closed for @fatedtragedy
cyrus doesn’t know if this is what killing felt like for his dad. it isn’t like he can ask—any letters he sends his dad go through more than one guard first, screened, vetted, and thrown away if it doesn’t pass the facility’s standards. in cyrus’ memories though, his dad is always collected. calm. he doesn’t remember the same shaky hands that cyrus gets when the adrenaline has faded, the comedown and catharsis hitting all at once.
as much as he usually wants to be alone afterwards, cyrus learned a few things from watching his dad growing up. for one, he needs an alibi, especially when the cops know him from his childhood, when it’s one of his former foster parents who’ll be found missing tonight (and unfortunately, trust me, he deserved it isn’t going to cut it as a defense). he’d been an alibi for his dad before the end, on more than one occasion, but cyrus doesn’t have someone like that. so instead, after cleaning up as best he can—there’s not much he can do about bruised knuckles, but there are dozens of explanations, degrees of violence so much more acceptable than his own—he ducks into one of any number of shitty parties on campus, settles himself in the main room where he can see and be seen by as many people as possible.
going one step further, he needs to make himself memorable here. cyrus isn’t the most sociable, but he goes out of his way to be tonight, finding himself leaned up against the wall with someone else. “so, if you had to place a bet—who’s going to get the most wasted here? my money’s on one of the pre-law guys. anybody that tightly wound is just looking for an excuse to snap.” his own private joke, when he’d be better off describing himself that way. hah, hah.
