for Peter (werewolfing) - Post-Folkmore Exandria AU

[ausgebrannt]

[Caleb opens his eyes back in Exandria. When he fell to sleep, he'd been safe and warm, held in Peter's arms. Where he belongs, where his heart had come to know was where he was meant to be, in any and all worlds. Now though, now he finds himself opening his eyes in a moment that is familiar, but feels distant. The last moment he'd been in Wildemount before he'd found himself snatched away by the Fox and her request that wasn't quite a request so much as a command. It's disorienting, like being dropped into a deep pool of cold water, not entirely sure which way gravity properly existed, no memory of how to breathe like this.

He takes stock almost desperately. Yes, this is his own world. There's a terrible moment where he wonders if all that time in Folkmore had been some incredibly vivid dream. But no, that's wrong. It's impossible. His imagination has never been so talented, and his heart knows all too well that it was real -- the people he'd met there, the things he'd done. Peter. Immediately Caleb reaches for that bond that has kept them in each other's minds, the comforting, warm presence of his lover. 'Peter!' But no answer comes. It feels like the connection is still there, some vague promise that somewhere, across whatever realms and worlds may be, Peter Rumancek is still alive. He looks quickly to the red string around his pinky -- and it's still there, still tied securely, but it trails off into nothing after only a few inches, connected to nothing.

No. No. The frantic sound he nearly chokes on wakes Veth, and she's quick to ask him what's wrong. He tries to explain it, he really does, to Veth, to the others. Again and again. But they don't know what to make of it. They know that Caleb has been here all this time, had he been dreaming? He tries to assure them that no, he hasn't been dreaming, he's been in another world all together, for months, longer. His friends are kind, and they humor him -- or they worry. Caleb knows they're worried. He tries to pick up and move on.

Time passes, and there's a new and somehow deeper sadness in Caleb, a new loss that is fresher than his older regrets and sorrows. He's quieter, and his friends notice him fidgeting with his fingers lost in thought, the small one where that limp invisible red string is wrapped, his ring finger that feels so empty without the simple band that Peter had placed there.

By day, he keeps going. They have important goals to accomplish, things that cannot go neglected. But oh the nights are hard. Cold and empty. Sleep barely comes, and when it does, there are dreams of beautifully blue eyes and a rakish smile, a face that he fears even with his keen mind he might be forgetting. A month passes, longer.

They've returned to Zadash to check in with the Gentleman -- Jester's father, apparently, so there's that -- a sort of returning to their roots, the place they had begun. Caleb is there, physically, but there's still a distance about him, as if his mind is elsewhere. It is, of course. It's chasing his heart, which never did make the trip back to Exandria with him.

They make their way down into the Gentleman's lair, greeted warmly by their crime-boss sometimes-patron. Caleb is silent, lingering in the back of the group as conversation spins up in cheerful catching up.

What the wizard doesn't notice is that his familiar has wandered off, Frumpkin quite certain that he's caught a very familiar scent. The small orange cat seems intent on finding something, on a feline mission with his wizard's best intentions at heart.]

Comments

[ausgebrannt]

Entirely impossible. But here you are. Here we are.

[The universe -- a notoriously unkind place that did not care about fairness or suffering -- had been kind in this. Caleb could not question it. Would not. If there was a price to pay for having Peter back in his arms, he would pay it without hesitation.

He settles in, comfortable and familiar the way that he drapes over Peter, rests his head against his chest, arm slung across him. Fingers found their habitual absentminded tracing over that warm skin, inscribing absentminded sigils and runes in their passing, moving over familiar angles and unfamiliar scars.]

The nights have been the longest things. Sleep, Schätzchen. You deserve the rest.

[werewolfing]

You too, lovely. And we're gonna feed you up, I can feel your ribs again.

[ his voice is non-judgmental and drowsy, one arm pulling caleb closer to settle just like he should as peter pulls the blanket over them. the nein will just have to get used to peter being naked if anyone decides to barge in. ]

Love you, iubit. Now sleep.

[ he whispers the words into caleb's hair, filling his nose with the scent of fire and ink and--he realizes now, with exposure--magic that relaxes him beyond all reason. ]

[ausgebrannt]

Mmhmm. And I'm not the only one.

[But they could take care of that. They both were better at caring for each other than themselves. For the first time in months, Caleb felt like he could actually rest, felt safe and whole.]

I love you too.

[And Caleb, Caleb can hear Peter's heartbeat, can feel the subtle rise and fall of his chest with each breath and it is the most beautiful lullaby he has ever heard.]