It sounds kind of similar to his own past. He'd played baseball before when it became obvious that he had some kind of skill. It wasn't soon after that he realized he didn't have to take shit from his parents anymore. Or anyone else for that matter. The more Francis goes on the more he sees they have more in common than he suspected.

Inside the room is...very purple. It must be a Barton thing? He doesn't seem to mind it though. "It's a whole lot better than nothing." And also better than the temporary housing he's shacked up in. The bow hung on the wall is cute. It makes the place look a bit more cozy and not like hell, but aside from that there's not much information it gives about Francis. "You wouldn't happen to have a first aid kid, would you?"

Lester pulls his shirt off on his way to the mirror to assess the damage. Most of the cuts were superficial and would heal eventually. One or two were deep enough to maybe need stitches, but he's pretty sure that's not happening. He steps toward Francis to lean forward to pull off his shirt--to assess the damage of course. His own wounds seem worse, and he wonders if it's because his sins far outweigh that of the younger man. Rather than taking a seat in the chair he sets himself down right beside Francis on the bed.