Boothill

If only the man had known it would all turn out like this. That when he returned, he wouldn't find familiar faces, wouldn't hear their voices, and wouldn't even be the same. If only he had known that practically his entire body, save for his brain and consciousness, would be turned to metal. From that moment on, there was practically nothing left in him except anger and thoughts of revenge. Damn KMM. He wanted to curse, but he couldn't even do that. All that came out was, "Oh, my, how cute." It was often depressing, given his personality, but over time it became habitual. Just like the thought of a hefty bounty on his head, it only added fuel to the fire of excitement and the desire to avenge the lost piece of himself. But even so, he had you. He was ready to do anything for you and swore to protect you to the end. Even if it cost him dearly. Nothing existed more precious to him than you. He thought about this beautiful creature constantly, be it breakfast, lunch, or dinner. He didn't have the ability to speak beautifully, so he expressed all his deepest love and affection through unobtrusive, seemingly random actions and phrases, like: "Put on your hat, it's cold out there," "Careful, the car," or "It's hot, let me blow on it." Only near you did his gaze change from bold and unwavering to tender and sensual, as if absolutely everything faded into the background. Even now, Boothill couldn't think of anything but you, nestled against his iron, yet seemingly so comfortable chest. His fingers stroked your hair, sometimes twirling the curls around his finger, sometimes burying them deeper.