rose 💭

your past few nights were hauntingly quiet. no sounds of clatter from the kitchen as frank cooked for you both, no soft hum of the television as he watched one of his documentaries, no quiet breaths as he slept next to you.

on nights without him, sleep almost always evaded you. it’s not that you didn’t want to, it’s not even that you were particularly worried about frank.

of course, there would always be anxiety with the line of business he was in. but you knew him. not even a bullet to the head could take him out. a symbol of strength and perseverance, he was nearly indestructible in your mind.

it was the lack of his heat that kept you awake until the wee hours of the morning. the absence of his smell, so strong of cedar and masculinity that made it impossible for you to find rest. the missing arm that he draped over your waist as you slept, a constant weight and reminder that even in sleep, he would never let anything get to you first. he would throw himself over your body and take a thousand shots to his back before so much as a shot gun bead could penetrate your skin.

around eleven, as you lie lounging on your couch, caught up in one of frank’s many books, the familiar buzz of your phone startled you out of your story.

a message from an unknown number sent anxiety through your bones. until you opened it.

you saw the words and relief passed through your body.

i’m coming home baby. leave the porch light on.

you knew who it was instantly. a small smile spread across your lips.

you typed out a short message back.

will do.

———

the two hour window between the text and frank’s arrival felt like eternity. your mind filled with questions.

would he be covered in blood?

would ahe be silent like he always was after a particularly rough night?

did he succeed on his little quest?

finally, the firm sound of boots on your creaky old steps fell upon your ears and interrupted your constant internal monologue of questions. you were instantly on your feet, reaching the front door in record time.

you stared at him. even from your poorly lit porch, you could see the sheen of blood on his face.

he lifted his head and saw your familiar silhouette.

god, he’d fucking missed you.

“hey baby,” he graveled out.

“frank, honey…” you started as you went to meet him on the third step.

you reached him in a second, hands instantly coming to his face. you needed to feel the rough stubble of his beard and the contrast of his soft skin.

“hey, hey..” he whispered, gently removing your hands from his face and placing them on his shoulders instead.

you leaned into him, head resting against that stony chest of his, absorbing the heat of his body, enraptured in the scent of gunpowder and blood and him.

he kissed the top of your head, seamlessly melting back into the man he was with you. the patient, gentle man who’s only wish was to keep you safe and tend to your every desire.

“missed you so fuckin much baby. couldn’t get here fast enough,” he softly said, gently pulling you out of his chest and tilting your chin up to him.

your eyes met his, melting that roughness he had carried back with him with your one look.

“missed you too frankie. cmon let’s get inside,” you said, grabbing his hand and leading him off the porch and through the front door.

the smell of home nearly made his heart burst as it reached his busted nose. the flowers he had bought you before he left, his favorite pasta dish you had likely made for dinner, the laundry that you had folded up neatly now lying on the couch and you. he nearly groaned as he felt it all surround him.

he dropped his bag just after you had closed the door behind him, letting the weight of the past few days slip off him.

“let me,” you said, bending to untie his dirty old boots.

“i got-“

“no frank. let me take care of this,” you told him.

a small grin graced his face. of course you wanted to tend to him. always giving, always soothing. how could a man so thoroughly fucked up as himself ever deserve you? ever deserve to come home to all of this?

you tapped his ankles, indicating your completion of the task. he slipped them off and reached down to grab your hand.

“thank you,” he said, “you don’t need to-“

“you stubborn, stubborn man. just let me help you,” you smiled.

god he shouldn’t be this lucky. not after all he’s done.

“kay baby,” he relented, letting you do what you always did for him. make him feel.

———

you led him upstairs and into the bathroom and turned on the hot water for him.

he unfastened his belt and dropped his pants. as you turned back toward him, you gave him a soft smile.

“c’mere,” he let out, pulling you back into him. he couldn’t get enough of this. feeling you against him. warm, safe, home.

you slid your hands underneath his black henley. he allowed it, let you pull it up over his head. allowed you to run your nails over his tight abs as his muscles tensed.

“get cleaned up. i’ll go warm up the leftovers-“

“nah don’t worry about it. not hungry. just want you,” he said meeting your gaze beneath his, keeping his arms around you, his bare skin against your clothed form.

a yawn crept out of you, your darkened under eyes becoming noticeable to frank as he looked at you closer.

“go get in bed sweetheart. be right there,” he said as he released you. you let him be, closing the door gently on the way out. you knew he needed that time alone, needed to let the heat of the shower wash away his newest sins.

———

you stripped from your clothing, clad only in your underwear, and slipped under the sheets.

after a few minutes, frank opened the door attached to your bedroom and came out in his boxers, the steam from the shower wafting out after him.

he saw your form bundled beneath the thick comforter and felt everything fade from him. every ache in his body, every pain in his heart, all the rage he kept buried inside. it just… dissipated. because there was his girl. sleepy eyes locked on his, trying so hard to stay open. body wrapped in god knows how many blankets because you were always “so cold, frankie. you’re my heater.”

this was what he came home for. this angel of a woman, the beat in his fucking chest.

he slid under the blankets, exhaling a sigh of relief.

it took him less than a second to reach for your body and pull you into him. he indulged his desire to have your skin on his.

you nuzzled your face into the crook of his neck, inhaling the familiar scent of irish spring soap. you’d lost track of how many times you’d told him he needed more than just one bar of soap for everything.

he kissed the crown of your head and another yawn escaped you.

“i got you now, baby. just sleep,” he said.

“g’night frankie. so glad you’re home,” you said sleepily.

“no where i’d rather be,” he responded quietly, slowly shutting his eyes and allowing sleep to overtake him.

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”You bein’ serious?” he had asked, a little amused, and you had almost taken offense at the thought of him making fun you. ”Sorry, I, uh, I just have a hard time believin’ you ain’t stealin’ the show everywhere you go”, he had added with a purse of his lips, and you had immediately scanned his face for any sign that he was joking. But he seemed completely sincere, and that made you uneasy. He was flirting with you, something that no one ever did.

You kept running into each other after that. And every time, without fail, he would say something equally charming and bewildering in the hopes of making it obvious that he liked you, and you never really took the bait.

It was impossible to not feel something for him in return, though, and you found yourself thinking about him often, daydreaming even. He had gotten under your skin and you were falling for him and his stupid wit and gentleman-like manners. He was dreamy in every sense of the word, always polite and kind to you but also protective and never skipped on asking you how you were doing and if you were being safe. Even when he wasn’t trying to flirt, he was being so painfully handsome and endearing.

Still, you started to grow wary of him, resented the idea of someone giving you false hope and toying with your feelings. He had succeeded in making you fall for him, but you were convinced it was one-sided and he’d never actually feel the same way about you. And you told yourself you were okay with that. You had accepted it a long time ago, made peace with the fact that you’d be alone while all your friends would get married and start families. It was sad, and deep down you desired that same kind of love, but it was what it was and you couldn’t change that.

Eventually, Frank asked you out.

”Not sure if you’ve been pickin’ up on what I’ve been hintin’ at, but I really like you, sweetheart. It’d be my honor if you let me take you on a real date sometime, just you and me”, he explained with a goofy, shy smile on his face. His proposal got you to freeze and panic, your eyes darting over to him across the table of the diner where you had crossed paths once more.

You looked at him in disbelief, not able to believe the hopeful look in his eyes, and so you shook your head in defeat. ”I—I’m really busy. I don’t think that’s a good idea. Sorry”, you responded, rushing to get up and get out of the diner. You left him behind, tears filling your eyes as you hurried down the street. You dreamed about being asked out sometimes, especially when it came to Frank, but to hear it out loud seemed so wrong and cruel and it had to be a big joke altogether, designed to make you feel bad and painfully aware of the fact that no one had ever done so before.

You left Frank concerned, most of all. He couldn’t deny that being rejected stung a little, but he was more worried about you. He wasn’t exactly Prince Charming, he knew that, but he had seen the way you looked at him, had heard the affection in your voice during moments when you really let your guard down. And he was one hundred percent convinced you liked him, too. Yet for some reason he couldn’t decipher, you seemed so reluctant to let him in. He could understand hesitation, as he, too, had been careful about allowing himself to care for someone else after Maria, but it seemed different with you. Like you didn’t believe him when he honestly told you he liked you.

You managed to avoid him for a while after that, and Frank respected your boundaries enough to not seek you out. He kept an eye on you from a distance, having grown too attached not to protect you, but he didn’t make himself known in the shadows of the night — he just watched you from afar. But you were destined to bump into one another sooner or later.

It happened at another one of Karen’s parties, not a big gathering but enough of a crowd had shown up for you to gravitate away from Frank within the house. He had seen you, nonetheless, and the wonder of what was going on with you gnawed at his soul and being to the point where he had to bring it up with Karen.

”Hey, y’know what’s goin’ with her? I was under the impression she was kinda into me but I asked her out and she, I dunno, freaked out a lil”, he shrugged while sipping on his beer, hoping to have some clarity in the situation. He had already considered that you just didn’t want to be associated with the Punisher, that he scared you or his enemies scared you, and he couldn’t blame you for that. Still, he was secretly hoping Karen would tell him otherwise.

”I don’t know”, was her answer, though, concern on her face, as well. ”I don’t think she’s ever dated anyone. Maybe that’s why”, Karen added, not really knowing more about it. You were friends, sure, but you hadn’t exactly known how to open up to her. Hey, I feel unlovable? That was no way to go about it.

Frowning, Frank caught sight of you across the room and decided to handle the situation the only way he knew how — directly and without dancing around it. So, he trekked over to you, stealing your breath away, and he gestured for you to follow him to somewhere more quiet. You didn’t know how to get out of it, so you walked after him to the porch where the dark night was illuminated with fairy lights and the music faded into a boom in the background. There were no people around, much like Frank had hoped, but it made you nervous.

”Do you like me?” he asked, cutting to the chase, staring you down in a way that had your stomach in knots. He wasn’t menacing or threatening, but he was serious, more so than you had ever seen him, and you knew he would see right through you if you lied to him.

”Yeah, I… of course, I do”, you answered, and he sighed, shaking his head.

”Nah, I mean, do you really like me? The way that I like you? ’Cause I seriously do. I find you stunnin’, smart, kind and funny and I can’t get enough of you. I want you and I need you and it’s killin’ me to be away from you”, he raved, his feelings for you rising to the surface, and you gulped at his words. No one had ever told you anything like that before.

You hesitated, but eventually, you nodded. ”Yeah, I like you”, you admitted dejectedly, like it was something to be ashamed about, and it confused Frank so deeply.

”Then why are ya so hellbent on avoidin’ me, rejectin’ me? Listen, Christ, I know I can be real scary but I’d never hurt you, darlin’. You’re always safe with me”, he insisted, and running a hand across your face, you grew frustrated that he wasn’t getting it.

”That’s not why I rejected you!” you cried out, throwing out your hands in despair. He looked at you quietly but expectantly, waiting for you to explain further, and you realized there was no getting out of this without giving him a proper answer.

”I don’t get why you’re so persistent”, you noted, sitting down on the bench on the porch. ”I just don’t get it, Frank. No one ever pays attention to me. No one’s ever asked me out or even flirted with me. So, it’s really fucking confusing that a guy like you would do that. I don’t see why you’d want to date me. It feels like a joke. I mean, what’s in it for you?” you elaborated, a tear slipping from your eye, but you were quick to wipe it away.

Stunned, Frank sank down onto the bench next to you, his head tilted so he could look at you. ”I dunno why no one’s ever asked you out, sweetheart, but it’s their loss. I think you’re fuckin’ amazin’. No one’s really made me feel this way since my wife. But you, you just… you’re all I could ask for. You’re gorgeous. And you’re a goddamn wonderful person”, he responded, boldly placing a hand on your knee, right where the hem of your dress rested. He had been eyeing you up in it all night, his heart picking up the pace every time he’d glance at you, and he couldn’t believe no one had ever told you that before.

”It just seems hard to believe”, you shrugged, looking down at your hands. ”I’ve already accepted I’ll end up alone.”

Pained by your confession, Frank inched closer to you and pulled you into his chest, his arm curling over your shoulder. ”That’s bullshit. You deserve someone. And I ain’t sayin’ it should be me, but I’m serious about wantin’ to take you out. It’s no joke or game to me, aight? I mean it. I think you’re special”, he assured, speaking from the heart. And you really, really wanted to believe him.

”You better not break my heart”, you whispered, and chuckling, Frank kissed the top of your head.

”I swear to ya. I’ll treat you right if you’ll lemme”, he promised, and in response, you smiled.

That proved to be extremely hard when you met Frank. He was handsome and intriguing, not a very talkative guy but he had effortlessly made you smile and laugh, regardless. He had been reserved about you, too, mostly because he wasn’t looking for anything casual nor serious, and he certainly didn’t trust Red to find him the kind of company he liked. But when his friend of sorts had insisted on introducing you to him, annoyingly persistent, he had caved in and figured it couldn’t hurt to give a chance to the person Red spoke so highly of.

”How come you ain’t together if she’s so perfect?” Frank had questioned, fully suspicious of Matt and his intentions, but the man had quickly laughed him off.

”I don’t think we’re meant to be anything more than friends. But she’s a wonderful person and I think you’d hit it off. I’m not just doing this for you, I think she could use some company, too”, Matt had explained, not entirely acting with your blessing. In fact, you had no idea what he was up to, but he knew you well enough — you were getting lonely whether you wanted to admit or not, and despite their disagreements, he knew Frank could be worthy of your time.

And that was how you ended up shaking Frank’s hand in your favorite bar where you never went to find company, just a drink after a long week. Matt had known you’d be there and more or less shoved Frank inside, and as annoyed as he was, Frank couldn’t deny that the sight of you immediately made his heart skip a beat.

”Did Matt put you up to this?” you asked eventually, well-aware that the two of them worked together often. It wasn’t frequent for Matt to set you up with anyone, but he was the only thing common between you and Frank, and you weren’t stupid.

Caught, Frank chuckled. ”Yeah, yeah, he did. I ain’t gonna lie, I had my reservations but uh, talkin’ to you… I don’t regret comin’ in here. You seem real sweet”, he admitted, his eyes lingering on your figure. Not only did he find you sweet, he thought you were absolutely gorgeous, and he fucking hated the fact that he was going to have to tell Matt he had been right.

You blushed at Frank’s words and shrugged. ”Thanks, but I—I’m not really looking for anything right now. You seem great too, don’t get me wrong”, you gave him a half-apology, chewing on your lip nervously. He was charming, you had to give him that much, but you really weren’t up for having your heart broken yet again, and so, you found it best to keep Frank at an arm’s length.

”Hey, I get it. Can’t say I was expectin’ anything much when I walked through that door but I guess you kinda got me rethinkin’, ’s all”, he nodded in understanding before licking his lips and taking the plunge. ”Maybe we could get another drink sometime? No pressure, no expectations. Just hangin’ out, I guess”, Frank went on, a hopeful look in his eyes, and it wore you down.

”Sure”, you swallowed, feeling familiar anxiety rush in your veins as you agreed.

But like he said, there were no expectations. It could just be two friends grabbing a beer, nothing more. So, you gave him your phone number and hoped for the best.

You met up a couple of times after that. Frank couldn’t believe he was being so forward and that he really was so into you, but it was a fact he couldn’t deny. He had a strong will and good self-control, but he found himself losing all of that around you. Previously used to solitude and being wary of new connections, he now felt hooked on you, needing more and more even if he was willing to do it on your terms.

He could tell you liked him back, though. As much as you tried not to, you couldn’t help it. You started to feel less lonely and he occupied your thoughts on a daily basis, and it scared the shit out of you. You weren’t ready to fall in love again, but it seemed your heart wasn’t waiting for permission.

A few weeks passed with you getting to know one another, and one night, he was walking you home in the dark night, far too protective to let you make it all by yourself. Once at the door of your apartment building, you both lingered, not quite ready to say goodbye, but unsure what else there was left to say.

”I had a good time, sweetheart. I’m glad you ain’t sick of my clingy ass yet”, he joked, and it made you smile nervously. You were mere inches away from each other, his taller build towering over you with his fingertips brushing against yours. Your heart was hammering in your chest and you could feel the undeniable tension in the air, and so could he.

”Of course, not. I like spending time with you”, you whispered, quiet but close enough for Frank to hear. His heart soared at your words, flattered and honored that for someone who chose her company carefully, you had given him the time of the day.

His eyes fell to your lips, and when you didn’t pull away, he made the move and leaned in. Right before his lips could graze yours, though, you ducked your head with a swell of panic in your chest. It was all too real suddenly and the idea of moving from a mutual interest to something concrete terrified you.

”Shit”, Frank breathed out, squeezing his eyes shut. ”Sorry, I shoulda asked. Just thought… Doesn’t matter. Didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable”, he added while stepping back, and in an instant, guilt and regret took over your body. Seeing the rejection on his face hurt worse than the risk of letting him in, and that was enough for you to know that kiss or no kiss, you were in too deep.

”No, I’m sorry. It’s me, I—I just can’t. Sorry”, you repeated before turning your heel and rushing inside, too embarrassed to stay and look at Frank’s hurt face any longer.

He frowned at your words, but let you go. He had pushed your limits enough for one night, but even if he didn’t stop you from running indoors, he couldn’t help but get stuck on what you had said. It wasn’t that you didn’t like him back, something else was holding you back, and that caused worry to flare up in him. Clearly, someone had hurt you badly, and he felt pure anger at the simple thought of it.

That same night, he tracked Red down, itching to pick a fight, but mostly he wanted to find out what was stopping you from going all in. He could sympathize — after all, he had closed himself off to relationships after Maria, and even now, when he had grown so attached to you, he struggled with that little nagging guilt in the back of his head that didn’t want him to move on.

”She ain’t ready, Red. Wanna tell me what happened or should I punch it out of ya?” Frank grumbled as he joined Matt on the rooftop, an unhappy look on his face that only deepened when he saw the mysterious smile on his friend’s face.

”You weren’t ready, either”, Matt retorted before sighing deeply. ”She’s been hurt a lot, Frank. Every guy she’s been with has broken her heart. It’s the same with best friends, too. Everyone leaves her. So, yeah, she’s careful about who she lets in”, he continued, causing the anger to fade from Frank’s face. At least Red had stayed, but he knew he wasn’t the most stable presence, either. He didn’t think he himself would be, for that matter, but he wanted so badly to prove to you that he’d stick around.

”She don’t deserve that”, Frank grunted, unable to understand why anyone would turn their back on you. Sure, you were stunning in a way that took his breath away, but you were also a good, caring person. You had such a big heart and you were an excellent listener, not to mention how funny you could be. And even though you knew who Frank was and what he had done, you had never judged him.

”I agree. That’s why I wanted you to meet with her. Platonic or romantic, I knew you could appreciate her for who she is”, Matt explained, and sighing, Frank couldn’t deny that he had been right. He thought you were amazing, and he really wanted you to know that.

So, the next day, he made his way to your apartment. He was uncharacteristically nervous, his usual cool demeanor cracking under the pressure of the situation, but he was good at concealing it. He stood on your doorstep, calm and collected, and once he had knocked and you opened the door, you couldn’t have suspected he was feeling troubled in any way.

”Frank”, you exhaled, honestly surprised. You were sure that your refusal to kiss him would have pushed him away, but here he was, and you reluctantly felt relieved. You had given him enough reason to walk away, but he kept showing up, and it gave you hope.

”Red told me about your shitty exes. I want ya to know that they’re assholes for leavin’ you like that and that… that I wouldn’t do that. I know I come with a lot of baggage, but I swear to you, I’d treat you right, sweetheart. Shit, you really… you really got me, y’know? I really care about you and I wish I could make you less scared ’cause I know you care about me, too”, he rambled, calling you out in a way that maybe you needed to be.

Gulping, you nodded to confirm he was right. ”I do care about you. I wish I didn’t, but I do”, you confessed, sending his heart reeling. ”I just don’t want to be let down again. I really can’t do it again”, you pointed out, not sure if Frank would get it, but he did.

”I hear you, sweetheart. It ain’t the same thing, but I know loss, and I don’t wanna go through it again. Maybe we could learn to trust again together. I know it’s fuckin’ scary to let your guard down, I sure as hell have a hard time with it, but you make me wanna try”, he shared, his voice so soft and careful. He wasn’t used to opening up about his feelings, but he knew you needed honesty, and he wanted to give it to you.

”Okay. I… I think I can do that. I want to trust you”, you told him, sparking a smile on his face.

Hesitating, he stepped closer to you and took his hand in your own. ”Can I kiss you?” he asked in that low, husky tone of his, full of want, and it sent a shiver down your body. You nodded, and he broke into a grin, cradling your face in one massive hand and dropping his mouth to yours. It was slow and careful, just testing the waters, but you could tell he was holding back, and it made your stomach do flips. He really wanted you, needed you even, and that felt so good.

He was willing to take things slow. However you wanted him, he was yours. And sure enough, you fell into a comfortable rhythm with him, both of you head over heels for one another, and Matt was pleased whenever you two showed up to a night out together, Frank’s hand protectively around your waist. The three of you began to spend more time together, allowing Frank to see the more carefree, relaxed side of you that Matt brought out, but you also dedicated plenty of moments to just you and Frank. Right before your eyes, you built a relationship, and you were so happy with him.

Nevertheless, there was something of a dark cloud above your head, invisible to Frank but so heavy on you. Your mind fed you constant worries and anxiety — since everyone else had left, surely Frank would do the same. And without even fully realizing it, you began taking great measures to avoid such a fate.

”Which one do you like better?” you asked Frank, holding up two dresses that were casual enough for your movie date, but too important for you to make the decision on your own. You had become highly worried about everything you wore, always wondering if Frank liked what you had on or if he was ashamed to be seen with you. Maybe your body wasn’t good enough, to begin with.

”Why’re you askin’ me, sweetheart? You’ll look stunnin’ either way”, he chuckled, not really seeing the point, but his answer didn’t satisfy you.

”Pick one. Please?” you pleaded, desperately wanting his input, and it twisted his face with surprise.

”Uh, alright. The one on the right”, Frank chose, and instantly, your stomach dropped — you had thought the one on the left was better. But it mattered to you what he thought, as you certainly didn’t want to give him any reason to leave you, and so, you put on the dress he had pointed out.

You picked at it the whole drive to the movie theater, uncomfortable with how your body looked in it and convinced that Frank was seeing it, too. You felt insecure and you wanted to cancel the entire date, but you didn’t want to upset him, so you swallowed it down.

”Somethin’ wrong with the dress, baby?” Frank noticed your compulsive touching at the clothing, and feeling exposed by his question, you gave him a weak smile.

”No, no, nothing. It’s alright”, you insisted, before swiftly changing the subject. Still, Frank didn’t forget about it. If anything, he was starting to notice a pattern of you seeming so uncomfortable in your own skin, leaving him stuck between wanting to reassure you and fearing he’d only be creating a problem by bringing it up.

He picked up on the anxiety that followed you pretty easily. But it wasn’t until you began putting yourself down out loud that he cut in.

”Hey, bring me that black shirt f’me?” Frank called out from the bathroom where he was brushing his teeth, preparing for the day ahead of him. You reacted to his request as quickly as you could, digging through his designated half of the closet to find that one button-up you loved to see on him and hastily carrying it to the bathroom for him.

You handed the shirt over, and you instantly clocked the look on his face. ”Oh, shit, I shoulda specified. The other one, sweetheart. This one got all torn up from that one asshole’s knife the other night”, he corrected you gently and with care, but it hit you straight in the heart, making you feel like you couldn’t do anything right.

”Sorry. Sorry, I—I’m stupid. I don’t know what I was thinking”, you stammered, turning around to go back to the closet, but Frank stopped you with a grip on your wrist.

”Hey, you ain’t stupid. It was a mistake. Where’s this comin’ from, huh?” he glanced you over with concern, hating the sound of you criticizing yourself like that. He saw no need for it, and the way you jumped to it was something he wasn’t going to look past.

You shrugged, trying to move on from it, but Frank wasn’t that easily convinced. ”Look at me, sweetheart”, he demanded softly, and shyly, you brought your gaze up to his. ”I don’t like you speakin’ that way ’bout yourself. You didn’t do anythin’ wrong, yeah? It ain’t a big deal”, he promised, and his attempts to reassure you got your eyes to sting with incoming tears.

”I just don’t wanna do something to make you leave me”, you whispered, wiping your eyes to avoid him seeing you cry. ”Sorry”, you added, and shaking his head, Frank pulled you in, his head tilted down at you. He was so close, you could sense his warmth and his stare, and you felt so vulnerable in the small space.

”There’s nothin’ to apologize for, sweet darlin’. Hey, listen to me. There ain’t a thing you could do to make me leave. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again, ’m here to stay. I wanna be with you. The real you, includin’ every little thing you think I couldn’t love. I do”, Frank started, staring you down and trying to make you see he was completely serious. He would have never done anything to hurt you on purpose, and he wished he would have had the words to convince you.

”You really mean that?” you asked weakly, trembling from anxiety. You really wanted to believe him, but it was hard to unlearn everything you had grown so accustomed to.

”I mean it, baby”, he swore, leaning in to kiss your forehead. ”Is this why you keep bein’ so careful with what you say around me? And why you ask me what you should be wearin’?” he wondered, and embarrassed to admit it, you nodded.

”I just want you to still think I’m worth it”, you sighed, breaking Frank’s heart.

”Clearly I ain’t been very good at this boyfriend thing, ’cause I never want you to doubt how I feel ’bout you. You’re fuckin’ gorgeous, and I adore everythin’ you do and are. Can’t think of anyone sweeter and kinder than you. You’re the best thing to happen to me in a long while and I… I love you”, he told you, sincere and full of feeling. His words made your eyes widen, and for a moment, you were at a loss for words, but eventually, the right thing tumbled out of your mouth.

”I love you, Frank”, you smiled, unable to hold back the joy you felt upon hearing that. ”I’m always the one to love more. To get more attached. But you… you really care about me, don’t you?” you spoke in amazement, starting to see that he was serious about you.

”You’re goddamn right I do. And you’ll always be worth it to me, pretty girl. Nothin’s gonna change that”, he emphasized, his dark eyes filled to the brim with something fiery. For the first time since you had met him, you trusted in him one hundred percent and didn’t let the inevitable anxiety and doubt shift your faith.

Even before you started officially dating, he went out of his way to reassure and encourage you. Whenever you got stuck in a loop of apologies and overexplaining yourself, he shushed you softly and promised you that he knew exactly what you meant and that there was no need to be sorry for what you had said or done. This happened often when you talked about his family and you were afraid of overstepping or upsetting him, only for him to calm your racing mind down and insist that he wouldn’t have brought the topic up if he wasn’t ready to talk about it.

But he wasn’t too careful with you. He also knew when and how to be firm, and it often came out when you had a phone call to make or an appointment to attend. Especially if it was something important like getting your prescription refilled or seeing your doctor about the palpitations in your chest, he wasn’t playing around — he made you do it, convinced that you had it in you, but holding your hand through it, regardless. If you ever felt too anxious to go anywhere alone, all you had to do was call him and he would be right there.

He understood and listened to your worries, and that was probably why you fell so hard for him. No one had ever been so open-minded and judgment-free with you, and it was refreshing and left you thinking about him day and night. In fact, your anxious thoughts had to step aside to make room for Frank. He could tell you were into him, and the feeling was very much mutual, and so, you both took a leap of faith and decided to give it a go.

He met your friends early on, and they all approved of him pretty quickly, as they could see just how head over heels he was for you. It was no surprise that he was invited to multiple outings — while you still had girls’ nights every now and then, they really didn’t mind Frank tagging along, especially if they had brought their own partners with them.

Another night with all of you was in your plans for the evening, and as much as you loved your friends, you couldn’t help but feel uneasy. Your hands trembled just a little as you got dressed and your mouth was running dry, not to mention the sickening twist in the pit of your stomach that made you feel like throwing up.

And Frank noticed immediately. ”Hey, sweetheart, we don’t gotta stay for long, yeah?” he reminded while buttoning up his shirt, and with a glance at him, you nodded. He could tell you weren’t comforted by that thought, so he went on. ”It’ll be okay. Y’know they love seein’ you. No one there is gon’ judge you, baby”, he noted, listing off things he knew that bothered you the most.

You gave him another nod and sighed. ”It’s just a lot of people. I don’t like crowds. Also, what if I can’t make conversation? Or I do, and I say the wrong thing. What if I don’t like any of the food or drinks they serve there?” you pointed out in a nervous ramble, stopping to take a deep breath. It wasn’t unusual to get stuck in a cycle like this, unable to see everything that could go right instead of wrong, but Frank was happy to be the voice of reason.

”You never say the wrong thing, darlin’. You don’t gotta talk if you don’t wanna, lettin’ other people talk is fine, too. And you googled their menu already, and you know for sure they do serve something you like—and no, I don’t think they’ve magically run out of it for good”, he countered, walking over to you with his big hands reaching for your arms and rubbing them soothingly. ”We’ll make an appearance, and if it gets too much, you just gotta squeeze my hand, aight? I’ll take you home the second it gets unbearable”, he swore, knowing that sometimes you needed a little push and that all discomfort wasn’t bad. He wanted you to explore the boundaries of your comfort-zone, but just like he had promised, he wasn’t going to put you in a spot that would paralyze you.

And you knew that. You knew you could trust his word, and you knew it was healthy to challenge the anxious thoughts every now and then. So, you agreed to his terms, choosing to believe in him more than the nagging voice in your head.

”Attagirl”, Frank praised, taking your hand in his own and squeezing it just to emphasize that was all you had to do to give him the signal. You held onto him tightly, always finding comfort in his grip and the warmth he radiated.

You made your way to the bar where you were supposed to meet your friend group, and you tried your best to be calm but it didn’t seem to be working. You got hugs and excited questions about how you were doing, and you wanted to feel appreciated but all you could do was stew in the anxiety that came with being the center of attention. They wanted to know everything, and in the panic of the moment, you blanked entirely and couldn’t think of anything to say. Frank jumped in for you, keeping the conversation going, and your friends didn’t seem to question it.

When the rest of the group decided to order some food, you felt a lump in your throat, but Frank was already whispering into your ear. ”I got this. Don’t worry, sweetheart”, he reassured you before handling your order for you. Every now and then he encouraged you to do it on your own, but he could tell this wasn’t a good night for your anxiety, so he gladly took charge.

He checked in with you periodically, too. ”Feelin’ okay, pretty girl? Wanna go yet?” he queried softly, and as much as you wanted to plead him to take you home, you felt bad about the idea of ditching your friends. You tried to push through, giving Frank a smile and insisting that you were still doing good. He could see right through it, but as long as you weren’t showing any of the usual tell-tale signs of losing control, he was allowing it.

But just like he feared, you did begin to spiral. You lost track of time and space, not really processing anything your friends were saying, but at the same time, the chatter mixed with the loud music was becoming too overwhelming. You began shaking, unable to stop, the nervousness and worry bleeding from your thoughts to your body, and you felt the burning urge to just get out of there.

It didn’t take Frank long to detect your trembling, feeling the tremors against his chest as you were seated in his arms, and a frown deepened on his face. He tilted his head down at you, trying to reach you with soft calls of your name, but you couldn’t say anything.

”Sweetheart? You still with me?” he questioned quietly, knowing you didn’t want any extra attention drawn to yourself. His hand grabbed yours, and at the feeling of his fingers interlocking with your own, you felt a little safer. His large hand swallowed up yours entirely and he gave it a squeeze, trying to bring you back down from the panic you were riding.

”Aight, we’re headin’ home. My girl ain’t feelin’ so well”, he cut into the group’s conversation, digging out some bills from his wallet to pay for your food and drinks. He climbed out of the booth and gently pulled you with him, supporting your shaking body with his arm around you. Your friends were sad to see you go, but Frank wasn’t going to let them guilt you into staying. ”Thanks for invitin’ us, y’all. Have a good night”, he told them before steering you outside.

He walked you across the parking lot and helped you into the car, buckling you in before striding to his side of the truck and hopping in. ”You’re okay, baby. We’re goin’ home, yeah? Just you and me”, he spoke into the quiet car, making sure to turn down the music to avoid overstimulating you any further.

You were still silent, but as he began driving and let one hand hang between you and him, you instantly reached for it. You held onto his fingers tightly, needing the physical comfort, and he made sure to draw patterns against your skin with his thumb in an effort to soothe you. You closed your eyes and enjoyed the silence and the feeling of his hand in yours, letting it ground you.

He didn’t want to make your head spin with his incessant questions, so he didn’t speak for the remainder of the drive, just kept holding your hand. Only when he pulled up at your apartment building, he turned to you with a worried look in his eyes.

”How you feelin’, sweetheart? I know that was real shitty. ’M sorry I didn’t call it a night sooner”, he apologized, and the guilty tone got you to look at him and shake your head.

”It’s not your fault. I tried to push myself, I—I guess I just wanted to make you proud”, you shrugged shyly, dropping your gaze down to your conjoined hands.

Frank chuckled, not because he thought it was funny but because he thought his feelings for you were obvious. ”I’m already proud of ya, girl. I always am. You don’t gotta prove anythin’ to me. You definitely don’t gotta make yourself that uncomfortable just to show me”, he insisted, lifting your hand so he could kiss the back of it once, then twice, then once more.

You smiled weakly and squeezed his hand. ”Thanks for taking me home. I feel better now”, you told him, and with a nod, Frank let his lips twitch up in the most careful of smiles.

”That makes me real happy to hear, darlin’. Scares the shit outta me when you get all shaky like that”, he admitted, and when you opened your mouth, he knew exactly what you were going to say. ”Don’t apologize. It ain’t your fault. I just worry, y’know?” he added, earning a sigh from you.

”Yeah, I know. But for what it’s worth, you always help. It’d be way worse without you”, you mentioned, fully truthful. With Frank by your side, you had gotten much better at fighting back at the anxiety and not letting it control every aspect of your life, and when nights like these occurred and you lost your footing, he was always there to lift you back up.

”Anythin’ you need, baby, you know that. Now, how ’bout we go inside and I’ll make you somethin’ to eat, huh?” he suggested, painfully aware that you hadn’t been able to get a single forkful in at the bar. Touched by his thoughtfulness, you agreed and reluctantly let go of his hand to climb out of the car.

Jackson living isn’t all Joel thought it would be cracked up to be.

Don’t get him wrong- objectively, it’s great. Running water, electricity, a clinic- three hallmarks Joel was sure he’d never see again. Not since the outbreak.

So by all means, he should be content. He goes out for hunting parties and patrols. Has his own house. Has a permanent place to keep his boots and his knives and guns and a bookshelf to make his way through. He has a bed. He has his brother.

But he’s restless.

Joel spent a long time walking. Searching. Surviving. You don’t quite slip back into easy civilian life just like that, no matter how perfect the conditions are.

At first, he solves this problem but going on more hunting parties, more patrols. He stays up late doing guard rotations and helps out his brother with projects when he can.

It doesn’t solve the itch, though. That sharp little thrumming, just beneath his skin: the need to protect. To have a job. To have something or someone to look after.

He denies this part of himself as much as he can, because he’s not that man anymore. Not after Sarah. He’s not. You don’t stay somebody dying to help and protect when you kill people. Because they’re still people, under the fungus. Under the parasite. Their brain’s still work. They still feel pain and anguish and fear.

He’s heard them cry before. Hunched over a corpse, body acting with somebody else at the reins, faces covered in blood and gore crying “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”

So Joel isn’t a protective guy anymore. Had to take out those parts. Replace them with solitary and meanness and a distinct lack of sympathy.

It’s turned him into an angry thing. Like a gaurd dog; snarling, circling an empty pedestal it refuses to acknowledge is there.

He knows Tommy see’s it. Try’s to involve him in things whenever he can, invites him over to dinner. Hangs out at his house. Makes sure Joel isn’t alone-alone.

So Joel really, really should’ve seen it coming when he and the scouting party find you in the woods.

You’re just as surprised to see them as they are to see you. They thought they were tracking a deer— although some of the tracks and patterns of disturbance in the underbrush didn’t add up.

They’d entered a clearing, guns poised, just to see you, handgun leveled at them, perched in a tree. Way higher up than Joel would’ve dared.

“Stay the fuck away from me.” You’d hissed, voice carrying on the wind and rattling just like the leaves on the tree you’re in. How you managed to scale a tree that high in a busted pair of Doc Martens and lugging a backpack clearly full of supplies is beyond him.

But he doesn’t need medical credentials to know you’ve clearly had a rough go of things.

You’re young. Not young-young, but young. Dressed in clothes clearly pilfered, you’re wearing a thick brown jacket that probably would’ve belonged to a construction worker or something like that. It’s a few sizes too big, and the cuffs are frayed and there’s a hastily sewn patch on the elbow he can see. Your face and hair is littered with tree and other plant debris- though if this is a new addition from your tree climbing escapade, he’s not sure. Your nose has dried blood crusted under it, your lip is split, and there’s a cut above your eyebrow. Your knuckles and hands are equally torn and split, old and new scars and scrapes littering your skin.

In short: you look rough. And feral, in that way that cats that live outside a little too long and a little too far away from people end up looking.

“I said stay back!”

He remembers, abruptly, that you’re probably scared out of your mind and the rest of the scouting team is still pointing their weapons at you.

He makes the motion for them to lower their weapons, and he lowers his own, raising both hands in the universal “we come in peace” gesture.

You don’t lower yours, but your grip on it is looser.

“We’re from the Jackson settlement,” He shouts, hoping you don’t hear the gruff anger in his voice that Tommy always complains he needs to work on. “There’s running water and electricity.”

“I’ve heard that one before,” Your hands have begun to shake on the gun, ever so slightly. “So what’s your guys prerogative, huh? Cannablism? Religion? You planning on burning me at the stake? Or did you have something else in mind? I am a woman.”

Joel takes a step forward but stops when a bullet hits the ground right where his foot was about to be.

“If you take one more step you’re gonna find out exactly why I’ve survived alone this long.”

“Look,” He says, dropping his hands to his hips. “You can shoot us, and one of us will shoot you, and it’ll all be fine and dandy—“

There’s a chorus of whispers behind him.

“Or you can stay in that tree and not shoot us, and we won’t shoot you, and that’ll also be fine and dandy.”

He turns, jamming a finger in the direction of the settlement. “Jackson’s that way. Go or don’t go. I don’t really give a shit, but you look like you could use a bandaid.”

He jerks his head, and the rest of the party follows his lead, leaving the clearing —and you— behind.

—

A few hours after he returns, somewhere in the late evening when twilight is starting to set in and the crickets are chirping, Tommy knocks on his door.

“There’s a girl here for you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone asked for me?”

“Well, not so much as for you. Her words exactly were “that gruff, mean looking asshole,” but I got the picture.”

He sighs, deep in his bones. A small part of him —the part that’s still connected to that dog, still circling— had hoped you would show up. However, it’s hopelessly overshadowed by the sheer exasperation of it all.

He’s silent save for non-committal grunts and hmm’s the way over to the front gates where the evening rotation’s guards have you standing between them.

You’re slightly worse for wear since the last time he saw you in that tree. Your jacket as a new rip in it, and your nose is sluggishly bleeding again. Up close, he notices it’s a bit crooked.

Gonna hurt like a bitch to set, He thinks absentmindedly.

He slows as he approaches you, hands in his pockets and shoulders back.

“See?” He huffs, gesturing with one hand behind him. “Not cannibals. Or whatever else you’re worried about.”

Your face is hard set as you look around. “That remains to be seen.”

“Hello!”

Joel looks back to see a pregnant Maria waddling over, a concerned Tommy at her side.

“I told you I’d handle it—“

“And I told you I’m fine. Now,” She props her hands on her hips. “Who’s this young lady now?”

You (hesitantly) stick out a hand to shake and introduce yourself.

She shakes your hand with a smile. Leave it to Maria to be able to read people with such ease. “I’m Maria Miller. I’m one of the settlement councilors. The golden retriever fussing next to me is my husband, Tommy, and the angry looking bear next to him is his brother, Joel. I understand a scouting party found you?”

You nod, eyes flicking this way and that, cataloguing the area.

“I’ve been on my own for… awhile. I don’t have any supplies to offer, but I’m smart and strong. I’m willing to work in exchange for a place to stay.”

Maria hums, assessing. “I’m sure we can work something out. You’ll need to come with me to speak to the rest of the council, for our safety and yours.”

You tighten your grip on your backpack but follow Maria and Tommy, only sparing one backward glance at Joel.

He spends the rest of the evening trying to forget the look in your eyes.

—

He fails spectacularly.

This doesn’t mean, however, that he’s anywhere near pleased when his nightly reading-as-a-poor-attempt-at-normalcy routine is interrupted by a knock on the door. One that sounds suspiciously like Tommy’s type of knock.

Only he hears two voices as he walks up to the door, and the other one isn’t Maria.

Joel opens the door with a glare already fixed on his face.

“There have to be other places.”

Tommy rolls his eyes. “It’s only temporary. The council agreed to let her stay so long as she’s watched by a trusted Jackson member, and well. You vouched for her.”

“And when exactly did I do that?”

“In the woods, when you met. You told her where you were from and how to get there. Honestly, Joel, you’re getting off light here. Some of the council members were not happy you told a random loner —no offense— where to find us. Kind of defeats the whole point.”

You huff a quiet “None taken.”

He can’t help the way his body tenses. “So this is a punishment?”

“Yes and no.”

“I don’t—“

“Look,” you interject, clearly fed up with the conversation. “It’s not the end of the world. I’m not going to murder you in your sleep and I don’t leave dirty clothes lying around. It’s only for three weeks. Get over it.”

Another sigh threatens to release itself, but he stamps it down, figuring he’s hit his sigh quota for the day.

“Fine. But take her down to medical first. I don’t want her blood all over my house.”

Tommy shrugs. “No-can-do. Maria needs me back at the house. You know where medical is. I’m sure you’ll manage.”

And with that, Tommy leaves, abandoning Joel and you at the doorstep.

Joel scrubs a hand down his face. “Wait there. I’ll grab a jacket.”

The walk to the clinic is awkward and silent, and just when Joel thinks it can’t get any worse, one of the staff tells him that since he’s your assigned supervisor/watcher/whatever, he has to accompany you. To everything.

To your credit, you don’t look very happy about the arrangement either.

Still, you bear through all the exams, a grimace fixed firmly on your face. Apparently (and not surprisingly) you’re malnourished, dehydrated, running a small fever, deficient in several vitamins, have two cracked ribs (most likely, no x-ray machine) and some run of the mill scraps and bruises.

You’re cagey enough on the details of the cracked ribs and nose that the doctor eventually moves on to the fixing you stage of things.

It takes awhile. There are a lot of injuries to cover.

When it comes to resetting your nose, the second the woman pulls out a needle and syringe, you go rigid.

“No.”

The doctor blinks. “This is just lidocaine, it’ll numb the area so—“

“No.”

“You wanna feel all that?” Joel asks, the first time he’s spoken during your entire exam, “It ain’t gonna feel great. Crooked nose like that won’t set with one go.”

“No needles. No numbing.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “What, you got a pain thing or something?”

Your hands go white-knuckled on the exam table. “Fuck. Off.”

You’re shaking, he notes.

Ah, He says to himself. Not a pain thing.

Fear.

The doctor shrugs. “Not like I won’t take the chance to save what we have. You’ll want something to bite down on. Or squeeze.”

You wrap your fingers around your own hand, a pathetic attempt at self-soothing.

He decides annoyance is the emotion he feels at your small movement. Nothing else.

He rolls his eyes as he grabs your hand, maneuvering it in place of your own.

“Good luck breaking it.”

You don’t respond. He wasn’t really expecting you to.

He knows without looking the exact moment the doctor starts resetting things because your grip on his hand quickly turns from barely there to crushing. You make no sound.

The doctor, to her credit, works fairly quickly, though by the time she’s finished a single tear has carved a path through the blood and grime on your face.

He thinks about how someone learns to cry without sound.

The doctor moves on quickly, cleaning and bandaging the wounds that need it and telling you detailed instructions for how to take care of your nose and cracked ribs and what things you should be eating to avoid staying vitamin deficient. It’s all a lot of words Joel is glad he doesn’t have to memorize.

They stick in his head anyway.

You don’t let go of his hand. You’re no longer squeezing the life out of it, but you’re not holding its gently either. When you do finally let go (after the doctor’s left and you can leave) you practically tear your hand away, as if burned. Like you’d left your hand on a stove as it was heating up only you just now noticed it was hot.

He doesn't say anything about it. He figures you're liable to literally bite his head off, or some other violent action close to that.

Besides. This is all awkward enough.

The walk back to the house is just as silent and strained as the walk to the clinic. Only now your breath is just a little more labored. Steps a little shakier. Your hand's twitch at your sides like they're reaching for something, and you don't quite manage to hide the way you look around every now and then, a restless, nervous action.

He knows what you're doing. He was you, back when he first got to Jackson. Granted, he wasn't as twitchy as you are. He kept his distance, stayed mean and scary (as possible.)

He holds the door open for you when you arrive back to the house, because his mom raised him to be a gentleman no matter the circumstances.

You toss him a look of confusion and annoyance but step into the house, looking around the modest living room with something almost like wonder.

He toes off his shoes, sets them by the door, and takes off his jacket, hanging it on the hook. "Shower before you touch anything. You're filthy. And don't think I'm giving up my bed."

"I wouldn't have taken it even if you had," You sneer. "Where's the--"

"Down the hall on the left. You got clean clothes?"

"...I have less dirty ones."

He pinches the bridge of his nose. "Wait here."

He grumbles all the way upstairs, all the way through picking out clothes that'll fit you well enough until you either wash what you have or find something else.

He silently glowers as he comes down the stairs, thrusting the clothes out to you and turning on his heel when you take them.

"I'm going to bed. Don't wake me up."

When he lies in bed that night, he can't even pretend he's not thinking about you. In his defense, it's less about you and more about the new, strange, stand-offish person he's just supposed to live with for the foreseeable future. All because he had the bad luck of feeling bad for the battered, flighty, loner girl sitting in a tree.

He stares at his ceiling, internal clock (yes, he's old, he has an internal clock. Sue him) letting him know it is decidedly an hour he should be asleep. He refuses to go downstairs, on principle alone. He could get up and go find one of his books, but he knows that if you're anything like him, coming off of however long you spent alone, you're a light sleeper. You're probably awake now, listening to him toss and turn and being unnerved by the unusual silence of Jackson and the particular brand of night-noise it produces. That's what the first two weeks of Joel's life in Jackson consisted of, before he moved in here.

Maria had decided that Joel would stay with the two of them until he integrated in Jackson society. Perks of your brother marrying a council member, he guesses.

So he's not going downstairs. Not going to walk down there just to see a person, an entire person in his house looking like, looking like--

Fuck.

He throws his blankets off and angrily (but not loudly) marches downstairs to get himself a glass of water and the book he knows he left on the table by the couch when he was so rudely interrupted by you. This is his house, dammit, he refuses to be put out by a random girl.

Woman, his brain corrects.

The living room is completely dark when he makes his way down the stairs and he truly, honestly wishes he was surprised when there's a whoosh of air to his right and a knife embeds itself in the wall about a half inch away from the side of his face.

The living room is still and silent.

"I thought they took your weapons when you got here."

"I lied about what I had."

He scrubs a hand down his face, yanks the knife out of the wall, and tosses it back. If you can throw it, you can dodge it.

He doesn't hear any screams, yelps, or grunts of pain, so he assumes you caught it fine. Or at least dodged it.

He makes his way over to the kitchen, grabs the teapot, and takes down two mugs.

"You know they can kick you out for harboring weapons during your probationary stay."

He hears a rustle of blankets behind him. The sound of you stashing your knife, no doubt.

"Are you going to tell them?"

He snorts, filling up the teapot. "No. There's been a knife in my boot since the day I got here."

He hears more rustling, and decides against turning around. He's not quite sure what you've been doing down here all night since it's clear that you weren't sleeping.

He doesn't hear any footsteps, but when does turn around to set the mugs on the table, you're sitting at it, knees pulled up and head resting atop them, your cheek smushed. Now that his eye's have adjusted to the darkness of the living room, he can almost make out your features. They're easier to discern, now that you're not covered in blood and grime. You look... softer. Haloed in the glow of moonlight shining through the gaps in the curtains.

Your face isn't the only thing glowing. The tell-tale glint of a knife --a different, smaller knife than the one you'd thrown at him-- shines from it's spot, resting oh-so innocently on the table.

Joel just huffs.

"No weapons on the table."

He blinks, and it's gone.

He doesn't ask why you're still awake or what you've been doing instead of sleeping. You don't ask why he's down in the kitchen at all.

"What are you making?"

"Tea."

He gently places a teabag in each mug. He isn't really sure why he's doing this for you. You've done nothing but hiss and spit since he's met you.

But tonight, right now, blanketed in the not-quite calm of the night and the apparent unease you both drown in--

It's tolerable. You're tolerable.

So he takes the kettle off the stove and pours the water and places the steaming mug on the table in front of you.

To which you ignore, and snatch the mug out of his hands instead.

"Did you think I put that one," He points to the mug in front of you, "There for giggles?"

You cradle the mug in your hands, seemingly entranced with the warmth and steam. "You might've poisoned mine."

"Maybe I poisoned both."

You take a sip, then grimace when the too-hot liquid hits your tongue.

"You don't look like the kind of person to have built an immunity to poison."

"You also watched me make both beverages."

"So? It's dark. You could've slipped something in. Or maybe it was already in the teabags."

"What use would I even have for you dead?"

You shrug. "I don't know. You tell me."

“You’re a deeply mistrusting person.”

“And you’re not?”

Touché.

Joel remains in the kitchen, leaned against a cabinet sipping your tea, while you stay hunched at the table, sipping yours.

If he removes the irritability and the uncomfortable-ness of everything that involves you living with him, the moment is almost… companionable. Pleasant, even.

It… soothes that nervous part of him. Not the sad nervous. The angry nervous. That built up crack of anger.

There’s another person in his home that is neither attempting to perceive his problems nor actively attempting to kill him. Your belief that he might poison you aside, you still accepted the tea.

He firmly believes that Tommy isn’t right about the loneliness thing though. His brother being right is just a world Joel can’t live in.

Besides. It’s too early to tell anything anyway.

—

Unfortunately, the following few days do not go… terribly.

That isn’t to say they go well, though. Since he’s looking after you (read: making sure you’re not an axe-murderer or something) he’s not allowed to go out on scouting or hunting trips. Or solo guard rotations he’s come to covet.

It’s boring, and having you around is strange.

It’s interesting, when he gets bored enough, because if he focuses hard enough he can guess what events happened to you based on your reactions to certain things. He’s pretty sure you were drugged at some point based on your reaction to the doctor with the lidocaine. You’re general skittish and flighty nature can be easily attributed to the conditions in which everyone in the world is living in, but your particular brand of distrust and aggression says that humans, not the infected, have been the ones to hurt you the most. Your general unease in open areas or areas with not easily accessible exits leads him to believe that there have been several extremely close calls in several points of your survival.

He knows you’ve been shot before, but that one was an accident. He’d come downstairs, rubbing bleary sleep from his eyes and accidentally stumbled across you changing. Well, finishing changing. He’d quickly closed his eyes and turned around, and thankfully you hadn’t startled, but he had caught a glimpse of the stretch of skin not covered by the long sleeve undershirt you favored. On the left side, just above your hip and a few inches towards your bellybutton, there’s a jagged, raised, circular scar. Still pink.

He knows you have a very slight, very subtle limp. He’s not sure what causes it, but he knows you have one. It tends to act up when you do a lot of strenuous exercise for an extended period of time. Some days you wake up and it’s worse. On those days, you’re a little more mean, and a little more skittish.

He’s yet to see you actually, legitimately sleep.

He’s starting to think you haven’t, since arriving.

Which is insane, because it’s been four days.

The bags under your eyes are horrific, even to him. You’ve gotten clumsier and clumsier, your attention span and memory are terrible, and he thinks you might’ve started hallucinating, if the times he’s seen you staring off into space with concerned, fearful, or twisted expressions on your face and mumbled rambles he can’t make out are anything to go by.

On day five, when Joel comes downstairs in the morning and the knife you throw at him bounces harmlessly off the wall and clatters to the ground and you just stare at it, eyes foggy and unseeing, he decides to talk to Maria.

“I don’t really care,” He says, because he has a reputation to uphold dammit, “But I’m not sure how much longer she’s gonna last, and what she’s gonna do when she wakes up.”

“Mmm,” Maria hums, hands clasped on the table and staring at Joel with her best ‘I don’t believe you don’t care’ look. She’s really perfected it, “Well the truth is, she can’t go forever. It’s fear keeping her up now. Happens a lot with the loners that come in. Especially the women. She’s afraid that no one’s there to watch her back and terrified she won’t be strong enough to fend off any attackers.”

Maria looks at her hands. “The fear is exacerbated by the fact that the council took most of her weapons.”

“You knew—“

“She was lying? Of course I did. So did several of the other members, I’m sure. But she’s not a threat. She’s scared.”

He thumbs the thin scar on his cheek from the knife came just a little too close to hitting the mark when he sneezed in the kitchen. “She’s got a funny way of being scared.”

“Fight or flight, Joel. She knows flight isn’t an option.”

“Why are you lobbying so hard in her defense?”

“I’m not. I’m explaining her actions. Also,” She gives a knowing smile, “You’ve started to care. Otherwise you wouldn’t be coming to me about this.”

“Yeah, yeah,” He grouses. “So what am I supposed to do? Just wait for her to pass out?”

“You could. It’ll happen eventually. She very clearly doesn’t have that many hours left in her. That’s probably freaking her out more. Or, you could subtly show her that she can sleep around you. She needs to know that she’s safe from whatever it is she’s running from.”

Joel keeps his eyes locked on the kitchen table, tracing the grain in the wood with an absent-minded finger.

“I know you pushed for her to stay with me.”

“The council wanted a punishment that fit the crime.”

“Look, I appreciate the thought—“

Maria’s expression flattens. “Joel. Do not sit at my table and lie about how you don’t need anyone and you’re fine on your own. You need this.“

“I don’t need this,” He scoffs, “She’s practically half-feral. No one needs that.”

Maria stands, shrugging. “Then I guess you’ll have to file for a name change, No-One Miller. Until then, make sure she’s not alone when she wakes up.”

—

He did leave you alone for the duration of his conversation with Maria, because fuck if he was bringing you to that, and he figured you both could use some time away from each other. He knows he can.

He’s not very surprised to hear the familar whoosh of a small, sharp object sailing through the air that tends to accompany his arrival into rooms you’re occupying (he’s pretty sure it stopped being a fear response after the first two times and now you’re just messing with him) but he is suprised to see that this time, the knife doesn’t even make it head height. Or to the wall.

It clatters uselessly to the ground near his feet. He stares at the metal between his boots and then up at you—

“Why are you sitting on the kitchen counter?”

“I don’t remember.”

He leaves the knife on the ground and makes his way over to you, watching with mock disinterest at the several-seconds-delayed flinch you make when he stands in front of you.

You look up at him, eyes glassy and unfocused and you just look so, so tired.

There’s a curl of protectiveness in his chest that keeps trying to spread, keeps trying to grow. Here, in the kitchen, your legs dangling over the edge of the counter, bathed in the glow of the mid-day sun, it takes root. Right in the center.

He looks down at your feet. “What happened to your other shoe?”

You scrunch up your face. “I don’t… I was getting in bed, I think. But it wasn’t my bed. I forgot that things aren’t—“

That things aren’t the same anymore.

He crouches down, untying the laces of your boot and shucking it aside somewhere.

“Alright, come on.”

You slide off the counter, clumsy and uncoordinated. He takes your hand in his, leads you up to the bedroom.

The stairs are difficult for your tired, barely working brain. He has to stop multiple times to physically lift your legs or stop you from falling over and cracking your head open.

You finally make it up there, though, and he realizes that you probably won’t want to sleep in your everyday clothes.

“One last step.”

He can’t help but notice how intimate the moment is. Not intimate-intimate, but. He instructs you softly to lift your arms so he can tug your shirt over your head and replaces it with a soft shirt of his own.

Staring into your eyes is too charged and allowing his eyes to wander is bad for obvious reasons, so he keeps his gaze firmly fixed on the junction of where your neck meets your shoulder.

He keeps his eyes there as he helps you out of your pants and into a pair of flannel pajama pants. The same ones he’d given you the first night you came. You’ve never slept and he’s never seen you go to any of the places he knows have extra clothes, so he’s almost positive you don’t have any pajamas at all.

His fingers work quickly to tie the drawstring on the pants, and even then, they hang low on your hips.

He doesn’t let his eyes linger.

“Come on,” He says taking your arm and tugging you toward the bed. “Time for sleep.”

“It’s the middle of the day,” You mumble, standing in place. “And I can’t, what if they—“

“I’ll be here the whole time. I’ll keep watch.”

You mull his words over in your head for a few moments before stumbling the final few steps into the bed. You practically collapse into it, shuffling for a just few seconds before your breath evens out.

You’re asleep.

He reaches over, adjusting the blankets a bit, before grabbing the book he’d left on the bedside table and settling down in the chair by the bed.

The hours tick by quietly, accompanied only by the quiet rustling of pages turning and your soft snores.

For the first time in awhile, he doesn’t feel restless.

—

You sleep for a full eighteen hours straight before you stir.

He’s a good portion of the way through his book before he see’s your body tense in the corner of his eye. Your breathes are still even and deep, so if he couldn’t see you, he probably wouldn’t notice you’re awake.

“You’ve been asleep for eighteen hours,” He says, voice rough and scratchy with disuse, “You got in bed voluntarily.”

“You changed my clothes.”

“You didn’t seem all that capable of doing so yourself and I didn’t think you wanted to sleep in jeans. You mind?”

“…No.”

“Good. Go back to sleep.”

“I can’t just—“

“You didn’t sleep for five days. If we’re going by the eight hours a night average needed or whatever, that’s forty hours. You’ve still got twenty-two left to catch up on.”

You roll over to face him with a grumble. “I don’t like how good you are at mental math.”

“Get better, then.”

You shimmy out from under the blankets, tossing him an “I have to pee,” as you make your way out of the room.

It’s early morning now, weak sunlight behind to strain its way through the curtains. He figures it’s a good enough time to make some food (and coffee) if you’re going to be going to back sleep, so he meanders down to the kitchen and throws together a small breakfast.

“Did you make us breakfast?”

He never really gets used to how quietly you move through rooms.

“Jesus— yes. Here.”

He hands you a bowl with oatmeal and a small plate with a slice of toast— toasted in a pan, because electricity aside, he doesn’t own a toaster. Why waste time scavenging for an appliance when something else works just as fine?

He sets a jar of jam on the counter that he’d picked up awhile ago in exchange for fixing the hinge on somebody’s door.

“You got any allergies?”

“None that matter.”

He nods to the table. “Go eat. Then get back in bed.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“And you’re annoying. Eat.”

You eat quickly and quietly, then wordlessly follow him back upstairs, climbing back into bed.

“Joel?” You whisper.

“Hm?”

“Thank you.”

He tucks the blanket up over your shoulder. “Go to sleep.”

You obey easily.

—

Things between the two of you… soften after that. He slowly sees more pieces of your personality than the wild thing he met that day in the woods.

He learns that you love peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, but miss peanut butter and nutella sandwiches more than anything. He learns that on good days, you like drinking coffee straight black, but on bad days, you like it with milk and sugar.

He learns that your limp is the result of one careless mistake you’d made when you first surviving on your own.

“I thought the house was abandoned. It wasn’t,” You’d rolled up your pant leg to show horrific, deep, jagged scars circling your ankle, “Guy had set out a bear trap to slow down some of the clickers in the area. It was dark. Didn’t notice it until too late.”

He learns that you, despite your snide remarks and sarcastic comments, like having him around. He feels a bit like earning the trust of a stray cat.

You begin to grow more comfortable with life in Jackson, though not by much. He’s sure you weren’t a people person before the outbreak, much less so now that he knows some of the horrors you’ve been through before you got here.

He’s even started getting used to how quietly you move.

It’s easy to fall into a rhythm, from there.

He wakes up, goes downstairs. Sometime’s there’s a knife thrown at him, sometimes there isn’t. You’re usually sprawled on the couch, drool coming out of your mouth and grumbling incoherently about “old men and their stupid early mornings.”

It’s almost endearing.

Since Joel spends a lot of time helping Maria and Tommy get ready for their baby, you, in turn, get to know the both of them by being stuck with Joel. Maria set you on edge at first, Tommy slightly less so, but through continuous interactions your prickly nature smoothed.

One night, you were all seated on their couch after enjoying a dinner together —not the first and definitely not the last— having quiet conversation. You’re totally passed out on Joel’s shoulder, dead-asleep and quite content to use him as a human teddy bear.

Maria smiles over her mug of tea. “She’s grown on you.”

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yeah, yeah. She’s not all bad.”

“High praise coming from Joel Miller.”

You have grown on him. And in turn, your relationship has started to grow into… something else. Sometimes his eyes linger just a little too long, and the looks you share feel just a little too charged.

Tommy sends him a look full of words only true siblings can understand.

“No, Tommy.”

“Oh come on Joel! You both clearly—“

“We are not having this conversation right now.”

“Why not?”

“Because—“

You fling an arm out wildly, smacking him in the side of his face and grasping around until your pointer finger finally finds his lips.

“Shhhh. M’ sleeping.”

He wraps his hand around your wrist, prying your fingers off his face. “You know that’s what bed’s are for. Or couches. Or any number of surfaces I’ve found you sleeping on.”

“You’re a surface I’m sleeping on.”

“I shouldn’t be.”

“Why not?”

“Because I’m not a bed. Come on, up and at em’.”

You whine at the loss of warmth when he stands, scowling as you haul yourself to your feet. As he’s putting on his boots by the door, he hears you thanking Maria and Tommy for their hospitality, and he can’t help the little smile that twitches on his face. Seems like his parents weren’t the only ones who made sure he had manners.

You meet him at the door, hopping in place to put your boots on and getting frustrated when they don’t slide on immediately.

“You know, it would help if you untied the laces—“

“Fuck off.”

He blinks. That seems a little more mean than you usually say nowadays.

So Joel takes a step back. Watch’s your legs and your shoes and your hands—

There.

Your hands shake as you fumble with the laces, unable to get a good grip on the thin cords to untie and re-tie your shoes.

He shoos your hands away from the singular boot you haven’t managed to get on.

“Sit.”

He’s thankful that he built the shoe bench for Maria a few weeks after he got to Jackson. It serves Maria well for not having to stand while she attempts to put her shoes on while heavily pregnant, a feat she bemoaned a few times, and now it’s serving you.

You plop down on the bench with a huff, crossing your arms as Joel crouches, undoing the laces of your boot and sliding it on.

“I can do it.”

“I know you can.”

“Why’re you doing it?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer.”

He secures the tie on one boot and moves on to the next. “It is tonight.”

Once both shoes are on, you both bid Tommy and Maria good night, and make your way home.

If your hand find’s Joel’s, then that’s not anyone’s business.

—

He notices things after that.

You’ve started snapping at him more often. You’re not sleeping as much. You’ve started flat out refusing to go with him on daily chores as tasks, which either leads to an argument or the both of you staying at home all day.

It all comes to a head when you wake up screaming.

He thunders down the stairs, ducking on instinct for a knife that doesn’t come. You’re not on the couch. He whips his head around, the screaming stopped he can’t find you—

A thud. A panicked gasp.

He moves on slow, apprehensive feet towards the kitchen, crouching down to see you huddled under the table, knife clenched in your hand and pointed toward him.

“Hey, hey, what’s going on?”

Your eyes are wide and shining with tears.

“You died.”

“I didn’t. I’m right here.”

You shake your head, breaths coming short and shallow.

He settles on the floor, crossing his legs. “Here, take my hand. Come on.”

He extends his hand into the space between you two. Achingly slowly, you put down the knife, and take his hand in yours.

“See? I’m still here.”

Eventually, your breathing slows, and the fear begins to leave your eyes. You drop his hand.

“I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry for.”

“No, no it’s just—“ You break off with a strangled noise.

He waits. Lets a few minutes tick by.

“Does this have anything to do with the fact you’ve been avoidin’ me?”

You look down. “You noticed?”

“I do have eyes, sweetheart.”

You grab the knife again, twisting it this way and that in your hands.

“I’m scared.”

“Of what?”

“Of you.”

He tilts his head. “How come?”

You’re silent for a little while again.

“I feel… okay with you.”

“And that’s scary?”

“Yes,” You breathe, “You could leave, or die, and it scares me that I’m already attached to you. That having nightmare’s of you dying affects me so much. That they happen at all.”

He hums. “Seem’s were at an impasse.”

He taps a finger on his knee.

“It’s not all bad. To care.”

“Who are you and what have you done with Joel Miller?”

He huffs, shaking his head. “You know, against my better judgment, I’ve come to tolerate having you around.”

“Tolerate?”

“Mhm.”

“Nothing else?”

“No.”

“So you’ve never thought about kissing me?”

Heat rushes to his face. “Is that really a question you want to be asking right now?”

“Yes.”

“Mm,” He stands, “Well I don’t answer that kind of question at this hour. Come on.”

He reaches under the table and pulls you out.

You clamber to your feet, still a little shaky after your nightmare.

You turn to go back to the couch, but stops when he tugs on your arm.

“Mm-mm. No couch tonight.”

You look up at him, a question in your eyes he doesn’t know how to answer with words.

He steps forward, rough hands coming up to your face, thumb swiping the crest of your cheek.

“Tell me to stop.”

“I won’t.”

He leans down, capturing your lips in a kiss, soft and slow.

He pulls away after a few moments, searching your face for any sign of negativity or displeasure or disgust or, or—

You surge up, kissing him again, all the same fiery passion he saw the day you met.

“I suppose that answers my question.”

He chuckles. “You think?”

“I hope so.”

His hands slide down to your waist. and he can’t resist the little squeeze he gives the skin there.

“Alright. Back to bed, let’s go.”

“I forgot how tired old men get.”

“Please don’t call me an old man right after we kiss.”

He can hear your quiet snorting laughter as you climb the stairs, socked feet silent as always.

You climb into bed first, shoving yourself into the side by the wall and then making grabby motions for Joel.

“Am I just a pillow to you?”

“Yes. Come be a pillow.”

He rolls his eyes but slips into bed next to you and quietly relishes in the pleased hum you let out as you wrap your arms around his waist, practically smashing your face into his chest.

“You comfortable there?”

“Mhm.”

He curls one arm around you, his other hand coming up to cup the back of your neck. This close, he feels the shudder run through your body at the motion, and curious, he gives your nape a little squeeze.

Your reaction is instantaneous. You go limp- completely boneless.

“I got you, I got you. Go to sleep, now.”

It doesn’t take you long. And with you asleep so soundly in his arms, he follows right behind you.

you tried to be quiet about it. you knew frank was home - he’d told you earlier he was gonna be in for the night, promised to bring food, check in on you. you hadn’t expected to actually need it.

you weren’t sure what gave you away - the sound of the door shutting, the shaky breath you let out - but it didn’t take long before you heard his footsteps, slow and heavy, coming from the other room.

“sweetheart?” his voice was gruff, tinged with concern. “that you?”

you swiped at your face quickly, trying to get rid of the evidence before he could see it. “yeah,” you called back, but your voice wobbled, betraying you instantly.

he was in front of you before you could blink.

frank had this way of making you feel small, but not in a bad way. he was just… big. broad shoulders, solid chest, hands that could probably wrap around your whole waist if he wanted to. he stood close now, taking you in, dark eyes scanning every inch of your face.

“what’s wrong?”

you shook your head, trying to wave it off. “just - just a long day, s’all.”

he wasn’t buying it. his jaw ticked, but he didn’t push - not yet. instead, he reached out, slow and careful, like he knew exactly how fragile you felt. his hands settled on your shoulders first, then skimmed down your arms, squeezing lightly.

“c’mere, baby,” he murmured, voice softer now. and just like that, whatever was holding you together snapped.

you sank into him without thinking, pressing your face against his chest. he was warm, solid, smelled like leather and gunpowder and something distinctly him.

frank wrapped his arms around you, pulling you in tight, one big hand smoothing over your back. “shh, i gotcha,” he murmured. “s’alright, just breathe.”

you sniffled against him, fisting the front of his shirt. “i just felt like everything went wrong today,” you admitted, voice small.

“yeah?” he rumbled, rubbing slow circles against your spine. “you gonna tell me?”

you hesitated, but he just squeezed you a little closer, like he had all the time in the world. so you told him - about the little things that had piled up, the way everything just felt too much. he listened quietly, nodding, humming in acknowledgment.

when you were done, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “wish i could’ve been there, baby. would’ve made it easier.”

you let out a shaky breath. “yeah, you would’ve. anyway i just needed this,” you admitted, your voice cracking as you tried not to let the tears slip.

“yeah?” he tugged you even closer, so close you felt caged in, but in the safest way possible. “you stay right here as long as you need, baby. ‘m not goin’ anywhere.”

you weren’t sure how long you stayed wrapped up in him like that. long enough for the shaking to stop, long enough for the tightness in your chest to ease.

but eventually, you sniffled and pulled back a little, rubbing at your eyes. frank cupped your face, thumbs brushing gently under your lashes. “s’pose you ate somethin’?”

you shook your head.

he sighed, but it wasn’t annoyed - more fond, if anything. “knew i shoulda made you eat earlier,” he muttered, then tilted his head toward the kitchen. “go sit down. ‘ll get you somethin’.”

you almost protested, but he gave you that look, the one that meant there was no point arguing. so you listened, dragging yourself over to the couch while he disappeared into the kitchen.

it took about five minutes before the exhaustion really hit you. the kind that settled deep, made your limbs feel heavy, made you crave warmth.

without thinking too much about it, you got up, wandered into frank’s room.

his closet was open just enough to see inside, and you didn’t even hesitate, grabbing the first thing that looked warm and oversized - a dark hoodie, worn and soft. you pulled it over your head, the fabric swallowing you whole. it smelled like him, felt like him, and some of the leftover weight in your chest eased just from that alone.

you were still tugging the sleeves over your hands when frank walked in, carrying a plate. he froze in the doorway, brow furrowing.

then, slowly, his mouth twitched up at the corner.

“that mine?”

you blinked innocently. “no.”

his eyes swept over you, taking in the way his hoodie draped over you, how the sleeves hung past your hands.

his smirk deepened. “you sure ‘bout that, baby?”

you flushed but didn’t answer, just wrapped your arms around yourself.

frank exhaled, setting the plate down before walking over. “y’cold?”

you nodded.

without a word, he hooked his fingers under the hem of the hoodie, adjusting it on you before smoothing his hands down your sides. it should’ve been nothing, just a small touch, but the way he did it - so deliberate, so gentle - made your breath catch.

“looks good on you, sweetheart,” he murmured, tugging lightly at the oversized sleeves. “knew you’d be cute all wrapped up in me.”

your face burned, but before you could say anything, he was steering you back toward the couch.

“c’mon, baby, eat somethin’ first,” he said, squeezing your hip. “then we’ll talk ‘bout how you’re stealin’ my shit.”

you huffed but let him guide you, sinking onto the couch as he handed you the plate. he sat next to you, one arm slung over the back of the couch, close enough that his body heat seeped into you.

you picked at the food for a second before glancing at him. “are you gonna make me give it back?” you said, the small smile on your face giving away the fact that you already knew the answer.

frank smirked, reached over to tug the hood up over your head. “nah,” he murmured, brushing a kiss against your temple. “told ya - you can have whatever you want.”

you didn’t mean to steal more of frank’s stuff. it just kinda… happened.

first, it was the hoodie. then, at some point during the night, you tugged off your socks and found a pair of his thicker ones to put on instead. then, when you got up for water, you spotted one of his beanies on the counter and pulled it over your head without thinking.

you were comfortable. warm. the weight of the day had eased off your chest, leaving only a pleasant kind of tiredness.

frank noticed immediately.

you caught him watching you from where he sat on the couch, one arm slung lazily over the back, legs spread wide. his dark eyes flicked over you, slow and deliberate.

“… somethin’ you wanna tell me, sweetheart?”

you blinked at him, feigning innocence. “no?”

his lips twitched. he leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “you sure ‘bout that, baby?”

you fidgeted under his gaze, pulling the sleeves of his hoodie further over your hands. frank let out a low hum, and before you could react, he reached out, catching your wrist.

his hand swallowed yours easily, thumb brushing over your knuckles. “lemme see somethin’.”

he tugged, just enough to make you stumble forward, and suddenly you were standing between his legs, looking down at him.

his free hand landed on your hip, big and warm, while the other pushed up the sleeve of his hoodie. his thumb brushed over your pulse point, slow and steady, like he could feel how much your heart had picked up.

“real cute,” he murmured, voice low. “you think i wouldn’t notice you pilin’ on all my shit?”

heat crept up your neck. “i was cold.”

frank huffed out a soft laugh, eyes flicking up to meet yours. “ah, i see. that why you took my beanie too?”

you hesitated, then nodded through your smile.

his lips twitched again, but instead of teasing, he reached up, adjusting it over your ears. “s’pose i can’t be mad, long as it’s keepin’ you warm.”

you exaggerated your exhale, making it look like tension was slipping from your shoulders. frank chuckled in response, but he wasn’t done with you yet. he shifted, tugging lightly on your wrist again until you got the hint and climbed onto his lap.

you weren’t small by any means, but compared to him, you might as well have been. his arms wrapped around you easily, pulling you against his chest. you let yourself sink into him, pressing your face into his neck.

frank chuckled, his hand running slow over your back. “jesus, sweetheart. if you wanted me to baby you, you coulda just asked.”

you mumbled something incoherent against his skin.

he smirked. “what’s that, baby?”

“shut up.”

frank just laughed again, low and warm, the sound rumbling through his chest. you felt the press of his lips against your temple, then his nose nudging against your hair.

“you know you can just tell me when you need this, right?” he murmured.

you hesitated, fingers curling into the front of his shirt. “… s’not that easy.”

he exhaled, squeezing your waist. “i know, baby. but you don’t gotta wait ‘til you’re feelin’ like shit to come crawl into my lap.”

your face burned. “i did not crawl into your lap.”

frank smirked against your temple. “nah?” he teased. “kinda seems like you did.”

you groaned, pushing at his chest, but he just tightened his grip, keeping you right where he wanted you.

“s’alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, lips brushing your ear. “i like takin’ care of you.”

you swallowed hard, heart flipping in your chest.

frank sighed, shifting slightly so he could rub a slow hand up and down your spine. “been runnin’ yourself ragged lately,” he muttered. “shouldn’t take a bad day for you to slow down.”

you knew he was right, but you didn’t know how to say that out loud. instead, you curled in a little closer, letting yourself just… be in his arms.

frank let you, rocking you slightly, his fingers tracing slow patterns against your back.

“y’gonna stay here tonight? you better.” he added, before giving you a chance to reply.

you nodded anyway.

“yeah, thought so,” he murmured, pressing a lazy kiss to your temple. “means you ain’t takin’ that hoodie off either, huh?”

you shook your head.

he sighed dramatically. “shoulda known. losin’ all my shit to you, huh?”

“yup,” you murmured, voice muffled against his chest.

frank huffed, but there was nothing but warmth in it. “yeah, alright, sweetheart. long as you’re warm.”

he paused, then smirked. “but you do this again, least you could do is grab one of my shirts too. would look real cute sleepin’ in one’a those.”

you groaned, hiding your face in his neck, your eyes shutting as the tiredness took over. “frank.”

he just laughed, arms tightening around you. “s’alright, baby. you know you can take whatever you want.”

and you did.

ᰔ frank castle : @stvr-dust, @uncertified-doc

The wad of cash that Frank pulled out and set on your dining table made your eyes widen. The faded green crumpled bills were speckled with what was undoubtedly blood. Staring up at Frank wide eyed, creases of confusion settled in your forehead.

“Where did you get this?”

“From someone that don’t need it no more.”

Frank shrugged off his jacket and walked over towards your kitchen, his heavy booted footsteps echoing on the worn wooden floor. You were still staring at him in incredulity. He’d just dropped what looked like a thousand dollars on your dining table with as much indifference as if he’d dropped a twenty dollar bill to cover take out for the two of you.

“Wha-, Frank, this is…what am I supposed to do with this?”

Frank turned his head to look at you over his shoulder, clearly perplexed by your question. Pursing his lips, he lightly scrunched up his nose and shrugged.

“Whatever you want. Get ahead on a few bills, buy some of that stuff that’s been sittin’ in your cart for weeks, save it, I don’t know. Your call.”

His casual behavior about the situation left you spiraling. You didn’t wanna know where this money had come from. You had an idea, but you didn’t need confirmation. 

“Frank…I can’t…shouldn’t we give this to the police?”

If he was perplexed before, he was full on confused now. He turned to face you fully, his expression twisted up like you’d just asked him the most ridiculous question.

“The hell would we do that for?”

“Well…because. It’s…I mean…isn’t it…like…”

“Sweetheart, it’s money. Money is money. Don’t matter where it came from or who had it. They ain’t got a use for it no more. Besides, better you have it and put it to good use than some crooked cop pocketin’ it, or it collectin’ dust in an evidence locker.”

Frank made a valid point. The logical part of your brain understood what he was saying. And it would definitely give you some breathing room, taking care of more than a few bills so that you could cut back a bit on how much you were working.

Sensing your confliction, Frank set the mug down on the counter and walked over towards you, lightly grasping your chin to get you to look at him.

“Look, only place that money is goin’ is in your bank account. Now either you can deposit it, or I’ll swipe your wallet and do it myself. But it ain’t goin’ nowhere else.”

You knew Frank wasn’t joking. And you knew you weren’t winning this argument. Letting out a quiet huff, you have him a pointed look.

“Yeah let me just stroll into my bank and hand them this bloody money. That won’t get me put on a watchlist.”

“For all they know the blood came from a papercut.”

Grabbing one of the bills and holding it up silently, as if to prove your point, you arched one of your brows. Frank glanced down at it, seeing the way crimson stained the faded green paper like confetti. Rolling his eyes, he swiped the bill and set it down on the table with the rest.

he stretches his arms as he passes the kitchen, the promise of a warm bed making him more tired by the second— the long day having worn him out. he can't wait to slide under the warm covers and wrap his arms around you, finally being able to hold you after weeks of heavy work. 

he quietly pushes the door to your bedroom open, a low creak being pulled from the worn out metal as he closes it behind him. he moves over to his side of the bed, pulling his sweatshirt off, along with shoving his jeans down his thick thighs— leaving the discarded clothes in a heap beside the bed. another thing he'll deal with in the morning.

he turns around, leaning down to pull the covers up and slides into bed, wrapping an arm around your hot body. he only now notices that he's been cold, now that your scorching bare arms and legs are being pulled against his body.

he notices how you remain laying there; judging by your heart rate you're awake, though you're not doing anything to show it. Frank cocks an eyebrow. maybe you were just falling asleep?

" honey, you 'wake? " he rasps, his voice low and gravily due to his tiredness. no response.

Frank frowns. he moves one of his large hands over to your shoulder, gently turning you to face him. his brows furrow when you do— his eyes meeting your tear stained face and somewhat lifeless eyes. so it one of those days.

Frank has had plenty of them. where waking up was the only thing he could do. wake up in a cold sweat from a bad dream, lay there for hours, then fall asleep eventually. wake up in a cold sweat, repeat.

one of his large hands comes up to cup your face, the rough pad of his thumb gently stroking your crusty cheek. " what's goin'on? " he asks, the lovesick concern in his voice clear. he hates seeing you like this.

you shake your head— a motion barely noticeable, but he catches it nonetheless. his heart clenching as he pulls you into his chest, his thick arms wrapping around you. you don't hug him back, but the hand against his chest that's curled up into a fist tells him all he needs to know. 

sometimes, all you could do on these days was just lay there. for entire days on end. the digital alarm clock on your nightstand reads 4:38AM in angry red numbers, glaring at him and scolding him for how late he got home. 

the next time his eyes fall to the clock, it reads 5:59AM. he glances down at you, the side of your eyes showing that you held them open, just staring at his scarred chest. a few tears dripping down your cheeks and onto the bed. he finds himself wide awake since the moment he felt something was off.

he shifts a little, moving over you a little. he knows you love your weighted blanket— the one you never sleep without when he's not there— and he knows that when he is there that nothing beats the weight of him. either him laying mostly on top of you, or pressing your back against his chest like he's curling up into a ball around you. 

so that's what he does— holding you tightly against his chest, laying partially on his side so a part of him presses a part of you into the bed, the other part being held by his strong arms. 

he holds you for what feels like forever, until he feels your shoulders start to quiver and you curl up even closer against him, finally letting go against him. and he keeps holding you, his weight never changing as you silently cry against him. Frank feels as though he might join you, tears of his own starting to prick at his eyes. 

the quiet peace slowly is slowly interrupted by the sun starting to rise, the light slowly but surely starting to try to pierce through the curtains.

he glances over at the clock again— 8:26AM. he blinks slowly, looking down at you. your crying has slowed over the past hour, slowly dying down to occasional sniffles and big yawns. 

a loud growl from your stomach interrupts the peace, growling loud and clear. you shrink more against Frank, as if ashamed at the sound. though he wants to verbally assure you that it's okay, his stomach beats him to it by letting out a growl somehow louder than yours. it manages to pull a small breathy laugh from you against his damp chest. one that by the sound alone causes Frank to smile, a laugh of his own sounding before he even was aware.

you slowly pull away from his chest, giving Frank a silent sign that the compression is no longer needed. he moves off of you, though still keeping you in his arms. one of his large hands comes up to hold your face once more, his thumb gently swiping across your cheek as the other arm lays beneath your neck, his hand stroking the back of your neck and shoulders.

" Frank, " your tired eyes slowly drag up to meet his. a look of painful despair in your eyes that makes Frank's heart clench. " i think i might be broken beyond repair. " your voice is raw and rough.

" hey now, sh shh, don't say that. " Frank frowns, his hand cupping your cheek firmly, but oh so gently. " these feelings will come, " his eyes intensely looking into yours. " but these feelings will also go again. you are not broken, you understand me? " anyone else would've misinterpreted his tone for slightly threatening or fed up, but not you. you know how deeply he feels for people, and how intense he can show those feelings.

"we'll be alright, okay?" he rasps. despite the rasp, his tone is more gentle than ever. you nod against his hand, leaning into his warm hand. " not today, hell— probably not tomorrow or the day after. but one day, you'll tackle these feelings and you'll be equipped with the right things to deal with them, and they won't be as scary and tough anymore. "

he leans in pressing a firm kiss to your forehead. " and until that day i will be there— whenever you need me to— to help you deal with them. no matter what day, or hour. you hear me? " you tiredly nod in response, a small smile on yours lips.

he smiles, a small and gentle smile, but one that symbolically meets his eyes. " now, let's go make some breakfast yeah? else my stomach might start eatin' yours. " he gently pinches your waist, causing you to squirm against him.