Karen helping Frank get dressed in a suit to take the stand. (Karen/Frank)
Kastle + Karen helping Frank get dressed in a suit to take the stand.
Frank’s eyes are unfocused, like he’s staring at something miles away, staring right through her and the guard standing by the door to the holding cell.
He makes no move to raise his arms when she drapes the tie around his neck, so she shifts closer, reaching forward to flip up the starched collar, her fingers brushing against the skin of throat.
Standing like this is intimate, nose to nose, chest to chest, he’s not staring into the distance anymore, his intensely dark eyes boring right into her.
A part of her knows she should be filled with fear, that the intensity of his stare is fueled by hate and a need to embark on a bloody rampage, but his breath mingles with hers, and the air crackles between them, and it’s not like anything she’s ever felt before.
Her hands go still against his shoulders, done with their previous task, and for a moment she’s accosted with the strangest desire to raise up on her toes and place a gentle kiss against his bruised skin.
She blinks, suddenly remembering where she is, and who he is, stepping away from the strange warmth as though she’s been burned.
(I cheated and wrote six lines