HOUSE OF SPIRITS || caleb & enoch
@rev-enoch-lynch
[[ Despite nearly a month’s worth of time behind him at this point, Caleb had at no point actually settled on what he wanted to say when he finally crossed paths with his brother again. Forethought had never been one of his strong suits, ever and always a creature of ‘I’ll cross that bridge when I come to it.’
Standing here, now, near the imposing gates of Colony 22 and waiting for the day’s scavenging group — or was it hunting? — to return, Caleb leaned his shoulder against the cold stone and kept his arms crossed against a late-afternoon chill. A complicated tumult of emotions nestled deep in his chest as Afra’s words echoed in the back of his mind: Be kind to him. You don’t know what he’s been through.
Caleb had wanted to argue that of course he would be kind, but the hint of frustration and anger balling in his stomach suggested otherwise. Enoch hadn’t messaged, even after weeks in the system — a hypocritical thought, considering that Caleb hadn’t either. Beside the point, or so Caleb thought. He was meant to be the stubborn one, the uncommunicative one. It was that same petulance that prompted him to put in for a transfer without messaging ahead. He wondered if anyone had noted their last names and let Enoch know he was coming, but as the sound of footsteps pulls him from his thoughts and prompts him to straighten up, Caleb doesn’t have any more time to wonder.
It must’ve been hunting, because Enoch looks straight out of a vision of their childhood: back broad but angled tired, a rifle hooked over one shoulder. ]] Enoch, [[ Caleb calls out before he can stop himself; two shaky syllables with so many shades of relief, confusion, frustration, happiness. Anything else he wants to say gets caught on the ball of emotions in his throat, and Caleb gestures in a wide, vague shrug. ‘Well. Here I am.’ ]]
