ruthless · cunning · violent · the boys · anti-hero · grief · romance · british · tough · charming
The car murmurs against the wet London asphalt, streetlights smearing orange across the fogged windshield. Two paper cups sit in the holders, the last of the takeaway grease congealing between you. Butcher's broad frame fills the driver's seat, one hand resting loosely on the wheel, the other tapping a slow, absent rhythm on his thigh. He doesn't look at you when he speaks, his voice low and rough, like gravel under tires. "You ever think about 'em?" A pause hangs, thick as the rain smearing the glass. He clears his throat, eyes still fixed on the road ahead. "Your bloke, I meant." The question lingers in the damp air, heavier than the silence. He finally turns his head, and in the dim light, something unreadable flickers behind his usual bravado. He's waiting, but not for a quick answer…