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"Do you have any regrets?"
The land around the mansion buzzes with a low hum. The grass is enveloped in gold as the sun goes down; a picture painted by the glowing skies, it's one last gift for Agent 47 before the day ends.
"Some," admits the man. "And anger, still buried deep down. It burns."
He's not one for flowery language, but the rage in his heart does gnaw at him. Sometimes, the poets speak like peasants. Only then does 47 relate to them.
"Even more than that. Fear, anxiety even. It... hurts. Then hatred, and..."
Diana watches him, as she always does. She's a loyal friend, a good person – never takes her eyes off him. She's kind, even when she shouldn't be. She's a gift (that maybe he doesn't deserve); always has been.
"Still, there's hope. That, perhaps, the world can be a better place. That, perhaps... I can help it become a better place."
They sit by the lake, at the picnic table. The water glows in this light. Neither 47, nor Diana look at each other, instead glancing towards the view. But they don't have to hold eye contact to converse. Even thousands of feet away, they understand each other perfectly.
"Though, I think that's silly. I'm 61, now. Not plenty of time left to leave anything behind."
Diana chuckles. The sound is melodic.
"Oh, come on, 47. Since when has time ever stopped you?" She hums, only for a second. "Then again... I think you've already left your mark."
47 responds with a laugh of his own. Quiet, reserved, just as he always is. It's also flattered; his face gains the slightest bit of color at the embarrassing praise.
"I suppose you're right."
"Aren't I always?"
"Not really, no."
Diana turns his head towards him with an eyebrow raise.
"You don't bother sparing people's feelings, huh."
It's not a question, but 47 still smiles subtly and answers.
"I fear not."
"And after I took the trip to celebrate with you..."
"I'm sure you wouldn't rather be anywhere else."
Diana gazes towards the lake again, then back at 47. Their eyes lock; different shades of blue meeting each other for the umpteenth time. It's a ritual by now, one of familiarity and quiet comfort.
"I wouldn't," she admits.
47 exhales softly. A weight clears from his chest. His breath is lost in the last sunrays of the day.
"Me neither," he confesses, "if it's not with you."
It's been a long time, now. What once was days blended into weeks, months, years and, eventually, decades. The two have known each other now for longer than they've known, of cared for, anyone else. It's always been just them two, against the world and everything it's thrown at them.
Time passes. The future refuses to wait. Deadlines come and go, and nobody rolls back the rate at which time flies. Each year, 47 and Diana are a little older. There's another grey streak in Diana's auburn hair, or a new wrinkle on 47's otherwise perfect face.
Still, this all happens at each other's side. They never leave, even as everything else around them changes or collapses entirely. Throughout their uncertain lives, the only constant is the other person. A gentle laugh that won't fade, a calming embrace that will always be there.
The sun is gone, now. It's hidden behind the clouds, and the sky already darkens. If he were to squint, 47 could see stars.
He doesn't chase beauty that refuses to reveal itself to him, though. Not when true beauty – love and loyalty that are kind enough to come with a beautiful face – stares right across from him.
"Something on your mind?" she asks.
And, although she doesn't know why, 47 still replies:
"Thank you."
I wouldn't be here without you. I wouldn't be me without you... and, in hindsight, you probably wouldn't be you without me.
After all, day and night complement each other, and couldn't exist if the other didn't.