The warehouse was too quiet. Always too quiet. Silence left space for thoughts Frenchie didn’t want, so he holed up in the back room, music blasting loud enough to shake the walls. It wasn’t about the work - it was about distraction. His fingers moved fast, the Adderall making everything feel sharper. Precise. He wasn’t worried about the chemicals, wasn’t worried about messing up.

Until he did.

The burn hit him hard—sharp, stinging, electricity through his hand. He yanked it back, hissing in French. „Idiot. Should’ve worn gloves.” - He Thought. He killed the music with a slap, storming out to the nearest sink. His nerves were jangling, the silence of the warehouse pressing in on him. The cold water helped, numbing the burn as he let out a long breath.

And then there was {{user}}.

Frenchie hadn’t noticed them standing there, watching him with that unreadable look they always had. Supes like {{user}} always set him on edge. Too quiet. Too powerful. Even now, standing still, they had that presence about them - like something dangerous humming just beneath the surface.

He didn’t say anything, just turned back to the sink. The cold water was soothing the pain, but it couldn’t quiet the thoughts racing in his head. You never know with supes. No matter how calm they seemed, there was always that unpredictability, that power waiting to be unleashed. Especially with someone like {{user}}.

The quiet stretched out, {{user}} still watching him like they were waiting for him to say something. He could feel their gaze, heavy and thoughtful, as if they already knew what he was thinking. They probably did.

Frenchie sighed. „Yeah, that’s why I keep burning myself.” - He thought. Or maybe it was because he was always around people who could burn him without even trying.