#please dont read

WHY THE HECK, DID I THINK OTHER FRANKIE COULD BREAK HIS CHAIR???

I was like, "oh haha! He is too big for his chair! Just look at him vs the baby chair!"

But then I realized-

I HAVE THE CHAIR AND I KNOW ITS WRONG!!!

Proof, this is my chair:

For the reasoning why I have it, the answer is, this was my chair from when I was 5 years old. I'm a kleptomaniac and so I kept it for I think 16 to 17 year, maybe more? (I can't do math right now-) either or, I have kept it... BECAUSE IT CANT BREAK!!!

I swear, this chair is so indestructible, I have used it as a stool, I have had really heavy stuff on it cuz I needed a surface, I have thrown stuff at it and it at things and both ways, the item was more damaged, then this bloody chair.

These chairs are so just-

There is no way, Other Frankie could break this chair, he could throw it into the incinerator and it would probs come out fine!!!

SO! For anyone else who thought like me, and was like, oh yeah, that chair would break because its so small and he is a giant robot, no he wouldn't, that chair would kill him before he destroyed it.

----

So now art idea for me later.... Lucky beating Other Frankie up with one of these chairs.

“It’s still snowing,” Lance whispered, instinctually knowing that his normal speaking voice would be too much for Luca's current state. 

“Mmm,” Luca hummed in brief agreement. The window curtains were partly opened so Lance could look out the dark window; the street lamps outside illuminated the fat snowflakes drifting through the air and collecting on the window sill in a white, fluffy pile. 

Luca weakly pushed himself up from his boyfriend’s lap and onto his elbow. Lance's hand gently moved down his head to rub little circles over his shoulder blade, lips ghosting over his temple.

“How are you feeling, mon amor?” 

He groaned in response as a wave of nausea rolled through him from simply sitting up. Breathing in and out, Luca tried to push down the sick feeling, but very quickly realised that it was a battle he wouldn’t win. The too-heavy blankets twisted around his legs as he attempted to hurry toward their bathroom, only for an arm around his shoulders to stop him. 

“Right here, amor,” Lance whispered, easily halting his efforts and reaching for the basin he’d placed there earlier that morning. “It’s alright.” 

Luca didn’t know how he possibly had anything else in his stomach at this point as he leaned over the basin and threw up once more. After heaving up little but water and bile, he spent several long minutes dry-heaving. Each round of heaving drove the dull headache that’d been plaguing him for the past three days to a searing pain straight through his skull, bringing tears to his eyes. 

Terrible chills racked sharply down his spine as Luca weakly spit into the basin, lowering himself back onto the bed. A pair of painful sneezes ripped their way out of him, jarring his head even more. Squeezing his eyes shut, he felt the hot tears leak down the side of his face and drip onto the pillow.

“Oh, sweetheart,” Lance soothed, placing the basin back on the floor beside their bed and sliding down to his knees so he was at Luca's eye level. He reached out a hand and cupped Luca's flushed cheek, brushing his fingers delicately along his boyfriend’s jawline. 

“I feel awful,” he rasped.

The combination of tears and his sore throat rendered his voice nearly inaudible, but Lance heard and planted a kiss on his blazing forehead, simply whispering, “I know.” 

Gathering the blankets closer, Luca took a deep breath and tried to calm down. Crying wasn’t going to make him feel better, he lectured himself. Four days ago, Lance dragged him to the doctor right away when he entered his office and found him near-faint at his desk. The IMF doctor had quickly diagnosed the Italian with the same flu that was affecting half of their friends — and that was partly Luca's own fault anyway since he was normally excellent about getting his flu shot every year. Still, he was so busy with work and training that he forgot. The doctor left him with strict orders to rest, take ibuprofen for the fever and body aches, and take the prescribed cough medicine as directed with the assurance he’d be back on his feet within a week. He was being silly, Luca told himself, to get so upset about a stuffed-up nose, a slight fever, and a little bit of nausea. 

But he was just so tired and sick. 

He swallowed down the sob that was crawling up his throat, squeezing his eyes shut against the pounding in his temples. 

“It’s all right, baby,” Lance soothed, “I’m right here, you’re going to be okay.” 

Luca blinked his eyes open to look at him. Dark circles were beginning to form underneath his eyes, but his expression was soft and gentle. Guilt gnawed at his insides, knowing he was the reason why his poor boyfriend looked so exhausted. He was already stressed with his own job, and Luca hated to add to his list of worries. 

A choked sob escaped his lips as he apologised in a strangled voice, “I’m sorry.” 

Lance's thumb gently brushed a tear off his cheek. “Why are you sorry?” 

“I’m keeping you up,” Luca croaked, hating how small his voice sounded. 

A smile tugged at Lance's lips and he shook his head. “How many times have you stayed up with me when I was sick? Or when any of us are injured?” 

But that was different, Luca wanted to argue. He was supposed to be the strong one; whether that be nurturing Lance back to help when he injured himself last year or helping out whenever one of his friends needed someone, ensuring that their little family was safe and protected. That was his job, and he adored doing it.

All Luca managed to convey of this was, “I’m not supposed to get sick.”

Lance's lips curled in a barely contained smirk as he let out a breathy laugh. 

Luca felt his own lips twitch into a smile despite his efforts not to. “Don’t laugh at me.” 

The bruntette's smile broadened. “I’m sorry.” 

“No, you’re not,” he sniffled, sounding like a petulant child. 

Lance winked and crawled under the blankets, pulling Luca into his arms. “You take such good care of everyone, mon cœur. Now it’s my turn to look after you and I’m very happy to do it.” 

A lump formed in Luca's throat, but he swallowed it down. “Grazie,” he whispered. "Grazie mille, Caro"

Lance tapped his nose fondly in reply, which made him laugh and then promptly triggered a coughing fit. 

“Easy, amor,” he remarked, rubbing his back until the fit passed. “No more laughing until you’re better.” 

Once the coughing settled, Luca snuggled against his boyfriend and let him wrap him into his capable arms, his head pillowed on Lance's chest. Maybe he was just imagining it, but his body seemed to ache less and his nose less stuffy as their limbs intertwined underneath the blankets. 

After a few quiet minutes, Lance asked, “Do you think you could manage another dose of meds?” 

Luca's stomach churned at the thought of the disgusting, cherry-flavoured cough syrup. He shook his head against Lance's chest once, firmly. 

“Could you at least try some water?” Lance asked again, a hint of a pleading tone bleeding into his voice. "Or I'll go get you a sprite."

Luca shook his head again, “Not yet.”

Sighing, Lance hugged him closer, if that was even possible. “You’re starting to worry me, chéri.” 

“I’m alright,” he croaked, pressing his lips to Lance's collarbone. He felt like a miserable, sure, and like a soggy, pathetic mess, but he didn’t think he was in any serious danger. 

Lance pressed his nose into Luca's hair, kissing the top of his head. “Get some sleep,” he whispered the instruction. 

Luca didn’t need to be told twice, snuggling closer to him with his head pillowed on Lance's chest. Combined with the feeling of his heartbeat under his ear and his grounding embrace, he drifted off in only a minute.

When Luca woke again, this time to early-morning daylight than snow, his nose was less stuffed up and his stomach felt blessedly settled, but he was sweating profusely and the sheets and pillows felt amp. Lance had fallen asleep beside him, arms still wrapped tightly around him and their limbs entangled. Pushing himself weakly against the mattress, Luca rolled on top of him and Lance grunted awake at the moment.

“What are you doing?” the blonde agent asked, his voice still raspy with sleep. 

“My side’s all sweaty,” Luca muttered, hooking his arm around his neck so he could roll Lance over with him. 

“So you’re leaving me with the sweaty side?” Lance asked, sounding more awake and with amusement now replacing the sleepiness. 

“Mhmmm,” Luca hummed.

Lance chuckled and even though he wasn’t quite awake yet, he still thought that the sound was the most beautiful one in the entire world.

“I think your fever broke,” he remarked, kissing his forehead. The thermometer was right on the nightstand, where it’d been the past couple of days, and yet, Luca preferred his way. 

“That’s good,” Luca sighed in acknowledgement, billowing his head on Lance's chest and hugging his boyfriend closer to him. The other man just let himself be used as a pillow, chuckling again and trailing his fingers down Luca's back. 

“Are you feeling better?” Lance asked.

Luca nodded against his chest. 

“Do you want anything?” he asked again. 

“No.”

“You want to go back to sleep?” 

“Mhm,” Luca hummed again in response. 

“All right, go back to sleep,” Lance whispered, his voice tender and affectionate. 

“Ti amo,” Luca muttered, his eyes closing on their own volition before he forced them open. 

Lance's hand stroked over his hair, which was damp from sweat. “Je t'aime aussi, Luca. More than you could ever know.” 

Luca wanted to respond, to tell him that he knew, because he loved him just as much, maybe even more. But his eyelids felt so heavy and talking seemed like just an awful lot of effort. Luca would tell him after he rested for a few moments, he promised himself.

Part of the problem, I think, is that at college I had friends to go to every dinner time. They were good friends and I had a great room mate too. But now those friends are in a different city and I’m trying to make friends here, but I’m so bad at keeping in touch. And I’m an introvert, so I like being at home. And no one contacts me first. And I feel like I’m not making other meaningful connections. ANd one that I did make I feel like I somehow ruined, but I don’t know how. And I want it back. But what if she doesn’t want me back?

And now I have my first full time job. At the humane society, which is great. But we just switched rooms and I had to get one of the biggest rooms, plus one of the smallest rooms, plus I was supposed to help clean the Isolation room. But I was so busy that first day we shifted with the first two rooms that I couldn’t help. Then the next day the same thing happened. And one of my co-workers seemed pretty irritated about it. I didn’t mean to be late!! And then the next day I did better! I was at least able to feed and re-feed the isolation room, but I wasn’t able to help clean again. And I felt so bad. And that morning I tried to talk to my co-worker about it and she said that she felt it wasn’t fair that I left her to do Iso, again I didn’t mean to. I don’t know why I was so slow that day. I’ve been trying to get faster.

And I feel like every time I open my gosh darn mouth that I say something wrong. Or I try to smooth it over and I just say something awkward. Or I don’t say anything at all. My boss says it’s okay if I’m a little slow, but I want to be part of a team.