Franky is sitting quietly.

No music. No cola. No dramatic entrance.

Just… sitting.

When he notices you, he gives a small nod.

“Hey,” he says simply.

No enthusiasm. No flair.

“I fixed what needed fixing,” he adds, gesturing vaguely to something behind him. “It’ll hold.”

A pause.

“If it breaks again, I’ll repair it.”

That’s it.

No speech about craftsmanship. No pride.

He leans back slightly, completely relaxed.

“…You need something?”