Disclaimer: I don't own Split.

The other girls were so showy. So indiscreet.

One could tell exactly how deep their thoughts went based on their clothes.

They were so typical. So useless. So blunt.

But not Casey.

No, Casey liked to cover herself in layers.

Deep red, navy blue. White, black.

She had every color in her wardrobe.

Unlike the other girls, who were so basic...so obvious.

But Casey...

You could never tell what she was thinking. What she was going through.

Her eyes liked to drift, just like her mind.

She'd be with you one moment, and then gone the next.

It could be as enthralling as it could be irritating at times.

Especially for Dennis.

Absentmindedly, he wondered what the teen thought of him. How she saw him, if she liked him.

Well, 'liked' he figured, would be a bit of a loose term considering the circumstances. But perhaps she didn't loathe him like the other two girls did.

Maybe she preferred his company as opposed to theirs.

For some odd reason, he almost felt like he could connect with her on some level. Relate to her in some way.

Like there was something in her that he saw in himself.

Something old, and repressed.

What was it though?

Damn, it just slipped through his fingers again...

Dennis watched in anticipated silence as the whirring hand of the dryer flung the lone article of clothing about one last time, and the machine came to a halt.

He stood, back stiff and arms crossed, before reaching a hand out to open the door and retrieve the over-shirt.

After inspecting the clothing for any smudges or markings, he briefly brought the shirt up to his face, and nuzzled it to his nose for a moment, pretending that the warmth and fresh scent from the fabric was that of Casey's body.

Maybe she never would think of him that way, but he liked the idea.

And even Patricia couldn't deny him that.