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snzluv3r · 16 days

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unspoken things || pt. 4

Here's the fourth part of my multi-part vacation story with Frankie, Penn, Eddie, and Clem!

(pt. 1) (pt. 2) (pt.3)

Summary: It becomes really difficult to hide your cold when you spike a fever AND your best friend/crush catches it. ~9.6k words

Fic below the cut. CW for mentions of a minor injury, mentions of contagion, a couple mentions of mess (not graphic), internalized homophobia/transphobia, mentions of parental neglect, and general angst. Minors, TERFS, and non-kink blogs DNI!

She should probably say something.

The sizzle of butter in a pan cuts across the kitchen and buzzes through the congestion in Frankie’s ears. With a shaky hand, she hoists a glass of orange juice to her lips and takes a tiny sip. The citrus burns with a not-quite-right tang over her tongue and down her throat, sending a prickle of tears over the backs of her eyes.

The air stings in her nose and across her skin. Every inch of her body tingles with a strange, oversensitive sensation, like she’s slathered herself in mentholated ointment and stepped out into a chilly breeze. Her head pounds in time with her heart, each beat making the kitchen flicker ever-so-slightly.

She presses the cuff of her sleeve against her nose and muffles a slow, crackling sniffle. It would be so easy to just lay her head down on the table, or better yet, to crawl back into bed and sleep off the worst of this cold.

But that wouldn’t really be fair to everyone else.

With a shivery sigh, she gives her ankle an experimental stretch under the table. The dull pulse from yesterday is gone, replaced by a stiffness that stretches through her toes and up into her calf. Each tendon and ligament creaks and groans when she walks, grinding against each other like brittle tree branches, though the joint no longer buckles when she leans on it.

A cough sparks at the back of her throat, though she swallows it back with another sip of orange juice. Dizziness rumbles between her ears, the kind that comes with egregiously swollen sinuses and congestion that medication won’t touch. Still, she forces herself to stay upright, to keep her head propped up with one hand and blink down at a jagged crack on the surface of the table until it hurts a little less to keep her eyes open.

They already lost most of yesterday because of her. She won’t be the cause of another wasted day.

“Hih’ETSCHHihh!”

Though at this rate, Penn might be.

Frankie cringes and squints up toward the stove. “Bless you.”

Penn sniffles into the cuff of the oversized sweater she wore to bed. Pancake batter smudges the tip of her nose, pale against the freckled blush of her skin. “Thank you.”

With a watery sniffle, she turns to crack an egg into the mixing bowl on the counter beside Clem, then begins working a wooden spoon through the pancake batter.

Frankie shivers deeper into her hoodie. Given how tired they both were when they went to bed, they should have slept soundly through the night. Instead, they tossed and turned and kicked each other awake for hours, Frankie struggling to get comfortable without moving her ankle too much while her fever bobbed up and down, throwing her back and forth between relentless shivers and a humid heat that made her rip the covers down. Penn wasn’t much better — she started snoring sometime around midnight, these annoying, buzzy snores that rumbled in her nose and down into her throat with mounting congestion, and Frankie woke to the sound of sneezes being poorly muffled between the pillows more than a few times.

She probably just forgot to take her allergy medicine before bed — she didn’t seem especially warm overnight, and didn’t complain about her throat hurting or anything else that might allude to a budding cold. Still … as she’s sniffled through the morning and repeatedly had to duck aside to muffle increasingly harsh sneezes in her sleeve … it’s been difficult to ignore the knot of worry that’s formed in Frankie’s chest.

There’s a soft thud on the table. Frankie blinks. Penn stands in front of her, a steaming mug of coffee between them. She nudges it forward, the corner of her lip lifting in a tender smile that makes something small and vulnerable ache at the back of Frankie’s throat. “Wake up, sleepyhead.”

Frankie pulls the coffee closer to herself and drags it up to her lips. It burns over her tongue and down her throat, sending a bitter prick through her sinuses. She sniffles into the mug before lowering it back to the table.

“I’m not a mborning person,” she mutters. Congestion blunts the edges of her words just enough to keep her voice a little quieter than normal — part self-consciousness, part an attempt to save her throat from further pain.

Penn pokes her shoulder. “You so are.”

“Not on vacation.” She coughs a little and rubs her wrist against her eye. That stinging, buzzing irritation that’s lurked in her sinuses for days zips through her nose, but she keeps her face placid. “Do you ndeed any help?”

“We’re set, I think. Besides, you should rest your ankle.” Penn sniffles; with little preamble, her brows pinch together, and she bobs toward the floor with a breathless, “hih’ATCSHHiewww!”

Frankie frowns. “Bless you.” She reaches to catch Penn’s hand in hers. “Are you okay?”

Bashfulness colors Penn’s smile as she rubs at her nose. “Oh, I’m fine, I’m just itchy. snnf! It’ll pass soon.” She yawns and squeezes Frankie’s hand. “Do you want chocolate chips in your pancakes?”

The back of Frankie’s nose buzzes, strongly enough that her eyelids twitch a little. With her breath held tightly in her lungs, she pushes her knuckle up against her septum and nods.

“We could put chocolate chips in the whole batter, if you want.” Clem cracks an egg into the pan on the stove. It sputters and hisses in the hot butter. “There’s a bag on the other side of the fridge.”

“Sounds good.” Penn pokes Frankie’s shoulder again, then turns to wander back toward the counter. Halfway there, she lifts her wrist to shield an itchy cough, her shoulders shuddering a little with the force of it.

That knot pulls taut in Frankie’s chest. Penn should be sitting here at the table with her, or even better, tucked back in bed, snuggled under a pile of blankets, curled up together as comfortably as they were yesterday, resting.

But then again, she wouldn’t be sick to begin with if it weren’t for Frankie.

The heated prickle in Frankie’s nose flares. Eyes squeezing shut, she clamps the cuff of her sleeve against her nose and mouth and holds her breath.

“h’Gkt!” The sneeze bursts in her throat, contained in the space between her lips and her vocal cords. Still, a spot of warm dampness soaks through her sleeve.

The kitchen crackles in and out of focus, the sound of the butter popping in her ears. She ducks her head and allows herself a quiet sniffle. A shiver races through her breath, though the tickle fades into the background of the heavy ache in her sinuses.

Her head droops against the back of her chair, her nose tipping up a little to stop it from running. Through slitted eyes, she peeks at the stove. “Do we kndow what we’re doing today?”

Clem pushes at the egg with a spatula. “What do you feel up to doing?” she asks. “I think anything involving a lot of walking is out of the question, but there are a couple of picnic areas and a swimming hole you can drive right up to.”

“Hih’eckTSCHHieww!” Penn twists to aim the sneeze toward the floor, away from the stove. She lets out a stuffy sigh as she straightens and rubs the back of her hand against her half-lidded eyes. “A swimming hole could be fun. I mbean, if Frankie’s up for it.”

Clem knocks her hip against Penn’s. “And if you can quit sneezing every five seconds.”

Penn groans. “I will, I’m just … waiti’g for my allergy mbeds to kick in.” She steps to the side to grab a paper towel from the roll on the counter and rubs her nose into it with a couple of heavy blows. “It’s ndot normally this bad, but I think maybe the dust is just really starting to bother both of us? I mean, I didn’t notice it at first, but Frankie did when we got here, and we both snored last night.”

Frankie frowns. “I didn’t snore.”

Penn raises her eyebrows from behind the paper towel. “You definitely snored.”

“You snored worse.” Frankie braces her shoulders against a shiver and takes another tiny sip of her juice. “You were like a chainsaw right in my ear.”

A raspy giggle catches in Penn’s throat. “Kick me next time.”

The bedroom door adjacent to the kitchen creaks open. Eddie wanders out, shower water drawing the ends of his hair into points around his forehead and ears. He rolls up the sleeves of his flannel around his forearms and ambles up behind Clem. With an affectionate hum, he pushes up on his toes to nudge a kiss against the nape of her neck. “Need any help?”

Like a cat arching its back against a friendly human’s touch, Clem leans into him with a quietly pleased sound. “We’re all set, love.” She gives her spatula another shove, then twists to tuck a kiss against his mouth, her fingertips cupping his cheeks like a delicate flower. “There’s coffee, if you want some.”

Eddie blushes under her touch. They kiss her again, their eyelashes whispering against their cheeks as they sink into her — a split second where it’s just the two of them tangled together, breathing each other in. Then they pull back with a soft smile and wander to the coffee machine, snag the pot and a clean mug, and carry them both to the table.

A yawn tugs at his mouth as he settles in the seat beside Frankie. “How’s your ankle?”

“Not bad.” She tenses against another shiver and presses a knuckle beneath her septum. The heaviness in her face pulses, the vaguely warm itchiness begging her eyes to tear up or squeeze shut entirely. “I can walk on it.”

Eddie glances down at it as they pour coffee into their mug. Steam erupts from the dark liquid, bursting up in a cloud between the two of them. “It looks swollen.”

“Ndot — snrk! — not like yesterday.” Frankie swallows again as a hint of dampness seeps along her knuckle. There should be napkins somewhere — or did they only bring paper towels? “It doesn’t hurt that much.”

Eddie nods and lifts his mug to his lips, though when she sniffles again, a faint line shadows the space between his brows.

“Eds, love?” Clem turns a knob on the stove. She opens a cabinet above and reaches for a plate. “What do you think about going to that swimming hole we talked about yesterday? It’s not a long walk, and there’s a nice area to sit.”

“That would be fine with me.” Eddie sets their mug beside the coffee pot. They turn to Frankie. “Are you up for that?”

Another shiver sneaks through Frankie’s shoulders and shudders in her breath. She scrunches her nose against her knuckle and nods.

That line between Eddie’s eyebrows cuts deeper. He twists to reach into his back pocket.

“We could pack a lunch,” Clem says. “Maybe bring sandwiches and chips?”

“That would be nice.” Penn sniffles, the sound a little muffled in Frankie’s ears. “Do we have fruit or anything? That’s always good for a picnic.”

Something soft is pressed into Frankie’s hand as her breath catches deep in her throat. She catches a glimpse of it just before her eyes clench shut — another faded bandana like the one from yesterday, this time a pale shade of lavender and printed with a paisley pattern.

She crushes it to her face and tenses everything in her body to try to wrangle back the sneeze.

“h’GKtsh!” Hot congestion rushes forward in her nose, stinging through her whole face like a poisonous sludge. Tears bead in the corners of her eyes as her breath burns along her throat again. “hgt’CHshh!”

Despite the harshness of the sneezes — the way they rip at her throat, uproot the muck in her face, and throw her shoulders forward — the bandana deadens the sound back into a quiet, barely there noise beneath the sizzle of the stove and chatter between Clem and Penn.

Frankie swallows hard and mops at the hot wetness coating her nostrils. The overhead light flashes with an odd rhythm as her sinuses push forward behind her eyes.

Eddie frowns. “Bless you,” they murmur, their voice low. Their hand settles on her knee. “Are you okay? You sound …”

“I’b fine,” she mumbles, though the crackling sniffle she sucks in afterward, and the ticklish cough that gets muffled in the bandana, are far from convincing.

“Are you sure?” Eddie’s wrist brushes the back of Frankie’s neck. “You feel kind of warm.”

Fuck.

A ragged gasp at the stove cuts Frankie off before she can think of an excuse. Yet again, Penn turns away from the counter, eyes squeezing shut, arm lifting to shield her face.

“Hih’ETSCHHuehh!” She jolts into her elbow with the sneeze, one hand gripping the counter to brace herself. “Hih! … hih’ECKTSCHhhieww!”

Eddie winces. “Bless you.”

A sinking feeling tugs the knot in Frankie’s chest and sucks her heart down into her stomach. This can’t be happening, not when they haven’t had one full, uninterrupted day of fun.

That’s what this vacation was supposed to be — fun. But instead, it’s become a series of unlucky events, a chain of dominoes knocking into each other, each unfortunate incident triggering something worse in its path.

Frankie takes a quiet breath through her mouth and, with one hand planted on the table, pushes herself up to her feet. Her ankle gives a sharp throb beneath her but stays steady. “I’b just — uh.” Her voice scrapes over her throat. She coughs into her sleeve. “I forgot something in the bedroom. I’ll be right back.”

Eddie bites down on their lip, though they nod.

“Put on your bathing suit, if you brought one.” Clem spoons pancake batter into a second pan. “Even if you can’t walk much, you can always float around in the water when we get to the swimming hole.”

Frankie’s breath quivers. She grinds her teeth together, trapping it deep in her lungs, and grunts out a vague noise of agreement. As she limps out of the kitchen, the cabin melts into a watery mess in front of her rapidly narrowing eyes.

She manages to keep ahold of herself until she reaches the bedroom, though as soon as she crosses through the doorway, her lungs spasm with a desperate breath that whines in her throat. She fumbles for the mattress, for something to brace herself on, as her chest trembles. Despite the dampness of the fabric, she crushes the bandana tight to her nose and mouth.

“Hih’NXTshheuhh! Hihh … hDT’shhhihh! Hih — hgt’TSschheuhh!”

The sneezes rip through her chest and throw her body forward a little, enough that she has to slump against the bed for support. Around her, the bedroom spins like some sort of poorly themed rustic carousel, the mallard painting blinking down at her as she lets herself fall back against the mattress with a hoarse groan.

A cough rattles over her throat before she can bite it back. Tears burn the backs of her eyes as her nose runs anew, and a shiver — sharper than all the others — forces its way up her back.

Frankie mops at her face with the bandana and hugs her arms around herself. She takes a shivery breath through her mouth.

So this is it, then — the full force of her cold has finally hit, all on the same day it’s taken Penn down, too. It doesn’t seem to matter how much medication she took this morning, that she slept all afternoon yesterday, that she’s been determined to fight it off through sheer willpower — it’s here, and at this point, it’s becoming harder and harder to hide.

For a second, she closes her eyes and lies still. In the quiet, Penn’s laugh drifts in from the kitchen, mingling with an exclamation from Clem. Despite the hoarseness edging the sound, it’s still full of joy and light.

More tears sting Frankie’s eyes and trickle out onto her cheeks, blazing hot trails down her skin.

Just for a little while longer. She has to keep it together, just for a little bit. Penn deserves that, especially after yesterday. Especially after it all, really. She’s already had to deal with so much she shouldn’t have, from Frankie’s inability to just cope with her feelings and kiss her like an adult, to the strange tension between them, to tending to her sprained ankle, and now the beginning stages of a cold she shouldn’t have caught. She deserves a day of fun, and later, an evening of being offered tea and blankets when the cold catches up with her. And she deserves it without having to worry about Frankie.

Frankie blows her nose into the bandana and drags herself up on one elbow. Blinks against the unsteadiness of the room. She can take more medicine, try to get things under control for now. At least for the next few hours. Clem said there’s a place to sit at the swimming hole. She can rest there — gather up enough energy to care for Penn when they get home. And then finally, when it’s all done and everyone else is taken care of, she can let herself crash.

“Are you sure you don’t mind if I get in?”

Frankie pushes her mouth into what hopefully resembles a smile as she squints up toward Penn. “No, go have fun. I’m comfy here.”

“Me, too,” Eddie says. He’s stretched out on a beach towel beside Frankie, the two of them tucked beneath a towering oak tree a couple hundred yards from the swimming hole’s bank, the picnic basket and a handful of various sodas nestled by their feet. “We’ll keep each other company.”

Penn pushes her knuckle against her septum and glances toward the water. Standing over Frankie in a fuschia bikini, she looks like a goddess, the late-morning light hugging the dips and curves of her stomach and breasts, highlighting the rolling expanse of her ivory skin, fields of freckles, and the soft pink birthmark that blooms on the back of her upper left thigh. A rust-colored halo sparked by the sun glows around her hair.

Or maybe that’s just Frankie’s fever.

“If you get bored, just yell,” Penn says. The slight congestion from this morning still pinches her voice into something more nasally than usual, and she had to duck into her elbow a handful of times during the car ride from the cabin to sneeze, enough that the tip of her nose is an irritated shade of pink. It all makes that knot of worry in Frankie’s chest tug tight, enough she almost reaches up to coax her to stay on the towel and avoid the chilly water.

But then again, Penn hasn’t said anything — nothing to indicate she’s really feeling bad yet, or that it actually is anything worse than her allergies.

It would be easier to brush it off as just that if Frankie’s own head didn’t currently feel filled to the brim with sludge.

“Are you sure you’re okay?” Penn nudges her toe against Frankie’s leg. “I’m more than happy to hang out up here and tell you about astrology and pretend I know what I’m talking about.”

A raspy laugh catches in Frankie’s throat. “Tell mbe later. Tonight, maybe.”

Penn nudges her again, more gently this time, then turns toward the swimming hole. Clem’s already by the shore, dipping her toes into the water, and Penn scurries to catch up with her, her feet scuffing across the short grass and pebbles.

Despite the sunshine, a shiver snarls up Frankie’s back. She pulls the sleeves of her hoodie over her hands and sinks deeper inside of it. A cough burns deep in her throat — they’ve been coming more and more frequently since breakfast, the harsh, distinctly sick-sounding kind that you can’t hold back, though she manages to muffle it in her sleeve.

Still, Eddie props himself up on an elbow and watches her with that same sharp line of worry through his brow from breakfast. His hand settles on her shoulder. “You’re sick.”

The cold slime of guilt seeps through her stomach. She studies the zigzag pattern of various shades of blues on her towel. “It’s just a cold.”

“A bad one, it sounds like.” His hand travels up to touch her forehead, then her neck, feeling that same spot he did before breakfast. “When did it start?”

A sniffle sends a sharp buzz through her nose. The extra doses of Dayquil and Sudafed she took before breakfast cut down on some of the congestion, though not by much — certainly not enough to take away the constant sting of inflammation burning through her entire face, holding her only a second away from needing to pinch her nose or duck into her sleeve.

She pulls Eddie’s soiled bandana from the pocket of her denim shorts and scrubs it against her nostrils. “I started feeli’g a little off on Mbonday.”

“Frankie …” Disappointment, or maybe frustration, deepens Eddie’s frown. “Why didn’t you say something?”

Her breath shatters in her throat. With both hands, she holds the bandana against her face, eyes squinting up toward the sun to nudge the itch forward more quickly. Immediately, they slam shut. “Hgt’schhuehhh! Hihhh …nckt’shhhuehh! Hih … snnnrk. Hih’acktschhiew!”

She shivers a little and slumps against her elbow, her muscles going limp in the aftermath of the fit. Behind the bandana, that all-too-familiar rush of hot congestion sticks to her nostrils. She blows her nose with a heavy, unrestrained sound. It’s disgusting, but more relieving than anything she’s allowed herself since they left Maine.

“Bless you.” Eddie rubs a hand over her back. “You should be in bed.”

The grass around them wriggles, acid green and too alive. Frankie lowers herself down on the towel, tucking her arm under her cheek in an awkwardly bent pillow. She blinks heavy eyelids at Eddie. “We’re literally just layi’g here. I thingk I’ll survive.”

“I just mean you shouldn’t be forcing yourself to push through.” Eddie plucks a blade of grass from beside their towel and rolls it back and forth between their fingers. “Why are you forcing it? I mean, I feel like you normally know your limits, and this seems … past that.”

A lump wells in Frankie’s throat. She coughs into the neckline of her hoodie. “I … I just wanted this to be fun. For everyone.”

Eddie’s eyebrows rise a little, urging her onward. “Is it about everyone? Because we love you, but Clem and I could do things on our own if you told us you wanted to stay behind and rest. You know that.”

Frankie bites down on her lip before it can start to tremble. It’s not supposed to be like this. She’s meant to be the strong one, the butch, a rock for those around her and, eventually, her femme. But Penn isn’t hers — hasn’t ever been hers. Is probably further from being hers than when they met. How could she ever want to be, after what happened the night before they left?

Twin tears force themselves out of Frankie’s eyes. A sniffle shivers in her lungs. Her emotions lie just below her skin, worn raw by her fever, begging to be plucked and unraveled like a broken stitch.

“It’s complicated,” she whispers. She scrubs the cuff of her sleeve against her nose with a harsh sniffle. Everything from the past few days crowds in her throat and aches in her teeth.

She faces toward the sky and squeezes her eyes shut. Another set of tears trickles down either side of her face. “I think I mbessed everythi’g up.” Her voice comes out quiet and hoarse. She swallows and paws at her nose, hand curled inside her sleeve. “I don’t know what to do.”

The towel beside her rustles. Eddie folds his arms behind his head and leans back, squinting up at the sky. “What do you mean?”

She bites the inside of her cheek. Just like that night, the kiss plays on a loop, rolling over and over in her head, an out-of-control kaleidoscope throwing back the images of everything she did wrong a thousand times over. Every tiny detail — each fleeting expression and tiny movements of her hand on Penn’s shirt and the spaces in between her breaths — magnified by a million.

Regret, or overwhelm from her fever, or something else she can’t put a finger on, clenches down on her chest so hard it hurts to breathe. Because that moment should have been right. It would have been, if she’d only let it play out like she had so wanted to — had gone along with her own instincts, let herself sink deeper into the kiss, gone soft under Penn’s touch, allowed her fingers to wander where they wanted. But instead, that stupid panic born from everything before had kicked in — the product of growing up an incorrect girl, her mother and kids at school, more than two and a half decades of fearing who she is. Finding out over and over that the cruelest people are the ones who say they care.

She shouldn’t feel those things — not when Penn has always been different. Always safe. But in those intimate moments, driven by those core parts of yourself, it’s not so easy to separate the two — to tell your brain it doesn’t have to protect you from the monsters that aren’t here anymore.

Frankie swallows as fresh tears bud in her eyes. “I fucked up with Penn,” she whispers. “I don’t kndow how to come back from it.”

Eddie reaches to squeeze Frankie’s shoulder. “It’ll be okay,” they murmur. “She really cares about you. I’m sure you can work it out.”

Frankie sniffles. She mops at her nose with the bandana. “I wouldn’t, if I were her.”

“I think you would.” Eddie holds the blade of grass against their chest and plucks the end off of it. It flutters against their shirt. “Have you talked about it with her?”

“Ndot really.” A shiver, part itchiness and part swallowed-back emotion, ripples through Frankie’s breath. She rolls over to hold herself up on her elbow. The sky flashes sideways, then rights itself. “She hasn’t mbentioned it, and I don’t want to bring it up.”

“You probably should, if it’s bothering you so much.” Eddie drops the grass and curls forward to sit up. “Things will never be normal if you just ignore it.”

The sunlight sparks sharply in Frankie’s eyes. Her breath snags again, rushing more harshly over her throat and down into her chest. She shrinks toward her chest with a ragged, “hih’ickshhhuehh!”

“Bless you.” A smile softens Eddie’s face as Frankie rubs her nose against her sleeve. “And you should probably tell her you have a cold. I know it’s easy to try to keep everything a secret, but you shouldn’t. Not from people who love you.”

Frankie’s eyes sting. She draws in a quivering breath through the cuff of her sleeve.

Down in the swimming hole, Penn bursts up from the surface of the water. A laugh rings through the clearing as she splashes Clem, and a second later, the two of them slip under the water again, pale like smudges of watercolor paint below the surface. Blissfully carefree, as they should be. Full of that curious joy that first drew Frankie to Penn back in the bookstore.

Frankie sniffles and studies the towel’s pattern below her. “Do you ever stop bei’g scared?” she asks.

Eddie pulls up another stalk of grass. He peels part of it down toward its end. “You stop waiting for them to hurt you or to leave eventually. But it takes effort. You have to actively trust, even when it’s hard. I think that’s the only way it stops being hard someday.”

Frankie pushes her knuckle against her nose. It’s silly for it to be so difficult with Penn when she’s already been there for so much — has proven again and again that despite Frankie’s best efforts to create distance when things feel dangerously close, she’s not going anywhere.

But then again, maybe it should be, for the same reason it was so hard to just let herself kiss her. There were all the years before her. All the time she can’t just uproot and unlearn. It still hangs around, ghosts haunting a weathered house she’s trying so desperately to turn into a safe, comfortable home.

She wipes her wrist against her nose. “Do you ever get scared with Clem still? Or is it better ndow?”

An oddly nervous laugh bubbles in Eddie’s throat. “It’s funny you should ask.” They drop the piece of grass and shift to reach into the pocket of their shorts. “It’s better — not like we don’t ever have our issues, but no, it’s not like it used to be. But I … I’m freaking out a little bit right now, to tell you the truth.”

They withdraw their hand from their pocket and hold it out flat, palm toward the sky, fingers shaking ever so slightly. A gold ring rests against their skin, glittering brilliantly in the sunshine. At its center, delicate leaves surround a tiny stone the color of the soft side of a fern, cradling it in place.

Frankie’s mouth falls open. “Oh mby god.” She sits up; the world sways beneath her, though she blinks through it. “Did you — I mbean, when are you — what’s the plan?”

Eddie bites down on a smile. “I don’t know, exactly. I mean, I have some ideas. I want to take her somewhere tomorrow morning. Just the two of us.”

“Oh mby god, Eddie.” Frankie hooks an arm around his neck. Something warm and tender wells up in her chest and chokes her voice. “I’b so happy for you.”

“I’m freaking out.” A bashful laugh hides just beyond the edges of Eddie’s words. “I mean, we’ve talked about it before, but actually proposing is just … it feels big.”

“She’s goi’g to say yes.” Frankie pushes the back of her wrist against the bridge of her nose; with the shift in position, the congestion has all rushed forward, burning in her cheekbones and along her nasal passages. “But I get it.”

“I just want to make it special.” Eddie cups his fingers closer to the ring and tips it back and forth, watching it glitter in the sunlight. “She deserves it.”

“You both do.” Frankie sniffles, then twists to the side with a breathless, “hih’atschhhuehh!” She sniffles again, this time into her sleeve. “Have you told anyone else?”

Eddie shakes his head. “Just you. I wanted to tell Jack and Corey, too, but I feel like Jack would let it slip somehow.”

Frankie muffles a cough against her wrist. How many days — weeks, or months, even — have they worked side-by-side while he kept this to himself? It’s the sort of secret that’s so special and intimate, the kind she never thought she’d be on the receiving end of.

She hugs her knee to her chest. “It mbeans a lot. Just that you trust mbe.”

“I think I’d go crazy if I didn’t tell someone.” Eddie slips the ring back in his pocket. He nudges her shoulder. “Plus, you’re good at keeping secrets. A little too good, maybe.”

Frankie grimaces as she blows her nose. “I’b worki’g on it.” She props her arm on her knee, letting her head fall forward a little with the weight of the congestion throbbing through it. “Sorry for being weepy at you. I wouldn’t have dumped all that on you if I’d kndown.”

“You didn’t dump anything on me. I like talking about these things.” He nudges her shoulder again. “I think Penn would probably like it, too.”

Frankie rests her head against her arm. Her nose scrunches with a rough sniffle. “I thingk I got her sick.”

“It happens.” Eddie pats Frankie’s back. “She won’t be mad about that, especially not if you talk to her.”

He says it with such certainty, the kind Frankie’s never really had. But then again, he’s been through all this, or something like it. Maybe he really does know better.

She squeezes her eyes shut against the brightness of the day and shivers deeper into her hoodie. “I hope you’re right.”

There’s absolutely no doubt at this point — Penn’s caught Frankie’s cold, and it’s hitting her hard.

She sits on the edge of the bed, huddled deep inside her sweatshirt and a pair of sweatpants. Her hair stands up in all directions, still a little damp from the swimming hole. A bouquet of tissues hides her nose, the box nestled on her lap as she sniffles through a handful of raspy, rattly coughs.

When Frankie limps toward the bed, she looks up at her with watery eyes. “I really dond’t feel well.”

Frankie’s chest aches. Congestion, far thicker than this morning, clings to Penn’s voice and turns her words sticky. Each inhale comes in a heavy, soupy sniffle, and in the hour or so since she got out of the water, a barky cough has settled in her chest.

“Do you want tea?” Frankie grimaces on the words. Her own voice is hardly better, her throat ragged from the unrelenting coughs and sneezes she forced herself to stifle back during the car ride home.

It’s not like Penn can’t know she’s sick, or like she’ll be able to hide it forever. It’s just that it feels a little selfish to draw attention to her own issues right now. Not while Penn is so undeniably miserable.

“Mbaybe?” Penn sniffles sharply into the tissues. Her eyelashes flutter a little, her chest shuddering. “I feel so stupid for swimmi’g … I really thought it was just — ihhhh! snrrk — just allhihhh — allergies — hih’ATSCHHHHuhhhh!”

She jolts forward into the tissues, the sneeze heavy with congestion and ragged on her throat. Tears bud at the edges of her eyelashes as a cough snags in her chest, then several more, the fit shuddering through her shoulders as she fights to regain control of her breathing.

Frankie sets a hand against her back. The backs of her eyes sting, her own emotions still linger just below the surface, drawn up by her fever. “I’m so sorry.”

Penn shakes her head as she coughs. “Ndo, it’s … I’ll be fine, I’b just … it’s sort of just all hitt’g mbe.” She gives her nose a vicious blow and rips another handful of tissues from the box. A pained smile etches lines across her forehead. “I guess I should mbove to the couch so you don’t catch this. I was probably already contagious yesterday, but … you ndever know.”

“Yeah, I … don’t think that’s necessary.” Frankie pushes herself up onto the bed and scoots back against the pillows. She hugs her arms around herself and tenses against a shiver. Even after hours spent in the sun, she can’t chase away the frigid goose bumps needling her skin. “I … think I actually got you sick.”

“Hih’ATSCHHihhh!” The sneeze tears at Penn’s chest and throat and immediately launches her into another coughing fit. From behind the fresh handful of tissues, she peers up at Frankie through hazy eyes. “Why — snrrk! — why do you say that?”

Frankie swallows. A cough wells in her throat, and though she presses her lips together, it bursts out anyway against her wrist, hoarse and thick with irritation.

Realization flickers through Penn’s eyes, though it’s quickly overcast by something terrible. Disappointment. No, that’s not it. Hurt — raw, unsuppressed hurt, the kind that only comes when something that should never have been kept secret is revealed.

“You’ve been sick this whole timbe.” Hoarseness strips her voice to a whisper. She sniffles with a desperately wet sound and pushes her palm against her eye. The tissue box gets knocked on its side. “I should have kndown … I mbean, I thingk I did kndow … you’ve literally sounded sick since we left. But I just …”

Frankie swallows again. “I’m sorry.”

Penn pulls one knee up to her chest. She twists the wad of tissues between her fingers. “I just thought you would have told mbe.”

“I was going to.” Tears sting behind Frankie’s eyes. She pinches the bridge of her nose and blinks toward the ceiling. Now isn’t the time to cry, to make it even more about herself.

“When?” Penn asks. Red bleeds through her eyes as she sniffles into her tissues. “It’s been days.”

“I … eventually.” Frankie tries to swallow but chokes on another cough. Every nerve screams to reach out for Penn, to hold her just like she did yesterday, but some invisible wall holds her back. Everything is wrong now, broken by her own hand.

Penn gives another sharp sniffle. Tears leak onto her cheeks. She shoves them away against the back of her wrist. “I just don’t get it. I mbean, did I do sombethi’g? I thought — I mbean, I spent the whole day with you yesterday. snrrrk! You could have mbentioned it then.”

“I’m sorry.” Frankie curls in on herself, hugging her knees to her chest. Her ankle, still secure in the ACE bandage Penn rewrapped it in this morning, twinges with the movement. “You shouldn’t have done that.”

“Frankie, I wanted to.” Penn lets out a choked sound that might be a stifled sob or might just be barely restrained exasperation. “It’s what we do. You kndow that.”

“At home, yeah.” The tears mingle with the congestion in Frankie’s sinuses and flare hot. She buckles forward, nose pinched between her thumb and forefinger, with a stuffy, “hgk’TCHHihh!” Her sleeve soaks up the dampness beneath her septum as she sniffles up at Penn. “I ndever — I didn’t want to ruin your vacation.”

Penn squeezes her lips tight. Her eyelashes press together in sharp copper spikes. “You didn’t ruin anythi’g.” She sniffles and barks a rough cough against her sleeve. “It’s what I wanted to do. Why don’t you get that?”

“It’s a little complicated, okay?” The words vomit themselves out, splashing like acid across Frankie’s throat.

Penn’s eyes lift to meet Frankie’s. Tears well over them and trickle down her cheeks.

Frankie crosses her arms tight against her chest. “It’s not about you.”

“It feels like it is.” Penn hugs herself through a shiver. She lifts her shoulder to wipe at her nose. “I kndow there were people before mbe. That’s … literally how it is for everyone. But what am I supposed to do? I mbean, I keep showi’g you I care, and it’s like ndo mbatter what I do, you can’t see it.”

Frankie’s throat squeezes tight. She glares down at a tiny hole in the hem of her shorts as tears sting on her cheeks. “I’m sorry. It’s not your fault.”

“It’s ndot about it bei’g anyone’s fault.” Penn coughs again and mops at her nose with her soggy clump of tissues. Fatigue tugs on her shoulders with the kind of heaviness that’s built up over a long time, not just from today’s cold. “I just don’t kndow what to do. I feel like … I don’t kndow. Like mbaybe I’be just hurti’g you, mbore than anythi’g.”

A tremble runs through Frankie’s lip. She bites down on it. How can Penn even say that? She’s only ever done the opposite, only shown her love and care no matter how little she deserves it.

It’s only Frankie who’s done all the hurting.

She sniffles against her sleeve. “I’m sorry I got you sick.”

“I don’t care about that.” Penn scrubs her hand against the side of her face. “I just … it just mbakes mbe sad. That we couldn’t talk about it. You’re supposed to be able to share those things with your friends, and I just thought … I don’t kndow.”

Something terrible pushes up in Frankie’s throat. She picks at the hole in her shorts, jaw tight. “Is that what we are?”

Penn looks up from behind her hand. “What?”

A thread rips up from Frankie’s shorts, leaving a frayed edge behind. Her voice scrapes low in her throat. “You keep saying that, but friends don’t kiss each other.”

Some sort of light goes out in Penn’s eyes. She slumps against her knee and lets her eyelids squeeze together, lips pressing into a thin line. Her chest shudders as she draws in a heavy sniffle that bursts back out in a barky, jagged cough.

“I can’t do this ndow.” She drags her wrist along her nose and lifts heavy lids toward Frankie. “Go lie down, Frankie. You’re sick. We … we shouldn’t be havi’g this conversation. Ndot now.”

Frankie’s heart kicks high in her chest. It was a stupid thing to say, something to get a reaction out of Penn, or maybe — finally — some clarity. Not this — no anger or sadness, but emptiness. A total lack of will to keep going.

“I’m sorry.” Tears sizzle on her cheeks and scald her skin with another biting shiver. “I — Penn, I didn’t — I’m just confused. I’m sorry.”

Penn muffles another vicious cough in her sleeve. She hauls herself up off the bed and turns toward the bathroom. “It’s fine.” Her arms wrap around her chest to stave off another shiver. It creeps into her voice anyway. “I just … I’b tired, Frankie.”

Frankie’s throat jams. “I’m sorry,” she whispers again.

Penn inhales with a shaky sniffle. She ducks into her sleeve with a rough, “huh’USHHHHuehhh!” that leaves her sniffling and rubbing her nose for several long seconds.

“I just ndeed some timbe,” she murmurs.

She doesn’t wait for a reply before she slips into the bathroom and closes the door behind her.

A sob clenches down on Frankie’s throat. Heat blisters in her cheeks, worse than the chills darting across her skin and deep into her bones. She snatches a throw pillow and buries her face in it. Her breath tears out of her, ragged and hot as tears soak into the old cotton.

Through the door, Penn’s cough echoes in the bathroom, fierce and unrelenting as she turns on the bathtub. The kind that deserves to be soothed with tea and lozenges and as much medicine as she wants. She deserves to be cradled close, to have a gentle hand rub circles over her chest and back, to fall asleep to the sound of reassuring words whispered in her ear.

But Frankie can offer none of that. Not now. Maybe not ever again.

Another sob shudders in her chest and soaks into the pillow. It wrenches a cough up from her own lungs, grating on her throat.

Limbs shaking, she crawls under the sheets, curling up as small as she can, like a little kid hiding away from the world. It’s where she’ll stay, away from everyone else. Out of the way. Out of sight. Not being a bother.

After everything, it’s the least she can do.

She should leave it alone, but after a few hours, the coughing starts to get to her.

The air crawls over Frankie’s skin like a thousand icy spiders as she pulls the quilts back, leaving a trail of skittering goose bumps behind. In the pale evening light from the window, she shudders. It should be warmer in here; she should be warmer. But ever since she curled up under the quilts, alone, a biting chill has taken hold, the kind that’s impossible to shake on your own.

A horrible cough echoes from out in the den. It starts deep in Penn’s lungs and rips up and over her throat, getting half muffled in her sleeve or a blanket as she wheezes for breath.

Frankie grimaces. It’s been hours of this — relentless, rattling coughing, barely a minute in between them, the only breaks coming when Penn has to sneeze or blow her nose. There’s no sign that she’s getting any rest out there on the couch by herself. And why would she? Aside from the sounds of her cold, the cabin is quiet — the two of them haven’t spoken since Penn took a bath, and Clem and Eddie are out on another hike. She’s by herself, trapped on that couch, without medicine or tea or even just a comforting shoulder to curl up against.

Another shiver rips across Frankie’s spine. It shouldn’t be like this — no matter what she feels, or what’s been said between them, Penn doesn’t deserve this.

Throwing a blanket around her shoulders, she swings her legs over the side of the bed. The room flickers like static on an old TV, all the colors washed out in the growing shadows of the evening. She swallows hard, spit blistering over the tender flesh of her throat.

Her ankle gives a dull throb under her weight, though it stays steady as she limps out of the bedroom.

The floor groans under her feet as she wanders into the den, though Penn doesn’t look up from the puddle of blankets she’s curled up beneath.

Silhouetted by the light from the den’s picture windows, she’s huddled against one end of the couch and wrapped in that fluffy pink robe she wore the first time Frankie visited her apartment, clumps of used tissues surrounding her wilted body. She sniffles into a soggy handful of tissues, the box sitting crookedly by her knees. Moisture glistens on the edges of her flushed nostrils, and her eyelids hang heavy, puffed up with tears and fatigue.

“Hey.” Frankie leans against the other end of the couch. She touches the corner of Penn’s blanket. “You sound miserable.”

Penn’s nostrils quiver with a sniffle. Her eyes squeeze shut, spilling twin tears onto her cheeks. “Go away,” she mumbles.

Frankie swallows. She lets her breath out in a slow, shivery sigh. Tears threaten to spill over the edges of her eyelashes, but she blinks them back. She can cry later, alone. Right now, Penn needs her attention.

“Can we please not fight?” she whispers. “I mean — not that we can’t be in a fight. I just wondered if we could take a break. You need medicine, and you’d probably be more comfortable in bed than out here.”

Penn gives her nose a halfhearted blow that triggers a gravelly cough. It shudders in her shoulders and chest, shaking her whole upper body for several long moments until she manages to catch her breath again with a sludgy sniffle. “I’ll be fine.”

“Penn. Come on.” Frankie slouches more heavily against the couch. Her ankle throbs, and the room rocks ever so slightly, like a hammock strung between two trees. She tenses against a shiver. “We don’t have to talk. I just — I can’t sleep when you’re so sick.”

Penn’s lip trembles. She catches it in her teeth, though her shoulders shake, like she’s only just holding back a sob.

Something in Frankie’s chest breaks.

She fumbles to lay a hand against Penn’s arm. “Let me help,” she whispers.

Sniffling into her tissues, Penn nods. Slowly, she nudges the pile of blankets off herself, then shifts to sit up. Her eyelids flutter up and down. She clutches the arm of the couch.

Frankie’s grip tightens on her arm. “Take your time.”

Penn barks a cough into her sleeve. “I’b just — I’b fine.” She scrubs her hand over her face with a heavy sniffle. “My head’s just really stuffy, and … it’s mbaki’g mbe dizzy.”

“I know.” Frankie lets her hand fall away from Penn’s arm. “Do you have a fever?”

Penn rips a fresh handful of tissues from the box and blows her nose. “Do you?”

Frankie swallows. “Yes.”

Penn looks up at her. Through the fog in her eyes, her expression is hard to read, though that hurt from earlier is there, cutting that same line into her forehead.

Frankie bites her tongue. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.

No apology is enough.

With a heavy sniffle, Penn snags the box of tissues in one hand and pushes herself to her feet. A chill shakes her body. She hugs herself tightly through her robe. “I’b goi’g to get water. Do you want any?”

Frankie rubs her nose against her wrist. “I’ll get it. You should lie down.”

“I’ve got it.” Penn scrunches her nose, then ducks down into her elbow with a jagged, “hih’ATSCHHHuehhhh!” She blinks dazed eyes at Frankie. “Could you just … pull out whatever mbedicine you’ve got?”

Frankie nods. Ankle throbbing, she drags herself back to the bedroom and into the bathroom. As she pulls out bottles of medicine for herself and Penn, cough after cough echoes from the kitchen.

A jagged ache bleeds through Frankie’s chest. This all could have been prevented, if only she’d said something. Maybe it wouldn’t have stopped Penn from catching this, but at least they wouldn’t be here — barely speaking, a kind of distance so uncharacteristic of their relationship unspooling between them like a thread she can’t rewind.

There’s a soft thud out in the bedroom, then the rustling of sheets being moved aside. Penn coughs again, more quietly this time, the weight of exhaustion evident in the heavy sniffle she draws in afterward. “D’you … d’you ndeed help?” she mumbles.

“No.” Frankie gathers the bottles of cold medicine in her hands and carries them out into the bedroom. She spills them onto the quilts at the foot of the bed, then drops onto the mattress, limbs quaking a little. “I brought some of everything, so … take what you need.”

Penn sets the box of tissues between their pillows. She scoots forward to look at the rainbow of medicines, then lifts concerned eyebrows at Frankie. “Have you taken anythi’g?”

“Uh … a decongestant and ibuprofen, a little while ago. And nasal spray, I think.” Frankie pushes the heel of her hand against her eyes. “It feels like my fever just wants to run its course, but that’s … not really unusual.”

Penn lifts the bottle of Nyquil capsules and twists it open. “That sounds mbiserable.”

“No worse than your cough.” Frankie pushes her knuckle against her septum. “You sound so much worse than earlier.”

“I mbean, things just usually hit mbe hard and fast, especially if I’b ndot worki’g. That’s a thing, right? Like when you can finally relax, your body feels safe enough to let you get sick?” Penn reaches for her cup from the nightstand and takes two capsules with a sip of water. She sniffles and muffles a thick cough in her sleeve. “Either way, it’s ndot that unusual.”

Frankie takes the Nyquil bottle from Penn. That same ache from the bathroom tugs in her chest as she watches Penn cough again, and keep coughing for a long moment.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I didn’t mean to —”

“Ndot now.” Penn sets her water back on the nightstand and reaches for a bottle of Robitussin. “We’ll talk about it later.”

Frankie presses her lips together. She nods.

With another ragged cough, Penn points at the bottle of Nyquil. “You should take that. Or somethi’g, at least, just to try to get your fever down. You’re really flushed.”

“I’ll be fine,” Frankie says, though she knocks two capsules out onto her palm. A fresh glass of water sits on her side of the bed, and she takes the medicine with it. Though the water sends a sharp shiver through her, it goes down cool and soothing over her throat.

She sets her water back on the nightstand and starts to settle back against her pillows, but stops short. Next to her, Penn fumbles with the Robitussin, the bottle shaking a little as she holds the little plastic measuring cup against its lip.

Frankie touches her shoulder. “Let me get it.”

Penn doesn’t argue, instead just handing the medicine to Frankie and drooping against the pillows. Her eyelashes flicker low as Frankie pours the medicine into the cup, like her final bit of energy has been drained just from sitting here and talking.

Frankie hands her the cup and screws the cap back on the bottle. “Do you need anything else?”

“Ndo.” Penn throws the syrup back with a wince. She coughs on it and takes a sip of water. The glass shudders in her hand as she pushes it back onto the nightstand. When she glances at Frankie, something that’s probably meant to be a smile wobbles on her lips. “I really amb okay.”

“I know.” Frankie bends forward to collect the remaining bottles of medicine; she gathers them up and sets them on her nightstand, then crawls deeper under the quilts. Despite the layers, a shiver crawls up her spine. “I just … wish you felt better.”

“Yeah, well … you, too.” Penn’s breath flickers. She twists away from Frankie, gathering the quilts close to her face. “Hih … hih’AKKTSCHHieww! Hhhh … hih’ETSCHHHieww! Hih’EXXSchhieww!”

Under the covers, her body tenses hard with each sneeze, only a few inches from Frankie. Close enough to reach out and touch, to run a soothing hand over or to pull close.

But that privilege, something Frankie’s taken for granted for so long, is gone now, chipped away by the howling wolves deep inside the pit of her stomach that siren any time someone gets too close, snarling and baring their teeth even at those who only wish to show affection.

“Bless you,” she whispers.

Penn sniffles into the quilts. A chill jars her shoulders. “Thangks.”

Shadows creep over the bed, stretching across the quilts like gnarled ghosts. It’s not quite dark but not quite light out anymore, the sun having settled below the horizon moments ago, leaving the world in deepening shades of twilight. Just beyond the windowpane, crickets buzz, and somewhere in one of the trees along the road, an owl hoots for its mate.

The bed groans as Penn shifts to look up at the ceiling. The air crackles in her nose when she sniffles. “You kndow, when I was a kid, my mbom only paid attention to mbe when I was sick.” Her voice croaks a little, hoarseness starting to wear on her words in the quiet. “Did I ever tell you that?”

Frankie turns against her pillow to look at Penn. Her nose and eyelashes are silhouetted by the twilight, her skin silver and lilac in the dimness.

“No.”

“Yeah. It was always like that, even right before I mboved out.” Penn rolls the edge of the quilt between her fingers. She takes a soft breath through her lips. “Ndo mbatter how mbuch I thought she hated mbe, it was like … none of it mbattered in those mboments. She became … just so, so sweet. Like a different person, almbost.”

Frankie pushes her wrist against her nose with a sniffle. “That must have been confusing.”

Penn coughs into the quilts, hard enough that tears bead along her eyelashes. They glitter in the lavender-colored light of the window. “I thingk it was just sad, really. To ndeed sombeone to be in pain to show themb love.”

Frankie hums. A chill rolls through her body like a wave, rising up from her ankle and rippling through her limbs and deep into her chest. She huddles deeper under the quilts.

She watches the ceiling fan blades turn in a lazy circle overhead. “My mom had this stupid rule for when I didn’t feel well when I was little,” she murmurs. “If I could still walk or talk, it wasn’t worth complaining about or missing school. That’s what she’d always say.”

Penn chokes on another cough. She snags a tissue from the box and nuzzles her nose deep into it. “That isn’t fair.”

“Nope.” Frankie bites the inside of her cheek. Days of sitting in school, hunched over her desk, shivering just as hard as she is now, flutter through her mind like old pictures scattered around a mildewed attic. She swallows. “But I mean … she and my dad were both working, so I guess it was easier. I don’t know. You kind of have to imagine there was a reason for it, you know?”

“I guess so.” Penn bobs forward into the tissues with a sharp, “hih’ATSCHHHihhh!” She droops against her pillow with a painfully sticky sniffle. “It still mbakes you wonder, though, doesn’t it? Why they couldn’t get their shit together enough to ndot fuck their own kids up?”

Frankie picks at a thread in the top quilt. “Yeah.”

They’re quiet for a moment, letting the song of the crickets fill the emptiness between them.

Penn blows her nose and coughs into her tissues. The last trickle of light catches in her eyes as she looks across her pillow at Frankie. “I’b sorry.”

“For what?”

“I don’t kndow.”

Frankie pulls the quilts closer to her chin. She burrows deeper into her pillow, searching for any ounce of warmth hidden within it. “Me too.”

Beneath the quilts, Penn’s pinky finger hooks around Frankie’s. She closes her eyes, her lips half squished against her pillow. “We’re still in a fight.”

Frankie squeezes her pinky. “I know.”

As darkness falls across the room, Penn’s breathing evens out, the coughing coming less and less frequently. Slowly, Frankie’s shivers start to recede a little — never quite disappearing completely, but settling into just a whisper of a thing across her skin, not the bone-deep shudders that have plagued her all afternoon.

She holds Penn’s hand tight against her chest. Nothing is fixed yet, not really. Maybe it won’t be for a while. But at least for now, they’re both a little less alone.

#this. you. oh . MY GOD #fave snzfic #frankie and penn #i cried reading this it felt so real you’re SO great at describing everything #this series is everything you’re a gift to snzbians and lesbians in general #i love them both so much and my heart Hurts

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