Chapter Text
Caleb doesn’t recognise the ceiling when he wakes. It’s higher than his own, the colour a cool and uniform off-white that looks intentional rather than discoloured with age, and it’s missing the odd patch of pebbled and peeling paint in the corner that his landlord swears isn’t painted-over mould but Caleb holds extreme doubts about. The sheets are finer too, soft against his bare legs with the slightest bit of texture that he thinks might be linen when he scrunches his hand in them. A glance down shows them to be a dark, charcoal grey, his leg sticking out from under them juxtaposed in a way that highlights just how much he avoids the sun.
He doesn’t own any grey sheets, let alone linen ones. He buys whatever is on the discount special, regardless of pattern or colour, and currently that means they are a mustard yellow with weird blobs that are meant to be flowers but look closer to vomit than anything pleasant to have in a bedroom.
He comes to a few rapid conclusions through the splitting headache that made itself immediately known upon waking.
One, he had far more to drink last night than he originally planned (he blames Jester). Two, this is definitely not his bedroom (owner not immediately obvious from the ceiling). Three, he is entirely naked (and pleasantly sore in the way that follows after fucking). And four, it’s the best sleep Caleb’s had in weeks if not months (incredible what a mattress without lumps will do for his back).
It’s been such a good night of sleep that he is seriously considering putting off solving mystery number two and turning over to get some more. He’s been here six and a half hours and hasn’t been forcibly ejected, what’s an hour more?
Before he can get comfortable, his thoughts are interrupted by a distinctive half-cough from behind him.
He freezes, hand holding the sheet hovering awkwardly around his chest region as his heartbeat rapidly spikes.
He knows that cough.
It’s enough that it loosens free a haze of memories from the previous evening: being shoved into the corner of the karaoke booth by Jester with an exaggerated waggle of her eyebrows, the surprise at seeing his colleague willingly sitting in a booth of a divey bar, a soft voice with an even softer smile complimenting his singing abilities, a tangent about physics scrawled across multiple napkins that he desperately hopes will come back in full after a cold shower, the surprisingly powerful grip-of-terror around his upper arm as he dragged his companion to the stage, and that same hand tugging him out of the building by his wrist before crowding into his space and kissing him senseless up against an alleyway wall. That whole sequence of events shouldn’t have been as attractive as it was.
He feels his cheeks flush, and he’s in half a mind to flee from the bedroom (clothes be damned) without having to have this conversation, but from what he manages to remember of Essek Thelyss’ fancy apartment, he’s going to need him to let him out if he has any hope of actually leaving.
Well. There’s nothing else to do but face the man he’s been quietly crushing on for months and apparently slept with in a drunken yet-to-be-seen if it’s a mistake or not moment of weakness with as much poise and courage as he can muster.
Which means Caleb closes his eyes for a long moment in an attempt to be zen in the way Beauregard has been teaching him and failing miserably before looking over to the left.
Essek is standing next to the bed, already dressed and looking entirely too put-together for this conversation. Caleb has dim memories of threading his hands through his white hair last night and tugging it into a disastrous mess while Essek moaned beneath him. His cock betrays him now and throbs slightly, half-hard after spooning with a warm body most of the night, but he somehow manages to approximate looking Essek in the eye and ignores it.
Essek looks back, shimmering blue-green eyes that look almost violet in the dim light. They are still as attractive as the first time he saw them piercing into his soul in a way he usually welcomes, but he can’t read them currently.
He catches something else in the corner of his vision, and his attention diverts briefly.
Essek has a hickey, poking out the top of his starched and pressed white collar. A stretch of roughed up, irritated skin is obvious even through his darker complexion.
Oh.
“Widogast.” Essek’s voice is cool, though there’s a bead of nervousness through it, a half-hitch hesitation in the middle of his name that Caleb almost missed.
Essek called him Caleb, last night. His heart thumps pathetically in his chest.
“Ah, hallo,” says Caleb, voice rumbly and hoarse from evening wear and morning dryness, and he swallows thickly. He feels all prickly, like he’s stepped inside a too-cold building and hasn’t adjusted yet. He thinks he should probably sit up, and then thinks better of it as he glances around unable to locate any article of clothing. “I—have you seen my shirt?”
Essek opens his mouth, then closes it, considering his words. “I took the liberty of running it through the wash, the dryer should almost be done. Here.”
Well. No one-night stand—maybe one-night stand? He doesn’t know yet—has ever washed his clothes before, so this is a new one. Did—did Essek even sleep? How early was he awake to put on the washing?
It’s then that Caleb sees the robe he’s carrying—silver, silk, delicate embroidery along the hem—and holding out towards him.
Caleb takes it wordlessly, then sits up, slipping his arms into it and wrapping the garment around him. His shoulders don’t quite fit, and he has a feeling when he stands it will be far shorter on him than its owner, but he appreciates that it’s been offered all the same. It’s soft, silky, and it feels incredibly luxurious against his bare skin. Is this Essek’s personal robe? He doesn’t think he wants to know the answer.
“Ja, danke. I’ll get it then be out of your hair, sorry.” Caleb swings his feet out of the sheets and stands up, tugging the robe down as he does. It is short, but it’s not as bad as he fears, though he should probably make a note not to bend over.
Come on, you’ve bathed naked with the Nein without flinching. He’s already seen you naked, it’s nothing new. Just face him.
Caleb’s cheeks heat. It’s different, he tells himself. Of course it’s different.
Turning around, Caleb catches Essek’s eyes hovering suspiciously around his ass, though they snap to his face as he finishes straightening up. His ear twitches slightly, and he can’t quite make eye contact with Caleb. It lands for barely a moment before his ears twitch again and he looks away.
Oh, great.
He can’t even look at Caleb. This was a mistake.
Any lingering arousal Caleb had shrivels up and vanishes. He just needs to find his clothes, get out of here, and somehow spend the next twenty-four hours working out how he can deliver a department update without thinking about how well Essek’s cock fits in his hand and the exact expression he makes when he comes.
“It’s fine,” says Essek eventually, voice even and level, though after spending six months working in the same research department, Caleb can tell when he’s lying. Most of the time. “I—you looked peaceful, I didn’t want—ah—” Essek mutters something in Undercommon under his breath. “Take your time? I have a shower, if you need.”
“Nein, I—it’s fine. I’ll just… get my clothes? And my keys. And phone.” Caleb pauses a moment, still feeling like he’s falling through the molasses that has become his memory. “I… I do not know where I left them.”
It’s still disconcerting, the times his memory fails to place exactly where he put something down. It’s great at tracking the exact amount of minutes he’s been awake, and wonderful at reminding him of every instance that their hands have brushed in the breakroom while making tea, but he was entirely occupied with attempting to get Essek out of his clothes before he was taken out of his own to give much thought to where exactly everything ended up.
His only clear memory is the jacket being pulled off and tossed against the wall the minute he was inside.
“Kitchen counter, along with your wallet. It should be charged by now,” says Essek, still not quite looking at him but his lips quirk, as if to pull into a smile. “Your shoes are by the door. I—I’m sorry, my grocery order isn’t due to be delivered until tomorrow so there is very little I can offer in the way of food, but I do have coffee?”
Oh, yeah, he has one of those fancy capsule machines. He spied it in envy as he crowded Essek against the kitchen island.
Stretching his back out, Caleb feels muscles shift and joints pop. Everything settles when he relaxes back down, and it really is the best he has felt in weeks. He shrugs his shoulders, and says, “No matter. I, ah, don’t expect anything. Really, I… I’ve imposed enough. My clothes?”
A flash of something streaks across Essek’s face, but he turns away from Caleb before he can catch it and beckons. He’s led to a laundry room where Essek ducks inside and pulls open the door of a very sleek looking dryer, retrieving a number of items before handing them to Caleb.
On examination it is indeed his shirt from the night before, along with his underwear, socks, and jeans.
Scheiße. Essek washed his underwear?
And they were the pair with the slightly fraying waistband and holes in some unfortunate places he’s been meaning to replace for months and just kept forgetting about.
He feels his cheeks heating and now he’s the one that can’t make eye contact with Essek. A door is opened on the other side of the hallway, and Caleb flees into the sanctuary offered by the bathroom.
A towel has been helpfully laid on the black marble counter, an offer that there’s no way he will indulge in, no matter how nice the bathroom is.
One side of the room is taken up by a ridiculously large rain-head shower behind a glass partition, while there is a deep, free-standing tub in the corner. It looks big enough that he would be able to sit in it fully, and Caleb feels a pang of envy. He doesn’t have a tub, and it’s something he misses. Blinds are pulled down over what Caleb assumes is a window behind the tub, and he’s tempted to open them just to see what the view is like. A sliding door is closed on the opposite wall.
He does look back towards the shower—it would be a luxury—but there is no way he is showering here.
He needs to escape with what is left of his dignity before he makes this worse.
Throwing everything on, Caleb notices a faint hint of lavender clinging to his clothes, and he sniffs his own shoulder experimentally. Huh. He’s smelled that scent before, mixed in with something earthy and spicy that he now has to assume is Essek’s laundry powder and his cologne mingling. Well. He’s never going to be able to smell lavender again without thinking of last night.
He takes just a moment in front of the mirror and stares at his reflection. There’s absolutely no saving the mess that is his hair, though he pulls the barely holding on hair tie out and hurriedly runs his hands through it in an attempt to tame it, before pulling it back into a messy bun that at least keeps it somewhat out of his face. Nothing can be done for the pillow crease still denting one cheek nor his eyes that are still slightly red and irritated, but at least he’s no longer naked.
Pulling the hair off his neck reveals the fact that he has his own hickey: obvious and dark on the skin below his left ear.
Slapping his hand over it, he groans, before leaning in to examine it closer. If he looks, he can still see the faint imprints of teeth amongst the bruised and raised flesh; Essek’s teeth are apparently as talented as his tongue. He feels arousal pooling in his core, and he swears. Not helpful. He needs to get home asap and work out how to get rid of it before catching up with Beau later in the evening. She’d probably not tell the others if he asked, but he’s not in the mood for the knowing looks that would accompany it.
Maybe he can just stay in this bathroom until everyone forgets about his existence, it’s big enough he could make a decent go of it, but he knows he has to face Essek and putting it off won’t make it any better. Also, there’s only one exit.
At least he’s wearing the better of his green shirts, he supposes; this one doesn’t have any holes in it from eager cat claws. Pulling his socks on, Caleb takes a deep breath before opening the door, Essek’s silver robe draped carefully over his arm.
He hears water cut off and the sound of a glass being placed down, and follows the sound to the kitchen.
True to his word, Caleb’s phone, wallet, and keys are sitting on one end of a large island counter, while Essek himself is in front of the sink, though he turns as Caleb picks up the items and tucks them back into his pockets.
“Thirsty?” Essek lifts the glass and holds it out towards Caleb. He’s holding his own phone in the other hand and the screen lights up as Caleb watches. Essek barely glances at it before clicking it off and placing it face down on the counter. “I have painkillers somewhere if needed.”
Taken aback by the thought, Caleb reaches out automatically for the glass. His fingers brush Essek’s as he takes it, and static electricity zaps between them.
“Nein, no, really I’m fine. I’ve had worse,” says Caleb in a rush, stepping back and away. “I’m Zemnian.”
“I know.” Essek sounds amused, and he huffs slightly in what Caleb would call fondness on anyone else. He then looks apologetic. “I’m sorry, I have to leave, I really did not want to disturb you. You can s—”
Caleb cuts him off, already shaking his head. “Oh, it’s fine. You’ve already done more than I expected… it’s fine. I have a cat?” He takes a long, deep drink of the water before placing it down on the counter. “He’s overdue for breakfast, he’ll act as if I’ve left him to die. Sorry I slept so late, it doesn’t normally happen—”
He stops, every word feeling awkward on his tongue and awkward in the air. Essek is watching him, the same soft smile on his face before it clears into something more neutral.
“Ah, of course,” Essek demurs, hand coming out to tap against the kitchen counter. He looks like he’s steeling himself for something, and the anxious knot of emotions in Caleb’s stomach tie themselves even tighter.
Here’s where he says it was a mistake, that he regrets getting close, that he doesn’t feel anything for Caleb and they should just be friendly colleagues. He’s not sure how much of his heart will be left intact if he hears that, so he doesn’t give Essek the chance.
“We can pretend it never—”
“Caleb, would you—”
Essek stops, his jaw clicking closed with an audible noise as he sharply inhales. Intense focus crosses his face, the same look that makes Essek so formidable on funding presentations, and Caleb’s chest twangs painfully to see it directed at him.
The silence hangs in the air, unfinished, and it’s a long moment before Caleb looks up to see Essek waiting for him.
“Please, continue.”
“Well, I mean, that is…” He knows his cheeks are bright red currently, and hopes Essek won’t hold that against him. “We don’t have to talk about this. At all, or ever. I—it won’t affect work. I can be professional about it, after all, adults sleep together sometimes. It doesn’t have to mean anything.”
His words come out in a rush, his accent slightly thicker than normal, and his heart beats rapidly, but he manages to hold Essek’s gaze and not flinch away from it.
Those ever-changing, dark eyes that Caleb remembers dancing with the lights of the bar the night before bore into him, as if Essek is trying to reach in and read his very thoughts, and Caleb breathes deeply. Whatever he is looking for, he must find it, as a painfully neutral smile fixes itself in place and he blinks.
“Of course. I offer the same,” says Essek softly, the hand gripping the edge of the counter tightly letting go before he strides from the kitchen and heads towards the front door.
A wall is slammed between them, a rapid layering of pieces and shields, and Caleb almost trips over himself in his hurry to follow. He wasn’t even aware the walls had come down, but now that he thinks about it, they had been slowly coming down for weeks; he had smiled more, lingered further, gifted bites of personal information that Caleb held dear.
This Essek is the same one that he met six months ago—professional, courteous, and entirely unreachable.
Essek’s nods towards Caleb’s shoes when he catches up with him, and Caleb hurries to pick them up. He decides he can put them on outside, as Essek takes Caleb’s jacket from the back of the door and hands it over. Nothing else is said as Essek unlocks the latch and pulls open the door. It’s silent, even as solid and heavy as it looks, unlike his own door that he has to shove in just the right way to get it to budge.
Stepping through, Caleb hesitates for just a moment, half turning back and wanting to apologise even though he doesn’t know what for. Everything seems to have gone pear-shaped and he feels like he’s taken a wrong turn.
He doesn't get a chance to.
Essek smiles, devoid of any real emotion. “See you on Miresen,” he says, and the door is closed.
It is far colder outside, as Caleb stares at the dark timber door before him and the numbers 0997 printed artfully down one side: Essek’s apartment number. He files it away absently, as he hops from one foot to the other to pull his shoes on, stabilising himself against the hallway as he does.
Once they are on, he leans back against the wall and lets out a long, slow breath, rubbing his hands across his face and trying not to panic that he’s fucked whatever this is up.
Get it together, Widogast, this is no place for a panic attack.
Letting go of his face, he straightens and tucks his hands into his jacket, takes one last look at the closed apartment door, and then he walks away.