𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃

the wind swept through carl’s silver tipped hair as he stomped towards your flat, stuffing his cold hands into the worn pockets on his coat as he finally escaped the hell of a workplace he’d spent the whole day in.

it was a relief, like a physical weight off his shoulders, despite the brisk cold wind that embraced him the moment he left the dreaded building. and the thought of seeing, touching you again had him floating along like a cartoon animal. he’d spent the day listening to incompetent detectives attempt (and fail) to solve your case, tortured by his inability to involve himself, due to some ridiculous “breach of professionalism.” bullshit, if you asked carl. like most things.

his steps never faltered, pausing only to shove his key into the door, and marching right on through. without a second thought, he sped right through your kitchen, stomping into your bedroom.

as he entered your familiar bedroom, he finally slowed at the sight of you, almost suffocated by the layers of blankets the were strewn upon you, apart from your foot, the cumbersome moon boot sticking out like a sore thumb. he tossed his jacket haphazardly on the floor, collapsing into the armchair beside you with a sigh.

“how was your day?” you pipe up from underneath the mountain of layers. carl resists the smile that threatens to appear, responding with an aptly carl response.

“fucking shit.”