unbetaed.

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"The book tells the story about an ugly duckling who is abused and mocked by other animals because of his appearance. It doesn't have a home, nor a family. He continuously runs away," The young man, who is sitting across Red, pops a peanut into his mouth. He chews languidly, swallowing afterwards, before carrying on telling his story, "Until it sees a bevy of swans and they are just so beautiful, so mesmerizing. He really wants to join them. But he is ugly. He doesn't belong with them. Time passes by and the duckling has grown up, but his life is still full of misery and hardships. So, one day, he decides to end it. He meets the bevy of swans once again and throws himself at them, convinced that it's kind of better to be killed by something that beautiful. However, to his surprise, the swans welcome him warmly and accept him into the group instantly. Turns out the ugly duckling became just as beautiful as them. At the end, for the first time, he does feel at home."

Glancing up from his intertwined hands on his lap, Red nods once.

"Did you like the story? I do, if you ask me." The other man says, his finger sinking into the packet of nuts to retrieve another one. 

Red purses his lips, thinking for an answer to give. His mellow voice resonates in the room minutes after, "It's nice. I'm happy for the duckling."

"Hn. The other animals at the factory are rude. If you only saw what they keep on saying about him, you'd rip the audiobook in two. I nearly did that." The young man the tips of his fingers. He crumples the plastic packet in his hand and throws it into the bin besides him, "Say, how's 61 doing—"

His sentence is cut midway as a tall, robust and lean man suddenly enters the room. His hair, styled and slicked up, is grey coloured, just as the suit he'a currently sporting, visibly tailored and new. The smile on his face is charming, devilishly charming. 

"Apparently he's doing fine."

"Were you talking about me?" The man raises a brow, his smile not faltering. He takes a seat besides Red, who has already moved a bit to make space. 

"No, I was telling Red about the story of the ugly duckling."

"Oh," 61 leans back and rests his arm over the couch's headrest, "Well, sorry to interrupt your story telling Kai, but the head office is calling for you."

Kai brushes off his black pants from crumbles as he stands up. He leaves without saying a word, closing the door behind him. Silence clings to the air for a little while, before 61 deep voice pierces in, "The new mission we got is about an illegal firearms dispatcher. They want him dead on their radar." 

"What's the procedure?" Red drags his eyes at the man besides him, an elbow propped on the armrest. 

"Direct observation of the suspect at his own party with no contacts. He's quite dangerous since he knows some agents of ours, but they assure us not to worry." He pauses to his lips, "Then, the day after, infiltration in his underground company to take him down, but not before making him spill where he hides the rest of his fortune and who are his friends financing him. Easy as pie, isn't it?" 61 finishes telling the plan with a wink, smiling wider. 

Red nods profusely, "Yes is it, sir."

Satisfied with his partner's answer, he hauls himself on his feet, "Let's prepare our things now, shall we?" He offers a hand to Red, which the latter takes as 61 helps him to get up. His hand hesitantly slides off the other man's after that.

"And oh, they booked us at the hotel where the suspect is throwing his party. Heard it's a very magnificent one. Your date will be as magnificent too." 61 softly chuckles to himself, glancing at Red.

Red simply blinks.

 

 

Being right 87% of the time, 61 doesn't disappoint when he said the hotel will be breathtakingly gorgeous. The lobby itself exceeds Red's expectation, as it is huge and rich in details, glass chandeliers, red velvet drapes and expensive looking furnitures.

The room he got is beyond marvelous too—it's extremely enormous and expensive looking.

The glass windows occupying the right side of the room gives him an exquisite view of the city with its shimmering lights illuminating the dark evening. The bed, king sized and positioned on the center, is full of plushy pillows and a silk red comforter. The door at the left leads him to an awfully luxurious bathroom, with tiles shining bright and clean and a  marbled bath tub and sinks, adorned with golden faucets. Staring at all of these in awe, Red has his mouth slightly agape.

A loud tick of a clock shakes him out of fascination. He proceeds by undoing his luggages. From one of them he fishes out his dress for that night, a long silky tube black dress, that showcases his right leg through a wide slit. A laced sleeveless upper piece is sewed to it, and it covers his collar bones up to the lower part of his neck, where it becomes a collar. He chooses a pair of stunning mary-jane black heels to complete his outfit, setting them aside on the carpeted floor.

After fixing his things into the wardrobes and chest of drawers, he takes a bath, taking quite his time as he lets himself be engulfed by the pleasure of the warm water and rose-scented soap.

By eight past thirty, a knock interrupts him on putting in one of his pearl earrings. He walks towards the door, throwing it open. He finds a glowing-looking 61 in an elegant suit and tie. Red doesn't miss the sudden sparkle in his eyes, "Are you ready?"

"Give me one more minute, I'll just put in the other earring," He says, pointing at his left ear. With that, he goes back to his dresser, leaving 61 to enter the room and roam around. Leaning in to the mirror, he clasps the remaining jewelry piece.

Stepping back to check his overall appearance, Red hears a whistle behind him, "Your room is surely beautiful," he sees 61's eyes wander around before they rest on him, “But not as beautiful as you are.” 

Red draws his gaze down at his dress and absent-mindedly smoothens it, "Thank you, Sir."

He raises up his forearm for Red to take, "Shall we get going?"

Giving him a little smile, Red nods.

 

 

The hotel's ballroom is utterly majestic, with its high ceilings and costly furnitures and food, it will be a surprise if it match with the hotel's 5 star-and-more reputation it is currently parading.

The couple immediately takes two glasses that a waiter offers them once they set foot in the venue. Notorious businessmen and women are flocking around casino table games while waiters walk here and there to serve them all. 

A light chatter and relaxing jazz music being played by a live band is filling the air as 61 and Red move around, eyes vigilant as they look around searching for their suspect. Red spots him first, sitting composed by one of the table games, fingers around a champagne glass.

He leans on 61's shoulder, a finger lazily rubbing the arm he's clutching, "Found him at five o' clock." He says. 61 looks at the direction Red has indicated.

Untangling himself from him, 61 lowers a bit to whisper at his ear, "Let's split to mingle among these people."

Nodding, Red marches towards the bar, but not before turning around giving his partner one last glance until he disappears into the crowd. 

At the bar, he climbs on a stool and orders himself another drink. After he has been served of his drink and sipping a little from it, a female voice makes him whip his head to his side, "Your dress is superb, darling."

Red is quite astounded by the compliment, nonetheless, he offers a courteous smile, "Why, thank you, madam."

"I'd like to ask you where you bought it, but I retain it is unnecessary since my husband won't let me buy another one. Our room is practically full of my dresses!" She laughs, her eyes crinkled. Red laughs tenderly out of politeness.

"Tell me, what is a lovely young boy doing all alone here?" She asks.

Red looks at her astonishingly before dragging his eyes down on his glass, a dainty finger of his lazily grazing the rim, "I'm with someone, actually. He's.. somewhere."

"Oh, I know how you feel. My husband prefers talking with his fellow businessmen instead of staying by my side, but it's okay."

With his gaze shooting up, his slightly knitted brows has given away the curiosity that arose in him as the woman before him continues, "I understand him. It's his work. As long as he stays respectful and honest to me, we're okay."

"Are those sufficient to be happy in a relationship?"

"For someone like me who had nothing before," The woman smiles sweetly, "Yes, they're sufficient."

Their conversation has already run dry when Red suddenly notices a lingering and persistent gaze, which he later on confirms that belongs to no other than 61. Excusing himself, Red wishes the woman, who is now entertaining another guest, to have a good night. Then, he struts his way towards his partner.

Taking his hand, 61 grins mischievously, "Wanna dance?" 

Subtly beaming, Red agrees. 

61 leads him to the dance floor, where a slow jazzy song welcomes them and lures other couples in to dance.

Big hands slip around Red's waist as 61 pulls him closer. Red lays his own hands on the other's chest, along with his head, and he closes his eyes. They sway along the mellow music, the world around them slowly disappearing.

"I heard he's here for an acquisition. Bet it'll take place after the party." 61 murmurs. Red hums in response, eyes still closed.

"And you? What did you do?"

Red glances up just to see 61 looking down at him. There's something in his gaze that it's unbearable; it brings him to tear his own gaze away, "I met a rather strange lady."

"Strange? Why strange?" 61 prompts.

He takes awhile to respond the man entangled to him, "She's genuinely happy with values that her husband offers her.. Values that are now hardly surviving in this world, or more like, nearly inexistent." 

Tilting his head to the side, 61 frowns, "Red?"

His partner doesn't hear him because of the loudness of the thoughts that run in his head, making him keep on talking mindlessly, "I can't imagine myself to be happy and content with something like that.. I..” Red sighs softly, “I crave for more. But I don't know for what for." 

61 is about to open his mouth when he's got bumped by another couple which man swiftly releases his lady to utter his apologies. Both 61 and Red's eyes widened as they recognize the other man: their suspect, Mr. Jung.

As 61 brushes the businessman off saying it's alright and is already dragging Red away, he gets stopped by the suspect, "Wait, I remember you.."

"I highly doubt it, Sir—"

"Honey, that’s the lovely boy I've told you about a minute ago, just look at his dress!" The woman chirps in, smiling effortlessly at the couple upon them.

"It is splendid." Mr. Jung says, raking his eyes up and down Red, "Where did you get it?"

"It's custom made, Sir." Red responds politely.

"Oh, that's nice." He dismissively replies, hurriedly wanting to turn back to 61, "I insist on seeing you before, young man.." 

Red notices the squeeze 61 gives him as he grips on his hand tighter. Either the tightening of his jaw doesn't pass unseen under his gaze. Nevertheless, his voice remains calm and steady, "Well, kind to think of it, you might have seen me in some elite parties I've attended."

Mr. Jung seems satisfied of his answer as he nods. Saying his apology once more, he then retreats bidding them goodbye, his wife waving to Red before trailing after his husband.

They leave too, and no word has been said about the matter.

 

 

Fresh from another bath and free from all of his elegance of that night, Red lies on the bed silently. He can't sleep because of incomprehensible emotions stirring inside him which don't let him blink an eye.

All of a sudden, a knock on his door makes him jolt. Hesitant, he reaches the door and opens it only to find, 61, wearing a plain white shirt and black sweatpants, leaning against the frame. 

"Sorry to disturb you, but I can't really sleep. My air conditioner's broken, so I just want to check if yours works." His voice has gone gruff and he appears very tired.

Stepping aside, Red lets him in, "It doesn't seem broken."

"Then, can I sleep here? I promise you that it's this time only. I can take the couch, too." 61 scratches the back of his neck, looking strangely embarrassed. 

Red, on the other hand, feels rather worried, "Sir, please take the bed. I'll sleep on the couch. You look very tired than I do, so I prefer you have a good rest."

"Let's just share it and not argue over it anymore, okay?" He says, smiling, as he stomps his way towards the bed and a sigh escapes his lips once his body lands and bounces on the soft mattress.

It has taken Red minutes before reaching 61 on the bed and carefully crawls under the sheets after turning off the lights. He turns his back against him, but neither this time round, dreamland seems so far away.

He just lets his thoughts run and run in his mind, replaying the scenes of what have occurred and repeating the words that have been said. Something is clearly bothering him, but he can't pin point what exactly it is.

Then, His thoughts are becoming more vivid, more insistent as he whispers, "I'm sorry if I talked to that lady..". His voice is soft as hush while saying those words, yet he fears he might has said them loud. He glances behind him to see if 61 has heard him. However, seeing him not flinch or give out any reaction, he turns around quietly and closes his eyes. 

"It's not your fault, rather mine."

Red's eyes shoot open. A sickening feeling starts taking form inside his chest and it slowly, steadily, eats him alive. Is it guilt? Is it remorse? "Sir.."

"I'm sure I have checked all his various connections, but the wife.. I literally missed her. I'm sorry." 

"It's okay, please don't say sorry." Red pleads, staring at nothing in the darkness that seems engulfing him. His voice shows no emotions, though he feels heavy and uneasy.

He feels something isn't right by how the things have gone. Undecipherable emotions swim inside him, trying to find a shore to rest, but they find none. So they haunt him, they bother him. 

Surprisingly, he falls asleep few hours later. Most of the nights, his nightmares come out to play with him, and that night is no exception. He starts stirring a lot in bed, troubled, until his body finds and clings itself to another one, warm and inviting, and all his miseries fade away fast, making way to a fugitive serenity. 

 

 

The sun's rays cuddle his smooth face as they seep through the thick curtains of the window. Red moans faintly, peeking one eye open, then the other. He brings up a hand to rub the drowsiness away from them, when he notices his head is resting above a beating heart. He gazes up to see 61's eyes fixed on the ceiling, an arm tucked under his own head, while his other arm awkwardly lays above Red's head.

He jumps back in an ungraceful and exaggerate manner when Red yawns loudly, scaring him.

"You're awake.." 61 quietly blurts out, stating the obvious.

Red looks drowsily up at him, his head nuzzled on 61's body, still feeling a bit hazy. They end up staring at each other's eyes. A simple yet deep gesture coming from both of them—no words are said indeed, only their steady breathing is what breaks the silence—until 61 glances away, awkwardly coughing, "A staff came this morning, by the way.."

Raising his head, Red furrows his brows, "Really? Why?"

"Mr. Jung invited me to lunch and that he profoundly counts on my presence." 61 replies, eyes roving around purposely to avert Red's gaze.

Red sits up, dainty fingers fumbling with the blanket, "And what has been your decision, Sir?" 

With a sigh, 61 gets up too, ruffling his messy hair, "I've contacted the organization and talked with the head already.." He gives his partner a small smile, "I'm going."

As if reading Red's thoughts already, he adds quick, "Alone."

Red's eyes widen a little as he emits a faint sound—he assumes it's his breath hitching in his throat, "Alone?"

"Yeah, they said it's just a lunch. Just another infiltration. With direct possible contacts with the suspect, this time. But nothing more.." He concernedly regards Red, "I'll just have a drink, show that bastard I showed up to his dandy party, then go back."

Red hums. He convinces himself that he perfectly understands the situation, and it is okay if he won't be accompanying 61 this time. It's just a lunch. He'll just show up.

"I must get ready now.." 61 tosses the blanket aside, setting his feet on the floor.

Red stays there watching him, watching him reach the door, twist the knob, and close it behind once outside.

Red just watches him go away, in silence.

 

 

"Please always keep your earpiece on." Red says, fixing the knot of 61's tie.

61 grins, "I will."

Sliding his hands down to dust off his jacket, Red looks at him straight in the eye, "I'll be here whenever you need me."

Nodding, 61 checks himself at the mirror one last time before doing a short pirouette in front of his partner, "How do I look?"

"Good looking as always, Sir."

61 chuckles as Red walks him outside the door of his room. There, they rely on each other's eyes for awhile, searching for an inexistent comfort in their gazes, with smiles on their faces that hide prohibited emotions and bittersweet words. 

"I'll see you later, then." 61 speaks up, before marching down the hall and call for an elevator. He waves at Red once he catches him still there, leaning by his door.

 

 

Disturbed frequencies make Red jolt in surprise while he's waxing off his brasses. 

"Hello? Red? Can you hear me?"

Red presses the earpiece more inwards, "Sir? Yes, I can hear you, loud and clear."

"Good," He hears 61 takes a deep breath, "I'm in for awhile now.. The room is packed as hell.."

Carrying on wiping his weapon, Red simply listens attentively to his partner talk with a low voice, as he describes his surroundings. He hears the buzzing sound of the chattering, plates clinking and a soft symphony playing at the background.

"All these businessmen stink of corrupted money, betrayed housewives and arrogance.." 61 sneers.

Red senses the annoyance in 61's voice. Fear creeps through the cracks of his doubt, afraid of the fact that 61 might not stay and gather enough patience to get his mission terminated, mostly if it's only observation and no action.

Suddenly, Red hears a foreign voice, clearly different from 61's. A male voice to be exact, but Red doesn't grasp his words.

"Me? Follow you where?" 61 asks, unexpectedly confused.

Setting aside what he is currently doing, Red brings up a finger to press his earpiece inner, so close that he feels the vibrations of the device with every single sound it emits. It's quite an uncomfortable sensation, but the tone hinted by 61's words urges him to listen carefully. Consequently, he hears some shuffling sounds, then little by little, all that he can make out of it is the assumption that they've exited the venue, since the noise in the background is reduced to a numbing silence, apart from a pair of shoes clicking on the floor and 61 remarks thrown occasionally here and there. 

Three times 61 has asked where he is being taken, three times he doesn't seem to have received an answer.

"Oh, we're going down? Why down?"

"I didn't know this hotel has got 5 floors under.. Oh, the 4th one." 

"We're going left? Why not right?"

Very often 61 talks way too much, but Red already understands that he isn't doing it for pure boredom and want to start a conversation with whoever he is with—he is secretly telling him the directions of where 61 is being unknowingly taken.

With a heart beating too fast, Red waits anxiously for further indications from his partner. He received none for a couple of minutes, just effects of disturbance of frequencies, until 61's deep voice rings in his ears again, "Mr. Jung."

Knitting his brows, Red's mind blanks for a second, before a familiar voice catches his attention once again, "I'm a straightforward man, my boy, so I'll go straight forward to my intentions. First of all, I know who you really are, agent. And I'm surprised the organization has sent you in spite of the fact that I know their agents." 

Red's breath hitches in his dry throat, and he hears 61 do the same, "What is this.."

Mr. Jung's crude laugh echoed in the whole room, "Your organization? A bunch of silly people! How many times I've told them to stay out of my business, and yet, here they are, sending out other people to die." He clicks his tongue, "I don't want to do it, believe me, agent 61. However, I have to. They need to understand that they can't and will never have my head."

What happens next is a blur. Red is sure that he's about to yell to his partner to run, but a gun being loaded can be heard enough to paralyze his tongue. Then, he overhears a loud piercing sound, a faint explosion that sent shivers through Red's rigid body. 

He hears nothing after that, just an agonizing silence. Letting out a shaky breath, he murmurs, "Sir.."

Choking in a sob, Red calls 61 out a few more times, chanting his name until it slips out passed his lips as a hush. Before he knows it, unstoppable tears stream down Red's warm cheeks. 

 

 

Red thought that all the pain caused by his past, all the pain he endured through the training he got, all the pain provoked by his sole existence has rendered him ruthless, dull and apathetic. He thought wrong.

He thought wrong, as tears stain his white pillows that cradles his frail body, lulling him to rest, to sleep. He thought wrong, as his lips still say the name of a person who he can consider close to a friend, a family. He thought wrong, as his pain can never be satiated. It is still hungry, and it wants Red. It wants to devour him entirely, then feed him with grief-stricken emotions, with desperation, with misery, until he's full, before repeating the cycle again and again.

This can't be happening, he whispers to himself, with a quite exaggerated hint of conviction that everything that has happened is a dream, that what he has heard is fruit of his imagination. And yet, 61 hasn't come back yet, he will never come back.

It's past midnight. Sitting alone on his large bed, Red stares outside the window. His eyes are puffy and glassy, absence of any kind of emotion. Hunched back, his legs are dangling on a side of the bed, his dainty fingers gripping on the sheets.

The dazzling view of the city at night brings him back to the past, when he used to join a high-class elite, undercover. He became close to one of its senior members, an old man in his sixties, who owned a few expensive skyscrapers in the capital. He had a twisted mind, although he was always nice to him, always so kind, so gentle. Too bad Red had to eliminate him.

He remembers what that man said to him one night, outside on the rooftop, where the stars could be curiously seen glimmering brightly in a very busy city, during one of those exclusive parties the elite threw eventually, "People kill for many reasons, but there are two that are the most significant of them all," He sipped from his glass of champagne, taking his time while Red heeded intently, "Love and revenge. Those two reasons are what mainly pushes a man to grab a weapon and kill. Together, though, they become more powerful. Imagine getting a revenge because of love? How wonderful it sounds.." 

Revenge.

The word resounds in Red's mind so loudly that it reaches his mouth, tasting bittersweet. It rolls off his tongue smoothly, as if it's always been there, and now it's giving Red a shelter, a momentary home. He sees it as a prize to achieve, to conquer, to brandish. He becomes obsessed by the thought of it and he clutches on it, he doesn't let it go. There's no turning back anymore, though he hasn't got any intention of doing so.

Finally hauling himself off the bed, Red walks towards his wardrobe and calmly picks a dress to wear. He chooses a short laced red one, with sleeves that reach his forearm and a flimsy collar that showcases his milky collarbones.

Afterwards, he strides to his bathroom to take a quick shower. He scrubs his body fast, dedicating some minutes to rub the dried make-up and tears away from his face. Somehow, he feels fresh and rested once he steps out of the steaming shower box.

With a towel hanging low on his hips, Red crouches down next to the bed. His hand goes under, tapping around until he skims over a smooth object—his reserve gun. He never uses it, but since there's no partner to count on to cover him, it might be convenient to take it with him.

Dressed and hair styled, Red tucks his gun under his dress with a band that hugs his thigh perfectly. He hides his brasses under his black gloves instead. Unsure at first, he takes the earpiece from his nightstand and plugs it in his ear. The organization might possibly contact him sooner or later to either make him report, or them delivering a report.

Red gives a last look on the mirror, before turning back and heading to the door.

 

 

The trip on the elevator from the main floor to the floors beneath it is mysteriously peaceful. No guards come to stop and question Red, nor alarms going off because of an unknown intruder. It nearly puts Red in confusion, but once the elevator doors open on the 4th floor, two men in suit welcome him, launching themselves to attack him. 

Hurriedly taking his gloves off to wield his gleamy knuckle brasses, Red moves swiftly and swings his arms that went to hit a man straight on his jaw. One of the men is bracing himself to jump on him, but Red is faster, and he hits his nose fair and square, breaking it. 

Retrieving his gun under his lovely dress, he loads it with ammunition and he advances slowly and carefully, concentration unfazed as he listens closely to near enemies approaching. The adrenaline in his body fuels him up and it makes the pain he's previously feeling ache less. It fuels him up enough to help him make the next move, to control every room that faces the scarcely lighted corridor in which he is walking down, searching for Mr. Jung and Mr. Jung only.

As expected, a beaming red light, accompanied with awful ringing sirens, signalizes the presence of an intruder in the place. Red hears some men shouting, running back and forth, locating where he is. He hides right on time after the first siren went off, behind some plastic racks of shelves in a small empty room. He kneels down there, fingers gripped so tightly around his weapon. Panting, he waits for the waters to calm. 

All of a sudden, disturbed frequencies etch his right ear, and he hisses in pain. Twisting it around and around, he fixes it up to the noise is gone. A deep voice makes him gasp, stupefied, "Missed me, babe?"

Incredulous, Red's lips tremble a bit, "S-Sir?"

Red hears 61 chuckling from the other line, "Yeah, it's me."

"How.. How is it possible.. I heard.. I heard the shot.." Red is near to stuttering, as happiness and relief fill his heart to the brink.

"It takes more than a bullet to kill me." Even if he doesn't see it, Red is sure his partner has a smirk drawn on his face.

"How did you find me?" Red asks, standing up a little to catch a glimpse of what is happening outside the room. 

"Well, I saw someone flaunting a red dress across the hallway."

Lips quirking up, Red muses, "So, you've been watching me."

"I am. Outside. Doing my job as a hitman."

"Cover me, then. I'm going out." Red announces, professionalism and seriousness hinted in his voice and actions. He slowly stands up, glancing if it's clear outside. Once he confirms it is, he sets a foot out.

"Say no more." 61 says, and Red feels extremely reassured than ever.

Red proceeds down the hallway. A minute later, three men is already blocking his way. They try to shoot him, all shots in vain as Red dodges them one by one. A kick on the shins sent one man on the floor, while the other tries to deliver Red a blow, only to have his arm grabbed and Red slamming him hard against the wall. He snatches away his gun and throws it at the third man, hitting his forehead with the of the metallic weapon. Busy checking the ammunition of their guns, Red totally ignores the menace of the first man who reaches behind him to get and reveal another gun. Turning around, Red catches it with the corner of his eye, but before he can react, the sound of window glass shattering nearby makes him crouch down, and the enemy upon him falls down heavily on the floor, blood seeping out from the hole in his head.

"You're welcome. Now move along, there are coming way more than you're capable of handling." 61 warns, whereas Red starts moving again, till he ends up facing a two-way hall. Indecisive, he seeks help, "Sir, right or left?"

"Left." 61's voice becomes hoarse, as if he's out of breathe, but before he can question if everything is okay, his feet take the left and run down the corridor. He encounters no one along the way, and when he hears some shooting from afar, Red slips in the nearest room he finds.

Catching his breath, Red regards and takes in the sight of the room. It's bigger than the others he has entered or checked in, with big high windows, draped with heavy velvet curtains. A living room set is placed on the center, complete with two leather couches and a wooden coffee table. A wooden desk is instead positioned behind one of the couches.

Intrigued, Red discreetly takes several steps forward. He reaches the desk, where tons of documents and folders lay. He flicks through the thick paperwork, seeing photos of firearms, with their descriptions written below. Other paperwork seem to contain confidential information, but his hands stop flipping pages when he feels something cold and blunt being pointed against the back of his head. A laugh follows the clicking sound of the object, a laugh that he's certain to have heard before, "What do we have here?"

Completely frozen on his place, the man emerges from the darkness behind him, and settles himself in front of Red, under the dim reddish light provided by the lamp. The sharp yet aging features of his face are stretched into a nasty grin. He moves his gun, a gold studded one, pressing it against the skin between Red's eyes.

"Mr. Jung.." Red mutters under his breath.

"I've been waiting for you, you know? I'm sure that agent 61 has tagged along a friend. Indeed, here you are." He smiles wider, and it's a disgusting view. 

Oddly unperturbed, Red's gaze never leaves Mr. Jung's eyes. His calmness seems irritating the old man, as his smile slowly fades, "Why the silence? Usually, es like you plead for my clemency."

"He doesn't need it." A low voice answers for Red, which makes both of them appear surprised. Near the door, with his sniper riffle propped on his shoulder, is 61. He walks in, glory and confidence embodying every step of his. He's wearing a black suit and a red tie, looking as handsome as ever.

Mr. Jung grimaces, directing his trajectory of shot towards the other man, "You.. You should be dead!"

Snickering, 61 nonchalantly stuffs one of his hands inside the front pocket of his pants, "Next time, check if the people you want to kill have bullet-proof vests underneath their clothes, will ya?"

Rendered speechless, 61 takes the opportunity to swing his gun and hit the old man in his chest. Mr. Jung teeters backwards, losing his balance. He falls right beside Red, who wastes no time in grabbing the man by his suit jacket and backing him up against the wall. 61 is soon next to him, after grabbing Mr. Jung's gun off the floor. 

The old man, panicking, lets himself slide down the wall, kneeling in front of the hitmen, "Please, don't kill me. I'll tell you everything you want and give you everything you need," He stammers, terrified, "Everything."

The expression on 61's face softens. He sighs, grinning, "You made my partner really angry that he went here all alone.. What if something has happened to him?" 61 turns to regard Red, who glances up at him with eyes that seem twinkling, "Thank goodness, nothing has happened to him."

And then, Red smiles at him. A tender, fond smile that squeezes his eyes into crescents. A gesture that makes 61's heart race. He lets his finger slip and pull the trigger.

Suddenly, everything he can see is red—the warm blood flowing out, the dim light casted by the lamp, the magnificent hues of the breaking dawn; 

Suddenly, everything he can see is red—his dress, his lips, his soul, his passion.

Suddenly, all he can see is Red.