Ever since the invasion Casey's been taking pictures of Zeke. Lots of pictures. Maybe it was subliminal at first, like he didn't know why, but it doesn't matter. Now he can't stop.
He takes pictures of Zeke in bars and back alleys and bathrooms, all badly lit. He takes pictures of Zeke when he's jacked up and when he's drunk. He takes pictures of Zeke sitting on the hood of the car, singing to the radio and smoking like a chimney. He takes pictures of Zeke's face, and hands. He takes pictures of Zeke lying in bed and sprawled across the couch and slumped over the kitchen table. He takes pictures when he's winter pale, summer tan, and everything in between. He takes pictures of Zeke half asleep, loose, with cloudy eyes. He takes pictures of Zeke half naked, when his hair is as uncontrollable as wildfire. He takes pictures of Zeke the rebel, the drug dealer, the outsider, the loner. He takes pictures that make Zeke look untouchable, just like everyone thinks he is. Maybe Casey's just lucky, 'cause to him, Zeke's never been anything but human.