The rain was coming down in relentless sheets.

You weren’t exactly sure what was making you shiver; the cold, or the fact that less than twelve hours ago, the man standing beside you had been sent here to kill you.

Now, you were huddled together in the darkened back room of an abandoned convenience store, the air thick with an unspoken tension neither of you seemed willing to acknowledge.

Five paced near the boarded-up window, his silhouette outlined in the pale glow of the streetlamp outside. Occasionally, he’d glance through a crack in the boards, checking for any sign that someone had followed you. His movements were quiet, efficient - as if he’d done this a thousand times. But you knew he hadn’t ever done this.

He’d never spared a target.

You were still trying to figure out what his thought process was, and it didn't help that you'd met him only a few hours ago. Apparently though, he'd been watching you for months. Still, he could have easily pulled the trigger. The question had been eating at you ever since he'd lowered the gun and told you to run away with him.

So here you were now. After faking your death and going on the run with an assassin who was supposed to murder you.

You couldn’t stand the silence any longer.

“Why?"

You didn't need to elaborate. You knew he knew what you were talking about. Five stopped his pacing, back turned to you. Maybe he wouldn't answer. He was tense, his hands flexing and clenching at his sides as he fought a battle you couldn't see. He finally turned to face you, his voice low.

“Does it matter?”

“It does to me.”

He took a step closer. Then another. He was close enough that you could see the rain dripping from the ends of his hair. You hated the way your heart skipped a beat when he stopped in front of you, exhaling slowly.

“Because when I was watching you,” he answered slowly, “I realised I was tired of being their weapon. Tired of ending lives for people who don’t give a damn whose blood it is.”

He was too close. His eyes bore into you, as if they could see into your soul.

“And then I thought that maybe-” He hesitated for a second before before continuing “…maybe you deserved a chance.”

Silence.

Before you knew what you were doing, you reached out your fingers lightly brushing his wrist. His breath hitched, barely noticeable, but enough.

The rain kept falling outside, a steady pattering that contrasted to the rollercoaster of emotions you both were going through.

You weren’t sure what was more dangerous. Him, or the way he was starting to make you feel.