Archive of Our Own

“Hey, Caleb. How’s it going? We’re gonna be in Nicodranas in about an hour – about half an hour. You should come meet us! … There. Bye!“

Caleb Widogast feels a thrill of anticipation run through him on hearing Jester Lavorre’s voice in his head. The feeling could be something akin to a child excited to go play with his friends, were Caleb not a very serious and respectable thirty-five-year-old Transmutation professor. It is because he is a professional that he refrains from answering directly, instead continuing with his lecture.

He gestures to a series of runes sketched messily on the board. “So,” he explains “While it may seem as if the spell is acting directly upon the subject, what you are actually doing is warping time around the subject to create a slowing effect.”

As he concludes his sentence Caleb, for the first time in an hour, takes a proper look around his classroom. What he sees is drooping heads supported by hands and students sprawled across desks, lethargic in the summer heat. Two are clustered at a single desk doodling notes on a piece of paper, and even the most dedicated of his students are not sitting up as straight as usual. It dawns on Caleb that he has been talking to himself.

“Fine. Go,” he relents, snapping his pointer sharply against the board. Most of the students snap to attention. A few are asleep. Caleb continues, “If you are not going to learn anything this afternoon, you may as well start your Midsummer early.” He sees nearly every young face in the room go from bored to thrilled in moments. A couple nudge their sleeping classmates to share the good news.

“However,” Caleb adds, ”You will all take a small skin of molasses and practice before our next class. I will be able to tell who has not.”

His attempt at intimidation seems to fall flat as the young people cheerily pack away their things. As they file out, more than a few wave their goodbyes to him or trill out a “Thank you, Herr Widogast.”

Caleb takes ten minutes or so to tidy his desk, and waves a hand to clear the chalkboard. Once everything cleaned to his liking, he unwinds a length of copper wire from around his wrist and speaks into it.

“I assume you have heard from Jester. Will I see you there?”

Where Jester’s messages generally arrive like a slap to the side of the head, Essek’s come in gently, like a caress “Unfortunately, not this time. I have accepted a short contract in Asarius and will not be able to be in Nicodranas tonight. I am sorry.”

It is the nature of Sending that, if you do not happen to be Jester Lavorre, messages need to be brief and to-the-point. Caleb understands this fact, but find it does not always temper their apparent brusqueness. He momentarily contemplates not sending another message in order to appear more aloof and unaffected, but decides that would be juvenile.

“Sorry to hear that. The Nein will miss seeing you, though none more than me. Let me know when your time is again your own.”

A response comes gratifyingly fast. ‘’It shouldn’t be more than a few days. I miss you. And the others too, of course.” Caleb smiles a little to himself, disappointed, but not so much that he is no longer looking forward to the evening ahead. He leaves his classroom, and makes his way through the halls of the Soltryce Academy. He finds he can practically feel the warm Menagerie Coast air on his skin, can already hear the Nein’s rowdy conversation, and picture the view from Veth’s balcony, the tall ships sailing in and out of port. It is a very pretty picture. 

These thoughts consume him until he has left the building. As he crosses the campus grounds he sends one more message. “Beauregard, I will be teleporting to Veth’s soon. Would you and Yasha like to come along?”

Beau’s reply comes through quick and breathy, “Uh, yeah we would, thanks. Could you – ah – give it like five – uh – ten minutes. We have a lot to pack for Nico – ooh – dranas – “

Caleb rolls his eyes, irrationally irritated an only a little envious. He nods tightly to the Righteous Brand soldiers that man the exits to the campus grounds, and decides to treat himself to fifteen full minutes at his favourite arcane bookstore.

Yasha and Beauregard live in a beautiful two-storey cottage in the Tangles, one of the nicer in the ward. It has a decently large garden, although the overwhelming number of flowerbeds and shrubs make it look smaller. Their windows are left open all day and all night. It took only two enterprising individuals trying to capitalise on that fact, and losing a limb for their trouble, for the place to gain a reputation amongst the city’s more unsavoury elements. Beauregard throws open the front door as he approaches.

“Took you long enough,” she says, hair less tidy than usual, “Is Essek meeting us there?”

Caleb shrugs, “Essek is otherwise occupied.”

“Bummer,” Beau replies dispassionately, and turn back into the cottage, “Babe, you ready to go?”

Caleb follows her inside where Yasha is wrapping something into a travelling pack. Their kitchen is not large, and Yasha alone takes up a decent portion of it. Her head is only an inch or two shy of the roof. The space is clean, but not particularly neat, with bundles of herbs hanging wherever there is spare space, and glass jars full of picked who-knows-what jammed onto overflowing shelves.

“Were we meant to bring food?” she asks, “I didn’t have time to make anything fresh. All we have ready is sourdough and the jam from last week. It came out too sweet, I don’t know if anyone will like it.”

Beau puts a calming hand on Yasha’s shoulder and presses her lips to it briefly. “That sounds great, Jess will love it. Now let’s go, I bet they’re already in port.”

Yasha sighs, “Okay, okay.” She turns, provisions in hand, “Thank you for bringing us with you, Caleb.”

“It is no problem,” Caleb replies, waving a hand. He watches as Yasha finishes tying up her pack. There is no real urgency, as Jester is generally optimistic with timelines.

Once Yasha is content, and Beau has retrieved her staff and a cobalt-blue pack, Caleb has them gather around. He places one hand on Beauregard’s shoulder, and with the other grasps a small wooden dowel. He whispers a few arcane words to himself and in an instant, they are standing in the centre of a tidy living room, surrounded by plush furniture of varying sizes. The house is quiet around them as Caleb slips the dowel back into his pocket.

Yasha immediately deposits her pack on an overstuffed armchair. “They’ve already gone, we should catch up.”

“I’ll race you,” offers Beau, grabbing Yasha’s hand to drag her out the front door. They take the stairs down at speed, their footfalls echoing. The air on this Nicodranian summer evening is much warmer than what they just left behind in Rexxentrum, so Caleb leaves his coat on a hook before following. He also takes the time to lock the door with Veth’s hide-a-key.

Walking the streets of Nicodranas, Caleb feels freer than he ever does in Rexxentrum. Much of that is, of course, psychological, but some of it comes from the light-hearted atmosphere of the city. So much of the area near the docks is given over to taverns, street performers and eclectic traders that there is always temptation to stray from one’s path and get lost in the general high spirits of the populace. Caleb, however, is not easily distracted, and soon finds himself within sight of Fjord and Jester’s ship.

Even in the context of the colourful streets of Nicodranas, the Nein Heroez pulling into port is not unlike the circus coming to town. Its billowing sails are each a piece of art, boasting vibrant murals of jungle islands, treacherous swampland, frozen tundra and more. There are nine repeating characters depicted in each of the exotic locales. In an undersea cavern they do battle with a sparkling, tentacled creature, on a dark backdrop they face off against a demonic looking enemy framed by shattered stained glass, while on a vibrant country road they sit atop and stroll beside a covered wagon accompanied by a tenth, feathery companion. Caleb knows, although he cannot see it at the moment, that the mast is painted so as to resemble a nine-storey tower. There are colours splashed on other surfaces of the ship, including the figurehead and many of the gun ports, which look as if they may be works in progress.

Yasha and Beauregard are only a little way ahead now. They stop at the dock to greet Caduceus, who is unmistakeable even at this distance, and three smaller, less distinctive figures who must be the Brenattos. Veth spots Caleb first and begins to sprint toward him as he approaches. She only makes it twenty feet or so before stopping with a hand to her stomach, which has ballooned out with eight months of pregnancy.

“You’ll have to do the running!” she shouts.

Caleb obliges, although it is really closer to a light jog. As he reaches Veth he leans down to hug her as gently as possible, and is squeezed tightly back for his trouble.

“Uncle Caleb!” Luc clings to Caleb’s arm as Veth releases him. He is still light enough for Caleb to throw up in the air, although he will not be for long.

“There he is,” says Caleb, putting Luc down, and crouching to look him in the eye. “Did you bring your crossbow?” he asks seriously, “We will need it if we are to commandeer the ship.”

“Yeah, let’s do it!” says Luc excitedly. He spins around to show off crossbow strapped to his back before hesitating a moment. “What does commandeer mean?”

Caleb laughs, “Commandeer means –“

“Commandeer means to steal,” interrupts Caduceus firmly.

Beau, unfazed, cocks her head to one side, “I mean, it’s really more like borrowing.”

Caduceus shrugs, “Agree to disagree.”

A few minutes of greeting, hugging and squabbling ensues, by the end of which Luc is on Caduceus’s shoulders, with Yeza hovering below and looking very concerned. The chatter barely pauses when the gangplank of the Nein Heroez slams down on to the dock. Jester is only a moment behind it.

“Ugh, why does everything have to take so long?” she exclaims, rushing to embrace the first of the Nein available. It happens to be Yasha, who instinctually lifts Jester several feet off the floor in a tight hug. Beau and Caduceus join in, with Veth having to wait until they are all at a more accommodating level. Caleb waves to Fjord and Kingsley, who are making their way more sedately down the gangplank, and to Orly, who merely leans over the edge of the ship.

The group hug disassembles, leaving Jester to properly greet Veth, and Beau to clasp hands with Fjord, clapping him on the back. Kingsley high-fives Luc, who is still seven feet in the air and has to reach down to meet his hand. Caleb watches them all reunited with a happy heart. He can imagine only one improvement to the scene before him, but does not dwell.

Soon Jester yells out, “Ca-leb!” and barrels into him at a speed that knocks a little of the air from his lungs.

“I,” he begins, hugging back, “am not as sturdy as Yasha. It’s good to see you.”

“You smell very clean, I’m proud of you!”

Caleb sniffs the air around Jester performatively, “You smell like saltwater and bird shit.”

“I smell like triumph,” declares Jester, pulling back to strike a pose, hands on her hips and chest puffed out, “The Nein Heroez have returned. With boo-ty.”

Fjord tips his hat to Orly as the reunited Mighty Nein begin to stroll back down the dock toward Nicodranas proper. “We managed to beat a Revelry ship to a wreck halfway between Darktow and Tal’Dorei. There was this incredible fresco in the captain’s cabin with enough gems for Orly to tattoo everyone in Vo. We were in and out before anyone even knew we were there,” Fjord huffs out a breath, “It was exhilarating!”

Veth, whose limited mobility is setting the party’s pace, tuts, “Sounds like you did a very brave job of running away from the Revelry, ‘Captain Tusktooth’.”

“Missed you too, Veth,” Fjord replies, grinning.

Veth smiles back just a little.

“Well I missed drinking booze that wasn’t fermented in a repurposed fucking spittoon,” says Kingsley, throwing one arm around Caleb’s neck and the other around Fjord’s, “We can’t go this long without stopping in at some kind of civilisation again. Looking good, magic man,” he adds, winking at Caleb.

“Where are we headed?” asks Caduceus as they reach a crossroads.

“To drink!” offers Kingsley.

“Food,” insists Beau.

“Ve- uh – I might need to sit down,” Yeza chimes in cautiously from Veth’s side.

“To the Lavish Chateau!” declares Jester with delight, “For food, drink, a seat, and to see Mama and Papa.”

Veth cheers, “To the Lavish Chateau!”

By the time evening truly sets in, the Mighty Nein and co. have made it through a three-course meal each (one vegetarian), seven bottles of wine (Kingsley being responsible for one and a half on his own), and made three servers very happy with their outrageous tipping (to which Yeza has still not become accustomed). Jester and Fjord have caught up with Marion and Babenon, who join them all for dinner.

Everyone shares stories over the meal. Veth and Yeza’s excitement about the new baby and Luc’s progress at school is met with interest equal to Fjord, Jester and Kingsley’s descriptions of diving in wrecked ships and battling pirates. The Blooming Grove is recovering slowly and steadily. Beau and Caleb are coming up against dead end after dead end in their efforts to root out corruption in the empire, but refuse to give up. Yasha is experimenting with agapanthus.

“What’s Essek up to lately?” Jester asks Caleb once dessert is finished. “He said he was too busy being boring to come see us.”

“I don’t know much more than you,” says Caleb, “But if you are in port for more than a couple of days I’m sure he will find time to visit.”

Fjord considers, “I’m sure we’ll need at least a week or two to fully resupply and find buyers.”

Jester smiles and fiddles with a piece of copper wire she keeps wrapped around her finger. “Hey Essek!” she says into it, “We’re all here having a great time without you. We’ll be in town another week if you want to come.” Fjord, who has been counting words, holds up three fingers. Jester, eyes wide, finishes with, “Miss you lots!"

Fjord gives her a thumbs up.

“I am getting so good at this,” says Jester smugly. Fjord takes her hand and presses a soft kiss to it. Their mutual adoration is tangible. Past them, across the table of glittering glasses and half-finished desserts, Caleb sees Marion smile softly at her daughter’s obvious joy.

Luc, who has begun to grow bored with the evening of grown-up conversation, tugs at his Mother’s sleeve. “Can we go to the beach?”

“What, no!” Veth answers instinctively, before adding in a more measured tone, “It’s getting very dark, you could get lost in the water.”

“Oh no, we have to go to the beach! I miss the beach. Rexxentrum doesn’t have a beach,” interjects Beau, slightly tipsily.

Caduceus shakes his head, “At least two of you are too drunk to trust near water.”

“How about,” mediates Yeza, “We walk along the beach until the sun goes down.” He looks to Veth, “No swimming.”

“Sounds perfect,” Veth says warmly. Caleb feels his insides twist a little as they lean against each other, not envious of either of them specifically, but of the easy comfort they find in each other. The feeling passes quickly.

“We should go then,” says Yasha, “Sunset isn’t far off.”

“Fourty-two minutes,” specifies Caleb involuntarily.

Jester claps, “Let’s go! Are you coming papa?”

The man formerly known as The Gentleman offers his hand to the woman currently known as The Ruby of the Sea. “Not this time, Jester. I think we’ll retire early tonight.”

“Let’s spend the day together tomorrow, my sapphire,” says Marion, embracing Jester tightly. “Enjoy your evening with your friends.”

“Come on, we gotta go!” exclaims Luc, grabbing on to Caduceus’s hand and leading him out of the building.

The others follow soon after in loose pairs. Yeza hovers around Veth. Beau is clinging on to Yasha, almost to the point of climbing her, and Fjord is turning in circles to keep his eyes on Jester.

Caleb and Kingsley are left to bring up the rear. They walk down to the beach, passing by crowds packing in to inns and clubs. Caleb enjoys the bustle of it, listening to his friend’s light chatter. Eventually he turns to Kingsley.

“I’m a little surprised you don’t have other plans for this evening,”

Kingsley raises an eyebrow. “I’m hurt you think I wouldn’t spare a night for old friends. I’ve known you people my whole life, you know,” he says, grinning.

“My apologies,” replies Caleb with mock-seriousness, “But six months is long time to be away from the mainland. I am simply surprised that there nothing else you want to do to celebrate your return.”

His friend’s smile turns wicked, “Oh, there’s at least one thing I wouldn’t mind doing.”

Caleb considers these words briefly before understanding dawns. “Scheisse, you are still a terrible flirt,” he says, colouring slightly, “Awful.”

“You only need to ask me to stop and I’ll stop,” Kingsley leans in a little closer, pupil-less eyes shining with mischief, “And yet you never have.”

“I would not deny you an opportunity to refine a skill. We are such good friends after all.”

Kingsley holds Caleb’s gaze for a beat too long, as if he is looking for something, “So generous of you,” he replies finally, “I’ll have to think of something I can help you with in return.”

They are now off the street. Stone has given way to sand that, not too far off, disappears beneath the waves of the Lucidian Ocean. Kingsley is slowly stepping backward now, eyes still locked on Caleb.

“Ja,” he offers lamely, looking away, “I’m sure you will think of something.”

Everyone is taking off their shoes bar Veth, who begrudgingly has Yeza do it for her. Luc, who is by now an expert at scaring his mother, jumps in and around the gentle waves as they creep up the beach and roll slowly back. Jester joins him enthusiastically. Yasha and Caduceus keep one eye each on Luc and the other scanning for seashells. They won’t take any with them, Caleb knows, just pick them up, reflect on how pretty they are, and lay them back in the sand. Beau has Fjord running sprints with her up and down the hundred feet or so ahead. He keeps up a lot better these days, but she still laps him several times.

Caleb squints at the setting sun, willing his still slight elevated heart rate down. He toes off his boots and stuffs his socks inside them. The sand is soft and fine, a sharp contrast to the pebbled lakes of his youth. He thinks, idly, that Essek would probably prefer smooth stone to sand that sticks to everything. Just as he concludes that he must take Essek to a pebble beach one day, he is suddenly shocked by a stream of cool water that cascades over his head and down his body, soaking him from head to toe. He turns to see Jester a little way off, hands outstretched in a recognisably magical gesture.

“There you go, now you can smell like saltwater too,” she explains, unrepentant.

Caleb makes a show of looking shocked, and shaking out his sopping wet hair. As Jester laughs, he pulls out a slightly damp sprig of catmint and whispers to himself.

“What are you saying? Let me guess,” she says, putting on a frown and crossing her arms, “That Jester, she is just so sneaky, and I am just a boring wizard who can’t keep up. Why can’t I be that cool?”

As she continues to tease him, Caleb subtly instructs an amber cat’s paw scoop up some seawater and silently drift up and over Jester’s head. He lets her get just a glimpse of it moving overhead before releasing the paw and soaking her through.

“Ack –” Jester spits out a mouthful, giggling and choking in equal measure.

“Water fight!” Beau yells, and shoves Fjord who, unprepared, tumbles into the surf.

Chaos ensues, as is the Mighty Nein’s specialty. Water flies left and right, a combination of a few Control Water spells, and the sheer force with which the more athletic group members can splash. Caleb embraces the chaos, using the paw to slam down into the ocean’s surface, catching everyone except Veth, who is now using him for cover. Yasha sweeps Beau up in a princess carry, then unceremoniously tosses her to the waves. Caduceus aims a few sprays at Jester and Kingsley and misses terribly, hitting Caleb, who stumbles backward and falls. The salt water drips down his face and obscures his vision. He closes his eyes and just sits for a moment in the pleasant cool of the sea, listening to his friends’ laughter bouncing back and forth across the beach.

A shadow falls in front of Caleb. He rubs at his eyes and opens them to see Kingsley Tealeaf, now clad in only a pair of tight trousers, holding out a hand.

Caleb clasps his arm and allows himself to be lifted to his feet, tipping forward a little further than intended. For a beat his body brushes the length of Kingsley’s and, even after he has stabilised, Caleb does not immediately pull away. He turns his head slightly to find his friend looking back at him. A few slightly heavy breaths past during which Caleb feels Kingsley is waiting for him to do something, to step away or draw closer. They pause on a precipice, neither quite willing to jump. Eventually, Kingsley steps back.

“You people are crazy!” yells Veth from her safe, dry perch a way up the beach, “Luc, it’s getting dark, time to go.”

“Aw,” Luc complains, hip deep in the water, “Five more minutes?”

Veth softens, “Okay, but only five.”

“Woo!” Luc and Beau cheer together.

The Mighty Nein return to the Brenattos’ well after sunset, all still barefoot and half-dressed from swimming. Jester, Fjord and Kingsley stop in briefly at the ship to wash and change, and to bring back a spare outfit for Caleb, who did not think to bring anything of his own. Everyone back at the condo cycles through its two small bathrooms, washing off as much sand as possible. Luc, now exhausted, is tucked into bed.

They cap off the night with more drinks and conversation, followed by a late-night snack whipped up by Yeza and Caduceus to counteract the alcohol. The air smells of jasmine from the bushes just below the Brenattos’ balcony, mixed with a light spice from the kitchen. Conversation runs easy and fluid. No one has the energy nor inclination to discuss anything of real gravity, and what passes is one of those few precious evenings that seem to exist out of time or consequence.

As midnight draws near, Veth and Yeza say their goodnights. Caleb takes his time casting the Tower, watching his friends’ eyes begin to droop. They remind him a little of his students earlier in the day as they get close to nodding off in their chairs. That is except for Kingsley, who watches with clear attention as Caleb assembles his components and creates a door from nothing.

“Ooh, yes please,” says Fjord as the shimmering doorway materialises, “I’m ready to sleep like the dead.”

Jester waggles her eyebrows at him, “Oh yeah?”

Fjord is unmoved, “Yes.”

“Me too, actually,” Jester concedes with a yawn, “Goodnight everybody!” She and Fjord pass through the tower door and vanish.

“I’m out too,” declares Beau, “Coming babe?”

Yasha rises, as does Caduceus. “Yes, please,” she says, “I’ve missed the tower’s – um – comforts.”

Caduceus nods, “Me too, but probably not the same one’s you’re talking about,” he takes a moment to neatly tuck his chair back in, “Thanks for a wonderful evening everyone.”

By this point Kingsley is also on his feet, but forgoes the tower door in favour of the one leading out to the Brenattos’ small balcony.

“If you’ll all excuse me, I think I’ll take in a little more night air. See you in the morning?” He ends the sentence with a lilt that’s more a question than an accent, and tips his head toward Caleb. They lock eyes for an instant before Kinglsey steps outside with a slight flourish.

Beau and Yasha are already in the tower when Caleb looks back over. Caduceus, however, hovers by the entrance. He studies Caleb for a moment, then nods, neither approving nor disapproving, but making it clear that he’s seen something more than the others.

“See you later?”

“Ja, don’t let me keep you. I would like to prepare an alarm just in case,” replies Caleb, unspooling his silver thread.

“Well, have a good night.” Caduceus steps through the door, and Caleb is alone.

There is no noise now but the gentle creaking of the house, and the whisper of wind through the odd loose window pane. Arcane light plays softly along the walls as Caleb strings his thread across the threshold of the front door and around the tower’s entrance. It serves as a familiar, calming ritual.

Once the spell has been cast, Caleb takes a few steps towards the tower before hesitating. Surely, he considers, he would sleep better after taking in a little sea air, and the view from Veth’s balcony was all the more beautiful at night.

The glass door leading outside is still ajar. Caleb pushes it open and steps out, into the still-warm summer air. There is very faint music coming from somewhere below. Directly in front of him, back turned, Kingsley Tealeaf leans on the balcony railing, humming loosely along with the tune. Silently, Caleb takes a seat on one of the two deck chairs. He tips his head back and shuts his eyes in an attempt to slow his quickened heart rate. A feeling akin to both anticipation and hesitation coils in the pit of his stomach.

“I’m curious,” begins Kingsley after a minute or so of quiet, “Why do you think we’ve never had sex?”

Caleb takes a second to process, and then another, and then a few more. Finally, he answers, “I have many friends. Not having slept with them is not something I usually feel the need to explain. Is there a particular reason you feel we should have?”

“Well, we’re the only two of this bunch of arseholes not ‘committed’.” Kingsley reasons, rolling his eyes as he turns toward Caleb, “Unless you’re finally fucking the wizard?” He gives him a searching look, then grins, “But I don’t think you are.”

“Would it matter to you either way?”

Kingsley barks out a laugh, “Nice deflection. And no, only insomuch as it would matter to you.” He looks Caleb up and down, “Not getting laid would explain why you always seem so wound up.”

He walks over to stand behind Caleb. There is a certain tension in the air only amplified by the warmth and shadow that envelops them. Caleb feels the very tips of Kingsley’s fingers brushing both of his shoulders. It makes him shiver.

“May I?”

“Sure,” says Caleb, tone as nonchalant as he can manage.

Instantly there is a firm pressure digging in between his shoulder blades. Kingsley’s fingers and palms work along his shoulders while his thumbs knead into his back. Most of the contact is dulled through clothing, but there are a few moments in which he feels warm skin directly on his neck. Caleb manages to suppress a groan, but exhales deeply. He realises he must have been tighter than he thought, as relaxation begins to spread from his shoulders down. He shuts his eyes again.

“Where did you learn to do that?” he asks after a minute or so.

“Lean forward,” Kingsley instructs. Once Caleb has complied he begins pushing the heel of one hand into his back with the other, moving downward. It’s pleasurable but, despite the context, not openly seductive. He treats Caleb as an upscale bathhouse masseur would a patron. “Would you believe it was Marius? Apparently, he once knew a half-elf in Port Damali with a gift. I picked it up easily, though. Seems the muscle memory was already there.”

“I wouldn’t have guessed,” Caleb admits, “Why have you not slept with him, then, if that’s the kind of thing we have to have an explanation for now?”

Kingsley scoffs, “Even my standards are higher than that. Also, he’s not as open-minded as the more enlightened among us.” Having reached as far down Caleb’s back as he can manage, he now splays his hands out on either side of his spine, pressing in almost uncomfortably firmly with his thumbs.

“You’re not his type?” asks Caleb absently.

“Men aren’t his type.”

“Ah, I can see how that would be an issue. I still don't quite understand what it is you see in me,” Caleb lets the words run freely, relaxing more and more as the massage continues. "Not to brag, but I am just an aging wizard with - ah - mildly self-destructive tendencies."

"Does wanting to get laid really have to be that complicated?" Kingsley answers, but still seems to consider the question before continuing, "I like that you don't seem to expect anything from me. I like Fjord and Jessie as much as anyone, but sometimes, when they think I can't see, they'll look at me like they're still expecting Him to wake up one day instead. It's not really their fault, but I like that I've never gotten that from you."

This surprises Caleb, who honestly had not expected the answer to his question to be so nuanced. "If I were to lose my every memory," he reasons, "If I forgot the many horrific and wonderful and in-between things that made me who I am, then I would no longer be Caleb Widogast, or Bren Aldric Ermendrud. I would have to start again as someone completely new. It is not so difficult to extend that logic to your situation."

Kingsley leans down for a moment and speaks into Caleb's ear, a smile in his voice. "I also find clever people incredibly fucking hot."

To that, Caleb finds he doesn't know how to respond.

A few more minutes pass. Eventually Caleb  feels Kingsley’s clever hands withdraw and leans back. “You have quite a talent there, thank you.”

He hears footfalls to his left, and suddenly Kingsley is looking down at him, eyes even more smouldering crimson than usual. Caleb suppresses an involuntary shiver. Having a set of red eyes so close ignites a confusing conflagration of trepidation and arousal in his chest.

Kingsley leans down, supporting himself on the deck chair, one hand on either side of Caleb’s head. “May I?” he asks again.

Caleb nods once, slowly.

Kingsley leans in even closer. He smoothly eases a leg over Caleb, who suddenly finds himself with a lapful of tiefling. He inhales sharply and freezes. Pressed together like this he can feel every inch of Kingsley’s arousal, and knows his own erection must be equally apparent.

Kingsley grins, clearly aware of the effect he’s having on Caleb. He shifts one hand down to trail along his jaw and down to the base of his throat. “I did wonder if you and the circus man ever tried this?”

“Er, no, we did not,” Caleb replies, his usually quick mind slowed with lust, “Why do you ask?”

“I don’t know,” shrugs Kingsley, rolling his hips almost imperceptibly slowly. “There’s really no reason for he and I to have similar tastes. I actually prefer it this way.”

Caleb’s hands seem to move of his own accord from where they had been tightly gripping his chair to rest at Kingsley’s hips.

“So, I’m your type then?” asks Caleb, “Enough that you think I would be no matter who was in your body?”

Kingsley laughs, more genuinely than he has all night, “In my – Oh, that’s just too easy.” He reaches around to the nape of Caleb’s neck and slowly tugs his hair free. “Maybe I imagine your particular combination of attractive and extremely repressed would appeal to anyone?”

“'Attractive’ is a very subjective description,” Caleb replies, losing track of the words he’s using the moment they leave his lips. He is aware, somewhere in the back of his mind, that if he lets himself think too hard he will ruin this.

“Stop thinking,” Kingsley says, as if he can read minds, and leans in to press his lips along the same path, from Caleb’s jaw downward, that his fingers had travelled a minute earlier. It has been a long time since Caleb has experienced an attraction so raw and so purely physical. The feeling is overwhelming.

After a few long moments of this, Kingsley leans back a little to look Caleb in the eye. “I’m going to need you to tell me to keep going. If you don’t want that I can go back inside no questions asked, but I would rather -”

Caleb, acting as instinctually as his overactive mind will allow, closes the distance between them, pressing his lips to Kingsley’s. It’s hard to get enough pressure at this angle, but the tiefling is quick on the uptake, pressing him back into the chair with a kiss that quickly turns deep and hungry. He is not surprised to feel a clever tongue dancing with his, but had underestimated exactly how good it would feel to be kissed by someone who wants him. Someone who doesn’t feel the need to hide how much they want him. Caleb’s hands tighten at Kingsley’s hips and grind them down against his own more roughly than intended. Pleasure radiates out from where they are grinding against each other to what feels like every square inch of his body.

Kingsley groans, pulling back for a deep inhale. “Well fuck me, that’ll be a yes then,” he says with a wink. He continues to kiss Caleb, open mouthed and filthy, while working open his shirt, clearly having had a lot of practice removing other people’s clothing. Once it is all the way open he runs his fingers through the dark chest hair beneath.

Caleb attempts to return the favour by undoing Kingsley’s belt, but finds his fingers clumsy. His mind is clouded by sensation, although not quite enough as to obscure his mounting guilt. He grunts in frustration.

“Easy,” admonishes Kingsley playfully, “Let me.” He loosens the laces of his billowy white undershirt and undoes his belt before leaning back slightly. Slowly, with a hint of a tease, he pulls the shirt up and over his horns.

His chest is artwork. Between the tattoos, scars, and the lean but defined musculature it seems almost too beautiful to touch. Caleb does, however, moving his hands up and around to explore. The skin, where unpainted, is a lighter lavender than Kingsley’s face or arms. He feels himself beginning to think again and shifts his hips up to drive the troublesome thoughts away. It feels achingly good. They are now chest-to-chest, and the sensation of another person’s skin on his is intoxicating.

Kingsley reaches underneath to remove Caleb’s belt. It is a slightly complicated design, and even Kingsley’s clever fingers stumble.

“How do you -” he begins.

“Hold on,” Caleb interrupts, “I will do it.” He undoes the first buckle shakily, then stops and looks up.

Kingsley is still in his lap, watching him work. For just an instant there is something in his intense gaze, his focus, and the miles of purple skin on display that makes Caleb’s stomach lurch with a sickening guilt.

“We - we need to stop,” he stammers, hands flying up to press against his forehead.

“Shit, yeah, okay.” Kingsley, after only a few seconds of confusion, gets up and takes a few steps back. He looks devastatingly dishevelled.

For a moment Caleb reconsiders, feeling the desperate ache of unfulfilled lust. The moment passes. “I’m sorry,” he offers, “I just–”

“Look, I said no questions and I meant it, you don’t have to explain.” Kingsley leans back against the balcony railing, breathing heavily, “Just give me a second to, ah, recover.”

“No, no, I want to. You have done nothing wrong.” Caleb’s heart is still beating too fast “I… I am in love with him, with Essek.”

Kingsley as confused as if Caleb were speaking Zemnian. “Bloody fuck, Widogast, I’m not exactly looking for love here. I’m only after, well, a fuck.”

Caleb lets out a wheezing chuckle. “I am well aware of that,” he says, re-buttoning his shirt, “But while he and I are by no means committed, something about this – about you – it still feels like a betrayal.”

Kingsley huffs out a laugh as well, “Look, this is really none of my business, but it sounds like something you need to sort out with Thelyss.”

“I know, I’m sorry. I hope there are no hard feelings between us.”

“Only the one,” jokes Kingsley. “Really, don’t apologise. But please, for both of your sakes, sort your shit out.”

Caleb feels almost ashamed at how right his friend is. “Ah, yes. I will try.”

They spend a minute or so in silence. It feels as the night is finally beginning to cool, although Caleb is unsure if his skin is just hot. Kingsley sheepishly fishes his shirt from a pot of begonias.

“I think I’ll go sleep on the ship,” he says after redressing.

Caleb feels another pang of guilt. “You are always welcome in the tower.”

“And I’m sure I’ll be back,” replies Kingsley brightly, “Just not tonight. Good luck, you know, with the wizard.”

“Thank you.”

In another breath Kingsley Tealeaf is gone.

Caleb faintly hears the front door open and close. He sits in silence for twenty-three minutes. The guilt from earlier is now twofold, once for treating his friend as a convenience, and once for letting things go so far. Neither count is entirely rational, he knows, but emotions are not rational. Love, Caleb thinks, romantic love, is almost inherently irrational. He worries the well-used copper wire at his wrist.

Fuck it he thinks, and brings it to his lips. “I need you. Please. I am at the Brenattos’.”

Essek’s reply is near-instantaneous. “What’s happened? Is it the assembly? Uk'otoa?” The voice in Caleb’s head suddenly becomes an echo of the one coming from inside the house. “Where are you?”

Caleb hurriedly gets up. His shirt, he realises belatedly, is buttoned wrong, but has left himself no time to fix it. He opens the glass door leading in from the balcony.

There, between the tower door and the dining table they never bothered to tidy, stands Essek Thelyss. He is facing away, but Caleb’s keen mind can perfectly recall his every feature. His hair is longer than the last time they saw each other, and his travelling cloak not so pristine.

Caleb enters, closing the balcony door behind him, causing Essek to turn around sharply at the sound.

“I'm sorry,” he begins, feeling a fresh wave of guilt at the anxiety apparent on Essek’s face, “That may have come off more dramatic than I intended.”

Essek’s tight posture relaxes a little as he leans on the dining table. “May have? You sounded as if you were in pain.” His expression cycles through irritation to relief, and then rapidly to his usual mask of aloof indifference. It stings a little for Caleb to see his walls go up so readily. Especially, he thinks dejectedly, given the conversation they are about to have. “What casual enquiry couldn't wait for when I was done in Asarius or even just for the morning?”

“I know, I know,” Caleb says, hands out placatingly. Resisting the urge to move closer, he instead heads for the ethereal door. “Please, let’s talk inside. Veth and Yeza are asleep.”

Essek rolls his eyes. “Oh, of course, it would be rude of us to alarm them for no reason.”

Despite his sarcastic tone, Essek follows Caleb into the tower. Inside, the enormous stained-glass windows are still lit, but subtly, as if by moonlight. Their footsteps on the wooden floor are the only apparent sound in the vicinity, indicating the others are likely in their own, soundproofed, rooms. Caleb takes the brass staircase to the platform above. Essek follows, and they begin to slowly levitate up and through the next few apertures.

“Is there some reason we couldn’t speak downstairs?” asks Essek.

Caleb runs a hand through his hair, still loose. “I would rather not run in to the others. They are all sleeping in here except for Veth and her family.” And Kingsley, Caleb thinks, but decides not to add.

“Caleb,” says Essek, softer now. He lays a hand on Caleb’s forearm. “You’re worrying me. I trust that your actions are always driven by some logic, but right now every explanation I can think of is… unsettling.”

“I, er, have a confession to make. Two, I suppose,” Caleb gently takes Essek’s hand as they reach the seventh floor, indicating they should stop their upward progress. “Let’s speak in my room.”

There have been a few improvements made to his bed chambers in the tower over the years, but Caleb has yet to put more effort into it than the guest rooms. Still, there is a comfortable, decently sized bed, and a fireplace currently unlit. There is also a bookshelf holding of some of his favourite books, and a small wooden desk and chair.

Essek hovers beside the desk but does not sit. He doesn’t often feel the need to keep up the levitation around Caleb these days, and its re-appearance now indicates he is on the defensive.

Caleb tries to work his thoughts in to order, but struggles. “Again, I am sorry,” he says finally, “I didn't consider how my words would come across out of context.”

Essek seems unimpressed. “Obviously. What happened? Are you… ill?”

Caleb takes a deep breath, contemplating how much to tell.

“I have spent some time tonight with Kingsley. It didn’t really start off as anything – you know how he can be – but there was, I suppose you could say a pull.” He has his eyes trained on Essek’s face, studying his features. They are a placid mask that offer no insight into his thoughts. “After dinner I followed him out to the balcony. I want to say I didn’t plan to… but that would be a lie. He asked why we had never, ah, slept together.” Essek still does not react. “I didn’t really have answer for that, but we continued to talk and there was a – well, one thing led to another and we did not, but we did get close.”

A very loud silence follows this confession.

Essek is impossibly still. When he does speak his voice is measured, but cold. “So, you called me here from another continent to tell me that you did not sleep with someone? To what end?”

“Yes – no,” Caleb averts his eyes from Essek as he continues, “I need to tell you why I turned him down.” He breathes deeply, knowing it is now or never. “It was because of you, because I am in love with you.” He speaks quicker now and begins to pace. “I know it’s not something we say. We never talk – not directly – about what we mean to each other. We have never defined the boundaries of our – I would say our understanding but I don’t understand it, Essek. I’m by no means a diehard monogamist, and I don’t care if you don’t want something that… physical, but I need to know that if I were to turn down someone like Kingsley, it’s because I am with you. Or, if I were to say yes, it would be because either we have a relationship that can include others, or because you do not love me back.”

Caleb stops abruptly, breathes, and still does not look at Essek. Time stretches, as if under some dunamantic influence, until each second feels like an eternity. He wishes, desperately, that they could stay frozen in this moment of possibility forever. Right now, there is a chance that he is not simply embarrassing himself. There is the possibility that he is not throwing himself at someone he admires so much and offering up a love that is pathetically, inevitably fleeting. He would offer Essek everything he is and might still not be enough. Caleb is still spiralling when the silence is broken.

“If I am to have a say in the matter, then I don’t want you to say yes,” says Essek finally, low and quiet. “To him or to anyone.”

Caleb feels an unbelievable relief wash over him. “Okay,” he replies, a little giddy. “Then I won’t.” He turns back to Essek. There is no mask now. His face is drawn and serious, but Caleb can tell that it is no longer an act. Unsure what to do now, he sits on the bed’s footboard. His heart pounds, his emotions a confusing tumult of joy, apprehension and shame.

There is a gentle rustle of fabric as Essek sits beside Caleb. “I’m not…” he hesitates, “My experience in this area is probably no greater than yours, which, for having lived a century longer, is rather unimpressive. There are many factors that would make it easier to just continue as we have been.” Caleb’s heart sinks a little, but he lets Essek continue. “But, it is unfair for me to keep things in this state of limbo to protect myself, while still feeling as if I have some sort of claim on your attention.”

“You have always captivated my attention,” says Caleb with a smile. “I’m not sure that could change even if I wanted it to.”

“Perhaps, but I am so fundamentally selfish. The difference in our lifespans is–”

“A reasonable consideration,” interrupts Caleb, “Don’t think I haven’t followed that line of thinking to its inevitable end. We are setting ourselves up for pain.” He pauses, taking a deep breath. “But I have come to believe not so much more than any two people who decide to love each other.”

Essek lets out a wry chuckle. “I suppose it is a moot point,” he says, voice lighter now, “The deed is done. What point is there to arguing semantics?”

For the first time since they entered the room, Caleb looks directly into Essek’s eyes. There is an emotional honesty there that he has seen more than once before; in the Blooming Grove, in Aeor, onboard the Balleater. He is captivated by it. He maintains the eye contact longer than is usually comfortable for either of them. Essek doesn’t look away, as if they are suddenly in competition.

“Also, just to be clear,” says Caleb, leaning in close. “Nothing about you could ever fail to impress me, Essek Thelyss”. He presses his lips to Essek’s.

It is by no means their first kiss, but this one feels different to Caleb. It is as if the force of gravity that holds them in each other’s orbit has magnified a thousand-fold. He presses in firmly, savouring the feel of Essek’s lips against his own. Cautious, he does not let himself linger before pulling back. He is surprised when Essek doesn’t let them part, slowly slipping his tongue into Caleb’s mouth in a move that is anything but unimpressive. Caleb wraps one hand around the back of Essek’s neck and gently strokes a thumb along his jaw. Regretfully, he pulls away just enough to make eye contact once again.

“I meant what I said,” he begins, voice rougher with want, “I need nothing more than to know we care for one another. Anything else is pleasant but optional. I don’t want you to feel that we have to –”

“Caleb,” interrupts Essek, sounding more than a little frustrated, “Don’t imagine I am some blushing virgin. Consider,” he reaches out and traces the shell of Caleb’s ear down into his beard, “I described my experience as no greater than yours.” Essek leans in until their lips are a barely a whisper apart, “Not significantly less and certainly not nothing. I have wanted to do this longer than my pride will let me admit.” He closes the gap.

Caleb, reassured, allows things to remain tentative for only a second or two before using the hand at Essek’s jaw to pull him even closer in and pick up where they had left off. There is a sudden hunger in his embrace and he can feel something similar, but not precisely the same in Essek’s. Their kisses are a jumble of heat and wet and passion hastened by the lurking knowledge that their time is not unlimited.

Caleb feels Essek unlace his travelling cloak and shrug it from his shoulders. Encouraged, he reaches down and under Essek’s tunic, pausing their activities just long enough to pull it and the undershirt beneath over his head, leaving his snow-white hair endearingly mussed.

Essek begins to do the same to Caleb, but pauses after a few moments, face shifting into a slight frown. Caleb remembers too late that his earlier activities had left his shirt crumpled and, more damningly, misbuttoned. He makes to remove it himself, but is prevented by a hand in the centre of his chest. Essek traces down his chest tantalisingly slowly before, with a scowl and a minute flick of the fingers, he magically rips open Caleb’s shirt, sending buttons flying.

Caleb Widogast has never gotten so hard so fast in his life.

“What made him ask?” posits Essek as he pushes Caleb backward onto the bed with an ease that feels arcanely supplemented. He works swiftly to remove his boots as Caleb watches, distracted.

“What?”

“Tealeaf.” Essek unlaces his pants, letting them fall into a pile with the rest of his clothing. He stalks forward and on to the bed, eyes blazing with what Caleb now suspects is possessiveness. “What made him ask why you’d never slept together?”

“Er,” Caleb tries to think past Essek’s hands where they have taken a hold of his belt, brushing the inch of skin just above, and sending tendrils of pleasure lacing down to his groin, “Because we are – were – the only two of the Nein without prior commitments.” As he finishes speaking his belt is gone, with his trousers following soon after. Having still been barefoot when they entered the tower, Caleb is left in nothing but his underclothes.

Caleb stares up at Essek’s own near naked form leaning over him, at the stretch of deep indigo skin over bone and just a hint of muscle. He has seen it all before but never indulged so freely in open appreciation. The V of his hips leading down is especially distracting. Caleb reaches up with both hands to caress Essek’s chest, moving up and across to grasp his forearms where they rest on either side of his head. Using all the strength at his disposal, along with the element of surprise, he rolls them both over until it is he looming over Essek.

“He was wrong,” says Caleb firmly, “And I was wrong to let it get that far.” He gently pins Essek’s arms above his head and kisses him deep and slow, drawing out every movement until even he can barely stand the anticipation. Positioned as they are it is nothing for Caleb to shift his hips so that they are perfectly aligned. When Essek – who seems to be losing more of his carefully constructed composure by the second – groans softly and bucks up into him, Caleb is tempted to abandon seduction entirely and simply rut against him until they are both spent.

He resists.

“Did it get this far, with him?” Essek asks as Caleb works his lips, teeth and tongue down his neck to his chest, pausing briefly at each nipple.

“No,” Caleb continues down, gripping Essek’s hips firmly as he reaches the top of his underclothes, “Because I couldn’t stop thinking about you.” He has already felt how hard Essek is but it is another thing to free his erection and see the effect he has had on him. As Caleb wraps his lips around it Essek makes an obscene sound that is somewhere between a moan and a curse. It is music to Caleb.

Many years ago, back when he was still Bren Aldric Ermendrud, Caleb had been very, very good at this. He hopes very much that sucking dick is one of those skills that, once honed, is not easily lost. Still, he hesitates a moment, mouthing up Essek’s thigh and just above the base of his cock. Hopefully it reads more as teasing than uncertainty. After one more deep breath, he wraps his lips around it, realising as soon as the unmistakable taste hits his tongue that he needn’t have worried.

He lavishes attention on the head, running his tongue across and down the slit, until Essek begins to thrust shallowly into his mouth. Caleb grips his hips tightly, just shy of leaving bruises, and takes him as deep as he can go, holding for a few non-breaths before pulling back with a deep inhale. Essek mutters absently in Undercommon, and Caleb decides he must remember to cast Comprehend Languages the next time they do this. Even the thought that there will be a next time is intoxicating.

Caleb falls into a rhythm, wrapping one hand around the base of Essek’s dick to pump it in time with the motion of his mouth. It takes enough concentration that he can only briefly glance up at Essek who is looking back at him, eyes heavy with pleasure. The desire in his eyes is gratifying, but the adoration lurking beneath is truly devastating.

Essek tugs gently at Caleb’s hair. “I’m about to – ah – you might want to get off before I… Do the same.” He sounds endearingly ineloquent. Caleb speeds up in response, enjoying the feel of fingers through his hair, the slight near-pain in his scalp.

It doesn’t take much more before he feels Essek shudder. Caleb swallows around his pulsing cock, getting every drop before pulling away. He sits back and looks down at Essek. His head is tipped back and to the side, long neck looking infinitely kissable. There is a barely-visible bruise on his collarbone, and he’s breathing heavily, clutching the bedsheets with a white-knuckled grip.

Caleb, for all the frenzy of a moment earlier, is content just to watch him.

Essek eventually looks up at Caleb, seemingly having realised their activities have stalled. “Come here,” he props himself up on one elbow and reaches up to pull Caleb down. They come together like spell components do, falling into each other to create a sum greater than their individual parts.

Essek rolls them over so he is atop Caleb once more, and kisses him deeply. He shifts to mouth along his bearded jaw and down to his neck, where he sucks what will surely be a vivid red mark on Caleb’s pale skin. The feeling of it only turns him on more, although he senses there is more to this than simple passion. They will have a lot to discus in the daylight, he knows. Caleb feels Essek’s hand wrap around his neglected erection, working it with an elegant if unpractised hand. Their lips part only for the occasional, shuddering breath.

Between one desperate kiss and another Caleb whispers, “I love you.” He does not let his overactive mind take things any further than that for now. Tomorrow there will be awkward conversations, logistics, realities he is not yet ready to face. Tonight, there is only Essek. Essek, whose rhythm on Caleb stutters with in time with the profession of love. Caleb focuses in on the sensation, ignoring for the moment that he still has not heard the words back. His eyes, previously half-closed with lust, open to see Essek’s violet irises trained on him with such intensity of affection that words cease to matter. He comes, one intense rush of pleasure that chases every other coherent thought from his mind.

As the afterglow subsides Caleb feels a set of tentative fingers running through his hair and down to where it meets his shoulders. He has his arms wrapped around Essek, face buried in his neck. After a time, he feels Essek’s other hand make a sharp movement and the stickiness between them vanishes. Sheepishly, Caleb rolls onto his side, facing Essek.

“Sorry, I should have done that,” he says, stifling a yawn. It is exactly one-seventeen in the morning and Caleb is no not a young man.

Essek chuckles, “Trust me, you have done enough.” He studies Caleb for a moment, “You should sleep.”

“Nein, there is more we should talk about.”

“We can talk in the morning.”

“You have to go, you have commitments,” Caleb argues, even as he feels his sated body begin to betray him.

Essek kisses him on the forehead. “I will deal with that, and I will be here tomorrow. Sleep.”

In the morning Caleb will be sure their conversation continued, but will be completely unable to remember what was said as he drifted out of consciousness.

The night that follows is not entirely restful. Caleb wakes briefly at five-forty-five alone in the twisted sheets of his previously shared bed. For a few moments it is difficult to remember why this is unexpected, but he soon recalls the evening before. He does his best not to feel rejected. Essek said he would return, and Caleb trusts that he will do so. Soon, he slips back into a sound sleep.

Thirty-three minutes later, he is roused by the shifting of his mattress as another body slips into bed beside him. Caleb rolls over, reaching out for Essek and drawing him close. He decides not to ask any questions, and simply kisses him.

Things do not remain so chaste for long. In what feels to Caleb’s tired mind like no time at all, he is on his back, hands gripping the headboard, as Essek’s talented mouth gives back as good as he’d gotten. Considering it is their second round in a night, Caleb finishes almost embarrassingly quickly.

He moves to return the favour, but Essek pushes him back down into the pillows. Sleep comes quickly, and this time Essek doesn’t go anywhere.

Morning comes, as it always does. By the time consciousness finds Caleb, Essek is already awake, and probably has been for most of the night. He lays on his back, hands behind his head, not having redressed since their last tryst. Caleb is curled into his side. He barely resists the urge to trace his fingers down the bare chest in front of him like the infatuated idiot he is.

“We should talk,” says Essek abruptly, eyes still on the ceiling.

Caleb exhales and rolls his shoulders back, stretching out the sleep from his limbs. “Probably.”

“I would like for us to be together,” Essek offers.

“As would I,” replies Caleb.

Essek hesitates. “I can’t be entirely sure of how that will play out. Your life is in Rexxentrum.”

“Yes.” Caleb listens, but can’t help watching Essek’s lips as they form the words.

“It is not safe for me to be in Rexxentrum, at least not for long stretches of time.”

“That is also true.”

“But, you and I can both Teleport.”

“Several times a day.”

“And you are welcome everywhere.”

“Except Darktow,” corrects Caleb.

“I never,” replies Essek emphatically, “Want to go to Darktow.”

Caleb laughs, and places a hand on Essek’s cheek. “The logistical problems are surmountable,” he says, “All that matters is that we both want this. Everything else, we can work out. At the risk of sounding too desperate, I will take whatever you are willing to give.” He kisses Essek, still marvelling at the novelty of it, at being free to do so whenever the impulse strikes. Essek holds him close as their lips part, and moves his close to Caleb’s ear.

“I love you,” he breathes, so quietly that it could be a terrible secret.

They do not talk for a long while after that.

Caleb and Essek decide that, for the time being, it will be easier for Essek to pretend he has just arrived. It goes unspoken that what is between them, while solid in its foundations, is very fresh, and the Nein are not known for their delicacy. Properly groomed and dressed, they descend from the seventh floor to the fourth. Muffled conversation can be heard all the way from the sixth.

“You really didn’t see it?” A voice carries from the open dining room door to where Caleb and Essek have just landed. “They were making weird eyes at each other all night.”

“You’re reading too much into this, Beau,” says probably-Fjord.

“Yeah, it would be super weird,” adds definitely-Jester, “And what about Essek?"

A low, steady voice answers, “Relationships aren’t always limited to just two people. We know Caleb has some experience with that sort of thing.”

“Caduceus is right. And now this morning neither of them have shown up!” exclaims Beau.

“We could go knock on his door?” offers Veth.

Beau sounds aghast, “Eww, no.”

“Don’t make that face,” says Veth, “Caleb is a very handsome man.”

Likely-Yeza interjects, “I really don’t think any of this is our business.”

“Aw, honey. I really thought you’d know better than that by now.”

Caleb looks to Essek, who is frowning slightly.

“If you would like to leave without seeing them it’s your call,” Caleb offers.

Essek wordlessly takes Caleb’s hand and leads him down the wood-panelled corridor to the dining hall. The conversation has continued, but stops abruptly as they enter.

“Essek!” exclaims Jester, surprised and pleased, “You came!” She rushes to envelop Essek in a tight hug as Caleb tries and fails not to blush. “Now you have to have breakfast with us. Oh, hey Caleb.”

Everyone else’s eyes shift to Caleb, who feels his face grow even hotter. “Morning everyone,” he offers. Beau looks very confused, but the others do a decent job of acting like they weren’t talking about him mere moments earlier.

“I’m afraid I won't be able to stay for breakfast,” says Essek, with a rare glimmer of mischief in his eye, “But, I thought it would be rude to stay the night without saying goodbye.” In a single smooth motion, he grips Caleb’s jaw and pulls him in for a brief, but breathtaking kiss. It is definitely too much, but, Caleb considers, also not enough.

Fjord has begun coughing loudly, half-choking on his bacon. Yasha whacks him firmly on the back. Veth and Caduceus smile, while Yeza keeps his eyes firmly on his food.

Jester shrugs, “See, Beau!”

“Oh, I see,” replies Beau, looking thoroughly appalled.

They separate. Essek’s voice is slightly deeper than usual as he says, “I will see you all soon, I hope.” He leaves quickly after that, not bothering to levitate.

The others all mumble out their goodbyes, but direct their questioning gazes at Caleb. He decides to ignore them, and takes a seat, suddenly ravenous.

"Caleb,” says Jester as he is piling food onto his plate.

“Yes?”

“Nice hickey.” She grins wickedly, and the rest of the previously quiet table bursts into laughter. Caleb slaps a hand to his neck, cheeks burning. After a few seconds of trying and failing to control his blush, he sighs and returns to his food, laughing along with them.

The novelty, Caleb finds, wears off very quickly. By halfway through breakfast the Nein have moved on to discussing more interesting things, like where the Nein Heroez is to sail next, or how best to prune roses. Kingsley eventually graces them with his presence, and takes the seat beside Caleb.

“So,” he begins, pinching a piece of toast, “Looks like you took my advice.” He taps his finger on his own neck.

Caleb shrugs, “It was good advice, thank you.”

“Any time.”

They smile at each other. Breakfast goes on a long time, with teasing and stolen food and promised vengeance. Caleb, who is newly but also not so newly in love, and surrounded by friends, feels that he may be the luckiest person in Exandria.