Chapter Text
Freelancer, Caelum can tell, is stressed. Granted, this isn’t too unusual; he knows they work hard. His most bestest friend in the whole world (and the world is really big, with lots of humans and daemons!) likes to do a good job on things, especially when it comes to their classes. That means they have to spend a lot of time studying.
And they also have to spend a lot of time working on essays full of big, fancy words he doesn’t really understand. It sounds impressive when they read them to him, though. They say it helps them when they edit, or something like that. Caelum doesn’t really know what editing entails, but it seems important. It means Freelancer scribbles all over their papers with a pretty, red pen. That’s what they’re busy doing now.
Unfortunately, another part of being a hard worker means they spend a lot of time stressed out, too. They put a lot of pressure on themself, all the time. That’s also what Freelancer’s doing now.
They’re all set up at the kitchen table, with an open textbook and scattered papers and a laptop taking up most of the surface. One hand is all balled up in a fist they’re leaning their head against, to keep it up, and the other’s wrapped around that pen he was thinking about before. (It’s one of his favorites—it reminds him of strawberries. Caelum loves strawberries.) The pages they printed out are all marked up with circles and underlines and slashes through words. Apparently that’s what editing is. Caelum still doesn’t understand it, but it looks fun.
“This,” they announce after half an hour of not saying anything, “is a disaster.”
Caelum sets his own work aside: cutting out cardstock paper stars with scrapbook scissors. He has two out of the four done already, so now is a good time to take a break anyway. When they’re done, he’s gonna coat them in glue and silver glitter so he can hang them from the ceiling in the spare bedroom in the shape of the constellation he’s named after. He’s already got Gavin’s up in the bedroom that his other most bestest friend—because you can have more than one—shares with Freelancer.
“It looks fine to me, silly,” he says. “That’s a lot of red. You’re working really hard.” That means it’s going really well, right? More marks means they’re working more, which means they’re doing good.
It makes Freelancer smile, which means he must have done something right. It’s hard to tell sometimes, with stuff like this. He doesn’t have much experience with it. Caelum’s area of expertise leans more towards things like plates of fresh cookies to help them feel warm and soft, and cuddles to loosen some of the knots to make them easier to handle when they get too tight, and bubblegum pop played through speakers that make things seem just a little bit lighter.
“Thanks, bud,” they tell him. “You’re working hard, too, aren’t you?”
Caelum looks down at the shapes he has done already on the table. “Yeah! Stars are really hard to cut out, did you know that? They always end up all lopsided, and the points are really sharp, so I bend them a lot on accident. But then Gavin told me you can get them even if you fold the paper like a hamburger and just draw half of the star along the folded side…”
He keeps talking, drawing part of a star along the fold, just like Gavin taught him, for Freelancer to see. A display of his expertise. Some people might not think cutting shapes is a very important skill, but he’s getting really good at it and it makes him happy.
Maybe more people would be happy if they got really good at cutting out shapes like he is.
When Caelum looks up from the scissors in his hand, he finds Freelancer watching him. They’re still propping their head up with their hand and the pen remains poised above their paper, but some of the tension in the lines of their face isn’t there anymore. They have the ghost of a grin on their face, like it isn’t all the way there yet. It makes him feel all nice; they look at him like that a lot.
And it means he’s doing something good. They’re one of his favorite people, and he doesn’t like it when they have knots. Caelum knows he can’t take them all away; it just doesn’t work like that. Even if he wishes he could.
But he can make some of them less tight and suffocating.
By the end of his very important lesson, he has an almost-perfect star laid out on the table in front of him. His best work yet. No small amount of pride bubbles up in his chest, and he’s sure it shows. Sometimes he likes to watch videos of animals, and when pet birds see their people, their feathers get all puffy. Caelum doesn’t have feathers, but he does sit up a little bit taller in his seat.
Freelancer sets their strawberry-colored pen down and reaches across the table to capture his creation between their fingers.
“Very pretty,” they say with praise. “Good job, bud. These will look nice hanging up in your room.”
There’s a snag, though. It’s like when he gets a tiny-tiny little pine needle in his sock and can’t find it, but it keeps poking him. Only this isn’t a pine needle at all. It’s emotions. Freelancer’s emotions.
They are smiling just a little, yes—Caelum looks them over once, real quick, just to make sure it’s really there and he wasn’t imagining things. Some of the tension is gone. But just some. Not all of it. It’s still there, in the tightness around their eyes and the way their brows are all furrowed, like when they’re trying to solve a problem. And they’re clenching their jaw, which isn’t good at all, ‘cause that causes headaches and they already get enough headaches as it is.
Worst of all, though—despite all his efforts—is that the knots haven’t loosened. Not once. Not at all. Not even an inch. And inches are tiny.
Sure, Caelum knows he can’t fix everything. He can’t take it all away even though he wants to, all the time. But still—it should have worked, at least a little.
What is he doing wrong?
Sometimes he thinks Freelancer is a lot like a star; bright and magical. Not magical like Caelum is magical, or even like their powers and all their other friends and Gavin, but magical in a different way. They’re magic in all those ways too, sure, but those aren’t the only ones. He likes stars a lot, because they’re always there, even when you can’t see them. But when you do it’s impossible to look away.
Stars are so far, though. He asked them once, and they told him the closest one that isn’t the Sun is almost one hundred million miles away. That’s more miles than he can even understand!
Freelancer used to be far away once. It took them a long time to learn how to let people in and be close, and he’s super, super proud of them. That’s one of the reasons he doesn’t like it when their knots are too tight, aside from it making them not feel good—they always seem to pull away again. Caelum doesn’t want them to be far like they used to in the beginning, and again like they were for a little while after… well, after the Games.
He isn’t going to let it happen again if there’s anything he can do about it. And there’s always something Caelum can do about it; he’s an empathy daemon. That’s his whole job.
“What’s wrong, silly?” he asks when Freelancer puts the cut piece of cardstock back on the table, a creamy off-white star so far from its home. “I know this essay-thingy is really, really, really important. And you’re all stressed about it. That’s okay, ‘cause you wanna do a good job. But you’re getting a lot of work done, and you are doing a good job, but that isn’t taking away any of the knots at all. And that isn’t good.”
Freelancer blinks. They do that sometimes, when he surprises them. Is it a good kind of surprised this time, or is it the bad kind? He worries it might be the bad kind. He doesn’t want to make them feel worse. That’ll just make them pull away even more.
Instead of frowning more or trying to hide their expression the way they usually do, Freelancer smiles. It’s a real smile.
The chair they’re sitting in gets pushed back as they get to their feet, and then they go all the way around the table to where he’s sitting. When Caelum looks up to ask what they’re doing, their arms get wrapped tight around his shoulders and he’s pulled in close to them. Instinct takes over then, and Caelum returns the hug immediately. He reaches up to hold onto their own grip, to keep them right there.
“Your hugs are always the best,” he says, burrowing his head into them as much as he can, like when he gets all snuggled up in a blanket.
Freelancer tells him, “Say that enough times, and I just might start to believe you.”
“Then I’ll tell you a thousand times,” Caelum says, because that’s the only reasonable thing he can think of to do. “That way you will.”
A hand gets buried in his hair to ruffle it like they always do before Freelancer pulls away. “Sounds like sound logic.”
Instead of going back to their seat, Freelancer pries open the fridge to dig around through the shelves. That makes him happy, because it’s important for humans to remember things like food and water and sometimes Freelancer tends to forget, and he has to tell them lots. Their efforts are rewarded with a plastic container of leftover pasta, with a jug of lemonade balanced precariously on top.
They fill up two bowls with spaghetti and two cups with lemonade, and then pop both bowls, one at a time, into the microwave that Gavin likes to make jokes about. For some reason.
They keep their back to him as they watch one bowl spin around in the humming metal box.
Caelum wiggles in his seat as he tries to come up with the right things to say. They still haven’t told him what’s wrong. The sleeve of his cable-knit sweater droops past his hand, it’s so large (it used to be theirs) and he rubs the hem of it along his bottom lip, like he does whenever he’s thinking really hard.
“I just wanna help make things feel better,” he says at last. “I know I can’t fix it all. But I can help fix some things. You don’t have to do it all on your own, silly. That isn’t how people are. I mean, I’m not a human, but I spend a lot of time with all my charges! And they always seem to do better whenever they have other people with them. You have a whole group of friends, and you have Gav and me, and we all wanna help.”
Freelancer doesn’t turn back around until the microwave beeps and they’re holding warmed up noodles and tomato sauce, which gets set in front of him. Caelum doesn’t need food, although he likes it—like how he likes cookies and ice cream and hot chocolate—but he leaves it alone because they’re biting at their lip like something’s wrong.
Finally, at long last, they say, “I know, bud. I promise. And I’m really thankful for all of you. You’re all busy, though. And I’m not gonna bother any of you. Besides, this is the kind of thing that people can’t really help with. It’s just an essay… and another essay. And another one after that. And there’s all the studying that still has to get done for the finals, and…” Freelancer’s staring at the wall behind him, but their eyes are all unfocused like they don’t see it for a while before they blink, and remember where they are. “I mean, yeah, it’s a lot. But there really isn’t a whole lot that anyone can do. I just gotta power through it.”
Caelum frowns. He doesn’t think that’s entirely true; they’ve done study sessions with all their friends before, and sometimes Gavin lends a hand by quizzing them, and it seems like all of that helps at least a little.
He can’t force them, though. It doesn’t make much sense to him, but sometimes people still won’t accept help even when it’s held out right in front of them for them to take, like a plate of warm cookies. And there isn’t a whole lot he can do about that. But he’s always still able to offer it. And he always will. Caelum’s younger than a lot of his brothers and sisters, but he’s been around long enough to pick up a few tricks here and there, and he decides to use one of them now.
So he can’t help them as much as he wants. That doesn’t mean he can’t help them at all, though. He’s just gotta figure out what pieces he can trim off until it’s the right shape for them right now.
Like cutting out paper stars.
It’s a good thing he’s gotten really good at that.
“I know it’s really stressful right now,” Caelum says, after thinking long and hard as Freelancer joins him at the table with their own meal. “I’m sorry, silly. But is there anything I can do? Even if it’s just a teeny-tiny little bit? Like… like… taking care of something so you can focus? I can fold clothes mostly the right way, most of the time!”
For a moment it looks like they aren’t going to say anything. In fact, they open their mouth with the beginning of a decline on their lips, but it freezes like it gets stuck somewhere in their throat. Humans do that a lot; Caelum always thinks it’s funny, when it isn’t in cases like this.
“I don—actually… maybe… maybe there is something.”
Yes! He knew he’d be able to help somehow!
“Ohhhh.” It’s impossible to keep the eagerness out of his voice completely. He’s just too excited. “Tell me! Please tell me, silly. I’ll do it! I’ll do the best job I’ve ever done on anything, ever.”
Freelancer says, “It’s kind of a lot. And I don’t want you to agree unless you promise it isn’t too much. I know you have a lot of other charges to take care of, too.”
What they don’t know is that they can ask for everything in the whole wide world—actually, in both worlds—and it won’t ever be too much. But it’s something they seem serious about, so he nods as solemnly as he can. That’s hard; Caelum doesn’t have a whole lot of experience in being dignified.
“I promise,” he swears. And Caelum always keeps his promises; he wouldn’t be a very good friend if he didn’t.
“I know everyone else has a lot on their plate too,” Freelancer says, once they have his oath. “And we’ve all been super busy trying to get our own stuff done. I haven’t talked to any of them in a few days, because I don’t want to… bother them. Or distract them. But I’m worried. Damien always pushes himself way too hard, and I know Hux is under a lot of pressure with this being his last year, and Lasko’s still trying to get adjusted, with his promotion and everything…”
They trail off, letting the words die, and Caelum waits. They get lost sometimes in their own head. It’s okay; he’s always gonna be there to help them back out.
“I don’t know,” they continue at last with a sigh. “I’m just worried about them. None of them are good at reaching out when they need it—I guess I’m not either, but I have you, and Gav, and they have Gav too, but… Well. If it isn’t too much—if it won’t overwhelm you—do you think you can just… poke your head in? Just really quick? To check on them, that way I’ll know they’re doing okay but it isn’t annoying them, or anything.”
Freelancer really is silly sometimes. That’s why he likes to call them that; all three of the elementals are Freelancer’s friends. It wouldn’t ever be a bother to them if they decide to check in and make sure they’re okay. In fact, Caelum’s willing to bet that they’re all worried about his charge and each other, too.
But he’s aware that that kind of stuff is a tricky subject, sometimes. And even though he knows they know it, they don’t always really know it.
They are getting better, though. Little steps. Little steps loosen up all those knots, a tiny bit at a time, until it’s a lot of little steps and you look down and realize how far you’ve come and how much easier the knots are to handle. And Caelum will do anything if it means it helps make those steps easier to take.
Besides—checking in on their friends? Just a little sneak, a little look? That’s easy. Easy as anything has ever been. He can do that in his sleep. Even though daemons don’t need sleep, not like humans do.
He says, “Yeah! Yeah, I can! That sounds fun. I like your friends a lot, ‘cause they like you a lot, and anyone who likes you is always gonna be a good person. I can check on them tomorrow for you, silly. You won’t have to worry about a single thing. Well, aside from all your school stuff, I mean.”
This time when Freelancer smiles, it’s another real smile. A one hundred percent, true, actual smile that reaches their eyes. Some of the knots they’ve been carrying around for days now loosen up a little. Just a fraction, but they’re a fraction less bad than they were before. Any improvement is a win in Caelum’s book. That’s how things are supposed to be, he thinks—the lots of tiny good things are important too, not just all the huge ones. All of it counts.
Freelancer reaches across the table to ruffle his hair again like they did earlier. Like they always like to do. It makes him feel like he’s home.
“Thank you, bud,” they tell him. “It means more than you know.”
Caelum just sits up higher so he can lean into their hand, like when cats stretch up when their humans pet them.
When they pull away at last, they start to dig into their own bowl of spaghetti. Seeing them eat is another thing that makes him happy, and he starts to work on his, too. It’s just as good as it was the night before; delicious and full of love, because homemade stuff always is and that makes it even better.
Towards the end of dinner, Freelancer finally decides it’s time to take a break. They take a sip of the lemonade in their cup and say, “I think we’ve done enough work for tonight, huh? After I do the dishes, you should pick out a movie you wanna watch. I’ll start some water for hot chocolate.”
Movies and hot chocolate? That sounds like one of the best ideas ever. And it means Freelancer’s not gonna work themself too hard. It’s a win-win. Tomorrow he’ll poof his way through town, rifting and poking his head in the homes of all of Freelancer’s friends, just to make sure they’re okay. It’s just a little thing for them to check off on their huge long list, but one thing less is one thing less.
And it’s gonna go great. He just knows it.