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punkypiscesell-writes · 11 months ago

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Give me a minute

Frankie Morales x f!/gn! reader

Summary: Frankie has been your best friend for a long time. You can share everything with him, except this time you’ve been dealing with your anxiety alone and have been having trouble putting it all into words.

warnings: soft!Frankie, anxiety, fluff, not canon compliant, no use of y/n, no pronouns or physical descriptions mentioned for reader. Not beta read.

word count: 3.6k

Notes: This is totally self-indulgent after having a bit of a rough patch in the past month. If you’ve been struggling lately, I’m sending you tenderness. It's only temporary and we will get through this.

Divider by saradika-graphics

Your Fridays with Frankie have become a tradition. You might go out for dinner, just the two of you, grab a drink somewhere, have a quiet night in, ordering takeout and watching a movie.

You always look forward to it, the moment when you see his dark curls peeking under his cap, his button-down shirts over his broad shoulders, the way he walks over to you with his head down, his hand tucked into the pocket of his tight jeans.

When he lifts his head up, his face lights up and it’s easy to answer the smile he offers you. Frankie always greets you with a hug. You don’t remember when you started to hug each other, but the longer you’ve known each other, the longer and softer the hugs have become. They linger and let you take a breath before you separate and go about your plans together.

You arranged to meet up at your place this week. You’ve had to cancel for the past three times, with the same apologies and explanations, “I just need a bit of time to get adjusted to my new job, I promise it won’t take long now, it’s already better.” Even Frankie’s invites for you to join him, Santiago, Will and Ben have gotten you to offer him the same answer. You know he can pick your words apart by now. He knows you’re saying it all because you want to believe it to be true.

Since the last time you saw him, you haven’t really had time or energy to take care of your home. You’ve piled dishes in the sink and now they’re spilling onto the counter next to it. You have clothes scattered here and there, the laundry basket full and your wardrobe getting emptier of possible clothes you could wear. Random piles of random things litter different surfaces, mail on the table next to the front door, your work laptop, and some papers you’ve dragged home with it on the dining table, only a small space cleared for you to eat at.

The coffee table next to your couch is covered with small bowls and mugs, some that you tried to pile and clear out but realized there’s no more space in the sink. A few books and magazines in different stages of reading, some with bookmarks, some with random pieces of paper sticking out between the pages.

You spilled your drink from one of the mugs a few days ago and the paper towels you used to dry it up with are still on the table, in crumbled balls. They left behind white fibers that stuck to the wood and now the table looks even worse.

The doorbell rings and you let Frankie in. You smile when you see him, but he can see the strain in it, how it’s like a change of clothes that you can take off when the door closes behind him at the end of the night.

Frankie leaves his usual blue cap onto the table next to your door, right beside your home keys, as he always does when he comes around. It’s a spot that you’ve started to leave empty just because you know he’ll leave it there. He pushes his fingers through his hair, mussing the flattened curls back into place. He reaches for you, closing you into a hug that makes you shut your eyes and take a deep breath.

“I’ve missed you,” he confesses with gentleness in his eye, his hands resting on your shoulders.

“Missed you too.” There’s a genuine glimmer of happiness on your face, until it reverts back into the forced strain against your cheeks.

He follows behind you into the living room and you can pick apart every inch of your apartment that you usually keep organized. You look at him over your shoulder, sensing the pulled together brows even before you see them. “I’m good, just a bit tired, don’t worry. Sorry about the mess.”

It has become a weird habit for you to clean before anyone comes over. That you have to have everything in order, comfortably homey but still kept together. Now the clutter stands out even more, out of place and out of the ordinary. Frankie has said it multiple times now, that you don’t have to clean for him at all. “I’m here to see you, not your apartment,” and he finished his words with that familiar warm smile that you answer every time almost reflexively.

“No, no reason to be sorry, I’ve said it before –“

“Yeah, that you don’t mind if it’s messy, your apartment is messy most of the time as well.” You laugh but the sound splutters out of your throat painfully.

He offers you the snacks he brought; some new popcorn flavor that sounded good just a couple of days ago when he said he had seen them at the store. Now even the thought of them makes you grimace. He already pops a grape into his mouth when you leave him to make the popcorn in the microwave.

You stare at the puffing bag rotating on the glass plate, the smell of the cooking kernels wafting in the air already.

“Did you hear me?” The words settle into your ears slowly, one letter at a time, until you realize Frankie is talking to you.

“What?” The microwave dings and you take the hot bag out, dropping it into a bowl.

“I asked if you’d like to watch the movie you mentioned last week?” He cranes his neck when he hears your footsteps getting closer, the comfortable softness on his face giving you a moment of solace before your head is forcing you out of this moment with your friend again.

“Yeah, sounds good.” In reality you can’t remember what movie you had mentioned. You settle on your couch next to him and make room for the bowl beside the grapes that are still beading with water after you washed them. You pop the steaming bag open and dump the fresh, savory treats into the awaiting bowl.

“Oh shit, I forgot the beer,” you gasp out and are already standing up when Frankie stops you with his palm landing on your arm.

You see that softness on his face that you’ve become to find comforting in the time you’ve known him, but you can also see the worry underneath. The kind that is watching you, trying to understand what is going on through your actions since you’re not telling him what is on your mind. “It’s okay, we can drink later if we feel like it.” You nod your head almost in a robotic, twitchy way.

He presses play on the movie and the TV screen is filled with vibrant colors. The music from the intro is supposed to give you a sense of what’s to come. You only get more anxious from the booming instrumental and the echoing singing of a choir.

It’s a movie everyone is talking about. The memory of mentioning it to Frankie comes back to you slowly. You had wanted to see it, so you’d have something to talk about with the colleagues in your team at work who had gone out to see it together.

You’re not completely sure what the premise of the movie is but when the main character is the one looking in, watching others laughing and enjoying their time together, the feelings you’ve been swallowing come crashing down.

The lack of connections. The smile you have to force yourself to wear at work when you see your colleagues making plans with each other, discreetly turning their backs on you. The way you’ve started to believe your voice doesn’t really matter when no one answers you.

It's hard enough at your new job when you’re automatically the odd one out, the new one. Someone who needs a bit of time to find out their own place, the one who is always a little on the sidelines, always welcomed to join but doesn’t get an invite.

You act like you understand what the others are talking about. You listen to their stories of people you have no idea who they are. You laugh when they do, only to find out it’s an inside joke when someone says that you should’ve been there to really know what is so funny about it.

When you get back home you try to convince yourself you just need to work a little harder to show them that you’re a valuable part of the team already. You just need to push a little harder, do a bit more, be a bit more active to be seen for the person you are.

The first week you were glad to do it. Now you don’t know what has happened. Why are you feeling so discouraged, so dismissed, so empty and invisible. Your head feels so full and all these thoughts are suffocating you from the inside out.

Your thigh is pressed against Frankie’s as he focuses on the movie. You pull away from him, wrap yourself protectively in your blanket and curl in yourself, like a little turtle hiding itself in its shell. You feel the familiar sting in your eyes. It has been a while since you cried. You’ve been adamant in not letting those tears fall.

Now, watching this movie that is so far from what you’re experiencing, it somehow digs itself into your chest and forces out the tears that you’ve been holding in the whole day. You clear your throat, and discreetly wipe away the tears that spill from your eyes, breathe through your mouth to hide the sniffles from your nose. It doesn’t stop the salty droplets from falling. Hiding is only making you feel worse and the irrational need to escape takes over.

“Keep the movie on, I’ll be back in a sec,” you choke out and push yourself off the couch, dropping the blanket in the process. Frankie hears you cursing under your breath, but you don’t stay to lift it off the floor.

He follows you with his gaze and sees you wiping at your face. You lock the bathroom door and turn on the faucet immediately, drowning out any sounds under the hissing water against the sink. The movie drones on in the background, Frankie’s focus torn far away from it. He wasn’t that into it anyway, the settings and characters a bit too pretentious for his liking.

When you don’t come back in a few minutes, he pauses the movie and listens to the sounds from the bathroom. He hears your sniffles, followed by a whimper that isn’t something he’s used to hearing when he’s with you.

You’ve known each other for a few years now. There was a time when you were just acquaintances, passing each other when Santiago introduced the rest of the group to his new girlfriend and her friend, you. Ben and Will were their usual selves, asking questions and making you both feel welcomed and included.

Santiago kept his girlfriend under his arm the whole night, like they were glued together, and you sipped at your drink and listened to everyone talk with glinting eyes and a wide grin on your lips. You answered when someone asked you a question, and sometimes you got a word in through the excited chatter.

Deep down you were a little shy, just like Frankie. He could recognize a like-minded person a mile away. A little timid at first but after some warming up you dared to let your personality through. After the first time you met you often joined them for a night out at a local bar or came to listen to live music in a small underground club. Sometimes you even came to watch Ben’s MMA fights but those were mostly for meeting the group rather than to watch the match. You were too soft natured for it, you once said.

It happened sneakily, the connection you and Frankie built between each other. It was a surprising realization that you share the same taste in music, had similar opinions about movies you had seen, important core memories from a place you both had visited at some point in your lives.

Even after Santiago and his girlfriend broke up, you still wanted to join a night out. Suddenly the group melted away as you talked only to each other, not caring about the conversations the others were having. Your discussions were always deep and intimate even in loud environments.

There was an urge to always find out more of each other, to talk until you were too tired to form coherent sentences. You both were clinging onto every word, memorizing details that made either of you smile, reach for the other in understanding, laugh in a way that was like you had known each other always, familiar and comforting. It has always been easy between the two of you.

Frankie knows you have your off days. The days when you would much rather be on your own, maybe curl on your bed for a nap, have a bit more time for yourself to process the thoughts that race through your head. Sometimes you crave for the company of your friend, even if it’s only to spend time together and not do anything special in particular. It was a way to get you out of your head, to get you to forget the things that got you down in the first place.

You’ve told him about the experiences you’ve had before. How you’ve felt like an outsider. How it’s hard for you to trust others. How you’re always a little careful when meeting new people until you let them fully in. That made him proud that you had chosen him as your friend, as someone who you share your thoughts with, who you can be yourself with. Most of the time.

Frankie presses his hand against the bathroom door and listens. The muffled crying makes uneasiness settle in his chest.

“You okay?” He taps his knuckles gently against the surface. You clear your throat immediately and a strained “uh-huh,” follows.

“Can you open the door?” There’s a moment of quietness that he’s not sure you’re going to fill.

“You need to use the bathroom?” Your questioning voice is weak and thick. Something’s wrong. The uneasiness sinks heavily from his chest into his stomach.

“No, but I’m worried about you.” The silence that stretches after Frankie’s confession is excruciating as he waits for your decision. Are you going to let him in or pretend that you’re okay.

The continuous sound of water splashing against the sink stops when you turn the tap off. The stillness you offer him becomes unnervingly loud.

The lock klicks and you push the door ajar. Frankie is leaning against the wall with his arms over his chest, peering in to see your face. He reaches his fingers against the edge of the door and opens it more to let you out, to see your reddened eyes, the puffy turn of your lips, tears still streaking your cheeks even when you try to wipe them away.

You try to get some of the worry off his face by attempting a small smile. It only makes more tears spill from your eyes and Frankie’s heart chip from the edges as it thumps uncomfortably when he sees how broken you are.

“Come here,” he pulls you gently against his chest, cradling you in his arms.

The pressure is comforting, his arms around you, his large hands on your back, his fingertips digging into the tight muscles that only tell you about the stress and anxiety that have made their home in the deepest depths of your being. It has been with you for a while again, you just haven’t let it boil over. Until now.

“What happened?”

“It’s just… a lot” Frankie’s hands pause for a moment against your back, until he continues to trail them slowly up and down, warming up your skin under the cotton of your shirt.

“What is?”

“Everything,” you whine, and it feels so pathetic to be weeping against his chest, drying your tears in the worn fabric of his shirt, leaving dark spots against it. You squeeze his button-up on his back gently in your fists to feel his warmth and care against you, to get him closer. His breathing calms you down, the steady rhythm of his inhales and exhales encouraging you to follow his lead to soothe your stammering heart.

“Tell me about it,” he suggests softly, his voice in your ear, his breath against your skin. You nod and let him lead you back to the couch. He picks up the blanket off the floor and sits you down before he wraps it around the both of you.

Your body fits against Frankie’s side, his arm over your shoulders. You tuck your head against the crook of his neck and stare at your joined hands. You play with the hem of his shirt as his thumb caresses the back of your palm as light as a feather.

With every inhale you smell him a little more. His gentle sweetness and saltiness, that familiar scent of a cologne that is somewhere between fresh and warm. You once told him you liked it and since then he always wears it around you.

You notice the TV screen has gone black; the movie long forgotten. The popcorn and the grapes on the coffee table look trivial, like they don’t really belong there. Everything around you is a little tilted, a little off, with you.

“What’s the first thing on your mind?” You close your eyes and open your mouth. You let Frankie in on those thoughts that sometimes feel a little too scary to put into words, the immense loneliness and purposelessness glaring at you straight in the eyes.

It’s sometimes so hard to admit that you have those feelings, how you’ve battled with them for so long. They come and go, sometimes leaving you for longer periods and then sometimes swim in with a tide of other things that don’t go your way.

Frankie listens to you without caring about the soft noises from the street below your apartment that sometimes come in through the closed window. Every now and again his palm strokes down your arm until he squeezes you a little tighter against him.

You let it all out. Some of the tumbling words get accompanied by a fresh wave of tears. Some of them make you shake your head like you can’t believe you’re telling him all of this. Some you hear yourself say but feel as if you’re detaching from them and from you. And some hurt, heavy and agonizing in your body.

Until there’s no words left to describe whatever is left inside your head. It’s all just a jumbled mess of emotions at this point. Memories, words, people’s voices that you remember from years ago.

“Then there’s the clearest emotion.”

“What?” Frankie asks when you start to giggle.

“I feel so stupid.”

“Why?” His voice sounds like his mouth is right against your ear. His breath puffs against your forehead.

“Because I know I’m not alone. I know I have a purpose even if I don’t know it yet exactly. I know it’s all in my head and it still feels as real as everything around us. I just can’t seem to convince myself that I’m not worthless, that it’s all just a bunch of lies my anxiety is telling me.”

“Hey,” his commanding tone and the shift in his body makes you lift your head off his shoulder and look at him in the eye. He’s serious, the worry still ever present on his soft features, the downturn of his brown eyes a little heartbroken at your words.

The expression on Frankie’s face wipes away the self-deprecating jokes you’d want to make in a flash. They remind you to not laugh at yourself or how you feel. “Whatever your head tells you, you’re not worthless. No matter how many times I have to remind you of that, I always will.” His voice is low, almost a whisper, seeping into your consciousness slowly, and with care.

“I know,” you nod your head in confirmation, and hug yourself around him once more, your arm settling over the softness of his middle. You feel his lips press against your forehead, pressing still when you crawl even closer to feel that patient support he offers you in abundance. His scruffy cheek settles against your head as you feel yourself relax against him.

The tears stop flowing. The over critical voice that is always ready to put you down and remind you of your fears and failures in your head is a little quieter than before. The ache in your chest is a little duller. Maybe you needed a good cry, maybe you needed to tell someone that you’re struggling. Maybe it’s them both.

“Whatever you feel, it is as real as everything around us. I’m here for you, just like you’ve been there for me in my darkest moments.” The gentle whisper almost disappears into the setting dark behind your window.

“You can count on me.” You breathe the words in, feel the comfort of them. You nod against the steadiness of Frankie’s shoulder, and he sighs out in relief. He listens to your breaths slowing down until he knows you’ve fallen asleep. The quiet around him and the closeness of your body against his side make his eyes heavy.

The lights are still on when Frankie wakes up. He possibly slept for only a few minutes or maybe it was a few hours. He wouldn’t know. It’s still dark outside and he doesn’t want to jostle you when he sees the calmness on your face. The blanket on top of you both has slipped a little, fallen towards the floor. Frankie fixes it, giving you most of it to keep you warm and safe.

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