┊MIDNIGHT.

parker didn’t break the rules. that was her thing. she was good, ol’, reliable parker dubios––boring, maybe, but consistent, and she had learned the importance of consistency from her parents from the ripe age of eleven. she liked to think that she had just been born with an old soul, but nights like these ( moments with frankie ) made her wonder if years of tucking her mother in after a night of drunken crying and making sure that she woke up for work in the morning conditioned her into the person she was today. 

still. she was feeling a little reckless, a little like she was driving on black ice, a little like she wanted to spin out of control ( or maybe spin into something cute and paint-splattered ). “i told you,” parker grinned and tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear, “i’m straight-up corrupt. you should quiver with fear in my presence.”  

she glanced around frankie’s studio, trying to appear only mildly interested––y’know, like a normal person––but she couldn’t help but try to memorize every little detail like she was in microbiology and she analyzing a foreign species of fungi…but in a cute way. parker wrinkled her nose at herself and quickly forced her lips into a bright grin, “what about an autograph? for when you’re famous and i’m broke?” 

“mm, yeah. you’re SO scary, i’m shaking,” frankie hummed, the corners of her lips curling in amusement and betraying whatever semblance of being serious she had attempted to maintain in her words. parker was probably one of the least frightening people that frankie had ever met and, somehow, also one of the scariest — for lack of a better word — relationships that frankie had ever attempted to get a handle on. 

parker wasn’t scary because she was tough and corrupt, no matter how many times she tried to claim it, no. the reality of it was that parker was SOFT, and that was what frightened frankie the most. parker was fragile and frankie had never learned how to be gentle with her touches, her words, her intentions. her hands were built for having calloused palms and spending hours scraping and prying at scrap metal or concrete walls in place of canvases. and, yet, when it was parker in question, she found herself thinking about holding her hands instead of pinning her wrists above her head. her experiences with PASSION always left her feeling cold enough to have frostbite, but parker was warm. 

and frankie didn’t know what to do with all of it, with ANY of it, except spend as much time as she could dodging the inevitable fact that she’d end up hurting parker. and that was what was scary. 

she pulled herself from her thoughts when she heard parker’s words, scoffing lightly to herself as she returned to the wall she’d been painting, dipping her brush into her paint and slowly working streaks of teal into the cacophony of cool-toned colors that had already began melting together. “artists are never rich OR appreciated until after they’red dead, park. i highly doubt my autograph will be of any use to you,” she teased, knowing that those words were far easier to say than to admit she was almost one-hundred-percent certain she’d end up in jail before she ended up successful in anything. “but if it’s what you REALLY want... who am i to deny you?”

when the lights flickered out, he had all reasons ( and good ones ) to think he should’ve stayed home instead. as if the pseudo-walk-of-shame featuring the eyes of the entirety of st.etienne wasn’t enough already, now there was this whole drop of any form of illumination that was worthy of being counted as one of horror movies’ biggest and most used trope…and he wanted none of it. he clearly was on the verge of panicking but he was keeping himself planted on his spot on the bleachers, bottling everything inside because objectively, no one would care for someone who was constantly being put at the same level with ( accidental ? ) murderers. he was pretty sure he could even drop dead himself and no one would give a flying shit –nails digging against his upper arms and teeth biting his lower lip so hard it started bleeding, feeling a deafening ring to his ears that wanted him to crawl as far as possible from that place –that town, even.

in retrospect, frankie PROBABLY should have been a lot more freaked out by the whole power outage thing than she was. if she had any common fucking sense, maybe she would have been, but it was like everyone said — she was all wasted potential, or whatever, so she was more unfazed than anything else. in fact, her expression was more one of AMUSEMENT than of anything else. especially when the lights came back on to reveal none other than holden fucking woods being dragged away in handcuffs. “it’s about fucking TIME something interesting happened in this stupid fucking game,” frankie clapped her hands appreciatively, pointedly ignoring the way that the people around her began to shoot incredulous, disdainful, judging, et cetera glares in her direction. it wasn’t like she had anything to HIDE, let them think what they wanted. her gaze focused in on the figure of inseong a row in front of her, looking absolutely petrified. and, well, frankie wasn’t really the kind of person cut out for comforting people, per say, so instead she extended her leg forward and pressed the toe of her boot into his back, only hard enough to get his attention without actually hurting him. “aw, don’t tell me you’re scared of the dark,” she shook her head, leaning her chin forward on her hand. and, if she was being honest, being scared of the dark might have actually been a better secret of inseong’s to be revealed than — well, that wasn’t her judgement to pass, was it? “c’mon, lighten up. a rich, white boy just got taken away in handcuffs, how often does THAT happen? nothing short of a christmas miracle come early.”

17: ever made out in the bathroom?

“what do i look like? the fucking virgin mary? yes, OBVIOUSLY i’ve made out in a bathroom.” 

20: where was the last place you snogged someone?

“in my shop. the garage. right up against my work table. next question.”

30: what’s irritating you right now? 

“i mean… aside from the fact that there’s still a literal fucking psychopath trying to play god with all of our lives or some shit? i’d say i’m feeling pretty calm, cool, and collected today. thanks for asking.”

to find frankie in the garage was NEVER really something out-of-the-ordinary. it was kind of like one of the unwritten laws of the universe — if you’re ever looking for frankie, check the garage first. to find frankie in the garage in the unspeakably late hours of the night was just as common of an occurrence now that sleeping for more than a handful of hours, if she was LUCKY, was apparently off the table. what was great. she didn’t sleep anyway. 

having someone ELSE show up at the garage in the middle of the fucking night, however, was not as common. and, quite honestly, it scared the SHIT out of her for a few minutes — as evidenced by the way she had one of her paint-covered hands wrapped around a whole-ass crowbar as she hoisted the garage door up, prepared to strike. except, it wasn’t a murderer, as far as she was aware. “parker?” she lifted an eyebrow, the panic on her features quickly giving way to some kind of hybrid between amusement and surprise. “huh. well, shit. maybe you DO have a bad girl streak in you, after all.” which, okay, frankie technically HAD told her that she could come keep her company if she wanted, but she’d only been half-serious. not because she didn’t want parker to come, but because she didn’t think that parker WOULD. 

“i’m back here,” she flashed a grin, nodding her head in the direction of the back room — her makeshift studio — the haphazard bun on top of her head jolting with the movement. “also, you should know that i don’t USUALLY let people back here. so, like, no flash photography and no video recording.”

it had never occurred to parker that frankie would ever think that she wasn’t anything other than breathtaking ( literally, parker really had needed a moment away from her gaze to breathe ) because she thought that it was an universal fact. even in the simple things, like the arch of her spine, the shine of her hair, the hollow of her collarbones, there was an aura of poetry. it made sense that she was an artist because she was the kind of person who inspired people to create. if parker were better with words, she might try to write her a poem––in a completely platonic way, of course. she appreciated frankie’s effortless beauty like she appreciated art. it wasn’t sexual, obviously.

parker glanced back at frankie, following her gaze towards the cheerleaders jumping around in front of the field, and then looked back at her lap, wondering why someone like frankie was ever talking to her. people like her, people like danny––people who were so magnetic they created their own gravitational pulls––they didn’t belong with someone like her, someone who only revolved around them with the rest of the unremarkable planets. “i was surprised to see you here,” she hummed, drumming her fingers on top of her thighs. she looked at frankie again and smiled softly, “not that i’m complaining; you just don’t seem like the ‘rah-rah school spirit’ type.” she laughed and brushed her hair out of her eyes, crossing her legs and shaking her head slightly. there was a reason that she felt more comfortable around women; men had yet to evolve from their neanderthal ancestors in a lot of ways. her thoughts flitted to some of her past step-fathers for a moment before she quickly shoved them back into their carefully sealed box inside of her head. “funny, i’ve always found the pants to be the major selling point.” 

she tilted her head and scanned the field for danny before giving up with a soft sigh. “i’m starving,” she said suddenly, turning to face frankie. “do you want to get out of here?” 

frankie’s lips curled a fraction in amusement, giving a minute nod to validate parker’s admission of being surprised she was there. “yeah, it surprised me, too,” she turned her gaze a fraction to glance in parker’s direction, lips still quirked in a slight smile. “risky decision. but i’d say that it paid off well-enough, don’t you think?” parker wasn’t wrong for being surprised. she was NEVER one for school spirit of any kind, rarely able to be dragged from her few designated comfort zones — the garage, the studio, the junkyard, any place where her company was less human and, therefore, less judgmental. she wasn’t a fan of big crowds of people with eyebrows knitted together as they offered her disdainful stares. and, like, she KNEW that she didn’t even come close to meeting the vision of pretty perfection that places like ashmont and the people that made them up desired. no, what they wanted were pretty and quiet girls like alice kibler, girls with money dripping from their hands like angel flores, girls who were perfect at what they did like margo colby — or, in special situations, girls like daisey rutherford who had it ALL. 

and frankie rivera? frankie rivera had absolutely none of it. she could never be the pretty, shining star that would equate to her deserving any kind of respect from the everyday ashmont working man. so, more often than not, she preferred to stay where they couldn’t reach her. the only thing that could coax her out and away from her safety net was the promise of a reward as high as the risk it followed. not that being seen as the monster trying to seduce poor, sweet parker dubois would help her reputation, any, but at this point it wasn’t like anything could really HURT it, either. and it wasn’t really like she cared what anyone THOUGHT her intentions were, as a general rule. so.

then parker turned, sudden and abrupt, with the question of ‘ do you wanna get out of here ? ’  — which, on its own, was kind of a lot to hear come out of parker’s lips in the way that left frankie with absolutely NO control over the way an incredibly satisfied smirk crossed over her features and words began to fall from her lips before she could think to stop the. “well shit, parker, is that a LINE you’re using on me? i’m scandalized,” she teased, only realizing after she’d already said them that they’d probably make the girl panic. “that was a joke,” she amended, standing and offering her hand to parker despite the fact that she needed no assistance in rising to her feet. “we both know that’s my job. where to?”

“ if i wanted the rich boys, i wouldn’t be here right now, would i ? ” she protested, pushing her lower lip out into a pout. “ you’re exactly the opposite of a rich boy in, like, all the best ways. and you’re so much prettier than them, anyway. ” vi had already resorted to actually batting her lashes, despite the fact that frankie had mentioned that exact tactic not even a minute ago. “ and i very well know it’s the epitome of heterosexual culture. that’s why i need you there, to make it just a little more bearable. it’s like you don’t even want to understand my plight ! ” genuinely, vi couldn’t really give less of a fuck about her obligations to the gsa stand. there were other members who would certainly be there, and if she missed out on it, so be it. this whole charade was more about the act of convincing frankie to go along with what she wanted; or, perhaps, frankie convincing her to do otherwise. she wasn’t averse to the idea. in fact—

“ here’s how i see it, ” she said, running a finger along the body of one of frankie’s oh-so-precious cars, glancing up at her. as much as she loved lounging and watching frankie at work, she hadn’t come here to play dumb and have the petite brunette explain cars to her ( though she’d enjoyed just that on more than one occasion ). vi had a much different mission in mind, one she knew was guaranteed for success. “ either i convince you to go, or you convince me to stay. ” vi tilted her head charmingly, a playful smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. it seemed to say come and get me. “ so… convince me. ”

there was something so very satisfactory about the way that vi highlighted how different she was to all the rich boys that vi had wrapped around her dainty fingers. she could have been with any one of them — oz, or danny, or noah, with their fast cars and their expensive clothes — but instead she was with HER, and making it seem like the preferable option. and, well, she certainly thought that her company was preferable to any of those pretty boys with empty heads, but it was still a nice boost to her ego to hear vi say the same. not that her ego really NEEDED any boosting, at this point. “oh, poor baby. having to go to the football game, must be so hard for you,” she cooed, having to exert an almost shameful amount of effort so that she DIDN’T cave on the spot and give vi everything she wanted. she was a bit of a menace like that, too convincing for frankie’s own good. 

frankie had dark eyes and ridiculously long lashes. that was the first thing parker noticed about her back when she was a tiny, little freshman with her arms tightly over her notebook––but that didn’t make her gay. because she wasn’t. she wasn’t gay. she liked boys. she liked their strong arms, and sharps jaws, and broad shoulder. another, stranger parker whispered in her ear: you like frankie’s soft features, the pitch of her voice, the way she swings hips when she walks. okay, okay, but those things were superficial. and danny’s abs aren’t?  

parker blinked away strange parker and smiled softly at the grin on frankie’s lips. this is why she got in trouble. finding her laughing, under the stars, grinning at everything she said––so parker said a lot. she babbled, and frankie always remained cool, calm, and collected. parker wondered, for a moment, if she missed out on some sort of class on love, and sex, and being a normal fuckin’ person because sometimes it felt like everyone was in on a joke she didn’t understand. 

speaking of babbling––parker’s brain sputtered as frankie’s fingertips barely brushed over her skin; they were gentle sirens, coaxing her into a long fall, coaxing her into the water to drown. parker felt like she was drowning, felt like she was gasping for breath as something beyond her control pulled her under. she realized, with a jolting start, that frankie was implying that she wanted parker to have the right idea. her cheeks flushed from a pretty peony to scarlet as she buried her nose into the rose in attempt to disappear off of the face of the earth. “they are very delicate,” parker hummed, tucking her bottom lip between her teeth as she grinned slightly. “it comes from years of mario kart defeat, a real psychological complex.” sighing softly, she shrugged her shoulders slightly and tried not to smirk, “i suppose that means i have no choice but to keep it. i’ll cherish it always.” knowing parker, and her overtly sentimental tendencies, she probably would. she set the flower on her lap and tucked her fingers underneath her thighs to deter the itch to brush frankie’s hair out of her eyes. “i don’t understand football,” she added, turning her gaze back to the field with a small frown. “what’s so entertaining about watching a bunch of guys running after a ball? i mean, you can’t even tell if they’re cute from here.”     

frankie had been told, on more than one occasion and by more than one person, that she had a very intense gaze. and, really, she figured that was what she deserved, since the universe decided to give her an attitude twice the size of the body that she came in — tragically never growing past five feet tall. no matter how many stretches she did or how hard she tried to straighten her back, the only thing she ever got from it all was absolutely impeccable posture and the admittedly useful ability to nearly fold herself in half.  so, really, it was only FAIR that she had some way to assert her dominance, if not by being able to tower over anyone, then at least by being able to offer them an unwavering, soul-piercing kind of gaze when she DID manage to catch their eye.

that being said, frankie was fully aware of the way that her gaze made people squirm when they were fixed under it for too long. and though it was a tool, or a weapon depending on how you looked at it, she often used to her own advantage, she also knew when she needed to let up. she took the way that parker seemed to try and bury her face in the flower petals as an unspoken signal, her gaze drifting over to the field where parker turned the conversation so that the girl could have a chance to BREATHE. 

“i don’t either, but i’m hardly the person to ask. football belongs to the heterosexuals of the world, i’m just here for the cheerleaders.” she replied, leaning back in her seat, as her gaze drifted to said cheerleaders for a brief moment. just long enough to admire them. and, like, it wasn’t like she had anything against men, not seriously. in reality, she preferred not to box herself into any label regarding her own sexuality, which just made more sense to her because of how fluid it all was, but she had her preferences. “well, i mean. they’re probably NOT all that good looking,” she shrugged, stealing another second to glance over at parker, who was still watching the field. she knew full-well that she was biased, that was the thing. how could she, really in good conscience, think about how attractive ANYONE was when parker was right there? for a moment, she revisited the idea that, maybe, she acted the way she did with everyone because she wanted someone to think of her like that — but that was far too deep of a question for her to face at the present. “some of them are, i’m sure, but all the violence of contact sports makes me feel like the entirety of it was designed to appeal to some mysterious instinct that we had back when our ideal mate was someone who could fight off a saber-tooth tiger.”

parker hadn’t been to church in over three years, not since she moved out from her mom’s apartment, so she wasn’t sure exactly why she could still hear the panicked, shrill screech of the gospel song she hummed whenever she had those thoughts, the thoughts she carefully tucked away into a box labelled dirty. she knew that god was supposed to bring her comfort, but all his presence had ever done was make her cower in dark, make her think that even looking at frankie’s lips was far more dirty than the things she let boys she barely knew do to her in the back seat of her car. 

the carefully engrained, bible-thumping guilt that had been instilled in her since birth was probably the main reason parker refused to spend time alone with frankie. they might be better friends if parker could get through one conversation without her feeling like she needed to scrub sin out of her mouth with soap. “all thanks to you,” she finally managed to get out, shaking her head slightly and clucking her tongue against the roof of her mouth, “‘cause i’ve sure as hell never lost before. this is like my one claim to fame, and you ruined it.” she glanced down at the flower, petal pink matching the delicate flush in her cheeks. please, lord, overlook the things she does to me. grinning, parker took the rose carefully by the stem and lifted it to her nose. “and to think i didn’t get you that diamond ring,” she hummed, brushing her hair behind her. “you know, flowers are usually reserved for winners. you sure this is for me?” 

frankie had the pleasure of knowing parker for quite some time now. she’d been her friend back in high school — not her best friend, no, frankie didn’t have one of those until she met zar during her sophomore year — but she’d known her, nonetheless. that, of course, meant frankie was painfully familiar with the lifestyle and the world where parker came from. frankie had never  stepped foot in a church in her LIFE. part of it was because saturday nights were her mother’s busiest growing up, meaning she almost never got home before four or five in the morning and would always — and rightfully — choose trying to get in a few hours of sleep before her shift at the diner started. the other part of it was that frankie rivera did not, never had, and probably never would believe in god. 

the closest frankie had ever gotten to church was between the knees of delilah jordan, the daughter of a pastor who had exited the church long before frankie had entered her bed — so, really, she’d never gotten very close, at all. probably for the best, too. if the things they preached within their walls held any real weight in the universe, frankie probably would have burst into fucking flames if she ever tried to step inside of one.

so, YES, she knew the upbringing that parker had and she knew the types of stories and definitions of morality that parker had grown up being spoon-fed, but that didn’t change the way that frankie wanted to take her by the hand and guide her away from the crowds of judgmental stares and press her up against a wall, instead. and now... now she felt like parker had, just maybe, been able to put some distance between herself and that part of her life. frankie’s lips still curled into an incredibly self-satisfactory grin at her words, however chastising they were meant to be. really, she was less focused on the words themselves and more focused on the shapes parker’s lips made saying them. that, AND the way her cheeks were tinged pink — and frankie was just vain enough to believe that the hint of a flush was because of her and not because of the chilly, november air. she wanted to reach out and smooth her fingers across her skin, instead she settled for tucking a strand of parker’s hair behind her ear. “mmm, i suppose you’re right,” she hummed, feigning thoughtfulness, “but, then again, that means my only other options are jules and cam, and i don’t want to give them the wrong idea.” 

across the board, frankie rivera truly liked to consider herself a strong-willed person. she knew what she wanted, she said what she wanted, and she did what she wanted, regardless of what it spurred other people to say about her. of course, everyone had their flaws and frankie’s just so happened to come in her immeasurable and borderline-insatiable weakness for pretty girls. it wasn’t a unique shortcoming, not at all, and frankie was still sure she was better than a good portion of people who found themselves frequently brought to their knees by beautiful girls because she ALWAYS managed to remember the basic concepts of consent and general human fucking decency. so.

the lengths to which frankie found herself willing to go for pink cheeks and a nice smile and long lashes fluttering in her direction often varied. sometimes they were shameful, sometimes unspeakable, and sometimes — well, sometimes they were as easy as caving and purchasing a reusable straw, even though she was pretty sure that the amount of shit she’d saved from the imminent fate of sitting in the junkyard for hundreds of years meant that she did more for the planet than most of the environmental club combined. regardless, there was a very pretty girl who frankie very much intended to woo straight into bed, AGAIN, and if a metal straw was what it took... then so be it. 

she’d just finished watching remi wrap up an, admittedly, intimidating speech that she’d given to some poor, unsuspecting freshmen, when she finally spoke up to catch her attention. “gotta hand it to you, sinclair, you’re not half bad at being convincing,” she called out, still half-leaning against the fence as she held up her drink, giving it a minute shake so that the metal straw could clang against the sides of the cup. “i even BOUGHT this bad boy. came in a three-pack and everything.”

as his life had gotten busier and busier, as school and work and the animals and honey and his hyperactive roommates took up more and more of his time, his near-daily visits to frankie’s shop had dwindled to weekly visits. once upon a time he could balance all of these responsibilities, but ever since the investigation had started up… he was stressed, sue him. besides, it wasn’t like frankie was a particularly easy girl to get a hold of on the best of days. where zar had his routines, his constants, frankie was much like a tumbleweed, unearthed and at the mercy of her own whims. her only home base was here, in the junkyard, which had taken on a more macabre significance as of late. 

zar threw his hand up in mock surrender as he approached, the other wrapped around a big tupperware. “i know i’ve been mia but there’s no need to be fuckin’ rude.” he was just teasing, he knew frankie wasn’t being rude to be mean; that’s just who she was. she was raw, uncensored. he’d always liked that about her. “what,” he said, leaning up against one of the shitboxes she was working on. “i can’t come down to check on my friend? say hi? maybe offer her some of the-.” he indicated the tupperware, shaking it a little in his hand. “fried cheese balls?” vegan, of course. yes, they were mostly cooked out of guilt for neglecting her as of late. “that’s too bad,” he said, continuing his jest. “because i made some spicy guac to go with them. i guess i’ll have to eat it all on my own.” 

frankie snorted at his words, though not doing anything to keep him from walking into the garage. “asking me not to be rude is like asking astro not to pee all over the place when he gets freaked. nice thought but not fucking realistic.” that wasn’t news to either of them, though. it hadn’t been long enough since they’d hung out for zar to forget every last part of  her personality COMPLETELY. it was equally unlikely that dating honey fucking kennedy would make him any more sensitive to her more sharp edges, she was pretty sure of that, too. nev’s cousin moving in — the sugary-sweet, too-good-for-this-world one, ZOLA — well, maybe that could have done something, but she wasn’t too sure. 

parker, despite her usual propensity for sunshine and rainbows, wasn’t really a ‘rah-rah school spirit’ type of gal. she wasn’t really an anything that required leaving her apartment kind of girl, but she promised dee that she’d go to the game…and she wasn’t really complaining about the view. there was just something about a boy in a uniform…

of course, it was a little hard for her to notice anything other than her mini-toad totally kicking ass on her iphone screen. she wasn’t proud about a lot of things, mostly because her skills were heavily rooted in blood, guts, and other bodily fluids, but she would defend her mario kart skills with her dying breath. 

in fact, she was about to let jules and cam know exactly how spectacular her skills were when a soft voice in her ear ruined her streak. she dropped her phone onto her lap and clutched her hand over her heart. “jesus christ,” parker breathed, eyelids fluttering open to find a particularly wicked grin beaming down at her. her throat went dry. lipgloss, parker decided, should be illegal. at least, when you looked like frankie rivera. “a little hard to win now that i’m in last place,” she hummed, pouting her lower lip slightly as she glanced at the dust trail in front of her little, pink racecar. “i think a present is the least you can do to make it up to me.” 

the smile that crossed over frankie’s features the moment that parker’s phone slipped from between her fingers and her gaze traveled to be fixed on HER instead of on the phone screen was proud, there was no denying that. frankie wouldn’t have wanted to, anyway. the way she saw it, there were two ways of getting what you wanted in this world. either you could wait until someone gave it to you, or you could go on ahead and take it yourself. she learned from experience, very early on, that getting what you wanted dropped into your lap or served up on a silver platter was RARE, at best — all but impossible for someone like her — so why bother beating around the bush when it came to something she fully intended on snatching.

for example, parker’s attention. she had wanted it and, so, she had taken it. easy as that. and she certainly wouldn’t hide the sweet satisfaction that followed the way parker glanced at her from beneath her lashes. 

even when parker's lips curled into a slight pout  — which, on its own, was kind of a lot and most certainly resonated in her chest making her feel some kind of way — and frankie mirrored the expression back, pushing her lower lip out even more dramatically, the smile was still clearly visible in her eyes. “oh no, you’re in last?” she really was attempting to empathize, but nothing could override the smug satisfaction at the knowledge that parker’s focus had been, for the time being at least, been traded out in favor of her. “well, since it IS kind of my fault,” she mused, the corners of her mouth tugging upwards a fraction as she finally relented and revealed what had been hidden behind her back. a flower. and, okay, it was a flower she had managed to steal out of the bouquet being carried around by some cheerleader’s boyfriend, but she was sure that the singular pale pink rose wouldn’t be missed. “for you.”

for all of the protests she gave when vi showed up at the garage and insisted that she tag along and go to the stupid fucking football game, frankie wasn’t really having all that terrible of a time. as much as she enjoyed shutting herself off from the rest of civilization to get her hands dirty with grease, or charcoal, or paint — and as beneficial as that was, objectively speaking, for like... the common good of the world — there was a certain rush that frankie got from being around other people. 

she was in an exceptionally wonderful mood — as far as frankie’s good moods went, that was —  when she spotted parker in the stands of the stadium with zar’s-roommate’s-boyfriend and zar’s-roommates-boyfriend’s-roommate, because everyone knew fucking everyone in ashmont in a way that made her head go reeling a little. she didn’t allow herself to focus on the details of that aspect of the situation, instead narrowing her eyes a fraction at the people who were passing by her in search of SOMETHING, as most women on a mission were. it wasn’t until she held the coveted object of her attention behind her back that she began to climb the ranks of the stadium stairs in parker’s direction. she was so clearly engaged in whatever was happening on her phone — they ALL were — that she didn’t even notice frankie climb over the back of the chairs to take the seat beside her. 

and, WELL, going unnoticed was something frankie just couldn’t take. she hooked her chin over parker’s shoulder, abruptly invading her personal space, to see exactly what was so worthy of everyone’s attention. she almost snorted when she saw it was mario kart, but... she also hadn’t expected much else, so. “brought you something,” she murmured, fingers still toying with the gift behind her back. “i’ll give it to you after the race... but only if you win.”