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Essek does not know companionship.
He hasn’t; that’s been a hazard of his ambitions and he hasn’t minded much in the slightest. Alone is fine, alone is safe. He’s accepted that. Do what you must to accomplish your goals: a premise that he and his acquaintances in the Assembly had decided upon when they had begun their tenuous partnership.
And then… he had met the Mighty Nein. And by that, he meant they had more or less come crashing into the entire Light-forsaken kingdom with the very thing he had metaphorically traded away a part of his own soul with. He hadn’t– gods! The group of them showing up with that beacon– it had started to spiral, it had all started to spiral. His heart had dropped to his knees and then he’d been scrambling ever since. Planning his words, planning his actions. Getting close to the Nein, letting the Nein get close to him. Making sure they didn’t get close to the truth.
It had been superficial. It had all been superficial. Until it hadn’t.
He doesn’t know where it started, really. Or when. Even now, he doesn’t– he doesn’t know. It had been a relief, to be assigned to the group when they had landed in Rosohna, just to keep his eye on them. And then– he doesn’t know. Maybe the moment where, when presented with an actual home, the excitable blue one had given him a hug? Or the moment when he’d walked past to find that massive glowing tree grown from atop their abode and all he had been able to do was stare in surprise? Was it the cocktails, the invitations for dinner, the attempted tricks with ball bearings?
And then he still remembers– with clarity– overhearing their conversation in the Wildlands. Beauregard had said “I think it makes him more likable,” after he had teleported them into rock! And the concept of being– being likable? Of being liked? He hadn’t known what to think about it, and he had quickly dismissed the strange feeling in his chest as a side-effect of a failed teleportation and had gotten out of there. Or even Jester, assuring him once that they didn’t take his powers for granted, when– well. Climbing the ranks was only ever about power. His strength was shown through power, his fortitude. And then for this young tiefling to say that, so earnestly, and then end the message with– song? He still doesn’t understand her penchant for absent vocalization, but it had almost– almost– startled him into a smile that first time. Had he been a lesser man, he might have cracked.
Taking them to Mythburrow, to fight a dragon– snow and wind whipping at his hair and all he had been able to think, staring at the blinding expanse of snow was you’re crazy, they’re crazy! Shaking the snow from his mantle once he’d gone back to safety, and finding himself hoping they made it back. If only because they were interesting. If only because they were– hm. They kept him on his toes.
That had been a moment, Essek knows now. He shouldn’t have wished for their successful return. Their deaths would have meant nothing but relative safety for him. Outliers finally thrown off his trail. He should have hoped for their deaths, and he had wished them good luck instead.
Downhill from there, really. His utter agitation turned exasperation during their escapades into the Greenwood, threatening them with favors owed even when he had none in particular in mind at present. He’d helped them because he’d wanted to. Trying to rectify the look of desolation on their faces after they had failed to secure the imminent threat of the Caedogeist, and how quickly they had told him everything and anything he could have wanted to know. How he had wanted to laugh when Nott had joked not to trust them, because it was them who shouldn’t trust him– and the sudden, sharp pang of guilt that had come with that thought.
What had he been thinking, escorting Fjord in the prisons to speak with their prisoners? Going along with the little charade, their shenanigans, once again risking his neck for the people who had unwittingly trampled on his plans? And why had it been– exciting, for a moment? Why had it been– deep down, why had it been fun, for a moment?
He knows. He knows, now.
And honestly? He’d known then, too. He doesn’t want to admit that, not even now, but… he had tasted companionship. He had found his… lack of it… disappointing. He had found himself wanting. And then he’d done the most damning thing possible: he’d gone for dinner at their home. Not a tactical choice, not– not necessary by any means, but he had– he had shown up not knowing how to do companionship, and been invited in warmly. He had told them things about himself that he hadn’t told anyone else. In the span of one night, one night of dinner and conversation, he’d gotten in so deep. How had he gotten so close with just a cheese plate and a fucking hot tub?
Because you’re lonely, Thelyss, something nasty whispers in his head. And he knows, knew– knows– that it’s true.
He could have pretended to have helped Nott and Caleb with the transmogrification spell purely for research purposes, but that would have been a lie. He had done it to help, because he had wanted to help, and it had been fun to work side by side with someone kind, and trustworthy, and cherished in this lonesome life of his.
And… that. Him. Caleb Widogast. Out of all of them, he is the one Essek has felt kinship with the deepest. Maybe it is their shared magical talent or thirst for knowledge, or maybe it’s just because, sometimes, the haunt he sees in Caleb’s eyes reminds him of himself. Especially now.
It had been magic, at first. Caleb was talented and willing, and while a giant cat’s paw was still somewhere between the realms of nothing to sneeze at and just genuinely amusing, the promise was there. And what better way to keep an eye on arguably one of the most potentially dangerous members of the party than to teach him magic in a controlled setting? One day, he may even end up needing Caleb’s assistance with that magic. Who was he to know what the future could hold?
And then Caleb had come to him regarding their captured Scourger. That had been– bigger. That had been something more, too. Like so many other things, Essek hadn’t realized it at the time. But admitting first to the court and then to Essek too that he had been on the path to become a Scourger himself– this man, in front of him, here and now– had been a dangerous, calculated move. One made of desperation in a grab for information and… Essek had understood. And even then, especially then, it had been the look in his eyes. Do what you have to to accomplish your goals and damn personal consequences along the way.
Essek had agreed to sway the terms of execution, and had even gotten an audience for Caleb. He remembers telling himself that perhaps Caleb could get more information through his association. He knows he’d done it just because of that look in his eyes, momentarily honest and open and broken. Essek had seen that look in the mirror many, many times.
It had gone to hell, of course, because he had learned to expect that of the Nein at that point, but he had still stayed his hand before the moment of the Scourger’s death. He had held the power of life and death in his palm, wielded as a familiar thing, and he had looked to Caleb. There had been no other point to the pause than just– allowing the man a moment. Allowing him a kindness. With hands as stained as his, Essek had stood and given kindness.
There had been something, then, just of a nudge of a thing as he’d stood by and watched Caleb, soaking in blood, stare into that woman’s eyes. Scared and angry and traumatized and determined, as he’d flicked his hand in signal and approved the final blow himself.
In a way– a strange one– it had been impressive. And then, in another, it had been… hm… admiration, in a way that Essek was unaccustomed to feeling.
It is stronger, now. He’s still unaccustomed to feeling it.
He touches two fingers to his forehead, and lingers as he remembers Caleb’s lips pressed there.
By the Light, what is he thinking?
Better still, what is he feeling? Scrutinizing a lone parasol new to his home is one thing, lingering on this– closeness– something else entirely. He’s never– hm. He’s– he wants Caleb to do that again, he thinks. He wants to be familiar with that closeness. He wants to be wrapped up in it, wants to… he imagines being wrapped up in Caleb’s arms, tucked beneath those secrets and scheming and scars. He wants to share in all of those things, and– more?
He wants to believe the words Caleb had said to him with such determination. He wants to believe that there is hope for them yet. Er, him. Why is he thinking of terms of twos when he has no idea what Caleb has done in his life, if he deserves forgiveness or even needs it? (He isn’t passing judgment. He just doesn’t know. But he wants to. He thinks– he would like to. He thinks that even suffering together would be– mm, alright.)
Caleb’s touch had been so very warm, not shying away from the filthiest of Essek’s deeds. And his mouth had been so gentle.
Essek wonders what those lips would feel like against his, and what words they could whisper in the comfort of the dark.
And that makes him– that makes him feel flush, to the tips of his toes touching the floor, because what is he thinking? Light above.
Caleb could not love him. Essek still barely believes he is likable, let alone lovable. He is not. Caleb has so much more readily available. Caleb doesn’t– he doesn’t feel these complicated feelings.
Essek presses two cold fingertips against his lips, and closes his eyes for just a moment. It is damning, but he lets himself imagine. For just a moment.
It would be nice to be redeemable. It would be nice to be wanted.
It doesn’t bear dwelling on, not really, but, well… like with so many things, it’s already too late for him now.