( countless nights she'd found herself wondering—cheek pressed to a cold pillow, night glaring into her room like a cool blue bath—where he might be. if he was warm, if he was tucked under a comfortable set of blankets or crashing wherever he could, the soonest place his body would give out. turns and turns on the thought of picking up her phone, finding that familiar set of numbers—where that glaring screen might interrupt him. if he was in bed, too. if he was out in the brisk hands of the city. if he was forgetting himself with someone else.
she never lets herself call. like it's some sort of sick test, like there was anything she had to lose from trying—there wasn't. it's just the fragility of only having him through that device, something that could be shattered so easily, lost, left behind. he exists so many ways for her except in the flesh.
karen watches the crinkles beside his eyes, how light he looks even if just for a moment when amusement sparks within them, pieces of a man that were so often hidden. it's moments like these she holds like a snapshot within her mind, replays over and over so as not to forget the details, every last one of them. he hits home, at first, but then she's sinking teeth into lips around a laugh, brows furrowing together while he fumbles to dig himself out. )
Well, Mr. Castle, tell me what you're really thinking.
( she's toying with him, of course, free hand abandoning her mug to take place over top of his own, pressing warmly there as if to assure him, aside from jovial tone alone, that she hadn't taken it that way. his apology is dismissed with another dwindled snicker, a thick strand of blonde falling to brush along her temple, previously tucked behind her ear. )
I wouldn't peg you as the type. —for the walk of shame, at least. The ghosting... ( she gives a little squint, like she's mulling it over, and tease as she may it doesn't hide the truth of it. she's just as guilty, neglecting to answer her phone, leaving others with no choice but to stop by to make sure she was still intact. each of her digits falls between the swollen, abused valleys of his knuckles, giving a light squeeze. )
no subject
she never lets herself call. like it's some sort of sick test, like there was anything she had to lose from trying—there wasn't. it's just the fragility of only having him through that device, something that could be shattered so easily, lost, left behind. he exists so many ways for her except in the flesh.
karen watches the crinkles beside his eyes, how light he looks even if just for a moment when amusement sparks within them, pieces of a man that were so often hidden. it's moments like these she holds like a snapshot within her mind, replays over and over so as not to forget the details, every last one of them. he hits home, at first, but then she's sinking teeth into lips around a laugh, brows furrowing together while he fumbles to dig himself out. )
Well, Mr. Castle, tell me what you're really thinking.
( she's toying with him, of course, free hand abandoning her mug to take place over top of his own, pressing warmly there as if to assure him, aside from jovial tone alone, that she hadn't taken it that way. his apology is dismissed with another dwindled snicker, a thick strand of blonde falling to brush along her temple, previously tucked behind her ear. )
I wouldn't peg you as the type. —for the walk of shame, at least. The ghosting... ( she gives a little squint, like she's mulling it over, and tease as she may it doesn't hide the truth of it. she's just as guilty, neglecting to answer her phone, leaving others with no choice but to stop by to make sure she was still intact. each of her digits falls between the swollen, abused valleys of his knuckles, giving a light squeeze. )
We all have our reasons.