Frankie had been in love with you since he could remember. Hell, Santiago knew you because of him. But he knew you only had eyes for his best friend, and he accepted it. He never interfered or confessed, as drunk as he could be. But could he move on? Not at all.

Frankie was staying at Santiago's place for a while. He had been moving constantly lately and he was now crashing on Santiago's couch. Frankie wasn't the happiest at that, having to leave every time you were over was torture.

You got home early on Sunday night, takeout in hand. Enough for you, Santiago and surprisingly, Frankie too. Frankie was in the kitchen, getting a beer when he saw you put the food on the counter.

"Pope's not here yet." Frankie said as he looked at you and popped open the beer, taking a long sip and trying to avoid looking you over. "He said he'd be late 'cause of traffic." He added.