[ sunday takes his urging to heart and his arms are around boothill in a moment. it’s real sweet, the way he scoots forward, pressed up against him. it’s a long fall down, boothill sure can’t fault him for that. not a time he’s been thrown has it ever been a gentle landing, but it’s been a long time.

admittedly, mostly his fault when it’s happen. no temperamental stallion or half started colt, no wild riding to give their mount a startle.

boothill’s on his best behavior. he still doesn’t tell sunday he could hold on a little looser. ]

That’s just perfect, you hold on tight now, [ he says instead, reins in hand and a little heel pressure getting them going. sunday’ll figure out soon enough that he’s safe and he’ll relax on his own. this old boy moseys on and other than the steady rock from the motion, it ain’t nothing at all.

doesn’t stop the shocked bark of laughter when sunday brings up his suit situation. boothill turns his head quick to look back at him, disbelief and amusement all over his face. fortunately, his hair goes swinging the opposite way of sunday’s face. ] No chance, you’re pulling my leg! Nothin’ else?

[ the exact fucking opposite of boothill, who doesn’t think he has a full suit that even fits. he really does wonder what kind of life sunday was living to have a wardrobe of nothing but suits but — he guesses that’s a proper thing to wear, working in a church. sunday best and all. ] You do look awful nice in ‘em. Now, I — I look something ridiculous in a suit…