#raindro

After all, when you'd met Frankie, he'd been nothing more than Benny's friend. He was married at the time, a soon-to-be-father, and very much in love with someone else. You'd been with Benny, although it was quickly apparent that while you were always meant to be in each other's lives, you most certainly weren't meant to be in each other's beds. Instead, you became a part of their group, the missing piece in their puzzle, and things started to change.

Frankie's marriage ended abruptly. He gained partial custody of his daughter. He took all of it hard, blaming himself for the fall of the relationship, and soon you found yourself spending the time you'd previously allotted for scrolling through dating apps on making sure he remembered to eat. The hours spent at his house increased exponentially, to the point where driving to his place felt more routine than driving to your own.

And somewhere along the line, he'd slowly woven himself into your existence.

"You've gotta tell him," Benny reminds you for what must be the millionth time, because of course he knows. He's known since the first moment you looked at Frankie just a little differently. He's known since that night at your house, when Frankie had twirled you around to whatever song had been playing and for the first time in a long time, you both laughed. And, since Benny's known the entire time, he's also spent plenty of time trying to get you to tell him.

Instead, you stare blankly at him, the shopping cart you'd been pushing coming to a halt. "And fuck up everything? Our friendship? The five of us? What if it..."

"Doesn't work?" he finishes for you with a smirk, adding a couple of jars of salsa to the cart before continuing down the aisle. "Trust me, you're not going to fuck things up."

There's a frown on your face as you reluctantly follow him. "How do you know that?"

Benny shrugs. "I just know."

"How?" you ask again, because the last thing you want to do is tell Frankie how you feel only for every relationship you've built since moving to Florida to implode.

The soft sound of pop music on the store speakers and the general hum of carts and people fill the space around you as Benny adds chips to the cart. "Can't you just trust me on this one?" he returns, his eyes locked in on yours in what feels like a desperate attempt to get you to understand that he's telling the truth.

You hold his gaze until he breaks it, and he doesn't bring it up again. Neither do you, but the thought lingers in your brain until you're back home, unpacking the groceries with Benny making jokes at your side. You don't particularly hear them, because your entire mind is still focused on what things might look like if you did tell him.

On one hand, it could go horrifically. He could turn you down and the relationship between the two of you would be soiled forever, eventually pulling the entire group apart at the seams in a way that none of them deserved. You could lose him entirely, and the prospect of that felt incomprehensible. But on the other hand, maybe Benny was right. Maybe you did need to just be honest with Frankie, because maybe his thoughts mirror your own and things could work out. One less house between the five of you, with a room for his daughter and a backyard perfect for gardening. Evenings imitating the dance you'd shared in the living room that first night, lazy Sunday mornings beneath the sheets of your king bed, summer trips to the beach.

"Hey."

The greeting shakes you from the tumbling thoughts that linger at the edge of your awareness, and at first you're certain that Benny's caught you daydreaming again. But when you turn it isn't Benny that you find.

"Can we talk?" Frankie asks, and you feel the way your heart sinks into your stomach. He's staring at you, the same nervousness you feel somehow reflected in his own expression, but he looks good. His usual hat is missing and, in a rare sighting, he has a button-down settled over his shoulders instead of just a t-shirt. Every possibility that had been pulsing through your mind just moments before seemingly rushes back all at once, paralyzing you until a gentle hand on your back, Benny's, encourages you to move forward.

You must nod, although you're completely unaware of everything other than the focus it's requiring to put one foot in front of the other as he leads you to his truck. It's parked on the side of the street in the same spot it always is, right next to your mailbox, and you pause when he opens the passenger door and offers his hand.

"Where are we going? We have people inside and..."

The words come out harsher than you intend for them to, but he doesn't seem to mind, because he reassures you with a soft smile. "Just get in," he asks softly, "please?"

With a curious tilt of your head, you study him and then take his hand, letting him help you up into the cab. He shuts the door behind you and hurries around to the opposite side, the silence deafening once he's enclosed the two of you in the small space.

You let it linger for a moment.

"Frankie," you start at the same time he whispers your name, his body turning toward you slightly as he says it. You laugh, shaking your head as you do the same. "No, you go."

He swallows, looking more nervous than the day his daughter was born and mildly worse than the days leading up to his divorce. "I just wanted to thank you for everything you've done for me since..." he trails off, but you don't need him to continue.

"Of course," you return, reaching out a tentative hand to rest on his forearm as you try to swallow the disappointment that you're surprised has taken over. "What kind of friend would I be if I let you try to figure all of this out alone?"

Frankie's eyes snap up to yours, and when he lets your hand fall from his arm you wonder if you've actually offended him. If this is the moment where he says that while he's thankful, things might be going too far. That he needs space. That this is the same kind of rejection you'd faced all those years ago, only this time there isn't a locker you can hide your face in to obscure the tears.

But then he reaches over to your side of the cab and flips open the glove box. The CD case he pulls out advertises an old Fleetwood Mac album, and you can't help the furrow of your brow as he holds it out for you to take.

"What's this?"

"Open it," he instructs, holding it just a bit closer for you in a second silent request to trust him.

You take it from his hand, doing your best to ignore the spark that ignites the second your fingers trace his own, but where you'd expected the CD inside the case to match the artwork on the outside, you quickly realize that you were dead wrong.

And maybe, just maybe, Benny was right.

The bright silver of the disc reflects the soft pink and orange hues of the setting sun outside, framing the way he's written your name across the surface. "I'm not really that great with words, so..." Frankie mumbles from beside you, already reaching over to carefully extract the CD from the case so he can pop it into the player his truck still has. The music queues up faster than you'd expect, and at first you don't hear anything, but then Frankie adjusts the volume just as the first notes of Lovesong by The Cure starts to play.

You're truthfully more aware of the way your heart feels like it's about to beat out of your chest than you are of the song itself, but before you can really comprehend any of it, you've launched yourself across the bench seat to press your lips firmly against his. He's surprised for a second, but when his hands find your hips it feels more natural than anything you've ever experienced. You pull back, your forehead just barely touching his as you breathe out heavily.

"I will always love you, too," you assure him before the song even reaches the chorus, and he responds by pulling you fully into his lap, your knees situated on either side of his hips as he guides your mouth to his once more. He doesn't let you go, not until you're both desperately in need of air and the spread of darkness makes it harder and harder to see one another. You're only faintly aware of the way All the Small Things now plays through the speakers as you nuzzle his nose with your own and you start to laugh.

Frankie joins in automatically, his hands running up and down your back. "What?"

You close your eyes, taking in a deep breath to soothe your giggling. "Benny was right."

His laughter picks back up, even though he's staring at you like you have three heads. "Benny? How the fuck did Benny know?"

"Didn't he put you up to this?" you ask quickly, because it wouldn't be the first time your friend had tried to meddle in your love life after your own relationship hadn't worked out, so you just assumed that he was behind this, but Frankie shakes his head.

"Santi did."

For a second you both remain frozen, but as realization dawns you're turning to look back at your house, where three sets of eyes stare at you from your front window. Benny and Santiago dodge out of view quickly, leaving just Santiago's girlfriend, who smiles and gives the two of you an awkward, knowing wave.

You both collapse into laughter again, your head finding its place on Frankie's shoulder as he pulls you closer. "He's been on my case for months," he breathes out against your ear, "and then last week he made a joke about how I should just make a mixed tape if I couldn't figure out what to say but I don't have a cassette player anymore so even though it's cheesy I thought..."

"Hey," you soothe, pulling back to cup his face with your hands, "it's perfect. You did perfect."

"Yeah?" Frankie asks, his eyes searching yours.

You nod, and when you kiss him again it feels like more than just a beginning. It's more than just a promise.