ohcaspcr-blog

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// HAYES, A.

                           “i hate you so much,” she said, groaning through her hand. “you suck, cas.” she gently batted at him – but she did have to admit, a garage full of pool noodles…actually sounded pretty cool. “i mean…i guess the pool noodles is cool. but i still hate you.”

      alison hayes has to be the only human being on the planet who thinks a collection of aqua noodles is cool. cas leans away from her swatting, just barely, an amused smile pulling at the corners of his mouth. “ so, you want me to forward your email address to him then ? what is it again ?  ‘ horse girl sixty three ’ at g-mail dot com ? you look like you were definitely the horse girl in school.  ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// SANCHEZ, A

“You are such a debbie downer. It is such an amazing movie and book series, I heard they are making a ninth movie. Lemme guess, you hate Harry Potter?”

       “ i don’t hate it, i’ve just had enough of it. i get that people are into the like, moral lessons of the story or whatever, but did we really need to make it into a theme park ? and what are all the triangle tattoos about ? why’re the fans so into pictures of stags ? ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// HAYES, A.

                           “what, i’m just quiet. i don’t talk to a lot of people.” alison has a smile on her face as she speaks, hearing the clear affection in his voice. “maybe my weirdness is endearing to some people.” she rolled her eyes at his words, leaning against her hand as he spoke. “you’re awful, cas.”

       ‘ quiet ’ is one of the qualities cas likes best about alison, because she knows how to love the long silences. “ yeah, and maybe it’ll be endearing to him. that’s what i’m saying. the guy’s got a garage full of water noodles, al. what’s not to love here ? ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// GOMEZ, N. 

“Ugh! That’s disgusting! I saw one where this guy kidnapped a woman and held her hostage in a shack for days. Sealed her in a coffin when he wasn’t around. It was pretty horrifying, but the people playing it out could not act.”

      “ just some random woman ? that’s cold, man. do you think some of the actors get a thrill from it ? i could see some of them releasing a view freaky videos on the side for extra cash. ” 

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// DIAZ, A.

a slight chuckle left ashton at his words, shaking her head softly. “ yeah, don’t worry about me, i could never afford living in new york anyway, i’m stuck here whether i like it or not. but at least the coffee’s cheap. ”

       “ it’s not so bad, ” cas says, in an uncharacteristic addition to carry a conversation with a stranger. “ if you look past all the old people sunbathing with their hairless cats, it’s an alright place. sort of peaceful. you got anywhere else you’d rather to be ? ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// BUCIO, M. 

                   maybe this was enough emotional exhaustion for one day. perhaps their five minutes of interaction should be all that there was. obviously they have made it clear that they want to be back in one another’s lives, and not just in the passive, crossing paths kind of way they were before. it’s time for change. things need to be different now. he’s back home and it’s time to change his life. adjust it just a few degrees until he can start going in a direction that’s better.

the check is given to him and he takes it with a warm thank you. accepting it, he slides in fifteen cash and turns it to the edge of the table. with a pen he keeps in his coat, he scribbles, no change, please on the receipt. he wasn’t working a lot but just because he had little money didn’t mean he’d deprive those working at three in the morning of getting a nice tip. he looks back at casper, the reason for this evening being such a shit show. in the best way possible, though, mars would not hesitate to clarify that. he was unsure whether he’d get this day. he’d never know if casper hated him or not, this settled it right here. things were going to be alright. the world was giving him another chance.

obviously, the world was showing marshall he had to take this chance and run with it. no fear, no questions of whether it would work or not. marshall didn’t sit on his hands and wait for the world to fall at his feet, he got what he wanted. now, what he wanted was casper.   he laughs at the comment and shakes his head, looking back at his hands. soft, pale, begging to be grasped.    “ doesn’t really sound as fun though, does it ? “   even as an adult, he liked the adventure of sneaking to windows with rocks at his fingertips. like a fairy tale. no doubt he was prince charming. question was, what did that make casper?

maybe to just another individual, casper’s words wouldn’t make much sense, but marshall understood. he grabbed his backpack, putting everything back where it belonged, and grabbed a napkin, and his pen once again.   “ just don’t let those night drivers rough you up too bad, ‘kay man? “   he looks up with a smile, the kind that knows. probably things he shouldn’t. scrubbling down numbers and the address of the place he’s residing, he slides it to casper, standing from his spot.   “ i’m glad i ran into you, casper. “

                  once, sometime during their second summer together, the chipped ledge-stone leading up to cas’ guest bedroom had left two parallel scratches along the surface of his knee. he and marshall had been tipsy, probably, or too happy, distracted enough not to notice the small red beads forming over the cuts. he woke up the next day, his thigh resting near mars’ nose, and pressed his fingers into the fresh scrape. it faded within a few days, because that’s what bruises do when you’re fifteen, they heal. it’s not until you get older that they start to outstay their welcome.

                the edge of exhaustion presses down on cas’ eyelids now, making everything slightly dreamlike, and every word a trigger for a memory. marshall laughs and casper feels a sting on his left knee, right on the bend, like a reverse phantom limb. “ it’s not gonna’ happen, mars. ” cas tells him, even as he wonders how close to a lie that might be. marshall bucio was a difficult, beguiling creature in his youth, and it was a small miracle every time he chose casper for one of his adventures. it never took much convincing on mars’ part to get cas to go along with whatever idea he had caught in his head, whether it was wading through questionable algae in search of a river fish marshall had read up on in a book, soaked trousers rolled up to their knees, or asking him to hold still whilst he fiddled with his clunky camera, fixing the shutter, presumably. 

                watching him as he prepares his bag to leave, there’s a splash in the pool of casper’s stomach, a small trout stirring up suspicion. this is a marshall that’s grown out of the boy, and although plenty has changed about him, the ability to urge casper’s legs to get up and follow him blindly, just with a flash of his teeth, doesn’t seem to be on the list. 

               “ yeah, i’ll keep my head down. ‘won’t take anyone up on their offer for a good time if their license plate is missing. ” there’s a smudge of ink on the side of marshall’s index finger, faded like an old headline. it’s more difficult than it should be for casper not to stare at it. he takes the napkin and folds it, looks up at marshall in a way he hasn’t for a long time. i’m glad i ran into you, casper. mars says his name in a way that sounds like it means a lot of things, though casper doesn’t know what any of them are. standing to say goodbye seems too informal, so cas’ curls his fingers into a fist, the skin over his knuckles taut as he brushes them against marshall’s. “ i’ll call you, ” he says, because it’s the truth, and because it’s easier to say than ‘ things have been so shit without you. ’ “ see you round, mars.” 

              as marshall leaves, two boys watch him pass by their booth, their faded ankles crossed over each other. three ghosts are left in the diner, and somehow, the lights don’t go out.

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// GOMEZ, N.

“Why can’t I stop watching these crappy true-crime shows? Every story is the same and the dramatizations are SO bad but…I can’t look away! Someone save me!”

              “ you come across any gnarly ones yet ? i watched one where this guy like, slip and slides over an industrial nail that his fiancé put out. kept going right into the pool, organs and all that shit dragging behind him. fuckin’ wiped out. ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// BUCIO, M.

               marshall understands the hardships of life. he knows that life changes and people do too. he knows that because he changed. the only thing is, mars also knows he tends to be imaginary to those he accepts in his life. because marshall is good, marshall is smart, and kind. he he endless love and he’s an adventurer. he understands that the person he is is fictional. the one he presents to everyone is the best parts of him. they don’t see the bags under his eyes, they don’t read the pages and pages of how much he hates leaving his mother behind. or the fact that he never talks about himself the way he listens to others. how he’s ruined relationships because he’s grown too comfortable and he doesn’t like taking risks when things are going well. he believes casper fits with the rest of them. that he’s on some pedestal to him. he can’t change that. if he tries to explain he’s flawed like the rest of society, he sounds like a prick. he just has to accept that he’s no longer a person to casper, but a passage in a book. 

his body is tired. he wants to sleep. they both have dark circles under their eyes and they look like a sadder version of their previous selves. as if he were to look beside him and see the booth with their teenage bodies eating like beasts. how vibrant they looked. how dulled out they were now. he’d wish for them to never see their futures. to keep living the way they did. maybe mars would tell his younger self to just do it, and not be so fucking afraid. because if there’s one person he’s met in his life who would be worth the risk, he knows it’s casper. and had he taken the risk, and it fallen flat, and least he’d hope that maybe casper would know a good thing when it was in front of him, and not choose someone with blood under their fingers. 

he keeps on truckin’, though. marshall might know the person he is, is barely real, but he’ll be damned if he doesn’t remind himself life is bright, the world has plans for him, and he’s blessed to be on this planet. he’s blessed to being front of casper. even if casper’s words hurt a part of him he no longer thought was there. 

his fingers are cold, and mars’ body is always warm like the sun— a source of heat he’d always use as a reason to sneak closer. when they passed out on those colder summer nights and casper shivered, no hesitation their bodies were glued together. but those fingertips, in this room temperature diner, sent a sharp shiver down his spine as he looked at the ghost,  and the words poured into his soul like sweet wine. like his lips would tint red and he’d get on his knees for him. he’d grasp those hands, kiss the heavens, tell him that the world is difficult but fate deals is mysterious ways and how badly he wanted to share the maple syrup on his tongue with him.    “ casper, “   that name felt fragile and so good to say.    “ difficult is not impossible. “   he wanted to whisper it again and press their foreheads together. to tell him casper was not something to give up on. casper was a person.    instead of that, he smiled. the kind that poured from the sun. unreal. he knew he was unreal. but godamnit even if there was sorrow in those words, he wanted to see casper again, too.  his free hand moved over the one gripping his. delicate. moving gently over the soft, cold skin to prove his point. to say something under the surface he might not have gotten before.   “ i don’t want us to be like this either, okay? i’ll fight for you, casper. i will. “   he leans forward, his words growing more quiet, his smile still shining through the darkness.   “ i didn’t drive across the country just to give up on you five years later. we all have promises to keep. “   with that, he drew back, freeing both his hands.   “ do you want to try this again or would you really like me to leave you be. “   He sat back, eyebrows raised. waiting. “ either way you��ll leave with my number and address. day or night you come to my window. “

             casper wishes it didn’t always have to be a fight with him. his mouth is a war zone, and everyone he cares for somehow ends up caught in the crossfire. it’s exhausting, he thinks, to love someone who has a heart like a defibrillator. heart like go, heart like, no, please, stay. heart like an empty stretch of land, bomb testing desert, heart like being left defenceless somewhere in the middle. loving him is like a cease and desist, leaving like dishonourable discharge. casper imagines that when he’s gone, two military uniforms will knock on the doors of every heart that’s had the misfortune of coming under fire in his care, saying, finally, it’s over.

              unconsciously, casper’s grip relaxes under marshall’s palm, wanting the closeness, the bridge that he’s so bad at making with his words. there’s an unspoken vulnerability in the way mars' hand rests over his, and casper doesn’t want to get this part wrong, but it’s a lot easier to get things right when he speaks by touch, instead of with his mouth. marshall’s skin is warm, always has been, like he’s soaked up too much dry country sun, and he overflows with it now. the angle of casper’s shoulders drop by a few significant degrees, and he squeezes his friend’s hand, savouring the sun-roughened skin. his heart beats steadily; even; considering, teaching itself to track the seconds he has here with marshall and not count them down. 

              too soon, it’s over. mars returns to his side of the booth, back into the light, and cas’ hand sits on the table, exposed, until he shelters it in the padded space of his pockets. somehow, it feels colder than before. “ i haven’t done that in a long time, ” he says, in reference to days of climbing into windows and evenings spent teetering on the edge of something more on windowsills. “ ‘don’t suppose you’ve got a door or something at yours, instead ? ” the curve of his mouth feels strange for this hour. or maybe it’s not the time of night, maybe it’s just the long periods of time he spends without one. casper’s smile belongs to him, but it has a funny way of looking like it doesn’t.

              casper will be here until the diner’s morning staff rotate in, consuming coffee to stave sleep off because he knows a match-stick mouth will be waiting for him if he sleeps. it’s better to pass out than doze off, it leaves his dreams empty. casper doesn’t say this to marshall. instead, “ you know all the fucked up night drivers start comin’ in after four, so, uh, i don’t know if you want to be here for that. ” it’s an indefinite answer at best, ill-defined and left open to mars’ interpretation.  “ but yeah, give me your new number, and we’ll do--- ” pause, blank. “ ----- something. ” brilliant, casper.

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// BUCIO, M.

           he remembers wilson. sure, it was over five years ago since he went and he wasn’t there for very long, but he went. and there was a part of casper he then understood. another level of melancholy. he had coffee with his mother for an afternoon. it wasn’t like they were close but marshall had just been off the tail of fighting with his dad and looking for one of his best friends and his mother was what he got. marshall was vulnerable, and wanted someone to talk to. in all reality, she probably heard the words he wasn’t saying. his most prominent memory was the hug he got when leaving her home. one his mom gave him after he’d be locked in his room for days. it was lingering, and tender. she told him that casper would be back someday, and he knew she meant nothing of those words but the way she said it gave him hope for something else. so he left. 

he left and he drove. miles and miles until his eyes couldn’t stay open anymore. he has photos from wilson he’d imagined to give to casper at some point. he’s mailed a few to his mother but he’s not sure what ms. sable has done with them. it doesn’t really matter, he did his part.

but now caspers in front of him, and he didn’t even have to drive across the country to find him. they were simply in font of one another once again. he remembered wilson. he hears those words bounce in his head. does he understand that he wasn’t in wilson for the scenery?  suddenly those words fall flat and marshall sits back. a chord struck him and he’s reminded that casper was never his, nor could he probably ever see himself as marshall’s. he didn’t travel to wilson because he was curious of the hometown his friend had. not because it was small and quaint and one of those obscure towns he could say he’s been to. it was because of a promise he made when he was thirteen. it was because he was shattered and heartbroken and he’d left his family and the only person he knew would understand was hundreds of miles away and he was going to go to him.

marshall didn’t reply. he saw casper’s eyes shift and he held his gaze. his eyebrows pulled together and he watches how far he feels. they weren’t best friends anymore. he’s trying not to get angry and he wants to throw the photos in his face. of wilson. of him. the stupid poems written half delious on nights when he hadn’t thought of him for weeks. there wasn’t you, he wanted to scream. there’s not a lot there because casper wasn’t there. he finally looked away and flagged down the waitress,   “ check please, “   he gave her a smile and pushed away his plate, looking back at casper.   “ you said you weren’t going to stay long so i wont keep you. “   it had only been a few minutes but marshall wanted to go back to his place now. for once, he wanted to just go to sleep.

           in the dim light of the room, the shallow dips in casper’s face look hollow, like a hole, like if he were to tilt his chin a up, marshall would see right through the backs of his teeth. he’s more bruises than skin these days, more ghost than boy. in another booth on the other side of this diner - always near a window, wherever the sun will hit - a version of casper is eating half his body weight in chocolate brownies with his friend marshal, stealing a spoon of whipped cream from his side of the plate while he’s distracted by the condensation slipping down the side of his ice tea. mars flips him off, and this casper laughs, loud, around a mouthful of cream. this version hasn’t existed for a while, but casper understands that reunions with him are more like funeral rsvp’s for the people he sees, they’ll always be left with that after-bite of disappointment.

           knowing he’s not what mars wants is a low, overfamiliar ache. without needing to do anything much other than exist, casper has a natural talent of letting people down. his friends miss the ‘ OLD ’ cas, the one he approximates. casper doesn’t know which qualities of his older versions he still has left, or if anyone realises that leaving those parts behind had been an act of survival, that he had to take all the hurt he marinated inside himself out with his bare hands, to keep it from expanding, until there was nothing left of him. he took the scorched earth approach; tear it all to nothing; try again. 

           because the truth is this: when his mother talks about the car that broke down five days after he got his license, the slashed tires are a metaphor. when his father wept over cas’ bad maths, it was the prescription of two a day that he multiplied by eight one hour, and then twelve the next. casper’s life isn’t defined by these admissions, but fuck, his swollen heart still fighting it’s own tide is a factor. he isn’t the same person anymore; he can’t afford to be.

          “ wait, mars— ” casper’s palm falls flat over marshall’s wrist, his fingers curling to touch the center. “ i’m sorry, i know i’m— ” ruining this, making it harder for you, “ i know i’m difficult to deal with. ” these aren’t necessarily casper’s own words, but he’s heard them enough to parrot them back. a long-term side effect of other people’s constant disappointment is the apologies.  “ i don’t know how to talk to you anymore but, fuck i want to, alright ? i don’t want us to be like this. ” whatever this was; the undefined, ambiguous shape they’d somehow moulded themselves into. “ can i see you again ? ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// DALGAARD, D. 

“I can’t even begin to tell you how many students got angry with me because they received low grades on their recent test.” Harsh words from students was something that Daniel had gotten used to, granted he was a harsh kind of teacher but he would always give kids the kind of grade he thought they deserved. “If the younger generation actually took the time to study, they would be receiving solid a’s, not d’s and f’s.” He rolled his eyes and huffed, taking a sip out of his coffee cup that was freshly filled to the brim with black coffee. “God forbid they take five minutes to go over their study guide at night, or in, you know, a study hall.”

          morris was, for the most part, made up of entirely anonymous faces. there were a few cas should recognise, names he should know, but none that had held up particularly well against six years away from the sleepy town. so, it was the universe, then, and a twisted version of a joke, that was responsible for casper’s dog barreling into the legs of one of the limited people he did know. thirty four kilograms of golden fur and bones, all colliding into daniel dalgaard whilst he was mid conversation. well, fuck. “ shit, ” shit, shit, shit, “ sorry about---- fuck, man, you alright ? ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// DIAZ, A.

ashton’s eyebrows furrowed a bit at the other’s reaction, unsure of how to take it at first. she was relieved that he agreed to pay for her coffee, but she kept her eyes on him, until she realized what amazed him that much. “ uh - yeah, it’s nothing new, i think ? honestly i wouldn’t pay more than two dollars. ”

        cas glanced from the barista to the girl as she spoke, a crease forming between his eyebrows, like she was written in latin. “ don’t move to new york, ” he said simply, his attention returning to the coffee grounder as it worked. “ only thing you can get for two dollars there is a cup to piss in. ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// HAYES, A.

                           alison snorts, laughing a little at his expression. at his questions, she hums in mock thought, raising her eyebrows. “well, you’re still here, so i guess i’m lucky enough to have at least one friend.” she says. “also, you love me and my nerd brain deep down inside your cold frozen heart.”

            “ if i’m your only friend, that’s really bleak. ” cas’ words do very little to distract from the startling amount of affection he says them with, “ look, we’re gonna’ do something about this. i can introduce you to a few people. do you reckon’ you’ll come off less fucking weird online ? i’ve got a guy’s email. he used to collect inflatable toys, you know, like, for swimming pools. i’ll bet you’ve got a shit load in common. ” 

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// BUCIO, M. 

              what if they had been friends in new york? then what? he imagines things would have crashed and burned right before him. exactly the reason why he didn’t do skinny love. exactly the reason why he doesn’t sit on his feelings for too long. there weren’t many cases of love in a platonic relationship ending well. there would have been drunken nights of marshall getting too close to casper, and he’s had dreams about sitting too close to him with lips brushing against ears, talking low, fingertips playing with hems of shirts. but those were just dreams and reality was proving that the things he felt in side were of no use to him— to them. they were just there, and they caused more harm than good.

              especially right now, sitting in front of his old friend, wondering how he’s really been. how did new york treat him? he wanted to cry and yell and apologize and confess that he’d be damned if he couldn’t do it better than any of the hands that have touched him.  most of all, he wanted to say how much he missed his friend. how many things he wanted to share about his journeys in life and to laugh about things from the past. there wasn’t much left from back then he liked to talk about— most of all the good stuff came from casper. 

his fork traces patterns in the pools of syrup, creating thick paths that would soon return back to their even state. he thought about the question asked. where did he go? the better question was where didn’t he go? he wasn’t sure if casper understood what he meant about the border; a more melancholy situation than a longing one. a beast his mother’s family fought and he knew casper couldn’t fully grasp it, but it was there and he saw it, and it was slightly haunting.   he cleared his throat, adjusting in his spot. a hand reached to grab his journal and slide it beside him on the booth, removing it from question altogether. where had he gone?   “ i went to texas. not for long; just to eat a big steak and stop in san antonio. it’s beautiful there. absolutely stunning. like a tiny italy. “   he has many pictures. maybe casper can see them one day.   “ i went wherever my car could take me. i spent a lot of time in new mexico, and arizona, and nevada. i know it’s kind of the opposite of trees, but there was something beautiful in the desert too, that i loved just as much. “   he smiled, his hands folded in his lap, slightly uncomfortable.   “ but i went everywhere, casper. “   he cleared his throat, looking his dead in the eyes. something he’s wanted to say for years.   

               “ i went to wilson. “    there it was. finally. there was marshall’s i love you, laid plain and simple on the table. he kept his promise to casper, after all those years. 

             marshal is all warm soil and ivory teeth. when he speaks, the room wants to swallow the sound. listening to him, casper feels a twinge under the roof of his ribs, it’s brief but sharp near his heart. it takes a moment to self-diagnose the ache, but ultimately he remembers the feeling; it’s half watered-down envy, half poorly directed self-loathing. mars’ mouth pulls words from the silence, can make a birds’ nest of someone’s heart. cas’ is full of cemeteries, his tongue neatly lined with tombstones, each marked with WHAT DID YOU EXPECT, COMING HERE. their differences never used to divide them, but now there’s a curtain between them that only casper can see.

              his head dips a fraction, leaning closer; somewhere past the debris, thrushes sing, and casper is in nevada, or some other desert, with marshall. his beat up car is parked right on the edge of a small town, but it might as well be the edge of the world, back country nothing stretching out into a day that never exists. cirrus clouds scatter and stumble over themselves, borne blue from smoke. there’s so much possibility that the sky burns with it. of course there’s something beautiful here; when everything on the horizon is golden, even the word barren can mean becoming, slowly. casper smiles, soft as a wing, soft as the napkin he’s folded in his hands. happiness has never come easily to him. it comes by like a flying saucer, here one moment, gone the next, often left to debate whether it was really there at all. but he feels it now, furiously, in every way that counts-- he feels it for mars, his friend, and like that, cas is a believer.

             he wants to stay a little longer in this half awake moment, take down the curtain completely, and ask mars about every other city that has come undone in his memory, hazy and worn. marshall looks at him, straight on, and this is just like casper, he only ever see’s the SLOW DOWN sign seconds before his heart runs itself off the road. marshall went to wilson. casper’s hands go still, not knowing how to process this new and strange information. for a prolonged second, the world forgets to turn. marshall looks at him, and casper looks back; here, some things are too important to say out loud. here, the world is no teeth, just eyes. here feels like a starting point for something else, but there, there, an old feeling crawls up the back of casper’s spine. 

            wilson is like a bruise he's learnt not to touch, the pain comes, as far as he’s concerned, when you remember the action that caused it. casper wasn’t in wilson. he doesn’t like to poke at the reason why. “ there’s not a lot there, is there ? ” he looks away, over the right of mars’ shoulder. here, the sky isn’t burning; everything just remains dark. 

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// BUCIO, M.

           marshall bucio was a man of many friends.  he was likeable and enjoyed being around people. something he understood was different about his and casper. so when he left, there were many losses he had to get over, but that didn’t mean that traveling to the grand canyons and the great forests and the largest ball of twine in the world, he wanted to share it all with him. he did still have a picture of him with that twine he’d dreamed of sharing with casper one day. something the stumbled upon on their internet searches together when they were thirteen. it was a joke for years. 

but that picture sits in his jounral in his hands right now and there’s casper right in front of him, moving to fill in that empty space in the booth. he’snot moving an inch to show him the picture. would he even remember? he imagines not. he thinks memories of himself have no been covered by calloused hands and sweet whispers by someone who didn’t mean it. memories of marshall’s fingers, with dirt firmly packed under his nails, moving over those of a softer variety, over the neck of a guitar. his memories of coasting the web for hours have probably long since been forgotten and replaced by things more important. marshall was never as important as other people in his life. because people don’t love like marshall loves.

every fragment, every touch, every word tossed in the air in dark coated skies. the eyes of a photographer remembering the rain trickling over pale skin and thinking if he looked this beautiful when he cried. how his stomach churned the summer he told casper he had a girlfriend. every memory was staked right next to the other and at late hours on the road, he thought of those; over, and over, and over again.    “ then don’t. don’t need to stay because of me. “   it strikes something in his chest and he curls in himself. his glowing eyes dull just a little and that initial happiness to see casper was fading, so he closed the journal where scattered, half insane words were scribbled about the young man in front of him. where he couldn’t see sketches of his lips and the cigarette smoke that used to come from there. he just stared at his pancakes until he remembered you’re supposed to EAT THEM.

why hadn’t he ended up in some foreign land where nothing was around except for trees. why had he gone to new york? why did he come back home? the latter really baffled him. but he got in his car one day with his dog and they came back. he’d been staying in some half beat down apartment that had peeling wallpaper and he’d been taking pictures for random people until he could properly figure out what to do with himself. but he was happy casper asked. like he cared.   “ i’ve got coffee, thank you. “   it’s his fifth cup, but he keeps that to himself.  he even takes a sip of it before answering.   “ i don’t have the slightest clue as to why i’m back. i think sometimes we just need to come back to our roots, you know? “   he grabs his fork and takes a bite off the drenched flapjack.    “ i never went south of the border. i just stared at it… for a really long time. “   he says quietly, his eyes being kept down from the memory. it wasn’t a happy one, but it was one he felt he needed to have. 

          casper’s tongue is well trained in sitting still and in silence, it’s his hands that can’t keep a secret. when he was fifteen, they spent a whole summer open wide and fascinated by mars. on hot, lazy days they found any excuse to be nearer to his skin; the back of cas’ hand would find ways to brush against mars’ in the long grass, his palms would push against his shoulders under the guise to climb higher, sun-lotion would spill through the gaps in his fingers as he smoothed the last of it into mars’ back when they’d go to the lakes. casper’s hands went tender for people like mars, following the line of his spine like it was drawn in chalk. 

         seven years later, they still want to reach across and touch the ridge of mars’ cheekbone and the delicate skin under his right eye. there’s a push and pull that casper can’t get out of, throwing his heart around like it’s not already a damaged thing, and marshall is talking over the sound of casper’s heartbeat as it climbs through the attic of his throat. he curls and uncurls his hand into a fist, trying to unsettle the stiffness that has settled in the joints of his fingers from the cold, and to prevent them from giving him away. the movement feels disjointed, it looks uncomfortable even to him. it feels like he’s pulling on the muscles of someone else. another body. this one doesn’t feel as though it belongs to him anymore.

         casper isn’t sure if mars’ question is rhetorical or not, only knows that his eyes can’t decide where they should be. they flicker over the arch of his brow and the mole on his jaw, briefly pausing on a mouth he’d once edged closer to in a dream, pining, with the windows open. an inane part of casper wants to apologise for the coldness of his hands, as if they’d already reached out and touched him without his permission. instead, he hums at marz’ theory, remembering now how everything seems to have a more obvious answer to him. nothing is ever as dire for marshall; his turns aren’t as break-neck, his laughter is always closer to the front of his mouth. 

         mars’ heart is too big for his body, and when his gaze falls, casper wants to say ‘ you have so many miracles ahead of you, can’t you see it ? ’ he’s careful not to knock the salt and pepper shakers as he reaches for the napkins on the table, something for his hands to hold, and says “ good thing the border’s not going anywhere, then. ” marshall is twenty-four, not eighty-six; south america is still waiting for him, along with a large-fucking-percentage of the world. “ so, where did you go ? before, uh, you know. ” new york.  “ california ? missouri ? if you say texas, i’m walking outta’ here. ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// HAYES, A.

                            as the other corrects her, she frowns, looking back down at her watch, and then meets his eyes, understanding. she snorts, shaking her head as the other speaks. “huh, i guess you’re right.” she said, leaning back in her chair. “also, as much as i appreciate the analogy, i kind of wish i was a flower. mm, photosynthesis.” she could bunk off early.

        cas makes an indefinite sound in his throat; no one should say mm to photosynthesis. still, he draws an arm across the back of alison’s chair, his expression caught somewhere between put off and fond. “ how do you have any friends when you say shit like that ? like, how many contacts have you got in your phone ? is it a lot ? who talks to you ? ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// DONOVAN, S.

Sofia smirked a bit and grabs two shot glasses, placing them in front of him. Reaching over behind her, she grabs the menu and held it out to him. “Shots in the middle of the day, never thought i’d live to see the day of someone doing that.” she joked. 

       cas flashes her a row of teeth; it’s a smile he’s learned from over exposure, and it’s one that shouldn’t be tossed around so carelessly. “ someone’s got to make the day shift interesting for you. ” he’s never heard of some of the names on this menu, but ‘ passed out naked on the bathroom floor ’ sounds promising. “ any recommendations ? ”

[ohcaspcr-blog]

// HAYES, A.

                           “kinda looks like you didn’t sleep so well for a week, but i get it.” she stretches out a little, and checks her watch at his question. “half an hour or so. wanna get overpriced coffee somewhere again?”

        cas wishes he got it, that the hours he hasn’t slept could be understood so casually. his eyes flick over the face of alison’s watch, and he shakes his head. “ nah, you’re reading that wrong. ” she isn’t, but bunking off half an hour ( or so ) early won’t damage her reputation. “ let’s go now, you need to be exposed to some direct sunlight. the staff are doing a shit job of watering you here. ”