crcasey-blog

[crcasey-blog]

crblcke:

(‘ a snort at the characteristic response. perhaps to some degree, he’s expected it. a beat of delay: maybe he should’ve listened to the smaller voice that’s always been on alert whenever his mind conjures a bad idea. and this always seems like a bad idea. ) one is not a party. (‘ it’s a strange kind of soft collision, of parallels––solitary as a constant, embraced by both but in vastly different ways sometimes. what’s even stranger is the comfort her company brings despite. ) though i suppose it could be, in this case––partying with your beloved stack of books.

(‘ stance composed, he doesn’t catch the look on her face until several moments later. by then, he seems unfazed; by now, he should be. ) am i glad you asked. (‘ turns towards her, leaning idly against brick wall, object still in his hold––now alternating between palms in a light juggle. ) old firewhiskey or beer. i could settle for butterbeer i suppose, but i do recall that you’ve kept a better stash than just that. 

( / their momentum is stagnant, rooted firmly into place, shaped by none other but the years at hand ) ( / tolerance is felt in the same intensities she holds her contempt ) ( / and with blake’s tendencies to press on where he shouldn’t, it’s no surprise he’d decided to be here and here now. of. course. ) beloved? ( / she eyes the shelf, each title arranged with no real sense of methodology ) …you mean my textbooks. ( / disbelief colors her voice. love is most certainly the last thing on her mind when it comes to them. ) what do you take me for? ( / and to address his request: ) and what gives you the idea that i’d be so willing to share anything with you?

[crcasey-blog]

crxkai:

He’s at the tail end, book propped open in one hand at eye level so he can attempt to walk and read at the same time. this is his proven best (best meaning, least amount of accidents) method for it so far after countless accounts of stumbling, tripping, and running into other students or an unmoving wall. Sure enough, he ends up bumping into someone - though this time it’s definitely not his fault - and is about to bend down to pick up the book he’s dropped from the collision. Instead, his ears perk up at the familiar voice.

“Cas?”

It’s not like it should be a surprise to see her since she’d mentioned her come back in the last letter (his response consisting of a series of smiley faces and flower buds in coconut green ink), but finally seeing her again in the flesh at school - still a surprise, a really pleasant one. Which doesn’t seem to be a mutual feeling.

By the end of Summer, Kai had become more or less accustomed to seeing the bright shade of his hair that he didn’t give it a second thought, he’d vaguely mentioned it in a letter before without much detail. His hand reaches up to comb through his hair, self-conscious about the state of it suddenly. He’d never been in the habit of brushing his hair each morning, but he did usually sort of pat it down with his hands.

“What’s what?”

The realization comes belatedly: her reaction having been just a little too blunt, too bold. So she reels back, square one falling into sight. "Hey," she begins again, expression softening. "It's been a while." A while being a sheer understatement—Casey makes a conscious habit not to make many of those. 

Her eyes rove back up. "Your hair. I know you said it got lighter but I didn't think it'd be." Like that. Her hands itch with the need to fix. If not the whole thing, then maybe at the very least those roots. Instead, she reaches out, giving his fringe a playful tousle. "So blond." 

It take a second glance to find that it's merely one of several changes that she hadn't caught the first time—features defined, shadow hovering over by a few more inches. Only a few days earlier it'd been summer, the degrees of separation barely there (she’d been back in London by its end) but in retrospect, Casey's beginning to think she's missed more than she had anticipated. 

"And you got taller too." She huffs in mock displeasure, crossing her arms. The last time she'd seen a growth spurt herself was in year three. "Well that's unfair."

[crcasey-blog]

crblcke:

         (’ he can’t seem to gauge the time anymore. sparks of fireworks are kept within earshot regardless of location; one would think this part of the castle could be marginally less chaotic. wrong. there are no exceptions for parties apparently, especially ones hosted out of term. )

        (’ one riddle, two tries, an unintentional habit. somehow making it past the threshold still invokes some sense of achievement and a strange thrill. stripped of colours, they’re no different from one another. except it’s never that simple; not with him anyway. the place is littered with bright shades, laughter filling the air once in a while. he finds her easily enough: cooped up in her room as expected, though the fact that she’s returned this early is enough of a wonder in itself. the grin gives him away––some sort of triumph from having found her. )

        well, aren’t you the life of a party. (’ brazenly makes his way to her side of the room, pausing only to pick up something from a nearby shelf. ) didn’t think you’d be back this early.

( / patience is a virtue envied, revered, and frankly speaking, something she just doesn’t have. the limit is set to an hour—sixty minutes, a mere fraction of the time allocated to the holiday festivities outside. the cold ends up driving her back indoors after a pained thirty. )

( / as some gathering in the commons carries on in the back, casey gathers herself. she’s got half a mind to join them, but the key word is later. for now: the perch on the bed, legs tucked beneath her, sitting easy. ) ( / only peace turns out to be temporary at best, the intrusion made worse when he makes his identity known on the spot. christ. ) it’s a party of one. ( / she follows his movements with a kind of scrutiny that is beyond her years—a look that perhaps is more fitting on an unrelenting figure of authority than an exasperated twenty-something. ) what do you want? ( / her frown deepens. ) and put that down.

[crcasey-blog]

[crcasey-blog]

@crxkai

Distance is said to make the heart grow fonder, and distance in this case is a whole year, a whole five thousand miles between here and the lush, dense green of the Amazon. Crisp, red autumn is a welcome change from the warmer weather she’d come to know, as is the sight of Hogwarts castle, perched upon those tall, steep cliffs.

Entering in strides, Casey weaves through the hall with a kind of expertise that can only come with having done this before, all the while on the lookout for a certain someone. Keeping in touch had warranted a steady exchange of letters, the once-in-a-while package, but when it’s a friend on the other end, one whom she’d been practically inseparable from since first year, it had never quite felt like it’d been enough. 

To her luck, a group of Slytherins just happens to walk past and she slides into step with the rest of the crowd, eyes up front for a familiar profile, steps lethargic. It’s in a moment of distraction, Casey doesn’t notice that close is too close, her shoulder bumping sharp against an unsuspecting student. Oh. 

She’s quick to turn, about slip a curt “sorry” until something tells her to pause. She looks up, realization locking into instant recognition. “Kai?“ 

And then she spots the top of his head. His hair. That bleached atrocity for hair. 

"What…” What the fuck. “What is that?” 

[crcasey-blog]

Wednesday morning brings a fresh layer of snow over thin bare branches, a return to weekly routines and a letter.

It's only out of habit when she looks up as winged shadow flies over the expanse of the table; the expectation for something—anything—to arrive is minimal, not anything more than the Daily Prophet to thumb through over breakfast. That is, until said shadow drops a rolled slip right next to her plate.

She doesn't spare it so much as another glance; the spidery scrawl of her name, the silk lilac ribbon with a silver trim—it's these details that have her deem it as far from urgent, far from necessary to open and see what's inside. With one hand curled around a hot mug, she's quick to return to the paper as she was to pull away from it, skimming over the block-arrangement of headlines. A Quidditch match in Wales. An economic crisis in the Balkan states. Weather in Morocco.

Morrocco, that's where he'd been last. Or so that's what he'd told. Over letters, over the few that she's had the heart to open; half legible, all streaked and blotted, as though it'd been pushed till the last minute, written for it to arrive just barely in time. This one's earlier for once—an improvement to be lauded, surely. But Casey finds nothing more but that familiar sense of contempt seeping deep into her bones, the very sight of the parchment an insult all on its own. A pattern she's come to figure out—a commitment to muscle memory above all else, every line penned down nearly identical from the last, and the one before the last. An effort of pure, undetermined obligation that reads (always, always, always reads) something like:

Saehee,

It's beautiful here in ________. You'd love it, I just know it. Work's been keeping me busy, but not so busy that I can't wish you a ________. You've grown up so much, and so fast! Feels like only yesterday since you were ________!

Study hard and take care.

Appa

Close the gap, fill in the blanks, read the spaces between those tiny, tiny lines: 

(“It’s only because I have to.”) 

“Are you done with that?" 

It'd be so easy to say it like it is. I'm done. I've been done. This is something that belongs somewhere deep in the ground and not here, not rooted this deep, and most certainly not within her reach.

She pushes over the paper to the girl who’d asked. Pauses, considers offering the letter along with it, a bonus, free of charge. "Be my guest."

Wednesday morning brings an hour to kill before the first rung of classes, age-old realizations and the start of the third day of the month.

Happy birthday, Casey Yoon. Happy fucking birthday.

[crcasey-blog]

“I hate winter.”

(x)

His words do little to faze her, prompting a look that resembles something of pure, unfettered annoyance they’re both all too familiar to. 

There’s a silver lining here, however: it’s not a glare. Not a full one, anyway—the blunt of the arrow makes it halfway before it slows down, shifts for exasperation. Did I ask, Kang? isn’t any better, any more civil than instinctively thinking to the wand tucked in one of her sleeves; a more permanent solution for the insufferable likes of him, she’s sure. 

Instead, Casey stays mum, blinking against the blistering chill. They’re under one of the open arches on either side, backs to the same marble columns, marked in the same shadows, bruise-black. It takes a single vantage to point towards the bare-bones narrative in place: two parallel lines shooting straight through the dark, like two fine slits. The distance in between is held as how one would a knife; controlled, and with immeasurable intent. 

It’s how it has, is and always been, and how it should be. The act of meeting in the middle, compromise requires a state of position that neither would ever be willing to make: face-to-face, hands held out to make amends. 

(Ever had to make deals with the devil? Ever had to make them while looking the other way?) 

Take on take on take. Eye for eye, spite for spite, word for word. Equal and opposite ends of the same, solid ambitions, and the denial that it is anything but. 

Symmetry has never looked this terrifying, this profound. 

“What, is keeping warm a faux pas for assholes?” Her tone is flat, borders on condescending.  

A thought suddenly comes to her: What’s a snake without its venom? What’s a bird of prey without its claws?

She nods in some vague direction to the front. “They’re selling scarves over there, so go get one.” She tugs on the muffler wrapped around her, pulls it closer to her neck. “And stop complaining.” 

What she doesn’t say: You don’t like winter, either? 

That makes the two of us. 

[crcasey-blog]

holiday sentence starters

“That’s the dumbest looking snowman I’ve ever seen.” “It’s SO COLD!” “Here, take my jacket.” “This weather is depressing.” “I’m not sure we’re going to be able to go anywhere today.” “Would you like to build a snowman?” “Whatever happened to global warming?” “It’s a winter wonderland!” “I love the long nights.” “I hate winter.” “You need a pair of sunglasses today.” “Do we have any eggnog?” “Let’s exchange presents!” “Looks like a night for alcohol.” “Are you drunk?” “I need some soup.” “I made you some hot chocolate.” “Layers of blankets are needed here.” “I’m not getting out of bed today.” “Look at all the snow!” “What’s the temperature outside?” “Tea is what’s needed here.” “The holidays are overrated.” “Light the candles!” “Is all this really necessary?” “You’re drunk already, obviously.” “I’m not going to the party. I’d rather stay home and sleep.” “Hey, 2017 didn’t kill me. I call that an accomplishment.” “I don’t care about the new year. I’m going to bed.” “That’s a little too much glitter.” “Here’s hoping the new year is better than the last.” “New year, new me.” “The stars are prettier than the fireworks.” “Just you, me, and a couple of silly hats. What do you say?” “I just want to go to bed early tonight. Does that make me old?” “Does anyone know the words to Auld Lang Syne?” “This was a shitty year. 2018 will be a shitty year. This is nothing new to me.” “You didn’t bring date to the party, did you? Because I need someone to kiss at midnight.”