Chapter Text
Frank's phone buzzed in his pocket. He pulled it out on autopilot, still thinking about the patient whose room he'd just left. A text from an unknown number appeared on the screen:
"I’m having a terrible day. Wanna grab a drink tonight?"
Frank frowned and quickly typed a reply:
"I don't drink"
"What changed since yesterday?"
He stopped in the middle of the hallway and reread the message.
"What happened yesterday?"
"We were drinking at the bar and you gave me your number"
Frank hadn't been to a bar in almost a year.
"Definitely wasn't me. I don't drink anymore"
Frank went to the breakroom. He was about to lock the screen and shove the phone back into his pocket when another message came through.
"Wrong number? Why don't you drink anymore?"
"Looks like it. Long story. Why's your day so terrible?"
"Long story" came the reply after a brief pause, and the phone went silent.
His lunch break - or rather, the rare, impromptu gap between patients that had barely lasted long enough for him to wolf down a sandwich - was over. Frank glanced at his phone one more time, checking whether anything had changed. No new messages. He pocketed his phone and left the breakroom. No time for this. Patients were waiting.
***
When Frank finally got home after a long shift, the apartment was filled with a silence he still hadn't gotten used to. It used to be different - he would be greeted by bright lights, scattered toys, the noise of the TV, a kiss from Abby, laughter, the patter of little feet as the kids ran to meet him. Now there was only the monotonous hum of the refrigerator in the kitchen, darkness, and half-empty shelves.
He reheated some leftover chicken and rice for dinner, took a quick shower, and when he finally stretched out on the bed and let his exhausted muscles loosen, his thoughts drifted back to those random texts from the unknown number.
Frank lay there staring at the ceiling. Maybe he didn't really want to tell his "long story", but he wanted someone to finally listen. He wanted someone to actually talk to him for once instead of avoiding eye contact and sticking to polite, measured phrases the way his coworkers and former friends did now.
He reached for his phone and opened the chat with the unknown number. For a few minutes, Frank just stared at the empty text field, waiting for the urge to write something to fade. Then he began to type slowly.
"I went through rehab. Alcohol is off the table, too"
Frank reread the message. Maybe that was too personal to tell a stranger. He was tempted to erase it, but instead, he hit "Send", not giving himself a chance to change his mind. So what. After all, it was just a stranger he would never see again.
There was no reply. Not after a minute, not after ten. Frank locked the phone and tossed it on the mattress next to him. Half an hour later he checked it again, but there was still nothing. He set his alarm for the next morning, put the phone on the nightstand for good, turned off the light, and went to sleep.
***
Frank's eyes snapped open as if something had jolted him from sleep. For a few moments, he just lay there, trying to shake off the sleep and remember what had disturbed him.
It was the notification chime. The gray light of dawn was already creeping through the window. Frank reached for the phone on the nightstand.
"Wow! Good for you for going to rehab! Seriously"
And another message:
"Also 10 words isn't a long story"
Frank huffed and typed back.
"Wow, you can count!"
While he was getting ready for work, the phone chimed again.
"I can do a lot more than that 😉"
Frank rolled his eyes.
"Whoever you met at the bar really missed out when they gave you a fake number"
"Hey, who said it was fake? Guess I just spilled beer on the note and the ink ran"
Frank snorted, shook his head, and typed:
"Whatever helps you sleep at night"
***
The day at the hospital was busy and exhausting, as usual. Frank stayed an extra hour catching up on charting. He was in the locker room unbuttoning his scrubs when the phone buzzed in his pocket.
"I'd ask you out for a drink, but you don't drink"
"I thought we established that already. Rough day again?"
"Yeah. What do you do to relax?"
Frank leaned his shoulder against his locker and thought about it. With the life he had now, he couldn't remember the last time he'd felt relaxed at all. Eleven months of rehab had changed everything dramatically. Friends had started avoiding him, then disappeared completely. Coworkers stopped inviting him out after shifts. The only thing that still brought him joy was time with his kids, and even that was limited now to the rare occasions when his ex-wife brought them on weekends or during school breaks.
"Relax? Never heard of it"
"I could teach you 😏"
Frank snorted under his breath.
"You literally just asked me for advice, teacher"
"Doesn't mean I don't know how to relax"
"Right, I noticed your devotion to drinking"
"Don't get it wrong, I'm not an alcoholic. Work is hard, and sometimes I need something to take the edge off"
"Everyone says that"
Frank knew this firsthand. He saw it in his coworkers, heard it from patients, and watched it over and over again in rehab. The only difference was whether someone had crossed the line between coping and addiction.
"Is that what you used to say?"
Frank froze. Something tightened uncomfortably in his chest.
"Not exactly. But it didn't change the outcome"
He wanted to explain that in his case it started with his back. That it had been prescribed at first to manage the pain. But wouldn't that just sound like an excuse to the person on the other end? Frank caught himself and froze. Why did he even care what someone he'd never met might think of him? He didn't even know their name.
The phone buzzed softly again.
"Long story?"
Frank closed his eyes for a second.
"Maybe I'll tell you someday"
***
There were no new messages the next morning. Nothing while Frank was getting ready for work, or when he got to the hospital, or during his lunch break. He wondered whether he should text first or keep waiting for a message. And suddenly he realized - he was waiting for the message. As if it had already become a routine.
Frank was about to leave the breakroom when he almost bumped into Whitaker at the doorway.
"Sorry" Whitaker said, immediately stepping aside to let him pass.
Frank gave a short nod and walked past without stopping. He returned to work and picked up a new patient complaining of abdominal pain. At that moment, the phone in his pocket vibrated several times. He felt a sudden, sharp urge to check if it was the unknown number texting him, but he bit it back and forced himself to focus entirely on the patient.
***
The second his shift ended, Frank pulled out his phone.
"What's your favorite color?"
"I'll go first: mine's blue"
Frank huffed softly and typed:
"Seriously? Are you 12?"
A couple of minutes later, a new message arrived:
"What's wrong with blue???"
"Who even asks people about their favorite color? No, really, are you sure you aren't 12?"
Frank realized he truly knew nothing about the person on the other end. It could be anyone - any age, any gender, any appearance, any life story.
"I wanted to text you but didn't know what to say. I'm 27 btw"
"Brown. I'm 33"
Frank added:
"Glad neither of us is 12"
"I didn't expect you to actually answer. That's cute"
No one had called Frank "cute" in a long time. He knew he was good-looking, because patients reminded him about it often enough. But no one ever called his words or actions "cute" - usually, it was the exact opposite.
"You don't know me"
"I'm the only person who knows your favorite color, because nobody else asked. I think that means a lot, and it makes me special"
Wow, Frank thought, that's so arrogant. But it's unlikely anyone had actually asked Frank about his favorite color before. The stranger was right.
"I'd like to know more about you" came the next message.
Frank froze for a second. He felt his heartbeat quickening, and a strange feeling bloomed in his chest - a mix of anxiety and curiosity.
"Why?"
"What if it's fate? That I texted you of all people"
Frank snorted.
"More likely spilled beer. You'd be saying the same thing to the person from the bar right now"
"Maybe. Maybe not"
"Would you rather it was them?"
"No. This is way more fun. Besides, he wasn't really my type. I'm glad you're not him"
"You aren't him, right???"
The corner of Frank's mouth twitched up in a faint smile.
"No, I'm definitely me"
"Perfect. Goodnight, stranger"