"I can't do this with you anymore."

She expects him to turn over, bewildered, grab her hand, ask her for an explanation. She expects him to argue with her, to argue with her.

But what she doesn't expect is silence. Turning over, Y/N sits up on her elbow, brows knitted. Beside her, Frank sleeps soundly, his dog tags glittering in the moonlight that shines through her shades. She can't help the way her eyes water as she looks at his sleeping form. Frank had been through a lot, had barely found any place of respite, so when he showed up at her door nearly ten minutes to midnight, saying he needed her, that he had always needed her, who was she to deny him?

Time and time again, Y/N let him into her home, into her body, spreading her legs whenever he needed a place to release. She wanted to be his comfort, give him a peace he'd been searching for for so long. But the next morning, when she awoke to an empty bed, a little piece of her cracked. She wasn't sure how much longer she could go without shattering.

Laying her head back down close to his, Y/N carded her fingers lightly over his brow, tracing his cheek bone.

"I'm sorry Frank," she whispered, her heart hollow in her chest, knowing what she was going to do the next morning. "But I'm too full of life to be half loved like this."