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It’s a while before Essek realises the name of the island has slipped from his mind an indefinite number of drinks ago; somehow the glass in his hand is always full, through—he suspects—either a sleight of hand on Jester’s part or a trickery of her god, though he’s not sure which one is more plausible.
He doesn’t mind not knowing where he is. He’s safe, surrounded by friends (his impossible, odd, very loud friends), and his head is pleasantly fuzzy, as if all his worries have been stuffed with cotton. The night is chilly, a welcome reprieve from the day's heat, but he's comfortable, the bonfire in front of him and his head pillowed on Yasha’s broad shoulder.
“You are doing it wrong,” Caleb says patiently for the hundredth time, and for the hundredth time Veth scoffs with self-righteous incredulity.
“I am doing what you’re doing!” She chucks the cocoon she’s holding at Caleb in frustration before crossing her arms. “You’re not like this with your students.”
“You are very different from my students.” Caleb hands her back the cocoon he caught in mid-air. Essek takes a sip of his drink to hide his expression. “They don’t swear as much as you do, to begin with.”
“Not where you can hear them,” Essek interjects, idly swirling the contents of his glass. He hasn’t been this entertained in a long time. Eiselcross has a concerning dearth of affectionately bickering spellcasters.
When Jester informed him via Sending that he was invited to the Mighty Nein Goodbye Party on the island he can’t remember the name of, part of him was impatient to see his friends again, while another part was puzzled at the ‘goodbye’ part. As he made a stop along the way to pick up Caduceus and then met with everyone else in Nicodranas, he carefully avoided asking any questions, and if his most perceptive friends picked up on his quiet restlessness, they’re still waiting to mention it.
At the end of the day, he is not going to complain about his perpetually full glass.
From where she’s kneeling on the sand, still clad in her yellow-and-white striped bathing suit, Veth puts her fists on her hips and stares at him. “I bet Essek would do a better job teaching me how to Polymorph,” she says pointedly. Essek is almost sure her irritation is fake.
“Essek doesn’t know Polymorph,” Caleb points out gently, with an apologetically amused quirk of his eyebrows at him. Essek narrows his eyes a little to acknowledge it.
With a snort, Veth stands up and starts shaking sand from her legs. “Teach hot boi and send him back to me, then. You have that weird wizard thing going on,” she adds, waving her fingers in an allusion that goes so high above Essek’s head he doesn’t even attempt to decipher it.
“What thing?” Yasha asks innocently.
“Wizard talk,” Veth explains. Or, well, Essek supposes she sees it as an explanation. He takes a preemptive sip as she goes on, “The wizard thing. Haven’t you noticed?”
“Uh, sure.” Yasha’s tone implies she hasn’t.
Glancing at Caleb above the rim of his glass, Essek sees he’s wearing a self-conscious smirk. Essek is not sure he’s aware of it. He’s been looking at Caleb a lot today, silently cataloguing his gestures and expressions, his way of being. Judging by the number of times he quickly had to break eye contact, Caleb has been looking at him, too.
Earlier, not long after Caleb Teleported them all onto the beach, Essek found himself standing side by side with Jester. She casually threaded her arm through his, as if they did it every day.
“Soooo, what’s next for you, Essek?”
He hoped she missed the way he stiffened at the question. Surely she remembered the Assembly was after him, and that he was a hair’s breadth away from being hunted like a traitor by his own country.
“I’ll be in Eiselcross for the foreseeable future, I believe,” he said cautiously. He was sincere: he was not going to leave the relative shelter of one of the most inhospitable places in Exandria.
Jester made a noise halfway between disappointment and consideration. “You know, if you wanted to become a pirate, you could come with me and Fjord and Kingsley.”
Essek chuckled at that ridiculous offer. “If I ever wanted to become a pirate, your ship would be my first choice.”
His dearest friend turned towards him then, looking away from the bonfire preparations and fixing her wide eyes on him. She seemed worried, and Essek’s hand covered hers where it lay on the crook of his arm.
“Are you going to go with Caleb?” she asked with gravity.
Essek blinked. “Caleb is going to the Empire,” he answered, repeating what he’d heard again and again during their time together in the Blooming Grove. Nobody had ever asked him his opinion on the matter, and he wasn’t sure he had the right to have one. So he tried to not think about it.
Jester grimaced and didn’t answer, and for a while they were both in the company of their own thoughts, as the bonfire building proceeded noisily and swearily, and the waves rolled and retreated endlessly.
“But afterwards,” she insisted.
Essek exhaled a long breath. “Beau will look after him.” He believed it. It was what he kept telling himself.
He conveniently ignored Jester mumbling something like ‘he doesn’t have a crush on Beau though,’ which he must have just misheard.
Essek’s thoughts are pulled away from this recollection when Caleb stands up and stretches. His hair is held back in an elaborate braid, and he’s wearing a loose linen shirt over his swim trunks. A good deal of his body is clothed, but he still looks underdressed compared to Essek’s full-length sleeves and trousers. In the state he’s in—not drunk, but well on his way to tipsy—Essek lets himself appreciate how good Caleb looks like this, how… loose. Relaxed. The buttons aren’t fastened all the way up, and the thought comes to Essek’s mind of undoing a few more. He drowns the thought in his glass.
This, and the fact that footsteps are inaudible on the sand, are why he doesn’t immediately notice that Caleb is standing in front of him.
Like a fool, Essek first looks up at him, then down at the hand he’s extending.
“Why?” he asks. No, he blurts. He shoves his glass in the sand. That’s enough for tonight.
“Come,” Caleb says, and his voice lodges itself somewhere between Essek’s heart and his stomach. “I want to teach you something.”
Before his mind has registered it, Essek has already taken his hand.
Essek’s skin is cold compared to Caleb’s, because he’s been holding a cold drink all night and Caleb is Caleb. His dusky fingers are held firmly as Caleb tugs him upright, which barely requires any effort even if Essek is not levitating. His hand feels safe in Caleb’s. For a foolish moment he’s tempted to leave it there.
As he follows Caleb to the water’s edge, a little of his senses come back. “Are you going to teach me how to Polymorph?” he asks. Soon seafoam sprays his skin, until an overreaching wave laps at his feet.
Under his weight, the wet sand gives only a little, firmer than its dry counterpart. One, two seconds, and another wave washes over his feet. The sea is still sunlight-warm.
A residue of that warmth seems to have found a home in Essek’s chest too, although maybe it’s just the alcohol. He wonders how long it’ll stay when he goes back to Eiselcross, how long before the icy wind and the snowstorms freeze it and he’s empty again.
When he looks up, he catches Caleb glancing at his feet. “Good. You’ll need your feet on the ground for this one.”
Before Essek can ask what ‘this one’ is, Caleb takes a step forward, and suddenly Essek’s space is full of him.
Even filled with closeness, he has a sudden desire for more. Conscious of all the ways this is inappropriate, he’s about to force himself to take a step back, but a hand lands on his hip, travelling up to cup his waist. Before he can ask what is happening, warm fingers fold around his hand again, holding it aloft at shoulder height, and Essek finally catches on.
Apparently, he’s about to dance with Caleb Widogast.
“I’m not teaching you Polymorph,” Caleb says, and there’s a smile in his voice. Probably an arched eyebrow. Essek would see all that if he were brave enough to look at his face. “Unless you want me to. I have the feeling you’d be more receptive than Veth, as a pupil.”
Essek shakes his head, which is a mistake: it was already swimming, and the alcohol had little to do with that. He leans more heavily against Caleb, until the space between them is a mere suggestion, and puts his free hand on his shoulder for balance. Caleb’s muscles twitch when he adjusts his own grip on Essek’s waist. He swallows dryly. “She’ll come around. She’s just stubborn, like her teacher.”
“I am persistent, thank you.” Caleb squeezes Essek’s hand as he speaks. A reassurance: he’s not going anywhere, and he’s not doing anything until Essek is ready.
It does something to Essek, the knowledge that he can lean on Caleb like this, literally and metaphorically. The part of him that’s always waiting to be pushed away is quiet. In his life, Essek has learned to leave unnoticed before the pushing away happened, to distance himself from attachments. But the Mighty Nein have made it difficult, again and again.
“Do you know what the waltz is?” Caleb’s question cuts through Essek’s mental chatter. He doesn’t have to raise his voice: his mouth is right next to Essek’s ear.
“I do not,” he confesses in the same way.
“I thought so.” With another squeeze of his hand, he nudges Essek’s leg with his own. “It goes like this. One, two, three.”
Caleb is teaching him to dance. He (correctly) presumes Essek will let him close enough to do that, and (rightfully) that he will let himself be held and turned and nudged and, once, twirled on the sand.
It’s fun. A surprise, though not an unwelcome one. His old self would have found this excruciatingly embarrassing, especially with an audience, albeit a largely disinterested one. Right now, Essek already regrets the moment they’ll stop.
There’s a resonance between him and Caleb, like a vibration that gets stronger with proximity, and right now the distance between them is barely anything. A whisper. Even when they are separated, the steps bring them back together. Essek is trying to avoid thinking about metaphors.
He doesn’t even mind the fact he’s a terrible dancer.
“I’m not very good at this,” he says when he mixes up the steps again. He’s not trying very hard. The weight of his bare feet on Caleb’s is negligible, and he knows Caleb doesn’t mind, but he still feels bad for this show of incompetence. He attempts a joke. “Maybe Veth is right. You really are a bad teacher, Caleb.”
“Mmm.” Caleb seems to give his words some consideration. “Maybe I was wrong and you are a bad student, after all.”
From around the bonfire, their friends’ voices seem to reach them from a galaxy away. Essek is basking in this private pocket of space Caleb has carved for them, while also enjoying the knowledge that they’re not alone. He doesn’t miss the solitude of his days in Rosohna. He certainly doesn’t miss the quiet anguish of the outpost. This is quiet enough for now, he thinks: no longer dancing, just swaying on the sand with his—with Caleb, his chosen family nearby. For now, he is not thinking about the future. Contentment sounds like Jester’s laughter at Veth slipping and falling butt-first on the soft sand. Contentment smells of woodsmoke and salt and Caleb’s aftershave. Contentment feels like warm palms on his waist and a heartbeat a hand’s width from his own.
“Rumblecusp,” he says out loud. His breath must tickle Caleb’s ear.
The hands on his waist tighten a little. “Hmm?”
“The name of this island.” He pulls back so he can look at Caleb, framed by starlight. He loses the thread of his thoughts for a moment. “I just remembered.” Why did it feel important again?
The curiosity on Caleb’s face turns into a smile tinged with something Essek isn’t quite sure how to define. “You are a prodigy,” he says, pulling him close again and resting his cheek on Essek’s hair.
Essek feels strangely unmoored, untethered. If Caleb lets go of him, he’s not sure he won’t just float away. He belongs here and he doesn’t. He desperately wants this—wants Caleb, he can admit that much to himself in this pocket in space and time—and his heart aches at the thought that this may be the last time they see each other.
Well. He can be a little selfish, in this case. Caleb won’t begrudge him a small overstep, surely, given the liberties he’s taken with Essek.
Slowly, as their bodies keep swaying to a silent music, Essek’s hands slide from Caleb’s shoulders up to his neck. Linen turns to skin under his fingertips, but he doesn’t let himself linger before intertwining his fingers on the back of Caleb’s neck. The braid is soft and silky on his knuckles, and his thumbs brush Caleb’s hairline.
It takes so little to turn his head and let his nose touch Caleb’s neck, and his next inhale is full of salt and sweat and smoke and Caleb.
They’re so close. Essek is reminded of Jester’s last words to him on the beach, earlier, after they lit the bonfire.
“You know what, Essek,” she said, patting his hand before slipping her arm away and leaning in a conspiratorial stance. “You should just kiss him and see what happens.”
“Absolutely not,” Essek said reflexively, so righteously affronted he hadn’t even blushed.
A goodbye party. What if this is his last chance? What if it’s now or never?
Seized by a sort of courage that crosses the border into recklessness, Essek pulls back just as Caleb opens his mouth, and steals his own name from his lips with a kiss.
“I am so sorry,” Essek says after the second it takes him to regret everything that just happened: the awkward pressure, the clashing of teeth, Caleb’s startled gasp. He says his apology into the collar of Caleb’s shirt, because he cannot look him in the eye.
They’ve stopped their swaying and now both stand stock still, their arms still entwined around one another. But Essek knows it isn’t going to last, not after what he’s done.
He was right, and Jester was wrong, and that’s all the consolation he’s going to get.
Still, he can’t tear himself away from Caleb. If this is it, he won’t flee again. He’d rather be pushed away, this time.
But Caleb doesn’t push. Caleb waits a few more seconds—a few more eternities—before saying Essek’s name again.
Tenderly, as if he were afraid of shattering it.
Essek looks up, because how can he not? And Caleb’s face, made half of night and half of fire, is more beautiful than the whole cosmos behind him.
Essek’s heart seizes as his hands clench possessively around Caleb. Leaving him will be enough punishment for a lifetime. He just asks for a little more time.
And then Caleb pulls him a little closer, completely erasing the distance between them, and asks, “Why did you kiss me?”
There’s no other way to answer this impossible question than with the truth. “Because I wanted to,” he says, unable to look away from Caleb’s eyes. “Because I had to. Because we won’t see each other again, and I couldn’t—” He shakes his head as his voice cracks. “I’m sorry.”
“You’re apologising a lot.” He doesn’t sound upset, which is comforting. Essek stops himself from apologising once more.
Then Caleb cocks his head and frowns. “Why did you say we won’t see each other again?”
The question fills the whole space between them, and Essek tries to make sense of it. “It’s a goodbye party,” he says lamely. “I thought it would mean, well… goodbye.”
“To Jester, Fjord, and Kingsley,” Caleb clarifies, “before they set sail.” His arms close around Essek’s waist a little more. “Essek.”
“Yes,” he says, feeling stupid and relieved and not caring a single bit about how faint his voice sounds.
“Did you think we were all going to scatter around Wildemount and not see each other ever again?” The gentle teasing in his tone makes him insufferable. Essek wants to try kissing him again just to shut him up. “Even if we’re not together all the time, we can Send and Teleport, just like we’ve been doing so far.”
Essek doesn’t point out that Jester is the only one who regularly Sends to him. “I may have assumed,” is what he settles on, now refusing to break eye contact despite the heat he’s surely radiating.
“That we wouldn’t want anything to do with you?” Now there’s a smile tugging at the corner of Caleb’s large, beautiful mouth. “That I wouldn’t?”
Essek almost recoils when Caleb leans forward, but he reins in his skittishness. He doesn’t want to go anywhere, not now that Caleb’s forehead is leaning against his and he can feel Caleb’s chest deflate as a sigh leaves his lungs.
“I will leave you alone, if you desire so,” Caleb murmurs.
Essek’s hands press on Caleb’s neck, bringing their faces even closer. “I do not desire it,” he whispers. “The opposite.”
“Good, because I don’t desire it either.” Caleb’s nose nudges his. “What I want is to go to Aeor with you.”
“Aeor,” Essek repeats, breathless and stunned.
Caleb hums. “It’s not going to be for a while yet, not until the trial is over. But sometimes the thought of going there with you is all that keeps me going. Jester told me you’ll be in Eiselcross for a while longer?”
Now Essek is sure that the only thing keeping him from falling to pieces is Caleb touching him, grounding him. How could he have misread the situation so gravely? While he was thinking about last goodbyes, Caleb had been planning to ask to return to the ruins with him. Their comeback trip.
Caleb had been thinking about him.
As he tries to wrap his head around it, Caleb nudges his nose again. “I also want to kiss you properly, now, Herr Thelyss,” he says, the words wrapping themselves around Essek’s heart and squeezing.
He must feel Essek’s heartbeat where their chests are pressed together, and that must be answer enough, because Essek just has to tilt his chin up a little for Caleb’s lips to brush his own, tender and tentative at first, before Essek rises on his tiptoes and presses their mouths firmly together.
It’s much, much better than the first time.
Someone whistles loudly. “Get a room, you two,” Beau’s voice reaches them from far away.
Even a couple of minutes ago, Essek would have crumpled in shame at that. But the Essek of a couple of minutes ago didn’t know he was wanted, not like this. Instead of breaking the kiss, the Essek of now just winds his arms around Caleb’s neck and deepens it. Caleb’s response is very favourable.
It was not now or never, after all. It’s going to be now and the moment after that, and the one after it. It’s now and the future, unspooling before him in ways he didn’t dare to hope for.
“Will you?” Caleb asks against his lips another small eternity later. “Come to Aeor with me?” he adds when Essek doesn’t reply, too kiss-drunk to understand the question.
He smiles as his shoulders sink in relief. As if Caleb even had to ask. “I don’t know,” Essek replies, his tone light and teasing, bringing their foreheads back together with all the tenderness he can. “There is much to do at the outpost, but I could spare some time for you, maybe.” He brings his hands to Caleb’s face, cupping it and looking him in the eyes. “Will you Send to me, when your business is done?”
“I will Send to you every night,” Caleb says, “now that I can presume it is welcome.”
Essek will hold him to that promise, and look forward to his Sendings as much as Jester’s. The freezing loneliness of Eiselcross suddenly feels much less daunting. Closing his eyes, Essek inhales deeply, memorising the scent of this moment in time. “You can presume many things, Caleb Widogast,” he says, and he knows Caleb has understood what he means when he kisses him again.