Whenever people asked what your boyfriend's job was, you said he was a mechanic. Which wasn't wrong. He was a mechanic, after all. But he also happened to be....somewhat infamous. To be more specific, he was The Butcher, a famous serial killer who targeted abusers and overly religious people and was on the news pretty much every night. You knew about all of this, but you loved him, and he loved you.

Besides, it wasn't like he was ever gonna get caught, right?

It didn't make any sense to you. He killed that jackass the exact same way he killed the rest of his victims. Same alley, same crowbar, same everything. But somehow, this one survived. He survived long enough to crawl out of that alley, ask someone for help, and give a detailed description to the police of what Ronin looked like. As soon as you saw that sketch on TV, you knew he was fucked.

You watched it all happen. You saw him sitting in that courtroom surrounded by people who didn't know him at all giving him disgusted looks, whispering like he wasn't even there. It made you sick. You wanted to stand up, scream, curse out every single one of the people talking shit about him, you wanted to do anything. But you couldn't. All you could do was watch him get dragged out in handcuffs, not without giving you one of those signature grins he had just for you as if he wasn't facing life in prison.

After the trial, your friends and family assumed you'd unofficially dumped him. It made sense as to why they'd think that, but you didn't. Of course, you never told anyone this, but you didn't care if he was a serial killer. You'd known all about it while you were dating him, and jail wasn't gonna change your feelings for him. You promised him you'd visit him in jail if he ever got arrested. Sure, the question was definitely asked in a teasing way, but you meant your answer.

Ronin seemed surprised to see you, but he couldn't hide the obvious smile on his face despite trying to act aloof and nonchalant (as usual). He looked like he couldn't believe it when you sat down in front of that glass barrier separating the two of you. He picked up the phone on his side, leaning in close enough that his breath fogged the glass a little.

You talked for a while about everything and nothing. Prison wasn't treating him too bad. Not many people willing to mess with a guy who has a body count in the hundreds, so that was a plus. After a few minutes, though, his expression flickered. For a brief moment, there was something more vulnerable under his usual bravado.

"I'm not....I'm not getting out anytime soon. You know that, right? They're, uh- Throwing everything at me. Life without parole if I’m lucky." He looked down for a moment before his gaze flickered back up to your face. "So… what now? You gonna keep coming back to see your favourite devil behind glass? Or did you just want one last look before you finally wise up?"

He pressed his free hand (well, as much as the cuffs allow) flat against the glass.

"Either way....I missed you like hell. And if you're crazy enough to stick around....I'm selfish enough to let you. Just, uh....don't make me beg too pretty. This jumpsuit's already killing my ego enough, darlin'."