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With the children it was never obvious.
Cale had never let it show, or maybe the idea of a distance blurred in his mind in front of the children averaging nine-years-old.
"Human!"
"Cale nya!"
Fwish
"Aigoo…"
He'd pick them up with quivering arms and an exasperated sigh, much in contrast with his palm that always moved to pat each of theirs heads, almost in reflex.
A handkerchief in his pockets, a spare one too sometimes, so he could wipe their faces when they ate messily. There was never a word of rebuke, only understanding, only a gentleness.
Because of that, it was hard to tell.
Only his family, the Henituse family, could feel the distance first, in the formal greetings and stiff smiles, the meal they shared being their only comfort.
Ron, who was more or less part of the Henituse family by then, had noticed it the next, though the idea didn't matter to him much as long as the young master was healthy and safe. Which he mostly wasn't.
Then it would irk him, when he would catch the smell of blood near the redhead again, who otherwise appeared indifferent and healthy. Ron would replace the lemon tea with a sweet tea then, mostly out of a whim, mostly because he didn't like that the latter still flinched as if his presence was unfamiliar, sudden.
It wouldn't have crossed his mind before, really.
Much like it didn't with others, Rosalyn and Choi Han and Alberu.
They would meet and chatter, discussing everything from strategies to mundane details of the seldom, restful days. It wasn't unusual then, since Cale had never been one to speak much. At some point, neither of them could discern when exactly, his hazy gaze had become etched in their minds, his smile flickering at times—not quite a mask, not an emotion either.
His 'rest' would pass like that.
It wasn't that they hadn't tried, Eruhaben especially, to bring the redhead out of his room, to see him smile and make snarky jokes again.
Cale never really refused them, not in the start and not when they began noticing.
Part of what hurt was that as well, that the redhead had always been the same. Whether they went out on a picnic or strolled through a fair, it was as if a distance would linger, like the laughter they'd shared was only an imagined memory, a passing breeze.
He wouldn't refuse them, and that was ultimately what hurt the most.
Cale would understand and nod and smile, oftentimes, but he'd never step closer, the warmth of his body as faint as it could get. His arms would pat the children's heads, the skin cold and pale.
The crimson of his blood would draw a line, and no one could try and walk beyond it.
****
Having been a strategist, someone who'd rolled through dirt and blood to survive and survive, it was a feeling he'd caught before anyone else.
The orphanage, or what had lead to that. Those passing highschool days, a mirage more than a memory. Everything that came after, the sense of incongruence a constant companion to his thoughts and useless theories.
Being alive was the best.
If he lived and if his breath echoed in his ears, it was fine.
There were ideas, yes, concepts he'd hypothesised during nights when sleep was faint and records never-ending.
But it was all annoying, a total waste of time.
What had thinking ever changed?
The future he foresaw didn't change the outcome. He had survived, alone. Being alive was the best. Kim Rok Soo, the new Team Leader, with new, unfamiliar teammates. If he was alive nothing else mattered. The frequency of deaths arose and his own thoughts grew stagnant, but Rok Soo had held many voices close to his heart, helping him continue.
Being alive was the best.
Team Leader hadn't mentioned what one should do when left alone.
No matter how many scars took the place of his veins he'd be able to stand, and continue working.
It never left. The echoes of familiarity, of having crimson hair now but the blood was all the same, humans died when it was meant to be, and sometimes, even when it wasn't.
"Team Leader. Why are you so obsessed with farming?"
"Why are you so obsessed with a slacker life?"
"…"
The Team Leader had ruffled his hair then, eyes curling up as he chuckled. If it was someone else Rok Soo would've thrown the coffee in his grip at the latter's face, fixing his hair afterwards.
"It's just something I want to do. Together, with the three of us."
Cale had planned to own the smallest piece of land possible and sow, at best, around 10 seeds, until they grew a leaf or two. After that he would leave the work to his butler, or maybe the children, if farming ever interested them. Didn't children like to play in the soil anyway?
"Just something. Something I said in passing."
"…"
Years he'd heard of nonsense he didn't wish to, facts that probably weren't true but they didn't have the expertise anyway, farming, farming, farming all over.
"Something I said in passing."
That was all it was, in the end.
A bloodied patch of soil and a dream as faint as the sunlight that crept between the crevices of ravaged buildings, lighting the figures of the three only for a brief instant.
Cale understood, and perhaps that was the annoying part.
Distance was a mirror that reflected back his scarred body, it was one he could never forget, never cross.
Every gaze he'd recorded had ended up still at one point, cold and unblinking. Kim Rok Soo had recorded that too. The chill of something that bore no soul was like no other. Eyes were his medium, his skin held the marks. When Cale remembered his steps would resound, his figure would return to the past and he'd watch it over and over again, until the darkness warped into something more.
It wasn't an image, really.
The empty funerals had their names ingrained on his bones. There was nothing about memory here, recollection or nostalgia never quite strong.
It was how Cale had lived, simply.
If breathing was something one couldn't forget, then the many times he'd stood as a chief mourner wouldn't be erased either. The past didn't simply follow him; it walked before he could. Cale would trace and remember and learn—to not commit the same mistakes, to never be too late.
But this wasn't his world, per se. A fear was already etched into his mind, and Cale, who had always been a coward, didn't wish to step any further.
He wanted to rest.
He hated moving more than anything.
****
"Human."
"Mm."
Pat, pat
Cale pushed aside the open ink bottle, patting the young dragon who made himself comfortable right atop a very confidential document. The redhead didn't mind; it was meant to be sent to Alberu, so he didn't stress over it for even a second.
"Human, human."
"Yeah."
The child usually acted like this when Cale was too engrossed in work, skipping meals more often than not.
'Did he bring it again?'
An apple pie, that was. He didn't really feel like eating, but he wouldn't refuse the child either.
"Are you tired?"
Pat
"No."
"Hmm…"
Raon crossed his arms, though it looked more like he was holding his paws together because of his chubbiness. Cale smiled at that, recording the sight briefly.
'Who did he learn it from anyway?'
"Should this great and mighty dragon massage your shoulders?"
"…?"
The redhead blinked, processing the words a bit slower than usual.
"…You want to give me a massage?"
"That's right, human! There's nothing a great and mighty dragon can't do!"
Pat, pat
"That's true."
But where did this sudden and strange idea come from?
"I'm fine. You don't have to."
"…Mm…"
Thanks to the crybaby, his body was never too tired to work, but maybe the child had misunderstood, judging by his dissatisfied gaze.
"Raon."
"…Mm…"
Because it wasn't someone else, it was fine.
"Didn't you bring anything? I'm hungry."
"…!"
Because it was Raon, the child who'd known a despair deeper than any other since the moment he was born, Cale didn't pick up a pen again. He caressed the scales underneath his palm, his lips upturning at the clear surprise in Raon's gaze.
It should be like that.
Children shouldn't have to hide their expressions or hold in any worries, like he had to once.
Only his life alone was enough.
"I, I brought pies!"
Pat
"And cookies too!"
Pat
"…A,and- oh, there's also the rice cake skewer you didn't eat earlier-"
"Yes, yes."
He wasn't hungry in the least, but the apple pie Raon brought was never bad to taste, so Cale supposed he could take a bite.
Pat, pat
He wrapped an arm around the child who'd started hovering in the air a few centimetres up from the table, and continued patting his head with the other.
'Was it only this?'
Cale could tell it wasn't what Raon had come to him for. Despite their ages, the three of them never bothered the redhead when he was busy with work, only peeking in his office when it was time to eat.
It was something Cale hadn't really paid mind to, which, in his perspective, also meant something he had let be.
A distance was there, he supposed. When his nose bled and he hid it before the smell could reach the cats, and when a nightmare interrupted his rest, but Cale lay still and quiet until the moment Raon nuzzled into his neck, waking him up right in time. The distance was that his back was soaked with a cold sweat, and that he hadn't been taking a bath the one time he spent too long in the bathroom, the sound of water burying a metallic odor underneath it.
"Did you eat yet?"
"Nope! Hyung and noona said they would wait, so this mighty dragon went to fetch you myself!"
Pat, pat
"Is that so? Good job."
But the words were there, the softness of his gaze was.
A two step distance lingered between the child sitting atop the table and his own body.
Cale supposed it was comfortable, if nothing else.