You both laid in bed, the third day since you were kicked out of your old man's house. Frankie's best and longest friend. He kept telling himself that he shouldn't worry about it, that your dad would get over his anger. But it didn't seem like it would be any time soon.

Frankie nuzzled your neck, holding you close as you peaceful slept in his arms. He looked at you, almost 20 years younger. He cursed himself. What the hell was he doing? You were basically a kid. He was an old, roughed up veteran with more baggage than you could understand. Someone who still woke up with a cold sweat late at night, like right now. He sighed, letting go of you and rubbing his face.

"Pendejo..." He muttered to himself.