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From Bright Light

When Skies Are Gray, Chapter 5

Series Masterlist Next Chapter

pairing: Frank Castle x fem!reader

summary: Frank’s life has reached a crossroads: he can either continue to seclude himself and pursue a dark, lonely future, or he can open himself up to connecting with someone again and maybe achieve happiness. Being the grump that he is, Frank has already committed to the lonely path, but his curious new neighbor might just turn that around.

warnings: swearing (as always), very general descriptions of dissociation, Frank is clearly hurting and not handling things well, small descriptions of violence, last fluff chapter before angst

a/n: I am finally a few chapters ahead on both my WIPs! Hopefully I can start posting more regularly this spring/summer. As always, reblogs and comments fuel me!

w/c: 5.3k

Gritting his teeth as a rogue biker almost knocked him to the pavement, Frank ignored the man’s irritated screaming and stalked forward down the block. Despite the early hour of the morning and the lack of activity in the city, it seemed that the disgustingly high temperature had already put everyone in a mood. He certainly wasn’t a fan of the way the heat coated his skin and drew beads of sweat from his pores, soaking his freshly washed shirt all the way through before he even reached the cafe. It was uncomfortable, to say the least, but stopping at your workplace for coffee had become his new normal. And, given his deteriorating mood this week, deviating from his routine was sure to ruin his day.

So he persisted. Yanking his beanie further down on his forehead and shoving his hands into his pockets, he stared straight ahead and soldiered through the remaining few minutes in the heat before clasping his hand around the handle on the glass door, pulling on it hastily—and nearly falling to the ground when the door didn’t budge. The smirking face of your coworker Leo appeared through the tinted glass shortly after.

“Sorry about that,” The kid apologized, shoving the door open for him and stepping aside. “We technically don’t open for another hour.”

Staring at him quizzically, Frank threw a thumb over his shoulder. “Shit, I can go, if ya want. I didn’t—“

“You kidding?” Leo gave him an incredulous look. “The princess would have my head if I turned her prince away. C’mon in. I’m sure she’s expecting you.”

Rolling his shoulders, the marine straightened his spine and set his jaw, expression stuck in an embarrassed grimace. Stepping over the threshold and into the bakery, the air around him seemed to suddenly grow colder, a shiver running down his back. Glancing upwards to find the offending vent, he frowned when his eyes met a stretch of blank ceiling. Your coworker's smug voice brought his eyes back down.

“She's in the kitchen, Pete.” Though the kid wasn't meeting his gaze, Frank had the sneaking suspicion that he was trying not to laugh.

Flushing, he gave a curt nod, stepping around the counter and into the back room. It wasn't his first time past the batwing doors, but the scene felt surprisingly intimate nonetheless. Through the maze of steel tables and rows of ingredients, he found you. You were perched on a stool in the back corner, away from the dingy windows that peeked out front. Your back was turned to him, displaying the lopsided bow cinched around the waist of your dress. Spine hunched, you were gesturing wildly with one of your hands, the other holding a phone to your ear as you spoke in a hushed voice.

As the kitchen doors whooshed shut, you looked up, eyes wide like a fawn's. Giving him a tiny wave and a strained smile, you spoke with a bit more clarity.

“I gotta go, mom. I'll see you soon. Ok, bye.” Making a big show of hanging up the phone and slipping it into your apron pocket, your smile widened, finally meeting your eyes as you exhaled forcefully. Standing from the stool, you traipsed over to him, skirt swishing around your calves.

“Hey Frankie! Sorry about that,” You wrinkled your nose at the mention of the call. Finally reaching him, you wound your arms around his waist. While he normally melted into your warmth, his nerves were still on edge after the interaction with Leo—his body stiffly returning the embrace but maintaining a small, emotional distance for his own sanity.

Withdrawing from him, you frowned, brows curving inward with confusion. “Is something wrong?”

Blinking as he tried to form a coherent thought from the symphony of anxieties screeching in his brain, he shook his head. “Nah. All good.”

Narrowing your eyes, you moved away skeptically, headed for the front of the shop. “Alrighty then. Let me start a pot of coffee and—”

“D'you usually open early for me?” He blurted out, face itching as it was overtaken by his furious blush.

Your expression remained bemused as you shrugged. “Depends on when you get here, I guess. Why?“

”You shoulda told me.“ He murmured, heart pounding as your face began to fall. What he meant to say was that he didn't mean to put you out. That he had no idea why he'd been blessed with someone who was sweet enough to open her shop an hour early every day for weeks just to make him a cup of coffee. That he felt like an idiot for thinking that you were just especially slow in the mornings and not even considering that he'd been receiving special treatment. That he felt awful for interrupting your morning preparations for almost a month now because he was a sorry sack of shit who couldn't handle being restless and alone in his own apartment, so he decided to bother you every morning instead.

But all that his exhausted and anxiety-ridden mind could come up with were those four words. And his throat was so tight with emotion that they sounded gruff and angry.

Watching you swallow roughly and avert your eyes, he ached to apologize, to correct himself, to wipe that horrible expression of hurt from your beautiful face—but he was cemented in place, awaiting your response.

”I'm sorry, Frank. I saw you out there weeks ago while I was baking and I let you in without thinking. After that, I just never corrected you. I didn't want you to feel bad. I'm sorry.“

As if you'd flipped a switch, the life returned to his body, his posture sagging as you apologized. The pained expression you wore shattered his cold heart, driving him to finally explain himself.

”Shit, no, don't be sorry, sunshine.“ He cursed, striding over to you and pulling you into a second embrace, a real one this time.

Sighing into his chest, your arms tightened instinctively around his waist as he kneaded a circle into your back with his palm. ”Are you mad?“

Resting his nose in your hair, his heart sank at the fear in your tone. ”Course not, honey. Next time I’m early, tell me to fuck off, ok?“

A few giggles burst out of you and you squeezed your arms around him one more time before pulling away. ”Not a chance, tough guy. Did you still want that coffee?”

“I mean, if it’s bein’ offered,” He shrugged, the barest hint of a smirk gracing his lips as you grinned and dashed out of the kitchen.

Grabbing a stool and yanking it across the floor, he set it next to the station you appeared to be working at. Straddling the metal seat, he studied the array of items strewn across the bench, trying to decide what you'd been working on before he arrived. Before he could decipher what half of the ingredients were, you'd returned with his coffee and a latte of your own.

Handing him the paper cup, your eyes crinkled as you smiled softly. “Here you are, sir. Your disgusting, unedited, hot black coffee.”

“Ya know, I don't think I'd get this much crap from the cafe down the street.” He scoffed, taking a sip of the scalding drink to hide his smile. “Maybe I oughta start goin' there instead.”

“That's always an option,” You shrugged, handing him a danish wrapped in thin brown paper. “But then you'd have to jump through those same hoops again to get free breakfast. Court the baristas, and all that. Whole lotta effort for someone who's already a fan favorite at another bakery.”

“Fan favorite, huh?” He tilted his head at you, poorly hiding his amusement with a raised brow.

“What can I say, Frankie? You've really grown on us. Even though you have shit taste in coffee.” You grimaced dramatically, eyes dancing with humor.

A laugh tumbled from his lips mindlessly. He shook his head before raising the danish. “Thank you. For the free breakfast.”

You responded with a clumsy curtsy. “Why, of course, sweetheart.”

“So,” Frank said around a mouthful of the danish, “What are you workin’ on?”

Beaming at him, you jumped up and down gleefully. “Eek! I’m so glad you asked. So—“

As you launched into an energetic dialogue about the myriad of new ingredients you were hoping to work with this week, Frank felt at ease. Somehow, your presence always seemed to have that effect, pushing away his negative thoughts and anxieties until he relaxed fully. You brought out a side of him that he’d locked away for years. Your voice was a soothing melody, washing over his head like ripples on a beach. The soldier inside him–that was constantly on high alert–was content turning away, resting while you were there to watch his back. Sighing deeply, he felt a smile creep across his face as you kneaded dough in front of him, narrating the process and answering his questions as they came.

But, of course, the divine bubble you’d created for him was destined to pop.

“Hey, lovebirds. We've got a line.” Striding right past you to the walk-in, your other coworker–Stacy–looked a bit exasperated with Frank’s presence, prompting him to blush sheepishly.

“Fuck, I didn’t mean to distract ya, sunshine. I’ll head out.” Standing inelegantly, and nearly bowling his stool over in the process, Frank avoided your gaze as he started to exit.

“Oh no you don’t,” You scoffed, snatching him around the waist and burying your head against his chest. “You almost forgot your goodbye hug.”

Cradling your waist in his rough hands, he returned the embrace. “We couldn’t have that, could we?”

“Absolutely not.” You giggled, releasing him from your hold. “Have a wonderful day, Frankie. We still on for dinner tomorrow?”

“Sure, if you ain’t found better company.” He smirked at your resulting eye roll.

“There’s no such thing, sweetheart. I’ll see you then. Take care of yourself please.”

“You too, sunshine.” He gave a limp wave, ducking his head as he braved the rush of customers out front.

Curling his fingers tighter into their respective fists, Frank inhaled deeply as his fellow New Yorkers sped by him. The mass of bodies writhed along the city streets, blurring together as each person invaded his space, leaving as quickly as they came.

Frank pressed his tongue to the roof of his mouth to keep from retching. The amount of time spent in close proximity to strangers, even in the short walk to the restaurant, was enough to make him physically nauseous. His skin itched, the sensation flaring as each individual nearly barreled into him.

The pinpricks of other people’s gazes dotted along his cheeks and neck, and he refrained from looking over his shoulder again to make sure he wasn’t being followed. Nostrils flaring he rounded the corner and marched down the sidewalk. His eyes were glued to the red awning attached to his destination. Just a hundred more yards. Eighty. Fifty.

As he closed in on the building, his breathing was rapid, his muscles tense with adrenaline. He gave a stiff nod to the man holding the door and slid past him, into the overly air-conditioned restaurant.

You’d warned him the place was uppity. A friend of a friend was the head chef, or something, and you wanted to support them during their grand opening.

He wasn’t in the mood to be well-mannered, or consciously think about what utensil he needed to use at any given moment. And he sure as shit wasn’t in the mood to be surrounded by drunk, wealthy people complaining about the quality of their meals that cost more than a month of rent in Queens. But you’d invited him. So he came.

He wasn’t dressed well enough. That much was made obvious by the look he got from the hostess as he stepped through the door. His dark jacket and worn jeans stood out like neon orange on a hunting trip. As he began stammering out his intentions to the uptight brunette, he heard your voice.

“Hey Frankie!” Smiling as always, you were quite dolled up. You were wearing an ankle-length dress that he’d never seen before, and it accentuated your figure in a way he was incapable of processing in his given state. Your lips were coated in a shade of gloss darker than you normally wore, your hair styled and jewelry immaculately placed. He let his eyes roam fully over you before catching himself.

“Shit. Sorry, honey. Hi.” He greeted, lamely. “You, uh, you look…good. Real good, sunshine.”

Giggling, you looked at the ground bashfully. “Thank you, sweetheart. I wasn’t quite sure what to wear, to be honest.”

“Me either.” He huffed, looking down at his clothes with a frown.

“Well, I think you look very handsome, Frank.” You chuckled, beaming at him.

“I’m under-dressed, I—“

“Hey,” You rested a hand on his shoulder, halting his words. “I think you’re perfectly dressed, ok? Don’t worry.”

Narrowing your eyes slightly, you studied his face. He could feel you reading him, flipping through his metaphorical pages as you searched for the answer to your question.

“Frankie, are you sure you want to have dinner here? I know you had a long day, and—“

Frank scratched the back of his neck. Long was an understatement. The universe, ever determined to undermine the progress he made, had apparently decided he'd had enough peace for the month. Sleep, which had finally been coming easier for once in his sorry life, was once again escaping him. Night after night he jolted awake as the sounds of his wife's screams echoed in his ears.

Usually, his nightmares included his children too. Their disfigured bodies riddled with gore, haunting him well into his waking hours. Recently, his dreams consisted of Maria and Maria alone. Her manicured nails clawing at his chest as she choked on her own blood. Screaming for him, and sometimes at him. Because he didn't save her. He could never save her.

The disturbing imagery had compelled him to stay out of the house more often than usual, taking out his building rage on the cement and drywall of his team's current construction site. He was averaging a 12 hour work day in the hope that wearing himself out physically would force his mind to tumble into a dreamless sleep. It had yet to do anything more than accost his aging body with pain, add to the tab he was racking up at the dog boarding place currently watching Max, and make him almost late for his dinner with you.

Brushing off your concern with a shrug, he shifted his weight from foot to foot. ”'M alright, sunshine. Too hungry to turn back now.“

You smiled at his joke, leaving the space between you open for him to follow as you turned to move.

Petrified by the various stimuli his brain was trying to process, he didn’t tread after you. Giving him a once over as you stepped back, you gently pried one of his hands from his pockets, tugging him out of the doorway and towards a table in the back corner.

It was away from the windows and within sight of two exits, settling his uneasy nerves a bit. The restaurant was filling up as the minutes ticked by, but the tables were spaced far enough apart that Frank could continue to breathe. As he focused on your hand in his, and the way your eyes shone in the flickering candlelight, he could feel his stiff muscles slackening. Your soft thumb drew a line across his knuckles as you slid into the chair across from him.

“Say the word and we’ll bail.” Your expression was adorably serious, bottom lip protruding with concern.

“I ain’t bailin’, honey.” Frank forced a chuckle, biting back a sigh as you took his other hand across the table. “Did ya have a good day?”

Face brightening, you nodded as your smile wormed its way back onto your face. Launching into a story about a squirrel you’d saved from a busy street that morning, Frank found himself being lulled into a state of half-consciousness. Internally, his soldier instincts and logic battled fiercely, apparently too viciously for his brain to handle. After moving a mile a minute for hours, his mind had short-circuited when presented with safety.

He wanted to lean into the comfort you always provided.

To indulge in the stillness and feel content.

To stop. Fucking. Fighting.

To find a new home.

“Frankie, you ok?” Your soft question brought him back to reality.

Eyes flicking to meet yours, he tried to speak, the words catching in his tight throat. Coughing around the emotion clogging his esophagus, he nodded. “Fine. Why?”

Tilting your head, you raised one eyebrow at him. “You just seem...” You waved a hand around his face as if that would clear everything up.

“Sorry, sunshine.”

“Don't be. Did you want me to be quiet, or..?”

Shaking his head frantically, he squeezed his hand around your fingers. “No. Keep goin', honey. I like listenin' to ya.”

Biting your bottom lip, you looked at the table with a pleased hum. “Ok, well, you know our neighbor in 213B? Ms. Kaminzki?”

Nodding, he could feel his focus drifting once again, though you seemed more comfortable with the idea the second time around. You were too perceptive. It scared him sometimes, if he was being honest. He hadn't had a connection this deep since...

Before he could finish that thought, a waiter approached to ask for your order. Grateful to let you take the reins as he regained control over his frazzled mind, he watched with an amused fondness as you bonded with the newcomer over a love of root vegetables.

Following your server’s arrival, dinner passed without incident–though you and Frank agreed that the prices were far too high for this to become a regular spot. Despite the fact that it was far from the best meal he’d ever eaten, he was happy to spend time with you.

Which is why he let you clasp your delicate fingers around his broad hand as you walked back to your apartment building. You were uncharacteristically quiet as the two of you strolled down the sidewalk. Given his actions over the last couple of hours, he wasn't in any position to scold you for being distant, but the behavior worried him slightly.

Letting his eyes drift sideways to study your face, the corner of his lips twitched upwards at your focused expression. Your face was contorted into a small scowl, pinched in a way he wasn't sure he'd ever seen before. A small, but distinctly annoyed, huff parted your lips as he watched. Clearly something was on your mind.

Bumping his hip against yours, he stifled a smile. “Ya plottin' my murder over there or somethin'?”

Nearly tripping as your concentration broke, you looked up at him sheepishly as he pulled you into his side to steady you. “Sorry, Frankie.”

“It's a'right, sunshine. Why's the cat got your tongue?”

Sighing, you stared at the cracked pavement beneath your feet, placing each step carefully so you wouldn't stumble again. “It's nothing, Frankie.”

“Fuck, you're startin' to sound like me, honey. That ain't good.” Frank frowned as you chuckled sadly. Your usual bright giggles sounded pensive and hollow.

“Just thinking.” You shrugged.

Internally groaning, he tried again. “Work with me here, darlin'. Thinkin' about what?”

Your lips quirked with a smile, lashes fluttering as you looked up at him. “Family stuff. I don't...I don't wanna bug you with it.”

“Would ya tell me if I swore I wanted to hear it?”

A glimmer of sass shone through with your smirk. “Maybe.”

Throwing a hand up to show the distance you still had to walk, he looked at you with a raised brow. “We got time. Hit me with it.”

“Fine. But know that it's stupid.” You pointed a finger at him with a stern look, inspiring a smile of his own.

Exhaling, you chewed on your lower lip between words. “Um, so I haven't told you much about my family. But they're, er...complicated. To say the least.”

Frank listened intently, squeezing your hand encouragingly when you hesitated.

“My mom and I still keep in contact but she's...difficult. She makes me kind of miserable, to be honest. But she's all I have left, so I put up with it. Unfortunately, that means she visits from time to time and I always sort of…” You trailed off, eyes becoming misty as your words failed.

“Sorta what, sunshine?” Frank prompted softly.

“Shut down, I guess?” You looked up at him, lips pursed. “Not to burden you with the details she just...she makes it really hard to not fall back into bad habits. And she's planning on coming up in a few weeks, so I was just lost in thought about it.” You gave a halfhearted chuckle.

“When's she comin'?”

“Three weeks from tomorrow.“ You whined, shaking your head. “It'll be fine, I just need to prepare for it, you know?”

“Would it help if you had company?”

Frank's question caught you off guard. “What?”

“I was wonderin' if it would help, if I was there I mean.”

Shaking your head furiously, you frowned. “Oh I can't ask you to do that, Frank–”

“Last I checked, you weren't askin'.” Frank snorted. “If ya don't want me there…”

“No Frank,” You turned to look at him earnestly. “That would be amazing! I just...you would do that for me?”

Nodding slowly, he brought his free hand up to cup your cheek. “In a heartbeat, sunshine.”

Giggling, you shook your head gravely. “What would I do without you?”

The rest of the walk back to your apartments was spent joking about things you could buy for Frank and slowly start placing around his house. You reached the front door to your building as he was finally talking you out of replacing all of his so-called “boring” glasses with vulgar mugs.

“Look, Frankie! This one is perfect for you!” You squealed, turning around your phone to reveal a poorly photoshopped white mug with the words “Moody Bitch” written on it.

“Fuck off.” Frank grumbled, strutting into the building ahead of you, not hiding his smile as you cackled gleefully.

You scrambled up the stairs after him. “Wait! I found a better one!”

“Nope. I'm done lookin' at your shitty mugs.” Fishing his keys out of his pocket, he unlatched the door, giving Max a scratch as the dog poked his head out in greeting.

“Hi, Maxie!” You cooed, your voice igniting Max's overactive tail. Crouching in front of him, you happily let him kiss your face as Frank slipped his shoes off.

“Ok bud, let her up.” Frank scolded gently as the massive canine began to tip you over in his eagerness to kiss every inch of you.

Standing with too much difficulty, you giggled as you finally managed to drag yourself upright. “Yikes. Pretend you didn't see that.”

“See what?” Frank asked, smirking.

“Thanks for a good night, Frankie. Oh, wait before we part ways for the evening...” You trailed off, shoving open your own door and dashing inside.

Still standing in his own doorway, Frank chuckled to himself as he heard you banging around in your kitchen. “Ya know, I was hoping to go to bed at some point.” He called down the hallway.

“One more second!” You called back.

Pretending to have fallen asleep against the doorframe, Frank's eyes were closed when your footsteps tread back down the hall.

“Ha ha. Very funny.” You deadpanned. “If you don't want this dessert, I can absolutely eat it myself.”

“Dessert?” Frank opened his eyes enthusiastically, accepting the plate you handed him.

The slice of whatever you'd handed him was thick and smelled of cinnamon. Its bread-like texture and swirl of filling looked painfully familiar...

“You promised to try the babka I made! So, here you go.”

Dread pooled in his stomach as his shaky hand grasped the fork you handed him. The enticing smell of the cake suddenly turned to something sinister, drawing acid up in this throat.

“I, uh...I what?” He stammered out, staring at the plate like the pastry had pulled a gun on him.

”The babka I made for Ms. Kaminzki? I mentioned it at dinner and you said you would try it for me?“ Your eyes were shining with anticipation, your tone edged with an anxiety that caused his own heart rate to spike.

His mouth remained shut, drying out as if he'd eaten a bowlful of sand. Spearing the slice of cake, he nodded as he took a small bite.

The blend of spices was something he'd tasted many times before, and he felt like someone had smashed a bottle over his head. Adrenaline surged through every vein, his hands trembling viciously. Bile was clawing up his esophagus, chills suddenly wracking his body.

“It’s great, sweetheart.” He muttered, still staring at the bread.

“Yah?” You asked eagerly, dress swirling around your ankles as you bounced on the balls of your feet.

“Mmmhmm, I love it.” Prying his eyes away from the ceramic plate he held, he glanced at you. Your face seemed to flicker, briefly—another familiar face forming a mask over your wide eyes and small smile. As his nausea suddenly became unbearable, he opened his door. ”I gotta go.“

“Oh, ok! Have a good night, Frank!” You called. He gave a limp wave.

Stepping backwards into his apartment, he locked the door behind him, chucked the pastry across his counter, and bolted to the bathroom.

Using your thumb to steady the piece of tape, you pressed it against the serrated edge of the dispenser to tear off a piece. Carefully draping the adhesive side onto the brown paper, you folded the final edge of the parchment over the babka. You couldn’t help but smile at the beautifully wrapped loaf.

All things considered, you’d been having a great week. The bakery had seen steady traffic, one of your favorite market booths had given all their regulars a huge discount on seasonal fruit, and your adorable elderly neighbor had been so thrilled about the babka you made her that she’d paid you to make one for her knitting club. Speaking of… A quick glance at the clock was enough to hurry you out the door to prevent being late.

Cradling the weighted parcel to your chest, you rushed out the door and down the steps—thanking your lucky stars that you didn’t break an ankle in your haste to make the delivery.

Ms. Kaminzki was an adorable older woman who lived on the floor below yours. You had offered to help bring her groceries in after she’d gotten hip surgery a few months ago, and the woman had been downright motherly to you ever since. She was constantly bringing you home cooked meals and complimenting your outfits, it was about time you made her something in return.

Of course, she’d tried to pay you for the first one and refused to accept a second for free—but there was only so much you could do to combat her sweet stubbornness. Which meant that this time, unfortunately, you needed to let her press a crumpled 20 dollar bill into your hand as you passed her the babka.

Accepting her cheek kisses and endless praise for your “baking talents” more readily than the cash, you ushered her into a taxi so she'd make it to her meeting on time. With the promise to visit her for dinner this week, you waved her off—nearly smacking someone behind you in the process.

“Oh fuck, I'm so—” Tilting your head as you took in the hooded figure in front of you, your brows shot up. “Frank?”

The man looked rough, to put it simply. Deep purple bruises sat under his puffy eyes, his posture hunched and face swollen around a split lip. He was avoiding your gaze, and he visibly flinched as you stepped into his space.

Straightening your fingers, you displayed your palms in a gesture of harmlessness. Though he was still curled in on himself, he met your gaze as you rested a hand on his bicep. “Sweetheart, what happened? Are you alright?”

Frank nodded curtly, recoiling from your light touch as he yanked open the door to your building. “Fine, sunshine.”

Huffing as he slipped into his old habits, you trailed after him.

“Thought we were past the whole 'pretending to be fine' shtick but, ok.” You muttered, nearly tripping over your skirt as you chased him up the stairs.

“I ain't 'pretendin' to be fine'. I am fine.” Frank snapped, not even sparing a glance at you.

“Sure,” You nodded, unbothered by his bad attitude. “Seems like it.”

Scoffing, Frank whirled around on the landing. His glower softened as he registered your furrowed brow. Deflating like a helium balloon, he flushed pink. “Sorry, sunshine. I'm just...havin' a shit day.”

“You sure it hasn't been a shit week?” You asked with narrowed eyes, hand coming up to cup his stubbled cheek. “This cut doesn't look fresh.”

Frank usually leaned into your touch as if it was the only thing keeping him together. While others made you feel self-conscious about your love of physical contact, your grumpy neighbor seemed to be as starved for it as you were.

Today, however, he remained rigid in your hold. His eyes were hollow shells, not holding the range of emotions you'd come to expect from his beautiful irises. Wherever his mind was, you were confident that it was not here with you.

Withdrawing your hand, you nodded your head toward the final flight of stairs. “C'mon, sweetheart. Up we go.”

His stare remained blank, but he followed your direction, marching up the stairs as if he was ready to drop—which, you realized, he probably was.

As he fumbled with his keys, you ambled towards your own apartment, trying not to look like you were prepared to catch him if he collapsed. As he tumbled over the threshold into his apartment, you caught a glimpse of the trash accumulating on his coffee table and counters. If you weren't worried before...

Eyes narrowing as he noticed you staring into his apartment, he gave a small wave. “Have a good night, sunshine.”

Though his words were sweet as always, his tone was flat and you weren't quite sure whether he meant what he said.

“You too, Frankie.” Before he could slip inside his apartment, you pressed a quick peck to his cheek. As your lips made contact with his scruff, one of his rough hands wrapped around the curve of your waist, squeezing gently. Smiling as you retreated, you let his hand linger on you for as long as he needed.

“I'm right next door if you need me, ok?” You promised gravely.

Finally dropping his hand, he nodded, a spark of the warmth you usually found in his expression finally igniting behind his eyes. Shoving lightly at him with an exaggerated frown, you pointed a finger at his chest.

“Go get some rest, Castle. You need it.”

He chuckled softly, finally disappearing behind the chipped white door.

Pondering for a moment, you could practically feel the cartoon light bulb pop out of your skull as the epiphany struck you. Flexing your hands in anticipation, you rushed into your apartment and beelined for your freshly washed mixing bowls.

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