✧私は雨✧

Hot tears stung his eyes for the umpteenth time that morning. Khalan pressed his lips tightly together in an attempt to try and hold back that emotion that threatened to push through.

No, he wasn't going to cry again. He was already too exhausted. Crying would only make him even more tired. And the idea of going back to sleep after the nightmares he had...? Well. He didn't really want to deal with that again.

A slight click of a latch pulled him out of his thoughts and sent a jolt of panic through his heart. His entire body tensed up at the sound of the porch door sliding open and the feeling of eyes on his back.

"Mind if I join you?" 47 softly inquired in Khalan's native tongue. Reluctantly, the boy turned his head to briefly acknowledge 47's presence, but quickly buried his chin in his knees again not a second later.

"Sure, I guess," was all Khalan could say in reply.

Faint footsteps made their way onto the porch and over to the lounge chair just behind Khalan. The creaking of the chair and a quiet tap of a cup against the coffee table signaled to the boy that 47 had plans to sit there for a while.

Concern swirled about from deep within Khalan's stomach. Would 47 be upset with him for going outside without permission? He still didn't understand what his boundaries were regarding his stay here at the safehouse. And part of him was too scared to ask.

For a moment, silence sat between them like a heavy curtain. Khalan was unsure if he was expected to say anything or not, so he chose to stay quiet. Perhaps 47 simply just wanted to enjoy the morning in peace.

But after some time, that deep voice met Khalan's ears once again.

"Did you sleep?"

Very few words, as always. Khalan decided the best way to reply would be in as few words as possible, to try and mimic 47's straightforward style of communication.

"No."

A pause. Another round of birdsong cheerfully called out amidst the trees, lasting only a few seconds before fading away.

"...Bad dream?"

Khalan shifted uncomfortably, clasping the blanket tighter around himself to the point that it became terribly constricting.

How did 47 know about the nightmares? Was it really that obvious?

"Y-yeah," Khalan faltered in reply. Anxiety slowly bubbled to the surface, quickening his pulse. He didn't want to have to talk about this. Oh, how he prayed he wouldn't have to talk about this.

A small hum resonated from 47's chest, though Khalan couldn't determine the emotional intent behind it. Was it one of confirmation? Displeasure? Understanding? It was hard to tell with that quiet, mysterious man.

"I wish I could say that it gets easier over time, but I wouldn't know."

The sentence that left 47's lips was striking. Khalan's brow furrowed, and he finally turned himself around so he could face the man directly. Despite the implications of what was said, 47's posture seemed calm and unfazed. He merely took a small sip of the coffee he had brought outside with him and stared straight ahead at the picturesque landscape.

Khalan swallowed hard, unsure if he should pursue the topic, but his curiosity was now piqued.

"You too?" he nudged.

47 nodded, ever so slightly.

"Memories are... complicated things. They're persistent. Haunting." His expression darkened. Khalan took notice of the fact that 47 refused to make eye contact and kept that icy gaze of his locked on the water. "But still... it's better to remember what happened. Even if it's painful."

Something about the way he spoke those words sent a chill up Khalan's spine. The look that came over his face – that indiscernible emotion that sat in his eyes – was all Khalan needed to see to know that he needn't press the matter further.

"I'm sorry," the boy mumbled, his face burning with shame at the thought of causing 47 any distress. He curled in on himself and dropped his gaze, but immediately felt those piercing blue eyes at his back once again; watching him intensely.

An awkward beat of silence followed. Khalan felt his breath hitch in his throat, worrying that he had done something wrong.

Finally, 47 broke the silence and brought a small bit of relief to the boy's anxious heart.

"Don't be. You were just curious." At this, the man stood up, smoothing out his perfectly-ironed dress pants and removing his coffee cup from the table. "But maybe we should focus on breakfast instead. Is that alright?"

Khalan drew in a deep breath and slowly released it in an attempt to quell the jittering of his nerves. He gave a small nod.

"Okay," 47 said, his expression softening – though not by much. Reaching out, he offered to help Khalan to his feet.

The preteen graciously accepted the help, taking a moment to steady himself once he stood up. Truthfully, he still felt a bit weak from the lack of sleep, but he hoped that some breakfast would make him feel a bit better.

Quietly and obediently, he followed 47 back into the safehouse and sat at the kitchen table, resting his chin in the palm of his hand and watching as 47 got to work. It was strange for Khalan to have someone else cook for him, but he felt it wasn't his place to take over an unfamiliar kitchen as if it were his own. Plus, he learned very quickly that 47 seemed to take some pride in his own cooking ability. Every movement was precise; calculated. This terrifying man who took lives as a day job slipped effortlessly into the role of a master chef – skillfully weaving to and fro throughout the room like a dance. It was captivating. Hypnotic.

Khalan slowly began to nod off, only to see a plate of hot, beautifully-presented crêpes set before him when his tired eyes opened once again. They were topped with a generous helping of fresh whipped cream and sliced strawberries, and a thin layer of sweet berry jam could be seen poking out from between the layers. A cup of cold milk was placed beside the plate to round off the perfect, magazine-worthy breakfast spread.

"Ah," the young boy quietly breathed, rubbing his burning eyes. "Thank you."

47 took a seat beside him, with a mere fruit bowl and some expensive, imported mixed nuts for his own breakfast. It looked like so little in comparison to the 5-star masterpiece that had been set in front of Khalan, but he seemed content with his choice.

Although the two ate in silence, Khalan's mind wandered aimlessly; filling in the space where words remained unspoken. There was still a lot that he felt unsure about, an awkwardness that he couldn't quite shake, a fear that always sat at the pit of his stomach in regards to everything that had led up to his current circumstances. He still didn't really trust 47, despite how much this man had done for him already. The idea of living with a deadly assassin was something that Khalan was wholly uncomfortable with, though he wasn't given much of a choice in the matter, either.

But despite all of that uncertainty, this moment – this one, quiet morning with the most delicious breakfast Khalan had ever had in his life – was peaceful. Lovely, even. A feeling of warmth settled into the boy's chest at how pleasant it all was.

Sure, there was still a lot to be afraid of. But right now? In the soft glow of the morning light? Everything almost felt... okay.

Khalan felt some of the tension leave his body. He chose to focus on the small sensations around him that brought whatever comfort he could find. The sweetness of the berries on his tongue, the rays of golden sunlight spilling in through the tall windows, the feeling of being cared for - even if said caretaker was equal measures intimidating and awkward most of the time. Little pleasures that made life worth living, no matter how seemingly insignificant they may be.