Chapter Text
It did not start with a kiss, not really, but perhaps recognition of it did.
Essek had never really noticed… attraction before, not like poets and singers described. He had always been able to appreciate a well-tailored man, but this appreciation had always been aesthetic, perhaps a desire to mimic some element of style or just admire the difference that body shape and coloring could have upon the outfit that decorated it, or even a difference in cultural sensibilities—the goblinkin, for instance, had a fierce love of color the drow Kryn often eschewed in favor of whites, silvers, and cool, night-touched tones.
He had assumed, logically, after he had reached adulthood without even a hint of 'crush' that had so enraptured Verin, that romantic attachments were not a problem he would have to tackle. Until this one wizard.
At first, Essek had mistaken the feelings for friendship. He so rarely had friends, after all. But too often, Essek found his gaze idly tracing its way over the backs of Caleb's dextrous hands, the bones shifting under skin as he performed well-learned somatic gestures, or the ghostly brush of Caleb's beard against his fingertips, half-invented—Caleb had never invited him to touch.
Essek realized these particular thought patterns were new. He certainly had never fixated so much upon the looks of Uraya, even if they were by no means unpleasant to look upon and dressed themself impeccably.
Indeed, Caleb hardly fit his usual understanding of aesthetics. He was skinny for a human, the paleness of his skin making the dark bags under his eyes stand in sharp contrast, like craters on the face of Catha. There was often ink under his fingernails and his beard and hair length most often seemed to be a result of lack of care, not a purposeful cultivation of style. (Though Caleb did wear Rosohna's clothing well.)
So much occurred between Essek and the Nein—hurts he caused, distrust he deserved—that Essek was left not knowing what to do with this realization except to bury it and focus on regaining the trust of his friends, even if they would perhaps never allow him back into their lives.
But… Cognoza happened. And Ikithon. And Caleb had pulled Essek tight to him and kissed his cheek hard and fiercely. "Be kind to yourself."
And Essek had teleported away, stumbling as he found himself in his bedroom in Rosohna, his heart hammering, his cheek burning with the remembrance of touch.
His beard had been thicker than Essek had imagined, rough and smooth both at once.
Be kind to yourself.
He didn't think he knew how.
But he wanted to try.
Essek sat on his couch and rubbed his chin, eyes fixed on the rug. What did he know about Empire courting customs?