#frankc

You didn’t bother with knocking. If you walked in on something - well, all the better for you, wasn’t it? You knew that Frank hated it when you just waltzed in like this and yet - his door often remained surprisingly unlocked.Re “Oh Frankie-boy,” You said, walking into the shitty apartment with a bag full of relaxation candles and massage oils - Only to pause at the sight in front of you. Shirtless Frank. Arms, chest and back out Frank. Pull-up Frank. “What do you want, Des?” He grunted, his eyes focused more on his arms, like he was admiring his own veins as they stuck out from the exertion. The bag dropped from your hands, and you took a dew steps forward, catching the whiff of his sweat. Not entirely unpleasant. “I forgot,” You said, shamelessly. “Those washboard abs washed away all the thoughts from my head.” He scoffed but you could see the grin that he was hiding. The grin that sent a shiver of … well, desire, up your spine. You sauntered closer, leaving the fallen bag behind. “Hey, think if I wrapped myself around your torso, you could still do that?” You asked, tracing a line down his abdomen, over the ripple of his bellybutton, down to the waistband of his pants. He grunted at you, sighed as if you were interrupting something important, then dropped down to the ground. “If you came earlier, I’d be up for trying,” He said, eyeing you. “If I put on a shirt, will you remember what the fuck you came here for?” You shook your head vehemently. “Nope. Unlikely. Better to just keep it off, Frankie.”

You woke up when the alarm clock started to blare. It was time for Frank to get up and go to work. He did his usual thing, rolled over, gave you a kiss. You did your usual thing, complained about his morning breath, which would make him kiss you more to spite him. Then you’d lay there in bed while he got ready, grabbed the lunch that you made the night before, and then would go. Only things were a little different behind the scenes today. You didn’t care about his morning breath. You only brought it up because you did it every day. You almost forgot to make his lunch the night before, having to drag yourself up and do it after he turned in. A lot had been slipping your mind these days. A lot of things just didn’t feel as important as they used to.

You went back to sleep. Your own alarm went off an hour later. Work. You didn’t feel like getting up, going to your computer. You couldn’t even get yourself up to do anything, much less work from home. It just felt - like too much. Too stressful. You texted your boss, and then rolled over, fell asleep again.

Countless times throughout the day, you woke up. But you didn’t get up. You had to pee but - the bathroom seemed so far away. You just held it instead. You didn’t feel that hungry either. You just - stared out the window. You should have gone to work. You should have showered. Your hair was feeling a bit greasy. You should have done the dishes. They were piled up in the sink. You should have made lunch for yourself, but - no. No, you just didn’t feel like it. You didn’t want to do anything. Pee, eat, brush your teeth.

The door opened. The sky had darkened. Frank called out that he was home. You didn’t call back. You just pushed the blankets up over your head. Hiding. Ashamed. He found you in the bed after a minute, after you heard him searching through the kitchen. You heard him set something down. He sat on the bed, causing you to roll slightly towards him. He took the blankets off of you, forcing you to face him.

“You sick or something?” He asked. You shrugged. He pressed his lips to your forehead to take your temperature. An old trick. “You don’t feel sick.”

“I’m fine,” You said. “Just - feeling...”

“Oh,” Frank said. He understood. It had been a while since you had one of your lows. But these times still came. He kissed your forehead again, pushed your hair away from your face. “I got you one of those expensive fancy fuckin’ coffees you like. Why I gotta pay six bucks for a coffee and some whipped cream, I’ll never understand-” He passed you what he had set down before. Starbucks. Your favorite. The smell hit your nostrils and you wished you could say that it was enough to make you feel better but... You shook your head. He set it back down and looked at you. “So what am I going to do with you then?”

“It’s fine, Frank, it’s just a bad day. I’ll feel better tomorrow.”

“Too late for me,” He said. “Come on, get up.” Against your will, he took the blanket off of you, grabbed your arms and pulled you up like you were nothing more than a ragdoll. He threw you over his strong shower. “We’re getting you in the shower and then you are not putting that six dollars to waste.”

You ended up lucky. You only got a bullet through the arm when it could easily have been your chest, or even your heart. It went clean through and didn’t nick anything except for the bone which was now shattered - but repairable. Bullet in, bullet out.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing here, babe?” Frank asked, crouching beside you. He took a look at the wound that you had, tsked his tongue and shook his head. “You’re going to have to go to the hospital for that one.”

“I needed to make sure that you’re okay.” You told Frank, staring into his eyes. He was angry, you could see that. It overwhelmed everything inside of him, as it often did.

“I warned you-” He said, pointing his finger at your face. “I fucking warned you, devil warned you, Red warned you-” He started, naming all the people who cared about you. He stopped himself and grabbed your good arm, pulling you to your feet. “Get outta here, I didn’t get them all.”

“But you’ll be alright, won’t you?” You asked, pleading with him to say yes. You would go if he did, you both knew that. As long as he promised. Without looking, he turned his body to the left and fired off a shot with one of his pistols. A groan could be heard.