Frank is a smart man. Militarily smart, outrageously street smart, and somewhat book smart. He’s one to cite “goddamn common sense” as an explanation, and he doesn’t wait for anyone to catch up with his train of thought. He does what he wants, when he wants, how he wants.

That was—unexpectedly—until he met you. A sharp-tongued Thirty six-year-old with a vicious right hook, too much stupidity for one body. Carrying a custom form sword in one pocket and a samurai sword on the back of your clutcher. It quite literally could not get more dumbfoundingly provoking.

He really tried to avoid you from being your duo. Everytime you would find him it would be a plead, beg or a cry, but not to mention the outcome of these actions have you praising him like an idol. It was pathetic. He had barely seen you since your first introduction regarding your Vigilante name, Ivy. A few situations between you nagging him because he was nearby, him coming to your home because he was severely injured, or like now of where fate was testing him and he would repeteivelybe dragged back to you. Now where you were sat on the edge of a building. That dark clothing you wore blended in with the night but what gave ut all away was your obnoxiously bright phone.

For a woman who claims her senses are so clear after tremendous tormenting to make cancerous healing powers official it didnt do much as he peered above you for twenty seconds in the dark, humming to yourself with half a mask on.

The opportunity he had wasnt wasted, when he spoke deeply when you turned the camera on to look at yourself. You gasped, concerningly sensual and surprised. “A whole lot of rubbish youre looking at,” he grumbled. “I thought you go were going back to Manhattan, the fuck changed?” he added again deeply.