There's sterility in luxury. A couple dozen best-selling novels in the bag and you don't have to worry about coming home to a three-by-five foot apartment, the walls peeling with a thousand-and-one memories of sob stories left before. Castle's apartment is professionally furnished, expertly tailored, and, right now, the last place he wants to be
( ... )
The sound of the running water very nearly muffles the sound of the knock on the door altogether - but not quite. Beckett's in the middle of testing the bathwater's temperature with a bare foot when she catches it - these days, she's all too prepared to hear each and every creak and clatter in her apartment - and draws her robe tight around her frame, securing her hair against the back of her head with a clip. Her movement towards the front door is only briefly halted as she downs the remaining contents inside the small tumbler in her hand; she sets the empty glass down on the kitchen counter with a hollow sound and continues on her way, shuffling slow to peer through the eyehole
( ... )
He eyes her appreciative through the slit in the door. "This is just like a scene I wrote once," he admits, and could instantly stomp on his own tongue. His lips move, fishily, around an expression that he's not quite comfortable with. A peek of terrycloth around the edge of the door alerts him to her plans. He's going to have to be extra cagey to win his admittance. Luckily, he's come prepared.
The fold of his coat peels back and reveals a bottle of top shelf whiskey, its label stylistically distressed.
"I figured we could have a drink. That is, if there's room left between you, me, and rubber duckie."
Her jaw clenches, and she bites down on the inside of her cheek to stop a petty retort right in its tracks. Instead, she opens the door a little wider, bracing her hand against the side, ready to ask him why he thinks he even deserves to be let in after a comment like that. The reveal of the bottle, however, changes her train of thinking. She arches an eyebrow, but says nothing, and turns around to walk further in, leaving the door open for him.
"I'll be right back. Don't touch anything."
At the very least, she's going to have to put some clothes on. Five minutes later, she's back in the living room in a pair of sweats and a camisole, her hair still pinned up, the heat in her apartment substantial enough to negate the need for too many layers. She grabs her previously used tumbler from before and another clean one for him and sets up on her couch, putting them down to rest on the coffee table for his pour.
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The fold of his coat peels back and reveals a bottle of top shelf whiskey, its label stylistically distressed.
"I figured we could have a drink. That is, if there's room left between you, me, and rubber duckie."
Reply
"I'll be right back. Don't touch anything."
At the very least, she's going to have to put some clothes on. Five minutes later, she's back in the living room in a pair of sweats and a camisole, her hair still pinned up, the heat in her apartment substantial enough to negate the need for too many layers. She grabs her previously used tumbler from before and another clean one for him and sets up on her couch, putting them down to rest on the coffee table for his pour.
Reply
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