( she notes how he stands by, casts his gaze down to the stray gravel on the pavement as she worries the key into place, and it dawns on her how out of place it all was, the two of them coming together willingly rather than by necessity, rather than their lives messily weaving in and out of the others. as it is, there's instances of time where she doesn't know what her life looks like without him; terrifyingly so, that reality still nips at her ankles, follows close at her heels. )
Most don't get an invitation.
( it's a little taunt spoken above the hood of her car just as she manages the door open, smirk sure to be caught before she's ducking in. to be honest, she'd never brought a man back to her place. at least, not to this one. and the idea of even imagining frank in that capacity leaves heat flourishing to the rounds of her cheeks, hidden well by the cold as the heat kicks on in the car, engine humming to life. it was easier to keep them separate, for that apartment to be hers and only hersโwithout the image of someone else painted around the surfaces, without memories sleeping with her like a ghost.
and how starved they were that intimacy found them at the slightest opportunity: in gazes cast over coffee mugs; in walking side by side along that sidewalk, just close enough to touch, but not quite there; in the way he waits to join her in the cab of that car 'til she's settling in to the driver's side, leaning over to pop the handle of his. like he's waiting for permission, waiting for the gentle reminder, reassurance that he was wanted, here.
she waits to pull from the curb til he's settled beside her, streetlights soon passing over them in blinks. )
It's easier to keep people out of... ( she shrugs vaguely, tucking lips in on one another. ) all of it.
I get that. Although, not sure if that's what I expected for you. So you haven't been...?
( he doesn't blush like she does, but something catches in the back of his throat, the words grinding to a halt as he can't find the right way of phrasing what should be an innocent question. funny, that. he tells himself he's just curious. asking about a friend's social life. just as part of catching up. it's fine, everything's fine.
(sure.)
frank's watching the streets around them rather than looking over at her — old habit, constantly evaluating their surroundings, looking for a suspicious lurch of motion or a car tailing them, but it also means he's safely not looking over at karen so she can't see the way his expression flickers. she wouldn't be with red — he had a feeling that particular ship had already sailed, for so many reasons — but... someone. someone normal and good for her, so she doesn't have to weather those cold nights alone. )
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Most don't get an invitation.
( it's a little taunt spoken above the hood of her car just as she manages the door open, smirk sure to be caught before she's ducking in. to be honest, she'd never brought a man back to her place. at least, not to this one. and the idea of even imagining frank in that capacity leaves heat flourishing to the rounds of her cheeks, hidden well by the cold as the heat kicks on in the car, engine humming to life. it was easier to keep them separate, for that apartment to be hers and only hersโwithout the image of someone else painted around the surfaces, without memories sleeping with her like a ghost.
and how starved they were that intimacy found them at the slightest opportunity: in gazes cast over coffee mugs; in walking side by side along that sidewalk, just close enough to touch, but not quite there; in the way he waits to join her in the cab of that car 'til she's settling in to the driver's side, leaning over to pop the handle of his. like he's waiting for permission, waiting for the gentle reminder, reassurance that he was wanted, here.
she waits to pull from the curb til he's settled beside her, streetlights soon passing over them in blinks. )
It's easier to keep people out of... ( she shrugs vaguely, tucking lips in on one another. ) all of it.
no subject
( he doesn't blush like she does, but something catches in the back of his throat, the words grinding to a halt as he can't find the right way of phrasing what should be an innocent question. funny, that. he tells himself he's just curious. asking about a friend's social life. just as part of catching up. it's fine, everything's fine.
(sure.)
frank's watching the streets around them rather than looking over at her — old habit, constantly evaluating their surroundings, looking for a suspicious lurch of motion or a car tailing them, but it also means he's safely not looking over at karen so she can't see the way his expression flickers. she wouldn't be with red — he had a feeling that particular ship had already sailed, for so many reasons — but... someone. someone normal and good for her, so she doesn't have to weather those cold nights alone. )
There hasn't been anyone?