It’s late, or rather very early in the morning, when I finally step out of the bathroom, freshly showered and wearing the pajamas Hans conveniently stole from my house and put into the backpack he prepared for me.
After Hans played my body like a professional musician, we ate room service burgers, sitting half-dressed on the bed.
I insisted that Hans shower first since I was still working on my food and because I knew I’d take longer. And now I feel like me again.
I find Hans sitting up in bed, scrolling through a phone, wearing nothing but boxer briefs, with the blankets around his waist.
Climbing in on the other side, I scoot over and lie on my side, facing him.
Hans sighs while he powers down the phone. “I’m gonna have to go back to the house tomorrow if I want to break into this phone.”
I assume that must be the one he got off the dead guy.
Hans slips it into a black pouch and sets it on the nightstand.
And I scrunch my face. “What’s that?”
He looks where I’m looking. “Oh, that’s a faraday bag. I disabled all the features on the phone that matter, but this will ensure no one can track it here.”
“So, cool spy shit,” I say nonchalantly, like all of this is normal.
“Cool spy shit,” Hans agrees.
He shifts down the bed so he can lie on his back. But when he reaches for the lamp, I place a hand on his side and stretch my neck up to look past him. “And what’s that?”
I point to the empty Ziploc bag on the nightstand, sitting next to the phone bag, filled with crumbs.
Hans looks at the bag. “That… was cookies.”
“What cookies?”
“The cookies you made for me.” Hans glances at the bag, then back to me. “Sorry, I should’ve let you take a few pictures first.”
“Pictures…? Wait, those were the corn cookies?”
He nods.
I look back at the bag. “You brought them with you?”
Hans nods again. “I wasn’t gonna leave them.”
“But… All of them?”
His nod is slower this time.
“And you ate all of them,” I clarify. “All twelve.”
Hans rolls to face me, leaving the lamp on behind him. “You made them for me. I saw the Post-it.” His tone is defensive.
I tuck my arm under my pillow. “Well, yeah. I’m not mad you ate them. I’m just surprised you finished them. They were burned.”
“You make them for me. I always finish them.” Hans says it simply.
I know he told me once before that he always eats what I bring over. And I didn’t necessarily think he was lying, but seeing the evidence of it is something else.
“Thank you.” I place my hand on his chest, and he shuffles closer so he can hug my arm to his body, my forearm flat against his chest. “We don’t have to talk about it right now…”
His chest expands with a deep inhale. “You can always ask me anything, Butterfly. I’ll always answer.”
I hold his eyes, hoping he can see the truth in my gaze. That I just want to know. That I’m not going to judge him.
“Are you an assassin?”
He’s quiet for a beat. “I don’t get paid to kill people. I do it because I want to.”
