( what karen's offering — this temporary rest, a reprieve, a stopover in an actual home rather than the near-monastic place he's rented, lodgings meant for people just passing through — it feels selfish to take it. he doesn't deserve it, shouldn't take it.
but he wants it.
and at her next request, there's a subtle shift in frank's expression. less stricken and weighty with portent, and instead there's first hints of amusement creeping back into his expression, a glint of mischief in his dark eyes. a little glimmer of that pete castiglione facade he's been having to wield in the world, a picture of a more carefree man — except where it's shallow around others, just banter in some dive bar with an anonymous stranger he'll never see again, here that playfulness touches on something more genuine. )
What, so I don't ghost you in the morning? I haven't done a walk of shame in my life, ma'am, and I'm not planning on starting now.
( he meant it as a joke, as a way to gently puncture some of this tension, but— shit. in a way, it just made it worse. because now it's applied some weight on the scales and shifted the context. because now he's thinking about what precedes a walk of shame, and why the fuck did he even have to conjure that image.
and if he were any other man than frank castle, maybe he could've let it sit there like that, wait to gauge her reaction and that pretty blush just starting to heat her cheeks, but instead he trips over his words to try to reel it back: )
Sorry. Not— that's not what I meant. But I mean, I'll let you know. I promise.
( he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. his fingers twitch slightly, a flicker that would normally be that automatic nervous tic of his, but the movement is stilled by the weight of her hand. he's grateful for it. )
no subject
but he wants it.
and at her next request, there's a subtle shift in frank's expression. less stricken and weighty with portent, and instead there's first hints of amusement creeping back into his expression, a glint of mischief in his dark eyes. a little glimmer of that pete castiglione facade he's been having to wield in the world, a picture of a more carefree man — except where it's shallow around others, just banter in some dive bar with an anonymous stranger he'll never see again, here that playfulness touches on something more genuine. )
What, so I don't ghost you in the morning? I haven't done a walk of shame in my life, ma'am, and I'm not planning on starting now.
( he meant it as a joke, as a way to gently puncture some of this tension, but— shit. in a way, it just made it worse. because now it's applied some weight on the scales and shifted the context. because now he's thinking about what precedes a walk of shame, and why the fuck did he even have to conjure that image.
and if he were any other man than frank castle, maybe he could've let it sit there like that, wait to gauge her reaction and that pretty blush just starting to heat her cheeks, but instead he trips over his words to try to reel it back: )
Sorry. Not— that's not what I meant. But I mean, I'll let you know. I promise.
( he swallows, his adam's apple bobbing. his fingers twitch slightly, a flicker that would normally be that automatic nervous tic of his, but the movement is stilled by the weight of her hand. he's grateful for it. )