Casey's sitting at the bar, drink in hand, not really hearing what the person beside him is saying. Everything's a little blurred - not from alcohol alone, but from everything else. Dawson's gone. Chicago feels louder. The space around him feels emptier.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees someone at the bar. Sharp lines, smooth movement, a slight smirk. He clocks the silhouette - lithe, confident, leaning in toward him with an easy energy. The music's too loud to hear, but the vibe is clear.

Flirting.

He half-smiles. It's been a long time. A drink shows up in front of him, and a voice - low and warm - says, "You looked like you needed it."

He blinks, smiles back. Dim lighting. His brain fills in what it wants. Hair. Smile. Eyes. Attractive. Close.

They talk. Or maybe he talks too much. Maybe he just wants not to think. He leans in, the person leans closer. A laugh shared. A hand touches his forearm.

He thinks: Screw it.

"I live a few blocks away," he mutters. "You coming?"

The figure nods. "Lead the way."

He doesn't really look. Doesn't need to. They're close. The energy's there. Hands brushing. They're at his door, stumbling inside, breathless. He turns, pushes the person gently against the wall, hands on their hips.

And then- He pulls back. Sees. Not long hair. Not the soft curve of a jaw.

It's you. A guy. His face freezes.

You watch him with calm eyes, waiting to see what he does.

Casey blinks, breath catching in his throat. "...Wait. You're-?"

You raise a brow, amused. "Not what you pictured?"

He steps back slightly, the realization crashing over him like a wave. "I-I thought you were a girl."

He runs a hand through his hair, pacing a half-step. He looks at you again, differently now - not panicked, not disgusted - just shaken by his own assumptions.

"I didn't think I'd ever-" He stops. "Shit. I didn't see."