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On Tuesday, Theon cleaned the bedroom.
It would be one of Ramsay’s late nights at work, and he liked to come home to a polished floor to kick his boots onto, ironed sheets to dirty up.
And so, Theon ironed sheets, then fetched flax oil from the one cupboard that wasn’t locked, and crawled across the lines of old oak on his bruised knees.
It was good work. Quiet. Easy to get lost in. The slide of the oil where it transferred from the rag to his skinny fingers, the morning sunlight streaming onto the delicate whorls of vernacular wood.
The part of him that craved energy, movement was no longer, and that had been the case for some time. Years.
He needed only the quiet house in the woods, the warmth of the thermos he passed to Ramsay every morning. The weight of a heavy hand at the back of his neck.
Even the bruises held tender familiarity.
Something had fallen into the shadows between the bed and the nightstand.
Papers? Theon blinked, chewed his lip, felt the frayed edges of the chapped skin there. He did not like touching Ramsay’s things, feared that he would dirty them, somehow. Ramsay was so understanding, really. As long as Theon took care of the house - was a good boy - he no longer had to worry about the uncertainty that made up the outside world. No matter what, Ramsay would take care of it. Theon asked for so much, and gave so little.
But … it was a mess. Wasn’t it?
One that Ramsay would inevitably notice when he carried Theon to bed that night. He often left clutter in his wake - mugs with cold coffee, old pens left to desiccate on sunny windowsills - but he hated messes.
The papers trembled in his hands. He would say that he didn’t try to look, that it wasn’t his business, really, what these strange papers, forgotten in a shadowed corner of their bedroom, contained. But he was a terrible sneak. Always getting into trouble.
That’s why I can’t leave you alone , Ramsay had said, once. What would you do without me?
I bequeath the following physical assets from my estate to the following …
He didn’t read anything past that.
Ramsay drove home with dust in his mouth. From the respirator or the dank air of his latest basement workplace, he didn’t know. He hated it all the same.
The northern roads were treacherous this time of year, but he gave no heed. He knew what awaited him when he arrived home. A warm drink, dinner, a sweet pet.
The dark windows gave him pause. He noticed the strange absence of their light halfway down the dirt road that led to their little house, and it was only more pronounced once he’d parked his car at the edge of the clearing. Though there was no sign of disturbance, he glanced at the gun clipped above the brake pedal.
The door was locked, just as he had left it that morning. Confusion easily turned to anger as he surveyed the desolate living room. No drink in his hand, no quick removal of his boots.
He wouldn’t. Would he?
It had been years since Theon had forgotten himself. He could still be misguided at times, but responded so well to a strong guiding hand.
Or so I thought.
Rage grew at the sight of the empty kitchen. No smell of food, the metal sink gleaming in the moonlight. The pantry, the dining room. The basement door was locked, which left either the second floor, or -
I’m going to fucking kill him.
But his boy had been good, after all.
He found Theon curled in the corner of their closet, one of Ramsay’s old shirts clutched to his pretty, skinny chest. Any anger that Ramsay felt faded at the sight of Theon’s red puffy cheeks, the fat tears rolling down them.
He might want to strike him, though. Theon often left him wanting that. He couldn’t help it, really. His face responded so well to slaps and pinches.
Later .
There were papers scattered at Theon’s bare feet. Getting down on one knee, Ramsay poked at them, squinting.
Well, shit.
“Aw baby,” he said.
He’d told himself to tuck the papers away when he got back from the lawyers’ but had misplaced them. He had assumed that they were at one of his work spaces, or in his truck, but -
“Don’t leave me!” Theon’s voice got so squeaky when he was sad. Like a little mouse.
On creaky arms and legs, Theon crawled towards him. The sight was enough to take Ramsay’s breath away. Weak arms found purchase on his shoulders, and Ramsay drew Theon close.
He really had such a stunning creature, tucked among all the wool and cotton. That’s why Ramsay had made sure that he would be taken care of.
Theon's face was wet at his neck, the hot feeling of his tears delicious.
“I’m not going anywhere, pet.” Ramsay could feel himself getting hard. “You’re hopeless without me, you know that?”
Theon nodded. Of course he knew. It was why their arrangement worked so well, however strange it was.
“ I - “
The thought to name a next of kin had been spur-of-the-moment. No existential breakdown on the drive from work, no sudden brush with death. Only a yellowed phone book, a law office at the edge of town. Floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking a bland office park, the skeletal trees, the setting sun. Ramsay had stared out at them while the pig across the desk droned on and on.
There would be one name on the thing, anyway.
“You're set, you know that?" Ramsay rubbed a hand through sandy curls, closed his eyes and pictured Theon's own. Blue and glassy. "You don't deserve it, but you are. I'm leaving you everything."
"I don't want it!" Theon pulled away, and there were those eyes. Pretty and wet. Just the way Ramsay like them. His weak fists batted at Ramsay's shoulders, more an extension of his weak voice than anything else. "I don't want any of that. I want to stay here. With you."
"Are you questioning me?" Cute, how it only took a little bit of cold iron in Ramsay's voice - for Theon to calm down. Or, at least, stop being hysterical.
"I'm sorry."
"Don't worry," Ramsay kissed his brow. Tomorrow, he would bruise Theon's face again, just to re-establish some normalcy to their relationship. "You can't bear to be without me."
Theon nodded, worried at his lip with his cute rabbit teeth. Ramsay wanted to keep him in a jar, wanted to bite his cheek, wanted to tell him frightening things, wanted to kiss him until he came to his senses enough to run.
But he didn't.
Theon's body was so light in his arms. So weak. They left the papers on the dark floor, and Ramsay carried Theon off to a dreamless sleep.