[WILLIAM]

⑅

WHAT THE HELL AM I DOING.

I repeat that in my head, and it's far from a question. What the hell am I doing. I know what I've done, what I let myself feel, and now I've let myself become blind to everything I've done to get here.

The image of her is painted on my mind and I can't wash it off. I can't erase the feeling of her hand on my cheek, the feeling of her, even as I stalk through the bustling crowd of a waking Paris. She won't go away, just like the stubborn personality she has.

I have to see Mori Fauna-Blanc. I focus on the idea of interrogating them, because my stomach is churning with guilt for leaving Lovey behind. My subconscious is screaming that it was a mistake, but I rationalize with myself. If I stayed with her a second longer, my control would have run out.

She doesn't know what she wants, but I know it can't be me. She's mistaking last night for a feeling that doesn't exist. Kent screwed her over, and she's not in the state to be making rational decisions. If she was, she'd know to keep her distance from me. I should have known to keep my distance from her.

But there's something about her. I can't help but want to talk to her, argue with her, walk beside her, and take every interaction I could possibly have.

Why can't I hate her anymore?

Hell, have I ever?

She doesn't know what she's gotten herself into with me. She doesn't know anything about what I've been through, who I work for, and what this suffocating parasite of a job has led me to become. A part of me wonders if I could have been with her if I hadn't chosen this path. The person I used to be might be able to lov—

No.

See her freely. Without the restraints holding me back.

I can't remember who I used to be; all I know is that he was weak, naive, and too willing to sign his life away for respect. But what is respect compared to her? She'd made me drift further and further away from my job, just by being in her presence.

Turning the corner, I narrowly avoided crashing into a woman and her stroller. The baby started whining. The woman started swearing at me. I kept moving.

Fauna-Blanc's apartment was across the Seine from the hideout, so it took a while before I made it to the building's front door. It had been merely days since Lovey and I had last been here, but yet life seemed to be continuing as normal. There was no trace of violence left.

As I slipped through the lobby, I caught a glimpse of myself in one of the gold-framed mirrors. It was barely a second, but it burned a hole through my stomach. When did I let myself feel? I shouldn't be feeling all these emotions, but they've been running wild in my mind ever since I met her. I can't suppress them anymore.

All of a sudden, I remembered what she had said. "Every time you kill someone, I want you to look in the mirror, and point out as many things about yourself as you can. Things that make you feel normal."

I remember my skepticism. "Am I not?"

"I only want you to see yourself as you. Not a killer."

Not a killer. That's who she thinks I am, but she's wrong. I am a killer. Nothing I can do will wash the blood off my hands.

I stop, walking back until I see my reflection again. She said doing this would make her happy. If I can't give her happiness any other way, I might as well do this one thing. No matter how vain it made me feel.

I looked at myself, naming 'normal' things: My hands that I use to open doors for her—not for fighting. My ears which I use to listen to her—not to hear if someone's still breathing. My eyes. My nose. My mouth.

I try to remember.

I almost can't.

⚘

MORI'S APARTMENT WAS SURPRISINGLY IN GOOD SHAPE.

I didn't expect them to be here, considering their window was shot through by a sniper, and their furniture toppled over. I didn't even expect them to invite me in, but they were shockingly dismissive about the entire thing.

They had opened the door to look at me, and only asked one thing: "Where is she?"

I didn't know if I could trust them. That's the entire reason I was here, to be honest. I didn't give them the specific truth. "Not with me."

They stared me down without saying anything else for a while. Beckoning their hand, they retreated back into their apartment, waiting for me to follow after them. I kept my guard up, hyper-aware of my surroundings. If I saw anything that proved Mori was working with Percy Kent, I'd take them down immediately.

The window that had been shot through was already replaced; clearly the rich wasted no time with eye-sores. I wondered if it was a personal decision, or one made by their employers in order to keep attention away. Hm.

Mori pulled out a cigarette case from their silk robe, sticking one in their mouth without lighting it.

"Sit," they said, pointing towards one of the chairs.

I recognized it as the one Lovey was sitting in before I knocked it over. The one directly in view of where the sniper could see it. I pursed my lips in suspicion, deciding to sit in a more concealed spot. It was highly unlikely someone was waiting to shoot at me, however, because my visit wasn't pre-planned.

Mori sat down on the chaise across from me, taking the unlit cigarette out of their hand and dangling it loosely from their fingertips.

"So," they said curtly. "Chauffeur, is it?"

I remembered Lovey's lie, but it was clear Mori saw through that now.

"No," I said.

"Who are you then?"

"A friend."

"[y/n] only has one friend," they frowned, "and I highly doubt she considers it you."

I was having trouble reading them, which was a concern. I rarely struggle with that. I couldn't tell if they were holding bitterness towards me or Lovey—or both. Perhaps they were being protective. Or maybe they weren't. It was hard to tell.

I leaned further back into my chair, letting the cushions caress my back. I felt a twinge of pain from where I had been stabbed yesterday.

"Tell me who you really are," Mori pressed.

"That's none of your concern."

"If you're in my apartment, it very much is." I didn't decide to fathom a response, so they continued. "I'm not an idiot. I know why you're here, I just don't know who you are."

"You know why I'm here?" That was very suspicious, indeed.

They narrowed their eyes, but their attempt at intimidation didn't work on me. If one of us was a threat here—no matter who Mori ended up being—it was me. I just needed reasonable grounds to execute said behavior.

I watched them carefully, never batting an eye as they fiddled with the cigarette in their hand. It was still unlit.

"I'd be a bloody fool not to," they spat out, "if a bullet comes shooting through your window, you're going to know something's wrong, yeah? If a stranger you've never seen before kicks your door down, saving your best friend from being shot, you're going to know someone is out to get them. You're going to know that you might be in charge of protecting them..."

So far they were correct. It seems I underestimated them.

"...and if you show up a few days later, alone," they finished. "One might think you believe I have something to do with it."

Hit the bloody nail on the head.

"Ask your questions, and I'll ask mine."

Something about their forwardness peeved me, but I'll admit I was moderately impressed. It was rare to meet someone who wasn't a naive idiot these days. Sitting up straighter, I cleared my throat.

"You were the one who set Miss Lovey up with Kent," I began, "why?"

"If you've got two attractive friends, it's human nature to set them up."

"Is it?" There was skepticism in my voice.

"God, of course that's not the only reason. Percy was the kind of guy who needed to be tied down. Lovey was going through some financial troubles, and at the time, I didn't have enough to sustain the both of us. Setting them up saved both of them."

'Saved'. That was irony in its finest form. Kent didn't save Lovey from anything but a decent life.

I frowned, glancing out the window. The more I spoke to them, the less I believed they had anything to do with this. Percy was still a saint in their eyes.

"Do you know who's trying to kill your best friend?" I asked.

Mori looked at me in offense. "You think I'd still be sitting here if I knew?"

"You tell me."

"I'd be out there trying to kill the sod, that's what I'd be doing."

Maybe we're not so different, I thought, but I shut myself up. I'm not supposed to be sociable, I'm supposed to seem like a cut-throat killer. Which I am. I just seemingly forgot how to do that for the time being, and my recent company is partly to blame.

"Is that all?" They asked impatiently.

I nodded. My instinct told me Mori wasn't as involved as I originally thought. They took my answer as a sign to keep talking.

"My turn," they said smugly, kicking their bare feet onto the chaise, "what's your name?"

I scoffed. "I can't answer that."

"Hey. I answered your questions, now answer mine."

"You don't need to know my name."

"True, I don't," they frowned. "It was just to start off being polite. The more important question is whether or not [y/n] is okay."

"She's perfectly fine—"

"—don't bloody sugar coat the truth," they cut me off. "She was almost murdered right in front of me, so I want to know about every single scratch on her body and wether or not she's actually okay."

I pursed my lips. I forgot there were other people in the world who cared about Lovey's well-being. For the past week, it felt like it was just me and her against everyone else.

I exhaled a breath, trying not to remember the last time I saw her. Shutting the door behind me after rejecting something I wanted; something I couldn't have.

"She's under a lot of stress," I explained, "but she's fine. I made sure of that."

"How can I trust you?"

"You can't."

A part of me felt guilty for not reassuring them, but it wasn't my job to. I was telling the truth. In my business, you learn to trust nothing and no one, and even I had no expectation of that rule. But I hoped they saw the look in my eyes: I would protect her with my life and everyone else's.

After a while, they paused. "When will she be safe?"

"It's unsure."

"Can I see her?"

"No."

"Does Percy know?" The question was pointed naively, but it made me want to snap the chair I was sitting on in half. "He's a Duke, he should have some power to protect her or such."

I opened my mouth to respond, but they cut me off.

"Oh, I feel so foolish," Mori sighed, "Percy's the one who hired you."

What the hell? Absolutely not.

Any insult Lovey's ever thrown at my job was pebbles compared to this. The entirety of England would be offended. Percy Kent was a coward of a man, and I wanted to strangle him with my bare hands just for existing.

I decided not to correct them; it was better a false belief than the constant curiosity for truth.

"Maybe I can convince him to let me see [y/n], since you don't seem keen to," they shrugged. "I have plans to see him at the Auction tonight."

"Auction?"

I seemed to have caught them in a slip-up. Their eyes widened slightly in panic as they realized what they said. "That's none of your business."

"Now it is."

"Aren't you overstepping your boundaries here, sir?" There was a cutting edge to the title, as if they were jabbing the fact that I refused to give them my name. "Percy hired you as a bodyguard, not an interviewee."

Blah-blah. "I'm just curious."

"I see. Well, I don't judge you, I'm a curious person myself. Just try not to mention anything I've said, alright?"

"Alright." Of course I'm going to bloody mention it.

I stood up from the chair, shoving my hands into the pockets of my jacket. My fingers were itching. After the events of this conversation, I had a few calls to make.

"Goodbye, Fauna-Blanc."

I started to leave before they could say goodbye back.

⚘

THE TELEPHONE DIAL WAS RINGING.

Standing—cramped—in a phone booth was usually not my forte, but somehow this was worse than all of the past times. I couldn't help but remember the last time I was in one of these.

Lovey had been pressing her back up against the opposite wall in a desperate attempt to avoid contact with me. I remember finding it reasonable at the time, but now I wish I wouldn't have cared. It seems impossible that there was a time where I wasn't drawn in by her distinct scent (although she increasingly is starting to smell like the free lemony soap-bars hotels have. I managed to sneak her into some nearby places in order for her to shower. These small details are usually erased from my mind, because they seem too intimate to have, but this specific moment wrangled them back out). It seems impossible that there was a time where I didn't want to push every stray hair from her face, or stop her from crying.

"Opérateur!"

The sound of the phone being patched through knocked me out of my daze. "Je voudrais passer un appel au Royaume-Uni. Ambassade britannique."

"Oui, Monsieur."

There was a few more dials, then the call connected:

"Winston speaking." A voice said on the other end. "Would you like to speak to the Queen, the Duke, or the Duchess."

"The King, please."

"Putting you through, Sir."

Code-phrases were always awkward for me to say, now that I think of it. I hated them. They were conventional only for disguising secret information, but they made it so obvious there was something to hide. Counteractive, in my opinion.

I waited for the dial to finally end, before the sound of someone picking up the phone trickled into my ear.

"Full name, position, current project," the receptionist said. I remembered having that job when I first came out of the academy. An assassin wasn't an entry-level job; you had to work smaller jobs like this before you graduated.

"William Franklyn-Miller, public phone booth, case three-two-five."

"State your reason for calling, please."

"I need information on an auction taking place tonight in Paris," I said, "anything tied to Percy Kent and Mori Fauna-Blanc."

"One moment please."

I tapped my foot impatiently, waiting for them to get back to me. I wish I could have postponed this call. My mind flitted back to Lovey in the safehouse, waiting for me to come back. I wanted to be there. It made my fingers itch and my stomach churn.

My thoughts were snapped away minutes later when the receptionist's voice finally came back.

"I found one match that might be of assistance to you. There's been reports of an underground auction tonight. That's all we know."

"Thank you."

I hung up the phone. Whenever a response ended with 'that's all we know' at my agency, it meant the conversation was done. There really was no more information that I could get. No location, no name, no idea what was being sold.

I left the phone booth, wondering whether or not the auction was even relevant.

On my way back to the safehouse, I stopped by a boulangerie to grab breakfast for Lovey. She was always hungry when she woke up, and was probably more so after I left to talk to Mori. Two pain au chocolat, two espressos.

Slipping through the apartment doors and down the narrow tool shed hallway, I knocked on the door before swinging it open. It was empty.

Lovey was gone.