Then, because I was some kind of pain enthusiast, I pulled up Cas’s Instagram. There was a video posted last night. He was playing piano in a large, bright apartment – their apartment my mind supplied – with views out over the city. He wore a white shirt too big for his frame (my mind told me, helpfully, that it was Blackwell’s) and a pair of loose check pyjama bottoms. He looked painfully beautiful. Painfully far away. Painfully not mine.
