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You’re a quiet person.
That is something he always picked up on.
From the moment he met you, you couldn’t even mouth words to him.
Only staring.
He didn’t know what your gaze held , but as seasons passed he realized it had been with awe. You’d never recall to him what specifics made you stare at him so. The only hint you ever let him grasp was that you’d never witnessed hair like his.
He remembers letting out an impossibly boisterous laugh that day, when those words slipped from your mouth. Your soft mouth.
You pouted, a small blush on your cheeks, and you murmured his name with such sweetness he quieted his own laughs for the chance to hear you say it clearer.
No one is aware of that name now.
Then again no one knew him the way you did.
While it’s true his family knew him to be the caring yet fierce man, you knew a deeper more intimate side— you knew deep down he was scared ; almost all the time.
The times he remembers you to be stretching your voice on purpose had been with his beloved daughter. Those sunsets he’d come back home to, witnessing the glow of dusk settle onto your skin as you cackled and played with his small girl.
Quiet snippets where he’d catch you muttering to yourself as you fiddled with all sorts of mechanics— studying different things to get a sense of the parts of yourself you can’t manage to remember. You were always good at figuring out fancy garbage, becoming the appointed person on the farm for that sort of thing. You took it with pride, the genuine, excited kind of pride.
You were a quiet person though, he corrects himself.
You’re… gone now.
So he’s tidied himself up a bit, he’s a galaxy ranger now— fantastic one at that. He’s not so legible really but he has some idea and he’s gotten much better when it came to the whole Aeon stuff. Hell even got himself a snazzy body— You’d be surprised, he’s sure as hell of that. You’d be pleased. Sometimes he thinks about what life could’ve been. He wonders what you would’ve chosen in regards to your past.
Would he have even let you leave to explore— to find out? He wouldn’t let you go alone. Boothill knows he could never let you go alone now. But it’s a stupid thought as you’re gone. You’re all gone. Maybe you’d tell him he’s overbearing but hah, it’s another ridiculous thought. You’d have done anything for him to chase you, something he only knows because you bestowed him that truth.
It had been on a night he only recalls as honey, really.
He remembers you being so nervous, wide eyes with a flush framing— well your entire body. You never found out that it was his first time too. Maybe you figured it out on your own and never told him but—
You were so soft, so incredibly warm. Your voice, impossibly tender— sweet like honey. You were glowing, truly, the way your thighs framed his own when you straddled him with an unsure bite to your lip. “Is this right?” You questioned. You were so fucking precious. Boothill had felt like he was drunk off just the feeling of your bare body squished against his own— when you’d let his calloused rough fingers dig into your skin, bruising you. He remembers the choked noise he made at the same time as your whine when his tip had nudged your entrance.
Boothill could never forget the scrunch of your brow as you focused on him, just him. And when the two of you did come together, he knows that moment to be scarred into his soul. The moment where you had grasped his hands, laying on top of him and told him frankly that yes, anywhere you’d go in the galaxy you’d always come back to him.
He doesn’t know if you knew that he believed you to be a brilliant star— no, something brighter than that,
A stellaron maybe?
It’s a funny comparison he considers as of now— sitting at the bar, drink in hand as he considers where he should go to next. Well, there was that whole fake galaxy ranger debacle he’s ought to take care of.
Penacony, dreamworld?
Right, but what worth is a dream if it’s not with you and his small girl?
The reality was that when he’d raced home realizing the ICP’s plan there was only ash. The ground that once flourished with life was dead, the trees turned to crisp and that farm he grew up in? Nothing but soot and ash– there were no bodies he could bury. Neither did he have the time. But he still held hope that maybe just maybe you’d gotten home before he did, that you ran with her but he’s not stupid. Boothill knew that especially when he saw the tattered and burnt case of your belongings– and a gun he’d never seen before.
The moon never seemed to shine less that night.
Boothill thinks that now no matter where he goes– no matter what shiny bar or noisy city he finds himself to complete his duty, nothing ever seems to glow that bright. Nothing ever shone with the brilliance you held.
Maybe yes, a stellaron is what he could call you. A stellaron, you were.