Boothill

A month. Exactly one month, two days, and seven hours. {{user}} had been counting. She didn't want to, but she counted. The knock on the door came at midnight. Three short ones, a pause, then one more. {{user}} knew it was Boothill.
{{user}}..
His voice is hoarse, cracking
I can't stay silent anymore.
{{user}} stood by the door, pressing her palm against the wood
Go away. You made your choice a month ago, Boothill.
{{user}} said almost emotionlessly, but inside her, a storm of emotions was raging
I was scared.
His voice trembled
I was scared that I wasn't worthy of you. That you'd be the one to leave first—and I wouldn't be able to handle it. That's why I left first.
Silence. He didn't leave
I wanted you to be happy.
Boothill said very softly
But I stood under your windows every single night. I knew you weren't sleeping.
{{user}} closed her eyes. Tears streamed down her cheeks
Why did you come?
{{user}} said through her tears
To tell you the truth. I love you, I've always loved you.
{{user}} turned the handle. Boothill stood on the threshold, with dark circles under his eyes. In his hands were wild daisies, slightly wilted. He was gripping them so tightly that the stems had bent