To make things easier for everyone, Mörder's thoughts shall be written mostly in English, instead of French.

Because of Torin

He had no reason to be here. No reason to stay, and wait, and watch, other than that he was ordered to. And standing there, outside of the gloomy architecture of the private school, Mörder couldn't help but be bored.

Vhy me? He thought as he folded himself deeper into the shadows. Vhy must I deal vith t'is kind of job..? Vhy not Dusk? Or Allyria? Or Merlin? Maîtres stupides! And with a proloned sigh, he went back to his watching, desperately wanting a cigarette, or even just pen or something to fiddle with to keep his mind sharp.

From somewhere inside the school a bell rang, and moments later the doors opened and children started pooling out. Mörder continued to stand there, his impossibly dark eyes weeding through the masses of students, trying to find his target. But as the seconds passed, turning into minutes that was quickly approaching half-an-hour, Mörder grew impatient. I don' vant to be 'ere!

Moving away from his safe haven of shadows, the tall man stepped into the light of day. His blond hair turned gold in the sun, the red hi-lights like dripping blood as he approached a group of girls loitering by the gates. Plastering an easy smile over his lips, he did a mental inventory on his appearance. Jeans... button-down chemise... sunglasses...

"Bonjour, mes petits anges," his words flowed into the teenagers' conversation easily, bringing their words to a stop as they turned to swoon at the french man before them. T'ey look so sweet.

"H-hello," one of the girl's ventured to say with a blush.

He tilted his head forwards, meeting her eyes from overtop of his sunglasses as he tamed his smile down to a coy grin, just for her. "Aa, de voice of an angel..." her blush deepened at his words, and he chuckled. Ah, petites femmes... 'ow fickle t'ey are. "Could you answer a question for me, ange?"

"O-of course!" She eagarly stepped forwards, clasping her hands in front of her...

He wasn't sure if she did it on purpose, or if she tripped, or even if one of her friends decided to push her, but suddenly the girl topled forwards into his arms. Chuckling good-heartedly, he put her back onto her feet. "Careful ma cher," he reached up to brush his knuckles over her cheek fondly, and watched as she melted beneath his touch. "I am looking for someone... could you tell me vere one monsieur Torin might be?"

"Torin..?" she said breathelessly, blinking several times as her thoughts came back to her. "Torin?"

"Oui," Mörder smiled. "Torin. 'E is an old friend of mine, and I vanted to see 'im." As if. He thought to himself, watching as the cute little girl blinked yet again, putting a fingers to her pouting lips as she thought about the question. I've never even seen t'is 'Torin' before.

"Aa... I'm not sure about Torin," she looked up at him from beneath her lashes, an appologetic expression creeping over her face. "But I know that he likes to follow Destiny around, and Destiny sometimes goes to the library after classes..."

"La bibliothèque?" He stood straighter for a moment, recalling the images of the blueprints of the Academy that he had studie during the flight from France. I t'ink I can find de library. With a smile, he turned to the girl again. Leaning forwards he brushed a kiss over one of her cheeks, only to pull away and kiss her other cheek as well. "Merci, la petite ange."

She swoon again, stepping backwards into her circle of friends as he turned away from her... but he had already stopped paying attention. Had already stopped caring for the little girl as he moved towards the front entrance of the Private school.

Vhy must I be here? He asked himself for the umpteenth time that day, pushing the front doors open and parting another group of teenagers as he entered the school. Ignoring the gawks and the looks he was getting from everyone around him, he proceeded to navigate his way around the school. Chasing a non-named boy because mes maîtres are afraid of 'is dead parents. A left around one corner turned into a right into a corridor, and before he could remember how exactly he had appeared where he did, he was outside of the library. I'm an assassin! Not a baby-sitter!

Trying to push the dark thoughts out of his mind, Mörder entered the library.

The library was immense. So immense that it would've taken the assassin hours to search it properly... and the librarian was no where in sight. Dark thoughts back in full force the french man frowned, the expression marring his handsome face. 'Ow the 'ell am I supposed to find one petite femme in t'is place! Murderous intent written in his every movement, the assassin bee-lined for the back of the room. Start from t'ere and make my way to de front, so t'at vhen I'm done I can jus' leave...

The back of the room was far away... far enough away that Mörder had enough time to name and curse every person who had sent him there (and there were a lot of them) twice. But when he did finally make it to the back of the room, his breath was stolen from him and his thoughts ceased to matter.

Sleeping on a couch, pushed back behind a shelf of books so that it was hiden, was the most stunning boy the assassin had ever seen. Please, don' let dat be Torin, he pleaded to whatever gods there might've been, cautiously taking a step forwards towards the slumbering boy. Vho brought t'is fallen ange 'ere?

He knelt beside the slumbering boy, lifting a hand to brush the bangs out of his eyes; the boy's face screwed up in his sleep, and he shifted towards Mörder slightly. Mörder felt his heart skip, a feeling his heart hadn't allowed itself to feel in years. He chided himself as he twirled one of the boy's raven locks around a finger, am I as fickle as de petite femmes outside? His eyes raked over the boy, observing his small frame and delicate features. Sérieusement... I am not here to swoon like a little girl.

With a sigh, he leaned against the couch, cocking his head to the side as if a different angle would show the sleeping boy in a different light. 'E is a pretty t'ing to look at... he reasoned to himself. And I 'ave be away from another touch from a long time... he could feel his fragile resolve breaking, not willing to be put to much of a test during such a boring job. A few t'oughts won't 'urt... a few fantaisies.

Closing his dark eyes with a smile, he let his mind roam... to imagine what the slumbering boy would do had he been willing, and awake. To imagine things that would've made the petite femmes waiting outside blush for weeks on end.

"Vhat am I doing here?" He asked himself, shaking his head lightly as he opened his eyes. Looking down at the sleeping boy, he could see the first signs of wakefulness approaching. Jus' like sleeping beauty. Grinning to himself mischeviously, Mörder leaned closer to the now-awaking-boy. And sleeping beauty wakes from un baiser...

Throwing caution and morals, and nearly two decades of training to the wind, Mörder brushed a kiss over the soft lips of the waking boy.

The boy blinked in eyes opened tiredly, a smile blossoming on his face that made Mörder's ceour beat a staccato rhythm across his ribs. He gazed foolishly into the boy's eyes, his mind tucking away their colours for future use. Mis-matched eyes... one bleu and one vert. The boy yawned, his eyes fluttering closed as he shifted again, stuck in a state not-asleep but not yet awake. "Torin..?"

Mörder's wildly beating heart stopped short, and the warmth he was feeling turned into a blizzarding storm. "Non, ma joli," he muttered, wishing now more than ever that he was not on this job. Of all de people it could've been... it 'ad to be someone involved vith t'is Torin? "Go back to sleep."

With a mumbled noise of agreement, the slumbering boy drifted back into the land of dreams.

Mörder stood up and retreated to another part of the library, his heart unwilling to let to of the memory of the slumbering boy's lips.

Vhy me? Vhy must I always be sent to fall for people who I may never 'ave?

-Owari