Archive of Our Own ^beta

Fixing broken engines, removing that weird as hell dent on that blond guys car and even painstakingly explaining to his most recent client that ”No, ya can’t jus’ always use the most expensive gas at the station for yer car, that don’t mean it fits”.

Yea, Boothill would say that his job was his calling. He knew he was doing one mighty fine job and, not to brag, definitely one of the finest of the whole city! Hah.

Seriously, you’d have to be mad to prefer these sloppy know-it-alls from those big dealerships. In his humble opinion, they were all full of shit and astronomically overpaid.

Gears, screws, pumps, and wires. That’s where he was home, where he knew what to do. To be quite honest with ya, he sometimes felt he fit more among those machines he knew and loved than other people.

He most certainly felt that way right about now.

Standing in the far-right corner of the schools half-baked assembly hall, he was face to face with some red-faced idiot who, upon seeing his garage’s logo on his jacket, thought of nothing better than to brag about his tuned-to-all-hell sports car.

Boothill did his best to school his expression into something that didn't scream Keep on yappin' and imma rip yer throat out. He was trying really, really hard for his Clem' ta get along with everyone here.

Even though some seemed to make it their personal fucking mission to make that effort harder on 'im.

He settled on a good ol' thousand-yard-stare right past the guys shoulder and if his lip was twitching, well, he was only human.

To be fair, Boothill was starting to sincerely doubt the cars mere existence, since, if that guy’s description were to be believed, that car would have the power to, in Boothill’s professional opinion, accompany a damned rocket ship on its way to Jarilo-VI.

He could call that swellhead out on it, but knowing himself in his agitation, once he opened his mouth it was gonna end in one way: A tried-and-true southern smack-down of the… colorful variety. So, like a good, socially aware person, he simply looked at his glass and kept his gap tightly shut.

A sudden desperation for it to be filled with something other than that sparkly, way too sweet slurry grasped his heart. Preferably something more potent, like a good whisky or oh, that fantastic malt he was given as a thank-you gift yesterday.

But alas, this was no event for such hardy drinks, never should he wish ta’ get drunk in front of his little girl. Still, it was a nice mental escape from the braggart, who had surprisingly read the room in the meantime and went to chat up some other parent. Or he simply got bored of Boothill’s non-responsiveness. Boothill, quite frankly, didn’t really give two shits about his reasons, he was simply grateful for his newfound breathing room.

Said breathing room actually had another, way more important benefit: His eyes caught sight of his little angel across the wide room, excitedly conversing with two of her peers while animatedly gesturing around what seemed to be supposed to resemble a spaceship.

He couldn't help himself but smile.

His Clem’ had always been so much better at socializing over here than her pop. She made friends wherever she went, so much so that Boothill struggled to remember all their names at times. (This wasn’t a memory issue, mind you, it seriously were that many, thank you very much.)

Now, it wasn’t as if he was completely asocial, hell nah, he was brought up and raised in a big family and an even bigger amount of people all around. Learning to socialize in Aeragan-Epharshel was like learning to walk: Natural for almost all the kids there, essential for getting around comfortably.

So no, it wasn’t his lack of socialization skills or an innate dislike of other people, it was more an issue of the specific people he was with. Since moving here, one thing had become abundantly clear to him:
Socializing out on his family’s farm and talking to people in the city were worlds apart.

He simply didn’t get all the fuss about an explicative or two or why the shitbags over here were gettin’ their panties in a twist once he took them up on their threats of violence. And if he was being honest, he wasn’t intent on passing himself off as some guy he wasn’t, so he supposed his relationships out here were limited to his little girl, customers, and the occasional odd one out, like that esoteric fortune teller he had the pleasure to have a drink or two with on the one or another weekend.

During his contemplation, parent number two had sidled up to him in an attempt at starting a conversation. His smile strained.

Ah, that was another thing he found stressful about such gatherings. Since he usually was one of the very few guys to attend parent gatherings, and of the even fewer single dads, the (mostly)single moms, and the occaissional dad, too, flocked to him like moths to a flame.

And, sure, he knew he wasn’t bad looking. Hell, he might even be considered handsome in a rugged way, with his sharp features and good build, the prosthetic arm he showed proudly probably adding to his ‘mysteriousness’ or whatever.

But the attention he always got from these single parents was excessive. And, in a way, while he never truly felt the need to have a romantic partner in his life, it was the knowledge that if these people were to get to know him, not just the handsome guy at parent meetings, they’d likely want nothing to do with him that makes him feel a little lonely. Really, he shouldn’t give a damn what these people’d thought about him, and objectively it, he really didn't, but it did sting a little each time he saw their expressions pinch once they heard him talk.

The parent, a rather short but energetic looking woman he noticed, pulled him out of his thoughts, “So, how do you find our little goodbye party?” she grinned up at him.

“S’ alright” He would much rather spend his Friday night anywhere else. “So, uh, you’er part of the organizing committee?” He wasn’t about to be flat out rude without reason, so why not try to pass some time with conversation. She seemed kind enough.

The woman gracefully looked past the slight disinterest in his voice and smiled brightly.
“Of course! When I heard that our dear Mr. Sansbury was planning to retire, I simply had to give him a nice send-off.” Her gaze seemed to turn in something wistful, “Ah, I am going to miss him. He really was such a great teacher, my girls always came out of class with the biggest smiles,” she twirled the stem of her glass filled with sparkly, sweet sap and looked off into the distance.

She was a sincere one, Boothill had to give her that.

“…’s a real shame, that much is true,” while he never spoke much with that teacher, having his little girl miss him was enough for him to mourn his loss as well. “Say, have they said anything about his replacement yet? I would’a expected them to introduce the substitute at the occasion, seemed fitting.”

Glancing away from his conversation partner, he caught sight of Mr. Sansbury, the class teacher for Clem’s class. Well, former class teacher. An uptight seeming man, dressed in a pantsuit and polished shoes, but, according to his daughter’s retellings, a real kind one, too. His smiling expression while listening to one of the kids certainly conveyed as much. Truly a man with a love for his job, Boothill had to honor that.

His company, Kelly, if he remembered her name correctly, suddenly broke out of her melancholic trance and beamed at him with renewed fervor,
“Oh, yes, I’ve already had the pleasure of meeting him! He’s a real treat, I’ll tell you that,” she winked at him, he lifted an eyebrow. “Sadly, he won’t be here today. He’s only officially moving to the city this weekend and therefore will be needing all the time he can get to settle in before class on Monday.”

Well. Okay then. He assumed the guy had already been introduced to the parents’ council in that case.

And while he could take a guess what she meant with “a treat”, he wasn’t quite sure whether their tastes in people necessarily aligned.
I mean, he’s overheard some of the parents swooning over one of the math teachers, one of the high and mighty sort, with a doctorate and everything. Dr. Proportion or something. One of the few teachers he actually had the displeasure of meeting while waiting to pick up Clementine, telling him to ”Sit like an adult and set an adequate example”. While Boothill surely agreed with the notion of ‘setting a good (not just adequate!) example’, there were no kids around at the time, dammit!

Next time he'd see his stick-up-the ass face anywhere, he'd fuckin' show him 'adequate', heh.

Anyways, stuck up teachers aside, he would have to wait to meet the guy sometime later. As long as he’d be kind to his little girl, there’d be no problem.

His conversation with Kelly went on for a little while longer, before she eventually said her goodbyes and took her kids home. Realizing how late it was, most other parents filed out one after another with their kids. Boothill and Clementine followed short, but only after Clem’ had hugged Mr. Sansbury one last time and the teacher wished her all the best. He really was proud of his little girl.

The ride home was filled with Clementines excited babbles about a story she and her friends made up, mixed with their voices loudly singing along to some of the songs on the radio. Once they arrived at their house, she was starting to quiet down, her eyelids drooping and words teetering off at the end. Boothill smiled. While his little angel was a ball of energy, when she tired herself out, she powered down like a car engine. Out like a light.

Still smiling he quietly picked her up out of the car, careful not to jostle her too much, and brought her inside. Quickly brushing her teeth and getting her into her pajamas, he was glad that food had been provided at the gathering, lest she’d have to eat dinner while half asleep.

After having tucked her in and gently kissing her forehead, he sat down on their living room sofa and let out a world-heaving sigh. Despite it only being half past 8 in the evening, he felt an unusual exhaustion in his bones. Being around so many people he barely knew could really drain a man. The fact that he had stayed up way past midnight the day before probably didn't help either. (In his defence, the western had been really good.)

His original plan for the evening had been to spend some more hours in his garage, finishing up the last of his current jobs before handing the car over the its owner tomorrow afternoon. But perhaps, he could postpone that work to tomorrow morning, while Clem’ was at her friend’s house…

Another earth-shaking sigh. Nope, no can do. He’d kick himself in the butt tomorrow, after all, and he had planned to meet up with Black Swan. Sure, it was nothing set in stone, and he hadn't even asked her yet, but a plan was a plan. So, off to the garage he went, grabbing a can of beer on the way out.

Half an hour in and he already felt like a whole new man. Being in his element never failed him, and the truck he was working on was even faster to fix than anticipated. Really, what kind of idiot would try and shoot a marten that was currently in fucking your car?! Of course the fuckhead ended up rupturing a cooling tube which had to be replaced. Boothill was sickly glad to hear the marten made it out alive. May it wreak havoc on that shit-for-brains again. The memory of that fuckers distraught face still threw him into a cacklin' fit. Quite frankly, some people didn’t know what a gun was for.

While in the process of tightening the last connector and already mentally planning his route to bed, he heard a van pull up near his driveway. Quite unusual for the hour and his neighbors’ cars, but hey, we all can have visitors sometimes. Shortly after, he heard the tell-tale rustle and clanking of someone unloading a dead vehicle. Believe him, it’s a sound you start to recognize.

The realization dawned on him that that person was very likely seeking out his garage in search of repair services, and he let out a groan he had hoped to keep a little quieter than it actually was.
Alright, he attempted to calm himself, some idiots jus’ ain’t familiar with business hours. You’ll go out there, kindly tell ‘em to look a lil’ to the left and behold his wonderfully organized, clearly posted sign tellin’ ‘em when exactly to come back and when to fuck off.

Suddenly tired again, he heaved himself to his garages side door, brushing his hands over his tank top to make himself seem at least a little presentable (a futile effort), and prepared to explain basic modern concepts to this kind person.

Greeted by the fresh night air, he heaved another sigh before leveling his gaze at the figure in his driveway, currently standing with their back facing him and seemingly busy tinkering away with something on their motorcycle.

Boothill’s first thought was red. Seriously, she had a waterfall of red, shining waves cascading down her back. They looked close to luminescent in his driveway lights. There was truly not much else he could see of the, what he assumed to be a, woman.

“Hey, ma’am, can I help ya?” he aimed to get her attention, tearing his eyes away from the glowing locks (were those legitimate sparkles he was seeing?) in front of him. And hey, she had yet to actually make an effort to consult his services. Perhaps she had surprisingly spotted his opening-hours-sign and would leave to return later. He’d gladly help her load back up the bike in that case, a potential customer was still a customer and he had some basic human decency.

He saw her perk up upon hearing him, “Oh?”, yep, woah, that was a little deep- “I was just about to ring the doorbell, how fortunate that you preceded me!” The woman- wait, no, that was most definitely a man, turned around to bestow him with a smile nothing short of dazzling.

Alright. Boothill might be suffering from some minor whiplash, sue him.

Because the combination of that brilliant hair and those dangerously perfect, slightly feminine features, even in the harsh porch light (I mean, come on, no one looks good in that damned lighting), with that broad and tall build along with such a deep, harmonious voice? Ya don’t see that every day.

And fuck him, was he wrong in his assumption. The guy better not have noticed.

While Boothill’s sleep-deprived brain was still processing, the dazzling stranger continued.

“I was already wondering about why your garage door was shut, is it not customary to keep it open during business hours over here?”

Boothill swears that this guy could make things that would sound like an affront out of anyone else’s mouth seem like an innocent inquiry, his own face probably reading as absolutely fucking dumstruck.

“None the less, I am most fortunate to have found your humble shop. You see, when I first unloaded her,” he gestures towards the bike, “from the van this evening, I had proceeded to check whether she had sustained any damage during transport. I could not spot any impairments upon visual inspection. However, once I attempted to start her motor, she simply refused to turn on. Alas, as I just checked again, this still seems to be the case.” He looked quite frazzled by the end of his tirade, his hands softly clasped in front of him and his brows pinched in honest concern.

At last, Boothill’s brain caught up to reality as he replayed what the hell had just been dropped on him.

“Woah there, hold yer horses, buddy.” He didn’t really know how to deal with the guy’s earnestness, usually these ‘outside of business hours’ fuckers weren’t quite this nice, “Where’d ya get this shop being open from? It’s 9pm, I clock out at 8. Sign’s right there,” punctuated by a vague sweeping motion in the approximately right direction.

Just as quickly as the man’s face had lit up earlier, it fell again. He couldn’t tell ya how a grown man could make a face so akin to a kicked puppy while still comin’ off serious. He really couldn’t.

“Oh…” he threw a quick glance towards the mentioned sign, lowering his hands to carefully rest on his bike beside him, as if he could damage it further with a simple touch. Then, he proceeded to look back at Boothill with his earnest, emerald gaze, his expression landing on solemn. “Please, forgive my grave oversight. I did not endeavor to disturb the time of respite of a surely hardworking man such as yourself.” The guy looked one second away from groveling on the ground.

Luckily, he spared Boothill the embarrassment and swiftly went back to a stance more promising of continuing to stand upright. “As to where my mistake originated from, why, l had searched for nearby repair shops online and yours was marked as still being open. If my memory serves me right, your garages closing hours were displayed as 10pm. I fear there must have been a mishap when updating your website.” The pretty guy’s silver tongue was taking a little while to get used to.

…

Oh. Wait. That implied an error on Boothill’s side. Shit. It was admirable, honestly, how, even while making him aware of his own fault, pretty guy was still so kind, without blaming him at all. Now Boothill was seriously startin’ to feel bad for him.

…just this one exception wouldn't hurt, right? Not like the guy would go paradin’ around, announcing to all that Boothill doesn’t hold tight on his closing hours. After all, it was kinda his fault anyways. At least a little bit. (He was currently trying very hard to convince himself that he wasn’t at least a little swayed by these grown man’s puppy dog eyes. That said eyes were unreasonably pretty didn’t help, either.)

Boothill’s eyes flitted to the starry sky for a fraction of a second, as if praying to some god he didn’t believe in to alleviate his supposed suffering, before he heaved a sigh.

“Alright. Seein’ as this is my fault, I’ll see what I can do. No promises though, ‘cause I might need ta take her in and continue tomorrow, mind’s not at peak performance right now, ya get me,” accompanied by a a knocking motion against his temple.

He walked the few steps down slight slope of the driveway it took him to stand next to the guy, while he was being thanked profusely with sparkling eyes. Seriously, they were sparkling. And if the constant praise and flowery gratitude wasn’t makin’ him just a bit shy, even though he considered himself a pretty damn confident man.

As he set to take a look, he froze, realizing that he had yet to know the name of the guy.

Straightening back up from his slight crouch, he leveled the red head with his gaze once more and yup, those attentive eyes were just as pretty up close. Urgh, screw him, that face was a lil’ too nice for him ta process. He might’ve been more worn out than he initially thought.

“So, might I know the name of ma customer?” He slipped a smirk, tilting his head in inquisition. Can’t jus’ keep callin’ ya ‘pretty guy’ in my head. That part he was thankfully awake enough to keep to himself.

Pretty guy’s brows shot up, his finely shaped, glossy lips parting slightly in surprise, “Oh, goodness me, how discourteous!” he rushed to apologize once again and Boothill had half a mind to roll his eyes at the choice of words. Hardly had he ever met such a dramatic person.

“I am Argenti, I only recently moved to this city. This beauty here is the One and Only. I do wish we would have met under more… ideal circumstances.” Argenti extended his hand to shake, accompanied by a sheepish smile, “How may I refer to you, dear savior?”

Boothill stared at him dumbfounded. His savior? He was starting to believe this was one of these ‘pranks’ certain internet stars were so fond of. Should he laugh? Play along? Where were the cameras? This guy could not be real.

Maybe he should simply ignore this mindfuckery. I mean, he sure came off as weird toward the cityfolk, perhaps Argenti hailed from another peculiar town somewhere else. He sure as hell had never heard the name before. Not that his strange mannerisms were unkind in any way, no, he just, and there was no other way to put it, felt to Boothill like he climbed out of a god forsaken children’s fantasy novel.

Not like I can judge ‘im, he concluded, ’m as weird a fucker as anyone.

Raising his right hand, the fleshy one, to shake Argenti’s warm one, he shook himself out of his stupor, “You’d think that you would’a at least read the name of the place you came crawlin’ to at this hour, huh?” His smirk became teasing, eyes crinkling, “Name’s Boothill. Pleasure to meet ya.”

Argenti’s abashed expression was now accompanied by a rose blush slowly spreading over his cheeks. Unexpectedly however, he kept quiet while Boothill rounded the, uh, One and Only for a quick once-over. He couldn’t see anything amiss, just how Argenti’d stated, so, while standing opposite him, he attempted to start her up. As anticipated, without any luck.

Now, let him tell you this, the amount of idiots bringin’ their car over, wonderin’ why it wouldn’t start, while the fuckin’ tank was empty was astonishing and mildly concernin’, considerin’ the average intelligence of the population. So, the obvious next step was to check whether her engine even had gas.

While he was tinkering about, pleased to find that Argenti did not seem to be part of that lower percentile of mental capacity, he was yanked out of his workflow by that deep, smooth voice once more.

“I have never once witnessed such a magnificent piece of mechanical engineering,” he heard him muse softly.

Alright. So the guy was one of those with an unnervingly deep love for their vehicle. No biggie. He’s had weirder. About to dive back into trouble shooting, he caught Argenti’s pensive gaze. To his surprise, it wasn’t directed at the bike at all, no, it seemed to intensely focus on his left arm. The mechanical one. What the fuck.

In all his time with the prosthesis, he’s heard and seen a fuckton of different reactions to his missing limb. Most people avoided even putting their eyes on it like the plague, only to sneak glances at it once they thought he wasn’t looking. Others would awkwardly and randomly express their condolences, eyeing him with pitiful glances. Those were the worst, in his opinion, ‘cause he didn’t even know how to react to that. What was he supposed to say? ”Thanks, I, too, miss my arm dearly. He will be remembered.”?

But this? He’s never had this. Sure, some kids on the street would point at his arm and go ”Woah, look at him, how cool is that!”, which would usually make his day, but right now his arm was being regarded with a level of fervor and admiration he was hard pressed to remember ever even receiving himself.

Noticing Boothill stilling, Argenti lifted his gaze from his arm to his face, not a trace of pity in sight and just as passionate as before.

“Excuse my forwardness, but I could not help but admire your striking, silver clad arm. I have surely seen my fair share of prosthesis, but yours, I must say, is a breathtaking extension of the self I have yet to see anywhere else. While I am certainly no expert, one can admire the undoubtedly adept craftsmanship that led to its creation.” His eyes had long gone back to studying his arm, Boothill noticed one of his hands twitching, as if wanting to reach out. The pretty man’s posture, however, remained straight as ever, clearly not wanting to impose on one he just met.

Boothill, quite frankly, had no fucking clue how to react to that.

I mean, sure, he had to admit it was cool seeing his metal arm work on electricity and the newest technology, therefore being able to imitate human movements to close to perfection. Through a neuro-link he was able to move his arm as he pleased. The charging was a hassle though.

Still feeling the positively burning gaze of those earnest emerald eyes, he felt a flush coming to his ears. Starin’ that guy in the face really wasn’t any good for him. Yet, seemingly unaware of Boothill’s inner turmoil, Argenti continued to harp on.

“Really, it is a mystery to me how I could have only noticed it now. My, it really shines like the most dazzling of silver armor! Truly befitting a person such as yourself,” his eyes once again met Boothill’s, to the mechanics plight, while granting him a smile fit for a magazine cover.

What the hell does he mean, ‘a person such as myself’?! I’ve known the guy for less than ten minutes!
Boothill, still frozen, swore he could feel smoke coming out of his ears. The last time a person (aside from his little Clem’) had so sincerely showered him in compliments was… yea, quite a while ago.

Not wanting this to go on any longer than necessary and wishing to leave this interaction with the largest amount of his dignity intact as possible, he resolved to step in. In the kindest way possible, of course.

He lifted his prosthetic arm, making a show of looking at it himself, “Hah, uh, thanks man. It really’s a piece of work to polish but, uh… yea, does look forking fantastic when it’s all shinin’ in the sun. Not that there’s any right now.” Real fantastic. Stellar conversation skills.

It seemed to only serve to make Argenti’s smile shine even brighter. It seemed to be radiating a physical warmth. Seriously, Boothill suddenly felt really warm.

“Ah, what a humble man you are. Your beauty transcends the physical,” his warm eyes captured his own, his smile turning softer but no less warm.

By whichever god was listening right now, this vision of a man had just called him beautiful. This was not how he expected his evening to go. What was wrong with him, when had a pretty guy or gal ever thrown him off track?
Yep. This was the point were he should simply switch topics. He wasn’t saving this anymore.

Smiling shakily and hesitantly meeting Argenti’s eyes, he cleared his throat.

“Ah, uh, thanks. Now, I’m afraid I’ll have ta take yer bike in fer the night,” he really was in no mental state to work anymore tonight. Seeing Argenti’s worried eyes, he was quick to add, “Don’t worry, I have a lil’ hunch about what it might be. A real common problem with this model, halfway easy to fix, too, jus’ have to fiddle with the engine a bit.” Argenti’s gaze relaxed, Boothill breathed out.

Now, eager to get back inside and go to sleep quick enough he won’t have any time to ponder on what the fuck just happened, and hopefully awaken with a clearer mind tomorrow, he was quick to pull the One and Only inside the garage (Argenti insisted on helping) and have Argenti give him his number for him to contact when he was done.

Before finally turning back to his van and driving off, the pretty customer turned to look at Boothill one last time and expressed his sincerest thanks.

“Thank you once more for your generosity. I am truly indebted to you,” he smiled his perfect smile, setting Boothill’s heart aflutter once more, to his own frustration. He was quick to shove that down.

“Haha, well, as long as ya intend on payin’ me, I don’ see any debt on ya,” and more softly, he added, “And good luck findin’ yer way around the new city, I suppose. Don’t get lost now, ya hear me?”
At the end, he couldn’t find it in himself to stop smiling like a dumbass.

Pretty guy answered with his never wavering smile, “Of course. I wish you a good night and most wonderful dreams, Boothill!” he said, waving while turning around to enter his van.
Boothill, taking this as his cue to leave, turned around and went inside without another word.

He went to bed, pointedly ignoring the memories of that rich, melodious voice uttering his name.

-

Getting up Saturday morning was usually a very relaxed affair for Boothill. His shop was closed for the weekend and he didn’t have to bring Clem’ to school. Sure, he did do the one or another work on the weekend, but that was all on his own terms. He really couldn’t complain.

Pretty much the same was true for today, him rollin’ outta bed sometime around 8 (sleepin’ in had never been for him) and movin’ to get started on breakfast for the two.

Right when he was frying the last of the bacon, he broke into a soft smile upon hearing the quiet pitter-patter of tiny footsteps. Moving the fried meat onto a plate and turning off the pan, he swiveled around to envelop his little girl in a big, warm hug.

“Mornin’ sweetheart. How’d ma girl sleep, huh?”, he ruffled a hand through her fluffy red hair, his own eyes crinkling in joy at her disgruntled expression. She was, however, suddenly overcome with a big yawn. Boothill cooed. Internally, of course.

Moving to sit on her designated chair at the table, she was slowly, but visibly waking up.

“ ‘slept nice…” Her eyes suddenly flew wide open, any tiredness dispersed immediately. Ah, there was his bundle of energy. “I had a suuuper awesome dream! We were in space! Together! On a really cool ship, with so many monitors and buttons,” her little arms gestured animatedly, “Oh, and you had this super shiny gun! You were killin’ all the bad guys and I was steering the ship!”, she announced proudly.

Boothill snorted. Man, each day he thought he couldn’t grow any fonder of his little girl.

Shaking his head in amusement, he moved the rest of the food over to the table and sat down as well.

“Now, as I’m sure ya know, all good pilots need ta eat first. So how about we have breakfast first, and then ya can tell me all about this cool soundin’ dream of yours?”

Nodding eagerly, she moved to dig in.

-

The remainder of the morning had passed relatively uneventful, Boothill having set her off at her friends house she had a playdate with, Clara, he remembered. A pretty shy, but amazing girl, in his opinion. T’was always a treat having her over.

Setting his keys down on the sideboard, he went to pick up his phone to text Black Swan about meeting up when he remembered:
He had accepted that pretty guys bike yesterday to fix. Fuuuuck.

Really, remind him to never again interact with a person while on sleep deficit, holy shit.

In all fairness, he could just postpone the job ‘till Monday, he wasn’t officially open for business anyways and it was a very last-minute job. But…

…there were no buts. Nah, there was no real reason for him to work on that now, when he was free ‘till the afternoon.

So, when he made his way to put on his work clothes and slip into the garage, he was convinced he was losin’ his sanity. Or perhaps still tired. Yea, that’s the reason.

Was it too late for a change of jobs? Maybe goin’ into a different field?

‘Cause Boothill had just forgotten how to operate a damned screwdriver for the third time in the past hour due to his vision being taken over by red locks and his senses still feeling the warmth of that gaze. And ah, maybe he shoudn’t put the idea of screwin’ something and the notion of the redhead into one sentence ever again, ‘cause wowee, wasn’t that a thought.

Thunk

That was the sound of Boothill’s cranium colliding with the metal of the black, shiny bike in front of him. No, he didn’t dent the bike. But he was putting serious thought into whether he might’ve dented his head.

Last time he’d acted like such a bumblin’, dick-brained fool, he had been a damned teenager.

He was a grown man. What was wrong with him.

A rumbling groan echoed throughout the garage as he resolved to double his effort into getting this job over as quickly as possible. He’d hand the bike over on Monday and hopefully never see the man again.

This could not be happening to him.

-

Come Monday morning, Boothill felt as if he’d been eaten by one of the ‘Stings’ from the dream Clem’ had had, chewed, digested and spit out again. Trampled afterwards, for good measure.

By all that was good in this world, how could a man he had met once have crawled into his brain this far and buried deep into his grey matter.

He closed his eyes; red, accompanied by the shimmer of emeralds.

He drew in a sharp breath; the scent of roses assaulted his nostrils.

He tried so hard to just go back to sleep until at least half past six; his mind replayed the memory of that harmonious voice flowing around his name like it was a delicacy, to be enjoyed and savored. Sometimes, his brain got a lil’ creative, too.

Urgh, fuck it. He’d just get up now, down some strong ass coffee, and all’d be well.

Throwing back the covers and sitting up swiftly already served to wake him up some. Once he’d had his morning brew, he was sure he’d be able to convince his brain to cut the hallucinatin’ bullshit.

A few hours later and Boothill was already in a much better mood.

Driving his little girl to school never failed to lighten up his day, with her next to him pointing at cute cats or dogs they’d pass, keeping a steady stream of quite frankly adorable conversation.

Upon dropping her off, after having given him her goodbye-hug, she suddenly asked with uncharacteristically uncertain eyes, “Hey, Papa… Do ya think our new teacher’s gonna be as nice as Mr. Sansbury?”

He cackled, pressing a kiss to his daughter's forehead,

“If he won’t, your Papa’s gonna have a lil’ word with him. Don’t worry, sweetheart.”

He patted her on the back one last time, before watching her run off to play with her friends with a smile.

Driving back home, Boothill’s mind drifted off to the remainder his day. He’d have to open shop in about half an hour, so once he got home, he’d have a little time to get some breakfast in him before having to change into his work clothes. The rest of his day also promised to be mostly uneventful, considering that he had no booked appointments for today. Of course, there were always the walk-ins, though.

Still lost in thought, he smeared some peanut butter on a piece of toast and moved to his room to throw on his oil-smeared tank top and workpants. Seriously, there was no need trying’ to get those clean each time. It was both futile and absolutely unnecessary work.

While on his way to the door connecting his house to the garage (a god-sent in practicality), he threw a quick glance into the mirror.

Huh. Should he tie his hair higher up? The longer side-strands were just short enough to not fit into a low ponytail, but were honestly startin’ to get on his nerves, danglin’ all up in his face when he was leaning over some car’s hood.

A higher ponytail it was. He was too fond of his hair to cut it, anyways.

Busy with fixing his hair, he absentmindedly opened the garage door and opened the garage front. Happy with the position of the rubber tie, Boothill started whistling some catchy tune he had heard on the radio while driving that morning.

About to start idly cleanin’ some of his tools, he turned to face the inside of the garage once more.

…Proceeding to almost fall over a sleek, black bike. Fuuuck. He knew he’d forgotten something. Getting’ the guy outta his mind had worked a lil’ too well, huh.

Letting out a long-suffering groan, Boothill stood with his hand on his hips, staring at the bike like it had insulted his family. Personally.

Can ya just… I dunno, fuckin’ drive yourself to your owner? Could ya do that?

Was he pleading? Perhaps. He’d rather drink a cup o’ motor oil than admit it, though.

Alright, suck it up, he’d just have ta bite the bullet and text the guy. He didn’t even know where this extreme aversion came from. (A blatant lie, and he knew it. He was afraid his brain would be pullin’ funny shit again upon seein’ the guy)

Regardless, there really was no way around having the guy at his shop once more. In all fairness, Argenti had been nothing but nice, if not a lil’ overwhelmingly positive. He’d be an ass making this more complicated on the guy just ‘cause he was havin’ some teenage-hormone relapse.

With a resigned sigh, Boothill shot a text to the number Argenti had left him, informing him that his bike was ready for pick-up. To his surprise, he received an almost immediate, very eloquent answer, thanking him once more and asking whether he’d be alright to come over later that evening.

Despite Boothill’s best efforts, he couldn’t keep the corner of his mouth from twitching up, smirking at the sheer number of ridiculous emoji’s that message contained.

-

The first thing Clementine had said to him when he picked her up that afternoon, with a big smile lighting up her face, was, “Papa, the new teacher’s the best! He talks a little weird,” Boothill couldn’t suppress a snort at that, “but he explains stuff so well! I’m gonna get things, like, twice as fast now!” she told him gleefully.

Smiling while pulling out of the parking lot, Boothill felt relieved for his girl. She might’ve not shown it, aside from her timid question that morning, but he knew that she had been afraid of getting some prick, like that that arrogant math-doctor, as her new class teacher. (Not that she would’ve phrased it that way.)
In the grade she was in, that could have meant that almost all of her subjects would’ve been with said asshole.

“That sounds nice, sweety. But ma offer still stands, ya know. If some idiot is givin’ you hell, don’t be afraid ta tell me,” he looked at her with kind, but serious eyes. She had to know her Papa would not let his little girl suffer.

Clem’ giggled at him, seemingly amused at his protectiveness.

Yeah, okay, he knew he was maybe layin’ it on a lil’ thick, but hey, don’t blame him, the world could be shit, okay? All he wanted was to shield his girl from all he could.

Suddenly, her face lit up, appearing to have remembered something.

“Oh, and he wanted us to tell our parents that he organized parent-teacher conferences for this Thursday!” she smiled at him, proud to have remembered.

Boothill was now seriously confused, his brows furrowing.

“Is that guy for real? I thought they were scheduled for some time next month!”
The fucker’s really one for short notice, huh. Fuckin’ delightful.

“I know, he said he was sorry for mixing up the plan, but he said really wanted to meet our parents as soon as possible!” She dug around in one of her pants' pockets, drawing out a slightly crumpled note, “He also wrote down the time for all of us, and told us to tell you that ‘He’d be delighted if you could make time for him’,” Clementine sat up straighter in her kids’ chair to say that last part, pronounced in a way clearly supposed to imitate the teachers voice.

Alright, now he was curious what sorta eccentric shitbag the school had pulled there.

Later, when he read the note Clem’ had given to him, he was convinced that the guy must be ancient. By the gods, what kinda script is this?!

And a script it was. It looked to be penned by someone from the past century, all flowy lines and elegant swirls. He had to give it to ‘im, it sure was pretty as heck to look at, but it was everything but dyslexia friendly. Or it was maybe just that bad to read.

Once he figured out that the note said 7:30pm, not 1:30am, thank fuck, he resolved to go give Black Swan a call to watch Clem’ while he was gone. His little girl was absolutely fascinated by the woman and ”all her cool cards”, so he knew that she wouldn’t mind a bit.

Black Swan, too, had evidently taken a liking to the girl from the first time they met. And, since she owed him one for distracting some bar-goer so she could talk to that stoic woman with the long hair (he forgot her name) anyways, he saw no problem in ringing her up.

That old geezer could be lucky he was able to accommodate his lil’ meeting so quickly. Really, who the fuck does that fossil think he is.

-

Waiting for Argenti proved to be a more excruciating affair than Boothill would’ve liked to admit. There was nothing he could busy himself with, with his last job being just completed that afternoon and Clem’ inside, engrossed in drawing all the cool things she’d dreamed about.

He was a little afraid of what the hell her innocent, young brain had constructed with the ‘sting’ thingy she’d talked about, though. He found himself slightly worried about her action movie consumption…

Right as he’d drifted off into thought, he heard a van pull up. Boothill drew in a sharp breath. Here we fuckin’ go.

Pushing himself off of the wall he was leaning against, he sauntered outside, preparing to meet the guy with all the coolness he could muster.

Argenti stepped around the van with a dazzling smile lighting up his face, dressed in slacks and a turtleneck fitting him just so, and Boothill was debating real hard whether he should just throw the keys to his bike at his pretty face and make a run for it.

Against all odds, he ended up getting a grip on his sanity and mustered a grin in greeting.

“Lookie here, see who hasn’t gotten lost in the big city,” he stopped walking towards him half way down the driveway, only to have Argenti stop in front of him at a distance from which he could see every one of his finely curled lashes and count each one of his sunny freckles. Those emerald eyes appeared to sparkle just a little brighter upon seeing him. Boothill swallowed heavily, his grin becoming a lil’ harder to hold steady. Fucking shitbag, was the guy intent on embarrassing him?

But Gods, he thought he was pretty before, but compared to what he looked like under that shitty porch light, he now looked like the incarnation of the entire damn concept of beauty. Seriously, who approved this man’s creation? Some fuckin’ sadist, that’s who. Lookin’ at the guy fuckin’ hurt, or whatever else his heart was doin’ right now. Couldn’t be healthy either way.

Argenti grinned back, a playful glint to his eyes (should Boothill start praying?), “Ah, yes, I am most fortunate indeed to have found my way back to your humble garage. My journey was positively perilous,” he began gesturing passionately, having exaggeratd his manner of speech to sound almost Shakespearian, “I, along with my likeminded, were forced to hold our voyage, for the number of travelers had truly exceeded our paths capacity.”

Argenti dramatically flung himself into a bow. “I, therefore, must extend my humblest apologies for my lateness”, his amusement becoming evident in his last words.

After having been frozen in a stare for a good few seconds, Boothill sighed.

Quite somethin’ that man, huh? They even gave 'im a sense o' humor.

A sharp-toothed grin looked to be dead set on comin’ to his face, no matter how hard he fought it. Finally breaking out in a cackle, he ushered Argenti to straighten up, bringing him along to the inside of the garage, where his bike was parked.

“This ‘ere lady’s runnin’ good as new,” Boothill crossed his arms with no small amount of pride showing on his face, “No match for this guy, heh.” He strategically chose not to mention his screwdriver-struggles.

Words could not describe the overwhelmingly grateful expression Argenti’s face bore at that. “I had not one ounce of doubt in your abilities, my friend! She is incredibly dear to me. Fate must have led me to seek your aid, specifically, as I would not have wanted to entrust her to anyone else.” Gods, the warmth in his gaze was back full force. Regrettably, the warmth in Boothill’s stomach, too.

Fumbling around his words a little more than he would like to admit, he raspily cleared his throat.

“So, uhm, what’s the story with her, if ya don’ mind me askin’?” a stupid question, really, one could like a bike without particular reason.

While Boothill was busy mentally hitting himself upside the head, however, Argenti seemed to be positively delighted at a chance to talk about his One and Only.

Reverently caressing the bike’s sleek exterior with a swipe of his elegant hand, his expression morphed into one of fond reminiscence, “You see, back in my younger days, driving motor races had been my utmost passion. Unless one has experienced it firsthand, it is impossible to describe the feeling of freedom flying around the track at such high speeds gives you. Exhilaration in its purest form,” sighing, a drop of sadness snuck into his gaze. “Alas, a most unfortunate accident forced me into a change of jobs. After years of missing that feeling of freedom, I finally found it again with her.”

Wait.

Hol’ up.

“You used ta be a forkin’ RACER?!” Boothill’s bewildered response echoed in the quiet of the garage. The ex-racers delighted laughter at his dumbfounded expression followed short.

Giving into Boothill’s demand of ”more info, goshdarnit, ya can’t jus’ drop THAT on me”, he indulgently told tall tales of his wins and occasional, gracefully taken losses. It quickly become apparent that Boothill had not followed the motor sport scene one bit, ‘cause this guy used to be fuckin’ famous.

Without either of them realizing in, their conversation stretched on for quite a while, switching fom topic to topic and growing increasingly comfortable divulging details from their personal lives to the other. If you asked him about it sometime later, Boothill would swear up and down that the guy was workin’ some kinda magic on him. (In reality, he simply couldn’t escape the natural pull of someone showing that amount of interest in him. Personally.)

Somehow, they had gotten to the topic of family. To be fair, right now it was mostly just Boothill proudly harpin’ on about his little girl while Argenti listened attentively, but come on, who could blame ‘im? He was damn right to be proud of his angel.

Besides, the pretty man seemed to be quite pleased simply watching the other, his face reflecting every notion of pride and love for his girl. Not that Boothill took notice of the enamored smile gracing Argenti’s lips as he nodded along earnestly. He probably would have combusted on the spot.

“Oh, yeah, an’ jus’ today she got this new teacher and she likes him an’ all, so I ain’t gonna go hauntin’ ‘im,” an indigant huff of air followed, Boothill’s face twisting into annoyance.

“However, the shirtbag seems ta wanna act all good an’ eager, so he thought it a darned great idea ta jus’ topple the nicely planned conferences fer next month and put ‘em this Thursday.” He shook his head, his fringe whipping around as if to agree with the sentiment. “Seriously, has that fossil ever heard of plannin’ ahead?”

For some reason, Argenti’s previously smug (Was he readin’ that wrong? Was the fucker laughin’ at ‘him?!) expression turned surprised once he called the guy a fossil.

Really? Outta all ma vocabulary, this is the one he has a problem with?

The red-head’s face reverted to his previous indulgent smile just as quick as it had changed, though, so Boothill was left wonderin’ whether he might’ve imagined that. Hiding his soft looking lips behind his curled up hand, Argenti appeared to giggle.

Lord help him.

“Ah, that sounds most unfortunate indeed,” he started, deep voice still sweetened with the occasional saccharine snicker, “Nonetheless, I am positive that teacher harbors no ill intend.” Boothill wasn’t sure whether the other was just that dramatic, or simply that good of faith.

Giggling once more, and wasn’t that a sound for sore ears, he steadied his gaze on Boothill, “Now, despite my immense enjoyment of conversing with you, my dear, I must sadly depart now.” Argenti pocketed the keys Boothill had given during their conversation. “I have yet to feed my cat and, if I know my Princess correctly, she will have started complaining most miserably,” a fond look took over his eyes.

Boothill, now momentarily stuck with the definitely unappealing image of the gallant man cooing over a little kitty in his head, laughed quietly. This guy…

After having settled his debt, as Argenti had put it, and promised him to return if his bike had any further issues, Boothill was left standing alone in his driveway.

Was it so weird that he found himself secretly hopin’ for Argenti’s vehicles to, he didn’t know, maybe have a small engine failure sometime soon? Perhaps a blown tire? He’d take what he could get.

Because the knowledge that he might never see the guy again laid strangely heavy on his heart.

-

Upon entering the school building that Thursday evening, Boothill found himself mildly concerned.

On his way to the room number noted down on that obnoxiously written note, he passed a gaggle of parents he recognized to be from Clem’s class, amongst them Kelly, the woman he had spoken to a week earlier.

Now, believe ‘im when he’s tellin’ ya, he ain’t no evesdropper, he kept his nose outta other people’s business, but some things ya just can’t help but overhear. ‘Cause when he walked past those people, all he could get from their current conversation were bits an’ pieces. However, even from only those it was abundantly clear what these guys were talkin’ about:

They were drooling over that new teacher. Obsessively.

He heard some fancy soundin’ last name, which he assumed to be that guys (he forgot to ask Clem’ about her teachers name, huh), but with him still being convinced that that geezer must be beyond twice his age, he was seriously questioning his generations tastes in men. Maybe it was a city folk thingy?

Seein’ as he failed to see the appeal in wanting some old guys wrinkly hands to do the things to him that one particular parent of the group had envisioned, he resolved to simply not question it.

He would not be thinkin’ about that durin’ the conference.

Finding the damn room demonstrated itself as a bigger challenge than initially anticipated.

Which fuckin’ genius designed this goddamn layout? Suddenly, he was glad having arrived several minutes earlier, as he was now sure that he would sorely need them on his quest to find where he was supposed to go.

A floorplan presented itself as his savior after having rounded another corner, finding himself relieved that he seemed to only be a few doors down from his destination.

Making his way over, he brushed his hands over his flannel shirt one last time in an attempt to not look as frazzled as he felt a second ago. Despite his grievances with the teacher’s time-management, he still wanted to make an effort to not come off necessarily rude. It was his daughter's primary teacher and he wanted everything but mess up his daughter’s so far positive relationship with the guy.

With only the sound of his recently polished shoes clacking against the tile floor to accompany him, he walked past hung-up paintings and awards on the wall to his right. Taking one last look outdoors through the windows on the other side, he opened the door behind which the teacher would (hopefully) be.

“Hello, uh, pardon’ me if I’m late, the- hUH?!”

This is not fuckin’ happenin’.

Across from him at a small, organized table sat a sweetly smiling Argenti, looking not the least bit surprised to see him here.

“Ah, my dear Boothill! I was already worried you might have gotten lost in here. Rest assured, when I came here on Monday I felt just as confused,” his saccharine smile lit up his eyes, though he could swear that he saw some of that smug look from Monday making itself known.

Nah man, forget some internet wanna-bes prankin’ him. This was the whole universe plottin’ his demise.

Thinkin' about it now, it all made perfect sense. Of course the guy wrote in a way that you'd see on wedding invitations. And he sure did speak 'funny', as Clem' had put it.

Boothill’s face cycled through approximately 20 different expressions, finally landing on one of utter bewilderment, eyes scrunched and brows twitching.

Confusedly sputtering around his words, he finally came to ask, “Whu- Have ya known that I’d be here?”

Argenti kindly beckoned him to sit across from him, all while raising a perfect eyebrow at him.
“I mean, you had told me about that ‘old fossil’ rescheduling this conference to right now, have you not?” That damned giggle was back.

And oh shit. He’d called Argenti, sweet, pretty Argenti a fossil right to his face. Even without knowing it was him, he did make his annoyance with the teacher abundantly clear.
Boothill’s mind would be racing, wondering whether he might have messed whatever tentative friendship he had with the guy up, if Argenti didn’t look so wholly unbothered, hell, even amused by the entire ordeal.

Taking the seat offered to him, Boothill audibly breathed out a puff of air, something like an astounded laugh sounding out around it. He took a second to (not so) subtly retrace all the details of his face he had previously noticed: his freckles, his perfectly shaped nose, those plush, slightly pink lips, his jawline, his lashes, and God dammit, those eyes…

…eyes, that were now looking at him indulgently, an amused sheen still flickering up in the depth of their gaze.

Shit. Fuck. Take his sorry ass and throw him out the nearest window, if ya could. Boothill startled, clearing his throat as he felt his ears burning. Hadn’t seen the guy for three days and he was already drinking up his presence greedily like a starving man. Whatever hormonal ailment had befallen him was getting worse, for fucks sake.

Lowering the hand he had previously lifted to cover his mouth in embarrassment, his eyes flickered up once again to meet Argenti’s.

“So, uh, anythin’ ya would like ta hear about my daughter?” Real smooth, Boothill.
His gaze flitted away for the fraction of a second, before settling back to those green pools of emerald. “I mean, anythin’ I haven’t told ya already, Mr.- Uh.”

His brows furrowed. Argenti smiled still, tilting his head inquisitively. The fucker really loved ta wring it outta him, doesn’t he? Boothill supposed that was his revenge for him callin’ him a fossil. Fair.

“Can I still call ya Argenti? I gotta be honest, last names would feel mighty awkward now.” The heat of his ears slowly spread over the sides of his cheeks.

Argenti broke out into a quiet, but genuinely warm laugh, “Of course, my dear. And please, do not fret. This is nothing formal, I simply wish to have a conversation with all the parents of the children I will be teaching.”

Boothill let out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in, sagging minutely in his chair. Meanwhile, the teacher absentmindedly drew distracting patterns on the wooden desk below with his hand, lifting his other up to gesture.

“I see it as ‘taking a look behind the curtain’. I aspire to have an idea of what kind of environment a child is in before I can judge their behavior.” He heaved a sigh, his brows lowering, “Alas, I can only get a glimpse at best. Still, it has never hurt to try. Most of the time, I find listening to parents talk about their kids plainly enjoyable.” Boothill received a knowing smile.

The mechanic fought down the embarrassed groan threatening to come out of him, instead shifting his attention to fiddling with some pen he found on his side of the desk. This caused him to miss the overly fond look he was given by the red-head, who regarded him with sparkling eyes.

“Since I am pretty sure I already have a good idea of her home life, how about I use these next fifteen minutes to tell you about her school days?”, while speaking, Argenti caught the pen Boothill was fidgeting with between his fingers, causing him to meet Argenti’s eyes in surprise.

He was having a very hard time dealing with Argenti’s facial expression right now. And the fingers still grazing his. If he ran on electricity, he could guarantee ya that he would’ve blown a fuse, short circuited, and maybe, perhaps, died a little. Because his very much (mostly) fleshy body was trying its damnest to emulate those symptoms.

Clearing his throat while very much not flushed to his very core, thank you very much, he collected himself. He won’t be fuckin’ intimidated by a pretty guy lookin’ at ‘im.

Mustering his most cocky grin, he leaned back in his seat, boldly looking at the other in challenge, “Alright, dollface, tell me somethin’ I don’ already know about.”

Was that petname daring? Possibly. Argenti didn’t seem to mind though, his face even taking on the slightest hint of a rose flush, if he wasn’t hallucinating again.

So, there they sat for the next quarter of an hour, Argenti moving from recounting the most interesting tid-bits about Clementine he could collect within a span of four days, to telling Boothill about the most outrageous interactions he had in his career as a teacher. His stream of dramatic retellings was only broken by the occasional bursts of Boothill’s or his own laughter, mixed with the odd snarky comment from Boothill, triggering another bout of laughter.

As their meeting time came to a close, both men felt as if time had quite literally flown by.

Boothill reluctantly got up from his chair, breath still shaky with the aftershocks of the latest round of cackles and a big, sharp grin splitting his face. He was absolutely certain he looked stupid. He couldn’t find it in himself to care.

“ ‘Suppose I gotta go now, don’ wanna keep the next guy waitin’, do we?”, he breathed out a sigh, smiling at the teacher now more subduedly.

Argenti smiled one of his warm smiles again, those that seem to be a mobile heater.

“Yes, I do think so, too. It was a pleasure having you here. But- Oh! Before you go-“

Boothill saw him lean over to the drawers beneath his desk. Something shimmering through his red locks caught his eye as he had his side turned to him and, huh, he had never noticed that the other had an earring. It suited him. As probably all else would, in fairness.

“-I have something I had forgotten to give you when picking up my bike!”

Between his delicate fingers he held a most perfect red rose, the exact shade of his hair. He extended his hand, obviously willing the mechanic to take the rose from him. Said mechanic was staring wide-eyed at the rose. Then at Argenti.

Seemingly noticing his inner turmoil, Argenti rushed to explain, “It is merely meant to serve as an expression of my heartfelt gratitude to you,” he smiled reassuringly.

Still mildly gob smacked, Boothill reached out with his left hand, delicately taking the stem between his mechanical fingers. With his other hand, he reverently caressed its petals. The thing looked so beautiful, it felt as if a simple touch would get it breakin’.

He looked up to shily meet Argenti’s gaze once more, his eyes betraying the hint of insecurity that had begun to creep up within him.

“I- thanks, Argenti. I ‘preciate it.” His grin came back to his face, “And you gotta stop thankin’ me for that, I was jus’ doin’ ma job.”

The teacher laughed warmly, seeming to not mind Boothill’s stunned reaction one bit.

“Why of course, my silver knight. You had saved me and my beloved bike that day! Now, I must kindly ask you to make way for the next parent I invited,” the smile on his face grew so blinding, even he himself appeared to have to close his eyes, “However much I enjoy your company, unlike some people would suggest, I am familiar with the concept of time-management.”

Lettin' out a cackle at his own expense, he really deserved that one, Boothill shook his head and moved towards the door of the office. Turning around before finally pressing down on the handle, he looked at Argenti with a playfulness in his eyes, now sure that this would not be the last time he would hear his smooth voice.

“Alright, alright, I’ll get outta yer hair already. See ya ‘round, Rosey!”

As he made his way out to his car, he passed by that group of parents whose conversation he had overheard earlier, again. He could swear that, after staring at the rose in his hand in combination with the very probably dumb smile on his face in shock, they went back to whispering, but dropping his name along with the teachers name now, too.

He didn’t mind the sidelong glances he got as he passed them. In fact, some of them would later claim that his grin got even wider.

-

Boothill leaned back in his semi-comfortable chair, closin’ his eyes and heaving out a content sigh.
This was the life, man.

In celebration of it being the first Saturday of the summer months, he had taken out his little girl for ice-cream at the local shop. Now, situated in the pleasant shade of the shop's sun umbrella with the perfect view of the local park, he felt as if he could melt in contentment.

Clementine appeared to echo his sentiment, happily munching her giant bowl of sugary sweetness.

Gods, if these moments could jus’ last forever. Lookin’ at his sweet girl, he remembered only two summers ago, havin’ to still scoop the ice-cream up onto the spoon himself and feed it to her. She had been way too clumsy back then.

They grow up so fast, huh. Smiling, he couldn’t escape the hint of sadness creeping into his mind.

Clementine's sudden movement ripped him out of his reminiscence. He saw her excitedly waving to someone behind him with her little hand.

Ah, another one of her many friends must surely be out an’ about, too. Perfectly sensible in this lovely weather, Boothill reasoned.

With a welcoming grin on his face, he turned around, ready to greet whichever lil’ rascal had joined ‘em here, along with their parent, hopefully.

To his utmost surprise, he instead came face-to-face with… leather?! Quickly lookin’ up in his shock, he saw the face to which these, he now realized, motorcycle pants belonged and promptly wished to kick the bucket on the spot.

Out of everything he had expected to see on this fine summer day, Argenti in motor gear with his jacket off to reveal a black, very form-fitting compression shirt less than a meter away from his face had most decidedly not been it.

Wrenching his eyes away from ogling his arms, and God, never had a sweat sheen looked so hot on anyone, he resolved to meet his eyes with the most normal expression he could muster.

“Argenti! Fancy seein’ you here!” he grinned sharply. Lookin’ up at this man wasn’t doin’ him any favors.

Seemingly entirely oblivious to his internal combustion, the teacher wasn’t even looking at him. He instead smiled at Clementine happily, returning her enthusiastic wave elegantly with his hand that wasn’t currently busy holding his helmet.

“Mr. Sentis, hi! Do you wanna come eat an ice cream with us?” she grinned brightly, thankfully unaware of her pop’s thoughts being all over the place. Fuck, he should be ashamed of himself, this was his daughter's teacher.

“Oh, an’ can I call you Argenti, too? It’s a very pretty name!”

Ah shit. He might’ve messed up. Argenti had yet to say anything, though Boothill looking at him again thankfully revealed no ill expression.

The teachers eyes instead crinkled in amusement, “Why, of course my dear, we aren’t in school after all. Right now, I am just another friend who would like to accept your invitation with pleasure,” his eyes finally found Boothill’s, “If that’s alright with you?”

The mechanic felt like an ice-cream in the sun, absolutely melting under that warm gaze. He breathed out a laugh.

“Sure, go ahead, I won’t stop ya,” he gestured over to Clementine, grinning, “Besides, this one’d probably have ma head if I did.”

Smiling happily, Argenti nodded and moved to take the seat right. Next. To. Him.

Alrighty, cool, nice. He’d manage. This at least meant he wouldn’t have to look right at his pretty face above that pretty chest all the time. Why, then, did he feel that the constant warmth radiating from the tall presence next to him was somehow worse?

The red-head leaned slightly over the table, regarding Clementine with a serious expression.

“Now, is there anything you would recommend getting here?” he moved his hand under his chin, his brows furrowing in an imitation of thought. “Today is my first time coming across this place. But I recon you are familiar with the menu, yes?”

His little girl giggled gleefully, delighted in the opportunity to share her ice-cream-tasting wisdom.

Boothill watched their interaction with warmth in his eyes. With Argenti listening and nodding at each of her tips so ardently, it was obvious why the man had become a teacher.

After Argenti had received his carefully chosen ice-cream (and had worked his magic to persuade Boothill into letting him buy one, too), the three fell into a steady stream of comfortable conversation. It was mostly Clementine telling both of them about all the cool adventures she and her friends had embarked upon recently, with the two men raising the occasional question and Boothill adding the one or another anecdote.

Sighing into his half-eaten cone of pistachio ice-cream, Boothill couldn’t help but enjoy havin’ Argenti with them. Distractingly tight clothing aside, the man was a joy to be around and, most importantly, Clementine was evidently happy about ‘im, too.

After a slight lull in conversation, Argenti piped up, “I just remembered this coming Monday being a school holiday. I imagine you already have lots of plans, right?” He inclined his strawberry-chocolate-chip cone towards the still gleefully munching child in question.

Clem’ perked up, almost as if she had just remembered her plans, too.

“Oh, yea, my friend and I are gonna have a super awesome sleepover on Sunday evening! With pillow forts ‘n everything. They have these super huge cushions on their couch, were gonna use those!”, she excitedly rambled.

Boothill remembered the last time they had tried makin’ pillow forts at their house. Still vividly recallin’ the image of them two, tangled in the comforters and endin’ with him trippin’ over a pillow and face plantin’ right into another heap of blankets, he couldn’t suppress a cackle.

“Try not ta get lost in the blankets this time, will ya?” He shot his little girl a teasing look.

Clementine looked positively scandalized. Boothill was trying his damnest not to laugh again at her adorable expression, he swore.

“Wha- Hey! You know it was you who’s simply too tall for that!”, she accused him with a pout.

Argenti’s eyebrows shot up, amusement clear on his face, “Now, would you two care to enlighten me?”

After this, both father and daughter tried their hardest to convince Argenti of their respective pillow-fort-construction-skills, ending up with the teacher not being able to hold back his good-natured laughter at their oh-so-serious expressions.

Eventually, Argenti had to depart, citing his original plan of going on a grocery run.

Getting up, he turned to a very proud looking Clementine with a dramatic bow, saying his goodbyes to the ”Master of Pillow Forts” (Boothill was still salty about that), before facing Boothill with a smile way softer than he had seen all day.

His heart was doin’ the stuttery, fluttering shit again. (Flustered, he knew that goin’ to the doctor wouldn’t be necessary.)

“See you soon, dear Boothill. I wish you two a most pleasant day!”, he smiled that warming smile again, waving his hand at both of them.

Boothill waved back, feeling an equally soft smile creep up his face.

Fuck, what had he gotten himself into?

-

Gettin’ the potatoes outta his storage room to peel, Boothill sighed heavily.

He knew his child was in safe hands. He knew both of the parents personally, two very nice an’ reasonable people. He knew his daughter was old enough to sleep over at a friends’ with no problem.

Then, why was he so damn restless?

After throwing the first, sloppily peeled potato in the bowl, he resolutely shook his head. He had faith in his daughter to be able to handle bein’ away from home overnight.

Still, with this being the first time she had slept over somewhere, ya couldn’t blame a dad for bein’ worried. At least a lil’.

Hah, if he was bein’ honest, he was probably being the more anxious one between the two here.

Sighing once more, he proceeded making dinner for only himself for the first time in quite a while.

The doorbell rang just as he closed the lid to the stew, deciding to let it simmer for a few more minutes.

At this hour?!, he quickly dismissed the worry that it was something with his Clem’, as they would’ve surely called. Who in the fuck wants somethin’ from me now…

Opening the door, he prepared to kindly inform someone of the current time, when he was left frozen in surprise.

“Ah, um, good evening Boothill,” there stood Argenti, backlit by the soft moonlight, his shily smiling face illumined by his warm doorway lighting. “I hope I am not intruding?”

In front of his chest, he held a bouquet of the same roses as he had given Boothill days before (still sitting prettily in a vase on their table), and in his other arm a bottle of wine.

I- huh?

The mechanic started laughing softly. Leaning against the doorframe, he concluded that the other man would probably always find a way to figuratively knock him off his socks one way or another.

He finally echoed Argenti’s smile, for once hoping his own to have the same warming ability on the other as his always had on Boothill, “Nah, sweetheart, I don’ think ya could.” Boothill aimed a teasing smirk at the other, nodding to the bottle in his hand. “I see you’ve made plans for us?”

Argenti flustered (and man, wasn’t that a nice feeling?), his eyes flitting away nervously before landing on Boothill’s once more.

“Well, I, uh, thought it weird to arrive with nothing at all. However, I was unaware that you would be busy making dinner for yourself, my apologies,” he looked past Boothill into the depths of his house for a split second, his pretty eyes regarding him under shily lowered lashes.

Boothill could not help the giddy grin spreading on his face.

“If ya’d like, I made enough for two anyways,” he suggested, inclining his head to motion towards the kitchen, “‘S nothin’ special though, so don’ expect much.”

The beautiful man’s eyes flew open in surprise, then were closed to accommodate his radiant smile.

“Nonsense! It already smells heavenly from over here.”

Boothill laughed, stepping aside to allow the other to enter. Gracefully, Argenti moved past him, but not before pressing the bouquet into his hands with a devastating grin.

He stuck his nose between the red petals, blissfully inhaling the scent that had become so dangerously dear to him.

Yea, Boothill thought, he could get used to this.