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"I sometimes wish I had never met you."
Caleb takes another long shot of his drink, quiet in the stillness of his tower. It’s just the two of them, now, sharing a bottle of whiskey Caleb has conjured from nothing but his imagination. The burn of it reminds him of his teenage years. A better time. "I didn't realize my company was such a hardship," he says, his tone neutral, and Essek hates him, just a little bit. "I could leave if you prefer."
Essek hates drinking; specifically, he hates what drinking does to him, the way it makes the words slip out of his tongue. A terrible habit, brought about by his youth and inexperience, his mother used to say. "I want you to stay," Essek says, trying not to slur his words, although it is difficult. "I want you ."
Caleb's eyebrow raises, and Essek feels himself flush from more than just the drink.
"Stay." he repeats.
"But you wish we never met?" Caleb continues, sipping on the ice cold liquor. He remembers suddenly where he first tasted this particular bottle. Astrid had smuggled a bottle into the dorms; it had belonged to her father, he thinks, or perhaps she had stolen it from someone else. It doesn’t matter, now.
"You make me feel things," Essek confesses. He wonders a little bit if Caleb isn't just a figment of his imagination, something his drunken lonely stupor invented to keep himself company. "Guilt. Regret. Longing. I was content enough not feeling anything at all, before," he laughs, and takes another slug out of the bottle, drowning it with his sorrows. "You just make me feel bad, now. I would do anything to earn your forgiveness, your companionship. I spent my whole life wanting someone like you in it, and now you're here and I've already fucked it up.”
They are quiet again for a moment, the stillness of the library keeping them company. Caleb feels he should say something--break the tension with a shared moment of connection. He knows what it feels like, after all, to feel like you’ve already fucked up at something.
Before he gets the chance, however, Essek spits out “Where--where were you three years ago, huh? When it would have mattered? Couldn't you have made me grow a conscious then?"
Caleb's eyes narrow slowly, and he sets his drink on the table, slamming it with more force than he intends. "Three years ago I was in an asylum for the insane,” he exaggerates, his anger red hot. “Forgive me if I wasn't there to play the part of your conscious ."
Mouth, insert the entirety of Essek's foot.
“I’m sorr--”
“No,” Caleb shakes his head, before Essek even has a chance to apologize. The whiskey makes him feel hotter than normal. “That was unkind of me. I apologize.”
“You didn’t say anything I didn’t deserve,” Essek whispers, taking another sip of the whiskey. It burns as it slides down his throat. “I should stop drinking.”
“Why stop now? The night is still young.”
“I don’t want to say anything else I might regret.”
Caleb gets quiet, contemplative, even. “Do you really regret meeting me?”
“No,” Essek shakes his head, laughing slightly. “Sometimes I wish I did. My life was a lot simpler before I met all of you. But I wouldn’t--I don’t want to be that person, anymore. I don’t. I genuinely want to be better, even if it’s harder.”
Caleb drinks the last of the whiskey, and sets the empty bottle down. “We’re going to die tomorrow.”
Essek laughs again, his bones warmed from the whiskey bottle he shared with Caleb. “I’m planning on it.”
“You shouldn’t,” Caleb says, a deep frown on his face, his heart a heavy burden. “You deserve to live , Essek.”
“I started a war, and I didn’t care,” Essek murmurs. “If anyone deserves to die in this frozen hellscape, it’s me. But you, Caleb? You deserve to live.” He gets quiet for a moment, and in the silence Caleb takes the opportunity to study him. His lips are wet from the whiskey, and his eyes seem slightly dazed, their deep violet color tinged red from the alcohol. “You must live, Caleb. I wouldn’t forgive you if you died.”
“Forgive me?”
“Of course,” Essek’s words slur, slightly. “I’m in love with you. You aren’t allowed to die, or it would break my heart.”
He says it so plainly , like it’s just a statement of truth, that for a moment Caleb doesn’t think he actually heard him right.
“You’re drunk,” Caleb tries to reason, more with himself than Essek, shaking his head, feeling himself flush, whether from the whiskey, the warmth of the fire, or Essek’s words, he doesn’t know.
“Then let me be drunk and in love,” Essek grins, fangs poking out of his mouth. He leans on his elbows closer to Caleb, and unbuttons the top of his shirt. “Stay with me tonight.”
At that, Caleb does flush, his cheeks bright crimson. “I’m not going to have sex with you. You’re drunk!”
“What?” Essek shakes his head, his confidence confused. “I wasn’t even thinking about that.”
Mouth, insert Caleb’s foot.
“You weren’t?”
“No!” Essek giggles, and leans forward, so that his head rests on Caleb’s shoulder. “I don’t even care about that stuff. I just want to cuddle. Snuggle. Schmuggle,” he giggles again, his ears wiggly vibrantly. “You’re warm .”
“You’re stupid,” Caleb plays back with him, wrapping his arms around Essek and pulling him closer.
“Sometimes,” Essek admits. “Not always. Not about this,” he yawns, and closes his eyes, head pressed fully against Caleb’s heart. “G’night, Caleb.”
If he still loves him in the morning, when they alcohol has worn off--
If they
survive
this--
“Good night, Essek,” Caleb whispers, a quick kiss to Essek’s forehead, and he sleeps sounder than he has in months.