“Not a word,” Frank grits out, using your doorway to support his weight while his hands are busy trying to stop the bleeding. See, Frank hates you. There really isn’t any reason. He just does, and he’s not very shy about showing it.

He hates a lot of people.

The problem with hating everyone is that he has nowhere to go when he bites off more than he can chew and finds himself losing way too much blood way too fast. So, he goes to the only place he can think of: Your apartment.

He’s pretty sure he’d rather lay down in a gutter and wait than say anything cliche like how he didn’t know where else to go, but he really didn’t. You’re the only one he knows.