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butterfly-musings · 2 months ago

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In Retrospect

an excerpt (or half cooked idea lmao)

you’ve been biding your time, have used less than savory methods to gather your resources but your freedom is within your grasp, the light just about breaking across the surface. well, you’re not entirely sure light would be synonymous with the notorious man you have yet to enlist the help of. but you need him, light or shadow, haloed or horned, you need clint flood for this to work. you need your husband to die and you know that if anyone will have you widowed, it will be clint flood.

pairing: clint flood x f!reader wc: 2587 tags: mentions of food, food consumption, unspecified age-gap, reader is married, pos husband anyways (not clint), use of “kid” thrice, conspiracy to murder, uhh i can't think of anymore, author wrote this on a whim and shredding nerves a/n: hi so idk what this is but it's been burning away at my brain since watching freaky tales but i am Struggling with execution so have This for now lmao

-diners, dickheads and desperation

“I don’t know about this, kid.” Clint says, casually sprawled back into the booth across from you, his hand toying with the fries in the plate before him. You scowl, indignation scorching throughout your body, your throat raw from the burn of it. Kid, he calls you. You feel nothing like a kid, not with the dirty work of your hands to get to this point, not with the inky black stains that blot out bits and pieces of the horrors you’d been at the hands of thanks to your husband.

It’s an insult, but not in the manner he most certainly intends. You’d give anything to feel like a kid, you’d willingly pull the wool over your own eyes, choose the bliss of ignorance. But you can not because choosing ignorance, giving into the naivety would put you on death’s doorstep. No, you’ll give into childish whims once you are free, but for now you have to push through.

“My marriage certificate would dictate that I am not a kid, but feel free to refer to me like that after you’ve agreed to help me and do away with that title.”

Clint snorts, eyes falling shut briefly before they open slowly to meet your gaze, “I’m not adopting you after killing your husband.”

You lean in, forearms pressing into the nylon table cover and sticking there uncomfortably but it doesn’t deter you, “I’ll take that statement to mean you’re going to do it.”

“No.”

You want to scream, the shriek already climbing up your throat like acid reflux but you clench down on your teeth, eyes turning steely despite the desperation now turning to panic. You need this, your freedom hinges on this infuriating man across from you agreeing, or all the things you have done up until this point will be for naught. That thought alone makes you nauseous, the filth that clings to the tatters of your soul finding no fruition, no reasoning but to mar. Dried blood caked beneath your nails, oxidised and hardened and ungiving no matter how hard you scrub.

Unconsciously, your hands ball the transparent table cover, the pliability of it folding between your fingers. Clint’s eyes lazily track down your figure to settle on them but nothing in his expression changes, not a hint to be found on where his mind takes him.

His lips smack, the two grooves between his eyebrows deepening before he quirks his head in a move that reads predatory, a jungle cat sniffing out its prey and spinning a slow, tantalizing game. “How do you know that killing him will free you? Are you so sure this is the answer to all your problems?”

A broken, flat and raspy laugh leaves your lips as you feel yourself sink into a cold hollowness, reeled back until reality feels out of your grasp. There, your mind clicks play on the tape and the last three years of your farce of a marriage barrages into your senses to assault you anew. You’re stuck at cross roads; clawing your way back to your body to answer Clint or staying there and refortifying the animosity that has poisoned you day by day.

“I want him dead and gone. What proceeds will be dealt with when it happens, but I don’t give a shit about anything but that man with a bullet hole between his eyebrows and brain matter colouring the floor beneath him.” He huffs, dropping the fry he had between his pointer and thumb and rests his hand alongside his plate as he shakes his head at you, “That mind of yours sure paints the prettiest pictures, huh?”

The smile that slashes across your lips is cold, the sharpened blade of a dagger cutting it sharp, “With all the time and incentive I’ve had, I’ve become very creative.”

Clint studies you for a moment before a hefty sigh expands his broad chest and then deflates until the little nursery rhyme dances across the forefront of your mind. A huff and a puff and the man before you is certainly a wolf to blow a house down, only this little piggy is all but begging for it. “Fuck,” he cusses sharply, and then his hand clutches his forehead, fingers massaging at his temples as he closes his eyes and takes another deep breath.

“Look sweetheart,” he starts, face pinched as he looks for the words and the order they’re meant to fall into, “this is going to take more than just your money and pretty, pleading face to pull off. What you’re talking about is more complicated than tailing the guy and killin’ him.”

Your tongue slowly glides across your teeth, shoulders rolling with the anger that builds, stacking higher with each of his words. It’s hard to tell if he’s purposely being condescending or if it just comes awfully natural to him to be a complete dick. You’re heavily leaning to the latter as your gaze deadpans on him. “Mr Flood-” you start but he raises his palm to stop you with a grimace, “Clint, none of that formal shit, it makes this feel even worse.”

You raise an eyebrow at that, unsure how precisely to comprehend his words but you push it aside and concede, “Clint, I’ve been under the man’s thumb for three years. I’m really fucking aware that it’s not going to be simple. If it was, I would have done it myself. I’m not sitting across from you, kicking my legs with my hands beneath my thighs and asking you to do something for me like a spoiled brat.” You exhale sharply, head whipping to the door you had kept a periodical watch of before looking back into his face.

Hair combed back but the waves rebelling against the product just enough to tell of how unruly it can be, the scar beneath his right eye somehow feels integral to his features, not standing out but just prominent enough for you to mark the location. The brown eyes that track you with slow blinks seem depthless and belie just how dangerous he can be. When you briefly flit your eyes to his patchy, short beard and mustache, you notice how chapped his lips are and it tempts you to get the man some lip balm but you bat away the thought quickly. Your eyes swing up quickly and all your muscles harden to prepare for your next words.

“The only simple part of this entire thing is a straight answer from you, and I need it now. Yes or no.”

Silence clings to your skin like stale sweat and you pull your tongue from the roof of your mouth as the man remains unmoving.

“This isn’t my business any longer. I left that world a long time ago. I have a daughter to worry about.” The guilt is brittle and prickly on your skin and your eyes dip just for a second as you remember that very monumental detail. It had almost stopped you from approaching him to start but then you felt yourself dying, breaths coming slower and your supposed husband’s hands pressing down harder onto your windpipe and survival mode told you this was the only way.

“I know that. If I had other avenues, I would have left you alone, but I don’t. You’re the only option I have left of survival.” The vulnerability of that admission makes you scowl down at the table, ready to push off of your seat and leave all together but Clint clears his throat and you slowly raise your head again.

“I want half now and the rest when the job is done. I’ll need time to think how exactly I’ll go about this, we meet up again once I have my plan.” He says flatly, arms crossing over his chest, hands tucked beneath armpits as he levels you with a hard look.

The corner of your mouth twitches downward and you think, considering carefully. You’d barely managed this meeting, eyes still darting to the door and occasionally to the windows tables away. You don’t know if you can pull it off all over again. “The deposit is yours, but meeting up again…-”

“Communication? You have a secure number I can reach you on?” He interrupts, and there’s something harsher to the lines of his face, the back of his hand scrubbing at his jaw. You’d pin it down as impatience—a fair and sound presumption—but something about it feels other. It’s like the slow grind to hitting rock, all pretenses scraped away so roughly and leaving nerves raw, exposed. It’s almost a volatile thing on his face, and you feel yourself carefully considering your response.

“I’m not sure. I haven’t given him a reason to watch me closely in a while and I’m sure that has him suspicious so I’d rather not take the chance.” Your eyes watch him cautiously, that jungle cat pushing against his skin, hackles raised and you rely on your periphery to mark all your exits.

Clint grunts, head swooping to the windows and you see the thoughts plunder through him. It’s a wayward thought, but it pesters you with each micro expression, the turn and twist of his body, just how everything about the man is so unmistakably rugged. “I’m assuming you’ve marked their shifts? Found the weakest link?”

You nod once, sniffing indignantly, “I spent over a year cracking at this one. The others didn’t last longer than four months.” You don’t elaborate on why, that ugly twisting at your innards and threatening to push your food back up. Clint doesn’t comment on that, only mimics your nod and then that hand’s fingers are drumming next to his plate. The tempo of it builds and your eyes lock onto those fingers, the rhythm thudding between your ears and you’re tempted to stab your fork through his hand to stop it.

Fuck, you need out, the violence within you seeping through the smallest of cracks and you can’t afford rash and stupid actions soiling your escape. So you clench down on your molars and force yourself to focus on the lyrics of the Tears For Fears song playing throughout the diner.

Of course the focal point is some deranged twist on love. So you roll your eyes and press your shoulder blades back into the hard cushion of the booth and then you wait ever so impatiently.

Clint lifts his hips, hand reaching into his pocket and rifling before he pulls free a crumpled flyer of some sort. He turns it over and then gestures for a waitress, asking to borrow their pen before he begins scrawling something on the red paper. He hands the pen back with a casual thanks and then roughly slides the flyer to your end of the table.

When you pick it up, you glance over the digits with furrowed brows, lips parting in argument before he does that fucking thing again where he raises his palm and silences you. Part of you questions why you concede to the bombastic gesture, but you flippantly chalk it up to being desperate for his help. It does nothing to contain the magma state of your anger, teeth on the verge of cracking at the sordid pressure of you biting down on them.

He points to the flyer, licking at his lips before he grunts out, “Let it ring twice before hanging up. We’ll meet back here within 24 hours of your call. We’ll change the location and manner of reaching out again at the next meeting. It’s not all that secure but it’s the best we can work with right now.”

There is so much to argue against, fear riding hard at you as you stare down at the phone number, but you can’t supply an alternative. And it pisses you off that he’s right. So you sigh, eyes sweeping the space for a clock before you’re dropping the envelope you had in your pocket to the floor and skillfully kicking it against his boot. “The deposit. I have to leave soon.”

He makes no move to retrieve it or even set his heavy foot down on it. No, instead of acknowledging it, Clint’s eyes fall to your plate, the burger untouched, about half your portion of chips remaining and the sweltering glass of ice tea. “A waste,” he carps with a disgusted shake of his head. Your patience snaps in half and then ultimately turns to dust with the impact as you push roughly from the table, slapping cash onto the surface before you glower down at him.

“A pleasure doing business with you,” you say sourly before you turn on your heels and leave with that same pounding in your head, red flyer crumpled into a tight ball within your fist and before you push through the doors, you’re shoving it into your pocket. You don’t spare a single look back despite the searing heat of his eyes on the back of your neck, something that has you rolling your shoulders to ward off the accompanying goosebumps enveloping your arms. You need to reach the department store Quinton left you at and quickly, and with the anger burning through your blood, you speed walk. The emotion does well with being converted into the excess energy you need.

With short huffs of air, hair sticking to your tacky forehead, your feet finally slow down, a slight burn in your calves as you reach the strip mall. The pumping between your ears is no less incessant than it was in the presence of Clint and it’s something you hadn’t straggled down in your expectations before meeting the man. You’ve been banking on it being a cold, detached, business-like transaction, even if the thought alone gives you the prickling start of a morality crisis. Maybe it was cruel of you to think the man wouldn’t bat an eyelash at your request, if not cruel, naive, but fuck did interacting with him tighten your skin against your skeleton, like an inhale degrees too sharp for your lungs.

As you grab at mindless articles of closing and breeze into the fitting room, your scowl deepens, hand grabbing and almost ripping the privacy curtain as you pull it over the rails with an unneeded intensity. Your eyes cut to your reflection in the mirror and you deflate slowly, an untied balloon’s neck, pinched tightly between two fingers that for a morbid flash are thick, meaty and a small tattoo sits parallel to the flattened latex. Your expression darkens, eyes something like the void that threatens the edges of you, and you’re so obviously tired despite the effort you’ve put in to look put together, pretty, uppity even. It all falls flat in your reflection and you cannot tell if it's your subjectivity bleeding into the conclusion or if you’re far enough from your body to be entirely objective.

Whether here or there, you exhale sharply and give yourself a small metaphorical apt on the back. You’ve done it, not only made successful contact with the man, but instilled his…services. Even if the man is a prick. You scoff to yourself as you unceremoniously undress yourself, shrugging your clothes to the bench beneath the short rail. As you blindly try on the items you picked blindly, you conclude one thing with absolute certainty. Clint Flood has achieved one thing, hastening you into seeing Heath into a casket and being done with his presence. The presence of both your husband and his murderer.

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butterfly-musings · 4 months ago

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Hannibal (2013-2015)

1x04 || 1x07 || 2x07

#hannibal better than me i would have pegged him right there

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butterfly-musings · 4 months ago

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𐙚 lessons in pottery

chapter three ; when the night is over

summary: you were being torn in two, or more accurately, into too many fragments. it was not so much falling apart but you were feeling pieces of yourself displacing. one thing that remained unified within your disjointed self was the complete consumption by a man whose presence lingered in the driver's seat of your car, whose warmth had helped you fight the numbing chill of your soul shrinking into your body. a man whose number was now saved on your phone, a lot closer and less stranger than the man you had spied at the farmer's market. wc: 6,450 tags: alcohol consumption, reader is unsettled from events in chapter two, canon convergent, post-movie timeline, reader is as hopeless as frankie it would seem, overthinking + yearning gives you ???, reader's pov, lowecase intended status: ongoing

a/n: i've been away for so long good grief. life was a little chaotic but i'm inching my way back to this fic bc the brain worms are incessant and eat at me

getting into your car the following morning had your breath hitched at the base of your throat. you could have fooled yourself into believing that you had forgotten about francisco driving you home, but sitting in the driver’s seat following that short trip, it flooded you anew.

your eyes struggled to conceive the space between your legs and the steering wheel, much further away. like wading through a dream, your head slowly raised to your rearview mirror to find your eyes catching the very top of your rear window and nothing more. that out of body experience—akin to the feeling of being in the passenger seat of your own car—washed over you and blink as much as you might, you could not shake it.

large, strong hands so foreign on the wheel before you, the perspective of your car’s interior so different to you, made even more so by the tall, impossibly kind and attractive stranger beside you, left you adrift. feeling alien was something of an understatement.

you’d poured yourself a healthy glass of wine once you’d packed all your groceries away, checked the locks of your front door twice over before you threw yourself on the couch. sipping at the glass, your eyes had locked onto the pitch black of your television screen. and then the intermittent trembling to your body had begun, shock finding your body in the quiet of your living room. it took you too long to finally reach for your phone, in need of another distraction to keep from the feelings that crawled across your skin like insects. as the light of your lockscreen flooded your face, a stuttered breath broke from your parted lips.

the top notification from over forty minutes earlier, the missed call you’d made to your own number from francisco’s phone had greeted you. distraction enough to carefully save the new contact. frankie, will had called him. it made sense even as part of you wondered if the nickname was something reserved for those closest to him; something more intimate for him. but even so, you saved his number under his full name. rolled it around on your tongue before swallowing it down along with another sip of merlot.

that’s when you returned to the rest of your notifications, finger hovering over your keyboard as you debated debriefing the situation to your closest friend, her sporadic messages all reflecting her disjointed thoughts throughout her day. something in you had been afraid to dampen her mood with it all, but there was an excessive pounding in your head, the shaking in your hands returning. so you had sighed and sent a spark notes version of it to her. and within seconds of the message being read, your phone had rung.

are you okay? want me to come over?

so they reported the guy to the store?

and then inevitably, wait, how’d you meet the one that drove you home again?

part of you had wanted to huddle that particular detail within the shell of your chest, keep it separate from the story altogether. but you knew yourself better and with the line of questioning that always fired from your longest known friend, you’d be sure to slip up. so you divulged, voice as dismissive as you’d dare to try and yet it had not been enough.

when she’d ask for his name and you had whispered it along the receiver, the silence that followed had told you enough.

francisco? huh, interesting. and you gave him your number?

you’d scrambled to justify the boldness that grappled you one too many times in the presence of the man, excuses that fell short from your lips and confused you enough to lose the strength in your insistence. it was only meant to make sure that you could properly thank him and his friends, but you had stared at his saved contact on your screen for a minute too long before the phone call with your interrogator.

thankfully, the cross questioning regarding that particular branch didn’t continue on for much longer, her voice dipping to something softer as she asked if you’d want company for the night, if you’d be alright on your own. you had declined her offer and when you ended the call, your breath wasn’t as heavy on your chest and the tightness there had eased just enough for it not to pinch with each inhale.

it took you much longer to find your way to your bedroom, lighting a scented candle on your dresser after your shower. as you slipped beneath your comforter, your mind warred between the need for silence and something to drown it all out, diluting the images of the figure caging you into your car. you slipped out of your bed more times than you could count, haunting your empty house with soft feet padding down the hall from the living room to the kitchen and then back to bed. pillows fluffed on the couch before a glass of water at the counter. checking your laundry basket before blowing out the candle in your room and then seated at the foot of your bed to find deeper breaths.

in the end, you had turned on a 2000s romcom as you crawled back into bed with your phone in your hand, opening your call list only to stare at the second listing. a name that danced on the tip of your tongue, tingling there for almost two weeks. a name that had choked within your dry throat when he had come bounding across the parking lot, brows furrowed with clear concern, frantic and still trying. trying to tether you to the ground, smiling warmly at you as you clutched at his sleeve. you couldn’t even recall reaching for it, only that you’d found the surface within your mind when he’d stepped into your line of sight. the way francisco had called your name, something coaxing, something rousing and steadying had breached light across the depths you had crawled into.

among the self frustration and hatred at yourself for shirking inwards, freezing and struggling to find the power to be as abrasive as your blood had turned in your veins at the perpetrator’s harassment, there was the hollowing resignation. you unconsciously closing that door and shutting down. it was so dangerous, so stupid and yet in that moment, it had been instinctive, something happening within you before you could think better. and then, the hand breaking the cage, a breath deeper with the man being hauled away from you and the careful approach of a voice, dulcet and attentive.

as you stared at the name on your screen—it dimming steadily with the wave of thoughts you’d been drifting in—you had let out a deeper breath, eyes closing just as your phone locked in your raised hand. the gratitude flooded you again, had you turning onto your side as you let the memory of his voice lull you once again. safe and sound.

but as you clung to those words, eyes heavy within their sockets, the second sentiment felt less true with the metaphorical hands that clutched onto the images of francisco. the silhouette of him drowning out the hulking one that crowded you, his voice smoothing the edges that had brushed against your frazzled nerves. and then the bitterness of guilt that dried the tip of your tongue as you finally found sleep, exhausted to the marrow of your bones.

when you awoke that friday morning, restless and heavy all at once, you did your best to shove away the thoughts of the previous afternoon. those including the drive home, the smiling faces of three men that held not a lick of superiority from their actions, but only the gentleness that saw you home, unscathed. you didn’t fare too well, the message to your friend to reassure her that you were okay, only coaxing you to open the phone app again. it was a ridiculous notion, something you boiled down to your fraying mind trying to find any avenue of dopamine as you threw the device face down on your bed to go about your morning routine.

dressing yourself for the day had you glancing to your unmade bed, loopholes forming in the clouds of your mind to pick up your phone. you walked out of your room barefoot to get to your kitchen, guzzling down a glass of water as you drummed your fingers on the kitchen counter. you considered breakfast—anything to scramble together a semblance of normalcy for your morning—eyes darting to your fridge to mentally tally its contents. still, you pulled it open and scanned the items you knew to be there. mindless distractions, empty actions.

you closed it then, trudging back to your bedroom. you whipped your phone off of the bed, having it clank down on your dresser as if it had burned you as you got to making your bed. you kept your back to your dresser the entire time, shaking a touch too aggressively at your sheet and tucking the corners in tightly. it continued on like that until you grabbed your work bag, staring down hard at your dresser before you shoved the device into the bag and made your way out of your house.

you had tried to convince yourself that it would be better, easier once you got into your car and made your way to work where the usual tasks would keep you too busy to dwell. but you realised the error in your thinking the second you came to a stop before the driver’s door.

your hand on the handle had stilted your movements, swallowing harshly as you closed your eyes shut to do away with the sensations flooding you. the rush of your steps to your car, that looming presence calling behind you and ignoring your dismissals. so you yanked the door open, slamming it shut with a shaky exhale.

and there, a second flood of sensations found you.

you brushed your hands down the steering wheel, stretching your legs out curiously despite knowing you’d miss the pedals. within the space of opening the car door and shutting it, the prickling at the back of your neck had softened–the claws, gangly and jagged, that threatened to close in on you, faded away and large hands ghosted over its wake. warmer, engulfing in a way that didn’t threaten claustrophobia and undoing the creeping chill, allowing for you to seep into the open palms.

that’s when you turned to look at your bag where it sat on the passenger seat, lips rolling between your teeth as you considered it. a simple message, a token of appreciation. you’d said it to him, to all of them a few times, but seated in your car, at his height, you felt it anew. so much so that part of you dreaded having to scoot your seat back to its original position, hand tilting the rearview mirror down and erasing the lingering presence of francisco. another ridiculous notion, one only urged away when your eyes caught sight of the time and spurred you into motion.

your movements were jerky, reluctant but when you turned your key in the ignition, your eyes caught the suncatcher dangling from your rearview mirror. your feet sat comfortably on the pedals, hands resting on the wheel and there, glinting off of the bluegreen, iridescent beads bordering the blue lace agate slice was a trace of francisco. your sunglasses were stowed away in the console and the thought of it alone had a smile kicking up on your face. you would contact him, maybe some time around lunch, you decided as you pulled out of your driveway. it didn’t have to feel so daunting, didn’t have to kick up your heart rate when you’d already promised to find a way to show your gratitude.

it was a constant chant in your head, a mantra you had drilled down to broken consonants and blunt vowels as you pulled into your designated parking space. your hand blindly searched for your phone as you put your car in park, weak promises to yourself that you’d only draft up options, things to say. you’d remembered some wayward advice from a past therapist that expelling the thoughts in some form or another gave no ground for them to haunt your headspace.

that was the idea, the third ridiculous notion you’d concocted that friday morning.

and as the age old phrase foretold, the third time was indeed the charm, because as you tapped on your screen, one particular notification had your eyes widening. your hands froze, torn desperately between chucking the device as far from you as possible for the second time within your morning and fumbling to have it unlocked and opening the message you’d received.

shuffling in your seat and taking a second to undo your seatbelt, you took a steadying breath and unlocked your phone, eyes catching on francisco’s name among the notifications. a message sent 11 minutes ago. you’d barely given yourself a chance to read the preview of the message before you were opening it, eyes blinking and then taking in the words.

hey, hope i’m not being too much but just wanted to check in on you this morning. and i also felt terrible for not offering to help you with your groceries. :/

a laugh bubbled from your lips, head ducking despite no one being there to physically shy away from. your mantra fell flat in your head, the words slanted, pieces breaking away because francisco had beat you to it. your fingers found the keyboard before you could overthink your words, drafts damned the moment your eyes had caught his name on your lockscreen.

good morning, francisco. i really appreciate the check-in :) heavily doubt being something equivalent to an angel can be seen as being too much though. and forget about the groceries. if you had offered, i really would have felt like a burden.

you locked your phone immediately after having sent the message, not having the courage to hope for an instantaneous response. so you gathered your things, car keys in one hand with your bag and phone in the other as you slipped out from your car. just as you locked the vehicle, your phone buzzed in your hand.

that was when the flutters took reign of your stomach, no longer sporadic tingles from memories that had you physically shaking your head and sighing deeply at yourself, but incessant and alive. your back straightened as you shuffled the items in your hands to slide your keys into your bag, pushing it higher up onto your forearm as you brought your phone closer to your face. a smile, fighting to ball your cheeks tight beneath your eyes when you caught sight of his name.

you began walking then, despite the excitement bubbling within you, balancing it out with the reality that you had a shift to complete paces from where you were standing beside your car. so you glanced around you for any oncoming vehicles before you shuffled forward, head bent down to read the text message you had opened.

can i trust your sources on this or am i talking to the source again? so you’re doing okay? you didn’t exactly answer on that front.

bottom lip sucked between your teeth, you lifted your head to swing the glass door before you open, pausing as it closed behind you to gather yourself. there was something about francisco remembering your first conversation with him so clearly that made you unnecessarily giddy. it was a singular conversation, a short exchange so it wasn’t all that crazy for him to remember it, but it was the manner in which he referred back to it, the intimacy of that shared context that untethered you. he’d done it the day before as well, stood at his friend’s truck as he repeated your words back to you, more of a question from his lips than it had been on yours.

so you’d reciprocated, fighting a grin then too and it only proved more difficult when he’d turned his head away from you, a shyness blooming on his face that had lit that spark of courage in you once again. it seemed to be a growing dynamic between the two of you; where the tide drew one of you in, the other stepped into the waves to coax it back to the sands, steps retracted when the seafoam came rushing back, lapping at the ankles.

so with a surveying sweep before you and a step away from the door, you indulged further with another reply before you had to set your workday into motion. but for another minute, you tucked yourself into a corner, overcome with a giddiness you could yet fully come to terms with, wayward knowledge that you would soon have to gather it into a box for inspection later. one corner of your mouth twitched as your thumbs flew across the bottom of your screen.

are you saying you can’t trust me as a source, francisco? and i’m doing okay! i just got to work actually. thank you.

when you locked your phone this time, you slipped it into the back pocket of your pants. you’d have to use the excuse of work to settle the butterflies in your stomach. to gather your wits about you and hope that when you picked up your phone again, you wouldn’t feel like you were 15 again, discovering the overwhelming despair of crushing on a boy and having your every waking thought revolve around him.

that was your fourth ridiculous notion. francisco had been a thought always lingering in the periphery of your mind for a day short of two weeks. from the glances you had stolen of him with his daughter—smiling down at her and encouraging the giggles that floated to you at the table riddled with cheese and complementary jams—up to the bashful expression on his face as he apologised for his daughter bumping into you. when you’d turned your back on them that saturday, you’d been floating, blinking to try and dispel the flooding images of his dimpled smiles, the variations of them you had been able to witness. the playful grin as he stared down at evie, the coaxing, smaller smile as he knelt before her and then, the shy, warm slant of his mouth as he looked at you.

you’d berated yourself heavily as you drove home that day. you were so entranced by him, the big brown eyes that had no right being so expressive and heart tugging, the pout of his lips that drew your eyes down too many times for you to shamelessly admit and the curls so similar to evie’s that snuck out from beneath the confines of the ballcap on his head. you had tried to convince yourself that it was solely the sweet interaction between the father and daughter that had captured your attention at first, but then you found yourself turning your head in their direction two more times. qualities of francisco appealing to your senses and demanding it, even from something like five tables away. you hadn’t even lingered on thoughts beyond the sight of him, head clouding with glitter specked images of him and his smile.

something like shame had heated your cheeks as you had pulled into your driveway. head thrown back into the headrest as you sighed, cutting the engine. the man had been there with his daughter alone, but it did not eradicate a partner. when your mind had finally snagged onto that thought, it unspooled completely because of course someone that achingly sweet, with a laugh that feathered up the pearls of your spine and looks that enchanting would have someone. it only made sense and the mortification at having been even slightly too friendly with him, for not even considering someone special being in his life had eaten away at you.

as his name continued to haunt each step you took for the days to follow, so did the guilt. guilt from daydreaming, guilt from coveting the candle-like warmth of the man that had turned shy under your gaze. and then, as your mind loved to do, it redirected that shyness that coloured his cheeks and the length of his neck into discomfort, an apprehension to your barely there advances. francisco seemed the type, from the glimpse of him you had seen then, to not know how to immediately dissuade advances, a heart too soft to be abrasive, gentle in its rejection.

so your time spent riddled with thoughts of him were warring, an amalgamation of emotions that bittered the edges of you, pulled tight tension across your forehead and had you entirely too tired with yourself and the fragment of a man you were clinging to. then he’d let the information slip when he had insisted on driving you home; evie’s mother seemingly not being much a part of his life anymore. unknowingly, francisco had crashed servers within your mind. error windows popping up and overlapping as you stared at him and tried your very best to appear nonchalant with the added knowledge.

with his name making its appearance on your phone as if all your thoughts of him had summoned him, it felt needed. it felt necessary to slip the device away once again, to square your shoulders and at least pretend that the slightest sound from it wouldn’t have you scrambling for it. you had to convince yourself, prove it yourself that you could spend at least a few hours as you did before the clumsy introduction that stray saturday at the farmer’s market.

smacking your lips, you conjured your sixth and final ridiculous notion of the day, something past nine in the morning—spending your day as if the name francisco bore no meaning to you, a stranger once again. fleeting, frivolous, insignificant.

finding your office chair, your resolve just slightly dwindled as your hand fished out your phone from your pocket. it took a second, staring at the black screen before you set it down and slid it as far from you as possible.

out of sight, out of mind.

that was your new mantra, seeing as francisco had quickly done away with the one you had kept steady on your way to work. something of an inkling at the very back of your mind whispered that he’d do the same with the replacement too.

it took exactly two and a half hours—eyes averting in the direction of your phone with each chime and the last resort of music playing softly in your ears to dissuade from each notification—for you to finally crack. the anticipation had bubbled within your blood vessels and kept you on the edge of your cushioned desk chair, foot bouncing in, what you tried to play off as, rhythm of the music.

you’d been shortsighted. again. overestimating the capabilities of your frazzled mind, so desperately hoping that spiting yourself would be motivation enough to concentrate on work. but schedules reviewed and edited, colour coded for that extra something to do had not been enough. when you turned to filing and reorganising contracts via the date of upcoming termination, you knew you were grasping at straws. as luck would have it, work was slow, dragging on and leaving you with pockets of time gaping and empty.

it was only when your deskmate had looked at you, pointing out the pen you were chewing on, with levity that you finally decided that you had done enough. the attempt had to count for something.

so you excused yourself to the bathroom, hand grabbing your phone and seeing yourself down the hall with a rush you could not explain. the clack of your shoes on the laminated flooring echoing loudly and booming along with your accelerated heart rate, that distant feeling returning all too quickly. you tried to swallow it down, count the multiple birthdays that had passed since you last entertained something so fatuous, but the closer you drew to the bathroom, the more fleeting your attempts appeared to be. locked in a stall with your shoulder blades pressed back into the door, you blew out a long winded breath and pulled up your phone. your cheeks took on a heat you tried to blow away pointlessly, eyes flitting over his name and the message he’d sent about thirty minutes after your last message.

it was a last ditch effort, opening the message from your friend first as if to test the last stringent of self control left within you. a stray attempt at delayed gratification. she was letting you know that she would stop by yours after work and something in you prickled with awareness. however unavailing, keeping your composure over the phone was much easier than when she could see the truth of the matter much too clearly on your face.

that was your pitfall with your loved ones; the moment you opened your heart to someone, all smokescreens wafted away, leaving nothing but glass. fragile, transparent and refracting all your emotions in something like a lightshow. it was all the emotions you were swallowing down that you knew she’d see the minute you swung your front door open and a self preserving shred of you considered for a moment dissuading her. your need for company, a soundboard steadier with objectivity outweighed that self preservation and you replied to her, affirming the time.

no more distractions found you then, the contact just below hers displaying an unread message that beckoned you further down the rabbit hole that something worse than curiosity had led you to. you could have lied to yourself and pinned it all down as a culmination of reasons and feelings that caused your pulse to quicken, but you’d concluded that you had lied to yourself long enough and it was time to break that streak before the official two week benchmark.

you were absorbed within francisco, rapt with attention where he was concerned and pleased to have him handing you more. unconsciously or not, the man was feeding something within you that hadn’t hungered in a long time. it should have been laughable, the crush that had begun to creep on you, catalysed by the warmth of his care, sitting you down and crouching before you, getting you home safe and then checking on you come morning. the kindness within francisco was your undoing, both in its nonchalance and the heavily intended variations of it. and as much as you wanted to feel some level of shame for basking in the snugness of it—it felt like an insult to him, the shame.

trying to rationalise his kindness, the gentleness of those big hands and disarming eyes, felt criminal. it stripped something from him within your mind and you could not stomach disseminating francisco like that. there was the understanding that you had yet to come to know him, but there was no working around the core of him and that core was molten, golden and invaluable. it was announced in the very motion of his being and you were close to complete certainty that nothing could warp that perspection of him in your mind’s eye. francisco was simply the embodiment of that first crush that saw longevity; a broadened daydream that stretched into the future with a leveled reality. where the gravity of life didn’t feel too heavy, his steady hands warm and real and shaped to bear the weight of continuing life together.

the brown eyed man was the tangible body of ideals that had always turned you soft boned and dreamy eyed, feather far thoughts of someone too good to be real. and now his name was alight on your phone screen, messaging you.

i think we can both agree that you being a source raises questions of bias, no? i’m glad you’re okay. don’t hesitate if you need anything and i mean anything.

thumb tucked between your teeth, the corner of your lips quivered, the lids of your eyes fluttering. he was real, too real and yet your head could not fully conceptualise that fact. in the back of your mind—amid the trickling qualities of a freshwater body, sparkling from the golden beams of sunlight across its surface, sweet chirps of birds and the soft batting of butterfly wings—you recognised the fear. the biting incisors of projecting onto the very limited image of francisco you had come to know. a real fear that you were fluffing out the painting of him, adding swipes of colours and shading that were purely for your indulgence.

and in acknowledging that fear came the consequential dread of setting yourself up for disappointment. that was what gave your fingers pause, frozen a stroke from the screen of your phone. something about being disappointed in francisco because of your own assumptions opened a corrosive pit within your stomach, dropping your internal organs lower in threat of falling straight through it. another disservice to the man that you balanced on a precarious edge within your story book riddled state of your mind.

as you straightened, full weight brought to your grounded legs, you swore to yourself that you would not objectify francisco, mold him into a portrayal of something that suited you. no, what you truly wanted was to get to know him, have him paint down the finishing strokes on his own canvas within your mind. the colours would be chosen by his hand and you would stand back and admire the process, every twist of the wrist holding the brush, every smudge of the bristles, you would bask in it.

well see i’d need to really know you to be biased, so i think we’re safe for now.

an invitation, you decided as your thumb rubbed down on the round keystroke at the bottom right corner of your phone. as much as you wanted to get to know him, you wanted for him to be open to showing you, words and actions. the small smile on your face as your hand fell to your side was one of pride, something more concrete, more confident. that courage that pushed you beyond your usual limited exchange, always finding you where francisco was concerned.

it was exhilarating, finding someone who unknowingly made the space for you to take on a daring mantle you would not normally take up. nothing but his warmth, soft and moored presence allowing for you to feel safe in your inching steps forward. not as bold and daring as others would see fit to deem, but it was the personal parameters, your own amazement in your actions, your words that mattered.

a stray part of you wondered if he had been able to see it, the vibrant stroke you would dare every now and again, and if so, you couldn’t help but to wonder what he thought of it.

it shocked you, truly, to have your phone go off in your hand amidst your spacing out. throat suddenly dry, swallowing at nothing as that pumping organ in your chest lept, you glanced down at the device. all the mind games you had played with yourself, physically trying to separate from your phone when he replied in a matter of minutes. a quick check at the time told you that if he was at work, it was too early for him to be on his lunch break so it was even more difficult to fight the growing grin.

ridiculous, really. hiding out in the bathroom during work hours to text a man, but your restraint had left you somewhere down the hallway, perhaps it was clinging to the teeth marks scratched into the pen you had been biting down on before. nevertheless, francisco was enabling you now with his quick responses.

we can work on that, despite it being counterproductive for me in the end.

you shook your head, swearing to yourself that you’d leave the bathroom following your reply. it needed to be done, with having accepted that there was no reason to take the man in increments any longer, you had to restructure. you’d find a sweetspot, something where the giddiness did not supersede your central nervous system and where you were not trying to shove it all down into a box, sealed tight and shoved aside to coax on a life of ignorance.

you could be an adult with a crush. you could be an adult about your crush. god, acknowledging it was a start. a rocky start, one that left you uncertain on where to place your next step. it had been a while, that much was so starkly clear, but having to renavigate old roads in a matured body would take adjusting.

the first of which would be not hiding in the nearest bathroom each time francisco messaged you.

counterproductive because you just don’t want to trust me as a source or counterproductive because you don’t want me to realise that you are in fact not an equivalent of an angel?

blowing out a breath, you pivoted on your feet and unlocked the stall door. you slipped your phone into your pocket as you made your way to wash your hands, blinking eyes staring blankly at your reflection as you reeled from the past fifteen minutes. something within your head having been flipped onto its top, shaken and coaxed into spilling out.

the next message came as you dried your hands, eyes dipping to the pocket you had stowed your device into. you pulled it out just as you left the bathroom, a huff of amusement muffled between your cheeks as you read the short message from the preview on your lockscreen.

yes. :)

the remainder of your hours continued in a similar manner, striking a balance between working and picking up your phone to smile at the received message before replying; unending banter, almost mindless and so thoroughly entertaining that you couldn’t tire from it. and between the continued back and forth, neither of you backing down, were small questions littered in, trickling answers, two conversations happening simultaneously.

how’s work?

unbearably quiet. fly around any rich bastards on this fine friday?

i have a scheduled tour later this afternoon. think of me and my sanity?

i can’t make any promises.

a lie, so blatant and laughable because he had taken up the majority of your thoughts with a new vigour with the ongoing exchange of messages. all the organisation of your thoughts and feelings had quickly been put on the backburner when you had left the bathroom hours prior. navigating your crush on the man seemed insignificant when he was offering you so much of his time, the predicament of appearing juvenile finding no grip among the flurry of thoughts swimming with each response you got from him. him checking to make sure he wasn’t being a disruption to your day, him enquiring about your work, him stubbornly keeping to the first tangent of texted conversation. and then, did you have lunch?

that particular message had come just as you had pulled out your packed lunch, brows raised with a conspiratorial smile as you typed out a quick reply, shaking your head as you rolled your chair closer to the area of your desk you had cleared for your break.

if anything, francisco had your head on a loop, something like a floating apparition of your usual self as the hours that had stagnated previously in your dismissal of his growing presence now melted away—soft serve ice cream melting down a chubby hand in the heart of summer. you had only realised it when you glanced to the bottom of your monitor towards the end of your shift, shocked to see you had less than 20 minutes left until the official start to your weekend. the second predominant thought being that it also meant that francisco would be preparing for the flight tour he had scheduled.

something in your chest fluttered, a flickering at the subsequent actions of now keeping track of his schedule, that intimate silky drag across your ribcage with the knowledge, the privy to his day. just like the constant referral back to that pocket of conversation, finding more so throughout your interactions. the two of you were carving out an alcove, something so secretive and personal, your toes wriggled in your shoes.

it dawned on you as you greeted your deskmate, belongings gathered as you smiled at her, that among the constant back and forth, you had forgotten your initial excuse for giving francisco your number. a promise you had made and were determined to see through, to whatever capacity.

you had mulled it over in your head in the sleepless hours the night before, hands tucked beneath your pillow. showing your gratitude to the three men felt daunting, every option you thought upon felt too simplistic, too dismissive and yet another part of you did not want to linger on the entire situation too long. you refused to give it any more reign over your mind. so you ping ponged between fleeting tokens, nothing quite feeling right, made even more difficult by the fact that you didn’t know any of them and what they would like.

but as you got into your car, you came to a decision, made more attainable now that you had an insider, one that had been keeping you company for a great majority of your work day.

when you picked up your phone then, it was divergent from the hesitance several hours earlier. that conviction found you once again as you opened the message thread, fingers typing it out quickly before you plugged your phone in and selected just the perfect tune to set your smile solid on your face as you pulled out of the parking lot. your friend was sure to see straight through you once she pulled into your driveway, the drastic shift in your mood so polarising that it almost concerned you. you’d figure that out, even better with the second opinion heading your way, always honest and always with your best interest at heart.

so you brushed it off for the 13 minute drive, instead indulging in that shift of mood, eyes flitting to your suncatcher and your smile spreading wider, a full blown grin. you could be an adult with a crush, and in the quiet, secluded space of your car, you could feel a little bit more like a teenager about your crush. your last message to him embodying the last of that confidence of the adult stored within you for the day.

hey francisco? there is actually something i need.

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butterfly-musings · 4 months ago

Text

𐙚 lessons in pottery

chapter two ; heart, pin, sleeve

summary: you were haunting the man; a gossamery, iridescent figure whose smile broke light through the windows of a room he had long neglected. francisco swore he caught you in his periphery one too many times and it was beginning to eat at him. it was all too obvious, the remaining whimsy of you still tingling against his skin. frankie was trying to stow it away, but that all comes to a head in the parking lot of a grocery store on a thursday afternoon. wc: 10,363 rating: mature tags: allusions to former substance abuse, allusions to suspicions of relapse, alcohol consumption, off-page harassment (by nondescript character), panicked reader, canon convergent, post-movie timeline, frankie is an overthinker and a yearner i don't make the rules, girl dad!frankie, his pov, lowercase intended status: ongoing

a/n: to my greatest motivator and beta reader, @butterfly-musings , who always makes the time for my shenanigans and then encourages it :(( i wuv you ardently

there was a ringing in frankie’s head. it found him in the lapses of silence when evie was at her mother’s, it found him when he was at higher altitudes, laughing at some halfhearted joke passed from his client into his headphones, and at worse, it found him before he’d fall asleep.

if he had to be honest, frankie was starting to get sick of himself. the grip his head had on the remnants of you were worn threadbare with the constant loop, tossing and turning when the overworked memory fuzzed details and sent those castles falling flat on his sheets. but two particular sounds sang clear amid the ringing, weaving together and hefting a sigh from his lips.

your name, uttered so whisper soft and then the later lilt as you smiled at him, taking steps backwards, something akin to a dream growing distant and fuzzing out. that was the root of his frustration if he had to be achingly honest with himself. the implication, dare he even come to believe, a promise from you to him. one of which he saw no means of finding fruition.

i’ll see you around, francisco.

and a bittered part of himself—the lemon plucked and cut down its middle, left to draw oxygen and frumple into its once thick skin—wished that he didn’t have to see you again. that you’d haunt him just as you were now until those memories dulled and the sound of your voice was muffled and unrecognisable. it was a sickening type of wishful thinking, the kind that he couldn’t commit all of himself to, the tug of war enough for frankie to become irate at the turn of a blunt corner.

he tried to be as inconspicuous as he could be while battling with the schoolboy state you had left him in. he tried to mask the spacing out without raising any eyebrows, but frankie was so certain that the daze in his eyes had not left him since he pulled out of the parking lot of the farmer’s market. he saw it in the mirror when he was brushing his teeth, hair mussed with sleep and strands reaching for the stray traces of sunlight seeping into his home. the white little stars, the kind he saw when his vision swam and reality slipped from under his feet, concussed.

it was more pleasant than those fraying hours of consciousness however, but frankie could not afford it. not for a stranger, not for himself. so he batted off will’s probing stares, never words but looks that reverberated between his ears loud enough to be the full force of the captain’s voice. he shook his head and swerved, threaded between those looks with mindless conversation, neither here nor there as he nursed his diet soft drink, sweltering can dripping on his fingers on those days that he met up with the millers. frankie hated the taste of it, the sweetness that clung to the inside of his cheeks worse than the actual thing and he griped as much, another segue.

part of him was keenly aware that will only allowed it because there were no nervous ticks, no restless hands fidgeting, leg bouncing and eyes oscillating to find an opening to bolt through. frankie wanted to be hurt by it, but it was a solemn flavored acceptance, the acquiescence that made him dry swallow the lump in his throat.

so he trudged through his days, blinked you away heavily and shook his head as he dipped it down to his shoes when his mind played tricks on him. flashes of the back of your head, frankie had caught over his shoulder, found across the street as he slipped out of his truck, or the shock of wide, tender dipped eyes that would accidentally find him when he dropped evie off at daycare, you searching for him as you gathered his daughter from her tumble. all disappointments, all visions slipping through the cracks of his thinning veil.

the man was distraught. he could admit that much to himself, however well he tried to bury it, to live among the room you had come to take in his mind. frankie shuffled around you, body angled sideways to slip past you and find the tracks of his footprints before you. he could taste it, smell the petrichor scent of it and it all fell lackluster. god, he hated it, that confession. that he had been getting by before you, but steps were half trodden and dragging, the glittered effects only catching the light where his daughter was concerned. evie was the vividness of frankie’s brain, something so faceted and polished, breaking light and spilling rainbow within his skull. in comparison, everything else remained somewhat greyed. watered down.

and now, in that room you had taken for yourself, roller brush in hand, you painted wall by wall. strokes so bold, angled in every direction without reason but he felt that off white’s departure with each stripe of it. it was cathartic, it was senseless and there was nothing frankie could do but to distract himself.

distract himself as he leaned up against the wall towards the far right where the youngest miller was at work on a heavy bag, somehow finding the breath to keep up a conversation with frankie. the industrial styled gym was airy, edging on too spacious with lined floor to ceiling windows intersecting the back wall. a second home for benny, where all the energy he could not find a place to store or diffuse otherwise went. it was benny’s lunch break, something more of a haphazard decision to meet at the gym. for frankie to watch in the free hours he had found himself having and for benny to burn away at the bag swinging before him instead of chewing off the heads of his clients.

the topic of food was something mindless, possible ideas for a quick bite and then benny had taken a deeper breath. frankie had fooled himself into believing it was a consequence of his workout, the frustration that almost always pooled above benny’s brows in restlessness. but then his friend had taken a short pause in his routine, a raised fist hovering before his eyes flicked to frankie.

his lips pursed and then, it all came unfurling, an onslaught in rapid fire. something about a barbeque, a small thing put together, a much needed break. benny had emphasised a number of times how it was meant to be chilled, nothing crazy. and how frankie should come, show face, socialise. maybe we could get pope on call for a bit after too, the fucker has been too quiet anyways.

so he gave in to benny’s nagging, words that wrapped around the spaces between his gloves hitting the bag before him, vowels dragging to exaggerate his plea. sweat soaked, and chest heaving, benny grabbed the bag to steady it on its mount and then he turned, the padding of his gloves finding his hips to look at frankie.

there was something edging the crystal blue of ben’s eyes. the thin veiling of something slipping, ice sheets tilting dangerously on the slope of a mountain, the threat of momentum and impact at the foot of it in a crushing heap. frankie didn’t want to watch it melt and muddy, so he threw his head back and let his lips part in a sigh that had his eyes closing.

“when is this little shindig of yours?” there was no immediate answer but then there was the heavy weighted pat on his shoulder and a beaming blond before him, in need of a trim as much as frankie himself.

“there he is! i knew you’d come around. thursday afternoon at will’s. it’s nothing crazy, just a few of our fighters in the circuit taking a breather.” that phrase again, enough to make him huff. frankie nodded slowly, gathering himself from his lean against the wall, arms dropping to his sides.

“do i need to bring anything?”

benny bit at the strap of velcro and pulled, eyes looking up at his friend before he finally pulled his hand free from the glove and worked at the second. it distracted him enough to not immediately answer frankie so the man huffed in impatience. the roll of ben’s eyes did little to remedy the irk itching at his ribs, “only yourself, fish. think you can manage that?”

the noncommittal hum seemed enough to get ben to look up at frankie with the same exasperation that fogged up his lungs. and it quivered at the corner of his mouth in satisfaction, shoulders slumping as weight pebbled off. maybe the younger miller was right, maybe the commotion of others would do him some good. he’d been keeping a tight loop; work, evie, home and then the very occasional drop in with the millers. frankie spoke to no more than three people at once, his head down and concentrated in the aisles of his frequented grocer. it wasn’t entirely concerning but the silence was beginning to buff out his ears.

and that continuous stretch of silence was the problem for him. it made him scrabble, made his hands itch to fill it with something and he couldn’t risk that. even if the chiming of your voice never blanketed his head to dead silence, there were steep prices that no money in any mountain’s cleft could pay for. he knew that, and benny knew that if the persistence was any indication.

frankie caught sight of the long hand on his wrist and straightened further. benny had ambled away and was now sitting on the ledge of the ring, ropes pressed into his back as he took long drags from his water bottle, eyes flitting back to his friend with the stance he took on and he nodded.

his bottle hung from his hand between his legs as he smiled at frankie, “time to pick up evita?”

frankie nodded once as he squinted at his watch again, the restlessness that always crawled between the beads of his spine when it came to his daughter, the clawing fingers that dug and rasped for him to do better, be better, be on time, be present.

“yeah, just about. i’ll see you on thursday then.” benny nodded, pointing at him with narrowed eyes to let him know that he was holding the man to it. suddenly the haphazardly planned meetup didn’t appear all that haphazard, but frankie couldn’t find it in himself to voice his conclusion.

“tell my princess that i miss her, we don’t see her enough,” ben added with a grin.

frankie chuckled, finally pivoting on his feet to find his way out of the gym and raising a hand in greeting, voice raising just enough to call over his retreating form, “she doesn’t need to be any more spoiled than she already is, exactly why i keep her from you!”

“no, it’s because you know she likes me more, francisco!”

partly true. benny had a particular soft spot for his daughter, being almost the only person to refer to her by her full name, constantly having just something he saw and reminded him of her being handed over to frankie. it was endearing, watching the younger miller crouch down, something smaller, softer of himself to interact with evie. of course, his daughter had him eating out of the palm of her hands, nothing shy of the title of princess he had bestowed upon her. something evie was painstakingly aware of, making benny the first she’d run to when the group gathered at frankie’s.

frankie only rolled his eyes, middle finger directed behind him and eliciting a laugh before he pushed through the glass door, mumbling a greeting to the receptionist before stepping into the looming afternoon. the sun had him squinting, tugging the bill of his cap lower as he picked up his pace toward his truck. when he settled into his seat, key turning in the ignition, a sense of distant deja vu misted over frankie. something parallel but not entirely aligned. maybe it was another shift within him, the pliant disposition of him once again folding.

he’d get out, find something more lively to bombard his headspace, din out the sappy thoughts that had overcome him and finally, force you out. a houseparty, childish hopes of booming music and public disturbance to evict you from his mind. it could work, it could drown you out.

even with the desperation to drown you out, there was a reluctance, pausing hands reaching to turn up the volume. a second backwards glance.

damned was the man that brought the music to a maddening volume but still had a small hope that you at least liked the song.

frankie was early. not from eagerness, not entirely, more so because the need for a distraction was now clawing at his shoulders. he’d taken a quick shower after work, hair still slightly dripping when he pocketed his house keys and had his truck moving down will’s street, parking behind benny.

the only saving grace being that he wouldn’t be questioned, they’d been around each other long enough that frankie showing up hours early would just have him spun in on the preparations rather than unwelcome. so after he checked his phone for any updates from evie’s mother, her being the one to pick up their daughter today, he slipped from his truck and brought his knuckles to the front door twice before pushing in. frankie could hear benny’s voice first and then the answering drawl of will’s from the kitchen so he made his way deeper into the house, rounding the corner from the hallway to see benny slouched against the island with a beer in his hand already.

the prior smiled broadly, raising his can to the man and beckoning him further into the kitchen, “would you look at that? we didn’t have to drag you here kicking and screaming.”

frankie sighed, plopping himself down in the stool next to benny, keys and phone placed before him as he greeted will who had just slid him a can of soda across the counter, “showing up early means i can leave earlier.”

ben scoffed, sipping from his own drink and sparing frankie an unimpressed look over the rim of the can. will closed the fridge after having seemingly rearranged its contents and met the two in their semi-circle, arms crossed over his chest.

“i can’t blame you. i’m tempted to do the same and it’s my house.”

frankie chuckled, the pop and fizz of his opened drink settling him further into his seat as he let his gaze flit from one brother to the next, benny easily taking up the defence for the barbeque that he had spun together. he couldn’t hold it against him, benny always put in the effort to keep contact, to keep in the loop. it meant a lot to him, the bigger heart among them, and as much as they gave him shit for it, the remaining three of them did their best to keep it that big, that tender.

in the lapse of his silence, the two brothers had segued into talk of what was needed for the barbeque, a quick list being ping ponged between them verbally before will nodded and turned to frankie, “we’ll take my truck then?”

it being the most spacious of the three vehicles, frankie nodded and slid out from his seat, following behind benny. the walk to the driveway was filled with mindless conversation, talks of work half grunted out and slight chuckles aired as they clambered into will’s truck, radio low as they pulled away.

“did you see the photo pope sent through this morning?” benny asked, head turned to look back at frankie quickly before he turned back to his phone in his hand.

frankie shook his head, before answering verbally, brows knitted slightly, “no, completely spaced on my phone today.” a half truth, he’d never been too good at keeping up with the messages on the group chat, however sporadic it may be, but he’d been much worse as of late.

before he could fish out his phone from his front pocket, benny was handing him his own, already opened on the image in question, “of course he had to make sure it was a shot of them on the beach,” he chuckled.

and sure enough, posed with their arms around each other, santiago’s other hand supporting the leg of his fianceé kicked out in front of him, were the newly engaged couple. sun beating down on their backs, skin golden and glowing because of it as they smiled brightly at the camera capturing them. frankie huffed in amusement, smiling at himself as he handed the phone back to ben.

“aren’t they just the cutest.” will laughed, shoulders shaking as he looked up into his rearview mirror to spy frankie, a similar glint in his blue eyes.

benny looked down at the photo one more time, shaking his head as he locked the device and smiled at the two. “It actually pisses me off, y’know, that he’s proving us wrong with that rock on her finger.”

frankie could taste the lie. if anything, it was relieving to see santiago finally find the life he always craved and had never allowed himself to deserve. they’d watched from a distance as the man punished himself, pieces falling between his fingers and others picking it off of his tender flesh, only to scramble back together and rinse and repeat. none of them truly spoke of those months following their flight back, the blackened edges, singed and still somehow alight as they crawled through it, scars much deeper and recovery always just brushing their fingertips. they’d banded together as best they could, sometimes on the phone at ungodly hours to accommodate pope, bleary eyed and tear stricken but never saying it aloud, speaking around the saline trails.

when santiago had met giana, he’d been completely unearthed, spoke of her with the conviction of a man that wanted so achingly but would not allow himself to savor. it was years of push and pull, them glued together one winter and then magnets repelling the following summer and then giana had put her foot down. she’d packed up all her belongings in his condo, stood at the door and gave pope a choice. they’d been on the phone with him then for 5 hours before he hung up to get her back.

with steady months of working at their foundation, a video call scheduled for the group to finally somewhat meet her, the two finally settled down. it had been just under a month ago when frankie’s phone had chimed mid-teaparty with evie, his cup halfway to his lips when he glanced down and saw the message sent to the group chat. before he could unlock his phone, a second message, this time an attachment. frankie had let out a laugh then, surprised, pleased.

alright boys, get your passports and visas ready.

a feminine hand clutched in pope’s, manicured and sporting an engagement ring that announced itself before it announced the oncoming wedding. far from understated, very much the likes of the man who bought it.

exchanged congratulations and a brief call, evie chiming in despite having no clue what she was celebrating, followed. the chat was active for another hour after that with a good amount of jeering and pokes with the newly engaged man taking the brunt of it. but the shared joy was apparent and something of a sigh exhaled from each of them collectively. relief, the seedling of hope, the understanding that moving forward, living on could be done.

“it’s pope,” frankie chimed, grin still present, “for all we know this wedding could be his elaborate way just to get us in australia.”

will sighed, the back of his head rolling against the headrest as he turned into the parking lot of the supermarket that connected frankie’s suburb to will’s, “it’s that very line of thought that has me tempted to tell him i can’t afford the trip.”

“you’re underestimating that man. he’s probably already paid for all our tickets.” benny chuckled, undoing his seatbelt as will pulled into a parking space.

frankie hummed, drily retorting, “here’s to hoping that giana has very expensive taste then.” the three men chuckled, leaving the truck and piling between the automated doors where the rush of the air conditioning immediately greeted them.

benny had immediately gathered a cart, pushing forth as they mumbled between themselves to divvy up the items. as they split, frankie making his way to the refrigerated produce towards the back of the store, his mind took the lull of solitude to walk him down paths he hadn’t ventured in years.

even with the baby announcement, a sonogram slipped into his wallet, frankie had never found his way to a jeweler. it didn’t feel right to him, a bent knee and promise of forever borne only from the pressure of a family unit forming. it went against everything branded into him, societal expectations, something of family values but frankie did not want to make a promise he had not willingly felt ready to make. in hindsight, he could call it something of a gut feeling with the pieces that he had long since swept up and carefully discarded.

the cordiality he had now with nadine only confirmed that; a ring and accompanying divorce papers would have made it a lot worse. the fracture of that type of union would have wrecked them both too much to make the co-parenting work as it did. he’d admit it that his ex was a gracious woman, there were qualities of her that he looked forward to seeing evie take on, but that love had done more than just weather away.

so frankie had no understanding of the sort of emotions that engulfed a man as he picked out a ring, finding the love he planned to nurture until he found himself six feet under in a diamond, its cut, the metal band that held it afloat. he’d been tempted weeks prior, to ask santiago how he’d done it. how he’d find the reflection of his wife in a ring before it was slipped onto her finger, how he’d navigated the possibility of her not seeing that same reflection, that title rejected and returned to his pocket. he’d opted not to, not in the heart of the joy of giana sharing that vision so he’d saved the thought, the questions for another time.

the cooled air from the open refrigerator was enough to pull frankie away from his thoughts, hands on something like autopilot as it gathered the salad ingredients. will had insisted on having at least the illusion of green to put on their plates, a palate cleanser at the very least. so with the crook of his arm cradling the basics of a garden salad, frankie turned his way to the freezers to his far right to dump them into the cart, grabbing at a dressing as an afterthought.

already stocked with a good amount of meat and beverages, stray hands grabbed carelessly at three packets of chips before will nudged his brother down to the checkout.

“how many people are you expecting in any case?” frankie mumbled as he stood with his arms crossed beside will, lazily sweeping his eyes across the candy rack alongside them. falling victim to the very strategy for impulse purchase, frankie grabbed at the watermelon sour patch kids that his daughter loved.

“like ten? not sure on partners or arm candy.” frankie nodded noncommittally, moving up along with the brothers before he ducked down, swiping the four six packs from the cart and slipping behind will despite their protests.

“what are you doing?” will looked over his shoulder, brow furrowed, “there’s no need for that, fish.”

he shrugged, a lopsided smile on his face, “buying this exempts me from having to toss the salad.”

of course, it was the only excuse he could conjure, even as his hands swiped for more items out of the cart as he stepped up to a free cashier before either brother could stop him. it only felt fair, eased at the gnawing anxiety at his heels, turning up empty handed despite knowing his friends better than he knew himself. maybe that was another reason why, knowing them better than he knew himself and knowing that they filled in those holes of knowledge for him. much like they were currently doing and although the pack of ribs and two dozen beers were a far cry from a thank you, it was something of a token of it.

so he ignored their nagging as they made their way to the exit, receipts in hand, clapping them both on the back as the automated doors parted for them.

frankie immediately felt the difference after leaving the building, the air more frigid than that of the air conditioned store, the sun that just about kissed the height of the hardware store across the parking lot not doing much to chase away the chill. the colour of it more molten, a rich yoke seeping between the clouds but not touching his exposed skin.

walking beside benny as he relayed a tale of one of the expected guests for the barbeque, frankie found himself somewhat distracted. at no fault of his friend’s but rather the repercussions of his mind’s new bone to pick at, gnashing teeth and laving tongue that knitted frankie’s brow together.

it must have been obvious to benny, the free hand that came to clutch at frankie’s shoulder but no lapse in his chatter. so he nodded along in hopes of appeasing his friend as he kicked his feet within the confines of his skull, urging his legs to keep him afloat.

it took frankie a delayed second to pick up the commotion with benny still talking his ear off, that strong hand still on his shoulder as if the younger man could physically hold his attention. maybe in some roundabout way it had worked, because frankie only noticed the situation as will was halfway across the parking lot, shopping cart just barely being caught by his younger brother, effectively cutting off benny’s words.

there, a man caging someone in between their own car door and cockpit. the tension was unmistakable, a voice having risen a good number of decibels to draw attention to the fucker that had them trapped, unable to get into their car safely and drive away. frankie squinted as his steps slowed in consequence of processing what precisely was happening, watching as will’s hand clamped down on the perpetrator’s shoulder and hauled him back a good number of steps.

the victim was shaken up, that much he could make out, almost frozen in place as wide eyes shifted between the two men, something like uncertainty on whether the new addition to the mess was a welcoming one or second cause for concern. it was only when your eyes scanned the rest of the parking lot, seeking out a safety that your hands could not tangibly clasp, that frankie recognised you, cussing beneath his breath.

his hand shoved the bag he had been carrying into benny’s chest as he cleaved a path towards you, the incredulous protests from the younger miller barely registering. his usual gait was lengthened, barely minding cars pulling out of their spots or making their way to the exit until he reached the back door of your sedan. your eyes locked onto him and there was the furrow of your brow for what seemed to be a split second before your shoulders inched down from your ears and he could see the relief at a familiar face.

frankie spared a secondary glance at will and the shithead paces away from your car now, his close friend looked to be seconds away from shedding the controlled measures of his temper, but then he turned back to you, a soft call of your name to further cement to you that the danger is being handled. he stepped close enough to see more of your expression, but maintained enough distance to not steer your mind back into fight or flight.

“it’s okay now. will has him handled, i can promise you that.” he said softly, eyes darting between yours. it had to be the fear, something unconscious, the way your hand reached forth to ball the fabric of his jacket’s sleeve into your fist. eyes distant, frankie called no attention to it, the tether you had found in his sleeve, a squeeze, bleeding in his chest that fright had not pushed you further into your car, but closer to him instead.

frankie tried to gather himself, draw out of the adrenaline that had seen him across the parking lot in will’s wake. he mustered a level of calm, mindfully dropping his own shoulders and relaxing his features into something loose, something sure and open for you to lean onto. so he called your name again, this time with more strength to shake you from the frozen state of fear. a state he understood, jesus did he understand it.

when your eyes met his, they were still wide, a gloss to them that tugged at the tender interior of frankie but he balanced his weight between his feet, “are you hurt, did he do anything-”

he thankfully did not have to finish that line of questioning because you shook your head, swallowing harshly before skittish eyes went back to will and the root of the situation. it was enough to have frankie take a step around your frame, now stood before you and shielding you from the sight. he shook his head gently at you, arm still close to you, sleeve gripped in your shaking hand.

“hey, don’t worry about them. will’s got it under control, alright? just focus on me for now.” you blinked slowly, owlish and pale.

“is he your friend?” you croaked, eyes zipping between his shoulders, trying to find an anchor now that he had obstructed your view.

frankie nodded, “yeah, he is. a very good friend of mine. we served together, delta force.”

he hoped it would help, the voluntary information, to further assure you that you were now safe, that the piece of shit did not stand a chance. for the briefest second, frankie’s eyes searched out benny, the niggling in the back of his mind that here, within the parking lot, caught in an altercation, will could very well be triggered. a shitshow, he could only admit to himself with you visibly shaking before him and the voice of will losing that restraint behind him.

it didn’t take long though, for benny to be making his way across, eyes hardened, mouth flattened into a line. he caught frankie’s eye for a second and with the slightest tilt of his head to behind him, benny made his way to his brother, the wheels of the cart ringing with the force of them being pushed across the tarred parking lot.

with less to fracture his mind, frankie turned his full attention back to you, smiling softly.

“still with me?” you nodded, however stiffly and he mirrored you, eyes narrowing to take in the tremble of your hands, the twitch to your mouth and the legs that looked unsteady. the goosebumps on your arms were harder to decipher, between the cold and the shock.“wanna sit down? it’ll at least be a little warmer in your car.” another nod and you moved to do just that when your eyes fell to your hand that still clung to him, grimacing as you flicked up sheepish eyes to his own.

“sorry, i didn’t realise-” but frankie was shaking his head, his smile still intact.

“nothing to be sorry for, c’mon.” he inclined his head back to the interior of your car, watching as you obliged, a breath blowing out and momentarily puffing up your cheeks.

not wanting to tower above you, frankie made himself smaller, crouching down and ignoring the crack of his knees as he sat on his haunches before you, the edge of your car door clutched into his hand. he had questions burning at the base of his throat, whether the harassment had begun within the store, or if he had followed you out and used the isolation of your car as an opportunity. he couldn’t ask them though, not when he was unsure if it would worsen your state and tilt you into brimming panic attack he glanced in your eyes.

so he scrambled, scurrying within his brain to bring up something casual, mindless, light. anything he could do to evade the dullness of your complexion and the stiff quality of your lips he remembered with crystal clarity being soft and plump in your smile from your last run in. distress, frankie could pompously conclude, had no place whatsoever across your features.

so his eyes caught the thing dangling from your rearview mirror, spinning slowly and catching the smallest ray of light to glint with each rotation. circular, flat and ringed in a multitude of shades of blue and yet its edges were rough, jagged and dark. the string it hung from was beaded, iridescent but with similar shades to the sliced geode at its center.

frankie motioned to it with his head, grinning cautiously, “that thing doesn’t hypnotise you when you’re on the road? or are the effects for the other drivers that catch sight of it?”

it took you a second, blinking and then finally turning in the direction he had motioned to but then your hand lifted, finger catching the edge of the geode slice before you looked back at frankie. “it was a gift, not really to hypnotise but to soothe road rage. semantics i suppose.”

his grin was less cautious then, hands hanging between his thighs as frankie envisioned you, mouth twisted and eyes angered as you yelled expletives through your windshield. god help him because even the visual of you spitting vitriol only endeared him further. “had it long enough to give a steady review?”

you huffed, the right corner of your mouth twitching as you turned to look at the hanging charm again, “bullshit. but at least it’s pretty to look at.”

frankie laughed, eyes soaking in the irk in your eyes thankfully redirected and less heavy on your body. not the perfect redirection, but it was better. much better.

“and it doesn’t reflect the sun into your eyes?” it had begun to spin again, two twists in one direction before undoing itself and threatening to twist in the opposite direction. the glint continued, softened by the angle of your car and the sun cusping the roof of leroy’s home and hardware.

this time the twitch to the corner of your mouth was accompanied with a curl, softening, a little flimsy as you met his eyes again. “the shades make me look more intimidating anyways.”

part of frankie was tempted to lean forward, arch his neck to peer more into your car to try and spot them, something to help his imagination. were the frames more squared or rounded, were you someone who preferred the solid black kind or something thin and metallic?

but he tamped down the urge, opting instead to nod his head sagely. “i’ll take your word for it.”

the side glance you returned was enough for him to laugh softly, palms lifting in show of surrender with a smile that could barely be contained. especially now that your right shoulder was leaned against the back of your car seat, legs lengthened and lax before him. the tremble to the hands in your lap had yet to leave but he knew that would take a while.

“so you served? special forces?” you asked, voice quiet and clinging to the present, eyes dropped to your shoes.

frankie hummed, “yeah, though the special forces came later. i was a pilot. still am, only i fly around rich bastards and pretend to understand all their mindless chatter now.”

you smiled then, glancing at him briefly as you kicked your foot at a loose stone beneath your shoe, “fancy. should i be calling you captain or something?”

the man chuckled, shaking his head as his hand came up, cap in hand as he carded the other hand through his hair, “no, but you could technically call will that.” frankie repositioned the cap back on his head, wiggling the bill of it until it sat snug.

your head tilted slightly at that, eyes a little more downcast and it caused something to trip up within frankie’s chest. “not sure that would add to the ongoing charm of our first introduction.” he could tell you were trying for it to be light, something tinged in humour and tanged with sarcasm, but it just about fell flat.

“i wouldn’t worry about that,” frankie said warmly, “knowing him, he’ll apologise before you get the chance to. southern charm and all that, sorry about you having to see the worst of him first.”

despite the playful twang to his words in portrayal of will, there was the slight pinch in between frankie’s ribs. something ugly and all too suddenly rearing its head. the fear, the demeaning and belittling voice that whispered with aching clarity, that will had come to your rescue. will, steady and strong, body to boot and that’s not to mention his usual charm. the quiet kindness, the self disciplined gentleness of his giant. frankie couldn’t deny that it would be quite the start of a story, with will as the picturesque love interest. that was if you didn’t already have someone, text messages unanswered on your phone, wondering when you’d be home.

jesus, frankie really had to get a grip on himself. these thoughts had no place for the situation and as much as he tried to bat them away, the more incessant they became.

you only nodded then, half convinced if at all, before you looked up into his face again, “well, i do want to apologise to you, for well, all of this.” you circled your hand insipidly to gesture at the situation before it fell limp in your lap again.

“don’t,” frankie implored, rising slightly to fight the ache in his legs, “i don’t want you apologising for that fucking jackass, and by apologising for me–willingly by the way—coming to check on you, that’s what you end up doing.”

he watched as you took a deep breath, stretching your body as you held it for a second before blowing out softly, eyes falling closed. when you opened them again, they were tired, an exhaustion that betrayed just how rattled you had been.

“if anything, i’m sorry you even had to go through this. you should be able to go about your day without having to be cornered and scared of-” frankie shook his head, the anger choking in his voice as he looked away. there was shame there too, strayed but it greyed the smoldering of his anger. he sighed, something more of a puff of condensed breath before he turned to face you again.

“i’m sorry for the undeserved fear he put in you by being something less than fucking human.”

when you smiled, it was small, sad and it hooked into both of frankie’s lungs and heaved it up into his throat. “all that talk about me not apologising for the prick and then you go and do it, francisco?”

despite the breath you had caught and trapped at the base of his throat, frankie shrugged, eyes refusing to leave yours, “better me than you.”

a lapse of silence held eyes in an exchange of words that felt too heavy to convey before movement behind frankie had your brows twitching, face drawing tight as you craned your neck to peer over his shoulder.

“hey, eyes on me. nothing to worry about back there.” frankie spoke, a little more strength in his voice from the lightness he had been maintaining. he used that as his excuse to finally stand to his full height, hiding the wince at the strain within his legs as his hand slid up to cup the corner of your car door.

instead his eyes went to the keys in your ignition and then travelled back to your hands, not as violent in the trembling from earlier but still maintaining a tremor that had him frowning.

“you have someone you can call to drive you home? someone waiting for you? i don’t think you should be getting behind the wheel right now.” he was hedging, the question ultimately coming from a place of concern despite the subsequent information he would learn from it.

but you shook your head, gathering yourself as your gaze fell to your steering wheel, “uh no, and i don’t really wanna be any more of a bother to anyone. i’ll be okay.”

frankie’s frown deepened, “calling a friend or family member in a time of need is far from being a bother.”

you had just turned to him, lips parting to answer when frankie heard oncoming footsteps. he tensed, unsure and on edge as he had not kept track of what had been happening behind him. even cursing himself, he blocked you off and winced at the stance. he chanced an apologetic look at you, hoping that the position didn’t drag you back but you offered him a small smile of reassurance, inching just slightly closer in his direction. only then, did he look over his shoulder, relaxing when he watched the brothers make their way back to the pair of you.

frankie offered you a murmured ‘it’s alright’ before he angled his body to the millers, stood more beside you as the two men came to a stop before you both. benny looked between the two of you, before he finally smiled at you. it was will who spoke first, nodding at frankie in confirmation that things were taken care of, “i’m so sorry that our introduction has to follow something this unsavory. my name’s will miller. i’ve reported the guy to the store, but just in case, my brother has his license plate written down.”

as will offered his hand for you to shake, frankie glanced at you with a smile, watching as you clasped his friend’s hand with mirth twinged at the corner of your eyes. you introduced yourself then, offering a similar apology that will immediately denied, but then you shook your head at frankie as you sat back, secretive mischief tucked into the corners of your mouth as your eyes fell on benny.

“ah shit right, i’m the brother, benny. i grabbed you water while i was waiting inside for will.” he stepped up, shaking your hand before he passed the bottle to you, covered in condensation.

frankie watched as you blinked in surprise, gratitude widening your eyes as you took the bottle, immediately thanking the younger miller. it took you a second then, eyes falling to the bottle now clutched between both hands before looking up between all three men and more carefully guarded emotions swam there.

“thank you, all three of you. honestly i don’t know what i would have done if you hadn’t stepped in-” but you could barely finish the sentence before frankie was quick to stop your mind from slugging you down those corridors.

“don’t. you don’t have to think about it and we only did what we should have.” you looked up at him, expression more vulnerable than he had been prepared for but he still reserved a smile for you, coaxing you to mirror it. and you did, small and wavering, but you did. it was enough to prompt his next offer.

“let me drive you home, will and benny can follow behind us, make sure you get home safe.”

“francisco, no i can’t-” but he shook his head at you, features softening, even as he felt the look from benny at the use of his full name. “if you’re uncomfortable with the offer, i’ll completely understand that and back off, but if this is more of the being a bother talk, i won’t hear a word of it.”

a sigh left your lips, eyes drooping but unmoving from his and frankie could see it, the fight you were yet to put up and he was proven right, a second time within fifteen minutes. “i’m keeping each of you from your families and your plans for the remainder of the day. i’m okay driving back.”

frankie fought off a smile as he shook his head at you once again, arms crossing over his chest as he leaned against your car. “evie’s mom has her for her mandated two weeks. the only family you’re keeping those two from is a sausage fest that isn’t due for another.. hour and some odd minutes. anything else?”

he could only hope the slip of information was smooth enough to not catch the attention of the two pairs of eyes burning into his side profile, but part of him could barely care when you finally looked away from him with a frazzled sort of energy about you.

“you always this stubborn, francisco?” the chorused yes that answered you was enough to make you laugh softly, face a smidge lighter and eyes finding a sliver of radiance. your gaze swept from him in thought back to the brothers, sheepish and apologetic once again. “are you guys sure? i’m purposely asking you and avoiding looking at him to be extra sure.”

despite himself, the corner of frankie’s mouth slanted as he turned to his friends, finding similar amusement in their expression even as they smiled at you kindly. it was benny that answered you this time, “it hurts me to admit it, but the bastard is right to be stubborn on this. i think we’d all feel better if we knew you got home safely.”

you rolled your lips at that, eyes falling to the ground before you shook your head and stood. as you let out a breath, frankie could see your mind being made up.

“i’m not sure yet how, but i will make it up to all of you, i swear it.” you made sure to look each square in the face, jaw tensed with conviction as a dare for any of them to challenge you but all you got in return were scattered chuckles and then frankie spoke up.

“you can start by getting into the passenger seat.” the lopsided smile on his face was a consequence of his words, or at least that was what he tried to convince himself as you narrowed your eyes at him, a threatening finger pointed at him as you rounded the front of your car.

as you opened your door, frankie turned back to the brothers, nodding at them and purposely ignoring the curiosity that sparked in shades of blue as they turned back to will’s truck across the parking lot. with their backs turned, frankie slipped into the driver’s seat of your car, a grunt falling from his lips when his knees knocked into the steering wheel.

he huffed a laugh, glancing to you beside him as his hand reached beneath the seat, patting haphazardly to find the little lever. frankie’s other hand clutched the seat between his legs as he guided it back until he could comfortably get his legs stretched out to reach the pedals.

there was a look on your face, eyes blinking owlishly as he situated himself, that frankie couldn’t place but he thought better of inquiring about it. having fixed the mirrors and fastened his own seatbelt, he turned back to you with his hand on the keys in the ignition. “all good to go?”

you nodded, shifting just slightly in your seat, a breathy voice that murmured back, “yeah. i’ll direct you once we leave the parking lot.”

frankie nodded at that, starting the car and pulling out of the parking space, eyes in the rearview mirror to find will’s truck slowly inching up behind him. once you directed him straight across the intersection, frankie sat further back in the seat, eyes falling from the mirror down to your charm, a smile kicking up on his face. “good thing the sun isn’t too strong or i’d have to take a page out of your book with the shades.”

you shook your head in his periphery, hands fiddling with the vents for a second, “are you mocking me, francisco?”

he chanced a quick look at you, a smile skewed upon his lips as he shook his head, before he faced forward as you directed him left. “mock you? i’d never have the guts.”

you hummed, something almost distractedly as your restless hands began to fidget with the radio, some slow 80s tune now filling the quiet car. it was hard not to be so achingly aware of you, in the tight confines of the car, frankie only had so much to focus on. so he felt your stare, the long look that warmed the length of his neck and the tips of his ears.

so he cleared his throat, ring finger tapping the turn signal before he turned the corner, “everything okay?” god, his voice was breathless and he prayed you’d overlook it, the faraway place your mind had taken you stopping you from analysing the sudden pitch of nerves within him.

“yeah. yes, sorry. just never been in the passenger seat of my own car.” he could almost fool himself into believing that your tone was just as airy as his had been, but instead he hummed in response.

“feeling alien over there?”

“something like that.” you picked up the water bottle benny had bought for you then, unscrewing the cap, taking slow sips.

frankie smiled, both hands slipping lower on the wheel as he came to a stop sign, looking at you for further instruction. you blinked at him, a quick ‘two more streets down and then right’ and he nodded, peeping will’s face in the mirror. frankie was already dreading slipping into the backseat, pulling away from you. he also tried to convince himself that the dread had more to do with the line of questioning sure to follow the foot easing off of the brake than the view of your figure growing distant and smaller behind him. concern, it had to be concern for you, and that level of emotion was acceptable, appropriate. it was only humane.

the quiet that followed was natural, a lull that didn’t have his hands itching on the wheel or his eyes darting to you, instead the pull to look at you was none too different from what he had come to accept in your presence. no, the quiet held a small jitter but no ants crawling and biting for jerks and squirms. frankie wondered if you felt it too, the silly type of fluttering that came with new people, particularly new alluring people, but he quickly squashed that thought. nailed it down to the floorboards of his mind until the head was snug and level with the planks of it, you’d had enough on your plate for the afternoon. it was not fair to you and it made him shrivel within the driver’s seat, shamed and disgusted with himself.

so frankie swallowed and took the right at the third stop sign, nodded when you softly told him to pull into the driveway of the red tiled house. with the car in park and will pulled alongside the curb, waiting, frankie cut the engine. the retrieved keys were handed to you with a slanted smile, a little more shaky than he was hoping for but he pushed through it.

“safe and sound.” you smiled back and frankie hated to see it just as shaky as his own, as if somewhere between the last three stop signs, uncertainty had crept in through the vents and licked at each of your minds. something wayward in him almost had him asking for the keys back, to loop around the block, windows down to return the uncertainty. he knew better though, frankie reeled the spooling thoughts back in, heaping and gathering behind him in an idling truck with questions and meat to be seasoned and thrown on a grill.

“and i have you to thank for that.” you murmured, still unmoving and looking at him. it was undoing him, bit by bit, but he remained there, in your driveway beside you.

frankie chuckled, head dipping, “will more than me, honestly. he spotted you first.” there was an apology laced somewhere between those words, that shame tucking into the corners of the words once again.

your brows furrowed, eyes averting to the glove compartment before you as you opened your mouth and then closed it. he watched as it took you a moment to draw your words together, the game of scrabble you’d been playing in your head requiring concentration, but he was patient. endlessly patient if it meant your company for a second longer.

frankie was starting to believe it was something like a midlife crisis, only so much worse. the crush he was developing on you was much too childlike for someone his age, it was swallowing him whole and gestating him ever so slowly and there was nothing he could do but unravel with it. how pathetic would you find it? to know that within the week and some odd days since your first meeting, frankie had spent nearly every hour thinking about you, riddled with your smile, your voice and that little line that trailed behind him everywhere he went. eyes peeled for the sights of you. the promise in your parting words.

something about it now made him feel like he was taking advantage of you, as if by staying beside you in that parking lot, by driving you home and now sat here beside you, he was a lowly opportunist. it was bitter on his tongue, despite knowing that his steps towards you were fevered with concern, the hands that held your wheel were steady for yours to ride out the shake they possessed. but the lingering, staying in the unmoving vehicle with you, that was selfish. frankie was pocketing this moment for himself and it was hard to swallow down with any grace.

you broke the havoc of his thoughts then, turned back to him with shoulders pushed back, “i am thankful for will stepping in, very thankful and i want to tell him that again now, but it doesn’t make me any less thankful for you staying there with me. for keeping me from spiraling into a panic attack, offering me comfort i would not have been able to find otherwise.”

frankie’s lips parted, a sucked in breath as he let your words find their landing within him. it took a bit, swimming in his blood and crashing hard into his beating heart. he licked his lips and stared unseeing at your garage door, “i’m just really thankful we were there. and i can go to bed tonight knowing we got you home safe.”

when he angled his head back to you, you were smiling, nothing like the ones you had given him at the farmer’s market but it was better, better than wane of shock on your face prior.

“i should probably return you to your friends,” you said softly, gazing back to the truck stood perpendicular from your car. frankie nodded, clearing his throat as he reached for the door’s handle. he wanted to offer you help bringing in the grocery bags on your backseat but it felt too much, like he was shoving at your corners. even as it nagged at him, frankie pushed open the car door and slipped out once yours was opened.

the two of you met at the rear of your car again, him leading you to the truck and the window benny was winding down. the quiet burnt at the back of his neck until he stopped at the back passenger door of will’s vehicle, body turned to you as you stepped closer to the opened window.

a smile, eyes sincere as you spoke to the brothers, “i really owe you all for this, seriously. i can’t thank you enough. thank you, will. thank you, benny.”

at least frankie could revel in the manner in which both men fumbled to shake off your gratitude, speaking over each other and shaking their heads at you as they tried to offer you assurance. he was not hopeless yet, it would seem and he had to hide his smile in the collar of his jacket as benny reiterated his words from within your car.

“you’re home safe. that’s all that matters, okay? and i forgot to hand this to you, i’m really hoping you won’t need it, but it’s best to just keep it on you.” a receipt, of which frankie assumed benny had written out the asshole’s license plate on the back of. you nodded, taking the paper gingerly with another thanks and he hated to see the way your shoulders folded forward as you pocketed the paper.

so he spoke up again—something slipping too quickly from his lips, something to distract you, something to take for himself as his hand rested on the door handle before him. “i’ll see you around?”

“less chaotic next time hopefully?” you joked and frankie had to dip his head, relieved to see that it had your shirking edges softening again. so frankie smiled as he lifted his head, softer in hopes to smooth it all out completely, “how about we scratch that phrase altogether? hasn’t been working too well for us so far.”

you hummed as if mulling it over but then you cocked your head sideways, resolve finding you as you stepped closer to him. you stretched out your hand to him, your smile something more shy as you looked him in the eyes and then down to the curb before you gathered yourself again to meet his gaze. “phone? i said i’d make it up to all of you and i meant it.”

frankie prayed quietly within his head that benny couldn’t see him from his angle, the manner in which he fumbled for the device in his pocket, stuttering as he unlocked it and handed it to you. he watched almost breathless as your cheeks flushed, lip pulled between your teeth as you focused on the screen, tapping away at it. middle school dawned on his shoulders again, standing before his first crush, fumbling for something cool to say.

thankfully, he remained quiet—transfixed–as you tapped something and he could hear some fleetwood mac song playing faintly, your face bashful as you pressed your thumb down on his phone and it stopped, finally handing the device back to him.

“now i can be sure to keep my promise.”

frankie could only smile at you as you stepped back, eyes flicking from his back to the front of the truck as you brushed your hands at your sides and took a breath, smiling at the brothers. “i hope you enjoy your plans for the evening. it was really nice meeting you both, you know, despite the... anyways.”

“we’ll wait until you’re inside?” will offered, leaning over the console. but you immediately shook your head, hands coming up to reinforce your point. “god please no, it’s okay! i cannot take up any more of your time, besides i still have things to get out of the car so please, i swear i’m fine. thank you.”

will must have felt the same as frankie did when he spied the bags in your backseat, the urge to help, to ease the load but also not wanting to overstep. to become overbearing so he nodded his head slowly as if trying to convince himself. “alright then. you have frankie’s number now, so if you need anything, just let him know.”

it was that statement that had frankie finally sliding into the truck, winding his window down once he was sat. “what the captain said,” he slanted a smile at you, enjoying the laugh he got in response as you began to back up further on your lawn.

you offered them all one final smile, hand raising, “got it. have a good night, guys.”

the three of them chorused the sentiment back to you before will was pulling away from the curb. you stood on your lawn, waving once he turned around and made his way back down the street. frankie tried to refrain from looking over his shoulder, to take one last look at your figure and he lasted until they inched towards the stop sign. as will turned left, frankie looked back, watching as you stood at your car, door opened to retrieve your things and he sighed. this was going to kill him, and if not, it would eat away at him so slowly that he would pray that it did.

the stranger, the daydream, the siren’s call in his head and now the number saved on his phone under your name.

yeah, he was doomed, clay body worming on the potter’s wheel once again.

when frankie turned forward again, benny was already there, looking at him intently, smile slippery with his barely contained curiosity. “so, francisco huh?”

he closed his eyes, head pressed into the back of his seat, too unsteady for the questions and answers brimming beneath the low hum of the radio. there was no avoiding it, of course, but he could pretend just a little longer.

“that’s what it says on my birth certificate, doesn’t it?” is all he could mutter back, lips twitching when he heard will chuckle lowly, eyes certainly peering at him in the rearview mirror but frankie shut them out. just a little longer, just until he could feel his extremities again and forget the weight of your hand clutching to the sleeve of his jacket.

#CHAPTER 2 LETS GOOOOO

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butterfly-musings · 5 months ago

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been working on this johnyu fic for MONTHS i hope i can post it soon

#johnyu #johnny suh x nakamoto yuta #nct 127 #can the will to write come back to me PLEASE #im begging

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butterfly-musings · 5 months ago

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chapter one ; and this terracotta body

summary: francisco was trying; trying to crawl away from the clawing skeletons, trying to bat away the skepticism, trying to be a good father. and above all else, frankie was trying to convince himself that his construction site of a soul is not still clinging to the empty attic within his heart that he had yet to bulldoze down. wc: 6,255 rating: mature warnings: fluff, allusions to past substance misuse, allusions to past trauma related to movie's plot, canon convergent, post-movie timeline, frankie needs a hug, girl dad!frankie, his pov, lowercase intended status: ongoing

francisco morales had always been malleable. pliant, giving under cajoling hands. it was a point of contention within the four walls of his mind and even more so, with the love he had dripping hot from the wick of his fingers, slipping from burning flesh, that too giving way with the heat of trying, trying, trying much too hard.

his hard edges were abrasive at first touch at best, crumbling away with the slightest of pressure to reveal the molten river of his soul, undulating at best but consistently stagnant just beneath the faux strength. it stemmed from a good place, or so frankie had been told too many times to count, the sway of his being at the hands of those he gave his heart to. but he could never keep to the mould and shape of those hands, his composition too fluid. a thumb smudged into the perfected surface until it caved into a dimple, misshapen and reborn. the beauty of his softened surface never fared too well in new eyes, they always drooped with the slope of disappointment, sighs heavy with the retreating resolve that no hands would procure a solid structure, a holding structure.

something he had long accepted.

the dwindling sap within frankie had concluded that a lasting love was not something he could build his picket fences around, the holding space for it would need to be more economical, the realist within him would cram several more attainable items into that carved out corner and trudge forward. the love at home there already, tried, tested and unshaken would be enough, along with the growing kindling that was securely bordered with the strongest of him.

those were the handprints that none on the clay surface of him could override or wipe away with wet cloth. no amount of buffing would erase them from him and frankie considered that the thorned pride of his heart. if the last of his rigidity would stand to protect those slivers of warmth and company, it was enough for him.

five of them to be precise, those four as rough hewn and unkempt as his own calloused hands, blood soaked and begging for redemption. and then the smaller, delicate and growing trace of his daughter’s splayed fingers, undiluted devotion cupped in the heart of her palm as she branded him. there too, he gave in easily, folded over and inwards for her playful hands, his love enough for her sensory learning.

the same palm hugged around the pinkie of his left hand, waddling down the graveled paths of the marketplace, evie’s higher pitched, soft voice almost being lost to the bustle of the space surrounding them. frankie made sure to bend down, leaning a stiff, tired body down to catch her words as he replied in earnest, eyes taking in the season’s harvest, colourful and abundant on the shaded tables bracketing them both.

the saturday sun felt weaker, a chill in the air that kept the day crisp on his lips as he led his daughter through the vendor's stalls, looking but not searching for anything in particular. at the time of pulling evie away from her morning cartoons, chin milk stained, the farmer’s market had felt like a good enough outing for the two of them. frankie more eager just to have the little girl prattle his ear off as she explored another corner of the world within their city. he needed it as well, the welcome distraction of a noisy environment to evade the gnashing thoughts that his ex’s tired expression had brought about as she handed him his daughter’s bag on his doorstep.

motherhood had added earthy shades to the images of her he had on reel in the back of his mind, always slipping back onto its projector when she appeared before him. cautious, suspect and tired words of bedtime routines (nothing later than 9pm) and food allergies (no citrus). it had been more vivid, colours so bright and blinding when it all began, unweathered yet by life’s droll. the fade happened faster than either of the two cared to admit, jaw tight and edging forth, but with the introduction of a rapid heartbeat in a doctor’s room, there was the trickle of gold—threaded and tightening amongst the greying colours. and where one thread snapped and frayed months later, tears streaming with milk stains on stretched out old tshirts and a screaming kettle in the background, the gold remained taut. that shimmering life line keeping him on two feet as those neons took their final breath to earthy, not entirely muted or erased but finding a depth that set roots of a different kind within him.

frankie could never find it within him to blame her, not with the choppy waters his storms had stirred her vessel upon. the brine of those very waves, erosive and nothing any shock of colour could weather. if anything there was an undying respect and admiration that he held for her, for sticking it out as long as she had, for maintaining level headed as she had, and not denying him the privilege of being part of evie’s life when she had so many grounds to do so.

pride there too, in the stellar woman he had brought the little life into being with that now clung to his finger, swinging their arms with all the strength she had among her giggles as he kept his arm loose, languid for her amusement. but the pride was smudged, stained with pink washed water of his wrongdoings, the chips to her he had added whether the intention for it was missing or not.

it were these thoughts—all disjointed and fraying edges reaching for every open corner of his mind—that had haunted frankie and pushed him out onto his own doorstep, still zipping up his daughter’s hoodie as she fought him tooth and nail to keep on her sparkly sandals as opposed to the closed toe pair dangling from his fingertips. she won of course, but frankie had still tucked the second pair in beside her carseat. evie had sang the entire drive, unabashed and cheery and it was enough to shake off the weighted dust of old thoughts from frankie’s shoulders. love, moulding and bleached colours be damned. at least that had been the ideal he was desperately trying to maintain.

frankie sighed, dropped his eyes to the glittery purple straps of his daughter’s sandals instead, the corner of his mouth edging up as her toes wiggled in her shoes as she stopped to ogle at an oversized pumpkin on display, pies and unlit candles scattered in autumnal invitation. a tug, then a more excitable shake to his arm as her head swivelled with gold twinged curls bouncing, to blink her big eyes at him, “daddy, are we going to carve into pumpkins again? can we get ones as big as this?”

the man scrunched his nose, hand lifting to scratch at his eyebrow at memories of the pulpy mess and jagged looking pumpkins from the year prior, the smell of the innards clinging to evie’s hair as he tried his best to shampoo it out in the bath that night. frankie’s lips smacked as his head dipped and tilted sideways as he looked down at evie clinging to the edge of the table, poking softly at the produce.

“i don’t know, baby. we aren’t all that skilled at it, are we?”

small shoulders shrugged as she looked back at him again, no less deterred, “but it’s fun. i wanna make one with hair on its face like yours.”

a huff fell from his lips, fighting a smile and stepping closer as his eyes fell on the pumpkin that had all but enraptured his kid’s attention. it had to be at least three times the size of her little head, and maybe that was part of the allure to her. no help that the table sat at the heart of diverging paths, perfect place for people to linger, to mull over a direction and then be caught by the seasonal call.

“that’s precisely the kind of skill we’re lacking,” his voice lilted in teasing, hands engulfing her shoulders as he scanned the rest of the stall, offering a polite smile to the man, possibly 20 years his senior, operating it.

evie wriggled beneath his hands, the stubborn streak he knew all too well clasping around the image she had conjured in her head of her father’s face in ridged orange, a brown stem for hair and nothing more. he could see it in the eyes that she narrowed at him, the lips that pillowed, pursed as she gathered her argument behind them.

“we can learn. that’s what ms delaney says when we don’t know how to do something.”

well, fuck him then. not that frankie had any notion to deny her the tradition, but now any argument, jokingly or not, against the wise words of her teacher, and evie would be sure to convey it back to ms delaney come monday morning. so he parted his lips, with absolute caution to appease evie when he caught something within his periphery. sun doused and crinkled into a smile, eyes curious but noninvasive as they took in him and his daughter in their ritualistic stance for challenge. frankie turned his head to look and then all but doubled back at the endearing expression on a face that hitched his breath between his tonsils.

down at a stall just veering off of their current path, a stranger stood, being offered sample cheeses of all varieties, head now turning back to the enthusiastic vendor who offered you another toothpick ladled offering. you smiled again, but this time frankie couldn’t catch the light of the sun in it as he had just seconds prior, but somehow he felt the minor changes, less warm and more polite, acquiescent as you nodded along to the sales pitch presented to you.

the equilibrium of frankie’s body tripped up, something like vertigo overcoming his head as his eyebrows drew tight across his forehead. the breath that left him was shaky and god, it bothered him. the dust of his thoughts had been slow to settle but the smile you had spared him and his daughter had broken through a window and turned it all amber. a complete stranger, tables away and yet something in frankie snagged and pulled. that sorry sap in him taking the first breath, awoken.

a tug at his jeans broke him free, small fists balling the denim as his daughter called for his attention back to her with a pout having formed on her lips with his eyes steered away from her. evie, none the wiser to the slow blinking daze of her father, spoke once again, “we can watch videos on your phone and learn, like how you do with my hair.”

frankie flushed for a multitude of reasons, the final trigger being set off by the man’s soft chuckle behind the table the two of them were still stationed at. it drew a slow exhale from his lungs, his centre finding its axis again as his brows furrowed.

“no need to argue with me, tiny. i never said no, only pointed out how bad last year’s turned out.”

evie’s pout deepened, “even mine?”

shit. foot in mouth found him once again and he quickly shook his head, lowering himself to his haunches as he reached for her hands. his thumbs felt gargantuan against the back of her hands, rubbing soothing circles there, each pass a plea for forgiveness.

“‘course not. yours was perfect. the perfect…”

the huff he drew from her lips with the elliptical tilt of his voice was enough to deepen the heat in frankie’s face, now even more intensely aware of those bright eyes that had found their way back to him and his daughter. “you don’t even remember what it was.”

but he did—could so clearly picture it in his head, the image digitised somewhere in his phone’s album from the abundant photos he had taken. the only problem was that he could not for the life of him make out precisely what evie’s artistic internalised eye had produced onto the pumpkin. a hole he was digging even deeper for himself.

so frankie pleaded, hands playfully shaking up her arms as he did his best to coax a smile from her with his own, “c’mon baby, throw me a hint, hm? do you even remember mine?”

evie’s nose scrunched, balling her cheeks in the way that frankie could never resist swiping his thumb over, and then she shook her head. “just remember it was scary.”

something between a relieved exhale and a tired laugh left his lips, eyes narrowing at her as his fingers flitted beneath her arms until she squealed, squirming and laughing as she shook, doing her uttermost best to escape him.

“scary? that’s the whole point of halloween, you heartless monster! you wanna say that again?”

evie’s laughter rang loud as she squeezed her eyes shut, her body finally slumped against his chest, batting waywardly at his shoulder as she tried to catch her breath. the smile on frankie’s face broadened, hand now clutching her against him as she tilted her head back to look up at him. eyes shiny and tinged with a spark of magic that he hoped he wouldn’t witness fade for a long time yet.

“we can make a better one with this pumpkin. i like it a lot.”

frankie sighed, head dipping, bearded chin grazing her nose as he closed his eyes. consequences finding him as he looked back at his five year old through his lashes, grumbling just slightly in reluctant defeat, “let me think about it. we’ll come back after some hot chocolate, okay?”

after some careful deliberation, evie finally nodded, stepping out of his arms to go back to admiring her prize. frankie took that opportunity to raise back to his full height, chancing a cursory glance back in your direction, once again just missing your eyes. this time, frankie could just about fool himself into believing it was more intentional, you trying to avoid being caught. something he would not afford himself.

instead, he stole the quick seconds he had given himself to drink you in, hair done with a sort of careless effort that spoke more of natural charm, clothes fitting in areas that had his eyes lingering before sweeping off into a flow that billowed just slightly in the brisk pockets of wind that would catch and chase down the paths of the stalls.

frankie swallowed, a knot in his throat before he turned back to evie who had just about made him promise to spend just too much on a singular pumpkin. the little girl had accepted the raw, peeled carrot from the man behind the table they had lingered at for a touch too long, nibbling on the tapered end with a furrow between her brows. a crunch of her succeeding and the images of you dissipated to the backrooms of frankie’s mind.

his daughter scrunched her nose for the second time as she chewed slowly, assessing before she took another bite and he chuckled, a heavy hand returning to her shoulder, “you say thank you, mija?”

evie nodded but then mumbled another ‘thank you’ around her mouthful, of which frankie echoed with a smile at the man before he steered them both further down the marketplace, fighting the newly sprouted want to look back over his shoulder, wandering if your eyes would flick back to them again as well. he reasoned with himself that there was nothing wrong with being attracted to pretty things. gorgeous, charming things that swept across his brain with a whimsy that he had long since felt tickle between his ribs. if anything you had looked at them first, smiling at the exchange with his daughter and ever the protective dad, that gave him the right to look right back at you. assess the danger, make sure beauty wasn’t dulling his senses, so he did just that.

frankie looked over his shoulder, eyes tracking through the litter of people loitering at different tables, searching for that rope that had snagged at something inside of him much too quickly. it took him just a second too long, catching on the same fabric that danced on the breeze and a retreating back, head dipped as your figure grew more distant and he had no choice but to face forward again.

he couldn’t help it—chuckling at himself as he shook his head—that tender boned sap in him hard to quell and dull despite knowing deep within himself that the cotton fluff of those sort of feelings did not wear well on his wound-riddled flesh.

even so, with his hand clasping evie’s again and leading her to a stall serving a number of beverages, frankie smiled to himself with the new memory of the featherlight flutters evoked from fleeting glances. the charm of a smile bathed golden, mystical enough for him to feel spellbound as he dug his wallet from the pocket of his jeans.

small talk was something of autopilot as the vender frothed the milk for evie’s hot chocolate, and yet his mind took another stolen moment to play those visions out again, catching on details he did not want to forget any time soon. the memory of it caught into the cup of his palms felt like it slowed the world around him as he held down the playback button, body seemingly wading through the muddiness of reality to find that gold dusted dream. as frankie sipped on his cappuccino, the foam catching in his mustache and drawing a titter from his daughter, he let the dream-filled images dissipate once more. instead he opted for sticking his tongue out playfully at the little girl that looked up at him with a gleeful sort of secrecy.

“what’s so funny, tiny? huh?” playful glaring eyes stared her down, erupting more of those happy sounds from her.

“you look old.” she stated it so casually that it drew a scoff from frankie, raising a singular brow at her. “your dad is still hip, and i will keep reminding you that even when you threaten to slam bedroom doors and roll your eyes at me.”

oblivious to the foreboding of his words, evie sipped at her paper cup, licking at her lips with each sip. frankie watched for a while, basking in the quiet type of happiness. he brought the back of his hand up to wipe at his mustache as he softly poked at his daughter’s shoulder, smiling when she flicked her big browns back up at him.

“wanna grab a seat for a bit until you finish your drink?” and with a small nod, frankie led them between two stalls to the grassy area scattered a ways off. arranged beneath a good number of sky-blotting trees were tables for families to sit at and enjoy the home hearty meals being served, made with the very produce being sold.

finding a table on the fringe of the grass, frankie pulled the second chair closer to his before evie plopped down, little legs swinging as her full concentration remained on her beverage, barely lifting her head.

with her in a sugar-dusted dream, frankie allowed himself the time to fully take in their surroundings. the corrugated green plastic roofing over each table for just in case the weather turned on its head, the dew that sparkled precariously on the blades of grass amidst his worn boots, some of the moisture having brushed onto the brown leather. it wasn’t unbearably busy, a constant flow of faces down the guided paths, chatter that all funneled into a singular song between jewel toned eggplants, vibrant poppies and earth ripped root vegetables.

one thing he was glad for was the thin zip up hoodie he had wrestled evie into, the breeze prickling at his arms, not quite sharp enough to raise goosebumps in its path but maintaining the threat.

it was a pleasant enough day, made more so by the mouth grinning up at him, darkened cocoa tucked into the corners as evie extended the empty cup to him. his own grin kicked up the apple of his cheeks as his thumb came to his mouth, exaggeratedly licking at the pad of his finger before he moved to wipe away the smudges on her face. evie squealed, shoving at his hand in abhorrent disgust. frankie chuckled as he cooed at her, “but i’m trying to help!”

“not with your spit! daddy, stop it!” little brows furrowed in sheer irritation as she smacked at his hand one final time, blowing out a breath that had his body shaking from amusement.

“alright. just so you know, you’re not rocking a very cute look with all that chocolate smeared over your face.”

sharp eyes with an attitude challenged frankie into raising a singular brow as his daughter’s haughty chin angled upwards, “i’m always cute.”

maybe frankie was raising a little brat, but she was an honest one.

he swung up, hands pressing into his thighs to boost him from his seat, gathering their cups before holding out a hand to evie, “come on then, princess, your pumpkin awaits.”

evie all but dragged him back to that very table where he forked out a number of bills that only just had him flinching before he scooped up the overgrown produce. frankie tucked it into the crook of his arm and held out his free hand for evie to clutch onto as they ambled deeper into the maze strategically laid out to lead back out to the parking area.

it was needed, frankie decided, the lighthearted conversations he had with his little girl, talks of school and her friends and all the toys her mother hadn’t allowed her to pack in that she so badly wanted to bring over to her dad’s. it fulfilled something within the man, a slow pour that leveled out every crevice and crack within him, to have these moments with her, time he mourned over, borrowing grief in the very pit of his darkest hours, so sure he had eviscerated the relationship with his little girl before it even begun.

so he breathed deeper, crisp into his lungs and vapour from his lips, stopping at tables here and there. on a whim, frankie collected a number of ingredients for a recipe he felt would fit the end of their day, a pleased smile wearing at his cheeks as evie skipped around his legs.

it was barely a pause, just a slight jerk of his body when he found himself at the table bearing stacks of wheeled cheeses, plates of cubed samples and the toothpicks with their mini flags of origins. frankie’s eyes roamed over the contents, some childlike part of him wondering which of the samples his dream damning stranger had tried. if you had liked any of them in particular but he quickly shook his head, lips pursed as he sucked air through his teeth and pulled back. evie, clearly the apple of any’s eye, was offered a larger sample for which she grinned at the woman handing it to her, a sweet ‘thank you!’ before she chewed down.

“good?” he asked, amusement wrinkling his eyes.

passionate nods answered him and it was reason enough for him, this time the tap of his card and then the small bag handed over the table. frankie convinced himself heavily it was all for his daughter’s benefit and not at all a part of him taking a tangible, albeit pathetic excuse, of a reminder of you home with him.

the sun had finally found its nook, warmer on the crown of their heads when frankie called it a day, ushering his daughter back onto the winding path to the exit. with arms cradling all the day’s spoils, he had no hand free to hold onto his daughter’s. frankie’s shoulders grew slightly more tense as he led evie back to the parking area, reminding her near constantly to grab ahold of his jeans, to not run ahead, to say close. it was the throng of people that made him anxious, the encroaching area of vehicles they’d have to weave through, just how small his daughter was and the lack of her warm hand in his that made him more vigilant.

only after they had broken away from the last two bracketing tables, did frankie loosen a measured breath, eyes so focused on evie’s little head and the people around them that there was a slight pinch between his shoulder blades. evie clearly felt none of those burdens as she skipped, two feet jumping, playing hopscotch on the last of the paved walkway.

“mija, didn’t i ask you to hold onto me?” frankie sighed, taking a larger step to match her stride again, eyes oscillating between where his daughter was and the carpark drawing closer.

no answer found him, not verbally or in the request that left him at least four times in the last few feet they had walked down. no, instead his daughter inclined for the opposite, skipping ahead of him, singing something beneath her breath. evie was lost to a world of her own, now just out of reach from frankie and spiking at his anxiety.

numerous scenarios played out in his head, all that had his breathing picking up, body bunching muscles as he juggled all the bags he was balancing and the large fucking pumpkin still tucked into his side, cramping up his forearm. frankie picked up his pace as more people weaved in from his periphery and he was still not beside his daughter. he felt the calm of the day find its plunge, cursing viciously within himself as he kept his focus square on the curly head of hair bouncing ahead of him, tightening that skeletal hand’s grip on his heart.

“evie! c’mon baby, not so fast, and watch where you’re-” too late, his warning more of a prophecy as his daughter careened into the back of someone’s legs, stumbling back and landing square on her butt. frankie cussed beneath his breath, picking up his pace as he heaved the pumpkin higher to fight the growing urge to chuck the thing, watching as the stranger turned around, words of apology falling from his lips before he reached the pair.

“i’m so sorry, i’ve been telling her to stay close and she-”

but there again, his sentence caught no conclusion. words drying on his tongue as you, the stowed away daydream he had been batting around in his skull, turned around. you helped evie back to her feet, gentle hands dusting off her knees as your eyes scanned for injuries and then lifted in search of him.

god, frankie felt entirely entombed, captured by your eyes finally meeting his, with intention—no shy dips to your head or fleeting, barely there glances. you were looking at him, looking for him and the reason should have had him knocking some fucking sense into his head but the man felt stumped. his feet had faltered when your bright eyes locked onto him and the whirring of his mind turned to an incessant buzz until his eyes flicked down to his daughter who now stood, wringing her hands in shame.

that surely set him back on course, the earlier anxiety, clutching fear finding a crescendo as he stepped close enough to look down at her. a sigh, deep and long, left his lips as he tried to crouch down to her level, gritting his teeth even harder at the things crowding his arms and stopping him from pulling her into his circle of protection.

“you okay, tiny? hurt anywhere?”

a quick shake of her head, eyes not willing to meet his as she shuffled closer, somehow able to sense frankie’s need to have her near now that she understood what it meant not to be. it was enough for him to lift his own eyes, looking at you and shuffling the bags in his hold awkwardly, before they flitted down back to evie, “you apologise, baby?”

“‘m’sorry.” a voice so small, mumbled as she finally lifted her head. those brown eyes were more shiny, big with the fright she had as she looked up at the gentle stranger who had dusted her knees and spoke soft, reassuring words that frankie was not privy to.

“it’s okay, sweet thing. as long as you’re not hurt, all is forgiven, okay?” the smile on your face, the song of your voice, the slight caution to your stance could have flattened the man before you. a hard knock to his lungs as he blinked at you, more off kilter than he would ever care to admit.

evie nodded, stepping back until she was flush with her father’s legs, finally seeing the necessity of curling those fists into the denim. and then she buried her head there too, mumbling apologies up to frankie as well, that skeletal hand crumbling with the force of the swelling of his heart. he murmured assurances back, wishing even more for the free hand to brush at her hair, allow the weight of his steadiness—however fronted within the current moment—to settle her.

only then did the man finally clear his throat, head turned sideways to gather himself before he looked back at you again, words as clumsy and awkward as his innards felt, “i’m sorry about that, i didn’t plan on getting so much sh-things and i’ve been telling her to hold onto me but i guess we’ll have to clean out her ears when we get home.”

christ, he was rambling. words catching onto the tailend of the last and fumbling out of his mouth, he could only just stop himself from flinching at the unkempt state of himself. frankie could not decide between this little encounter being the absolute death of him or the genius workings of his daughter and her select hearing, either way it was doing a number on his confidence.

but you, you smiled, shaking your head with the same tenderness that had helped his daughter up, and then finally, frankie could pinpoint it. amidst the soft brushed edges of you, there was a shyness, something that kept your frame more closed off, a step back as you took your time to find your own words.

“no, honestly, it’s nothing to fret over. i’m just glad she didn’t get hurt.” and then, as if it took you some time to finally gather the means to, you offered your name, your tone just a touch more airy as you did so.

frankie pinched his lips together to stop himself from murmuring it back, just as airy, maybe more awed and instead he shook himself out of his reverie. he shuffled just a step closer, off the trodden dust to make way for those trying to find their way to the carpark, “i’m francisco, this is my daughter evie. i-i’d give you my hand but…”

your lips tilted up at that, laughing softly as you looked away for a second before meeting his eyes again with mirth dancing in yours, “an ongoing issue for you currently.”

his head dipped, chuckling as his hand twitched to tug at the bill of his cap before he looked up at you, smiling, a growing grin as he nodded.

“not a very put-together first impression i’m giving off, huh?”

your head tilted sideways, a microexpression that pinched at your nose so fast that frankie blinked and believed he must have imagined it because you shook your head, keeping it at that angle as you looked at him with unwavering amusement.

“i wouldn’t worry too much, heard through the grapevine that chaos is in.”

the corner of his mouth twitched with the breadth of his grin, “yeah i don’t know, might have to check your sources.”

frankie tried to keep his eyes at an appropriate level on your face as you rolled your lips between your teeth, blinking at him with a bashful expression that did nothing to help the dishevelled state of himself, “you’re speaking to the sources.”

the laugh that left him was enough to jolt evie’s head up to look at him, and he felt caught, like he was doing something in front of his daughter he shouldn’t. he felt the flush crawl up his neck as he cleared his throat, ears hot as he let out a rush of air and met your gaze. the lapse of silence seemed to dance between the two of you, something grazing, evanescent as he shifted his weight between his feet.

“anyways, i don’t wanna hold you up anymore that our bout of chaos has already. again, i’m sorry about that.”

you shook his words off with more conviction this time, something more wilful as you straightened, “stop apologising, francisco, really. everything’s fine. do you-do you need help with that maybe?” you gestured to the current bane of his existence, eyes softer with the offer than the prefix of it.

frankie mimicked your earlier answer, shaking his head as he tried to forget the roll of your tongue and the lilt of your voice that curled around his name. he was floundering, hopeless and down right pitiful, with the lick of attention from someone attractive, and kind, and witty. jesus christ.

“again, i don’t want my chaos to border on pain-in-the-ass territory, but i really appreciate the offer.” oh and he hoped you heard the sheer sincerity in his voice, not at all meaning to brush you off. but frankie knew all too well that any longer in your presence and he would surely make an unrecoverable fool of himself.

thankfully, you acquiesced, the dip of your chin acknowledging as you smiled at him again, “well it was really nice meeting you, francisco. and you too, evie.”

evie blinked up at you, little head now pulled away from his jeans as she smiled at you, just as shy as she had been when you held her hands, crouched before her, “you’re really pretty.”

the flush in your cheeks and the slight widening of your eyes could have had the man nudging his daughter to say, what he wouldn’t dare to say, again. he could see it so clearly now, the slight rounding of your shoulders as you curled into yourself, the way your body angled away from the both of them as you forced off a laugh to brush away the compliment.

“not as pretty as you, though,” you offered warmly, winking at his daughter who now giggled into the leg of his jeans, giddy from your words.

“it was nice to meet you too, i hope you enjoy the rest of your weekend, less chaotic incidents hopefully.”

the shift was subtle, the innate movement of a limb if anything, the way your skirting edges caught the tide to push against him one final time, eyes holding his with intent and your smile more playful, something to chip away at his deprecation as you shifted your foot a step back, “hmm i don’t know, don’t have any complaints on this one.”

you retreated then, still facing them but smiling at the unguarded surprise on his face as you slowly inched away and to the carpark.

“i’ll see you around, francisco.”

only then, after the third iteration of his name in that voice that teasingly brushed down the pearls of his spine, did frankie realise. the omission, the secondary statement, always tagged to his introduction, the frankie mostly. sometimes, it was the sole introduction offered if anything and yet, that niggling, unswayed part of him that he had done his best to shrivel and shrink away from reality had offered you his full name, no abbreviated moniker. more him and less the pliable putty with stretched and fading thumbprints in the dents and dimples of him.

“yeah, you too,” he said, albeit too softly as you finally turned on your heels and left the two of them behind.

as he called down to evie, soft words nudging her forward, to be more careful and not let go, frankie couldn’t shake the incantation of your voice in his head. note driven francisco’s that looped in his head as he did his best to safely navigate back to his truck, his arms weight now dumped into the bed of his truck so he could get evie seated and strapped in.

with the key turning in his ignition, frankie blinked slowly, unseeing out of his windshield, so undecided on whether it was better or worse to have a more lasting memory of you. beneath his breath, he whispered your name, shaking his head frustratedly at himself.

worse, so much worse, he concluded as he finally shifted into gear, and inched his way from the parking area. that he knew your name, the sound of your voice saying his and the oceanic allure of your being playing out before him. the last thing he needed was his brain snagging there, on the illusive stranger that had awakened a kiddish type of wonder within him, now with a name, a smile and lilting that had creaked open the door with invitation.

i’ll see you around, francisco.

but god, that statement felt like the end of him and the beginning of something a lot less solid than the putty he knew his vessel to be.

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butterfly-musings · 5 months ago

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𐙚 lessons in pottery

summary: francisco morales is pliable; bent out of shape by too many impatient and greedy hands. he has resigned himself to the indentures of failures, doing his best to lay down something solid and steady for his daughter, for the pieces of him he is trying to remodel. the only issue with being as mutable as francisco is that hiding the more tender areas of him is exceedingly difficult and your unanticipated appearance comes to prove just how vulnerable he is.

pairing: frankie morales x reader rating: mature tags: strangers to friends, friends to lovers, extreme fluff, no use of y/n, nondescript reader, canon convergent, post-movie plot, girl dad!frankie, his lady is in fact history, allusions substance misuse and bordering addictions (past), off-page harassment (from nondescript character), mature language, slowish burn, reader and frankie are just too cautious i want to shake them both (lovingly), frankie needs a hug, appearance of triple frontier characters, will oh will my sweetheart, original characters, additional tags to be added ! status: ongoing

a/n: hello hi don't ask me how i got here, it just happened <3 first frankie fic so do be gentle i'm fragile and haven't done something this lengthy in a hot minute. as for an update schedule, i'll figure out my pacing after uploading the second chapter!

masterlist

chapter one ; and this terracotta body

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butterfly-musings · 6 months ago

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so ....i might start writing malec related things

#had a dream i wrote a fic about malec #now its on my brain 24/7 #malec

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butterfly-musings · 7 months ago

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it’s a contained rowdiness, the gathered friends within the circle of conversation. you’re sat beside him, having geared up for the past 5 minutes to slip away to the bathroom, but said conversation keeps you there. it’s animated, the micro expressions on your face display only the sunniest of dispositions and simon’s hand lingers on your thigh.

thick fingers knead gently, dimpling into you, and it flattens the tides within him into the gentle lapping at the shoreline. he’s nodding along to the words dancing over to him and yes, he’s half paying attention but that remainder flickers his eyes to you. time and again, enjoying hearing your voice in the rise and fall of your train of thoughts, the open expression, shiny lips parted and eyes bright and then, your laugh. it kicks up the corner of his mouth and his lashes flutter ever so slightly at the sound—once again taken by you, looped into the thrall you have on him.

finally, you rise from your seat, inching off of it with a reluctance. you’re as trapped as he is within this pocket, warmed and broken in with companionship, joy. when you stand, you take a singular step and it brings you into the bracket of his spread legs.

simon’s hand relocates with your movement, fingers now brush strokes, up and down, in lazy maneuvers over the back of your leg, dipping lower still. in a world of his own, mind lulled by the sensation of your jeans against the tips of his fingers. and you, unbothered by his ministrations, still talking, laughing, hands now more part of the conversation with your new stance.

simon exhales slowly, fingers catching in the crook behind your knee, pointer finger singling out as he swipes back and forth slowly, curling at the end with the minimized want to tug you in deeper, further into the cradle of his legs. when his eyes flick up again, they find a pair of eyes, smiling, knowing as the tumbler is brought to lips beneath for a slow sip. he blinks slowly, three remaining fingers curling now as the want solidifies and finds weight in a need.

garrick smiles, dips his head in understanding before he turns and his lips begin to move, attention now fully focused on the captain beside him but none of it, the barely there exchange, the shift of your muscles as you shuffle your feet or the ongoing commotion around him can untether simon from the vortex he has opened within the pocket. a space smaller yet and solely his, his where he paints you in with roughened fingertips, unpolished skills that try desperately to capture the softness of you.

it’s enough, he thinks, that you’re unshaken, unstirred by the hand that clasps your leg with the sudden clinginess that stings and twitches in his chest, a nerve pinched, bent out of shape. it’s enough until your hand drops, blindly seeking without a break of flow in your babbling and there. four fingers brand him and the fifth seals the circle. it’s not in protest, it doesn’t ask for reprieve, instead it answers. the question he is barely able to curl the tip of his tongue around and yet you answer.

wait, hold on—need to slip away for a second, he hears you say over the tinny quality his mind has hazed all the noise into but your hand, it squeezes, and slips away with reluctance, the tips just tickling as they feather away from his wrist and then you’re looking down at him, blinking softly at simon with words so unspoken but clearly heard.

you slip away then, well over nine minutes after you’d first expressed the need to find the bathroom and even so, snaking through the crowd of the pub, your chin tips over your shoulder to find his eyes again. a smile, with a mouthful of words tucked into the seam of lips that have pressed against every inch of his brutalized and broken body, finds him again and then, the mouthing of three little words.

only satisfied with the crinkling of his eyes and the tip of his chin do you finally face forward again and slip around the corner tucked away at the back of the building.

the many languages he has come to learn within the reverence of you peppers his skin with warm filled ghost touches, and yet those three words in plain english burn brightest at the core of him. unearths him and plants him in enriching soil. when simon leans back in his chair, the wood groaning as he does so, he goes to pick up his drink, ice dwindling and diluting the bourbon. his fingers twitch as does the corner of his mouth when the glass’s rim greets his bottom lip.

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butterfly-musings · 7 months ago

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To Have And To Hoard

here's a silly little idea i've been flirting w and plaguing @butterfly-musings with for a bit <33 i really need to work on chapter 3 of deal breaker and there are a bunch of other price related things i wanna start putting together good grief

{ captain john price x gn reader ; maybe our captain is a little,,, unsettling :) }

he's perfect. you decidedly cannot find a singular reason not to give it a chance at a serious relationship with john. you've been going on dates with the man for well over four months now, you can feel the telltale niggling within the cavity of your chest and it's so fruitless to keep up this hesitance. so you plunge, deep and dark and god, you were not prepared for the intensity.

you started telling your friends about three weeks into talking to john, something fragile and hesitant making your voice small and a touch dismissive. you blamed the fear that was inexplicable but omnipresent for all your time around the man. it was never a fear of him but it niggled endlessly within your skull in his presence.

john price is just too perfect of a gentleman. he takes his time getting to know you, always meeting your eyes for permission before his hands ever touch you and only kissing you almost three months into the constant dates and sweet talk. you want to blame it on uncertainty, unsteady footing but john does not allow that either. he makes sure you are well and truly aware of his intentions.

marriage. to live and die together.

he says it in such a cavalier manner, war worn eyes drooping in his warm smile as he looks at you, "i've no more time to play coy, luv. death's door sits metres from my own front door and at the very least, i'll go out knowing i had the capacity to be loved."

you learn quickly on that no one can diffuse destruction quite like john price, because those words keep you from fleeing the picnic blanket he had laid out in the park not too far from his home.

that afternoon, you do not offer him the reassurance that you would meet him at the altar within the future. you smile at him with understanding, lean over to kiss at his cheek just above the grain of his beard when he apologises for dampening the mood but no words come to make promises to fulfill that for him.

john doesn't mention it either, folding the picnic blanket and putting it back into the basket before he helps you shake out your shoes, warm, large palms helping you put them back on. on his haunches, he looks up at you and that smile is no different from the day you met at the farmer's market, eyes taking in the handmade beaded bracelets as he bumped into you, same hands steadying as he smiled and pardoned himself.

your lack of response does not deter the man that kisses the tip of each finger of the hand he cradles in his own, only rising to his full height when you look down at him with fright edged adoration. no, john pulls you into his chest and soothes you as the panic throbs within the heat of your blood, head dizzy and eyes blinking rapidly. john does not invite you over to his that evening, instead walking you back to your own place with a quietness that gives you the room to process.

you've barely even made this relationship something official, the words always creeping over each of your shoulders in the lapse of whispered conversations, eyes weighed down with the tension of will we, won't we? and when you close the door behind you for the night, leaned against it for a good while, you realise that the final answer is set to fall from the tip of your tongue.

an answer that john shows no inclination to prying from you for the days to follow, but your thoughts are hellhounds at chase. you're barely there with him at the little bistro you've introduced him to, the foam of his cappuccino a clinging stripe on his moustache and it quirks a smile at the corner of your mouth but there is a disconnect between your hand that twitches at the table and your intent to wipe it away. synapses miss their mark and you buffer, lag until he gently calls your name with a hand clasping your twitching one on the table.

"i want to make this official." the words leave your lips but your brows furrow, the misalignment in you having you squirm in your seat when john's eyes focus on yours, unblinking.

"do you?" his voice holds no hardness, there is no accusation in the timbre but you flinch nonetheless and flit your eyes down to your combined hands.

you have to think, concentrate really hard to gather the shards of your mind that have been splintered for days and weeks, the sharp edges making you hiss in the haste to fit it all back together. you snag and bleed and blink away the tears borne of frustration.

your feelings for john are building with a rapid pressure that pushes at your ribcage, it stretches your skin until its hot to the touch and this revelation, this path he has opened before the two of you blinks in the far distance. john swung open a boom gate with his proclamation and the beam of it hangs heavy overhead even on the precipice of this budding relationship.

but you want this. you want him. at the very least, you want this chance to fulfill the love he longs for to bring him home and you are well above the capacity to do so, you can feel it within that pressure threatening to shower your being as misplaced confetti in this corner bistro.

"i do," you tell him with more conviction, eyes finding a darkened blue, the smile on his face so pleased, the edges are laced with something you cannot put a finger on. it's not lost on you that your choice of words feed into dangerous territory, a promise you have no foresight of making so instantaneously. but the words are swimming between the two of you, kept afloat with suspended tension and you dry swallow as you watch that smile on john's face not budge an inch.

"yeah?" john breathes out finally, his big paw squeezing yours with the word, "ready to go steady with me, luv?"

something in that question bats away at the sharp edges bordering your mind, closing in and it all falls away with the hearth's warmth in those words. going steady, yes, that's exactly what you picture with the man across you, turning the sands of time to a thicker, sweeter substance to coat your lips for his kisses.

and suddenly, marriage doesn't doom at your door at the light of the next dawn, the pressure of a yes and golden band locked on your finger is not at your heels, but rather a cotton-like dream that hazy eyes that wake to john beside you see before consciousness creeps in with the daylight.

your smile spreads, beating wings of butterflies and summer is golden in your bloodstream as you feel the ease of this stable step forward, hand clutched in john's as you nod, and then again with more vigour.

"i like the sound of that quite a lot."

your now boyfriend, leans forward, midsection pressing into the edge of the table all to get closer to you with a satisfaction that brims in his eyes and catches in the crow's feet as he speaks again, softer, deeper, "so do i."

it's bliss, your life from that afternoon forward feels like a motion picture capture of the definition of falling in love, with you brushing your finger through the air before you countless of times to test just how real you are. fingers wriggle, eyes blink rapidly and your smile does not leave your face.

hours spent with john is filled with warmth, giggles resound and kisses linger on your skin like fine mist that rejuvenates you continuously.

every morning you awaken with the knowledge that you made the right decision and it starts to throb within you when john has to slip away from you barely two weeks thereafter.

your tears spill and you apologise for them as you cling to him and he shushes you, soft murmurs of "i know, sweetheart, i know" against the crown of your head as he holds you and swears to you that it won't be long, that where he can, he'll contact you, that knowing you are waiting for him will burn him until his return.

john leaves before the sun finds the horizon the following morning and you mope about your place for the the first few days, your emotions heightened and sharpened as you cling to your phone. it takes 5 days before you hear from him and you cry again, eyes blurred to your screen as you reread the short message. the breath that follows is large and all encompassing as you quickly reply and whisper words to the quiet of the night.

the 22 days of john being away eats bite sizes out of you, but there is a feeling that grows in the places of you that erodes, it pulses within the hollows of you and you try not let those slippery words leave your mouth too soon, though they make a home for themselves in the hollow of your cheeks as you haunt your own doorway, eyes locked on the wall clock near your kitchen.

when the knock comes, you're hyperventilating, hands shaking so badly that you struggle with the door handle, cussing harshly until you can swing it open and just about knock yourself down on your ass in the process, but all of that is obsolete when your eyes wash over john. drained, haunted john who braces himself against the door frame and smiles at you, eyes so tender it melts into the dark smudges beneath and you choke out a sob as you scramble up and into him.

john lets out an oaf with the force of you grabbing at him, fingers numbing as you dig into the utility jacket he is wearing and you sob into the crook of his neck. your toes leave the topsy balance you have on the ground as john lifts you and gathers you closer.

"missed you. missed you s'much, you sweet thing," he mutters brokenly and you just have the wherewithal to swallow the fluffed out, cloying words you stuffed into your cheeks and instead return the same words to him with the equal aggression.

your boyfriend crosses the threshold of your home and somehow manages to close the door without letting you go and you laugh unabashedly at the need that keeps the two of you physically tethered.

the couch greets the both of you next, shifting back with the force of john throwing himself down into the cushions, you gathered onto his lap as his eyes drink you in greedily.

"god," he murmurs, lips parted and his eyes barely seem lucid but you can’t find the will to care because you understand, you are hanging by a thread yourself as your hands cup his cheeks and you kiss at him. small, quick pecks all over his face until his eyes close, the reverie broken and he sighs, slumping further into the couch with a heavy boned relief.

"are you hurt anywhere?" you finally gather the cognisance to ask, slightly pulling back to look him over again but he protests, shaking his tired head as he raises his hands to clutch at your shoulders and hoard you back to his chest.

"no, no sweetheart. just.. stay right here for a bit, yeah?" no protests come from you when you rest your head against his chest and there, that heartbeat beneath you, now within you, finds its twin and reality feels tangible to you again.

time is irrelevant. it does not find a ledge within either of your minds as you take in being together again, sands coalesce once again, barely solid, barely liquid as you mould it in your trembling hands to feel john once again.

"i'll fucken retire, i swear it, luv. don't think i could be put through those days without you again." you make a sound, nondescript as it is, it's all you can manage as you kiss over that heartbeat.

one warm, large hand lifts from your back, cups your cheek and pushes away at the hair irritating your eye and you smile, opening them to look up at him and then, there is a glint that makes you freeze.

your body grows stiff, solid and cold within bare seconds as your widened eyes leave john's face to turn in his palm, and drop to the band there. solid gold, shiny and new on the thick ring finger of his left hand and your breath splutters out of you like a dying flame.

you can't find words, can barely wet your tongue to talk, to scream and demand answers even as you struggle to feel your limbs as they become a deadweight on a married man.

a married man you had been crying for, devastated and broken as you longed for him for 22 days.

"john?" it cracks from your chest as your heart finally recovers from the shock, kicking up and suddenly you're scrambling up and away, teeth chattering, "what the fuck is that?"

god, it breaks you, breaks you because now you're wrecking a home, a blemish, dark ink spilled on a marriage certificate, signed by him and another and you, you ruining it. you blot out the faithfulness, the fidelity and mar it until it's no longer reparable.

john doesn't react like a guilty man, and it nauseates you, bile bitter and acidic at the back of your throat as you look at him on the crumbling hinge of your mind. he doesn't tense beneath you, barely blinks as he looks at you and then slowly to the ring on his finger. he smiles.

you just about swallow down the gag at the look on his face, almost condescendingly pitiful, head tilted and tired eyes that say, "oh you daft thing."

"john." you say again, no more stronger, but the fraying of your mind is clear in the shrill of your voice.

infidelity glares in your eye when the ring catches the light again as he moves it to cup your cheek again, but you dodge and glare at him, shifting back but still not off of his lap. fool, fool, dirty home wrecking fool, your head chastises you and you swallow the guilt, the disgust even as you stay where you are. and you ask yourself, why? why can you not leave his lap? why can you not pull away completely when the evidence is there? a ring you have never seen before, so shiny, so glaringly obscene on his finger and you stay there, within his reach.

"luvvie-"

you don't give him the chance, a screech of your voice crackles through the air, "you're married?!"

your supposed boyfriend laughs at you, head bowing forward as he does and the panic rises again, fierce and encompassing.

"of course i am, sweetheart." and there, that smile again, one that tells you, you should know better but you don't, you can't, nothing is making sense to you.

your expression portrays that for you clearly, because john sighs with exasperation as his arms loop around you and he uses his strength to muffle your protests as he pulls you closer and back into his chest.

"don't look at me like that," he says placatingly as he rubs at your back and you swear that the ring on his finger sears into you with each graze of it across your back, a whimper building among the bile at the back of your throat, "can't you see how new this thing is?"

you don't deign to answer the question, your eyes are faraway over his shoulder, burning into the front door you had opened with such excitement, it had nearly floored you. if only you had known what you had been opening your door to.

"look at me," and there's a command in john's voice that snaps your head to his, eyes rounded and a new thundering in your chest as the edges that had closed in on you at the bistro all those weeks ago come back. they dig in with vengeance, refusing to be batted away this time and your thumb nails it down then, the ominous cloud that followed the pair of you, building heavy and present whenever you stepped within john's vicinity.

but the man still smiles at you, eyes sharp, ocean storm blue and lips a slash instead of a rounded curve and you feel it, the drumming, the encroaching pressure of tectonic plates shifting to erupt.

"i ordered it just before i got the call, luvvie. i'm married to you, and i needed to make sure everyone is aware of it."

#A MENTION IM GIGGLING AND TWIRLING A PIECE OF MY HAIR EHHEHE #oh im eating so good rn #FAWK

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