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Summary: With an acceptance letter hidden in your bag, you spend months loving Frank in borrowed time—until the truth finally spills, and he shows you that loving you means letting you chase your dream, even if it breaks his heart.
1.9k words|based on this request.
The first thing Frank noticed was the way you held onto him. It wasn’t dramatic or obvious. It was subtle—your fingers hooking into his belt loop when you stood backstage, the way your hand lingered on his wrist even after he stopped talking, that little extra second you took before pulling away from a hug or kiss. It was like you were memorizing him, burning the feeling of him into your skin in case you ever needed to remember what safety felt like.
Frank did’t say anything about it at first. He never really did. He just adjusted, instinctively shifting closer or letting you tuck yourself into his side.
Your lives were kind of all over the place—loud, relentless, messy—but the two of you were each other's constant. The one person who made everything better when everything was, for lack of better words, going to shit.
The two of you had been together long enough that Frank knew when something was wrong. And something had been wrong for months.
“Hey,” he murmured one night as you sat on the steps of the venue Frank was playing at tonight, the smoke of your breath curling into the cold air. “You good?”
You nodded, a little too fast. “Yeah. just—just tired.” Frank studied you for a moment, hazel eyes swimming with concern. “You say that every time I ask.” All you did was shrug and pull your knees to your chest. “Life’s just exhausting, you know that.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But this feels different.”
You didn’t answer, just stared at the pavement. You chewed the inside of your cheek as he sat down next to you. He sighed and nudged your knee with his own. “You don’t have to tell me if you’re not ready,” he said. “But… Don’t shut me out, okay?”
Swallowing your words, you leaned into him instead of telling him what was wrong, pressing your forehead into his shoulder. He brought his hand up to cradle the back of your head, thumb tracing slow circles against your hair. “I’m here,” he murmured. “I’m not goin’ anywhere.” You closed your eyes, trying not to cry, because if he promised one more thing that he couldn’t possibly know he’d be able to keep, you might fall apart right there on the concrete.
The truth sat heavy in your bag, folded and refolded till the edges were soft.
The letter had arrived months ago, an acceptance letter from your dream school, no less. This was everything you’d worked for, everything you were supposed to want. So, why were you crying?
You cried when you read it—not from joy, but from fear. The first thought you had wasn’t ‘I made it’ it was ‘How do I tell Frank?’
Days blurred together into a painful routine. Shows, long drives, cheap motels, Frank’s laugh cutting through the noise. Every moment with him felt sacred, like you knew time was running out even if your mouth refused to say it.
Frank, meanwhile, loved you in the way he always did. He kissed you sweetly, held you tightly; it was honestly gut wrenching. Some nights, after shows, when his hands were still shaking from adrenaline and sweat clung to his skin, he’d pull you into his bunk with him and bury his face into your neck.
You smiled softly, but inside, the guilt gnawed at you. Because how much longer were you going to have this?
Now, you sat on the hotel bed somewhere in the Midwest, watching Frank tune his guitar. The room smelled like stale air and Frank’s aftershave, the tv humming quietly in the background. Frank kept glancing at you, noticing that something just wasn’t right.
You shrugged. “Just thinking.”
You hesitated, causing Frank to set his guitar down to face you, “Okay. That’s it. Come here.” He drops onto the bed in front of you, hands settling on your knees. His touch is warm and grounding.
“Talk to me,” he said, “Please.”
Your throat tightened for a second, you thought you might actually do it—just rip the band-aid, let everything out. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt.
“I’m scared,” you whispered.
Frank’s expression softened instantly. “Of What?”
“Of… messing everything up.” Frank let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “Baby, you’ve met me, right? I’m the king of messin’ things up.”
You couldn’t answer. Instead, you leaned forward and kissed him—clinging to him. He kissed you back without hesitation, hands sliding into your hair. He didn’t know you were essentially saying goodbye.
As the days ticked closer to the end of the month, the weight became unbearable.
Frank noticed how you clung to him a little harder after every show or how you slept curled into his chest. One night, after a particularly brutal show, you broke down in the hallway outside the dressing room.
You didn’t mean to… it just happened.
Frank found you sitting on the floor, back against the wall, with tears streaking down your face. His heart dropped to his stomach. “Hey—hey, hey,” he rushed over. “What happened?” He asked.
You shook your head, trying yet failing to stop crying. Frank pulled you to your chest, arms wrapping around you tightly. “It’s okay,” he murmured over and over. Your fingers dug into his jacket. “I don’t want to lose you,” you sobbed.
He pulled back slightly to look at you. His hands firm on your back, grounding you. “What do you mean?”
You squeezed your eyes shut. This was it. You couldn’t keep hiding it. “I didn’t know how to tell you,” you whispered, voice breaking. “Tell me what?” He asked. You took a shaky breath…
“I got accepted,” you said.
Frank didn’t move, didn’t even utter a single word. His face was unreadable, caught between surprise and something deeper. “How long?” He asked quietly.
Your voice cracked as you spoke. “Months.”
That hurt. It really fucking hurt.
“Why didn’t you tell me?” He asked, not accusingly—just wounded.
The tears spilled faster, your eyes burning. “Because I don’t want this to end.” He exhaled, bringing his hand to anchor in your hair. “You think I’d be mad at you for chasing your dream?” God, his words hurt.
“I thought…maybe, you’d think I was leaving you.” Frank cupped your face, his thumbs gently brushing away the tears. “I love you, and I’m always gonna love you. No matter how far you are,” he reassured you.
Your breath hitched, bottom lip quivering.
Then, you suddenly collapse into him, sobbing, and Frank holds you like he always did. Because loving you was a choice he’d make over and over. And if this was goodbye, he was gonna continue to love you through every second of it.
After you had told him, everything felt…different. Every moment was a little heavier with the knowledge of what was to come.
Frank stayed closer to you than normal the following days after your confession. He’d lace his fingers in yours as the two of you lay in his bunk, tugging you closer with a soft “stay” when you tried to leave. You’d stay and lie on his chest just to listen to his heartbeat ring loud against your ear, reminding you that you were still here with him. That you're going away didn’t erase what was already there.
You honestly expected him to be quiet, distant even. Thoughtful in that scary way that meant he was already preparing to let go. Instead, he’d talk. “You know, I always figured loving someone would feel like getting stabbed a little.” He said.
You chuckled through gentle tears. “That’s comforting.”
He smiled faintly, that sweet smile that somehow never failed to make you feel better. He turned to kiss the top of your head, “I’m serious. Like, it’s messy a-and it hurts and it makes you do stupid shit, but you do it anyway because not doing it would make it worse.” He rambled, catching him with a calming breath.
There was a brief silence before you shifted to look at him. “Are you mad at me?”
Frank shook his head immediately. How could he ever be mad at you for chasing your dream? He loved you with all his heart, but he’d be an idiot and truthfully an asshole if he didn’t let you go. “No. Was I hurt that you didn’t tell me…yes, but I get it. You were scared.”
He squeezed you closer, pressing his chin to the top of your head. “Yeah…me too.”
The rest of the month somehow dragged on and passed by in the blink of an eye. Frank took every moment he could to make time with you in the midst of the tour; small solo dates away from the guys, heated kisses in his bunk that of course led to much more, or even as simple as a feather light kiss to your sleeping frame.
He was gonna cherish every second with you, even if time felt impossible to get.
The closer it got to your departure, the harder it became just to breathe.
Your last show together felt surreal. You watch from the side of the stage, heart pounding as Frank throws himself into the music. Sweat soaked, voice raw—he looked otherworldly and fuck did it sting to witness.
When he sang, his eyes found yours, and he didn’t look away.
After the show, you found him backstage, buzzing with adrenaline. He pulled you into him, kissing you without a word—slow, deliberate. You kissed him back with equal fervor, fisting his damp shirt, heart breaking and healing all at once.
The night before you left, neither of you slept. Tangled together in the soft sheets of your bed, the world outside blissfully unaware of the sweet yet heartbreaking moment the two of you just had.
Frank traced idle patterns against your skin, lips placing reverent kisses to the freshly made marks he left. “I’m gonna miss this,” he whispered quietly. That was the final breaking point. Tears slipped down your temples. “How are you so good at this?”
“I’m not…” He chuckled softly, despite the fact that he was aching too. “I just…love you.”
When morning came, all you wanted to do was just stay in bed, but both of you knew that the time had come. Frank walked you to the car, fingers laced with yours. He helped you load your final bag into the trunk, then stood there awkwardly with his hands shoved into his pockets. “So…Guess this is the part where we pretend we’re okay,” he said.
You stepped closer and pulled him into a tight hug, burying your face into his chest. He melted into your touch, relishing in the feeling of you, “Go be amazing,” he mumbled into your hair. “Go be the badass you’re meant to be.”
You clung to him, not quite ready to let go just yet, “You’ll still be here when I get back, right?”
He placed one last kiss on your lips—not desperate or rushed, just pure love. When he pulled away, he smiled, that big, chest aching, classic Frank smile. “I love you…” He said.
You got into your car with tear stained cheeks—and as you pulled away, you reminded yourself, goodbyes didn’t have to mean endings. Sometimes, they just meant loving someone enough to let them go, and trusting that love would survive the distance.
A/N: I see your reqs guys and TRUST I'm getting to them, I just literally have so many ideas between fics and edits.
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