when i got older i learned i'm a drinker
Casimir has made a living on being difficult to surprise. He's separated bar fights without a change of expression, chased out chagrined customers, heard dozens of drunken arguments and gossip -- everything just washes over and through the man as he acts decisively and without particular attachment. Thorn's carefully casually admission, though, sends an infinitesimal inhale of surprise through the unflappable bartender's mouth, his chest tightening in something like shock.
It was the closest thing to real he thinks Thorn has ever admitted to him. The hushed voice, the hands busied with lemon, the way his eyes grew just a little bit flatter even through the casual tone; none of this read like shock value or a cheap ploy to get Casimir to admit affection (or admit anything, really). Carefully, Casimir sets the knife down on the table, focusing his full attention on the all-important and captivating task of transferring the cut lemons to their jar.
As Thorn's words slowly sink their full weight into Casimir's attention, he does what he always does best in difficult situations: he stays silent. Piercing eyes gaze through dark lashes and he watches Thorn fidget, rings glittering in the low light like stars emerging through dusk, and Casimir's expression drifts something closer to ponderously empty rather than stoically blank. Why would Thorn tell him of all people? Surely he had dozens of admirers, regulars who would grovel on bended knees to beg him to stay. Did he want Casimir to do the same? He wouldn't.
Maybe, in his knowing, irritating way, Thorn figured he was the closest thing Casimir had to a friend in his life. His scar burns again, and the bartender once again can't help but run his fingers against it.
The silence Casimir builds is his defensive fortress as he thinks, thoughtful and thick, rather than the teasing withholding he so often deploys against Thorn. Finally, after a few long minutes, his voice comes out quiet and husky.
[say]"Running?"[/say] He asks, and it's not quite curiosity in his tone, but not as dagger-gleaming as it usually is. It's perhaps the closest thing to gentle Casimir still has within his ruined self. He crosses his arms, tilts his head, and studies Thorn. [say]"I thought you were stronger than that."[/say]
Casimir
sometimes a drink feels like family
