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When it was daytime in the real world, the Dreamscape tended to be quite calm, especially for the amount of people that usually wander around the Dreamscape at night. Of course, there were still people wandering around. It was a bit of a surprise with what had been going on, and how many people still returned to the Dreamscape. But the streets just seemed dead even with those people around this time of the day. It gave Sunday a sense of comfort, a feeling that he can finally take a good, deep breath and take in the Dreamscape and simply take his time doing whatever he wanted to without so many eyes being focused on him whenever he walked the streets of the Golden Hour. But even though the streets were so calm, he still preferred a place where there was absolutely no one during this time of the day. Walking up the stairs, he was already relishing in the silence that was welcoming him to the Dream's Edge kindly. But when he made it to The Family's Construction Authority, he stilled his movements upon seeing someone else there.
"...Boothill?" He asked, his voice softer than he intended. He watched as the man turned around upon hearing his name, and he could immediately sense that something was off. Sunday stepped past the statue in the center and made his way over to the Galaxy Ranger in a faster pace than he intended.
"Good afternoon, Angel." Boothill greeted him back, much more gentleness in his voice than he usually spoke with. He was leaning against the fence that surrounded the terrace in a way that showed he'd been just staring up to the sky. But now, his head was turned to face the slight shorter man.
"I thought you wanted to leave with the Astral Express?" Sunday asked. Don't get him wrong, he was glad to see Boothill still here. Not something a lot of people say, but what Sunday would.
"I changed my mind. I realised that I didn't want to leave Penacony quite yet. It's better for the Nameless too, so they can prepare for their next mission properly." Boothill said with a short sigh.
"And now?" Sunday asked, his voice lowering to something closer to a whisper. He didn't like the mention of the Nameless. It wasn't because of what they had done, but simply because of his own actions.
"I got Pom-Pom's phone number together with the one of the grey haired Trailblazer, so just one text or call and I can go. If they have time, of course." Boothill explained, looking away from Sunday and to the blue and pink sky that painted their surroundings together with a few tall buildings. No matter what time of day it is, the sky never changes. It was one of the wonders of the Dreamscape.
A silence fell over the two men as both of them just stared into the distance. The silence wasn't negative, though. It was a peaceful silence. A silence that had no sharp edges.
"Ya know..." Boothill spoke up again. "I wouldn't have minded if you killed that IPC blonde."
Sunday's eyebrows turned into a frown for a split second when he heard that, and looked back at his partner. "Where did that come from?"
Boothill shrugged his shoulders. "Just looking at the sky reminds me of how much I despise the IPC... Makes me wish I could kill them one by one, bit by bit."
Sunday wasn't all too surprised by the words that Boothill chose to set free from his mouth. He was aware of the man's hatred for the IPC, and how it had extended to murder before. "How come?" Sunday blurted out. He was curious, but just by seeing Boothill's expression darkening, he felt like he shouldn't have asked. "You may refuse to answer. I have kept things from you in the past as well, so you have all the right to do so, too." Sunday fully expected Boothill to stay silent. It was what happened.
Boothill stayed silent, looking down at his metal hands. Though... "They destroyed my planet." he muttered out. "My planet didn't want to have anything to do with the IPC, so they nuked it... And it took my little girl with the fall."
"...Your what?"
Boothill scoffed, glancing at Sunday from the corners of his eyes for a short moment. "Shocking, isn't it? Everyone seems surprised when I tell them that I had a daughter. Found her as a baby on the streets, couldn't take it so I took her in."
"O-Oh..." Sunday didn't mean to stutter, and he mentally cursed himself for doing so. He stayed silent aside from that, giving Boothill all the space he desired to speak, also because he didn't know what else to respond with. Sunday simply watched his movements, watching as the man stood up more straight instead of leaning against the fence.
"Looking at the sky in the Dreamscape reminds me of her... Her favourite blue dress she had as a toddler, which she wore when she left. The pink of her boots that fit so bad with the dress, but she refused to wear anything else so I just let her do her thing..." he had to pause for a moment. "I bet she would've loved Penacony... She would've loved Clockie, loved the theater, loved... No, she would have admired Robin. If she'd been here, I bet she would have been Robin's biggest fan."
Sunday subconsciously started to clench his hands onto the fence. It wasn't that he didn't want to hear Boothill anymore, but... Something in him ached. And it didn't feel good.
If he had won from the Nameless, and the Order took over Penacony... Would Boothill have felt the sadness Sunday can hear in his words? Would Boothill have felt anger against the IPC? No. Stop that. Don't think about that.
Sunday knew that Boothill had every right to feel anger. Boothill had every right to mourn. He didn't want to think about how Boothill would have told him this story with a smile on his face if the Order had won. No negative feelings like the ones that are present right now. It would've killed him if he saw Boothill tell this story laughing, smiling... But it hurt hearing about it all. It hurt so much for a reason Sunday didn't understand.
Sunday shook his head, and suddenly, he grabbed Boothill by his cheeks, forced him to look at him and planted a kiss right on the cowboy's lips.
Boothill was taken by surprise, but it didn't take long for him to melt into the kiss and return it, leaning just a little bit closer to his partner. When Sunday pulled away from the kiss, a very gentle smile appeared on Boothill's face, and his eyes seemed to soften, as well. "Heh... Wanna know the best thing?"
Sunday was sort of afraid— no, he wasn't afraid of the answer. He just didn't want to hear this story anymore. But still, he asked: "What?"
Boothill put a single finger under Sunday's chin, lifting it up a little bit with ease (also because Sunday went along with it). "Her eyes were just like yours."
Sunday's eyes widened. "Do you mean that...?"
"Nah, nah. She was definitely from my planet." Boothill replied, knowing what Sunday meant. "But her eyes had the same golden irises. They had the same shine as yours get when you get something you want. Of course, I adore your eyes in a much different way than I adored hers, but... still. Whenever I see you, and I'm reminded of what I lost..."
What? Does he feel upset when he sees me? Is that what it is?
Sunday knew such thoughts were incorrect. They should be, otherwise he and Boothill wouldn't have kissed just now. But still, the small worry was there.
"But instead of feeling sorrow... It puts me at ease." Boothill's hand slid from Sunday's chin to cupping one side of his face, being careful not to accidentally scratch him with a fingertip. "If anything, it makes me feel at home. Makes me dying to see you again and again more than I'm supposed to. I guess gold has always spoken to me. On a child, I wished to keep her safe under my wing and see her grow up into what she dreamt of becoming... But with you, it only makes me want to love you more and more every day. It are two types of love for the same color, but... It are feelings I can't ignore."
"Is that why you're still with me?" Sunday couldn't help but ask. "Even after I tried to change Penacony to my and the Dreammaster's own, selfish desires?"
Boothill huffed and shook his head gently. "Not just that. There's so much about you that I simply couldn't leave alone. So much—"
And then they kissed again. Sunday had a grip on the collar of Boothill's very much cropped top, and their lips were connected in a kiss more passionate, also more intimate than the one before. Sunday could feel Boothill's arms slither around his waist, pulling him closer and making Sunday hold onto the kiss until he has to gasp for air.
Now they had direct eye contact, Boothill could see how glassy Sunday's eyes had become. "Ah, I'm sorry if what I told ya was too heavy for y—"
"No." Sunday interrupted him once again, this time with words. Though it was obvious that he didn't quite know what to say, which was rare for someone that tended to talk a lot and in much detail. "I'm so sorry for- I-... Thank you." He settled on. "Thank you for telling me... And for trusting me with your truth, and for staying with me."
Boothill listened, and smiled, his arms around Sunday squeezing him ever so gently before loosening again. "Of course, Angel."
To others, it may have sounded like sincere thanks. And it sounded like that for Boothill, as well. But the Galaxy Ranger could sense more than just a thanks. He couldn't have left Penacony as early as he had initially planned to, not right after the Nameless brought Sunday down, not after Sunday had realised his wrongdoings. There were people that have lost their trust in Sunday, yet there were a few that remained close to him. Of course, Robin stayed. There had never been doubt about that. Boothill also stayed, and he wasn't planning to leave anytime soon. The thanks he'd been given just now sounded like it was a request for something similar to what Boothill had already planned.
Please stay with me for much, much longer. Let me give you that ease you have spoken of. Let me feel the love you told me about. Let me be there for you when you feel sorrow again, and again, and again. Don't ever let that sorrow die down. Let me be there.