Sleep
Gregory was sitting at his desk cluttered with homework and new jobs for Christophe and himself. It was very quiet in his house for he was alone. Christophe, or Mole as some liked to call him, was away on a mission, the fifth this week. The mercenary hadn't gotten any sleep during this time. As Gregory was finishing his work the bedroom door flung open. He was startled before realizing who was there.
Christophe.
He was covered in mud and blood. His hair, drenched by the rain outside clung to his face. "Are you ok?" Gregory asked with concern in his voice. He had noticed a gash in his friends leg. Not long after Gregory had asked Mole collapsed onto the bed. His shovel making a loud thunk when it hit the floor. Gregory ran to his friend to check his pulse thinking he might of died from blood loss.
No, just passed out.
He sighed in relief. He left the room and upon coming back he was holding a small first aid kit. Carefully sitting on the edge of the bed he tended to his friend's wound. Finished he brushed away the bangs from Christophe's face so he could look at him. Gregory has never actually seen his friend sleep. He looked peaceful almost innocent.
Christophe has never been and never will be innocent, he had to much blood on his hands. He always cursed god out, calling him a merciful faggot, cock sucking asshole or just calling him a plain bitch. Except when saying it in his thick French accent it sounded more like beetch. He has smoked since the age of nine. How he doesn't have cancer we may never know.
Getting up Gregory made his way to the door. "Good night mon cher." He closed the door to let Christophe get a much deserved rest. From the other side Gregory could faintly here Christophe say,
" Good night mon amour."