evan was the pinnacle of idiotic, the posterboy for overconfidence, but habit realized pretty early that that wasn't necessarily the case. he was more self-sacrificing than anything, finding so little value in his own existence and caring so much for his friends that he'd gladly put himself in harm's way to keep him safe. habit thinks that, maybe, that self-sacrificial attitude is what led him to him in the first place, but it's nothing to think about. because evan is now a captive in his house, someone to keep around for fun.
it's always entertaining to watch evan squirm, to him tense up and watch his jaw clench tight as habit slides pins into his arms and knives into his sides. it's so hilarious to watch him try to crawl his way to the attic door when habit decides to take a bat and beat the living shit out of him, bruise him up and break some bones just to assure him that there is no way out of here. but over time, it gets less fun. it gets less entertaining when evan stops fighting back, when he stops trying to get over on habit and squirm his way out of the place.
what habit felt for evan, however, was an entirely different story. habit enjoyed watching other people suffer: he liked the way murder felt, loved the risk, loved the control he had over people. the fact that he was danger, sheer chaos embedded in his blood, it always got him rheeling. but, the things that confused him came and went. one day he wanted to drag evan up to the attic and keep him there all day, fuck him up so bad he wouldn't sleep for a month, and other times he wanted to hold his face in his hands and hug him and tell him that he was fine (what kind of sappy bullshit is this?)
habit knew a lot of things. he knew, mostly, how humans worked, what made them tick. he didn't know, however, how to deal with or understand his own emotions, because he doesn't usually feel.
the first time evan got sick, habit hardly understood what was going on. his face was all red, and he could hardly breathe through his nose, and he sounded really weird. he coughed up mucus every two seconds and kept falling asleep even when habit told him specifically not to. he'd seen humans do a lot of weird shit, but this? It was so foreign habit felt something in his chest that he was unfamiliar with and oh boy was he prepared to rip this body open just to figure out what it was. tear it limb for limb, sink his fingers into the muscle and yank open the bones to try and get out what he could of it.
he never got that chance, because after a week evan was fine again, and he'd explained to habit what "getting sick" means for humans. he'd decided it was going to be a problem and that he'd have to try to keep this from happening again, because evan was such a fucking stick in the mud when he was sick.
the first time evan actually talked to habit without hostility or being forced to because of circumstances was when he'd worn him down to the point where evan could hardly stand up on his own. hell, he could barely drag his own sorry ass out of bed. it was kind of funny, actually, to watch him pull himself around the house with nearly-broken ankles and several days on no sleep. but as time went on, it got boring, with evan practically laying on the ground in the attic, not really resisting whatever tool habit pulled out next, every little incision he made not actually going to evan's head as he would have liked.
it was irritating. evan was irritating.
"ev, what the fuck?" habit huffs, "you're not fighting back anymore. what happened?"
"isn't it easier for you?" evan wheezes, breathless and bleeding from several parts of his body.
"well, yeah, but it's not fun anymore," he sits down on the floor next to him once he finishes untying evan's hands, glancing down at evan's exhausted and beaten form on the floor.
"tough-" evan coughs, rough and scratchy, "-shit, then."
"ouch," habit winces, but overdoes it for the sake of dramatics, "that hurts, evan."
"like i'd believe you have any feelings."
habit laughed, then pushed himself up off the floor and offered evan his hand. he'd never get back to his own room in this state, and if habit wants him to be ready for tomorrow's attic escapades, he'd need to rest up. habit had been planning a very interesting torture routine for a few weeks now, trying to defer from his old tactics. he didn't want to break any of evan's bones, because then he couldn't try to run, and habit couldn't enjoy catching him in a few steps forward.
evan stared at his open hand for a minute, and habit rolled his eyes, "c'mon, ev, you're not that much of a fucking idiot, get up."
he thought he saw him roll his eyes back at him, but then he managed to pry himself far enough off the ground to grab habit's hand and be pulled upward. he topples forward into habit but quickly tries to regain his step, and habit helps him walk to his room.
he'd gone out the day after, blew a gas station to smithereens because it sounded fun, hopped into a new body after getting the old one killed. he was a bit bored on the drive home, and wondered how ready evan would be for some more time in the attic. that'd be a treat. for habit, more so, not so much evan.
he didn't even bother with unlocking the door and settled for just slamming it open with his shoulder, careful not to break it off the hinges but moving fast enough that the lock pried itself open. he blinked a few times as he stepped inside, and then shouted evan's name.
"honey, i'm home!" he snickered to himself, laughing at his own joke, when he realized that evan was nowhere in sight. he wasn't downstairs, and he would've at least screamed back at him if he were in his bed upstairs.
"evan?" he looks around, smirking a bit. did the fucker get out? "you around?"
"in here," he hears him from the dining room, voice small and shaking. he scoffs to himself, rolls his eyes, and heads for the archway. sure enough, evan's crying on the dining table, because of course he is.
"really? you're crying on the fucking dining table?" evan visibly tenses.
"sorry, i just...fuck. fuck you?"
"fuck you too," habit replied casually, walked over to the table and pulled out a chair.
"why're you all emotional?"
evan doesn't answer. he stares at the table, sniffing and wiping the tears off his face. his hair hangs in his eyes, because it's gotten pretty long over his time being in here with habit, and habit thinks it's a pretty good look on him. he mumbles something to himself and habit just stares, looking at him with a waiting expression, nonchalant and bored.
"you," he says, finally, "why do you pretend like you care about me?"
habit's stomach drops. it's an unfamiliar feeling, because at that point, he's not sure he was ever pretending.
"when the fuck did you get that idea?"
"you've been...nice? you've been torturing me less, and you always call me your favorite, and you cook for me, and you-"
"those are just basic fucking accommodations. i need you alive to have fun with you. god, evan, are you really this stupid?"
habit thinks he should really just shut his mouth, because now evan's regretting ever speaking. evan sighs and looks at the table again, neglecting to respond. habit needs to ignore this, avoid this, pretend it wasn't there.
he pulls out the knife he keeps in his pocket and stands up from his chair, because he's habit, and he's not going to do anything else.
