#all the angst | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

berryispunk · 2 months ago

Text

Your Home's Only a Town You're a Guest In

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

quick note: this fic contains heavy topics such as grief and parental death so be warned before reading but I swear she's worth it 🤍

tags: parental death, stages of grief, brief mention of addiction, teenager love, falling in love again, small town, rekindling romance, soft! Frankie, girl dad! Frankie, swearing, ANGST, bad jokes, nicknames, yearning, mutual pining, kissing, friends to lovers, slow burn, SMUT (🌶️🌶️🌶️), did i mention angst?, all the emotions, reader has longer wavy hair and a fuller figure but no further physical description

summary: You never planned to return to your hometown but things change when you've got life-changing news and soon you find yourself trying to navigate the past colliding with the present.

word count: 10,6 k (don't ask me any questions 😅 idk what happened)

readable also here

When you had left your hometown almost ten years ago you had never planned to come back.

But when one day your mom called and told you that your father was in hospice care, you thought it was the worst day of your life. It felt like a cruel joke. Out of all the reasons you would find yourself returning, it had to be because your dad was literally dying?

All the unspoken words and feelings between you and your father were crashing down on you, taking you the air to breathe immediately. Your mother had made it clear that nobody could say for sure how much time your father had left and it would be best if you came down quickly.

Whenever you told your friends in the big city about the town you grew up in, the beach and the waves’ constant presence during your adolescence, they would be jealous. You couldn’t blame them. How could they know all the downsides of growing up in an uptight town like Tidehaven?

The neighbors’ judging glances on the daily and them knowing stuff about you before you even knew them yourself?

Or how uneasy you felt the older you got?

How you never belonged, your spirit too wild and free for the norms of this small place.

You wanted to spread your wings but staying in this Godforsaken coast town would’ve cut them right off.

So you left one day and never looked back, no matter how many times your mom called crying and pleaded for you to come back.

You dreamed about the ocean often, because you missed the salty and harsh breeze.

You missed the calmness of sitting at the beach, listening to the waves crushing at the shore and the vast nothingness when you overlooked the horizon.

In contrast to that, the city was always buzzing. It never slept and that was one of the hardest parts you had to deal with when you first moved there. It was a whole different life and when you felt too big for your hometown, you felt entirely too small in the city. Almost like a nobody, like an anonymous person under all these many different people.

You missed the feeling of belonging, being part of a friend group. Because that was another thing you had left behind: your friends.

You stayed in contact for a while - hooray to tech - but it wasn’t the same.

Eventually you found new friends at college but they couldn’t understand your struggles like the friends back in Tidehaven did. They would never be able to share your pain.

You laid awake for days on end, dreading the journey to your coastal hometown. But you couldn’t run and you couldn't hide - not from this one. As much as you really didn’t want to, the responsible part in you won and you sat on the next plane to the closest airport of the little town.

On this late summer day, when the breeze was still somehow warm but the air already had notes of autumn in it, you returned “home”.

Well, it used to be home but now it felt like something that wore its costume but instead felt foreign and cold.

When you walked through your childhood home's front door, the screaking sound still the same, your mother looked around the corner and her face looked so much older even from a distance. Her hair was much greyer than you remembered.

The worry written all over her features had made her age like a forgotten piece of furniture tarnished by the tides. You felt tears pricking in the corners of your eyes as you let your luggage fall to the ground and walked over to her and hugged her close.

She almost crushed you with her arms and murmured, “My girl is home…” You had to bite your lip real hard not to sob. “Hey mama,” you whispered and she kissed your wavy hair repeatedly. This, you thought, felt like coming home.

You settled down in your childhood bedroom you had outgrown long ago, everything still looked like you remembered: the posters of your teen crushes, the pink floral throw blanket, all the books scattered around the small room. It felt like stepping into a time machine of your youth. Everything was neatly preserved and it tightened the knot in your chest even further.

You decided to visit the only place in this hellhole you were certain that had some alcohol you so desperately needed, the local bar.

So you threw on a fleece jacket before you walked through the empty streets of Tidehaven. The night air was almost too crisp for the shorts you were wearing but you didn’t have time to worry about it.

As soon as you reached the bar you slumped onto a stool at the bar and ordered some beverage strong enough to help you numb the gnawing pain of responsibility and regret. Halfway through your glass you suddenly heard it: a deep, familiar voice ringing in your ear. It was faint, almost not noticeable if you hadn’t listened close enough. But you listened very closely. The voice was deeper but still unmistakingly recognizable. So you whirled around on your bar stool and spotted him in a booth in the back of the bar, together with the same shared group of friends he had always been with. You froze in your seat and contemplated simply leaving, but you couldn't.

Could it really be him?

You tried to watch him as unobtrusively as you could but of course he noticed you staring and as your eyes locked it felt like time stood still, your chest immediately constricting, almost suffocating as you turned around and prayed that he hadn’t seen you. But of course you weren’t so lucky. When were you ever lucky? You emptied your drink quickly before you gestured to the barkeeper to give you a refill.

“Do you mind?” The voice from earlier, now dangerously close, asked you.

You shook your head, but you didn’t dare to look up. You knew it was him without looking.

“I’d say it feels like seeing a ghost, but I guess seeing ghosts should be scary. This isn’t scary, this is–”

“Sick? Twisted?” You interrupted him and you felt his confused eyes on you without ever having to look up. He laughed softly, the sound deep and rich as he ordered a drink for himself before sitting down on the stool next to yours.

“That wasn’t what I would’ve gone for but okay,” he said and you finally decided to look at him and immediately wished you hadn’t. It was him, no doubt. The same dark brown tousled locks poking out from under the old, worn-down baseball cap. The same warm brown eyes, slightly glimmering in the dim light of the bar. A slight stubble on his chin and cheeks that looked like it might need a trim soon. The same almost pouty lips, slightly dry looking and you wondered if this man knew chapsticks existed? His shoulders were so broad, his biceps so muscular when they flexed slightly under the jeans button-down he was wearing. You couldn't help but stare at him when he crossed his arms in front of his chest. This wasn’t the Frankie you’d last seen the night before you left. It was a new version, Frankie 2.0. The adult version.

He didn’t even flinch when you checked him out, your eyes dancing over every one of his unique features, trying to make sense of it. Putting together the puzzle pieces of the old Frankie and this rendition in front of you. He looked nothing like the tall, slender guy you had a huge crush on when you were a teenager but still it was him.

The warm expression on his face, an identical lopsided smile you remembered. But there was more to it. It was the way he handled himself - much more confident, taking in his rightful space. And the way his frame was built made him almost intimidating, if you hadn’t known better.

Well, you used to know him but how could you know if he wasn’t able to break you in half with these arms of his? Ten years had done a lot to his frame and you had a really hard time searching for words when you finally turned back around to sip at your drink.

“You know steroids are dangerous, right?” you scoffed and he gave you a deep, rumbling laugh.

“I guess you refer to my arms with that? I wanna let you know that it’s all just training and nothing illegal, I promise”

You couldn’t help but chuckle at his remark.

“What did you train for? A bodybuilder contest?” you quirked an eyebrow and he shook his head, a grin still on his face. “Army,” he answered and you searched for his eyes.

“You’re in the army?”

“I was. I left last year. Wasn't useful anymore after this grenade exploded near me and the debris hit my leg during battle.“

“I am sorry.”

“No need,” he shrugged you off with a wave of his hand. “But you know, being in it for years and getting spit out like you didn’t literally sacrifice your life for the country isn’t a good feeling,” he said as he sipped his drink.

“Sounds awful…”

“It is.”

There’s a beat of silence before he asked, “What are you even doing here? You made it very clear that you’d never return.”

Was his tone accusatory or hurt? You couldn’t really tell.

You scoffed scornfully.

“Believe me, wasn’t my first choice,” you rolled your eyes before you sipped at your drink again.

He didn’t answer, instead he took a sip from his own drink, the ice in it clinking against the glass.

“My dad, he–” You couldn’t finish the sentence, too painful, too uncertain.

“I heard about your dad,” he said cautiously, his words measured.

“Of course you did,” you said bitterly. “This is Tidehaven, gossip spreads faster than a damn wildfire.”

“I am sorry, hermosa.”

The nickname made you nauseous immediately and you glared at him, your gaze probably full of venom. He had the audacity to sound sincere.

“Save your words for someone who cares,” you spit out, slamming money on the bar and standing up so abruptly the stool scratched loudly on the floor. His eyes were on you in an instant, eyebrows furrowed deep.

You headed towards the exit with fast steps, wanting to create some distance between him and all the feelings you had kept buried for so long. Out of all people it had to be him.

You didn’t have time for this, you couldn’t afford to be distracted.

When you reached the doorway of the bar his hand grabbed your arm, determined but not painful as he said, “Please, stay. I just… I just want to talk. I am sorry if I said something wrong. We just met again, please.”

His eyes were nothing less than pleading and you frowned heavily.

Under any other circumstance you would have loved to stay and talk, catch up on what you’ve missed over the years but right now the weight of everything threatened to crush you any minute and you were too tired for all that.

“I can’t Frankie, I am sorry,” you said and you meant it even when you freed your arm from his grip and walked down the steps to the road. The gravel crunching under your shoes, echoing through the eerie silence of the night as you walked as fast as your feet and equilibrium could handle.

You didn’t know if he’d kept standing in the doorway and watched you walking away or not, but something told you he had. Even if everything in you screamed to turn around you didn’t, because you knew that he’d be the one person able to tear down your walls that you had so arduously built around you.

As you laid in bed later that night with your window open the sound of the waves lulled you into a restless sleep and you found yourself in a common dream landscape. The beach.

But this time it was different. Somebody sat on the sand, the person’s back turned but you immediately knew it was Frankie, only he wore a cap at the beach. But as you approached him his figure dissolved, turning into smoke and when you finally stood where he had sat he’s gone fully and you sank to your knees, burying your head in your hands and starting crying.

When you wake up the next morning your pillow is full of tears and you felt like you got hit by a truck. A silent bing from your nightstand catched your attention when you lift your phone to see the notification and you immediately sat up in your small bed.

“Hey, this is Frankie. Sorry, got your number from your mom. 😅 Let’s meet at our place at the beach at 3 pm.”

Frankie was a pilot. He served in the army. He faced life threatening situations, learned to stay calm under any condition. But today, when he sat at the pier, his feet dangled in the water, his heart was racing like he just ran a damn marathon. He checked his digital watch. It was two minutes before 3 and he started patting his jeans clad thigh nervously. What if she didn’t show up? What if he made a total idiot of himself ? When he saw you yesterday in the bar it was like he got hit by lightning. It made his chest painfully tight, almost as bad as his panic attacks did when he had flashbacks from his army days. Maybe even worse. He overlooked the ocean, the waves crushing and creating a calming enough atmosphere he allowed himself to close his eyes for a second. The images of you as a younger girl and the women he saw yesterday were burned into his subconscious and he wasn’t really sure how this could be the same person he was in love with as a teen? Your eyes were still sad but also curious. Your hair still a wavy long mane past your shoulders and you still had this ever existing slight frown on your face like you were carrying the weight of the world on your face.

But to be fair, you probably had the same thoughts about him, at least given the way you looked at him last night. Almost pure disbelief, maybe even mild shock. When he was deeply lost in thought he sensed a weight next to him on the pier and his eyes opened immediately to watch you taking a seat, slumping onto the hard wood with a loud sigh.

He didn’t dare to say anything, afraid you may leave as soon as he opened his mouth.

Your gaze was fixed on the horizon as well before you started speaking “Wasn’t sure if I really came until the last minute.”

“I am glad you did” he replied, his own gaze still on the horizon before he added “How are–”

“Are you seriously asking me how I’m doing, Frankie?” your tone was biting.

He rubs the back of his neck sheepishly as he mumbles “Guess so.”

You shook your head and scoffed. “I am doing absolutely great. I am back in this hellhole, my dad is dying but I don’t know when so I’m stuck at the one place on earth I don’t wanna be at,” you rumbled.

Frankie could feel your frustration and hurt seeping out of every word. But mostly he could feel the sadness. You had a way of covering your real feelings under a heavy load of sarcasm, you always did. Some things never change, he thought. Even if the woman sitting next to him looked and handled herself so different from the girl he used to know, under all the layers of pain and heartbreak it was still you.

“I am sorry, hermosa. I really am,” he said sincerely and for a fragment your facade crumbled, the worry and all the other negative emotions flickering over your face.

"Can I do something?" he asked tentatively.

You shook your head again.

Straightening a bit in your seat, you tucked your hands under your thighs, your feet still dangling above the ground. Your gaze drifted to the water. "How have you been? Did you never leave Tidehaven, or...?"

He took a deep breath. "I did. Left for basic training, joined the military. Spent most of my time overseas—missions, wars, fights in and out of my job. But hey, at least I could fly an aircraft."

"Wait..." You blinked, caught off guard. "You were a pilot?"

His mouth quirked up. "Yes, ma’am. I could fly anything, but if I had the choice, I always picked helicopters."

"Wow." You exhaled, and his faint, proud smile lingered—for a moment.

"Well, technically, I was a pilot. Lost my license a while back."

Your brows knitted together. "Oh? Why’s that?" You had never shied away from the real questions. You still didn’t.

"Drugs."

"Drugs?" A beat. "Consuming or smuggling?"

His lips pressed together. "Consuming. Coke, to be exact. Definitely not my brightest moment." He exhaled through his nose. "I’ve been clean for over two years now, though."

"That’s... great." Your voice was thin, unreadable. Surprise? Judgment? He couldn’t quite tell.

A stretch of silence settled before you spoke again, softer this time.

"Do you... have a family? A wife?"

Another sore point.

“I have a daughter, Sofía. She's two years old now and lives with her mom. We’re divorced for almost as long as she’s old. I married her mom Ella because I thought I needed to, my parents doing the rest, you know how old-fashioned they are. We have shared custody and I see her as often as I can.”

You chuckled. Of course you remembered about his parents. You weren’t allowed to stay overnight at his house when the two of you were younger, but that didn’t stop you from sneaking around anyway and finding other places to make out at.

“I thought I’m doing the right thing, you know. Being responsible. Truth was, even if Sofía is my everything, she wasn’t exactly planned and her mom and I were already thinking about breaking up before she found out that she was expecting. So, I felt the need to stay and I really tried to be the man Ella needed me to be but I failed miserably. Being coked out all the time doing the rest. The short temper and not to mention the financial aspect of the addiction. All my money I earned went straight to drugs or stuff we needed for our child. So I quit the drugs cold turkey, being clean as soon as Sofía was born and by God, it was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. But as soon as I held this little girl in my arms everything kind of fell into place. I know it probably sounds super cheesy, but it’s the truth. This little girl was my new anchor, my reason to keep clean and to show up. And it worked out for a few months. But her mom and I didn’t. We kept fighting over the smallest things and I was so close to relapsing because of the emotional turmoil that we, in good terms, decided to call it quits. To be honest, I think we never were a good match anyway, but I’ll be forever thankful for the result of it: my daughter. Her mom is with this guy called Clint now and honestly, they really found each other. She even married him last year and is expecting her second child. And I hope she’s happy, it seems that she is at least. She deserves the good life I wasn’t able to give her.”

He took a deep breath. It had been a long time since he had talked this much—especially about his life. But you had a way of coaxing things out of him without pressuring.

You would have had every right to judge, to ask more questions—questions he would have answered truthfully, even if they hurt—but you didn’t. He looked at you for a moment, studying you, wondering if he had bored you with his rambling. But you just kept your gaze fixed on the vast expanse of the ocean, the ghost of a smile on your lips before you finally turned to him.

"So, Frankie Morales is a daddy?" you asked, almost mockingly.

He grinned in response.

“I am a daddy. Does that make me a hot dilf now?” he joked and promptly earned a shoulder bump and an eye roll from you. That was the sassy side of you he had missed so much.

“And you? Do you—?”

“Hell no”, you laughed. “Kids aren’t for me. At least I never saw myself as a mom and to be fair I never had a partner long enough to even have to worry about the possibility of that.”

He nodded, maybe frowning a little bit too.

“Where have you been the last ten years?”

You shifted in your seat before answering. "The city. I went there for college and stayed for the job I got after graduating. It’s so, so different from here. All the lights, the endless ways to waste money, and the even easier ways to waste yourself."

You trailed off, your gaze suddenly distant.

"The city is anonymous. Buzzing. She’s like an animal—alive and thriving as long as she’s being fed. And in my case, that meant my hopes and dreams, I guess." You tried to joke, to make it sound casual, but Frankie saw right through it. You were disappointed.

"The city was always your dream. Your light was too bright, your spirit too big for this sleepy town. What changed?"

"I did," you said sharply. The words hung heavy between you.

Silence settled, broken only by the rhythmic crash of waves against the pier.

"It’s not that I regret leaving, really. But it was nothing like I expected. I thought moving to the city would magically make me feel better, but it only made things worse. I felt so lost. So alone.

The friends I had—our friends—either stayed here or scattered across the country. I thought chasing my dream would make me feel complete. But instead, it shattered me even more. Because now, I have two places I call ‘home’... and neither one really feels like it."

Your words struck a chord deep inside of him. He knew the feeling of not belonging, especially after leaving the military.

He stayed silent, waiting if you maybe opened up some more, but you didn’t.

"So, do you have someone in the city waiting for you when—if—you return?"

"No," you answered, and somehow, it filled Frankie with relief.

"How about you?" You let your gaze roam over him for a moment, scanning him in a way that made him unusually nervous.

"No one," he said quietly.

"Good." A small smile tugged at your lips before your eyes drifted back to the horizon. "Where do you live? Your parents' house?"

"Sí. It’s just my dad now, you know. My mom died last autumn."

"Oh, shit," you murmured, brows furrowing. "I’m sorry, Frankie."

He sighed heavily, his shoulders slumping. The memory of his mother’s passing still settled in his chest like a weight he couldn’t shake.

"I—" He hesitated. "I don’t know how much longer my dad has. They were together their whole lives, and he’s so lost without her. No matter how hard I try, I can’t fill the space she left behind."

"That’s not your job." Your voice was steady, certain. "Your job is to be present. To let him know he’s not alone. And I’m sure you’re doing everything you can—he knows that, too. It’ll never be the same again, sadly. Just… cherish the time you have with him now, yeah?"

There you were. Beneath all the stoicism, the tough exterior, the lingering sadness. You cared. You always had. And you always made his problems feel a little less heavy. It was one of the things he had adored about you, something he had deeply missed.

"Guess I may have to count on you now," you said, attempting lightness. "In the ‘I lost a parent’ department. Haven’t got any experience in that."

He chuckled. "Wouldn’t recommend it. Zero out of five stars. But… I’m here for you. If you want me to be."

You turned toward him, lips pressing into a thin line as you held his gaze. A long beat passed before you finally said, "I’d love to have you around. After all, you might be the best thing this place has ever had—well, besides the beach, of course."

He raised an eyebrow. "Is that a compliment?"

"Ooooh, Morales, don’t get cocky now." A smirk played on your lips. "I was just trying to be nice, you know. After everything you told me, you might be just as lost as I am."

"Noted." He nudged your shoulder gently. "For the record, you’re also the best thing this place has ever seen." His voice dropped slightly as his gaze flickered to the water below. "And… I missed you."

Maybe he had said too much. Maybe he had overestimated the fragile bond rebuilding between you. But if he had learned one thing after losing his mom, it was that you never know when you’ll get another chance to say something that matters. So he said it.

Just as he considered adding something to soften the weight of his words, he felt you lean in, your head resting lightly against his shoulder.

Your voice was nearly swallowed by the waves, but he heard it.

"I missed you too."

Frankie’s heart skipped a beat.

The two of you stayed like that, unmoving, as the sun dipped below the horizon, casting everything in soft, golden hues. And for the first time in a long time, he felt exactly where he needed to be.

Days blended into weeks with Frankie by your side. You spent every waking hour together. Eating with his dad, cooking together, going for walks at the beach. If you weren’t at his house, he was at yours, eating with your mom, making her laugh even if anything else felt so grey and heavy and the health of your dad was quickly deteriorating. The first time he came over for dinner he apologized for intruding, but your mom shrugged it off and said it was typical for you to bring anyone home like strays. Frankie shooted you a look at the word ‘stray’ and you smirked in response. It was this day his nickname ‘stray cat’ was born and it became a habit calling him that ever since.

Frankie was the light in the darkness for you. He was your lighthouse guiding you in the rough sea that called itself your life and even if you swore you wouldn’t let anyone close enough to hurt you again, Frankie tore down your walls brick by brick without your alarm bells ringing. He was patient, he was understanding and he never demanded anything. He was happy with what you offered him as long as it meant he could be by your side.

One evening, as the two of you sat on the front porch of his house, the breeze had grown too cold for summer clothing. You had stupidly neglected to pack anything warmer in your hurry, and you shivered against the harsh ocean air. Frankie rose from his seat on the bench without a word and disappeared inside. When he returned, he handed you one of his hoodies.

"You’re freezing, hermosa," he said softly.

You looked at him, deeply touched by the simple, thoughtful gesture. It was the kind of thing that made you feel warm and fuzzy inside. You quickly pulled the hoodie over your head, and the moment it settled on you, it felt like a warm embrace. His scent was everywhere, wrapping around you like a cocoon, and it made your chest tighten with affection.

You cared for him so deeply, maybe even falling in love with him again. But you kept a respectful distance, knowing he was the one good thing in your life right now. You couldn’t afford to lose him, not because of your usual mess of a relationship track record.

“Thank you” you smiled softly at him and he nodded, the charming boyish grin on his face making the butterflies in your stomach go wild.

“Can I ask you something?” you asked tentatively.

“Sure.”

You took a deep breath to collect some courage.

“Why did you never reach out to me? After I left, I mean. Our friends did, they texted and sent me photos. But you…”

Frankies face darkened, his brows furrowed deep. Something unreadable in his expression. “Honestly? I thought you didn’t want me to do that. You were so convinced to leave everything connected to Tidehaven behind I thought it included me. I had your number,my thumb hovered over the call button more times than I would care to admit. I wrote probably hundreds of texts but ended up deleting them all. And the more time passed, the more silly I felt. So I just checked in with Santi or Benny, who knew how you were and even if I was happy to hear that you were good I still selfishly wished I would know it myself.”

“Frankie,” you interrupted, “I cried my eyes out for weeks because I didn’t hear from you again. I thought you just forgot about me that easily, I thought you never really cared for me in the first place or at least not enough to reach out. Santi told me you joined the army, he gave me your number and I wanted to call you, but what could I possibly have said ? ‘hey, it’s me, you remember me? i was the girl helplessly in love with you but you just ditched me like a fucking prom date’”

Frankie audibly inhaled, his gaze fixed on the ground under his feet.

“I didn’t ditch you. You were the one that left, remember? I never forgot about you, never.”

“It would’ve been so easy. One message, one call, anything to show me that you still cared” you said, each word tasting bitter on your tongue.

“I never stopped caring, hermosa.”

He could’ve shot you or stabbed you, and it would’ve hurt the same as his words just did. Hot, angry tears blurred your vision as you stood up, walking out of his house. With every step you took, the vice around your heart tightened, and by the time you reached your own house, you quickly ran upstairs into your room, throwing yourself onto the bed. You buried your face in the pillow and let it all out—crying the frustration, the hurt, the anger. It was a dangerous cocktail of emotions.

Your phone buzzed multiple times on the nightstand, and you knew it was probably Frankie, but you weren’t ready to talk to him. You needed time to process this.

You didn’t know what hurt more: his absence, or the fact that your mom kept asking if he was okay because he hadn’t eaten with you for a few days. She should’ve been asking how you felt instead.

One evening, just as you were setting the table for dinner, the doorbell rang. Maybe it was one of the neighbors returning a container your mom had lent them when she shared some leftover food. She used to cook for a whole football team, after all.

“I’ve got it!” you called out to your mom as you opened the door. It wasn’t a neighbor. It was Frankie. Live and in color.

“Hey,” he murmured, lifting his baseball cap and running a hand through his hair before he placed it back on. He always did that, even back in high school when he was nervous. Some things never changed. Even though the adult Frankie was physically so far from the slender boy he’d been ten years ago, beneath the broad shoulders and strong arms, there was still that same boyish heart.

“Hey,” you answered, your voice sharp, the contempt probably written all over your face.

“Honey, is that…?” Your mom’s voice joined the two of you in the hallway, and her whole face lit up as soon as she spotted Frankie standing in the doorway.

“Frankie, come on in. Food’s ready,” she called, waving him in. Frankie glanced over at you first, silently asking for permission, but you just huffed and rolled your eyes as you stepped aside and closed the door behind him.

He followed your mom into the living room, shifting his weight from one foot to the other as he stood there, uncertain. His tall, broad frame filled the room, but even so, he seemed smaller than usual, much less confident than you remembered.

“Have a seat, Frankie,” your mom said, placing the food on the table. The aroma was mouthwatering, and your stomach growled in anticipation.

“Thank you, Mrs. Davis,” he said politely as he sat down across from you.

You kept a hawk-eyed watch on him as your mom put food on his plate, acting like it was the most normal thing in the world. You, however, were still seething beneath the surface. Your mom, blissfully unaware of the conversation you’d had just a few days ago, went on as if nothing had happened.

“How’s your dad doing, hun’?” she asked, diving into small talk. Wonderful.

“He’s alright. Maybe a bit lonely. He’s started doing crosswords, and sometimes I can talk him into taking a walk with me. But he misses my mom… and so do I.” His eyes suddenly darkened with sadness, and for a moment, you forgot about your own anger.

“Yeah, I can imagine…” your mom murmured, her gaze falling to her plate as she poked at her food. She felt it too—the looming grief, the quiet anticipation of the day when your dad’s heart would stop beating. It mirrored the sorrow Frankie had spoken of. She would feel lonely too, and that reality made your chest ache.

You reached out under the table, gently patting her thigh in silent reassurance, earning a small, tight-lipped smile in return. You instinctively turned your head towards Frankie, and as if he could sense your gaze, he was already looking at you.

After a stretch of uncomfortable silence, your mom changed the topic, asking Frankie about his daughter. Suddenly, the man in front of you transformed. He straightened in his seat, a wide grin spreading across his face as he started talking about Sofía.

He was practically glowing with pride, telling you all about her love for animals and drawing. You could feel something stirring in your chest as you listened. Daddy Frankie was a whole new person—genuinely happy, talking about his child with such enthusiasm that it was contagious.

You couldn’t help but smile too, especially as his grin widened when he told stories about her potty training or the time she accidentally made a somersault trying to reach for something. It was absolutely adorable. By the end of the evening, everyone was in good spirits, the earlier tension forgotten. Your mom, always eager to meet new faces, insisted that the next time Sofía visited, Frankie should bring her by so she could meet her. He agreed happily, his joy still evident.

When you brought Frankie to your front door, he stood in the doorway, rubbing his neck sheepishly. “Thanks for not kicking me out…” He stifled a laugh, and you shook your head.

“Thank my mom, not me. If it were up to me, you wouldn’t have even made it inside,” you crossed your arms, a slight edge to your voice.

“I know, I—look,” he started, taking a deep breath. “I’m sorry. And I know no amount of words can undo the damage I did. I was an idiot. But I like you so damn much, and it’s killing me not to be around you, especially now that I finally got you back. Please, yell at me, hit me, do anything you want, but don’t push me away again.”

His eyes. Those damn puppy-dog eyes were lethal as he searched for yours, and you sighed.

You crossed your arms before responding. “We were young and dumb. We both made mistakes. I guess I can forgive you, stray cat.” You even managed a small smile, and he mirrored it with a soft one of his own.

“Thank you,” he murmured.

“Don’t make me regret this,” you warned, lifting your index finger in a mock-serious gesture. He raised his hands in mock resignation, then said, “Come here.”

He pulled you against his chest, his arms wrapping around your waist. You hugged him back, burying your face in his shirt, smiling as you inhaled his familiar scent.

“You’re so goddamn stubborn, hermosa.”

“I am well aware,” you mumbled, but the grin on your face was brighter than the porch light you both stood under.

You lifted your head, your chin resting against his chest. He looked down at you, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. You leaned into his touch, your head resting in his big hand. His breath hitched slightly at the simple but undeniably intimate gesture. His hand wandered from your cheek to your chin, pinching it gently as he grinned at you.

“You’re as infuriating as you’re beautiful, you know that?” he whispered, his eyes flickering between your lips and your eyes so quickly you might have missed it if you weren’t this close. You bit your lip, your own eyes lingering on his lips, which looked so plush and kissable in the dim light of the front porch. He bit his lip for a moment, his gaze drifting away. He was battling with himself, you could see it.

“You’re gonna kiss me now or what ,Morales?” you challenged.

His head tilted back towards you immediately, his eyes confused for a second before they turned soft again and without missing a beat, he dipped his head to kiss you. A quick, cautious peck first, kind of testing the waters, assessing the damage he may have done but you just grinned at him and your hand found the back of his neck, pulling him down towards you and kissing him deeply. It was incredible. If you thought kissing him as a teenager was an experience then this was a whole damn revelation. His lips were familiar yet new, every movement more purposeful than the last, as though he’d spent years wondering how this moment would feel. His hand found its way to your waist, fingers barely brushing your skin as he deepened the kiss. The tension that had built up over years, over missed chances, vanished with the first taste of him.

His hand tangled in your hair when he walked you back until you hit the facade of your house with your back. His knee between your legs and his hard frame pressing you against the wall. His tongue now seeking entrance into your mouth, exploring every inch of you as you tightened the grip in the nape of his neck, gasping softly into the kiss. It felt like burning up from the inside, but it was worth it. “Dios”, he cursed against your lips. “We have to stop,” he almost whimpered as your foreheads rested against each other, both of you panting. You opened your eyes back up and his gaze on you was dark as you caressed the back of his neck. “I don’t want you to stop” you mewled and his eyebrows raised up, almost disappearing under the visor of his cap before he murmured “Are you sure?”

“I am” you reassured him and without hesitation he grabbed your hand and led you through the empty streets of Tidehaven towards his house. The street lights illuminating your way and tinting everything in a mysterious glow.

When you arrived at his house it was dark, no light on despite the one on the front porch when he impatiently fumbled with his keys to let you both inside. You giggled softly and suddenly it felt like all the years back when you were teenagers that were afraid to get caught.

His hand settled on the small of your back, guiding you inside, and the moment the door clicked shut, he found your lips in the darkness again, pressing you against the door. His hand gently cupped your cheek, and his kiss deepened, as if he couldn’t get enough, like he had been waiting for this moment far too long. You couldn’t help but giggle at the mix of eagerness and the familiar thrill of the situation, whispering, “What about your dad? What if he—?”

He trailed his lips from your mouth to your jaw, then down your neck, his breath hot against your skin. His voice came out hoarse as he whispered, “He’s taking sleeping pills. He won’t wake up easily. But if you’re too loud, I’ll have to find a way to keep you quiet.” His grin was wicked, and then his mouth was on the sensitive spot right behind your ear, sucking softly and drawing a quiet moan from you, making it impossible to stop the rush of heat flooding through your veins.

It was like a switch flipped inside of Frankie as he hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly, his mouth still attached to your neck. He carried you down the hall, opening the door with one hand while keeping you secure in his grasp with the other. With a swift kick, he closed it behind you as soon as you were inside. There was no need for lights—only the cold, blue glow of the moon outside illuminated the room. Gently, he lowered you onto his bed, hovering over you. Though the darkness surrounded you, his eyes were intense, fixed on you, making your heart race in eager anticipation.

“Are you sure you want this?”, he asked again. You never were more sure of anything.

You just nodded as you started to undress him, starting by pulling his shirt over his head revealing a strong chest and a softer belly. You traced your fingers along his sides and he flexed under your touch. This body was different from the one you remembered. It changed, made room for some extra weight around his midsection and some scars adoring his beautiful lightly tanned skin which weren’t there the last time you saw him naked.

But he was still undeniably attractive, if not more with the strong arms and broad shoulders. A trail of dark, soft hair along his stomach, around his belly button and ending right over the belt of his jeans. You started kissing his neck, nibbling at his collarbone and he rewarded you with a sharp inhale of air. You took your time, drinking him in and he started kissing you back, his teeth grazing over your soft skin as soon as he discarded your shirt, leaving you only in your black lace bralette. He kissed down between the valley of your breasts, his breath hot against your skin as his hand found the clasp of your underwear. “Can I take this off?” he asked.

“Yes”, you breathed and he opened the clasp, the straps gliding down your shoulders, his fingertips never leaving your skin as the fabric slid off and left you exposed for his exploring hands and hungry gaze.

He was transfixed, his gaze almost reverential as he took you in.

“You’re even more gorgeous than I remember, hermosa” he whispered as he started kissing your shoulder. It made you feel desired but also so vulnerable. You weren’t used to praise and most importantly not to someone being this gentle with you.

“Well, I was still a teen back then. I changed… got fatter,” you complained but he quickly shushed you with a kiss.

“You may have gotten more soft but you’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen. Give yourself some credit.”

He was sincere in the way he looked at you, his fingers still tracing over every dip and curve of your exposed skin, every stretch mark you hated so much and your heart constricted in your chest at his gentleness and the way he didn’t seem to care at all.

You fought so hard to keep the old feelings from resurfacing, but it was a losing battle. He didn’t even need to try—his natural attentiveness had always been one of the things you adored most about him.

His lips moved lower, grazing your skin softly as they found their way to your breasts, kissing each one gently before his tongue swirled around your hardened nipples, giving each breast equal attention.

His hand massaged the one he wasn’t focused on, and he groaned softly against your skin, the sound sending a shiver down your spine. His hips started to roll against you, seeking the friction you both so desperately craved.

Instinctively, your legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer as you met his movements with a soft thrust of your own. The unmistakable hardness of him pressed against you, even through the fabric of his jeans. Your hands moved quickly, undoing his belt and zipper, pulling the fabric down along with his boxers.

He wiggled out of his pants and was back above you in an instant, quickly removing your shorts and underwear.

As soon as the last piece of clothing was gone, the air between you crackled with a charged mix of anticipation and something deeper—an unspoken connection that left you breathless, unable to quite name the feeling pulsing through the room.

He stopped his administration on your chest and kissed all the way back up to your neck and to your jaw until he found your lips again. It was a messy, open mouthed kiss as you wrapped your arms and legs around him, pressing him als close against you as you could, wanting to feel every inch of him.

His skin hot and melting yours, every nerve ending of yours on fire.

“Do you need me to get a condom or are you on birth control?” he asked and in every other circumstance this would be a mood killer, not with Frankie though.

He was responsible and you appreciated that greatly.

“I am, don’t worry” you breathed into the dark.

He searched for your eyes before his hand wandered down your body, his fat fingers sliding between your folds, already wet and leaking just from making out with him as he grinned satisfied, his teeth flashing in the pale moonlight.

“Damn, so wet all because of me?” he teased and you glared at him.

“Don’t tease me, Morales”, you warned, trying to sound at least a bit firmer than you felt inside but you clearly failed.

“‘m sorry” he purred as he latched onto your neck again, his flat thumb now pressing against your clit while the other two digits glided inside of you. You moaned instantly at the impact, one hand finding his soft locks, helplessly pulling at them as he pushed them in-and out of your slick with practiced ease.

The noise it was creating was almost obscene but you couldn’t find yourself to care. After a few movements you felt him shifting slightly, his hand now on his hardened cock, giving himself a few strokes before his tip teased your entrance and your grip on his hair only tightened.

“Frankie, please” you whimpered pathetically.

“I know”, he assured you, gripping your thighs and pulling you just a tiny bit closer to him, lifting your hips slightly before he finally, torturously slow, eased into you and stretched you out completely.

You didn’t remember if he was that big when you still were younger, but god damn that hurt. “Fuck”, he hissed. “You’re so damn tight I can’t–” he rambled helplessly as his head rested against your shoulder.

You wiggled impatiently, wanting so desperately for him to start moving. “It’s okay,” you murmured. “You’re not hurting me.”

Your confirmation was what he needed so he bottomed out completely, his pubic hair tickling your most sensitive area and it was heavenly.

He moaned deeply as your nails found his shoulder blades, digging into his flesh as his grip on your hips tightened as well, the intensity almost bruising.

“I wanted this for so long, dreamed about this…” he whispered against your hot skin, like it wouldn’t change everything.

It made your heart skip and you inhaled sharply.

What were you even supposed to answer when he was balls deep into you and your mind too dazed to form any coherent thought?

His thrusts were deep and powerful as if he wanted to show you with every single one how much he cared for you, how much he needed you. It was unlike anything else, the air thick and sultry with the smell of both of you and all the unspoken words between you.

This was a declaration on its own, one you weren’t even sure you were ready for, but there was turning back now.

You held desperately onto him as his movements fastened and grew more determined.

He gritted his teeth thrusting into you relentlessly while still making sure you never felt uncared for when he placed soft kisses everywhere he could reach.

“I-I’m so close, please don’t stop…” you moaned, pressing yourself against his hard frame.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he answered and without warning he took you at your ankles, pulling you up until your heels were resting against his shoulders and the new angle was incredible. He stroked your cervix with every snap of his hips, deliciously deep and mind altering.

In this position he grabbed your tits with his big, calloused hands, kneading them before his thumbs played with your nipples and it was all you needed to find your release.

You clenched tightly around him and he hissed in response.

“Yes, I need you to come for me. I need to– fuck!” he cursed as you felt him pulsating inside of you and following your climax just seconds later. He painted your inner walls with thick ropes of his cum and didn’t stop spilling into you as you cried out his name almost too loud for the quietness of the night.

His whole body shuddered against you before he gently let your legs sink down and collapsed next to you, panting heavily from exertion. His cheeks slightly flushed.

You turned onto your side to face him. Your hand reached out, stroking some damp strands that stuck against his forehead from his face as you grinned widely. Utterly satisfied and spent you mumbled “Not bad, stray cat” and it was a weak attempt at a joke because you were still equally as breathless.

“Not bad?” he choked out, his face mock shock as he turned his head towards you.

“I am wounded, hermosa,” and you both laughed in unison.

He pulled you against his side, his arm wrapped around your shoulders and kissing your hair.

It should’ve felt foreign, maybe even a bit awkward—but it didn’t. Instead, you felt a sense of contentment, one you probably hadn’t felt in a long time. It was a strange mix of comfort and unease, both comforting and terrifying at once.

You drifted into a deep sleep in his arms, his thumb gently tracing circles on your back. You weren’t sure how long you slept—probably not long—but when you finally opened your eyes, the light hit you with a sharp intensity, almost burning your vision.

You groaned, blinking a few times as the bright sunlight hit you. Doesn’t this man have blinds?

Still mostly naked, you turned around and stretched, feeling the impact of last night in every fiber of your body. Reaching beside you, you expected Frankie to still be there, but the bedside was empty. You turned your head sharply, sitting up with the blanket barely covering your modesty.

You stretched out an arm to grab your phone, checking the time—or maybe hoping for a message from him—but there was nothing. It was 7 a.m. You fell back into the pillow with a heavy sigh, brushing a wild strand of hair out of your face.

The fall hit you harder than you cared to admit. You should’ve known better. He’d gotten what he wanted, and now he was gone. Leaving you alone in his damn bed, in his parents’ house, casting you aside like you were nothing. Like all the others before him had done too.

The hot feeling of anger built inside you just as the bedroom door creaked open.

You didn’t even bother to look up, your arms crossed as you started at the ceiling.

Suddenly you felt a weight on the edge of the bed and the next thing your senses catched was the smell of freshly brewed coffee before his voice broke the silence.

“Good morning, I made us some coffee. Thought you may appreciate the liquid gold after last night”,his voice nothing more than a soft gravelly rumble in the stillness.

You propped up on an elbow to be able to look at him. His hair was a messy mop on his head, wearing the same t-shirt from last night and his boxers only.

It was a delightfully disheveled sight to behold.

His eyes were tired but his smile, God his smile, was brighter than the sun shining through the windows.

“I thought you changed your mind”, you pouted.

His brows creased in confusion. “Changing my mind about what? You? This?”

You nodded as you reached for the coffee cup he placed onto the bedside table.

“Never. I was just up a bit earlier and made sure to get us some coffee and maybe some breakfast too if you’re up for it.”

You sipped at the coffee, the hot liquid almost burning your lips. “Breakfast sounds great” you mumbled but not looking up from your mug. The steam dancing between the two of you he extended his free hand to rake it through your hair, a soft but mischievous smile on his lips.

“What is this smile about, Morales?” you asked and his smile turned into a full blown grin.

“I was thinking maybe we can go for round two before we grab some breakfast. Unless you’re too tired–”

You placed the coffee mug on the bedside table again before he even finished his sentence. You climbed into his lap, straddling him and his arms wrapped around you immediately. The sun was shining through the windows, creating a soft halo around you as his hands danced up and down over your bare back, the golden hues in his brown eyes sparkling when he looked up to you, tilting his head slightly to have a better look. “I could get used to this” he murmured against your skin, kissing your forehead, your temple, followed by your nose before he captured your lips in a soft kiss.

“You better do, because you won’t get rid of me that easily from now on” and it was a promise.

Five days later your dad died. He stopped breathing during the night and when your mom entered the bedroom her scream echoed through the whole house. It was exactly as awful as you imagined it to be, maybe even worse. You tried your best to be there for her,making sure she ate enough. But most of the time she was staring out of the window or playing absentmindedly with her wedding ring when she sat at the diner table, the same tea cup in front of her as in the morning. The days dragged on, functioning on autopilot and everything felt heavy and tinted in grey. Frankie never left your side, held you close the whole night until your tears subsided and you passed out from exhaustion.

At his funeral it was raining. How fitting, you thought to yourself. The sky mirroring your agony.

Everyone in Tidehaven attended the funeral and you didn’t want to see any of them. No one cared for you or your mom when he still was alive, they didn’t need to pretend they did now. It was hypocritical and your contempt grew even more. This was all this town could do after all, pretending.

Frankie’s hand was on the small of your back the whole time, his intense gaze flickering through the crowd to check for any potential misbehavior, but nobody acted up thankfully. It were just the same old judging, tired glances as usual.

As the casket was lowered into the soil you couldn’t hold back a silent sob as your mom reached for your hand and squeezed it so tight it almost felt like breaking. You didn’t dare to say a word the whole day. You felt paralyzed for a time after that.

Frankie’s presence was a silent shadow at your back. When you asked your mom if she needed anything, he mirrored that same quiet gesture for you. It was that day, despite never having believed in it before, that you were certain you would marry this man. He was your rock through it all—never complaining, never demanding anything—just offering silent support whenever it was needed.

When the worst was over, the grief only an unwelcome guest in the back of your mind you started to find some solace again. Sitting at the beach, listening to the waves crashing, even some music. You would probably never be the same again, but maybe that was okay. The old you never felt at ease somewhere. Not in the city, not in Tidehaven. But you felt at home in one place: Frankie’s arms.

You ended up staying in Tidehaven for way longer than you would’ve imagined. Weeks turned into months, into a year. You watched nature go through the seasons while you did the same. You changed, in more ways than one. When they were disappointment and sadness before it evolved into something more positive. Frankie made you see things differently. You started to experience real joy again. Not every day was perfect, of course not. But you finally felt like you belonged. Something you searched for your whole life. Turns out the only thing missing was him. All the pain you endured in his absence led you back into his arms after all. As summer approached again, the two of you sat together at the pier, watching the sunset. Without warning, he dropped to one knee and asked if you wanted to spend the rest of your life with him. It wasn’t a grand, romantic gesture—but you didn’t need that. You knew, without a doubt, that his words and actions were sincere. And that was all you needed. Tears streamed down your face as you agreed, and he hasn’t stopped smiling since.

“Hey dad,” you said as you kneeled down onto his tombstone, placing fresh lilies, his favorite flowers, onto it. You gently removed some fallen leaves from his grave. “Just came to tell you the news. Frankie asked me to be his wife and I said yes. How could I not? I wish you could see how happy he makes me, daddy. He’s also a damn menace sometimes, but he…he can handle me. And you know, how hard that is. After all I come after you with my stubbornness,” you chuckled softly. “I would’ve loved to have you walking me down the aisle. I know you and I weren't always on good terms, but I think this is something so special for a daughter and her dad and I am sad we can’t experience that together,” your voice was slightly breaking as you played with your engagement ring. A simple silver band with a small diamond princess cut. “I love him, dad. So so so much. But I also love you and I miss you and I am sorry I wasn’t always the best daughter and I am sorry I left you alone with mom for so long. I wish I could go back in time to spend more time with you. Even watch these damn quiz shows you loved so much with you where nobody really ever won something for real. I’m gonna keep a chair empty for you at the ceremony. You can imagine how excited mom is for this damn wedding. I guess for a time she lost hope her daughter would ever settle down. Well, for a long time I did too. But he changed my outlook on things. Oh and, I am also a stepmom now. You know I never wanted kids, but I love Frankie’s daughter endlessly and I think maybe she doesn’t find me that bad as well, at least I hope so,” you exhaled deeply before you finally rose back to your feet again, spotting Frankie standing a bit far off, a soft smile on his face, his hands folded demurely in front of his pants crotch.

You lifted a questioning eyebrow. “How long are you standing there already?”

“Not for long”, he answered as he stepped towards you. “You okay?” his brown eyes worried.

“I am. Just told my dad about all that happened. Give him a quick summary, you know,” your left hand resting on Frankie’s chest, your thumb gently stroking the fabric of his Henley, your gaze fixed there. “It’s getting easier, coming here.”

“Yeah, I know. It’s kind of healing isn’t it ? Having a place to still be able to talk to them.”

You nodded. “Did you visit your mom already?”

“No, I was hoping you would come with me. So I could show her your ring and all,” he took your hand that was on his chest, kissing your knuckles, his thumb tracing over your engagement ring.

“Yeah, sure,” you retorted as you searched for his eyes. “You think she’ll approve ?”

His lips lifted up into a lopsided smile. “No doubt.”

He took your hand in his as you walked over the cemetery. It was quiet and peaceful. In the past you kind of avoided places like this because your thoughts would be too loud when your surroundings were silent like this but that finally changed now.

As you reached the grave of his mom, fresh flowers in the vase he must’ve put in there before you came here, you stopped. His hand still holding yours, his grip slightly tightening when he looked at you, his gaze a mix of different emotions.

He never brought you here before and you knew how important this was for him.

You squeezed his hand reassuringly, giving him a tender smile, trying to give him the same amount of support like he always did. He lowered his gaze a bit as you turned your head towards the grave, still holding his hand, not budging even a bit as you hugged his arm now with your other hand.

“Hey, Mrs. Morales. I don’t know if you’re aware but I am pretty much in love with your son and I can’t wait to marry him even if I never thought I’d do that honestly”, you snickered and Frankie scoffed softly next to you.

“He’s a good person. The best if I may say so myself. You would be so proud of him, I know that, because I am. And I am also so damn grateful to be able to call him mine.”

It was silent for a long, meaningful moment after you finished speaking, the only sound was the soft pattering of the starting rain and Frankie’s breathing which was a bit ragged.

“Let’s get you home, okay?” he spoke silently, his voice slightly hoarse with emotion.

You tightened your grip on his arm and placed a soft kiss against the side of his neck, your breath ghosting over his skin. “I am already home.”

thanks so so much for taking the time to read. please show some love, we writers live for that <3

my masterlist - in case you’re hungry for more :)

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berryispunk · 18 days ago

Text

Haunted by You

pairing: Frankie Morales x f! reader

tags: ANGST, heartbreak, conflicted feelings, kinda love confessions, exes to????, NO CHEATING, did I mention angst?, husband! Frankie, daddy to be! Frankie, regrets, alcohol mention, longing

summary: You almost forgot the pain he's caused until you unexpectedly meet him again in the bar.

notes: Don't ask me any questions. A quick idea after I saw the quote that's in the moodboard. Don't send me your therapy bill :')

this is part 1/2

part 2 here

word count: 1,8 k

Seeing him here, out of all places, out of all the times you went to this bar, feels like a sick joke from the universe. It feels like the cosmos pointed its finger at you, laughing heartily at your misfortune. Because of course, it had to be him.

You almost think you're imagining it—the way your breath catches, the way your chest tightens like an old wound being pried open. But he’s real. Too damn real. Frankie Morales, in that worn-out mustard jacket you’d recognize in crowds any time, hunched over a whiskey glass, looking just as wrecked as the last time you saw him—except now, you’re no longer the reason for it, or maybe you still are.

He hasn’t seen you yet. Not yet. And for a split second, you consider leaving. You should. You should. But your feet stay rooted, fingers tightening around the damp glass of your half-finished drink. The past is sitting just a few feet away, and for the first time in a long time, it feels alive—gnawing at the bars of its enclosure, warning to be freed.

The bartender slides another drink in front of you, giving you a knowing look. "Rough night?"

You huff out something that isn’t quite a laugh. "You have no idea."

Then, like a magnet drawn to its opposite, Frankie finally turns. When his eyes meet yours, it’s like nothing has changed. Except everything has.

His eyes widen for a fraction of a second—a flicker, barely noticeable unless you’ve spent years memorizing the way he looks at you. And you have. But just as quickly as it appears, it’s gone. His expression shutters, closing you out the way he always did when he thought he was protecting you. Like that ever worked.

Your stomach twists. You should have left. Instead, you sit there, trapped in the weight of his stare, in the silence between you, in the ghosts clawing their way up from the past to wrap their fingers around your throat.

Frankie shifts, his fingers tightening around his glass. He looks down at it, then back up at you, something unreadable in his gaze. His eyes, dark under the cap he always used to wear—another one of his trademarks that are etched into your memory, impossible to erase. Just like everything else about him.

"Didn't think I'd see you here." His voice is rough, like he’s been drinking for a while. Or like he hasn’t slept in even longer.

You swallow against the lump in your throat. "Yeah, well. I could say the same."

A humorless huff of laughter escapes him. He glances away, rubbing the nape of his neck—something he always did when he was nervous.

For a second, you let yourself look at him—really look. The dark circles under his eyes, the way his shoulders sag like he’s been carrying the weight of the world alone. You wonder if he even tries to set it down anymore.

It shouldn’t hurt, seeing him like this. But it does. God, it does.

You turn back to your drink, hating the way your fingers tremble against the glass. "Didn’t think this place was your scene," you say, just to fill the silence. Just to keep yourself from saying something stupid.

Frankie exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly. "It's not, well not since—" he doesn’t have to finish the sentence. You know what he’s implying.

"Then why are you here?"

He hesitates. For a moment, you think he might lie. But then he lifts his whiskey to his lips, takes a slow sip, and says, "Looking for ghosts."

Your heart stutters. Because you know what he means and you're terrified you might still be one of them. His words linger between you, thick as the whiskey in his glass.

Looking for ghosts. Well, congratulations, Frankie. You fucking found one.

You open your mouth—maybe to snap back, maybe to say something that hurts—but then your eyes catch it.

A glint of gold.

Something sharp and awful coils in your stomach, twisting deep. For a second, you think it’s a trick of the dim bar lighting, but no. It’s real. Solid. Sitting there on his left hand like a goddamn brand. Your throat is suddenly dry, but you force the words out anyway. "When?"

Frankie doesn’t pretend to misunderstand. He glances down at his hand, flexing his fingers slightly before curling them back into a fist.

"A year ago."

A year. Not right after you. Not right away. But soon enough that the breath in your lungs turns razor-sharp. You nod slowly, like it doesn’t feel like your ribcage is collapsing.

"She knows you’re here?"

Frankie’s jaw tenses. That tells you everything you need to know. But you press anyway, because if he’s gonna haunt you like this, then you’re taking him down with you. "Is she home waiting?"

His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows. "She’s… she’s due next week."

That does it. That rips the air from your lungs, knocks the glass from your hand. It doesn’t shatter, but it might as well have.

"You’ve got a kid on the way?" Your voice is a whisper, but it might as well be a scream.

Frankie exhales sharply, dragging a hand through his hair. "It’s not—fuck, I didn’t come here to—"

"To what, Frankie?" Your laugh is bitter. "You didn’t come here to see me? Then why the hell are you sitting in our bar drinking like a man with regrets?"

He flinches, just slightly, but enough for you to notice. And that’s when it hits you, that deep, festering thing in your chest you’ve been ignoring since the second you saw him tonight.

It doesn’t matter if it’s been years. If he’s married. If he’s about to be a father. If your story ended.

Because it was still a story. Unfinished—the book slammed shut, but the ending was written somewhere else. Just not in yours.

Frankie stares down at his drink, like maybe he’ll find answers at the bottom of the glass. And for a long, agonizing moment, he doesn’t say anything.

But then, barely above a whisper—like it’s the only real thing left in the world—he says it.

"I still think about you."

Your breath catches.

"Every fucking day."

You hate how much you want to believe it. Hate how much you want it to be enough to change things between you.

"Even when I’m with her."

It’s a confession, a wound ripped open and bleeding all over the fucking floor.

"Even when she’s sleeping beside me."

Your stomach twists.

"Even when I touch her, it’s you I see."

It feels like all the air has been sucked out of the room.

"I wanted it to be you." Frankie’s voice breaks, and it’s the worst thing you’ve ever heard. "I wanted it to be you I built a life with. You I had a family with. I swear to God, I—"

"Shut the fuck up, Frankie."

Your voice isn’t loud. It isn’t sharp. It’s shaking. Your hands tremble at your sides, fingers curling, not in fury but in something worse—something raw and aching, something that feels like it might split you open.

"Do you hear yourself?" you spit out. "Do you have any fucking idea what you’re saying?" It’s not anger that clogs your throat, it’s everything else.

Frankie drags a hand over his face. "I know it’s fucked. I know I shouldn’t be saying it." His eyes flick up to yours, wrecked and desperate. "But it’s the truth."

"No," you snap. "The truth? The truth is you left me. The truth is you moved on. The truth is you’re about to have a kid with another woman, and you don’t get to sit here and tell me it should’ve been me just because you feel guilty tonight."

"It’s not guilt," he says, and the worst part is—he may mean it.

You shake your head, laughter bubbling up, sharp and jagged. "Oh, it’s not? So what the fuck do you want from me, Frankie? You want me to say it back? You want me to tell you I still think about you too? That I still wake up expecting to find you next to me? That no matter how hard I try, no one else ever—"

You choke on the words before they can escape, swallow them down with the bitterness in your throat. His face is pure devastation; he looks like you just shot him.

"I just…" He trails off, eyes flickering to his glass. "I just needed to see you."

And God, that’s the worst part. Because you needed to see him too. But it doesn’t fucking change anything.

And you don’t want to feel it—this, what’s happening between you both. But it’s impossible to ignore. The pull. The gravity. The familiarity that fills the air between you. It’s like no time has passed. The years just slip away, and here you are again, inches apart, breathless, with so much unsaid between you. Before you even realize it, you’re leaning in. Just a little. Just enough to catch the warmth of his breath, to inhale the scent that once clung to your skin. The same scent that lingered on the one shirt he left at your place. The one you held onto like an anchor, drowning in your tears for weeks, refusing to let go.

His fingers twitch like they want to reach for you. His eyes are dark with something you shouldn’t want, but still so heavy with meaning. You almost let him. All the feelings, all the longing you buried so deep, start bubbling up again, rising to the surface.

But it’s too much. It oversteps every line you swore you wouldn’t cross. But right here, right now, it feels like the easiest thing in the world to fall into him. To forget everything else. To pretend there’s still a chance. Another reality for you both. Another life where you aren’t the end of each other.

But in the last moment of clarity, you stop and pull back. And the distance between you feels like a chasm.

"No," you whisper, almost to yourself. "I’m not doing this."

His face twists like you’ve slapped him. He doesn’t say anything, doesn’t move.

"You’re about to ruin all of this," you say, voice shaking but resolute. "You’re about to ruin everything you have—everything she’s about to give you—for some stupid fucking nostalgia. You don’t get to chase the past, Frankie. You don’t get to fuck up your life just because it’s easy to be here, with me."

Your voice breaks as you say it, but you’re too angry, too hurt to stop. "You made your choice. Don’t make me the one who gets hurt again."

He doesn’t answer. Froze in an endless loop of time stretching between you. His hand hovers in the air like he’s trying to reach for something he’s already lost.

Then he swallows, his voice rough. "I wish I didn’t have to choose."

But the words hang there, unanswered.

You turn, tears falling—silent and heavy, burning down your cheeks—as you take a steady step away, each one a little more certain than the last. Maybe it’ll eat you alive, knowing he’s about to be someone else’s family. But you can’t let him ruin you again.

You leave him there, probably just as conflicted as you—suffocating in his own mess of emotions. But he deserves to feel this. He deserves to suffer too, just like you. You won’t let him break you again.

You won’t.

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