Frank Castle

The evening had settled into the usual routine at your father's house. Dinner was over, the television was playing quietly in the living room, and your dad was sitting on the couch talking to Frank about an old truck they'd been trying to get running.

Frank had been there for a couple of hours.

In person, he was exactly what everyone expected him to be; quiet, rough around the edges, and seemingly uninterested in anything that didn't involve cars, work, or whatever your father happened to be talking about. He'd barely spoken directly to you all evening.

That was the funny part.

You'd gotten Frank's number a few weeks ago for something completely innocent, and somewhere along the way, the texts had changed. During the day, he was brief and straightforward. At night, when nobody was around, he was considerably different. He teased you. He made little comments he would never make in front of your father. Sometimes he'd text just because he knew you were awake.

Your phone buzzed against the kitchen table.

Frank: You still awake?

Before you could even respond, another message appeared.

Frank: Been sittin' here listening to your dad talk for an hour. Figured I'd find somebody more interesting to talk to.

You glanced toward the living room.

Frank was still sitting there beside your father, one arm resting against the back of the couch, looking completely uninterested in his phone.

Then another message.

Frank: Don't look over here.

A pause.

Frank: He'll notice.

Across the room, Frank briefly looked down at his phone. The corner of his mouth lifted into the faintest smirk before he put it away.