Steve: Heyy pretty lady, wanna come over to my place tonight? ~

Jonathan: Steve, I’m a man..

Steve took a moment to register his words

Steve: Heyy pretty boy, wanna come—

Jonathan: Oh Steve.. I’m never letting you drink again.

Steve: is that a yes?

Jonathan: Yes..

imagine it's late. you came back from a night drinking with friends, stumbling through your shared apartment door. you had a box of whatever seltzer you decided to pregame with while trying to swing your purse back onto the other shoulder.

by the time frank comes home it's 1:46am. he stumbles in the same way you did just an hour earlier— but more staggered than the cute tipsy tumbles he usually sees you take after you have one too many.

he gets to your shared room and peeks in on you watching something on your laptop and spooning a bowl of chocolate ice cream.

he came home to you.

sometimes you worry he won't— like maybe his bruises get a little too internal, or he gets hit too hard in a place he shouldn't.

but knowing he's come back to you since every night makes the worry a little less heavy.

and your the reason he comes home every night. so he can lick the ice cream off your lips and fuck you to bed.