Bad Idea! ✐ FRERARD

✩ BABY GURL ✩

At the moment though, Frank was honestly more worried about the fact that he was already ten minutes late and that would have to deal with getting his not-always-cooperative-whilst-drunk friend into his car, than he was worried about the reaction he would get from the general public from his pink shirt with Baby Gurl across it in fancy writing.

Of course this cropped pink shirt that was actually fucking suffocating him wasn't his first choice of clothing, obviously, but after some incident involving him being thrown into a pile of trash before a take-down with some local tagger, his own clothes had been so vile Hurley had literally forced him to change.

Luckily they did have a lost and found, but he couldn't find a shirt that actually fit him so he opted for checking his locker instead, which of course contained nothing but some random crime-scene photos and an old tuna sandwich... and funnily enough, that same pink shirt.

Frank figured maybe someone had misplaced it in his locker, but he really had no better alternative at the time so he took it with a pinch of salt and draped it over himself.

Which, let it be known, took fucking balls since whatever had happened for that shirt to end up in his locker, was definitely something Frank didn't want to think about. And, well, of course the undeniable fact that he was a fucking officer walking around a police precinct wearing a teenage girl's t-shirt that smelled awfully like a vanilla pod.

It sort of smelled like hand lotion too, and if Frank's resting heart rate hadn't been registered as a fucking panic attack, he would have thought on the smell a bit longer.

The moment he parked outside the crowed and messy building, he sighed. Frank tugged on the shirt a bit, trying to cover up some of his hip bones that were poking out. He also tried to grasp the why he ever thought wearing something like this to a fucking club opening would ever be a good idea. He would have risked being shirtless and maybe get shit on for public indecency or have a few bottles thrown at him for his gratuitous nudity, but alas Frank had already arrived and it was too late.

Seven threats, a missed punch, and a whole lot of cursing later, Bob was seated in Frank's car, grumbling to himself as he crossed his arms like a toddler.

The atmosphere in the car was quiet, and Frank went to turn the radio on when Bob slapped his hand away, turning on the radio himself. Because apparently that would make all the difference.

"What... What the fuck are you wearing?" Bob finally asked, looking over fully at Frank who kept his eyes on the road.

Frank glanced quickly at a confused looking Bob, his own expression blank as usual.

"Doesn't it bring out my eyes?" Frank asked, his tone even more bland than usual in the hopes of pissing Bob off just a bit, because Frank would admit it was fucking fun.

Bob looked out the window for a second as he tutted, "Frank, you look fucking idiotic, when did you even get a shirt that says..." Bob squinted as he read the shirt, "Baby Gurl? What in the seven realms of fuck—"

"I think it looks fine." Frank said, taking a left turn. Though Frank was most definitely certain that he looked anything but fine.

"Do you?" Bob asked with a raised eyebrow, "Do you really?"

Frank shrugged with a nod, trying to see how far he could go with irritating Bob before he got his ass handed to him, "Kinda suits me."