( and. this. this is why he's kept himself away so long, because tearing himself away from her the first time, and the second, was already hard enough. refusing her in the hospital room particularly felt like sawing off one of his limbs, gnawing off his own leg. carving out his own heart and leaving himself feeling indefinably empty and hollow afterwards.
coming back and facing that question all over again is tempting fate. frank isn't sure he can look her in the eye and do it a third time. not with karen asking like this, again, with her thumb curving against his and her face looking so wide-open and vulnerable and wanting. it's asking for something so little. so paltry and small. 'it doesn't matter how long.' and she can see the way the request settles over his shoulders, tightens in the muscles of his neck, as he stops and considers it properly. even as the waitress comes, tops off frank's coffee — the older woman's gaze sliding over the pair of them, obvious that something of significance is passing between the people at this rundown booth, even if she can't identify exactly the nature of it.
they probably can't, either.
when his answer finally comes, it's gruff, as if he's having to wrench it out of himself: )
—Yeah. Okay. I could. Just for a while.
It's not like I get to be back in town that often. Grew up here. Been away a while.
( for good reason— or at least, he'd told himself that at the time. with the warmth of karen page's hand beneath his, though, all those reasons feel like they're tumbling and flying right out the window. )
no subject
coming back and facing that question all over again is tempting fate. frank isn't sure he can look her in the eye and do it a third time. not with karen asking like this, again, with her thumb curving against his and her face looking so wide-open and vulnerable and wanting. it's asking for something so little. so paltry and small. 'it doesn't matter how long.' and she can see the way the request settles over his shoulders, tightens in the muscles of his neck, as he stops and considers it properly. even as the waitress comes, tops off frank's coffee — the older woman's gaze sliding over the pair of them, obvious that something of significance is passing between the people at this rundown booth, even if she can't identify exactly the nature of it.
they probably can't, either.
when his answer finally comes, it's gruff, as if he's having to wrench it out of himself: )
—Yeah. Okay. I could. Just for a while.
It's not like I get to be back in town that often. Grew up here. Been away a while.
( for good reason— or at least, he'd told himself that at the time. with the warmth of karen page's hand beneath his, though, all those reasons feel like they're tumbling and flying right out the window. )