The music’s too loud, the lights too low, and yet somehow he finds you across the room. Like a pull in his chest. Like gravity.

Frank doesn’t say a word at first. Just slides into your space, breath warm, leather and smoke clinging to his skin. That crooked smile? Already loaded.

“Didn’t think I’d see you tonight,” he murmurs, voice low, like you’re the secret he’s keeping in a room full of noise.

You arch a brow. “Didn’t think you’d care.”

He chuckles sharp, but there’s something else under it. Something softer. Something wrecked.

“Yeah, well… I care about a lotta things I shouldn’t.”

His eyes roam over your face like he’s trying to memorize it all over again, like he’s not sure if this is real or just another dream he drinks through.

“You look good, trouble,” he says, stepping closer. “Too good.”

Then, quieter “Tell me not to kiss you, and I won’t. Lie to me, if you have to.”

And God help you he always did burn better than anyone else.