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Ronin was in the kitchen cooking up something that smelled delicious. You hadn't heard him get up, not from your place in the bedroom, snuggled up in his ash scented blankets, long since stained into them from him smoking. He'd been on the couch watching TV, likely some report about him he thought was funny by the sounds of his earlier laughter, near cackling.
Ronin's always been an amazing cook. He keeps you fed with all your favourite foods, hand made by the devil himself. Gifted directly to his little writer darling. By the smell you figure he's working on something with fish, the smell is too distinct to be easily ignored.
Despite being able to make a very solid guess on what ingredients hes using, you evidentally don't know what hes making with said ingredients. So you push yourself up out of bed, and make your way put to the kitchen.
You walk right in, quietly, him noting you're there, but not where you're headed. He hums a soft hello to you, and you greet back with a similar noise. You make your way around the island in the kitchen, wanging to hug him from behind like he often does to you. However, when you get close he suddenly turns around and bumps right into you with the sizzling pan of food in his hand.
He's startled, jumping back slightly. You scream at the fast spreading buring sensation now felt down your chest, and over one arm. His arm is also not well eqainted with hot oil, but he puts his focus on you immediately. He sets the pan down, practically slamming it down on the counter, food be damned, turns the stove off, and goes straight to you to assess the damage.
You're shaking, tearing up, trying to apologize, and he just hushes you, “Baby- hey! No no. No apologizing. Fuck. How bad is it? Can you feel it? Does it hurt?”
You've never seen him like this before, panicked. Its strange. You would have expected him to try and joke, yet still help you, but all you're seeing in his eyes is fear, and guilt. Guilt. Something you weren't sure he could feel after all of his killing.
“Darlin’. Look at me.” He tilts your face up to look at him, “Tell me how bad it is. Talk to me.”
You get the words out through pitiful sobs, telling him it burns, its down your chest, on your arm, tell him his arm is burnt too as if he doesn't already know that. You try to focus on his arm, and he quickly puts the focus back on you.
“I'm gonna take your shirt off, okay, baby? Arms up f'me.” He tells you, knowing he needs to get those clothes off you before they mottle into your skin.
You comply, not fully understanding what's going on anymore, just in pain, the world a blurry mess of fire, and the man you trust most giving you instructions in an uncharacteristically panicked tone.
He quickly lifts your shirt, and any other upper body garments you may have on off of you. He throws the clothes on the counter, not caring if they actually make it there, or find a new home on the floor.
He immediately goes to your chest checking the damage, giving you a quick look before begging to poke around, asking you what hurts the most. You can't really tell him. Its everything pretty much. So he backs off, and grabs a hand towel. He puts lukewarm water on it, pressing it against your wounds, hoping it'll help. He can't even remember the proper temperature to use on burns.
He's not felt this way in years–like he might actually lose someone. Its been so long, the feeling is one he doesn't know what to do with. The burns, they hurt, so they can't be third degree, but they arent good either. Your skin isn't just red, but molting. Its a horrible sight.
Ronin can't even be bothered with his own arm. Its fine. Hes done worse to himself. Hes not letting you get hurt like that though. For how much fun he has poking fun at you, and threatening you, he doesn't actually want you hurt. Especially not because of him. Not without your permission of course.
He can feel tears welling in his eyes as he sees you stating to get dizzy from it all. This only shoots more panic through his veins, adrenaline pumping fast. He grabs you as gently as he can, setting you on the counter near where your oil covered clothes lay. He shoves the clothes off the counter.
“Baby- please stay. Please- im- fuck I'm sorry, baby.” He holds your face, looking you in your eyes and pleading as your vision blurs, “I'll fix it, darling. I'll fix it.” He kisses your nose, and rushes off to find the first aid kit.
Eventually he gets you all patched up, getting some painkiller, and water in you. He lifts you gently off the counter, and into his protective arms. Hushing you, and kissing you softly, taking you back into the bedroom, apologies, ones he'd never give to his victims, falling from his lips for you.
His heart is aching with guilt as he lays you down on the bed, almost hesitant to join you before you give him a soft smile, and assure him its okay. He sighs, sitting down beside you, and leaning over you. He looks down at your bandages, chest, arm, hand, then back at your face.
“I love you, baby. Don't scare me like that again.” He teases slightly, trying ro being back his usual devil character.
You snicker in return, tugging on his sleeve, and inquiring into his arm's well-being. He just give you a smirk, proclaiming hes the devil, and can handle a little heat. You glare at him, and he sighs, conceding he should go take care of his wounds. He doesn't want to leave you alone though, so you kick him, and tell him you won't die while hes gone.
He gives you a playful glare, sticking his tongue out, piercing glinting in the sunlight coming in through the curtains, before leaving to handle his burns, yelling one last thing, “Better not die on me, darlin'! Its my job to kill ya the right way!”
You snicker to yourself, trying to get comfortable on the bed. Every light touch to the burns sends a shock of pain through your body, you almost think you should go to the hospital, but Ronin seemed hesitant on the idea, so you decided against it.
Your brain is still a bit foggy, and lost, but you're starting to get your sense of what's going on back. You can feel the burning the whole way through your chest despite it being surface layer. You can feel in in your throat, in the way you breath, the way your heart beats. Its a miserable feeling, even as the painkiller start to kick in you can still feel the tightness.
You look at your hand, and the attached arm. Bandaged up all nicely too. Ronin put so much care into every step of the process, you're sure its from the guilt of having personally done it. Its not his fault, not yours either, but you know he'll hold onto it anyway. He always does.
He always makes up for it too, even when its not necessary. You already know the next few days he'll be babying the hell out of you. Last time something like this happened that's what he'd done. You couldn't even pull out his usual sardonic behaviour, he was just so focused in on you being hurt at his hands, with no good reason for it.
He finally returns, his arms bandaged sloppily. You give him a disappointed look, but he ignores it. You try to tell him to wrap his burns better, but he tells you he fine, like he always does. Always claims its not taht serious even when you can see the pain burning behind his eyes.
Ronin lays on the bed with you, not quite touching you, but close. You look over at him, sticking your tongue out like he had earlier, hoping to bring back his playful aditude. You, however, are met with a soft sigh, and a sad smile. Not quite pity, more so concern.
“Rest for me, baby? Please? The butcher will be here to protect ya… even from himself.” He whispers softly, pressing his mouth against your cheek, kissing you softly.
You relax, accepting this will be your fate for the next few days. A softer Ronin, trying to care for you. You won't tell him to go back to acting like himself, but admittedly, once he gets back to his usual behaviour, while still taking care of you, that's when you really feel safe with him. When you have all of him.
All those esoteric words, those criminally bad jokes, his teasing, yet still sweetend with his care? That's him. That's Ronin. Your sweet serial killer. And you feel at home with him. Even when hes deliberately trying to unsettled you to get a rise out of you.
You agree to rest, as long as he agrees to join you. He obliges easily, moving just a bit closer, but hesitating to touch you with such wide spread burns.
You initiate the contact this time, grabbing his hand, holding it gently in your own. Squeezing lightly, and mumbling ‘i love you’ half into the pillows. He squeezes your hand back, returning the soft words, then pressing another quick kiss to your face, then demanding you actually rest. You giggle, but close your eyes, happy to have him here with you.