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+1.
“Beau said they’d give us a heads up before they head out to find dinner,” Fjord says, nodding in the direction of the door as he closes it. “Something about Reani and a tour.”
“I should finish up here, then.” Caleb glances up at him from the bed, working at a stain on his coat. “May I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
He folds the coat, setting it aside with his books, Frumpkin immediately making a home on it.
“You frown at the glove a lot.What is it that bothers you? Is it that you can’t utilise magic the same way you used to, or that you yourself aren’t inherently magical?”
“Nothing gets past you, huh,” Fjord huffs incredulously, smiling despite himself.
“I’m sorry,” Caleb says sincerely.
“My insecurities aren’t your fault, Caleb. It’s both of them, I think.” He hesitates, picking at a seam in the glove he can’t seem to get to lie where it should. “I was afraid I’d be a burden. You remember what I told you when we talked. I didn’t want to be unremarkable Fjord, holding the Mighty Nein back. Fighting that worm proved me wrong, but it still rubs me the wrong way I guess.”
“Here,” Caleb says, reaches out for his hand. At this point Fjord extends his almost on reflex, Caleb tugging him along until he sits down next to him. He begins to inspect the glove, lifts and shifts it. His finger reaches into the glove, just a quick swipe to the side to fix the stitching, holding Fjord’s hand all the while with the other, adjusting it to perfection. “I wasn’t born with magic, you know. I had to learn it. Then the Assembly and Trent came along and amplified it, almost turned me into the stuff of Empire legend. When I left Trent’s… training I had no magic at all. I got back the first spell I’d had even after we met. But I relearned and made it my own. Remaking ourselves can extend to what we do, as well.”
“But you’re brilliant,” Fjord protests. At this, Caleb’s cheeks redden, and Fjord can’t help the little twist in his stomach as they do. He squeezes Fjord’s hands in his own, rests them on his knee.
“And you are the hardest worker I’ve known since my father and mother. Knowledge can be won with both. And if, for the sake of argument, you find no magic, neither with the Wildmother, nor with the Archeart, I appreciate you all the same.”
Caleb’s thumb brushes against the bottom of Fjord’s palm, just soft press at the edge of the thin skin of his wrist, but it’s like he’s snuck his fingers under Fjord’s xiphoid process and tugged for all he’s worth.
“I-”
There’s a bang on the door, much too loud to be a knock, and Beau’s incoherent yelling about dinner pops the bubble of whatever unnamed feeling is still lingering in Fjord’s gut. Caleb drops his hand and turns to his coat again.
“We better go before we lose them,” Caleb says, and Fjord nods silently, following him out.
1.
“This is so relaxing,” Beau says, almost drooling as Jester runs her fingers through her hair. “How did we end up here?”
“Yeah, this is nice,” Caduceus agrees, eyes closed and looking like he’s halfway meditating, legs crossed on the soft carpet in front of the fire. “My sister would offer to do this and pull chunks out instead.”
“I won’t, I promise,” Yasha chuckles, deftly braiding his hair to his scalp. “I have done this a lot and never torn out any hair.”
Jester leans over, makes a surprised noise.
“You’re really good at that, Yasha! I can never get those right, mama never has her braids like that so I never got to practice.”
Not letting go of Caduceus’ hair with one hand, Yasha motions for Jester to get closer.
“Here, I can show you.”
Jester scoots closer with her chair and Beau follows, grumbling a little along the way, but settles quick enough when they’ve sat down again.
“Zuala taught me. She braided my hair for hunting, I braided hers.” Yasha says. She smiles a little to herself, takes out another section of hair. “My hair was shorter back then, kind of like Fjord’s.”
“That’s neat,” Fjord hums, watching as the last of the steam rises from his socks from the melted snow and their proximity to the fire. His feet are almost unbearably warm but it’s better than cold and wet like they used to be. “This is the longest I’ve ever worn it, it keeps getting in my eyes. Especially now that I’m moving a lot more.”
“I can do it for you if you want to,” Caleb says, setting his empty plate aside for Frumpkin to inspect. He’s off to the side, a little behind the others than by the fireplace. He holds out a cushion from the bench, then places it on the floor in front of him in invitation.
“You know how to braid hair?” Fjord gets up and shuffles over to him, sitting down in the space between Caleb’s legs. Caleb’s knobby knees are barely covered by the soft fabric of his Xhorhasian clothing, warm against Fjord’s bare shoulders.
“I would braid Astrid’s hair sometimes at the Academy.” It’s casually said, low over the din of the others but not hushed, Caleb’s fingers steady as they guide him a little closer by the shoulders until Fjord relaxes back against him. He sees Caduceus glance over, but neither say anything. “I’m a little out of practice, but I think I can manage enough for it not to bother you in battle.”
“With your memory I have no doubt about it,” Fjord nods, still a little thrown at the casual mention of something that used to be so painful for Caleb.
“Is your scalp sensitive?”
“I-” Fjord has to pause. “Nobody’s ever really touched my hair without intending to yank it. I’m not sure.”
Gentle nails scrape against his scalp with the barest of pressure, not light enough to tickle but present enough to be felt, and Fjord can’t keep the surprised noise down.
“I would say just sensitive enough for this to be enjoyable without risk of me hurting you,” Caleb chuckles, removing the hair tie he’d borrowed from Jester out of sheer frustration weeks ago.
He sits still as Caleb combs through his hair with his fingers, shivers running down his entire being as his hair is split into three and carefully braided. It’s hypnotic, the rhythmic shifting of Caleb’s fingers, and Fjord relaxes into it, closes his eyes.
Something hooks into his chest yet again as Caleb is finishing up the third braid, moving to braid the ends together. It nags at him as he stands up on coltish legs, Caleb looking a little confused as he does. It’s urgent yet creeping all the same as he excuses himself to go to sleep, the shadow of something he can’t quite shake even as he wakes up the next day, limbs and heart oddly heavy, listening to Caleb’s soft snores from the other side of the bed.
His food tastes of nothing. His beer tastes of nothing. Fjord sees valleys and snow-covered mountains and blue skies and stars and moons and Fjord feels nothing .
2.
“Sleeping in the library?” Caleb notes with a bit of surprise in his voice as he comes walking from the kitchen, book under his arm and cup of tea in hand. “Everything alright?”
“Hm?” Fjord looks up, still drowsy. “Oh, yeah, everything’s fine. Jester and Beau are up to something and I wanted a nap. This is the quietest corner of the house.”
“So it is,” Caleb agrees, then pokes his leg as he sets the cup down on the side table. “Lift up for a bit,” he says, and Fjord does, allowing Caleb to get situated before he lowers them into Caleb’s lap. Frumpkin follows, settling on his stomach, just within reach for both of them. “I won’t be loud, I promise.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Fjord says, fixing the pillow behind him to sit up a little. “What are you reading?”
“I’m not sure,” he says, looking at the back. “I have been working through a list of recommendations from Essek. I could read some if you want?”
“Yeah, I’d like that.” Fjord nods, pulls Frumpkin up a little to pet his belly, then settles in. “Thank you.”
Caleb says nothing, simply pats his shin. If Caleb notices how he pets Fjord’s leg absentmindedly as he reads, he doesn’t mention it.
3.
“That was too close,” Fjord sighs, looking at Beau’s still form. Her wounds are healed, her bloodied clothes the only testament to the night they’ve had. Yasha is on one side, Jester on the other, the three of them just barely fitting into the bed they placed her on. Jester has passed out already, exhausted from fighting and crying, while Yasha watches over them both. Beau’s blood is still on his hands, drying and flaking and entirely too much of it.
So much she died as he could do nothing but watch.
“Hey.” Caleb kneels down in front of him, takes his hands into his own. A few arcane words muttered and a small rune traced on Fjord’s palm and the blood disappears into nothing, his hands cleaner than they’ve been for days. “Beau will be alright. You, Caduceus, Jester and Yasha made sure of that. You heard Caduceus, a little sleep and she will be good as new.”
“She’s too still.”
Caleb nods, worry shining through, and rises to his feet. Fjord finds himself wanting to protest, but before he can say anything, Caleb steps a little closer and tugs at the hand he still holds until he can wrap it around his own waist. Fjord lets himself be brought into a hug that has him leaning into Caleb’s chest, just high enough for Caleb to rest an arm over Fjord’s shoulders.
Fjord buries his face in Caleb’s robes, the faint scent of his spell components already in the fabric as if he didn’t change just an hour ago. Chalk and ink, something herby. Molasses. Caleb exhales, thumb stroking a calming pattern at the nape of Fjord’s neck, and he turns his head to Beau, listens to the beat of Caleb’s heart, and watches her sleep.
4.
Fjord has, to the best of his knowledge, never sleepwalked. Besides, he thinks as he shambles through the halls of the Xhorhaus, he wouldn’t be this aware of it if he was. Still, he’s in a fog, the lack of sleep making him clumsy enough to tip over a few books in the library on his way to Caleb’s door, clearly alerting him as he hears shuffling inside.
“Sorry if I woke you up. It’s just me,” Fjord says through the door.
“You can come in,” Caleb says, and when he pushes the door open Frumpkin greets him at the door with a curious noise. Caleb himself is sitting up in his bed, under the covers, clearly having fallen asleep while reading.“I’m still awake,” he says, so unconvincingly it’s endearing. Other days, Fjord would be smiling. Today is a different story.
“I’m… Not doing so well,” he admits, sinking down onto the chair by Caleb’s desk.
“Nightmares?” He can see Caleb’s frown, the worry in his features. It has been a long, long time since Uk’otoa made his way into Fjord’s mind, but they all remember.
“No, it’s not-“
“Are you ill? Should I get Jester?” The conjured lights swirl around him and Fjord watches as Caleb rubs the sleep out of his eyes and scans his face quickly, frowning as he does.
“No, no, wait,” Fjord manages to stop him before he gets out of the bed. “This isn’t anything like that, I just… You’re so insightful, I might need some of that.”
“Ah,” Caleb says and lets the lights float lazily around the room instead. “I am happy to help if I can. What is on your mind?”
“I don’t know what it is,” Fjord says miserably. “I can’t sleep unless I’m under all the blankets I own. I’m snappy, distracted, Nott will lean past me to get something and I can barely stop myself from following when she leans back again.” He hesitates for a few seconds. “I had a dream of the Wildmother a few months ago. She took me from Uk’otoa to a… A small clearing or something. And kept me safe while I slept. And since then it’s like I can never get warm. And then Yasha hugged me when we got her back and you braided my hair and I felt a bit better but it’s like nothing has any color anymore. I have no idea what’s happening to me. Am I sick? Is it magic, is-”
Fjord has to blink back tears. ”Is it the Wildmother shutting me out?”
“Oh. Oh, Fjord,” Caleb says, looking worried and relieved at the same time, pauses for a second, then nods to himself. “I may have a solution. What do you usually wear to bed?”
“This, I just threw on a shirt,” he answers, a little thrown.
“Give me some trust and the benefit of the doubt for a little bit?” Caleb says, shuffles around on the bed a little, moves Frumpkin and sets the book aside on the table by it. When he scoots over, Fjord begins to get the picture. “I think shirt off will be best.”
Sitting down on the edge of Caleb’s bed, Fjord pulls the shirt over his head, throws it toward the chair, not even bothering to see if he hits it.
“You know what’s happening to me?”
“It’s called skin hunger. Touch deprivation. It sounds trivial but it has been known to kill young children.” Fjord opens his mouth to protest but Caleb shakes his head calmly. “I didn’t know what I was feeling until Nott slept curled up around me the first time. Half a life without a hug leaves its mark,” he says, surprisingly openly, stretching his arm out and- “For you it’s even longer than that, huh?”
Fjord exhales, shaky and embarrassingly loud and knows that he’s staring at the freckles of Caleb’s side but the sheets are warm and so is Caleb and his hands shake so much why won’t they stop shaking-
Caleb reaches out, probably for Fjord’s wrist, but Fjord takes his hand almost instinctively, clinging to it like a lifeline. It’s soft, so much softer than his own, and he hesitates for the briefest of moments.
“It’s alright, Fjord. Come here,” Caleb says, and simply pulls until Fjord is starfished across him, an arm across Caleb’s chest and a leg across Caleb’s shins, head half on Caleb’s shoulder and half on a pillow smelling of him. Frumpkin purrs and bumps his face against Fjord’s knuckles on the other side of Caleb’s torso.
“I don’t know why it’s happening now. Not when I was a kid, not with the people I’ve been with.” If Caleb catches the neutral wording, if he suspected, Fjord has no idea. Either way, Caleb’s breathing remains steady and the hold on Fjord’s waist remains relaxed. His arm feels searingly warm just like the rest of him and Fjord can’t get enough. “I never even stayed the night with them.”
Caleb hums, reaches up to stroke his hair, little blunt scratches to the nape of his neck like when they watched over Beau, and Fjord melts into Caleb’s frame with a deep sigh.
“Sex and intimacy are different. Sometimes entwined, but different. And from what little I know of your past involvements, my guess is there was not a lot of tenderness.” Fjord shakes his head.
The arms around him tighten a little and Fjord melts even more, his eyes falling shut against his will. He mumbles out something quick to Caleb, and Caleb huffs a little in amusement.
“I didn’t catch that.”
Fjord pulls his face away far enough from Caleb’s shoulder to respond.
“Falling asleep.”
“Good,” Caleb says, yawning. “I will too, soon.”
Fjord simply nods, presses his face close again.
He expects Caleb to be gone when he wakes up, or at the very least awake and out of bed. Instead he wakes up to Frumpkin stretching out over his stomach, purring so hard he’s almost tipping off, and Caleb snoring softly, their positions reversed. His face is angled up to Fjord, half of it smushed against Fjord’s shoulder, his hair a mess over the rest. It’s not his first time watching someone sleep, but this feels different.
He remembers sneaking out, being on his guard even at his barest, and the itching feeling of needing to get away. Here, with Caleb’s warmth against him, Frumpkin’s softness across his belly and the tired murmurs of their found family in the kitchen, slowly waking up, he feels none of that. Little by little he reaches up, careful not to jostle Frumpkin or Caleb as he goes, and strokes the offending locks away from his forehead and tucks them behind his ear.
This time, Fjord stays.
5.
Now that he sees all they’ve collected, it scares Fjord to imagine the girls sort this through. Half of it dangerous on its own, the other the perfect ingredients for Fluffernutter 2.0. Besides, searching through the Happy Funball was Caleb’s and his idea, it only makes sense they get stuck with the archiving while the others go shopping.
Really though, he doesn't mind.
“You use guano, right?” He can feel the scent through the jar, wrinkling his nose.
“I do.”
“So that’s a keep,” Fjord says, setting the jar down on the shelf above him. “Gum arabic.”
“Keep.”
“Giant slug bile.”
Caleb looks up from his list, eyes the jar with clear disgust.
“Ask if Nott wants it. Otherwise, dispose of it.”
“Alright,” Fjord says, setting it aside to the discard-pile. “Hold on, I think I know what this one is.” He opens it and takes a sniff and yes, just what he thought. “Perfumed oil.”
”I have oils,” Caleb shrugs.
“It’s good for hair. Smells nice. We’d ship it from Ank’Harel to the coast. Here, try.” Caleb reaches out and Fjord places a few drops on his wrist. He holds it up, smells it. Rubs his wrist against his neck like you would perfume, then spreads the rest into his beard.
“That has to be expensive.” If Caleb thinks he’s good at sounding disinterested, he’s wrong.
“Very. It’s also yours, if you want it.” Caleb hesitates. “Come on, spoil yourself a little.”
“Ja, okay,” Caleb gives in, and Fjord places it on the shelf for safekeeping. “What is that box?”
“A bunch of… Colour pigments? They’re all in pouches. Don’t look like spell components.”
“I can see if they’re magic.” Caleb gets up and takes them out of Fjord’s hands, leaning back against the table as Fjord himself continues to sort through the items left.
“Hey, Fjord.”
Fjord turns, not expecting the dull thud of Caleb’s hand against his chest. Neither does he expect it to come away bright red. He looks down properly and sighs.
There is powder all over the place, like that one time Jester sneezed into Caduceus’ jar of powdered sugar, except this time it’s intensely red, just like Caleb’s hand.
All Fjord can do is gape.
“Did you just-”
“It matches the ropes,” Caleb says, biting his lips together to keep from laughing, and gestures vaguely to where the ropes of his armor would be. Fjord rubs at the red fruitlessly, only spreading it more, and a loud laugh escapes Caleb despite his efforts to stop.
He looks back up, and there is laughter in Caleb’s expression, yes, but there’s something in his eyes that knocks the breath out of Fjord. It has been there for some time, high on power under the waves so long ago and barely awake under warm sheets the past weeks.
“Well in that case,” Fjord says as casually as he’s able, sinking his hand into the blue just behind Caleb’s back. Somehow it’s different, being so close to him in the light of day, and the split second that Caleb leans into the touch of Fjord’s hand on his cheek, eyes threatening to fall shut, Fjord almost feels sorry about the powder he’s spreading into the still oil damp beard.
But just almost.
Because Fjord gives as good as he gets, and Caleb knows this. And from the way Caleb looks at him when he catches on, that’s not a bad thing.
“Makes your eyes pop,” Fjord says, then shudders as he feels something run down his neck, into his shirt and down his back, chunky stickiness quickly going cold. “If that was the guano I will end you .”
Caleb just laughs, loud and unhindered and so free that Fjord almost forgets why he was supposed to be annoyed.
“I-“ Caleb cuts off with a shriek of laughter as they both tumble to the ground in a heap of limbs, Fjord just barely managing to roll them so Caleb doesn’t hit the table while Caleb’s still sticky hand is cradling Fjord’s head, just barely saving him from a stone floor concussion.
“Did we just slip and fall in shit?” Fjord asks, stretching out beneath Caleb. Caleb is still laughing silently, the tiny hiccups of his laughter clear where he’s draped over Fjord’s stomach and chest. There are actual tears from laughing on Caleb’s cheeks, and Fjord has never been so in awe before in his life. It’s infectious, and Fjord swiftly finds himself chuckling as well. “The others will never let us live this down.”
“It’s just honeycomb.” Caleb removes one of hands from behind Fjord’s head, then licks the pad of his thumb. “You should try some,” he says, Fjord long having accepted his destiny as honey-faced. Instead his fingers sink into Fjord’s hair again, and Fjord can tell what’s about to happen, can see it coming from a mile away. He thought he’d feel conflicted, apprehensive maybe. But Caleb is warm and relaxed on top of him, there’s no hidden layer of games for either of them to try and play while they dance around eachother. No surprises, no games, no secrets. Just Caleb gazing at him lovingly and Fjord shifting his grip around his waist in preparation.
“I can’t taste it with my scalp,” he says with a chuckle.
“I know,” Caleb says, scoots just a little bit higher with Fjord’s help, and kisses him.