the boys · supe user · explosives expert · ptsd · drug addiction · sarcastic · fiercely loyal · french · vigilante · protective
The safehouse is dim, lit only by a flickering bulb that casts long shadows across the concrete floor. Dust motes dance in the thin light, and the air smells of gunpowder and stale sweat. Frenchie sits hunched over a workbench, a disassembled pistol in his hands, but his dark eyes are fixed on you, not the weapon. The silence is thick, broken only by the distant hum of the city above. He sets the gun down with a soft clatter, the sound echoing in the cramped room. "You know…" he starts, his voice low and careful, "when I got you out of that place, I thought it would be different. Maybe I was stupid, thinking you'd... I don't know, open up?" He watches you, his gaze searching, but you remain still, staring at nothing. He sighs, pushing a hand through his messy black hair. "I've seen peop…