( The next week, Frank takes his turn to be gone for a few too many days. When he finally resurfaces on day nineteen, it's with a split lip, a black eye, and the smell of old, dried blood subtly clinging to his boots. He doesn't say anything about it, the waitress doesn't comment on it, and everyone's pretty much content to pretend like it isn't a thing.
Day twenty, he's midway through stuffing a forkful of flapjacks into his mouth when the phone in his pocket suddenly starts going off. He jolts, startled, shooting a disgruntled and disbelieving look down as he hurriedly goes digging through his jeans to try and get to it. Somewhere between snatching it up and answering, he meets Logan's eye and adopts a frustrated, consternated shut the hell up look before he presses the thing to his ear.
The conversation begins with a low, annoyed: )
God damn it, kid, what did I tell you about fucking around with my phone-
( Before he stalks outside to have the rest of the conversation in relative privacy. When he returns a few minutes later, he staunchly refuses to make eye contact for the remainder of his meal. )
no subject
Day twenty, he's midway through stuffing a forkful of flapjacks into his mouth when the phone in his pocket suddenly starts going off. He jolts, startled, shooting a disgruntled and disbelieving look down as he hurriedly goes digging through his jeans to try and get to it. Somewhere between snatching it up and answering, he meets Logan's eye and adopts a frustrated, consternated shut the hell up look before he presses the thing to his ear.
The conversation begins with a low, annoyed: )
God damn it, kid, what did I tell you about fucking around with my phone-
( Before he stalks outside to have the rest of the conversation in relative privacy. When he returns a few minutes later, he staunchly refuses to make eye contact for the remainder of his meal. )