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He’s only here to make sure Ronin doesn’t get himself into any trouble. That’s all. He accepted the devil’s invitation into town purely because he knows that somehow, Ronin will end up in a mess of his own creation—either in a puddle of someone else’s blood, or a jail cell. Maybe both, depending on the mood of the evening.
That’s the reason, the only reason, as he’s told himself for the thousandth time tonight, V’s coming along. Not because he wonders how the infamous goreboy spends his time, when he isn’t terrorising him over discord, murdering civilians in cold blood, sleeping or working. Certainly not.
Definitely not because he wants to see, not ‘The Butcher’, but Ronin Beaufort. Not because V wants to see him laugh, and watch the dimples in his cheeks twitch as that razorish grin graces his pretty face. Not because he wants to watch the way his eyes gleam as the Christmas lights that adorn the shops around them reflect in his beautiful irises. None of that, at all. Of course.
And, naturally, holding his hand comes with the responsibility of the job—keeping Ronin out of trouble. Who knows what could happen? V might turn away for a moment, and by the time he looks back, the entire street will have been massacred. Perhaps Ronin will have run off somewhere by then, and then V would never get to turn him in to the police, which he’s absolutely going to do—dead or alive.
It’s all necessary.
Ronin wouldn’t reveal the details of their plans tonight, much to V’s chagrin, and concern. What if he takes him to the scene of a crime, implicating him, framing him? What if Ronin tries to rope him into some grotesque, violent, immoral murder? What if Ronin backs him into a corner?
All of these possibilities seem very real in V’s ever-so meticulous mind—because of course the man with an industrially secure, technologically advanced, highly confidential pitch-black midnight phone would have thought of every feasible outcome.
In fact, he spends so long thinking of where Ronin might possibly be taking him, that he fails to acknowledge the very clear signs all around him as he’s lead towards their destination, calloused fingers gently intertwined with the same soft, nimble digits that wield a crowbar with such violent ferocity—violence that seems unthinkable when compared to the gentleness of his ministrations.
Ronin’s hands have taken so many lives—and yet, as V stares down at them, imagining how they look as he grasps the handle of his bloodied crowbar, the metal entity raised above his head in preparation to cave someone’s head in—his mind wanders. He starts to imagine the Butcher’s pretty fingers resting gently against his cheek, and he can almost feel the way Ronin’s thumb caresses the space just under his eye, before he’s violently jolted from his thoughts.
What on earth is he doing? Why is he thinking like that? V decides in that moment he's had one too many sleepless nights lately—that’s the only explanation for the way he’s seemingly losing his grip on reality. This is Ronin Beaufort he’s fantasising about like a lovesick schoolboy, not some fairytale prince. He shudders the thought away—but he’s not as subtle with his emotions as he’d like to think.
A quiet, smug chuckle from beside him catches V’s attention. It’s almost lost with the sound of heavy combat boots hitting concrete floor, as well as the incessant chattering of the passers-by. It’s small, but it’s there. And it’s beautiful. If V could have a sound tattooed, he’d have the sound of Ronin’s laugh etched right over his heart, in desperate hopes of the ink bleeding through his skin into his bloodstream, so that every beat of his heart would replay the melody of his love’s happiness.
He doesn’t think any of that, of course. He replaces the thought with something else as quickly as it appears—but, thankfully, he doesn’t have to distract himself for long.
“V, I know you’re a watchdog ‘n all, but have ya ever considered watching where you’re goin’?”
Ronin’s amused, smirking face is staring back at him, and V isn’t sure if he wants to strangle him until he stops breathing, stops talking for once, or instead just kiss him until every bit of air is sucked from his pretty little lungs.
”I was.. distracted.” Is V’s muttered answer, a light blush dusting his cheeks. How does Ronin always manage to catch him off guard like that?
He’s right though. Ronin keeps having to steer him away from lampposts, columns, market stalls, other people—hell, he’s almost tempted to let V stumble right into something just for shits and giggles. But no. Tonight, after all, is about showing V just how human he can be.
That’s what he wants, right? For Ronin to show the soft underbelly V’s so sure he has—the one he’ll use against him, to catch him. He’ll show him, alright. Taunt him with it. Dangle his softness right in front of the Vigilante’s face, only to yank it right back whenever V thinks he’s close to catching him off guard.
There’s nothing more amusing to Ronin, after all, than getting V all flustered. To finally see something other than an angry pout on his face, it’s like a breath of fresh air. He’s cute when he smiles—a fact that Ronin takes great pleasure in tormenting him with.
“Coulda fooled me.” Ronin sniggers in response to V’s humiliated mumbling. “Better get your game-face on, Valentin. ‘Less you enjoy gettin’ your ass beat, that is.”
“And what exactly are you going on about now?” He sighs. He’s not sure he wants to know.
“You’re ’bout to find out. Here’s our surprise destination.”
With those words, Ronin stops in his tracks, causing V to stop in tandem. He almost can’t believe his eyes, as he looks at the glowing sign above him, and then to Ronin’s smug, infuriating expression.
“Tell me you’re not serious.”
“Deadly.” Ronin replies, that usual shit-eating grin plastered across his face, eyes squinted as if to mock V further.
“Are you twelve years old?”
”What, you’re not afraid of a friendly lil’ competition, are you, Valentin?”
Friendly competition, he says. The next few hours of V’s life suddenly flash before his eyes, a familiar sense of dread creeping up the expanse of his spine. Ronin’s going to spend the rest of the night purposefully getting under his skin, pissing him off until his jaw hurts from clenching it so hard, all the while laughing like an evil maniac, or some demented little goblin. The latter sounds more accurate to describe Ronin.
He isn’t given a chance to reply with his own witty remark, before he’s pulled through the doors. The noises, smells, flashing lights and incessant beeping and buzzing of the arcade machines almost immediately overwhelm V’s senses. He feels his skin crawl, and his hand subconsciously gives Ronin’s a squeeze. Even without thinking, he seeks comfort in the arms of the one he ‘hates’.
God, does it all have to be so loud? V can barely hear himself think in this place. The discomfort and overstimulation must have been more present in his features than intended, as Ronin gives his hand two tight squeezes in return.
”You’re fine, darlin’.” He replies quietly, his head turned to speak softly against V’s ear. The gentle tone of Ronin’s voice sounds almost unnatural to V, though not unpleasant. “I’m here. ‘S just some pretty lights, right? You’re doin’ fine.”
Ronin’s breath is hot against the shell of his ear, and it tickles enough to make him shiver a little bit. The words soothe him greatly. He could try to lie to himself and say they do nothing but piss him off—but he’s too busy standing in awe of the only person who’s ever managed to calm him down so quickly before.
V nods in response, his eyes halting their rapid movement as he scans the environment, instead coming to rest on Ronin’s face. He’s gently pulled through the busy part of the arcade, the Butcher’s grip on his hand comfortingly tight, until they reach a less-crowded area in the back of the room.
A gentle squeeze is given to V’s hand. He squeezes twice in return. A silent, ‘You okay?’ and a silent ‘Yes’.
A low whistle leaves Ronin’s parted lips, a soft chuckle following shortly after. “Now, that’s what I’m talkin’ about.” He grins, leading V to a retro-looking game, one he’s not sure he’s ever seen before. His childhood wasn’t spent playing games. He missed out in that regard.
“Y’any good at Street Fighter, Valentin?”
“Of course I am. I’m a vigilante.”
The wheezed snigger that Ronin lets out in response to his words tells V that perhaps they’re thinking of different things.
“No, baby—I—” He splutters between giggles, as V’s face becomes that familiar shade of red again. “I mean the game, Street Fighter. Y’ever played it?”
”Oh. I see. I’m not.. familiar with it, if that’s what you’re asking.” V mumbles, now a little embarrassed. Damn it. He never gets these things right.
“C’mon. I’ll teach ya.”
Ronin inserts two coins into the slot, and the machine suddenly blares to life. V’s focus isn’t on the game at all, as Ronin starts to explain the controls to him. No. He can’t tear his eyes away from the man beside him. Ronin Beaufort, the Devil’s Butcher, looks so strikingly.. human. V suddenly appreciates his beauty in a new light, as for once, he isn’t putting up a front. This is Ronin’s natural state.
Eyes squinted slightly as he focuses on the screen, lips slightly parted, the tip of his tongue just barely poking out to indicate concentration. His fingers wrap gently around the joystick of the machine, as his other hand lays palm-flat against the cold plastic. A few strands of burgundy-coloured hair fall into his eyes, and his signature beanie is just slightly lopsided on his head. His shirt is a little wrinkled, and his jacket is slowly slipping off one of his shoulders. He looks so raw. So human.
As the game begins, V can’t bear to look away from Ronin, lest he not engrave the picture of this moment into his mind forever. He’s playing so badly, in fact, Ronin’s not even looking at the screen. They’re just, staring at each other, as Ronin occasionally moves his joystick to land another punch against V’s character. V couldn’t care less whether he wins or loses.
Technically, he’s already won. He finally got the Butcher, the devil, to unknowingly reveal that soft underbelly. He’s oblivious to the fact that Ronin’s only revealing exactly what he wants V to see—his humanity. They’ve both gotten what they wanted tonight. V saw vulnerability in Ronin, and Ronin got to see the most beautiful, awe-stricken expression grace V’s handsome features—an expression he won’t let leave his mind until the next time he manages to bring it out again.
“Damn. You suck at this.” Ronin grins, as he suddenly looks away and lands a multitude of hits against V.
”Wh—I was—you’re cheating. I demand a rematch.”
“Right. Who’s the twelve-year old here again?”
V rolls his eyes. Ronin laughs. Their hands connect once more, as the other man gently guides his movements of the joystick, assisting him in moving his character around. It’s an intense mental battle for V to actually focus on the game, and not on the contact of their hands. He’s oblivious to the fact that it’s the same for Ronin.
”Shut up, Beaufort. Show me how to play. Properly this time.”
“Your wish is my command, darling.”