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closed starter for @brutalperception !

tour stops have a way of bleeding together after a while — cities turning into a blur of gas station lights, half-remembered venues, and hotel rooms that all smell faintly the same. frankie has learned how to exist inside that haze. how to be loud, flirt, perform, fuck, disappear. how to keep people at arm’s length without making it obvious that that’s what she’s doing. it’s easier that way. easier to be a version of themself that doesn’t ask for much, doesn’t expect anything, doesn’t hope. but tonight isn’t a venue hallway or a greenroom. it’s her standing outside the hotel in chicago, hoodie pulled over her head, bouncing on the balls of her feet like she can’t keep the energy contained. they have tomorrow off. ben just got off a flight from san francisco. and she hasn’t been this excited about seeing someone in a long, long time. they spot him before he spots them — dragging his small carry-on behind him, shoulders a little hunched, eyes scanning the sidewalk until they land on them. and the second they do, frankie doesn’t even think. she just moves. they close the distance fast, arms wrapping around him tight, face burying against his chest like they need to make sure he’s real. a soft, breathy laugh slips out of her before she can stop it. "you flew all the way from san francisco for me," they murmur into his jacket, squeezing him harder. she pulls back just enough to look up at him, grin wide and unguarded. "i’m really, really happy you’re here."

#IC.#BRUTALPERCEPTION.#CLOSED.

continued from here for @brutalperception !

his words hit closer than she expects, and that’s what nearly does her in. not the love (you can armor yourself against love if you’ve had enough practice) but the ease of it. the way he says it like weather, like gravity, like a fact that doesn’t require a counterargument. you’re allowed to have a shitty time. i still like you. it lands in their chest and presses, hard enough that their eyes burn before they can stop it. she hates that sensation. hates how quickly their body betrays them, how tears crowd up even when they don’t want them, even when they’re determined not to let them win. she swallows, her sharp jaw tightening, blinking hard until the sting dulls. crying has always felt like losing control of the narrative, like handing someone proof they didn’t mean to submit. she presses her face further into his chest, using the angle as cover while she gets herself back under control. it isn’t that they don’t believe him. that might be the worst part. she does believe him — and believing means she has to sit with how badly she’s expected the opposite. how deeply they’ve assumed that being difficult would make them disposable. her fingers curl lightly into his shirt again, grounding rather than desperate this time, as if reminding herself that this is happening, that he’s still here, that nothing has cracked open beneath them. “i just hate that this is what you get right now,” they say quietly, once their voice feels usable again. it comes out low and careful, measured like she’s stepping across thin ice. “you show up and i’m… stuck. boring. miserable.” their mouth twists, not quite a smile, or a grimace. “i don’t like being seen when i’m not useful.” that’s closer to the truth than she usually lets herself get. they shift slightly, enough to look at him for half a second before their gaze drops again. there’s too much feeling in her chest to hold eye contact for long. “and i know you keep saying you don’t need apologies,” they add, stubbornness creeping back in, quieter but still there, “but i still wish i was better at this. better at… being normal.” the word tastes wrong, but it’s the one her mind keeps offering up. his love you sits with them, heavy and warm, and they don’t push it away. she lets it exist without trying to qualify it or pay for it. after a long beat, they nod once against him. “i love you too,” she murmurs, the words pressed into his chest like they need the contact to stay true. then, they exhale, the tension leaking out in increments rather than all at once. “thank you for not making this a thing i have to fix tonight.” she settles again, her eyes closed now and breathing gradually aligning with his. the tears stay where they are — unshed, held back by stubborn will — but the pressure behind them eases. they’re still having a hard time. she’s still stuck. but they aren’t alone in it, and for tonight, that feels survivable.

#IC.#── .✦ FRANKIE AND BEN.#i'll come up with a dynamic tag tomorrow lmao #BRUTALPERCEPTION.

a valentine's day starter for @brutalperception !

morning light filters in thin and pale, striping the bed and the curve of ben’s shoulder where he’s still deep under sleep. frankie wakes with that familiar flutter in her chest, excitement braided tight with nerves, her mind already circling the thing waiting for later — the song, the one she wrote in the quiet hours when he wasn’t looking. they shift closer anyway, because closeness is easier than thinking too hard. her leg drapes over his, toes grazing skin on purpose, fingertips tracing the line of his ribs beneath his shirt like she’s memorizing him all over again. they hover there for a second, watching his mouth, the way his lashes rest against his cheeks, then lean in, breath warming the corner of his lips. “hey,” she murmurs, her voice low and a little playful, maybe even a little unsteady despite herself. their thumb slides along his hip in a lingering touch. “happy valentine’s day.” a small smile curves against his skin as she presses a kiss to his shoulder, then another, longer this time. “you’re still asleep, which means i get you first,” they add, softer now, confession tucked into the tease. her forehead rests against him for a beat, nerves buzzing under her skin. “and i—” they stop themself, exhale, and kiss him again. “wake up, baby. i’ve got a surprise. don’t laugh.”