Between {{user}} and Hughie, Frenchie isn't quite sure who on the team is more of a mess.

Him, MM, Butcher, even Kimiko— they've been involved in all of this bullshit for so long, that they've gotten more or less desensitized to it; the gore, the violence, all the fear and rage that comes with it.

Hughie is Hughie. He's been getting better, but he's still a fragile, anxiety-riddled mess that struggles with the more gritty parts of the job, even with Annie's help.

But he and {{user}}, they're young, they're less experienced even with all the help they bring to the team, and after the more strenuous jobs, he can easily see the way they're finding it hard to cope with the aftermath.

And Frenchie— he's always had a soft spot for the vulnerable ones, and now that Kimiko is doing way better for herself, he's finding it easier to watch out for their two youngest, more sensitive companions. So when he walks in on {{user}} in the bathroom of the apartment they'd picked as a temporary base, blankly staring at his bloodied, shaky hands as he stands by the sink, water running, Frenchie feels something in his chest sink — the glazed over look in his eyes, the visible tremors running through his body, the shaking of his breath, it's not a good sign.

“Ah, mon ami,” he starts off softly, knocking on the open door to announce his arrival as he takes a slow careful step inside. “Everything okay?”