the tortured poets department

✧.* ༉‧₊˚

Babe, I’d rather stay inside your dream

If I could disappear beneath the leaves

—

The vase in Karen’s window is full of new flowers, the bright colors and elegant look of the petals seeming to warm her apartment to the spring ambiance.

Frank’s guitar is sitting in the corner, the sunlight peering in through the window and lighting up the space.

Karen sets down her bag, running her fingers through her hair after a long night at the office, sighing as she pulls out a few files from her bag to look over. It’s only midday in New York, but it feels longer because of the late hours Karen had been up in the night, her work not yet finished even the morning after.

Even if she had endless cold case files to look over and drafts to write, at least she knew Frank was nearby, his guitar barely collecting dust in the corner.

The coffee is freshly brewed, the aroma of it filling her apartment, leaving it more lively than it usually is. That wouldn’t usually be too unusual, but she hadn’t been there the night before, meaning she wouldn’t be the one to brew a new pot.

“Karen?” A voice echoes from down the hallway, causing Karen to startle a bit, not quite used to having someone beside herself in her space.

“Frank? What are you doing here?” Karen asks, fighting a smile as she sees him walk into the main room.

“What do you mean?” He replies, his hands gently grasping her waist. “I’m always here.”

Karen melts into the embrace, wrapping her arms around his neck as she leans into his body. The two stand there for a bit, interlinked, the only sound their breathing synced together.

“You look tired, are you okay?” Frank asks, locking eyes with her as his hand moves to cup her face.

“I had a long night of sorting through case files, but I’m okay. Nothing a good cup of coffee can’t fix. I see you made some.”

Mugs clink as they pour their coffee, the sunlight now fully illuminating the room as the sun lights up the New York skyline.

“Frank, really, what are you doing here?” Karen asks from her spot on the couch, the scene seeming too domestic to be reality.

“I’m here because I love you, that’s why I’m here. I can’t just float around the streets and wonder how you’re doing, I don’t want to live without you.”

Frank’s arm falls behind Karen’s shoulder, gently pulling her closer to him. Her head rests on his chest, Frank leaning to kiss the top of her head as she sighs contentedly.

“Thank you for being here,” Karen whispers, squeezing his hand.

“Why don’t I make something to eat—you’ve had a long night,” Frank says, leaving Karen with one last kiss on the forehead.

—

“I didn’t know you were such an amazing cook,” Karen says, smiling as she looks down at her plate of food.

“I had to show off for my first time cooking for you. Safe to say the ‘so called’ skills do not extend to baking, unfortunately.”

Karen stifles a laugh, imagining Frank in a pink frilly apron standing above cupcakes, piping bag in one hand, sprinkles in the other, powdered sugar coating every square inch of the kitchen.

“That’s too bad, I would love to see you frosting cupcakes in a pink apron.”

“It’s good that you’ll never see that. I don’t think anyone needs to see that ever.”

And with that, Frank grabs Karen’s plate, placing it in the sink before taking her hand to lead her down to the bedroom.

“Have you gotten any sleep?” He asks, sitting down on the bed.

“I’m not tired,” Karen protests, avoiding eye contact with Frank as she tries to keep her eyes open.

“Yeah sure, you’re barely awake. Come on, I’ll lay with you.”

Karen nods, snuggling into Frank, her head in the crook of his neck. Her eyes flutter shut, the world around her turning cold and vacant, far from the warmth she has been experiencing. The last thing she can feel is a soft kiss on her forehead, the final feel of Frank’s chest rising up and down before everything goes dark; silent.

—

Karen rubs her eyes, her bed empty. The room looks lonelier, harsher than the one she just fell asleep in.

Nothing seems real anymore, the harsh realities clashing in Karen’s brain.

The dream felt alive, felt like something she could live in forever. Waking up alone felt like a nightmare compared to what her thoughts had conjured in her sleep.

Wasn’t she the one to tell Frank to move on, to stop fantasizing realities he couldn’t have?

You can’t keep loving people in your dreams.

✧.* ༉‧₊˚