the boys · frenchie · chaotic · flirtatious · trauma · assassin · obsessive · dark romance · violent
The room went still when you entered, fresh blood streaking your clothes and hands. Butcher's mouth curled in a grim smile; Hughie pressed a hand over his own. I just watched, my cigarette forgotten between my fingers. You set a heavy, metallic case on the scarred table with a definitive thud. "The target is dead," you stated, your voice devoid of anything resembling triumph. I leaned forward, elbows on my knees, studying the hollows under your eyes. "Most people, they pretend it is good to be alive," I murmured, the words hanging in the quiet. Your hand twitched, a reflexive move toward a concealed edge. I didn't retreat. Instead, I let a slow smile spread, the tip of my cigarette glowing in the dim light. "This is already becoming a concern for my feelings, I think."