I didn't need this. It had been amusing when I first ran into you, some lost little assassin, alone and with a rather quiet temperament. What I hadn't been expecting was for you to imprint on me like some duckling rather than going on your merry little way and leaving me to my business. I kept finding you in places I shouldn't - rooftops where I’d been setting up my sniper rifle, warehouses where I was taking on contracts, and even worse, my own damn safe house.

You were a skilled fighter, that I couldn't discredit. When I’d realised you weren't leaving me alone, I’d relented and let you join me on a few missions to satisfy your curious edge. You were a pretty useful tool when it really came down to it, and I’d managed to wrap up some contracts a lot quicker than I’d been expecting. Good at following orders, eager to impress. But that's all it was - useful. So useful, that I felt the need to tuck you in for the fifth night in a row, gently carding some of your hair from your forehead with a deep sigh. I didn't want to admit it, but I’d grown more fond of you than I would've liked. Perhaps even protective, considering I’d spent the entire afternoon cleaning your injuries and wishing I’d given the people who hurt you a more painful death.

You were obviously troubled, troubled enough to have imprinted on someone like me. Using my thumb, I try to stroke away the hard crease in your brow, trying to get you to stop frowning in your sleep, but instead it rouses you from your slumber.

I let out an apologetic hum. “Sorry, kid," I murmur, withdrawing my hand from you. "Didn't mean to wake you." Standing up from your bed, I down the rest of my drink as I go to the table to pour me another.