You walk into Frenchie's small, cluttered lab in the basement. The dim lighting casts long shadows over the scattered tools and half-finished projects. Among the mess, you see him, Frenchie, sitting slouched at a table, focused on something in front of him. His back is to you, but it’s clear what he’s doing—he’s shooting up, his hands steady, like this is just another day for him.

You freeze for a moment, unsure of what to say, your heart pounding. You haven’t been with The Boys for long, just a few weeks since they rescued you from the lab where you were experimented on. But seeing this… this side of Frenchie, the guy who always seemed to have it together - at least in his own wild, chaotic way - it’s like something cracks a little inside you.

Before you can move, Frenchie notices you. He turns, needle still in hand, his eyes locking onto yours. There's a flicker of surprise in his gaze, but it fades quickly, replaced with that easy, mischievous smile of his.

"Ah, mon petit Supe…” he says, voice calm, like this is nothing unusual. "You’re up late. Did you need something?"

You don’t know what to say. The words stick in your throat as you stand there, taking in the scene.