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sapphicsnzs · 9 hours

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a break in the silence

Wrote some cute lesbian fluff with Frankie and Penn, sprinkled with some reflections on parental shit because it's what I do. But mostly, it's ridiculously sweet, sappy fluff. (Set right after the vacation series, but you don't need to have read that ... a couple of things from that are mentioned, but you won't be lost if you haven't read it!)

Summary: Penn has a bad cold and feels guilty for being noisy and keeping Frankie up at night. Luckily, Frankie doesn't mind so much. 5.2k words

Fic below the cut. CW for mentions of parental neglect, brief/undescribed mentions of previous illness during childhood, one *extremely* vague mention of past self harm, internalized ableism/brief mentions of attempting to suppress meltdowns, brief mentions of unintentional contagion, a few mentions of mess (not graphic), brief sexual content/heavy making out. (I pinky promise this is a mostly fluffy fic despite the content warnings.) Minors, TERFS, and non-kink blogs DNI!

Penn’s mom always said she was too loud.

It was sort of an odd thing to say, given how much of her childhood she spent learning to be quiet.

There are plenty of ways to do it: Bite the tip of your tongue while people are talking. Focus on holding your words in your throat like fish caught in a net, only letting them spring out when you are absolutely, one hundred percent certain others are done speaking. Smile, but not too much. Turn yourself inside out so the constant, screaming noise stays inside.

And she learned these tricks quickly. At ten, her body taught itself to quit having panic attacks, instead pulling some invisible string that yanked her into a clouded, distant version of the world where everything was muted and faraway. At eleven, her bones grew strong enough to trap the screaming sobs behind her teeth when the world crowded too close to her ears and set her skin on fire.

Of course, she needed an outlet — anyone would. But that was always for later — alone in the bathroom, where she could take the overwhelm out on herself in the darkness, in the silence.

It always startled her how badly it stung, but at least she could crawl into her bed at night without being chased by questions both she and her mother knew she could never answer — questions about why she was so sensitive, why she couldn’t be more like her brother, why nothing ever really changed.

Those childhood monsters still lurk beneath her bed and in her closet now, even outside the darkness of that house. Skills learned for the sake of survival, no matter how much they hurt, aren’t so easy to let go of. And while in so many ways, it’s not like it used to be, there are certain things that still stir up those old feelings of wanting to shrink herself down, that old shame swelling up like a shadow puppet across her bedroom wall.

And having the control to be quiet, if she wants, ripped away, betrayed by her own body — well. It’s always just been a little difficult to cope with.

In the twilight after work, she lets herself into Frankie’s apartment, though her body announces her arrival before she can eke out a “hello.”

“AIISHHuehh! hihh! — hih’AISHHHHeuhhh!”

The sneezes, aimed down toward the floor, rip across her already worn throat and snatch the breath from her lungs, jarring the congestion in her head with a dull pang. The paper bag of takeout in her left hand shudders, and her right hand drops her laptop bag. It thuds on the carpet, bumping against her leg before settling on the floor.

“Bless you,” Frankie calls, though her tone is so steeped in sympathy, the phrase feels more like an exclamation over how exhausted she sounds, or the warm embrace of her arms draped gently around her.

“Guhh. Thangk you.” With a heavy sniffle, Penn sets the takeout on the edge of the passthrough window to the kitchen and slips off her Vans. “I picked up dinner,” she rasps.

The couch squeaks softly. “You didn’t have to do that.”

“I kndow, but I wanted to.” Penn sniffles again and trudges toward the couch, rubbing at her eyes with her fist. “You’ve been cooki’g all week, and I figured you could use a break. Plus tacos sounded ndice. Ndot that I can taste anythi’g, but …”

She stops at the couch. In spite of the vague blah feeling she hasn’t been able to shake for a week — the one that leaves her sinuses jammed to the brim and keeps her up late into the night muffling coughs into her pillow — a smile tugs at the edge of her mouth.

Frankie lounges against the arm of the couch, her left leg propped up on a pillow with an ice pack draped over her ankle. The fatigue that weighed so heavily on her during the worst of her own cold no longer tugs on her shoulders or shadows her face, her eyes bright and sweet with a smile despite spending all day at the bookstore.

“How’s your ankle?” Penn asks. She slumps into the sleeve of her cardigan to clear her throat, then coughs a couple of times — deep, itchy coughs that bite at her ribs and leave her voice scratched thin.

“Just a little sore still,” Frankie says. She’s still in her black flannel from work (one of her favorites), though she’s slipped out of her jeans, leaving her legs bare save for the black boxers that hug her thighs.

She reaches for Penn, motioning to that tender, warm space between her legs. “Come sit — you sound exhausted.”

“I am.” Penn ducks into her sleeve to cough again and rubs at her nose, then drops into Frankie’s lap. It’s a little awkward, with her legs sticking out halfway off the couch, though Frankie hooks her arms around her and holds her tight against her chest.

Frankie presses her face against the crook of Penn’s neck. A soft, contented sigh casts a burst of goose bumps across Penn’s skin. “I missed you.”

“Mbissed you, too.” Penn tilts her head to nuzzle a kiss against Frankie’s lips, though she has to lean back almost immediately to sniffle, then keeps sniffling.

“Sorry,” she mumbles, pressing her nose into her sleeve to muffle a sharper sniffle that whistles over her sinuses and flares that ever-present ticklish burn at the back of her nose.

It’s the sort of thing that most people would politely ignore as long as they could, or in the case of those she grew up around, would bluntly say the sound was driving them crazy. But Frankie’s only ever been caring — kind and gentle, even when Penn keeps her up at night with the symptoms she can’t wrangle into silence.

She hums a sympathetic sound and runs her fingers through Penn’s hair. “You can relax now,” she murmurs. “Was work bad? I thought you’d be home sooner.”

That irritation at the back of her nose flares sharper and snags Penn’s breath. She curls forward a little, creating space between her and Frankie, tucking her face into the soft fabric of her sleeve again. “Hihh! Ihhh — EISHHHihhh! Hih’ESHHHHuuehhh!” She coughs through a stuffy sigh and slumps more heavily into Frankie, her head tipping back against her shoulder, lips parting to draw in a quiet breath. “Does that answer your question?”

Frankie hugs her closer. “I’m so sorry.” She strokes her thumb over Penn’s temple. “Do you want to take a shower? You sound really stuffy.”

“Ndot really. I mbean, mbaybe later, but ndot now.” A slight shiver whispers across Penn’s skin. She curls in closer to Frankie. “I just want to be with you.”

“Yeah?” Frankie slips a hand up the back of Penn’s shirt. Her fingers play across Penn’s skin, light and warm, each touch leaving a trail of goose bumps behind. “We can do that.”

Penn’s breath trembles in her chest for an entirely new, much more pleasant reason. She tips her head back to bite a kiss along Frankie’s jaw, nipping at her tender skin.

Frankie’s breath shudders with a pleased sound, her fingers splaying across Penn’s back. She kicks off the ice pack and sits up a little higher, her hands settling at Penn’s hips. With her jaw still exposed for Penn’s lips, she settles against the back of the couch, then guides Penn more squarely onto her lap, this time bringing her around to face her, with Penn straddling her thighs.

Penn tugs at the waistband of her jeans with a sniffle. A sharp twinge fires in her sinuses. “I probably — hihh! — probably should have changed —”

“Later,” Frankie mumbles into Penn’s mouth. She folds her arms around Penn’s neck, pulling her in close, drowning her in the kiss.

Penn sniffles against the bristling itch in her nose and flits her tongue over Frankie’s lips. Even with the fatigue of her cold wearing on her, warmth swells through her stomach and up into her chest, coating her body in a delightful flush that makes every nerve light up. Every part of her is oversensitive from years of want, the smallest touch stealing her breath and sending her heart high in her throat. And Frankie … well, she knows exactly what feels good.

She scoots up higher on Frankie’s lap, giving herself a little more height to lean down into the kiss. Her nose scrunches against another sniffle, sharper this time. Her breath trembles in Frankie’s mouth and down into her chest, sparking a shiver through her whole body.

Frankie pushes up into her with a husky, barely there groan, its edges raw with hunger. Beneath Penn’s shirt, her fingers fumble over the soft dips of her stomach before settling over the lace of her bralette.

Penn’s breath stutters out with a whine, though it gets cut off with a jagged gasp as heat prickles through her nose. She opens her mouth to stutter out a warning, or an apology, or maybe even just an exclamation about how fucking good Frankie’s hands feel on her and to please, god, don’t stop, but all she can manage is a hazy shake of her head before lurching into her sleeve.

“Hih! Hih’AISHHHuehh! ehh’EISHHHuehh! Hih — hih’EISHHHuehh!”

“Bless you,” Frankie mumbles, her lips heavy against Penn’s neck. Her fingers still rest on her bralette, though they’ve gone still.

Penn scrubs her nose against her wrist. She definitely should have taken more medicine before sitting down on the couch, or at least grabbed a box of tissues from the bathroom. Hell, even just giving her nose one good blow after a day of trying to be as unobtrusive as possible with this cold from hell probably would have been better than nothing.

“Sorry.” Her breath shivers a little. “I swear I’b fine, I’b just — snnrk! — I’b just itchy, but if you don’t mbind it, then —”

“I don’t.” Frankie nuzzles a kiss into the soft spot just below Penn’s jaw. She reaches up to push Penn’s hair back from her face. “But I feel like I should free up your lips so you can breathe.”

Penn coughs on a laugh. “That’s ndo fun.”

“I don’t know.” Frankie’s index finger, light as a butterfly, flutters over the bud of Penn’s nipple. “I think it could be.”

Penn bites back a whine as the muscles in her back arch, her body tensing to keep her from squirming or, worse, grinding up against Frankie’s thigh to soothe the heat between her legs.

Frankie hums a laugh and gives her nipple a gentle pinch. It’s barely anything, a tease at what she could do, if Penn’s patient, but even that sends a shudder through Penn’s legs.

“Just relax,” Frankie murmurs. “I’ve got you.”

She tries, burying her face in Frankie’s shoulder as Frankie’s fingers continue playing under her shirt. But the drag of her breath, needy and hot, across her throat scrapes at the irritated flesh, and just as quickly as she’s gotten comfortable, she has to pull away again to muffle a barky fit of coughs in her sleeve.

Frankie’s hand falls away from her breast and cups the small of her back, steadying her as cough after cough tears at her chest. Each one sends a burst of pain through her head, slamming against her sinuses like a sledgehammer until the rims of her nostrils and corners of her eyes are hot and damp.

“Sorry,” she rasps, vision hazy as she blinks at Frankie.

Frankie watches her with a far more somber expression than a moment ago, the haze of desire washed from her face. “Do you want to lie down? I can go get you medicine.”

“Ndo, I mbean — we can keep going. I think I just … mby throat’s sort of itchy.” She presses her sleeve against her nose as a stray cough rumbles in her chest. “It sounds worse than it is.”

Frankie lifts her brows in a dubious frown. “It’s sounded that way for a week.”

Penn shrugs. She sniffles, her nose wrinkling a little as that prickly, burning itch seeps through it. “It’s just a bad cold.”

“I know. I just want to make you comfortable.”

It’s probably true, but the flush coloring Frankie’s neck and the heavy, heated rise and fall of her chest make guilt seep through Penn’s stomach.

It seemed convenient at first, her staying at Frankie’s apartment while they were both sick, especially when Tim seemed to think she was some kind of walking biohazard. Not that she could blame him — she came home from Virginia with the sort of cough that functioned as a flashing billboard, its neon lights blaring to the rest of the world to stay far, far away.

And it was convenient. It’s just that there are certain expectations that come with spending so much time together, especially as a new couple. Certain things that would be fun to explore together, if she weren’t in such a perpetual state of mouthbreathing and trying desperately not to cough all over herself. The thought of making out with someone, or heaven forbid letting your mouth explore the more intimate parts of them, is exponentially less sexy when you take into account the fact that you can’t breathe through your nose and have been cursed with quite possibly the most obnoxious, viciously loud sneezes in the entire state.

Frankie smooths Penn’s shirt and tugs the hem straight around her waist. She tips her head up against the back of the sofa and smiles at her. “Let me get you your medicine, and dinner,” she murmurs. “How about you go change into something more comfortable? And maybe we could watch something in bed, if you’d like that?”

Penn shoves her knuckles against her nose. “Is that … I mbean … is that what you want?”

“I just want to take care of you.” Frankie tucks a stray wisp of hair behind Penn’s ear. “You’re so sick. Let me get you feeling better.”

Penn bites the inside of her cheek. She says it with a kind of tenderness that Penn’s only caught glimpses of before, the kind that’s reserved for this apartment, or Penn’s bedroom, or the other small moments when they’re alone together. Something shared just between the two of them, like a secret, but better.

“If you’re sure,” Penn whispers.

“I’m sure.” Frankie kisses her forehead. “Go put on pajamas and get some tissues and pick out something to watch. I’ll meet you in bed.”

Penn’s mom always hated when she was sick.

It was the sort of thing that she’s never been able to pull apart and make sense of, even after several years in therapy. At the first sign of a sore throat, her mom became a different person — all tender words and gentle, sweet touches as she tucked her into bed. But if things weren’t better by the next morning, Penn would come downstairs for breakfast to be met with words angrily snapped across the table about how loud she’d been during the night, and why hadn’t she taken more medicine, and couldn’t she be more considerate of the rest of the house? They were all working so hard, after all.

It’s not like she expected her mom to stay home and dote on her — both her parents had full-time jobs, and she and her brother were raised largely by their teachers, coaches, and after-school club leaders. It was just the way that her mom could flip like a switch, one moment showing a tiny glimmer of that nurturing spirit Penn so desperately longed for, and the next, shouting at her for disrupting her sleep with a cough she couldn’t get a handle on.

That was all a long time ago. But that sort of shame, poured on you so freely by the one person who’s supposed to love you the most, is hard not to hold tight at the center of your chest, cupping it between your fingers like a fragile baby bird.

Especially when she’s kept Frankie up every night for the past week.

Penn shivers deeper into the blankets and muffles what feels like the hundredth cough of the night into her pillow. Everything in her aches, her chest worn out and head full of pressure that pulses behind her face, the kind of pain that begs for the relief of sleep that won’t come.

They couldn’t have gone to bed more than twenty minutes ago, but time oozes by like honey in a jar, dragging by as she stares up at the ceiling and strains to keep her body from reacting as the air prickles through her nose and down into her lungs.

It only halfway works — she’s barely made it a minute or two without coughing, and when it’s not that, she’s curling deeper into her pillow to muffle sneezes, or ripping tissues from the box at the head of the bed to blow her nose. It’s a frustrating cycle to experience, and probably even more frustrating to listen to.

As she draws in a breath through her lips, the air crawls over her lungs, thick and prickling like a swarm of bees. A cough bursts up before she can try to tamp it down, rattling deep in her ribs, hot and scraping across her throat.

The mattress dips as Frankie shifts beside her. Her bedside lamp clicks on, casting the bedroom in a soft glow that brings the prick of tears to Penn’s eyes and nose.

Frankie fumbles a hand against Penn’s shoulder. “Can I make you tea?”

“Ndo — sorry, I’ll stop, it’s just …” Penn chokes on a stray cough. She scrubs her nose into the sleeve of her henley pajama top, shoving at the burning itch that stings deep in her sinuses and in the corners of her eyes. “Mby mbeds just ndeed to kick in still, I guess.”

Frankie smooths Penn’s hair back from her forehead. She watches her from across her pillow. “Can I put VapoRub on your chest? Maybe that would help.”

Penn sniffles into her sleeve — an effort in futility, given how blocked her nose is. “I thingk it would just mbake mbe sndeeze mbore.”

Frankie makes a noncommittal sound. “Yeah, well … would that be such a bad thing? It might help clear your head up.”

“I mbean, sort of.” Penn sniffles again, her breath shivering on the tail end. “You’re tryi’g to sleep.”

Frankie shrugs. “If it’ll make you feel better, then I don’t mind.” She rolls over toward her nightstand. The drawer opens with a quiet scraping sound. “And I’m serious about tea, if it would help.”

“Ndo — I mbean, mbaybe, but I really am hopi’g this just — hih! — that it just settles down soon.” Penn coughs into her sleeve again, the vague itchy burn between her eyes and nose and throat dampening her eyes. She reaches for a tissue from the box that took up permanent residency between their pillows a week ago and nudges her nose into it. “I thingk mbaybe work just wore mbe out, and — hihh! — and all the pollen probably isn’t hhihhhhelpi’g—g’TSCHHHihhh!”

The sneeze stumbles out of her, breathless and scraping over her chest and throat. Dry pressure bursts in her nose, like her sinuses are too swollen to let the crap in them budge no matter how hard she sneezes or blows, leaving it there to further irritate her sensitive nerves.

Her breath snags again, jagged over her lungs, slamming her eyes shut. “Hihhh! Hih’AISHHHihh! Hih’EXSHHHHuehhh!” A cough immediately follows, harsh and rattling behind her tissue. Tears bead along her eyelashes. She lets out a low, croaky groan and blinks bleary eyes at Frankie. “Oh mby god. Fuck.”

As she turns back from the nightstand, Frankie’s face droops with a pained frown. “Bless you, honey.” The term of endearment slips out without mention or reaction, as if Frankie’s unaware she’s even said it, with the sort of ease that makes Penn’s chest go achingly warm.

Frankie sets the jar of VapoRub on her pillow and sits up on her knees. Her fingers trail gently over Penn’s forehead. “Do you want more pillows? That might help you breathe better.”

A lump presses up against Penn’s throat. It’s silly — probably mostly just a sign of how exhausted she really is — but Frankie’s fingers feel so nice, her touch so gentle, her voice so tender. So patient, even when she doesn’t have to be.

Penn swallows hard and shakes her head. She muffles a shivery cough in her tissue. “I’b okay,” she whispers.

“Okay. If you’re sure.” Frankie bends close, the lamp’s dim glow stretching her shadow long across the blankets. As her fingers fidget at the top button of Penn’s shirt, a little clumsy with sleepiness as she works to undo it, she peeks up at Penn. “I’m sorry you’re still so sick.”

Penn shrugs against her pillow. “It’s fine. I mbean, it just is what it is. snnrk! Like I said, it’s probably just … stress and mby allergies mbaki’g things worse.”

“Probably.” Frankie undos another button, then drapes the top of Penn’s shirt open. As she uncaps the VapoRub, turning the air sharp with menthol, goose bumps sweep across Penn’s exposed skin.

She sniffles again. “Thangk you. I mbean, just — this is really ndice of you.”

The corner of Frankie’s lips turns up in an unassuming smile. “I like taking care of you.”

“Yeah, but … it’s the mbiddle of the ndight. And I just, this — snnrrk! — guh. It has to be getti’g kind of old.”

Frankie shakes her head as she dips her fingers into the ointment. “No.” She dabs VapoRub on Penn’s sternum, tracing a slow, soothing circle with her index and middle fingers. “I mean, I feel bad that you’re not feeling better, but … that’s all.”

Penn pushes her nose against her wrist as the bite of menthol floods her nostrils. The edges of them tingle, her nerves sparking with overstimulation, a breath away from firing until she’s breathless and dizzy.

She snags another tissue from the box and nudges it against her septum. “I just — if you wanted, I could go back to mby place. Tim’s probably ndot really worried about catchi’g this anymbore, and I mbean, it’s ndot like I don’t see him at work anyway.” She breathes into the tissue with a crackling sniffle that makes her nostrils quiver. “Ndot that I don’t want to be here, it’s just — I kndow I’ve been keepi’g you up, so I just thought —”

“You’re not going anywhere. Not because of that.” Frankie’s thumb sweeps across the skin over Penn’s heart, her touch prickling with the unnaturally hot and cold sensation of the VapoRub. “Unless you want to get some space or sleep in your own bed or something. I mean, I know it’s more comfortable to be alone sometimes. But I just — I don’t want you to feel like you need to leave for my sake.”

Penn’s breath trembles a little, though she gets it under control with a sharp sniffle. “I just feel bad about … all of it.”

“You don’t have to. I like having you here.”

Penn wheezes out a cough, though it’s quieter than the ones before and doesn’t hook itself deep in her lungs. “I’b keepi’g you up.”

Frankie shrugs. She ducks her head, something a little bashful about the gesture here in the privacy of her room. “Yeah, but I … I sort of like knowing you’re next to me. Just the … break in the silence, after so long. If that makes sense.”

Tears, unprovoked by the burning in her sinuses or menthol on her chest, well up in Penn’s eyes. She lets her tissue fall to the side and reaches to cup the side of Frankie’s face, tipping her head up to catch her lips in a kiss. Her breath shivers between them.

“You really are the sweetest,” she whispers.

Frankie blushes against her as she kisses her back. “Well, I really mean it.” She eases back and wipes the last bit of VapoRub from her fingers onto Penn’s chest. “Plus, it would be pretty shitty of me to not take care of you after getting you so sick.”

Penn coughs on a laugh. “Yeah, that would be sort of shitty.” She sniffles, her nose scrunching against the sudden ticklish dampness leaking along the inside of her nostrils. She fumbles for her tissue in the sheets as a shiver works its way through her breath. “I guess you do — ihh! — do owe mbe a little.”

“I definitely do.” Frankie sits back on her knees and recaps the VapoRub. She rubs her fingers across her pajama pants, wiping away any excess ointment. “Do you want me to set up a movie on my laptop? Sometimes having something on when I don’t feel well helps when I can’t —”

“AISHHHuehhh!” The sneeze explodes hot and damp across Penn’s chest, her fingers still fumbling for her tissue in the sheets. Moisture sticks to the edges of her nostrils, stinging along her overwrought nerves. A groan catches in her throat and snags as her breath shudders again. “Fhihhhfuck.”

Frankie snatches a tissue from the box and presses it into Penn’s hand. As Penn’s breath winds tighter in her chest, Frankie’s fingers trail in a slow circle at her shoulder. “Bless you.”

Penn peers up at her through slitted, teary eyes, her body fighting to slam her eyelids shut again. “Thhihhh! — thank yhihh! — hih’AISHHHihhh! h’EISCHHHHihhh! Hahh’ATSHHHuehhh!”

Her tissue wilts in front of her nose, flooded with the congestion that’s been trapped inside her head all day. She coughs through another groan. “I thingk I’b dyi’g.”

Frankie rips another tissue, then several more, from the box and hands them to her. “No, but you’re definitely really fucking stuffed up.” She tucks the blankets closer over her chest. “So do you think —”

“AHT’SCHHHihhhh!” That sneeze, at least, gets caught in Penn’s handful of tissues. A cough bursts out immediately after, loud but a little less harsh than before, the muscles in her chest unwinding beneath the blanket of chilly ointment.

She lets out a wheezy sigh. “Sorry, that’s … ndot goi’g to stop anytime soon.”

“No, it’s fine. That was sort of the point.” Frankie sets the VapoRub on her nightstand, then crawls back under the blankets. She brushes Penn’s hair back from her face. “So — I was going to turn the lights off, but —”

“Hihhh!” Penn jams her tissues against her nose as the lamplight flickers through the tears in her eyes. She bites down on her tongue and strains against the jagged swell of her chest — if she’s going to keep sneezing like this, she may as well try to keep them as restrained as possible, for Frankie’s sake. “ECKTSHHihhhh! Huh — huh’EXTSCHHHihhh! gkt’TSCHHHuehhh!”

“Bless you.” Frankie gives Penn’s shoulder a gentle nudge. “You can just let yourself sneeze, honey. It really is fine.”

Penn coughs. The inside of her throat feels raw and gritty, irritated all over again from the sneezes. “I’b really gross.”

“You’re sick. That’s sort of part of the whole deal.” Frankie rolls the edge of the sheets back and forth between her fingers. “So — do you want the lights off? I can hold you, or get you more pillows, or whatever sounds best.”

“H-ha’g on.” Penn draws in a shaky breath, then blows her nose. The result is exponentially more productive than any previous attempts earlier today, or really most of the week; with a grimace, she crumples the soaked wad of tissues and pulls several more from the box.

Frankie tucks a kiss against her shoulder. “I should probably get you more tissues, too …”

Penn muffles a jagged, “hih’AISHHhuehh!” of a sneeze in her fresh handful of tissues, then blinks up at Frankie through wet eyes. “Honestly, I should probably mbove to the couch. snnnrk! You really don’t want mbe near you. I’b, like … indescribably gross right ndow.”

Frankie hums a laugh, its edges a little rough with fatigue in the low light. “Well, good thing I’ve already had this.” She bends to press a kiss to the space between Penn’s eyebrows, her lips warm and tender. “If you’re happy here, I’m happy, too.”

That stupid lump from a few moments ago presses up against Penn’s vocal cords, choking back her voice. With a heavy, wet sniffle, she loops her arm around Frankie’s neck. All the things she should say dissolve in a shivery sigh breathed across the tender skin just below Frankie’s ear.

How can you say them, really, when there isn’t a way to do them justice? To thank Frankie for tolerating her just sounds pathetic; to explain any of the things that came before her would be too large a task, especially in her current state. Words, so often her strong suit, fail in this moment.

So instead, she just lets herself curl in closer to Frankie, tissues held close to her nose, the top of her shirt still open and chest sticky with menthol and camphor, tears damp in her eyes.

“You’re sure you don’t mbind?” she whispers.

“Absolutely.” Frankie cups her face in her hands and tucks another kiss against her skin, this time to her forehead. “Believe it or not, I own this crazy contraption called a washing machine. It’s pretty great at cleaning germy clothes.”

Penn laughs into Frankie’s chest. “Shut up.”

“I’m serious.” Another kiss gets pressed to Penn’s temple. “And I have a shower, too. It’s a really convenient way to get rid of —”

“AISHHHuehhh!” The sneeze, bursting out with little warning, gets half caught in Penn’s tissues, half muffled against Frankie’s shirt.

A blush prickles along Penn’s neck. “Fuck … I’b so sorry.”

“I just told you.” Frankie drapes an arm around Penn and tugs her in closer. With her other hand, she reaches for the lamp. The light goes off with a soft click. “Shower and washing machine. Great inventions, both of which I have access to.”

Penn sniffles into her shirt, pushing her nose in deeper to beat back the constant, stinging itch, at least for a moment. “Thangks,” she whispers.

“For what?”

“Just … everythi’g.” Her nose scrunches with another sniffle. “Being so sweet. I just — I’ve ndever …” Her voice fizzles out. She tucks herself in closer and lets her breath out in a quiet sigh. “It just mbeans a lot.”

Frankie’s hand finds Penn’s under the sheets. Her fingers twist together with hers. “It means a lot to me, too.”

Somehow — Penn’s not really sure when, or who does so first — they fall asleep like that, curled up close together. As awful as this cold is, there’s a quiet vulnerability in being able to fall asleep in Frankie’s arms like this — to know that no matter how much noise she makes during the night, no matter how much her nose runs in her sleep or how badly she snores, she’ll still get to wake in the morning and be met by the same adoring sweetness from Frankie she fell asleep to. It makes it all worth it.

#snz fic #fic rec #ahhhhh they are so adorable i love them so much #so happy they’re finally together #i love a sweet soft sick fic #so beautifully written<3

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