Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Though things have not changed all that much in the day since their not-quite-a-talk conversation, the previously overbearing tension filling the atmosphere between Caleb and Essek has eased some, Caleb thinks, now that he has a better idea of what to expect from their present arrangement.

Still a little hazy, but he can be careful.

Of course, certain members of the Mighty Nein jeered in their good-natured way when dropped off to their respective homes and locales after the group’s collective vacation-slash-mission, presuming as per usual that other, very involved events transpired between him and Essek that night.

Amusement rests in his heart. Their friends would have the same exact reaction if they were aware he and Essek had instead been scandalous enough to hold hands, at length and unsupervised.

Besides, Caleb is a patient man.

He has no need to prod at Essek’s slow-building comfort with attempts towards anything else.

He knows how to curtail his own inclinations. Knows how to navigate them well enough alone, at the very least.

He dispels these thoughts as he slips on a clean sleep shirt, leaving his hair loose since he likely won’t be up for much longer, given the hour.

Freshly bathed and thoroughly dried, he reenters his antechamber turned mainroom, entirely unsurprised by the snowy hair still peeking up from the other side of the couch.

Tipping the last trickles of water from his ears, Caleb approaches the seat—their seat, he emphasizes now—making his voice presentational if only to ensure Essek is aware of his returned presence.

“Hallo, I am back.”

Without turning from his work, Essek raises a hand in Caleb’s direction when he begins to pass behind the couch.

Oh, that’s new.

Caleb pauses to take it for a moment.

Essek, still writing, smiles.

“Welcome back.”

And perhaps it’s Essek’s voice, a gentle lilt containing the slightest of chuckles.

Perhaps it’s the firelight against Essek’s hair as he writes, making him glow bright, haloed precious.

Perhaps it’s a memory overlaid atop- a similar image from that decisive night in Aeor’s ruins.

Perhaps it’s how Essek’s careful hand fits just so within Caleb’s grasp.

Perhaps it’s Caleb’s previous train of thought, combined with his late night languor.

Perhaps it’s the newfound comfort of fresh-settled expectations.

Perhaps it’s the fact that the tower is again theirs alone.

Perhaps it’s simply Essek’s continued existence, still here, in this moment to begin with.

Perhaps it’s every single individual reason Caleb can count, and then some.

Regardless, Caleb is again confronted with the fact that he loves Essek, and his heart makes a sudden jump.

Warm affection sparks, bubbles overpowering in his chest, and—patient caution made sparse for just a single instant—he once again drops a quick kiss, a breath of a tap, into the soft white curls atop Essek’s head.

Releasing Essek’s hand, Caleb swiftly moves around the back of the couch and settles in opposite to Essek, reclaiming the notebooks he’d set aside, closed, on the low table, trying to not think too hard about what he’s just done.

Maybe Essek will brush it off as nothing again.

They still sit together, not quite touching as has been the usual, but now their ankles breach the perfect center of the couch, that once-barrier now comfortably permeable to a degree.

After a few moments, Caleb allows himself a glance away from his notes picking apart the duration limits of Telepathic Bond, meeting Essek’s gaze with a slight start.

Face blank and a hand to the top of his head against that so-soft hair, Essek stares at him, his violet eyes wide and flicking over Caleb like a thousand calculations are whirring behind them.

So Caleb waits for them to settle, uncertainty brewing in his belly.

Essek clearly has something to say.

Then he blinks. His eyes narrow, his eyebrows pinch.

Oh no.

Clutching a loose pillow, Caleb wonders if he should have made the couch cushions deeper so they could consume him entirely.

Essek finally speaks.

“Your hair is dry.”

Confusion joins the regret beginning to fill that warm space in Caleb’s chest.

“What?”

“You did that, before. And your hair. It’s dry.”

“Yes?”

Essek drops his face into hands, his voice escaping as a pained groan.

“You weren’t trying to drip on me.”

Both in posture and mindset, Caleb feels he may as well be a living question mark.

“No, I wasn’t. Why would I do that?”

“My brother is ridiculous.”

Caleb definitely must have overstepped if Essek is bringing up Verin of all people for this.

“I’m sorry. I’ll refrain in the future.”

But Essek sighs, a pitiful little sound.

“No, no it’s- it’s… fine, it’s fine. Just-.”

Caleb’s shoulders loosen some with relief, regret fading into plain confusion.

Then Essek looks up, barely peeking through fingers that are a few shades lighter than his face.

“Am I truly that unobservant?”

The reason behind Essek’s embarrassment dawns on Caleb and he unfurls from his down-filled shield, his heart now adding surprise to its strange mix.

“Essek, did you not know it was a kiss, before?”

Essek’s face disappears again, but his hands provide no cover for his deeply flushed ears.

An unequivocal ‘no’.

Amusement appears and wins out Caleb’s heart- he feels a grin spread across his face.

“I did wonder why you said you had ‘dealt with worse’ after you dried my hair.”

Essek lowers his hands into the beginning somatics of Mage Hand and glares with an eyebrow raised in challenge, his mouth set into an adorably indignant pout of a sneer.

“Would you care for worse?”

Setting aside his work and throwing self-preservation out the window in hopes of eliciting a smile, Caleb decides to push his tease further.

“I thought I was a tomato at that, but you, now, are an absolute plum, my friend.”

Caleb laughs as the soft pillow he’s holding flips up and smacks him in the face.

He does not laugh alone.

Chapter Text

A forceful series of knocks reaches all the way to Caleb’s bedchamber and he is suddenly very awake, hazily pleasant dreams shattered.

This is strange, entirely abnormal.

Frightening, almost.

Without much thought, he rises and throws on a robe, passing through door and door to the final one.

He opens this third door, the one out to the rest of the tower, to find its only other current resident at his threshold, eye-to-eye.

The height is unsurprising given Essek’s favored locomotion.

But Caleb has never seen Essek quite like this.

A deeply haunted, half-present look in his red-rimmed eyes, pupils blown, his ears entirely away, followed by disheveled hair and rumpled clothing, an entire deconstruction of his usual well-kept presentation. Arms crossed and clinging to his sides, hands clenched against the fabric there.

He’s shivering.

It’s concerning.

Concerning enough to call forth a faint echo of a cold, cold tower, a lingering memory of a warm, warm dorm room, and Caleb’s forearms itch at the involuntary recall, despite how weak he’s managed it to be.

But he keeps his hands away. Takes some breaths to stave off slight nausea.

This can’t be that. It’s not. This is different, Caleb knows. He knows.

But that look. And why is Essek shaking?

Caleb’s words escape as a hiss wrapped in worry.

“Essek, what is wr-?”

But dismay jolts his voice to a stop when Essek immediately glides even closer—very close—and raises a trembling hand to Caleb’s throat, wordless with shallow breaths, eyes narrowed, a slightly unfocused scowl pulling at his pretty lips and drawing his brows together.

Caleb dare not move in this moment, dare not swallow or breathe too deep, dare not react to this uncharacteristically bold motion because there is no hunger in Essek’s shining, panicked eyes, and atrophied habit carries no follow-up without it present.

Essek’s cold fingertips—is he actually cold or is this only further remembrance?—find that particularly vulnerable soft spot between jaw and neck and press gently, firmly, likely just enough to feel Caleb’s rapidly beating pulse.

Ah, that’s what this is.

Caleb dare not move, dare not scare Essek from this oddly executed assurance, this check he must be making with those intent eyes of now-dripping violet as they shift to bore into Caleb’s chest.

Right where he palpates cautious fingers against clothed scar tissue.

Right above the residence of Caleb’s hammering heart.

After an unbearably tense second or century, Essek’s face, his entire form, seems to crumple small as he lets out a shaky breath, hands tightening against Caleb’s robe, head bowed and tears now unseen.

Caleb dips his head, trying to catch Essek’s eyes.

“I’m alive.”

Essek looks away further, nods, and his breathing stutters into rough sniffles as he releases Caleb’s robe, voice watery.

“I know. I’m sorry.”

Hands still raised and now directionless, Essek’s tensed fingers fidget with themselves, thumbnail sides pinched by fingertips, before swiping at his eyes, as if his teardrops are frivolous things to be plucked and crushed.

Caleb opens his arms, proffering a quiet warmth and a safe place to land.

Essek trusts him to be here and this is different from so long ago.

This is not comfort for survival; it’s a conscious vulnerability on both their parts.

But Essek flinches at the motion, drifting back and away from Caleb’s offered embrace, away from this room they have spent time sharing, like they would catch and trap him. He rights himself uncannily well despite the ways his face still leaks.

Disappointment, concern, and relief all burn together.

Essek does not need Caleb like that.

Even so, his muted, jarringly pleasant façade is askew; it doesn’t fit quite right anymore now that Essek has grown to encompass more than another vizard underneath. Caleb knows, can see hesitance slip through the cracks in the way Essek clenches his hands motionless.

Seeming to remember his magic, Essek clears his face and throat, mending the mask some. It can't hide his eyes, though, still dark in what Caleb has come to recognize as fear.

“I’ll go. Thank you.”

Still, Essek stays of his own volition, untethered even to the ground.

This current bond between them is something very different from what Caleb had before, very different from what he and Essek had before; it’s something grown newer, blooming fresh of their own choosing, tended to on purpose.

This is alright.

So what can Caleb do but continue to pay forward a gesture of goodwill and good intent, born to soothe memory and fostered to mark safe opportunity, among other hopeful sentiments?

Slowly, slowly, as Essek watches with a level gaze, meeting his eyes all the while, Caleb takes a careful step out of the room.

Over the course of an eon, he raises a single hand to ghost fingertips over Essek’s cheek, to steady himself, to ensure Essek is willing to accept this smaller touch, and waits.

Though he does not flinch again through these snail-paced motions, does not back away from Caleb any farther, the mask slips as Essek seems to realize what Caleb is planning and he bows his head.

Squeezes his eyes shut and buries them under taut brows like he’s anticipating a swat.

This is nothing of the sort.

Caleb leans in and up, and presses a gentle kiss to Essek’s forehead before withdrawing both hand and face, volunteering no further touch.

He keeps the quiet, the closeness, but still asks, head dipped and voice soft, a murmur.

“Sit with me?”

No response, only the same grimace, the same clenched jaw. Tear trails reappear.

“I can show you how to count.”

Essek’s eyes open, violet deep as pre-dawn dusk and framed by dew-melt clung hoarfrost lashes, and they grow sharper, more focused.

“I know numbers fine.”

His eyebrows slant with what could even be read as defiance against presumed patronizing.

Good, good, welcome back.

Caleb crooks a gentle grin, feels the steep upturn of his brow line.

“But do you know my way?”

A tiny fleck of curiosity lightens Essek’s eyes, lifts his ears; it’s a shift imperceptible enough that Caleb would miss it had he not spent time deliberately learning the difference between its presence and absence.

So Caleb turns aside and pulls a cat-call cord, gesturing through the door to their well-familiar couch, before following his own guide. He takes the middle rather than his corner and pats Essek’s side of the seat, looking back to him, keeping his face open.

Essek follows and settles into his place, drifting down and pulling small, clearing his face again.

A moment more and then Gretchen, dutiful as ever, waltzes into the room with a chirp, making a point to rub against Essek’s idle hands as she jumps onto the couch on her way to Caleb.

“Hot cocoa, ice water, and some snacks, those little finger foods with fiddly bits that Jester brought last time, for my friend and I, ja?”

Gretchen purrs as Caleb scratches on either side of her jaw before she disengages, pesters Essek again to receive a few more disjointed pets, and pads away to fulfill the request.

As they wait, Caleb demonstrates how he counts for breath when difficult thoughts swarm and tension grabs his lungs tight.

Staying quiet, Essek breathes along, seeming to sink further into the couch with each exhale.

Cats come and go, filling the low table in front of the couch with drinks and nibbling tidbits.

Perhaps it would be best to keep such things handy and readily present, Caleb notes.

Just in case.

Without much deliberation, Essek claims a mug of cocoa, holding it between both hands, staring in as steam matches the jumbled swirls of his hair.

So he does want some warmth.

Having no specific appetite, Caleb only keeps watch on the fireplace, ready to follow along with whatever Essek decides next, even if that means Essek leaves entirely, or comes so-close.

The hearth plays a crackling solo to the room.

Ice makes a single clink to glass.

“Verin taught me that, a long time ago.”

Caleb glances to Essek- he’s gripping his mug tight.

“Checking the pulse?”

“Mh... And I-.”

Caleb waits, listens.

A sharp inhale.

“I apologize. For barging in and- doing that. I realize it was strange, unseemly, invasive. I couldn’t collect my thoughts well enough to say anything meaningful, but I should have kept boundaries in mind instead of falling to…”

Essek’s lips push flat as he releases his breath through his nose, an expression of consideration, Caleb decides.

“Buried… habit.”

Habit, hm.

Caleb absently runs a hand down his sleeved forearm before resting his hands together, held loose in his lap. Fingers to palm back, he kneads one thumb to the heel of the other, and looks back to the flames.

“Well, I’ll be prepared should it happen again.”

“Ah.”

Firelight catches in condensation, bejeweling the water pitcher with golden cabochons and veins of amber.

Caleb glances aside.

“Would you like to stay?”

Tired violet eyes turn to Caleb when he asks this, wide as the saucers on the low table.

Then Essek retreats back to his untouched drink, nods reticent.

The ice in the pitcher catches Caleb’s ear when it shifts upon melting some from the fire’s warmth.

He tips his head to Essek.

“Would you like me to stay?”

Essek gives a wry huff to his cocoa.

“Would that be selfish?”

“I’d like to stay.”

A quick glimpse of violet to Caleb before Essek’s gaze returns to the mug.

“Then be my guest. Or- oh. I…. Ha.”

It could be a trick of the shifting firelight, could be Caleb’s sleepy eyes, but Essek’s expression seems to turn just a little tender, just a touch softer on the edges, as his voice lilts a murmur.

“I suppose I’m yours, hm?”

A gentle smile pulls at Caleb’s lips, and he watches as Essek traces the rim of his mug with a thumb, fingers and palms still held against its warming sides, the contents inside rippling slightly.

“Is there anything else you’d like? Anything to help?”

A glinting fang worries a lip. But no words.

“Show me?”

Essek looks up from his mug to Caleb, eyes-not-so-dark flicking between Caleb’s, brows softly furrowed, but he neither says nor does anything further than the glance.

No matter what Essek could ask for, Caleb knows this is safe.

“I won’t run.”

A moment.

Caleb will give Essek all the time he needs to consider.

A moment more.

Then, careful and slow, not spilling a drop of his drink, Essek unfurls and abandons his corner in favor of tucking himself next to Caleb, going so far as to nestle his way under Caleb’s arm and press against his side, shoulder to hip, legs folded up and feet drawn under.

This close, Caleb can feel Essek’s tremors immediately lessen, can feel Essek’s chest expand and contract alongside his own.

Caleb can feel Essek’s fluttering heartbeat, rather in sync with his own.

They are both very alive, present together.

“This, if it’s alright?”

Caleb remains stationary, not wanting to spook Essek from this rare moment of outreach, looking into those too-careful, entreating eyes. They're darker, twilight shifting to night. Ears perked but not straining alert.

A log in the hearth cracks a snap.

This isn't fear.

Caleb's heart feels fit to burst, and he manages a whisper.

“Ja, this is alright.”

Essek blinks in time with the pitcher's ring.

Then he nods, settles further into place, turns his eyes to the fire.

And so they sit, leaning side-by-side, breathing together, sweet steam warming the air around them, the fireplace casting its gentle warm light through crystalline ice water.

Essek’s eyes grow unfocused, needle-slit, as he watches the flames.

Deep in thought, Caleb assumes.

Muscles held taut relax, slowly, slowly.

Eventually, Essek takes a sip of his drink.

Caleb, drowsy, comfortable, definitely does not stare when Essek reflexively licks the chocolate from his lips.

He definitely does not wonder how it would taste.

The water pitcher’s ice shifts again.

The hearth cracks in reply.

Caleb holds Essek close until he wants his space again.

Chapter Text

Sitting across from Caleb on the couch, tucked between arm and couchback, legs comfortably stretched out and definitively within Caleb’s space, Essek holds open a book of Undercommon poetry that he has not been reading, but is posed as such, looking to the pages.

283… 284… 285… 286… 287… 288…

He must be thinking about something, and Caleb wouldn’t want to be remiss by ignoring his guest entirely.

289… 290… 291… 292… 293… 294…

Caleb mirrors him in posture, albeit angled to the couch edge so as to not sit on or tangle with Essek’s legs.

295… 296… 297… 298… 299… 300.

“Essek.”

Essek tips his head up, lovely eyes wide, receptive.

“Yes?”

Essek has been rather… not clingy necessarily, but seemingly more readily present. Phrased otherwise, Essek rarely leaves this room once Caleb retires from the rest of the tower, and when he does, he’s soon to return. Caleb has left his bedchamber to find Essek trancing on this very couch on more than one occasion.

Essek’s own quarters have seemed near abandoned save for utility by comparison.

Not that Caleb minds, really. Essek has made much use of them before now, and Caleb is confident that Essek is well aware of the thoughts and sentiments he filled them with, due to his arcane prowess among everything else. Besides that, Caleb does enjoy Essek’s physical company nearby.

Still, this current state is peculiar, new. Especially with how Essek has been willing to take up more and more space. Perhaps it’s something to be puzzled.

And what is the process of solving a puzzle if not entertaining.

So Caleb smiles as he begins his attempt.

“Hallo.”

There’s a confused curiosity to Essek’s face that he wears charmingly well with a grin.

“Hello?”

Caleb holds Essek’s gaze for a moment before looking back to his notebook. He feels more than hears Essek’s chuckle.

Amused by Caleb’s inane interruption to his thoughts? Either they’re idle meanderings or Caleb and things related are the focus of them. Those seem the most likely options, at least, given Essek’s relaxed demeanor.

The room settles back to gentle hearth crackles.

“Essek.”

This time, Essek doesn’t shift his head from its tilt down to his book, only flicks his eyes up to meet Caleb’s. He arches an eyebrow.

Caleb lets his grin widen.

“Hallo.”

“Hello again.”

And then Caleb returns his gaze to his notes once more, waiting a little longer to give Essek time to look away again. Essek exhales, not a sigh, but a little too fast and forceful to be a typical breath. Repeated interruptions are not entirely favorable- Essek isn’t quite thinking idle topics, then.

Caleb knows he’s being a minor nuisance, but he is very curious, amused by testing his hypothesis like this.

“Essek.”

Essek sets his book and hands down to his lap, toothless exasperation quite evident in the line of his mouth.

“Caleb, I haven’t made it beyond a phrase, please.”

Oh? A little untruth. Interesting.

“You haven’t made it beyond a page in five minutes, and I’m sure it can’t be that slow a read. Copper for your thoughts?”

Face blank and without breaking eye contact, Essek turns a page.

Caleb tilts his head. Essek must not have been talking about the book. Very well- direct approach then.

“Has there been something off with your rooms?”

Essek’s eyes widen and his eyebrows shoot up before both collapse tighter than they were before.

“What?”

Caleb waits as Essek, expression now sitting drawn, searches his face. He assumes Essek is processing the question, formulating a response.

When Essek speaks, his voice is strangely careful, metered.

“No, they’re absolutely lovely and you have a remarkable attention to detail.”

“You don’t seem to spend much time in them as of late.”

“Is that so? I can’t say I’ve noticed.”

Essek is very pointedly not looking towards Caleb, cheeks staining deeper plum just slightly.

A blatant lie, and not one intended for humor.

Caleb can take a hint and he backs down.

“If you’d rather not say--”

But Essek interjects.

“No it’s- I do. I’m unsure of how to. I have been- thinking.”

Ah, so not only had Caleb, quite accidentally, guessed correctly from the beginning, he had caught Essek off guard while Essek was trying to piece together this topic exactly.

An interesting coincidence.

Caleb will be patient next time, though.

Now that he’s already put his foot in his mouth, the least he can do is offer a reassurance.

“You don’t have to polish your words for me. I do enjoy a good puzzle in good company.”

Essek scoffs with a wry grin. It’s soft around his eyes, so Caleb interprets it as fond.

“I know.”

Then he sighs.

“It’s not that I don’t appreciate the things you offer me. I do, deeply.”

Caleb hasn’t necessarily been worried about that and he’s not going to start now, especially with this current reassurance. If anyone can appreciate his time and efforts, Caleb’s certain Essek is among those to intimately and uniquely know their weight.

Resting his head back against the couch arm as though the ceiling contains the words he wants, Essek continues on with narrowed eyes and a pressed mouth.

Based on that expression, this must be where Essek thinks his doublespeak will begin to falter.

Caleb makes a note to expect unfinished and exposed thoughts.

“I just ah… don’t… want them… alone? I suppose.”

Hm, ‘alone’…. Too many charged connotations to narrow down the right meaning, so Caleb defaults to innocuous denotation.

“If something needs changing or if they’re missing something, or anything of the sort, you know you can tell me and I’ll do my best to adjust it?”

Essek lifts his head, brows furrowed further.

“Nothing needs changing, Caleb.”

But does he want something changed?

Maybe a nudge of intent will help Essek with his reticence.

Resting his voice soft, Caleb dips his head a little.

“I’m only asking because I want to make sure you are comfortable here.”

Essek frowns.

“I am comfortable here.”

His tone is incredulous, like he’s disbelieving of Caleb’s insinuation otherwise.

“I-.”

With a sharp exhale, he looks away as he clenches a fist against the cushions and he worries his lip with a fang as if to stop unformed words from spilling out of his mouth.

Since there’s something Essek wants to work out, weave together, Caleb simply continues to look on, appreciating the captivating subject of his attention in this firelit scene.

Just a bit.

He watches those intelligent eyes, that tooth to the lip.

Ah, quite a bit, maybe.

Essek takes a breath, heaves a sigh, and rests back to look at the ceiling again, folding his hands loosely over his stomach.

His voice comes quiet.

“I am comfortable, here, with you, and with what you offer yourself.”

Oh.

The following thoughts take place in a slowed instant as Caleb regards the entire conversation.

This room and its contents are what Caleb will allow himself, and it has already changed so much since the first time Essek saw it, acknowledging and nonjudgemental.

Since the first time he created it, truly.

It isn’t opulent, but it’s comfortable.

No longer quite as drab and dull, the additional furniture is polished and more accommodating, the colors more vibrant, the rugs more plush, the now-multiple bookshelves fuller and more varied.

The stained glass above the fireplace shines rainbow-bright as ever.

The air feels more alive than it used to; the fireplace crackles pleased.

The low table sits with its now permanent water and snacks.

Not to mention the couch.

Their couch, his and Essek’s.

Even the attached rooms Essek hasn’t yet seen are improved. Or, one of them. The other is yet undecided.

Essek’s rooms, on the other hand, have largely remained static, though they have gained a gleam of wear and use, minor adjustments to make them feel more homey and lived in.

But still, they present as grand admissions of care and potential and admiration and hope of different sorts, not too unlike the ninth floor chamber.

Essek almost certainly understands this- he made that apparent by drawing a distinction between his own rooms and Caleb’s, what Caleb offers him versus what Caleb offers himself.

But, based on his recent habitations, he prefers to be in Caleb’s mainroom when Caleb is also within the chambers.

This must have been what Essek meant by ‘nothing needs changing’, and what he meant by ‘alone’.

Any changes to his rooms are rather inconsequential because Essek wants to be with Caleb where he is, as he is.

As they both are, Caleb corrects.

As they continue to change together.

To genuinely afford himself something is to do the same for Essek.

Equals, balanced, no one on a pedestal.

That makes sense.

Of course that’s the case; it would be silly to consider otherwise.

What a messy counterpoise to maintain- holding together, carefully slotted between barbsides, collectively angled towards atonement.

What a befitting exchange to uphold- asking and offering, accepting and refraining, giving and sharing.

What a fun challenge to continue- walking a hairline coin’s edge to some increasingly tangible concept of fulfilment.

What was Essek going to volunteer before he cut himself off, if this was the blanketed alternative?

Essek loves him, that much is clear.

No three-worded confession in their shared second language could convey the depth to which Essek has just admitted he is willing to see Caleb, not in such an encompassing way.

There’s a heated heart-pound in Caleb’s chest as the realization actually washes over him and he is almost surprised by the lack of surprise he finds within it. But no, he’s known this. And he loves Essek too, after all.

But did Essek intend to tell him plain like this?

Just like this? A quiet response to Caleb’s pestering?

He considers further.

Essek is not tense and did not flounder those words as he tends to when directly verbalizing his own emotions. Additionally, his hands are stationary despite no longer being pressed to the couch cushions, and, knowing Essek as he does now, Caleb is almost certain they would be twisting amongst themselves upon sharing this vulnerable thought. That, and he’s hardly blushing, still staring grumpy at the impassive ceiling.

As such, Caleb isn’t sure if Essek even realizes that he has voiced such an admission here, if he meant to offer this puzzle piece, a sentiment so raw and uncovered—in every sense—by circuitous language. Perhaps he thinks he buried it entirely, rather than dug it up further.

Even with the overwhelmingly warm swell of emotion promising to overtake his heart at some point, Caleb manages to pack it away, saving it for later to allow Essek the chance to reveal things on his own terms in the case he really didn’t mean to do so now.

In the case he’s not ready to do so yet.

Caleb will be patient for this. For Essek. For himself too, perhaps.

He wants to hold Essek’s hands secure and steady when the time comes.

For now, though, Caleb will play on the safe side.

Time resumes its normal pace as he nudges at Essek’s leg with the socked foot resting beside it.

“Oh, you like me so much, do you?”

Maybe the safe side can be a little coquettish, just to gauge Essek’s intent.

Essek looks up, sits up a little higher from his recline at the tease, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms, chin up, prim as can be.

“I can leave.”

There’s no threat to the words, not with an almost-pout like that, looking quite kissable—no, Caleb tamps that down too—but this calmly demure play only further proves that Essek isn’t aware he has given his hand already.

So Caleb gives a gentle smile, reining himself in further.

“You certainly can, and I won’t stop you. Or, if you so wish, you can stay as you are.”

But Essek’s eyes shine astute as he bends forward and tips his head.

“And if neither option is entirely suitable?”

How delightful- he’s comfortable enough to lean into boldness.

Caleb sighs quite dramatically, not willing to give up the game yet.

“I suppose I could go elsewhere, if you so insist.”

Uncrossing his arms, Essek scoffs and hooks a smirk.

Ah, Caleb can concede, if just a little. Reciprocate some boldness.

“Or you can even come closer- I don’t bite.”

With a grin, Caleb bites his tongue to hold back a reflexive ‘unless you want me to’ that any of their other friends would get a kick out of. He’s deep in a teasing mood, but that may be a step too far.

Essek eyes him warily, amusingly suspicious.

To emphasize the point of his spoken words, Caleb sets aside his notebooks and simply holds out a beckoning hand, settling his smile into one he hopes is encouraging.

But Essek only stares, blinks, flushes.

It takes Caleb a few moments of confused glances to determine the cause of Essek’s fluster. He realizes he is inviting Essek to take the only available seating on this side of the couch: Caleb’s own lap.

Ah, that must be too forward for their little game.

So he begins scooching further out from the couch back to make an Essek-sized space beside him, eyes on Essek all the while to hopefully convey his intent.

However.

“OOF!”

Misjudging the available room between seat edge and empty air, Caleb puts out a hand and supports his weight against nothing, promptly falling off the couch and tumbling to the floor in an ungraceful sprawl.

On the bright side, he does narrowly miss knocking against the low table and spilling its resident water pitcher all over himself and his work.

And on the brighter side-

“Are you alright?”

Essek looks over the edge of the seat, his face hanging right above Caleb’s, mortification present in his drained visage and earnest worry written plain in those pretty, pretty violet eyes. His earrings dangle down, sparkling in the firelight, his hair and lashes catch golden from the flames.

Caleb finds he rather likes this enchanting view.

How easy it would be, to sit up just slightly, to meet Essek where he is, to turn his prettily downturned lips, with just a touch, into a fanged smile.

But Caleb stays lying and offers one with blunter teeth.

“I’m fine.”

He then pokes an index finger to the crease between Essek’s brows.

Essek blinks, seemingly unimpressed as his cat's-eyes thin some from prior worry.

“Ah. Yes you are. Chairs prevail eternal, it seems.”

A sudden laugh courses through Caleb from belly and full heart before he manages to quiet himself to chuckles.

“I’ve survived death itself, yet seating dimensions are proving to be my true downfall.”

With a huffed sigh through his nose that sounds quite a lot like a held-back laugh, Essek’s brows loosen to upturn in soft concern, his lips curve into that handsomely affectionate half grin, and he extends a hand to Caleb, patting Caleb’s cheek as part of the gesture.

Oh, that is new.

“That is a terrible joke, Caleb Widogast.”

Essek certainly loves him.

And because Essek still smiles at him, Caleb will consider his poor humor a success, saving this moment to memory.

Taking Essek’s hand, Caleb grunts as he leans up stiffly, one arm bracing his weight behind him on the way.

“How about this, then.”

Once sitting up, he, very lightly, cups one side of Essek’s face with his newly unoccupied hand.

“Now that I know…”

Caleb’s voice trails off as Essek keeps his eyes, pupils widening again just a smidge- not worry, based on that smile, and leans into his touch.

In its deliberation, the slight motion almost stops Caleb’s heart with glee.

Maybe he is getting ahead of himself, thinking he’ll be able to lounge pressed against Essek without having a heart attack or crushing him into a desperately loving embrace.

“Now that you know?”

Essek’s eyes seem pleased but guileless, and Caleb clears his throat to find his words again, swiping a gentle thumb against a dusky cheekbone.

“Now that I know it is preferable, shared, in all directions,”

To Essek’s uncaressed cheek, Caleb presses a soft kiss with a smile.

“I will adjust this for next time.”

He meets Essek’s wide, even-darker eyes.

“And that is not a joke.”

Essek glances away for a moment, skin warming under Caleb’s palm, before looking back with a slight chuckle and nod.

“Very well.”

With his face flushed again but his soft smile undimmed, Essek takes Caleb’s hand from his cheek and helps him the rest of the way up, retreating back to his own side of the couch afterwards.

Reclaiming his notebooks, Caleb settles into his seat again.

Moments pass.

Pages turn.

The hearth crackles. The pitcher ice rings.

Caleb flexes his hand, the one he held against Essek’s cheek, unseen behind book binding and theories on spell component bonding.

Chapter Text

The hour is up, and the sound remains.

It’s not a thought process, so Caleb will give it a minute before he asks.

Three seconds.

“Essek?”

“Hello, Caleb Widogast.”

Caleb doesn’t need to look to know Essek’s smile is heartachingly tender; it’s resting in his pronunciation. He can’t quite bear to see it right now besides- he’s a touch too fragile and knows a glance would shatter the moment.

“Thank you, for indulging me with something so silly.”

“The pleasure is mine, Caleb. How are you?”

Essek’s voice is so kind, as it has been for the past two hours or so, and Caleb lets out a slow, human-sized breath against a shirt that had been prestidigitated dry some minutes plus an hour and twenty-three seconds ago.

“A little better, I think.”

He gives another sigh.

“It’s still heavy.”

“Easier to bear when shared, though?”

Caleb doesn’t feel the urge to scratch at his forearms currently.

“Maybe a bit.”

Once, quite a while ago, Caduceus assessed Essek to be a cat person, and Caleb finds this to be a generally applicable thought when considering the drow’s usual demeanor and behaviors.

Beyond that and before this, Caleb has observed that he’s openly affectionate towards cats, treats them very well even when they insist on attention and proximity.

Gentle fingers continue to card through Caleb’s hair, quite a blessing, as they have for the past hour and thirty-nine seconds. His face tickles, magically dried again, and he thinks he’s out of tears for the time being.

Essek breathes, chest expanding under Caleb’s cheek.

“Thank you, then, for the trust.”

Yes, Caleb thinks he has probably cried himself to some form of sleepy contentment.

He’s familiar with the purring of cats, of course- a soft, consistent vibration, modulated with breath. He lost the ability about forty-eight seconds ago.

He’s also familiar with the happily vibrating hum that works its way into the voices of his tiefling friends.

“I do… have a question for you, Essek.”

“Mhmm?”

But these purrs are nothing quite like the deep rumble, almost more tremor than sound, that Caleb has felt pressed against his ear for just under an hour and fifty-five seconds.

“What is that?”

“What is what?”

Sixty seconds.

“There’s been a sound.”

The sound stops.

Essek says nothing in reply, his hand stilling in Caleb’s hair—truly unfortunate, since it’s a very new occurrence, a holdover of Polymorph in this instance—so Caleb lifts his head from Essek’s chest, shifting slightly to see him better.

Ears drawn back, eyes wide and entirely averted. Mouth pressed into a taut line, holding air.

Quite a silly expression for a face once frozen as pleasant indifference, and one that’s only heightened by the incredibly endearing, rapidly darkening blush spreading from Essek’s shirt collar to ear tip.

Caleb can practically feel him glowing warm.

Essek’s dear face says it all.

He didn’t think Caleb had noticed.

Caleb feels a grin grow on his face at the prospect of a harmless secret, his heart lighter after having finished sharing some of his deepest just over an hour ago. Essek knows of the value of time, the value of time preceding and following a decade spent lost. Caleb knows these contents are safe, protected and cared for, with Essek.

“Would you mind indulging me further?”

“Ah.”

Essek raises his now disappointingly free hand to his face when he seems to notice Caleb staring, a curled shield poorly disguised as fiddling with his own hair. It’s so much softer now than it used to be months and months ago- pliant, kissable curls formed from a once firm-molded sweep, still short on the sides.

“It’s ah, um- it’s a rather… childish- comfort, a safety reflex, really. I didn’t-… drow usually grow out of it. Not as necessary once they can take care of themselves. Sometimes it can- come back, when encouraged by a resonance.”

Caleb’s grin grows wider.

“Did I--”

Essek rushes and interrupts, shoulders rising and blush somehow deepening further.

“Cats are too small- the frequency is too high.”

Caleb considers.

If the sound takes a deeper frequency than a cat’s purr to unlock, given the people Caleb is aware Essek remains in close contact with, he only has three plausible guesses, two already in mind from comparison, and one added with this new information.

Considering all combined factors, one candidate stands out among the rest.

May as well tease with the other two first- the levity will be fun.

He looks away from Essek, resting his head back to Essek's chest hoping to draw his gaze and hand back, and Caleb sets up his play.

“It was pretty cute.”

“Was it now?”

Now unobserved, Essek rests the shielding hand to his chest, temptingly soft fingers lying curled and comfortable, right in Caleb’s view, tantalizingly close. The rants Caleb could go on about Essek’s hands alone, capable of both devastating power and the tenderest of gestures.

“Mhmm.”

If that hand isn’t going to run through his hair anymore, though, Caleb thinks, he wants to hold it.

But then, to Caleb’s delight and surprise, it reaches out, hesitating only slightly, and then cool fingertips brush his cheekbone.

The difference between the awkward side-hug-face-pat Essek had provided before Caleb turned into a cat and their current positions, lying tucked together with Caleb against the couch back and under Essek’s arm, is stark and fascinating- and something Caleb plans on basking in for as long as he can.

He understands well enough that Essek wants to be here like this, as Essek actually insisted so when Caleb suggested being left alone with the spell as his solace.

“Caleb, I want to help you as you did me.”

Essek had said this exactly.

“Please, let me. Whatever you need, even if that means you really do want me to go.”

So Essek held him close, stroked his fur and pet his face, cuddled up quite like this. Caleb made sure to purr and knead plenty.

And then back to now, where Essek is again providing soft additional gestures with no prompting. Perhaps Polymorph was just the introduction he needed to find a comfort with sharing such touch.

And, heart-grabbing as it is, it’s almost enough to make Caleb lay aside his teasing intentions.

Almost.

He puts a light chuckle into his voice.

“Well, I’m glad you and your brother are getting along nicely.”

Essek’s hand stills against Caleb’s cheek, and his voice seems genuinely confused.

“What do you mean?”

Hm, that response is too off the mark- Caleb wasn’t clear enough.

He lowers his voice sagely, nodding against Essek’s chest.

“Ahh, I see, not him, my mistake. I didn’t realize you and Kingsley hit it off so swimmingly. I haven’t seen him in a while, so tell him hi for me, would you?”

“Caleb….”

Essek’s tone is not affronted, only teasingly warning as he seems to catch on, and the hand retreats, a shame.

Caleb will find a way to remedy that somehow.

For now, he continues poking.

“No, no, I understand entirely. Sometimes a dashing seafarer with debonair spirit is the best way to go for security when you need someone to hold or to be held by. Just ask Jester.”

The other hand, the one that has been stationary thus far around Caleb’s shoulder and against his arm, lightly swats at him, more a pillow-soft pat than anything.

“Caleb.”

Hmm, Caleb does miss that other hand.

“Oh, did you perhaps mean Jester instead?”

Essek clicks his tongue, chides.

“Here I was thinking we were sharing a moment.”

Caleb feels his smile grow soft, but still self-satisfied.

“Aren’t we still?”

Essek’s huffed chuckle sends a ruffle against Caleb’s hair and he taps a finger to the tip of Caleb’s nose.

“It’s her fault, yes.”

Caleb hums a light laugh, mood lifted to amused.

He’ll have to thank Jester sometime.

He turns his head back to Essek, who resumes his previous hide when Caleb catches him looking, now with a kittenish little smile playing across his lips.

If only Caleb could reach them from where he lies, take his time to impress all of his fondness and gratitude against them.

And it’s a shame that Essek’s hand is in the way of the rest of his handsome face, as captivating a barrier as it is, while sharing something as special as this.

In instances such as these, Caleb has resigned himself to be a man of simple whim.

Essek hasn’t seemed to mind as of late.

So Caleb untucks one of his arms from Essek’s side and slowly reaches, moving his hand into Essek’s line of sight, before gingerly tapping a little rhythm into his palm with fingertips.

No flinch, no recoil, no withdrawal. It stays put, maybe even curling in a bit at the contact.

So he takes Essek’s hand, and finds no resistance at all.

Emboldened, Caleb laces their fingers together for a moment, just to see if he can, and oh joy, he discovers he can as Essek returns his clasp.

Palm-to-palm, peach to plum, they fit together quite well this way, too.

He doesn’t have a hope of catching Essek’s smile with one of his own without disturbing their presently comfortable entanglement, hands included, and a new idea appears that will do perfect in its stead.

Unlacing their fingers and shifting his own hand to hold Essek’s again, Caleb runs a thumb across Essek’s knuckles, down his fingers. They don’t fidget or twitch in the slightest.

So he draws Essek’s hand to his lips.

When pressing a light kiss to the backs of Essek’s fingers, Caleb feels Essek’s breath hitch in his chest just slightly against his cheek, sending a little thrill of mischief through him.

He’ll be sure to remember that.

He smiles against Essek's accepting knuckles and looks over Essek’s unworried hand, unexpectedly meeting Essek’s bright eyes, and Caleb’s voice comes out a little more imploring than intended.

“Please don’t feel as though you have to refrain on my behalf.”

Essek only nods as he looks away, violet eyes now aside through lashes, blush now only radiant instead of enveloping, smile now so soft.

Caleb thinks that may even be the tender one unseen earlier; it’s even sweeter than he’d hoped and he imagines it would taste as such.

Not wanting to push his immense luck too far, Caleb settles back into his previous position, continuing to hold the hand that Essek is likely soon to reclaim, cradling it precious to a tired grin that turns into a nuzzle every now and again.

And Caleb’s heart is lighter, again, a so-fond warmth finding its way inside to nest.

Drowsy, he lies still, breathing deep and calm alongside Essek, holding onto consciousness despite the lull of a cathartic peace beginning to settle comfortably across his shoulders and eyelids.

He makes sure to absorb each second, each breath, each point of pressure, simply existing within them as fully as he can, grounded here, now.

There is still quite a lot of work to be done before Caleb can or will feel satisfied about the balance of worldly scales.

He is convinced of this and will not try to fool himself otherwise.

But this moment—this instant of encompassing serenity in heart and mind, here and now—is nothing short of a past self’s once-futile wish come true; a nebulous, pointless, underserved hope held tight-lipped against the uncaring potentiality of the universe.

Yet it was eventually found.

No, not found. It was made so—crafted, designed and formed and built and grown—on purpose after everything, with a dash of luck easing the way.

And accompanied no less.

What an unexpected delight.

Caleb gives Essek’s hand a squeeze.

Essek returns in kind.

Eventually, Essek does take his hand back, setting it to Caleb’s cheek instead, thumb tracing over the delicate skin under his eye.

Caleb thinks the dark circles there might, one day, fade.

Eventually, Essek’s fingers move through Caleb’s hair again, tucking it behind his ear, hesitant then sure, feathersoft and rhythmic.

Caleb thinks he could count seconds by the motion.

Eventually, the sound returns, settling between Caleb’s heart and lungs.

He manages a mumble.

“You’ll put me to sleep at this rate.”

Essek’s smile is quite evident in his voice, layering it low and warm as it weaves with the purr.

“Please don’t feel as though you have to refrain on my behalf.”

Caleb chuckles and does not think.

Instead, he looks over Essek, watches the perpetually icy pitcher on the low table before the fireplace, the way warm light shines through it.

It doesn't melt past a certain point, but it still shifts, moving freely at times and getting stuck on itself at others when different places melt and freeze at once.

It's nice, really. Refreshing.

A few moments more, an ice clink and a hearth crack and a kind purr, and Caleb finally closes his eyes with a content sigh.

Chapter Text

Though Caleb is in the middle of sharing post-breakfast goodbyes and day plans with Beauregard in the tower’s entrance hall, he does not miss how Essek quietly draws Yasha off to the side.

Just as he glances to catch Beauregard’s eye, she also meets his, and they continue their spoken pleasantries, now sharing a mischievous curiosity, a conversation in their expressions.

Beauregard raises a brow.

“So Yasha and I should be back by noon-ish if you need to get into any of the Archive’s super hard to access stuff.”

Caleb shrugs.

“I’ll see how far we can figure the background with what we have, but we’ll step out and send if we need anything further.”

They watch as Essek extends a wordless hand to Yasha, which she takes with no pause, and Essek clasps her large hand in both of his.

Huh. He's hardly hesitant at all.

Essek begins saying something, too quiet to hear, so Caleb flicks his eyes to Beauregard and raises an eyebrow.

She squints and repeats.

“‘I have been practicing and I think it is going very well’.”

Practicing, hm?

Glancing back to Essek, Caleb sees him wearing a small smile of what might be quiet pride, whereas Yasha’s face is overtaken by an absolute delight that she quickly schools into a stoic nod.

Beauregard-as-Yasha replies while Yasha grins.

“‘See, I knew you could do it’.”

Beauregard-as-Essek continues while Essek smiles back.

“‘I appreciate the encouragement’.”

This must be about some private endeavor shared between Essek and Yasha, as Caleb doesn’t recall witnessing Essek practice anything aside from spell work in recent weeks.

Caleb chuckles.

Maybe Essek has taken up secret music lessons on the side.

An ear still to Beauregard as she relays a subject change on what seem to be Yasha's notes about... comedic timing, of all things, Caleb lets his mind wander a bit, amused.

He idly wonders what instruments might suit Essek- maybe something of light, dignified appearance, capable of both mercurial and steadfast sound. Strikingly adept with melodies, solo and alone, but able to meld seamlessly into an ensemble as a supporting harmony. Something uncommon or unexpected, not necessarily standard fare for a traveling band.

A woodwind closer to the treble side of things, perhaps?

But Caleb is pretty sure there is only one hautboy hiding in this tower, pronunciation notwithstanding, so he will try not to speculate too far into things, musical or otherwise, despite the curiosity continuing to build in him.

And he feels a smile pull at his lips watching his friends simply being happy together.

They’re all friends, chosen family forged through will and built on stubborn care.

Of course they get along well in quiet moments like this.

Caleb is quite glad that Essek can smile so bright and readily with everyone.

“Exandria to Caleb.”

Beauregard elbows Caleb out of his thoughts.

He blinks, reviewing her words and picking out the ones that stand apart as strange.

"Ja, Dairon is away at a pie eating contest, I heard you."

She gives him a long, flat look, arms crossed.

"What?"

"You know exactly what."

"Humor me."

Beauregard's voice intones devious and teasing.

“You wanna review Demid’s newest research in between the heavy stuff or something?”

Caleb furrows his brows, confused.

She raises her eyebrows high, slanting them accusatory above wide, knowing eyes and an even wider flat grin.

“Lots of uh- striking moon thoughts from what I’ve heard.”

Beauregard, really.

Surely neither he nor Essek have been acting that unbalanced.

What's a glance or two?

‘Moonstruck’, gods- what are they, fresh-faced schoolboys in the honeyed throes of infatuation?

Leaving his voice deadpan, Caleb narrows his eyes and shakes his head slightly, putting as much fraternal disappointment into his look as he can.

“No, thank you, Beauregard. I’ll stick with what I’ve got for now.”

Beauregard rolls her eyes and blows out a breath with a shrug.

“Yeah alright, well…. Tell me how it goes then, I guess.”

Then, lower than conversational, practically muttered out the side of Beauregard’s mouth.

“Or, don’t if it’s, y’know-.”

She tosses Caleb a big wink with a click of her tongue and a suggestive waggle of her brows.

“‘Whatever.’”

‘Whatever,’ as Beauregard has so aptly designated Caleb and Essek’s unchaperoned activities due to Caleb’s deliberate vagueness, is just as likely to be a minor distraction from work as it is supremely wishful thinking. As far as Caleb can tell, Essek isn’t particularly keen on something as potentially involved as the latter anyway, given how he has made no indications nor attempts in that direction thus far.

Caleb thinks he has acted as a rather self-controlled individual around Essek, but Essek certainly has him beat in that regard if he’s experiencing anything similar.

And that’s fine, genuinely and sincerely. One thing does not need to lead to any others and Caleb can take care of himself besides.

So he scoffs, amused.

“Yeah, yeah, whatever, sure. Like you would want to know one way or the other.”

Beauregard sticks her tongue out between smiling teeth and taps a fist to his bicep.

“You’re right, I don’t. So either do something about it or stop thinking so loud. I’m surprised he can’t hear you from over there.”

Caleb gives a good-natured huff.

“Things take time, Beauregard.”

Her mouth takes on a sincere quirk to the side, clearly trying not to be gruff, as told by her upturned brows.

“Time shmime, yeah no, I get it, Caleb. Really. I just wanna make sure ‘things’”-

She makes dramatic air quotes.

-“are going fine. Since it’s been a bit, y’know.”

Caleb considers, trying to find the right adjective.

“Things are…”

Then he tilts his head, ear caught by a laugh that makes his heart sing. He doesn’t bother hiding his smile.

“Things are good. Very good.”

Beauregard smirks, eyes crinkled.

“Great! Then I’m gonna keep giving you a hard time about it.”

Caleb rests a hand to Beauregard’s shoulder with a squeeze and crooks a grin.

“I wouldn’t expect anything different.”

Smiling wide with a laugh, Beauregard pats his hand, holding it in place a moment.

She raises her voice a touch louder than conversational, catching Essek and Yasha’s attention.

“We’ll see you tonight, Caleb, Essek. Let me know if you make any breakthroughs.”

Seeming to have finished their conversation, Essek and Yasha begin to make their way back to Caleb and Beauregard.

Both of them seem in high spirits, and Caleb can’t help but watch Essek’s smile; it keeps tugging at his heart and attention.

And his mind does keep drifting back to the stubbornly persistent thought of kissing Essek, too.

Distracting indeed.

But he’s probably only in an especially longing mood as a result of being around Beauregard and Yasha’s comparatively open displays for the first time since his and Essek’s kind-of talk a few weeks ago.

Then, as if somehow still reading Caleb’s entire mind, Beauregard shrugs Caleb's hand off and slinks over to Essek and Yasha with a toothy smirk as they approach. She loops her arm around Yasha’s waist, pressing against her, and leans up to give Yasha a rather showy kiss, and Caleb almost thinks he sees Essek sigh a chuckle as he continues to drift over to join his side.

Caleb does not miss the taunting, self-satisfied glance Beauregard throws his way after she and Yasha part, and he most certainly, absolutely does not feel the slight prick of lighthearted envy Beauregard was likely trying to spark.

On second thought, maybe he’s in a longing mood because Beauregard has been deliberately trying to push his buttons. Yasha has seemed more bystander than accomplice in these efforts.

But Caleb has missed them both and is very glad to see them, he can admit. Begrudgingly for Beauregard if only because of her ribbing, but honestly nevertheless.

He can fare her teases fine anyway, and is grateful she’s decided to target only him.

Though, now that he’s thinking about it, it is odd that, even since they met up yesterday, she hasn’t done such with Essek.

At all.

As he’s considering this, the ladies begin to make their exit.

Yasha looks back with a grin, giving a not-so-subtle thumbs up and a mouthed good luck, presumably aimed at Essek, who returns with a slight, blinked nod and small smile.

Then she grabs the tower’s door, slamming it closed with a BOOM, effectively closing off the outside’s access to the tower.

While that is technically expected procedure, she seemed rather animated in the action.

Strange.

The air settles quiet and calm after a moment with fewer occupants, as now it’s just them, Caleb and Essek together. The longing subsides as Caleb makes a point to note that Essek is here, content and comfortable, alongside him.

No expectations, just presence.

Then Essek sighs, the fond kind that comes with a head tipped adorable and a genuinely pleasant smile lending indents to the corners of his eyes.

“It’s nice to see them again.”

He leans to Caleb, eye-to-eye at this height, face brightening.

“Shall we get to work?”

Instead of a shoulder touch or some other equally infrequent-but-casual gesture, Essek places a timid hand to Caleb’s forearm, rather close to his wrist, as if about to gently lead him away by the hand.

Ah. That’s new.

And then a thought: was this practiced?

Essek’s smile is so full of life and light and potential, his hand so close to Caleb’s.

How is Caleb to resist?

The longing did not disappear; it only hid for a moment.

But they have work to do today—actual, important things—instead of filling time by flirting about, so he will continue to admire from an unclosed distance.

He opens his mouth with intent to brush past himself and reply to Essek, to take his hand, to drift with him to the salon and their day’s endeavors, but he finds himself stunned instead, stuck in place.

Filed-away feelings, layered again and again, finally bubble up and his thoughts are caught somewhere between enamored impulse and restraint, action and sentiment, a question well known but yet-unspoken resting lodged in his throat, begging to fill the air.

When Caleb does not answer, Essek’s expression levels but his hand remains. He sets the other to his chin, thumb pressed to his jawline and a finger loose over his lips, as he tilts his head in what appears to be a thoughtful manner, looking Caleb’s face over.

Then he raises a brow with a hint of a curious quirk to his mouth.

“What are you thinking?”

Interestingly, Essek doesn’t quite lean away.

If anything, he leans in slightly, peering closer, eyes darker.

Perhaps simpler aspects of wishful thinking aren’t too far separate from reality.

Maybe they can take a little time for a small distraction, can put that stuck thought to action to quiet everything else.

Caleb has yet to ask, after all, and he would quite like to in this moment.

But he can’t quite get himself to speak.

And then, recollection strikes.

This seems rather similar to Essek’s state when he and Caleb sort-of-talked, unable to speak his presumably too-big thoughts, but with roles reversed now.

So, following Essek’s example from that memory, Caleb tries to lean in slowly and deliberately, moving in Essek’s full view, giving Essek as much time and space to back away, to say no, as he can.

Caleb’s fingertips trace up to find soft palm, his thumb loosely brushing cool palm back, and he lifts his other hand higher, resting it to the side of Essek’s face, fingertips barely ghosting Essek’s cheek, to keep himself from trying to reflexively hold Essek in place with him.

Caleb stops his lean when their faces are close enough together to display intent but far enough apart so as to not encroach.

He flicks his eyes between Essek’s, deep-shining violet, hoping he’s being clear enough on both accounts.

Glancing down to their hands and then back to Caleb, all without moving his head, Essek taps a curled, pensive finger to his lips, a motion Caleb definitely notices.

Essek hums, a thoughtful sound Caleb recognizes from late night theory considerations, rather than daytime spell solving.

“Ah, I believe I see.”

Instead of retreating, Essek stays put, his watchful face and ears relaxing as he regards Caleb carefully, a now-well-familiar shine taking his sharp eyes as they blacken further; it’s just as likely to be the investigative spark they gain when he’s trying to figure out the next step of a spell’s formation as it is to be a challenge.

Caleb feels fingers, out of view, clumsily interweave with and squeeze at his own, feels a shift of increased pressure against his raised fingertips.

“Does a cat have your tongue?”

Oh, as if Essek is one to talk.

The phrase is also slightly off, but it’s said with impossibly endearing confidence through a straight face. Regardless of whether or not Essek misspoke intentionally, Caleb’s heart clutches an adoring laugh out of him.

Beyond that, there is nothing but a tease in Essek’s tone, and Caleb is close enough to see the twitch at his lips’ corners despite the index finger idly tracing between them- Essek’s smile seems threatening to return.

Essek must know exactly what he’s doing, the scoundrel.

Caleb’s chest aches further warm, because Essek’s arch attempts are working, and he would like to see that smile again, would like that finger to be his own lips instead, very much indeed.

And then Essek lowers the hand at his chin, removing that definitely-intentional lure and blockade, and he leans in even closer, violet eyes narrowed fond, considering, perhaps.

Caleb can no longer see his entire face in a glance- he has to choose his sight’s target, currently set upon those darkened eyes confident enough to meet his own, unwavering evening pools in this early morning. He remembers to breathe before he can drown.

Their breath mingles, a faint scent of just-finished tea flavoring the air.

Caleb loves Essek and Essek knows, surely he must know. He has to know by now. Caleb certainly can’t verbalize the sentiment at the moment. There’s a repeat of that recent sororal mock in his mind as well, but he is far too focused to care about the validity of it at the moment.

He shifts his gaze from pretty eyes to pretty lips and watches, enraptured and spellbound, as Essek’s mouth curves into that delightfully lopsided grin of his.

Sly.

And playful.

And kind and bright and handsome and alluring and and and and.

And, when Essek speaks, it even reveals a hint of a fang.

“Show me?”

And that’s all it takes.

Work can wait, just for a bit.

Time is a tricky thing around Essek.

Caleb could have closed the gap between them in an instant or in a decade- his keen mind is none the wiser.

This kiss is sudden and it’s admittedly a little stiff and odd-angled, like he’d closed his eyes too soon despite being so near.

It’s chaste by all considerations, much the same as their first in Eiselcross, and really it’s the concept that’s bounds more thrilling than the touch in and of itself because finally Caleb’s lingering question has received an answer, now that he’s finally asked it.

Understanding on some level that he can’t know for certain if or when Essek will be receptive to something like this again, what Essek’s answer will be beyond this very moment, Caleb wakes his brain enough to begin setting it to memory-

When Essek just as quickly breaks contact and drops Caleb’s hand, leaving the other to hold empty air.

Time freezes as Caleb stops in place, immediate confusion beginning to morph into stomach-churning doubt and concern.

Had he entirely misunderstood Essek’s intentions and misread that smile, those eyes, those teasing words, misled by his own desires?

In an instant though, hardly a fraction of a second after, awkward arms loop around Caleb’s neck and pull him down with surprising strength, startling his eyes open, and he finds Essek against him, not far, only at a different, lower angle than expected, nearly on his tiptoes if Caleb isn’t mistaken.

Pressing his forehead to Caleb’s, Essek looks between Caleb’s eyes with his own darkly half-lidded and crinkled. One arm holds resolute, slung over Caleb's shoulders, while his other hand comes around to cup the side of Caleb’s face, fingertips resting soft against his jaw and under his ear as he strokes Caleb’s cheek with his thumb.

As he begins to tip his head in, Essek’s voice thrums against Caleb’s lips, a bit breathless with a laugh.

“Wanted some solid ground, don’t mind me.”

And then Essek returns, warm and sweet as their breakfast tea, far more pliant than stiff, and undoubtedly, wholeheartedly enthusiastic, because Caleb can feel him smiling all the while.

Caleb is sure Essek feels him much the same as he melts into the touch and hums a reassured laugh, a soft sound Essek returns, and he settles his aimless hands against Essek’s back, the nape of his neck, holding him precious and close, secure and steady.

In equal parts invitation and relief, Caleb lightly sighs. Though he is not met the same, a rumble begins to reverb against his chest, and he opens his eyes yet again, drawing back slightly to see the purr’s source, delight heightened to elation.

Essek tenses momentarily at the break and his face draws adorable, nose and brows scrunched and his cheeks radiating warm against Caleb’s face, but he does not stop the sound, does not pull away or loosen his arm around Caleb. If anything, he holds Caleb firmer.

Caleb can’t keep breathy joy from his voice.

“Essek--”

“Sh.”

Essek cuts him off and huffs, peeking with one eye through lashes.

“Don’t- mention it. Just-.”

And then Essek begins to lean in again, his face relaxing earnest.

Chuckling, Caleb closes his eyes, heart full and heart warm, and he meets Essek exactly halfway.