ohcaspcr:
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.
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. “