i fell in love with a war
Casimir is not shifted into a wine spider hiding out behind dusty bottles in a cellar, but he might as well be, in his little hidden corner of a room. He hopes Thorn isn’t looking for him, isn’t hoping to apologize or plumb the hidden depths of his soul and ask more well-intentioned stabbing questions.
He hears a thump at the door and lurches to his feet, still and silent, trying to give the impression that this small, hidden,
former-storeroom is just as small and hidden and abandoned as ever. He can’t imagine Thorn figured out his little abode and can’t imagine anyone knew him well enough to tell him, so he stands and breathes heavily, willing whatever person or thing that crashed against the door to disappear.
A few minutes into his frozen panic, he sinks back down onto his bed, the bed frame creaking slightly under him. He has to flee the House of Midnight, right? There’s no other option. He’ll run to Halo, survive the bitter frost and cold and find another bar to tend. There was no way he could avoid Thorn in this place, and he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing those seafoam eyes hide that guilt and concern behind them. Maybe this would finally be enough to send the man running from Casimir, though. Maybe it was for the best.
He groans as he buries his face in his hands again. Thorn, if anything, would take this either as a challenge to push through, or a fault of his, and Casimir wants neither. That decides it; he’d run. The next day he’d have a new life, new identity, in a new place.
It would be nice to see Thorn again, though, even from his stone-faced silent post behind the bar. Even if he had to weather his guilt and his anger and that puppy-dog look on his face.
…Maybe he’d leave the day after tomorrow.
He hears a thump at the door and lurches to his feet, still and silent, trying to give the impression that this small, hidden,
former-storeroom is just as small and hidden and abandoned as ever. He can’t imagine Thorn figured out his little abode and can’t imagine anyone knew him well enough to tell him, so he stands and breathes heavily, willing whatever person or thing that crashed against the door to disappear.
A few minutes into his frozen panic, he sinks back down onto his bed, the bed frame creaking slightly under him. He has to flee the House of Midnight, right? There’s no other option. He’ll run to Halo, survive the bitter frost and cold and find another bar to tend. There was no way he could avoid Thorn in this place, and he couldn’t bear the thought of seeing those seafoam eyes hide that guilt and concern behind them. Maybe this would finally be enough to send the man running from Casimir, though. Maybe it was for the best.
He groans as he buries his face in his hands again. Thorn, if anything, would take this either as a challenge to push through, or a fault of his, and Casimir wants neither. That decides it; he’d run. The next day he’d have a new life, new identity, in a new place.
It would be nice to see Thorn again, though, even from his stone-faced silent post behind the bar. Even if he had to weather his guilt and his anger and that puppy-dog look on his face.
…Maybe he’d leave the day after tomorrow.
Casimir
and nobody told me it ended
