Chapter Text
"Dawg, that's some weirdo shit. Lay off that, you feel me?" Those were the first words Lamar spat when Franklin confessed his embarrassing little habit he'd gotten into. This room, this dimly lit, run down bedroom. Cramped as all hell, clothes scattered with guns hiding under the bed. Shoe boxes lined the bottom of his closet with things Franklin prayed nobody would be nosey enough to look at. The sort of secret that would make his aunts face contort into that familiar look of disgust that scrunched her nose and showed in the way her eyes shone back on him. There was some old Xbox 360 that had been collecting dust for the better half of a decade, the controller was long lost. Messy wires ran up to the back of the TV, tangled behind as some hidden jungle of wire branches and dust rain. This room was an embarrassment of a confession box, but Franklin couldn't utter this anywhere else. If he hadn't been so focused on his main task, he would recognize the feeling as shame. He was far past that now, though. That's what Franklin had figured, especially since all this had started.
It was some late night, on the beach. Beers were in hands of men that Franklin had grown to know well, he'd never exactly found himself at home with a 'gangster' lifestyle but this was his family. Michael promised better money if they let Jimmy roll with them, at the very least it would get the pothead teen off of Michael's hand to focus on the bigger scores. Franklin's mind always went there, 'better money." that's what he told himself every time he heard Jimmy's voice crack as he nearly stumbled over. He wanted to go over, grab the poor loser by the shoulders and shake him. 'man the fuck up.' that's what he'd say. At least, that's what Franklin imagined himself doing, the most courage he had right now had been spent on grabbing another beer from to cooler and going back to standing to the side, watching through narrowed eyes. Some guy came up to him, repping some green bandana around is neck, which was about the only thing that kept Franklin from walking away mid-conversation. Even if he was too drunk to know with confidence who was talking to him.
"Yoo.. some pretty bitch just rolled in with that lame ass. I ain't sayin' nothin' but she might be lookin' at you." The mans words were rolled off his tongue with the sort of abandonment that made Franklin wonder if the man was too drunk to be telling the truth. Franklin nodded and was silent for a moment, if it weren't for his eyes scanning across the crowd, the man would've figured he just got cold stone ignored. Then, in that beautiful moment, Franklin's eyes landed on the temptress that might as well have been glowing in the middle of all those.. men. They looked like dogs pathetically drooling all over her. He decided in that moment that this was his new religion. In her skimpy denim shorts and some shirt that pushed her breasts up enough to make Franklin forget any and all of his previous commitments. His life's purpose was right in front of him, and somehow the best part of it was that she didn't even know.
Franklin didn't make a single move, matter of fact, he made eye contract once and snarked at the girl. God forbid she sees what's coming. All he needed was a photo. It wasn't hard to take one, not with how each one of his pussy-whipped friends was fighting for her attention like any of them had chance with such a statue of divinity. What Franklin wouldn't do to hunt the woman down now and never let her see the light of day again, at least, not without the bars of a cage. He spent the rest of the night pretending to be occupied by something important on his phone. In reality, he was staring at that sweet, sweet photo he'd gotten of his dearest. That night, Franklin had his jeans impatiently wriggled down his hips the second his door was shut. His dick was in his hand and throbbing before he could hop into bed. Franklin swore to never tell anyone about these feelings of his, so when he had to go to some tech store the next morning for them to fix his phone, they'd had some questions. It's not like Franklin could just admit he was two seconds away from exploding all over this photo when his white-knuckled grip on the phone decided that glass wasn't indestructible. He settled for anger issues instead.
He started going to Michael's house like a tweaker goes to a trap house. It was near daily, he made himself comfortable, the kind of comfortable that got you wriggled in the middle of it all. The kind that forced him to tell Amanda that the dress didn't make her look fat and she didn't look a day over 20. All for those sweet glimpses into Tracey's room. He'd learned the name when Michael went on yet another angry rant after some girl the news reporters were interviewing said, "Like, totally" one too many times. It was late afternoon, Michael was out in the pool, drinking what must've been his third beer of the day. Franklin leaned against the kitchen island, sipping some smoothie Amanda made. That was till Tracey came down the stairs in some short shorts and some hoodie. She looked like shit. The kind that made Franklin want to dive across this counter and devour her. Instead, he fought his instincts, eyes glinting up with the sort of evil in his eyes to make an old woman clutch her pearls.
"Yo." He uttered, voice low. His head did a nod of acknowledgement. Tracey's eyes darted up with surprise before rolling her eyes in annoyance.
"I get that like.. you're my dads friend but do you have to be here so much? My mom like won't stop talking about you. It's totally annoying." Tracey snarked, walking past Franklin like it was nothing. Like he was nothing. He turned around to face her as she rummaged through the fridge. He tried to ignore the way his eyes raked down her figure and back up.
"Well, shit bitch. I ain't know you ain't like me that much." Franklin commented, brows raised as he took another sip of his drink. It was more to have more time to think of what to say, he'd rather drink bleach than this plant shit. But.. how could he ever tell Amanda that? Not when her daughter was in front of him looking... so. fucking. beautiful. "I ain't even in yo way.. ain't no way to treat a guy like me." Franklin thought back to that night at the beach. She was happy to have a man all over her then. All those disgusting fucking perverts. They didn't understand. Moments like this were the air that Franklin breathed. The reason Franklin woke up, the reason his nights were spent blindly rutting against his mattress while dreaming of this blonde.
"Rude.." Tracey muttered, "if you're trying to hit on me.. like.. stop." She rolled her eyes, looking the man up and down before grabbing a bottle of water and walking back up the staircase. Franklin could've died content right there with how she looked at him. It was evident Chop's nature had rubbed off on him.
Franklin lived for small interactions like that. Matter of fact, he'd spend the next few weeks going through small interactions like this by constantly lounging at their house until she moved out. Michael said him and the wife had gotten into some.. fight. It didn't affect Franklin, he would get his hands on that girl regardless of where she was. Even if it was now proven to be a lot more difficult.