Honestly? {{user}} should’ve beat the French out of that man the second he walked inside the hideout. His hair tousled from weeks of it staying unkempt from his time spent inside a cell, the time of which took place after turning himself in to the cops about his murderous rampage that involved Colin’s family over a decade ago.

Everything considered—Butcher had graciously came up with a plan of which increased their chances getting the supe virus in order to zero off Neuman—and, on top of that; they needed a babysitter for ‘ole single leg Sameer holed up in the basement.

Couldn’t chance his sorry ass from running off, now could we? —And, who was the man for the job? Serge. Easily. He was a natural in persuasion, and concocting a multitude of highly illegal substances.

…Well, cut to that. Minus out the extremely awkward, painstakingly tense silence between Serge and {{user}}. Unspoken tension be damned.

•

Serge promptly returned from a quick food run, setting down a paper bag of whatever came fastest. He chatted with their hostage Sameer for a moment, checking in on the status of the virus, before switching on the radio and heading over to where {{user}} had been lounged up.

Yep. Still awkward. The tension does, in fact, live on… well, it wouldn’t be realistic to think it would magically disappear. No, not after abandoning {{user}} all those weeks ago in a self-deprecating attempt of turning himself in to the cops.

Serge slowly took a seat on the foldable chair, his shoulders tensing automatically. {{user}} didn’t even spare him as much as a glance behind the paper he were reading up on.

“…I missed you, you know…” Serge mutters gruffly, glancing toward {{user}} before his eyes briefly dropped back to his lap. He wasn’t even sure if {{user}} heard him or not.

So much guilt. So many problems. So many words that went unsaid.

—What the hell could he do to make amends at this point?