♡

Quiet and soft and sweet, always sitting on your balcony with a book in your hands and a cup of coffee on a little wrought iron table as the sun set over the city...nobody really seemed to take notice of you but, oh, Neron certainly did.

The way you walked, the sound of your voice, all of the little details he could pick up in casual conversation, he noticed everything.

He noticed the scent of your honeysuckle perfume lingering whenever you passed him by.

The way that you smiled at him, when so many others averted their gaze in fear, always smiling whenever you passed him in the halls or met alongside your doors at the same time (and maybe he made sure to hang around, just to be at his door at the right time).

He noticed how sweetly you called him Mister Vargas and he liked the way you said it.

When he finally told you his name was Neron and you asked if you could just call him Nero, he liked that even more.

So it wasn't long before he made a move.

Everything fell pretty quickly into place after that. Dinners at your place, breakfast together at that little diner he liked on Sunday mornings, pancakes or pie for breakfast every time, he looked forward to that. You'd wait up in his place on nights the club kept him busy, keeping dinner warm for him in the little oven, and he would spend the night when he finally rolled in, kissing your shoulder and neck lazily as he laid beside you. He'd stay in at your place whenever he had time off, basking in the cozy little details of your life.

If anyone else had been paying attention, they certainly would have realized that the two of you were tangled up in each other...

But that's the thing about quiet people.

No one pays any attention to them unless they want something from them, content to ignore them, and the quiet are often content to be ignored, to a degree. Maybe most of them didn’t want to be bothered with “I want, I want, I want,” and all that.

Which was probably why Jason had come creeping around.

The guy living across from you, Nick or Nate or something like that, and Nero was a scummy loser with scummy loser friends, all of whom liked to take an appreciative look at you as you passed them by in the halls.

That was all it had ever been.

A few impressed looks, eyes glancing at you up and down.

You simply ignored that and they never went beyond a look, which is why Neron had ignored it too. Maybe he’d liked that his lady was a pretty little thing and the power of having something everybody wanted but could never get. Maybe he liked being the man on your arm, the pride of being the one to take you home. Besides, he wasn’t the least bit worried. You were loyal and in madly love and he was terrifying to anyone but you. His appearance alone was enough to scare off trouble and, when it wasn’t, his reputation did the trick.

Until Jason came along.

Jason was just a little bit dumber than the other scumbags. He'd very quickly gone from brief looks, to outright leering, and then to crude remarks, always met with a glare as you slammed the door in disgust.

If Nero had been there, he would have handled it that night.

But the club had kept him away a little bit and, as you told him everything on the phone, he could feel his blood boiling in his veins, hotter than hellfire.

"Maybe I should say something to the landlord..." you murmured softly.

Visions of you laying on your bed, playing with your hair as you often did, filled his mind and calmed him a little bit. He wondered what books were one your nightstand, waiting to be finished...which of your notebooks were on your bed, pens scattered, a story still be written. It eased his fury a little. But just a little...and nowhere near enough to save that idiot.

"You don't need to do that, mi vida. I'll handle it."

"Nero-"

"You're my woman," Nero reminded you, softly yet sternly, sensing the anger he was holding back through the phone. "Mine. I won't let somebody like that treat you like this."

So before going home to you, he stopped to talk to a neighbor.

It didn’t take him too long to convince Nathan/Noah/Whatever to tell him were Jason lived...and that he ought to move out. Some of the neighbors thought he was too annoying and somebody was bound to do something about that eventually.

And after that, he paid Jason a little visit.

That talk went down with a little more blood.

By the end of it, Jason’s car windows were smashed out in a snow of glass, his front door was kicked it, most of the windows were busted in the house, a hefty amount of damage had been done to just about every room, and the little bastard was laying at Neron’s feet, bleeding and barely conscious...but still awake enough to shiver were Neron leaned low and smiled, a cold grin reserved for only those he hated most.

“I’m not a cruel man, Mister Greene. I’m a protective man, something I sure you can understand. And if not, just understand this: if you ever speak like that to her again...if you disrespect her or so much as look at her, I. Will. Kill you. Understand?”

He nodded weakly.

And with that, Neron stepped over him and walked though the smashed door, broken glass crunching beneath his boots.

Neron didn’t go home quite yet.

He stopped at little little place you liked and bought dinner first, walking through the door with a bag of takeout and a smile on his face. Making certain to clean up first, he had changed his shirt and fixed himself up just for you. If it weren’t bruises on his knuckles and a cut across his cheek, nobody would have even suspected. Of course, you knew the truth long before he stepped through the door...but you didn’t care. You just kissed his bruises and cleaned the cut up proper, a little yellow star-shaped bandage on his cheek.

“I love you, mi vida. You know that, right?”

“I know,” you was your soft reply, smiling a little bit. “I love you, too, Nero. But you don’t have to worry about me.”

“I’m always gonna worry about you. I’m your man, Y/N, that’s my place. My duty. I protect you and love you and worry about you and I do whatever it takes to keep you safe. So you better get used to it. Because that’s never going to change.”

“My man?”

“Your man.”

“Mmm..” you were smiling against his lips in an almost kiss. Neron’s arms around your waist as he pulled you in close. “My man. I like that sound of that.”

“Me too.”

It was easy being with you.

Easy and quiet and loving, cuddled up on the propped-up couch with takeout and an old black-and-white movie playing on TV...something with Marilyn Monroe in it. But in all truth, Neron didn’t remember too much of it. He was far too busy kissing and loving on you to pay all that much attention to it.

There was nothing better than being loved by you and loving you.