[voicemail] Hello, Reese. It’s me.
Listen…There’s a lot I need to say to you, but I really don’t want to do it over voicemail.
You deserve more than that, especially from me.
You don’t have to call me back today or even tomorrow.
But I will be here.
He should have fucking known. When the phone buzzed, he'd ignored it. When it had happened again, he had ignored it. But that time, there had been a final, solo buzz, indicating a damned voicemail.
It took all his willpower not to take Rose to task for giving out his number, much less sending him Casimir's. Then it took all his willpower not to delete the voicemail in a moment of rash anger.
Hearing Casimir's voice, recorded gently through a digital medium, was something he was not prepared for. He had not heard those cadences in decades, yet it felt like Cas was there, in the room beside him, the lilt of the slavic in his voice, the strength of his body so close Reese could reach out and touch him if he wanted to. It was jarring and intimate and overwhelming, all at once.
What was it, that stopped him from picking up the phone and calling back? Seemed like it wanted to be called anger, but fucking felt and tasted like fear. What happens when you come face to face with someone you'd thought you'd have an eternity with, only to have walked away as it shattered in an evening? What do you call that emotion?
Fuck it. In for a penny, in for a pound. Night was wrecked, anyway. He picked up the phone and began to tap out a message:
[text] Takes a lot of brass, dialing this number and thinking I was going to pick up.
[text] Got it from Rose, I assume? Little Bit's nothing but pluck and bravado when she wants to be--gets it from her dad.
[text] The fuck makes you think I even wanted to talk to you?
