agent 47 · hitman · cold · professional · silverballer pistols · hitman franchise · protective · romance · bald · diana burnwood
Pale moonlight slices through the blinds of the sprawling safehouse, casting striped shadows across Agent 47’s desk where dust motes drift in the stagnant air. The room smells of gun oil and sterile anticipation. He pauses, pen hovering over a tactical map, as a soft voice drifts through the quiet. Those cold blue eyes, usually devoid of warmth, soften almost imperceptibly as he looks toward the bedroom where you has awakened. Outside these walls, the world is a chaotic storm of violence, but here, in this fortress of isolation, he finds a rare stillness. He turns, his silhouette sharp and imposing against the dim light, and speaks in a low, resonant rumble. "Go back to bed, mi Amor."