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“They’re dead,” Peter sighed as he looked down at the glass vase that once held little white daisies that had now gone dry and shriveled.
“What’s that?”
Peter picked up the vase he had placed on the table beside his bed so he would specifically remember to fill with water. He watched as a couple dead leaves flittered down from the mummified stems to the floor. He turned and walked over to where Frank was standing at the kitchen counter rummaging through takeout bags.
After Peter had gotten out of the hospital, Frank had cornered him to chew him out for not taking more time off to recover, and Peter’s stomach had chosen the worst possible time to complain about not getting any food for a couple—few? uh several? Peter doesn’t remember—hours. Peter was glad he was wearing the mask at the time so Frank didn’t see him blush. Frank glared at him and mumbled something about dinner and dragged Peter into his van and that’s how they somehow started doing weekly-ish dinners together. They had quickly moved to takeout food after that first night of Frank trying to feed Peter his toxic chili and have been alternating between whose place they’ll eat at and who gets to pick what they eat. Frank always chooses burgers and makes a big stink when Peter insists on variety to their diet (he secretly thinks Frank does this so Peter usually gets to eat the food from the places he picks) which is why Frank is now unloading boxes from that Thai restaurant Ned recommended.
“The flowers are dead,” Peter replies to Frank’s question while pulling off a brown shriveled petal.
The plastic bag stops rustling as Frank halts the progression of food to squint down at the dried daisies then back up to Peter. “Yeah, they don’t have a very long expectancy once they’re cut.”
Peter doesn’t reply and instead fiddles with the ridges on the vase. Peter knew they were gonna die. He’s not an idiot but he just, uh, thought they would last longer? He should have taken better care of them and watered them this morning. Or yesterday.
Strong scarred hands gently cradle the neck of the vase and move it away from Peter’s twitching ones. Peter looked up as Frank picked up the vase to examine it.
“Were these ones from the hospital?”
Peter scratched his chin and looked back down at the counter to avoid that guilty expression Frank still sometimes wore when he didn’t think Peter was looking. “Yeah they were the last ones I think.”
Peter had received so many gifts and cards from his stint in the hospital that he had been quite overwhelmed by all of it. After he had looked through everything, Peter tucked them all away in a box so he could pull them out to look at on a rainy day. He also received so many flowers it was comical how his apartment had started out looking like a little flower shop. However, all the flowers had slowly began to die off until all he had left were some little white daisies looking a bit out of place in the cluttered room. Now, he didn’t even have those.
Peter glanced back over as he heard the sound of Frank’s boots retreating. Frank stopped at the trash and gently pulled the flower carcasses out to lay them to rest then he moved over to the sink and carefully set the vase down into it so that it barely made a sound. Turning back around, he wore a carefully placed neutral look on his face, “Alright, let’s dig in to whatever bullshit you ordered for us tonight, kid.”
Peter responded with a halfhearted smile.
***
It’s not like Peter cared too deeply about the flowers or anything. Really, he didn’t. It’s just that it felt like another thing he had messed up recently. Not that he was going around messing things up. It’s more just that he felt a bit off his game. Sure, he was still getting used to the whole arachnid hormone level change thing and yes, technically he hadn’t quite yet fully recovered from the (near) fatal gunshot wound—okay so maybe he should have listened to Detective DeWolff and Frank and taken a bit more time off. Other than that though, he should be on top of his game. Right?
“I know, I know,” Peter huffed with an exasperated eye roll, “I should listen and take better care of myself.” But he had been doing better lately. He had Ned and Mj back. Kinda. To a certain extent. He had detective DeWolff and Frank and Jean Grey (probably, somewhere out there). So, he was doing better and connecting more. He just needed to tell his brain that.
A buzzing interrupted his thoughts, “Sorry just a sec,” and he slid his phone out of his back pocket.
~Burgers tomorrow?
Peter smiled and huffed a laugh then looked back up at the headstone. “I should probably go. It’s getting late. ‘Miss you May.”
~Burgers sound great.
Peter waited a tick then typed again.
~as long as you’re buying?
Yeah, Peter was doing fine.
***
Once he had gotten back to his apartment, it was getting quite late which is why he was kinda surprised to see his neighbor walking down the hall towards him. This of course being the same neighbor he had stolen—no, no, borrowed —the clothes from (he had re-laundered the garments and given them back to her). Thankfully, she had seemed to kind of laugh the whole thing off, but of course Peter still tried to avoid her whenever possible because the whole thing was awkward.
As they were about the pass each other, Peter glanced over and nodded towards her because he wasn’t rude, and the girl—Venessa? He couldn’t quite remember—smiled back at him. Just as Peter breathed a sigh of relief, thankful to avoid small talk, she turned back towards him.
“Oh by the way, I think someone left some flowers for you at your door?”
He turned back towards her, “Wh-what?”
She smiled at him patiently like she was talking to a toddler, “Flowers. At your door? I saw a bouquet of them sitting there. They’re pretty.”
What was?—who would?—“Right, okay. Uh, thank you?”
She just nodded her head and turned back to continue her way down the hall.
Peter just stood there like an idiot.
Someone got him flowers?
He continued on and turned the corner and sure enough, there was a bundle filled with a variety of different wildflowers sitting by the door. Huh.
He crouched down to look at it. There didn’t appear to be a note, at least not one he could see. He reached toward the bouquet but then hesitated. His “Peter tingle” wasn’t—well, uh— tingling so it should be safe, right?
Peter scoffed at himself. Of course it was safe, they were just flowers.
He brought them up to his face and sniffed. It was a pleasant floral scent. Nothing too powerful but still nice. Peter unlocked his door and stepped through still holding the flowers and oblivious of the small smile that now adorned his lips.
After setting the flowers down on the counter, he immediately filled up one of the many vases he now had. He grabbed some scissors out of a drawer and cut the ends of the stems off the flowers like he’d seen May do in the past, and arranged the flowers in the vase that was now about half-full with water.
A note still wasn’t to be found even after having thumbed through the flowers, but Peter tried not to let that bother him. Maybe it was just a neighbor—there was that older lady he helped carry groceries in for sometimes—doing something nice for him, and Peter really didn’t have the brainpower right now to question it. The flowers were pretty, and he vowed to remember to keep them hydrated this time.
***
Okay, so Peter was now questioning it. And by “it” he means the flowers because it wasn’t just one bouquet. Oh, no. About every week a new batch has shown up at his door to replace the previous ones before they’re in need of throwing out so now Peter’s place is never without flowers.
Was Peter a dumbass for continually bringing flowers of unknown origin into his place? He’s sure Frank would say so. The thing is though, he tested the flowers when the second bouquet showed up. They weren’t laced with anything and a quick scan showed no micro devices were hiding in them. So of course Peter wasn’t going to dispose of perfectly good flowers.
The flowers were also never the same kind. Usually it was some variety arranged in a bouquet, but a few times he has gotten just sunflowers or hydrangeas or something else he can’t quite remember the name of but they were pink. One thing all of the flowers have had in common though: there has never been any note left.
And boy, has Peter tried to find his anonymous flower giver. He’s set up cameras but the footage always just comes back scrambled. He’s tried tracing the flowers back to where they were purchased, which he thought he had been successful once when the hydrangeas had a name on the paper they were wrapped in, but the shop worker just shrugged and said they practically sell out of hydrangeas daily so that was another dead end.
Peter has even braved talking to Vanessa?—he still wasn’t clear if that was her name—but she just said she never saw anything. She also informed Peter that she was quite jealous of all the flowers from his “secret admirer” to which Peter had flushed red and stammered an excuse so he could quickly shuffle away. Now whenever he sees her, she just smirks at him knowingly. As if Peter needed any more reason to be embarrassed around her.
Was that it? Peter had a secret admirer? Or another thought he had is that someone found out his identity and is trying to psych him out—or maybe just trying to thank him. Either way, Peter is still mildly (extremely) concerned even after weeks of no escalation and just flowers.
He just wants to know who it is and whether or not he needs to be concerned.
“I think I might have a stalker.”
Peter is currently in full suit standing at the scene of a bank robbery he just finished wrapping—heh, more like webbing—up. Detective DeWolff stands beside him.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
Peter sheepishly rubs the back of his head, debating if he actually wants to talk about it. He decides to continue just so maybe he can get some peace of mind. “I think I have a stalker.”
DeWolff turns her attention fully towards him and raises an eyebrow. “What makes you say that?”
So Peter regales her with the story of the mysterious flowers that show up at his door every week and how he’s tested them but they’re not dangerous and that whoever is leaving them is going to great measures to remain anonymous.
DeWolff listens patiently through all of this and when Peter finishes, she waits a minute before she helpfully surmises, “It sounds to me like somebody has a little crush on Spider-Man.”
Spider-Man groans, “Ugh, not you too!”
The detective chuckles in response “Sorry, sorry. But seriously, it sounds to me like you’ve taken the steps to ensure nothing weird is going on.” She hums in thought, “Have you felt like you’ve been being watched or followed?”
Peter shakes his head in response.
“I guess you would be a hard man to follow,” DeWolff smirks.
Peter sighs, “So you don’t think I should be concerned about this?”
“Not at this point. Sometimes a gift is just a gift.” DeWolff lays a hand on Peter’s arm and gives it a light squeeze, “Hell, Spider-Man, flowers are the least anyone could do for you with how much you help this godforsaken city. If I could, I’d throw you a whole damn rose parade.”
Peter doesn’t know how to respond to that except to chuckle weekly, “Thanks detective.”
She squeezes Peter’s arm one last time before dropping her hand, “No need to thank me, but listen, if you start getting any creepy notes or photos or anything of the sort, please don’t hesitate to call me.”
Peter nodded, “Sure thing,” and with that he swung away feeling lighter than he had before.
***
It had been a long night. Peter had been out until the sun rose trying to stop these bozos that somehow kept evading him. Thankfully, Frank had been with him for most of it, and they were finally able to stop the bad guys. Evil was vanquished once more all because Spider-Man and the Punisher worked pretty great as a team. Who would have thought? Not Peter if you’d told him a few short months ago, but now Peter was just glad he had someone to fight beside that could watch his back. Even if said someone needed to be reigned in from time to time. Peter could do that.
Peter glanced beside him at the man his thoughts had turned to. They were currently walking down the hall towards Peter’s residence. Having both been keyed up still from the fight, they opted to have breakfast instead of dinner so they swung by a diner to pick up some grub before heading back to Peter’s place which had been closest. Both of them had gotten banged up from the fight so to avoid any gawking they opted to eat in seclusion rather than in public (Frank had asked Peter if he wanted to eat at the diner but Peter declined knowing Frank only asked for Peter’s benefit and that he really didnt want to sit there. Peter also kinda just preferred for them to be in the quiet of his home).
As they approached Peter’s door, he noticed the mess that was lying in front of it. “Shit!”
Frank tensed up beside him and glanced around searching for the cause of Peter’s distress. Peter ignored Frank’s reaction (and the hand he had moved to rest on the gun Peter knew Frank kept tucked in his waistband) and went to kneel by the distressed flowers toppled on the ground.
This latest flower delivery came as a bouquet of yellow and purple and white flowers all neatly arranged in a purple tinted glass vase. Or at least they were neatly arranged, but unfortunately at some point, the vase had been knocked over and a few pieces had shattered off of it. The flowers also took a beating if their crumpled appearance on the ground was anything to go by.
Peter glared down at the victim of this senseless act of violence wondering who would go out of their way to destroy these innocent flowers left for him. Peter reached out and gently picked up one of the tarnished blooms hoping he could at least salvage a few. As he rotated the flower, he noticed the stem had a few chunks taken out—wait, are those?—
“Everything alright?”
Peter startled out of his investigation and turned to look back at the man he had completely forgotten was with him. With takeout bags dangling from his fingers, Frank was standing a couple feet away staring at Peter with a confused expression. Peter felt a pang of guilt in his chest but he didn’t know if it was for ignoring Frank for a few minutes or for neglecting to take in the flowers that had been waiting for him to return home.
Peter stood to his feet. “Yeah it’s fine. I mean, not fine, but it’s—” he gave a halfhearted chuckle, “it’s just the cat I’ve seen roaming around must have gotten to them. There’s,” Peter brought the flower he’d still been holding up to their eye level and wiggled it to emphasize, “Bite marks.”
Frank just looked more confused. “Sorry ‘bout your flowers?” He said hesitantly.
“Oh yeah, uh, thanks. I’ve been getting flowers—or I mean someone’s been getting me flowers, I’m not buying flowers for myself that would be, well, not weird cause it’s fine if you want to buy flowers for yourself, I just mean that, uh, I think a neighbor lady has been giving them to me but I don’t know, I haven’t actually asked her yet.” Peter took a breath he desperately needed after that word dump but thankfully Frank cut in before he rambled again.
“Right. So how about you open the door so I can drop these,” and he shook the takeout bags for emphasis, “inside and then we clean up the, uh, mess.”
Peter nodded, “Yeah okay,” and swiveled around to unlock the door.
Franks arm lightly brushed against his as Frank swept through the doorway past him. Peter felt oddly embarrassed by the whole ordeal though he wasn’t sure why. Maybe because he knew Frank would chew him out for accepting strange anonymous gifts, or he might tease him about a “secret admirer.” Peter wasn’t sure which was worse.
As promised, they both cleaned up the newest gift that had to immediately get thrown in the trash (Peter didn’t try to salvage any of the flowers) and then they ate their dinner (it was still their dinner even though it was breakfast food) as the rest of New York woke up for the day.
Frank never said a word about the flowers which, oddly enough, didn’t bring Peter any relief.
***
Peter half walked/half ran down the street through the rain. He couldn’t believe the day was almost over. It’s not that he forgot today was his aunt’s birthday. He didn’t. It’s just that he had projects to work on in the morning and then all hell broke loose in the city in the afternoon and it didn’t stop until it was nearly midnight which is why he found himself scrambling to get to the bodega to grab flowers for his aunt.
Peter felt like such a failure. And now he was feeling sorry for himself on top of everything else. It’s just that the hits kept coming today. He would wrap up one incident and then DeWolff or his scanner was immediately calling him to the next one. Plus he hadn’t eaten since probably breakfast (if he even ate that) and now he was about to miss his aunt’s birthday.
Peter chewed on his lower lip, an anxious tick he had developed, and immediately winced. He had forgotten that last guy had left him with a lovely split lip. Great, so now he was about to walk into the bodega looking like drowned rat who just got out of a fight club. Peter didn’t consider himself a vain person when it came to appearance, but seriously, he didn’t enjoy the stares sent his way when he got a bit roughed up on the job.
Peter got to the door and steeled himself for a second (and swiped a quick hand over his face that would hopefully take care of any blood) and then walked inside. Thankfully it wasn’t very busy given the rain and time of night. Peter ducked his head and turned to make his way to the floral section when he glanced at the only other customer, besides him, who was standing at the counter purchasing—wait is that “Frank?!”
Frank whipped around and his eyes widened when he saw Peter. Peter, who could’ve smacked himself in the face right about now and internally winced at the pitiful sight he must make. Though, it didn’t look like Frank had been able to avoid the rain either. He was soaked too and his hair was kinda curling down around his face. His flannel? was dripping on the floor and he was clutching a bouquet of—“Are you buying flowers?”
Peter wanted to smack himself again. He had no filter when he was this exhausted. Also it was hard to comprehend what he was seeing.
After Frank got over the initial shock of the moment, he gave a sheepish smile and chuckled, “I guess the cat’s out of the bag, huh?”
Peter stared at Frank. Then down at the flowers. They were daisies.
“You okay, kid?” Frank’s face had gone from sheepish to concerned as he looked at Peter.
Daisies.
Oh.
Oh. Fuck.
“You’re the one who’s been giving me flowers?!” Peter will forever deny the crack in his voice when Frank teases him later.
Frank looked at him bemused and still slightly concerned but before he got to say anythin—
“Hey buddy, ya gonna pay for those?” The cashier asked, oblivious to the revelation that just smacked Peter in the face. He really needed to be nicer to his poor face.
Peter could only watch as Frank through a quick glance at him before he walked over and paid for the daisies. He then pocketed his wallet and walked back over to the idiot slowly dripping a puddle on the floor.
“Here.” Frank grunted as he thrust the flowers at him.
Peter looked down at the flowers and brought his hands up to take the bundle. He was in shock. He couldn’t stop looking at the daisies. Beautiful daisies with their pure white petals and sunshine centers. Living daisies that were not shriveled up carcasses. Stupid daisies that this stupid beautiful man standing in front of him soaking wet bought for him. Glistening daisies that he was now dripping on—
“Fuck, kid, did I break you?”
Peter was crying on his daisies. He wiped at his face but the tears wouldn’t stop. Peter was crying over fucking flowers (the earth can just swallow him whole right now).
“Come on.” Strong hands grabbed him and dragged him back outside into the cool crisp rain. They didn’t move too far away from the shop but far enough to be out of the way of prying eyes. The hands that were still on him gave him a little shake. Peter glanced up into the very concerned and confused face of one Frank Castle.
“Pete—“
“I’m sorr—“ Peter choked back the sob that was working its way up his throat.
“C’mere,” those strong hands that were still grounding him brought him in to Frank’s chest. “It’s okay, kid.”
That’s all it took for Peter to break down in the Punisher’s arms. He clung to Frank as he sobbed away all the pain and frustration of the last several weeks, hell, probably years with how painful his chest rattled. Frank’s hands moved to hold him better, one pressed firm at the center of his back and the other slid through the hair at the nape of his neck to cradle the base of his skull.
They both stood there for what felt like hours but was probably (hopefully) only a few minutes until Peter started to calm down. He tilted his head to press more into Frank’s neck and inhaled. Frank smelled like wet gun powder, oil, and a bit of aftershave? Peter inhaled again. It wasn’t a terrible smell.
“Sorry.” Peter finally croaked. He shifted around slightly in Frank’s hold. He was mortified, but he also really didn’t want to move away from the strong arms keeping him grounded.
Frank gave a hesitant chuckle, “You back with us?” Frank loosened his arms but didn’t drop them.
Peter leaned back enough to quickly glance at Frank’s face. Thankfully he didn’t look too annoyed but maybe a bit weary and concerned. Understandable.
“Yeah.” Peter gave a weak chuckle of his own. He brought a hand up to try to wipe at the mess on his face but when he looked down, he gasped. “Fuck.”
Frank followed his gaze down and saw the daisies that Peter had still been clutching were now quite crushed between their chests. They both had bits of petals sticking to them. Frank met Peter’s eyes and brought both hands up to cradle Peter’s face. He could feel the rough callouses on Frank’s palms, “I’ll buy you every fucking flower in the world, just, please don’t cry again.”
Peter scoffed, “I’m not gonna—“ but as Peter gazed at Frank’s face he saw the humor twinkling in his eyes and the fondness he wore directed at Peter with the soft smile that graced his lips.
Peter did not think about what he did next. His impulse control was completely shot because in the next moment he leaned in and placed his lips on Frank’s own. At first he was sure Frank was gonna lean back or throw Peter off, but instead he returned the kiss and adjusted Peter’s head to get a better angle. Frank’s lips were a bit chapped but not unpleasant and Peter moved his hand that wasn’t still holding the crushed daisies to clutch at Frank’s shirt.
Frank brushed his lips against Peter’s in a way to deepen the kiss but suddenly Peter hissed and jerked back. His split lip he totally forgot about started bleeding again. Peter watched as Frank’s tongue flicked out to clean the blood that had gotten on his own lips. Peter shivered and glanced up to the questioning brow raised. Peter had the wherewithal to look sheepish but before he could say anything, Frank took his thumb and pressed it against the split in Peter’s lip. Peter thankfully swallowed the embarrassing whimper.
“Who did this to you?”
Peter shrugged and mourned the loss of the finger as Frank pulled his hand back so Peter could answer. “Just some guy earlier. It’s no big deal.”
Frank looked unappreciative of that answer but he accepted it anyway. Taking a step back from Peter, He turned his head to sky, “We should get out of this rain.”
“Why?”
Frank gave him a look like Peter just asked if he could borrow one of his guns. “Cause it’s cold and wet and the last thing you need is to die from a head cold.”
Peter huffed a laugh, “Okaaay, that’s a bit dramatic but I meant,” he took a breath to steel himself, “Why were you buying me flowers, Frank?”
Frank averted his gaze and stared back out into the night. He took a minute before he spoke, “You like them.”
Peter tilted his head in question.
Frank sighed and brought his gaze back to Peter’s. “You liked the flowers and you were tore up when they died so I bought you more.”
“Why didn’t you tell me it was you? Why didn’t you say anything?”
Frank shook his head in frustration “Cause I’m not good at this stuff, kid.”
“And you think I am?” Peter had raised his voice more than he meant to. He closed his eyes and sighed. This wasn’t exactly the direction he wanted this conversation to go in. Upon opening his eyes, he saw Frank had been staring at him. Peter took a step closer. “I liked the flowers.”
Frank kept staring at him assessing his expression. “So you’re not disappointed?”
Peter blinked. Disappointed? “No? Why would I be?”
“You said you thought the flowers were from a ‘neighbor lady’.”
Oh.
Oh.
Peter laughed.
Frank glared at him.
He controlled his laughter to explain, “I thought maybe they were from an elderly lady that lives a few floors down. I help her carry her groceries in sometimes, but honestly I don’t think I ever thought they were actually from her. It’s just what I told myself to keep from going crazy wondering who they were actually from. Besides, I don’t think she even knows what floor I live on.”
Shaking his head, Frank chuckled. “What am I gonna do with you, kid?”
Peter shrugged his shoulders and smiled sheepishly, “I don’t know.” He then stepped a couple inches closer and blushed knowing what he was about to say, “Hopefully kiss me again?”
Frank smirked and leaned down to meet Peter halfway. Their second kiss was not like their first which had been rushed but tentative. Their lips brushed together soft and slow but deliberate because they knew the other wasn’t going anywhere. Frank was also careful about Peter’s split lip this time. Their breath fanned out over the other’s cheek as their lips met again and again in a gentle caress.
Finally they pulled back and Peter breathed, “Definitely not disappointed.”
Frank wore his fond expression he reserved for Peter that he was coming to know to love when Frank’s fingers brushed a stray curl out of Peter’s face. “Yeah, me neither.”
Peter didn’t even want to know what sappy expression was surely plastered across his face.
Pulling his hand away, Frank glanced around and sighed, “It’s getting late.”
Peter nodded in response. He didn’t want their night to end just like that. He wanted to stay with Frank for longer. “Are you hungry?”
Frank who was still looking out into the night glanced back at him. “Sure, but I doubt we’re going to find a good place open this time of night.”
“I have leftovers in my fridge,” Peter hoped he didn’t sound too desperate. He did quite often have leftovers around since they almost always bought way too much food to split between the two of them (which was saying something because they could put down a lot).
“Alright then,” Frank responded and took Peter by the hand and began walking towards where Peter assumed his van was parked.
But Peter wasn’t paying attention because he was too busy blushing and fighting a losing battle with the grin on his face as he threaded his fingers through Frank’s hand.
Frank just chuckled. It was music to Peter’s ears.
“Hey, do you mind if we make a quick stop on the way to my place?”
Frank squeezed his hand and turned to wink at him, “Whatever you want, kid.”
Peter squeezed back.
***
After visiting the kid’s aunt’s grave, Frank found himself back at Peter’s apartment. As promised they snacked on leftovers then migrated over to the couch they were currently sat on. Well, Frank was sitting with one arm thrown over the back of the couch while the other cradled a beer bottle. The kid was curled up against him while a nature documentary?? played on the tv. Frank will deny this clear act of cuddling later.
Cuddling? How the fuck did he get here. Frank never expected this as a possible outcome (not that’s he’s complaining) back when he bought that first bouquet of flowers. The kid had been fucking sad his flowers died and Frank didn’t really understand why but the kid didn’t need to deal with anymore shit. Especially since Frank had played a big part in that shit. So Frank decided to buy flowers for the kid to replace the dead ones, and if Pete figured out it was him he’d just laugh the whole thing off.
But he didn’t figure it out and when Frank was over for dinner the next time, he saw those flowers all tucked nicely into a vase sitting on the counter so somehow Frank just kept buying more flowers. They seemed to make the kid happy, go figure, so who was Frank to deny him some goddamn happiness. The kid deserved that and so much more.
Frank took a sip from his beer before his thoughts could get the best of him and rested it back down against his thigh. He had his feet propped up on the coffee table.
“Hey, Frank?” The kid practically whispered into the quiet room. The volume on the tv was down so low you could barely hear it. Frank and the kid had been chatting before Pete fell asleep. Or so Frank thought.
“Hmm?” Frank grunted against the bottle he had brought back up to his lips.
“Are you—um, does this mean you won’t be buying flowers anymore?”
Frank smirked and wished he could see the kid’s face ‘cause he was sure the poor thing would be blushing bright red. Fuck, he was so gone for this kid. Frank glanced at the coffee table where the flowers he had last bought sat. Not the ones he’d bought tonight, no, those ones, though a little crumpled, went to May. The ones from the last time were starting to look a little wilted.
“I won’t stop buying you flowers, kid, unless you want me to stop?”
“No, don’t I—“ the kid clenched a fist in Franks shirt and moved his head so Frank felt him breathe his next words on the column of his throat, “I’d like if you kept buying me flowers.”
Frank brought his arm down from the couch to wrap around the kid. “Good. I’ll get you some fresh ones tomorrow”
Frank felt the smile that pressed up against his neck before he continued, “As long as we can get some burgers.”
The kid huffed a laugh “Deal.”
Frank turned to press a light kiss into his hair. Yeah, Frank was definitely not complaining.