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She had gotten him used to human contact before he knew it. Diana would hold his hand gently, let her fingers linger on his for a second longer than necessary when handing him paperwork or other equipment needed for his jobs. 47 didn't mind contact with other people; it came with the job. But whenever he had personal contact with Diana, it seemed if anything else more personal, to say the least.
He couldn't sleep that night, pondering over what was wrong with him to want more of this "contact" he was sharing with his handler. Diana had grown on him in the most unexpected way between all of their shared and brief moments in between work and discussing business. Her skin was much smoother than his, rolled over his calloused hands with ease and purpose whenever she touched him.
47 sat up in his bed and hastily picked up the phone on his bedside table. The phone wrung a few times before he heard her answer him. "Hello?"
"Diana," the hitman sighed out her name with air he hadn't realized he was holding.
"Is something wrong, 47?" his curiosity piqued when he heard the worried tone in her voice.
The hitman held his breath for another moment. His lips twitched upwards briefly. "No, I'm fine."