Ophelia ↠ Frank Castle

02 | decisions

IT WAS 2AM when Frank finally arrived at the diner, the evidence of his night's work long since washed off his skin. Out of place in his gruff gunpowder-stained boots, he faulted before walking through the door.

To Frank, it smelt warm; inviting.

Not like how summer is warm, in the way that the humid air sticks to your clothes, but a metaphorical warmth that hangs in the air and envelopes you in feelings of happiness and love. Of course, Frank Castle would never admit this to anyone. God forbid The Punisher was capable of actual human emotions.

But he wasn't the Punisher. Not anymore. Now Frank Castle was a mere shadow of the symbol he used to be, his once uncontrollable rage laying dormant. Time would only tell when he would erupt again.

Instead, he straightened his posture, already cramped from the way his body awkwardly hung low to avoid hitting his head on the doorframe. Already spotting Matt in the furthest booth to where he was standing, he made his way over. He sat down in the booth opposite Matt, not without consciously reminding himself to steer clear of the cane leaning against the countertop.

"Red," Frank greeted with a slight nod of his head, apprehension slowly taking over the place in his nervous system where courage used to be. Matt tilted his head slightly, immediately moving his cane out of Frank's reach, a habit he'd been quick to pick up on over the years.

"Frank," Matt replied, tilting his head to the side and plastered a slight smirk on his face, hoping to distract Frank from the very obvious shake in his voice.

Frank edged back on the bench, shuffling his feet slightly as not to take up too much room. He cleared his throat.

"So, heard you want me to join your little band," he starts, adding a lopsided smirk, the corners of his lips tilting upwards to downplay the bluntness of his words, something he'd reminded himself to do now that he realised the implications his words could cause.

Matt raised his eyebrows, a little offended at the quip, but dipped his head and chuckled  from nerves nonetheless, the sound vibrating in his chest. He folds his hands on the table in front of the menu that Frank knows he can't read.

"Something like that," he shrugged. Then, "And we're not a band," he added as an afterthought, "more like a dysfunctional team of regular people who just love their city a little too much".

Frank nodded. "That right?". He shifted his gaze sideways, slowly taking in the view of the diner, having already made mental notes of all exits before he even came in. He leaned a litter closer, "And what's in it for me?".

Matt sighed, visibly frustrated. "Look, as much as I don't want to admit it, we need you. The teams' been a mess ever since we took down the hand in Midland Circle."

Frank listened intently, purposely shutting his mouth and avoiding slipping rude comments into the conversation, knowing full well when to avoid riling up Matt, even to his own dismay. He could see the effects of his guilt still playing torment in his mind, his dark under eyes a clear sign of how much this had been affecting him.

Matt sighed and closed his eyes before pinching the bridge of his nose.

"It'll be temporary". Frank noticed his voice crack, the change in tone evident of his tiredness. He wondered how long it had been since he last slept or gone a night without doing his duty for the city he so loved.