𝙂𝙧𝙞𝙩 & 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚| 𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 - Chapter 11: Chapter 11

The sun had long dipped below the horizon, and the soft glow of streetlights outside illuminated the cozy space of the small apartment. Inside, the air was warm, filled with the comforting scent of freshly brewed coffee and the faint hum of soft music playing in the background. It was peaceful—too peaceful for Boothill's usual restless energy, but it was something he was starting to enjoy.
He sat on the couch, a little too close to the edge as if he wasn't sure whether to settle fully into the comfort of the space. The room was quiet except for the occasional clink of a spoon against a mug or the shuffle of feet on the wooden floor.
You were in the kitchen, moving around with ease, preparing a light meal. It was a simple affair—nothing extravagant, just a home-cooked dinner of pasta and vegetables. Boothill watched you from the corner of his eye, leaning back just slightly into the cushions, his gaze following your movements as you moved with a quiet grace.
You had been spending more time together like this. The last few weeks had been a slow unfolding of moments—nothing dramatic, nothing rushed. It was just the two of you, quietly building something together. There were no grand declarations or deep conversations every night. Sometimes it was just this—simple, domestic. But it was enough.
You glanced over your shoulder at him, catching his eyes. A soft smile tugged at your lips as you noticed how he was looking at you. "You good?" you asked, your voice light, playful.
"Yeah," Boothill replied with a low chuckle. "Just... watching you cook. You make it look easy."
You raised an eyebrow, turning back to stir the pot on the stove. "I've had practice. You know, just because I don't always work at the bar doesn't mean I don't have skills."
Boothill smirked, leaning back in the couch a little more comfortably, but his eyes never left you. "I'm starting to believe that."
There was something easy about this. The casualness of it. The way you could joke around and not have to fill every silence with words. It was a change for Boothill. But for once, he didn't mind.
You returned to your task, and he watched you with a slight tilt to his head, noticing the way your hair fell around your shoulders, the way you moved without hesitation in the kitchen. It was moments like these that felt so... domestic. And he wasn't sure how to feel about that, at least not yet.
You brought over a small plate of bread and olives to the table, setting it in front of him with a grin. "Got a little appetizer for you. Just because you're being so patient."
Boothill chuckled, accepting the plate. He picked up a slice of bread and dipped it into the olives before taking a bite. "I'll admit, this is a nice change of pace," he said, his voice softer than usual. "Don't get many nights like this."
"I know," you said quietly, glancing over at him with a look that softened the edges of your expression. "I've been thinking about that. About how... easy it is to just be here. With you."
Boothill's chest tightened at your words, and he cleared his throat, suddenly unsure of what to say. The intimacy in the air was palpable now, subtle yet undeniable. He could feel it—a tension just beneath the surface, something neither of you had addressed directly, but something that was always there when the two of you were in the same space.
You sat down across from him at the small kitchen table, your eyes meeting his with a softness that made his heart beat a little faster than he was used to.
"Is this... okay?" you asked, a slight hesitation in your voice as if you were testing the waters, unsure of how he might respond.
Boothill gave a small, almost imperceptible nod. "It's more than okay," he said quietly, his gaze unwavering. "It's... exactly what I need right now."
The words hung in the air for a moment, and it felt like a small, unspoken promise passed between you. The silence that followed wasn't uncomfortable—far from it. It was a comfortable kind of quiet, the kind that you only shared with someone you felt completely at ease with.
You reached for your own drink, taking a sip of your water before setting it down and letting out a soft breath. "I'm glad," you said, the words carrying more meaning than either of you had anticipated. "I like this... us. I don't want it to change."
Boothill met your gaze again, a flicker of something vulnerable in his eyes. "Neither do I," he said, the weight of his words sinking in. He meant it. In a way, he hadn't meant anything for a long time.
The conversation naturally fell into a comfortable silence again, but this time, Boothill found himself leaning forward, closer to you. His attention was fully on you now, his body relaxing into the moment as if there was no need for the usual defenses he'd carried for so long.
You smiled faintly, sensing the shift in him. "You know," you said, voice soft as you caught his gaze again, "I never thought I'd get to a point where this—all this—would feel normal. But it does."
Boothill's heart thudded a little louder in his chest, and he couldn't help the faint smile that tugged at his lips. "Yeah," he agreed, the tension between you both becoming more palpable now. "I guess we've both been pretty good at pushing things away, huh?"
Your gaze softened, the air between you thick with something unsaid. "I think... we're learning, Boothill," you said quietly, reaching out with one hand, just barely brushing the tips of your fingers against his. The contact was small but electric, sending a shock through him, making his heart race just a little faster.
Boothill's breath hitched, and for a moment, he simply stared at your hand, watching as you gently held it in your own. Your touch was light, but it was enough to send a ripple of heat through him. He wanted to pull away, but instead, he let himself stay there—just a little longer, savoring the feeling of your warmth against his.
"You make it hard to keep my distance," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper, the words laced with an intimacy that was undeniable.
You smiled, your thumb tracing small circles over his knuckles as you leaned in a little closer. "Maybe that's the point," you whispered back.
The distance between you had closed so gradually, but now, in the soft glow of the kitchen lights, Boothill finally felt like he could take that next step. His heart pounded in his chest, the intimate tension swirling between you both, and for once, he didn't feel the need to run from it.
This was real. This was them.
And it felt like the start of something much bigger than either of them had imagined.