further encouragement before undressing her fully, exposing her bare body to his hungry eyes for the very first time. He couldn’t hold back a groan at the sight, every dip and fold of her flesh making his blood practically thrum with need. The tightness in his trousers became almost unbearable as he reached out to feel her heavy breasts, the weight of them in his palms nearly making his mind go blank. And, oh, the way her breathing hitched when he gently brushed his thumbs against her nipples, it was enough to make him go mad. The emerald green scales dotting her shoulders were also present near her collarbones and upper chest, and in the dim candlelight of her bedroom they seemed to glitter with an ethereal glow.

It took his breath away.

Y/N began to squirm under his intense stare. “What is it?” she asked nervously. “I-is something wrong?”

Her voice snapped him out of his reverie, realizing he’d been staring for an uncomfortable amount of time. Once he registered what she’d said, he could have laughed. “No, no, nothing could be further from the truth.” He skated his fingers over her chest, tracing the outline of one of her scales with his index. His voice dropped to a low, almost reverent whisper as he continued, “You’re just… so beautiful.”

A nervous laugh bubbled out from her lips, her cheeks turning rosy once more. “You… you really think so? Even with the, uh… you know, snake scales?”

“Honestly, I think those are stunning as well,” he easily admitted, his gaze never leaving her form. One of his hands slid up her chest to cup her cheek as his eyes met hers with single-minded intensity. “You are loveliness incarnate, my dear.”

He heard her take in a shaky breath, her eyes softening. She reached up to hold his own face, her other hand coming to rest on his shoulder. “…Thank you. You… you are incredibly beautiful as well. Though I’m sure you already knew that.”

He chuckled, a roguish grin on his face. “Perhaps, but it never hurts to be reminded.” He gently grabbed her wrist and turned his face into her hand, pressing a kiss to her palm.

Her hand on his shoulder trailed down his arm, squeezing his bicep. She groaned quietly. “Gods… how on earth did I ever manage to get so lucky?”

“Careful with the compliments, love. You might just give me an ego.”

She let out an airy laugh as her hand slid down to explore his chest and stomach. “As if you didn’t have one already.”

The clever quip died on his tongue when her fingers skated under his navel, dipping into the grooves of his abs. She fiddled with his waistband, her burning touch so close yet so far from where he needed her most. He exhaled shakily, his voice slightly strained as he pleaded, “My love, please. D-don’t tease me. I don’t think I can handle it tonight.”

That sweet smile on her lips appeared almost devilish to him. “No need to worry, I had no intention of doing anything of the sort. I’m afraid I’m rather lacking in patience tonight as well.”

Without further ado, she slipped his leggings and undergarments down his hips and all the way off, tossing them to the side. If she was trying not to give him an ego, then the little gasp she released upon seeing his hardened cock for the first time was not helping one bit. But that little spark of pride in his chest immediately fizzled out when her thumb brushed across his aching tip, smearing precum over his cockhead. Fuck, he couldn’t remember ever being this sensitive before, even the slightest touch made him feel like fire was broiling deep in his belly.

As much as it pained him to do so, he gently grabbed her hand and guided it away from his shaft, instead pinning it to the pillows above her head. He slotted himself in between her thighs, letting out a groan as his cock nudged against her entrance. His muscles practically trembled with the restraint it took not to just slide into her awaiting warmth right away, but her comfort mattered more to him than his own gratification. “Are you ready? I promise to start slow.”

Oh, that sweet, vulnerable look in her eyes as she gazed up at him made his heart melt, her cheeks flushed and lips slightly parted. She gave him a little nod, slowly hooking one of her legs around his hip. She was the prettiest flower he’d ever seen, all rosy as she bloomed open just for him, and in that moment he didn’t think he could have felt luckier had he been blessed by Tyche herself. “Yes,” she murmured. “Please, I need you, Zagreus.”

He didn’t need to be told twice. Slowly, carefully, he began to inch forward, letting out a low groan as he breached her tight entrance. He felt her muscles tense, and he began to rub soothing circles into her thigh to encourage her to relax. After a moment, the tension in her body eased, so he continued to gently push into her until finally, finally, he was hilted fully inside of her willing body. A shudder ran through him, the feeling of her velvet walls gripping his shaft so tightly nearly making his eyes roll into the back of his head. Fuck, she felt divine. So deliciously satisfying it should have been a sin.

He paused for a moment, panting harshly as he allowed the exquisite feeling of being fully enveloped by her tight, wet heat wash over him. “Blood and… I—fuck—I… I can’t…think…”

Y/N made a sound that was half laugh half sigh, even as her walls squeezed and fluttered around him. “L-looks like I’ve finally found a way to make you sh-shut up. Oh gods…” Her sentence devolved into a gasping moan as she began to rock her hips up against his. Her eyes squeezed shut, a high whine leaving her throat. “P-please… move.”

Another incrediblyeasy request to fulfill. He slowly pulled back, savoring the way her pussy gripped him as though attempting to draw him back inside, only to sheathe himself inside her once again. The sensation of his tip hitting the very back of her channel made them both gasp. It didn’t take long for him to find a slow yet satisfying pace that made stars bloom behind his eyelids, every powerful snap of his hips causing the bed frame to creak ominously. But he couldn’t find it in him to care, not when Y/N was squirming and moaning underneath him, her head tilted back in ecstasy as she met his every thrust with a buck of her own hips.

He couldn’t resist the urge to bend down and lavish attention onto her exposed throat, kissing and sucking and biting every delectable inch of flesh he could reach. “Z-Zagreus…!” she gasped, her non-pinned hand raking its nails down his back, the most irresistible concoction of pain and pleasure she could have conjured up. He snapped his hips a little bit faster, his teeth sinking into her neck just a little bit deeper. Fuck, he’d wanted to be sweet and gentle for her first time, but he just couldn’t control himself, the coil tightening and tightening in his stomach demanding for more more more. More of the salty taste of her sweat, more of the sting of her nails against his skin, more of the intoxicating sensation of her cunt clenching around his throbbing shaft. The next thing he knew, he was rutting into her like an animal, the sweet sounds of her whimpers and moans only spurring him on further.

He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, but he couldn’t leave her unsatisfied. He released her wrist to reach down between their bodies and swirl his skilled fingers around her swollen clit, making her gasp and arch into him. All it took was a few more well-timed thrusts and presses of his fingers to have her shaking and panting beneath him as her orgasm crashed over her once again. The way her cunt clenched down around him almost bordered on painful, but it was just the push he needed to send him over the edge as well, letting out a shout as he spilled himself inside her, painting her insides with his cum.

He rocked into her a few more times, moaning lowly as cotton filled up his brain, leaving him feeling fuzzy and almost drunk on the aftershocks of such a powerful release. After she collapsed onto the mattress, chest still heaving, he rolled over so that he could gather her in his arms and lay her against his chest. He pressed a tender kiss to her temple, even as his own blood still thrummed with post-coital bliss.

They simply laid there together for a few minutes, basking in the afterglow and coming down from their own respective highs. Once some clarity returned to him, Zagreus began to tenderly stroke Y/N’s hair, looking down at her with a mixture of affection and concern. “Are you feeling alright, my dear? Not too intense?”

She just hummed in response, tucking her face into the crook of his neck and nuzzling up against him further. “Mmm… More than alright. Just perfect.”

He could have chuckled. She reminded him almost of a contented cat, all curled up into his side. She looked so radiant in her post-sex haze, skin flushed and glowing, lazy smile on her lips. He pulled her closer and placed another kiss on the top of her head. His voice was slightly rough from overuse and he murmured only for her ears to hear, “I love you, Y/N. I don’t believe I’ve actually said those words yet. But I do, so very much.”

Y/N was silent for a moment, but when she replied, she sounded almost choked with emotion. “…I love you too, Zagreus. Even though I know I shouldn’t.”

That thought sobered him up a little, but he didn’t want to break the tenderness of the moment. He shushed her, stroking the back of her head again soothingly. “It’s okay. I’ll find a way for us to be together more permanently, I swear it. But for now… let’s just enjoy this moment while it lasts.”

Logically, Zagreus knew it was only by an enormous stroke of luck (and Charon and Patroclus refilling his death-defiances) that he managed to make it back to the surface at all that run. He’d been sloppy, reckless—even more so than usual. A part of him would have wondered if perhaps his father had gone easy on him this time—that is, if he were anyone other than his father. But at least he was still in better shape than he’d been when he’d defeated him the first time, so he considered that a win, however small of one it may have been.

The perpetually frozen landscape was even colder than normal, a fierce blizzard leaving him nearly blinded with white as he trudged towards Y/N’s cottage. Demeter must have been in a particularly sour mood—he made a mental note to never snub her again when his Olympian relatives made him choose his favorites.

After what felt like an eternity, the silhouette of Y/N’s cozy home on the cliffside finally came into view. He banged on the door, shouting over the roaring blizzard, “Y/N! Let me in! We need to talk!”

But there was no answer from inside. He banged on the door again. “Look, I know you probably don’t want to see me right now, but please just let me inside!”

Still no answer. Alarm sparked in his chest—surely she hadn’t gone out in all this?! He pressed his ear up to the door, listening intently for any signs of life within. Then, he heard this horrible, wet, hacking noise, punctuated with loud, shaking gasps. Terror gripped his heart, his blood running cold.

Without a second thought, he burst open the door (his heart hammered even harder at the revelation that it was left unlocked). “Y/N, is that you?!” The main room was empty, so he rushed over to the door leading to her bedroom. That awful coughing came again from behind it, but before he could smash it down, Y/N’s weak, wheezing voice cried out, “No! Don’t… don’t come in here!”

That was one request he couldn’t heed, not when the sound of her hacking and retching came again. He slammed the door open, only to find the love of his life kneeling on the ground over a wooden pail, half-naked and shivering violently. She looked just as sickly as she sounded, her skin far too pale with a sallow undertone. But what really made Zagreus’ heart stop was the sight of her bare shoulders, uncovered by her shawl for the very first time before his eyes. There, in the dim candlelight of her bedroom, sparse patches of glittering, emerald scales shone along her shoulders and upper arms.

His mouth opened and closed like a gaping fish in his shock, but before he could say anything, Y/N shrieked and flung her arms over her face. “Don’t look at me!” But then she devolved into another coughing fit, spitting a mixture of blood and a sickly green fluid into the bucket.

His questions could wait (despite how numerous they were). He rushed over and knelt at her side, running his hand soothingly up and down her back.

“No…” she cried weakly, her voice hoarse. Tears streamed down her face, joining the mixture of fluids in the bucket. “Don’t… don’t touch me… I’m a monster…!” Her words deteriorated into another hacking fit.

Zagreus’ heart shattered at the pitiful, broken sight of her. Even as she begged him to leave, he refused. He shushed her, drawing her quivering frame into his arms as he continued to rub soothing circles into her skin. “Shh… it’s okay. You’re no monster.”

She sobbed, too weak to refuse his comfort even as she tried to push him away with her words. She continued to cough, her whole body wracked with the sheer force of it. In between shuddering breaths, she managed to gasp out, “Top drawer, end table… th-the bottle…”

He didn’t need to be told twice. He jumped to his feet and opened up the top drawer of her end table, fishing around in it for a bottle of shimmering red liquid, much like the potion she often brewed for him. He handed it to her, and she drank it down greedily. Almost immediately, her skin began to go back to its normal color, her breathing growing easier. Even a few of those strange scales on her shoulders fell off onto the floor.

Zagreus gave her a moment to catch her breath. Once she wasn’t shaking quite so much, he offered her his hand. “Do you think you can stand up?” he asked gently.

She nodded, taking hold of his hand and allowing him to help her to her feet. She stumbled a little, but he caught her, his free hand on her bare forearm to steady her. Her skin, usually so warm whenever he was blessed enough to feel it against his own, felt so cold. How long had she been sitting there, all by herself? The thought made his heart ache.

Wordlessly, he guided her to the bed and sat her down before gathering some blankets and bundling her up. Her eyes were dull, emotionless save for a faint hint of despair. The sight made something twist in Zagreus’ gut—such an expression felt painfully out of place on her lovely features.

He sat down beside her, allowing her to rest her head on his shoulder. He instinctively wrapped an arm around her, tugging her into his side. He resisted the urge to press a kiss to her temple, afraid that too much affection might make her run away again.

He had so many questions, so many things he wanted to say. But he was afraid of hurting her while she was in such a vulnerable state. So he simply allowed her to rest for a moment, until the tears running down her cheeks had dried.

After a long, long while, Y/N let out a defeated sigh. Her voice sounded far too hollow. “…What do you want to know?”

“There is much I wish to know,” he stated simply. He tucked a hand under her chin, tilting her face up towards his. “But if talking about it will cause you pain, then you don’t have to explain everything right now.”

She searched his eyes, confusion and disbelief painted across her face. “What? After… after all that, you’re not going to ask me to explain myself? Surely you must have questions!”

“You’re right, I do.” He couldn’t stop himself from running his thumb across her cheek. He hoped that he conveyed every ounce of sincerity in his heart as he continued softly, “But I don’t want to hurt you more than I already have. Your peace of mind means more to me right now than my own curiosity, burning as it may be.”

Her eyes widened. Tears began to stream down her cheeks once again, and she let out a sad, watery huff of a laugh, wiping her eyes with the back of her hand. “Oh Zagreus… you’ve never hurt me. If anything, I’m the one hurting myself.” Her bottom lip trembled—he could tell she was holding back a sob.

But before he could comfort her, she let out a long, deep breath. When she spoke again, her voice was much calmer, if slightly detached. “…I’m afraid there’s so much to explain I don’t even know where to begin.”

“How about we start with ‘are you okay?’” Zagreus offered, looking at her with residual concern. “That was… quite a scare.”

She sighed. “…I’m… as okay as I can be, all things considered. But I’m stable for now. That was a worse fit than I’ve had in a while.”

He raised an eyebrow, a mixture of worry and horror filling his chest. “You mean to say this has happened before?”

She bit her lip, her eyes filled with trepidation even as she refused to look at him. “…Yes. For my whole life, in fact.” She sighed again, rubbing her temples. “How about I tell you a story? That… that will make all of this much easier.”

He looked at her intently, waiting for her to start. She folded her hands in her lap, looking down at them instead of at him as she began. “…Long ago, there was a beautiful woman by the name of Lamia. So beautiful, in fact, she drew the attention of Lord Zeus himself. So, he took her as his lover—whether or not this was a consensual arrangement, I don’t know. However, one day, Lady Hera discovered her lord-husband’s affair, and in her rage, she cursed Lamia, transforming her into a serpentine monster. On top of this, she murdered any children she had, be they products of Lord Zeus’ infidelity or not. Wrought with grief and driven to madness, Lamia eventually became a monster worthy of her new form, stealing away children from their mothers and devouring them. She also became known as a seductress—enticing men into her embrace only to kill and eat them as well.”

Before Zagreus could ask what all that had to do with her, she sighed once more and continued quietly, somberly. “But, of course, there’s more to the story than just that. You see, not every child Lamia had was killed by Hera, particularly those she had after her transformation. But they became cursed as well—to live short, painful lives, meeting gruesome and untimely ends.” Her brows furrowed, her expression twisted as though the words caused her physical pain. “Zagreus… I am a descendant of that woman. Of Lamia.”

Her confession struck him like a lightning bolt to the chest. He’d never spoken with Lady Hera before, but now he was glad he hadn’t—he knew his extended family could be petty, downright awful at times, but to do something so cruel, to curse someone simply for existing.  And his lord-uncle Zeus, who started it all, to have potentially taken advantage of that woman… he did not know how to contend with that.

But this new knowledge only brought about more questions. If she was cursed to die young, then how was it that the shade claiming to be her father was so ancient? “But, then how—”

“That is why I live out here,” she explained as though it were the simplest thing in the world, cutting him off. “The roots hidden under the snow have immense power. When mixed with a few droplets from the River Styx along with some other magical components, I can extend my life. A priestess of Hekate taught me that, long, long ago, after my father died. It cannot keep me alive indefinitely, but so far the results have been… exceptional, to say the least.”

Throughout her entire speech, Y/N hadn’t looked at him once. But he’d been examining her closely—the subtle twitches, the way her fists clenched in her skirt… This was a lot to take in, no doubt, but there was something else she was nervous about. Suddenly, it clicked in Zagreus’ mind. “Y/N… How old are you?”

She let out a short, airy laugh at that query, shaking her head. “Now that is a good question. To be honest, I’m not so sure anymore. I’ve lost count. At least five or six hundred, from what I can remember.”

He’d suspected that was the case, but that didn’t make it any less shocking to hear. He huffed out an incredulous laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Well… At least I don’t have to worry about being too old for you.”

She stared at him, dumbfounded. “That’s all you have to say?! B-but don’t you feel lied to? Betrayed?”

“To be fair, I’ve never asked before,” he quipped with a shrug. “So… no, I don’t feel like you lied to me. You’re telling me now, aren’t you?” He frowned, question after question racing through his mind. “But… why try to live forever? I’ve heard mortals are afraid of death, but surely it’s not that bad. I mean, I’ve died loads of times, and while it’s far from pleasant, there’s worse things in the world.”

“I don’t want to live forever,” she explained, a hint of conviction sneaking into her gaze. “I just want to live long enough. You see, in my mind, the only real difference between gods and mortals is time. And if I only had enough time to hone my craft… then maybe I could find a way to break Lady Hera’s curse. It isn’t about not dying… it’s about dying well.” She sighed, her gaze darkening. “…With this blasted curse running through my veins, I will never know the luxury of a peaceful death, nor a peaceful afterlife. As a descendant of a monster, I would surely be thrown into Erebus were I to die before breaking it. It is… it is my only wish.” She gingerly looked back up at Zagreus, her expression unreadable. “So, now you know my secret. That’s why I can’t be with you, Zagreus.”

Erebus. Now that was a fate he could understand wanting to avoid. He felt almost foolish for not having realized Y/N carried such a burden sooner—he should have noticed something was amiss. But how could he have? She was usually so peaceful and serene—at least, she appeared to be. She hid the horrors that plagued her very well, and Zagreus didn’t know whether to be impressed or terribly, terribly sad.

But he was still confused. “I still don’t understand.” He placed his hand on her knee, his touch featherlight, worried she might pull away from it. “None of that changes how I feel for you Y/N. If you’re afraid of scaring me off, don’t be. This is all rather shocking, yes… but I love you for who you are, not what you are. So please, don’t push me away. If you don’t want this, if you don’t care for me as well, then say the word and all will be just as before. But if you’re pulling away only because you think you can’t be with me—” He grazed her cheek with his fingertips, looking deeply into her wide, searching eyes. “Then allow me to assuage your fears.”

“Zagreus, I…” Her face twisted up, and he could practically see her warring with herself. “…You don’t understand.” A deep, deep sorrow filled her eyes, nearly drowning him. But even so, she still leaned into his touch. “…I’ve been avoiding death for centuries. Lord Hades, your father… he doesn’t have a record of showing sympathy to those in my position. I fear that if he were to find out about us… great harm could come to us both.”

“I’m not afraid of my father.” The words came out without hesitation. Despite the somber tone of the moment, Zagreus couldn’t help the little smirk on his face. “If anything, defying him will be an added bonus.” His expression softened, his palm now fully cupping her cheek. “But I understand your reservations. My father won’t find out, I promise. He can’t leave the Underworld—he’ll have no way of knowing.”

She grabbed his wrist, her touch feeling like a hot brand against his skin as she looked up at him imploringly. “Zagreus, you must swear he won’t find out. I have worked too hard for too long, I can’t get caught now. And, despite what you say… I can’t bear the thought of something happening to you.”

The desperation in her voice was palpable, but so was the longing. She wanted this to work, wanted him… but she couldn’t put everything on the line without assurance that the worst wouldn’t come to pass. So, Zagreus did all he could. “I swear. I’ll swear it in blood if that’s what you need, but I refuse to let my father be the thing that keeps us apart. I will do everything in my power to keep you hidden from him.”

She still looked conflicted, but after a long moment, she let out a deep sigh. “…Okay,” she said, her voice slightly scratchy with emotion. She nodded to herself, a faraway look in her eyes. “Okay. So, um… what now?”

Zagreus smiled fondly. His thumb trailed down to her bottom lip, tracing it almost reverently as he leaned in to murmur, “I believe this is the part where I kiss you, if you’d give me the honor.”

Her eyes widened a fraction before darkening and darting down to stare at his own lips. “…I’d like that very much.”

Zagreus grinned before capturing her lips with his own, the taste even sweeter than before. Gods, her touch was just as intoxicating as he remembered, he nearly went lightheaded as her hands drifted down his front to rest upon the firm planes of his chest. He groaned low in his throat when her nails lightly scraped his skin through the thin fabric of his chiton, leaving him wanting more. He pulled her into his lap, completely lost in the sensation of her soft, soft body pressed against him. Her flesh was just so pliable under his wandering hands, squishy and plush in all the best of ways, it drove him mad with want. No, not want. Need.

Fuck, he needed her. Needed her like a war needed carnage, like an emperor needed conquest—a violent, visceral thing that radiated from his core out into his every nerve, carried through the boiling blood coursing through his veins. Her mouth moved hot and intense against his, just as desperate as he felt. Her hands trembled a little against his chest.

Zagreus tore himself away from her lips just long enough to whisper, his voice hoarse with restraint, “Y/N…” He swallowed thickly. “You need to tell me if you don’t want this. Because I don’t think I can control myself enough to stop if we go any further.”

Her cheeks were flushed, her lips beautifully swollen from the force of their kiss as she looked up at him with darkened eyes. In that moment, he thought she truly lived up to the legacy of her ancestor as a temptress. “…But I do want this, Zagreus,” she murmured airily. One of her hands snaked up to cup the back of his neck, her fingers toying with the fine strands of his hair sending goosebumps all along his skin. “I told you before that I want you to stop holding back, and I meant what I said. We don’t have much time together, I’d rather make the most of it.”

Her words only further ignited the heat that was quickly growing within him, like a spark tossed onto dry kindling. That was all the reassurance he needed before he was upon her once again, intertwining himself with her welcoming warmth.

Zagreus didn’t make it to his mother’s garden that night. To be fair, he spent an inordinately long amount of time just standing outside Y/N’s cottage, battling with himself as to whether or not he should follow her inside and demand she tell him what the hell was going on. Ultimately, he decided that it would likely be a futile effort to try and get any more answers out of her at the moment. And then there was that part of him that so desperately wanted to go and comfort her, hold her in his arms and tell her that it would all be okay. She had clearly wanted him as well, what with how fervently she kissed him, but there was something holding her back. And he was determined to get to the bottom of it.

With how silent the night surrounding him was, the crunch of his feet in the snow was nigh deafening as he approached the back door Y/N had disappeared into. He hadn’t even noticed he’d started moving, his body taking matters into its own hands despite the wishes of his mind. It wasn’t until his fist almost made contact with the door that he realized what he was doing. In that moment, he remembered something Thanatos had derisively told him once—that he had no idea which impulses he should act on and those he shouldn’t. His impulse this time was an incredibly strong one: to bust down the door and gather Y/N into his arms, whisper sweet nothings to her until she completely forgot what had caused her hesitance in the first place. And yet… the logical part of his brain (small as that part may be) insisted that confronting her about it now would be a terrible idea, that she needed time to calm down before they could talk about it.

But that thought completely flew out the window when he heard a muffled sob come from inside the cottage. Oh, that sound sent a chill to his bones that dwarfed even the cold surrounding him. He immediately yanked on the doorknob…. Only to find that it was locked.

He must have spent must more time occupied with his thoughts than he’d realized, because no sooner had he made the discovery that Y/N had locked the door behind her than did the potion wear off and the world around him begin to dissolve. His vision spotted, and he suddenly found himself right back in the oppressive halls of his father’s House. He hadn’t even noticed the encroaching dread that usually accompanied his inevitable return to the Underworld, it feeling so similar to the ache in his soul left behind from Y/N’s sudden rejection. The red waters of the Styx clung to him like a cloak as he stood and ran a hand through his hair, letting out a deep, frustrated sigh.

Not even Hypnos’ cheery greeting could improve his mood as he trekked down the hall of the dead, the water still sticking to his skin feeling like a nigh immovable weight bearing down on him. The warm crackle of the sconces along the walls did little to remove the chill within him—not that he ever felt very welcome in his father’s House, but he felt especially out of place tonight. His only saving grace was that his father had yet to return, his desk remaining empty. That, or he was actually in his chambers for once. Either way, Zagreus didn’t care, so long as he didn’t have to see that disapproving scowl on his face.

How had things gone from being so perfect to so terrible so quickly? What did she mean when she said that she couldn’t be with anyone? She wasn’t afraid of hurting him, was she? Now that was a truly laughable thought. If that was the case, he’d have to set her straight as quickly as possible. Truthfully, he hoped it was something benign like that, that her reservations could be easily assuaged.

Now that he thought about it, he really didn’t know much about the enigmatic witch he’d come to love—at least, not when it came to matters of the heart. Her fears, aspirations, hopes, and dreams, they were all a mystery to him. Not to mention what on earth had brought her to live such an isolated life. They’d discussed it before, sure, but she’d carefully left out the vast majority of the details. Not that her past mattered much to him in the grand scheme of things—he loved her for who she was now, and nothing in her past could change that—but perhaps that knowledge could shed some light on the current circumstances.

Unfortunately, he had no way of finding any of that out unless she told him. It wasn’t like he knew anybody else who knew anything about her.

He sighed and ran his hand through his hair again, slouching in his desk chair. That prophecy seemed to taunt him, even though the letters had faded to black with its completion. ‘The son of the god of the dead shall receive a kiss from his bride.’ With the state of things now, Y/N one day becoming his wife felt like a far-off fantasy, even with the Fates themselves having ordained it so. But if there was one thing he’d learned about fate in his time with the list of minor prophecies in his possession, it was that just because something was destined didn’t mean you didn’t have to work for it. And if there was any fate worth working for, it was that one.

So, he set off through Tartarus once again, feeling well and truly like a god on a mission. He hacked his way through the legions of wretches and louts with practiced ease, but none of it alleviated the frustration simmering under his skin. He walked with purpose towards Meg’s chamber, the flames licking at his feet burning hotter and hotter with every step.

As he stood in the entryway, Meg raised an eyebrow at the sight of him, brandishing her whip with a noncommittal hum. “Hm. I think that might be a new record for you, Zagreus. Something happen?”

He really didn’t have the time or energy to talk about it right now, especially not under these circumstances. “Afraid I’m in a bit of a hurry, Meg. So if we could skip the pleasantries and get right on back to trying to kill each other, that’d be great.”

She made a noise in the back of her throat that sounded halfway between a huff and a growl, her grip on her whip tightening. “So something did happen. Fine, have it your way. We’ll talk later.”

While Zagreus appreciated that Meg seemed to be concerned about him, talking about his current love life with his ex was not particularly high on the list of things he wanted to do. And, hopefully, all of this would blow over soon, so he would never have to.

He had faced Meg’s whip many, many times by now, so the familiar sting as it slashed against his skin barely made him stagger. If anything, it almost felt good right now, the pain only serving to stoke the swirling inferno of emotions within his chest. It was easy to lose himself in the fight, in the familiar dance that he and Meg had perfected over their centuries of sparring and, more recently, fighting to the death.

It’d been quite some time since Meg had given him any real trouble, much to her chagrin. However, this time, their battle went on for much longer. Whether it was from his own emotional state making him sloppy or if he had angered her with his dismissal of her concern, Zagreus couldn’t be sure. He was starting to get frustrated, even more so than he was before.

The first strike was Zagreus’. His grip tightened around Stygius’ handle, and in a split second he launched himself towards Meg, blood boiling in his veins. Instead of finding its place in her vulnerable flesh, his blade jammed itself into the stone pillar where she’d just been standing, sending debris hurtling towards the ground. She hissed, using her wing to shield herself from the falling rocks. She gazed back at him with a strange look in her eyes, but it only lasted for a split second before the lightning-fast strikes of her whip came raining down on him.

He took the blows head on, each one carrying a weight that threatened to knock him off his feet—as though she was swinging a hammer at him instead of a whip. She lunged at him and nailed him straight in the chest with the handle of her whip, the sheer force of the impact sending him hurtling into another pillar. His ears rang for a moment, his vision swimming. The searing pain in his side as he struggled back to his feet indicated that he’d definitely broken a rib or two, but he muscled through it, gritting his teeth. “That one felt a little personal,” he snidely remarked before readjusting his grip and shooting towards her again.

She sidestepped his attack far too quickly for his liking, though the ripped piece of fabric from her clothes that clung to his sword gave him a little satisfaction. “You’re one to talk,” she snarled back at him. “You’re letting your emotions make you reckless. Or are you just that eager to feel my whip?”

Instead of an answer, he swung his sword at her with a roar, only for her whip to wrap around his forearm before he could bring it down. He forced against it, the leather sawing into his skin causing droplets of red to drip down his arm. With one last push, its grip loosened, and he slashed at Meg’s stomach.

She sprung away before his blade could make contact, her eyes narrowing. “You’re getting sloppy,” she spat, her voice as detached as ever. “It’s like you don’t even want to get out of here.” Three quick more snaps of her whip had him on his knee, crimson blood pooling on the ground.

“Shut it, Megaera!” Zagreus snarled, springing back upright and slashing at her. “You know nothing about what I want!”

Perhaps his usage of her full name startled her, or maybe it was the uncharacteristic vitriol in his voice, but she stumbled, her eyes widening for a split second. It was all the opening he needed. Stygius sunk into her abdomen with a sickening squelch, ichor pouring from the wound once he yanked the sword back. Meg fell to the ground, gasping for breath. But even as she bled out on the ground, she looked up at him with a strange look, like she was seeing him for the very first time despite all of their history. She let out a strained huff of a laugh, looking far too self-satisfied for someone who’d just been stabbed, and it suddenly occurred to Zagreus that perhaps she’d been trying to rile him up. “Got me good… Now go. But don’t get too comfortable, this isn’t over.”

As she succumbed to her wounds, Meg’s body dissolved, the Styx whisking her back to the House of Hades. Zagreus’ chest heaved with his breaths, his heart pounding hard against his ribs which suddenly seemed to wrap around his organs too tightly. He cursed. He knew he’d be hearing about that later. Good thing Alecto wasn’t his opponent this time, otherwise she surely would’ve taunted him for such a blatant expression of weakness. At least Meg was more understanding than her sisters.

He took a deep breath, the fire in his blood starting to cool some now that he wasn’t staring directly at the evidence of his last failed relationship. Usually, he’d just head right along, but something gave him pause. He didn’t feel as satisfied as he normally did after beating her—instead of triumph blooming in his chest, he just felt hollow.

He didn’t know why he expected to feel anything else. It wasn’t as if killing Meg again would somehow fix whatever was wrong with him and Y/N.

He groaned, running a hand through his hair. He didn’t have time to dwell on all that. He quietly walked out of the chamber, his footsteps on the ancient staircase echoing far louder than usual. It was time to head towards Asphodel, where Lernie awaited him.

Zagreus’ chest still heaved from the exertion of his altercation with Meg. But as he climbed the staircase, the anger and frustration that colored his vision before cooled. The adrenaline that had carried him throughout the fight seeped out of him, leaving his body aching. But the guilt of how he’d spoken to her stung far more than any of the wounds she’d inflicted upon him.

He made his way through the first few chambers of Asphodel almost automatically, until he felt the overbearing presence of eyes boring into him, causing him to snap back to attention. Usually, the souls in Asphodel gave him a wide berth (understandably so). Once he finished off the rest of the enemies in the chamber, he looked around only to find a half-translucent shade peeking out from behind a crumbling pillar. Zagreus cleared his throat loudly, causing the shade to jolt. “Is there something I can help you with?”

As the shade slowly stepped out from behind the pillar, Zagreus realized that he must have been wandering Asphodel for a very long time—his corporeal form flickered in and out of existence, and instead of being only half-translucent, upon closer inspection he appeared to be almost entirely see-through. He had a dazed, disoriented look in his eyes common among the shades that had died long ago. “…I meant… no disrespect… your Highness,” he said, his voice wispy, as though it was being carried on the wind. “…It is only that… that shawl. It looks… ‘tis the twin of the once that once belonged to my wife.”

Shawl? Oh, in his haste to return to the surface, he must’ve forgotten to take off the shawl Y/N gave him. No wonder he felt so warm. But… “Wait, your wife’s?”

The shade stepped forward, his eyes filled with wonder and disbelief. “Yes… by the gods’ providence, that shawl, it was hers. Korinna, my love…” His expression became somber, a faraway look in his eyes. “…I swaddled our daughter in that shawl, whence she drew her first breaths. Before fate wrenched my Korinna from my arms…”

Zagreus’ mind raced. This shade couldn’t possibly have something to do with Y/N, could he? He’d never heard her mention the name ‘Korinna’ before. “I’m afraid you might be mistaken. You see, this was given to me by a friend not that long ago. Y/N never mentioned having gotten it from someone else…” He said that last part mostly to himself.

But, as her name left Zagreus’ lips, the dazed look in the shade’s eyes was overtaken by clarity. “Aye! Y/N, that was her name! Our little girl, mine and Korinna’s…” As his words trailed off, his face fell. “…I have not seen her in such a long time…”

Wait, this shade was Y/N’s father??? But how could that be?! By the looks of him, he had clearly been in Asphodel for the past several hundred years, at least!

But before Zagreus could formulate a response, the shade continued musing somberly to himself. “…Perhaps that is my punishment, to wander these fields for eternity without the warmth of my child by my side. ‘Tis the torment the gods have seen fit for me, for having left her so soon, that I shall never see her nor my sweet Korinna ever again… But I could not bear it. What was I to do? The oracle decreed that she was not to live past her tenth year. Without my Korinna, the only source of strength I possessed, how could I bear to continue on once my own child ceased to draw breath, ripped away from me just as cruelly as her mother was?”

It took Zagreus a minute to piece together what the shade was saying, but once he did, his heart sank with a mixture of sympathy and horror. “Did you… take your own life?”

Tears began to stream down the shade’s cheeks, and he let out a broken wail, sounding like a wounded dog. “O, my child! My child, I am so sorry! What have I done?! My precious daughter…” He buried his face in his hands and sobbed, his shoulders quivering with every heaving breath.

Zagreus was floored. To learn that not only was Y/N an orphan. But that her father had committed suicide when she was a child was a lot to take in. He supposed he’d gotten his wish—to learn more about her past. It was only that he wished the truth wasn’t so tragic. But what still perplexed him was just how ancient this shade seemed to be. Mortals didn’t typically live that long, right? So how could it be that he was her father? And what was that about an oracle prophesizing that Y/N wasn’t to live into adulthood? He had many, many questions. But with the state of the shade before him, he figured the only way to get any answers would be to ask Y/N directly.

The sight of such a broken man tugged at Zagreus’ heart strings. He didn’t know what he could say that could possibly comfort him. So he placed a hand on his shoulder and merely said, “I may not know all the details of your circumstances, but I do know that your daughter is alive and well. I hope that is at least of some consolation.”

The shade looked up from his hands with a tentative yet hopeful expression. “She’s… alive?”

Zagreus nodded. “Yes. Very much so.”

The shade let out a long, long breath, nodding to himself. That dazed look in his eyes was coming back, the few fragments of lucidity that were present during their conversation floating away back into the ether. “Good… good… I may wish… for nothing more…”

Boothill paced back and forth, wearing a hole into the cheap carpet of his motel room. What was he thinking, asking Y/N on a date??? This was a horrible idea! He hadn’t been on a date in years, even before he became a cyborg! Did he even remember what to do on a date? What kinds of things he should do, what he should say, what he should expect? Honest answer? No. He didn’t even have a clue. But he was supposed to go meet her in less than an hour, so he’d better figure it out real quick.

Fuck, did he even have any clothes that would be date-appropriate??? He didn’t really bother much with fashion—so long as he was comfortable and wasn’t so covered up that his systems started overheating, he usually just called it a day. He didn’t want her to think he didn’t care, or that he wasn’t taking their date seriously! Oh, but he also didn’t want to put too much extra effort into his appearance, make her think he was trying too hard. He needed to seem cool, suave, charming—but not so much so that he came across as a douchebag or something.

He ran a frustrated hand through his hair. “Uuuuuugh, why’s all this shit gotta be so complicated!” he exclaimed, flopping down onto the bed. Fuck, his head was pounding, probably remnants of his concussion mixed with stress. He began to massage his temples.

Maybe he could just tell her he couldn’t make it, say that an urgent job came up or something. It’d definitely be a hell of a lot easier than going through all this anxiety and stress. He did have a pretty unpredictable schedule, she’d almost certainly believe him without question.

He sighed heavily. No, no, he wouldn’t do that. He wasn’t that kind of man—it’d be far too pathetic of him to chicken out last minute. And Y/N didn’t deserve that. Knowing her, she probably hadn’t been on a date in years either, which was a damn shame. She deserved to have a good time, even if it was with a hunk of scrap metal like him. He’d given her his word, and he was going to keep it.

Even if he did have a giant knot in his stomach the entire time.

In the end, he just ended up wearing his regular clothes, though he did attempt to comb through his hair a bit more than usual. There was a little festival happening in town—some sort of art market or something—and it seemed like the perfect place for their date (Aeons, even just thinking that word made him feel all sorts of things). Casual, laid-back, low expectations. Plus, he figured all that artsy-fartsy stuff would be something she might enjoy, she seemed like that sort of type.

When he arrived at the market, he moseyed on over to the pavilion they agreed to meet at, trying very hard to appear as though he hadn’t planned out his route beforehand for him to get there at exactly eleven a.m. sharp. But when he got there, he was surprised to see Y/N had beat him to it, sitting on a stone bench and fidgeting with her hands in her lap. She was wearing this pretty yellow sundress that made his mouth feel a little drier than he’d care for it to be. He swallowed down the lump in his throat. ‘Okay, showtime.’

He approached her, raising his hand in a wave. “Hey there, doll. Hope I didn’t keep ya waitin’ long.”

She jumped a bit, her head snapping up at the sound of his voice. She had a shy little smile on her lips and a pretty flush on her cheeks—'Cute.’ “Oh, Boothill!” She stood up and dusted off her dress. “It’s okay, I just got here a little early, is all.” She laced her hands together behind her back as she looked him up and down. Her stare made him feel uncharacteristically self-conscious. “…You look nice,” she added. “I like what you did with your hair.”

He fought the urge to run his hand through it. “Thanks. You, uh… you too.” He cleared his throat. Aeons, he hated how nervous he felt. “I mean, uh, you look real nice today too. Better than nice, purdy as a peach. Ya didn’t haveta go an’ get all dolled up just fer me.”

She chuckled good-naturedly. “Well, I wanted to. God knows it’s been ages since I’ve been on a proper date. I thought I oughta make the occasion special.”

“Aw shucks, sugar, yer already makin’ it special just by bein’ here.” The words slipped out of his mouth before he could think about them, but he found he didn’t regret it, not with the way Y/N seemed to softly glow under the compliment. He offered her his arm gallantly. “Whaddaya say we get this show on the road? I hear there’s lotsa nifty stuff to look at, an’ we can get ourselves some grub over at one a them food stalls once we start getting’ hungry.”

She hesitated for just a moment, but then she took his arm with that sweet little smirk playing at her lips. He hoped the cold metal didn’t bother her too much—especially since the gentle warmth of her hand in the crook of his elbow felt so nice for him. “Sounds good” she said.

As they began to stroll through the market, Boothill noticed a slight bounce in Y/N’s step, her initial nervousness giving way to excitement as they browsed all the wares. He found himself beginning to relax some too, her enthusiasm infectious. If nothing else, he at least got to see her happy today, and that was more than enough for him to call it a success.

As they perused a stand of homemade plushies, Y/N laughed softly. “You know, it’s kind of weird not having Lottie here. I’d never really thought about it before, but we’ve never done something with just the two of us before, have we?”

Boothill shook his head, watching her comb through the plushies with a fond smile on his lips. “Nah, I reckon we haven’t. S’why I thought it was ‘bout time we did.”

She looked away from the display for a moment to give him a damn-near radiant grin that almost made his mechanical heart feel like it was about to pop out of his chest. “I couldn’t agree more.” She turned back to the wares with a fondly exasperated sigh. “I just hope she’s being good for my brother today. You know firsthand how much of a handful she can be when she sets her mind to it.”

He chuckled. “Don’t I know it. But I’m sure ya don’t gotta worry too much. She’s a real good kid, I’m sure she’s bein’ a perfect angel.”

“You sure we’re talking about the same kid here?’ she quipped with a playful smirk. “But in all seriousness, you’re probably right. She doesn’t usually cause too much trouble. Though who knows?” She shrugged. “Maybe she’s acting out because she has to spend the day with her uncle instead of her favorite babysitter. She was pretty bummed that she couldn’t come along.”

Why, if that didn’t just melt his heart. “Well shoot, I s’pose I’ll haveta find a way to make it up to her somehow.” Among the rows of stuffed animals, he spotted a chocolate brown horse toy. He picked it up and turned it over in his hands, admiring the softness of it. “Ya think she’d accept this as an apology? Y’know how much she loves ponies.”

Y/N looked at him with an unreadable expression for a moment, but it was gone just as quickly as it appeared, replaced by a grin. “I think that might suffice.”

He briefly wondered what that look she had given him had been about, but he chose not to think too hard about it. The woman running the stall had her back turned to them as she restocked some product, so he called out to get her attention. “S’cuse me, ma’am. I’d like to buy this, if you’ve got a minute.”

“Oh yes of course! That’ll be—” The woman turned around, but her voice fizzled out once her eyes landed on Boothill. She fumbled with the stack of price tags she was holding, nearly dropping them all over the ground, and her face went a little pale.

“Ma’am? Everythin’ alright?” he asked when she didn’t finish her sentence. What was her deal? Did he have something—

Oh.

It clicked in his mind. He’d been so wrapped up in the amazing time he’d been having with Y/N that… that he almost forgot. It shouldn’t still come as a shock to him how people reacted when they saw all the metal and machinery that made up the majority of his body, and it didn’t, usually. Y/N just treated him so… normally, it slipped his mind for a second, was all. But the look on the shopkeeper’s face served as a sharp reminder.

The woman recovered relatively quickly, to her credit. “S-sorry. That’ll be…”

He didn’t even really register how much she said the toy cost, his body just pulling the credits out of his wallet on autopilot. It made sense for her to be afraid of him—hell, that was exactly why he gave up his human body in the first place, in part, so people would be afraid of him. He knew he didn’t exactly look approachable, all sharp teeth and glinting metal edges. It had never been something that bothered him before, but now… well, all he could say was it left his chest feeling more hollow than usual for some reason.

A subtle warmth against his palm pulled him out of his reverie. As he and Y/N continued through the market, he suddenly realized she had grabbed his hand. Her fingers curled against his own, her thumb gently running over the gaps between the mechanical joints of his knuckles. Heat creeped up the back of his neck, climbing its way up to his ears. Holy shit she was holding his hand. He felt a little pathetic getting so worked up over something so small, but the way her touch felt almost… tender sent his internal fans into overdrive. The warmth that now filled his chest far outweighed and embarrassment he might have felt from his reaction.

Y/N looked back at him with a gentle, comforting smile. “C’mon, why don’t we go get some food? That coney dog stand over there looks really good, want to try it?”

He almost didn’t register what she’d said, still reeling from the sudden influx of emotions that accompanied the realization that they were now holding hands in the park for all to see. He nodded, only half-aware of what he was agreeing to. But it didn’t matter to him too much, he’d go along with just about anything she wanted. “Sounds like a plan, sugar.”

They got their food and sat down at a nearby picnic table. He swore, before he met Y/N, hadn’t eaten this much in years. He didn’t necessarily need to, so it became one of the many comforts that had gone by the wayside once he set out on his path of revenge. But Y/N was insistent on feeding him every time he saw her, and Charlotte got this kicked puppy look on her face if he ever refused. He had to admit, it did make him feel just a little more human. Just a little bit, though.

They chatted while they ate, the air between them surprisingly comfortable. There was a brief lull in the conversation, and Y/N began to twirl her straw around in her soft drink, staring down at it intently. Just as soon as her silence became worrying, she murmured, “…You know, I almost didn’t show up today. Had a whole text typed out explaining that I’d come down with something and wouldn’t be able to make it.” She laughed quietly, shaking her head. In any other circumstance he might have felt offended, were it not for the fact that he’d been contemplating the exact same thing before he’d left. Her gaze flickered back up to meet his, her eyes dewy and warm, like a sunrise after freshly fallen rain. “I’m glad I did, though. This has been… nice. More than nice, actually, it’s been…” Her face scrunched up for a second as she searched for words. She sighed. “…I know it’s probably nothing to you, but… this has meant a lot to me.”

“It ain’t nothin’ to me,” he said, softer than he’d expected to. He glanced down at her free hand lying on the table. Before he could think better of it, he reached out and tentatively took it in his, letting his fingers curl around hers once again. “I think I know what yer assumin’, but the truth might not be what you’d expect.” She gave him a curious look, so he continued, slightly sheepish, “I’ve, uh… not exactly been goin’ out much lately neither. I’m just as rusty as you are, I’d reckon.” He gave her hand a squeeze, and his lips twitched up in a little smile. “But for the record, I’m glad ya decided to come too.”

She squeezed his hand back, and he could’ve sworn he felt his fans whir a little faster just from that simple act alone.

There wasn’t much time left before the sun started to set and the market closed up, but they continued to take their time browsing the booths. Y/N still hadn’t let go of his hand, but then again, he hadn’t let go of hers either. Not that he minded, far from it. It just surprised him a little that she seemed so perfectly comfortable hanging onto it when it was made entirely out of cold metal.

As they neared the end of the street hosting the art market, a flash of yellow caught his eye. He turned his head to find it came from a bucket of sunflowers propped up on a cart advertising fresh flowers. There were a whole bunch of different kinds too, lilies and daisies and roses and all that jazz, along with dozens of others he didn’t know the names of. He gently tugged on Y/N’s hand, guiding her towards the cart even as heat began to creep up the back of his neck. “Lookee here, ain’t these real purdy?”

A soft smile spread across her lips as she followed him over to the flower cart. “Oh you’re right, these’re beautiful!” Using her free hand, she traced a gentle finger over the petals of a peony. “Such pretty colors…”

That look on her face nearly made his breath catch. Should he, would that be too much…? Oh, what was he thinking, he couldn’t not. He released her hand for just a moment as he sneaked over to the florist, handing him a stack of cash while Y/N was distracted. With a knowing glint in his eyes, the florist immediately began collecting various flowers before wrapping them all up in a bouquet and handing them back to Boothill. He shot him a wink that only served to make Boothill’s face feel even hotter, but he whispered a quick, “Thank you,” regardless. A little smile tugged at the corners of his lips as he admired the finished bouquet. He was hoping there’d be those sunflowers in it, they just fit her too perfectly.

To his own chagrin, Boothill felt a little nervous as he cleared his throat to get her attention. She turned to him curiously, but her eyes immediately widened and a quiet gasp fell out of her mouth as she laid eyes on the bouquet he held out towards her. “…Fer you,” he said, tugging down the brim of his hat with his free hand to partially shield his eyes from her gaze. “S’not much but, I, uh… thought ya might like ‘em.”

She blinked, her gaze flickering between him and the bouquet. Aeons, that stare of hers could really make a man squirm. “Boothill, you… You didn’t have to do that.” But even as she said that, she gently took the bouquet from him, turning it around in her hands to look at it from different angles.

He gave her a toothy grin despite how flustered he felt. “Good thing I wanted to, then,” he replied, mimicking her statement from earlier. He rubbed the back of his neck, as if willing the heat there to go away. “…You deserve something’ nice. Least I could do.”

Her lips drew into a tight line, and for a moment he thought he saw the beginning of tears shining in her eyes. She blinked rapidly and took a deep breath. “Well then, in that case… thank you. That’s very sweet of you.”

Lord have mercy, just a couple flowers and she was already getting teary-eyed? How badly had her ex treated her? It made him a little sad almost, that the bear minimum had her so happy. But only a little bit, seeing as he was also riding off the high of being the one to make her so happy.

Shortly after that, the sun began to set and the vendors started to tear down their booths. After only a minor amount of fussing, Y/N agreed to let Boothill walk her home. Somewhere between the flower cart and the market’s exit, their hands found themselves intertwined again.

Once they were only about a block away from Y/N’s apartment, an excited gasp from her stopped Boothill in his tracks. Before he could ask what was up, she tugged him over to a lamppost that was practically covered in posters and stickers. “Oh my god, Raven Death Scream?!?! I haven’t seen them in years!”

Boothill raised an eyebrow, looking over her shoulder at the poster. In letters so elaborate they were barely legible, it advertised what he assumed to be the aforementioned band, Raven Death Scream. Under the band name, the rest of the text was easier to read, stating that they had a show coming up in about a month. He side-eyed Y/N, confused yet intrigued. “You like that kinda stuff? Never woulda pegged you as much of a thrasher.”

She turned back to him with the widest, brightest grin on her face he’d ever seen from her. “Heck yeah! I used to be a total metalhead back in college and high school, I even had my own band! God, this brings back memories.” She looked back down at the poster, her eyes filled with nostalgia. She sighed wistfully. “Those were the days. I had so much fun at those concerts. One time, my friend and I tried sneaking backstage at one of their shows so she could flirt with the bassist, and I ended up getting shoved up against a speaker so hard I almost broke my nose! She never did end up getting her number though…” Despite how unpleasant that sounded, that grin remained on her face. Then, a light pink flush bloomed across her cheeks, and she chuckled sheepishly. “’Course, that was before I became a mom and all! Had to settle down a bit after Lottie came around, I couldn’t very well be running off to shows with a baby at home, you know? But damn, those were some good times.” She shook her head, smiling down at the poster for another few seconds before they started heading back to her apartment again.

Boothill’s mind was reeling. Y/N, a metalhead??? He wouldn’t have believed it had it not come directly from her mouth, and even then he wasn’t fully convinced she wasn’t pulling his leg. He could scarcely even imagine it, it was so antithetical to the image of her he had built in his head. But at the same time, the information made him feel almost greedy, like he’d been given only a sip of the finest aged whiskey he’d ever tasted, but nothing more. What else did he not know about her? Probably a lot, he realized, considering they hadn’t spent all that much time alone together before today. But instead of feeling disgruntled like he might have, that realization excited him. He wasn’t known for being a very patient man, but for Y/N, the thought of slowly getting to know her better bit by bit wasn’t frustrating, it was thrilling.

In the back of his mind, he wondered if maybe she might feel that way about him, too.

He helped her up the stairs leading to her apartment once they arrived, letting her hold onto his arm. All too soon, they found themselves on the landing, right outside her door. Boothill’s heart sank a bit. He didn’t want it to be over just yet, but they both had responsibilities to attend to in the morning. Y/N let go of his arm and turned to look up at him with a slightly shy smile on her lips. “Thank you for today. It was… the most fun I’ve had in a while, honestly.” She let out a little laugh.

“No worries, sugar. I had a real good time too.”

Silence fell between them. They just stood there for a moment, staring at each other. Y/N fumbled with the large bouquet still in her hands, almost like she was hiding behind it. A few petals brushed against Boothill’s arm as she shifted it from one hand to another. Since when was he standing so close to her? But now he was keenly aware of the lack of distance between them. It made his circuits thrum, the excess electricity that coursed through them almost audible.

As he took in the sight of her pretty flushed cheeks, he noticed a stray petal had gotten stuck in her hair. “Wait a sec, doll, ya got somethin’ right… there.” He instinctively reached to pluck it out before he could think about it. But once his brain caught up to his body, his systems screeched to a halt.

Oh. Oh. Her hair was really soft, softer than he had imagined (not that he’d imagined it before). His hand remained long after the petal had fallen away, and he couldn’t resist the urge to tuck a lock behind her ear. His fingers just barely brushed against the curve of her cheekbone at the motion.

Her eyes widened slightly at first, but then they grew soft, following the path of his hand. “Oh…” she murmured breathlessly. “Thanks.”

“No worries...” he replied, his voice suddenly much lower and huskier than he’d anticipated.

His internal fans spun fast as he followed her lidded gaze, noticing how it flickered from his eyes down to his lips. The next thing he knew, her eyes were closing, his free hand was landing on her waist, they both were leaning in, and then…

A muffled crash sounded from behind the door, followed by a non-explicit curse. They both jumped back, suddenly a respectable distance away from each other. Previously just a light pink, Y/N’s face was now scarlet. She looked away, a high, nervous laugh leaving her lips. “I-I should, uh… probably go check on that. Sounds like my brother is ready to head home, haha…”

Boothill cleared his throat, suddenly finding the ground riveting. Damn, his face was hot. “Y-yeah, that’d, uh… probably be a good idea…”

Neither of them made any move to leave.

Boothill coughed awkwardly into his fist, attempting to dislodge the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat. “You, uh… you take care now. Tell Lottie hi for me. I’ll… see ya around.”

Y/N’s lips drew up into a tight smile. If he examined it closely, he almost thought he could make out a twinge of disappointment in her voice. “You too. I, um… I’ll text you, okay?”

He wished he could deny the way his stomach flipped. He still couldn’t find it in him to meet her eyes, too busy tugging the brim of his hat over his face. “Sounds like a plan.” His voice lowered ever-so slightly, something just a bit more exposed peeking through as he added, “…Goodnight, Y/N.”

Her smile softened, becoming more genuine. “Goodnight, Boothill.”

And with that, she turned around and disappeared inside her apartment. He let out a long, long sigh and ran his hand through his hair. What the hell had that been? Or, well, what had that almost been?

Boothill ducked behind a corner, a flurry of bullets ricochetting off of the airship walls behind him. Damn, it wasn’t often that he let himself get cornered like this. How many IPC goons did he have on his tail again? Fifteen, twenty? Eh, not like it mattered, they were all worm food once he got to the control room and blew the joint sky-high. He just needed to get there without getting his brains splattered against the wall.

A wicked grin stretched across his face as he identified an opening—small, but just enough of a pause in the gunfire for him to pop back out behind the corner with guns blazing. One, two, three, four, five shots fired, five IPC lackies dropping to the floor. Before he could even hear the thuds of their lifeless bodies hitting the linoleum, he booked it down the hall.

The remaining guards chased after him, firing haphazardly. He could’ve laughed—maybe if the IPC spent more time training their people how to shoot and less on destroying innocent planets, then it wouldn’t be so easy for him to hijack their ships. But it was a weakness he was happy to take advantage of.

He finally reached the control room, slamming shut and locking the heavy steel door behind him. He actually did laugh now, the sound almost half-crazed and maniacal, as the guards futilely pounded on the door. But there was no way in hell they’d be able to bust that door down, not before he turned off the ship’s autopilot and sent them all spiraling through the air and towards their fiery doom. He strode over to the control panel dominating the back of the room, overlooking the vast expanse of the sky beyond. It was almost scenic, even. But he didn’t have time for cloud-watching, instead scanning the control panel for the correct button. “Now… which one of you little motherfuckers is gonna be my golden ticket outta here…” (Damn, he was glad he’d finally been able to get his synesthesia beacon fixed. A cowboy just ain’t a cowboy without being able to air the lungs some).

A grin spread across his face when he located the button he was looking for. Without preamble, he pressed it, turning off the ship’s autopilot function. Immediately, the ship jolted to a stop. Unfortunately, Boothill hadn’t properly prepared himself for such a jarring break, the force causing him to jerk forward and smack his face against the control panel. “Fuck!”

Ugh, he could feel hot, synthetic blood begin to drip down his forehead, his ears ringing a little from the force of the blow. But he didn’t have time to worry about that, not when that lurching feeling in his stomach rocked through his body as the airship began to hurtle towards the ground below. In a flash, he whipped out his pistol and shot the glass, causing the window to shatter. He leapt up onto the control panel and catapulted himself through the broken glass. As he plummeted through the air, he took aim one last time, the glowing red targets in his eyes locking onto the ship’s turbines. One unloaded clip later, and the next thing he knew the whole thing was engulfed in flames.

He held onto his hat as he hurtled through the sky, satisfaction filling up his chest as the evidence of another job well done flew past him in flaming chunks. He realized he probably should’ve planned a better escape route, but eh, he’d figure it out. Hopefully before he ended up as a blue splatter on the pavement.

He wracked his brain for options as he free-fell. His method of going about things was wild, reckless, and more than a little insane, he knew. But it was all worth it to achieve his goal of bringing down the IPC. The triumph he felt from knowing that he was one step closer to murdering that son-of-a-bitch who’d destroyed his planet far outweighed any lingering fear of danger or death he might have had—even though he’d done away with most of that long ago. But as he crashed through the air, a gentle reminder nipped at the back of his brain, like a child tugging on his pant leg.

Dinner.

Shit! He was supposed to be at Y/N’s place in ten minutes!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Needless to say, he was late for dinner. Not by an atrocious amount of time, mind you—only around a half-hour or so—but late nonetheless. When Y/N opened the door, he was sure he looked less than his best, panting heavily from exertion, his hair tangled from the wind, and a trail of dried blue blood crusted onto his forehead from when he’d bashed it against the control panel. Y/N gasped, her hands flying up to cover her mouth. “Boothill! W-what happened?!”

He shrugged nonchalantly, a lazy grin spreading over his face. “No need to fret, sugar. Just got roughed up a little on the job, is all. But you can bet yer sweet behind I wouldn’t miss dinner with my two favorite gals for anythin’ in the galaxy. Sorry fer bein’ late, by the way.”

She stared at him blankly. She looked at him like he’d just started speaking another language. Though, it was more likely that she was actually just marveling at how fucking crazy he must be. Which, he couldn’t say was completely untrue. “Wha— forget dinner, you need to go to the hospital! Or, uh, the mechanic? God damn it, just get in here!” She yanked him through the door and sat him down at the table. “Thank God I told Lottie to wait in her room while I finished cleaning up—she’d have a fit if she saw you like this! That girl worships the ground you walk on, she’d be devastated to see that you’d gotten yourself hurt.”

That shut him up real quick. He hadn’t even considered that—it was odd for him to think about there still being people who cared about his wellbeing. The very last thing he wanted to do was make Charlotte upset. Now he felt guilty both for being late and for showing up in the state he was in. “She… she does, does she?” he asked almost tentatively as Y/N fussed over him. He squinted in the harsh kitchen light. Damn, his ears were still ringing like church bells.

She responded as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. “Of course she does! Lord, you’re probably her favorite person aside from me, and even then sometimes I wonder.” She chuckled. She grabbed a wet rag and gently dabbed it on his forehead, cleaning up the streak of dried blood.

He winced a little bit as she touched his tender skin, but he stayed put. Somehow, that made him feel even guiltier. He was honored, overjoyed even, that Charlotte apparently adored him so much, of course, but… he didn’t feel like he deserved it. Not one bit. In his eyes, there wasn’t much left in him worth adoring, not anymore.

“Hey, look at me.” Next thing he knew, there were two soft, soft hands holding either side of his face, and he was suddenly staring right into Y/N’s eyes. His stomach flipped. Holy shit she was close. He felt heat begin to creep up his neck. “W-what’re you—?!”

She looked intently into his eyes, her brow furrowed in concentration. She removed one of her hands from his cheek to grab her phone, shining its flashlight in his eyes. The sudden bright light made him cringe, his head pounding. Y/N sighed heavily, her voice dangerously sweet as she said, “Oh honey… I think you might have a concussion. Did you hit your head?”

It took him a second for his systems to recover after being called ‘honey’ in that gentle tone. “I, uh… I reckon I might’ve…” he grumbled, desperately looking anywhere but into those kind eyes.

She sighed again. “Okay. Let me go get you some painkillers, and I’ll tell Lottie we need to keep our voices down during dinner. That is, if you still want to have dinner. I wouldn’t blame you if you just wanted to go home and rest.”

He could’ve laughed. “’Course I still wanna have dinner! You think I came all this way fer nothin’?” Besides, sleeping in a spaceship bunk or a dingy motel wasn’t exactly what he’d call restful.

For the first time that evening, he saw a little smile grow on her face. “Okay. I’ve been keeping the food covered so it doesn’t get cold, so let me just go plate everything up and tell Lottie you’re here.” As she stood back up, she pinned him with a stern look. “And don’t move. If you need something, tell me and I’ll get it for you. I’ll be right back.”

He chuckled and gave her a playful salute. “Yes ma’am.”

It was strange for him to be doted on, that was for sure. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had fussed over his wellbeing like that—if it’d happened before, it was a long, long time ago. He wasn’t completely sure how to feel about it.

She returned a few minutes later with a bottle of pain medication and a glass of water. She handed him a few pills, which he took without complaint. She padded around the kitchen island to begin ladling out bowls of the soup she’d made for dinner. He was so wrapped up in how good it smelled that he almost didn’t register it when she asked, “What do you do for work, anyway, that you managed to get hurt like that? I can’t believe we’ve never talked about it before.”

That question snapped him back to his senses real quick. Shit, he hadn’t been prepared for her to ask about that. Should he lie? What was he thinking, of course he should lie—what kind of self-respecting parent would let a bounty hunter and wanted criminal around their child?! Oh, but he hated the idea of lying to her, maybe a half-truth would work? Slowly, he pieced together his sentence right as the words came out of his mouth. “…I’m a, uh… a contractor. Do a lotta jobs. Some of ‘em, uh… ain’t always so safe.”

That seemed to do the trick well enough. She looked at him with sympathy and understanding. “Ah, I see. Well… just try to be careful, okay? Lottie would be beside herself if something were to happen to you.” Then, she added quieter, “…And so would I.”

He couldn’t promise something like that, not even close to it. Not in his line of work, not with the kind of man he was. But as she looked at him with those soft, gentle eyes, he found the words leaving his mouth against his will. “I’ll try, sugar. I’ll try.”

Charlotte was ecstatic to see him, as she always was. He didn’t think it would ever get old for him, the way she’d cling onto his leg whenever she saw him. Once she deemed him sufficiently greeted, he helped her up into her highchair, her mom busy setting the table. The soup she made was hearty, with potatoes and meat and a nice dark broth, more of a stew than anything. It was moments like these that made him grateful his human tastebuds were still intact, allowing him to savor every bite.

It almost reminded him of something Nick would have made.

He’d been doing that a lot more lately, he noticed. Thinking about the past. Not just about Nick, but about Graey, and all his siblings… and about Clementine.

Aeons, how he’d been thinking about Clementine. He supposed it made sense, with all the domesticity he’d been surrounding himself with lately. Those were memories he’d made sure to keep tucked far, far away, in the furthest edges of his brain and the deepest recesses of his heart. But he just couldn’t help it. He thought Clementine and Charlotte would get along, as different as they might’ve been. He liked to think of the two of them being thick as thieves, Clem being the little hellion she always was and getting Lottie to go along with all kinds of schemes. And Y/N would’ve loved her too, as much as she’d worry and fuss over her with all the trouble she was prone to getting into. And Clem would’ve soaked up every drop of attention she gave her like a little sponge, good or bad. He could picture it clear as day.

And maybe, if he was extra lucky, after he’d come home from a hard day of working the land, Y/N would let him steal a kiss, even as their girls squawked and cawed about how gross it was, as if to say ‘Welcome home, honey. I’ve missed you, I’m glad you’re safe.’

Boothill stilled, his spoon hovering inches from his mouth. That was… far too self-indulgent. What in the hell was he thinking? He wanted to kick himself, grab himself by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

“Boothill, is everything okay?” Y/N’s sweet voice snapped him back to reality. “Your head isn’t hurting too bad, is it?”

His head was killing him, actually. But whether that was from the concussion or his own thoughts was anybody’s guess. He did his best to smile convincingly. “I’m just peachy, sugar. Just got caught up in my head for a second there.”

Y/N nodded in understanding, but her smile seemed a bit tight, her shoulders still a little tense.

Once they finished dinner, Y/N helped Charlotte down from her highchair and instructed her to go wash her hands and wait for her and Boothill to take care of the dishes. Watching her toddle off to the bathroom melted his heart, despite his turbulent thoughts from earlier. But instead of cleaning up, Y/N came around to his side of the table and put a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Y’know, you don’t have to lie to me if something’s bothering you,” she said softly. “You’re welcome to stay and lie down for a bit if you need to.”

He sighed. Guess his smile hadn’t been all that convincing. “Nah, it ain’t that. ‘Preciate the offer, though.” He looked down at the table, desperately trying to ignore the way the warmth of her hand soaked through his jacket and deep into his metal bones. “I was just… thinkin’.”

“Care to share?” she asked. “I can’t promise I can help, but I’m always willing to listen.”

He gave her a slightly wry smile. “Thanks, darlin’, but it’s nothin’. Don’t you go worryin’ yer pretty lil head none ‘bout me.”

“You do realize that saying stuff like that only makes me worry more, don’t you?” She shook her head, her lips drawn into a tight, anxious line. She gave his shoulder a little squeeze before letting her hand drop away. He immediately missed the warmth. She continued, “But I won’t push you if you don’t want to talk about it. Just know that I’m here for you, okay?”

When was the last time he’d had someone he could talk to? Scratch that, when was the last time someone offered? To be fair, a life of vigilante justice and bounty hunting didn’t exactly win him a lot of friends. He sighed again, deeper this time. “I was just… thinkin’ ‘bout how quickly things can change, y’know? That’s all.”

She gave him a small, understanding smile. “…I know what you mean. If you had told me three years ago that this is what my life would be like now, I wouldn’t have believed you one bit. People come and go, worlds turn upside down, and life just keeps moving on through it all. It’s surreal to think about.”

He hummed in agreement, resting his chin on his hand. “You’ve got that right. Ya gotta move fast—ya never know when you’ll lose everythin’.”

That was how he’d lived his life up until now, wasn’t it? Fast, reckless, never knowing whether he’d live to see the daylight or not. So why was he pussyfooting around this? He was never one to shy away from going after what he wanted—and Aeons, he knew exactly what it was he wanted. His whole life had been one long string of bad decisions, what was one more on the list?

“Boothill?”

He locked eyes with her, his gray irises boring deeply into hers with a single-minded intent. “Sugar, how’d ya like to go someplace with me sometime? Just the two of us?”

She blinked owlishly, clearly not expecting that change of topic. “What? Like, what kind of place?”

“Dunno yet. Just know I wanna go with you.” He reached out and gently grabbed her hand, giving her plenty of time to pull away if she wanted to. She didn’t. “What I’m tryna say is… I’d like to take ya out on a date. So long as you’d be okay with that.”

You’d have thought he’d just told her something filthy with how quickly her face turned scarlet. Her eyes went wide as saucers as she stammered, “I-I, um, uh…” She laughed nervously, the sound high and airy. “I mean, I’m not gonna say no—Uh, w-what I mean to say is, um… yes. Yes, I’d be okay with that. Hell, I-I’d be more than okay with that…! Just, uh…”

Right then, Charlotte came bouncing back into the dining room, a deep pout on her chubby little face. “Mama! Taking too long! Wanna play!”

Both of their heads whipped around to stare at the huffy little girl. Heat started to creep up the back of Boothill’s neck as well, feeling sheepish. Ah shit, he’d almost forgotten that Charlotte was still waiting. He quickly dropped Y/N’s hand and stood from his chair. He kept his hat tilted strategically over his face, hiding his flushed cheeks at least somewhat. “I’ll, uh, take that as my cue. Wouldn’t wanna keep the lil princess waitin’.”

Charlotte’s face fell, the crestfallen look in her eyes tugging at his heartstrings. “Hat man leaving?”

Despite his embarrassment, he mustered up a grin for her. “Yeah, I gotta go, sweetpea. But I’ll be back real soon, yeah? You be a good girl for yer momma in the meantime though, okay?” He strode over to her and ruffled the mop of dark curls on her head. He shot Y/N an uncharacteristically shy smile. “And I’ll text ya ‘bout the details, alright? You two take care now.”

Finally, finally, after weeks of tracking this big-wig IPC scumbag he finally had him right where he wanted him. Cornered, staring down the barrel of his gun. Boothill took a few slow, menacing steps towards him, cocking his pistol with a threatening click for effect. “Well, well, well, lookee what we have here. An’ here I thought you’d put up more of a fight.”

The IPC exec’s back hit the wall, and he fell down onto the floor, scrambling backwards. “C-c-can’t we talk this out like civilized folks? I-if it’s money you want, you can have it! J-just please let me live!”

He clicked his tongue. “No can do, pardner. See, ‘mercy’ went off the table the second you sons of nice ladies decided to destroy my planet.” The man trembled violently in fear as the barrel of Boothill’s gun pressed up against his forehead. “Now, any last words ‘fore I blow yer brains out, muddle-fudger?”

“I-I—”

The sound of a familiar ringtone stopped him in his tracks, the cheery tune of some pop song playing from within Boothill’s pocket. His grip tightened on his gun. “Don’t move.” He fished his phone out of his pocket and checked the caller. Hot Momma. His nonexistent heart skipped. “I gotta take this.”

“But you—“

“Shut yer trap, I said I gotta take a call!” The exec shut right up as the barrel of his gun pressed further into his forehead. He swiped on the ‘accept’ button and brought the phone to his ear with his free hand. His voice was almost sickeningly sweet as he greeted her. “Hey sugar, whatcha need?”

Y/N’s soft voice came from the other side of the line, slightly distorted from the shitty reception. “Hi Boothill, is this a bad time?”

“Nah, never a bad time for you, doll.” He readjusted his grip on his gun and mouthed ‘not a word’ to the IPC exec.

“Good, good. Do you happen to know anything about animals?”

“Depends, what kinds ‘a things?” He knew his fair share about cattle and horses from his ranching days, but that was about it.

“Y’see, Lottie found this injured cat out in the parking lot, and I was wondering if you might know anything to help me nurse it back to health. I think it’s got a broken leg.”

He thought for a moment. He was always more of a dog person, but he remembered helping patch up the barn cats once or twice after a scuffle. “Sure, I’ll see what I can do. Just gotta finish takin’ out the trash then I’ll be right over.”

She let out a relieved sigh. “Thanks, Boothill, you’re the best.”

“Aw shucks, it’s nothin’. See ya soon, sugar.” He hung up and stuck his phone back in his pocket. His demeanor did a complete one-eighty as his eyes locked back onto his target. “Now, where were we?”

Amid his chattering teeth, the exec managed to stammer out with a mixture of confusion and fear, “…Y-you have a girlfriend?”

BANG!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“Thank you so much for coming by on such short notice,” Y/N said as she ushered him into the apartment.

“S’no problem, don’t worry ‘bout it.” He waved away her thanks. “Now, where’s the little critter?”

She closed the door behind them, her brows pinched together in concern. “She’s in Lottie’s room. She’s not wanted to take her eyes off her, she’s real worried about the poor thing. I told her she probably just wants to rest, but she won’t hear it.” She sighed.

That melted his mechanical heart. “She’s a good kid. Lemme take a look an’ see what I can do. But don’t get yer hopes up, I’m no vet or nothin’.”

Y/N brought him to Charlotte’s room, where she sat on the bed looking into a large box. A quick peek into the box revealed a sleeping tabby cat. A closer look showed him that one of the cat’s hind legs was bent at an odd angle. Charlotte looked up at him with watery eyes. “Kitty gonna be okay?”

That look on her face tugged at his heart strings. He took another look at the cat, examining its injured leg closer, even as it woke up and growled in protest. He let out a low whistle. “Yup, it’s gotta broken leg alright. Doesn’t look too bad though, could be a lot worse. I can splint it, but you might wanna get her to a vet.” He turned towards Charlotte with a comforting smile. “Yeah, the kitty’s gonna be okay. Just gotta make sure we get her taken care of.”

Y/N let out a relieved sigh. “Oh thank goodness. Thank you so much. Do you think there’s anything else we could do to help in the meantime?”

“Hmm…” He thought for a moment, trying to remember any tricks from his ranching days. “Well, ya probably wanna give her a bath, make sure she doesn’t have any fleas or nothin’.”

“Bathtime!” Charlotte jumped off the bed, bouncing in excitement.

Y/N laughed. “Ah, so bathtime is fun unless it’s yours, huh? I see how it is.”

Charlotte giggled, the sound almost a little impish. It made Boothill smile. “I’d be willin’ to help out once I’ve got her all patched up, it can be hard tryna get a cat to take a bath.”

“That’d be appreciated,” Y/N said, looking up at him gratefully. “Can’t say I’ve bathed many cats in my life.”

He tipped his hat at her. “Not a problem, doll.”

The cat fought him a bit as he hooked her leg up into a sling, as expected, but she quickly realized that biting and scratching metal did more harm to her than to him. After checking to make sure their dish soap was safe for animals, the three of them huddled around the sink to give the cat a bath. Charlotte stood on a step stool to look into the sink, bouncing on the balls of her feet excitedly. She chanted in a little singsong voice, “Bathtime, bathtime, bathtime!” over and over again.

The cat hissed and snarled as Boothill carefully but firmly held her down so Y/N could rub soap into her fur. It took quite a bit of wrangling, but eventually they managed to get her cleaned up. But right as Boothill passed her off to Y/N to be dried off, she swiped at her, causing Y/N to cry out and recoil in pain.

Boothill immediately set the cat down and rushed to her side. Y/N hissed, clutching her bleeding hand to her chest. “Damn, she got me good.”

“Let me see,” he said, stern but not unkind. His circuits thrummed with adrenaline, his synthetic blood roaring in his ears. Why was he so on edge? It was just a scratch, he didn’t need to be as worried as he was.

But he was worried. Fuck, his hands nearly shook as he gently cradled her injured one to examine the scratch. The cat had dragged a nasty red line right down the center of her palm, fresh beads of bright red blood pooling in the creases of her hand. His ears rang as he stared at the blood dripping down her wrist, down, down, down, until the droplets hit the floor.

“Boothill? Hey, everything alright?”

Y/N’s voice snapped him out of his momentary trance. He hated the way he stuttered as he said, “Y-yeah, I’m fine. Let’s get ya cleaned up, make sure it don’t get infected.”

“Mama! You okay?!” Charlotte stood up on her tip toes and looked up at her mother, hugging her leg.

Y/N smiled down at her reassuringly. “Mama’s just fine, baby. The kitty just got scared and scratched me, is all, nothing to worry about.”

Boothill swallowed down the lump that had formed in his throat and guided Y/N back to the sink to run some clean water over the wound. She clenched her jaw a little as the cold water met her stinging skin. He gave her a sympathetic look. “I know, sugar, I know it ain’t pleasant. Trust me, I’ve taken care of all sorts of cuts and bruises in my day. I’ll take care of ya.”

He sat her down at the kitchen table with some bandages and a tube of antibiotic ointment. As he started dressing the cut with a cotton swab doused in the ointment, he shook his head and lightly chastised, “You gotta be more careful when handling an animal, darlin’, ‘specially one’s that’re injured. Ya never know how they’re gonna react, could end up being dangerous.”

Y/N hissed quietly through her teeth, cringing a little from the stinging sensation as he finished dressing the cut. Despite her discomfort, she grinned. “Right now with that ointment, I’m feeling like you’re the dangerous one. That stuff smarts.”

Boothill grew uncharacteristically quiet as he finished wrapping up her hand. Dangerous. Yeah. It was a quality of his he usually took pride in, all the better to strike fear into the hearts of his enemies. But right now, sitting in Y/N and Charlotte’s small apartment, it felt… damning, almost, to be referred to as that. At the very least, it was an important reminder for him. He was dangerous, one of the most wanted men in the galaxy. He ought not forget that, lest… lest someone else he cares about gets hurt.

He stared down at Y/N’s bandaged hand, still cradling it in his larger, metal one. “…Maybe you should be scared of me, then,” he said softly.

She looked up at him for a moment, confused. Then, it was as if a light turned on behind her eyes. She slowly flipped her injured hand over and wrapped her fingers around his, squeezing ever-so gently. She gave him a small smile. “Maybe. But I’m not.”

His eyes snapped up to meet hers. Her gaze conveyed a genuine ease, but most of all, trust. She’d said it so easily, so nonchalantly, like it was just a given, like it didn’t mean anything at all. But it did mean something, at least to him it did. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had trusted him, not really. To be fair, he wasn’t exactly the kind of person who deserved it.

His eyes darted away from hers. For some reason, all that sincerity made his stomach turn. He let out a low chuckle and shook his head in disbelief. “Well, then you might just be even crazier than I am.”

Once Y/N’s hand was all taken care of, they went to go check on the cat. Charlotte quickly located it, tucked away in the far corner of the kitchen behind the fridge. The second it spotted them, its back arched and its still-wet fur puffed up, hissing and growling like no tomorrow. Boothill whistled lowly. “Well ain’t she madder than a wet hen? Might be best to leave her be for now.”

Even with the thing all coiled up like a rattlesnake, Charlotte looked at it with stars in her eyes. She tugged on Y/N’s skirt, looking up at her pleadingly. “Mama, can we keep kitty? Pretty please?”

Uncertainty crossed over Y/N’s face. She glanced over at Boothill, who just shrugged as if to say, ‘Your call.’ After a moment of hesitation, she sighed. “Oh alright, why not? I’ve always been a cat person anyways.”

Charlotte squealed with delight and squeezed her mother’s leg in a tight hug. “Yay!!! Thank you Mama!”

Y/N chuckled, looking down at her fondly as she ruffled her hair. “You’re welcome, baby. Do you know what you wanna name her?”

“Buttercup!” Charlotte chirped out immediately. Boothill wouldn’t be surprised if she’d been thinking about it since the second she discovered their snarling little friend.

He huffed out a laugh and shook his head. “Buttercup, huh? Real sweet name for a thing that looks like it wants to bite all our heads off. You sure it ain’t feral?”

Y/N playfully elbowed him in the side. “Oh stop it, I think it’s cute. That’s a great name, sweetheart, Buttercup it is. How about later we go to the pet store and buy little miss Buttercup some treats and toys to welcome her to the family? Does that sound fun?”

Charlotte beamed up at her, nodding her head and bouncing on her toes excitedly.

The way Boothill ended his day was so vastly different from the way he started it that it was almost comical. From sneaking onboard an IPC ship and executing a top exec, to lounging on the couch with a little girl tucked into his side and a cat curled up in his lap. Oh, and not to mention the beautiful woman sitting right beside him, looking as content as could be as she watched her daughter snuggle up to him. It was almost like…

Even though Boothill may have had waterproof coating on all of his sensitive mechanical bits, it still wasn’t great for him to get water inside his ports. His mental promise to go see his mechanic after he’d fallen in the river quickly fell by the wayside once they got back from their camping trip—a fairly big bounty popped up on his radar, and he couldn’t not take it. Unfortunately, his decision not to get checked out led to him feeling less than one hundred percent. But when Y/N asked him to watch Charlotte for a couple hours while she covered for a coworker at the office, he couldn’t say no.

“Hat man!” Charlotte babbled as she ran over to greet him, latching onto his leg like she always did.

Boothill chuckled and ruffled her hair. “Oh, so I’ve graduated to hat man now, have I? That’s quite the honor there, little lady,” he said, his voice a bit glitchier and more mechanical sounding than normal.

Charlotte let go of his leg and looked up at him with wide, inquisitive eyes. “You sound funny,” she observed.

“Charlotte!” Y/N lightly chastised her as she gathered up her things to head out. “That’s not nice to say to our friends.”

“But he does!”

“’S no problem. I reckon I do sound a bit funny right now.” He winked down at Charlotte. “I’ve got thick skin, I can handle a dose of the truth. But hey, that was real good usin’ yer words! You’re gettin’ to be a real chatterbox!”

Y/N sighed, a fondly exasperated smile on her face. “Tell me about it. She’s been talking up a storm lately. I’m glad she’s starting to use full sentences now, but I’d like it if she wouldn’t point it out every time she thinks a stranger’s hair looks weird.”

That earned a laugh. “Ah, I reckon she is gettin’ ‘bout that age, ain’t she? Can’t help but say exactly what they’re thinkin’.” He crouched down to Charlotte’s level to whisper conspiratorially, “Don’t you worry pumpkin, some folks just don’t like hearin’ the truth, but that don’t mean it ain’t right.”

Charlotte giggled, and Y/N rolled her eyes in faux annoyance. “Don’t you go being a bad influence on my daughter now, Boothill.”

“Who, me? Never in a million years, darlin’.” He got a shit-eating grin on his face as he stood back up. A bad influence? That was one of the nicer things he could be accused of being.

Y/N shook her head, that fond smile still playing at her lips. “Whatever you say. Just don’t burn the place down, okay? And you be good for Boothill, alright sweetie? Mommy will be back soon.”

“Okay Mama!”

Y/N kneeled down to give Charlotte a kiss on the forehead. But before she walked out the door, she gently grabbed Boothill’s arm, an anxious crease in her brow. “Are you feeling okay? You do sound a bit off. Do you need anything?”

He was touched by her concern, but the last thing he wanted was for her to worry about him. He placed his hand over hers, giving it a reassuring pat. “Don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’m right as rain.”

She stared at him for a moment with a pinched look on her face, as though she didn’t fully believe him. Finally, she sighed. “Okay. Just… let me know if you need anything, okay?”

He tipped his hat. “Will do, ma’am.”

She gave one last wave goodbye to Charlotte before shutting the door behind her. Boothill sighed. Well damn it. He sure hoped she wouldn’t waste her energy worrying about him—he was fine, really, just a couple glitches here and there. Hey, if his voice was acting up, maybe that’d be a good excuse to finally get his synesthesia beacon repaired—Aeons knew that’d been bugging him for ages.

Even though he’d only been watching Charlotte for about half an hour, he found himself struggling to keep up with her boundless energy. After only a few minutes of playing ponies and cowboys with her (complete with piggyback rides) he already started to feel winded. His internal fans made this awful whirring noise, and one of his legs began to lock up. “Alright sweetpea, I think that’s enough ponies for today. I gotta sit down for a spell.” He quickly (but carefully) set Charlotte back down on the ground before his other leg could lock up or worse. He sat down on the couch, his joints creaking something awful. He let out a deep, rattling sigh and brought his hand up to massage his temple. Damn, his head hurt.

Charlotte crawled up onto the couch beside him, placing her little hands on his knee as she looked up at him with big eyes. “You okay? Not feeling good?”

Boothill cracked a smile at that worried expression on her face. Damn, she really did take after her momma. He wrapped an arm around her and gently pulled her into his lap, bouncing her playfully on his leg. “I’m alright, sweetpea. Just feelin’ a little under the weather, is all.”

Her eyes widened in realization. “Ohhh. You should eat chicken noodle soup. Mama makes that when I’m sick.”

He chuckled, warmth blooming in his chest. “You might just be right, maybe I should.”

Charlotte nodded sagely, her expression grave. “And watch cartoons. That makes me feel more better.” Her eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait! Me help!” She scrambled down off the couch and scurried over to her room. Boothill craned his neck around, ignoring the uncomfortable clicking sensation, so he could still somewhat keep her in eyeshot, both amused and curious. She came toddling back soon after, carrying a toy doctor’s bag that was almost half her size. In what appeared to be a feat of herculean strength, she managed to haul the plastic box onto the couch, quickly hoisting herself up soon after. She popped it open and got out a plastic stethoscope. With a focused furrow in her brows, she held the end up to his chest. It was nowhere near where his heart would’ve been, but he sure as hell wasn’t going to say anything. He had to hold himself back from laughing as she nodded somberly. “Mhmm. You’re reeeeeal sick.”

“Am I now’? Well I’ll be, that’s no good. What should I do, Doc?”

“You gotta… um…” She fumbled around in her doctor’s kit for a second before looking back up at him triumphantly. “You gotta say ‘ah!’”

He snickered. “Ahhh…” Aeons, he really hoped she wasn’t going to stick something in his mouth.

Luckily, she just looked. She gasped. “You gots shark teeths!”

That earned her a full belly laugh, albeit a glitchy one. “Yer darn right I do! Makes it easier to… eat up little girls!” He grabbed her and tickled her sides as he made over-the-top munching noises.

Charlotte squealed with laughter, squirming in his hold. “No!”

It didn’t take long for his chest to start making that awful whirring sound again, and his voice became filled with static. He set Charlotte back down so he could cough into the crook of his elbow (a habit from back when he was flesh and blood, despite not really having germs to spread anymore.)

Once he was done hacking up a lung, he noticed Charlotte looking up at him worriedly. She frowned. “Hmmm…” she hummed, and Boothill could practically see the little gears turning in her head. Then, her eyes lit up and she held up a finger. “Wait!” She hopped off the couch and toddled back to her room. Even with his chest still rattling like it was, he couldn’t help the fond smile on his face as he watched her, looking forward to seeing what new idea she’d come up with to help him feel better. She came back a couple minutes later, holding a bright pink plastic box.

Boothill helped her get back onto the couch this time—as cute as it was watching her do it herself, he didn’t want to risk her getting hurt. “Alrighty Doc, whatcha got?”

“’S my sticker box!” Charlotte chirped excitedly, popping open the lid. Lo and behold, inside there were sheets upon sheets of colorful stickers. She dug through the box until she pulled out a sheet with glittery pink pony stickers on it, holding it up so he could see. “They’re my favorites!”

She was just too cute. “Well I’ll be, those’re some mighty fine stickers. I see why ya like ‘em so much.”

“For you! To feel more better!” She peeled one of them off the sheet and clumsily stuck it to the metal plating of his stomach.

He thought he just might short-circuit from all the warmth that welled up in his chest. What a damn sweet kid. She continued pasting stickers of all different kinds onto him, just giggling like she was having the time of her life. And well, if something so simple could make her so happy, then he was perfectly content to let her do as she pleased.

By the time Y/N returned, Boothill was practically covered in stickers, including a stray one that had somehow made its way onto his cheek. “Oh my,” Y/N said, obviously holding back laughter. “I take it you two have been having fun while I was gone?”

“Mama!” Charlotte jumped off the couch to drag her mother by the hand over to Boothill. “Look! Me make hat man feel more better!”

He and Y/N exchanged a fond look before Y/N turned her loving gaze back to her daughter. “I see that! You did such a good job taking care of him, sweetheart, he looks a lot better now.” Y/N gave him a wink that struck him right in the chest.

Once she set down her things on the table, she began to fiddle with her fingers anxiously. “Speaking of feeling better… I know it’s none of my business, but… I was worried. My brother is a mechanic, so I gave him a call. He said he could look you over and see if he can fix you up. B-but I totally understand if you don’t feel comfortable with that, I can always tell him to turn around.”

If Charlotte’s antics had melted his nonexistent heart, then Y/N had just turned it into a puddle of goo. The depth of her care and kindness never ceased to amaze him. He tipped his hat at her, a gracious smile on his face. “That’s mighty kind of ya, doll. I appreciate it.”

She let out a relieved sigh. “Oh good, I was afraid you’d think it was an overstep. He should be here in just a few minutes, so hang tight.”

A couple minutes later and Boothill found himself half-laying down in the recliner with Y/N’s brother unscrewing his chest plates. He had a focused look on his face as he popped them open and peered inside his chest cavity. “Alrighty, let’s see what we have here…” he mused, pointing a little flashlight into the mess of circuits and wires to get a better look.

Charlotte stood off to the side with her mother, a look of awe and wonder in her wide eyes. Boothill caught her gaze and stuck his tongue out at her, making her giggle. Meanwhile, Y/N looked on worriedly, her lips drawn into a tight, anxious frown. “Is everything okay? Nothing major broken or anything?”

Boothill chuckled. “Aw shucks, darlin,’ whatcha doin’ worryin’ like that over lil’ ole me? I ain’t gonna break that easy.”

Her brother hummed in agreement. “Yeah, don’t worry, it’s nothing too bad. The craftsmanship here is remarkable, I figure it’d take a lot to cause any major issues.” He continued poking around in Boothill’s chest, examining his inner mechanisms with a critical eye. “You do have a bit of water damage in places, though. Just some rusting, nothing to be too concerned about. I can scrape it out for you and replace a couple of the parts with the worst of it.”

Boothill looked over at Y/N with a deadpan expression. “Water damage, huh? Gee, I wonder where that came from.”

Charlotte burst into a torrent of giggles at that. “Hat man fell in the river!”

“Yup, that’d do it,” Y/N’s brother said with a chuckle. He squinted, a frown on his face as he continued to look inside Boothill’s chest cavity. “Huh. Looks like there’s something wonky going on with your synesthesia beacon too. I can fix the water damage right now, but that’s gonna take a bit more time, lots of finicky parts to mess with. Swing by my shop sometime and I’ll get that taken care of for you, free of charge.”

“Really?!” Boothill sat up in his excitement, nearly knocking the mechanic over. He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Hehe, sorry ‘bout that. But are ya sure? I can pay ya if ya need, no problem.”

He waved his hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t worry about it. You’ve been helping out Y/N and Lottie, that’s plenty of payment for me.” He looked over at Y/N with a mischievous grin. “I’ve heard a lot about you from this one.”

“D-don’t even start!” Y/N stammered out, her cheeks turning beet red. The sight made the fans in Boothill’s chest whir, like his heart was fluttering. She talked about him?

Y/N’s brother laughed at her flustered reaction, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, I’m just teasing. Just take care of my little sister, cowboy. Don’t go breaking her heart or anything, or I’ll find you.”

Boothill didn’t take the playful threat to heart. If anything, it made him respect the guy more. He could understand being protective of your family, especially when they’d been through what Y/N had been. Frankly, he was still riding off of the high of finding out that she talked about him when he wasn’t around, so her brother’s teasing bounced right off of him. He jokingly saluted him. “Yessir, will do.”

Y/N crossed her arms, her cheeks still flushed even as she glared at the two of them. “Will you two knock it off? You’re acting like we’re getting married or something.”

“Why sweetheart, I thought you’d never ask,” Boothill drawled, his voice sticky sweet as he gave her a grin dripping with southern charm. “I’ll be sure to wear a fancy suit an’ everythin’, just for you. I’ll even put on a tie.”

His grin widened as he watched her face flush darker, her eyes pointedly not meeting his. “Oh quit it…” she mumbled unconvincingly.

Charlotte looked up at her mother with wide, curious eyes. “Mama’s getting married?”

Boothill couldn’t help but laugh at the panicked expression on Y/N’s face, even though Charlotte’s innocent question made his neck feel a little hot as well. “N-no! No no, sweetie, Mama’s not getting married any time soon. All Mama needs is you, my sweet babygirl.” She scooped her up in her arms and nuzzled her cheek against hers, making Charlotte giggle and squeal with delight.

It was a sweet moment, but something about what she said made Boothill’s chest ache a bit. He knew that Y/N was lonely taking care of her daughter all by herself, and while he thought she was one of the strongest women he’d ever met for doing so, he wished she didn’t have to be. He wished that she could have the companionship that she’d expressed she so deeply wanted over the crackling of the campfire weeks ago. He wished that she could have someone to take care of her.

Maybe Boothill was going too far out of his way to help out Y/N and Charlotte—it wasn’t as though he was letting his work fall completely by the wayside, but he certainly hadn’t completed as many bounties as he normally would have over the past several months. But he couldn’t say he minded too terribly. He was used to making bad decisions at this point in his life, and if wanting to see those two cuties smile was wrong, then he didn’t want to be right.

Y/N only ever really called him when she needed help with Charlotte (not that he had any problem with that), so he was a little shocked when she called with an invitation.

“Campin’?” He paused in his task of oiling up his joints, his phone held between his ear and his shoulder. He let out a huff of a laugh. “Yeah, I reckon I know a thing or two ‘bout that. Why?”

Y/N’s voice over the phone was just as sweet as always, if a little nervous. “Well, Lottie saw an episode in one of her favorite cartoons where all the characters went out camping, so now she’s gotten it in her head that she wants to go too.” She chuckled, and he could clearly envision the way she was probably shaking her head in faux exasperation, a fond look in her eyes. “Now, I don’t know the first thing about that sort of stuff, but I got to thinking about it, and I thought it might be fun to give it a try. And… I thought it might be even more fun if… w-well, if you’d like to come with us. O-only if you want to, though! I know you’re usually pretty busy, so don’t worry if you can’t come. It just seemed like your cup of tea, is all.”

If Boothill still had a heart, it would have warmed. Even still, the circuits in his chest felt just a touch toastier than normal. He couldn’t help the wide grin that spread across his face. “You could say that. I’m mighty touched you thought to invite me, sugar, I’d love to tag along. Just lemme know when an’ where, an’ I’ll be there.”

“Really? You’ll come?!” The nervous excitement in her voice made his day, even if he was a little shocked. “That’s amazing! I’ll text you the details, okay? I’ll be looking forward to it!”

He chuckled. “Me too, dollface, me too. Tell Lottie I can’t wait.”

She agreed to do just that before saying goodbye and hanging up. It’d been a long time since he’d gone out roughing it in the woods for fun—probably not since he was a kid. But honestly, those two could ask him to go vacationing inside an active volcano and he’d probably say yes. He couldn’t help it—even the thought of Charlotte’s big, pleading eyes melted his resolve. And the apple didn’t fall far from the tree in that regard—all it took was one of those sweet, shy smiles from Y/N and she had him eating out of the palm of her hand.

He wondered if perhaps he should’ve been more concerned about that fact than he was.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Boothill pulled up outside of Y/N’s apartment complex on the day of their camping trip, a wide grin on his face at the sight of Charlotte practically bouncing down the stairs. He got out of the car to greet the little family, ruffling Charlotte’s hair once she was within reach. “Hey there kiddo! You ready for some fun?”

“Hat! Hat!” She giggled and wrapped her little arms around his leg.

His smile only brightened as he looked up and saw Y/N coming down the stairs as well, oversized backpack and rolling bag in tow. He snorted out a laugh. “What’re ya carryin’ all that junk for? Here I thought this here was gonna be a campin’ trip.”

She shot him a faux annoyed look. “And have you ever been on a camping trip with a toddler? One that’s only just recently gotten out of diapers at that?”

That earned a full belly laugh. “Fair enough! Now, let’s get this show on the road!”

Since Y/N couldn’t take the day off work on Monday, it was just going to be a weekend trip. And since they had a two year-old in tow, they weren’t planning on doing anything crazy—some hiking, maybe some fishing, and a whole lot of s’more-making. They drove just outside of town to a nearby campground and started unpacking their things.

Charlotte was already busy bouncing around and exploring their tiny campsite while Boothill and Y/N pitched the tent. Y/N kept glancing over nervously, making sure the toddler didn’t leave her sight. “Stay by mommy, sweetie! We’re almost done, I promise we can go exploring in just a minute!”

“’Sploring! Wanna go ‘sploring!” Charlotte jumped up and down excitedly, but she didn’t wander off after her mother’s warning.

As they finished putting the last couple pegs in the ground, Y/N looked over at Boothill with a gentle smile. “Thank you so much for coming with us, it means a lot. She’s been so much more confident since you’ve been around, you know, it’s like night and day. She never would have asked me to do something like this before.”

He almost could’ve blushed from that sweet, appreciative tone in her voice if he had any blood left in him. He stood back up and tipped his hat over his face. “Aw shucks, it ain’t no trouble. I get to spend my whole weekend with two pretty ladies, what else could a fella ask for?”

Y/N laughed with that shy little smile she always got on her face when he complimented her, tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear. “Well, just know that I appreciate it. We both do.”

Boothill offered her his hand and helped her back onto her feet. Once she’d gotten all dusted off and the campsite was finished being set up, he turned to Charlotte with a sharp-toothed grin. “Alright, sugar cube, you ready to go fishin’?”

She squealed in delight at the prospect, which he took as a ‘yes.’ So, he gathered up their fishing rods, and they started to make their way down to the river. They kept their pace nice and leisurely, so that Charlotte could easily keep up, but Boothill didn’t mind one bit. It was nice to take something slow for once. So much of his life was spent running towards the next thing, even before he’d started his hunt. And as he watched Charlotte toddle along, her tiny hand in Y/N’s, he couldn’t help but wish that he got the chance to slow down like this more often.

Once they got to the river, Boothill plopped down on the dock with Charlotte in his lap, Y/N sitting beside them. Charlotte watched in amazement as he baited his hook, as though it were some sort of magic trick. Y/N got this adorable little focused crease in her brow as she attempted to do the same with hers, but to no avail. Boothill chuckled. “You need some help there, sugar?”

“N-no, I’ve got it!” she assured him, even as she continued to fumble with the worm.

He had to bit his lip to hold himself back from laughing as she dropped it for the umpteenth time. He shook his head in disbelief. “I’ll be, ya really are a city girl, aintcha? Here.” He gently placed his hands over hers and guided them, stringing the bait onto the hook effortlessly. “There ya are, easy as pie.”

She huffed, side eyeing him. “I would’ve gotten it eventually, you know.”

He gave her a cheeky grin. “Oh I’m sure you would’ve. And by then you’d have to scrape the rust off ‘a me ‘fore we could actually start fishin’.”

“Pfft, oh quit it.” She playfully slapped his arm. “It’s not my fault, I’ve never done anything like this before!”

“No kidding.” This time she slapped him a little less playfully, which made him bust out laughing. “Alright, alright, I hear ya. Now let’s catch us some fish.”

“Yay fishies!” Charlotte yelled, throwing her hands up in the air.

Y/N scooted closer on the dock so she could wrap an arm around her daughter. “Careful now sweetheart, we don’t want to scare them away. We’ve gotta be extra quiet, okay?”

“Okay Mama…!” Charlotte whisper-yelled.

Boothill shook his head, unable to keep the smile off of his face. Well, she had the spirit at least. “You wanna help me hold the fishin’ pole sweetpea? Make sure to hold it real steady now, y’hear?”

Charlotte nodded enthusiastically, wrapping her tiny hands around the handle right below his.

They spent the next couple hours out on the dock. Charlotte wasn’t very good at the whole ‘keeping quiet’ thing, but catching fish wasn’t really the point. So long as she was having a good time, Boothill couldn’t care if they caught one fish or one hundred. And she seemed just as content to sit there in his lap babbling away and tossing pebbles into the water.

Just as they were about to head on back to the campsite, Y/N let out a yelp. “Oh! I’ve got one! I think it’s a big one too!” She stood up and wrangled with the pole, nearly being pulled into the water by the force on the other end. “Whoa! Boothill, could you lend me a hand?”

He was on his feet in a flash, taking the pole from her and lending his strength to fight the massive beast. “Holy—! This thing’s really puttin’ up a fight!” He strained against the powerful fish, an intense tug-of-war that he seemed to be quickly losing.

“What the—?!” With another unexpectedly powerful tug on the other end of the line, Boothill went flying off of the dock and into the water. Y/N and Charlotte yelped as a huge wave of water splashed onto the dock, soaking both of them head to toe. “Boothill! Are you alright?!” Y/N yelled frantically.

It took him a second to swim back up to the surface, what with his metal body sinking like a rock. But when he popped his head out of the water, the sight of Y/N and Charlotte’s concerned faces tugged on his nonexistent heartstrings. He grinned bashfully, a chuckle leaving his lips. “Aw shucks, I’m okay ladies. Nothin’ damaged but my pride. Sweet Aeons above, what kinda monster was that thing…?”

Upon seeing that he was alright, Charlotte burst into laughter, babbling incoherently amidst giggles. Y/N soon joined her, letting out a few chuckles of her own. She shook her head, looking down at him with an amused gleam in her eyes. “Here, let me help you up.”

He grabbed her outstretched hands, hoisting himself back onto the dock. Water leaked from the various ports and gaps in his mechanical body. Ugh, he wasn’t looking forward to his weekly maintenance. Maybe he should make an appointment with his mechanic. He might’ve been water resistant, but that didn’t necessarily mean he was completely waterproof.

“Hat! Oh no!” Charlotte’s tiny voice squeaked out in distress as she hopped up and down, pointing down the river where Boothill’s hat was slowly but surely floating away.

He couldn’t hold back a theatrical groan. “Of all the—”

“Don’t worry, I’ve got it!” Before Boothill could protest, Y/N was already halfway down the river, jogging after his hat.

From his vantage point on the dock, he could see her make her way to closer to the riverbank with a large stick, trying to fish his hat out of the water. His heart leapt into his throat at he saw her stumble on the slick rocks, about to fall into the river herself. But before he could sprint over to her side, someone else beat him to it. A man that was sitting nearby grabbed onto her arm before she could fall in, pulling her back onto the shore. Instantly, Boothill could feel his hackles raise. His cybernetic optics zoomed in on the sight, and he raised the sensitivity of his hearing so he could get a better sense of what was going on.

The man looked to be around the same age as they were, with a short mop of brown hair on his head. But more than that, Boothill was more focused on the pink blush on Y/N’s cheeks. She gripped the brim of his hat in her hands, fiddling with it shyly as she thanked the man who’d saved her.

“No problem,” the man said, a good-natured smile on his face. “Can’t have a pretty thing like you being swept away by the river.”

Now that made Boothill’s chest tighten. Who did this guy think he was, hitting on her like that? But Y/N didn’t seem perturbed by it at all! In fact, she smiled at the guy, that pretty little flush on her cheeks darkening.

But before he could march on over there and give him a piece of his mind, Charlotte darted on over towards them. “Mama!” she cried out, latching onto Y/N’s leg. “You not hurt?”

The sweet sight made the knot in Boothill’s chest loosen some. He started to make his way on over towards them as well, but he stopped in his tracks.

The man’s demeanor completely changed, as though a switch had been flipped. He glanced down at Charlotte with an uncomfortable grimace on his face. “O-oh. Um, anyways, I’m glad you’re okay. I’ll just, uh, get out of your hair now.”

“Wait—” Y/N reached her hand out to get him to stop, but he was already gone. She dropped her arm, bringing a loose fist to her chest. Aeons, she looked downright forlorn. Boothill’s heart ached seeing that look on her face. It didn’t suit her, not at all.

Perhaps it’d be best if he pretended he hadn’t seen anything. He jogged on over to herand shot her a charming grin. “Thanks for gettin’ my hat back, sugar, you’re a real peach. Don’t know what I’d do without ya.” He gently took his hat from her hands and placed it back on his head, not caring that it was still sopping wet. He brushed her hair out of her face, hoping that his cold metal fingers against her damp skin wouldn’t bother her too much. “Well I’ll be, even soaked to the bone you’re still prettier than a plum. Why don’t we all head on back and get dried off? We can start a fire and cook us up some grub, how’s that sound?”

He knew he was laying it on a bit thick, but he couldn’t stand seeing her so sad. And if all it took to make her feel a little better was bringing out the southern gentleman in him, then he’d do so happily. She still had a twinge of melancholy in her eyes, but a little smile made its way back onto her lips. “That sounds great.”

Y/N seemed to perk right up once they got back to their campsite, helping Charlotte roast hotdogs and s’mores over the fire with the gentle patience only a loving mother could have. They spent the rest of the evening around the fire—Boothill even felt charitable enough to regale them with a few stories from his old ranching days. He usually tried to avoid thinking about the past too much, but it just felt right. Lately it’d been really hard not to think about it. Something about being with Y/N and Charlotte made him feel… and he was incredibly hesitant to even think this, but it made him feel… like his old self again, almost. Almost. That man died along with Nick and Grey and his siblings and… and with Clementine. No. That man whose name was now lost to the cosmos, that man had died long ago. But something about hanging around the mother and daughter pair made him remember who that man once was, at least just a little. He still couldn’t decide if that was a good or a bad thing yet.

Once the sun had fallen solidly under the horizon, Y/N brought out her guitar and started strumming a soft song, lulling Charlotte to sleep. She then picked up the little child and tucked her into her sleeping bag inside their tent, returning after a moment to sit by the fire with Boothill for a little longer. She idly plucked at the strings, playing a quiet tune that he didn’t recognize. After a while of listening to the gentle music and the crackling of the fire, he commented, “Real nice guitar you’ve got there. I like the finish on it, real purdy.”

“Thanks,” she replied, still looking down at the fretboard as she changed chords. “…It was given to me for my birthday a long time ago. By Charlotte’s father.” She said it evenly, almost nonchalantly, but there was an underlying sadness to her quiet words.

Boothill’s heart sank into his stomach. “Aw shucks, I’m sorry, sweetheart. Didn’t mean to drudge up bad memories.”

“It’s alright, it doesn’t bother me too much anymore. At least, that’s what I like to tell myself.” She let out a dry chuckle. “…You know, I stopped playing after he left. But not that long ago, Lottie asked me to play for her out of the blue. I wonder where she got that idea from.” She looked up from the strings to give him a cryptic smile.

He rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly. “Yeah… sorry ‘bout that. I just couldn’t think of any other way to get her to settle down for the night. Hope it’s not caused ya too much of a headache.”

She chuckled once more, shaking her head a little. “Not at all. It’s actually been… pretty nice. Y’know, to make memories with this guitar that don’t involve him.”

“Glad to be of service, then.” He knew exactly what she meant. After he lost Clementine, he swore he’d never pick up a guitar again, but playing for Charlotte felt… healing. If only a little.

She continued to strum the instrument in her hands, and for a while they just sat together quietly. After around fifteen minutes, she spoke up again, almost whispering. “……You know, I really thought he’d be happy when I told him. I certainly was when I found out. Sure, it wasn’t planned, but we were engaged. I thought we were going to spend the rest of our lives together… I thought he loved me enough to follow through on that.” She paused, the quiet sounds of her playing and the woods around them almost deafening. “That was dumb of me, I guess. But I never imagined he’d be the kind of man who would just… leave.”

Boothill shook his head, leaning forward with his elbows resting on his knees. “That ain’t dumb ‘a you. Just means he’s a sorry excuse of a man.”

Her smile stretched tight across her teeth. “I know.” She paused. “Honestly, more than anything, I just hate how… unworthy he made me feel. I don’t care that he’s gone anymore, I got over that a long time ago. But trying to find someone as a single mom? You saw the way that guy ran when he saw Charlotte. And the worst thing is, I can’t even blame him. Not everyone is ready to be a parent, let alone a stepparent. It just… it gets hard for me. Don’t get me wrong, Charlotte is worth a million times more than any man could ever be to me, but I miss having someone I could lean on.”

Boothill wasn’t sure what to say. He knew firsthand how difficult it was trying to date as a single parent, but he imagined it was a lot worse for a single mom than a single dad, what with how scummy men could be at times. He hated that that bastard had hurt her so badly, but he knew these weren’t wounds a couple of pretty words could fix. They ran deep. Just like the ones he carried. But still, he could try. “You are anything but unworthy of love, doll. A lotta guys are scared of responsibility, yeah, but that has got nothing to do with your worth, or Lottie’s. Any man who gets the chance to be with you better thank his lucky stars.”

She looked up at him, her eyes soft with vulnerability. “Boothill…”

“I mean it. More than anything in this damn galaxy. You’re a treasure, Y/N, and I’m lucky to be a part of your life.”

He was suddenly aware that he was sitting close enough to her to see her throat bob as she swallowed. She blinked rapidly for a moment, the beginnings of tears starting to glisten in her eyes. “…Thank you,” she croaked out, her voice slightly hoarse. “I’m so grateful that you are.”

Boothill could feel in his mechanical bones that he was about to do something stupid and reckless if he didn’t stop himself right now. So, with one last lingering glance down at her trembling lip, he whispered, “We oughta be getting to bed. Don’t want Lottie getting up before us and wanderin’ off.”

Y/N took a deep breath, nodding slowly. “You’re right.” She stood up and packed away her guitar in its case. But before she entered the tent, she looked back over her shoulder at him. “Boothill…? Thank you. For everything.”

He grinned and tipped his hat. “No problem. Now you go on get to sleep. I’ll be right behind ya.”