boothill wakes from his nightmare and immediately pulls you into his chest, arm wrapped around you so tight you’ll have bruises in the morning, while his other hand forms the barrel of a gun and aims at the door.
he’s drenched in sweat - something you hadn’t thought possible for someone so barely human. rough pants leave his heaving chest, and somehow he pulls you impossibly closer, resting your head in the crevice of his neck.
he doesn’t mention it in the morning, after you both eventually drift back to sleep, and neither do you.
historically there has been alot of animosity between "real goths" and "mall goths," but for one brief & blissful moment in 2007, everyone came together in harmony 😌