Written completely out of my ass on an iPod Touch.


"So… Uh… Yeah. Come back soon. I, uh, miss you. Bye."

It had been the seventh message that night. But of course, he had reason to call him so many times, he had been gone for three hours, after all.

But it was all because of him. It was his fault he was reeled out in the street, drunk off his ass and mumbling ramblings to himself.

Damn Tuck. Damn Katie.

He had promised he would never go back to her, something he swore one night at FDR's apartment. He had been so happy.

But now, he wasn't. Because damn Tuck had to get back together with Katie and it kinda-sorta-maybe really broke his heart.

He had drowned his sorrows in a bottle of bourbon, something he never drank unless he was with his best fucking friend. Fucking Tuck.

There's always a first time for everything, he supposes, finally shoving himself against a wall and slumping down into a seat, flipping open his phone once more.

Three more calls. When was he going to stop?

He wasn't, and FDR knew that. He knew they were best friends. And that was what hurt the most. They were best friends and Tuck had the nerve to break a promise he made to him. It made him sick.

Or was it something else?

No. It was definitely the promise-breaking.

So there he was, listening to Tuck's voicemails like a pathetic asshole. He must have looked crazy. He felt crazy. No one turned down FDR unless they were blind and deaf. He could get any girl he wanted. Why didn't get the person he wanted this time? Why didn't he get Tuck?

Wait.

So there was more to the story.

Of course there was more to the story. No one could really believe Tuck and FDR were just best friends, could they? They practically eyefucked each other any time the other entered the same room. It was ridiculous. Why did Tuck go back to Katie? Wasn't he good enough? Wasn't he satisfying enough? Did he just not have a vagina and that was the reason his best friend didn't want to do him in Nana's guest room even though they were literally laying on a bed together, because "it was too loud out there"?

Was Tuck just a dumbass?

Of course. He couldn't see that his best friend was so blatantly in love with him? Did Bangladesh mean nothing to him?

Clearly not.

"You need to come back to your apartment, Franklin. I'm not fucking around. I need you now."

I need you now.

They sounded so cheap. Franklin wasn't the common whore. He wouldn't come home.

But. Tuck sounded so needy and desperate and FDR knew how worried he was. He had called him ten times, for chrissake. That had to mean something.

It was the alcohol talking. Tuck didn't need him. If he really needed him, he would dump Katie's ass and make out with his best friend. But no. Tuck strived for a normal lifestyle.

This was 2012. Tuck needed to get over himself.

He also needed to stop fucking calling. The ringing was leaving a pounding migraine in his head, and the other man's persistence was doing nothing to help.

Ring, ring.

Fuck.

"What?"

"Franklin! Where the hell have you been? You scared me to death, you know that?" Ugh, not the martyr act.

"Come home right now! Where are you? I'm coming to pick you up."

"Fifth on Hiltson," he managed drowsily before hanging up.

Tuck could get lost for all he cared.

Which he didn't.

Care, that is.

x

It was twenty minutes before he saw the flash of blinding lights.

Damn Tuck. He found him.

"You're a real piece of work."

It took a few minutes of struggling before Franklin latched onto him and was thrown into the car.

Tuck was such an asshole. He was always the friendly and sensitive guy, with his damn kindness and general like-ability. It was sickening. How were they even friends? He couldn't stand guys like Tuck. Yet, he was best friends with him.

x

The ride was quiet until FDR couldn't take any of the maddening silence anymore and spoke.

"The reason I-"

Buzz, buzz.

"Hold on one second… Yes, darling? Have you put him to sleep?"

What a fucking shocker. Katie.

Fine. Tuck could have his cake and eat it too.