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He might really kill you.
His warm breath hits your face, and you gulp as you meet his eyes. Black, an endless abyss. There's a flicker in his eyes, but you've yet to understand what it means. The only times you've seen his face was through the screen of your shitty laptop, and those pixels never picked up on what his eyes betrayed. What could that flicker mean—if it meant anything at all?
You decided to gamble.
The knife he held out to you—you gingerly retrieve it, and he easily lets you. It slips into your hand, and for a moment, you consider if you should really sink that blade into his chest like he had taunted you.
No. You wouldn't be able to do it. You don't need it. You don't even want it.
You're not a killer.
The knife hits the concrete ground with a clank. Your hands reach for his collar. Pull him in close—with determination! And passion! And—wait, that might collide your heads—you feel yourself slowing—maybe you should've wrapped your arms around his neck instead?—uh, is this really a good idea—?
Warmth rests at your lips. A second or two passes, and you pull back, eyes wide as you study his expression.
His eyes—still a black abyss—slide over your face before his mouth pulls up into a smug grin. "... ha."
Is that a good thing?
One of his hands lower to run a thumb over your face. The fingerpad is coarse, rough, reminding you of what he must have been through.
"Is that all you've got, darling?” His voice drawls, but it tinges on a gentle note. Now this is something you could understand—when his voice goes uncharacteristically soft like that, and his touch is tender. His thumb rubs your lips before cupping your cheek.
In this moment, you forget about how the both of you are hidden away in the Purgatory alley. In this moment, you forget about the knife by your shoe. In this moment, you forget the person before you is the Butcher.
You try again, kissing him with a newfound will that was reciprocated, to your relief. He laughs into the kiss. His voice brinks on what probably should be concerning, but you're too focused on the way his hands run over your body as if mesmerizing your contour, his mouth on yours, fitting together like puzzle pieces.
It was hot, it was sweet. It was the purest side of Ronin you've ever seen, in the way he carefully holds you despite how your arms circled around his neck and pressed into him. The burst of emotions swell inside you and flow through your lips, and Ronin cradles it carefully with his hands.