(Freya Ridings – You Mean The World To Me.)

Wallace exchanged glances with Mac as he walked back to their coveted table with two more pitchers of beer while Dick continued his story. Piz lingered a few tables over apologising profusely to his radio manager Trish about some mix-up two nights ago involving some washed-up rock star named Desmond Fellows. The negotiations were not going well and it seemed that she had plans to have Wallace's radio nerd roommate to share his on-air slot with another presenter and shelf half of of his show digitally to the Hearst Podcast.

"Whatever, it was total false advertising. Why name a band Barenaked Ladies if there's not so much as a nipple? That's all I'm saying." Dick shrugged and took a deep swig of beer as he chanced a glance at the curve of breasts hinted under Mac's Lucky t-shirt before taking a deeper swig.

"The guy has no game, someone needs to introduce him to Neg Theory, get her to drop the bitch shield." Dick sighed, his pants shifting uncomfortably when he noted the way Mac blushed when his arm brushed against hers.

He had no business checking out his brothers girlfriend, even if it was death did they part.

"I think I need to go save that man from himself," Wallace muttered tapping Mac on the shoulder and nodding in Piz's direction.

"Good idea." Mac agreed.

She watched as her friend expertly interrupted Piz mid-sentence and offered Trish a beer, asking what she had thought of the earlier movie screening. She noticed Dick's gaze lingering intently before he straightened and cast a glance around the bar, her cheeks heated and she gulped down half of her irish coffee.

Cindy Mackenzie was almost two foot shorter than him and she shifted nervously on the bar stool beside him. She was surprised her blonde companion hadn't ditched their table already to circle the bar, scanning for women, drink in hand. It would have explained his attire. The Charlie Sheen style Hawaiian bowling shirt was classic peacocking, Dick Casablanca's turned dressing flamboyantly as a talking point to hit on women into an art form.

Bar Bazaar had half of the Hearst student body in residence for a collective study with beers session to compare film family dynasty's. This one featuring Orange County with Colin Hanks after the weeks in class lesson featured Forrest Gump and explained why several nearby tables had clusters of students swapping notes and gathering away text books.

"I'm surprised you aren't canvassing to be their study partner." Mac said flashing him a polite smile watching the flirtatious grin he flashed the nearby table of co-eds.

"I already have her number." Dick replied casually hinting at the redhead swallowing another mouthful of his beer. "Philanthropy."

"Philanthropy?" she repeated in a baffled tone.

"I'm providing a vital part of the college experience, every woman's got to have that wild crazy hook-up before they settled down and meet Mr Right." Dick said patiently. His brothers girlfriend was cute, in a messy, kitchy kind of way.

"Vital?" Mac grinned in disbelief.

"It's not like I got much competition" Dick smiled nodding in Piz's direction. "Pez vibrates virgin."

Self consciously Mac tugged a few blue wayward strands of hair behind her ear. Had Bronson thought something similar about her a few nights ago?

"I heard a rumour the Greek sisters were turning hooking up with Pi Sigs a hazing ritual this year." Mac deadpanned setting aside her empty glass. Should she check in with Parker? Mac thought glancing at her phone. She had mentioned something about barricading herself in for a mid-term study session and Dick was currently sex-iled from his penthouse in the Neptune Grand while Veronica had quality time with Logan.

"Is Logan okay?" Mac asked.

"Women aren't flesh-form antidepressants that exist to make men feel better about their own insecurities, but he seems intent on Vicodin." he sighed.

"Vicodin-?"

"Veronica." He said automatically.

Mac frowned turning to face up at him. " You think she's an opioid?"

"I think he's addicted, and that's never… She's his past, present and future all in one person. His anchor and he's mine." Dick shifted uncomfortably when noticed the way Mac's expression softened.

Although he was surrounded by people, you'd always miss the one person who you could truly be yourself with. There had been no closure when he lost Cassidy.

"Is that worse than using alcohol to self-medicate?" Mac asked nervously as Dick reached for the second pitcher.

When in doubt, drink a beer.

He looked down at his hands clasped around the glass and the four empty pitchers strewn around their table, at the glass of cranberry juice Piz had been nursing and the several tequila shots he'd insisted on buying for drinking games.

How many of these empty glasses were his?

Was he doing that oblivious rich guy thing again Logan talked about? Maybe Pez was a scholarship student too…If still in doubt, drink another beer.

It had become his modus operandi over the last few months

"Grief is exhausting." Dick breathed scrubbing a hand down his face, setting the pitcher aside and grabbing shot instead.

Hitting the whiskey later was just a cathartic fling.

"You feel completely untouchable; survive on a diet of liquor; the worst thing in life has already happened, so everything else is small potatoes." He shrugged handing her one and making a bottoms up motion before downing another stepping closer.

Whatever response Mac had planned disappeared as the ear-piercing sound of a woman moaning erotically erupted from his shorts pocket. Her cheeks felt like a million degrees as nearby guys checked her out with interest as Dick looked at his phone to see who was calling then turned it off.

"Friend of yours?" she asked churlishly.

Did she sound.. jealous?

"Did you know Dolphins use pufferfish to get high?" he asked as she pushed against his chest.

What other kind of ringtone had she honestly expected from a guy who boasted to anyone who would listen he was the best pick up artist at Hearst? This was Dick Casablanca's after all. The high school bully who attempted every mixture of flattery, psychological manipulation and coercion to get women to have sex with him, all of it the epitome of emotional emptiness.

She wasn't sure why the idea annoyed her so much. Keeping things casual worked for him, distance probably helped when you carried around a family history soaked in blood and death.

Maybe It represented unrealized potential. The kind of might've-beens which could haunt you forever.

If Dick had been even a little bit… more. Things with Cassidy could have worked out so differently.

Mac reached for nearest shot glass and felt the burn of the amber liquid warming her chest as Wallace and Piz returned to the table.

"How'd you do that?" Piz asked in disbelief.

"She likes athletes." Wallace replied, subtly shredding the number Trish had given him into tiny pieces.

"Wh-well I, I mean I-could be an athlete.." Piz reasoned, causing Dick to stifle a laugh.

Wallace frowned and Dick took a step sidewards.

"My turn!" he declared pointing at the half empty beer and disappeared off to the bar. He needed space, the room felt too hot all of a sudden.

He knew on some level that what he was doing was inherently wrong, but when you were in this much pain the game changed. He'd tried everything over the summer months to feel closer to his brother. He'd listened to his music, watched those cult movies he'd had posters of on his walls on repeat, kept that stupid bracelet he'd bought for him in Tijuana over the rear-view in his car, sprayed his favorite cologne sometimes just to feel like he'd been in the room, still ordered tacos for two even though Logan never ate them.

Chasing the fractured pieces of the mosaic his brothers absence left behind… and yet the only place he'd found a sense of peace, had been here. Waiting in a crowded bar with his brothers girlfriend, like Cassidy could come back any minute and leave with her for some stupid nerd date and Dick could breathe again, he'd spend the rest of the night scamming chicks and Beaves wake up for bacon and pancakes after a surf.

Mac followed Dick towards the bar grimancing when he order two pitchers, an irish coffee and some fancy expensive whiskey, the last thing they needed was more booze. "Hey Piz has challenged Wallace to some b-ball so I think we were heading out…"

Her words fell short as Dick turned around nodding and she saw the unshed tears, his stance casual, one hand running through his thick blonde hair. "You know I-I never told-told him… He meant the world to me."