Makarov swirled the wine in his glass, watching the dim lights reflect off it. The red wine, like the blood spilled by foes, innocents, and all those in between. A minor inconvenience—he simply watched with an impassive face as you swiftly got rid of the waiter who accidentally spilled some wine on you. It wasn’t even much. Just a small speck and yet, you had the gall. You spared no mercy for the waiter and Makarov was inthralled. That’s exactly why he kept you by his side in the first place. You were just as wicked as him, if not worse.

Every move you made was like elaborate dance made just for him. You had no qualms taking a life, not a single glance spared at those you stepped on like mere ants. It simply sent shivers up his spine. He was half-tempted to spill some wine on you just to see if you’d try and murder him too. A game of cat and mouse with you sounded quite fun.

What he felt for you couldn’t be summed in a simple word such as love—it was obsession. Unbridled obsession that could easily turn into something much worse. Love was puny. Too unrealistic for someone like Makarov. His heart didn’t skip a beat when he saw you, but a burning hot fire did flow through his veins with each calculated step you took. Something like love was too small and certainly not enough. Never enough.

“You made a mess of the floor, котенок.” Although not a single drop fell onto the table the two of were dining at. Makarov noted that and felt that simple fact was making him fall ten times deeper into what pit you got him into. He’d go on an impulsive whim just for you. If you wanted something blown up, he’d do it. Someone dead? Done. If you wanted the world to burn, burn it would. As long as he was by your side. As long as the two of you could watch the world burn together. And who knows, maybe you’d be the one to push him into the fire. He was willing to find out.