the chirps of cricket sound through the open window in the dead of night, the moon shining through and into your bedroom. late nights of restless, work-filled sleep have left you familiar with the darkness, yet even after so long, you're still not used to the feeling of being in the arms of another. of having an intimate relationship. and with a serial killer, at that.

in hopes of creating a well-written, authentic novel, you searched the web far and wide for information that would help you write as accurately of a serial killer as possible. as a result, your findings led to an invite to a small server owned and inhabited by various serial killers, new and old.

this led to your relationship with ronin, otherwise known as the infamous serial killer, the butcher.

now, you lay in his— your bed, in his arms. it's warm under the blankets. it's warm with him so close. your heart pounds within your chest, a testament to the foreignness of another's arms around you.

strong, bare arms encompass your cold body, his hand resting just over your chest, feeling each rapid beat of your aorta under his fingers. ronin claimed it as his as soon as he could. he likes you a lot. he just has a rather strange, grotesque way of showing it.

"y'comfy, darlin'?" ronin drawls, his raspy voice drifting toward your ears in a whisper. "...i am."