absolutesort

[absolutesort]

MILES.

– “WELL, JEEZ, I WAS TRYING TO PLAY IT COOL,” he laughs, but clearly they’re not doing that shit and he couldn’t be more pleased – it shows on his face, grinning from ear to ear at the sentiment, despite frankie’s dramatics. that is something he’s both grown used to and grown fond of. though the idea of being as important to someone as their leg is a little daunting, so miles can only hope she’s exaggerating ‘a bit.’ “ but okay, two days and i’m an absolute wreck. what’s the point of anything if we aren’t spooning ? ” he adds, grin going slightly cheeky as he holds onto her thighs, supporting her weight as she wraps herself around him in a way that feels congruent with his entire love island experience. she’s permeated every aspect of this memory for him, and miles doesn’t think he’ll be able to look back on this summer without remembering the specific scent of her sunscreen or the warmth of her skin. when it’s come to their relationship, it seems like they’ve always been writing different chapters, but when it comes to who they are as two people, sharing the same space, in the same vicinity, it feels like they’re exactly the same, woven together deep within the margins. maybe frankie’s attention will be fickle, not everlasting, bound to only be tangible when they’re together and not when they’re apart, but whenever she touches him, miles can’t help but feel completely fine with that. “ you’re the one that started it, t’be fair. accosting me and then asking me if i want space, ” he teases, a soft, shuddery intake of breath as she pulls her hand away from his pants. there’s a frown that deepens on his features when she talks about the gut punch, wanting to remind her that she’s not the only one who was gut-punched in the feelings recently, but he doesn’t see any good in starting a competition over who was hurt more. “ frankie, i don’t want you to think this step back was like, intended to hurt you. i wasn’t trying to … y’know, gut punch you. ” she may have said that he didn’t need to explain himself, but he does need her to know that. miles might come off as nonchalant, but he gets scared sometimes, too, even if he tries to ge through things with the mentality that the world could end tomorrow. if it does, he’s glad that frankie’s hands are on him now, one of his hands wrapping around her waist to steady her as he changes their position so that she’s the one with her back against the wall, making it a little easier to support her as she runs her hands over his skin, little touches that leave a path of fire in their wake.

“ fuck you, ” miles laughs as he presses his mouth against hers, a kiss that’s equal parts hungry and affectionate, betraying the meaning of his words. “ thought you wanted to have a serious talk, castro, ” he retorts, but his tone is so playful that it can hardly be construed as having an interest in any of that seriousness himself. lips find her jawline as she speaks, traveling up toward the shell of his ear where his teeth tug slightly. lips are pressed back to where her jawbone meets her neck, claiming the softest parts of her skin – the places so gentle that they seem incongruent with frankie herself, and he takes a certain responsibility in getting to know them. “ i would never count you out, frankie ” he says with a switch to her first name, a measured breath as he looks up to meet her eyes, pulling back slightly. “ never. probably … as long as we’re alive, ” this is said playfully, but in this moment it feels true. how could he know her and ever forget her ? “ and i’m gonna figure this out, just – give me tonight, ” he requests, because if he’s being fully truthful, his head’s more of a mess about this than he expected. “ okay, that was one time, ” miles actually laughs at her remark about three minutes, “ granted, these past few days have made me feel about as crazy as i was then, ” he admits, although it’s been a much shorter stretch of time, and he thinks he can actually prove her wrong. “ unless this is like a time-dilation thing, in which case, the planets are moving more slowly…and it’s actually been longer. might only be two minutes. but hey, it’ll feel like twelve. ” hopefully that’s unrealistic enough for her.

      “ what !? you total loser, why the fuck would you try to play it cool ? ”  the thought of miles trying to play it cool for her has her snort laughing, raucous and wild. frankie’s not the kind of girl to worry about wrinkles or having an ugly laugh ; who wouldn’t want their face to be permanently etched with evidence of their joy ? at this point she’d probably be comfortable being the most hideous goblin version of herself in front of him, and she’s not sure there’s much she could see that would turn her off him either, but it’s not like she’s spent three weeks in a tent with him or lived in a tiny apartment where all of his bad habits come to fruition. even that just feels exciting, though ; she wants to know the gross stuff that nobody else does, whether he smells old underwear and rewears it on wash days or goes commando, how much time he loses to scrolling on his phone, if he puts the seat down after he pees, if he blows his nose or picks and flicks, whether he’s as shitty a cook as she is. she wants him to meet her brothers so badly, can imagine him shooting the shit with nico, frankie squeezing her own cheeks at the cuteness of the two of them doubling-down on stupid trivia, but maybe this is what he meant when he said he didn’t want to get ahead of themselves. should she be picturing this with a shelf-life ?   “ you don’t ever have to play it cool with me, miles. you could say the most uncool shit imaginable… ”  and he had, introducing himself to her the first time as ‘smoking hot’ in place of his name, his cheeks warm enough she could fry an egg on them,   “—and i’d still think you’re the coolest person in any room you’re in. ”  two days and i’m an absolute wreck. what’s the point of anything if we aren’t spooning. jesus. now who’s being dramatic. still, it melts her insides, soft scoop in the scribbled shape of a stomach. she feels vulnerable in a way that being naked’s never felt, a tender shine in her eyes when her head dips to hide her face, and kiss her way across his shoulders into the crook of his neck, smelling the sweat of him gathered against his skin. fuck. she’s missed his smell the most, not only in the sense that it’s such a fucking aphrodisiac, but there’s comfort associated with that smell. it’s the smell of the arms that hold her at night, the smell she falls asleep to.  

      “ yeah, fuck me. our survey says ding ding ding ! ”  frankie breathes in the seconds his mouth leaves hers long enough to let her speak, teeth pulling at his lip to draw him back every time he dips away.  “ i’ve been trying to get you to, jeez louise. ”  as much as she deflects, acts like this thing between the two of them is predominantly sexual, all fun no filler, a relationship primarily between bodies and not minds, if miles woke up tomorrow and decided he didn’t want the sex part any more, she’d still want to be with him, would find other ways to derive pleasure, like in the creases around his eyes or the corners of his mouth when he smiles, or the wrinkle between his eyebrows when he’s about to get serious, or the sound of his breath when he’s flustered. while together the two of them are a runaway train with no wheels, loud, brash, constantly rallying jokes, all over each other like a bad rash, speaking with him can also feel like a doctor’s prescription to a drug that makes everything quiet, the notion of being understood so completely that for a moment there’s just stillness. when he’s biting her, it makes anything he says hard to hear over the drum of her own heartbeat, hand flying back to grip the rail behind her as her body bends up against his mouth, against his teeth. as long as they’re alive ?   “  holy smokes. ”  frankie fires, unsure whether it's in response to his words or what his mouth’s doing against her neck. he’s being intense, but the instinct to bolt that usually comes in situations like this feels notably absent, and while she can feel the alphabetti spaghetti that spell out ‘scared’ inside her, there’s also ‘hopeful’ knocking about in her gut, too.  “ so, when we’re fifty and i’ve got emphysema, and like, five divorces under my belt, and you’ve got fifteen cars and have fathered upwards forty kids, i can still give you a call, catch a flight, and take you bowling ? ”  her finger’s dragging over his cupid’s bow, committing the lines of his mouth to memory, dark eyes locked on his before she gives in to instinct, tilts his chin up in her palm to catch his lips with hers. she’s still waiting for a kiss with him that doesn’t short circuit her entire nervous system and make her feel like her body’s hit the hard reboot.  

      “ i don’t wanna do ultimatums, ”  frankie adds, half-desperate as she draws away. it hadn’t worked last time, had just left them both feeling confused and rushed — despite the fact that the idea of it being just them excites her, she doesn’t want to trap him like a spider under a glass, wants him free as he was the day he came to her. he isn’t someone she’d ever want to pin down, butterfly nailed inside a display case, she’s just grateful he’s giving her now.  “ i don’t wanna back you into a corner and say shit like, figure this out or it’s done, that’s not productive, and that’s not me… like, obviously i want you to choose me, miles — oh, gross. i sound like such a fuckin’ ‘pick me’ girl, ”  she lifts her fingers to her mouth, mimes a gag.  “ but i don’t want you to feel rushed into picking me or regret that you didn’t try anything, so just… take whatever time you need. ”  she swallows, an uncomfortable itch along her skin. miles had granted her that freedom, it’s only fair she does the same.  “ don’t fuck her, ” she blurts, before she can stop herself.  “ is that too much to ask ?  sorry, if that’s like… selfish or whatever. but i think i should say it, otherwise i’ll get angry if you do it, and that’s not fair, because you can’t read minds. ”  she inhales a breath, lets it whistle through her mouth, and meets his gaze again.  “ i don’t want you to fuck anyone else. ”  not anyone he’s interested in romantically, at least. maybe if it was just sex it’d be different.  “ or like… if you are gonna fuck someone else, then fuckin’… involve me, i guess. ”  at that, her cheeks lift up in a smirk, mouth meeting the corner of his jaw as her hand slides down his stomach and back into his boxers.  “ i’ll take two minutes of you over fifteen minutes of anyone else. ”  for now, at least, that’s as close as she’ll get to admitting how she really feels. 

#going into this thread i was like. i am going 2 make this so short. #jokes on me. #⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & miles. #frankie & miles 016.

[absolutesort]

MILES.

– FRANKIE SAYS SHE’S NOT SURE WHERE THE LINE IS, and miles can’t help but agree, nodding. it’s been a weird day for the two of them, navigating this ‘boundary’ he’s set, or tried to. or maybe it’s not even a boundary, but a more clear way of defining what they are or what they aren’t just yet. regardless, the gravitational pull miles feels back toward her orbit is undisputable, and it’s not been twenty-four hours before his resolve has dissipated and he’s back in some corner with her again. wanting to tear her clothes off, yes, but also wanting things to go back to the way they were a few days ago, when they were chasing each other around the villa, roughhousing without a second thought, crawling in bed together so close that he couldn’t place where he ended and frankie began. he doesn’t regret the other night, but as much as he’s loving this boat and all the sea air, he’s already anticipating sharing a bed with her again tonight – without any awkward distance. “ you’re doing the opposite, honestly. i mean, i did miss you a bit today, yeah, which is probably a good thing … ” he flashes her a sly smile, “ but just because i was upset yesterday doesn’t mean i don’t like being near you. i know it’s been weird, i’m just trying to sort my head out. ” his thumb brushes over frankie’s cheek affectionately before his hand falls back to the back of her thigh, so he can lift her up closer to him. “ and i do wanna know that you want me. just, last night in the living room was too soon, y’know ? ” he offers, gaze peering up at her. though his actions are slightly contradictory, lips finding her neck – can’t help but want to be all over her in her crazy formula 1 racetrack outfit, short skirt driving him crazy all fucking night. granted, that’s only the half of it. he just likes talking to her, too, finds everything she says and how she says it fascinating and weird and funny – even more so than when she first caught his attention on the telly back home. he’d been so enamored then, but looking back, his previous impression feels so watered down to the reality of who frankie actually is, warmly wrapped around him smelling like sunscreen and tequila. “ how are you feeling ? ” he adds, lips finding the space above her collarbone. “ the same as last night, or … ? ”

    “ a bit ? ”  frankie repeats, appalled. “ you missed me a fucking ‘ bit. ’  miles, i miss you like someone’s chopped off one of my legs and told me ‘you’re fine, your leg is literally right there, just keep walking’ but every time i try to walk i just fall over because somebody’s got my fucking leg, you know ? ”  how could he possibly know. that’s such a fucked up way of phrasing it. though it feels somehow appropriate, considering they’re on a ship, and like, pirates have wooden legs or whatever. frankie’s cheek burns crimson where he touches it, fluttery little moth beating extra fast inside her rib cage. her knees are hooking up around his waist the second her feet leave the ground, thighs split either side of his hips and scooping him closer to where she wants him, though she wants him everywhere, inside of her, outside of her, wants everything she sees, feels, touches, tastes and smells to be him.  “ oh, so now you wanna talk ? ”  she groans, inching her hand out of his boxers to grip at the safer terrain of his hip instead, her laugh a breathy whine that catches in her throat as her hips shift gingerly against his.  “ miles, it’s fine. you don’t have to explain it, i get it. you needed space. i wasn’t giving you it. totally deserved to be gut punched right in the feelings. ”  and the ego, considering she’d thought she had him wrapped around her finger tight enough to change his mind. still, it’s far from a sucker punch when his mouth’s on her neck, singing her praises with a moan as her arm coils tighter around his shoulders, drawing him closer, hand reaching up to roll her thumb over the hollow of his throat and squeeze. just a few touches and her body’s humming like an engine, shoulders shrugging out of her jacket with a frustrated yelp of  ‘ off, off, off ’ so she can slide her arms up beneath his shirt, feel the muscles shift in the planes of his back as he adjusts her weight in his arm, lips on the divot of her clavicle. she feels it burn right down to the muscle.

      “ hm. no, i actually feel like maybe this isn’t working, you know… ? ” frankie says between kisses, resisting the urge to dip her hand back into the warmth of his pants and feel him against her palm.  “ like we should pull the plug...”  she meets his eyes, skittish as her gaze darts between both of his. her resolve doesn’t last long, smirk splitting across her lips only a handful of seconds later.  “ obviously i feel the same as i did that night. probably mean it more now because you’ve been rationing out your time to me like we’re living through a famine or some crap. sorry, should have trigger warning’ed that. know it’s like, a touchy subject or whatever with your people… ”  she does a quick sign of the cross, like the catholic girl in her home ec class who was always trying to convert her, said she could guide her back to the light or something. frankie’d told her that all of rock heroes were presumably in the burny burny hole, anyway, so she’d rather not bother with heaven — but thanks for asking. “ i’m not… i know sometimes i say things without really thinking them through but… it’s never like that with you. i wasn’t just telling you what i thought you wanted to hear. i don’t want anyone else. any place you are is where i wanna be. and i don’t expect you to feel the same because…” she swallows thickly, diverting her gaze, fingers fidgeting with the collar of his shirt, the waistband of his trousers, a tactile reassurance that right now, he’s here. “ i know you’re exploring your options. ”  it stings like a nettle just to say it.  “ and you’re fully within your right to do that, but… don’t count me out just yet. when your house falls apart, you don’t just move house, you fix it, and i do wanna fix this. i’m here to fix your pipes, miles. ”  shes says, referencing the age-old porno trope. when they’re like this, bodies flush as sheets of paper in the hot bottom drawer of a copier machine, she feels like it’s already fixed. when they’re together, and in the moment, everything shifts into place like it’s always been there — like they just make sense — it’s the overthinking that broke it in the first place.  “ fuck sake, now i’m getting upset. ”  at least she’s able to laugh about it, though it’s slightly strangled.  “ god. can you please just fuck me so i can just go brain dead for three minutes and stop thinking about it ? ”  she groans, hands sliding up to cup his face between them when she plants a tender kiss against his mouth. three minutes is savage and she knows it ; there’s a part of her that wants to rile him into proving her wrong.  “ or like, say something so outrageously nerdy that the idea of anybody else having the hots for you feels completely unrealistic. ”  except in frankie’s case, where his intricate knowledge of hobbit culture only serves to make him more appealing.

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & miles. #frankie & miles 016. #:doom: :clown: at how long this is. #again. dont match.

[absolutesort]

✧ NEVER HAVE I EVER | S03E01 (2022)

#frankie talking to cheryl #⥂ frankie castro. ╱ musings. #SDGHSDKGDJKGHSJDGHSDHGSH #eden thread. probably a naomi thread at some point. probably a jenny thread too. #maybe an adela thread.

[absolutesort]

MILES.

– SOMEHOW, NO MATTER WHAT WORDS HE USES TO DEFINE IT, miles position with frankie will always be confusing. they teeter on the edges between labels, flirt between the lines, and miles is starting to think that maybe it’s better not to think so much about it. because as always, no matter how confusing it is to define when they’re apart, when they’re together, it just seems to make sense. “ my god, hello to you, too, ” miles laughs breathlessly, his hands have already fallen to her waist, ready to trail lower so that he could lift her up by her thighs, pulling her into him. but she draws back just before it can get really fun. “ you’re such a fucking tease, ” miles tells her, shaking his head. he holds her gaze for a beat, tension thick enough in the air that you could cut it with a knife. frankie’s so in her element tonight, gliding around the boat like she owns the fucking thing – this is clearly her scene, and he hasn’t been able to stop himself from noticing. it’s not so easy to resist when they’re this close. maybe he doesn’t totally hate being objectified. “ of course i want you to get carried away – what am i, a fuckin’ eunuch ? ” he asks, tightening his grip on her hips as he pulls her closer to admit, “ i want you so much, frankie. ” he hesitates for a moment, his eyes drifting between hers and her lips, like jesus, what’s a guy supposed to do about having her this close ? “ but you’re right. we should probably ‘talk’, ” he says with the verbal equivalent of air quotes, though there’s zero intention behind his words. even dante couldn’t be convinced to take that pathetic of an attempt at face value. “ in a second, ” he adds, reaching down to tilt her chin back up with two fingers, and leaning in to kiss her. 

     sometimes miles talks like he’s from a black-and-white old-timey movie, so goofy and old-fashioned that she wouldn’t be surprised if the words ‘balderdash’ or ‘poppycock’ passed his lips. maybe that’s the way everyone in ireland talks. but then just as quickly, he can get all laddy and coarse, and a beat later he’s tender as the soft spot on a turning fruit. it feels like there are a million different miles’ like he’s mr benn and she’s just getting a brief glimpse into all the lives he leads. she wants him in every life, the one where he’s a footballer, the one where he’s arm-wrestling her to pick the jukebox song at the pub, the one where she pretends to suck at snooker just to thrash him for a free pint, the one where the two of them book ‘cheapest flight, going: anywhere’ and take off with a barely hatched plan and a couple hundred in cash between them, but mostly she wants the version of him that’s dark-eyed and flushed when she presses him against the wall, the version of miles’ that’s ( at least in this moment ) hers.  “ sorry. hey, ” she responds, eyes rolling at the formality. her body buzzes when he tells her he wants her, hands that yank her closer, breath catching like a thread in a door jamb. she swallows, feeling the dull pulse of want in every part of her that touches him — hands, chest, stomach, hips — fuck. his hips.  “ yeah ? ”  she purrs, suddenly leonine, back arching to press his hips back further against the wall. on a regular day, she’d be scrubbing it.  “ how much ?  you packing contraband on a high-security vessel ?  because you know that would give me no choice but to frisk you and find out…” eyes are wide as the hand on his waistband sinks down, desperation building in her now they’re in such close quarters. her nose rubs up against his, an eskimo kiss in the absence of a real one, nod frantic when he promises her they’ll talk in a second.  “ ‘in a second’, yeah, wizard ! ” she doesn’t believe it for a moment, her body already folding in to meet his when he kisses her. for a moment, everything feels still, like being underwater, the constant chatter in her brain is silenced and all she can focus on is miles. it’s enough to hitch her breath in a way that leaves her gasping, teeth knocking his, laughter on her lips as she pulls away.  “ i’ve wanted to do that all day, ”  she admits, flushed, and nervous, mouth moving to kiss along his jaw, his neck.  “ and all of yesterday. i wasn’t sure, y’know ?  i don’t know where the line is anymore. ”  or where eden stands on that line. no. don’t think about eden. she’s not the one with her hand down miles’ pants.  “ obviously i wanna be all over you like a skin rash, but i don’t wanna suffocate you or push you away. ”  because she’d sooner dive head-first off the boat than have miles reject her again, but it pays to be bold, confidence wrangled in the form of a tequila slammer. 

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & miles. #frankie & miles 016.

[absolutesort]

day :   forty  /  evening.

location :  boat party

featuring :  miles  /  @heatwayve​

        despite the emotional highs and lows that have come the last few days, there’s something exciting about the time they spend together in this new ‘spacious’ version of their dynamic. frankie’s spent so much time sitting on her hands to resist the urge to grab him that her fingers feel numb, and when the night comes and she’s allowed to coil herself around him, it takes every bit of willpower to avoid mounting him the second the lights go off. being near him feels dangerous and somehow forbidden, like being back at casa only without the guilt of it all, but the boat party has her feeling less restrained, inhibitions and that impulse to contain herself lessened by the smell of sea breeze and sambuca. the four of them, ( her and miles, josh and jenny ) are heading to the bar, heat of his palm against hers when she feels a goblin instinct curdle in her stomach. in a split-second she’s tugging him away from the others, finger pressed to his lips to silence him in case he gives them away, running on the balls of her feet to avoid the cowboy boot clack as she pulls him down the deck behind her. she feels like they’re that scene in titanic, the two of them tearing through the galley and down into the engine room, or wherever it is they end up going on their way to that party below decks. 

        it isn’t until she’s got him shoved up against the side of the boat, one hand fisting in his shirt, the other tangled in his hair, her lips a breath away from meeting his that she realises diving head-first into something physical without really checking where his head’s at probably isn’t her smartest idea. maybe he doesn’t want her to kiss him — maybe his head’s with eden — and here she is shoving him against the wall of a boat like some hormone-riddled teenager.  “ god…”  she hesitates, laughing at her own desperation, forehead knocking into his. the swell in the air between them is palpable as she lowers herself from her tiptoes back down onto the balls of her feet, releasing her death grip on his hair to slide it down his neck to rest at the small of his back instead.  “ sorry, i just… i really wanna kiss you, but i know i’ll get so fuckin’ carried away if i do. ”  but she wants to get carried away with him. lips purse. it’s a tough battle. she waits for her heart rate to return to its resting pulse, but it still feels like a jackrabbit in her chest, a mess of nerves and adrenaline and need.  “ i’ve been trying so hard not disrespect your space. like i’m that guy from greek mythology and staying away from you’s the huge ass rock i gotta haul. ”  untangling herself from miles, she pushes back to lean against the railings ( it’s almost giving gabriella ) and considers the fact that maybe miles would be railing her by now if she hadn’t pulled away, although it feels unlikely.  “ we should probably ‘ talk’ ... ”  she says it in air quotes.  “ less crossed wires that way. ” still, when are they gonna get the opportunity to cross this off the bucket list again ?  “ unless... ”  grinning, she takes a step closer, hand reaching out to slide over the waistband of his trousers, “ you want me to get carried away. ”

#this got so long n yet barely anythin happens. #shorten it !!!!! #⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & miles 016.

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE & VICTORIA —  DAY THIRTY-SEVEN.

location :      ???? in the grass

description :   frankie gives victoria her creme brulee and victoria pretends to like it.

featuring :  victoria   /  @victoriafm

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨. “be honest, is it terrible?” frankie asks, head in her hands, peeking out at victoria through her fingers. she feels like she’s found herself in one of those youtube holes tagged as oddly satisfying, where you know you should close the tab but you can’t look away. you have to know if it's cake! “zeke from high school musical just gained sooo many respect points.” frankie still hasn’t cracked her crème brûlée. tapping the little caramelised lid with the spoon and feeling it shatter is her favourite part, all that anticipation, the build up. when it’s gone, all she’s got left is the (probably shitty) dessert underneath it. “the mug cakes were charlene’s idea. in case the crème brûlée is inedible,” she says, pointing to a steaming brownie in a mug that says ‘eat, sleep, crack on, repeat’ along the handle. “and the strawberries… well, those were already done by production. so you’ve kind of got a smörgåsbord of sweet treats.” hopefully jenny and charlene haven’t filled her up too much, but if they have, she’s sure none of this will go to waste with miles and angel scoffing everything they can get their hands on. “smörgåsbord. i love that word. it’s so fun to say. you try it.”  

victoria jennings

victoria takes a bite and lets out an mmmm. "it's actually so good. you made this?" she doesn't mean for it to sound mean even though it comes out incredulously, like she can't believe it. "oh and you're referencing high school musical? are you my dream girl?" anyone who has been around victoria for more than a few minutes knows that she loves that franchise. she's a total sharpay and not afraid to admit it. when frankie taps the creme brulee, victoria takes a bite. she's surprised because creme brulee seems really fucking hard to make especially in a time crunch. creme brulee is so fancy and it's just the kind of thing that victoria likes. not to sound like a snob, but victoria had expensive taste and frankie really delivered. "it's far from inedible but i'll take a smörgåsbord of desserts any day." she smiles. "smörgåsbord is a fun word to say, you're right." she takes another bite of the creme brulee before taking a strawberry and eating it, sensually as possible. "do you want one?" offering to feed a strawberry to frankie was bold but that's who victoria was.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

disbelief pools in the centre of her face, nose wrinkling like crushed wrapping paper. “fuck off! are you serious?” she means that the desert is good, not that she’s apparently her dream girl, ignoring that in favour of keeping her cool. frankie’s like a magpie when it comes to new things, eyes always drawn to the shiny new bell ringing from a baby's rattle, when she’s desperately trying to pivot her attention to the myriad of trinkets stocked up back in her nest. she takes her spoon then, raps it against the caramelised top of her creme brulee, a spark of satisfaction when it shatters beneath her tap. “god, i love that bit so much…” frankie groans, pulling up part of the sugary sheen, and dolloping it into her mouth. for a moment she’s silent, squinting as she tastes it, the way she might pretend to know shit about wine testing if she was ever given the opportunity to take a tour of a vineyard, though that seems unlikely. “it’s giving notes of total amateur, but they’re kind of being overpowered by the aftertaste of blind enthusiasm…?” and sheer dumb luck, professor mcgonagall might say, but she holds her tongue on that — doesn’t exactly want her name mentioned in the same breath as a terf. “uh…” frankie pauses, eyes flickering to the camera up in their faces like jim from the office, because wasn’t it always going to go this way? production had even told her, 'get chris’ attention before you feed her one'. fuck sake. she turns her gaze up to the balcony where miles is hanging around with josh and jude, before snapping it back to victoria. “sure.” it’s just a fucking strawberry. it’s not like she’s putting her tit in her mouth. she leans in, teeth snapping around the end of it and chewing off a good chunk of the fruit. “yum. you want one too?” frankie plucks one up, dips it into the melted chocolate, then leans in to smush it against victoria’s lips before she can even open them, her cackle so mischievous it borders on evil.

victoria jennings.

she laughs at frankie's disbelief, which frankly matches hers as well. she wasn't expecting something as fancy as creme brulee and she definitely wasn't expecting it to actually taste good. "i'm totally serious! cross my heart and hope to die and all that shit." she dramatically crosses her heart. when frankie takes the spoon, victoria can't help but watch her. just mesmerized by the other blonde. maybe she did have a type... "me too, it's so much fun." victoria had had creme brulee in many fancy places but something about it being made for her made it taste so much better. she was never sure of her love language, she never paid much attention to those kinds of things but maybe it was getting things made for her. was there a word for that besides being a brat? being a brat was her love language and they were all speaking it by spoiling her with food. "it's not giving amateur. give yourself a little more credit, babe." the babe slips so easily off her mouth she doesn't even have time to think if it's a good idea to call her that. she lets it roll off her back though, she's sure that it could be read as friendly even if that isn't her intention. she doesn't love the hesitation coming from frankie. she notices her eyes darting back to the terrace, when she looks up as well, she sees what frankie was looking at. miles. she didn't love that. but when frankie says sure, victoria forgets about that and gives her a sweet smile. "i'd love one." but before victoria can even open her mouth, the chocolate covered strawberry is all over her face. she gasps. "oh, you're mean!" she says with a laugh, grabbing a napkin before wiping her face off.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

one spoon of her dessert and frankie knows she's lying, or if not outright lying then at least embellishing. there's no way chef mario would let this out of his galley and into the bellies of guests — it's way too sugary. she could say working in luxury hospitality had given her a refined palette, but in truth she's just as likely to go for a cheeto and french fry sandwich, same way she's just as likely to go for a medium rare steak if its there and nobody’s eating it, despite being a vegetarian on the dotted line. “well, then you’re very fuckin’ sweet…” frankie responds, wholly unconvinced, but perhaps they just have a different taste for things. there’s a distinct energy to the conversation that she hadn’t expected, the same kind of forwardness she’d felt with eden, lingering glances that tickle her ego, and the bright drop of ‘babe’ in an otherwise regular statement. it feels like someone’s wrapped clingfilm around her internal organ and sucked them into shrink wrap. flirting’s so fucking fun, it’s one of her favourite hobbies, but now it feels like there’s a price attached, and that price is feeling miles start to slip through her fingers. so all she can do is have fun, make the bombshells feel welcome, and try not to lead anyone down a garden path of uncertainty.

“lean mean baking machine. that's what they call me down at the underground baking ring,” frankie quips, chatting shit, when victoria pulls her on her sadistic little act with the strawberry. “we meet up after dark and beat the shit out of eggs. its like, dude, what did those eggs ever do to you?” laughing, she plucks another strawberry from the dessert plate between them, dips it into the chocolate and sucks it from the end. “oh, you’ve got a little…” frankie gestures to her mouth. “no, it’s more like… wait, let me do it.” she sucks her thumb into her mouth, leans across the table and gathers up the dribble of chocolate from the corner of victoria’s cheek, bringing it back to lick it off her thumb. “you’re all good.”

#frankie & victoria. #frankie & victoria 001. #⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads.

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE, JENNY & CHARLENE — DAY THIRTY-SEVEN.

location :    kitchen.

description :  the three girls make food for their dates with victoria.

featuring :  jenny /  @blondcs   &  charlene /  @guttcd

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“i think i’m gonna do like… a crème brûlée type deal, zeke from high school musical style. she looks a bit like sharpay if i squint.” frankie notes, thinking aloud, propped up on the kitchen counters with a spoon full of melted chocolate pressed against her tongue. it wouldn’t be love island without the obligatory melted chocolate and strawberries combo to go with her dessert, pre-prepped and ready to go by some intern who drew the short straw. make sure you feed her a strawberry, and tell the camera assistant when you’re gonna do it.  “kinda wanna do it just so they give me a blow torch, y’know?”  

𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧

she’s halfway through pushing a slicer down an apple—the kind with handles on either side and a round spot for the core—struggling a bit when frankie stops her short. “crème brûlée?” there’s no way. “isn’t that like, super hard to make?”

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬

right now charlene feels like she’s surrounded by a bunch of sharpays. three blondes one brunette. pretty hot. “zeke and sharpay should have been end game! have you ever made a creme brûlée before, frankie?.”  she calls out from the chopping section, sights focused on making sure she doesn’t cut a finger off. though if she really wanted to stand out… “what are you making, jenny?”

𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧

she finally gets the contraption down and the apple slices fan out like a flower. perfecto. “i’m doing a salad. nice, classic first course.” because if frankie’s considering crème brûlée, there’s no way she’s not gonna have something to say about that. “i was gonna do like, a caprese thing but there’s no way the store in town has good mozzarella, so… what are you making and will there be enough to share ‘cause you look mad legit over there.”

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“what, you don’t think i could do it?” bitch. honestly, she can kinda see why adela hates her — frankie’s relationship with jenny hasn’t exactly been sunshine, daisies, butter mellow either — but her lack of faith only makes frankie more determined. “i’ve spent literal hours of my life in a galley watching our head chef do it. it’s just ice cream, sugar and egg yolk.” she neglects to mention that she’s a kinaesthetic learner, not a visual one. “like… how hard can it be?” her eyes flicker over to charlene, hoping for some kind of confirmation that she isn’t massively unqualified for the job.

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬

“salad! niiiiiice. keeping it classy. i’m making some jambalaya. im like, totally missing some spiced thoughts i don’t know how well it will turn out. i’ll totally save some for you though.” she offers jenny a little wink, like they’re sharing a secret. charlene almost certain that crème brûlée is a lot harder than what frankie is saying, but the blonde sounds so confident that charlene can’t help but give her a supportive thumbs up. “you got this! worst case scenario you could do one of those cute microwavable brownie mugs if the producers won’t give you a torch.” or if her attempt to make a five hour dessert in 45ish mins fails

𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧

“uh… not really?” she looks to charlene for backup. “that’s like, pastry chef, gourmet shit. just make sundaes or something or you’re gonna be stuck in this kitchen all friggin’ day.” even jambalaya seems complex for a love island meal but that could just be because jenny’s not entirely sure what jambalaya is. “do you know this is the second time they’re making me do this shit? as if i don’t hate cooking. they’re definitely punishing me.”

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

at the mention of charlene's dish, frankie can't hold herself back from singing out "jambalaya! jambalayo..." to the tune of bamboleo by the gipsy kings, springing to life like someone's put twenty pence in and wound her up like a clockwork doll on mandy. "there's actually a country song about jambalaya... by hank someone. i don't remember, my dad would know it." not that anything she's saying is even important. even if charlene's encouragement only runs skin-deep, frankie shoots her two finger guns in response. despite the knowledge that miles wants to chat to charlene, a notion which doesn't exactly spark joy, she can't really bring herself to dislike her when she'd always assumed the two of them would be friends. but if she kisses him, she'll change her tune. "they'll give me a torch. chris loves me." frankie knows most of the production crew by name, often finds herself wandering about in places she shouldn't, asking the floor runners about their day. there's only so many times she can talk to the other islanders about how many siblings she has (four) and where she sees herself in five years time (just straight up vibing) without getting bored. "i'm gonna be stuck in this house all friggin' day anyway. and they probably won't let us leave the kitchen until like... they've got a fuck tonne of usable footage. might as well hone a skill." unlike jenny, who's decided that leaves is the way to go about it. "is salad your way of telling her to graft someone else?"

𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧

frankie with a torch sounds like a disaster waiting to happen, but jenny just presses her lips together in a tight line, rooting around the silverware drawer for a knife. there’s no rhyme or reason to the way she slices the plastic wrapping off the block of cheese she’s planning to cube up, but she doesn’t cut herself so everyone upstairs can shut up, thanks. and everyone downstairs too. “why, is creme brûlée your way of saying you’re interested?”

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐞 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐫𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐬

she has no idea what the hell frankie is singing so the only thing she can do to chime in is ask “do you like country music?” she’s from alabama or something right? “it’s so funny that we have to ask permission to use stuff like that. i get this is a rented space and we have to be careful but it’s like, borderline ridiculous.” unless frankie proves them right and burns the whole place down. there’s a beat of silence when jenny and frankie do their little back and forth of whether they are interested or not, meanwhile charlene has her attention on chopping up some sausages.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“yeah, dude. dolly parton’s one of my favourite musicians of all time.” as a kid, on the long stretches of time when her mom would disappear, only returning to ‘borrow’ money, frankie would pretend that the reason she left was because she was secretly dolly parton, but no one at school or her dad was allowed to find out, or it would mean she had to stop visiting. sometimes, she thought her mom was speaking to her through dolly’s lyrics, the sound of it thrumming from a mug as she sunbathed on the hot tin roof of a trailer park. “i’m not interested,” frankie fires back, leaping down from the kitchen counter to check the temperature on the oven.  just competitive. “but you never know what powerful wish-granting abilities bombshells have. they could’ve told her whoever makes the best course gets hideaway or some crap.” and honestly, charlene and jenny are the two people in here she’d most want to beat to the prize.

𝐣𝐞𝐧𝐧𝐲 𝐜𝐨𝐡𝐞𝐧

“have you had to get advil yet? they act like it’s fucking adderall, and after this whole song and dance of ‘what hurts?’ and ‘rate your pain out of ten’ they only give you one.” what’s one advil gonna do for a pounding headache and… inflammation? by that logic, she can’t imagine them handing over the torch at all without some serious release forms. it’ll be a good test to see if the crew likes frankie as much as she says they do. “you think that… if you make the best food, they’re gonna give you the hideaway with miles? that makes literally no sense. have you seen the show?” plus, a salad could very well win best course, thank you very much. no accounting for taste…

#realised i posted the jude/josh/miles scene of them watching but never the one of them making... #frankie & charlene. #frankie & jenny. #⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & charlene 002.

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE & MILES— NIGHT THIRTY-EIGHT.

location :     living room, middle of the night.

description :   frankie can’t sleep so she has a ciggy on the porch with jenny and jenny says go after what you want, girlie, so she crawls into miles bed n he shuns her. posting it here bcos i love pain. 

featuring :  miles  /   @heatwayve

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

frankie isn’t sure what time it is when her and jenny call their late night chat on the front porch to a close — late enough that the house is silent, but not early enough that the sun’s yet rising over the hillside. she should be asleep, but it feels like she’s existing in a liminal space, a borrowed pocket of time, and even if she tried to sleep, she can’t go back to an empty bed when her body’s too buzzy with the possibility of him. so instead she’s creeping down the hallway and silently opening the living room door, wide eyed like a fox on a night vision camera as she scans across the sleeping bodies for him. it’s like she’s playing red light, green light and there’s a horrifying moment when a floorboard beneath her creaks, frankie freezing with a wince, about to be sent back to the start by a sadistic second-grader, but the snores continue, and she makes her way to miles, not letting go of her breath until she slides onto the sofa behind him, arms coiling around his chest, face pressed flush to his back.

miles o'sullivan

it takes a while for miles to register frankie's there. he's been passed out for a few hours now, and there's that weird, disorienting feeling of trying to figure out where he is and why. for a second, it feels totally normal, and they could easily be back in the bedroom in the bed they've shared for the past week. but as miles comes to, he's reminded that he's become too comfortable with that particular memory, stomach twisting as the awareness that he's on the couch reminds him of the conversation from earlier and everything that it meant. "frankie?" his brow furrows, a soft sigh on his lips. on every other occasion, he's been happy to wake up beside her, and there's definitely a part of him that's tempted to tell her to stay. but it's not that simple, and it's hard not to feel like his request for space, the one boundary he set, is being disrespected, like it just wasn't worth being taken seriously. miles' voice is soft, sad, but stern as he whispers, "we can't do this. you gotta go back to bed."

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

there’s an air of mischief around her with the knowledge that she shouldn’t be doing this. the rules were clear—you stay in bed, i’ll sleep on the couch—but with lights off comes an invigorated sense of rebellion. her hands are sliding up his chest as he says her name, half-asleep, mouth already carving a path up his neck, and the way he says it pangs at something in her like a harp string. she’s always loved her name the most when it comes from miles’ mouth. she’s already guiding his mouth to find hers when he says we can’t do this, and there’s a sinking in her, her insides a tablecloth ripped clean from the table, the needy little ache she has for him pulsing in her as her foot slides over his shin. “i knoooooow.” she whispers, a whined edge to her voice. “you want space. i’ll go back, i promise. just five minutes.” it fucking sucks that she’s come here in the middle of the night itching for a stolen moment of time, hoping to surprise him, hoping to kiss him stupid, and he doesn’t even want it. it’s a far sight from the noooo, don’t respect my space, you’re so sexy aha she’d been banking on. “can’t you just… pretend i’m someone else. like a history teacher you wanted to bone or something.” it’s mostly a joke. sighing, she presses a kiss to the corner of his mouth, knowing that to steal more from him would only result in more rejection. “okay, fine. i’m going.”

miles o'sullivan

miles is a little disoriented still, not alert enough to deal with this well or fully process what's going on. all he knows is that it still hurts when she pulls away, the ghost of her kiss still burning on the corner of his mouth. he doesn't want her to go, and miles isn't sure if she's the one torturing him or if he's torturing himself, trying to stick to the 'rule' he made tonight. he's not usually the stubborn type, or the one to follow rules, but the memory of how much it hurt to hear about her conversation tonight coupled with the way she said she chose him like it was a band-aid plastered over a wound is enough to hold his resolve. he likes her too much to let her stay. "i don't wanna pretend you're someone else," miles sighs, sad, and his hands reach for her hips only to maneuver her over him, lifting her lightly back toward the edge of the couch. he touches her face gently, his thumb brushing over her cheek, "night frankie," he says, lips pressed together as he watches her go.

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #not rlly worth posting but i love pain n then death so x #frankie & miles. #frankie & miles 015.

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE & EVIE — DAY THIRTY-NINE.

location :   bean bags.

description :   frankie and evie are sweaty, and frankie sweats abt her relationship.

featuring :   evie   /  @inquixotic

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“man, i’m sweating like a pig,” frankie sighs, fiddling with the corks hanging from her australian bushwacker sun hat. feels more i'm a celebrity, get me out of here than love island, but she loves a novelty item of clothing, especially when it's one she's robbed from dylan. why does mallorca feel hotter than naples right now? she’s used to long summers quad-biking down the dirt track with the burning heat of a florida sun on her back, air con in the trailer always broken, waking up to find her sheets damp with sweat, but the kind of heat in the villa hits different. it’s like being on edge only heightens it, makes her feel like peeling her skin off, walking around the place looking like something out of they live — i came here to chew bubblegum and fuck athletes, and i'm all outta bubblegum! “i kinda wanna pick your brain, actually. like how solid would you say you and charlene are? not that i think anything will happen just… i don’t know, miles saying he wants to take a step back has me buggin’ out. obviously him and charlene were talking about getting to know each other before we closed things off, and now the door’s wide open again it’s like… anybody could break into my house.”

evelyn mendoza.

“i know, babes, it’s like we’re on a fuckin’ barbeque.” even in bikinis, wearing next to nothing, the heat permeates in a way she’s only known in the islands. it’s weird to think europe gets like this, too, especially when she feels like all she hears is that it pours constantly. she’s fanning herself with her hand, hair pulled off her neck and twisted up with the other. “i’m going to shave my head,” she announces, shaking out her curls finally as she lets go, trying to ignore the feeling of sweat dripping down her neck. the producers would have to come dab them down at this rate. “we’re good, yeah. open, but focused in,” she answers, slowly, turning over her phrasing in her head. normally, that would’ve been paired with a sunny smile, but the rest of what frankie says gives her pause. “they were gettin’ to know each other?” she hadn’t been aware of that, nor had either of them mentioned it — was it not serious? there’s the little spike of uncertainty in her chest, even though she’s well aware that agreement could’ve been had before she came in, but they had kissed during the challenge, right? was that the reason? “we agreed to give each other a heads up, but we’re not like, exclusive or anything. it’s only been a few days, so nothin’ is locked down.” there’s a note of apology to that, smiling a little sympathetically at frankie’s situation, of which she heard a little. “so wait — what happened after you and callie talked? you guys are takin’ a step back?” what didn’t she hear of that frankallie convo that would’ve caused that, she wonders.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“listen,” frankie starts, reaching out to place her hand against evie’s knee. despite the lack of sincerity on evie’s part (or at least frankie hopes she isn’t serious), she’ll still commit to the bit. “you're a hot bitch and i truly believe you can rock anything but… if i'm honest, i think you would look like a baby chick. or like, that animated penguin on tiktok.” already, she’s cracking up, hand moving up to her eyes to wipe away a tear. “and as your friend i don't think i could allow you to do that to yourself.” it’s such a funny image—evie’s bald head on an animated penguin’s body—that frankie starts coughing mid-laugh, tears springing from her eyes. “jeez. calm down. it’s not that funny,” she tells herself, still snorting. “no, but i would look gross if i shaved my head, too, which is why i can laugh about it.” she just hopes miles doesn’t go for the sinead o’connor look. shrugging, frankie sinks back into her bean bag, playing with the cords on her bikini bottoms. somehow, she feels like she’s put her foot in it, that maybe she’s indirectly created a shitty situation for charlene. “i mean, i don’t know if they were or not. miles just said that he wanted to get to know her, and i kind of… i reacted super childishly to it, actually. just started hitting shit.”  her lips purse, jovial mood soured somewhat.  “the idea of him kissing anyone else just makes me feel physically sick, and since i’ve already had to sit through them kissing in a challenge,” which at the time had felt like no biggie, because miles had seemed focused on her, “it’s not too hard to imagine it happening again. and now i’m sat here imagining it and i just wanna—” she throws her hands out, as if expelling some kind of toxin. “bleugh, y’know? i just want that crap gone from my head.”

frankie sighs a little when evie presses her about the situation, unsure how to explain herself without coming across as a total dick. “i kept telling him things with callie were done, which they were! and like, i genuinely thought i was totally over it. because he’s so great, and we have so much fun together, and he made that speech at the recoupling and it was just… it was all going so well. it felt like it was going too well. and then callie picked my movie, and we went for a talk and it just ended up with us both like… admitting that there’d been feelings and stuff, which i kind of already knew, because the way she behaved after casa wasn’t like… four-day fling kinda reaction, y’know? she was yelling and crying and stuff. but basically i ended up saying look, we keep having the same conversation and it’s not going anywhere, and it's not fair on miles or angel to keep putting them through it, so what do you want to do with this, because we either we put this thing to bed now, or we try it again, like those are the two options.” does it sound like a big ‘oof’ when she says it aloud, or has she just built it up in her head as something way more awful than it actually is? “but yeah, i think we both knew that the only real answer to that was to focus on miles and angel. but i needed to put that ultimatum on the table for her to recognise that it’s not going to go back to being us, and that she doesn’t actually want that. angel meets her needs, and i didn’t — and miles makes me happier, even callie can see that. so it was good, because it feels like she doesn’t hate me any more. but now her relationship is like, crops nourished, harvest bountiful and mine’s obviously not, so… yeah, i don’t know. every time i see him, i wanna just grab his face and smush it, but i’m trying to give him space. it sucks.”

evelyn mendoza.

"i'd look like a penguin?" she hadn't been serious, but now she's seriously alarmed — she's wanted to try a pixie cut before, and no one told her she didn't have the face for it. what if she just did it and ended up looking like happy feet? "oh, god. okay, undercut it is. that's way gayer anyways." or at least it feels it. shaved head could just be a bad bitch. frankie's laughter sends evie into a fit of giggles, melting the alarm away just as quickly as it came on before she gasps, grabbing frankie's thigh. "oh, my god! eden and i were chattin', you should try brown. like, hair. wig. whatever. we decided you'd look killer, like totally 80s rock star. don't shave it, though, i think you'd get, like, major dad friend vibes." she's like halfway there anyways, with the way she jokes. "he said that," she repeats, brow furrowed. obviously, he doesn't need her permission, but it feels a little weird that he wouldn't have mentioned it to her at least. she thought they were on their way to becoming friends. she nods along, in full agreement with frankie's graphic sentiment. "i guess if charlene says anything, we'll know, right? she said she'd tell me if there were other people she's wantin' to kiss." she leans her head back to look up at the sky, making a face. "i feel like she and i have a good enough vibe that you don't need to be worried but...i dunno." she's not so confident in her situation that a goofy guy doesn't make her antsy. still, she brushes it off a little and rolls her head to grin at frankie. "if he steals my girl, though, i'm gonna steal you to make him proper mad, full disclosure."

she listens quietly, having heard some of the discussion firsthand, although the ultimatum surprises her a little. "honestly, comin' in, i thought you two weren't done," she admits, giving a small shrug of her shoulders, honest. "but if you two are happier now...yeah, that was the right move. but miles wasn't happy 'bout it?" her head's tilted, confused. isn't that what he wanted, to focus on frankie? "i think you shouldn't judge your own relationship by hers," she says slowly, trying to figure out the proper wording to say their approach isn't realistic. "they're both rushin' things and if it works for them, that's great, but look at josh and naomi. took 'em a full month to figure their bullshit out, right?" maybe part of it is wishful thinking, wanting less competition, but she also thinks that miles is a simp at heart, too. "i've heard how he talks about you, right, like it's not...you guys'll be fine, i think." in her expert, two relationship having opinion.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“a very fuckin’ cute penguin!” frankie assures her, finger and thumb pinching evie’s cheek between them. “the kind that you’d like, accidentally sign up to sponsor for a year when you’re doom-scrolling and you’ve had a few beers and get kinda liberal with your cashflow…” the tip of her finger boops against evie’s nose, before she shifts back into her bean bag, sunglasses pulled down over her eyes to shield them from the sun. “man, 80s rocker chick? that sounds dope. maybe when i get out of here i’ll dye it. just for the lols, you know? miles is into blondes, but… i dunno, i think i could get him to like me any kinda way.” or maybe that’s just wistful thinking, steadfast faith placed on a rocky connection in the hope that it might prove true. jeez. if she doesn’t finish this thing with miles’ hand in hers, then what’s the fucking point? sure, it’s been a fun holiday, but she doesn’t just want a holiday any more — she’s grown greedy enough to want to take a piece of the holiday back with her. clutching her chest in one hand, and evie’s fingers in the other, frankie fixes her with a smile that’s only half-ironic. “dude, are you serious right now? i’m like, so flattered. i would love to be stolen by you. girl, if the two of them go for it, there’s no way i’m not stealing you right back.” the words might operate at a pretty surface level, but still there’s a warmth to the way the two of them interact. evie’s only been in the villa a few days, but already she’s become one of frankie’s closest friends, and lately it feels like she needs all the friends she can get. “honestly, in my head, it was done. like two days into knowing miles, i was ready to kinda bite the bullet and jump ship. i think… i don’t know, it’s easy to get anxious in here that you’re not making the right choices.” making choices isn’t really a conscious process that happens with frankie. first thought, best thought is her usual modus operandi. but recently, taking the bull by the horns and leading head-first into impulse hasn’t exactly been serving her well, and more often than not it’s come back around to bite her on the ass. “i’m not a person who regrets shit, really, so i don’t wanna leave here with any regrets. and obviously i’d never regret miles, he’s already one of the best people i’ve eve met in my life, but i think… maybe to be able to fully be all-in on him i needed to properly shut down the callie thing. to make it certain that that was like… sealed off, rigged with the explosives, due for demolition type deal. and yeah, i went the wrong way about it, presenting it like there was an option for us to get back together, like that was fuckin’ stupid, dude, but like. at least there’s no confusion now.” before, it had felt closed off, but in the way of a scabbed wound one pick away from reopening. now, it feels like the faint line of a scar, like the little one that bisects her abdomen from when they’d taken her appendix away. she’d asked the doctor if she could keep it in a jar, give it little googly eyes and name it bruce, but sadly keeping body parts is pretty unhygienic. “a month! god, i don’t have a month, evie. like, what if i go tomorrow and we never get to fix this? i think i’d actually fuckin’... i’d have to catch a flight to dublin and just camp out at the airport until he gets back, like some tragic fuckin’ superfan with a parasocial crush. literally the script called and they want the plot of their hit single the man who can’t be moved back.”

#frankie & evie. #frankie & evie 003. #⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads.

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE & JOSH— DAY THIRTY-NINE.

location : gym.

time :  josh rips frankie a new one (diet version)

featuring :  josh  /  @graftisms

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“i feel like such a cunt, josh,” frankie states, fists punching on the out breath, bag swinging back at her with every smack of her right hook. it’s pretty clear she’s going through it today, kinda wishes she could punch herself in the face with the power that she’s hitting the heavy bag. “like i want so badly to be a good person for him but i just keep fucking it up!” fists start whacking against the heavy bag in power-punches, sweat beading on her brow, before the timer on her phone goes off, signalling a thirty-second rest. heaving out a sigh, frankie reaches for her water bottle. “how did you get naomi back? like, after casa. i guess it was different for you. you didn’t like, have feelings for mali or whatever.” groaning, she crosses to the bench press where josh is and picks up her towel, wiping herself down as she drops back into the grass. “this is so stupid. like when i came back from casa and saw she had someone new i was genuinely so happy for her, i was like, get it, girl, looks like we both moved on!” she’s fed up of talking about callie all the time. they’ve got closure, and callie doesn’t resent her any more, which is great, but somehow the ghost of her is still messing things up with miles. although frankie can’t really blame callie for them taking a step back, when it’s a direct result of something she said. well, well, well, if it isn’t the consequences of her own actions. “why is all this shit just cropping up now when me and miles were like, really good. he says he’s ready to be all-in with me and i pull this crap? what the fuck is wrong with me, dude.” she should probably be having this chat with cheryl, but apparently she’s occupied with jenny. 

𝙟𝙤𝙨𝙝 𝙫𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙨.

they've been working out for fifteen minutes together, and in that time frankie's managed to pretty much sum up everything that had happened between her and miles last night—unprompted, josh might add. sometimes it's hard being the friend of two people who are together, because he's so used to talking to miles about frankie that the opposite feels a little wrong, even if it's not like he's new to hearing frankie talk about him, either. "yeah, that's what miles wants. a good person," josh snorts from the place he's lifting weights. in all honesty, it could be something he wants. the way frankie said it just sounds so ridiculous, as if anything in this villa has to do with being a good person. "well, i'm no therapist, but maybe you should start thinking about how the shit you say or do affects the relationship you're not directly talking to right now," he offers, with only mild attitude. it's hard to fault frankie when being in the hot seat in a relationship is something that's just so josh—and it's not like he hadn't just told miles to keep his options open. "look, i hate to break it to you, but there's nothing really you can do. you made your bed, now you gotta suck it up and let him pretend that he wants to get to know other people. you and i both know it's gonna last, like, two days tops." who could be possibly be interested in, dante? be serious.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

still lying in the grass, swigging from her sports bottle, frankie’s slightly taken aback by josh’s tone, her expression flashing briefly between puzzled and irritated before returning to its resting face. “wow. okay,” she exhales, lips pursed, sucking on the sour taste of her own medicine. “yeah, okay i deserve that.” despite quoting the sonic kid meme on the reg, it’s still tough for frankie accept that her actions have consequences. “i just struggle with object permanence, y'know. it’s like i can only focus on what’s immediately in front of me.” not that she views miles as an object, except for in the situations when it’s obvious he wants to be objectified by her. god, he’s so fit. “but i am trying to be better, josh. to put him at the forefront of everything else i do and not be so 'in the moment' that i like… neglect my responsibilities as a partner.” if she convinces josh she’s serious about this, maybe some of that wingman energy he was sporting to pitch miles as a viable partner to frankie in casa will rub off on him again, and he’ll slip in a few kind words about how truly sorry she is, and how down bad this ‘step back’ has got her. maybe the situation with callie was the ‘big oof’ she needed to help her see how her decisions affect others, how it can’t just be an all-you-can-eat buffet of romantic possibility if she wants to find a meaningful connection. on the outside, it can work like that, but in here things work differently, and she still feels like everybody else has studied a rule book she’s never even read the blurb of. if only she’d watched a season of the show before the one she’s now in…

“fine. two days. but if he fucks someone else i’m walking.” a threat she’d probably go back on if it actually came to it, and miles decided she was still it for him. “what was going on with you and adela in those clips? i mean, that’s not a thing, right?” because frankie’s pretty sure adela spent most of casa trying to pull her. or chirpse, or whatever the word adela says in her cute british accent is.

𝙟𝙤𝙨𝙝 𝙫𝙖𝙧𝙜𝙖𝙨.

"object permanence," he repeats with an immediate laugh, stopping what he's doing to look at her like she has three heads. "there's no way that shit is real. if naomi—" he starts, before remembering him and naomi aren't speaking right now, and it's not something he wants to talk about. "if i said that to any of the girls i was dating," he restarts, "i would immediately get slapped. that sounds, like, a half-assed excuse to cheat." maybe josh should file that one in the back of his head for later, just in case. not with naomi, but if things with naomi go as south as they felt last night in bed alone, and he has to go back to the kind of dating he'd been doing. "object permanence," he mutters to himself with a snort, going back to his reps. she can say she's doing better at much as she'd like—and josh does believe that she wants to make it work—but it's hard to take that very seriously after everything else she's said today. "you're not walking," he rolls his eyes. "and he's not fucking anyone else. you know i like you both together, but if i had to guess who was going to fuck someone else right now, i'd bet on you. spend the next few days proving me wrong, yeah?" the mention of adela is such a complete 180 from the conversation that he has to glance back over at frankie on the grass, giving her a look to show just how absurd her question is. "do you think adela and i are actually a thing?" honestly.

#still pissed i didn't get time to do this reply #all that's in my notes is 'oh. wow. fuck me i guess' #frankie & josh. #⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & josh 009.

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE & MILES — NIGHT THIRTY-EIGHT.

location :   terrace.

time :   frankie tells miles about the chat with callie and they have a dmc (deep meaningful conversation)

featuring :  miles /  @heatwayve  

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

she’s had her mulan moment, wiped the smeared makeup from her face, made herself presentable enough that it doesn’t look like she’s just been crying over an ex she claims to be over. is love the same as grieving? can the process be non-linear? if this was a swollen ankle, a career regression, an addiction she’d tried to kick, she’d tell herself take it easier on yourself, this shit doesn’t heal over night, everybody falls off the wagon but it’s not the situation with callie itself but the process of what she’s done to miles in trying to get over her that’s fucking with her head. “hey. sorry, i know marcus is like… going and stuff. but can we talk?” she’d asked, when she caught him on the stairs, hand instinctively burying itself in his shirt before she’d shifted it back to her side, feeling like that’s a privilege that’s no longer hers to claim. five minutes later, they’re on the terrace, frankie beside him, hands fighting the urge to touch him as she busies herself peeling and resticking the label of her beer bottle. she probably shouldn’t have chosen the terrace as the place to tell him about yet another terrace chat with callie, but honestly, she wasn’t thinking that far ahead — she just wanted somewhere secluded enough to blow him into forgiving her, if it came to it. “before i say anything, i need you to know that i really like you. and i know this will make it seem like i don’t but… i need you to trust me on that.”

miles o'sullivan

on the surface, it's been a fairly chill night. frankie had been up front enough with him about the content on her tape that while it hadn't been fun to watch, he'd already been able to brace himself for it. the conversation among the recent bombshells had been strange to digest, everyone saying that callie had started this conflict by picking frankie's video – which he could see how it might bother angel, but he didn't understand why frankie and callie had to have this whole discussion about it. what more is there to say than, "jeez, that really pissed me off"? he's a bit worried that the whole thing's really upset her, by the way she seemed when he finally found her on the stairs. but he figures frankie will catch him up, and whatever it is, they can talk it through. "what?" that was not how he expected this conversation to start, "marcus is going? what for?" didn't romi just say she loved him or something? "did you talk to him?" that explains why frankie had seemed so upset when he ran into her he's reeling so hard from that news that he almost misses her tone, the words she says next holding an awkward sort of right, self-fulfilling prophecy that they may not stick. he eyes her skeptically immediately, "alright," he promises, a nervous laugh escaping his lips, "okay, great start, frankie." why does this feel vaguely reminiscent of the night his parents sat him and his siblings down at the kitchen table to tell them that they were getting a divorce? "just know that we both really love you. this doesn't change that." he scoffs, "why wouldn't it seem like it?"

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“yeah, well, i bumped into jenny in the hall,” or rather she came out of the dressing room and found her with her ear pressed to the door, “and she said that romi was leaving? because she overheard jude and romi talking about it in the kitchen? it’s like this whole game of telephone. wait, what do you guys call it? japanese whispers or something?” there’s something off-kilter and frantic about her energy ; talkative as ever, but in a way that feels skittish and apprehensive rather than excitable, a loony tunes villain who’s run halfway off a cliff and only just looked down. “but then i ran into marcus on my way to find you and he said he’s leaving, too. like, they’re leaving together. it’s a total hunger games move.”  that’s love. that’s the kind of crap she means when she says to callie i want someone to fight for me, like bail-on-your-jet2-package-deal-holiday type love. although honestly, if given the option to bail on an all-inclusive holiday, frankie isn’t sure she’d do the same. she likes the sun too much, she likes the lack of a schedule, the total absence of real life responsibility. it’s what she came for — this was just meant to be a fun breather between yachting seasons, and if she met someone she met someone — so why does this whole experience suddenly feel intense and explosive as navigating a live minefield?

her eyes meet his, and something inside of her pulls like a torn hamstring, an ache ebbing through her chest. in a moment of instinct, she surges forward, hands catching his face as she plants a kiss against his forehead and one on each cheek, hugging his face close to her chest in case it’s the last time he allows her this closeness. she’s aware her energy’s kind of crazy right now, but can’t bring herself to care about that when this might be the last time miles looks at her with warmth in his eyes. briefly, she considers the possibility of not telling him, of shielding him from knowing it. but how would that look if the two of them managed to make it out of this thing? you can’t start a relationship on dishonesty. shifting to sit back down, legs tucked beneath her on the bench, she takes his hand, tears pricking in her eyes. “i fucked up,” she starts, with a nervous chuckle, watery as she blinks away a tear. “there was like, this argument between callie and angel because she picked my tape. it was so stupid but i got roped into it, too. and then callie said she didn’t want to talk about it in front of everyone, so she asked me to go to the dressing room, and i did, and i didn’t think it was, like, a big deal? like i wasn’t even mad about it, i was just confused. but then we ended up having this capital c chat.” she pauses, rolling her thumb over his knuckles, wishing his hands were wrapped around her wrists, her hips, her neck, that he was making her forget the entire thing instead of talking over some stupid conversation with her ex. “i want to be upfront with you, because we’re always honest with each other, like brutally so.” like that time when she’d told him his facial hair kinda resembled a girl she used to sleep with’s patchy pubes — in a cute way! needless to say, he’d shaved soon after. “but i don’t know how to say it without hurting you.” 

miles o'sullivan

she's talking too fast. which is saying a lot, because frankie's usually got this amy sherman-palladino pace to her cadence, talks a lot and it's full of all these funny quips, reference, good bits you might miss if you're not listening close enough, but she's talking even faster now, words jumbled up in a way that doesn't really make a lot of sense. "well, the double suicide thing only works if you're the last one standing," miles points out patiently, a crooked half-smile working its way onto his lips, "otherwise, they'll probably just let you eat the berries." or in this case, go home, he figures. it's a lot to process, but miles would probably be more intrigued if frankie didn't sound so crazed, like her words are a thin blanket used to cover up another anxiety, nervous energy radiating off of her making it impossible to really ruminate on any other drama than whatever she's freaking out about here in front of him. "but that's not what you're upset about it, is it?" he asks, eyes slightly narrowed when hers look over to meet his, and it's like . . . all the color's been sucked out of her face. never on his life has miles wanted frankie to look at him like this, and it makes him feel a little sick, stomach twisting. his hands fall to her waist as she surges forward, the knee jerk reaction, like if she comes close quickly, she might pull away in the same way. 

"frankie," the way he says her name is quiet, but a little stern, noticing the way she's trying not to cry. he thought she and callie went to talk about the challenge, not snuck off for a quickie. but she's acting like it's the latter, or maybe something even worse than that, a more permanent shift. "i know. well, i mean, i know the gist – angel told me most of that," funny how this is becoming a habit, angel delivering the information before frankie's bothered to pull him. but the way frankie's setting it up seems to imply that something's changed, considering there have already been these 'capital c chats' and all. she kind of leaves it hanging on this note where she says that the result will hurt him, and it hits on the doubts in the back of his mind, ones that miles has been able to blissfully push back this entire time. there have been a lot of comments, slight digs and little indicators that miles has ignored, like when you're mowing the grass and you tear right on over those little red pesticide markers. one of 'em is gonna fuck up the lawn mower eventually, right? miles pulls his hands out of hers, retreating back into himself protectively. he hesitates, "no, it's okay. you don't . . . i won't make you say it," there's a pained way that he sighs, a tense exhale as he leans back with a measure of frustration on his features. "but fuck, frankie, i wish you'd given me some indication it was going this way, instead of acting like you'd chosen me." his frustration is building, and he knows he should stop and leave before it gets worse.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

when he pulls his hands away, there’s a beat when frankie wonders if she’s already lost him, whether this is the third and final callie-shaped straw that breaks the camel's back. “no, you’re not making me do anything.” it’s not exactly a picnic for her having to relive this shit, the discomfort of realising part of her still wanted callie, the total embarrassment of asking how she’d felt, the relief that it’s over, the guilt of having to tell miles, but it’s better to have the full picture out there so that his choice is informed rather than built on a bedrock of speculation. “but i want to give you the full picture so you can like… know what actually happened rather than stewing and theorising, because that will just drive you crazy.” she can already see the way the cogs in his brain are whirring, like he’s emotionally withdrawing as well as physically pulling back. “it wasn’t… i mean i think i’m just overwhelmed by everything that’s happened in the last half hour. it wasn’t super bad.” she has to resist the urge to make a reference to mclovin. not the time, frankie. “it’s not like we fucked, or kissed, or… or anything. i didn’t know it was gonna be that kind of talk, or i would have pulled you beforehand. i thought she just wanted to speak about the shit with the tape, but it escalated, and we were talking about how we miss each other, and it felt like the same conversation we always have when nothing really gets resolved, so i was like...” she pauses, takes a swig of her drink, and sets it down on the coffee table. “look, we have two options here, either you stay with angel and i stay with miles and we cut this i miss you bullshit out of our brains and just fully commit to them, the way they deserve, or we decide to try it again.” she feels herself pucker inwards, sits back against the bench and hugs her knees for her chest, needing some kind of comfort — she doesn’t expect miles to give it to her, so she’ll have to be her own source of affection. 

“the stupid thing is i don’t know why i even said it because, i don’t want to try again. like it’s done for me. it’s been done since the first time we kissed, but i feel like… i don’t know, until that point we hadn’t explicitly talked about our feelings, like we had these fights but nothing felt resolved, it still felt raw. like i was trying to give you one hundred, but there was ten percent of my energy that was still going towards callie, no matter what way i tried to swing it. but it does feel over now. like if nothing else i just want to reassure you that it’s done.” she’s silent for a moment, attempting to catch her breath having thoroughly steam rolled this conversation like a runaway train without breaks, the way she often does when she feels defensive or cornered and needs to get the words out before they die in her mouth and she forgets how to speak entirely. not that miles would ever corner her. he’s been nothing but understanding about this situation since the moment they got back, which is why it feels so exhausting to be back talking about callie again. “i know you’re saying that… that it doesn’t feel like i’m choosing you, but i am. at the recoupling, with the eden thing, when victoria came in, but even in the small ways like… i don’t know, putting a bit of cold water in your coffee before i give it to you so that it’s just the right temperature to drink or leaving your crocs by the shower so you don’t have to step out onto the gross tiles. i wake up and i choose you every day, miles.” fizzing with static energy, she reaches for his arm, fingers trailing over the crease on the inside of his elbow, along the paths of his prominent veins all the way down to his wrist, and back up again. “for like… five minutes, i had a moment of weakness. but that’s all it was, a moment. and every other moment in the last… however long it’s been since we got together, it’s been you.”

miles o'sullivan

miles has been broken up with before, and he's almost absolutely sure this is about to be a break-up. by the way frankie's already trying not to cry before the conversation to starts from the way she tries to brace him, warning him that she likes him but he won't like this, apologizing before she's even begun. so, he doesn't want her to say it, doesn't want frankie to get into the proverbial 'it's not you, it's me' of it all between them. if it's going to end, miles wants it to be quick, like ripping off a band-aid so he can get out of here and nurse his wounds in private. so that he can mourn what this is between them somewhere else, grape-tossing competitions by the pool, late night chats about adventures, both in films and in real life. all the little things he's started to picture when it comes to them, a reality where he's met her brothers and she comes to his games and everyone on the team's wicked jealous and wondering what the hell this fine-ass american girl is doing with miles and how it's possible that she's outdrinking them all right now. that sort of thing. if he has to miss it, he wants to do it privately, he's not like callie and frankie and their regular chats where they hurt each other and rehash their past, doesn't want it to hurt longer than it has to. "wait," he pauses to stop her as she starts to get into it, "why are you explaining this? you're not breaking it off?" he asks, brow furrowing. "you just made it sound . . ." his mind's on a vertiginous spiral, doesn't know how to ground himself without touching her but he's determined to keep his distance. too many of their serious chats have devolved starting with a single touch. 

i would've pulled you beforehand, is the most important validation, the understanding that he'd wanted that starting with their last conversation about this. but he'd also assumed that this was over. "you offered to try it again with her?" he clarifies, a bit confused. "what did she say to that?" miles asks. he's still reeling from trying to process that as she launches into a list of the ways that she's chosen him over everyone else, which he agrees does matter. but he feels like there's an important distinction missing, that if any of these recent chats had gone differently, that if angel wasn't in the picture, then this might be a different conversation. she has chosen him over everyone else, except for callie. "i get it," he sighs, running his fingers through his hair with a dejected expression. just something to do with his hands, really. he's already shed the jacket he put on for movie night, but now the dress shirt feels entirely too hot, too. everything feels heavier. "i know it's been hard for you since we came back, and i knew it was going to be. the very first night, i told you that i didn't expect it to be completely smooth-sailing for us immediately, and that . . . i wanted to be with you for every step of that. i still do. and honestly, i kind of already knew. that even if you chose me, it might be second, but that's not mattered to me – i mean, there are loads of people in the world who are happier with the people that they wind up with second," miles thinks the whole idea of needing to be someone's 'first choice' is kind of silly, because it doesn't allow for mistakes or for the ways that people change. life is twisty and strange, and sometimes your best path isn't the one you expect.

"and i've been happiest with you, really, i've never met anyone in the world who gets all my jokes or i could spend all day fucking and fucking around with and i'd never get bored," please, for the love of god resist doing a quick riff of smash mouth's all star – he is barely successful. but he does resist . . . "and i know you care for me, you do it in so many little ways, which – i know you do it for all your friends, too, because i see it all the time, the way you are, but i like that just as much. how much you pay attention to everything. and i've been so happy, like, constantly over the moon that it's really wound up being us in here."

he pauses to hesistate a little, because as true as all of this is, it doesn't clear his mind. "but it feels like we've had this conversation before. a few times. where you tell me it's over and you've chosen me, which – i'm always really gassed by, but then we're sitting here again. and now i'm wondering how i know this isn't going to happen again? it feels like one of these days the conversation might not end like this, with you choosing me, and i'm just . . . waiting," he says, swallowing the lump in his throat. he finds it hard to look at her as he admits this, eyes stinging. he often feels like he has to soak up every moment with frankie, which they've talked about before, spending their time in here like each day could be their last. but such a sentiment has kept miles on the precipice, every day wondering if it's the one where the other shoe drops. "i don't want you re-choosing me every day after weighing your options, because it's not really a choice if you're constantly re-evaluating it."

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“wait, what?” frankie blinks in response, buffering in a moment of record scratch clarity. “sorry, you thought i was gonna break up with you? i thought you were gonna break up with me!” feels like that meme, both of them in their spiderman suits pointing at each other, dumbstruck expressions on their faces beneath their nylon and polyester masks. “no! fuck, no!  i’m not…” willpower snapped like a christmas turkey wishbone, she throws her leg over to straddle his lap, one hand sliding up to grip at his neck, the other cradling his face. her forehead bumps into his, knocking against it in little beats, half-reminiscent of dobby the house elf in his self-flagellation quest, a sigh heaving from her chest. “sorry… i’m gonna get off you. i know this is a serious talk, i just want to be here right now.” the reality of their situation is that if she stays here, she’ll end up derailing the conversation with a grind of her hips, the press of her mouth, by sliding her hands all over him, and while miles fucking the idea of frankie being with anyone else out of her is fun, it’s probably a pretty short-term way of fixing this, like slapping a band aid over a broken wrist. she offers his shoulders a final squeeze before she dismounts, shuffling back to her side of the bench, hands folded in her lap like a victorian schoolchild expecting a smack with the cane if they so much as shift towards him. it feels like a punishment to not touch him, but right now maybe she’s deserving of a punishment for how selfish she’s been in her wanting, the kind of desire so boundless that it feels like a sarlacc pit, trapping the victims of her greedy heart and slowly digesting them over centuries. (i used wookiepedia for this one). 

“i mean… i kind of floated the idea of it. but there wasn’t really any weight to it.” for the longest time, it’s felt like fucking black mirror: san junipero, like she’s time-hopping through a digital landscape to a poppy eighties synth soundtrack in search of a person and a relationship that doesn’t exist, or at least not in the way she imagines them. on the outside, she’s not big into fantasy — prefers the concrete and the tangible, things that she can touch, taste and feel — but in here it’s easy to get lost in thoughts of what could have been when there’s nothing to do but have a chat for hours on end every day. “i guess i just needed to know where her head was at. like, if us getting back together was on her five-year-plan, and maybe that was the reason it felt like we were… trapped in this groundhog day of repeating the same arguments without ever really resolving them. because she wasn’t getting the answers she wanted. but no, it was actually good, because… it felt healthy to get it all out there. she was still resenting me for bringing you back, and i don’t want anyone in here resenting me.” not that frankie’s necessarily a people pleaser, because that’s always felt more like miles’ domain, but she wants people to like her. sure, at surface level she seems like the kind of girl who doesn’t give a fuck about her bad reputation, but at some point you have to grow up and realise that having a mindset where the only opinion that matters is your own isn't really all that healthy or how you go about making lasting bonds. “it’s pretty obvious we’re on the same page about all of that, now — it’s just the communication that wasn’t there before. so there was anger, and resentment, but now it feels like that’s settled. totally closed off, no room for confusion. same as every other time, i know, but now the vibe is healthy and there’s no more bitter feelings about it.”

her lips purse at the idea he’d be a second option. frankie fucking hates that idea, like they’re jesse eisenberg and andrew garfield in the social network, and they all sit around developing codes to rank each other on the face book. sure, in terms of the timeline he’s second, but that’s because he wasn’t even here until casa. she can’t help but wonder if he’d been here from her first day if she’d have gravitated to him more. the answer’s probably yes— at face value, he’s like if she was given a sharpie and told to draw a picture of her type, eight hour flight aside. “no, it’s the same for me. like, nobody gets me the way you get me, and nobody gets me off the way you get me off. and i don't want you to ever feel like you’re just an option to me, because you’re not. you’re my best friend in here. and i think for a while i kinda thought this was just like… a friends with benefits situation, and maybe i didn’t take this as seriously as i should have done, because i don’t want to lose the fun, you know?” because when frankie and miles are good it’s so fucking fun — stay up until three in the morning laughing until their ribs get sore and they send in a production assistant to tell them to go to fucking sleep kind of fun. “even though i came in here with my expectations on the floor, like i see the way romi and marcus are and i think, yeah… maybe i do want something like that.” it sucks so fucking hard that they’re leaving, but man if she isn’t eating that romantic ass shit up.  “i want to have a person who is always in my corner, wiping me down with the towel and giving me water while i get ready for round two, and i feel like you already are that to me. like if it came down to it, and i was in a scrap, you would be in my corner telling me to get my guard up. and i’d be that for you, too.”  it’s a boxing term he might not recognise, but she trusts miles is smart enough — or has watched her work out enough — to gather what she means.

“i’ve been trying to just live in the moment and not take things too seriously, and not even think about what happens on the outside, because the reality is, you have your career, and your friends, and you’re getting the apartment, and you live halfway across the world from me, and that shit scares the crap out of me.” she’d told seb that she wasn’t sure if she could deal with it — the fact that he’s so tied to his job, that he lives so far away, that logistically, it would make more sense for her to be with callie, but she doesn’t want to choose someone based on something as boring as logistics. it feels like the antithesis of who she is. she wants to say ‘fuck it, if it works, it works,’ throw caution to the wind and go all-in with miles, but whenever things feel too good there’s a sadistic part of her that wants to fuck it up. “but… i kind of don’t care? or at least from now i’m deciding not to care.” maybe that way, she’ll stop finding ways to sabotage this. “like ultimately, that shit doesn’t matter. well, obviously it matters, but what i mean is like, if it’s meant to work, we’ll make it work. and if it crashes and burns, then it crashes and burns. but i don’t wanna not be together because the distance thing is scary, or because i’m worried it’s getting too serious, or because i don’t even know what currency they use in ireland or any of that.” frankie pauses, wetting her lips with a swig of beer, and it feels like the first pause she’s taken in ages. sometimes, speaking with miles feels like a dance that they’ve invented, like they both know the steps but to everyone else it’s just a blur of frantic footwork. between the two of them, they talk enough that the words could fill a football stadium if you wrote them all down and laid them out, and she loves that about him — that he doesn’t just nod dumbly as she talks his ear off, but interrupts and bounces off her, and even says when is it my time to talk, frankie, and beats her at her own game.

“that’s if you still want to be with me,” she starts, sincerity and vulnerability and hope in her eyes when they meet his. “do you still want to be with me? it feels so fucking selfish of me to tell you all this shit and then ask you if you still want to be with me, but i am selfish. i’m not perfect, i fuck up, a lot, and you could probably do a lot better.” namely charlene, or evie, or even adela at this point. “i’d get it, y’know? if you needed to take a step back from this and re-evaluate where your head’s at. but i think we make each other super fuckin’ goofy idiot levels of happy. and i don’t think you’re gonna find a badder bitch who makes you laugh as much as i do.”

miles o'sullivan

“what? you’re the one who was all, ‘i have some bad news, just know that i like you but’…” he tries to mimic her american accent with its slightly southern twang, but it’s not nearly as cute as hers and he knows it, despite spending hours on ends memorizing the cadence of her voice, the way it rolls over vowel sounds in this rounded, adorable way. he’d probably cut her off more often to kiss her senseless if he wasn’t also so interested in everything that she has to say. “besides, how or…why would i break up with you if i didn’t even know what you were gonna say?” he laughs, shaking his head at her. it’s a bit of genuine laughter though, still alight on his features as she slides into his lap like she’s belonged there this entire time. there’s a soft sigh on his lips, a mixture of fondness and frustration, like he can’t really decide which he’s supposed to be right now and maybe he should just revel in the fact that he is both, because that’s what frankie is, an amalgamation of all these different contradictions and trying to tie her down or pin her to a specific definition would be like trying to carry water in your hands. “i want you here, too,” miles says. “though you make it hard to think about anything else when you’re this close,” he adds with a certain measure of admonishment in his voice, his hands sliding down her sides until they can rest on her hips, “which probably isn’t the best thing right now. we gotta figure this out,” he says, though his voice is lower, huskier, like weighed down by the weight of trying to resist her. but he manages, lifting her a bit at the same time that she’s getting off of him, a sort of tandem agreement to try and take this thing seriously – which shows a certain shift in who they are now, a shift from the completely easygoing tryst that they started with. ten days later, there are more feelings involved. 

“frankie,” he gives her a look of disbelief, her voice spoken like a lecture, eyebrows arched. it’s both a plea not to bullshit him and an order at the same time. “you asked her if she’d try it with you again but you didn’t mean it? if it was really over, i don’t really understand why you’d even want that information from her, like, what good would it do for you to know that if you didn’t want to act on it? and if she said yes, that’s what she wanted, kind of seems like a dick move to float the concept,” he levels with her, and it’s almost funny the way he does it, like he’s talking to one of his bros and not the girl he wants to pull back into his lap and put his hands all over. he’s not sure what else he’s supposed to say to that. maybe if he was a better friend, or she was actually just one of his bros, he’d be able to muster something about being thrilled for her, but he’s still all twisted up inside about it. like, did frankie and callie really just close the book or are they starting a new chapter with all this positive and healthy shit that frankie’s going on about? maybe a few days ago, this would have been easier to believe, but just like frankie’s been on a groundhog day loop with her conversations with callie, miles feels like he’s been on the same loop, trying to understand what she means, are they open or are they closed, is she over her ex or is she not? how did phil close the loop again? kidnapped the groundhog? (narrator: he was a good person and worthy of love, actually)

he grins at her response, though, can’t help himself despite all of his rational resolve. without fail, even in the toughest conversations, frankie castro is someone who can get miles grinning from ear to ear. “yeah, no. fuck. stop taking all of the words out of my head, it’s actually pissin’ me off right now,” he shakes his head. “but yeah, i think . . . honestly, the way it works in here has been a bit confusing for me, too, right? like, you’re supposed to be casual and ‘explore your options’ but you’ve also got to pick someone you’re going to bed with every night, so it’s kind of hard to be really exploring shit when you’re also being asked to rank someone at the top all the time, feels kind of unfair to anyone else you might try it with,” he suggests. “and i have liked that it’s been chill with us, and i’d have taken any version of you – of this, friends with benefits or talking stage or whatever we’d call it on the outside. i wouldn’t wanna lose the fun either, and especially right now, y’know, with the chats you’ve had tonight, i think taking it too seriously too soon probably wouldn’t be good for us,” he admits. “and i don’t wanna lose anything that we are, like just hanging out and talking until production tells us to shut up or practicing the sexyback routine by the pool. well, until you pushed me in,” he notes. they still haven’t finished the routine yet, anyway, so it’d be shit if they called it now. “and i would fucking love to hold the towel for you at one of your matches someday, and i still wanna ride around in your van and see all your different bottle tops, add some of my own. and i wanna meet all the people that’ve made you you and i wanna fly you out to dublin and show you around, get you tickets to all of my games. but i know it’s a lot easier than it seems, with the distance and the everything else that exists outside of here.”

and that’s just the outside of here, when they’ve still been struggling with things on the inside of here. miles doesn’t want to just overlook that.

“i don’t want you putting all of this on yourself, though. i dunno. i think i’ve been thinking that stuff so much and liking all of those thoughts and then . . . all the pressure they put on us in here, i worry that i’ve been kind of taking it out on you,” miles admits. “like, when we couldn’t figure out whether to be open or closed, and you got upset about it, i got so scared to lose you that i made that whole speech at the recoupling, and made it seem that you had to tell all the new bombshells that you’re completely closed off now, too, and i was asking you to do all that when you still hadn’t really closed the door with callie, and . . . honestly, that’s not me? i’m not the kind of person that likes to rush this shit, and i don’t like the idea that the pressure in here could make me pressure you,” he adds. “and even coming into this conversation, you were . . . like, so worried to tell me that you’d had this conversation you really needed to have with callie, even though it took you guys a while to get there.” he sighs, running his fingers through his hair. his light eyes lift up in the dim fairy-lighting of the terrace to meet hers, to try and seek out what she could be thinking right now. usually miles thinks he can read her, but right now he’s struggling. “i do wanna be with you frankie, obviously i do,” if she can’t tell from the way he responds every time she touches him, the way his body seems to buzz in her mere proximity, the way he’s cracking up at every single one of her jokes even when he’s trying not to. 

“and i think you’re right about all that stuff too,” he adds, a little nod of his head, “you are the baddest bitch i’ve ever been with, without a doubt. but . . . i don’t know, maybe we should take a step back? be less intense about this?” considering frankie’s just asked callie if she wanted to go all in and try it with her tonight, it feels like emotional whiplash that she’d turn around and ask miles the same thing not even an hour later. most of all, miles doesn’t want to answer now because he doesn’t want frankie to regret asking him. every single time they’ve broached the conversation of being ‘closed off’ for each other, miles has left it feeling more confused than before, and he thinks he’d feel the same if they did that again tonight while riding this emotional high. if they’re really going to be all in, he wants the third time to be the charm, for him and frankie to leave the conversation feeling absolutely sure. and there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach that frankie might not feel that way about him either if he told her yes. “and we use the euro, by the way. what’d you think we used? altairian dollars?”

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“yeah, i know. it was a total dick move, i don’t know why i said it.” frankie responds, chewing on her lip, a frenetic kind of energy fizzing about her from how much she wants to touch him, how much she wants to be touched. “i guess a sick part of me kinda wants her to still want me, at least a little bit, so that i feel… i don’t know. like, fuckin’ sexy and desirable and crap.” she’s flushing admitting that, because it feels so juvenile, wanting an ex to want you purely for the you could’ve had this and fumbled it factor.  “i don’t know why i wanted that. pettiness i guess. i’m not a petty person, usually, but… being in this environment encourages you to be petty.” there’s probably other factors subconsciously at play, like wanting the security of knowing that if things with miles don’t work out, there’s someone out there who’s capable of caring for her in a way she hasn’t felt cared for by any fling in years. but when she’s with miles, she isn’t usually thinking about how secure they are, or what happens if they don’t work out, she’s thinking about the light that sparks in his eyes when he realises she’s about to kiss him, or the way his hair looks after they’ve fucked, all tousled and yanked out of place by her hands, or the fact that she’d hop on that eight hour flight in an instant if it meant she could feel his hands on her waist. “but at the same time, knowing that you want me, and seeing the way you get so turned on and your voice gets all low and breathy when i literally do something as small as, let’s say, touch your neck or sit in your lap, that’s all the validation i need.” the words are good too, but that instinctively bodily pull she feels between them is something she hasn’t felt with maybe anyone else, or at least never as strong as it is with him. “not to be super edward cullen about it but that shit’s my own personal brand of heroin.” there’d been a flash of it in the brief moment she’d thrown herself into his lap, before correcting herself to the way they sit now, side by side, bodies angled towards each other, a pulsing in her finger like E.T.’s glowing one to reach out and touch his knee. even touching his knee would feel like a good step. 

for a moment, she thought she’d lost him, with his questions about why she’d even ask that if it was over the way she’s been saying. but then he grins, and it lights her up like a christmas tree, the sharp regiment of her defences melting like the wicked witch of the west under dorothy’s pail of water. she shuffles closer, pulls her leg up to press her shin against his thigh, her body so intimately aware of every part of them that touches, and despite the fact that they’re both fully clothed, that it’s just a leg touching another leg, it feels sexy enough to heat her up from the inside. “it’s pissing you off?” she asks, finger curling in her hair as she adopts the valley girl persona that occasionally possesses her like a victorian ancestor from beyond the grave. “how much? are you super mad? d’you wanna punish me? d’you wanna bend me over and smack me with a broom?” it probably isn’t the best time for this weird roleplay gimmick, and the moment frankie clocks that it’s like she’s buffering, the mental sound of a record scratch as her hands fall back down to her lap. “sorry, that’s… yeah. i don’t know why i said that.” she kind of wants it though. maybe every now and then she does have a toxic little fantasy about miles shoving her against the wall and angry fucking the living shit out of her. so what! 

“i would take any version of you too,” frankie says, a little crestfallen, though her smile picks up as she adds. “as in you too. not like… bono and the edge, U2.” she only knows them from the unsolicited album in everybody’s itunes way back when, but maybe they mean more to miles, being irish or whatever, the same way she loves limp bizkit and lynyrd skynyrd, although she’s pretty sure she’d love the latter wherever they were from.  “i don’t want to have to imagine a life where you’re not in it, you know? like i always wanna be able to call you up on the phone and chat shit for hours.” even if, or when, this fails, she wants him to be a person who’s number she always has on speed dial, for the times when no one else gets it and she just needs to hear his voice. she wants him to call her up when his coach is being a dick, or to talk her ear off about how their centre-forward’s a liability, or the price of a pint in his local going up by twenty cents. she doesn’t want a future in which miles and frankie, in whatever arrangement that might be, don’t exist. “but i really do like this version of us.”  her hand lifts to rest against the left side of his chest, and she catches his wrist to drag his hand up and lay it on top of her chest, bringing them back to that tarzan and jane moment the two of them shared the first time she’d told him she like liked him. she snorts hard enough to draw her out of it when he talks about their fucking stupid sexyback routine. “why does it always go back to justin timberlake with us? is he like, your celebrity free pass? because if he is, i want him as our third.” sure, he’s kinda twinky, which isn’t frankie’s usual type, but she’d snap him like a twig in a hot way. 

he’s really painting her a picture with this shit — the bottle caps and the season tickets and the boxing matches (“we call it a ‘bout’ by the way”) and the meeting his friends — and while he’s saying it doesn’t have to be serious talking about flying her out to dublin feels fucking serious. but she isn’t scared of that, just sees learning all the little bits about him on his home turf (“fuck the rain, i’ll get a parka”) as an extension of getting to know him. “god, what if hadley meets me and just like, fully hates me?” frankie asks, fingernail carving shapes in green velvet of her co-ord shorts. at this point, the idea of hadley hating her isn’t all that unlikely, given the way she’s tossed his heart from hand to hand like a steaming hot jacket potato. for a moment, she’s just quiet, listening to his piece without feeling the need to rally back everything he says (and i’m trying desperately to make this shorter).  “no, don’t blame yourself for that shit. the speech was so sweet, honestly.” especially the bit where he described having sex with her as insane and seemed to travel off into his own world for a second. “i know you’re not trying to pressure me. i don’t feel pressured by you at all, it’s… i think i just panic and end up spoiling things when it feels like, i dunno, like i don’t deserve them. but i’m not running anywhere this time, like… i’m staying right here.” she’d tack on ‘i promise’ except for the fact that she knows miles well enough to know he doesn’t want her making the kind of promises she isn’t totally sure she can keep, because who fucking knows what will happen down the road. all she can promise is to try.

hearing him say i do wanna be with you frankie, obviously i do, soothes her in a way she hadn’t known she needed to be soothed until this point. even if there is a but coming, she has that much at least. she takes his hand in both of hers, turns it over and trails her fingers along his palm, like she’s reading his life line, if she even knew how. ah, yes — this one means that a small goblin will one day live inside your house and feed you a cube of cheese at the stroke of twelve each night. when it comes, she’s half-prepared for it, had entered this conversation with the idea that he was about to pull the trigger on the whole thing so in contrast maybe we should take a step back seems less taxing on her heart. “okay, that’s… yeah, that’s fine,” frankie notes, voice pitching a little in the middle. “no, for sure. that’s probably good for us, you know? to kind of… pump the breaks. maybe not be so intense.” otherwise, the two of them will end up moving at everyone else’s pace, saying the l-word and becoming boyfriend-girlfriend when neither of them are really sure if they’re ready for that shit. “so when you say a step back, like… how far back are we stepping? is it like a…” she shifts her foot back an inch against the decking beneath them, “or more of a…” she adds, throwing her leg back in an exaggerated lunge, about halfway down the bench from where the two of them are.

“i don’t mind sleeping outside, tonight… or are we still sleeping in the same bed?” are we still fucking is what she really wants to ask, or is this step back a shift back to the talking phase. she’s not even sure if she can be around him and not want to fuck him. before, at least, she’d been able to tell herself that it would probably be shitty vanilla missionary sex when they finally fucked, even if she knew that was unlikely, memories of a conversation with mali when she told her it would obviously be good, since he’s a fucking athlete. now, she knows how good he can make her feel, how much of a fight for dominance and a game it feels every time, how — if production let them — she could probably spend entire days in bed with him (and in the shower, and on the floor, and against the wall…)  “jeez. don’t get fuckin’ nerdy on me with your hitchhikers guide to the galaxy knowledge when i’m out here fighting the urge to hitchhikers guide my mouth down to your dick. that’s just rude, miles.” because just like that stupid N*SYNC routine in casa, his stupid fucking references somehow never fail to make her want him more.

miles o'sullivan

miles' brow furrows, maybe just not finding it comforting that frankie doesn't know why she said it. the fact that she could make a flip remark like that, one that could really hurt him, and not mean it is almost worse than if she had. at least then, he would be able to understand it, but instead he's just confused by why she'd put both him and callie in that position if it was apparently so meaningless. it just sucks to hear. "do i not make you feel that way?" miles has to ask, a soft, sad edge to his voice that he wishes he could take back, not wanting to be reduced to sounding so pathetic while she's talking to him about her ex and how she wishes she was wanted by her. it just makes him feel like shit, there's no other way to say that, and he swallows thickly, trying to chase any other pathetic phrasing back down. miles can be pretty understanding, but he doesn't want to sit here and listen to frankie blame the environment. "alright, alright," there's a scoff on his lips, shaking his head "shut up already. god, you actually make me sound fuckin' pathetic, you know? like we get it, i'm horny," he draws out the word comically, wide eyes as he shakes his head. "but, frankie, i really did think we had it figured out a few days ago, like, i definitely wouldn't have said all that shit if i knew you were still wishing callie would want you," he admits, scratching the back of his head. even if frankie says it's not on him for jumping the gun, he doesn't think he would have said all that if he knew tonight would feel like this. 

there's a moment where it feels like normal again, where he's grinning at her and she's grinning back, and miles has to flex his fingers, finding a way to distract his hands from reaching out to scoop her into his arms, grab her ass and pull her back into his lap where she should be. there's definitely part of miles that wants the urge to win out, can think about how good and easy it would be to laugh against her lips and get lost again. he's keenly aware of the one place where their skin's touching, and maybe she's right about him being like, way too horny because it's all he can think about. miles shifts slightly, but then it's hard not to focus on the few inches difference, so that maybe it's not the fact that they're touching as it is that he's always going to be aware of his proximity to her. he wishes he had the strength not to laugh, too, but he does, shaking his head as that familiar jocular grin tugs at his lips. "fuckin' hell, frankie, i want us to take one thing seriously and you start...? i actually don't know what the hell that gimmick was supposed to be, slutty witch?" if the broom's anything to go off, "or housekeeper? fuck, never mind, can't do this right now. " he sounds more like he's talking to himself than her, but the sentiment remains, even as he's stealing another glance in her direction.

"oh, so you don't know about the euro, but you do know bono? maybe we'll let you in the country still, if you can name the other two members of the band," he jokes, a sarcastic note to his voice, feels like she's only mentioned u2 because he's irish, actually. "i mean, yeah, frankie, i'm not really in the business of imagining things that sound fucking miserable," he admits, which might sound more romantic if his voice didn't get that irritated edge (as in tone, not edge as in bono) to it. "and i want to think of the future version of us to be just as good as the now version of us, but i also don't wanna take that for granted or for you to feel like we've got to go all in on us now to prove something to me after you've just had a chat with your ex about the same thing," he explains. he doesn't stop her from touching him again now, allows her to reach out and touch his chest, dragging his hand to hers. it's quiet for a moment, where he can just feel her heart beat against his palm, revel in the version of the two of them as they are now – messy and weird and trying to barrel through a serious conversation without an innuendo. miles moves his hand up to catch the side of her neck, gently sliding so that he can cup her cheek, tracing her thumb against its curve with fond affection. "mmh, no way," he declines, his thumb presses into her lip briefly before he draws back with his admonishment. "first time with j-t gotta be just me and him. for the memz," he jokes. or half-jokes? /hj. "and he is so much more than a freebie. that man defined pop music, changed music production forever."

miles smile tempers slightly. "hallie," he corrects quietly, "and she might hate you for that, actually." but if she did hate frankie, that'd make things tough – granted, miles has been sure that hallie and frankie would hit it off from the start, that even when they watched bits of the the show together they could both agree that frankie was fucking hilarious and that he'd have to talk to her. it's funny to think about that now, when frankie seemed like a concept more than a person, and not someone he thinks about all the time throughout the day. "okay," he still isn't sure that he did the right thing, but it probably would have felt worse to have her agree with him. "why do you feel like...like you don't deserve this?" he asks. "i'll be honest, i've spent the past few weeks just feeling lucky that you were giving me a shot. so, the idea that you could think that sounds fuckin' outlandish, actually. i don't want you to run." he wonders if that's what she's trying to describe tonight as – an attempt to run. is he really the thing that stopped her from getting away? despite what she says, it doesn't feel like it, and that's why he's asking for this to change.

frankie asks him to define this new boundary, and it kind of feels like a trap's been laid out before him, like he might be setting up future pitfalls or words that are gonna bite him in the ass. he could regret this. "just take it more easy? i can chat to more people, you can do the same. y'know, how we've been saying we were going to have the door open, but . . . we haven't really been doing that. i don't know, after tonight it feels like we should be really doing that," he admits. "i wanna know that i'm still what you want. and you should get to have that feeling about me, too." there's part of miles that feels a little more motivated by it than he has before, knowing that she'd basically offered to dump him tonight, that there's a version of him that could've left this conversation even more blindsided and completely discarded. "just for a bit, like, i don't want us to be in constant limbo or anything, but maybe it's a bad idea for us to like, buckle down and try to be super serious the next few days after all the heavy shit we've been dealing with. i just wanna go back to having fun with you," miles admits. "don't sleep outside. fuck off, of course i think we should still share the bed," he smiles, though it's with pause, "but uh, i'll probably crash on the couch or something tonight. just to clear my head, if that's cool." he doesn't want them to be distant, but he also knows if they fuck right now, he's gonna want to take all of these words and the resolve that he's been fighting to have throughout this conversation is gonna go down the drain. and she doesn't make it any easier, a measured, restrained inhale at the mental picture she draws up for him. his eyes are darker when he looks at her, even though he's smiling, "yeah, well would you quit offering to suck my dick while i'm trying to, like, be mature and shit?" miles laughs, 'cause she's funny as fuck, "i swear, i'll say something even nerdier tomorrow to make up for it."

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

there’s a lump in her throat like when you swallow a chip and it goes down the wrong pipe, a brief moment where she feels like she’s choking, swallows it down with a burning gulp. “of course you make me feel that way, miles. obviously you do.” and his next question of course, is probably, so why isn’t that enough? and she doesn’t have an answer to that. she doesn’t know any of miles’ exes, so it’s different, but surely if he was in a club and saw them, he’d want them to still think he’s fit, to be jealous of the girl on his arm. “its not pathetic,” frankie counters, willing to fight him on this. “its super fuckin’ hot, actually. i’ve had guys hit on me my whole life, like i’m kinda desensitised to it by this point, but when we met there was just this… i don’t know.” spark sounds cringey, but it was that. “it was this instinct. like i could sense how much you wanted to jump me and it was so hot, y’know? horn recognises horn.” because aside from maybe jenny, frankie would wager she’s the horniest girl in here, or at least the most vocal about it. she hasn’t kissed someone yet and had to bat herself back with a stick from not fucking them, although all of that crap with the pillows in casa feels pretty pointless now.  “it still feels like that when we’re together. like i’ve been with grabby guys, but when it’s you it feels different because there’s just this aura about it, like you want me just as much for like, my personality and shit as you do for the way i look. that sounds cringe, but whatever.” she doesn’t want miles thinking that wanting her ex to be jealous has any sway on the way he makes her feel. in frankie’s head, as much as the two relationships have overlapped back and forth like cords on a scoubidou, they’re separate, they bring her different things, and now at least she feels like the interference of callie shit is over.

“yeah, i thought we had it sorted too.” honestly, she’d thought she was over callie the day they had that blow up after the recoupling. why the fuck would she want to be with someone who could make her feel that hollow? apparently, part of it lingered still, although it was crushed in the palm of her hand with that last talk. “but this isn't gonna undo any of that. its just a wobble, you know. fall down, get back up. wobbles are normal. we’ll be okay.” she’d say she’s manifesting it, but manifesting alone isn’t enough. it’ll take work, but she’ll do it. it doesn’t feel like work if it’s him. “stop, if i had to be the one picking, my speech would have been the same like… it’s so hard when they put you on the spot like that to not just blurt out have my gross american potty-mouthed kids or some shit.” she’d wager her speech would be worse. sometimes that shit feels so intense it’s like taking a vow or something. “um… one of them’s the edge. i honestly don’t know the other. i watched a movie about them in high school because i fancied the irish guy from misfits. did you ever watch that show? it was british. like, young offenders who develop superpowers.” feels like a miles show to watch, but maybe he was more of a doctor who kid, which she wouldn’t put past him with the star trek stuff. she wants to ask him if he ever wrote trekkie fanfiction, but it would spoil the moment they’re having, hands pressed to each other’s chests like something from a shitty hallmark movie. it’s reassuring that for miles, there is still a future version of them, that this is just a speed bump in what’s hopefully a long, albeit windy road, and sure, there’ll probably be other crap that comes up around the corner, a deer crossing the highway in a 60mph zone, or a fallen tree trunk across the backroad, but they’ll deal with it as it comes. 

“i don’t want you to think it was like… some grand gesture or big moment of revelation for me. it wasn’t. it was like, we keep coming back to this situation, these are the options available to us and we both know which it's gonna be.” maybe in miles’ head, the scene looks more like frankie, ripping her blazer open and saying callie, it’s you i want, i’m down on my knees begging to take you back, and i’ll dump him this second if you ask, but the reality was a far tamer affair. if anything, she’d been asking from a logical mindset. “im not going to give you up. even she can see you make me happier than she did, but i think part of her needed to have it laid out like that, too. so she could feel like she'd been given a choice and she'd made it rather than feeling like a victim to my choices.” sure, blame the ex, who’s clearly still pining (/s). but in frankie’s head, callie’s still obsessed with her, or at least she had been until this point, when they’d finally closed the door. “im not trying to justify putting what we have on the line like that, it was fuckin’ stupid. i know it was stupid but at least the callie shit is done now.” at least she can focus on miles completely without feeling haunted by a ‘what if’ because for frankie, there is no longer an alternate timeline where her and callie might have worked out. there’s no pretending to be crappy at surfing so callie will give her a lesson or drinking cocktails at tiki bars on the beach. the only timeline that matters is the one where miles is cradling her face in his hand and she’s leaning into his touch, wondering if it’s possible to pull him so close to her that their skin fuses and they have to be surgically cut apart.

“okay, fine. you can have justin. you can keep him in the utility closet or something and get him out when i’m not meeting your needs. and i can have zendaya, or the chick with the freckles from squid game.” even the slide of his thumb over her mouth, however brief, has her reeling, body buzzing like she can feel the pulse of every red blood cell inside of her begging to kiss him. 

“god. hallie. i can’t even get that right.” she hopes to god they don’t broadcast this, although honestly she can’t see why they would. it’s not like anybody watching would know anything about hallie, unless they make it to the promised ‘family day’, which sounds as terrifying as it does exciting. she still remembers the way miles had tensed up when she’d asked if his mom would like her, hasn’t even pressed him on it since, figuring his mom would probably prefer it if he was with someone less abrasive, more easy to swallow down with her coffee and benzos (or is that just frankie’s mom? not that she’s seen her in years). “i don’t know. i guess i’ve never really had someone who was super all about me, beyond like, initial attraction. i’ve only been like… two relationships that went beyond the talking phase, and you’re like… infinitely cooler than anyone i’ve dated before. and i guess that coupled with the fact that you just… came in, were super into me, and haven’t really wavered from that? it’s sexy, and scary, because i feel like you can do way better, and that i’m inevitably going to fuck it, if i haven’t already, so i’m just waiting for you to see that.” she’s playing with his fingers as she says it, tangling and untangling their hands together, chest tugging in with an ache when miles admits he feels lucky she’s given him a shot. instinct tells her to get out before the other person can fuck her up, but miles is a person she wants to run to not from. 

she’s still toying with his fingers when miles’ starts laying down the ground rules, hands slowly unlinking their fingers so she can slide his hands back into his lap. “so basically, you're saying you want to fuck around and find out if we like each other enough to make it work?” frankie already knows she isn't going to find someone in here or on the outside who clicks with her the way miles does, who has the same chemistry where even feeling his leg press against hers makes her want it, who gets her jokes and can be silly with her like he can. she doesn’t want to chat to other people or have the door open — wants to be the key under the plant pot outside his house, hoping that one day he might put her in the pocket of his jeans — but it would be hypocritical to deny miles of the opportunity to get to know other people when she’s had another option the whole time. she's not going to be happy about watching him get to know other people, can already feel a possessiveness bubble up inside of her and it hasn't even happened, but telling him that wouldn't be 'chill' or whatever, and that was what this relationship was meant to be in the first place; nothing too major, just hanging out. she’s the one who made it more than that by getting jealous of charlene. “no, that… i mean that makes sense. if we share a bed we’ll just end up fucking again.” as if that’s ever been a bad idea. there’s a shift in him, small but noticeable, when he looks at her, a flutter of something deep in her stomach at the sensation of being wanted. does he feel like that when she looks at him? does he even know the gravity his pull inflicts on her? 

“quit having such a suckable one then?” frankie fires back, half-wheezing with laughter despite the fact that it feels like the wrong time for it. he just makes it so easy to laugh, even when they’re fighting, even if it feels like this could be their lowest point. “literally sat here trying not to get down on my hands and knees like a dog. unless you’re into that. in which case—” she pushes off the bench, dropping down on her knees in front of him, still buckled by chuckles spilling up from her guts. her arms move to fold over his lap, chin resting against his knees as she gazes up at him, a flicker of something sad before her face settles into a smile. “i really like you, miles. i’m sorry for putting you in this situation.” she means the callie thing, not the blowjob thing, but that, too. “so just… yeah. take the time and space you need. talk to other people. i’ll pretend i’m not jealous and if you still want me after all that then we’ll just… take it from there. i wanna make this work.”

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #think i got all the italics but..... never know with us. #frankie & miles. #frankie & miles 014.

[absolutesort]

DANTE.

ALWAYS ONE OF THE FIRST TO RISE, dante’s been up for hours now, at least one cup of shitty coffee in him, breakfast already served. it’s closer to lunch time now, and he’s meandered into the kitchen to grab a snack before production is able to bring out their meals when he’s stopped by a familiar voice. he’s barely said two words to frankie since she’s returned, and now this is the second time they’re speaking in twenty-four hours. it’s hard to wipe the smile from his face—pleased at the new friend he’s made—so he doesn’t bother to try.   “ really ? ”   he abandons his original plan for a snack to come over towards her, popping a squat in one of the stools across from her.   “ i slept good, ”   he nods. his first night with new bedmate santiago, but despite the guy being giant, it wasn’t hard for him to keep to his side of the bed. dante had considered asking eden to share instead, but he figured something would’ve happened between them if they did—and so soon after romi  ( and the threesome that i’m pretty sure he participated in that night ) ,  it doesn’t seem like the best idea. eyebrows raise slightly in interest at frankie’s declaration of weird dreams, but it’s her rescinding the information that has him leaning forward in interest.    “ what ? ”

       “ no, nothing, ”  frankie back tracks, thriving from the mischief of it all. “ ’ay, don’t worry abouddit ! ”  she adds, adopting a new york drawl, but the way dante leans in like the two of them are sharing a secret has her fake-caving.  “ okay, fine. i’ll tell you, but you have to like, promise not to tell anyone okay ? ”  she doesn’t actually give a shit if he tells any of the girls, since they’re already clued up on this shit ( she can see evie and jenny watching from the terrace out of the corner of her eye ) and honestly, miles would get over it — it’s a sex dream, it’s not like she’s actually fucked him, and she hasn’t even had an actual sex dream about dante yet. she’s had one about josh, but she’d rather scrub that from her memory.  “ god, this is so hilarious, but like, you were in my dream last night, and i’m not talking like... the kinda dream where you go to the store and every book has your grandpa’s face on it and when you open it up to read it you hear his whooping cough cry out from the pages, and you pick up a pack of asprin and when you get to the checkout dolly parton is there and she rings up your total and tells you you can’t check out of life... i’m talking like, a sexy dream. ”  she pops a shoulder in a half-shrug, watching him with mischief and intrigue.  “ i think it was in a vineyard or some shit ? it involved a lot of rolling around crushing grapes with our bare asses. ”  she brings her coffee mug up to her mouth, hiding her smile against the brim of it.  “ i should probably be embarrassed, but i’m so not phased by that stuff. like, i’ve probably had sex a dream about nearly everyone in here ? ”  naomi’s was the hottest.  “ not to say yours wasn’t special, because it was. ”

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & dante.

[absolutesort]

day :   forty  /  afternoon.

location :  kitchen.

featuring :   dante  / @graftisms​

       frankie’s dare feels pretty achievable, all things considered. tell two boys you had a sex dream about them ? sure, easy peasy, she can do that shit in her sleep. but telling them about it and hoping it doesn’t make it back to miles before she gets the chance to admit it was a dare ?  now that’ll be tougher. luckily for frankie, dante’s the one to enter the kitchen as she’s mulling the pros and cons of each of the boy’s out, and he feels like a pretty risk-free option considering he’s not coupled up, and he’ll probably forget it as soon as she tells him, anyway. “ hey ! dante. that’s so spooky, i was literally just thinking about you, ”  frankie announces, far more chipper than she had been at the start of their last conversation, as she swills a shot of whiskey into miles’ coffee. does he drink this much when he’s back home ?  she’s sort of dying to party with him, actually, and reckons she could probably match him pint-for-pint, having started on the hard stuff barely out of middle school, swigging from her mother’s bottle as she cleaned her vomit from the carpet when her brother’s were no longer around to hide that shit from her.  “ how did you sleep ? i had crazy weird dreams, honestly it was— oh my god, wait ! ”  she fakes a eureka moment of recognition.  “ nah, i probably shouldn’t tell you that. ”  

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & dante.

[absolutesort]

day :   forty  /  afternoon.

location :  pool

featuring :   dylan   /  @cruelsxmmcr​

      a soggy frankie bursts up from the centre of the pool, gasping in a breath of air. “what was my time on that?” she shouts, to dylan, who’s half-heartedly timing her on his phone while he does laps down the other end of the pool. she’s gearing up for a rematch of the underwater breath-holding contest against miles, now that she’s cut back on smoking ( she used up her free pass cig on the steps with jenny the night of the ‘step back’ incident ) although he’s managed to get practice in other ways... she can only hope he isn’t currently practicing holding his breath with charlene or eden or any of the other islanders she’s pretended not to notice him talking to.  “ also, weird situation... ”  frankie starts, psyching herself up for it as she paddles towards the poolside where dylan is. “ i dunno if i should even tell you this but it feels kinda weird if i don’t so i’m just gonna say it, okay ?  i had this massively fucked up sex dream, right, like with tentacles and shit, next level weird as fuck kinda dream, and you were in it, dude ! ” 

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & dylan.

[absolutesort]

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐤𝐢𝐞 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨   ;    ʙᴇᴀᴄʜ ʜᴜᴛ ᴘʀᴏᴍᴘᴛ #7 !

how are you feeling about movie night ? did anything surprise you ? 

“ well i’m obviously not feeling totally yassified right now, what with everything that went down. ”  it sucks, but ultimately she’s the only one she can blame for what feels like her worst night in the villa since the casa recoupling.  “ i think my own fuckin’... stupidity surprised me. like, i definitely could’ve handled things better. ”  if she’d remembered to engage her brain for a single hot second, but no, frankie could never.  “ the adela and josh thing kinda surprised me, but also it didn’t ?  i also feel like that’s not even a thing. i mean adela and me flirt more than they do, and i know miles has nothing to worry about there, so it’s probably pretty harmless. the dylan comments were kinda shady, though. like… girl. you’re my friend and i love you but don’t do my boy dirty like that. ”

what are your thoughts on romi and marcus’s decision to leave ? 

“ it is what it is. i didn’t really know romi, honestly, and i think they liked it that way, but marcus was one of my closest friends in here. ”  she still thinks about the night that marcus had crawled into the daybed with her and miles for a snuggle and a kiss with fondness.  “ if miles and i are ever lookin’ for a third… i’m pretty sure marcus is the first guy we’d call. ”  she starts to laugh, but her face becomes suddenly sombre, smile sinking as the realisation hits that she’d actually have to have miles back for that to happen.

are you happy in your couple or do you think your head could be turned ?

 “ i mean… i don’t know. technically miles and i are still coupled up, and he said he still wants to be with me. so yeah, we’re still together just… stepping it back a notch. which is probably a good thing. my head’s been kinda scrambled ever since we got back from casa, and i haven’t been fair, making him wait for me to figure out what i want. when miles said he wanted to get to know charlene, i just got so irrationally upset. like i’ve never felt that strongly about callie talking to other people.  i thought i knew what i wanted, and then he made that speech about wanting to be all-in, which was so cute, and while i want that... hearing it in front of everybody... i got scared and changed my mind. but only for a moment. like, a moment of madness. it was just one bead in a long string of moments where the constant has been wanting miles.

“ when i wake up, he’s the first person i wanna talk to, and he’s the person i want by my side when i fall asleep. ”  deeply cringe, but if she can’t be vulnerable in the diary room how the hell does she expect to do it in front of him.  “ the other day i told him, even if they sent in olivier giroud, i don’t think my head would be turned, and like… i was joking, obviously, but i think it’s actually true ?  because he wouldn’t have miles’ sense of humour, or his amazingly warm heart, or serve eggs and bacon in a smiley face the way miles does. he wouldn’t get me the way miles does. plus, giroud’s french. there’s no way i’m getting in another seb situation where i gotta explain every reference that comes out of my mouth. ”

what are your thoughts on santiago and victoria ? are either of them your type ? do you think your partner would be interested in them ?

“ if miles is into them, then good luck to him. honestly, it’s pretty hard to think about whether i’d be interested in either of them right now. ” she sighs, until a producer prompts her to elaborate.  “ santiago’s hot, sure, but everybody in here’s hot. you have to do more than just look good to get my attention. and it was super nice of victoria to choose me for a date, and say she liked my desert even thought we both knew it wasn’t that great. but yeah… i didn’t feel a spark or like… that magnetic pull that i’m like looking for, y’know, like ? ”  she mimes yanking a lasso towards her.  “ when you’re in a room with loads of people and yet your body’s always kinda facing them. or like you’re just intuitively aware of where they are, not even in a possessive way just… we pay attention to the things we’re interested in. ”

are you grafting right now ? if so, who is at the top of your list ?

“ the only person i’m interested in grafting is miles. i think this situation’s just made me realise that i can’t not have him in my life. i know i have to work to earn him back, and it won’t be easy, but he’s worth the effort, and when it’s him it doesn’t feel like effort, anyway. nothing about him feels like a chore. i’ll do it gladly and purposefully if that’s what he needs to convince him i’m ready to be his, in whatever capacity he’ll have me. and i’ll deck a bitch if i have to. ”  her fingers come up, gesturing in an ‘i’m watching you’ motion between herself and the camera lens. 

#crackon:prompt #frankie monologue hour again !!! #her one woman show coming to edinburgh fringe this summer

[absolutesort]

camilamorrone *gets a haircut once* *thinks she’s a new woman* ✂️

#⥂ frankie castro. ╱ aesthetics. #sorry for being basically discord-only these past few weeks. #reminder that she's cute!!

[absolutesort]

FRANKIE & CALLIE — NIGHT THIRTY-EIGHT.

location :     lounge area  /  dressing room.  after movie night.

description :  frankallie break up for the third time (even tho they haven’t been together for like 2 weeks) but it’s done for real this time (and they actually got closure)

featuring :  callie  /  @graftisms​   ft.  angel /  @dobits

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

oh i just realized. the hideaway text comes directly after the movie, so her phone chimes. "i got a text," she says, but doesn't bother yelling it to everyone. she reads the text out with excited butterflies in her stomach, a contrast to everyone else right now, glancing up at angel before she even finishes saying it all. "well, i'll bloody take it," she laughs, before covering her mouth and glancing around, like she's in mourning. it feels like it. "shall we go?"

angel reid

he's chuckling into his beer, not looking at callie and instead bothering himself watching all the different people peel off in different angry directions. "me? take frankie so you guys can, like, review all the shit you wanted to see her say about you." then a look to frankie, smiling lazily. "you're down for that, right, frank?"

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

with dante, evie, eden and victoria leaving in one fell swoop the amount of bodies feels suddenly way less, frankie's eyes instinctively rolling at jenny. if the text has her jumping, angel's comment only has her eyes sparking wider. "jesus christ," frankie exhales, mostly in response to angel, but also the whole mess of this situation. as if there hadn't been enough shit. "okay, i'm gonna..." trailing off, she tries to remember what she usually does in situations where she's uncomfortable, wandering off a few paces before deciding better of it, downs the rest of her beer, and turns back to face them. "actually, no. angel's right. why did you pick me, callie? i mean, it feels pretty pointed." she's not angry, just interested. "like, what were you expecting to see?"

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

she's been having a perfectly fine time during movie night—not great, because she hates seeing her friends upset, but fine. really, it almost felt like she was getting the hideaway because of how under the radar they were able to fly. but angel's words are like ice in her veins, the smile that was on her lips freezing. frankie joining in actually makes her wince, and she's looking over at jenny before the blonde can even speak, wanting to feel like somebody's on her side. somehow she knows exactly what to say, nodding in agreement. but she still can't shake angel's cold chuckle out of her ears, face heating up. "god, you know what... i'm not doing this here," she shakes her head, rising from her seat. "i'll go to the hideaway alone tonight, then. or jen, want to join me?" she starts walking towards the bedroom.

angel reid

"bro, she can't even say 'cause she knows that's fucked." it's unclear if he's talking to jude or jenny or, god, even frankie. in any case, his next words are directed right at callie's back. "you can't give a straight answer why you still care about frankie. or you don't wanna."

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

"are you fucking kidding me?" she turns around mid-walk, anger finally catching up with her. "sorry i didn't choose your embarrassing video to be played! i didn't realize that would prove that i like you more. as if we both don't know you leading evie on would be on there."

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

callie storming off again. how original. feels like a get out of jail free card at this point, while frankie's constantly being sent straight to jail, do not pass go, do not collect $200. despite the insinuation that callie still cares, angel's words have her wincing. she doesn't want to be thrown around like a fucking hot potato in their relationship. "okay, i feel like this isn't really about me, so maybe i should..." her voice trails off, eyes still flicking between the two of them like one of those clocks shaped like a cat. "dude," frankie starts, joining jenny's attempts to calm angel, though they're probably unwarranted. "callie made it very clear that there's literally nothing there with us. like nada. don't sweat it."

angel reid

"why's it always gotta be between me and frankie? like there weren't other options." he says in a diversion. really, really, really doesn't wanna talk about evie right now. head shakes and glances sidelong at jenny and frankie. "nah, man, this is the whole thing. you're both livin' in each other's heads, like, what am i supposed to do with that?"

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

she hasn't stopped glaring at angel the entire time, but frankie's comment about her feelings diverts her attention briefly, to pass the cold look onto her. "who else would you have wanted me to choose?" eyes narrow back in angel's direction. she's glad victoria points out the insecurity of it all, so she doesn't have to. "what, so frankie gets to tell you shit about me behind my back, but the one time i have to throw someone under the bus and pick her, i'm the arsehole? fuck that."

angel reid

victoria's comment actually makes him laugh because that's definitely part of it. "no couple, no opinion," he tells her, not unkindly. as callie lays into him though, angel's holding his breath, shaking his head all the while. "you wanted to throw her under the bus?" his tone is clear, the subtitles would read: that's not better. he's getting distracted by the jenny/jude of it all, tries not to let his gaze get pulled by the latter. "you shouldn'ta chose her and if you can't even, like, admit to that much, then i don't even know."

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

"it just felt like you were trying to mess with me." she looks to angel for confirmation, feeling like they're on the same page about this, if nothing else. "like, you tell me to stay out of your relationship and then choose to show my tape? c'mon callie..." surely she can see how that's hypocritical, right? they still haven't spoken about the heart raiser challenge - also after callie told her to keep out of her relationship. "'cos now it's got me thinkin' like, was it to fuck things with miles up, or just morbid curiosity?" what had callie expected? for her to be caught on camera professing her undying love or some shit?  "i'm honestly not mad about it, i just think it's kinda funny that you keep saying shit like let's leave each other alone and then pull something like that."

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

the deep breath she takes through her nose is shaky as it exhales out her mouth, losing her nerve in the fight the more she feels ganged up on. she tries to focus on the more important argument at hand: angel, who's looking at her with eyes that would make her more sympathetic, had he not pulled this shit in front of half the villa. it's not like she wasn't vaguely aware it would upset him, but had they made it to the hideaway, she would've apologized. now it's only the opposite effect. "you know what? have fun sleeping alone tonight," she scoffs, because like hell he's going to the hideaway with her now (rip). only then does she look at frankie, with storm clouds in her eyes. "i am going to get ready for my night out of this bloody villa. if you really want to hash this shit out—and only if you want to actually say something, for once—then by all means," she motions inside, before actually heading inside now.

angel reid

now he's just watching frankie, feels a lot like he's swallowed a boulder and everything she's saying is the absolute last thing he wants to hear. he knows it's also probably the last thing callie wants to hear. "shut up, jen," is all he says, quiet, before his attention is ripped back to callie. "i don't care about the hideaway," i care about us, is the unspoken ending to that sentiment, but it doesn't feel like it matters now. the breath is kicked out of him because it sounds like callie invited frankie to a chat. it seems like all his worries are proven completely correct given she's more inclined to hash things out with frankie than him. "i'm gonna go find the liquor," he murmurs to no one in particular, heading for the kitchen.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

rooted on the spot, frankie's momentarily stunned into silence, but it only lasts a second before her feet are carrying her forward without her brain making the conscious decision to follow. no more terrace chats. that's what she'd said to miles; that this whole callie thing was behind her. still, that was before she'd picked her tape, before she'd danced on her in the heart raiser challenge, before her heart had been risen the most not by angel but by frankie, and okay yeah, callie had risen frankie's heart the most, too, but that was mostly out of shock that she'd danced on her in the first place. plus it's not exactly a terrace chat if it's happening in the dressing room. should she say something to miles? swing by and kiss him on the forehead on her way to have a capital-t Talk with her ex? and is a hashing something out different to a chat anyway? what the fuck had callie meant by if you want to actually say something, for once? she's always fucking saying things! no, stopping by to tell miles would make it feel like a fucking thing or worse still, make it seem like she's asking his permission. obviously, she'll chat to him about the tape, if he's concerned about it, but callie's only got like, five minutes or whatever before they whisk off to the emerald city and then the window of opportunity'll close in on itself.

"why are you walking so fast?" frankie asks, arms pumping in a silly little march when she eventually catches up with callie on the stairs. "you're not catching a plane, it's literally just behind that door, jeez." she sets her water bottle down on the dressing table when they reach it, silent for a moment while she considers why she's even here, if it's even worth bringing up the same shit they always bring up, because lately it just feels like the two of them are going in circles, but in less of a gay, quirky, offbeat san junipero way and more of a stress-inducing, get-me-the-fuck-out-of-here palm springs kinda way. "are you seriously bringing jenny?"

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

she knows exactly why she's walking so fast, making sure she's two steps ahead of frankie at all times: so the blonde can't see the tears that are stinging her eyes, threatening to escape. if she had known that picking frankie's movie was a mistake she was going to be apologizing to angel for later, then walking away from that argument after inviting frankie to talk with her inside felt like a monumental fuck-up. is there really any coming back from that? did she just ruin things for good? all she had been able to focus on was how embarrassed she felt about him doing that in front of the others, how cornered she felt with frankie chiming in. the alcohol in her system certainly hadn't helped, but now callie's feeling stone-cold sober as she pushes herself into the dressing room, a quick swipe of her eyes to make sure they're not teary before turning towards frankie with a huff. "i don't know!" her tone still has the aggressiveness that it held outside; instantly she realizes she needs to fix it to an indoor voice, saying more softly, "i don't know. i don't know what the fuck just happened." another deep inhale, another shaky exhale. outside she had a lot more nerve about talking to frankie—maybe wanting to rub it in angel's face too—but already she's starting to lose it. "i just couldn't deal with the two of you laying in on me at the same time, okay? yeah, i told you to stay out of my relationship, but guess what? i'm still pissed that you didn't do it to begin with, so i picked your movie. you seemed like the obvious choice to me, because i wasn't going to choose angel, and anyone else would've been weird and random. i wasn't trying to ruin your relationship, but maybe i thought that whatever was on it, miles did deserve to see it." her arms fold over her chest, facing frankie. "does he know that you wanted to get to know both me and him, when we got back here? if angel hadn't been in the picture." does he know he was her choice by default?

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

it feels like she’s watching her life on tv — callie storming up the stairs, frankie traipsing after her, the sudden snap when the former whips around on her heel and the latter recoils at her shout. it’s like the words came with a sucker punch, frankie doing the duck and slip out of the line of the hit, and then, callie’s voice suddenly softer, smaller. frankie feels the need to reach out to her, place her hand against her forehead, or the soft part of her arm, the way she might calm a startled animal, but she has a sinking feeling that would only make shit worse. “it’s… hey, it’s fine. don’t worry.” frankie realises then how her directness might have been interpreted as interrogation rather than the stirring need to know, the need to settle the simmer of confusion that wells up in her gut whenever anyone brings up the callie thing. “i wasn’t trying to lay into you callie, i just wanna understand your thought process.” what she actually wants to say is what fucking possessed you to do that, but she’s mincing her words, knowing all too well the ill-effects speaking without thinking can have. “like, half the time i feel like you’re out here doing everything you can to ignore and erase my existence and then you pull some shit like that. it’s just confusing.” and she doesn’t want confusing. she doesn’t want the shadow of this thing with callie hanging over her, but every time the fog seems to lift and she can see a path forward, some shit happens to slingshot them right back to the place they were after casa.

“miles deserves to see what exactly? nothing happened! god.” that feels like a lie. even if she hadn’t kissed her, something had passed between the two of them on the terrace, had sunk in her belly like a body in the centre of a lake the same way watching it back as she’d felt when it happened. “yes! we spoke about it.” frankie pauses, breathes, draws her calmness around her like a jacket in a cool breeze, shifts back to sit up on the dressing table (the same spot where she and miles first fucked) as she watches callie pack. “we spoke about you a lot, actually. and he knew it was gonna be weird coming back here, and that there’d still be feelings and shit. he knew that i wasn’t like, a hundred percent closed off, and that i still wanted to get to know you, and i was fine with him doing that shit, too. we were on the same page about it.” saying it back feels like a lie, somehow, despite the fact that it’s pretty much verbatim what he said — if it ends up being you and callie then i get it, or something to that effect. it's weird that miles said all of that, that he was willing to give her all of him and take only a fraction of her back. she hadn’t deserved it then, still feels like she doesn’t deserve him now. and right when she’s ready to give him the whole of her, the callie thing bubbles back up. “anyway, this was ages ago. we both know how that ends, cal. you didn’t want to get to know me. why bring that shit up now? you get some kind of kick out of rejecting me?”

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

trying to understand your thought process. callie scoffs at that, one last careful glance in frankie's direction before she opens her closet to fish through her things. she's supposed to be picking out a bangable outfit to go to to the hideaway in right now, packing her little overnight bag, but the fact that she's dressing up to probably go alone has her swallowing back her emotions. "what, and you thought the best time to do that was while angel was cracking the shits? yeah, that was really helpful, thanks." she has two robes hanging up, both that she throws on the nearest vanity area, so she can pick through them later. really, all of this is just stalling, so callie doesn't have to think about the consequences of her actions. frankie makes it a little harder to ignore, and when she calls her confusing callie turns around to face her. "i am trying to ignore you, frankie. okay, maybe me picking your movie tonight wasn't the best way to do it, but i didn't think it would cause this." she motions to the room around them—the two of them together, and the absence of angel. "i didn't know what was in your movie. it's not like i had been scheming this. i got a question right, i had to pick someone, i picked you. because you've been pissing me off. but your movie was fine anyway, so i don't know why you're so upset." obviously callie didn't think that the almost kiss on the terrace would've been played; if she had, she probably wouldn't have chosen frankie. not because she feels guilty for what happened (or didn't), but because it's embarrassing to see. that, coupled with her choosing frankie's movie tonight. god, no wonder why angel is so done with her.

"no, stop it," callie scowls, pointing a finger at frankie. "this isn't on me, i'm not bringing anything up. you asked me why i picked your movie, and i told you. you've been making it impossible for me to move on since the moment you've came back here, but fine, bring this one thing i did up like it's my fault. i didn't tell you to follow me."

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

frankie doesn’t know what cracking the shits means, but she gets the idea that it’s not exactly great, so she stays quiet, teeth sinking into her lower lip as she draws her knees up to rest her chin on, and watches callie faff about in the closet. “sorry,” frankie says, eventually, her voice small. “fuck.” it’s not like her and angel were tag-teaming in GTA, conversing through their headsets to gang up and grief her or whatever, but she can see now it might have felt like an onslaught. she refrains from saying the ‘he started it’ that clings childishly to her tongue, swallows it back when she chews down on the inside of her cheek, fingers drumming against her shins in the silence as she watches her, trying to figure out when every conversation became a fucking fight. “i’m not upset? i was just asking. fuck it,” pushing off the dressing table, she moves to stand against the wardrobe, so that it’s almost impossible for callie to avoid meeting her eyes. it's a move miles had pulled with her, when she was throwing her fists at a punch bag over his sudden interest in charlene. “i don’t even care about what was on the tape.” it was the fact that callie chose her tape, like she was expecting something from it. it just seemed snakey. still, arguing over a stupid video isn’t a hill she’s prepared to die on. “i don’t have anything to hide. from miles or you. i just don’t want to be some weird thing caught between you and angel. if you’re pissed off at me, then say it. don’t play games.” ironic, considering how much frankie loves a game. 

callie points her finger at her and frankie catches it in the palm of her hand before she’s even registered it, like some knee-jerk response to being threatened. a shrek reference comes to mind — don’t you point those dirty green sausages at me — but it isn’t the time or the place. “don’t point at me like that. and you literally did tell me to follow you.” or had frankie got it wrong, another case of that famous selective attention that chose to focus on the wrong thing. she hasn’t addressed the other thing, a pinch in her stomach at the idea that she makes it impossible for callie to move on. as if she even has that power. callie as if hasn’t moved on already. “and don’t tell me i’m making it hard for you to move on when it’s the opposite. i told you it wasn’t over for me. i gave you the option and you chose him, and you’re going to continue to choose him. like, even now, you’ve told him he’s sleeping alone, but he won’t, because you’ll pick him again, and that’s fine, but just fucking own it, callie. don’t act like i’m standing here waving my hands around stopping you from being with him when we both know you’d moved on the second you brought him back.” she realises then that callie’s fingers are still wrapped in her hand, fingers squeezed against the inside of her palm. flushed, she lowers it, gingerly twisting callie’s hand to be palm up, her thumb stroking over her life line before she lets it drop back to callie’s side. “you should wear the blue one…” she says, clearing her throat and gesturing towards the lingerie options in callie’s wardrobe, attempting to sound more casual than she feels. “i always thought you looked good in blue.” 

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

it's not that sorry that gets her, but how small and weak frankie's voice sounds. it's enough to make callie pause, and reevaluate the situation at hand. really, what has frankie done wrong in this moment, besides egg angel on and follow her here, like callie told her to? taking a deep breath, she slides back on the wardrobe, putting her weight into it. "i'm sorry," she relents, eyes to the ceiling. it's getting harder to swallow down her emotions, threatening to rush to the surface. "i'm not trying to be a cunt, frankie. angel just... he just pissed me off." in case that hadn't been obvious by the scene that just unfolded around them. "everything that happened with you and i is still a sensitive subject for us," she admits, eyes meeting frankie's hesitantly. she shouldn't be sharing it, because her and angel are a team, but after their argument it's hard to feel that way. and really, the only one who can really relate is probably frankie. "ever since you told him about our terrace conversation." of course she has to throw that out there as well, although it is the truth. before then, he hadn't cared much about her closure with frankie. maybe he'd just gotten impatient with her by now, which is valid. the fact that the blonde has to ask if callie's pissed makes her actually laugh, once. "yeah, frankie. i thought it was pretty clear that i'm pissed off at you."

eyes flash when frankie grabs her finger, though she doesn't bother shaking her off. if their conversation on the terrace was any indication, frankie was all bark and no bite. "i told you if you wanted to follow me and actually listen to me, instead of just ganging up on me with angel," she scowls. maybe this isn't the conversation she should be having right now, with her relationship with angel so precarious, but it feels like they're finally done tiptoeing around the subject of their feelings that have been so heavily guarded the last few conversations. maybe even since being reunited. at this point, callie has nothing to lose. "you gave me the option of, what? getting to know you while you got to know the guy you brought back?" she laughs humorlessly. "c'mon, frankie. i told you, i brought angel back because i didn't feel like i could trust you after the naomi shit. i let myself try with him because of that. you didn't bring miles back for any reason other than you having feelings for him—which fine, i'm glad it's working out for you. but in what world would anyone want to compete with that? and now you're focusing on him as if he's the only person here, and i want to be happy for you, but i can't be. because you never gave me that chance," she looks at her, dark eyes sad. "you didn't even fight, like, a little bit for me. and then you proceed to try to talk to me like we're friends, and angel like we're friends, when i'm still so pissed off at the way you just walked away like nothing happened." 

her free hand swipes a quick tear off her cheek, before it could stray. "and i did the same, so maybe i have nothing to be pissed about. but i still am. and maybe i will still pick angel after all of this, but that's because he picked me first. i was an absolute wreck in casa, missing you and then hating you, and he was the only thing that made that place remotely enjoyable. i really, really like him, and when he talks about doing stuff outside of the villa, i know he's not just saying things. and tonight i got the bloody hideaway, and i want to enjoy it, but somehow i'm with you now instead of him, because somehow everything ends up coming back to me and you." she inhales a deep breath as soon as she's done, having said far too much in such a short span of time. frankie's finger on her palm makes her nearly shiver, busying her hands as soon as the blonde lets go by running her fingers through her hair. "it doesn't even fucking matter." voice defeated, she can't even look at her lingerie options. the hideaway may as well be back in australia, that's how out of reach it feels for her.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

“okay. so angel pissed you off. don’t take it out on me.” with angel out of the firing line, it feels like frankie’s stomaching the hits, hits she’ll gladly take if it’s to punish her for what she did, but not for angel’s fuck up. “you think it’s not a sensitive topic for miles, too? i feel like such a shitty person, it’s like, i want to give him one hundred percent. i’m trying to give him one hundred percent. he deserves one hundred percent.” her stomach pinches at even the mention of him. she should be in his lap debating the lore of spyro right now, or hanging by the pool edge attempting to skim crocs over the water like stones. instead, she’s in the dressing room, having the same conversation that she always seems to have with callie, trying to fathom away that she can tris-from-divergent her way out of this bullshit. “but it’s like as long as there’s still like… this tiny glint of hope with you i can’t allow myself to be all-in with him. as long as you’re here, there’s energy that’s going towards you.” some days that’s ten percent, some days it’s twenty percent, some days it’s more along the lines of seventy percent. 

“yes! while i got to know him! sorry if that feels fuckin’ slutty to you but when you’re out in the real world, in the early stages at least, you’re probably talking to two or three people at once before you decide which one makes you feel like your best self. it’s not that i wanted to be poly or whatever you said, i just don’t think the idea of getting to know multiple people is as messed up as you make it out to be. like, most of us have known each other for two weeks, tops. nobody's boyfriend-girlfriend. unless angel’s popped the question and i’m the last to get the memo. has he?” if he has, she wants to know. at least then she can squash the idea that the two of them might ever end up together, can cut out the chunk of her brain that’s still pumping blood around her cerebellum to the beat of callie’s name. “what if i wanted you to fight for me, callie? i was the one that picked you in the recoupling.  i was the one who dragged you away from kenny. i was the one who got off that boat and decided to kiss you.” and yeah, she was also the one who hit on callie’s friend, but nobody’s perfect. “what if i want to be picked, for once, rather than always having to make the tough choices.” even if it’s hypocritical, part of her still feels like crap that when they came back from casa, callie wasn’t standing there alone, because at least then she would’ve known that she was it for someone. that she was worth the bullshit. that she’d found someone who had the capacity to see her worst bits and still forgive her. 

“i’ve been fighting for shit my whole life. feels like i got shot out of the womb and straight into the boxing ring, umbilical cord still attached. i’m so tired of fighting.” her voice cracks with the weight of it. “but i would have fought for you, if i knew you wanted me. when you said it was done, i believed you. i don’t want to have to beg you or miles or anyone to love me.” but if she’s so adverse to begging, why does every conversation with callie feel like being down on her knees? restless, she’s been pacing as she speaks, hoping that the motion might shift the blood to her brain quicker and allow her some capacity for rational thought, but once again she’s just word vomiting, eyes darting about in the hope that they’ll catch something long enough to slow her roll. “did you?” frankie pauses uncertainly, voice small, feeling like a tall child standing in the kitchen of her father’s house asking why her mom didn’t care to stick around. “like, love me? or think that you could love me?” because she feels like miles could love her, like she could love him. but with callie, she’s never sure if their intensity is anger or just the product of unspoken feelings. wincing, she shirks away her own vulnerability, batting it out of the air with her hands. “i wasn’t just saying things. the sushi in tokyo, the tiki bar on the beach, backpacking around asia in the van, with elvis… i wanted all that.” fiddling with the button on her blazer — a green velvet co-ord she’d put on for movie night — she shifts her stare back up to callie, gaze flickering between her eyes, searching for any kind of confirmation that she feels the same. “some days i still want that.”

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

she assumes it's not a sensitive topic for miles, considering their first conversation when he so badly tried to talk to her—or their most recent one, when he told her as much. maybe it hasn't been completely smooth sailing, she's assumed, but surely it can't bother him as much as frankie has been a constant figure in her few arguments with angel. but frankie's words resonate more than they should, because she also feels like a shitty person when her and angel are involved. it's probably why she's been trying to see if he wants to get to know anyone else, so there'd be a reason to take some of the guilt off her conscience. "i wasn't aware you weren't giving him one hundred percent," she says, honestly. not with any judgment or hostility, but from what she's seen of the two of them together. until frankie's saying it aloud, she didn't actually think that part of frankie was still holding on to callie. until hearing it aloud, callie didn't realize that maybe she was, too.

and it's a tough pill to swallow, because until right now, callie really did think she was over frankie. all of their arguments, how little that frankie had said in them. she's been so annoyed at angel and everyone whose continued to act like frankie was still in the picture for her, when callie's tried her hardest for that to not be the case. but hearing frankie tell her how she had wanted callie to fight for her makes her stomach churn at the realization, teeth clenching at her own physical reaction. "it's not slutty, frankie, stop! obviously i know that's the way the show works, and i told you before you left for casa that i'd be okay with it. but it's just..." callie takes a deep breath. "after the way we left things, i guess i thought that you could still come back single for me. like, you could sow your oats and them come back sure of what you wanted. but instead you just wanted to keep it going, and i told you that i didn't want us sleeping around with other people, which you did any way." they've talked about this before—they've talked about a lot of this before, granted—and it's grating to her mood. 

but it is something to think about: that frankie wanted callie to do exactly what she had wanted from frankie. it's makes her laugh a little, but coupled with a hard exhale it almost sounds like a tearless sob. so much of this breakup had been callie viewing herself as the victim, first with the naomi stuff and then the rest. everyone she had spoken to agreed with her, or so it felt. but if frankie had been feeling the way callie had felt that night of the recoupling... a wave of sadness strikes her, disappointed that she could make somebody feel that way here. there's a lot wrong with the way frankie sees their relationship—because to her, it had always been 50/50 equal in choosing each other, until casa—but it doesn't seem right to harp on it now. instead she just says, "you didn't even seem like you cared that i brought him back." if she remembers correctly, frankie had basically just told her that she hoped they could still be friends, and that callie was happy. frankie only seemed upset when callie started laying into her. "but you're right, you don't deserve that. you should be with someone who is sure. and i had been, until finding out about you and naomi, and the postcard." would she have still brought angel back, if the postcard hadn't been frankie straddling miles? callie doesn't know. hindsight is always 20/20, and callie doesn't want to think about the things she could've done differently, or not done at all. all of this feels more and more like a disservice to angel, who's never left the back of her mind, but it also feels ridiculously good to get everything out in the open. the conversation they should've had the day after the casa recoupling, if things hadn't felt so fresh.

did you love me? callie wants to wince, instead eyes lifting to the ceiling for a few seconds. thoughts of the hideaway are now miles (lol) away. "i mean, yeah," she admits, finally looking back at her. "we weren't together very long, but i did see something real there. like, you were the first person here i felt anything real with, like i wouldn't have to work for it. our date was the first good date i'd had in years," she admits, laughing nervously. frankie and her might not have been very serious, but she was the first person that made callie feel like she could have a relationship again since maddie, which that in itself was no easy feat. "i wanted all that too, frankie." she wipes another tear away. if she took any louder of a breath, she might've missed what the blonde said last. callie doesn't know how to acknowledge them, regardless. "i'm sorry," callie says, looking down at her hands, "if i was too much while we were together. and i'm sorry that i've been a bloody lot since you've been back, too. this place... it has a way of making me feel crazy. i'm not sure how much more of it i can take." especially if angel wants nothing to do with her, which the deeper they go into this conversation, the more sure callie feels that it's going to be the end of the road for them.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

still, there’s the ache of her choices tightening like a collar around her throat. before this whole experience she’d been a creature of impulse, single-minded to the point of recklessness, an engine of restless energy in constant motion that never stopped to consider the weight of her actions. now, it’s like the whole world’s holding a candle to every choice she makes and watching it flicker against the light. i thought that you could still come back single for me. like, you could sow your oats and then come back sure of what you wanted. fuck. she feels her stomach curl up like a pillbug, because hadn’t she wanted that, too? she was so close to picking callie. but the truth was, she was selfish. she’d wanted miles. she’d wanted both of them. “i wanted that, too,” frankie admits with a sigh that feels as deflating as letting go of a balloon to watch it zip around the room and sag sadly against the floor. her body sags with it, sliding along the wardrobe door until she’s seated on the carpet, knees swaying back and forth.  “i genuinely thought that would happen. but the reality is, it didn’t. i brought miles back, you brought angel back, and there was this moment of clarity where i was like, dude, this has to mean something. but then maybe the fact that we always end up having this same fucking conversation means something, too.” if this was a tv show, frankie would tune out, because it feels like the same fucking shit every time, both of them speaking but not really saying anything. it’s like being a sally rooney novel. she’s never actually read one, but she’s seen the tweets about it. 

“obviously, i cared. like, it fuckin’ hurts seeing you with him, callie. but i want you to be happy, and you said before, we don’t make each other happy.” angel makes her happy. miles makes frankie happy. she pauses for a beat, fiddling with the hem of her tailored velvet shorts. will they make her give all this shit back when she leaves? go back to her ratty t-shirts and cut-off boy jeans, hacked into shorts with the kitchen scissors? part of her misses dressing like that, showing up in an outfit like a randomised sim and calling it a day. “i think we could. make each other happy, i mean. maybe if we met somewhere else. say like, i had met you in san diego, and i thought you were cute — i’d pretend not to know how to surf so that you’d give me lessons.” despite the laughter that bubbles from her lips, there’s tears in her eyes. callie’s crying has always been as infectious to her as miles’ laughter. “maybe those versions of us exist and are together in another timeline. like in the multiverse. and we have the tiki bar, and the dogs, and the surfboard rack on top of the van, but…” exhaling, she pushes off the ground, back on her feet and pacing, breath coming out in a punchy shout of “fuck” as she tries to untangle all the frayed edges of their situation. 

“okay. well… me too.” she wants to ask if the love that callie felt was past tense or present, if the chord of it still existed somewhere inside of her, hidden under her pancreas, or wrapped around her spine. “so where do we go from here?” are they meant to just go back to their partners and act like this conversation never happened? “i guess we have several options. either we just accept that this is just something we have to deal with, you focus on angel, and i focus on miles, and we just push this shit to the back of our minds, and hope that eventually it withers up and disappears.” which is the method that frankie’s been attempting thus far, not that it’s exactly helped her. “or… we try again.” she swallows thickly, and doesn’t immediately look at callie, fearing what her response to frankie saying something as batshit crazy as that might be, when they’re both happy, or at least happier with other people. it feels like asking her to bet on a losing horse, even if she hasn’t asked, has just floated the idea of them trying again like a yellow hook-a-duck, the promise of winning a stuffed bear the size of an armchair at the end despite the fact that the game’s often rigged. for a moment, she pushes any thoughts of miles to the back of her brain, allows herself to think not what’s fair but rather what she wants in this moment, allows herself a window of time to be selfish, however foolish and fleeting it might be.

“stop. you’re not too much.” too much for her when she was four days in and still didn’t really know what she wanted, perhaps, but never too much as a person. the idea that callie could even think that about herself has frankie reaching for her shoulders, tugging her in against her chest, arms wrapping around her despite her better judgement. how long has it been since they’ve stood this close? it has to have been before casa. even on the terrace, when she’d pressed her back, the parts of them that were touching were minimal. there isn’t anything sexual about their current embrace, but she can feel the ridges of callie’s spine beneath her fingertips, can feel the rise and fall of her chest against her own, the firm press of her stomach where it meets frankie’s waist. it feels good to bury her head in her neck and just smell her again, like finding a worn out old sweater hidden beneath the bed, the kind handed down from sibling to sibling, the kind you loved so hard the cuffs unravel, and you have to restitch the collar and patch over the elbows, until the whole thing is a theseus’ ship of fabric. frankie draws back enough that she can see her face, and closes the distance just as quickly, lips pressed to callie’s forehead as she rests her head against her scalp. her hair still smells the same, saltwater and coconut, but there’s something earthy and distinctly masculine there, part of angel that lingers on her skin the way frankie’s suncream and sweat smell used to. “i can let go, if you want me to,” frankie tells her, the duality of it’s meaning enough to tighten her stomach. “sorry,” she says, half-laughed, holding her as if it's the last time, because every time feels like the last time with callie. “i just miss you a lot more than i thought i did.”

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

"i know," she nods quietly, surprising herself by believing exactly what frankie is telling her. when frankie had first come back with miles, callie hadn't believed that there was ever a possibility where frankie would've come back to her. partly because of the way things left off, and partly because of frankie's whole shtick. it's clear she took a lot of her decisions in the villa less seriously than callie does—not because she's not a serious person, but because frankie does what she wants. she had wanted to go for a swim on their boat date, so she jumped in the water. she wanted to bring back miles, so she did. callie's been so deep in her own resentment of the way things ended between them that she hadn't really thought about why it happened, them both separately bringing other people back. but of course it means something, because she sees the way frankie and miles look at each other, not unlike the way she feels with angel. "i think we could've, too," she admits, dark eyes finding frankie's across the room. "even here. i think if casa hadn't been so soon... i mean, things work out the way they do," she hesitates, because her loyalty for angel is in the back of her mind, knowing this would upset him. but it's the truth. "if i had heard about the naomi stuff and you were here to talk it out, it wouldn't have been what it was. i don't know." looking back on it now, callie wonders if she was overreacting, just looking for a reason to accept that frankie was in casa doing what she had wanted to do: getting to know other people. that acknowledging that allowed her to open herself up to, even when she originally hadn't wanted to. "but i would've liked that. san diego." her voice is small, as if it's a confession. it sort of is.

it's surreal that she's even in this position right now, underwear for the hideaway long forgotten as she discusses next steps with frankie, all because she had chosen her film during movie night. when she had invited her back to talk about things, callie hadn't expected any of this. her breath is shaky as she lets frankie put it all out there, eyes unmoving from the blonde's face when she talks about trying again, even if frankie is refusing to look at her. the fact that it's even an offer makes her heart beat loudly in her ears, lips parted but unable to form words. it doesn't really matter, anyway—any chance of trying to find the right thing to say goes out the window when frankie reaches for her, wrapping her arms around her. it's such a stark contrast to the way things have been for them for the past two weeks that callie doesn't let herself think about it, instead just melting into her embrace, forehead resting on frankie's shoulder as she hugs her tighter. there's always been some level of familiarity with frankie, and not even in the way they immediately clicked on their date. she feels like somebody callie's known for a long time, could see her so clearly in her life in san diego or sydney, or could picture herself just as easily in florida, meeting frankie's family and getting a tour of the yacht she's been working on. it was that feeling that callie let herself get drunk on in the first place, since frankie first walked through the doors of the villa. but it's also been the catalyst of some of her lowest points here too, wanting so badly for something that doesn't really exist. even holding onto the other girl now, frankie's lips ghosting over her forehead, it doesn't feel real. it feels like a fantasy.

"it's okay," she whispers, making no move to step away from the embrace. callie's eyes are watching frankie's lips from the moment they pull away from her skin, but catches herself after a few seconds, and instead finds the girl's eyes. "i missed you too," she says, words catching in her throat. it's weird to miss someone that sleeps in the bed next to you, but the last few weeks felt like frankie had been a different person—or maybe it's callie that's changed. but that's just the problem, isn't it? something turns in her gaze, a shadow cast over her eyes, and she regrets having to say anything at all, because she's sure frankie's already going to know what she says. "you deserve someone who's going to fight for you," she says softly, hands moving from frankie's back to rest lightly on her sides, almost holding her in place. "but... we both know that can't be me. it's my turn to fight for him," she whispers, knowing frankie knows who she means. “it’s probably a losing battle, after everything that happened tonight. like, he clearly thinks i’m not over you, and i guess he’s not wrong,” she sniffs, hating that it’s true, “but if there’s even a small chance that it can be saved… i have to try. and what you and i had… god, this is so cliche,” she groans, trying to laugh it off half-heartedly, “but our relationship meant a lot to me, even if we weren’t together very long. but if we tried to go back there, it wouldn’t be the same. not in here. too much has changed,” she admits, fingers reaching out to tuck a lock of frankie’s hair behind her ear gently. 

callie doesn’t even mean them changing as people, although she knows she’s different than she had been when she was with frankie. but this thing between them has stirred up too much drama, with them and with their current couples. it’s not like they’d be able to ignore the people they left behind while in the same villa as them, and as hard as trying to ignore frankie and miles had been, watching angel with someone else would only be harder.

“and honestly? i think you’re happier with miles,” she admits, eyes difting to the corner of the room as she says it, hoping frankie can’t see how it pains her to admit it. “i’ve seen the two of you together, obviously. i see the way you look at him.” part of callie can’t help but wonder if frankie saying all this is just because she’s afraid of furthering things with miles. if it was, callie wouldn’t blame her. “but, y’know, i don’t want to make this decision for us,” she adds, hands dropping from frankie’s sides to take a small step back, to face her better. “like… i don’t know,” she laughs a little, but it’s a nervous sound. all of this feels too soul-bearing, and it’s only right now that she realizes cameras are watching them. “i don’t want either of us to have any regrets here. or resentment. because i’m really, really tired of resenting you.” it’s resentment that had made callie choose frankie’s movie in the first place, though now she’s grateful she did, because of the weight lifted off her shoulders at this conversation.

𝐟𝐫𝐚𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐜𝐚 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐨.

this feels like the first time they’re talking about the two of them, in the past tense, but in a positive light. they could have been something, if only the timing was right. but the timing wasn’t right, and the words that could’ve saved this then feel pointless, now. sure, they’ve learned to communicate, but at what cost? it’s only been a week since casa ended, but she feels like they’re years older, that before they were the young actors in a crappy HBO show, and now they’re playing older versions of themselves. “if i was here to talk about the naomi stuff, it would have been fine. but i wasn’t. and i guess there’s no point circle-jerking over what could have been if things were different when the reality is they aren’t.” even if circle-jerking over what they could have been is exactly what frankie’d just been doing.  “like this, right here, this is our situation. these are the cards we’ve been dealt.” the truth is, the fantasy of her and callie, and the tiki bar, and the dogs, and the van, san diego is just a fantasy — even if they did end up together, and had all of those things, it likely wouldn’t have panned out how they hoped. one day, the van would fall apart. one day, the dogs would die. one day, the bar would be caught selling alcohol to a minor and shut down, effective immediately, five years worth of work down the drain with nothing to show for it. in the fantasy, you never think about that shit. so perhaps the reality of what she has with miles — someone to laugh at her jokes, someone who’ll try the greasy slap up veggie option even if he’d prefer a steak, someone to hold her tight at night — is better than a pipe dream, because it’s real.

it feels good to be in callie’s arms, even if she’s acutely aware of the impending sinking feeling she’ll get when she lets go. it hardly seems to matter when she’s being held so tightly that her ribs could merge together into one solid lump of bone. “alright, alright. i miss you, you miss me. it’s not a competition.” she’s deflecting with humour, a natural instinct in the wake of what’s about to happen ; she can sense it in the shift in callie, like when a dark cloud passes over the sun, and for a moment it feels like something out of a sci-fi movie, but the thing about dark clouds is that they pass. they’ll come out of this the other side, maybe even better and brighter and warmer than they were before. her laughter comes in a sad little scoff, hand reaching up to wipe beneath her eyes, as callie’s hands move to her waist. “you think he’s gonna fight for me after he hears about this? he’s not that stupid, cal.” she’s acting like she’s murdered an entire village of unarmed children, and not simply found herself on a high-stakes dating show circling back to an ex wondering if they’d ever maybe think about trying to start again. “does he like, make you feel more yourself when you’re with him? because if he does, then you should fight for him. and you should forgive him, and he’ll forgive you, and the two of you will be fine.” she smiles a watery little smile, resisting the urge to wipe her sniffles against callie’s arm, the way she used to, just so she could see that familiar wrinkle of her nose when she called her gross. “and me and miles… well, we’ll be okay. or we won’t! but that’s not something i can control. all i can do is be honest, and let him decide how much he’s willing to tolerate. and if he can’t forgive this then… good for him. he deserves better than me, anyway.”

her jaw clenches, eyes falling closed as callie pages her fingers through her hair, a hot flush pulsing in the ear she tucks a lock of hair behind. “no, it’s not cringe, that’s so valid,” she assure her, feeling suddenly like they’re drunk girls in a bathroom and not two people who could have been in love, if they’d allowed themselves, if they’d had more time. “like, it meant a lot to me, too, but i feel like most of the time when i miss you, i miss that perfect little window of time that we had, and if we were together it just… i mean it wouldn’t be like that any more?” her hand lifts to catch the hand that’s in her hair, squeezing it briefly as she lowers it back to her side. “i think maybe we’ve hurt each other too much to be like that again. like even when a scab heals over, i still pick at them. and we’d do that, and you’d bring up how i brought him back, and that would always be there, like, hanging over us…” the same way callie’s been hanging over her relationship with miles. and maybe part of her would always wonder what if she’d chosen him, what if she’d sacked in the yachting, moved to fucking dublin, got a lousy job in an irish bar in a city where she had no friends, but at least she’d have him. since the end of casa it’s felt like being trapped in limbo, unable to move on when her heart’s being torn in two directions. (why can’t her heart just be torn in one direction). everything felt simpler before they came back, that pocket of space when all the rules seemed to go out the window, and her and miles were running on borrowed time.

the truth is she is happier with miles, and while she wants to say it, to validate callie’s impression of a relationship she’s on the outside of, but somehow a constant presence in, she holds her tongue. because despite the fact that callie’s the one who said it, hearing frankie say we’ve actually been super good lately — when i tell a joke and he laughs, it makes me feel like i’m floating on air isn’t something she’d want to know about angel.  tactlessly, she’d told callie that before, that he understood her in a way that callie didn’t, even if the way callie talks about how she looks at miles now makes her feel like she understands her better than she understands herself.  “how i look at him!” she laughs, despite the tears in her eyes, cheeks heating with a puerile embarrassment. “god, that’s so corny. but yeah… no i get it, he’s… he’s really something.” which is the reason why this is so hard, because every moment she spends considering the possibility of callie is time she’s neglecting to give to the reality of her and miles. “i think maybe i… i get scared when things get heavy, you know? like i did it with you, and now i’m doing it again with him. because he wanted to get to know charlene, and even though i didn’t think things with him were that serious, i got so mad at the idea of somebody else having him. and then eden said something about… well, it doesn’t matter anyway, because he chose me. and i guess i just... really fucking hope he’ll choose me again.” so why does she seem so hell-bent on fucking this up? and why is she word-vomiting it up now with callie, just when they seem to have finally let the dust settle on whatever they are. were. 

vulnerability aches in her like a stone in the centre of a fruit, but for what feels like the first time she isn’t afraid of it. in the last fifteen minutes, she feels like she’s learned more about their relationship than she did in the whole time they were together.  “i’ve never resented you, callie. and i’d never regret you, either.” she’d regret the way she handled it, perhaps, but at the core of her she believes everything happens for a reason. that this is a sign (for the second time) to stop kicking her heels, and dedicate herself fully to miles, if he’ll have her.  “i think… this is probably the right choice. for both of us. i just want us to be okay.” ultimately, she’d like a future where she can see callie across a room, and they’d share a smile, and it wouldn’t feel like slicing a knife across her skin, it would just feel as easy as breathing. “i really fucking care about you, cal.”

angel reid

i'm really, really tired of resenting you... i really fucking care about you, cal. it's the first things he hears as he makes his way through the threshold and into the dressing room holding a quarter full beer bottle he wish he'd left on the stairs with jenny. to try and stave off the drunk asshole allegations, he leaves the bottle behind on a vanity. eyes flash to frankie first, expression unreadable, until they magnetize to callie and settle there. "we need to talk." obviously. she's partway done packing though and he's sure she's spent her precious minutes before she's whisked off to the hideaway per producer demand on this apparently reconciling chat with frankie. are they going together? finish it (restart it?) with true privacy? "i wanna go with you," angel tells her, less of a suggestion despite her insistence he's going to be sleeping alone tonight. maybe he still will, but they need more time to figure it out. it's his turn. again his gaze flickers distractedly to frankie, the leggy blonde elephant in the room, before he presses his lips together and regards callie again, mindful not to close any distance. "i mean, if you're done here."

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐞 𝐦𝐢𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐞𝐥𝐬.

it's hard to remember how this conversation had started, with callie's attitude and frankie's abrasiveness, because the way it's ended up is better than she could ever imagine. if only her and frankie had been this much in sync when they were together, or immediately after casa, then things would be different. but despite frankie's offer for them to get back together... well, either it was something she had been saying to make callie feel better, or it was a pipe dream that stuck in the back of both their heads, despite knowing better. this is their situation now, and there's no point going over the hypotheticals of what could've happened. callie knew it a week and a half ago, just like she knows it now, but all of it finally bubbling to the surface was exactly what she had needed. all those conversations with frankie after casa where they beat around the same bush, frankie giving her half-answers and callie getting frustrated and resentful. if there was ever a chance for closure here, while they're both under the same roof with different people, she knows that this is it. and already she feels ten times lighter, no longer heavy with the burden of the grudge she's been holding.

"listen, i've only talked to him twice, but he does seem that stupid," she says, a ghost of a smile spreading on her lips, despite the irony in her giving frankie a pep talk about miles. what he had said about his ex has stuck with her, and maybe it's just her own ex trauma talking, but she feels like she gets him a lot more now. besides, in the nearly two weeks it's been of this mess, she hasn't heard a peep about miles being uncomfortable about it all; in fact, he tried to befriend her. compare that to angel, whose definitely sick of this shit, and she finds it hard to worry much for frankie. "no, it's gonna work out," she tells her, nodding. "from the sound of the recoupling, he's not looking at anybody else. and now neither are you." if frankie needs callie to release her from this old they have on each other, consider it released. "just because things are heavy, doesn't mean it's bad." or that she has to carry it alone.

callie’s mouth opens to say something else, but instead the door of the dressing room swings open and her heart drops down into her stomach at the sight of angel. she’s grateful that her and frankie are no longer embracing, but callie finds herself taking a small step away from the girl anyway, mostly from to how overheated her body suddenly feels at the weight of his gaze finding hers. we need to talk, he says, and callie can’t read the expression on his face enough to know if it’s a bad or really bad sign. all she can do is nod, finally glancing back in frankie’s direction with a small smile. “thank you,” she says, quietly. callie’s not sure what she’s thanking her for exactly, but it feels necessary. the two of them may be continuing to live under the same roof for however long it takes, but it feels like a goodbye anyway. “do you mind?” a subtle way of asking if she minds giving them some privacy. 

she waits until the door shuts behind frankie before acknowledging the question angel didn't ask about the hideaway, giving him a slight nod anyway. "fine." her head and her heart are teetering somewhere between guilt and anger, but she's not in the mood to get into it until they're out of this fucking villa already. realizing she her plans to pack and change for tonight had been thwarted by her and frankie's heart-to-heart, callie takes a deep breath. "give me five minutes to get ready." she'll need more than that probably, but it's not like he's come here dressed for bed anyway. hesitating for a second, she turns her back to him, motioning to the zipper of her dress. "do you mind...?"

#this came to 16 pages in my google doc :doom: #i added some of the group convo to contextualise it. #but tehre were like 3 diff convos happening so sorry to those who did not make the cut. #⥂ frankie castro. ╱ threads. #frankie & callie. #frankie & callie 011. #icb it..... the last ever frankallie thread.......