BENDY X HENRY ONESHOTS *cough*(CLOSED)

Movie.

Bendy, as it turned out, was a tad bit of a sociopath. Joey had been one too. And that was all the Ink Demon had as an example in its upbringing, harbingers of misery and pain. So when he flashed a pout, faked emotion, Henry easily looked past it.

Until, that is, it became more present in their relationship. It was hard to know what the demon was even thinking anymore. Facial expressions were worth less than dirt, and Henry was always on the ready to apologise for something he did or said.

Struggling with Bendy's cluster B had become part of their daily routine. The demon was trying his best, but progress was slim. It'd often hole up in their bedroom for hours on end, wrap an arm around Henry's waist and avidly protest when the human would try to leave.

At first it didn't bother the man. It was endearing, even. But then it began to make things hard. Getting up in the morning was a challenge. Sure, he'd be bombarded with kisses and hugs, but it didn't fix the problem that he was due somewhere in -55 minutes.

Never being alone was a nice thought. But in reality, being trailed after, everywhere you went? In the shower? Not having a moment to yourself got old, fast. Still, how do you tell your partner, -a literal demon who has abandonment issues no less- that you need alone time?

Henry's solution, as simple as it was, just don't. Don't bring it up. Sure, he was being a little clingy now, but later? Nevermind. Just as clingy then, too.

Normally he'd take a problem into his own hands and deal with it. But with something as fragile as this? He didn't trust himself not to say all the wrong things.

Bendy made it clear what he thought of therapy, and it wasn't a positive review to say the least. Or had he just been lying as an excuse to stay home? God, everything was so complicated.

Everytime he invited the others over for coffee to catch up, something would always happen. The basement getting flooded with suds because the washer broke, the neighbours dog stuck on the roof, something. And everytime that something crazily inconvenient happened, the demon was nowhere to be found.

So the animator pretended he was the problem. Maybe he just wasn't giving the big guy enough attention. He cancelled his plans and stayed home for a week. At this it was more than ecstatic, and all over him. But his attention was like a drug to the demon, and it was a hopeless addict.

It was never enough, it never could be. At least in the studio it had something to do, somewhere to be. But here, in rural upstate New York? It had absolutely nothing better to do. Henry had all of its attention, all the time.

The demon's need for attention was insatiable. Even when it slept. This of course, left no time for Henry to simply be with himself.

The clingy Ink Demon rested its head in the man's lap. It was focused on the screen, black and white bullets shooting across the glass. Henry, on the other hand, rested his head against the back of the couch, staring blankly at the ceiling.

Occasionally, the demon would stir, flinching at the metallic echo of gunshots. It would whine, burying its head in his chest. Abandoning the bowl of popcorn, he would run his hand across its horns as he had several times before that same evening.

It would lean into his touch, pressing its big, inky head into his hand. Then it would go back to watching the movie, unbothered, a low vibration pooling in its throat. How much of it was an act? Henry had no idea.

If guns really scared the demon as much as it acted they did, why would it pick a cowboy movie famous for its shooting scenes? Giving it the benefit of the doubt as the animator always did, he of course stayed to comfort the demon. Other than that, he had little to no interest in watching the film for the fifth time that week.