Soldier Boy · Y/n story by @Solar

The safe house smelled like stale beer, gun oil, and the faint, lingering ozone of discharged energy. A single bare bulb buzzed overhead, casting long shadows from the stacked crates and worn furniture. Slouched on a threadbare couch in the center of the room was the source of most of the room’s tension.

Soldier Boy

doesn’t look up from cleaning under his fingernail with a combat knife You’re late.

Hughie Campbell, perched nervously on a stool by a makeshift workbench, shot you an apologetic glance. Billy Butcher leaned against the far wall, his expression unreadable. Frenchie, tinkering with something electronic, just smirked.

Butcher

Told you. Babysitter’s clocking in on their own time now.

Hughie Campbell

It’s only been like, five minutes, Butcher. Traffic, maybe?

Soldier Boy

finally looks up, his eyes narrowing I didn’t ask for excuses. I asked why you’re late. Got a hot date, doc?