sam and knox are doing the opposite of moving out together. no, in fact they're building yet another cage around them, this time trapping summer inside with them. one big fucking happy family. 

he's upside down on the couch, bass on the stereos real low. music loud enough his whole body is pounding and his head is aching, but it's the only thing strong enough to shoo away the loneliness. because sam is gone again. and summer is gone again. 

and going outside means going to moro's means going on a binger means being anywhere but here and means

not being here when sam gets home. and it kills him 'cause it kills sam, but he doesn't know what else to do. 

hypatia is reluctantly out of her ball, one of knox's sweatshirts over her body with the drawstring hoodie closed tight. every once in a while she psychically knocks the volume down, but all he does is turn it right back up and yell at her.

when she does it a few times in succession, he finally scrambles up. blood rushes back down his body and he totters for a second while he adjusts to being right side up. but when he goes to turn the nob again, it doesn't budge. 

"hypatia! let go!" but instead the gardevoir rips open the front door's lock from the other room and tugs it open. 

knox stands, pauses, and goes to the door. he recognizes casey instantly - he's seen enough pictures of him and summer sucking face on her insta to not recognize him.

"red's not here," he says with a raised brow. 

Casey Fincher

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okay. did i take something and forget? he thinks of slapping himself. you'd think pinching would be the go-to, but he doesn't feel like that'd be enough. because uh, buddy? shock colors his face, confusion swimming as his physique takes on the human embodiment of ???

"what...the fuck..." he takes the rings because his body reacts to something being offered to him. but then he just holds them out in the palm of his hand, looking from casey, down to them. 

bud? buddy???

"did you stop by spencer's on your way here or some shit? or is this your weird way of coming out the closet and telling me you want a go at the other side of prescott paradise? either way, you're shit outta luck, bud, 'cause i'm a taken man and black isn't my color."

Casey Fincher

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pants? knox can barely remember the day before, let alone six months ago. he'd still been on mt. pyre then, right? was it close to his binger with summer? no idea. but more pressing is the fact that casey's hand is gone so now he really can't get rid of the still-warm rings that are now in his hand. and he's absolutely not putting them on his own fingers. 

so he pockets them, feeling weird about the whole thing. what if sam finds them when he's doing the laundry? also, wait, why is he letting sam do the laundry? for fuck's sake, they can afford a maid again.

he puts it on his mental list of things to do (and instantly forgets when casey stoops over him).

"ohhhh, i see," knox says. he straightens, eyes glittering, boyish smile curling on his lips. not much more needs to be said than drop acid to turn his mood around.

"you think you're serious 'bout red. this is a peace offering." he laughs, reaches forward and slams a palm against casey's back to coax him inside. "and as long as you're insisting, fuck yeah."

Casey Fincher

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much to captain's dismay, casey puts his raichou back in its ball. the pikachu, who'd been observing all the way from the kitchen counter, droops her ears and scampers off, leaving the two boys to their own devices. knox, meanwhile, follows casey like a dog waiting for its treat. 

casey's warning brings up a slightly less than pleasant memory, but knox only snorts and grins impishly. two tabs of whatever the fuck they're dropping, he can handle. if anything's killing off his brain cells, it's the white powder captain's been put in charge of hiding.

he takes the tabs with his pinkie and places them delicately on his tongue, then stretches out on the ground on the other side of the coffee table. 

hypatia, he thinks while the paper starts to dissolve, can we have the music back pretty pleaseeeee?

silence for a moment and then the stereo snicks back on. at a respectable volume. 

"she know you're pullin' this stunt?" he says after a while, when the tab's gone. gotta fill the silence with something while they wait. 

Casey Fincher

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it's a metal tang. not like iron - that choking smell that accompanies the taste of blood. it still keeps him up at night when sam's conked out beside him. he's become the insomniac now, watching that video on loop and flinging himself back into that red room. 

he snorts. it's not like summer to not figure shit like this out. and 'sides, he knows damn well when they'll be home 'cause sam's a punctual little shit and he'll be damned if he lets knox worry about when he's coming home. (insert something about non-communicative trauma knox put him through here...)

he turns his head to the side. that muscle stiffness? no, that's just from laying on the floor. so he rolls back up and shrugs his shoulders. "some pop crap. i like dumb shit." (it's closer by the chainsmokers, knox.)

"what, you wanna change it? i can also toss some trippy youtube vids on the big screen room when it hits."

Casey Fincher

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demos. yikes. knox will share some tabs with him, but he's sure as fuck not going to politely sit through summer's boytoy's newest hit single on soundcloud. 'course, he has the sense (at least for the moment) not to betray his thoughts. see, summer? he can be civil. 

he rolls up 'cause he can't sit still, goes digging around in the closet nearest them. after he left, it became pretty apparent that merrick had ordered most of his shit get tossed out. but still, there are a few hiding places filled with oddities knox likes to use when he's high. 

the coloring books are one of those things. he finds them after digging through expensive furret fur coats. half a pack of crayons are clutched in his hands too. victorious, he dumps them on the coffee table and sits back down. 

he scrunches his nose. "i like edm. and pop shit. dunno, club music. makes people move, y'know?"

makes you feel. especially when there's molly involved. 

Casey Fincher

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"can't relate," he says with a shrug. unlike his alcoholic of a sister, knox actually doesn't frequent bars. at least not the grungy bars casey seems to be talking about. no, knox is more into clubs with spinning colors and a helluva lot of ecstasy to go around. he almost misses it, going out like that, but most of the time he'd only gone to get laid anyways soooooo....

he reaches for the gold crayon which is a mistake because everyone knows the gold crayon is a piece of shit and doesn't leave any color behind. that doesn't stop him, though, from trying to color in the lines of some disney princess' dress. 

"'course i know melody miro," he says, eyes widening as some of the gold flakes off onto his fingers. he reaches very carefully for the light blue crayon and starts scratching it beside the faded yellow. but his endless stream of color stops suddenly as he glances up, lips parted in an o. 

"shit, really? that's sick. about the cousin thing. not the whatever straight shit you're on about." he flashes the half-done coloring to casey. "what goes good with blue and gold?"

Casey Fincher

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