Work Text:
“New haircut?”
You startle, looking up from your writing to stare at him through your computer. His posture is relaxed, hands thrown behind his head with his knees drawn to his chest. Ronin’s eyes flick over your face, seemingly inspecting the “haircut” in question.
“Uh, something like that,” you mutter, mostly to yourself. “I just cut it a little shorter, um, last night with some craft scissors.”
He raises an eyebrow at that.
“…wasn’t feeling great last night.”
His face relaxes and he shrugs, seeming to accept that. “Doesn’t look half bad, darlin’. Maybe you should panic chop more often.”
He’s teasing you. You scoff before laughing softly. “You think so? I was trying to add a couple layers. Not sure how successful I was.” You laugh again, eyes looking back at your writing just so you don’t have to look at him again.
“Nah,” he grins. “Looks good to me. You know I love some DIY.” He starts laughing so hard at his own bad joke that he starts coughing loudly into his mic. You lower your volume, roll your eyes, and grin while you wait for his laughter to recede.
It’s not the first time he’s noticed little things about you. You can’t remember the last time anyone noticed anything about you, let alone all the small details. You think it’s because he’s a serial killer; Ronin’s probably used to being paranoid and remembering everything all the time in order to get away with murder constantly.
You can’t help but feel special anyways when it happens. Even if for only a moment.
A couple weeks later you try out a new perfume. It’s subtle, but you like it. It makes you happy when you catch the scent faintly clinging to your skin. You figure it will be your own little secret.
Of course, Ronin catches on.
You’re out with him on a night walk, your intertwined hands swaying softly between the two of you. You’ve been going on and on about your book, excited to share bits and pieces with him. You don’t usually get this way about your work, you usually don’t have an audience to talk in circles happily.
He throws his head back and laughs at something you say before bringing your hand to his lips to place a soft kiss on the back of it.
(You’ve always loved that about him. Ronin’s a romantic through and through. He loves how he kills; passionately, loudly, and intentionally.)
His lips linger on your skin before a grin splits them apart. “Trying out a new scent, darlin’?”
Your reaction is to jerk your hand away bashfully but Ronin holds you close. You struggle to get the words out. Or any words at all.
He lets your hands fall back to your sides and chuckles. “Suites ya.”
You let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding and laugh with him.
Sometimes you forget how good he is at noticing you. Sometimes you wish he would pay you less attention.
You lay in bed half the day. The other half of the day was spent trying not to tear your hair out over deadlines, pacing the length of your room again and again and again like a caged animal. You felt caged. It felt like the walls were closing in while they simultaneously were so far away, isolating you from everything and everyone.
You didn’t talk much in the server that day. You occasionally read the messages that popped up, every now and then forcing yourself to say something that left a bittersweet taste on your tongue. You couldn’t bring yourself to talk about you. Instead, a falsely cheery message or dumb joke filled your silence.
The others vaguely acknowledged how you seemed off. You were quick to incorrectly correct them that you were fine.
The Devil didn’t take kindly to your lies.
He texted you first. He asked you to open up, to spill your guts and present your aorta to him. When you insisted that you were okay, it escalated to a call.
“Darling,” Ronin deadpanned. “No one can help you if you don’t start talking.” You swallowed around the lump in your throat. The lump stayed stuck uncomfortable and stiff.
You started a sentence and stopped. Tried it again. Retried that. You felt hot all over. You were looking everywhere but at him. Your tongue was going in circles. The pressure behind your eyes was building.
You were all too aware how Ronin’s gaze tracked your every movement.
“I take it back. Stop talking.”
You froze in place. It was like all your worst fears coming true at once and you felt like you could only blame yourself. You had told him you were fine, right? He shouldn’t have to read between the lines to understand you. He was going to leave you alone.
“--and stop spiraling too. Look at the camera.”
Teary eyed and trembling, sobs attempting to wrack through your body, you stare at the screen again.
And Ronin had the audacity to look worried about you. You wish you could curl up and die.
“I’m gonna be over soon, baby. Think you can open the door for me?”
A squeak that you're not even sure picks up leaves your throat before you resort to simply nodding quickly. His eyes seem to soften again. You think you’re gonna be sick.
You pace throughout your house, sobs wracking your body. (If you cry before he gets here, maybe you can put on a brave face and pretend to have tricked him. That you were never really sad and hurting and everything was fine and he’s been worried for nothing.)
A heavy knock startles you out of your own thoughts. Your first instinct is to run back to your room and pretend you don’t exist. Like nothing exists.
Your brain screams as on autopilot your feet shuffle towards the door. You take several shaky breaths and open the door an inch. An onyx eye meets your gaze and forces the door open the rest of the day, knocking you on your feet.
The Devil towers above you, grinning.
“You look like shit,” he states. “Aren’tcha glad your devil dearest is here to take care of ya now?”
You start sobbing. Loud and ugly sobs. Ronin only clicks his tongue and leans down to pick you up. Fueled by shame and anger, you scream and hit and kick him away from you.
“I said I’m fine! Why can’t you leave me alone!” You stutter through your tears. Uneasy silence settles between you both, broken up only by your shaky breaths and sobs. You don’t dare look up at him.
A hand grabs your face and squeezes, forcing you to meet his gaze. You squeal and flail as Ronin pins you to the ground fully with his body weight.
“Go on then, cry. Get it all out. Devil can’t help ya until learn how to fuckin’ talk,” he grits out of a toothy grin that doesn’t match his eyes.
Sobs turn to sniffles. All your energy drains and your limbs go slack. Ronin’s gaze softens and so does his grip on you. He collapses next to you and you roll weakly into his arms.
“Feelin’ better?” He murmurs, massaging the back of your head. You hum softly.
“I’m sorry. That…I was a lot.”
“Nothin’ to be sorry for. Ya had to get it out one way or another.”
Ronin sits up and looks at you, cupping your face. “You ready for the devil to actually take care of ya now?”
You nod, and this time, you let him pick you up.
He brings you to the bathroom, willing you to shower while he preps some food for you. You thank him as he shuts the door before slowly and shakily taking off your clothes. Lacking the energy for a proper shower, you instead opt to enjoy the warm water washing over your frame.
You leave the shower after a few minutes and change into soft clothes. You find Ronin in the kitchen, having just finished making simple sandwiches for the both of you. He leads you to the couch and sits you down before giving you your food. Another ‘thank you’ falls from your lips as he presses a kiss to the top of your head. Ronin turns on some shitty horror movie you’ve both seen a million times at this point for background noise.
You swallow the last of your food before leaning against Ronin’s side. He wraps an arm around you and squeezes.
“Better?” He asks quietly.
“Much better.” You whisper back.
A loud scream emits from the TV causing you to jump. Ronin snorts at you as you grumble and turn the volume down. “Oh, you’re definitely feeling better already, darlin’,” he snickers out.
You cuddle into him more. “Shut up, it’s getting to a good part.”
He rolls his eyes and holds you closer.