@pastryck.
cont.
In the years since he slipped Ikithon’s snare, Caleb has experienced solstice celebrations only on the margins. He’s slunk into taverns, had a drink or two, and hidden himself away again at any sign of a crowd. But he remembers with ice-sharp clarity the last time he celebrated --- he and Astrid and Eodwulf leaning out the windows of their countryside home to touch snowflakes, their clouded breaths mingling, and how happy he had been, or at least thought he was.
Caleb takes a deep breath. He’s here, now, amongst the pine boughs and scented candle wax and mead. He smells more like wind off the sea, himself, than mud and unwashed clothes. He is here, though they are gone. And as Caleb watches his new friends ( selfish, liar, you know you don’t deserve to have them ) stream away from him to find a table, the loneliness of it hits him.
He sees the mistletoe tied to the rafters just as he registers that he’s lingered under it, frozen in thought, a little too long --- and a second before Jester turns back toward him. Her face lights up with a grin, for a moment. A moment is enough to set his heart beating harder than a war drum.
Oh bad this is bad this is bad this is ahhhhh scheiße.
But she doesn’t tease, doesn’t flirt. Whatever he was dreading ( anticipating ) afraid of ( longing for ) falls out from under him, and his stomach drops like missing a step in the dark. Instead of turning red, the color drains from Caleb’s face.
“Jester...” he says, very softly. Of course she still thinks about it. He hasn’t been able to shake it, either. “I am not brave, like you and Nott. It is --- easier to make promises than to keep them. But I --- you make me want to be better. If I had seen you there, I do not think I would have run.”
He passes both hands through his hair.
“But, but, but it doesn’t matter, because I still left, Jester, I failed you.”
