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When they got into this job, they quickly learned to get over the hassle of caring so much about the people they were taking care of. Everyone’s gotta eat right? It wasn’t anything personal. They do the job, they cash the check, they go home and sleep soundly, or at least well enough. So when they got this job it was the same deal. Misaki had done this a hundred times. The shadowing, the waiting, the anticipation of the perfect moment. But for some reason, this hit felt… off.
It wasn’t you. Well, okay, it was you—your name, face, and routine all matched the report—but you weren’t the kind of person that usually ended up on a hitlist. You weren’t a slimy CEO or a debt-dodging gambler or a shitty husband. You looked... painfully normal.
It started when they tried to sneak in undercover in a disguise like the server suggested they do. Which meant they had to sit in increasingly uncomfortable positions pretending to be a normal person in public, when really, they were just trying not to stare too hard through the reflection of the glass of the cafe.
You were seated across from someone—a friend, judging by the way your posture relaxed. You laughed, leaned in, animated in that way where your hands moved with your mouth. Misaki angled their earbuds, phone camera off but mic on, sipping at their untouched drink while the wire caught every word.
Your voice was easy to pick out. “Look, I’m just saying,” you said, stirring something into your drink, “I’m not that picky.”
“Mmm,” your friend replied, teasing, “You say that…”
“Okay, not that picky doesn’t mean no standards.” You grinned. “I just like people with a brain. And a spine. And, like, a sense of humor for once! That’s not rare.”
Misaki blinked. Subconsciously, she sat up straighter.
“I’m not gonna date someone who doesn’t challenge me a little,” you went on, sipping your drink. “I want banter. Chaos. Someone who can keep up with me but also knows when to shut up and watch TV with me for hours.”
The friend raised a brow. “So… your type is someone who’s just like you?”
“I mean,” you said, shrugging, “yeah? But also like… super soft for me? But not where it becomes their whole thing. I want them to have their own life and relationship dynamics apart from me and not make it a big deal. I don’t want to be their whole world, that’s overwhelming.”
“But you want them to be crazy about you.” They deadpanned
“They can exist simultaneously!!”
Misaki nearly crushed their cup in their hands.
“What about physically?”
You tapped on your cup while speaking, the drumming audible in Misaki’s ears. “Oh I need them to have an actual style. And I like cool hair. I love it when people have a color that they stick with, I want them to have their own color.”
Your friend stared. “That is... distressingly specific.”
“I know what I like!”
“You just described a tragic anime protagonist.”
“Maybe that’s what I want.”
Misaki swore quietly into her sleeve. “You’re doing this on purpose. This is entrapment.”
They watched as you laughed, cheeks flushed from the cold, eyes bright with mischief. “I guess I just want someone who gets it, y’know?” You looked down at the table. “Someone I don’t have to explain myself to. Like, I’m a lot, I know that. But if someone saw all of it and didn’t run? That’d be cool.”
Your friend bumped your foot under the table. “You’ll find ‘em. Probably when you’re not looking.”
“Ugh I hate it when people in relationships say that. Rub salt in why don't you.” You snorted. “Anyways they’ll probably have like a crazy job if they’re like what I described. Which is fine, I’ve dated a DJ before.”
Misaki froze. Almost choking on the air.
The friend laughed. “You’re so dramatic.”
You grinned. “I’ve been told I’m a little too into the enemies-to-lovers trope.”
“You’re hopeless.”
“I will not settle, I refuse!”
The conversation drifted after that—weekend plans, roommate drama, some new sci-fi show—but Misaki had stopped listening.
Their heart was too busy pounding. It wasn’t just that you were attractive or charming or had a nice voice. It was worse than that. So much worse.
You were compatible with each other. Horrifyingly so.
Everything you said—it was like a checklist of their traits, and they didn’t even know you! You didn’t know them! Not really. Not yet.
But you had already described them in unsettling detail. Like you’d read the footnotes of their life before they even showed up on your radar. And suddenly they were envisioning a whole future with you because of one eavesdropping session!
They needed to stop. This was a mission, you two don't know each other. They were a stranger with a rifle.
But still... it hurt more than it should have.
Misaki sat there another minute, phone still recording, the warmth of their coffee long gone.
Then they muttered under their breath, “This would be so much easier if you weren’t fucking perfect for me.”
Over the next few days Misaki continued to observe, waiting for the right time to strike but always finding an excuse not to. You held the door open for strangers. You tipped at sandwich shops. Misaki had watched all of that. And the whole time they kept waiting for the catch. There had to be one. There always was. No one like you ended up in their crosshairs without a damn good reason.
But every hour passed, and nothing gave. You just kept being... you. And it was infuriating
And it doesn’t help that you were constantly surrounded by people. Misaki had spent the whole damn day trailing you through the city, muttering into their sleeve.
“Why do they walk like that?”
“Why are they… kind of cute when they tilt their head like that—OKAY nope. Focus.”
“Can I lock tf in???”
“Aaugh! My god that smile…”
Watching over you, waiting for the perfect moment to strike. While also unintentionally growing more and more reluctant to do so. The more time they spent around you and observing you and the more human you became.
Misaki caught themselves smiling once. Just a little. Watching you beam at an old lady as you helped her cross a busy intersection. It was such a stupid thing. Such a you thing to do. And they felt their chest ache in a way it hadn’t in a long, long time.
This gig didn’t even pay that well.
They could do without it, right?
…No. No. That was stupid. They weren’t about to throw away their professional edge because some hottie with a good laugh and excellent posture made them forget how to breathe.
They were still a professional. This was still just another job. But, Misaki hesitated.
Again.
This had to stop.
You were walking down a quiet alley—that perfect, cinematic kill zone.
Misaki crouched behind a dumpster, muttering to themself quietly. "Okay. Breathe. Just breathe. You’ve done this before. It’s just a person. A normal person. Probably. They look like they floss. No way they’re a threat. Just a nice face and nice... okay, don’t finish that thought—focus. You’re not catching feelings for a target.”
Then a metal lid under their foot screeched. They toppled to the ground, making a loud crash as she crumbled.
Too loud.
A click. Cold metal pressed against Misaki’s forehead. Your gun. Expression unreadable.
“Why,” you asked coolly, “have you been stalking me all day?”
Misaki froze, heart hammering. “U-Uh. Stalking??! Me?! N-Noo!! I wouldn’t do that..heh heh…You dropped this! I was just returning it!” They gesture to their rifle.
Your eyes narrowed, a cold expression they had yet to see on your face. “Try again”
“F-Funny story, actually. You’ll laugh I promise!” They fumbled with their words, eyes darting everywhere but at you. ”I uhh kinda got assigned to kill you? But like, in a professional way.”
Your brow twitched, just slightly. “So… you're an assassin.”
“Y-Yeah. Unfortunately. Please don’t shoot, it’s been a rough week.” She pleaded, it would've been extremely embarrassing if she died because of a silly crush.
Your eyes darkened again as you looked down on them. “And someone paid to have me killed?”
Misaki nodded, trying to inch back without making you twitch. “Look, I thought it was weird too! You're like, aggressively normal. Like, shockingly well-adjusted. And like you’re emotionally available and have a strong moral compass and are super cool and…” They coughed, cutting themself off. She was talking like she forgot there was a gun to their head. “Y-Yeah I’m done now..”
You snorted. “That’s a new one. You must’ve picked up on a lot of stuff from watching me huh?”
Misaki gave a nervous smile. “Most targets don’t intrigue me like you did I guess.” They said, their face growing warm. “Y-You kill here often…?”
You stared at them, then slowly lowered the gun. “You’re not very good at this.”
“Hey! I’m great at this. I just… you were really interesting, okay? And …hot. In a completely professional way.”
“Hm.“ You took a step closer and leaned down, Misaki’s breath caught, face turning pinker and pinker. “You said someone hired you. Did they say why?”
“No,” Misaki said. “They usually don’t. But now I’m starting to think… maybe you’re not normal after all.” Misaki wasn’t used to this at all, all the time they spent watching you, you never acted so detached and numb and guarded before. You were always so friendly and polite so this was a stark contrast to what they were used to.
And she kinda liked it.
There was a pause. Then you sighed and tucked the gun into your coat. “Yeah. I’m a killer too. Retired. Mostly. Someone must’ve snitched. Probably the guy I iced last month. Should’ve used acid.”
Misaki blinked. “You say that like it’s a completely rational thing.”
“It is. You’re a hitman too.”
“I prefer freelance threat removal specialist, thanks very much.”
A beat of silence. Then you smiled. “You’re lame, y’know. I like that.” You said, lending them a hand to stand back up
Misaki flushed, laughing lightly. “Aha.. Lucky me…”
You stepped closer again, and this time, Misaki didn’t flinch. They stared at you, mouth dry, heart still racing—but not from fear. “So,” you said softly, “you in or out?”
“Huh?” They tilted their head in confusion.
“I’m going to get that person who hired you back.” You spoke. “Are you coming along?”
“Me? Like…with you…after I just tried to kill you? You still want me to be with you? Ar-Are you sure?”
You nodded, sending them a sweet smile. So sweet it almost made them forget about the bounty over your head.
Almost.