This one is from The Hazzardville Horror, which ends with Luke getting kissed by the girl, while Bo gets a handshake. Prior to this, Bo tries to prove his innocence to Rosco by declaring, "Look at my face. You don't think I did this to myself, do you?"
There's Bo, finally. In the bathroom and studying the brownish bruise on his cheek; it's not even going to go purple, doesn't look like.
"Don't worry," Luke tells him, and Bo looks at him like he thinks Luke has suddenly gained the wisdom of Jesse, and maybe he's going to say something kind or gentle. Guilt tries to find a foothold in Luke's thoughts, but spooks away in the face of amusement. "You wasn't that pretty to begin with."
Bo's sigh says more than he wants it to, probably. He's exhausted, or definitely ought to be. It's been another hell of a day, and he got knocked cold somewhere in there. Luke still wishes Bo'd let Doc Petticord take a look at him; he kept at his cousin all afternoon about it, but in the end they just came home, same as always. Bo belongs in bed, not standing over the sink and studying himself like if he stares long and hard enough, the bruise will disappear.
"Am so," Bo mutters, and Luke's brain stumbles there. The words bring him back into the bathroom when his feet were just taking him off to the kitchen in search of reinforcements. If Jesse dictates bed (and promises bruises on Bo's backside to match those on his front side) Bo'll be flat on his back in short order.
Am so what? Luke asks himself. Oh right, pretty, how could he forget? "Prettier'n your girlfriend," Bo declares, with utter certainty.
Here Luke's brain comes closer to a full out tumble, skinned knees and all. "Girlfriend?" he asks and feels his own face warp; tolerating Bo's foolishness is about as much fun as licking a toad.
"Mary Lou," Bo clarifies for him. Oh, yeah. It's been a few hours, Luke's mostly forgotten about her already. She was just today's distraction, no different from finding a nearly new carburetor in an otherwise wrecked car in the junk yard. Takes a few hours to get over the novelty, but after that it's just another hunk of metal under the hood.
"She ain't my girlfriend, Bo." She wanted to be, though. She'd about peed on him to mark him as hers.
"She wants to be." Luke has a love/hate relationship with the way Bo can read his mind half the time. It's useful enough when they need Rosco to run full speed into a stone pillar and knock himself silly, but most of the time it's just annoying.
"Don't matter none," Luke informs him. "I ain't all that interested."
Bo is finally over staring at his deformed face, it seems, ready to leave the bathroom – except for Luke blocking his way.
"She ain't half bad," Bo tells him, shoving on his shoulder, asking him to play as much as telling him to move. So Luke shoves back, not hard, just enough to make Bo work a little bit to stand his ground.
"She ain't so hot," Luke counters, and Bo giggles, trying to manipulate Luke away from the door, already halfway breathless.
"Neither are you," Bo reminds him. Luke lets him get the upper hand for now; after all, he did take a pretty good hit earlier today, then got left in that old, musty basement for several minutes, alone, hogtied, in pain, and making it worse by fighting the ropes.
"I'm rugged," Luke reminds him, as Bo pins him into the corner next to the toilet with a little chirp of victory. At least that was what their aunt used to say. Luke was rugged and Bo was—"Not pretty."
Bo giggles again. "Not pretty like…" He's got hold of both of Luke's wrists, pinning his hands against the old blue tile, knees on either side of Luke's legs, creating a human cage around him. Luke could break free if he really wanted to, but for now he's willing to let his cousin win. Poor kid's had a rough day and he's got the discolored face, hovering just inches away from Luke's, to prove it. Say uncle, Bo's smile demands.
What the hell. "Like you." It's true anyway. Bo giggles in victory, maybe six syllables of glee. His eyes never leave Luke's and his body doesn't move. Only Bo's face changes, brown-colored bruise accentuating the movement, and his cousin looks older, all serious like this.
"Luke," he says, and his voice is deeper, quieter than usual. His hands soften where they're pinning Luke's wrists to the wall, then slide up to find Luke's fingers and interlock there. I'm going to kiss you. Bo doesn't even have to say it out loud, Luke already knows. And doesn't flinch away.