Work Text:
It was late in the afternoon, and you had decided to invite Boothill out for a walk, though you mostly wanted to go for some food and decided to have him tag along after you both spent most of the day cooped up in your workshop. This time, his injuries weren't so bad; he didn't show up at your doorstep mangled or bloodied, at least. Better to count your blessings. You were simply working on some malfunctions with his left hand’s gun. Nothing detrimental; it just took a lot of time since its inner workings are delicate.
You can't tell if he likes hanging around the city as you are now, but you believe he’d prefer the company rather than staying bored at the workshop while you're out.
Both of you were quiet for a while, each swimming in your own thoughts; neither mind the silence, though. It seems you, as well as he, have gotten comfortable with just each other’s presence around. Not like you'd ever admit it. That was until Boothill calls for your attention.
“Hey, would ya look at that!” He then points somewhere in the distance besides you, “Ain't that the thingamabob you were saying would make my hand gun more energy saving?”
“Oh! Really? Where?” He says so... but you can't see what he’s referring to. Your eyes scan everywhere on the bustling street around where his finger points, but as it so happens, you’ve got terrible vision. You don't know why, but for the longest time, you can't seem to be good at searching for things in a landscape, regardless of whether you have contacts/lenses on. Probably never found Waldo once in your life.
Opposite to you, Boothill has ridiculously good eyesight, so you could partially blame that as well, as it seems the mechanic shop window (at least you assume that's what it is) was a bit far away.
You’re genuinely trying your darndest to no avail, and Boothill seems to already know how it goes. A second went by of you looking for whatever he’s pointing at, and you can hear him sigh.
As you're cursing whatever genes gave you bad localization skills, you feel a pair of large, cold hands hold your face from behind.
Startled, you fumble for words a bit but do nothing as the owner of said hands rotates your head a bit to your right, gently.
“There! See it now?” He points to the shop with one hand (Ah, so it is a shop) while still holding your head with his other.
“Ahh, yes, yes. Got it, sorry ‘bout that.” You say quickly, a bit embarrassed. “Would you mind making a stop, then?”
Boothill lowers his arms but brings one to his hip, “Missy, I really don't get how you're a mechanic when you can't even see what's in front of ya. No way this’ the person who's messing around with my body all the time!” You know he's at least half-joking.
“Oh, shut up. Aren't I the best at what I do? Besides, you have crazy good eyes! It's unfair to compare a poor, near-sighted girl like me with a super advanced cyborg.”
Boothill’s been aware you have naturally bad eyesight for some time, finding it quite ironic.
"Hahah-", his laugh was uncharacteristically soft- “Well pardon me, darling. I'll be yer eyes when you need ‘em.”
And your heart definitely didn't skip a beat right then and there, not from such a passing, joking, yet sweet comment... As if.
With him leading the way, you’re heading to the shop to purchase the thingamabob as Boothill called it. It’s a normal, pleasant walk, but you feel the heat around your cheeks linger (obviously not because you’re blushing, pfft) mixed with the cool feeling remaining from the hands that had lain there.
Honestly, you know you could not hide that blush, so you're happy to trail behind Boothill for a while. Besides, he’d notice it immediately and annoy you to death about it. It’s best to keep the peaceful silence for a bit longer, after all, this is an enjoyable moment.