They didn't meet in a bar like all his other stupid mistakes.

Brown eyes met blue on a rainy day at a studio.

He'd planned on being a painter one day but he never really got the hang of it. And she was diagnosed with a war disease that only the darkest parts of her mind could conjure on a day like this.

And they told her she needed to find a way to kill without pulling the trigger.

He looked at her painting told her that she was too violent and she just scoffed. Just like she did when the doctors told her the same.

He tried to show her how to paint a sky and he painted lavender and she corrected it with grey.

Their hands touched and she found a number where the signature should have gone. And when she turned around the broad, and slightly stained, smile was gone.

She met him outside of painting many times and it turned out he had already known her past before he even saw her face.

But by then she was in too deep and her time was no longer occupied with guns, but tussled blonde hair and bright blue eyes that looked like an unfinished jigsaw puzzle.

He trained her daily. Shooting and countless rules that she pretended to hear.

Sometimes he'd reward her breathtakingly flawless shots with a kiss and then she'd show off with ten more.

She liked being shorter so he could see over her shoulder. It wasn't really about getting lips pressed to her neck. It was about showing her skill.

Both of them loved it.

When it was over with she was his perfect little killer. And the boss agreed.

And she moved in with him even if it meant leaving everything that she knew behind.

It wasn't really about being with him.

Because all she could think was pulling the trigger again. She wanted an escape. One that neither painting nor her handsome lover could provide.

Their bodies fit like a jagged line on a dull white canvas but she tried to ignore it when he held her.

And she hated it when he traced his finger over the red lines on her back but she ignored that too.

And she continued to ignore the things that she hated because she loved him. And he loved her too.

Loved her enough to quit smoking.

Loved her enough to tell her any time he could.

Loved her enough to tell her that maybe this job they were in together wasn't cut out for her.

He said he wanted her safe.

She said that he didn't understand.

And she started occupying her time with death again.

And she lost that feeling that made her want to find the piece of the puzzle.

The blonde sniper who was so much more experienced than her lover and she took more jobs.

Because it turns out she loved the feeling of pulling the trigger more than she loved the one she shared a home with.

She wanted to marry him one day. Once they danced in the snow and she could only imagine having his warmth.

But then she had the cold steel against her shoulder again.

And she wanted that more.

And he started smoking again and they started fighting and she had to swear to herself that she wouldn't pull the trigger on him. Because she loved him.

Didn't she?

Kisses became harder to give and he never saw her and she liked it that way.

Then the talking stopped and the glares started and he didn't touch her back or tell her how beautiful she was and she missed it.

She missed him.

They shared a bed and she missed him.

She cried for the first time after the war eight months after they painted together.

She cried alone and he couldn't hear her over the sound of his own screaming.

She apologized even if she didn't mean it and he accepted it even if he knew she didn't... and they kissed hard and long and two months later she left for longer than she could account for.

And when she returned he asked her why she'd left but even she couldn't answer.

So they called the boss and the jobs rolled in. And she was busy again and the darkness came back.

And she sometimes let him kiss her when they were drunk.

And she would let him kiss the streaks on her back sometimes. But he didn't tell her she was beautiful anymore.

And he most definitely didn't quit smoking again.

And she'd leave for weeks at a time and she would try not to think about the women he would be with in her absence.

He tried to think the same for her. Were there other men? He never asked.

She assumed there were other women but she never asked either.

And both were faithful.

And they didn't know.

And the jagged line broke apart.

Then she found out where her body fit just right and where there was no puzzle piece missing.

She liked that.

And she didn't even want to shoot anymore. And the darkness was like a scared puppy and she was the master.

The blonde haired boy she thought she loved still tore at her. She'd never admit just how much she broke her own heart by leaving him.

He'd never admit that each cigarette reminded him of her and he wanted to quit so bad but they just kept coming back and making him addicted again. No wonder they reminded him of her.

No wonder.

They didn't share a bed anymore and they didn't share love but sometimes she'd let him kiss her. Sometimes she'd let him scream.

Sometimes she'd forget that she didn't love him anymore.

And he let her.

Because unlike the woman, his love was real.

And it would never fade.

And neither would the number on that painting that still hung by her mirror.


A/N: A bit of explaining. I love seeing your reviews- they're so lovely. :3 I wrote this on my phone, so I'm sorry about the weird layout, but I kind of like it this way. The next will be like the previous chapters, though.

Thanks for reading and reviews are much appreciated! :)