𝟐𝟎𝟐𝟓 | 𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐓𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃

carl morck was older than you. considerably. and you both knew it. it gnawed at him, a stab of guilt when he caught himself admiring you as the two of you investigating a crime scene, or interrogated a suspect. you were vibrant, young, full of life, potential and hope for the future, even if sometimes you were just as grumpy as he.

but the two of you weren’t even together. maybe it makes it more excusable that way, he thought. if he’s not planning some weird age gap romance with you. even though sometimes he thinks about it, white picket fence, dog, three children, and you’re always the mother he pictures.

he’s snapped out of his complicated reverie as your voice calls him, his head snapping up at the familiar sound of his name falling from your unfairly attractive lips.

you’re standing there, hands on hips. god, your hair looks good today. and this lighting makes your skin glow. carl wants to bash his head against a wall. he manages a response, a halfhearted ”coming, asshole.” as he follows you obediently into the next room of the victim’s house.