CAMERON MONAGHAN IMAGINES

We'll Have Each Other. (Jerome)

You crouch down, picking up the scattered supplies. The pulsing pain below your left eye was probably going to leave a hard bruise. Arkham is a lot tougher than you'd thought it would be.

Someone's warmth cascades over your shoulder.

You cast your eyes up to see the infamous Jerome Valeska. Crazed murderer, seeking power.

You shudder and clench your jaw, paralyzed. 

"Hey, sweetheart-" He jerks his head back. "Ooo, that bruise looks bad." His emotionless eyes look like they're desperately trying to communicate empathy to you.

"Yeah." You continue picking up your things.

Jerome crouches to your level. "It hurts, right?"

You watch Jerome's hands get uncomfortably close to yours, assisting you in collecting the disseminated belongings.

"Sure does." You speak in a low volume as to not rile up his notoriously delicate temper.

You reach for a book at the same time as him and rub soft skin. It feels like your body touching fresh sheets.

Regardless, you should try to avoid the psycho, so you flinch, reaching for something else. You pile the items in a hammock you made by folding up the bottom of your dress. You are sure not to pull the bottom up too far, for that would make the inmates hungry for the only girl in Arkham.

"Who." Jerome's eyes are stuck on you but you refuse to meet his.

"I don't know his name yet."

"Tell me exactly what happened." He demands.

Psychos are born without empathy. Why does he care so much?

"I-I, was walking with my books and drawing things from the library and the big man..." you pause to control your breathing. "He's large and fat...hairy, sweaty. He wanted to uhmm. He wanted to take control of me." Each sentence comes out as a question. "So I kicked him in the crotch and he punched me. That's when I dropped everything." Your fingers shake, skating around the top of your wound.

You finally look at Jerome when you finish collecting everything. It was difficult to not break down. The event is too fresh. Fear is still flowing through you.

Jerome is fuming. His fluffy lips have disappeared from how tight he's made them. He squeezes his eyes shut and rolls out his neck. He looks like he's about to break.

Then, he flipped a switch in a direction you didn't think existed.

His expression softens, eyebrows shifting to pity.

"Don't you worry, Miss Y/N." He takes the pad of his thumb and taps your bruise, feeling how swollen it is. You relax and his gentility.

Jerome straightens up. "Ooo!" A light bulb seems to float above his silky hairs. "I know! I'll be back." He springs off the floor, leaving you crouched against the wall.

----

"Ice." He tilts his chin down, looking menacing.

"Thank you." You stretch out an empty hand, desperately reaching.

"Ah. Ah. Ah." He waves his finger and sits in front of you.

Jerome sets his sights on your welt. He lightly pushes the freezing bag below your eye. It's so shocking, you choke and ball your fists.

"It'll go numb soon." Jerome is the sole thing in your vision. He's not a bad sight. You see a side of him that many people think is absent; including yourself. He's much deeper than a cackling, chaotic ginger.

"You care" is all you could push out from that realization.

His cross-cross position and focussed face, padding the ice on your face makes him appear innocent, like a doe-eyed child.

"I've got your back. You'll have mine. We'll have each other."

----

YO MY CUPCAKES. Hi. I like comments. Comments are fun.

I have a 15 minute presentation tomorrow KILL ME!!! And my birthday is Saturday. GOODBYE ADOLESCENCE. HELLO TAXES.

I'm in a constant state of stressed out. You other high school/college students feel my pain.

byebye pretty faces

-Bambi ;)