Danny doesn't know what to make of Casey.

He seems like an okay guy—okay enough not to punch him square in the jaw, okay enough to act politely towards a man who introduced himself as his wife's boyfriend, okay enough to buy him a drink. Danny said no, of course he did, but Casey insisted with a tight smile, a harsh slap on his back and he reluctantly agreed, led the way to the bar, uncertain of how this was going to unfold.

And when Casey sat and asked for some refined red wine, Danny silently cringed. Figures, aside from their marriage, Sam and Casey also share the same taste in fancy alcohol. Fantastic.

Casey is sipping at his drink when he says, "So you and Sam, hm?" his eyebrows are raised, his tone mocking, faint smirk on his face and Danny can't help but feel like the tables have turned, that Casey now has the upper hand.

"Yeah. No. I mean we weren't at first, but then we were and until we weren't again—we're not, not anymore," Danny awkwardly explains but he doesn't really want to explain, doesn't want to tell Casey about his relationship with Sam. That's their story, when there was still a them, it belongs to them, to him, even if she does not.

"You said you were her boyfriend. You lied," Casey points out, no hint of accusation of his tone, as if being lied to seems to be a regular occurrence in his life. It must be. After all, Sam was in his life at some point, still is to some extent. The invisible line of their marriage that connects them, that links them, it still exists, even if she pretends she cut it off years ago. "Why?"

Danny shrugs. "I've hung around Sam way too much I guess."

It's meant as a joke, a bad one sure, but it holds so much truth that his liquor smells and tastes like bitterness now. Sam lies, often, all the times. She has lies on her tongue, on her lips and whenever he kisses her skin, Danny swears there is nothing real about Sam; just plain artifices and empty truth.

Casey nods because Danny's words make sense. Sam makes lying so easy, hurtful, painful yes—but so easy.

He finishes up his last drink and sets the empty glass down a bit too abruptly, a bit too loudly and now there's a crack on the surface. How symbolical, Danny thinks sourly. One could think Casey and Sam, handsome and beautiful together, would embody perfectness and harmony, but the cracks are here, the failures are present, Sam made sure of that.

"She didn't tell you that she was married, did she?"

Danny's silence confirms Casey's suspicion, and if he hadn't been fooling around with his wife Casey would have felt sorry for him.

"This is the problem with Sam," he says. "She isn't a bad person, quite the contrary actually and when she lets you in long enough, deep enough you can see how beautiful her true self is. However, at the end of day, Sam is very selfish. See here: she gets the husband, the boyfriend-no-longer-boyfriend and the happiness, and what do we get? Half truths, full lies and tons of heartbreaks—" he sighs, and Danny wants to disagree. He was happy, still happy when he closes his eyes tight enough and claims Sam as his, forever, behind closed doors and in the sheets. But when reality strikes back, and he remembers she lied to him, then he's mad all over again and it's pain that swallows his happiness and spits on his heart. "But it's alright, because it's Sam. That woman is worth all the misery in the world, right?"

Danny isn't sure how to answer, so he doesn't and instead asks. "What happened between you two? Why did she leave?"

The question is innocent, logic, but Casey can't hide the smirk anymore. "Let's just say I wasn't who she thought I was. I hadn't been totally honest with her." Danny waits for him to continue, and Casey finally drops the act and even seems a little apologetic when he adds, "In other words, I played her."

Like she played you. That's what Casey doesn't say, but Danny heard it loud and clear.