* & cast / aside

CASEY RUSSELL: AN INTRODUCTION

closed starter for @caseyfm​

Walking into the Pit had never been this kind of nerve-wracking before. With Casey behind the bar, it was pretty much as close as you could get to a safe space in Cherry. He was her safe place to crawl home to whenever things went wrong. Casey and Mac. It was only natural for muscle memory to land Freyja at his doorstep before she had even thought through everything. What was she meant to say? At least running into Mackenzie meant it was understandable not to have a speech planned out. As if she wouldn’t have spent every second thinking about what to say to them if she had actually left of her own free will. Showing up to Casey’s door without anything prepared? Well, that didn’t look good. All Freyja knew was that she had to be the one to tell him about being back in Cherry. No Chinese whispers that ended up hurting them worse than any awkward fumble here could. She’d be standing in front of him, telling him as much of the truth as she could comprehend. That had to count for something, right? Jumbled and crazy as it was.

If the wound of their fight over not telling the truth about Candy Girl that night wasn’t so fresh, Freyja would have just lied. Sure, I left. Let them be mad at her for a while and hopefully understand. At least they wouldn’t look at her like she was crazy. However, sitting and waiting for them to come back around wasn’t exactly something that felt doable. Flashes of Casey lying in the hospital bed, the fact she could have lost him and they were mad at each other. It wasn’t something she could go through again. How guilt lashed out at Mackenzie that night. The brief flash of ‘is this the end of us?’  through her mind.

If the thought of losing them stung that much, she didn’t even want to imagine how it would feel to actually walk away and just wait for them to come around. Let the universe punish her for something she never did. Knowing someone better than you know yourself was a double-edged sword. There was all the beautiful and wonderful that she knew of them, but now there was a dark thought looming over her. The way to hit both of them right where it hurt was to abandon them. Leave after all the years she spent swearing she wouldn’t. Casey was one of the most stubborn people she knew. There was the possibility they never forgive her. Crazy rambling or cop-out lie, it was possible that neither option would really be enough. All she could do was try. At the very least, she needed a drink.

If it were any other situation, Freyja would have had some witty opening line. Something to crack that smile she had gotten too used to. Anything to stop the look on his face she was anticipating as soon he laid eyes on her. “Hey, Case.” Long time no see, the bitter joke in the back of her mind.

⚡️

Casey had never taken too kindly when people up and left only to later reappear. He’d learnt it with their dad the first time he’d left - when Casey had filled in the gaps with a kinder version of the Russell patriarch - only to be sorely disappointed on the return. Admittedly, however, he’s always been weaker than tough exterior would let on. Perhaps that’s why when the bell first ‘dings’ above the doorway of The Pit to signify they have a patron and in walks a very familiar face, Casey’s first thought isn’t the anger that Freyja had left so soon after the lake house debacle but the pure joy that Freyja Freese has returned to Cherry just like she’d left. Unannounced. Unexpected. Perhaps that’s why when she first walks in, he’s half tempted to cling and never let go this time. At least that would prevent her from slipping out the door. “Nah,” he sniffs. “You don’t get to ‘hey, Case’ me, Freyja. You left us.” Suddenly, pettily, it’s like he’s putting up a front against everything he’d said when their ghost hunting adventure had gone awry at the CherryPlex. Freyja had never been a shitty best friend... up until the point she’d abandoned them. “Or is that... like... going to be completely disregarded? Kinda like I-we were?” 

"So, here’s the thing, right... between my actual dad and my stand-in dad I’ve never really had a positive role model and Harvard Hargrove was always kinda nice to me...? I guess? But I’d still take Harvey over him any day. Hell, if Harvey asked nicely and had even half a good reason, I’d jump off a cliff for him if it came to it. Which I definitely  probably wouldn’t do for Hargrove senior — no offence to him.” 

"They've both meant so much to me at different points of my life that this feels a little unfair but... it has to be Elaine. She was the first person who just got it. Got me. Which is probably a bit mean because I never really expressed the way I felt to Harvey about how competing with each other felt like I was just building myself up to burn out by pushing myself to be something more than I am to just be worthy of being his friend but... I’ve never felt like that with Elaine. She was always a safe space to land when things have got tough and that meant the world to me. Still does.” 

WHO: HARVEY AND ANYONE WHAT: HE’S PRETENDING FOR HIS DAD, so like you could call him out, or tell him you don’t care, or idk, he’s just an emo boy getting ready for his football game WHERE: THE POTLUCK

Harvey had always felt this deep responsibility in his bones to be the life of the party. He was Harvey Hargrove The Third - he was the man with the house, and the life, and everything everyone wanted. He was the captain of the Football team, and president of the Fraternity. Maybe that was what made it so easy to float through the potluck, and why it was so easy to fake the cheesy grin dipped over his lips. 

Wasn’t it only right to pretend that he was having the time of his life with his privilege? Wasn’t it only right to put on a show? 

The truth was that Harvey didn’t really know. Regardless of his knowledge of the nuance of Public Appearances, though, he knew the feeling of his father’s eyes on the back of his head like he knew his ABC’s, and that meant… pretending - well, for as long as he could in the face of the Gang. Even if not all of them were his friends right now. 

It was easy to see the way his perfect mask fell the moment he locked eyes with [INSERT NAME HERE] - even if the smile never left his lips. It was just a little more hollow now: like he was caught. Playing pretend again, Harvey Hargrove? Shame on you. 

“Hey,” Harvey choked the words out over the table of Chili that separated them; they lingered for a moment, before falling and bubbling into one of the stray crockpots: ‘Southwest Style - spicy!’ 

“He’s not looking is he?” When in doubt, bring up your Daddy issues, right? Harvey peeked over his shoulder. “God forbid I have to hear another speech about crushing the Stompers tonight. Don’t know if he’s been trying to quote Varsity Blues all day, but…” 

“He’s doing it.” 

⚡️

He’s been avoiding Harvey since the lakehouse. Which is a remarkable feat given 1) they now share a campus and 2) they now share a football team. But Casey’s been doing remarkably well at holding his tongue for someone who usually can’t shut up. Last time he’d opened his mouth in front of the other there was a comment about his father spilling out. With all the venom that Harvey’s effortlessness had carried when they were younger but none of the real bite. And it’s the same now as he breezes through the crowd. Except it’s ‘he’s not looking is he?’ and they’re thirteen again standing somewhere not too dissimilar to this and he’s keeping an eye out for the watchful eye of Hagrove senior, trying to coax the other boy into doing something stupid with him after a game because his own dad certainly didn’t care at all as to what Casey got up to. And it’s funny in a way because the resentment he’d felt then (bubbling away in his gut; always needing to prove that he could shine just as bright if he tried) doesn’t feel the same now. Now he’s just happy to be playing alongside Harvey.

Even if he doesn’t say it.

Couldn’t now. Too much time has passed (hasn’t it always) and the words wouldn’t come out right if he tried (they never do).

Skirts his thumb around the outer edge of the crockpot, careful not to burn it on the rim. “Football is a way of life,” he comments gruffly, in his best Hargrove impersonation, mulling over the way the words sound before his lips pull down at the corners as he seems pleased with what he hears. “Y’know, I can see it. Probably has the script over there... behind his back... takes out the reading glasses while he goes over the intonation when your back’s turned so he can get it just right.” He kind of wishes he had a script right now. Maybe then ‘sorry’ would come out more palatable. Prettier. “Always struck me as a rehearsal guy.” 

who: @caseyfm​ what: A little brotherly chat 

And so it continued. The painful dancing around topics that neither of them seemed ready to discuss. The time spent at The Pit felt hallow and quiet. And it wasn’t lost on Noah that he wasn’t sure he and his brother had made eye contact since their time at the lake house. Even in all of his efforts to try and make things right with Elaine and with Zev, he’d never felt further away from any sort of resolve. And while he wanted to believe the likes of Rory or Mac, something about how things had gone this time had him feeling so far away. But all of that aside, he sure as hell wasn’t going to miss his brothers big night. His brother was going to be taking the field tonight and that felt like something to put his feelings aside for. A huge undertaking considering it meant showing up for the pre-game tailgate of all things. It wasn’t Noah’s scene by any means but he was managing as he made his was through the crowd in search of his brother, eyes scanning through faces of students until he finally spotted the back of an all too familiar blonde head of hair. “Hey!” He half shouted, as he grabbed his brothers arm to get his attention. “I just wanted to say, good luck tonight. I’m sure you’re going to kill it.” He started, hoping he’d be in a slightly more light hearted mood all things considered. “Please try not to get your ass kicked.”  

⚡️

For all intents and purposes, he carries the scowl on his face like it’s some kind of weapon. Which really is just Casey’s way of disguising his nerves. The slight twitch in his fingertips that feels like electricity passing through them as the distant sound of music thrums in his ears that he can’t help but fixate on as everything else sounds like static. It’s the kind of performance anxiety he’d make fun of when it came from anyone else. The kind that he usually can’t be broken away from; until it’s his brother’s grip on his arm and it’s like a shock to the system, a want to ask if everything’s okay before he really realises where they are and what’s happened between them. Like it’s just another echo of one of the umpteen soccer games he tried to drag Noah along to when they were younger (even if it was sometimes just to make sure he wouldn’t be going back to their house alone). 

“You mean on the field or off the field?” Casey jokes before he can help himself, as if falling back into the pattern of it would disguise the slight tremble to his hands. Fuck, he needs to sneak off for a cigarette.

 No.

That’s not what a ‘responsible’ teammate would do. He resigns himself with a slight sigh before his eyes rake a little more cautiously over at Noah. “... Thanks, though... y’know, I half expected I wouldn’t see you until we got back home.” 

❤️‍🔥

“You make it sound so easy,” It was a phrase she’d said to him a million times before. He was always the dreamer of the two, like the obstacles in the way of all their dreams were invisible. Even if he could see them, she was sure Casey would charge right through. Elaine hadn’t even known what it was to dream until she’d met him, after all her closest confidant had always been Harvey, who was just as trapped as she was. It had been nice to think she’d actually run away with Casey in high school, to think her and Lux could actually have a future together, to think that she’d ever actually get to be herself. But the time for dreaming was over, with Candy now lingering so close to her and the walls of the Archer home closing in. Wake up, Elaine. 

“Listen. What we talked about at the lake. Just- forget about it, okay? I have, so you should, too.” 

⚡️

“Because it could be, Elaine!” The frustration seeps back into his voice - a step away from saying screw the Archers. If she needed a family, he’d be hers. There had never been a question about what he would do when it came to her. It was easier to dream about the almost impossible, the definitely improbable. Easier to spend evenings with his limbs tangled up with hers and pointing at distant places on the world map on his wall of places they could escape to (because that’s what it was mostly about) without thinking of the consequences. He was cynical and questioned everything... and wanted more than anything to be proven wrong. 

But the next sentence out of her mouth floors him. Casey definitely hasn’t forgotten it. The tears that had soaked Mac’s shirt... the desperation in Elaine’s voice and how lonely it had all sounded, and oh how his heart had ached for her. “What?” He doesn’t mean for his disbelief to come across so strongly as he stands there in front of her, completely dumbfounded. “You can’t just... that’s not...” Casey’s brow furrows. His own favourite colour is red. His favourite sport is soccer. Band is Zeppelin. He likes bubblegum ice-cream, dog-earing his books, and when girls and boys kiss him. None of them could be forgotten. They’re all just little inseparable parts that make Casey... well... Casey. “Look, I know you’re scared but I don’t think that’s something you can just conveniently forget.” 

🌱

“I must,” Rory nods with faux gravity as she slides the cd into the slot on his dashboard. The opening notes of “When I Kissed the Teacher” are better for her half-functioning brain than coffee, and they settle some of the uncertainty prickling under her skin too. And then Casey’s comment throws her right back to his senior year of high school, and it’s like slipping back into the person she was before everything, back to their friendship before the Candy Girl’s pregnancy rumor, before she got him stabbed, and before the lakehouse. “People only didn’t see that for you because you said you weren’t going,” she said hotly, as if this was still an argument they were having every couple weeks rather than one that had been collecting dust for more than a year. (It doesn’t matter how long it’s been. Rory will die on the Casey-is-the-only-one-who-thinks-he’s-stupid hill.) “Told you that you shoulda gone before, now you’re stuck being a freshman with me. I hope we have class together.” She cranks the window down to stick her hand out into the cool dawn air as she considers his question. “Kind of excited, kind of nervous.” Her eyes were fixed on the road. “College was gonna be hard enough without any Candy-Girl-weird-Cherry nonsense, y’know? What do we think the chances are she’ll coordinate her reign of terror with course schedules?” 

⚡️

No they didn’t, he wants to rebuke because he remembers high school differently. Being held back a grade and clenched jaws of teachers when his grades continued to slip before Alice’s help. Advice for seeking ‘alternative pathways’ from guidance counselors before he’d even opened his mouth upon entering rooms. Graduating in and of itself felt like a trophy without thinking about college. And he didn’t extend a thought past the idea of tomorrow back then. With some of the things they witnessed at home, sometimes he simply didn’t know if he’d be around past it. 

“Stuck with you?” It’s the point that surprises him and a light titter escapes his mouth before he can help himself. “I’m sorry Ms. Jackson but you don’t know what it’s like to suffer through a class with me.” There’s a brief pause as he turns his indicator on, pulling away from her street. “Knowing Candy she’ll show up at finals like ‘here’s a pop quiz question you didn’t see coming. Riddle me this,’“ he snarks with his best high-pitched Candy girl voice, although beneath it he can’t quite disguise the slight sound of fear that clips his tone. The longer his own secrets remain his, the fear grows. After high school, after rock bottom, there had been little to lose and all to gain through dealing for Hargrove. They’d keep a roof over their heads, food on the table and there was the quiet promise of giving Noah a future that was worth giving up his own for. Now there’s college and the band and people who he wouldn’t be able to handle disappointed looks from. “She probably gets off on planning it, y’know. That’s what does it for some people.”  

❤️‍🔥

Elaine had never known there was another option, not until she’d gotten to New York. It was a whole new world there, one that was filled with more love than she’d ever seen, more than she’d ever been able to dream of. She hadn’t known there could be more than fake plastic smiles and small-town politics and secret kisses in the dark. And it had only confirmed that she still wanted a sliver of what her parents dreamed of- the white picket fence and the happy, happy family. She’d wanted it with Lux. And now that, that was never going to happen? What was the point of even trying? 

“What else am I supposed to do?” she can barely look at Casey, not when she can feel the disappointment radiating off of him, “I had someone and I lost them and I don’t want anyone else. But I want the big house and the duck-egg curtains and the beautiful kids one day. How else am I supposed to get it?” 

⚡️

It’s just like high school. It’s a mantra that’s practically been on repeat since the night at the lake house when he’d exploded instead of facing what had actually happened. And it creeps in now as he’s faced with the hopelessness of Elaine’s predicament. High school had been dead ends that would lead to a lifetime of them for him. Hers just seems to have a shinier veneer. Casey finds himself softening before her eyes because of course he does; because no matter how stubborn he is, it always seems to be Elaine who has a way of pulling him out of moments where he wants no more than to dig his heels into the ground. “... Could still have it,” his brow relaxes and arms cross over his chest as he looks at her. Practically imploring her to do the same. “Don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit ‘cause I’ve seen you when you want something badly enough, El. The whole town would be brought to its knees to give it to you. Hell, I bet you could do it all by your damn self if you wanted that. If you don’t want some dude, you don’t have to have some dude along for that.” 

✍️

It stung. The way the conversation felt so rigid. Like all the progress they’d made had been washed away and this was all they were left with. Almost numbing in the way that Noah didn’t know that he’d ever have any other relationship like the one he used to have with Casey. All of his life he felt like Casey had practically been embossed on him. Like being Casey’s younger brother was such a vital part of his identity and without it, he was just left being a stranger even to himself. He was feeling the gasping loss of his brother and for what might have been the second time in his life was completely at a loss for words on how to fix it. How to make up for the terrible thing he’d done to someone Casey clearly still cared for. “Yeah.. yeah just college I guess. It’ll all get done eventually I guess.” He mumbled as he grabbed a bottle and started mixing again. Passing out a few more drinks before finally pausing in his work to take a step back and try and remind himself to take a deep breath. To keep himself from turning on his heels and running from the booth as fast and hard as he could until he didn’t feel quite so empty. “I don’t know if cowardly is the word I’d use to describe getting out of a class you don’t want but I guess I kinda see where you’re coming from. Did you get any other classes you’re excited about or just the BS ones?” 

⚡️

“Yup,” Casey’s lips purse and brow crumples as he looks down at the table. Out of all the labels Casey had gained in life - being Noah’s big brother was always by far his favourite. Chest swelling with undeniable pride when his brother would write or come along to a party with little prodding or get into college. Because for as much as the Russell boys didn’t really have a parent figure to look up to - Casey had always felt like they’d more or less raised each other. Like you could look at Casey’s fridge in thirty years time and still find some of Noah’s old grades or Ronnie’s childhood (or adulthood... the difference wasn’t that great) drawings. And his chest would still well with pride as he’d point out each story with the fond kind of nostalgia that only appeared whenever he thought about the people his brothers had become despite it all. So, he can’t help the disappointment. In Noah and in himself like somewhere he’d fucked up and been a bad role model. Although when had he really given the impression that self preservation was important? “Got the music theory elective I wanted... and y’know. The obvious stuff with philosophy. Introduction to ethics and all that...” And it’s the first time Casey dares a glance at his brother. “Been thinking about ethics and morality a lot lately.” It’s the closest he’s got to being anywhere near confrontational about Noah’s entire reveal. Out of all the pandora’s boxes to have come out of that night, this is perhaps the one he’s been dreading opening most. 

— ♡ —

Call her dramatic but Margot felt exposed, naked, without a uniform clinging to her body. Sure, it might be totally impractical but there was nothing that consumed her thoughts more than belonging. Belonging to a team, a squad as notable as the CCU Cheerleaders, she felt the need for constant rep (and pep!). Then call her stupid for wearing her coveted Cherries Cheerleading Club sweatshirt during summer. She thought she could get away with it as long as she wore a pair of shorts and for the most of the morning? It had worked in her favor, but as soon as the sun started coming out and the breeze stopped? Color her hot, and not the in Phoebe Cates way.

And she could have ran to her dorm and changed, she really could, but she wasn’t ready to part with a piece of Cherry merchandise. She would just make a mental note to maybe wait to break out the sweatshirts until the weather started to drop. All that to say she was in desperate need of something cold to drink which lead her directly to The Pit stand. She would have never been caught dead in a bar at any point in her life, but since they were just a little pop up on campus, what’s the worst that could happen? And they had to have water. “Just anything that includes ice would be nice,” she admitted, her nose scrunching, noticing that she had clearly interrupted him from whatever he had been daydreaming about. 

Then, ever the polite person, she piped up with her own insight. “You don’t exactly look like someone who’d, you know, be thinking about kittens and rainbows in your free time.”

⚡️

“I don’t?” Casey teases, brow quirking as if to highlight his surprise. Of course he isn’t actually. A scowl was worn like a badge of honour throughout high school which only twisted into a smirk whenever the chance to disrupt things came into play. Now, after the events of the weekend at the lake house, it was just that. A scowl. Nothing pretty or more to it. Somewhere out there he’s sure Elaine’s mother would tell him he’d get early wrinkles (although that also isn’t true, he’s sure she wouldn’t care if he withered away). “Only the fuzziest of kittens run through this brain, I’ll have you know. ‘Cause I’m adopting one of those - what are they called again? - positive mindsets. Washing away my negativity with a smile,” and as if to prove a point he punctuates the end of his sentence with a toothy grin as he pours an extra helping of ice into a cup for her lemonade (with a twist because it was Ronnie’s menu at the end of the day). “But I’m sure you know all about that,” he extends the cup out for her to take when he’s finished. “You’re the cheerleader so you’re practically an expert on that stuff, right?” 

🌱

Rory shoved her hands in the pocket of her quarter zip, too big to be hers originally. She was pretty sure it was her uncle’s at one point, but it mostly switches between her and Zahra’s closets these days. She half wondered if it was a betrayal, to still meet Casey for this. But muscle memory had carried her out the door for this tradition before her brain had any say- (it was 5 am, okay, she wasn’t exactly at her sharpest). At the end of the day, he was her friend too. And from the sounds of it… he might need one right now. And of the world of mantras, ‘what so-and-so doesn’t know won’t hurt ‘em’ was quickly becoming her favorite. Usually with her uncle as the star. And Zahra knew where she stood, always did. So instead of fretting about it, she pulled her oh so coveted arrival cd from her pocket. “Not old times til this is on, right? You gonna let me put it in, or do I have to one-handed wrestle you for it while you drive?” She tacked on dryly. Some of the levity was forced, as she caught sight of the not-quite-healed bruising Zahra had told her about the night they got back, felt the wound on her chest sting in psychosomatic sympathy. “You looking forward to it? School, I mean?” 

⚡️

“I mean I guess. If you have to. Y’know I can’t stand it,” he sniffs and adjusts in his seat, slight smirk starting to twist its way onto the corners of his mouth (even as he winces as the slight push in the muscles of his cheek feels like pressing on bruises). It’s a comment given for the sake of an older performance. Second favourite album of all time confession put aside for a moment as he starts the car. A week ago he was - dare he admit it - excited to go to CCU. Like it signified a new beginning or whatever it was the Beat poets talked about when they got sick of the mundane. Now it’s a little different; like he’s just waiting to see how he screws this up too. “Guess I’m looking forward to bragging most of all — college student isn’t really what anyone saw for me back in high school so feels like a little bit of a middle finger to them.” Casey grumbles before sucking in a breath, eyes fixated on the road before throwing a glimpse back at Rory. “What about you?” 

❤️‍🔥

“And you were mine!” the words and the force behind them surprise her, even as they’re tumbling out of her mouth, “Don’t you think I wanted to be doing all of those things with you? Don’t you think that if I actually had a choice it would have been different? Love doesn’t matter in my house, Casey. My parents never say ‘I love you’ to one another, because they don’t! They got married because that’s what their parents told them to do and I’ll get married because that’s what they’ll tell me to do, and that’s just- that’s it. You don’t know what it’s like to have to be fucking perfect all the time, so don’t say I wasn’t risking everything for you because I was! And I lost it! It sucks that you’re hurt over it, but you’ll go out and find someone else that you love and you’ll have a life. And I’ll wind up marrying some guy who’s half as good to me as Harvey was and have 2.5 kids and always be stuck wondering what it would have been like if I’d shut my own stupid feelings up in high school. You were what I wanted, but he was- the safest choice to make. You don’t get to judge me for making it.” 

⚡️

He didn’t know what it was like to grow up having to be perfect. Still doesn’t. Could remember a time before he really knew her when it all seemed so beautiful. To have rules and standards you had to meet; could still remember his first impressions of Elaine if he tried hard enough. All her report cards would always get read and maybe they’d get stuck on the fridge if they were good enough (that’s what they did in normal houses, wasn’t it?). She was so pristine that he hadn’t thought she’d ever dirtied a dress in her life (or if she did they’d always get cleaned by someone who cared). She didn’t have to act out for attention that wouldn’t come or worry about turning a key in the latch of her front door. 

Yet, somehow, when he did get to know her, he realised the scarring from growing up in a family like hers was just as bad as his own. Like getting a mirror and holding up the parts of him that hurt the most too. And he’d loved her regardless of it all. With all the flaws and imperfections only serving to add to it. So maybe that’s why he suddenly grows quiet as he processes what she’d said. Lost somewhere between being wanted and just how lost she must feel. “... You’re gonna do that?” He asks, voice suddenly quieter. “So that’s it? You’re gonna marry some... some fucking guy,” and that’s the words that sticks in his throat after their discussion at the lakehouse until he remembers where he is and who could hear and suddenly it’s high school again - worrying about who might find out and whether the words lacing his tongue are the right ones to be saying at all. “... who may not even treat you well ‘cause that’s what’ll make your parents happy?” 

who: open what: learn how to type with mavis beacon, ft. emir erdogan! where: ccu library ig?

Emir had never been against the concept of a higher education. He had dedicated many hours of his life to trying to receive some… equivalent form – but university had always seemed out of the question. It was not for lack of funds ( a resourceful man, his Father was ), rather for toxic dedication and swollen pride. Thus, perhaps the one good thing to come of it all was the chance to learn at the hands of official scholars. The chance to dissect it with a jury of his peers, to write critical pieces… so on and so forth. But first… ‘Mavis Beacon Teaches Typing’ on the library computer. After the tenth failure on one specific word, Emir slipped from thought to impassioned murmur! Fingers pinching the bridge of his nose, he addressed Mavis Beacon: “I do not play xylophone, I do not listen to the xylophone – I do not see myself ever needing to type ‘xylophone.’”

⚡️

When Casey had pictured studying philosophy it had been with a few more glasses of red wine and midnight discussions (with grapes!) than this. Although maybe it’s a right of passage to be holed up in the library writing notes on Plato. What he would have wanted, even. Maybe. Even as he’s crying out for distraction from the callus developing on his finger from writing and the occasional glance at the computer user. Secretly glad it’s not him that has to wrestle with the piece of technology in the corner. Computers scare him a little! The candy girl used one! And to his own complete lack of knowledge he has been catfished by a certain Winnie Wu in the past! “What’s that?” He asks, leaning back slightly on his chair with a furrowed brow as he peers over at Emir’s screen at the woman next to a speech bubble. Is it his business? No. Has getting involved in areas that are definitely not his business and that he definitely should stay out of ever stopped him before? Also no! In Casey’s world, speaking aloud is simply an open invite to conversation. “She some girl you’re chatting to online? ‘Cause y’know, if she’s into the xylophone you should probably say you can play.” 

When he speaks, her whole body tenses. For all her talk with Rory had eased the everything she’d been feeling since Cristiano opened his stupid mouth, she’s still on edge. It doesn’t feel right, but at least it’s a guard up. So she scoffs at the sarcastic response and rolls her eyes at the apology - she doesn’t care. “Sure,” she says, dismissive and biting, but leaving it at that. She wants to fast forward through this part more than she wants to truly bite back. There’ll be plenty of time for petty jabs for as long as she’s stuck in this hellhole, after all.

So she keeps her mouth shut and waits impatiently for him to break this thing between them that she’d never really let herself latch onto too tightly. She locks her eyes on the horizon and resents the sky’s lack of clouds - it feels like the sky should be darkening, like thunder should be rumbling. In the masochistic moments she’d imagined the aftermath of her secret coming out, she’d imagined the beach and a storm and a lot more yelling. Something suitably dramatic. But the sky is clear and colourful with a sunset, and the air is warm with the end of summer. And, for some reason, Casey doesn’t just say we’re done. Instead, he says he wrote her something. Zahra blinks. Frowns in confusion. “What?” It throws her off so abruptly she momentarily forgets what she was waiting for. The guard falters. She whips her head around to look at him, rapidly trying to reorient herself and regain her footing. The rest of her body twists around to follow, one leg still dangling over the edge but the other pulled up and bent so she’s halfway to sitting cross-legged. It feels like it’s been an eternity since she’s looked at him - really looked at him, not watching him out of the corner of her eye as the Gang made their way out of the lake house - and her breath doesn’t even catch in her throat because she’s busy asking, “What the fuck are you talking about?” Somewhere between poem (it’s not a poem, apparently) and didn’t wanna fuck up (???) her brain short-circuited, and her walls go back up quickly, sure, but she’s still utterly baffled.

⚡️

His face flushes and his voice becomes gruff by the time he speaks next. “Well, that’s what they say, isn’t it?” They being every writer he can ever think of seeing an interview with on breakfast television. “Keep a journal. Write your feelings and shit…” And maybe it’s just a result of the weekend that had passed but he feels a little embarrassed to have mentioned it at all. Like all the times he had wanted to duck under the table when Mac and he wrote songs together. His posture becomes a bit more rigid alongside his nerves, hands reaching defensively up to cross over his chest and away from reach of the papers in his pocket and eyes seeking out the spot on the horizon where she’d been looking moments before and doing his best to fixate on the clouds rather than the fact he can practically feel her gaze on him. It’s easier somehow that way. Less bare.

 “So, y’know... I did that. Stayed up in my room the night after we talked on AOL and I wrote my feelings.”  Finally a hand reaches down to his jeans and he pulls out one of the handful of crumpled receipts from his pocket, turning them in his palm to reveal his messy handwriting that he hadn’t even bothered to polish up beforeheand. “So either you can read them or I guess I can but… but… all I know is I don’t wanna run my mouth and say a load of shit that I’ll regret tomorrow. ‘Cause I… I...“ The orange hue of the sky isn’t enough to stop him from envisioning what her expression must look like from feet away. And it feels like the bravest thing he’s ever really done when he tears his gaze from the sky to Zahra with a rather exaggerated sigh as he tries to track his thoughts. He doesn’t know what he’d been expecting to see - the version of Zahra from the lake house who had seemed so small in comparison to her usual self? High school Zahra who had been so untouchable that he’s pretty certain could have shattered him in an instant with just the right look? As his eyes dare to lock with hers, she’s neither of those. She’s just his Zahra. Strong. Effortlessly confident. With all the airs of fearlessness that he wishes he had in the moment. “Because - fuck. Zahra, I love you and that’s all I can keep coming back to because nothing else about this entire fucking situation is making much sense to me at the moment.” 

✍️

It kind of felt like the more time that passed between him and the lake house the worse he felt. Like the anxiety he’d felt since his meeting with the candy girl had bubbled over and he was left with no one to blame but himself. Recalled how angry he’d been at his brother for keeping so many secrets over the past year, only to turn around and keep several of his own. He was a hypocrite and the reminders were razor sharp. The tone in his brothers voice as he finally responded to him. Made him regret saying anything in the first place. Found he would have been better off if he’d stayed quiet and done what he was told, but it was too late for that. “I’m sorry to hear that…” He said instead, reaching for a rag, something that’d allow him to keep his hands busy as he wiped down the counter and contemplated pouring them each a shot simply to shut down some of the tension. But he wasn’t that brave. Never had been. Further proof newly laid in front of him. And it wasn’t like he was brave enough to explain himself either. Didn’t have the confidence to remind Case of the silence that echoed so loudly in their home after he and Elaine had broken up. How hard it had been to see her pick Harvey of all fuckin people. She had broken the person he loved the most of the world, and repeatedly harassed everyone else he held dear. Was it a reason enough to sell her out to Candy? No. And in the moment he contemplated if jail would really have been any worse. If going back home was really worse than his brothers inability to look at him. But it was too late. He’d done it and there was no re-do. “I got two of ‘em. Which isn’t terrible. The rest kind of suck but that’s not unusual. You could always talk to the counselor if you want out of whatever you’ve got.” 

⚡️

It feels like a conversation between two casual acquaintances and he can’t quite move past it. There’s none of the usual teasing. The usual comeback of ‘a whole two? Bet Steinbeck didn’t get more than one at Stanford’ doesn’t make it out of his mouth and the camaraderie that the two have always shared seems non-existent as he grabs at another cup for a student. “’s just college, right?” It’s probably worse that the subject matter of the weekend before hasn’t been brought up. Probably because it’s so internalised that not bringing up things was the done thing to do within the Russell house that it seems halfway normal. Even as his gut twinges at the fact it’d never really been like that with his brother unless it was Casey’s intent to  protect him from something. Just like it had been the year before. Never hurt him. Not like the dull ache that has sat in the pit of his stomach like he could half expect any of the gang to turn on each other at any given moment. But not Noah. Never Noah. Not when they shared everything. When they were the only two in the world who could ever be bonded by what happened at home when Ronnie upped and went to college. The only two privy to late nights spent in their box room at the other house talking about anything and everything in hushed voices (”when you punch you throw like this. Thumb on the outside or you’ll break it”). Noah was his brother. But most of the time he was his best friend first and foremost. “I guess I could but y’know... seems a little like giving up before I’ve even tried which seems cowardly as shit.”