(no subject)
Title: To Say
Fandom: The Faculty
Pairing: Casey/Zeke
Rating: Light R
Synopsis: Writ for the contrelamontre 70 min. challenge of "Letters": any correspondence a'tall, whether e-mail, post-it notes, scribbles... just someone writing another. Songfic, using David Bowie's "Letters to Hermione".
Disclaimer: If I owned The Faculty, I would have KEPT the original ending no matter WHAT test audiences thought of it. Stokely's theory: wrong. Everyone but Casey and Zeke: dead. Casey and Zeke: fuckage. DAMN YOU, YOU TEST AUDIFUCKIN'ENCES!!!
Started: 10:30
~The hand that writes this letter sweeps the pillow clean~
Zeke grumbles in missing the ashtray again; black and white ashes tumbled over the paper Zeke's been staring at the last five or six minutes, mind blank and fingers still. If there's one thing Zeke hates, it's letter writing. He remembered as a child moaning and groaning when he'd have to write 'thank you' cards for friends and family after getting gifts for Christmas or birthdays. Sometimes the letters were to people he'd opened the gifts in front of; he'd said it then, why did he have to get writer's cramp saying it again??
He can't help but think that this is a thank you letter, however. He lies in bed with a lumpy pillow tucked under his chin, his hands past it. One is holding a pen, the other is smoothing out the notebook pages. It's an old one, curling at the corners. He thinks it may have been his chemistry classes' notebook back in high school, but it's basically empty so he can't tell. Puffing out halted breaths, Zeke taps the pen in his fingers, mind as blank as the page in front of him.
"...It's getting nicer out here; I've never even SEEN a seaside like this. You're gonna hafta visit me out here once spring comes. It's still pretty cold. That's New England for you, really..."
That had been Casey's last letter; one of the small few he'd received in the last two months. There were only a few paragraphs after that, talking about this new photography club he was joining, some guys he'd met out at a rally against President Bush. Nothing much after that. Nothing like they'd been before, really.
Zeke sighed sadly; he hated letters.
~I'm not quite sure what we're supposed to do
So I've been writing just for you~
The first few weeks before leaving for the east coast, Casey had joked about how Zeke's mailbox was going to crack under the weight of the letters he'd be sending back home. Zeke had simply rolled his eyes, thinking 'uh huh, sure; you're gonna meet some guy out there, some sophisticated dickweed who wines and dines you. I'm forgotten already,' Did he voice this? No, of course not. Casey had sworn up and down that he wanted to make this work. Zeke followed along, bits of hope clinging to that naive notion. NO, one ever stayed together like that. Casey could get someone better, that was for sure.
Six days after Casey had left Herrington, Zeke had a letter in the mailbox. The outside looked normal enough. A plain cream colored envelope with his name and address written in regular Bic pen ink. Opening it he found something a bit more extravagant...
The paper itself must have cost Casey some money. It was thick and fibrous, the four corners tucked and tied with a ribbon. It was all sealed together with a thick circle of wax, pushed at the creases and fabric to hold it together. Fucking impressive, really. All for Zeke, though? He'd had to smirk, peeling the waxed emblem of a decorative 'C'.
Every word was personal and sweet, just like Casey was. The boy rarely said shit without meaning it, and he meant a LOT of different things. That first letter had been sappy and sad, talking about how he'd missed Zeke so badly. Zeke had smiled a little at his lamenting but sighed. 'It'll get better when you find someone else, Case,' he'd thought.
Presently however... what to say? "Dear Casey..." Zeke felt like he'd just moved mountains with that alone. Okay. Think...
They say your life is going very well
They say you sparkle like a different girl
Zeke smiles a little; he remembers the second letter the most, delivered just four days after the first. It was so desperate and downright WHINY. "Zeke, I want you here to touch me RIGHT now. I want you to visit me. Can you visit me? Visit your lil' girl?" Ohh, he WAS desperate then. The only time Zeke had called him that during sex arms flailed out to smack, push and hit. It was playful enough, but Zeke never did it again. It was being used to entice him out there in that sweet letter, and it secretly thrilled Zeke to hear. He chose to repond via e-mail, making a semi-long reply. 'You know I hate writing letters' he'd told Casey with the patented ; and ) wink at the end. Casey's e-mail back was playful, just as he himself had always been in everyday life.
'I'm sure you can write ONE,'
Well, NO. Zeke didn't WRITE letters. He hated them. Casey's were the only ones he chose to open-- and that had happened a lot over the course of the last six months. Even during CHRISTMAS, Casey being mere blocks away and he'd gotten one. Not in the mail, but Casey had handed it to him with his present. "It was one I'd forgotten to send before I left," he'd said with a smile. He let Zeke read it; and OH, how it'd made Zeke's jaw ache, his mouth water...
"...Wanna fuck you SO bad when we see each other, like the MINUTE I'm past your doorway. If you read this before I get there be naked and ready to tear my clothes off, because I want you hard and rough and everything you're just so GOOD at, baby,"... needless to say, he'd thrown the letter to the kitchen table, pushed Casey to the wall and did what he WAS so good at. It was just as it'd been, but the doubts were still running wild after Casey had left. All he could talk about while at home was how 'awesome' school was, how he was on the dean's list that semester, how many friends he'd had. It was Casey's time to shine, and Zeke wanted that for him.
But something tells me that you hide
When all the world is warm and tired
You cry a little in the dark
Well so do I
And Casey had cried so hard when he stopped by Zeke's before going to the airport. Zeke had held back from caving in himself; couldn't let the boy hold some weight on his shoulders back home. He'd saved it for later. The depression had lasted longer than he'd figured it would, yet four days after Casey had gone, another letter arrived.
No wax or ribbons had decorated it, but the paper was the same. Zeke almost snorted, thinking about how expensive accoutrements like that were. No need to waste money. His letter had been a bit shorter, saying he was tired and listless still from his flight and just... 'I'm just sad' he'd said. Zeke had wasted no time getting to his inbox yet again, knowing that Casey needed less time between replies; it was easier that way, anyways. So Casey wrote, got e-mailled, wrote, got e-mailled... Zeke had been finding himself going to his computer desk less and less as time went on. Fine thick paper had turned to what looked to be regular notepad sheets; if Zeke looked hard enough, he could see the near-invisible dents of class notes upon them.
The first week of March, Zeke was finding himself irritable and cold, not answering the phone or going out as much.
He makes you laugh
He brings you out in style
He treats you well
And makes you up real fine
And when he's strong
He's strong for you
And when you kiss
It's something new
Yea, Casey had found someone else. Zeke had known it was only a matter of time, really. The last letter he'd gotten at the end of February wasn't much. In waiting for the next, Zeke grew anxious. God. He loved Casey's letters.
But did you ever call my name
Just by mistake?
Zeke had hoped that he wasn't THAT distant a memory. Maybe they could hook up over the summer again, and Zeke could have Casey stay for most of it. They'd enjoy their fling until Casey went back to school. Zeke could simply get all the tears and frustration out in the months before Casey came home to enjoy it all more.
Then that last letter, just the day before. It was on the special paper again, nothing more. After Casey's generic babble on life as it was, a postscript sat at the bottom.
'Zeke, do you care about me?'
There wasn't any mysterious boyfriend. Casey had not doubted all this fucking once. Maybe Zeke hadn't either, but mixed signals spoke a lot.
...Zeke groans and runs a hand over his forehead, eyes feeling droopy. No- he HAD to do this, no way around it. One stinking letter, handwrit and able to be held in Casey's hand was needed. Not a phone call or e-mail. He needed anticipation and excitement at finding mail; just like Zeke had been, wringing his hands together and jumping at the sound of the postman coming up his porch all this time. He looks back to the paper in front of him and blinks.
He'd not been writing, had he? Last Zeke knew, he'd been stuck in thought and ready to explode, wanting to say the right things, make Casey feel better about not getting one handwritten letter. But right in front of him sat two pages, filled to the brim with words, phrases, rambling... it didn't matter. He sits up with a groan and almost reads it to himself to make sure he doesn't sound like an idiot. He folds it before he can, however. He takes one of Casey's ribbons from his bedpost, untangling it from the many, many, many he's collected since Casey started that first letter to him. He chooses a blue one and ties the pages together, sticks them in an envelope and addresses it. Without even grabbing his coat he's leaving, heading to the nearest mailbox.
~I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do
So I'll just write some love to you.~
Ended: 11:37
Fandom: The Faculty
Pairing: Casey/Zeke
Rating: Light R
Synopsis: Writ for the contrelamontre 70 min. challenge of "Letters": any correspondence a'tall, whether e-mail, post-it notes, scribbles... just someone writing another. Songfic, using David Bowie's "Letters to Hermione".
Disclaimer: If I owned The Faculty, I would have KEPT the original ending no matter WHAT test audiences thought of it. Stokely's theory: wrong. Everyone but Casey and Zeke: dead. Casey and Zeke: fuckage. DAMN YOU, YOU TEST AUDIFUCKIN'ENCES!!!
Started: 10:30
~The hand that writes this letter sweeps the pillow clean~
Zeke grumbles in missing the ashtray again; black and white ashes tumbled over the paper Zeke's been staring at the last five or six minutes, mind blank and fingers still. If there's one thing Zeke hates, it's letter writing. He remembered as a child moaning and groaning when he'd have to write 'thank you' cards for friends and family after getting gifts for Christmas or birthdays. Sometimes the letters were to people he'd opened the gifts in front of; he'd said it then, why did he have to get writer's cramp saying it again??
He can't help but think that this is a thank you letter, however. He lies in bed with a lumpy pillow tucked under his chin, his hands past it. One is holding a pen, the other is smoothing out the notebook pages. It's an old one, curling at the corners. He thinks it may have been his chemistry classes' notebook back in high school, but it's basically empty so he can't tell. Puffing out halted breaths, Zeke taps the pen in his fingers, mind as blank as the page in front of him.
"...It's getting nicer out here; I've never even SEEN a seaside like this. You're gonna hafta visit me out here once spring comes. It's still pretty cold. That's New England for you, really..."
That had been Casey's last letter; one of the small few he'd received in the last two months. There were only a few paragraphs after that, talking about this new photography club he was joining, some guys he'd met out at a rally against President Bush. Nothing much after that. Nothing like they'd been before, really.
Zeke sighed sadly; he hated letters.
~I'm not quite sure what we're supposed to do
So I've been writing just for you~
The first few weeks before leaving for the east coast, Casey had joked about how Zeke's mailbox was going to crack under the weight of the letters he'd be sending back home. Zeke had simply rolled his eyes, thinking 'uh huh, sure; you're gonna meet some guy out there, some sophisticated dickweed who wines and dines you. I'm forgotten already,' Did he voice this? No, of course not. Casey had sworn up and down that he wanted to make this work. Zeke followed along, bits of hope clinging to that naive notion. NO, one ever stayed together like that. Casey could get someone better, that was for sure.
Six days after Casey had left Herrington, Zeke had a letter in the mailbox. The outside looked normal enough. A plain cream colored envelope with his name and address written in regular Bic pen ink. Opening it he found something a bit more extravagant...
The paper itself must have cost Casey some money. It was thick and fibrous, the four corners tucked and tied with a ribbon. It was all sealed together with a thick circle of wax, pushed at the creases and fabric to hold it together. Fucking impressive, really. All for Zeke, though? He'd had to smirk, peeling the waxed emblem of a decorative 'C'.
Every word was personal and sweet, just like Casey was. The boy rarely said shit without meaning it, and he meant a LOT of different things. That first letter had been sappy and sad, talking about how he'd missed Zeke so badly. Zeke had smiled a little at his lamenting but sighed. 'It'll get better when you find someone else, Case,' he'd thought.
Presently however... what to say? "Dear Casey..." Zeke felt like he'd just moved mountains with that alone. Okay. Think...
They say your life is going very well
They say you sparkle like a different girl
Zeke smiles a little; he remembers the second letter the most, delivered just four days after the first. It was so desperate and downright WHINY. "Zeke, I want you here to touch me RIGHT now. I want you to visit me. Can you visit me? Visit your lil' girl?" Ohh, he WAS desperate then. The only time Zeke had called him that during sex arms flailed out to smack, push and hit. It was playful enough, but Zeke never did it again. It was being used to entice him out there in that sweet letter, and it secretly thrilled Zeke to hear. He chose to repond via e-mail, making a semi-long reply. 'You know I hate writing letters' he'd told Casey with the patented ; and ) wink at the end. Casey's e-mail back was playful, just as he himself had always been in everyday life.
'I'm sure you can write ONE,'
Well, NO. Zeke didn't WRITE letters. He hated them. Casey's were the only ones he chose to open-- and that had happened a lot over the course of the last six months. Even during CHRISTMAS, Casey being mere blocks away and he'd gotten one. Not in the mail, but Casey had handed it to him with his present. "It was one I'd forgotten to send before I left," he'd said with a smile. He let Zeke read it; and OH, how it'd made Zeke's jaw ache, his mouth water...
"...Wanna fuck you SO bad when we see each other, like the MINUTE I'm past your doorway. If you read this before I get there be naked and ready to tear my clothes off, because I want you hard and rough and everything you're just so GOOD at, baby,"... needless to say, he'd thrown the letter to the kitchen table, pushed Casey to the wall and did what he WAS so good at. It was just as it'd been, but the doubts were still running wild after Casey had left. All he could talk about while at home was how 'awesome' school was, how he was on the dean's list that semester, how many friends he'd had. It was Casey's time to shine, and Zeke wanted that for him.
But something tells me that you hide
When all the world is warm and tired
You cry a little in the dark
Well so do I
And Casey had cried so hard when he stopped by Zeke's before going to the airport. Zeke had held back from caving in himself; couldn't let the boy hold some weight on his shoulders back home. He'd saved it for later. The depression had lasted longer than he'd figured it would, yet four days after Casey had gone, another letter arrived.
No wax or ribbons had decorated it, but the paper was the same. Zeke almost snorted, thinking about how expensive accoutrements like that were. No need to waste money. His letter had been a bit shorter, saying he was tired and listless still from his flight and just... 'I'm just sad' he'd said. Zeke had wasted no time getting to his inbox yet again, knowing that Casey needed less time between replies; it was easier that way, anyways. So Casey wrote, got e-mailled, wrote, got e-mailled... Zeke had been finding himself going to his computer desk less and less as time went on. Fine thick paper had turned to what looked to be regular notepad sheets; if Zeke looked hard enough, he could see the near-invisible dents of class notes upon them.
The first week of March, Zeke was finding himself irritable and cold, not answering the phone or going out as much.
He makes you laugh
He brings you out in style
He treats you well
And makes you up real fine
And when he's strong
He's strong for you
And when you kiss
It's something new
Yea, Casey had found someone else. Zeke had known it was only a matter of time, really. The last letter he'd gotten at the end of February wasn't much. In waiting for the next, Zeke grew anxious. God. He loved Casey's letters.
But did you ever call my name
Just by mistake?
Zeke had hoped that he wasn't THAT distant a memory. Maybe they could hook up over the summer again, and Zeke could have Casey stay for most of it. They'd enjoy their fling until Casey went back to school. Zeke could simply get all the tears and frustration out in the months before Casey came home to enjoy it all more.
Then that last letter, just the day before. It was on the special paper again, nothing more. After Casey's generic babble on life as it was, a postscript sat at the bottom.
'Zeke, do you care about me?'
There wasn't any mysterious boyfriend. Casey had not doubted all this fucking once. Maybe Zeke hadn't either, but mixed signals spoke a lot.
...Zeke groans and runs a hand over his forehead, eyes feeling droopy. No- he HAD to do this, no way around it. One stinking letter, handwrit and able to be held in Casey's hand was needed. Not a phone call or e-mail. He needed anticipation and excitement at finding mail; just like Zeke had been, wringing his hands together and jumping at the sound of the postman coming up his porch all this time. He looks back to the paper in front of him and blinks.
He'd not been writing, had he? Last Zeke knew, he'd been stuck in thought and ready to explode, wanting to say the right things, make Casey feel better about not getting one handwritten letter. But right in front of him sat two pages, filled to the brim with words, phrases, rambling... it didn't matter. He sits up with a groan and almost reads it to himself to make sure he doesn't sound like an idiot. He folds it before he can, however. He takes one of Casey's ribbons from his bedpost, untangling it from the many, many, many he's collected since Casey started that first letter to him. He chooses a blue one and ties the pages together, sticks them in an envelope and addresses it. Without even grabbing his coat he's leaving, heading to the nearest mailbox.
~I'm not quite sure what I'm supposed to do
So I'll just write some love to you.~
Ended: 11:37