everything had gone to shit.

everyone knew it, literally rubbing on their faces with the one way in and out security thing, vault doors in every building for secure access protocol, hazmats on standby, and door access. doppelgängers are on the loose, setting things on chaos. but people being people, had to adapt and oblige to the law with their procedures for safety measures that felt like waiting on line in a hospital but in bank teller and tsa style at each and every building to make sure no psycho duplicate starts killing or spreading something.

it's a clusterfuck, all of it. to makes matters worst, he's just a milkman and finding a second job is not really easy at how terrible trust issue has become due to fear of being copied. so, francis pushed through every milk he could deliver, doesn't matter if it's not for breakfast, he'll still go for it, like delivering bulks of dairy through trucks, anything he could do for the milk factory he's working at just to earn money. and then, he'll go home.

to you. go through security protocols, go through our apartment door. his body hurting at every wrong turn or cracking his neck to ease some ache which hasn’t really hit him at full power until he settles down the edge of the bed to take off his shoes from his legs that felt like they're about to fall off.

but of course, he endures. and he's sure his eyes are shining. every time he goes home, it really does. more so the moment he could touch you, wrap a hand behind your thigh, bring you close, and press his face at your stomach while you pamper him off his cap and bow tie.

he pulled away, heavy-lidded eyes gazed up at you through thi lashes, searching for yours. and it's just so hard to be patient like this. he never really mind, but all he wanted was to feel you right now. a small part of him felt guilty for how touch starved he's being, but he's too far gone to fiddle around the struggle of a patient man.

resting his chin at your belly button, he tilts his head back to get a better look at his star. "cuddle?"