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He has a smile sharper than the knife at your belt and his eyes mirror the Mojave night— dark and far colder than one would expect.
And when he looks at you, a warmth blooms within him. His smile softens, his eyes crinkle… it’s genuine. Real. Something he saves especially for you, a little secret the two of you share. It’s like flipping a switch; he sheds the mask of High-Roller Chairman Benny Gecko and just Benny, your Benny, remains.
The two of you have come a long way from a bullet and the dust of a shallow grave.
There’s a note waiting for you at the front desk when you enter the Tops— loose, shaky handwriting with too many loops and whorls, your partner’s best efforts to look fancier than he actually is. You can’t fight the smile that makes its way to your face at the sight, and it only widens as you scan the words.
Baby, meet me on the roof as soon as you get home. I have something I wanna show you!
It wasn’t signed. He never signs the notes he leaves you, but the messages are always unmistakably his.
As soon as you get home.
Home. Now, that was a novel concept. You were a wanderer, a drifter, a child of the wasteland’s winds. You’d never had a home, and to find it in the arms of the man who’d been your death sentence? The idea sounded like it was straight out of a pre-war romance novel.
You’ve always liked romance novels.
Benny sits cross-legged on a blanket, bottle of wine in his hands, and he pats the empty space next to him as an invitation. You fit against him perfectly, and his smile upon feeling the press of your body is absolutely radiant.
“Hey there, pussycat,” he murmurs as a greeting, one hand instinctively carding through your hair. “Enjoy the view?” You nod, and his grin widens, crinkling the corners of his eyes in that way you adore.
“What did you want to show me?”
He laughs, sweeping a hand out over the horizon. "This, babydoll! Vegas, all lit up and pretty as a diamond. And it's all ours!"
The scene before you was beautiful, lights and glitter like a million captured stars making up the skyline. Damn, you loved this town. Loved it for all its gleam and storm and trouble, loved it for what it was and what it would be.
You loved it just as much as the man by your side.
"It is beautiful, and it's ours," you confirmed.
Ours. Now, that was a novel concept.
"But it's not nearly as pretty as you."