[He dreams—no, that's not the right word, he remembers: a chilly night, his hand warm on someone's elbow, the taste of alcohol lingering in his mouth and a buzz building in the back of his head, Nelson & Murdock. Sounds better. He could live in this dream forever, he thinks, let himself sink into this fantasy, and he does. It's why he doesn't stir awake when someone enters the room, when they dump their things on the table, when they shuffle towards their bedroom but stop short.
But he can't ignore the brush of a hand on his arm. He wakes up fast, and is off the couch in one fluid motion, hand already twitching towards the hilt of the sword leaning against the side of the couch. But—
He knows that voice. He knows that ink-and-paper smell, that heartbeat. His hand falls to his side, and he breathes out, stands there for a few seconds just stunned and half-panicked. He shouldn't have stayed. He should've left. He—should probably do what he was sent here to do, but he dismisses the idea as soon as it comes up. He's not going to hurt this man, the Hand can go fuck itself.]
You're—Franklin Nelson. [Be proud of him, he remembered something.] I knew you.
[For a guy in a black cloak lined with red, he's oddly good at looking somehow hopeful and nervous at the same time. It helps that he still has the hoodie. Again he says, more certain this time:] I knew you.
no subject
But he can't ignore the brush of a hand on his arm. He wakes up fast, and is off the couch in one fluid motion, hand already twitching towards the hilt of the sword leaning against the side of the couch. But—
He knows that voice. He knows that ink-and-paper smell, that heartbeat. His hand falls to his side, and he breathes out, stands there for a few seconds just stunned and half-panicked. He shouldn't have stayed. He should've left. He—should probably do what he was sent here to do, but he dismisses the idea as soon as it comes up. He's not going to hurt this man, the Hand can go fuck itself.]
You're—Franklin Nelson. [Be proud of him, he remembered something.] I knew you.
[For a guy in a black cloak lined with red, he's oddly good at looking somehow hopeful and nervous at the same time. It helps that he still has the hoodie. Again he says, more certain this time:] I knew you.