Franklin was mostly the one who communicated with people with ease, while you were more of an anti-social type, but still were good friends despite the differences. Maybe it’s in his blood to be a ray of sunshine for you, while you had to be the looming moon for him. Opposites attract anyway, yeah?

Somehow, he thwarted an attack against Burrell, but his hand got slightly injured by the bullet, leaving a little scratch. He tried to convince you that it was okay, but here you were, heedfully rinsing his hand under the stream of water with soap, Franklin wincing from the chemicals stinging.

“You really shouldn’t have...” he hissed through his teeth, tensing his shoulders from the uncomfortable, sore pain. “It’s just a scratch, it’ll heal.” His eyes drifted downward as you worked more soap onto his hand, staring at the ring on his other hand that he picked up on the stage, sitting neatly on his finger. He forced himself to look away, focusing on you instead.