/sms. I will always love you.
There’s a thought that ran through his mind at that moment then, gaze staring awfully serious at the words that somewhat screamed at him through the darkness of his world. He seemed rather expressionless to those who observed him from a short distance, curiosity looming within them as seconds passed without a word heard from the man since he opened the message. He hadn’t moved either, just stilled in his seat, fingers curled comfortably around the phone with his thumb hovering just above the screen.
And then he sighed, the words disappearing to black before him, the device shoved back into his suit jacket’s pocket not a second too soon.
“Sorry,” He started in English, barely a change or a twitch amongst his features, “My dog laid a massive shit on the rug and my neighbour’s panicking.” As words were said, laughter echoed through the boardroom, all put into ease once again. “But yes, where were we up to?”
“Your contract, John.” Another answered.
“Right,” Clasping his hands together on top of the table, John allowed a smile to grace his face as he leaned back against the backrest of the chair, “And who is this poor person that managed to piss off twelve people altogether?”
Question was out in the air, uncertainty flooding the atmosphere as heads turned to give each other a look. But nonetheless, John merely sat at the end of the table, patience keeping him sane until one of his supposed employers spoke up with the answer that he sought.
And as they explained the situation, he couldn’t help but take a deep breath as his focus wandered elsewhere momentarily; specifically to the message, but no one needed to know that, right?
He had then let his attention fall onto his hands. His smile was gone, his gaze had gotten colder, and his brows furrowed together. He suddenly felt homesick, which was actually the first in consideration of the fact that he never had a home to be sick for in the first place.
But no, he couldn’t go back. Not yet, anyway, not when he was so close to finding another one of the bastards that ordered the torture on the very woman that had indirectly sent him too far from where she was.
“John, you with us?” Someone asked him, pulling the assassin out of his reverie.
“Still here.” He replied as he fixed his façade back into place effortlessly.