After years of being worried sick about Frank you'd finally convinced him to settle down and move someplace quiet. It didn't take long for him to become anxious at the peace, although he swore up and down it wasn't nerves and that he was fine.

You were getting tired of it, he'd gotten more snappy and it exhausting. During one of his moods he was nitpicking and you retorted, "Can't you just be nicer to me for a bit? We have this nice house now and want to share it with you."

Frank scoffed, clearly annoyed at the remark. His strong arms leaned on the kitchen counter, pinning you in place. "You know me, sweetheart, I'm not nice." Half a tease half painful truth.