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“Shh.” Ray’s thumb strokes his neck. “I’m not mad at you. I’m not judging you. But look at how you’re acting, baby. Would you yell at a three-year-old for melting down because they’re fried and their socks are scratchy and they don’t want to go to bed?”
Frank swallows hard. He hates that his eyes sting at that. He hates how true it all is, how logical it all sounds. “No,” he mutters, because he really wouldn’t—he’s not a monster.
“Right. You wouldn’t.” Ray’s voice is so gentle it hurts. “You’d know they’re just tired and need a fresh pull-up and a nap, yeah?”
The word pull-up lands like a slap, Frank’s whole body jerking in response. “Stop comparing me to a toddler,” he spits, voice cracking. “I’m not three. I’m an adult, Ray, I’m— I’m—”
“You’re my little boy,” Ray supplies simply. “You act like one when you’re this tired. You talk like one. You stomp, and you pout, and you say ‘big kid’ like that’s gonna get you out of bedtime.” His hand squeezes at Frank’s nape, grounding and inescapable. “So I’m treating you like what you are right now. A cranky, overtired little boy who needs Daddy to be in charge.”
OR
Ray is unwilling to argue with a cranky little boy about bedtime.
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Bookmark Notes:
Fav fic I have EVER read
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Bookmark Notes:
Made me cry /pos
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Bookmark Notes:
Barking like a dog who wants a bite of your meal over this. :3