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The day Caleb met Nott she had been drinking. Scratching an itch, she'd called it, and Caleb had been alive long enough to know what that meant, to know that the shake in her hands and the way her eyes fix on he empty bottle, like if she glares at it hard enough it will give in an refill itself, isn't healthy. Caleb doesn't think worse of her for it though, how could he? What does he know about being healthy.
That doesn't stop Caleb from noticing though, noticing the tell-tale signs of an addict, and the permanent stench of alcohol hanging heavy in Nott's breath. He hasn't known her long but he sees the patterns, he watches the agitation grow, senses the need, the want, the cravings.
Caleb craves things too, in a deep, gut wrenching sense. He craves things that are long lost to him now, things that carve out the little life he had left in his chest and leave him hollow and empty. It's weird to grieve something that used to be such a important part of himself, weirder, perhaps, to grieve the love he held for what took that part of him away.
He yearns for what life was, for the man he used to be, and for what he could have become before everything. That life feels worlds away now. The concept of before barely feels real to Caleb these days.
He thinks Nott feels the same. He doesn't ask, but part of him knows. Knows that before is different for her than it is to him, before that for her it means sobriety and maybe something else, something brighter, too. Caleb would rather not think about what before means to him, in this moment he focuses on Nott's before, and what could have happened to lead her to where she is now.
She stands infront of him in the darkend alleyway, nails digging into her shoulders with such a vigour that it borderlines erratic, and she looks away from him almost in shame. He'd dragged her back here because he'd been worried, maybe it was messed up to say but it was almost nice to be anxious for her, it often feels like he hadn't had someone to worry about in a long time. They hadn't known eachother long, but Caleb had grown to care for Nott. It was a small comfort that he appreciated greatly; to walk through the dreadful nature of life with a friend.
"Are you feeling okay, Nott?" Caleb asks with a hint of tentativeness, noting the way her eyes are darting anywhere but his face, as if she is searching the air for something just out of reach.
She mumbles a haisty reasurence that even a man a lot stupider than Caleb wouldn't buy. He sighs as he reaches into his jacket and pulls out a bottle. Sometimes you cannot help a someone in a way the world would deem right, sometimes you must help them in the way they need. Caleb cannot save Nott so doesn't. In this moment Caleb is not built to heal, instead he holds out his hand and passes her the bottle. She smiles wide, and that's all that matters to Caleb for now.
"Oh, you are a true friend, Caleb," Nott gasps, relief so clear in here voice that it almost saddens Caleb to hear. She takes the bottle to her lips and drinks with the fever of a dying man, tipping the contents down her throat as if there's is a thirst in her soul that her body is yelling at her to satisfy before it it's too late.
She pauses only to ask how he afforded such a thing, before continuing to drink so quickly Caleb is worried she may choke if she doesn't slow down soon. "Easy, now," Caleb chides gently, concern lacing his tone, as he moves his hand forward to rest it on her shoulder.
Nott flinches backwards with a sound akin to a hiss, a manic look in her eye as she pulls the bottle away from where his hand extended, as if Caleb had been moving to take the drink instead of to touch her. She stands on guard and glaring for a split second, so on edge that tension radiates off her in waves, before regret pools deep in her previously cold eyes as she curls in on herself, turning completely away from him and sinking to the floor.
Caleb stands facing her back, watching her small frame shake slightly with poorly suppressed tears. Caleb knows the extent alcohol can fuck with your head, and he lowers himself down beside Nott, nudging her shoulder gently in a way he hopes is at least somewhat comforting. She turns her face up to look at him, somewhat teary eyed, bottle still clutched tight in her grip.
"I only meant because it is the only bottle we have," Caleb explains gently, "I am in no place to judge you, believe me," and by the looks of it Nott does, as she smiles slightly, and wipes her eyes eith her slave.
"I'll nurse it," She says, with a glimmer if humour in her voice, leaning into Caleba
They sit on the floor of the dirty alleyway for a while. They shouldn't, Caleb has important matters he needs to attend to, and it's probably dreadfully unhygienic to remain here for more than a couple of seconds, but they stay regardless. It's unusually quiet, as if the world knew not to disturb them in this moment. The world didn't often favour Caleb, he thanked the sky for the waybit was watching over him right now.
This contentment wouldn't last, his body craves the hurt just as much as it craves to be healed. He's used to feeling broken, it won't be long untill his bones start aching with withdrawals akin to Nott's, the harsh reminder that his heart almost yearns tk break some more. But once again he pushes aside his own emotions and focuses on Nott, on the steady sound of their breathing and the reminder that even though both he and the world were fucked up, Caleb had found a friend.