𝙂𝙧𝙞𝙩 & 𝙂𝙧𝙖𝙘𝙚| 𝘽𝙤𝙤𝙩𝙝𝙞𝙡𝙡 𝙭 𝙍𝙚𝙖𝙙𝙚𝙧 - Chapter 8: Chapter 8

Boothill had always been laser-focused. It was part of his nature. A bounty hunter's life demanded it. Precision, speed, and an unyielding drive to finish what you started—that was the way he operated. There were no distractions, no room for weakness. Everything had its place, and everything was about getting the job done.
That was, of course, until you.
Today, though, things felt different. Boothill couldn't shake the feeling that something was off. He tried to push it aside, tried to focus on the target at hand—the man he had been tracking for days, the one who had slipped through his grasp more than once. The job was simple: capture him, deliver him, collect the reward. Nothing complicated.
But with each passing moment, it became harder to ignore the tightness in his chest. He glanced down at the small device in his hand, tracking his target's movements, but his thoughts kept straying back to you. The smile you wore when you'd let your guard down, the way your eyes had softened the last time you'd spoken. The moments you two shared over the past few weeks—those moments where it was just you and him, no walls, no barriers.
Damn it.
Boothill ran a hand over his face, trying to clear the fog in his mind, but it didn't help. Every time he closed his eyes, your face was there—your laugh, the warmth of your presence, the quiet moments when you'd both just exist in the same space. That night at the cafe... when he'd seen you be yourself, for the first time in a long while, it had shaken him. He didn't know how or why, but it had struck something deep in him.
Shaking his head, Boothill adjusted his grip on his blaster. He couldn't afford to get soft now. He was a bounty hunter. A killer. He didn't have time to think about anyone. Especially not you.
Yet, there it was again—the image of you, standing just outside the bar, laughing softly as you walked with him through the streets. The warmth of your presence had been like nothing he'd felt before, and now it was seeping into his thoughts, invading his focus. It wasn't just the softness of your eyes or the way you held your own; it was the simple fact that you weren't like everyone else. You didn't need anything from him. And that made him want to protect you more than he could explain.
"You gotta get it together," Boothill muttered to himself, his voice rough. The faint sound of footsteps pulled him from his thoughts. His target was nearby, just ahead, moving quickly through a narrow alley. This was it—the moment to finish the job.
He didn't hesitate, darting into the alleyway after him, his footsteps quiet against the stone. The target had a head start, but Boothill was faster. He wasn't going to miss this time. He could already feel the tension in his legs, the adrenaline beginning to surge through his veins as he drew closer.
Then, just as he was about to make his move, the thought of you crept into his mind again. Your voice, your laugh, the way you looked at him like maybe, just maybe, he wasn't just some hardened mercenary in the midst of another mission. What was that about? Why did it feel so... important?
Boothill stopped dead in his tracks.
Dammit. Focus.
He cursed under his breath, trying to force himself back into the mindset of the hunter, to shut out the distraction. His target, however, had heard his approach, and before Boothill could react, the man whipped around, drawing his weapon.
"Boothill," the target sneered, recognizing him immediately. "You can't catch me this time."
A standoff. Just the kind Boothill hated. It was never a clean, straightforward capture. It was messy. Chaotic.
Boothill's instincts kicked in, but his mind—his damn mind—kept wandering. You. The way you had stood so confidently that night, deciding to do something for yourself, something so different than what you'd always known. That part of you had resonated with him more than he'd ever admit.
"Focus, Boothill!" he growled, snapping himself back to the present. He ducked as the target fired, narrowly avoiding the blast. His hand instinctively reached for his blaster, but his movements felt sluggish, as if his body wasn't quite in sync with his mind.
"You think you can stop me?" the target mocked, closing the distance.
Boothill didn't answer. He fired off a shot that grazed his target's arm, causing the man to stumble back. That was enough of a window. Boothill lunged forward, tackling him to the ground and pinning him with an iron grip.
"I don't miss," Boothill growled, his voice low and dangerous as he readjusted his hold, securing his target in a vice-like grip.
As he clicked the cuffs onto the man's wrists, a strange sense of relief flooded him, but it wasn't the sense of triumph he was used to. No, it was something else. Almost like he was still waiting for something—or someone. He didn't have time to analyze it right now, though. His job was done, and that was all that mattered.
Dragging the bounty back toward the transport, Boothill's thoughts once again turned to you. His mind kept replaying the moments between you two, the way it felt to simply be with you, to share a space without the weight of his past bearing down on him. He hadn't realized how much he had needed that until now.
He didn't like this feeling. Didn't like how much of a distraction you had become. He was supposed to be the one in control. He was the one who dictated the terms of his life.
But with you? He felt like he was losing his grip on that control. And that scared the hell out of him.
Still, even as he secured the bounty aboard the ship and prepared for the long journey back, the thought of you lingered. It was a quiet, constant pull that he couldn't escape.
Boothill let out a heavy sigh, his hand resting on the ship's controls. What was it about you that had gotten under his skin? Why couldn't he stop thinking about you?
And more importantly—was that even something he was ready to face?