floatingcoward
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Some nights were, naturally, worse than others.
Nights where Frank laid in bed for so long, staring at the ceiling, that it made his heart start to race with anxiety and his back ache and ache and ache no matter how he positioned himself. Nights where his thoughts spiraled out into worst-case-scenarios that seemed so vivid and inevitable that he would have to get up and go to the bathroom, just to turn the light on and look at himself in the mirror to remember what was actually real.
Those were the nights when he wanted the pills again the most: alone in his guest bedroom, trying to wring sleep out of his body like the last few drops of water out of a dirty dishcloth.
He tried not to call Mel on nights like that. He did not always succeed.
Bookmarked by floatingcoward
19 Apr 2026
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“Frank, you belong here. People want you here.”
Humourless laughter rippled through him at that. “That’s a fucking lie.”
But he almost laughed for real when he saw the wide grin itching its way onto her face. He stared back, utterly perplexed by this renewed enthusiasm.
“Okay, well I know at least one person who’s very happy that you’re back.”
He clenched his eyes shut, rubbing his temples. He should’ve seen that coming. He could still feel the ghosts of her fingertips on his arm.
Or, Frank and Cassie have a heart to heart in the break room.
Bookmarked by floatingcoward
01 Feb 2026
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The body of a Prince was not like anyone’s. His hand only ever held others in a firm handshake, and rarely without gloves. Sometimes he would raise the delicate hands of noble ladies to his lips for a brief kiss, but it was all out of propriety. He rarely touched others, but what was even rarer was others touching him. The only ones who dared were his knights, and even they only smacked his shoulder or patted his back in friendly roughhousing. Gripping each other’s arms before battle was the most heartfelt touch they exchanged. Lingering soft touches were not done. Any lingering touch on his person could be interpreted as political movements. After all, Arthur’s body wasn’t his own. It never had been. He was Camelot’s first and foremost. Even above his own needs and wants.
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Bookmarked by floatingcoward
27 Jun 2025