He doesnât follow when the other scrambles away, even though his instincts are screaming at him to move, to do anything but simply continue kneeling there while someone with fangs, someone who is ten times faster, ten times stronger than he will ever be, jumps without warning.
But when it comes to ignoring what reflexes had been instilled into him him, Caleb is a near-expert. Years of youth are fundamental for any type of ubringing, and his was characterised by learning how to quickly take care of beings like the one fearing perhaps even him directly right now.
Caleb, though, knows better than to listen to the tensing of his muscles, to the fight reflex that seems to have always reigned superior over the other three Fâs, because what his parents had taught him as a child, is miles away from the truth of life, conveniently displayed before him right now.
Because if his parents were right, and he canât blame victims of indoctrination, Spencer, as he introduces himself, would have been stuck to his throat moments ago, and this conversation would have been nothing but the answer to a what if Caleb would have been posing himself.
âMy nameâs Caleb,â he answers easily, going for a smile he hopes will remind the fledgling that he means and expects no harm. He doesnât move to follow him, instead sits down on the floor, calmly as if readying himself for a picnic.
âIâm from Lynnwood - thatâs in Washington, not too far from Seattle, actually, but we have it nicer - I like long car rides, Pride and Prejudice, and Uno.â
He doesnât know if this helps the anxious figure before him, but he can half-guess what he may need an identity for. Itâs not the first time he sees this particular technique, not the first time heâs tried to adapt to it. But his eyes do narrow. No matter the creature, to worry over it is second-nature to Caleb.
Spencer will die if he doesnât learn to survive.
âWhat about you? Whatâs your favourite movie?â
The name actually does help, somehow. The additional details are even better, Spencer thinks, but they also make the area of his chest where his heart should be beating ache so much that he wants to be sick. He never used to enjoy long car rides all that much, nor has he really played Uno enough to be good at it. But he longs for nothing more than an evening on his comfortable couch, watching Pride and Prejudice, huddled under a blanket until he falls asleep.
Feeling sorry for oneself for this long feels melodramatic, but Spencer doesnât cope well with change - even worse when itâs changing into a fledgling.
âUm --â he forces himself to focus on the question before he starts to spiral again, but the last few weeks have made his favourite interests hazy. âI -- like Pride and P---Prejudice -- too. A-and --- N--Notting Hill.â
Perhaps itâs just because Spencerâs a sucker for a British accent, and a young Hugh Grant. But itâs also because he daydreams of London, getting lost in her streets, and flourishing somewhere where no one knows him and his father will never find him.Â
Well. That dream has been snuffed out like wet fingers to a flame.
This isnât working.
The fledgling stands quite suddenly on wobbly legs, a hand gripping the wall to steady himself. Frantic eyes look anywhere but at Caleb, though it doesnât make much difference; the scent is pungent all the same. âIâm --- th--thank you -- very much -- for -- this. But -- I need to g--go.â
