Chapter Text
Caleb burns through his books like a man starved.
Often, he reads the same one over and over, and he seems unwilling to part with his coin to buy a new one.
There are a few he keeps.
With tattered covers and stained pages, that smell like earth and Ash and leather.
He reads those more than others. Over and over and over.
Some nights he tucks one under his pillow, as if it were an old friend. He finds comfort in these stories, whatever they might be, that much is clear.
Every now and then however his passion for books, even those old beloved ones, runs dry.
Caduceus can feel the ache of Calebs frutration, and how lost the man feels without them.
Caduceus takes caleb hands into his own, blows breath over his knuckles, kisses the skin there.
He says "have lunch with me today, Mr caleb."
And the wizard is too tired to meet his eyes, he says "I fear I will be miserable company, Caduceus."
But caduceus only smiles, soft and sincere and warm, and Caleb has always been weak to caduceus' affection, and so he goes along.
They have lunch nestled in the long grass.
It's still chilly, but the sun is out, blue skies heralding springs return.
It's quiet and fresh and easy.
Caleb doesn't need to cling to anything, no stories to tether him. He simply sits, eats, and enjoys the company of the earth and the firbolg beside him.
And if caduceus later finds himself tucked around caleb, purring and nuzzling under his chin, caleb is perfectly happy to indulge in this soft lovely embrace, and his books lie easily forgotten on the desk beside their bed.