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wide-nose-and-wonderful · 27 days ago

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SNOWFALL SEASON 4 Franklin.

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black Fem OC!

Warnings/Type: Established Relationship. Reader Request follow up to Brother Ain't Havin' It. ONE SHOT!

Summary: Pleasure would take a back seat, that and personal desires. Maybe in another life he could chase them. But it wasn't another life. Survival now depended upon caution and precision. Taking three bullets to the body gives a lot of time for reflection. In the midst of his recovery, Franklin Saint thinks back on his actions, and what it would mean going forward in the new world he created.

Word count: 7,524k / Please consider leaving a comment to tell me what you thought of the story and to show some love and support. Like this story? To read other works please check out the Masterlist.

Claudia had been on his radar ever since Louie’s omissions of their past. For the most part she’d presented herself as a respectable business woman, aside from the few times she made those subtle advances. That hadn’t been the first time older women had taken an interest in him. Still, there was so much he did not know about the woman, and maybe things that Louie wasn’t ready to reveal could have aided him. Nonetheless, Clauida was all he could think about as the next kick to his side damn near took his breath away.

Had it all been a set up orchestrated by her? Some way or other to take control and gain the upper hand? To what end though? She already had the dope.

Pain. The epitome of clinging to life. Or, that’s how Franklin Saint chose to categorize it. At least in the moment under the dim lamp overhead that illuminated his orchestrated beating, he felt that way. Maybe the truth was a different matter entirely, but Franklin had his fair share of pains the past few months, both mentally and physically, which presented itself in different choices and decisions he’d found himself making. Some external, but most in the private caverns of his own brain. He was being tested for better or worse. Funny how the mind could run rampant with scenarios and destinations. He knew that this certain path would be his only chance at a different kind of life. Otherwise, he’d be working at Cho’s corner store forever, under someone else, taking orders. It didn’t matter how comfortable he’d gotten, or how good he may have had it there doing basically whatever he wanted as long as the work got done, that sort of life wasn’t too far from a slave’s. Or how Leon once put it, a house nigga.

Franklin imagined such a life as the most grusome type of torture fathomable, with no possible means of escape. Chains you couldn’t see.

Franklin wanted more for himself. He thought about his mother Cissy, how every day must have felt for her to keep going. Still, he should have seen this coming. He’d gotten too comfortable, picking up the key of cocaine the way he had. Like he’d held some type of protection. Those eyes were on him. The one guy, a little taller than the other one that was with him, hadn't even tried to pretend to stare in a nonchalant way. Bold. Since he’d been the same guy to place the gun, finger on the trigger so intimately that one wrong move could mean the end of things. Or, Franklin sighed, at least for his eye. He may very well survive it.

But, there was a moment looking down that barrel Franklin reconsidered if all this was really what he wanted wholeheartedly and sincerely. Deep down he held a strong feeling that guns getting pointed at him would become a recurring thing. Call it luck, Avi hadn’t shot him the day he told him to put on the vest to prove himself to the game. He had heart and gut to grit through it although he was scared shitless. But that time was different from now. After all, this had been the first time he’d actually looked death in the face, close up. Definitely way too close for comfort. He’d learned early on that the drug game wasn’t kind to naivety, and soon discovered with the first punch delivered as he fell from his bike and hit the ground, he had a lot of catching up to do. After this little encounter, no one could be above suspicion in Franklin's mind.

That had been his weakness. Not looking over his shoulder at all times.

He should have known that something was coming. He’d failed to pay attention to the little details. The looks and glances. The fact that he’d come alone. Claudia Crane's unwillingness to speak freely without code and contention spoke volumes on her knowledge of the do’s and don’ts, but he did not heed the example. Due to the cunning nature Franklin had detected in her, the banter that took place kept the femme interested. That was what he needed, her interest. Her interest in him was what kept him around. Her entertaining the idea of doing business meant he had time to grow his own with strategy. He hadn’t even known that he was making a name for himself, so early.

When Franklin made the decision to choose the path presented before him with the promise of freedom and financial security, he never expected the shift to turn his life completely upside down as quickly as it had. Enemies had grown substantially, and his outer nerd-like facade no longer made him inconspicuous to suspicion. That tall lanky kid with the backpack. It was like the role flipped. Now he stood out like a sore thumb. Someone no one really paid attention to had become a curious affair. Really, what would he be doing in a club talking to someone with Claudia’s reputation. He should have expected more eyes than those belonging to the taller and shorter males that had robbed him.

Sometimes late at night when he could be alone with his own secret thoughts, he would contemplate on a different path. One less violent. He figured doubting was natural in the growing process. The things he’d done plagued his conscience like an aching wound. But then, he would think of Cissy, always.

His mother looked so beat down by the everyday pressures of life that he felt it his duty to repay her for all the hard work it took to raise him. Cissy couldn’t take all the credit. Jerome had every bit of influence where Alton’s absence was heavily felt. But still. Although Franklin hardly ever agreed one hundred percent on how Jerome chose to live, he never outright judged any decisions made by him or Louie. His preferences alone kept it all from rubbing off on him personally. That was their life. He undoubtedly had his own to worry about. The only time their two lifestyles intersected was when Franklin had begun selling weed for some extra cash. But selling weed and cocaine were two very different things.

What was next for the prep school bound kid from South Central?

The question came up several times after the blowout at Claremont Mckenna. A brief intermission did not mean that no return was ever possible, at least according to Cissy. Franklin had concluded otherwise. She wasn’t there for the experience. Didn’t know how it felt to be undermined and made to feel like nothing under the guise of white folk who couldn’t give a damn anyway. Or, maybe she did. Her boss was an outright piece of shit. In the end, Franklin made up his mind that he would never step foot on the campus again, but he regarded her sentiment as something that all mothers carried when it came to their children. She only wanted the best for him, something more than she had. So, this had to work.

Franklin marveled at how he could lay on the cold bum piss infested ground in the alley thinking about everything as he held his stomach that might fold with the shortest push for breath. They could have killed him, and that thought was paralyzing. Why hadn’t they? Perhaps his outer appearance had given the impression that he wasn’t as threatening as the typical drug dealer. Maybe they thought killing him was too much trouble? Or, it could be that someone was looking out for him up there in the sky somewhere. A much simpler resolution. According to the other guy, he wasn’t worth the bullet. He knew deep down the two men were Lenny and Ray Ray. Two names that would cause him more strife then he needed later on, but this time he couldn't make out faces to go with each. All that remained of them both were black holes. Empty. Franklin wouldn’t argue that much. Pretty soon, they'd left him cradling his sides and bent in the fetal position. So be it. The last thing he wanted was for his mama to get that call that would take her from an already troubled sleep. He would realize much later, that wouldn't be something he could avoid. Only, it wasn't her waking up in the middle of the night, but running to their next door neighbors house to find him in a pool of his own blood, although he still couldn't get the look she held when he'd been picked up by police and thrown in the back of one of those hellish cars with the red winding lights after he shot Kevin.

Getting beat within an inch of one’s life wasn’t exactly merciful, but he survived it. Or maybe it hadn't been that literal, just that it felt like he was dying, if that was what death felt like in some capacity. But he knew to his better judgment that he was walking back in his memories in a dream. None of which was pleasant, but at the same time not in the present either.

All these things had already happened.

The thought alone made him pick himself up with all the strength he could muster. Maybe, he thought, if he could continue, he could wake up.

A stumble to the feet brought on a wave of nausea that rushed over him with a sudden urgency. He neared stairs in a wobble and with a stroke of breath he’d leaned over to discard blood, garnered up saliva that had gotten stuck in his throat, and something he’d eaten earlier. Once he became empty, he outstretched a hand to latch onto the mental railing of the stairs that would lead him back into a door, the same way he’d remembered walking out. The first time he’d had every intention of being discreet when leaving, but they’d calculated his moves.

The ascent became complicated after the fourth step and he had to stop a couple times before he managed himself to make it to that particular door that he pulled open and maneuvered himself through.

His vision spined and leveled up and down in and out as the lights presented a difficulty in locating Claudia, until he noticed her mingling with a few patriots. This was odd too, because Claudia had since long been dead. That was Louie's story to tell. Either way, she'd gotten what she was after. Claudia's club.

“Yo’ young blood. They fuck up yo shit already?”

He grinned. He remembered her saying that.

“Saw you talkin' to um.” He answered back to play along.

“You be real careful bout’ what you say.”

“Be real easy settin’ me up.”

She hadn't, and he knew that now.

“You a smooth talker, but you don't know shit about business. You porch customers you gonna get blow back. I imagine your connect aint gon be to happy but uh, question is what you willing to do about it?”

“Who are they?”

“And why the fuck would I tell you that?”

Anger rose up in his belly. That same anger he had when he bought Cissy the house only for her to deny it, or the time Leon, Kevin and Jerome thought it was a good idea to wage a war with the Mexicans, even the same anger when Melody told him to stop, that he and his family were provoking the police, right after Jerome's heinous beating and his return from the hospital. Every time he saw Alton stumbling down the streets in a drunken stupor.

The anger rested, but even in a dream he managed to keep it from reaching his features, although his eyes pleaded for answers, the same way they had back then.

“Cause I'm askin’ you. Nicely.”

Claudia's expression eased, either from pity or the fact that he was young. He still didn't care for the reason.

“I tell you who they are. Next time I'm buying from you, you be real nice to me you feel me.”

“Uh huh.”

“Melody and Wanda. Ask around. You'll find them. Happy hunting baby.”

Something changed. Those were of course the wrong names. The dream shifted. Franklin no longer found himself in Claudia's club, but the skate rink he used to frequent. With all that had happened, he couldn't recall the last time he'd been there to enjoy himself.

The rink had always been a beautiful mess of color, with disco balls twinkling overhead and the smooth rhythm of roller skates gliding over the wooden floor with that familiar thick scent of popcorn locked onto laughter that echoed against the walls. It seemed all the black youth in South Central were on wheels every Friday night to display moves that were a mixture of practiced choreography and spontaneous improvisation. That had been the way it always was, but that was not the view he currently held.

The glassy surface of the rink, surrounded by crumbling brick walls adorned with wild vines, glistened like a diamond among ruins now mostly shattered. Beneath the cracked roof, reflections danced under flickering lights. The outer parts of the rink were dark. Franklin thought about the blacked out faces of Lenny and RayRay. How similar that same bleakness appeared. A memory but not a memory. Almost like a future thing. The silence had to be the worst of it. No longer did the music bump against the walls as a tantalizing enchantress. In fact, what he heard now was Leon's voice in a terrifying repetition.

‘Keep Wanda out the cook house.’

The phrase could become its own shadow. Pretty soon it took shape and the Wanda that was flesh and blood skated past him with wild hair and big eyes, a small clear pipe edged between her two large and cracked lips that bled some. The hairs on the back of his neck stood. If he’d seen Wanda, then he was sure he would see…

“Killed my daddy.”

It was Melody’s voice that came out next. He searched for her through the darkness, and no sooner did she walk from it, the same wild hair as Wanda right along with the big eyes, and dry cracking lips greeted him.

Only on Melody, were the eyes angry.

“How you feel now Franklin. I killed you.”

“No you didn’t. I'm not dead Mel.”

A smirk emerged to expose her yellow teeth. “You sure about that. I shot you three good times just to make sure.”

Someone else came from the darkness. Dried blood caked at the side of the man's face, one eye rolled back but the other neared toward franklin. The man walked to stand beside Melody.

“Aundre,” Franklin breathed out.

“Here sweetheart. Let me show you how it's done.”

Aundre, or the one dead, raised his hand. A pistol in it. One that Franklin couldn’t figure out how and where it had gotten into the former officer’s possession, but nonetheless aimed in his direction. His nostrils flared.

“Stop acting like this shit is my fault. I gave you an out. You should have taken it!” He yelled this, his voice strong, filled with defiance. The words hung, heavy with their meaning.

“How ya’ feeling, Saint?”

Yet another voice called behind. Startled, Franklin turned to find a familiar face rushing to catch up to the present. A frantic reminder of the urgency of the moment.

“Kev,” he replied, heart racing. He suddenly felt the weight of his decisions standing in the form of his dead friend.

“Miss you man. Seems like it's been a long time since we last talked,” Kevin said, his expression both serious and empathetic. “I thought you were gonna join me? What happened? You get cold feet or something? Lotta company over on this side.”

Franklin swallowed hard. “Nah man. I don't. I didn't wanna die.”

Kevin sighed. “Yeah. I get that Saint. I do. Because Neither did I.”

Anguish surged through him. “So what. You gonna haunt my dreams forever now? Don't put all this on me. You were gonna get us all killed Kev. You wanted to start a whole war, and for what, ego, pride and all that shit. Nah, I couldn't let that happen!” He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks, the anger pouring out of his mouth, a culmination of all the confusion and guilt feeling inside. Franklin stepped away, retreating deeper into the darkness.

“Okay Saint. What you say we call a truce. You come with us. Make things even,” Kevin countered gently.

Those words washed over. For a moment, silence enveloped. The world moved forward as he stood frozen, faced with the harsh reality of his future. Time slowed as Franklin considered his choices, the weight of his past pressing firmly upon him. He had a chance to rebuild his life, but it felt like stepping into the abyss. With every moment he spent in limbo, he was losing himself even more.

“I didn’t want to die,” he whispered, the realization dawning on him. “Not then, not now. Besides, I can't leave it the way it is. I need to wake up. Go back. Make shit right.”

With a deep, fortifying breath, Franklin squared his shoulders. For the first time, it felt less like a surrender and more like a declaration. He turned from the three of them and began to run, his feet pounding against hard iron. Cold seeped through the thin blue shirt he now wore brought on by another shift in the dream, but the chill was nothing compared to the terror coursing through him. The scene had changed once again. This time it was the rusted bars of a prison cell that closed in on him. Shadows flickered at the periphery of his vision, teasing his mind, hitting at things best left unseen. Each glance over his shoulder felt like an invitation for the darkness to catch him. The bars prevented him from going left or right. The only way was forward. The path twisted and turned, wrapped by nightmares that clawed at his sanity. Memories flashed before him. Faces and voices of the people he loved, distorted and twisted. His mother’s laughter became a screech, his uncle's smile morphed into a haunting grin. They urged him to come closer, but Franklin knew better than to succumb to their lure. Instead he pushed on, driven by a primal instinct to escape whatever lurked behind him. Melody and Andre? Kevin? Or something worse.

His breath grew ragged, the pounding of his heart echoing in his ears. Was it just his imagination? A trick of the mind? Or something really following him? He could hear it now, a low growl, steadily gaining ground. Panic bubbled to the surface, his brain racing with the thoughts of what might be chasing him. With newfound determination, he surged, pushing himself harder than he ever thought possible. The growl transformed into a guttural roar, echoing through the air. The siren call of light faded into muffled screams, blending with the cacophony that began to assault his ears. The nightmare spun out of control. His hands were clammy, perspiration dripped from his brow, and all he could hear was that monstrous sound drawing out everything else.

At the edge of his vision, the light shifted, revealing a figure wrapped in shadows. It hunched low, its shared teeth glinting as it turned its gaze toward him. At that moment Franklin realized that what had been chasing him was none other than himself. He wanted to scream, but the sound lodged in his throat. In that instant, time slowed. The world around him melted away, and all that mattered was the desperate need to escape. Franklin summoned every ounce of strength he had left and bolted, driven by the primal urge to survive.

With each step, the floor creaked ominous beneath his feet. Or Franklin thought they had been his feet. His breath hitched when he peered downward. Limbs twisted, joints swollen and out of alignment. The grotesque sight reminded him of old horror movies, when bodies defined the laws of nature and horror lurked in every corner. He’d often enjoyed horror films. Just not his own. With newfound adrenaline, he fought against the pain, urging his body to move. But as he pushed himself down the hallway, his legs crumbled beneath his weight, snapping like brittle twigs. Each step resulted in another fracture. Panic clawed its way up his chest as he desperately crawled, dragging his broken limbs behind him. Just as he reached the next door, his resolve faltered as the sounds of gunfire filled in behind. The scene changed again and the image of a graveyard filled his view. Melody, Kevin and Aundre remained but they were not alone. There came a gathering of people, almost zombie like, matching both Wanda and Melody in appearance. Mouths hung, and arms outstretched, hungry begging to be satisfied and fed. Wanda came around again and laughed, “Give us some of that good ol roc Franklin,” she said. Suddenly, the ground beneath his feet gave way, and he found himself tumbling. The walls of earth and stone rushing past. The world above became a small dot of light until it disappeared completely.

Franklin jolted awake, heart pounding. A frantic rapid beat that wouldn’t slow. The remnants of his nightmare clung as shadows, vivid and relentless. He sat up gasping for breath. The familiar surroundings of his room blurred for a moment, suffocating.

The quiet hung like an oppressive weight and an overwhelming sense of dread crept into his bones. Could this be the plane of reality? Or just another spiral into a different part of his nightmare?

Hot. He felt very hot, although the window near his bed sat open and he lay shirtless. He reached down to touch his legs to make sure they were still both attached to his torso. They were. He breathed out, relieved.

Franklin wiped the perspiration from his forehead. A futile action, since it showed up all over. A faint indent where he’d positioned himself lingered beneath with his sweat woven into the fabric of the sheets. The hallway outside his door shadowed. The scent of antiseptic stayed heavy. He hated the smell, but the wounds needed constant cleaning to heal. Once his entire body plunged in a serving agony of soreness brought on by the three new holes in the different areas of his aching flesh once he moved, he decided to lay deadly still.

He’d been lucky. Every bullet was extracted, and none had broken. Pain, again, his saving grace while remaining his greatest of torments. He sprang free from the horrible hallucination he’d been locked into like the fingers of a clock frozen in place that catapulted forward into remission. A prison that his mind condemned him to.

The ringing in his ears subsided little by little, only to be replaced by a knocking coming from the living room.

Someone at the door.

He waited, and it continued. Cissy had left. He remembered her saying something about going out. Oh yeah, to a movie with Alton, he told himself. She’d been hesitant at first, scared to leave him, but he’d assured her of only sleep. Now, he became afraid to close his eyes.

He regarded the dresser closest to the bed. The orange-colored bottle that sat just at its edge, with the label that held his full name across it. Way past the hours of instruction, he noticed the clock. The knocks from the living room battled for his attention.

A short wave of dizziness clung when he got up. He fought through it, passed the bottle, and the cane Alton purchased for him. The object reminded him of a serpent ready to bite.

He held on to anything, leaning weight on walls long and wide. One foot at a time, he planned to put an end to the knocking.

He made it, annoyed, damn near in tears, and sweating more than in the nightmare, and pulled the door open just enough to peer out with its familiar squeak echoing in the stillness.

“Beanz…”

He hadn’t seen her since the day of Audre’s funeral. The Day Melody shot him and left him for dead. Cissy’s doing, no doubt. He remembered after waking up, for a long time, only she sat beside the hospital bed. No Jerome, Louie or Leon to visit.

The drifting in and out of consequences in her arms while she screamed, waiting for medics with the possible complications of an induced coma, had terrified her. Keeping everyone else away. Irrational behavior maybe, but he could have died that day, and death was never an easy thing to stare in the face. No nightmare would compare to the horror of the real thing.

What last thoughts did Aundre Wright have? Did he regret not taking Melody and starting a brand new life somewhere else?

Franklin damn sure remembered his last thoughts when the final bullet shot through his back.

Please. Not yet. I’m not ready. I need more time.

Eyes stayed locked until uneasiness made it uncomfortable that one of them had to say something.

“My mama wanted me to bring this. For Alton and Cissy. They home?”

Tone’s matched. Shock mingled with hesitancy and excretion. One that soothed against mental turmoil. He lowered his gaze to her grip on the red pot, nodded, and with a clench of the jaw, bit back anguish.

“Went to a movie or sumthin’. You can leave it for her. She’ll get it later.”

When she made her way inside, her passion twist sung. She wore an off the shoulder sweater paired with high-waisted acid-wash denim jeans. High tops in a bold pattern that complimented her sweater because of the speckles of teal throughout. Dramatic eyeliner, and two chunky gold bracelets on her left wrist. She smelled amazing. The perfume from the amusement park.

As he wandered to the counter, he watched Beanz. Bright yellow paint adorned the walls, a sunny kind of hue. A mismatched collection of magnets clung to the refrigerator. Franklin stepped onto the cool tile floor, a sensation grounding him in a swirl of memories. She pulled a small white envelope and laid it against the side of the pot in full view for Cissy and Alton to find upon their return, avoiding his eyes while her fingers brushed against the smooth surface of the kitchen table. A wide, round piece that had accommodated countless meals.

Part of him wanted to feel reassured. For her to stay, talk a while, catch him up. Other parts longed for freedom. For the ability to breathe without the weight of their unresolved issues pressing down.

“Thanks for letting me in.”

She finished swiftly, back in the living room, eagerly moving toward the door.

“Man. Beanz, Damnit hold up! Can we just-”

A lightning of shock rocked down his back and legs. The sudden surge made him cry out, eyes pressed tightly together as he placed a hand on the wall to steady himself.

“Oh, my God. You’re bleeding!”

The nightmares hadn’t been kind to his bandages. All the thrashing and fighting he’d been doing disturbed his injuries. Now on his knees hunched over rocking back and forth in an effort to calm the whaling that encompassed his body, he found praying might bring an end to the pain.

“You should have a crutch or a cane to walk with Franklin.”

“I do have a cane,” he gritted out. “Alton bought it for me. Don’t need it. I can walk fine.”

“Right. Tell me where and I’ll go get it.”

“Just help me back to my room B. I’ll be fine once I sit down.”

Briefly, she reminded him of his mother, Cissy.

Through Hell or High Water, they made it.

She’d noticed the cane and the prescription.

“I see this isn’t the only thing you’re not following orders about.”

She picked up the bottle, appearing to read the back instructions before a small smack of the teeth made him cautious of her disappointment.

“You need to take some of these?”

He only touched alcohol once. Weed had never been his thing. A time or two, Kevin and Leon gave him shit for it. Once they found out that his resolve would not waver, they left it alone. Pills were like those things.

“Naw.” He protested. “Don’t want um. They mess with my mind. Fuck with my dreams.”

Obviously, she disagreed. Uncomfortable with her expression, he breathed out, already exhausted by what she might say.

“Has nothing to do with your dreams. Sounds more like your conscience is accusing you, Frank.”

He narrowed his eyes. Whether a dismissal or an accusation, he remembered the time he rode with Andre. How do you sleep at night? Knowing all the things he’d done, a small chuckle left him. A little joke between himself and that conscience that she mentioned. Whether she caught on or not, he didn’t know. At the moment, it wasn’t the most important aspect of her statement. Perhaps in a small taste of revenge, Aundre called his bluff, despite the snarky rebuttal to the question that he gave so callously, Like a baby. The truth was, he had hardly had a restless sleep since.

When She held out her hand with the two green pills sitting nicely on her palm, he regarded her eyes.

“Hm.”

A slight shake of the head, he shifted his position on the bed. “No thank you,” he shot back.

She only moved her hand closer. “It’s not a request, Franklin Saint. So here. Take them.”

He sat still, this time silent, curtly before he leaned forward with a grunt, grabbed the two pills, and tossed them in his mouth. The horrible feeling of swallowing them down without water only lasted a second before they were gone.

“Now. Where’s the stuff so I can get you cleaned up?”

He made a head gesture toward the hallway.

“Bathroom.”

A well-used tote bag slung over her shoulder upon return to his room. It’s contents, crinkling with the promise of relief, but also despair. Franklin had encountered many dualities of late. He looked at the plastic, then at her.

For the most part, he closed his eyes, taking on the sensations of the cold and dry things that touched his skin. She inquired, tugged at the ends of his shirt and he helped her get it off, hating the entire process as it worsened the levels to a staggering degree. With the removal of the previous coverings, her facial expression changed.

“Franklin,” she murmured. “What kind of dreams?”

He sighed heavily as the coolness of the cleaning product ran over a raw area of the wound. “You mean the nightmares? I’ve had a lot. None ever really the same. Except the fire.”

“Fire?”

“Yeah. I’d be running down the street. My block. Flames chase me. Igniting trees. When I wake up, I’m always hot. I’m running in my own personal hell.”

He noticed she had stopped working.

“Sit up a bit,” she instructed gently, helping to adjust against the pillows.

He held back the grimace through a toothy grin. When the grin left, he replaced it with a hum. Still pissed off, he thought. Maybe not outright, but the passive aggressiveness was evident. He couldn’t really blame her for keeping an emotional distance. His near death experience hadn’t rendered his memories useless. Unfortunately for her, up close, he read a person pretty well. She was desperate to ignore the tremors beneath her facade of strength. The Beanz that cleaned his wounds was not the Beanz he knew.

“Why Franklin?”

The question came unexpectedly.

“Why what?” He replied, weariness evident in his tone.

“Why did you say those things? Is that how you really feel? Nothing at all…”

“You want the truth?”

“I do. I deserve it.”

He nodded, keeping her in his view. “Then the truth is this. I was selfish.”

A pause came after, but nothing followed. It really was that simple. He couldn’t explain it away or dress it up.

“Okay. That’s fair.”

She didn’t sound satisfied with the answer, but she didn’t press him to give her any more than what he provided by the time she’d finished up and began to gather all the solid cotton.

“It was real. I did feel something Beanz. And it scared me.”

He looked in her direction.

Her pressing questions at the repass had made him angry. Almost as angry as the conversation with Reed had those couple of days after he’d shot Aundre. Neither Beanz nor the white man who’d become his cocaine supplier much by force than an exchange of respectable businessmen, spoke with a pestering temper. The conversations mirrored one another, each pulling for answers from him. The result, unfortunately, had been his detached coldness. She got all the pent up poignancy he’d been bottling up.

“You really hurt me, Franklin.”

The weight of guilt settled on his shoulders. The statement haunted him as he memorized the expression on her face. “That’s why I’m asking for your forgiveness.” He leaned closer, voice barely above a whisper, reaching out as if drawn by an invisible thread of reason. His fingers brushed against hers. “Forgive me.”

He’d lost his composure at the amusement park. That, he admitted to himself. The boundaries between the older brother’s best friend and potential lover blurred with a single kiss. It wasn’t that he hadn’t meant to kiss her with her favorite song playing. He had. It came at the perfect opportunity to express feelings he’d been battling with.

The making of a moment she described when speaking about Darnell, the dance, and the dress.

The kiss in front of the Ferris wheel, their moment.

Later that night, he’d made a quick trip up to Darnell’s after picking up Peaches. Although it hadn’t been his own fist to caution any more involvement with her, Franklin was certain that Darnell had got the message loud and clear. No action on Leon’s part needed. The prior Vietnam war vet’s hand was so bruised the next day he’d wrapped up his wailing knuckles by the time the afternoon came around. Franklin guessed Darnell’s face would take at least a month to heal. But that was the point. What he loved, he protected.

“I thought you died.”

Franklin hadn’t expected her to say that, nor had he expected arms to circle around his neck to offer any warmth. It hurt briefly, the initial contact, but there was nothing that would make him break the hug she provided him.

Seconds past, his own arms wrapped over the lower part of her back. The way she hugged him might have exposed true desires all along. She’d disciplined herself while cleaning his wounds, but Franklin knew the resolve would wane, eventually. Her body trembled against his chest momentarily, and he realized she had started to cry.

The Beanz he’d been with on the Ferris wheel. The one vulnerable and open resurfaced.

“There was so much blood on the floor. On you,” she said. A note of trepidation in her voice. “I was mad. Mad at you for how you treated me. I’d made up my mind that I wouldn't talk to you. It was different when it all became the real thing. That you could, actually die on Aundre Wright’s living room floor. That I’d never get the chance to tell you I didn’t mean it. That I was sorry. That my anger got the best of me.”

He frowned, the memories flooding back in vivid detail. The gun, Mel and utter darkness.

“I didn’t know what to do. If I did enough, if I made it worse…”

He removed her arms, so they faced one another. Her eyeliner still presented well despite the circumstances. Franklin stared into brown eyes, mixed with empathy and resolve. They were at war. The real reason he pushed her away. Casualties happened in war all the time. He would never be able to live with himself, knowing he had something to do with his best friend’s little sister getting hurt, or worse. Leon wouldn’t forgive him. As long as he himself obtained such war scars, he’d never feel sorry. It all boiled down to choices. He’d chosen to shoot Kevin, and he chose to shoot Andre. He wouldn’t walk away unharmed. Just his turn, that was all.

He moved, intention clear as he leaned closer.

“You saved my life, Beanz. That was more than enough.” He told her, voice steady. “I probably would have bled out, completely alone. But because of you, I didn’t. I’m alive. And I’m thankful.”

He felt himself drawn in, and it happened with a nervous exhale from her, as he closed the distance, tension before their lips met softly, tentative and unsure, then deepening as heads moved. Was it the sting of tragedy pulling toward this need? He deliberated. Or was he hoping to provide her assurance?

They separated, but never very far, foreheads pressed against the other. Oddly, perhaps scared or cautious like children trying not to get caught doing something they shouldn’t, they both waited.

Franklin remembered how the first kiss tasted: a mixture of ice cream and funnel cake. All the makings of the night they shared together, laced with heavy conversation and comfort. The kiss this time was nothing but her, raw and unfiltered. He found that he liked this one the best.

Damn, why did temptation offer all the sweet nothings? A hesitant kiss blooming into something deeper and more passionate. He thought long and hard about it all the days of his recovery.

What if South Central hadn’t been burning from the inside?

What if Leon gave his blessing?

What if everyone walked away happy?

What if he could really have the life he wanted?

What if…

The pills started to take effect. Maybe he still wavered on the low plains of a dream. His own imagination, slipping into another sweet moment of comfort. He couldn’t make the distinction. Either way, she’d brought him back, standing as she prepared herself to leave him.

“I should probably go. Girls’ night at Tiara’s. I’m already late.”

He reached out to grab onto her wrist, firmly but not unkind. The pain flared anew with such a daring action since the medication had not dulled the aching completely, but he ignored its rage.

“Leshanda…”

He watched her stop abruptly in place and stare at him. He never used her name. Hadn’t in years.

“Do you? Do you forgive me?”

“Yes.” Her expression shifted, with some form of condolence to it. “I do. Anything you’ve done, you’ve paid for it and then some.”

With the bite of tears on the rise, those words made his gaze divert. He didn’t deserve forgiveness, but was glad at least to have hers. A grin came and went. He nodded and he let her go.

“So, uh where y’all going? Skating or sumthin?”

She shook her head and lowered it. “No uh. Just to Tiara’s. Me, Charisma, Moe Moe, and Jaz. In Fact I really should call them. Let them know I’m on my way.”

One of his eyebrows rose in earnest. “Staying in. On a Friday night?”

“Uh, huh. That’s bout’ the only place my mama let me go these days. It’s gotten real bad with the gangs and all that. Lotta shootings lately. Everybody’s on edge. With good reason I guess.”

He sighed and settled back on the cushions of his pillows inviting a quieting of their voices before she spoke.

“Franklin. I gotta ask something of you.”

He focused on her.

“Maybe that’s the most logical decision. Walking away. After what you been through. But Lee needs you.”

His gaze moved, traveling the places in his room that held the most light. A desperation swung on her words. One he didn’t like.

“I’m scared for him,” she continued. “He can be hotheaded. You know him. He’s not gonna back down. You need each other. So please, try your best to fix this. For all our sake.”

His eyes came back on hers, a flicker of resistance crossing his face right before he lifted his chin and a grin met his lips while he nodded.

“I will.”

She nodded. The place between them stretched far and before tears could hit her pretty brown eyes, he heard the urgency fill her voice.

“Kay. Yeah, phone call right, let me.” She stopped, not finishing her sentence, as something in the far corner of the bed seemed to catch her attention. “Wait, is that…”

He threw a glance over his shoulder, taking in the pink and purple fur that held a distinct shine.

“That’s my bear.” She confirmed. “The one from the…”

“Yep.”

“Ha, I kinda thought I wouldn’t see it again. You kept it?”

That film of tears surfaced in her eyes for the second time.

“Course.” A soft chuckle escaped. “Took me like three tries. No way I was leaving it behind.”

She blinked a few times and the tears never fell. “Three. Right. More like ten and some change.”

His smile grew. “You gonna do me like that?”

They both laughed and when the laughter settled, so did some of the pain.

“This got me through the healing process. I had something to hold on to.” He gave the stuffed animal a squeeze before he lifted the teddy bear in her direction. “But, it doesn't belong to me. Won this for you.”

She stretched out her hand, only to pull back slowly and rest it at her side.

“No. You keep it Franklin.”

He lowered the teddy bear back in its place on the edge of the bed.

She took a shaky breath. “Well, what are you gonna do?”

“Let these pills kick in. Probably post up in the living room. Watch cartoons. Them ol’ funny ones from the 1940s.”

“1940’s, huh?”

“Yeah. A marathon with no commercials.”

“Well. Sounds like a good night. You and some cartoons. Mind if I use the phone?”

“Course. You know where it is.”

“Thanks.”

His heart sat heavy as she turned the corner down the hall. He’d watched her the same way the day of Andre’s funeral. Pretty soon he heard her voice, faintly. He offered the empty room a bittersweet smile, preparing his mind for the walk to the living room and old cartoon marathon. From the window the stars outside blinked awake, scattered jewels across the canvas of dark sky. Beauty amidst his ache.

When she reemerged at the door frame, he sat up.

“Hope you don’t mind. But. Change of plans.” She laid her jacket over the top of the chair at his desk. “Thought you could use some company.” A little smirk grew on her. “Just so happens. I like old cartoons.” She drew up one of her fingers eagerly with a sense of playful glee. “Annnd, that stew my mama made sounds so good right now. Thought we might eat us a bowl.”

He sat still, looking and quiet, the bite rose up again and he lifted his chin. The smile that came this time filled him with gratefulness. She wasn't leaving.

“Thanks Beanz. For sticking around.”

“Don't mention it.” She smacked her hands down on her legs and made her way over to him. “Whelp. Let's get this show on the road then.”

“Alright.” He reached over to his drawer and took out one of his clean t-shirts and put it on. “Help me up so I can lean on that wall right there.”

With a roll of the eyes, she shook her head at the request. “Nun uh,” she countered, taking a step back to grab the cane. Just like the pills, she offered it. “You use this thing.”

“Man B come on. Just help me,” he ventured, eyes searching as he pushed it away.

“No. I’m serious. So here, come on.” She offered a second time.

He took a deep breath and lowered his head. “I don't wanna depend on that thing for the rest of my life. Shouldn't get used to it.”

“Look. Don’t you remember? Lee walked with a cane for a lil’ bit after he got shot. And he doesn’t walk with it now. Does he?”

He let a few seconds pass before he answered. “He doesn't.”

“Well then. Pretty soon you won’t either. It's only for a lil bit Frank. Come on. Please…”

He sighed, reached out, and took the cane. As he positioned his weight, she encouraged the process, standing close enough that he could lean in if he lost balance. He took it slowly, step by step, awkward and unsteady. A hint of a grin played on the corner of his lips as her words filled in his ears.

“You got this, easy, that’s good, one after the other, keep taking those steps forward.”

He drew in a deep breath and continued to lift the cane ahead of him. You got one job in this life Saint, he surmised. So do it, with all you have.

A/N: To my wonderful reader @vile-harlot who requested this part three of the Franklin Saint and Beanz Simmons saga! I actually really got into this one. All in all, I hope you enjoyed the read! Thanks for all the support.

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful.

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wide-nose-and-wonderful · 28 days ago

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#franklin saint #snowfallfx #damson idris #black men #leon simmons

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wide-nose-and-wonderful · 1 month ago

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SNOWFALL SEASON 3 Franklin.

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black Fem Reader!

Warnings/Type: Established Relationship. Hurt, Comfort, A little bit of Fluff, Use of the n-word. Prequel to RockABye Saint. ONE SHOT!

Summary: You loved your brother Leon dearly, but damn could he be super over protective! No guy you brought home to meet your mom or talked to was ever good enough for you according to Leon. Hm. Not even a childhood friend who went by the name, Franklin Saint? Never in a million years would you consider it. Well, until one night.

Word count: 7,821k / Please consider leaving a comment to tell me what you thought of the story and to show some love and support. Like this story? To read other works please check out the Masterlist.

Had there been any way to get in touch with Leon, you would have called him to pick you back up. He and Eva were likely already at their destination by now. Wherever that might be. You never got around to asking about his plans for the evening, too preoccupied with the concerns of a now ex boyfriend for any useful details that might have helped the situation. Damn the cloudiness of your thoughts, and damn Darnell.

The direction in which you faced seemed ominous. The walk home would be a long one, descending the almost pitch black street with a gown you hugged to your chest like a childhood security blanket. Your single benefit of protection. One that had failed you.

For weeks, you saved the bit of money you’d gotten from your part-time job at the ice cream shop in order to get the one that caught your eye. The first time you tried it on, you felt like you were stepping out of the pages of some fairytale where princesses and knights lived. The color sat breathtakingly against your skin tone, and most importantly, a result of your own effort. No help from your mother, and not Leon, who held his disdain for Darnell since the first day you’d introduced them. Funny how, after tonight, you would carry that same sentiment.

The argument, which happened no less than twenty minutes before, persisted, playing like a never-ending VHS tape on repeat, and you understood all too well why fictional stories were confined to the pages of books.

“Liar. Didn’t even have the decency to cover your tracks! How long were you fucking her? Be man enough to at least tell me!”

Anger stirred within you, which undoubtedly caused you to lose control for a brief moment and swim in an emotional turbulence. Leon always warned you to keep your hands to yourself. Both you and Leon inherited your mother’s temper. “Listen,” he said one time on a casual Wednesday afternoon, “I love you to death, sis, but don’t put yo hands on no nigga when you mad, less you ready for what comes next. I don’t give a damn how big and bad you pretend you are. He’ll fuck you up. If that happens, I’ll be in jail.”

You halfway thought Darnell would haul off and hit you clean across the face. The impact of his back knocking against part of the TV and dresser caused some things to fall to the floor as the girl scrambled to gather her clothes when you pushed him. The sheets were still ugly and tangled with the scent of after sex. The bed. Once upon a time you both laughed together on it, played games and watched movies, sometimes in each other’s arms before his hands reached your pants zipper, and the kissing was just too much tongue that you urged him to stop.

“Whole time. Fuck you gonna do about it? I know one thing, you better keep ya got damn hands to yourself.”

You were glad you held your composure and headed the warning, both from Darnell and Leon. The last thing you wanted was to be the reason your brother went to prison, but it didn’t stop your mouth and its taunting invites. You felt a glint of satisfaction in challenging him.

“Or what? What are you gonna do? Tell me?”

He smirked, and you balled your fist in response to his arrogance and lack of remorse.

“Nothing. I’ll tell you what you bout’ to do though. Get yo ass the fuck up out ma house.”

“Are you serious right now?”

“As a heart attack.”

“Why? Just tell me why? I deserve that at least, Darnell.”

“Because I’m tired of waiting for you. Shit, you act like a nigga gotta marry you to get some pussy. Shit’s sickening. I shouldn’t have to go through that as your nigga. All the bread I spent on yo’ ass. Time and attention. I literally gotta beg you! You won’t even let me taste that shit without yo’ ass being scary. Bottom line, I realized that stuck up prudes aren’t my thing any more.”

“Oh, and that is.”

You knew her. Not directly. Some girl you briefly saw around. If you cared enough, you would have heeded to the whispers about the reputation she carried around the neighborhood. Why bother? You assumed you were far removed. Had nothing to worry about when it came to your boyfriend. But he decided to put the cherry on top and defend her. Brooklyn Shepherds. She lived two buildings down.

“Don’t be mad. Shit, at least she’s living her life having fun. Not acting like she better than ever’body. Stuck up!”

“I never acted like that. You did all this because I wouldn’t have sex with you. Typical though.That’s all you ever fucking thoght about Darnell. I just wasn’t ready, damn!”

“Whatever man. No explanation needed. We done.”

As a brief bit of wind passed by, you shut your eyes momentarily before heading on. You’d held suspicions after the phone calls became less and less, although your heart wouldn’t let you believe it. Darnell, your first serious boyfriend falling out of love with you.

In the beginning of the relationship, you spent almost every day with one another. That’s why you loved beginnings. With things so new and fresh, forever could be a real possibility. After spending months learning one another, you had developed a habit of taking mental notes of what different facial expressions and certain body movements meant for him. What he liked and didn’t.

Nearing the end, you sensed some frustrations when you rejected his advances a little too often, or made excuses for them not to happen. The furthest it had gotten was him fingering you in the back seat of his dad’s car. An experience you wanted to forget. A mundane occurrence really, like some forgiven object had ended up in places it shouldn’t have been. Shame on you for not listening to your instincts. What they called a woman’s intuition. You forgave him. Some guys just needed practice. Of course, that strange love thing had a way of blinding logic. Fear ruled both. If worse one way, then surely he’d be downright terrible where it counted. If nothing else, you wanted the first time to be special. Or, at least something you wouldn’t mind talking to your friends about with some type of smile that wouldn’t be forced.

A glance down at the dress, and tears burned down the side of your cheeks. Frantically, you located a dumpster and made your way to shove the dress inside, inch by inch. The pretty lilac would be solid by grease and grime from the years of remaining remnants of stinking residue the dumpster accumulated. You cursed, over and over again, haunted by those sweet words, smiles, and gentle touches. Everything!

When the dress disappeared you found a ledge nearby and sat down. The end of a relationship was like a close death in a way. All the evidence of the breakup would live on your face. Puffy red eyes would be hard to explain away, unlike a missing ball gown. Whimpers turned into sobs. With no way to see what contorted facial expression you held through it all, you covered your face.

“Beanz?”

You shot up, scanning the area for whomever called out your nickname. Your gaze landed on a car, although the darkness didn’t help you identify who it belonged to right away. From where you sat, a face didn’t register from beyond the window that rolled down. The car door opened. You stood to your feet. The exposure the streetlamp provided had the tension in your shoulders loosen, extinguishing your fight-or-flight response. “Franklin….” you uttered before wiping away any trace of tears.

“What are you doing out here?”

His face looked every bit suspicious and concerned under the dim lightning. You shrugged. Your mind ran a million miles a minute.

“Uh. Just walking. Getting some air.”

Franklin lifted his chin. With his eyes, he seemed to scan round about the area you’d stopped to throw away the dress.

“You know it’s not really safe to be out here like this, B.”

“It wasn’t intentional. No phone to call for a ride. I was at Darnell’s House just now.”

Franklin cocked his head to one side. “So he couldn’t drive you?”

You rolled your eyes up to catch any tears. “No. See, we um, we kinda got into it, so I left.”

One of his eyebrows lifted. “What do you mean, got into it?” His dark gaze traveled. “You okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah, I’m fine.”

Franklin took two steps forward. His tall frame blocked more of the light.

“You sure? He didn’t put his hands on you or anything, did he?”

You shook your head. He held a concerned older brother type of tone when he’d asked. It brought a bit of comfort. The same kind that Leon would have whenever you hurt yourself, falling off your bike, or accidentally standing too close to the pan when frying chicken and getting popped by grease. In that way, you felt like you had two brothers looking out.

“No, no, he didn’t.”

“Alright. What’s this?”

Your eyes found the place on your arm. There, over pretty brown skin, different colors mingled together. A little red, and a hue that resembled a faint purple.

“Damn. Um…”

You hadn’t noticed. It probably happened when Darnell had to drag you out the front door after you refused to go on your own. You bumped into walls and door frames during all the pushing and shoving, trying to resist his attempts. He’d gotten frustrated. With a shrug, you locked eyes with your brother’s best friend.

“It’s nothing.”

He didn’t blink or move.

“Doesn’t look like nothing. He still home?”

Franklin faced the direction that led back to Darnell’s block. You turned to face the same path.

“What? Why?”

He shrugged. “Just wanna talk to him.”

“What do you mean by that? Why would you talk to him?”

Franklin grinned, but it appeared to be laced with a type of malice. Some form of vexation lived behind his stare. The way he’d said it, nonchalant and casual, meant otherwise. You weren’t that dense. It wouldn’t be just talking.

Franklin, more subtle, unlike Leon who, when mad, you could absolutely tell was mad, temper on one thousand! Franklin Saint, on the other hand, was the type to keep things chill until all the chill left and hell visualized in the form of a man. That hadn't been the case growing up, but Franklin wasn’t the same anymore. He’d made for himself quite the reputation, and you’d heard stories. Rumors you weren’t sure you believed but headed all the same. You were mad at Darnell. Hurt, even devastated with the way things had ended, but you didn’t want him physically hurt, or worse. Franklin proceeded to take another step forward, but you’d raised your hands to keep him in place.

“Wait, wait. No, stop. Hold on!”

Heart pounding, images flooded your head of how everything could end up if he actually went to Darnell’s house for real!

“It’s fine,” you assured him. “I said I’m good.” You took a deep breath. “Listen. I’ve had a really eventful night already. Can we just go, please?”

…

The warm night air streamed through the open window of the car, carrying with it the distant noise and the occasional horn from the bustling streets of Los Angeles. Beneath the star-sprinkled sky, the city pulsated with energy. You sat in the passenger seat, a bittersweet smile lingering on your lips as the heavy bass thumped through the speakers. Lights flickered through the windshield, casting playful reflections on your forehead as you leaned your head against the glass. With the windows down, the sweet sound of Little Micheal Jackson and his other four brothers’ voices drifted through the car, reminiscent of summer days and carefree moments as one of their best tunes played.

Don’t you know I sit around with my head hanging down and I wonder who’s loving you…

“Want me to change it?” Franklin asked, glancing at you from the driver’s seat. His tightly coiled mini afro had lifted and side burns grew in with the promise of a beard starting.

You sighed, your gaze still fixed outside. “No, it’s fine. I like the Jackson 5,” you replied.

You wouldn’t mind a more upbeat song. The melancholic lyrics were too close to your current situation. At Least it hadn’t been… Never Can Say Goodbye.

Franklin turned down an empty side street, further immersed in the story of your heartbreak. “You sure you good,” he said, his voice edged with frustration.

“I’m fine. Thanks again for driving me home.”

The drive became silent for a moment. The quiet punctuated only by the soft strumming beats filling the car.

“I guess I was just really excited about tonight. Everything else came outta nowhere and ruined it.”

“Excited? Why? What was tonight?”

“Well. It’s silly because I don’t really do the church thing.” A short chuckle had you brushing off the idea of being some crazed religious fanatic. “If anything,” you added, “our mama made us go but. It might have been a month past, maybe. I’m not really sure of the date and time, but they were talking about this dance they’d been planning. It was supposed to be real classy, like ballroom Cinderella fancy.”

Franklin nodded, but kept his eyes on the road ahead. “Okay, I got a good mental picture. White folks speaking that proper English, like good, ay’ Morgan! With the pinky on the up and all that?”

You didn’t want to laugh, but his switch in accent came out unexpectedly. Warmth spread through your chest. The moment was fleeting, but it mattered.

“Yeah, something like that. Real fancy, sept no white, just black folk.”

A little grin lifted the side of his mouth and you noticed.

“I could see it. You’re into all that stuff. Even back then.”

You smacked your teeth and rolled your eyes.

He chuckled and threw you a glance. “Don’t you remember? Chocolate on your face. Little fairy princess dress trying to follow me and Lee around.”

You sighed with a purse of the lips and dismissed the memory, shaking your head. “Well, anyway. I kinda thought it would be different. You know something new to do aside from going to the movies or the skating rink.”

Franklin caught your gaze, his expression serious for a moment. “Darnell was supposed to go with you tonight,” he implied, his tone genuine.

Something about the way he looked at you felt so different from before, like he truly saw you. Not just as his best friend’s little sister, but as you, the girl with hopes and wants behind the surface.

“Yeah. But I lucked out twice, right? No dance, and now no boyfriend either.” You sank down in the seat. “Oh well, huh, maybe it was all just stupid,” you muttered.

The songs changed in and out. The night wore. The weight of the past was heavy as the car ride continued until Franklin had parked. You gathered yourself to move and open the door when you realized you weren’t looking at your house.

“Franklin, where are we?”

You were greeted with the large sign that read Amusement Park in the distance.

“Well, what does it look like?”

The gates loomed ahead, vibrant and inviting. Each flickering with a promise of joy and thrill behind their standing. The scents of popcorn and cotton candy wafted through the air when you stepped from the car.

“I thought you were taking me home.”

Franklin got out. “Naw. It’s too early. It’s Friday, right?” He shrugged. “I figured since you missed the dance, this might make up for it.”

“Oh. Okay listen…”

“I was planning to come here by myself. Figured it might be fun with someone else, though.” He opened the door. “But hey, if you’d rather me take you home…”

The whoosh of the roller coaster and the delighted screams of riders soared.

“Mm. Okay. Let’s go.”

Franklin walked around to the other side, took your hand and led you forward.

“See now, that's the spirit.”

…

Families and clusters of friend groups bustled around. Rides whirled in a kaleidoscope of colors against the dark backdrop of the night sky, and under a sprawling canopy of stars, the amusement park buzzed with life. The Smells were the first thing that caught your attention stepping past the gate. More specifically, the funnel cake window. One server handed an awaiting customer a large order of two! The white powder was enough to make you drool with envy for a taste.

“Oh my gosh,” you pointed. “I haven’t had one of those in like what, how long has it been?” You tried to comb your mind for the answer while your feet guided you closer and closer. You were stopped by Franklin’s pull of your hand.

“Hold up. We can do that later.”

“Later?” The window appeared to stretch further and further with his halt. “But when would be a better time for funnel cake, Frank?” You couldn’t think of any. “Funnel Cake is the reason people come to these things.” You pointed again, your voice expressing much more urgency than before. “Please! I won’t even get a large one,” you bargained.

Franklin laughed, but shook his head. “You never eat first. How can you ride the roller coaster if you eat? I love you n’all lil bean pie, but I’m not sure I want you to throw up all over my new shirt so soon. This not even two days old.”

Only when he said it did you notice what he was wearing. Navy blue short sleeve Polo t-shirt with brown khaki pants, and those Adidas he liked. One word stuck out among your observation of his outfit.

“Uh, Rollercoaster. Like right now?”

“Yeah, why not?”

“Franklin. I mean, we just got here. I don’t know, I was thinking something a little less extreme to start out with. Maybe those.”

You pointed toward the tea cups. Franklin shook his head, a grin plastered on his face.

“Nope. This is go big or go home. Plus, what was all that talk bout’ you being this Coaster Queen? Unconquerable and all that?”

You smacked your teeth. You remembered the conversation.

“Franklin, I said that two years ago.”

“Right, reputation noted. So come on.”

He threw his arm over your shoulder and directed you the opposite way of the funnel cake window and the line for tea cup ride.

As you both waited, you couldn’t shake the fluttering anticipation in your chest. As experienced as you were, it never failed. The path ahead was lit by glowing lanterns, and you caught snippets of conversations. Eager chatter, some couples giggling.

“Are you ready for the ultimate test of courage?” Franklin teased, nudging you with his elbow as you walked past a glowing sign that read ‘IRON RAIL’ in bright green letters.

You turned to Franklin, a wave of determination washing over you. You had very much grown the kinda reputation he talked about as the Coaster Queen. Why be modest?

“You mean, are you ready? I’m pretty sure I’ll be the one holding your hand when we plunge into the abyss,” you joked, flashing him a confident grin.

You both meandered through the crowd, pushing past throngs of exhilarated fans of all ages. Nearby, a little girl screamed with delight as she spun around in a colorful spider ride. The first stop was the Devil’s Fury. A monstrous structure that twisted and turned at dizzying speeds.

“Just gotta remember, it’s not about fear. It’s about conquering it,” you said, leaning over the rails to gaze ahead of the line.

“Exactly. And I’ll be right next to you making sure you stay fearless,” Franklin added, his voice playful and goofy.

You flicked his arm. “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Like I said.”

The climb into the coaster broke down the binds of your worries with each click of the safety bar. Strapped in, you were surrounded by clanking sounds, the clicks of the roller coaster gearing up almost drowned out the pounding of your heart.

“Here we go!” Franklin shouted over the clamor, his enthusiasm contagious.

The ride took off, hurtling upward as the ground fell away beneath you. You squeezed your eyes shut, but you could feel the rush of wind whip across your face and tease the two small sections of hair you’d parted by each of the corners of your forehead, before making your low bun earlier that day. With some blue magic and a bit of water, you had created two curls that you were satisfied with, and as light as they were, you felt their frolic.

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any higher, the coaster reached its peak, and then plummeted! You screamed, but laughter came soon after, a mixture of exhilaration and joy. You could hear Franklin laughing beside you. “WHOOOO!” He shouted over the rush of wind. Adrenaline sparked as the coaster plunged down for the second time.

After the ride, both you and Franklin stumbled out, breathless.

“See? That wasn’t so bad. Rollercoaster first,” Franklin closed space to pinch one of your cheeks.

You gave him a light push. “I can’t believe I let you talk me into that. That was my first time riding in the front cart!”

“First time for everything.”

You stopped. A smirk began to form.

“Let’s do it again!”

…

With each ride, with every twist and turn, you found yourself bolder and more adventurous. From one attraction to the next, moments melding together, the exhilarating heights, the spiraling drops, the way Franklin would take hold of your hand during the scariest moments, you were immersed in the present.

You got your funnel cake after the bumper cars, then a second that you ended up splitting with Franklin, not including the chili dogs and fries. You were almost full by the time you spotted the pink ice cream truck. Franklin stepped up, exuberantly placing the order while you stretched your arms out, relishing the cool breeze that wrapped around you like a hug.

Balancing two oversized cones on his way back, neither of you managed to keep hands clean. Ice cream dripped down wrists, sticky and sweet. Another coster speed past and the park’s pulse reverberated.

“Hey,” Franklin said, giving you a sidelong glance, one cone raised in a mock toast. “To the Coaster Queen. May she reign fearless.”

“Much obliged,” you echoed, clinking your cone against his.

The park still jumped with life by the time you both came across the games. All the windows lined perfectly on the boardwalk. Various challenges for prizes, big and small. Franklin took out his wallet, and in exchange for the green cash slapped down on the countertop, he’d gotten back a row of tickets for both you and him.

He beat you at basketball, and the balloon darts, and you surpassed him at boat racing with a very close tie at throwing bean bags. Only when it came to fishing did your luck run out. You smacked your teeth by the second loss and pouted a little, which gained his attention.

“What?”

“Oh nothing. No one ever wins. I was going for that big one right there.”

Franklin averted his eyes to a large booth adorned with bright lights and plush stuffed animals hanging in every direction.

“It’s the pink and purple one,” you said to clarify your choice of selection.

“Hm. Well, let’s see what we can do.”

He extended the half eaten cotton candy your way, and you took it reluctantly as he reached in his pocket for the tickets he had left.

Hook the end of bottles and lift without the bottle falling off. Looked simple enough. You narrowed your eyes. Oh, how looks could be deceiving. You watched Franklin take the pole in hand. Your eyes stayed on his movements.

A loss on the first try.

“Shit,” Franklin spat with exasperation, yanking out four more tickets. “Let me do it again.”

You released a breath you didn’t know you were holding. “It’s okay, it’s harder than it looks.”

You knew he wasn’t about to lose. If it took all the damn tickets and he needed to buy more tickets, he would find a drive somewhere deep down inside himself to win. Even when it came to a stuffed animal you didn’t need. Franklin closed his eyes and sucked in air. The employee over the game tossed a glance and shook his head before folding his arms to watch him attempt a second try. Franklin cleared his throat, moved his head from side to side and rolled his shoulders, this time moving his hand with more caution.

Again, another failed attempt.

You concluded the game had to be rigged, but the determination stayed with him and he ushered out more tickets as a couple people began to stop and stare. Franklin licked his lips, and with another exhale he was at it again. Refocused, he regarded the hook, his mouth falling open as he steadied his hand to rise.

“There it is…” He mumbled, raising it carefully, higher and higher, until!

“Yes!”

You jumped up and down and squealed with delight. A triumphant smile found Franklin and he shot his fist in the air over and over. The employee grabbed the stuffed bear that cost Franklin three fails and several tickets to achieve. He took it and said a kind thank you to the worker before he turned, extending it out toward you.

“All yours lil’ Bean.”

You reached for it happily, grinning from ear to ear as you cradled the stuffed animal in a tight squeeze.

“It’s so soft. Just the one I wanted to, Mm! Thank you Frank N’ Franks.”

You offered him his cotton candy just before his pager buzzed loudly at his hip. You watched his brows crease as he took it off his belt to look at the number.

“Give me a second. Gotta make a call.”

His voice had gone from playful to serious in a matter of seconds.

Work Franklin had arrived.

Your smile faltered.

“Yeah. Sure of course. I'll meet you over by the garden.”

He left and You’d found a weathered wooden bench that hadn't been occupied near by the small gated greenage that had potential to flourish into a full grown garden, with time. You sat, and absentmindedly began to trace the intricate designs of the promise ring that somehow escaped being tossed away with the same dress you had worked tirelessly for.

Gaze drifting around the park, a couple in the distance soon caught your eye. Young, radiant, and oblivious to the world around them as they leaned into each other, fingers intertwined, whispering sweet nothings. Joy bubbled over, illuminating their surroundings. The girl’s smile, beautiful, unguarded as her lover, looked as if he held the universe in his hands. It could be a scene from a romance movie. You imagined that all girls wanted to be looked at that way.

A sudden pang of longing hit.

Had there ever been a time Darnell felt that way. Truly?

With every gentle touch between them, the weight of grief and envy pressed down. A torrent of emotions swirled inside. Love seemed to evaporate. Or at least the thought that it could be real for you.

The urge to remove the promise ring that had until that moment seemed like a part of your identity overcame your desire to hold on to the past. Trembling slightly, you slipped it off your finger, revealing the bare skin beneath. One night had changed so many plans. Unwoven dreams unraveled by a few careless words and a change of heart, and you found yourself biting at your lip in order to hold what whaled up from all the memories. In a similar manner, anguish resurfaced and, inexplicably, time suddenly became a crucial thing to be aware of.

Upon seeing Franklin making his way back, you sat the ring down on the bench and got up.

“Did you see a clock around when you went to make your call?” You asked.

Franklin nodded. “Yeah, eleven o’clock.”

That meant the dance had come to its end. Franklin’s voice made you grip the bear a little tighter.

“We Been here for a good five hours. Rode damn near everything, I think. We probably should start heading back to the car. I need to get you home, so yo’ mama don’t worry. Trip or nothing.”

You nodded, but shifted your gaze eastbound. “We didn’t get everything. Just one more left.”

…

Children chased each other around colorful booths. You shifted your feet, glancing at the entrance where the wooden structure of the Ferris Wheel loomed like a giant spinning dream.

The line moved quickly, filled with the chatter of eager riders.

When you both finally reached the front, the operator waved you on. You and Franklin climbed into a small enclosed car. As the wheel began its ascent, the sounds of the amusement park faded into a distant hum.

As the ride carried, you and Franklin settled into a comfortable banter, like slipping back into an old pair of shoes. As you reached the top the ride would pause periodically for a moment to let other riders board. The fairgrounds spread out beneath like an intricate tapestry.

“Member guy in bumper car number three was tripping? I mean, the ride is called bumper cars. You’re gonna get bumped. Like why even get in the line if you had any reservations?”

“Right, but he wasn’t hearing it. That’s why I kept bumping him.”

You dropped your head as your shoulders bounced with laughter. The memory, still so clear. The guy would zoom by, careful not to collide with the other drivers, then Franklin came out of nowhere and side swiped him.

“You was wrong for that. Just when he thought his life got on a good smooth path, here you come to bump him outta it.”

Franklin shrugged, but a grin stayed on him, smug and careless.

“Aye. He can’t blame that on me.”

Your head shot up, and you snapped your fingers in his direction, eager to share the memory before it passed.

“No, my favorite was the one ride where, wait, what was it called? I don’t know but the one that went upside down and twirled. Now that, beside the roller coaster, was the best.”

“Yeah, I could tell. You screamed the entire ride. Damn eardrums still achy.”

You waved him off with a laugh. “Oh whatever. Good times though. Good times.”

The phrase offered a pause. Franklin trying to hide his smile had you tilting your head and rubbing your lips together, unable to let the moment pass by. Almost instinctively, you and Franklin began to sing the familiar tune. It started softly, voices hesitant, but soon the lyrics flowed easily.

Franklin bounced his shoulders and you tapped your foot.

“Fish don't fry in the kitchen, beans don't burn on the grill, took a whole lotta tryin’ just to get up that hill, now we're up in the big leagues, gettin’ our turn at bat, as long as we live, it's you and me baby, there ain't nothin wrong with that, well we're movin’ on up to the east side to a deluxe apartment in the sky!”

The cart reached its peak, and you and Franklin grew quiet for a moment as you both soaked in the breathtaking view. You were cradling the stuffed Teddy Bear in your lap, denim jacket clinging to your arms in a comforting embrace while the colorful lights glowed and the cart swayed gently in the breeze. You’d experienced a sensation of lightheadedness. The excitement of the Ferris Wheel mirrored the feeling of being with Franklin. He presented a sense of freedom from the worries and uncertainties that plagued your mind. You found yourself hoping for a longer ride. All of a sudden, you didn't want to go home. His laughter since arriving had lifted the weight from your shoulders, but the smile left you.

“You good lil Bean Pie?” His eyes softened when he looked at you.

“Yeah, why do you ask Frank N Franks?”

“Noticed the energy shift.”

“Oh, that.” You run your fingers through the synthetic animal fur.“Trust me it has nothing to do with this. You know I couldn’t leave without riding the biggest attraction.”

“Then what is it?”

“I remembered the dance. Crazy because the entire time we’ve been here I’d forgotten about it. Guess I’m curious how it turned out. If it was nice. This was kinda my way of avoiding that without even realizing it.

There came a long pause.

Franklin. Tell me the truth,” you said softly, breaking the comfortable silence.

“Alright. Hit me. What you wanna know.”

“You planned this, didn’t you? You were never gonna come this way. Be here tonight by yourself. Like you said in the car.”

“Huh,” he laughed. “For real, yeah, I was. I love doing things by myself like this, all the time.”

“Franklin….”

He threw his hands up toward the sky. “Okay, so I took a detour on the way to your house. Damn, can a nigga do a nice thing?”

You sighed and smiled. “Okay, I just. I didn’t want you to feel sorry for me, is all. Like you were obligated or anything.”

He shifted slightly closer, the space between you both shrinking.

“You still want me to be honest.”

The air tingled with a charge that both excited and frightened you. Your heart raced faster than all the rides combined.

“Yeah,” you answered, wondering what he would say.

“I was very much obligated.”

“So I'm basically a charity case. Got you,” you held your breath, stomach fluttering with indifference.

Franklin looked over at you, his gaze filled with something you hadn’t seen in him before. Something deeper.

“Okay. So let me clean that up with some context.”

You looked at him. The frown waning from your lips.

“I saw you,” he began, “a little before you made your way to the dumpster. I was following behind just to make sure you were good. I don’t know what it was, but the way you were holding on to that dress hit me somewhere right here.” He touched his chest over the place where his heart sat.

Surprised by how deeply his words resonated, your eyes began to water.

“You made it seem like it wasn’t that big a deal during the car ride, but you really wanted to go,” he said. His own eyes, warm and sincere.

A silence fell over the conversation for a brief moment, punctuated only by the gentle swaying of the ferris wheel.

“Yeah,” you breathed. “I did.” You moved the teddy bear and let your hands sit in your lap. “It’s stupid. But I always thought girls like that were so elegant. The ones who got to go to dances. I thought I looked real good in the dress, too. Not trying to be funny. But I imagined myself a princess with it on. I imagined that he would find a nice suit to match it. I would walk down these long sets of stairs. And people would look at me like I belong there. They’d whisper. Who’s that? I wanna meet that young woman. After that my favorite song would come on, and Darnell would take my hand and bring me to the dance floor. And it would be like everyone disappeared, except him and the music. Maybe we’d laugh a little, looking into each other’s eyes for too long, but it would be our moment.”

Franklin reached for your hand and searched your eyes for answers that had no words. Then with a reluctant nod, he lifted his chin and stared up at the night.

You pulled the bear closer and pressed your face in its softness. “My Mama always said I dream too much. Anyway, I’ve enjoyed myself. I’m glad you made the detour,” you admitted.

Realizing he’d pulled you closer, suddenly the world around you blurred. Franklin leaned in, and you welcomed the gentle kiss he’d placed on your cheek before he snaked an arm around you.

Darnell but not Darnell.

Pretty quickly the moment passed of being so close to heaven. The wheel began to turn again, the descent followed and there was nothing you could do to stop it.

…

As you climbed out of the gondola, you could feel Franklin’s gaze linger on you.

“Wait Beanz,” he said softly, stepping closer.

You stopped, but didn’t turn to face him. Emotion came from nowhere and locked your baby blue canvas flats to the surface. Like being stuck in cement.

He’d taken the stuffed bear. You weren’t certain where he’d sat the toy down when he brought his arms around you, bringing you into a hug you hadn’t expected.

“You’re gonna be okay.”

Scary how he could read your thoughts. The daunting question knocked in the back of your brain the entire night. You raised your hands up and pressed palms against his back to strengthen the embrace while his cologne danced on your senses. The amusement park’s vibrant chaos faded into a muted backdrop. The gravity of the earlier moment hanging. Such a sensitive part of yourself had been revealed, but the truth kept coming, more and more.

“It’s crazy that in the entire time I was with him,” you countered, feeling the stirrings of anger and vulnerability. “None of that ever felt like tonight. Tried so hard to be perfect for him. Be what he wanted. I was blind Frank, I couldn’t see what kind of messed up relationship I was in, despite the warnings. But yet, I’m still sad it’s over. What sense can be made of that? Maybe I’m fooling myself. Maybe it’s really just the fear of being alone.”

The song in the above speaker over a section of the park shifted, becoming a soft ballad, inviting a different kind of intimacy.

Golden touch, it happens every time your lips touch mine, there’s a feeling that’s so divine, there’s a magic in you...

“Why you crying?” Franklin asked.

A place on his shirt had become wet with your tears.

“Cause this is my favorite song,” you answered back with a shaky breath.

Why would it be playing right at the current place and time you found yourself? Some cruel joke? Golden touch, I wasn’t very strong till you came along. You made me realize that by your side, is where I belong…

“Dance with me,” Franklin whispered.

His statement caught you off guard.

“So what if it’s not quite like you imagined it would be. You believe you need a dress, but you don’t. Remember, Cinderella was still Cinderella without it by the end of the story. It's not quite midnight. We got some time to make a dream come true.”

At first, hesitation held you back, but as the music surged, a bubble of spontaneity welled up inside. Franklin sang the next part of the song, maybe as a form of encouragement. He was a horrible singer, that much was certain. Rose Royce might even sue him for slander if he ever decided to do anything publicly embarrassing with their music, but it kept your attention. You giggled, not out of obligation but from the sense of freedom, and let him lead you into the rhythm of a dance. You and Franklin moved together, his hands warm on your waist, your growing smile blending perfectly with the melody. He spun you around, making you weightless as you twirled under the twinkling lights. You swayed slowly, lost in his gaze. The noise of the amusement park dulled into a background hum, leaving you in the midst. A flutter of uncertainty washed through you. For the first time in what felt like an eternity, you found yourself having confidence in the potential of something new.

But this was Franklin Saint, someone you had grown up with, Leon’s best friend!

Then, it all replaced by an overwhelming sense of rightness. The weight of the breakup slipped away, and you let yourself float on some unseen cloud. The world became insignificant. Caught in the moment, you leaned, so close you could feel his breath warm against your skin. Before you had the chance to contemplate the consequences, Franklin closed the distance and softly pressed his lips to yours. Contingent at first, but the kiss deepened, and a wave of butterflies enveloped you. This new thing, bright and sparkling.

You separated your lips from his. The world came rushing back. The sounds, the lights, reality, but Franklin’s hand found its way to your cheek, cradling your face as if to anchor you back in. You wondered what he was thinking. Your own thoughts swirled with confusion and curiosity. What might be going through his mind? What he felt. His steady gaze met yours, riddled with the same determination he held when trying to win the prize for you. Something shifted in the atmosphere as the weight of unsaid words lingered.

“Franklin,” you whispered.

The intensity made your pulse quicken. He closed his eyes and so did you. His lips met yours a second time. Your heart raced. Delightful, the kiss tested the waters of possibility. It deepend, tender and sweet. A lingering moment where nothing else mattered. But just as you melted into the possibility to explore more of him, the harsh sound of your brother’s voice shattered the moment. Your heart sank. The spell of the occasion broke, leaving in its wake a swirling chaos of questions. You pulled away from Franklin, suddenly feeling the weight of Leon’s gaze on you. Just like that, the magic faded.

Leon’s slurred words echoed across the rise as he stumbled into view, a goofy grin plastered across his face. His eyes, barely focused, settled on Franklin, narrowing with a protective instinct that only older brother’s could possess.

“Aye, the hell you doing here Beanz? Saint? Fucks going on?”

You could smell the liquor on his breath, pungent and strong. Clearly he’d had the same kind of night you did, only he thought about Wanda Bell, his ex-girlfriend. You wondered if Eva knew she’d been a means to fill that void somehow. The first time you ever saw Leon cry over a woman. A thing you would keep secret all the way to the grave. You knew he loved Wanda. Really loved her.

“Leon, it’s not what it looks like-” You began, but the mixture of concern and drunkenness in his expression cut you off.

“Well then maybe y'all would like to explain. Explain Why you have me drop you off at that nigga Darnell’s house if you wasn’t gonna be at that dance tonight.”

Your heart raced, torn between the urge to defend Franklin and the obligation to Leon’s suspicions. You glanced back at Franklin, whose expression was a blend of disappointment and concern.

You hesitated. “It's kinda a long story Lee. One I don't think you're really up for right now,” you said quietly, wishing you had the courage to close the distance.

“Oh, damn it, Leon! There you are,” Eva cried, running up in her yellow jumpsuit. “Sorry. He's drunk. Got away from me.”

“What happened,” Franklin's voice chimed in from behind.

“A long island iced tea. Couple shots of vodka. Jin probably, after that I stopped paying attention. He just kept ordering.”

“Leon…” you started, the aftermath of the kiss lingering over your lips.

“Why you ain't stop him Eva?”

She folded her arms.

“Oh yeah right Franklin, stop him? Sure. You know better than anybody, Leon doesn't listen to no one but Leon.”

“Mama's gonna cuss you out coming in her house all drunk. You better hope she sleep.”

Leon shrugged. His eyes drooped as he sucked in air. “Man, so what. She act like I'm the only one who drink. Besides, she might be more concerned with why you weren't at that damn dance tonight.”

“Okay okay, come on let's get you back. I'll drive us.”

“Naw fuck that, no body drive ma’ shit but me, I got it.”

Franklin closed his eyes a second and exhaled a breath. “Lee man. Let Eva drive. Get home in one piece.” The sound of his beeper made him peer down down at his belt.

“Uh huh. In one piece. Who’s that Saint?”

Franklin's eyes traveled over the number. “Not your concern right now. Go home. Get some rest. Peaches can go with me if it becomes necessary.”

Leon chucked, then offered Franklin a glare. “If it becomes necessary. Nigga what?”

“Okay okay it's fine. Let's go. Bye Franklin. Have yourself a goodnight.” Eva rushed to Leon, who swayed alarmingly close to the edge of the pavement. “Lee, c’mon. Let’s get you some water and get to the car.”

Leon nodded. “Yeah Saint. We gon’ talk tomorrow so keep yo shit nearby cuz imma damn sho’ page you when I wake up. We family nigga, but ma lil sister need ta’ be the one thing off limits to you. No exceptions. Drunk or not, I'll still beat yo’ ass.”

“Yeah,” Franklin brought on a quick grin that faded out as he placed his hands behind his back and raised his chin. “Okay. Night Lee.”

Leon huffed, a snarl pulled his lip. “Hm, yeah, night motherfuckea’, you think I'm bullshitin’. Bring yo hot ass on, Beanz.”

You offered a glare to his comment. “My hot ass? Seriously Leon?”

“You heard what the fuck I said, let's go!”

You rolled your eyes, but didn't argue. The same temper your mother gifted you would only hold out so long in your brother. As you made your way through the park, you stole glances back at Franklin, who watched you leave, an unreadable expression on his face. The connection lingered in the air like the scent of fireworks, but now it felt distant, almost like a dream you were walking from too fast.

When the three of you made it to Leon's Buick Regal, only then had you realized you'd left the stuffed animal Franklin had won for you behind. Probably the only real emblem that such a night ever existed between you both.

The entire car ride back Eva had a finger pressed at the side of her forehead, indication of a bursting headache on the rise. Leon, who hadn't stopped talking, became repetitive in the reasons why falling for one of his homeboys was entirely out of the question. You hadn't heard a word. The only thing that danced on your thoughts was the Ferris wheel, your favorite song, a cotton candy kiss, and Franklin Saint.

A/N: This one was fun to write. I couldn’t help it. At first I wasn’t going to bother. I mean RoackABye Saint was a ONE SHOT work that could stand alone so it didn’t require a sequel, but then the idea just started screaming at me to jot it down, and I was like, why not give the readers a look at what happened before that fateful day. So this is what you have my friends. I wonder if ya’ll feelings will change reading this one and then going back to read RockBye Saint now that you know what happened. Was he wrong, or was it a little more complex a situation? You be the judge. Happy reading Saintettes!

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful.

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wide-nose-and-wonderful · 1 month ago

Text

SNOWFALL SEASON 3 Franklin.

Pairing: Franklin Saint x Black Fem Reader!

Warnings/Type: Major Snowfall TV Show Spoilers. Established Relationship. Drama, Hurt, Angst, Use of the n-word. ONE SHOT!

Summary: Being Leon's baby sister, you were almost like a forbidden fruit, but Franklin kissed you that night at the amusement park. Since then you couldn't get him outta your mind. The day of Andres funeral you decide to approach him and let him know these growing feelings, unaware the world is about to come crashing down in the worst way.

Word count: 8,220k / Please consider leaving a comment to show some love and support. Like this story? To read other works please check out the Masterlist.

It had gotten humid inside the ragged old church. The whole morning felt entirely too hot. But the situation had been a form of hell. The irony was an abysmal reality you could do without. You wondered how bad it might feel come afternoon when everything moved over to Cissy’s house for the repass.

Older women from the neighborhood sat off to the side, lukewarm bottles of water in hand. One program folded, causing a line to stretch across the deadeased face, flapping at a steady pace to offer these warm necks a brush of air and a small release from the heat.

Once the casket closed, things had become real. No going back, no second chances. You had watched eagerly, with both terror and awe at the sight of death with little understanding of its significance. She’d found her father, head on the kitchen table with a bullet through his brain. The top being lowered in the manner it appeared. A firm but gentle slam, screaming, the end.

You glimpsed at the program in your hand then up ahead. Melody held tight to a blank stare as the pastor spoke. It worried you whenever your eyes managed to find her among the large crowd of people sitting in pews. She looked, lost. Checked out. Maybe from the situation. Maybe from something else? If the rumors going around the neighborhood were true she had been recovering from an addiction to rock. Or had recently taken a hit to numb her mind. Given the situation, you could forgive her for the latter. Still, you couldn't deny this ominous gut instinct that something bad might happen today.

You pulled at the side of your dress. The color design, a black and white triangle pattern. Hair up in a high bun, you wore a pearl necklace with matching earrings, black stockings and flats. A light application of makeup had been applied. Another thing that bothered you about funerals. Mascara rolling down in black gunky lines. All the sad songs would have caused the welling up of tears so by the time everything ended the look would be giving something out of one of the horror films you’d watched with your girlfriends every other friday.

The singer's voice lifted.

‘Amazing grace! how sweet the sound, that saved a wretch; like me! I once was lost, but now I'm found. Was blind, but now I see.’

You swore, every black person that died had this very song playing at their funeral in some capacity. Didn’t matter if it was first walking in, or walking out, it never failed.

Andre Wright was no different. His sister Bernice even commented on how as a child the song had been his favorite to sing at Sunday service when they attended with their grandparents. Then she trailed off, expressing disappointment in Andre’s low attendance since joining the police force, and that God might be punishing him for the lack of acknowledgement. Luckily Cissy came to counter the conversation, presenting you and Leon a swift escape. You took it, Leon too. What came next would make it awkward for everyone involved.

But suicide was always an awkward topic.

You bumped Leon’s shoulder. He averted his eyes away from the program in his hand to look at you.

“This is sad huh?” You said as your gaze moved over the crowd.

“Yeah. Real sad,” He mumbled. “Fuckin’ hate funerals.”

You kept your eyes on him for a moment. “It’s not reminding you of dad is it? From what you can remember, I mean.”

Leon shook his head. “Naw. Not dad.” He paused. “Kev.”

You noticed he stared straight ahead when Kevin’s name slipped out. Jaw tight with unspoken tension. What was he looking at? You tilted your head. The casket in his line of vision. When Leon saw you’d caught on, a sad smile found him.

“Kev’s wasn’t that exact color, but the flower arrangements kinda remind me of how they put his shit together.”

‘Twas grace that taught my heart to fear, And grace my fears relieved; How precious did that grace appear. The hour I first believed!’

You discovered Franklin sitting beside his mother and father in a blue button up and tie. His hands in his lap.Thumbs running over each other. His head hung while the music played, all the way up until the point the song finished. You remembered that day. Kevin’s funeral. One of the hardest for Leon. For everyone. Franklin hadn’t been in attendance. You asked Leon why. All he said was that he wasn’t gonna be able to make it. Kevin’s older brother Kane also missed the funeral, but everyone knew where Kane was. He’d been locked up for as long as you could remember. You didn't expect Jerome or Louie to be there. Not after what happened.

Forgetting you’d been staring, Franklin turned his head to lock eyes with you for a second before he lowered his head once more. Your glare hardened on him. He’d barely been able to look at you. You were tired of his blatant avoidance. The way it started to make you feel took a toll on your control. Keeping those tears in during the ceremony. You hardly heard the preacher for the majority. Something in you somehow began to die. Such a permanent end hadn’t just been reserved for Andre. You lowered your hand and took hold of Leon’s, applying pressure. He offered a gentle smile as the tears rolled down your cheeks. “I know sis,” he whispered against the pastor's words, providing a light squeeze to counter.

You felt out of place sitting so close to the Wright family, but Leon couldn't oppose Bernice on the seating request. He'd called her Mom once, and ate at her table many times before she’d packed up and relocated to Odessa Texas.

The funeral continued. You fidgeted with a program while the Pastor called for the congregation to bow heads.

Our father who art in heaven…

Outside Leon was busy giving hugs and conversing with those who chose to stop him on the way to the car. You cared little for conversation. Instead your concentration was fixed. The very last step to the afterlife, or the process that the body would go through. Ashes to Ashes, Dust to Dust…..The casket dissolved into the black hearse. The door closed, securing it inside for the lengthy trip to the ultimate resting place for the dearly departed. The grave location. A marker arranged later with Andre’s full name on it and a quote from the bible underneath, probably.

You shuffled out the church doors. A familiar voice touched your ears the second your foot felt the sidewalk, and you spun your head to the way behind. Alton. Franklin’s father stood, looking at you.

“You and Leon gonna head over to the house? Cissy could use more help. Seems like we're gonna have a little more company then expected.”

You offered a smile. “Yeah, of course. Whatever we can do to help. We’ll probably leave in a second once he's finished.”

Alton offered an identical smile, but his brown face only reflected dismay. “Thank you both. See you then.”

You revolted his departure with a look of disbelief and Leon caught sight of the hearse finally taking its leave as you uttered something about being hungry. Leon’s eyes left the dark ghost that took away the soulless thing in the brown box. As it disappeared in the traffic, all Leon could say was "Damn," before licking the dryness from his lips while he pulled out a joint and lit the end up with a low spark of fire.

…

The atmosphere in the little house on 56th remained a somber affair. Cissy and Alton had done their best with the little space they had, but it felt cramped by the time You and Leon arrived. One of the hottest days in the city's history according to the radio reports. As predicted, the heat had gotten worse, so intense that it made it hard to breathe. Every hour the power would cut out. Anything Cissy had baking in the oven took extra time. Everyone felt it, this imminent trepidation that attached to the burning. Especially Franklin.You played the part of greeter as per Cissy’s request and directed some of the guests inside, keeping an eye on him. He still had on his suit jacket. Just the sight made you feel extremely suffocated. You watched him pass Melody and Bernice. Melody’s eyes strangely tore him to pieces.

The rest of the mourners sat around, some sharing memories of Andre. Others offered their presence and support where needed. These people. Some you recognized and other’s you didn’t. They’d come one after the other with a comforting arm and words of sympathy for Melody.

The dead stare hadn’t left her since coming from the funeral service at the church.“I'm so sorry for your loss. Your dad was a great man. He protected this community, put his life on the line everyday and he will be missed,” one officer from Andres' unit told her as he took off his hat as a sign of showing his respect. Something like, Nixon, Nix? Melody mellowed out a quiet thank you and Bernice rubbed her back as a tear would fall.

You’d taken the opportunity and handed her a box of tissues when some of the people cleared a pathway. Sat down next to her, to offer your own personal condolences for her loss. “We're here for you, Mel. Whatever you need, just ask,” you said, giving her a reassuring smile. And the sorry’s continued on for a while right after yours. “I know this is a difficult time,” and "You are in our prayers,” were some of the many that followed.

Eventually you found yourself in the bathroom staring in the mirror. You’d used some toilet paper to dab your forehead and relieve yourself of the perspiration that gathered. After you applied a fresh line of deodorant you hit the light switch and stepped out into the hallway. Franklin turned the corner just in time. The both of you stood, not saying anything until a shaky grin danced on him.

“Hey Beanz.”

It came, short and sweet. You watched his eyes move past you and toward his room. Another manner of escape. You blocked the path. Franklin walked forward, attempting to get past.

“Excuse me,” he mumbled.

You took hold of his arm. “Wait. Can I talk to you real quick?”

He hadn’t provided you with much opportunity. You couldn’t call Cissy’s without raising suspicion. That, and it would get back to Leon. You only paged him a few times after the night at the amusement park. That same day you’d ended things with the guy Leon warned you about. The same guy you’d swore up and down wouldn’t do you dirty, but ended up proving Leon right. Like always. That same day Franklin showed up.

What were the odds that he’d be out driving that night to find you walking down the street in tears. What were the odds that cotton candy and laughter would leave you full and satisfied? More than the two year relationship had ever done in its duration. Small moments, a subtle glance, the holding of his hand. The playful pushing. You were like children. Experiencing his whimsical desire to make you laugh at his failed attempt at game play, but then Franklin always was more brain than brawn. Still, you appreciated all of it in more ways you could express.

You believed he was different. Leon trusted him. Leon knew him. You grew up with him. Had a first hand account of his personality, and while growing up you never saw him being anything more than family, that night introduced a different side to him that might be possible.

It did its best to consume you. These thoughts of Franklin and what if. In the days that followed you’d created in your mind different scenarios.You thought you might be crazy at first, imagining yourself holding hands with him. Then it went to the subtle jokes held between you two, all the way to him parking in a secluded area, you climbing on top of him, and the two of you making love until the sun kissed the earth and brought about a new morning.

The only way you would ever know is if you took a chance and put all your cards on the table. Franklin opened his mouth. For a second he seemed to search for the right words.You let him go when they never came.

“It won't take that long,” you offered as a level of reassurance. You understood that today of all days wasn’t the best time to confess your feelings, but you might not get another opportunity, being Franklin was so hard a man to track down these days.

He nodded his head and turned to face you. “Okay,” felt from his lips as an utterance.

You stared up at him. “In private. If that's alright.”

He held his gaze then turned and started toward his room. You followed and shut the door once you were both inside. With a sigh Franklin turned. You greeted him with a push against the wall as you raised your hand around his neck to link your lips. Deep down somewhere in your heart of hearts you prepared for the worst. That made you bold in taking for yourself what you wanted. Just one more kiss. If that was the only thing you'd walk away with. It was something. Fuck that bastard Darnell for calling you a prude. This was Franklin Saint, no other girl you knew could be so bold.

You wallowed in the memory of that night momentarily. It would never be like the first time, so unexpected and new, but the sensation of his full lips, soft, safe, and perfect made you glad you hadn't hesitated. He complied at first only to break contact seconds later.

“Beanz. The hell you doin’?”

You'd asked yourself this question only briefly. You took a breath. “What do you mean?”

“I mean. This. We can't do this.” He moved your hand. He moved away from the wall and under your arm.

Your eyes followed him.“But we're alone. So It's fine. I just. I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

Franklin stood by his drawer. “If I was okay,” he asked without making eye contact.

“Yes,” you said to clarify. “You're walking around like everything is fine. But it’s not. I mean it’s hot as hell today but you seem to be feeling it more than the rest of us in some weird way. You’ve been sweating like a blues singer,” you emphasized accounting for the moisture on his brow. He probably would have laughed at the comparison under different circumstances. “Everyone is being taken care of. I just. I wondered if the same could be said about you. Who’s checked on you lately? Made sure Franklin was good.”

It was your way of paying it forward. You owed him. He made you feel good. You only wanted to do the same. You reached out to touch his hand. Franklin seemed to consider how the pad of your thumb ran over the top of his skin. You were desperate for any sort of contact, and by the way he responded, he was too.

“I know in a way Andre was like a father to you. To be honest I'm still shocked that he would do that. Kill himself. So, I know. I know you're hurting right now. And I just wanted you to understand. You don't have to be alone. I'm here. I'm here Franklin.”

Franklin turned his head away and pulled in his bottom lip. There had been a glaze hanging over his hues. Perhaps your sentiment held too much weight. Franklin appeared to be battling with it. He moved his hand from under your touch. Just like a bee sting, you felt the pain. The aftershock at the loss of warmth to a frigid breeze.

“But the other thing is,” you struggled to say. “You've been avoiding me. I just wanted to ask. What. What did I do Franklin? Why are you being like this? So distant.”

“Listen Beanz.” Franklin's hand found the upper part of his tie. He pulled at the knot to loosen it some, lowered his head and directed his attention at the ceiling before he gave you a brief glare. “Bottom line. I fucked up.”

You hadn't averted your gaze on him, and as diligently as you tried to deconstruct his sentence, to understand, you couldn't. “What do you mean?”

“What happened that night.” He'd begun to pace the floor. “Shouldn’t have done what I did.” Franklin nodded. “That's my fault. And I take full responsibility. All the blame.” He stopped his pace to look at you. “Okay?”

Your heart had moved, from its proper location in your chest to your stomach. “You're talking about the kiss, right? On the ferris wheel. What do you mean your fault? You had my full consent Franklin. I mean in the moment it caught me off guard, sure, but I kissed you back, so in that case I'd be wrong too.”

“No. I put you in that position, that was me. I made the move first. So see, you comin' in here like this. I should expect it. Cause of what you think it is now, or what it could be. But you're wrong.”

How was he able to read your mind so easily? It scared you.

“We're doin’ this shit behind Lee's back. You know that's not right. He ma’ best friend, your brother. It's all fucked up.”

“It was only a kiss. We didn’t do anything,” you whispered. You hadn't realized how elevated your breathing had become as you tried to process what was happening. Once Franklin dropped his arm at his side you were battling back tears. You thought you were doing the right thing. That being honest with yourself and him would make telling Leon, your mom, Cissy, Alton, Jerome, Louie, and anyone else who needed telling, much easier.

The hardest part had been telling Franklin.

“That's why I wanted to talk to you. I don't wanna hide my feelings anymore. Let's just tell him.” You'd grown a little confidence. Not only that. You spoke as if a love affair existed between you long before that night. “I felt something Franklin. I know you did too. Maybe it will all work out.”

The naivety of your hope was showing. There was Franklin, this strategic young business man that created for himself his own product operation. Generated an endless stream of funds while successfully keeping peace between rival hoods. Then there was you, eighteen, inexperienced and vulnerable. It all read like a predator and prey situation so you could understand Leon's warning to Franklin, about boundaries and the lines he wasn't allowed to cross when it came to you. But you could reason with Leon. He couldn't always be right, especially about a man he put his trust into.

“Tell him what?” Franklin turned to face you. His features mingled with anger and frustration. “You're not hearing me B. There's nothin’ ta tell. There is no us.”

The intensity of his gaze was enough to make your heart stop. Your expression became void of promise that a fantasy could be something more. Still you preferred to fight it, determined that what you wanted meant more than all the logic the world could muster.

“You feel the same way, I know you do.You just won’t admit it to yourself Franklin.That would make it all too real. Then you’d have to face it. You wouldn't be able to run away. The way you are now.”

Franklin didn't appear to be moved by the break and rise of your voice, but the added bounce in his jaw encouraged you to say more. If he hadn't responded that meant he must be thinking. You took a few steps until the back of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You slowly sat on the surface and found a poster on the wall to stare at. A grimace of expression and you offered his rejection a casual laugh. “Who are you tryna convince Franklin? Me or yourself?” You acquired your own level of frustration.You stood at the edge of a knife. All Franklin had to do was plunge it in. He had the upper hand, but you weren't ready to die. If he could only hear you out, at least consider your argument. Faintly you could hear the song from earlier knocking at your senses and calling you to your final resting place. That place where Andre would be buried deep in the earth with his name engraved on cold stone. Only yours would be one word. Foolish.

“Lee was right. He never looked your way when he uttered those words. You could see him from the corner of your eye. Instead his attention remained on the window. “We gotta leave it alone. Go back to the way things were.”

Why had that sounded like he meant more than the night at the amusement park?

“Leon’s just tryna protect you B. So am I. Trust me. The further away you stay from all this. The better off you'll be.”

Franklin's hues swirled with burden. You couldn't turn away from all their trouble, even though his words were blunt and direct. It all went on like a paradox. The passivity shifted, as did his expression, to reveal this troubled man. A man that might be trying to make things right. You wanted to see it that way only, in the moment it felt more like he'd destroyed you purposely, doing so without care or worry, as the aftermath of his personal choices, and your vulnerabilities existed in rubble and ruin together as a constant beat. Yet, not even that could reason you to bring yourself to regret. You blinked. That released the drips of emotion from your eyes. They rolled down the same way they had at the church. Only Leon wasn't there to hold your hand. You shifted your weight on the bed until you broke the air with a whisper. Battle strong, you proceeded.

“But what if I can’t. Go back to the way things were.”

Franklin shut his eyes. “It didn't mean anything Beanz. What more do I gotta say to get that through to you. It was a mistake.”

When he didn't provide you with an answer you wanted you swallowed down the rising lump in your throat that would have had you burst into tears, if you didn't fight it back down. You had mulled it over in your head and once you recognized the heat in the room your hands began to shake. “Franklin, if this wasn’t something more then why was it you of all the people it could have been, there at that exact time and place. Are you telling me that was just some coincidence?” You weren't sure you should say the next part. You had no way of knowing his reaction. He'd stone walled every bit of attempted connection you sent his way. You sucked in a breath as, “I’m in love with you,” slipped out.

“We can’t move beyond anything else but friendship. Sorry.”

You pulled your bottom lip in to stop it from quivering. A similar action Franklin had taken at the mention of Andre. A short whimper-like sound left you in a “Hmm.” Cold. His tone of voice was so cold. Like a businessman delivering his final offer.

“Listen. Messin wit’ you. It'll only cause problems between me and Lee. And I can't have that.” When he turned and finally faced you, it was your tears that made his eyes go hard. He lifted his chin, “None of this is good for bidness. So It's done.”

A smack of your teeth, and you remembered the shutting of Andres casket. That final slam. The end. You could go a whole lifetime without ever hearing that word. Franklin threw it around like it meant life or death. You rushed out, shutting the door behind you to lean on its frame as that familiar rise of sentiment tickled your eyes leaving you to finally break your reserve and cry.

Cissy noticed you. She'd been talking in the hall to one of the men you recognized at the funeral. Another associate of Andres but not quite an Officer. She bid him away with a warm grin and approached you.

“Honey what's wrong?”

You tried to laugh the truth away. The truth that Franklin Saint had successfully broken your heart. “Nothing really.” You nulled the real reasons and smiled at her as best you could with the facility. Forgetting that Cissy was by no means a stupid woman and that you'd broken out in tears right after coming from inside her son's room.“It's all just so. Heavy in here with all this. You know. Kinda overwhelmed. And to add insult to injury. I'm still hungry.” You cried out in what turned into a sob. You hoped you swayed her from asking any questions about Franklin. Acting in itself was an overrated profession. It took too much of your energy to perform.

“Aw. Come here sweetheart.” Cissy pulled you into a hug, which only made the crying worse. “I know it's hard,” she whispered while she gently rocked and patted your back to offer some form of comfort. The same you might be more inclined to receive from Franklin.“Death. Any manner of it. Even though it's a natural part of life. Don't make it any less hard.” Cissy spoke like she knew, but delivered in a way that understood both sides. She broke the hug to look at you. “While I have no control over that. I think I can do something about the other thing you mentioned. We just put out the food. Despite all these God forsaken power outages, it's ready.” Cissy smiled. A smile so infectious that it made you do the same. You laughed, she laughed and you both made your way to the kitchen.

…

Soft music played in the background. The smell of comfort food filled the air. Macaroni and cheese, baked beans, fried chicken, pasta salad. A line had begun to form when the power cut off for the third time that afternoon. Berniece huffed in frustration as she grabbed a plate and began to fill it with food. They really should be doing something about this. They know how God awful hot it is today. Her voice trailed off in the surrounding chatter. You’d almost forgotten about the heat. The aroma of the food had you desperately wanting to sit, but you’d decided to make a plate for Leon.

With the influx of hungry people, he’d be in line forever.

When the line moved, you moved with it, grabbing two bread rolls along the way. You eye’d the dessert table hoping that by the time you finished there would still be a variety of sweets to choose from.

What was it about death that made a person so hungry?

When you managed to spot Leon, the two of you found seats at the large table. He’d grinned with his first bite of chicken that still offered a faint swivel of steam into the air overhead, hot. You’d been busy with finishing off your portion of macaroni and cheese by the time he took notice of your plate.

“Mm. Was you gonna leave some for er’body else?”

You frowned, choosing not to engage him with eye contact as you ate a spoonful of beans. “What?”

“Damn near got the whole pot don't ya?” He chuckled. “Guess you livin’ up to yo’ nickname, huh?”

The significant difference from your plates had undoubtedly been the beans. You loved baked beans. It was your first words. Not mama, or dada, just, baked beans. Ever since then the nickname seemed to stick. You would always be on the hunt for them at family gatherings or barbeques. Funerals too.

“Shut up,” you blurted out, almost annoyed that he noticed.

Leon wasn’t easily rattled. Instead of finding the rebuttal of his observation offensive, he’d countered with another bite of chicken. “I’m just statin’ the obvious.”

Your eye’s were sore and there was some tension, warning you that a migraine was on the horizon. You stopped moving the spoon and shook your head. “You always bring it up. Every single time we eatin’. Like get outta my plate. Worry bout’ what you got goin’ on over there. I mean I'm actually concerned. You starin’ at that chicken hard, like you wanna commercial for it. ”

“Man. Shut yo’ ass up.” Leon laughed and ate some of his pasta salad.

You rolled your eyes to resume the swirling of your beans before you took in a big mouth full with Franklin passing your view. He saw you too, your plate, and a faint bereaved grin crept his lips before he switched his direction to make his way over.

“Oh hell,” you mumbled, mouth full trying to chew the rest down.

Leon greeted him.

“Sup Saint.”

“Sup Lee.”

“You get you somethin’ ta’ eat? It’s pretty good.”

“Naw. Not yet. I will tho. Soon. I’mma let them go first.”

Suddenly you had lost your appetite. You threw down your spoon, cleared your throat and got up from the table. A couple people sitting down further looked at you as Leon’s eyes met your stance.

“Where you goin B?”

You tossed a glance over your shoulder. “See what they got on the desert table. I want something sweet.”

Leon reached out an eager index finger and shook it at you as you pushed your chair in and began to make your way through a crowd of people.

“Aye, see if they got some pecan pie!”

…

Your stomach tangled in undoable knots. There was still plenty left on your plate but you wouldn’t try to finish it, so you made it back to the kitchen and grabbed some foil to save it for later. Later. Maybe you could eat later with much less tension. You grabbed the soap bottle and poured a few drops of the liquid on your hands rubbing both together.

Going back to the desert table proved to be a grave mistake. You’d gotten caught up in an argument between Miss Patty and Miss Sandra Lane and forgot all about Leon’s pecan pie before you’d made a daring departure. They’d been casually debating on the best way to make peach cobbler. When you came they’d made you try both. When you couldn't decide, they’d begin throwing out different ingredients. Oh well honey, I put cinnamon and a little bit of honey. The counter argument, Well my mama used to say it’s not what ingredients go in, but how much.

Your elbow knocked a cup that fell to the floor when you went to dry your hands. “Damnit,” you mumbled, bending down to reach it. Another hand came to retrieve it before yours could. You raised your head to see South Central’s high ranking business man. He held the cup out, you took it, then turned, finding it difficult to face him with the feeling of his eyes bearing down on you.

Franklin sighed. “Don’t stay mad at me forever,” you heard his voice whisper at your back.

His tone had changed. From direct and blunt to Subtle, gentle.

You stayed silent. All the words you had for him, you’d left in his room. Your heart might possibly be there too. Sure you were breathing, and perhaps even participating in what was taking place. That didn’t mean you hadn’t died. Attention on the cup. Or the counter, the wall. Anywhere but him. You closed your eyes, and only opened them again when you heard him walk away. You wanted to be relieved, but you still very much grieved the loss of what could have been.

You promised to be helpful but once alone, you skipped finding Cissy.

Instead you decided to brave your way outside onto the porch. Some stragglers were making their way in when you wondered out.

Uninterested in the rest of the arrivals you sat and made an attempt to massage your forehead. The headache had grown worse. Too many thoughts. From inside the house you could hear groaning. The power had gone out. A second later the hot air slapped you when Melody stormed through the front door. You dropped your hand and watched her descend the stairs and cross through the lawn. Almost a minute later Franklin came out. He removed his suit jacket, sitting it down on the rail before he followed her. You took a deep breath as you watched her enter the house and Franklin go in after. Maybe she finally let herself break. He would probably need your help. You sighed, got up from the chair and made your way over to Andre's.

Closer to the door you thought you heard a shot. Sometimes the kids in the neighborhood got the bright idea to light off some saved fireworks. But you knew the difference between the sounds. The sound that came from a gun rattled you. Although the projects seemed to have more drive by’s then the average neighborhood, you could never get used to the pop, pop, pop. In all fairness you hated guns. So there had been panic, thinking she’d found one of her father’s and pulled the trigger on herself. You froze. But then, another shot, and another. It was like your soul had left you.

The air was still and heavy when Melody walked past. You called after her. She didn’t stop. Just kept on going. Despite the cumbersome feeling of dread you couldn't resist the urge to see inside Andre Wright's old residence. And where was Franklin? Why hadn’t he come out yet? The unknown parallels drew you in, as you took hesitant steps forward. The front door creaked open when you turned the knob. Light outside barely illuminated the space, casting eerie shadows on the walls in places the sun could not reach beyond the whileding blinds. You hesitated. A chill ran down your spine.

There was Franklin, laying there on the floor.

“S-She shoot you?” You had become so scatterbrained at the sight, the situation, that the words were dispensable and unwarranted. The power came back on. You ran over, touching him out of instinct only to earn a pain ridden whimper in return. A glance at your hand. Franklin's blood covered the whole of your palm. You looked down at the floor. The puddle beneath him had begun to grow, extending itself on the surface of the wood. It traveled and spread.

More and more.

“Hold on.”

Pressure on the wound. You'd heard that somewhere. But how would you decide which wound received the attention? The fabric of his shirt painted a clear picture of the locations in which all three gunshot wounds were located. Three, not one. You couldn't choose. Your mind screamed after a pillow. You scrambled over to the couch and grabbed the biggest one returning to Franklin as you took a deep breath to prepare yourself. “I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. This might hurt.” You situated the pillow at his side where he couldn't see you. You got up, ran around him and as gently as you could, pushed him up, so that his body would turn and lean on his side with the pillow's support. Franklin let out a groan that drug on. The sound would haunt you long after the gurgle in his throat choked him to silence.

That's how you saw all the blood.

“Oh my God…” Your eyes were blinded with horrified tears and without realizing, your dress had been tainted to a pretty scarlet. You changed position again. “I'm sorry Franklin. I'm sorry but we gotta put pressure on them.” You picked your memory as to where they'd been located when he laid on his stomach. You had forgotten that fast, but adrenaline had you alert. Every second counted. You found one small hole and reached for Franklin's closest hand. “Come on. Help me. Press down as hard as you can.” You drug his hand to the gunshot wound at his side. He'd barely made any effort to apply the pressure you demanded. You looked down to find that his eyes were heavily lidded, but directed toward the spinning fan. “Hey Franklin. Can you hear me? Franklin!” His mouth moved, but the words were difficult to understand. You leaned down struggling to make sense of them. He said sorry, and one word you would distinctly never forget. Mama.

You were sure that you had never screamed help as loud as you had on the hottest day in L.A’s history. The earthquaking of feet hadn't stopped you, no matter how close they’d come, arriving just as Franklin's eyes closed.

The only screams that could rival yours were Cissy’s and you couldn't remember just how you managed to switch places. She cradled Franklin forgetting about the pillow, rocking back and forth as she wiped the blood from the sides of his mouth, telling him to wake up. Your hands shook as you tried to differentiate Cissy's movements to the rise and fall of Franklin's chest.

“Franklin. Franklin please…”

His name traveled over her lips holding to desperation, in only the way a mother could utter such pleas to a dying child.

“Get up Saint.” You heard Leon say almost through gritted teeth, “Come on.”

“Alton, hurry up!”

You turned your back, unable to look anymore as you clung to Leon and cried into his shoulder whispering amidst Cissy's screaming over and over, he's not dead. Perhaps wishing that the last encounter between you wasn't set to bitterness.

Watching the ambulance drive off was much the same experience as watching the hearse. They'd managed to get Franklin on a stretcher. You watched one of his arms hang over the side as they lifted him and used his first name to communicate, although he never answered back. Cissy, glued to his side, was the first to enter after Franklin and the medical team, followed closely by Alton.

You hadn't let go of Leon. Both of you held the other up.

For the second time that day, you stood in haunting awe.

…

“Well. That's it. You have my card. Give us a call if you hear anything else that can help the investigation.”

Between the countless questions and the weather, you'd checked out. It was only after you felt the dryness of your tongue, and the wave of lightheadedness, that you realized you hadn't drank any water in those hours after Franklin had been hauled off. When you were offered a glass, you finished the whole thing almost in one gulp.

“Will do officer. Will do.”

Leon stood to his feet and watched until the car had faded completely. He crumbled the card in one hand carelessly tossing it aside as a now scrunched down ball that hid within the tall grass.

“Fuckin’ pigs.”

You smiled, greeting Leon’s afro with the pride that rested within its tight coils. No one ever called the police in South Central.

Existing between the community and the boys in blue remained a silent war. It had been ever since the migration black folk made in the 19th century. Of Course it had spanned beyond that, and south Central wasn't an isolated thing. Leon said black people were everywhere. A great migration. You would laugh, Leon could be so serious, but the way he said certain things was funny. Ha, we should have migrated our ass back to Africa. It had always been his dream to visit the motherland. Oh, he read plenty. He never told many people. Sometimes in her complacency your mother could make him feel less than a dog. Leon always ran with the wrong crowd. So by America’s statistics, he was never gon’ be shit. Probably not live to see thirty even though twenty six would be pushing it. When your father died Leon needed a role model to take his place. Like your mother said, he was to be the man of the house. That meant niggas from the neighborhood. Specifically, those belonging to the PJ Watts Crips. Franklin had always been the brains but Leon’s curiosity took him to different places far outside of society.

“Them motherfuckas is still slave patrol. You can read that shit. Just gotta know where ta' look. Any nigga don’t know that dumb as fuck.They really think I'm bout to rat out ma people.''

Leon took a deep breath. With the promise of sundown, the heat and its intensity had faded enough that you both sat on the first step without complaint of being too hot. Another thing you hated about funerals. Why all black?

“At the same time. I know a few niggas that would snitch tho’, sellout, so I guess I can't speak for er’body.”

Typical Leon, having another private conversation with himself. Although his dislike for the police hadn't stopped him from showing up, he always spoke his mind one way or another. He'd stayed clear of Andre growing up. Franklin came to the projects more than Leon came to 56th. You smiled, and this time laughed only slightly. But when you looked at him again you began to blink back tears as Franklin's words crossed over the paths of your mind. Go back to the way things were. That would mean Andre would still be alive. Kevin too.

Leon faced you. “What? Wassup?”

“You got blood on your shirt.”

Leon peered down at his chest. The muscle shirt peeking through his black button up had speckled red in different places. You'd transferred it to him during the panic.

When the phone rang you both had forgotten about Leon’s shirt as he hurried inside the house with urgency. You didn't follow. You felt dizzy and confined to your place on the porch. But the waiting for Leon to return stirred up unbridled anxiety. When he did come back you shot up beyond your better judgment with hope dancing on your darkened hues.

“What happened?” The familiar rise and fall of your chest returned and your heartbeat pounded within your rib cage. “Don't tell me. Please. Don't tell me, he?” You wouldn't let yourself say it, you could hardly even produce such a thought. Yet Leon held all the power. Just enough to make you flatline completely.

“They said uh.” Leon hesitated, he shook his head as he lowered his gaze to the pavement. Only when he seemed to gain the composure needed to tell you did he meet your eyes with the news. “They had to put him in an induced coma. They don't know if he gon’ make it. It's all just a waiting game now.”

There it was again. The youthful nativity. It crept up in how you chose to respond. “But can we see him? I mean, is he in the ICU?”

Gravity steadily pulled you down, as Leon proceeded to tell you the rest.

“Alton said Cissy don't want nobody up there.”

You averted your eyes to the sky, then ran your tongue over your bottom lip. A car drove down the street, then another a few seconds later. Consumed in your own private emotions you’d forgotten that Franklin was Leon's best friend. When your eyes found him, he’d taken his seat on the step again rubbing his hands together quietly. You wanted to comfort him, tell him it would be okay, but the new information made it difficult. He didn't fall into a coma, they’d put him into one. That sounded worse. Any other time would have been simple. You could do it with ease when you were removed from the situation. When it didn’t touch you so closely. You watched Leon before trying to force yourself to sit down and throw your arms over him. The gesture kicked off the shakiness that lingered in every word.

“I'm sorry. Maybe I could've done more to help him. Or I did too much. Probably wasn't supposed to move him. But I couldn’t leave him like that. He called out for her and said how scared he was. He couldn't really speak but I heard it. It was all scrambled and mixed up. But he didn't want to die. Said he was sorry. Sorry for what?”

Leon’s hand reached up to casually run over your arm.

You hugged tighter. “I remembered when you got shot. How I couldn't sleep anymore after that. Now I'm always looking over my shoulder. Looking over yours. Seeing you in that hospital scared me so much.”

Leon sighed.

“Yeah. Shits fucked up. But it's the life we chose, so. Comes wit’ it. I tried to keep you protected. So you never had to see any of this shit.”

He said it so casually like he'd gotten numb to loss. The last part held your attention. You sat up struggling to see his eyes. They were clouded, but not with tears. Just this hard stare. Vastly different to the one Melody held.

“He's gonna be okay Lee. You made it. He'll make it. I just. Why? Why did she do that? I don't understand. I wanna understand. Why would she shoot hi-?” Your words caught in your throat. As you talked you could see everything all over again even though you'd changed out of your dress and stockings. Irrily, they'd been some of Melody’s clothes that were still hanging in her closet. Simple track pants and a T-shirt, just until you got home to your own things. “She shot him so many times,” you continued. “All that blood. Never seen so much blood.”

Leon raised his head, verbalized something along the lines of. “Fuck. Damn Saint,” so low in revelation, you almost missed it. The hard stare left, replaced by one that conveyed cognizance. He breathed, rubbed at his temple and turned his head to look at you. “You sure it was Mel.”

You let him go and sulked at his question. “Yes I'm fuckin' sure,” you half-way shouted. “I watched her walk down the steps and toss the fuckin’ gun. She had this strange look in her eyes all day. Like she was somewhere else. I mean, maybe she just snapped. It was too much pressure being around everyone given what she was already going through. I mean what, do people on rock do stuff like that?”

“How tha fuck I'm spose ta’ know? I ain't never done that shit,” Leon said with a scowl.

You smacked your teeth. “Chill out. Don't come at me like that.” You rolled your eyes and shifted your sitting position. “Damn. It was just a question. You sell it so thought maybe you'd have an idea,” you answered back sarcastically with a roll of your neck.

You went silent. You were trying to justify everything. Melody’s actions, Franklins. Why out of all days it had to be the hottest? How death became the defining theme in all different aspects of the word. When Leon closed his eyes, you suddenly lost your anger to curiosity.

“What is it? What aren't you telling me?”

Leon licked his lips and got up. “Nothin’. Nothin’.” He changed positions and faced the house. “Imma go get our stuff and lock up so I can get you home so you can get cleaned up. Jerome should be down in a minute. There's nothin' we can do right now.”

You placed a hand on your forehead and reached up to fumble with your bun until it all came loose and you pulled the scrunchie releasing some of the pressure as you freed your hair. Discovering that had added to your prevailing headache.

“Okay.”

“Give me a minute.”

Leon left you standing with more questions than answers. You ruffled your hair although most of it remained held up by the gel you’d applied. Why? That word knocked at your brain. Why would Melody shoot Franklin? What had Leon figured out that you were still trying to piece together? The blood on your hands had dried. The red tint held tight to your brown hue. Wondering if you would be able to wash it off completely, you gasped suddenly and swallowed down the taste of bile. That large plate of beans you'd selfishly eaten might come back up because of the horrible truth that hit your mind, connecting the dots in an intricate pattern of reality, that quick! The urge came again and this time it forced itself out of you. What you'd consumed from that morning to afternoon was now a mustard yellow, and brown over the pavement, making itself a brand new color. More came up. Everything you saw and heard the whole day made sense. You wiped at your mouth with the back of your hand. Random people looked while they walked by. Your throat burned with a bad aftertaste. Andre hadn't committed suicide, you realized as your broken words kissed the heat.

“Franklin killed him….”

A/N: A little bit of a dark one, I know. But I’ve always wondered how they found Franklin after Melody shot him at the end of season 3. So muse was like write that out why don’t you! 😌🙌🏾 So I did, and that is what we have with our precious reader insert added in ofcourse. This is actually a sequel piece to Brother Ain't havin’ it. During the read you heard Reader and Franklin mention an amusement park. Yeah, that fic explains exactly what happened at the amusement park. Now will I write it? Haha I don’t know 😅. Anyway, I hope you enjoyed the reading. If you have time, drop a comment. Let me know what you thought. I dig the feedback, big or small. 🙃 As always, happy reading. 💙

PLEASE DO NOT COPY OR CLAIM ANY OF MY WRITING. -Wide Nose And Wonderful.

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