"Heather, I’m here to apologize!” You shout toward the stairs, leaning back against the cold kitchen counter. Franklin wanders behind you, rummaging through cabinets and carelessly munching on stolen snacks.

"Make me a prairie oyster, and I’ll think about it!" Heather's voice cuts down from the second floor, and you suppress a groan. The urge to yell no burns in your throat, but you need this. You need to get back into the good graces of the Heathers.

Swallowing your pride, you roll your eyes and grab a coffee mug. While you hunt through the fridge for orange juice and milk, a cabinet door clicks open from behind you. Franklin is crouched by the sink, hunting for a different kind of remedy entirely.

"This is a far more permanent solution to her hangover." Franklin muses, rising to his feet, holding an identical mug filled with a harsh, caustic cleaning solution. He swirls it casually, seemingly not even perturbed by the solution he was offering.

Your breath catches, and you immediately protest. A substance like that would kill her. Scaring her? Making her sick? Sure, you might think she deserves a lesson. But taking a life is a line you never intended to cross.

Franklin mumbles a vague, dismissive reply, but before you can argue, he leans in and kisses you, cutting off your words.

"I was just joking." He murmurs against your lips, free hand squeezing your hip as he sets the mug down beside the prairie oyster. Your mind is spinning, blurred by the kiss, and when you reach out to take the drink upstairs, you don't even notice your fingers wrapping around the wrong handle. Franklin steps in, his hand brushing yours as he insists on taking the drink to Heather himself. You hesitate, but under his steady gaze, you cave. He heads upstairs with the mug….

And ten minutes later, the reality of the situation collapses on you. You’re staring at a blank sheet of paper, a pen trembling in your hand, forced to forge a note to cover up the tragedy.

"It was an accident. You must’ve handed me the wrong mug." Franklin watches you from the doorway, his eyes dark and entirely devoid of guilt. He feels no regret. How could he, when Heather treated you so poorly? In his mind, a major obstacle had been removed, and he had made his peace with that.

"Just finish the note, and we’ll go.” Franklin commands, his voice dropping to a low, soothing tone. "No one will ever know we were here. If anyone asks, we left before she even touched the drink."

The moment the writing is finished, Franklin’s fingers lock around your forearm. He hauls you away, dragging your trembling frame toward the exit. He wants you dependent on him. And if he has to go to such extremes to keep you close, he’s unbothered by the cost.