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Jester knows that if this had been six months ago, she would be nearly swooning at the scene.
Her hands are still pressed to Fjord’s chest, her nightgown soaked through and sticking to her skin from the rain and seawater. Blood is definitely staining the hem too which — fuck it’s going to be annoying getting that out —
"Jester,” Fjord murmurs, his voice soft, his mouth lovingly caressing her name like he’s only ever learned to speak just to be able to say her name, like he’s never heard something so sweet, and every other ridiculous thing she’s read in her romance novels. His rough fingers slowly curl around her own, the icy feeling fading from his touch as he grips her hands like they’re a lifeline. Like Jester single-handedly has been his tether back to the world which — to be fair, she totally was.
The things is...this is her smut novel moment. Every girl has dreamed of this moment, haven’t they? Well, maybe not Beau and Yasha, but Veth certainly has, and it’s hard to believe that Reani wouldn’t have wanted this moment too. This would be the climax of the book, where the dashing hero had been struck down by his dark past, only for the gorgeous woman he’s traveled with for a year to literally return life to his lungs, to revive him with nothing but her faith and love.
She knows it. This is the moment she dreamed of every night for literal years, and yet...
Her gaze slides to her right, landing on the equally soaked form of Caleb.
Somehow he still looks handsome with his hair plastered to his sharp cheekbones and forehead, the way his brow is furrowed like he’s thinking so hard, imagining himself any place but right here. He’s staring hard at his knuckles, jaw clenched tight even as he lends Fjord his strength, kneeling right there on the deck of the ship, the rain coming down in heavy sheets over his hunched shoulders. Fjord is alive, but he looks so...defeated.
Jester doesn’t know why she looks to Caleb except...she kind of does. Has kind of known for a while.
“Oh,” she hears Yasha mumble from behind her.
Jester flinches, nearly forgetting where she was. Caleb seems to have startled at Yasha’s quiet voice too, his bright gaze lifting to meet Jester’s eye who (oops) hasn’t quite managed to look away yet. They stare at each other, the rain still pouring down on the deck of the ship, the roar of the waves filling her ears with white noise. It’s an odd sensation to have Fjord’s hand wrapped around her own, but to feel her heart straining toward Caleb. The physical sensation of needing to be near him is almost too much to handle, as though the few feet between them is still too much.
Something flickers in Caleb’s expression. It’s like a shadow has passed over him, like he’s seen something terrible that he hadn’t expected, something he had planned to avoid at all costs. Jester just keeps her gaze on Caleb, even as Fjord releases her hand, even as the others fall silent and just...watch.
Caleb stands, expression going empty as he turns away and makes his way back downstairs. Jester remains kneeling over Fjord, who is looking anywhere but at Jester now, his cheeks dark with a blush (but at least he can still blush, because he’s not dead).
“We can take care of Fjord,” Caduceus murmurs to her left, his hand a soft presence over her back. “I think Caleb might need you right now.” There’s a knowingness to his voice that would bother Jester if it didn’t thrill her that other people saw it too. She can’t be crazy if other people have noticed the — thing between them.
That thing where the tone of his voice changes when he’s speaking just to Jester, how he curls his whole body towards her when they’re talking, his focus devoted entirely to her, how even when they’re in a room full of magical elite who might want Caleb dead he’s still the first one running after her when certain rogues paralyze their target.
Jester wonders what the rest of them see when she looks at Caleb. She wonders if her smile is softer when it’s just for him, or maybe if something shifts in her gaze. Maybe she’s hidden all her tells so well nobody even suspects, especially not Caleb...but that’s not how it feels. Sometimes she feels like she must wear her affection for him so brightly that it creates a glow around her entire form, lighting her up from the inside out.
She makes her way from the deck of the ship, ignoring the way her dress is plastered to her legs and how uncomfortably drenched her whole body is. Jester casually steps over the ruined forms of stupid fishmen-guys Uk’otoa had sent and the shattered remains of the wheels of the canons (oops). It’s not difficult to guess where Caleb would’ve wandered off to.
Jester approaches his door (which is open just a crack — was he waiting for her?) and slowly pushes it open all the way, until she can see him clearly. He’s standing in the center of his small bedroom (well, the bedroom he’d chosen on the Balleater, anyway), his back to the door. Caleb’s shoulders are tight with tension in a way they haven’t been in a long time around Jester, the very visual of his defenses lifting.
“Don’t do that,” she whispers, taking a careful step into the room.
Caleb shudders. He doesn’t respond to her, just remains standing there with his arms hanging at his side, his head bent forward. The back of his neck is nice, actually, always pale except for the times she makes him blush, where pink crawls down his skin like the best sort of reward. Jester has wondered what it would be like to drag her lips along that soft skin, to rub her cold nose there only to hear Caleb growl in Zemnian, trying to get away from her.
Except he wouldn’t be trying really. She knows that Caleb loves to be around her, that he seems lighter on the days they walk side-by-side. He might pretend for a moment that her presence is bothersome, but he hasn’t felt that way in such a long time that Jester actually doesn’t know when it changed.
She lets the door swing shut behind her, the quick click the only sound interrupting the stream of rain hitting the deck. “Why are you down here all alone? Come upstairs with me. I’m sure Caduceus is making tea, maybe even —”
“You should have stayed with Fjord,” Caleb interrupts, his voice clipped.
Six months ago that voice would’ve sent her running from the room, pride stung and her eyes filling with tears. She would’ve spent the whole night upset and wondering why Caleb was such a dick, asking the Traveler why she couldn’t figure him out — but it isn’t six months ago, it’s now and Jester knows that he lashes out to push away the people he thinks he’s going to tarnish.
Jester leans back against the wall and waits. She could babble and fill the silence with meaningless words and Caleb would relax, would end up indulging whatever conversation topic she chooses off the top of her head until they’re both grinning, but Jester doesn’t want to do that tonight. The fight had been difficult, Fjord had died, Orly too (until Caduceus had saved him) and they’re all bruised and battered. She’s soaked to the bone and all she wants is to be with him.
So she waits, drawing shapes in the wood with her bare toes. Jester starts with something simple and elegant (a dick — always a classic), begins adding flowers blooming from the head, pretty ones Yasha would like.
He seems to finally find his voice after what feels like an eternity, but very well could’ve just been a few minutes. “Why did you come down here?” Caleb’s voice is softer this time, hoarse like he’s having to force the words out...which Jester thinks he might be. His instinct is to fall silent when someone gets too close, when someone’s acted outside of his small, neat little box where he likes all interactions to stay.
Jester has never been very good at managing that little box.
“I wanted to see you. You did really good tonight, you know,” Jester replies lightly, trying to coax him to turn around. He hadn’t taken damage, but Caleb always gets a little more withdrawn after the fights where he’s made the final kill. “You stopped him from leaving with Fjord. We were able to heal him. That’s really good, Cayleb.”
He makes a tiny sound, which could either mean he disagrees and he’s decided not to argue or he’s distracted with his own thoughts. Jester takes another slow step until Caleb is within touching distance, where if she wanted to — Traveler help her, she wants — she could reach out and touch his back. She can just barely make out the slope of his back, the sharp cut of his shoulder blades through his drenched shirt. Jester wants to trail her fingers along the lines of him and memorize it, memorize him the same way Caleb can memorize a page of a spellbook.
“You should have stayed upstairs,” Caleb murmurs.
Jester smiles.
It’s an invitation and they both know it, though Caleb sounds disgruntled like Jester’s making a poor choice. They’ll just have to disagree on this one because Jester knows exactly what she wants and it’s him. Her hand slowly reaches out and grazes his side, asking him silently to turn. Caleb does so, weak to resisting her requests, which is another thing that thrills her. He may provide counter ideas, or point out flaws in her plans, but he never denies her.
Caleb sees her.
He releases a shaky breath and Jester holds back her own sigh, her arms curling around his waist. His own hands gently move up to cup her cheeks, bringing his forehead to hers. She can feel a drop of leftover rainwater move from his skin onto hers, running in a tickling line down her nose. She giggles softly, because it’s funny the way real life still exists in these moments of magic, and Caleb huffs out his own approximation of a laugh.
“Any one of them would be better for you,” he whispers.
Jester rubs their noses together because it releases the tightness of his jaw, nearly making him smile. Maybe it’s hard to remember all the ways he doesn’t trust himself when she’s this close. “Don’t tell me what would be best for me. I make my own decisions.”
He sighs now, shoulders relaxing as his thumbs stroke gentle circles into the skin of her cheeks. “I cannot promise I will be good at this.” There’s an aching softness in his voice, but it’s laced with pain. Different from the way Fjord had said her name earlier, but...better. It’s that romance novel moment, but tinged with the sharp edge of reality — like the way she’s covered in blood and gore, how they’re all a little broken, how they’re tripping their way down this path they’re on.
Caleb, with his pained eyes and hidden smiles, has shown her that reality is better.
Jester holds him close, her fingers sneaking under the hem of his shirt to slowly trail along the chilled skin of his back. “I’m probably going to be real bad at it too, you know. I’ve never even kissed someone.”
He pulls back, the corner of his mouth twitching on a hidden smile. It feels like the sweetest victory, her heart soaring with desire for him. “That is not true. You kissed me once. You may have thought I was dying, but it was still a kiss, Lavorre.”
Jester laughs, leaning into him. The sound of the rain is still present, the boat creaking around them like it’s barely holding itself together, but she can hardly notice because Caleb is staring at her with the same wonder of when he encounters a new spell. “That wasn’t even a real kiss, Cayleb. I’ll show you a real kiss,” she teases, pressing up on her tiptoes to bring their faces closer together, just a breath between them now.
His fingers brush back the wet strands of hair from her face, tucking it behind her ears like he needs to see more of her, like he adores her face. “There is not much more I want in this world anymore,” Caleb admits in the softest murmur, his blue eyes full of heat.
She doesn’t bother answering him, too busy pressing a clumsy, wonderful kiss to his lips. Caleb kisses her back like he can’t resist, like Jester is the answer to whatever problem he’s spent a lifetime trying to solve, and it’s better than anything she’s ever imagined.
It’s real.