You got it all wrong || Frikey

1.

this is set in 2019. please don't leave hate for this being current frikey. i love and respect Jamia and Kristin and would never force frikey upon Mikey/Frank, ever.

.Tw/ mentioned eating disorders

The trashcan by his feet that was once filled with scrunched up artwork was now filled with the sickening stench of vomit. He was sick as a dog, he had been for a long time now, but he couldn't take a break with the deadline of his comic fast approaching. Instead, he had his bucket for puking into and a couple boxes of anti-sickness pills

."Liam you son of a fuck.." Mikey grumbled as he erased the characters face with the end of his pencil. Mikey had the same passion for art as his brother did. Collapser was his very first project, Liam James was the protagonist and damn, Mikey couldn't get his face to look right.

He was getting used to the taste of vomit rushing to his mouth. He didn't expect it all suddenly. He began gagging and retching, desperately scrambling for the trash can and grabbing it just in time for a mouthful of vomit to pour out and into the can.

"What the hell is going on with me?" He muttered, spitting out a chunk of half digested food. "Frankie?"

Frank was like Mikey's best friend, his other half, his partner in crime, whatever cheesy names they could come up with. They were meant to be, that was for sure.

.Frank quickly rushed into Mikey's office, seeing his pale, weak husband hunched over the desk with a trash can of vomit between his legs. Mikey looked at Frank, with bags under his faded, exhausted eyes. His lips were chapped and cracked and he looked a mess.

"Again baby..? You poor thing.." Frank cooed. He took the bucket away and lifted Mikey up. Mikey was actually quite light, Frank could easily pick him up and carry him around if he wanted to.

"No Frank, i gotta work.." Mikey weakly mumbled, attempting to scramble away from his husband but putting up zero fight. "Oh God...my stomach hurts so bad.."

"I'm worried about you. You've been getting really sick recently.

"He gently lay Mikey in the middle of their bed, removing his leather jacket and gently stroking his cheek. Mikey stunk badly of sweat and vomit, but that was the least of Franks concerns as sweat continued to pour down Mikey's sickly face.

"And i'm getting kinda fat too. These jeans feel really tight all of a sudden." Frank took that as an opportunity to shimmy the jeans down Mikey's legs and toss them across the room. Mikey was right, he was gaining weight. It was strange since Mikey had been vomiting so often recently
.''I don't think you're fat, maybe its just your hormones. Since you started taking your anxiety meds more, i think they've made you gain a little weight. But you still look so gorgeous to me."

Frank and David were the ones to force Mikey to rehab and therapy, after a lengthy fight with alcoholism and anxiety. He was doing good and was sober for a number of years now, life seemed to be looking up for him. After all, he knew with Frank by his side to support him, nothing bad could happen.

"I don't see what you ever saw in me." Mikey said with an exhausted sigh. He was even trying to hide the fact he was overworking himself with his comic by hiding his eye bags with concealer and foundation. They were so dark that it looked like he'd been punched in both eyes, Frank was genuinely concerned someone was beating Mikey up and he was more than ready to fight the fucker that dared laying a finger on his husband.

"Everything, i saw everything in you baby. Now you get some rest, and shout me if you need me, okay? I'll get you some water and some crackers."

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