castle | 𝑑𝑒𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔𝑡𝑜𝑛 𝑖𝑛𝑏𝑜𝑥.

Gotta work in that extra shine. [ he wouldn't entirely opposed to showing up sometime, not entirely, even if he's sure to feel out of place. it's not even the bar itself that's the problem, or her working there, but he never lets himself get that eased with a drink, not while his priority should be to remain alert; in this town, he feels like he should remain in that state constantly.

he also won't think about how eased he is now, even without a drink in hand, the diner now filled with silence save for the continued lull of her voice at his ear. ]

What, I never told you I run marathons? Got a few — belts and shit for that kind of thing. Broke all the records. [ do runners get belts? doesn't matter, cause there's a crack of a smirk on his lips that shift his tone to highlight the obvious lie. ]

Edited 2019-04-19 20:47 (UTC)

Oh, yes, the shine on top of all that natural distressing. Most people pay good money to fake that kind of thing. [ well, she might keel over then and there if he ever does decide to stop by, not simply because she almost can't picture him sitting at a bar like that but also because she knows how busy he is now, how many responsibilities he has that don't really permit so much leisure time.

she has to take the phone away from her ear for a second or two to shrug out of her jacket, but then cradles it against her shoulder soon after. ]

You're so full of it. [ even if he did have that longer, leaner body type (which he doesn't), she knows better. ] Don't tell me you wore those teeny-tiny shorts too.

[ as if his schedule has ever really affected how often he got around to seeing her, whether it was on purpose or not. most of his handiwork hours were spent at her place anyway. not that his reason for going to the bar would just be to see her, absolutely not.

but talk of washing counters has him suddenly swiping a towel to wipe down the grease stains on his own, phone tucked against his own ear. ]

You know I'd look damn cute in those shorts.

[ she's shifted to stretching out across the couch now, the size of it just long enough to accommodate her even if her feet bump up against the far arm. all this talk of fries has definitely made her hungry, but she's also not really of a mind to think about moving right now.

hence couch lounging. and continuing to talk to him. ]

Those gams? [ she wolf-whistles, and then laughs. ] I'm sorry, this is the part where I tell you you've got a great personality too.

[ perhaps it's because the diner is empty now, but when he laughs this time, a subconscious sound that follows hers, it rises a bit more freely without the original attempt to disguise it. ]

What, you saying I'm not a swell guy? Soft and sweet like a kitten?

[ the softest. ]

[ she's laughing at herself by this point, the ridiculousness of it, but that doesn't seem to be enough to stop her when she's on a roll. ]

Well, I didn't want you to be under the impression that we're only friends on account of that hot bod.

You mean that shouldn't be the impression I'm getting?

[ his tone still has that casual playfulness to it, although he doesn't take into account where exactly their conversation has steered, or what apparently the new subject has become. ]

I've just heard it's important to value people for more than their looks.

[ and that's the danger in it, how easy it is for them to redirect the conversation into those topics that couldn't be considered entirely casual — or maybe it's how she does it, and his apparent willingness to follow. ]

So you value me for my personality?

[ he's joking, but also it is a curiosity considering how sour and grim that personality had been when they first met, a stubborn grump who merely wanted to get out and not waste his time on casual acquaintances.

funny from a guy who's now spending his night on this phone call without any immediate intention on cutting it short. ]

Still waters, my friend. Still waters.

[ because she likes to think she's gotten to know him a fair amount since that first night when he wanted to be anywhere but trapped in their conversation, necessity of regaining their sight the factor that had prompted him to stay. whether it was the thing that had kept him, in the end, is another question altogether.

and even if what some of what they'd said that afternoon in his bed had been tainted by the pollen, maybe part of that sentiment had been sincere. ]

Well, that and the fact that you didn't let me drown in my own kitchen. Bonus points there.

[ it'd never been his intention, to let her see within those more concealed cracks, to see him to be anything more than a man simply passing through, no reason to draw any more attention than he needs to. but he'd told her briefly of his family, even found reason to share his real name, both of which had come as a result of more complicated circumstances, but that he realizes he would have shared with her regardless.

that's not to say that she hasn't shown him her share of her own surprises, what was once just a talkative woman with a knack for trouble, now more of the same with just a bit of additional earnest heart and good in her. ]

Oh, right. I get it. It's the free home repair. That's where the catch is, huh? [ because he's never actually charged her beyond keeping his coffee intake tended to. ]

[ it hadn't been her plan either, to lower her guards so quickly if at all; she would've been more than content to just let things float between them on a backbone of corny jokes and occasionally inappropriate innuendo, but certain situations had rendered the need for sincerity here and there. she can't exactly point to a specific moment when things changed, only that they have, a series of events leading them up to tonight and this conversation where it's all too easy for her to dip towards more dangerous territory. ]

Mmhmm. [ she's flipped the device to the speaker option so she can rest it against her chest, the sound of his voice closer to filling the room now as she lounges across the couch. ]

You caught me. That's what I've been doing all along. Cozying up with coffee and compliments just to see if it'll get me a free extension on the house.

[ he should watch himself more, especially considering the trail of accidents that led them into more intimate scenarios, wet kisses and warm grazes of skin.

even if they'd mutually agreed to move past it, that wouldn't be enough to steer them from repeats if they got too caught up in moments like these.

and frank has about a thousand reasons why he can't have that happen. ]

Shit, I always knew you were up to something, Judy. And there you've been, pulling my strings and wrapping me right around your finger.

[ he says it with a tease in his voice, but it makes her fall silent for a second, wondering if for all their efforts to keep this conversation light and friendly they may have inadvertently struck a little too close to home.

she didn't count on any of this. and now that it's happened she doesn't really know where to go from here. ]

You said it, Harry, not me. [ but she does laugh, in spite of herself. ] Is it working?

[ he finds his own silence, gaze caught suddenly within the emptiness of his mug, tilting it as the remaining drips of coffee encircle at the bottom.

it's a sought out distraction, and he wonders if he should brew a fresh pot to jolt his senses again. ]

If it was, I'd be on your front porch right now with a fresh plate of fries, wouldn't I?

[ which he isn't. not yet. ]

Hmm. Good point.

[ though there is that temptation, however small, to crane her head up and over the sofa towards that front door — even if she knows he won't be standing there. ]

Guess that means I'll just have to try a little harder. What are we up to now, basic bribery?

[ and maybe it's from that simple comment that he purses his lips in brief thought; when he turns around, instead of going to that coffee pot, he finds himself turning on the fryer. ]

You've offered a few mugs my way so far. Might have to start uping the price.

Alright, fine.

[ she won’t operate under the assumption that the eventual crackling sound in the background has anything to do with her special request, just like she’s already ascending the stairs to change out of her clothes into something less bar-scented, leaving the device on her bed while she tugs on a clean shirt and a pair of sweatpants. in her mind, nothing but a brief night of vegging awaits — and maybe a glass of whiskey before bed. ]

Name it.

[ if he wants to adjust the terms of their agreement, the least she can do is give him the first choice on their new exchange rate. right? ]

[ he manages a balancing act, shoulder keeping the phone tucked next to his ear while he sets up the frying, not switching to speaker on account of how he might need hear her over the boiling.

he also hears a faint shuffling on her end, but doesn't think too deeply about the source, distracted with making sure he nails the recipe on his end.

but he's quiet for a moment, taking a pause to consider his answer. ]

... how about a drink?

[ not of the coffee variety. ]

[ she doesn’t exactly hold her breath, half-distracted as she is with tossing her dirty clothes into a corner of the room and tugging her shirt on over her head, but there is a longer pause where she wonders if she has somehow gone too far — or, barring that, if someone’s walked into the diner and he’d had to hang up without saying goodbye.

but the crackling in the background clues her into his continued presence and when he finally speaks up she smiles, not sure where her expectations had traveled to but not complaining about where reality has taken them. ]

Okay. Easy. [ thank god it hadn’t been him asking her to help assemble a new table or something. a drink she can handle. ] When?

[ he doesn't know why that ended up being his answer, not prone on seeking out a drink that casually, not here. but when she asks for an alternative, nothing prepared on his lips prior, it's the first that comes to mind.

but when she responds easy, accepting without hesitation, his lips curve into a small smile. ]

Whenever you want me.

[ oh. oh.

and here she’s been under the impression that his definition of a drink would consist of... well, exactly what it sounds like taken at face value. maybe she offers him a glass of something stronger rather than a cup of coffee after he finishes fixing the latest broken appliance here, or maybe it happens when she’s behind the bar, on a night she definitely hasn’t encouraged him to stop by in any sense.

but now she’s questioning if it might actually stand for something else, and her teeth worry at her bottom lip for those few seconds before she gives in — to the late hour, to the direction of this conversation, to all of it. ]

How about now?

[ his tongue curls to lick over his lip without notice, a subconscious swipe as he think about what she says, how it follows in response to his own answer. and he knows everything that's wrong with it, why he should reject the offer, knowing it could steer the implications elsewhere if he doesn't. ]

I'd, uh, have to close up here.

[ which is the window he has as an excuse to escape this. but he realizes he'd already developed his own reason for going over there before she even asked.

this really was becoming dangerous. ]

Give me twenty minutes.

[ she’d been prepared for the work excuse — because she remembers, as soon as the words had left her mouth, that the place is usually open all the time, but whether or not that meant he’d have to stay all night and into the morning is its own separate question. and so she’d anticipated a polite turning down, flipping her phone back to rest between ear and shoulder as she’d readied herself a drink downstairs.

apparently, now she needs to grab a second glass. (good thing she’s got time to clean one.) ]

Okay. [ and time to toss at least one fingerful of whiskey back before she loses her nerve. ] I’ll put the liquor on.

[ the diner tends to have full hours on the weekend, which meant keeping its doors open straight into morning, but with the town as small as it is, actual customers before six didn't come around so commonly. it makes it easier for him to pick one choice over the other, though he can't say that it had been the ultimate factor in his choosing.

the timing works out anyway, pouring the cooked fries onto a sheet within a styofoam container. ]

Hope I'm not interfering with your plans.

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