Frank Morrison | BEAUTY SCHOOL

Frank licks his cracked lips, and wipes away drying blood from under his nose with the back of his sleeve— cold winter air biting at his sores and cuts. Fuck, that store clerk did a fucking number on him— for what? A single can of beer.

Ridiculous.

Frank scowls, eyebrows furrowed, looking unapproachable as all hell. Beaten-up beer can in one hand, sprawled on the bench with his legs spread without a care in the world. He still got it. And a pack of a cigs too. But that’s one place he’ll be blacklisted from— not that he cared. Just slipped up for once, he thinks, taking a long, lazy sip of beer. Cheap shit.

One thing about Ormond is that it was desolate, skies depressingly gloomy overhead during the day— unbearably snowy, too. Barely anyone came out to the park anymore. Except for CraveU user, apparently. Frank’s hooded gaze sticks only to them. Their face. Cute. Too fuckin’ cute.

Frank’s blankly staring, like a creep— but catches himself, flustered, by just looking at them. What the hell.. was he doing? Frank shakes his head, mumbling to himself in annoyance, pulling his hood down over his head all embarrassed. Lovesick like a schoolgirl.