☠ ic contact ☠

[oorah]

⌲ call . text . video . voicemail . spam

Comments

[oorah]

in your defense there's not a lot of open real estate left. [ to hit, that is. ]

for what it's worth. i do. give you credit.

[ probably nothing, right? she said she didn't care, but he's not sure he believes that either. ]

[shittier]

yeah? for what, exactly?

[oorah]

for doing shit no one else will.

[shittier]

[ sorry, she can't resist this one. ]

you mean like you

[oorah]

you're not like me.

you wish you were like me

[ one day someone will explain how flirting works to frank castle and his reality as he knows it will collapse in on itself like a house of cards. ]

[shittier]

[ she can't tell you how mad she is that this joke went over his head. ]

no

goddammit frank

i meant doing you

sex, you idiot

[oorah]

[ oh... :( well now he's laughing at least. ]

so we're doing this?

[ sound less enthused about it, loser. ]

[shittier]

please tell me

because i've been trying to get that answer out of you all night

[oorah]

oh.

[ he's not used to this ball being in his court!!!! god. ]

unless you want to wait until i'm not one big bruise.

[ but he wants to see her tonight... whatever that means. he sends a third message quickly. ]

do you want to come over?

[shittier]

i do

[ and because he's all ready a bruised banana... ]

but i also don't want to accidentally kill you

[oorah]

no one's ever managed it on purpose so i think we're safe

[ this is a hilarious joke, obviously. have an address of his shitty apartment. it's like maybe 20 blocks from her. ]

[shittier]

what a weird turn of events

[ she honestly didn't think she'd see him again for awhile, but here she is, scrambling around her place tripping over herself as she puts on her boots while still standing. ]

[oorah]

i wish i could say that was the first time a woman has said that to me.

[shittier]

somehow im not surprised
omw

[oorah]

OK

[ what is he doing?? time to panic-clean and brew coffee like an actual crazy person. ]

[shittier]

traffic is ok for once

shouldn't be too long

[ maybe a little longer than she anticipates. she asked the cab driver to stop off real quick, so now shes currently brown bagging it on the way. ]

[oorah]

no rush. i'm not going anywhere.

[ he is freaking tf out but that's another matter entirely. ]

[shittier]

thats what im banking on

[ god, there was so much build up behind this now that she... wait, was she nervous? ]

[oorah]

[ he doesn't respond to that, though he has something drafted about reliability before he decides against it. god, he's a loser. the coffee maker beeps and he sets his phone down to be forgotten in the living room as he moves into the tiny kitchen to pour himself a cup and try to calm down. (frank, coffee doesn't work that way.) okay but like, shut up. he turns on the tv to some old movie marathon and doesn't pay attention to it — physically can't. he already feels like he's going to vibrate out of his skin. frank paces his two-step hallway and slams coffee while he waits for her. this is normal and totally fine. obviously. ]

[shittier]

[ his lack of response is definitely noted, and she tries not to think too much about it on the way there, dealing with it the best way she knew how.

when she finally arrives, she throws the now empty bottle (it was a small one, don't judge her) into a nearby trash can and makes her way into the poorly maintained building. it didn't take long to find his room, but she stands outside of his door for a bit, suddenly feeling unsure of herself.

despite it all, she eventually starts knocking on the door, unsure of what to expect. ]

[oorah]

[ he sets down his coffee and goes to answer the door after nearly jumping out of his skin and shattering the mug. there are a few telltale splatters of coffee on the old wood floor that he doesn't seem to notice, his boots landing with noisy, heavy steps as he moves to unlatch it and let her in. he's dressed simply in a navy henley, rolled up to his elbows to reveal that: in fact yes, the bruises and cuts do just keep going and going, and a pair of lightwash jeans with a thick belt to hold them up (not that it seems like they need it the assistance, honestly.) frank's eyes scan her face as he licks at his torn-up lips before remembering himself and stepping aside so she can come in. ] Hey. [ it's belated but warm enough, he can smell the whiskey on her, but that isn't so surprising. his whole apartment smells like coffee or she'd be able to tell how strongly he reeked of that himself. and as for the space itself: there aren't many amenities or personal touches. breakfast at tiffany's is playing at low volume on an old-school tv set and there's a guitar propped up against the wall under the window. the kitchen is the only room that seems lived in, and his tiny alcove of a bedroom doesn't even have a door on it, though the bed is freshly made should she walk past. ] Want a drink? [ even if she clearly didn't need one... ]

[shittier]

Hey.

[ she says it in a tone that sounds a little confused, like somehow she ended up at the wrong door.

that unsure feeling only intensifies as she steps into room, the smell of the fresh brewed coffee reminding her of a diner. not really... knowing where to position herself or where to go, she just kind of stands next to the door after she walks in, unable to help her gaze being drawn into his damaged arms all the way back up to his face. ]

You look... [ she looks away for a second, before moving her shoulders up, hands shoved in her pockets.. ] Well, the same. [ maybe worse, if she felt like being brutally honest right now. but with her feeling a little out of place, she decides to keep that comment to herself. besides, it's not like it ruins any attraction she has for him.

when he offers her the coffee, she holds up her pocketed hand. ]

Uh, no. Thanks.

[ suddenly she's distracted by what's on his TV, taking a few steps forward past him to bring herself a little closer. ]

I didn't take you as an admirer of the classics. [ he might not even be watching it, he probably has it on for background noise, but... still. interesting choice to leave it on. ] You're always keeping me on my toes.

[oorah]

[ he snorts at that, knowing the yellowing bruises are a ghastly sight. but she'd still come here, so...? no, he really doesn't know what's going to happen. he's not sure how these things usually go. ]

I, uh. Could take your coat. [ it's not that warm inside the space, though the forced hot air at the corners of the room are working overtime. still, he holds out a hand, fingers brushing against her sleeve. even through that tiny point of contact, she'll be able to feel how hot he runs, like an iron striking through her clothes. her comment about the hepburn scene playing out behind him gets another laugh and he shakes his head. ] Told you I was an old-fashioned kinda guy, you know. If you want, I can shut it off.

[shittier]

[ she wants to be snarky, give him some shit about chivalry when he asks for her coat, but instead she simply removes it and gives it to his waiting hand. it's always a battle to resist the urge to openly oppose and resist someone who's just trying to do something nice for her. their fingers brush briefly in between exchange and despite how warm he is, she feels cool, but. that's probably just from coming from outside.

she's wearing her trademark grey tank top (does she own anything but?) with her jeans, so. she didn't exactly dress up to impress or anything, but he probably wouldn't like if she did, anyway. ]

I'm slowly beginning to learn that. [ she talks to him as she takes a few more steps forward, seemingly to get a better look at the TV, but her eyes can't help but glance up and around the room. rather than answer his question about the movie, her conversation is instead about what she's currently observing. ] You live just about as great as I do, I see. That part doesn't surprise me, though. [ they both don't need much. just a bed and four walls. ]

[oorah]

[ 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. ]