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It was always embarrassing when he could hear his own breath hitch. Perhaps more embarrassing than if the Mighty Nein heard him. There would be teasing, questions, inappropriate comments—all harmless in their intentions. Essek hadn’t quite grown fully accustomed to that aspect of them, but he could understand it. Still, it never occurred. They never heard him when he saw Caleb.
And that was the worst part of it. Essek couldn’t make fun of himself, or make light of the situation, he could only sit in loathing.
It was rare, that feeling. That deep, burning appreciation that flowed between them. The care and reciprocity, the thirst for knowledge they both knew so well. Essek could not handle the embers he felt brushing against his skin.
Caleb hurt him, but not in the ways Essek was acquainted with.
There was something awfully electric about the way Caleb had caught Essek by the forearm. And nothing about it was harsh, or angry, or even necessary—it was caring.
It was far too much.
“Just breathe.”
He had listened then, hours earlier, and he listened again, retired in his chambers. He breathed. He felt a tear run down his face, and he wiped it away without a moment’s hesitation.
But still, he breathed.