He'll Be the Only One

I was on top for half a second. Long enough to reach for the pistol in my jacket. But they were already moving. We rolled. Now they were on top, forearm against my collarbone, blade in their other hand - gleaming, sharp, raised. I grabbed their wrist holding it just inches from my throat. Sweat beading. Breaths crashing together. "Back off," I snarled between clenched teeth. "I will gut you..." And that's when we both froze. Because my eyes finally focused. His face. That jaw, those goddamn blue eyes. The cut on his lip. The hair, golden and messy and way too familiar for a nightmare like this. And judging by the way his expression changed - from pure kill-mode to something caught between shock and disbelief. "...You," I whispered. His grip faltered. So did mine.
We didn't move for a second. Just stared at each other. Both panting. Both bloody. Both with knives inches from each other's throats. I let out a breath - half-laugh, half-wheeze. "Jesus Christ," I muttered. "Only you would respond to a death village with a knife fight."