Chapter Text
You’d first made actual contact with him - him, not the notebook - when you’d happily presented him with an oversized apple as soon as you got home one night. Just another night after thankless work and last minute groceries. Your fingers had brushed his, and it didn’t even seem to cross your mind to recoil.
He’d dug his claws into the flesh of the fruit, suddenly very aware of his own existence and how you were comfortable with it. And the frenzy that started in his sternum was so uncomfortable that it took time to eat the entire apple as he normally would.
It had been awkward in the days following. He’d kept away from you, as much as he could given the status of the notebook, and had presumed that some distance would solve that terrible twisting in his gut.
Your inexplicable sadness following this, because maybe you weren’t Light Yagami but you were certainly observant enough to detect subtle changes, just made him feel more .
Ryuk had almost asked if you wanted him gone; if you wanted to give your notebook up and forget his existence entirely. Maybe then, you could both part ways and he would never have to see your soft eyes light up in recognition and he’d never have to question why he was so affected by your touch.
The very realization couldn’t be good, not for you and especially not for him. He knew exactly what this could lead to, and the usual confidence in his own callousness and cravenness was actually in question.
But he didn’t.
Instead, Ryuk felt like the ground had given out beneath his feet without warning. He stayed, floundering, unable to withstand your depression any longer when he used the excuse of finding your missing highlighter and shoved it into your hands. His expression showed nothing, but your shy gratitude made the guilt that had ensnared his senses mutate.
Regardless, things went back to normal. Normal: including the occasional touches as you passed him things or clambered over to show him something. Somewhere along the line, he had wordlessly agreed to allow you so close. And then to lay hands on him for meaningless things - comparing the sizes of your hands, tracing the ashen features of his face and inviting him to do the same with the scars on your arms and knees, holding him close and burying your face in the feathers crested over his shoulders.
He hated it. He loved it. Ryuk craved your warmth, grew irritated and restless without creeping toward the side of your bed and letting you grasp his hand for comfort. It was deeply frightening but also so natural given his addiction to forbidden fruit.
And how fascinating you were, to find solace in death itself. How lonely could anyone be to return his feelings and yearn for his presence as well?
It was another day, nothing to anticipate. The demonic creature had circled the apartment’s exterior to stretch his wings, to feel the wind in his feathers and the oncoming rain. But when he returned, Ryuk found you sitting in your chair, devouring your phone screen with wide, unblinking eyes.
It was silent, save for the muffled sound of his chains clinking and boots against the hardwood floor. In an instant, the death god was crouching down to look with you. The notification on the screen was bold and bright, begun with the name of a celebrity criminal.
You still weren’t blinking when he faced you, and while he knew immediately what had happened, the reality didn’t quite set in until a minute later.
You had been so afraid to even look at the notebook once you’d first met him. Seen him looming over your chair like a sleep paralysis monster with a never-ending grin.
“You wrote a name…” He trailed off. You shuddered, and Ryuk saw the notebook in the nook of the chair cushion beside your thigh.
“I don’t want you to leave.” You said, nodding.