she sees him from her periphery, ears perking in response, but can’t break her focus on the chemicals in front of her, less she spill something and make the table start dissolving.
he walks past without saying anything, which isn’t entirely unusual, but she can feel the difference. she’d be lying if she pretended she didn’t. and she’s a liar, yes, she’s a terrible liar, but she can’t lie when it comes to caleb. she keeps trying, and keeps failing.
he speaks, and she nods, putting the final touches on the mixture of acid so she can turn to look at him when she replies.
“nope,” she says, immediately clearing her throat after when the word comes out as a croak. “not tired, i guess.”
it sounds false to her ears. the truth, in its entirety, is she doesn’t know how to sleep next to yeza anymore. she’s used to sleeping with caleb, curled in the crook of his knee with her head resting on his calf, her back and legs warm with his body heat. yeza sleeps like someone used to being alone at night, laying on his side with his arms tucked under him, and she feels a gnawing guilt at being the reason for it.
and she keeps comparing him to caleb. she never compared caleb to yeza, before. she had no reason to; her wizard’s vastly different to the halfling that she’s known most of her life. but caleb has become the standard in her life, the one constant she’s had, her only companion other than the self hatred nestled in her heart.
she clears her throat again, trying to banish her thoughts. “what about you? can’t sleep?”
“nott, komma, tired,” he murmurs, then offers a weak smile. a bad joke. “bet you’ve never heard that one before.”
he has no great fondness for small talk, but he wishes for a moment that he knew a little less of her habits, so that he could ask oh, what are you working on? and then offer ja, that will come in handy when we... whatever they decide to do in the wastes of xhorhas. but he knows her too well. he asked to put her laboratory here to that purpose.
in short, he’s laid a very pretty trap for himself.
“ah... yes.” carefully, so as not to make it bump and squeak, he pulls a chair out from the table, his book laid in front of him, and takes a seat.
“i suspect we suffer from the, eh, same ailment.” he gives her a sideways but grave look that seems to say, i know you are lying. i want you to know i am lying in the same way. “perhaps we can be not tired together, for a night.”