I beg you like the beggiest begger in all of beggingdom to bless us with necromancer!rin 😭🙏🏻
“𝐛𝐨𝐧𝐞-𝐝𝐞𝐞𝐩”
a/n: HELP I KNOW REQS ARE CLOSED BUT I LITERALLY SET MYSELF UP FOR THIS ONE BECAUSE I WAS THE ONE WHO TALKED ABOUT NECROMANCER! RIN IN THE FIRST PLACE
so take this quick drabble loves, this was long-awaited
you meet necromancer! rin on a tuesday. the clouds hang heavy like grief and the cemetery smells like crushed leaves and fresh rot. you were just passing by honestly. you didn’t mean to trip over a jawbone.
"that’s mine," he says, when you scream and nearly punt it like a soccer ball. his voice is flat. cold. he looks at you like you're the one who rose from the ground and not the half-assembled skeleton curled at his feet.
you blink. "you lost your jaw?"
"no. it belongs to him." he gestures to the pile of bones like it’s a pet dog he’s reassembling from memory. “he’s being difficult.”
you should’ve run. but you don’t. because something about him makes you pause. maybe it's the dead-frog color of his eyes, or the way the wind doesn't move his cloak, or maybe it's the faint shimmer of moonlight on the ring of bone dust circling his boots.
“… you’re not gonna sacrifice me, are you?” you ask, half-joking.
“do you want to be?” he shoots back, not looking up. he’s holding a skull like a grapefruit, thumb pressed thoughtfully to its temple.
you decide right then that he’s either dangerous or lonely. or both.
and you’ve always had a soft spot for things like that.
he tells you his name is rin. you learn later that he only tells his name to the dead.
“why me, then?” you ask one night, legs hanging over a tombstone as he draws sigils in the dirt.
he doesn’t answer. but a skeleton near your foot twitches and flips you off.
you’ve been coming back every night for weeks now. you bring snacks. he doesn’t eat, but he likes holding the wrappers. “colors are interesting,” he murmurs one time, rolling a candy bar package between his fingers like he’s never seen foil before.
sometimes he shows you things, like a crow he taught to say "leave" in three different languages, or a skull that laughs when you tickle its chin. other times, he just sits beside you, arms folded, quiet. bones shift in the dark. you think one of them is starting to like you.
and then there are nights where he’s cold, sharp-tongued, distant.
“you shouldn’t come here.”
“but i want to.”
“people don’t want the things i have. they want what they’ve lost.”
you look at him then, and for a moment, he looks young – not powerful, not dangerous, not the boy who pulls spirits from soil and threads soul to corpse with a flick of his wrist.
just lonely.
“i’m not here for what i’ve lost,” you say. “i’m here for you.”
rin doesn’t respond. but his hand brushes yours.
just once.
just enough.
you fall in love the day he lets you touch the stitches on his arm – black thread, curved like constellations. “protection,” he mutters, cheeks flushed. “it keeps things in. or out.”
“what am i?” you whisper, tracing a line down his wrist. “in or out?”
he stares at you like he’s reading your soul backwards. like he’s trying to decide if you’re something he’s allowed to want.
“i haven’t figured it out yet,” he breathes.
but when he kisses you that night – slow, unsure, tasting like dust and something old and aching – you know you’ve already crossed the line.
a month later, you find a skeleton waiting on your porch. it’s holding flowers.
“he sent me,” it rasps, bones rattling. “he’s not good at this.”
you smile.
“i know.”
© 𝐤𝐱𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐢
