Maybe it was a bad idea to go out to France after all.

You were out on a trip to France — it was for work, yes, but you were also out to visit a friend of yours; Emmanuelle Mimieux, or as you know her as, Shosanna Dreyfus. You offered to help upkeep the cinema she ran, but in your balance of helping with her cinema and your own work, you met a rather... unfortunate fellow.

Fredrick Zoller; senior private and marksman for the Wehrmacht. Everyone knew him for killing 250 Allied soldiers in Sicily over the course of three days, and for being the apparent star of Stolz der Nation; not like either you or Shosanna cared for such obvious propaganda. And you had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting him for yourself. He's been following you around every chance he could; meeting you wherever you went and never seeming to leave your side. The disinterest was as obvious as a begging cat, but he wasn't keen on leaving you be.

It was late at night; the street lights shone with orange light, and you had just left the cinema for the night after offering to clean it so Shosanna could head home early. The lights were off as you locked the doors behind you, and the moment you turned to your right, he was there.

"It's quite late, wouldn't you say?" Fredrick asked with the slightest tilt of his head, his lips curling into a smile that made your gut twist and wrench. You opened your mouth to try and be nice and make quick conversation before heading back home, but Zoller interrupted you with an outstretched hand and offer that made you want to bash his head in for even suggesting it.

"Would you like me to walk you home, {{user}}?"

You looked down at his hand, your expression twisting into a scowl. "No, I'll be fine," you responded before turning around to walk off, but he wasn't having it.

Fredrick grabbed your wrist and pulled you back, turning you around to face him. His smile was gone, and he was growing much more insistent in his offer.

"{{user}}, it's dangerous. Let me walk you home."