Bad Idea! ✐ FRERARD

✩ BAR TRIVIA ✩

"YOU GOING OUT tonight or something?" Bob asked Frank from where he was sat on the couch, a random action movie acting as a background noise.

Frank finished rolling up the sleeves to his flannel shirt with a nod, "Guess so."

Bob smiled lazily in response, turning back to the quiet TV. His head resting against his palm that was propped up at the side of their shared couch.

"Good. S'bout fucking time." Bob said around his hand, making Frank glare at him.

"Fuck you— it's not my fault I'm always busy protecting your ass." Frank said as he tucked his phone and wallet in his pocket, instinctively reaching for his badge and gun holster but stopping himself.

Of course he wouldn't need those at a bar.

"Okay don't fuck your ego too hard, Frank. I heard it's a turn off for most guys." Bob rolled his eyes.

"Thanks." Frank responded absently, fixing the collar of his shirt almost obsessively.

"It's no problem, shortstack. Just make sure if you come home with someone put a sock on the door or something." Bob said as he kept his gaze on the TV.

"So I don't make the same mistake as you and Ellie?" Frank asked, making his way to the door.

"Hey! I already apologised for that." Bob muttered the last part. Frank smiled to himself as he shut the apartment door before he could retaliate to Bob's words.

It felt weird leaving his apartment without the weight of his badge and firearm, but he felt more relaxed in a way. Well, the most relaxed he could be without falling into an unconscious state. And even then he had some sort of perpetual fear of something— usually something along the lines of getting shot or losing someone he cared about, or sometimes the occasional worry his aunt, Lillian, would plan another disaster-filled barbecue where she would try to set him up with random girls.

Honestly, as blunt as Frank could be he honestly couldn't bring himself to tell Lillian that no amount of pretty girls with big personalities would ever change his deep seated homosexuality and his tiny, maybe microscopic, repulsion to the female reproductive system.

Besides, a small part of him thought the whole ordeal of even dating anyone was a bit much, especially with his job. He barely had enough time to meet his coworkers at a bar, nonetheless put in the effort and commitment needed in a functional relationship. That all unfortunately came a huge cost on Franks end seeing as he had actually -not so secretly according to Bob- been going on a two month dry spell, which believe it or not really took a toll on his self-esteem.

He didn't think he was the problem, well, maybe just a little bit, but he didn't think he should have gone sexless for two months because of it. Frank was always just a bit distracted on dates, thinking about some murder or perp whilst the other person moaned on about their day and how nice the restaurant was. Or sometimes, the moment Frank said he was a cop they'd just straight up leave, which was fan-fucking-tastic.

Frank could definitely acknowledge that the police department in general had never been a perfect place, but he didn't think his sex life should be punished for it. Though he could also admit it had never been a completely safe place for civilians- hell, most detectives in their neighbouring precincts were absolute assholes. Not just to normal people and felons, but to other cops too.

Being critical was one thing, but Frank would never forget when Walker, a lieutenant in the two-six, said he had about as much use as a toilet brush. Sure it had been Frank's third case, and sure he may have accidentally completely blown an interrogation, but it was still fucking uncalled for.