theattic | MY ROOMMATE, SATAN

The skittering of the can, the sounds echoing in the quiet apartment had Zack sitting up, sword ready so quickly that it would be just as startling. And yet, when his eyes set on the cat, he gave a wry smile, blade lowering.

"Man, are you pathetic." He said aloud, obviously talking to himself as he set the blade aside and stood, making a face a the mess Roman had made. "I hope you still eat that...or it's going to smell like fish in here."

Wide yellow eyes peered up at Zack from beneith a chair. What was he waiting for? Was he going to play some kind of sick game with him? THEY HAD CUDDLED. Roman thought they had something special!

Slowly the blade lowered and Roman remembered that ahaha he was just a dumb cat and Zack was a nuclear jungle man. He wouldn't kill him with a sword. The orange cat slowly crept out from under the chair, body low to the tile. He didn't peel his eyes off Zack as he lowered his head to lap the splattered tuna off the floor.

But what if. But what if.

WHO JUST HAS A SWORD LAYING AROUND?

Well okay. There were plenty of Adventurers out there. It paid well. He'd seen some pretty wild things in the pawn shops he stopped in. He never thought flowerdude would be one of those though. He felt stupid for not figuring it though though. The guy was the size of a skyscraper and built! And warm.

He can't help but laugh at the way the cat's body was still low, staring at him while he ate. "You're almost as skittish as I am. Guess I really am a scaredy cat now." He'll settle on the floor, hoping that would be more calming for the animal, slowly picking the blade up again and grabbing at a cloth and bottle that was settled on the other side of the couch, sucking in a deep breath and working on the task of polishing the blade.

"Sorry I just brought it out and didn't introduce you," He said aloud, like a dork, because the cat shouldn't be able to understand him. "This is the buster sword. It's a good friend, been with me, and...with Angeal before me. It takes good care of who ever it protects. And shouldn't be used unless absolutely necessary, so it doesn't get and wear, tear or rust." he smiles at the last part, gently rubbing the cloth along the blade, putting more oil on it and continuing the process. "Not that you care. You're more interested in that tuna, huh?"

Roman lapped furiously at the tuna on the floor. YES SIR WAY MORE INTERESTED holy god that thing could cleave a horse in half why does he have that why who would even.

Roman eyed the way the light glinted off the buster sword. He wondered how many creatures like him it had put down. He'd fought with preachers and mediums and would-be ghostbusters but never an Adventurer. And never in his very own den!

Eventually there was no more tuna. No more distraction. Roman wanted to hide under the table for the rest of the night. But the floor was chilly and he'd inhaled two entire cans of tuna and he wanted somewhere warm to curl up.

Suddenly, as though the world was not done making Roman alternate between panicking and being embarrassed, he was overtaken by a case of kitty hiccups.

Fuck he bet Suur was behind this after all this was just the thing they would do to him!

If Roman was interested, it also could demolish buildings rather quickly. He continued to care for the blade as Roman sat there eating, the metal shining when he was done, looking practically brand new. "It's our little secret, yeah? Can't exactly go walking around with this one. It's not exactly sneaky to walk around with some giant ass sword."

He sets the blade aside, staring at it for far longer than anyone might a regular old sword and had just been about to continue his nightly ritual of staring at the phone when Roman's hiccups sounded through the small apartment. Zack snorts. "Someone ate too fast." He'll get up, motioning for Roman and attempting to pick him up again, "Comere, kitty kitty kitty."

"Hup."

Oh, god damn it.

"Hup."

Zack was reaching for him again. Roman only wanted to be held when it was his idea, no matter what shape he was in. The orange cat spun away from the soldier's hands, still hiccuping. He slipped under the chair, rounded his boots, and made his way over to where the sofa stood.

"Hup."

Zack puts his hands on his hips, watching the cat, unable to help the grin on his face. He liked dogs a lot because they would give you so much love you didn't even know what to do with it. What he liked about cats? They made you earn it, and then after you had, you felt better about yourself because they liked you enough to grace you with their presence.

"You're one picky kitty, huh? Just don't throw up on the sofa and we're square." he tells it, moving again to sit, making sure that he didn't get too much in the cats way. "If you want to sit on me, that's okay. But only if you want to."

"Hup," hiccuped Roman indignantly. He found a little corner where the sofa arm met the back and curled up into a small orange ball. "Hup."

He had some thinking to do. Soon as Zack left for work he'd easily let himself out and return to his life of devil's dealing. That was one thing he wouldn't be able to stop. He wasn't sure if he could make it back here every night either. One day Zack would come home to an empty appartment. It'd break the guy's heart. It might be better to rip off the band aid early. He was obviously Not Okay but that really wasn't any of his business. Nothing said he couldn't stop by the shop from time to time to say hello in human form.

But the guy had given him two whole cans of tuna and had kept him warm in the snow.

UGH why was being good so hard.

Zack sat there, staring at the cat completely unaware of his train of thought. Of course he would be, since cats didn't usually contemplate turning into demons and mooching off an idiot eight to twelve hours a day between dealing devil magic, but maybe they did? He considers the cat, considers the phone and physically turns himself away, facing Roman and slowly reaching towards him.

"You know you wanna let me love you."

Roman's circling thoughts were interrupted by a nearing hand.

Maybe...if he meowed to be let out in the morning, it would hurt him less. There wouldn't be a complete mystery. He didn't want to make Zack thing he'd just imagined the hiccuping cat.

And so he stayed put, feet tucked under his chest, waiting for the hand to give him scratches. Because what fucking fool wouldn't accept scratches?

MY ROOMMATE, SATAN

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