date posted: 2023-05-12
summary: None of her business.
word count: 1,693 words
notes: cw for trichotillomania. i like writing terrible girls in gen fics pretending to be shippy.
Cassie opens the door to the back of Rose’s head on the couch, sees her laid across it, taking up the space. The second thing she notes is the remote lazily held in Rose’s hand, and the obnoxiously loud sports game on the television. There’s no one else in the room besides Rose, and now Cassie, and yet, she still finds it annoying. She clutches the bags of groceries in her hands harder, hears the plastic crunch.
“Why do you have the volume up so high?” Cassie asks, barely hiding the grouchiness in her voice. Rose doesn’t move much, besides the other hand scratching at the back of her head, picking. Cassie sees what might be a shrug, and that’s about it.
She sighs.
“Have you trained at all today? It’s noon,” she says. Rose turns to glare at her.
“Have you?” she shoots back. “It’s none of your business.”
Cassie squints. “It’s my business if you’re laying here doing nothing instead of working to help the team,” she grumbles. Rose rolls on her back, staring at the ceiling, looking decidedly annoyed. The hand at the back of her head keeps picking (pulling?).
Rose lets out a long, exasperated sigh. It’s got to be exaggerated.
“Y’know, Wonder Bitch, I can train any time of the day. I have a life too. If I want to spend the day watching TV, I will,” she says, with an almost sarcastic tone in her voice. Cassie closes her eyes for longer than a blink.
“Fine, then. If you want to get your ass kicked in an emergency fight, be my guest,” she snaps, walking to the kitchen island and slamming the groceries down. She didn’t buy eggs today, so she finds it hard to care about fucking up the groceries too bad. It’s bread and boxes and canned crap. It’s fine.
She paces for a moment while digging in her pockets for a scrunchie, then ties her hair back, and forcefully pulls the groceries out of the bags, setting them not so quietly on the counter. She huffs as she does it.
It’s petty. It’s so petty. She decides it’s Rose’s fault.
At that thought, Rose sits up, turning from her spot on the couch to face an irritated Cassie. She turns down the TV volume, doesn’t mute it (probably on purpose). She looks caught between a smirk and something lesser than rage.
“You got a problem with me?” Rose says, indignant. Cassie almost wants to throw a can at her.
“No, I don’t. You’re fine. It’s fine,” Cassie says, with barely concealed frustration. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Rose still caught in that in-between expression, but with more of a smirk rising through.
Rose shifts and lays back down on the couch, head hitting the backrest. Cassie sees her hand slip up to her hair again, Rose turning her head slightly for it to reach the back.
Cassie’s putting instant rice in the pantry when she pauses, holding the door handle.
“What are you even doing?” She says, frustrated and confused. She hopes it’s the frustration that comes out more.
She doesn’t turn to look at Rose, but doesn’t need to look to know she’s confused. Cassie puts a can in the pantry, then another. Bread in the fridge. She hears the TV volume go down more.
“Fuck do you mean by that?” Rose asks after a moment. Cassie almost rolls her eyes.
“The hand in your hair. You’re gonna make your hair greasy.”
“Why do you care?”
Rose has a point. She doesn’t, not really.
Without an answer, Rose continues. “I shower like, twice a day. Are you calling me gross? Is that what it is? Because fuck you, if that’s the case,” and she sounds pissed, all defensive, but Cassie hears the urgency. She’s not stupid.
“You keep picking at your hair. You were doing it when I came in here. What’s wrong?” and she wants to regret asking, but some part of her doesn’t.
She turns to look at Rose, who looks… conflicted. She tightens her grip on the remote in her hand, and Cassie knows she could crush it if she wanted to. It wouldn’t be the first time here – she knows how many remotes the Titans have gone through, accidental or not – but she feels the need to chastise Rose about it.
So she does. “Don’t break the remote. I’m not going back out again for a replacement. The RadioShack near us is closing and they’re probably out of stock anyway,” she says. It’s almost easy talking to her, now. She slides three cans to the top shelf of the pantry, back turned away from Rose.
Cassie hears a sigh, the TV volume going off, and out of the corner of her eye, she sees the TV’s off now. She can only see Rose’s spiky, unkempt hair from here. It really is a little greasy, especially in the front.
“I’m not doing anything you should care about. I never am, unless you feel the need to stick your face in it,” Rose grumbles. Cassie restrains the urge to roll her eyes again. She hates the effect Rose has on her – on anyone. She’s always trouble.
Still, she pushes. “That’s like, an anxiety thing. I’m not stupid and I look out for the team,” and she almost makes a point by stating she doesn’t have to, but that’d probably fuel the fire brewing in Rose.
She doesn’t know what Rose is doing now. She might be picking at her hair more, or maybe plotting Cassie’s death. She slams the fridge door shut on the last bit of groceries. It doesn’t matter, she tells herself.
Rose doesn’t answer, for the next few moments. If she wants to be like that, fine. Cassie huffs and snatches the plastic bags on the counter, moves to throw them in the Titans’ bag of plastic bags in the pantry. One of them needs to go through the bags and cut down on them – there’s too many, and they’re not getting used. Maybe that’s the real problem. They have bigger things to worry about.
She hears a sigh from behind her, and sees Rose facing away from her, elbows perched on the counter, head leaned back. Cassie briefly looks to see if there’s a bald spot, but if there is one, it’s either small, or she didn’t catch it. She doesn’t lie to herself – she hates that she cares. Especially about the girl in front of her.
Cassie sighs, forces herself to relax her shoulders. “Do you want to tell me anything?” she says, and it comes out stilted, forced.
“Not particularly,” Rose immediately shoots back. She sighs, again, drawn out and annoyed.
Cassie resists the urge to clench her fists again. She sits on the counter, facing away from Rose.
“Why are you always looking for a fight?” she starts, before she can catch herself. She scrunches her eyes shut for a moment in frustration.
Rose catches it. “You started this. I was minding my own business before you came in here.”
There’s a pause between the both of them for a moment. Cassie thinks about running – walking away, going to her room, doing fuck-all and not thinking about Rose. She then wonders what Rose is thinking, and immediately hates that that’s what came to mind.
“So you come in here, groceries in hand, pick a fight with me, and then pretend to care about me. How motherly of you,” Rose says, so sarcastic. It makes Cassie want to throw something. She hates it, hates her so much.
“God, I try to care about you for once – and you make it hard, you know – and you’re a bitch about it. You call me a bitch all the time, like you’re not the bitchiest here,” she snaps. Rose chuckles, almost manic.
“’Bitchiest?’ Fuck, how old are we? It doesn’t matter. Nothing matters. I’m fine,”
“You’re upset about something. It’s not hard to see. God, someone tries to look out for you and you get on their ass about it, always,”
She hears a fist slam on the counter behind her, turns her head, and sees Rose turned around, facing her with her elbows in front of her now. She doesn’t try to read the simmering expression on her face – Cassie stays where she is, staring at Rose, who looks back. Cassie wonders how her face looks right now, if it’s as controlled as she wants it to be. It probably isn’t; it never is with Rose.
After a moment, Rose looks away, off to the side. She looks irritated, now, a little lighter.
“I’m fine. You’re reading into it,” she says, her tone softer, but still steeled.
“You’re pulling at your hair. It’s greasy. There’s something wrong,” Cassie keeps pushing. She doesn’t know why she won’t stop herself.
“If there’s something wrong with me, it’s not your business,” Rose says, almost sounding like she has her teeth grit.
Cassie, in turn, makes herself sound just as frustrated. She’s clinical about it. “It’s my business if you’re so anxious you’re hurting yourself,” she retorts.
That sets her off. Cassie should’ve known.
“Hurting myself? Bullshit. I’m scratching at my damn head. It doesn’t matter. I’m fine,” she says, almost all in one breath. “I don’t need to deal with this. Fuck you,” she says, then pushes off the counter. Cassie jumps off from where she was sitting, her boots slamming on the floor.
“You don’t deal with it, I do. I’m trying to look out for you and you throw it in my face.” Cassie says, enraged, not trying to hide it, this time.
“I don’t need anyone’s fucking help. You make me wonder why I even stick around here,” Rose fires back. “Fuck this,” she says, and walks into the hallway. Cassie hears a door slam.
She runs her hand through her hair, tightens her grip for a moment. She stares blankly at the ceiling for a moment, considers going after Rose.
It doesn’t matter. It’s not her business. She’s not having this.
Cassie grabs her keys and slams the door shut behind her.
notes: find me on tumblr @uuuuutan or dreamwidth @luckyzukky