no subject

[ frank just nods, hanging her coat on the hook by the door before locking it behind her and lightly trailing her steps. he picks up his coffee cup and takes a sip even though it's lukewarm by now, glancing around at his barren space. there's a ham radio out on the counter in the kitchen and a vase of flowers on the table. they look fresh-ish, but obviously weren't purchased in the days they'd been speaking, white roses and pink peonies among the bouquet. ]

Shitbags live like shitbags, who knew?

[ he takes another sip to try and calm his nerves, but it only makes him visibly more twitchy. and he slips by her to dump the cup into the sink before he can be tempted to polish it off. ]