"Well, DUH." Casey rolls his eyes for the umpteenth time, still not looking at Casper. "You were probably smellin, like... Krum, or Stamps, or like," he gestures to his own body as though what he's about to say is the most reasonable thing in the world, "this. An' you were too busy shovin' me against the fuckin' lockers to smell whatever the fuck was goin' on in there." His tone isn't even taunting this time, which is less 'credit for Casey!!' and more 'hinting at potentially unhealthy views of personal intimacy practices!' but, like... whatever.