#almostbetter.

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continued from here for @almostbetter !

the shaky breath that left him loosened something in her too. they hadn’t realized how tightly they’d been holding themself together until they felt that fraction of tension drain from his body. when his thumb pressed deliberately into her palm, she pressed back, mirroring the pressure so he knew she wasn’t going anywhere, not even in the small spaces between breaths. his attempt at humor hurt more than the wound ever could. limited edition. dented. they watched the way his mouth tried to curve and failed, the way the drugs made everything slow. frankie exhaled softly through her nose, leaning closer so he didn’t have to strain to see her. "you think i ordered you for the packaging?" they murmured, a faint edge of warmth under the words. "i don’t care about dents. i care that it still runs." her free hand brushed lightly over his hairline, careful of the pillows, careful of the bandage. "and you’re not recalled. you survived." when he apologized, the tone shifted into something less joking and more raw. they felt the confession settle between them, heavier than anything he’d said so far. the jealousy. the fights. she remembered them clearly — the sharp words, the stubborn pride, and how he’d escalate just enough to make sure she stayed in the room arguing with him instead of walking out. so i wouldn’t hear you leave. that landed. it reframed everything. their thumb slowed against his hand as they let that truth breathe. "i didn’t leave," she said quietly, not defensive, just factual. "even when you were loud." they tilted their head slightly, searching his unfocused gaze. "i knew what that was. you don’t pick fights when you don’t care. you pick fights when you’re scared." she swallowed, the admission costing her a little. "i was scared too. i just got quieter about it." the space after that felt different — less jagged, more exposed. when he struggled for words, they waited. she could see the frustration gather in his brow, how he hated not being articulate, not being sharp. and then he said it. all of it. the crowds. the vault. being hard to love. frankie didn’t interrupt. they let him empty it out. when he finished, she shifted carefully, sliding her other hand up so she could cradle the side of his face without jostling him. their thumb rested just under his cheekbone. "you’re going to see him in every crowd for a while," she said softly. "that makes sense. your brain’s trying to keep you alive." their gaze didn’t waver. "you might get overprotective. you might get short-tempered. you might have nights where you don’t sleep." she didn’t sugarcoat it. then their voice lowered into something firmer. "that doesn’t make you hard to love. it makes you healing." she leaned in, brushing another kiss to his forehead, slower this time, her lips lingering just long enough for him to feel the certainty behind it. "i’m not leaving because you’re messy," they continued. "i’m not leaving because you’re angry. and i’m definitely not leaving because you’re scared." her forehead rested lightly against his for a moment, her breath syncing with his. "i leave when i’m unloved. i leave when i’m invisible. you’ve never made me either of those things." their fingers squeezed his gently. "so you don’t need to lock me in a vault. just… let me stand next to you in the crowd when you’re ready to face it."

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@almostbetter asked: “#” for cell phone headcanons about our muses !

- contact name: baby <3 - picture:

- ringtone: follow you by bring me the horizon - last text: whole time i was on stage, i couldn't stop thinking about your hand around my neck.

[loudbarks-arch]

closed starter for @almostbetter !

sound comes back first — thick and distant, like it’s traveling through water. bass, but wrong. dull. muffled. not the sharp, chest-rattling kind she’d been inside moments ago. when their eyes finally pry open, everything is washed in white: canvas stretched taut, metal ribs, fluorescent spill. not sky. not stage lights. a tent. her body feels borrowed. heavy in a way that doesn’t belong to sleep. there’s a bright, pulsing ache behind their eyes, and when they swallow, nausea rolls through them slow and ugly. memory doesn’t arrive in a straight line. it fractures. the drop from the stage. the crush of hands. heat. motion. a body overhead. a sudden, brutal weight where there shouldn’t have been weight at all. impact. nothing. her fingers twitch against the thin cot beneath her, grounding herself in fabric, in the sharp medicinal bite cutting through sweat and trampled grass. festival. the same one. of course it would be this one. of all the possible places in the world for them to eat shit publicly and dramatically, it had to be the place where everything once started. she turns her head carefully, light splitting into soft halos — and the air shifts. not physically. internally. it’s the kind of recognition that doesn’t need to be named. a pressure change in their chest. a quiet, awful certainty. her eyes land there before she consciously looks. stellan. close. too close. close enough that they can register the tension in his posture, the familiar shape of him, the way his presence still seems to bend space in ways they never gave permission for. they met here. same festival. same dust in the air. she’d been feral and electric and fearless back then. he’d watched them like they were a storm he didn’t know if he wanted to step into or run from. now she’s horizontal on a medic cot, head splitting, mouth dry, eyeliner probably smeared to hell, and he’s the first thing her vision clears around. of course. their chest does something traitorous — a tight, involuntary hitch that makes them want to crawl out of their own skin. she hadn’t prepared for this version of seeing him. not across a barricade. not on a different stage. not in passing, buffered by noise and distance and professionalism. like this. quiet. close. when they can’t leave. outside the tent, a crowd roars for someone else’s chorus. another band, another moment, another timeline that doesn’t include her lying here reckoning with the person she worked so hard to untangle herself from. inside, everything feels suspended. too still. too intimate. they become painfully aware of how exposed this is — no mic in their hand, no crowd between them, no armor. just her body, stunned and half-functional, and a history that never really learned how to stay buried. anger flickers, thin and useless. at the crowdsurfer. at the timing. at the universe’s obsessive commitment to symmetry. knocked unconscious at the same place they fell in love. waking up to the same face. their fingers curl into the sheet. she hates that her body still recognizes him faster than her brain can build defenses. hates that, beneath the headache and embarrassment and dread, there’s a quiet, humiliating undercurrent of relief. their throat works. “what are you doing here?”

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continued from here for @almostbetter!

the way his hands frame her face makes everything else recede. not disappear — tour buses never let anything fully disappear — but blur enough that the only sharp thing left is him. his thumbs brushing their cheekbones feels intimate in a way that sneaks up on them, like he’s memorizing a shape he’s afraid to forget. frankie has never been particularly good at being looked at like this. wanted, maybe. desired, sure. but held in this quiet, careful way that doesn’t ask for anything in return? that still feels novel. slightly destabilizing. dangerous in the best possible sense. when he starts apologizing, something in her tightens — not because she’s upset, but because she recognizes the impulse. the reflex to assume presence isn’t enough. the reflex to believe love has to be wrapped in effort, in objects, in proof. they know that reflex intimately. it’s lived in her bones for years. so hearing it in his voice makes their chest ache in a strange, mirrored way. she slides her hands up his arms, thumbs brushing over warm and inked skin where his sleeves are shoved up. "hey," frankie says, gently but firm, the word less a reprimand and more a tether. they wait until he looks at them again. "i didn’t come here for gifts. i didn’t come here for dinner plans or flowers or whatever the fuck people think today is supposed to look like." his arms lock around her again, and this time she melts into it fully, cheek against his chest, ear catching the uneven rhythm of his heartbeat. it’s fast. it’s human. it’s perfect. "you’re not backwards," they murmur into his shirt. "you’re here. i’m here. that’s the whole point." a small breath leaves her, both half-laugh and half-sigh. "and for the record? leftover takeout, warm beer, and you sounds… kind of ideal." they tilt their head back just enough to look up at him, fingers still fisted lightly in his shirt like they might drift away if they let go. "you don’t owe me anything for tonight, stellan. i surprised you because i wanted to see you. because i missed you. because it’s valentine’s day and you were gonna be in some city far away, and i decided i didn’t want to be far away from you." there’s a brief, vulnerable pause where she doesn’t dress it up with humor. doesn’t soften it. "you’re enough," frankie says simply. "you’ve always been enough."

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continued from here for @almostbetter !

the laugh surprises her, too. it slips out before she can sand it down or second-guess it, and the fact that it lands so easily in the open space between them makes their chest feel strange in a way they don’t have language for yet. not big. not overwhelming. just… uncomplicated. she watches the way he moves after, the brief tension in his shoulders, the way his hands disappear into his pockets like he’s wrestling something she can’t see. they don’t know what almost happened there, but they recognize what it looks like when someone chooses to stay present instead of checking out. she files that away quietly. "i’m a risk-taker," they say dryly, because humor is easier than admitting that trusting him already feels natural. "worst case scenario, we order in and pretend toast was never part of the plan." the trunk pops open and she freezes for half a second without meaning to. two bags. just two. no extra cases, staff, or invisible machinery humming behind the scenes. it looks… ordinary. and that, more than the house, is what throws them. she hadn’t realized how much she’d been expecting spectacle until it doesn’t show up. until it’s just stellan and them standing in cold air with luggage like any other couple on a trip. and when he grabs her bag, instinct flares — i can carry my own shit — but it fades before it reaches her mouth. this doesn’t feel like a test. it doesn’t feel like control. it feels like a simple, wordless offer. "thanks," they say quietly. gravel crunches under their shoes as they walk, their steps falling into an easy rhythm. she stays close without thinking about it, close enough that their arms brush now and then. the place is undeniably expensive. beautiful in a way that still feels a little unreal. but they don’t feel like they have to perform for it. she isn’t here because she fits into this world. they’re here because he wanted them here. that distinction settles something in her chest. at the door, everything slows. the key fob is warm in their palm. the golden light spilling from inside makes the glass glow. she can feel the weight of the moment even if she doesn’t have a poetic way to name it. thresholds have always been complicated for them. hotel rooms, tour buses, apartments that stopped feeling safe halfway through the night. places that promised one thing and delivered another. this feels different, but she doesn’t say that out loud. they look up at him, catch the searching look in his eyes, and choose honesty in the smallest, truest form they have. "i’ve never been on a proper vacation before," she says. a tiny shrug. "so if i seem a little… quiet about it, that’s probably why." a beat, softer. "not because i don’t want to be here." their thumb presses the button. the door unlocks with a quiet click. she steps inside, crossing the threshold before she can overthink it. then they turn back toward him, a crooked, almost shy smile on their mouth. "guess you’re officially stuck hanging out with me for a few days," she says lightly. "which… i’m actually really excited about. just you and me."