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Chapter Text

Frankie swallowed hard as she pulled on a strange mix of clothes dragged out from the few moving boxes that had appeared so far. The bedroom felt cold and unwelcoming, and she hadn’t had the chance to put up any of her old decorations. It felt like… a punishment. Maybe it was.

All her parents had given her was a thick wooden cross, instructing her to pin it above her bed. What did they expect? That it would suck the gay out of her in her sleep? Who fucking knows anymore…

Frankie, you could say pretty certainly, did not want to be here. She didn’t want to leave her (frankly shit but all she had) friends, she didn’t want to leave the rest of her family, hell she didn’t even want to leave that house she grew up in. Everything here was just wrong .

Her parents didn’t have to take that job. She was certain they wouldn’t have taken it if it wasn’t for her. If it wasn’t for the fact it would strip her away from her support system. If it wasn’t for the fact that homophobia was more legal in America.

But here she was. 16 and about to go to a whole new school in Arizona in the USA, knowing no one and nothing about it.

Hey, let’s just be glad it’s not Florida.

She trudged downstairs, grabbing her iced coffee, rushing past her parents, and out through this new front door.

“Remember, you’re not gay here, Francesca!” her mother spat, leaning out the front door.

Frankie rolled her eyes with her back turned. She nodded, smirking as she rushed to the bus stop.

“Yeah, gonna be late though, see you later!”

Her mother cursed her before slamming the door.

Once she was out of sight of the house, Frankie scrambled in the jeans pocket and pulled out a small rainbow pin, painted a few years ago. She had no idea how she’d managed to keep it from her parents for this long. It clipped onto the checked jacket, and she flopped down onto the bus stop bench, stupidly early.

She laughed silently, unashamedly, at her mother’s ignorance.

————————————

Shayne sat at the kitchen table, scrolling endlessly on his phone as he waited for his mom to finish her coffee.

“Is band on today, Shayne honey?” she smiled, gesturing to the saxophone case resting next to the bookshelf.

He rolled his eyes fondly, begrudgingly pulling himself out of the chair to grab the instrument.

“ Aw , I was hoping you’d forget…” he sighed, feigning sadness.

“Well, I didn’t, now let’s be off, don’t want to be late for your first day as a junior!” she grinned.

Shayne smiled back. He loved seeing his mom like this - so excited . She was practically bounding about the kitchen, remembering the times his older brothers had their first days too. He was the baby of the family, and sometimes he could see his mom try not to acknowledge that he was getting older. The acting jobs were becoming more consistent, and they both knew, deep down, that he couldn’t stay in Arizona forever. She treasured these little moments, making them last, as she lined her protesting son against the wall, snapping a photo and promising she wouldn’t post it.

She definitely would.

————————————

Frankie swallowed again, harder this time, as that strange yellow bus she saw in the movies pulled away from the school. She had been instructed through email to go straight to the principal’s office - but how the fuck was she meant to know where that was…

She wandered through the school blindly, following dead-end signs until she stumbled across a promisingly formal corridor.

Ten minutes later she was perched on an uncomfortable chair facing a scary middle-aged woman, face buried deep in paperwork.

Huh. Funny. She looks just like my mother.

“So, Francesca Evans-“

“F-Frankie, is fine, Miss.” she interrupted, shaking.

“Principal Longley. But alright.” she returned, scribbling down the name in the file. “Here is your timetable and map of the school, and your mother phoned informing us you play the piano. You will go here,” she pointed at a room on the flimsy map, “after you have eaten lunch to partake in the school band. The piano will be provided, of course.” She laughed at her own, honestly shit, joke.

Frankie cursed her interfering mother. She only wanted to talk to the bare minimum of students today, and she did not want any of them to be band kids. She was a theatre kid through and through, but even then she didn’t want to do anything about it. She was a queer Brit stranded in an unknown environment, and if she was being honest the fight or flight was emerging-

“That will be all, Frankie. I hope you have a productive time here.” She waved Frankie away, pulling out more paperwork and burying her head in it again.

Frankie navigated the identical-looking hallways with relative ease for the first half of the day. The classes, even after attempted research of the complicated school system on her part, were confusing, and she found herself daydreaming through most of them.

Lunch came, and she hovered at the back for a while, remembering the (probably fake) film scenes where the new girl took someone’s table, causing war to break out. She found an empty one, however, and sat with the utterly disappointing-looking meal.

If she was being honest, some piece of her believed in humanity enough and expected at least someone to take pity on her sitting alone, but no. The half-hour passed slowly on her own until she reckoned she should probably start walking to the band her mother volunteered her for. She found it easily, just tracing awful sounds of multiple instruments being tuned.

It was a large room with a low roof, cheap (and probably useless) soundproofing taped haphazardly to the walls. Shouts and traces of arguments echoed around the jumble of interesting instruments, and Frankie just stood there at the edge, dubiously waiting for instructions.

An older teacher with wild greying hair bounded across the room, a strange level of excitement flooding his face for what he saw: a, slightly terrified, new pianist.

“Ahh, Francesca!” he beamed, “Welcome to Deanbrooke Band! We’re extremely happy to see you join us, Francesca, I’m Mr Hilton-“

“Oh- Mr Hilton, Frankie is fine-“ she interrupted, twisting her hands in what could only be described as fear at this jumpy, enthused teacher bounding around in front of her.

He gasped. “I do apologise Frankie, most sincerely. Now we’re currently working on this incredible piece of music, and you surely are a wonderful pianist, just perfect for-“

He was stopped again, a hand resting on his shoulder, cutting him off and making him   jump in surprise.

“Hilton, we love you, but can you not scare off every new potential member? Your… devotion to band is much appreciated, but this is the third pianist come to see us now, and it sorta looks like you’ve had ten too many coffees.” The guy whose hand rested gently on the teacher’s shoulder grinned at her, guiding him gently back to his conductor’s stand.

He shoved the same hand out in front of him, and you took it hesitantly, allowing yourself to briefly meet his eyes.

You knew instantly your straight-ass friends from home would have fainted with shock.

He had floppy dirty blond hair, with blue eyes, and dude, the guy had muscles. A saxophone hung loosely around his neck, and he smiled warmly as you shook hands.

“I’m Shayne.” he grinned, gesturing to the instrument, “and I play sax, obviously.”

She smiled back hesitantly. “Frankie. Er, piano.”

He nodded and led her over to the piano in the corner. Frankie almost gasped: it was an old, glossy brown grand piano, polished to perfection with a folder of music perched on top.

Shayne laughed, seeing her excited face and shock at the beauty of the instrument in an otherwise shitty room.

“Here’s some of the stuff we’ve been playing recently. Just do what you can, we can survive with just chords in the background if you wanted to practice more later?” Shayne gestured at the sheet music, Frankie nodding as she sat at the stool and began to play the first piece.

And by fuck, could that girl play.

The entire room stopped their haphazard tuning and obnoxious laughter and began to listen. Frankie almost laughed at the irony of it all.

Cause there was Shayne, the first person that had been remotely nice and remotely interested in her company in ages, and there was a whole room stunned at something people had criticised her for for years (because even when you’re perfect , your family always thinks you can do better).

And this feeling of happiness, as her fingers ran with ease over the keys, was something she was sure her parents hadn’t planned.

Maybe, just maybe, there might be people here who actually cared. Not just in some weird hierarchy way in friendships where she was the gay one .

Could she be valued?

She was going to have to find out.

Chapter Text

Frankie shrunk further into the chair as voices echoed through around the room. 

Why’d it have to be so fucking loud…

Shayne had invited her to his family reunion. Knowing her family, situation, him and his parents had almost adopted her as their own. 

Frankie’s parents didn’t ever stop her going to his, though, to her surprise, believing that maybe Shayne would somehow convert her. 

Fucking freaks.  

Frankie had met some of the extended Topp family before, but never a whole crowd of them at the same time. Shayne’s mom looked over at her sympathetically, knowing Frankie would much prefer Shayne’s company rather than her own thoughts, and moving over to fetch her son from the crowd of cooing aunts. 

Only Shayne and his mom knew what had happened the week before. What had put Frankie into an even more anxious mess. 

Frankie had been dating Evelyn for two months. Shayne could see his best friend’s girlfriend was a dickhead. Frankie refused to believe him. 

He didn’t blame her, though, when she turned up at his house sobbing in the pouring rain, weeping over a scathing phone call from someone she loved, falling into his arms and pouring her heart out. 

Because she had done the same for him a few months earlier, meeting up at his request at a park, comforting him when a girl had fallen for another guy over him.

He didn’t complain, knowing the hole in her heart bore by a sadist player was biting into her soul. 

But he worried her parents would questing their tear stained daughter about why she seemed heartbroken. 

It shouldn’t have surprised him that they didn’t care at all. 

Shayne, after dropping his best friend home in his dad’s car, resisted the urge to carry on to Evelyn’s house. 

Instead he drove home, and wrote the strongest text he had ever sent warning her that if she ever hurt or talked to Frankie again, she would be sorry. 

He hadn’t told Frankie about that bit. Probably best. He knew she wanted Evelyn to talk to her. But she wasn’t worth his best friend’s time. 

So as he walked over to a curled up Frankie in the corner of the dark room, he softened at her heartbroken face. 

Her soul could not find happiness from the room of laughing strangers. And he still didn’t blame her. 

He sat by her, head resting on the armrest, jokingly pointing out family he had told her about before. He wove his words into stories, swearing he saw her lips twitch into a, though suppressed, smile. 

They sat there, separated from everyone, for over an hour, until an angry purple-haired teenager emerged through the groups of people and shoved Shayne in annoyance. 

“What the fuck dude? You ditched me…” his voice faded, noticing the curled-up stranger by Shayne’s side. The two on the floor glanced up, Shayne raising an eyebrow expectantly. 

“Shit, I’m sorry- are- are you okay?” his tone softened, seeing the drying tears in the girl’s eyes. 

She nodded hesitantly, glancing over at Shayne for explanation. He stood and pointed between the two. 

“Oh, uh, Damien, Frankie, Frankie, Damien. Damien’s my friend from Disney, and Frankie moved here last year. She goes to Deanbrooke with me.” He gestured between his friends, and Damien shoved his hand across to Frankie. She took it shyly, sitting up a little straighter. 

“And sorry I ditched you, Dames, I just didn’t want to…” he struggled, trying to find the words that would embarrass Frankie least. 

“No, it’s okay, I get it.” Damien smiled softly. 

Frankie returned it carefully, quickly wiping away the remaining tears and standing to join them. 

A few hours later, the three had bunched together around the back of the building, sharing a beer Damien nicked from the drinks table. 

“Okay, dude, how the fuck do you act so confident around Shayne’s folks?” Frankie gasped, taking the bottle offered to her and drinking it gratefully. 

Damien laughed. “I’ve met a bunch of them before, on set, at premieres, that stuff. Apparently they think I’m a ‘golden child’.” 

They laughed, leaning against the metal wall. 

“Well as long as you get booze, I think it’s perfectly fine to milk that.” Frankie snickered. 

“Yep, Damien’s been stealing beer from my family reunions for three years. And I’m good with that.” Shane grinned. 

“Well, senior year. We need some drink to get through, eh?” Damien laughed.

“You ever think about what you’re gonna do next?” Frankie stared up at the sky.

“Move to California or New York, probably.” Shayne sighed.

“Same.” Frankie nodded.

“Me too, I guess.” Damien exhaled. “What do you wanna do there, Frankie?”

“Write sketches and shit, I guess.” Frankie grinned. “Who knows.”

“Well, maybe we’ll end up working together.” Shayne grinned back. “The wonderful entertainment industry is awaiting.”

He was secretly just happy Frankie was smiling again. Until-

“Hey!” A slurred voice pushed out of a car pulling up to the alley. 

Shayne stood a little taller, recognising the lilt of the interruption, and seeing Frankie do the opposite and melt back down, Damien followed, bringing himself back up to his full height. 

“You ain’t returning my calls, sweetie! Come on, can’t handle a little fight?” the girl in the car laughed hazily.

“Fuck off, Evelyn. You know it wasn’t a little fight. Stop acting like everyone’s going to let you get away with everything.” Shayne spat. 

Evelyn had laughed and gotten halfway out of the car before realising there was another guy, significantly taller than Shayne, standing on Frankie’s other side. She seemed to recognise this was a fight she couldn’t win: especially, Shayne knew, when she was so high. Evelyn had a tendency to do that. Get fucked then show up to ruin things even more. 

She melted back against her car door, locking eyes with the taller stranger, before switching to a crumpled Frankie, leaning on Shayne for support. 

“You sure you wanna do this?” Evelyn slurred. 

“Do what?” choked Frankie. “You ended shit when you ended that phone call.”

Evelyn made one last glance between the guys flanking her ex, before retreating back into her car. 

A few weeks ago Frankie would have ran after her, pleading with her that it wasn’t safe, that she shouldn’t even be doing drugs in the first place, she’s 17 for Christ’s sake, she was gonna get hurt-

But she just watched Evelyn drive away. 

And collapsed into Damien and Shayne’s arms. 

Chapter Text

Frankie relaxed as her parents melted into the crowd, escaping her company. She scanned the rush of emerging students in their black gowns, searching for the familiar blond hair peeking from underneath the bright red tassels. 

Instead, bounding over from the audience section, was Damien, hugging her enthusiastically, pointing across to where he had spotted Shayne in the crowd and pulling her by the hand. 

The three embraced, grinning with excitement and pride, moving with the flow of the crowd out to the school’s front. The noise was deafening, waves of students and their families leaving the gym, beaming with happiness. They were free. 

Frankie stepped back as Shayne’s parents spotted them and jumped on their son, his brothers and their respective girlfriends following soon after. Shayne’s mom noticed Frankie’s lack of parental support, though, and pulled her into the group hug, an awkward Damien following. 

Frankie knew her parents had left. 

They drove past the group, snarling at the Topps’ obvious kindness to their daughter. It seemed a miracle that they had even turned up, begrudgingly marching into the gym for her graduation purely to brag to their church friends. “Look at our daughter. Done one good thing in her life.”

———————————

“You bitch! I’ve never heard a shittier opinion in my life, Shayne fucking Topp!”

An hour later, the three teenagers were lounging on Shayne’s bedroom floor, having snuck away from the Topp’s smothering praise to eat their stolen pizza. 

Some unknown cartoon played in the background, Shayne and Frankie bickering amicably about some new season on Netflix, Damien giggling after giving up trying to stop them. 

The three were celebrating the fact that, excluding a quick trip back to the house to pack bags, Frankie never had to see her parents ever again. 

Because they knew that she was 18 (strange, they forgot her birthday), and they knew they no longer had any legal control, well, anywhere. 

And they were horrifically aware she did not have the funds to stay in America.

So the dealbreaker was gifted to her. Come back to Britain with them, and they would grudgingly pay for university fees, or stay in rural Arizona with no money, alone.

In their minds, it was a no brainer. 

But what those friendless bastards didn’t realise was that Shayne and Damien, moving to LA to pursue their acting careers, were not just going to leave their best friend. They also didn't realise, after ignoring their daughter’s talents since she was born, that Frankie was a quite talented sketch writer.

And her ‘useless’ ass had already secured a job - at the very same place as Damien and Shayne. 

Being an actor, especially in a corporation like Disney, had its benefits. Such as Noah, the one who had not-so-subtlety name dropped his two coworkers to his new bosses, the now-famous self-entitled ‘YouTube legends’ Ian Hecox and Anthony Padilla.

And so Shayne, Damien and Frankie had gotten a three-bedroom tiny apartment, with the money Shayne’s mother had painstakingly saved for over six years. Shayne trusted them with his life - so more than enough to pay him back. 

———————————

“I am spending as little fucking time in there as possible.” Frankie hissed, peering out the backseat window of Damien’s car. 

“I know. Essentials packed, dirty looks to your parents, then back to mine.” Shayne nodded, easing open the car door. He hauled three suitcases out the boot, distributing them among their group then puffing up his shoulders and walking to the front door. 

He knocked half-normally, half-forcefully on the dark chipped wood, standing taller as it creaked open a notch. 

“Topp.” Mr. Evans acknowledged. “Wife isn’t in, get it over with. Quickly.”

Shayne nodded, beckoning behind him and leading the two up the stairs. 

“Glad it’s just your dad. He’ll leave us in peace.” sighed Shayne, picking up a few carrier bags packed before graduation and carefully stashing them in the suitcase. 

“Is he- alright to you?” Damien questioned. “Thought they were both awful.”

“They are.” sighed Frankie. “But he’s the better one. Wasn’t particularlyinterested in America, but he’s scared of my mother. Still homophobic as shit, but not enough to keep my stuff held prisoner.”

Damien nodded. “Shall I do the drawers?”

Frankie practically jumped across the room. “No! Er, the, er, wardrobe, please.”

Shayne snorted. Damien thought it was best to not ask. 

Less than an hour later, the room was almost stripped of all her possessions. Shayne and Damien watched quietly as Frankie carefully lifted the crucifix off the wall. 

She ran her finger over it, then, breathing in sharply, placed it in the rubbish bin. 

“I’m done with that shit. Organised religion making people feel crap about themselves.”

Shayne nodded, pulling her into a tight hug, Damien following. 

“Come on. Let’s get out of here.”

Frankie smiled. “Let’s get to bloody LA.”

Chapter Text

Frankie yawned, hearing the pinging of Damien’s alarm echoing through the flats thin walls. She heaved up and out of her bed, wandering down the narrow corridor to his room and banging on the door till she heard movement. 

“Turn your alarm off, asshole! I didn’t have to be awake yet but here we are!” she yelled. 

“Get a job!” she heard back. 

“I have one, but it doesn’t require waking up at seven, which yours doesn’t even require anyway!” she groaned, finding herself drawn to the coffee machine. 

“Thanks both of you for waking me up.” Shayne sighed, walking out of his room at the same time as Damien. The three collapsed around their kitchen counter in laughter. 

The routine that had been happening for three years now (Damien wants to wake up early so he can create the perfect outfit, Damien sets early alarm, Damien forgets he is a heavy sleeper, Damien forgets Frankie is a light sleeper, Frankie gets woken up by said alarm, Frankie bangs on Damien’s door and wakes up both Damien and Shayne)

“Both of you filming today?” Frankie poured coffee into three mugs. 

“Yeah, just Games stuff. Legacy, I think,” sighed Shayne. “Which’ll probably be hell.”

“Hey!” Damien protested. “It’s with me! It won’t be hell.”

The two began a bickering argument as Frankie turned around, shaking her head fondly, to retrieve her toast. 

“At least it’s Friday,” she turned back once they had finished, “you won’t have to think about work after today for a bit.”

The two agreed silently. “It feels a little wrong to complain.” admitted Shayne. “We’re a lot better off than most people. I enjoy most of the shit we do, at least.”

“You’re right.” Frankie pointed. “At this point I’d do anything to stop doing my job. Feels like the strike made everything worse!”

Damien and Shayne shared a look while they thought Frankie wasn’t looking. 

She was, in fact, looking. 

What the hell are they up to, she thought, can’t be anything good. 

————————————

Shayne stumbled out of the Legacy shoot and headed straight for the kitchen. Two hours being stuck in a room with Damien, Chanse, Amanda and Angelawasn’t exactly his idea of hell, but neither was it preferable when he had the world’s greatest headache. All he needed now was a coffee, and to spend the rest of the day sat quietly at his desk, hopefully with everyone leaving him alone-

“Coffee? Nice.” He heard a voice from behind him laugh. 

Dear fuck. What have I done to deserve this shit. 

Patrick slid up next to him and grabbed a La Croix from the fridge beside him. 

“You still up for bringing Frankie along Monday?” grinned Patrick maniacally. 

Shayne slipped on a happier face, sighing a “Sure!” back. 

“She know yet?”

“No,” Shayne pointed, “and don’t say anything direct to her at the beginning. We don’t want to freak her out.”

Patrick frowned. “Doesn’t she want this? I thought TV script writing was going shit, especially the past few months.”

“Yeah, but she’s surrounded by strangers there. More pressure if you’re writing for friends. And this is more permanent. If she doesn’t like certain shows right now she can dip, if necessary.” Shane smiled sadly. “She got a job here when me Damien did, but a big writing group wanted her, and Smosh wasn’t as big then. Everyone told her to take the opportunity- including me and Damien. Really regret that now. I think it’s killing her slowly.”

Patrick nodded. 

“And- don’t tell her I said this, but you should probably know- she was emotionally abused all through being a kid by her parents.” Shayne sighed. “All the awful stuff you can imagine, mostly for being gay. Really bad shit. That’s why she doesn’t want to put down roots- well, anywhere, really. She’s afraid they’ll get torn up again.”

“Ah. I think that explains a lot of things about her. Don’t know her that well, but- it makes sense.” Patrick sighed back. 

“Yeah.” Shayne put. “I, uh, gotta get back to my desk. And, genuinely, thanks for this Patrick. She deserves much more than she’s got right now.”

Patrick grinned. “No problem, mate.”

————————————

The first thing Frankie had done when they got to LA was walk to the nearest CVS, and purchase bright blue hair dye and hair stylist shears. The next thing they had done was take said hair dye and shears back to the apartment and give herself the hair she had dreamed of since age 10. 

It was a rebellion against the years of long, brown hair forced upon her by her mother, and as soon as it was done she printed out a photo, scribbled a fuck youon with sharpie, and mailed it to her parents’ new house in England. 

It was immature, maybe, but dear lord did it feel good. She then proceeded to order a pride flag and get pissed on cheap whisky (and didn’t dare to ask how Damien had come about it).

The company who had hired her found a gig for her soon enough, and she was quickly writing for a half-shitty sitcom. It didn’t last long, the company realising they could get a lot more out of her. The next three years consisted of switching around all the shows in Hollywood, either prompted by Frankie (shitty people on set, shitty work environment) or her company (shitty pay for the cooperation).

She got her first ‘holiday’ (a few months of writing her own skits, nervously hoping her savings could get her through) during the strikes — and that was what flipped a switch. 

Maybe she didn’t want to keep doing this forever. Maybe she wanted a change. Maybe she wanted her name to be recognised, instead of just the company she worked for. 

But hey. We can’t get everything we want. And if anyone was aware of that fact, it was Frankie. 

So she had resigned herself to the solid routine of writing until she burnt out again then shifting gig. And that was all her work could ever be. 

Frankie had been daydreaming into her laptop in the bustling writer’s room of some duplicate shitty sitcom happily for at least an hour, when her phone rang — stating ‘Damien (bitch)’. She apologised to the frowning, much much older, writers at the table before stepping outside to take the call. 

“You free Monday?” Damien started.

“Hello Damien. How are you? I’ve had a good day thanks, you?” droned Frankie back. 

“Please just answer the question.”

Frankie sighed. “Yes, why?”

“Can't tell you. Surprise.” Frankie could hear Damien grinning through the phone. 

“I hate you.”

“Not really.”

Frankie rolled her eyes as she hung up and wandered back into the writer’s room. 

Just two more hours. Then I can go home and sleep.