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“Right this way, please.”
He’s ushered into the mansion by a weary looking butler, his suit neat and presentable, but his eyes worn with exhaustion. He gives Green a quick look over, his eyes narrowing at his attire before he leads the way. It wasn’t a strange reaction, after all, Green was here for a job; not to dress up.
Following the butler down the hallway, he takes notice of the gleaming jewels and trinkets lining the shelves as they pass by. They’re presented lavishly, glass cases around the most expensive looking ones, while the others were placed neatly into rows. His shoes clack against the shiny polished floor, the tiles gleaming with light. They're so shiny in fact, that he can see his own reflection on the floor as he walks by. The black cloak that he adorned flew gently behind him as he was led, slightly revealing his dark green pants and also black top underneath. The hood of the cloak kept his bright green hair hidden, his eyes being the only visible part of his face as a black mask hides his other features. His belt is suited with many different daggers and a gun, which he keeps out of sight by pulling his cloak to the front to cover them.
The pair eventually reach a room with a wide, polished wood door. The butler opens it and raises a hand out to stop Green from walking in.
“Mr. Navy,” the butler calls, “He’s here.”
“Let him in.”
“Yes, sir.” The butler steps out of the room, gesturing for Green to enter.
Green walks forward into the room, slipping a quick thanks and a nod to the butler.
The door clicks shut behind him.
The room itself appears to be an individual study, the only seating being the armchair that Mr. Navy currently occupied. In front of the man is a desk decorated with gold embellishments and meticulous wood carvings. Stacks of papers, a laptop, books and a glass of liquor are stationed around the desk, neatly organized in their own individual areas. His hair--a dark, deep blue-- is slicked back, and his eyes hold a distinct sharpness at the edges. The suit he’s wearing is fancy, tidy and clean; barely a wrinkle or a crease in the fabric.
Mr. Navy, much to Green's disdain, pays no heed to his presence, simply sorting through papers as his guest waits with growing impatience.
When he finally does look up, he gives Green a look of distaste, his eyes traveling up and down his appearance. He throws his papers on the desk with a sigh, taking a sip from the glass of liquor before leaning back in his seat.
“I called for a professional assassin, and this is what they sent me?” He clicks his tongue, his eyes narrowing at Green’s stature. He had a mask covering his features, but Navy could tell this so-called assassin was a mere boy. A teenager, most likely.
“Are you a new hire? A trainee? Do you even possess the capabilities to perform the task I have for you?”
Green’s eye twitches. Was this guy serious? Taunting him? If he really wanted to, Green could take him out right then and there. He could do it without anyone knowing, not even the butler stationed right outside the door. In two, maybe three moves he could have this Mr. Navy dead in his very seat, and make a swift escape out the window. Although, doing so would prevent him from getting paid, and might earn him a punishment from the agency-- for killing such a high paying client-- so he decides against the temptation.
“I assure you, Mr. Navy, I am perfectly qualified for this job.” He replies cooly, hiding his annoyance. Stepping forward, he continues. “I am not a trainee, nor a new hire. You called for a professional assassin, and you have received one. There shouldn’t be any problems.” Stopping right in front of the man’s desk, he eyes him down.
“Unless, you'd rather I prove my skill set? On you?”
The man meets his eyes as they both stare intently into each other. Green’s gaze dares him to utter another word of dissatisfaction, both knowing that in such close range, Green could and would have a knife to his throat.
The man relents, sighing and waving a hand in front of him in a shooing motion.
“No, there isn’t any problem. Back off now, you’re in my personal space.”
Green takes a step back as Mr. Navy continues, “The task I have for you, I want it done as soon as possible.” He leans over to open one of his desk drawers and pulls a photo out.
“This is your target.” The photo is slid across the desk and Green picks it up.
The photo presents a shockingly young individual, most likely a teen, with bright violet hair and equally vibrant eyes. They’re smiling sheepishly at the camera, eyes nervous and hands fidgeting with each other.
“A teenager?” Green finds himself asking, as it was odd to receive such a young target; most targets he received were well into their 30’s or early 40’s, being lead figures of rival companies or just straight up criminals.
“Correct. Do you have some sort of age restriction? Are you unable to kill people below the legal adult age?” Mr. Navy raises an eyebrow at him.
Green continues to look at the photo, taking his time with his response to the man. Upon closer inspection, there's bandages on the side of the target's face as well as over their fingers. Their arms are covered in long sleeves.
Even more interesting is how their features are strikingly similar to Mr. Navy's; the slight wave in their hair, the shape of their mouth to the very angle of their nose, it was all strangely akin to the pompous man in front of him.
“Your son?” He blurts out, against better judgment, as the gears in his brain try to piece the relationship between the target and the client together.
A scoff escapes Mr. Navy, as he takes another sip of liquor. “I'm surprised you can tell. You're correct, assassin, that is my son.” He places the cup back down onto the desk.
“Is there a reason you want him dead?” Green questions, frowning at the picture.
Why would anyone want their own child dead? Was it something about inheritance? The man was rich after all. Is it possible that his son was threatening him for the family fortune? The photo presented him as quite the gentle soul though, so it was very unlikely that was the case.
“Are all assassins as intrusive as you, or are you simply an unfortunate exception? Does it matter why I want him dead?” Mr. Navy stands up, presumably trying to intimidate Green from asking more questions.
Green meets his eyes, lowering the picture in his hand. He remains silent as the man continues.
“All that matters is what I, the client, wants. I want this person dead. Your job is to achieve that for me, and you will do it.”
Green's eyebrows furrow slightly, before they relax as he schools his expression.
A client asking for the murder of his own son, how peculiar. Quite intriguing, in Green’s opinion.
“Is that understood?”
In any case, it didn’t really matter what Green thought of it, he had no choice.
“Of course, sir. It’ll be done before dawn.”
However, having no choice didn’t dictate he couldn't feel sorry for his target.
What type of life had the target lived, having a father so thirsty for his death?
Mr. Navy sits back into his seat, seemingly satisfied, before grabbing and throwing a packet of papers at Green. He catches it swiftly, looking over it as Mr. Navy begins to speak again.
“The house address, other places he tends to visit, and additional details are included in there, just as your agency requested. You'll get your payment once you confirm the task has been completed.”
Green nods, placing the packet within his coat. “Understood.”
Without a single glance back to Mr. Navy, or even a simple farewell, Green turns and swings the room door open. The butler outside is startled by the action, nervously glancing between the assassin and his boss.
“I'll be off. No need to see me out.”
He brushes past the butler as he exits, leaving Mr. Navy to stew in his distaste.
Whatever, it didn't matter. The man could blow a gasket with his entitlement for all he cared.
Green had a job to do.
His cloak flies behind him on the rooftop of an industrial building. At a higher altitude, Green had a much better view of the city and the people underneath.
The first address given to him from the client listed the family home as a potential location to find the target, whose name was Purple, he'd discovered. The packet contained a detailed report of Mr. Navy's son, as requested by Green's agency, which gave him all the information he needed to know plus some additional facts.
Purple, according to the records, was currently 17 years old; ironically the same age as Green. Besides being heir to Mr. Navy's successful company, there was nothing else of importance to note about the target. Height, weight, hobbies, were all relatively useless to Green. What did catch his eye however, was the reason for his planned death.
‘ He is of no use to me, I request that he is taken out by one of your most professional assassins.’
What a shit dad, honestly. Green had scoffed when he read over the reasoning, in utter disbelief that someone would actually say that about their own child. If he was so useless, as Mr. Navy claimed, why didn't he just leave his kid alone? Why bother paying a fortune to kill him?
Sighing, he squats down on the edge of the building, getting a closer look at the people passing by underneath. There was no use in questioning why, as Mr. Navy said himself, he was the client and Green was the one hired. He should just focus on doing what he had to do. It was currently close to 3 a.m., which prompted only trickles of people to walk around. Soon, the streets would be empty; an ideal setting for a silent murder.
Green had already checked the family home for the target, but he found there were only servants and housemaids inhabiting the area. The target was nowhere in sight, which meant Green had to try somewhere else.
Taking out the packet of papers, he sifts through the potential locations. He's about to try heading somewhere else before he hears someone call from below.
“Look! Look up there!”
Immediately, he jumps back from the edge of the building, quite shocked that someone noticed him in the dead of night before the voice continues.
“The sky is so pretty! Is that a meteor shower?!”
..Meteor shower?
He looks up, and is met with bright streaks of light flying across the night sky. They sparkle against the darkness, glittering amongst the stars.
Standing slowly, his head is glued to the sky as he turns in a circle, trying to capture every angle of these unique flares.
He's never seen anything like it. So bright and fiery. As if torches were being waved by the very stars in the atmosphere..
It's then that he sees, behind where he was initially facing, a figure sitting atop an even higher building in the distance. It's one of those secluded, abandoned buildings, the area around it dark and deserted.
He walks a little closer in the building's direction, right up to the edge of the roof, as his eyes catch sight of violet locks flying in the night wind.
The violet haired figure doesn't seem to notice him as he's in their bottom peripheral, but Green definitely can't take his eyes off of them.
Target spotted.
He's able to reach the top of the building by scaling the walls around it, pulling himself up swiftly over the edge.
There's a place for him to hide, which is the entry for the stairwell that led to the roof. He stations himself behind it as he peeks over, watching the target's back.
Their position is lax, calm, and resigned as they watch the meteors fall across the sky. Soft laughs and breathy sounds of awe escape them, seemingly enraptured by the endless showers of light.
Green reaches for his gun strapped to his belt, preparing for a quick shot. He takes it out, holding it up to his chest as he plans a route to jump out and shoot.
This was it. This was his opportunity to strike.
He takes a breath in. Now!-
Suddenly, even brighter, more prominent flares come raining down from the sky at a faster pace-- the meteor shower seemingly hitting its peak. Green can't help but halt in his movements and watch them race through the stars, letting out a small breath of awe.
How mesmerizing. Was something like this even real? It couldn’t be, they were so.. so—
“They're beautiful, aren't they?”
His body jolts, freezing in place as he feels his stomach drop. The target-- Did they know he was here? Impossible! How could they--
“I know you're there.” He hears the target shift their position slightly.
“Would you care to join me?”
Join? Why would they ask that?
Green shakes himself out of his stupor. What was this guy talking about? Was he crazy?
“If you know I'm here,” he starts, holding his gun steady, but not yet revealing himself. “Then you know why I'm here. Why aren't you trying to escape?”
.
.
.
There's a beat of silence, before a small laugh cuts through the tension in the air.
“What good would that do? As if I have anywhere to run.”
Green.. doesn't have an answer to that. All of his targets usually ran as fast as they could whenever they sensed him near, regardless of whether they had an escape route or not. They at least tried. But this one.. Purple -- was there something wrong with him?
“Come on, won't you join me? The meteors are really a sight to see. You'll have a much better view of them over here.”
Was this a trap? A ploy to get Green out in the open?
But Purple had no weapons— and he didn’t sense anyone else around either. He was completely defenseless. What was Purple trying to accomplish?
“You're rather lax for someone who's about to be killed.” He says, instead of following Purple's instructions. “Are you stupid or just suicidal?”
“Ha, maybe a little bit of both.” A scoff. “But I think right now, I'm just hopeful. I'm hoping that you'll come over here to watch these beautiful meteors with me.”
.. What?
Green clicks his tongue in annoyance, shoving his gun back into its place on his belt and peeking around his hiding spot. This situation was completely new to him-- a suicidal target? What was even happening?
“Hey there.” Purple waves to him, still remaining in his seat on the edge of the building, his torso turned slightly to face Green. His long violet hair is loose behind him, strands of hair covering parts of his face.
“What's your name?”
Green blinks, and his face probably looks incredulous with how confused he is right now. Who would willingly say hi to their killer? And ask for their name??
Only suicidal maniacs. And Purple, apparently.
.. It wouldn't hurt to comply though, right? After all, Purple couldn't escape. Green could at least indulge him with one last favor before he inevitably took his life.
“Green.” He takes a few steps out of his hiding spot, now in full view. “My name's Green.”
Purple smiles at him, seemingly satisfied. “You already know my name, right?”
“Yes.. Your father sent me.” He walks forward.
Purple hums as a response, turning his head away to gaze at the meteors. “Ever seen a meteor shower before?” He asks, as Green stops a few feet away from him.
“Never. Today's my first time.”
“Aw, that's too bad. I wanted to ask if you've ever wished during one before.”
“Wish?” Green looks up to the night sky. Those fiery flares… they could grant wishes?
“Mhm, they actually come true.”
“What? How do you know?” Green's curiosity gets the better of him as he moves even more forward, now only a few inches away from Purple.
Purple turns to face him, a grin etched on his face, and that's when Green takes notice of the scratches and cuts on his arms under his hair, the blooming bruises over his cheeks and above one of his eyebrows, and the small tears gathering at the corners of those vibrant eyes.
“I wished to be free last year, and here you are. I think the meteors sent you to me.”
Green's taken aback, and he's only able to stare breathlessly at Purple as the latter lets out a small chuckle, wiping at his eyes.
“You look surprised. Not what you expected?” Purple sighs, looking down. “I'm never what anyone expects.”
Green takes a gulp, his chest oddly tight as he urges himself to speak.
“You--” Purple looks up at him. “What do you mean free? Do you want to die?”
His voice quiets on that last part, slightly quivering with disbelief.
Purple sends him a soft smile and gestures for him to sit. Green complies, completely forgetting about his mission as he's taken in by the wonder that is Purple. He seemed so sad…yet at peace at the same time. In fact, Purple was looking at Green like he was a savior, a hero, when he was anything but.
“Well, I wouldn't say I want to die. But I can't live either. The world won't allow it.” Purple sits cross legged in front of him, hands playing with a lock of violet hair.
“My dad hates me, he beats me everyday.. I've never lived up to his standards and I never will.”
More meteors fall behind Purple as he speaks, and as stupid as it sounds, Green couldn't help but feel captured by Purple's beauty in front of those flares. Those mesmerizing, wonderful flares-- who were so similar to Purple. Bright and beautiful, magnificent beings of light who were destined to fall.
“It's better this way really, I'm sure if my dad tried to kill me it would hurt a lot. But.. I guess he wouldn't even bother to kill me himself.” He laughs wetly, tears threatening to spill as he meets Green's wide eyes.
“Hey, Green.”
“...Yes?” Green's voice is foreign to himself, much quieter and shakier than he remembered.
“I know it's a lot to ask, but can you make my death painless? And quick, please.” Purple grabs his hands suddenly, but Green somehow doesn't feel threatened at all.
“ Please.” Purple repeats, his hands tightening their grip.
“I know how useless, how worthless I am to him. I can tell with every bruise, or cut, or even the looks he gives me and it- it hurts. And I’m so, so sick of it.”
“I want to leave this life, this world behind— because I can’t take it anymore..
I just.. I want it to be over. I want to die painlessly while watching these beautiful meteors.”
He looks up at Green, hands trembling as the target pleads with his assassin.
“Can you do that for me?”
Green can feel tears burning beneath his eyes, something he hadn't felt in a long, long time. Purple's hands around his are so cold, so soft, and vulnerable against his hardened, calloused, and blood-tainted ones.
He lets out a shaky breath as he locks eyes with Purple, giving his hands a squeeze.
“Of course.”
A relieved grin finds its way onto Purple’s face as he closes his eyes, letting his tears run down freely. “Thank you.. Thank you, Green.”
Thank you. A phrase unfamiliar to Green’s ears. Was he really someone who could receive gratitude? A killer, a murderer such as himself? Someone who took lives willingly and compliantly, all for a sum of money?
He didn’t deserve Purple’s thanks, his vulnerability, his tears— he didn’t deserve it. Any of it. Green’s not sure he deserves to even exist in Purple’s presence; someone so soft and welcome, so unlike himself.
“.. Not a problem… Purple.” He chokes out. It’s weird, the fact that he can’t seem to get a proper breath in when he’s talking to Purple.
Purple's shoulders shake slightly as he chuckles, opening his eyes and looking at Green once more. “You're so formal, it's funny. You can relax, it's just us up here.”
“Relax? I..” Green's eyes fall to their interlocked hands, “I'm not supposed to be relaxed. I'm supposed to be doing a job--”
“It doesn't have to be a job though, because now I'm asking you to do me a favor.”
Purple's hands leave his and find their way to his face. Green's first instinct should've been to jerk his head back, to jump out of his grasp and push him away. But he doesn't. Instead, he finds himself welcoming the touch, the contact, as Purple's fingers brush against his mask.
“I'm asking you to kill me, so… don't think of it as a job..” Purple says quietly, his last words barely a whisper as he becomes distracted by the texture of Green's mask. It's a comforting sensation, fingertips tracing the seams of the fabric upon his face, almost as if they were caressing his actual skin.
Purple’s eyes travel upwards as Green watches him, stopping at the bright viridian hair underneath his hood.
“Your hair is so bright,” There's a small laugh before he continues, “It's such a big contrast from your clothes.”
“You want to see?” The words fell out of his mouth without Green even processing them; it felt only natural, human , to indulge Purple's curiosity in something as simple as his hair.
Purple blinks a few times, a bit shocked, before he grins, “Yes, please. I would like that.”
The hands around his face retract as Green reaches for his hood, slipping it off to reveal his brightly colored hair. He takes his mask off as well, despite Purple not asking, settling it down on the floor.
A peaceful quiet falls around them as both violet and viridian tufts of hair blow gently in the wind. Purple takes his time observing Green's features; the slight bags under his eyes, a scar that stretched from his jaw line to the left corner of his mouth, the paleness of his cheeks, a tiny mole at the tip of his nose, and the way his hair curled ever so slightly at the edges… It’s all he needs to see really, in his final moments, the hardened yet youthful face of his merciful killer.
Purple sighs, wistfully, as a sad smile creeps onto his face. In another life, in some other world, he would've liked to know Green better. He would've liked to become friends and experience the beauty of knowing someone, having someone as lovely as the one in front of him-- but the world always has a plan of its own; and fate was something predetermined.
“It's time.” He says simply, standing up.
Green nods, pushing himself out of sitting.
As they both stand facing each other, Green gives Purple one last good look at him before he instructs him accordingly.
“Watch the meteors. It's better that something beautiful is your last memory.”
“Alright.” Purple agrees, taking a few steps and turning around to watch the night sky.
Green draws his gun from his belt, gripping it tightly in his hand.
He walks towards Purple, and once he’s close enough, gently presses the gun to the back of his head. The latter flinches slightly at the contact, but remains relaxed, and even chuckles at the coolness of the gun’s barrel against his skull. Green’s other hand finds his way to Purple’s shoulder, holding him in place and serving as a means of comfort.
Purple places his hand on top of Green’s, taking a breath in.
“Thank you.” He whispers, both to Green and the meteors. He sounds content, his body posture lax as if a weight was lifted off his shoulders.
“You're free.” Green replies, giving Purple's shoulder a final squeeze before he pulls the trigger.
A gunshot rings out, blood spraying from the front of Purple’s head as he falls limp into Green's arms. Green discards the gun to the side, gently holding around Purple's body as he lays him down on the roof. Kneeling, he positions him to face the meteor shower, and moves Purple's hands to rest on his stomach.
Once he’s properly laid down, Green moves some of Purple’s hair to cover the gunshot wound on his forehead. The action unfortunately reveals many hidden bruises on the sides of his face.
It does nothing to Purple's beauty though, as he looks peaceful, content even, in his eternal slumber— his face relaxed as his eyes remain closed. Small tear streaks from his eyes glitter in the light of the meteors.
It's then that Green takes notice of some blood sprayed onto Purple's shirt, an unfortunate result from the use of a gun. He removes his own cloak, placing it atop Purple's body as if it were a blanket, to cover and shield him from the night wind.
Standing, his eyes wander over to the meteors. They're starting to fade as their peak time is now over.
His legs unconsciously move to sit himself at the edge of the building, the spot where Purple had previously been occupying. It really is a good view, even with the flares now fading away. The spot provided a crystal clear view of the meteors’ full tails, not a tree or building in sight to block them.
The wind blows cooly against him, tousling his hair and sending comforting shivers down his spine.
Pulling out his phone, he dials the number of Mr. Navy. It rings twice before the recipient picks up.
“Have you succeeded--”
“Done.”
Green says plainly, before hanging up the call. His hands fall to his lap as he stares down blankly at his phone. A drop of water finds its way onto the screen, followed by another, and another.
He wasn't crying. Why would he? There was no use for tears at this point.
Looking up, he finds the meteors fading away for good, making way for the darkness to take control of the night once more.
Not that it mattered.
Meteors were born to fall, anyway.