curtis’ apartment is warm; this time of year everyone in the building has their heating on and the cumulative effect is toasty, verging on cosy. frank stands in the kitchen with his sleeves rolled up past his elbows and finishes drying the dishes, puts them away, listens to the soft clink and clack of crockery and the sound of curtis turning the pages of something on the couch.
he settles with his shoulder pressed into the wall, squinting at the reading material. it looks like an old issue of nat geo and if frank were in the mood for it he’d give him a verbal elbow, say your place turning into a dentist’s waiting room now ? — but he’s not, so he doesn’t. he pushes off the wall when curtis notices him and wanders over, shaking his head when curtis starts to close the magazine. frank’s weight on the couch sinks in next to him. the look he gives curtis is something along the lines of this okay ? - because, it’s to look over his shoulder, but it’s - comfortable, too. close. his fingers gently push on the inside of curt’s wrist to read the article with him. ( @thymocosm / nonverbal starter call : book. )
