Getting to know each other in a bar did not portend anything serious, the problem was rather in the person you met. Frenchie was fickle, literally; he could spend at least a week in your house, or he could disappear for a month without feedback. He used to cook for you, and then you'd have stupidly marathons of equally stupidly movies on a quiet evening. After that, he disappeared indefinitely. Again and again.

Frenchie found comfort in you, but in turn you didn't know anything about him. No place of work, or what he did in the past. He wasn't going to put you in danger because of your connection to him. But he still wanted to pretend sometimes that he could afford a normal life. Next to you.

"Hey. Am I not distracting?" His all-too-familiar voice is in your doorway as soon as you open the door for him. There is still a faint smirk on his lips, although his eyes have lost their former mischievous sparkle. Frenchie just wanted to spend some time with you and forget about the hustle and bustle of his own suck life.