#original content!

He had stood, lo mien in hand and what he knew to be a dumb look on his face, watching through the half-opened door as Molly sauntered away with all the ease and grace of someone who genuinely did not care. He watched and tried, desperately, to think of a way out of this.

Molly knew where he lived and had access to his phone number. Further, the tiefling did not strike him as the sort to be willing to let him beg off with a bullshit excuse. Not for this. Caleb closed the door and turned to press his back against the wood, cool and solid in a way which was not helping at all. The house was as dark as he could stand to keep it – saving on electricity in every way he could to help fuel his lo mien addiction. It wasn’t even good lo mien. It tasted rather like it was the reheated leftovers of a meal the Riverworks staff had last week and then sent along to him. But it was easy. It was good enough to sate the needs of his traitorous stomach and didn’t have to be reheated once it went cold. It let him focus, let him work, let him do more-

Caleb breathed, slow and through his nose, and pressed his shoulders back against the door as carefully as he could so as not to startle Frumpkin. Something in the vicinity of his spine popped, loudly, and he did his best not to wince. He’d been slumping over too much. Again. Nott had been giving him the look of mildly hypocritical disapproval for days, but he hadn’t heeded it. Oh well. He had… they had plans now. An excuse to get out that would not let itself be excused away. Caleb huffed out a breath again, reaching his free hand up to gently attempt to force the worried crinkle of skin from between his brows. It didn’t work, but it was grounding. It reminded him that he, somehow, was this mess of anxiety and thoughts and worries wrapped undeniably in a physical form. A physical form that needed a shower.

It just seemed like such a waste of time. If wasn’t like he hadn’t bathed in recent memory, it was just that he hadn’t in… most likely a few days. He curled a finger in his ginger hair. Most likely called such due to the red ginger plant -alpinia purpurata-, which were a vibrant red and spikey. Native to newly occupied areas during the 18th- Caleb mentally shook his mind from that path, reminding himself not very kindly that no one cared about his random tidbits of knowledge. Hair was wrapped tightly around his finger and he focused back on that. It wasn’t awful, but he could feel the sweat and oils from the few days he’d forgone bathing. The texture of lank hair sent an uncomfortable roll down his spine and now that he was directly aware of it, Caleb knew he’d have to shower. Molly hadn’t seemed to mind, but Caleb was only partially sure that his quip about this being a date was a joke.

He pushed himself off the door, shifting his raised hand from his hair to steadying Frumpkin as he shuffled carefully past not quite teetering piles of books that lined the hall. Nott sat on the floor in the kitchen at the end of the hall, surrounded by a near to obscene collection of buttons that she was carefully cleaning and inspecting one by one. There were piles, clearly some sort of organization that simply escaped him, and she looked up from straightening one to shoot him a sharp smile.

“Your dodecah-whatever glowed at me,” she supplied, jerking her head toward the gentle grey light of his latest obsession. The first time it’d sparked and glowed she’d had a near to panic attack, shooting it with a crossbow she kept stored and then yelling for him when shooting it hadn’t made it stop. The glow was old news now, random and seemingly without reason in a way that frustrated him to no end.

“Ah, jah. It does that,” He returned needlessly, setting the bag of lo mien before her. They were probably out of forks and he needed to do dishes, but there was just so much else to focus on. Caleb shifted his eyes from the only just overfilled sink to Nott, watching as she pulled out a styrofoam container and plastic fork with triumph in her expression. Oh. Yes. Of course. The goblin, long green hair hanging in heavy locs that could be handsome dreads if either of them had the patience to twist and maintain them properly, returned his gaze – long noodles already half hanging from her mouth of sharp teeth.

“Ou wan some?”

Caleb looked away, uncomfortable but not with her. Just. In general. “Nien,” He replied after a moment’s hesitation. “You eat first. I’m… going to shower. We uh… we have plans. With some friends. Tonight.”

Nott swallowed, and he did not have to look to see the incredulity of her expression. “We have friends?”

“We do! Apparently. They want us to go drinking tonight. Mr. Mollymauk and… his retinue.”

“Do we want to go drinking with them?”

“He has my number. And address.”

“I have a cross bow.”

Blue eyes snapped to her in a knee jerk reaction of panic, Caleb taking a step towards her as if to stop her right this moment from shooting someone who wasn’t there. “No, no, no, no, nien. We are not shooting them.”

She studied him a moment, slowly returning her hand to her fork and dinner. “So you do want to go then.” It was structured like a question but said as a statement. Caleb wasn’t sure if that was reflective of Nott’s tenuous grasp on common or a judgement she was making. He wanted it to be the former, but knew she was entirely too smart for this to be true. She knew. Maybe not entirely, but she knew.

“I think it… could be good for us. To speak to other people. People we are not robbing, or doing,” he gestured vaguely to the dodecahedron which returned his gesture with a faintly diminished glow, “that for. To have some fun.”

“Are they paying for our drinks?”

“It was insinuated.”

She gave a put-upon sigh that was very badly acted, returning to her food. “Okay. We can go. I’m not showering though.”

He waved off the statement easily, sure it wouldn’t make much of a difference. Nott was always better about her self-care than he had ever been. It would sting considering her phobia of water if he was in the mood or position to care. As it were, he had entirely too much bouncing around in his mind to give much of a shit about his failure to person. He’d always been bad at personing, this should come as no surprise to him.

Later, sitting with a dark head of hair on his shoulder as the woman it was attached to waxed poetic about girls, Caleb reminded himself that he was really, really bad at personing. He took a long drink of the swill this place called beer and tried not to think about it.

Molly had come, as promised, and ushered them both into his car with a deep bow and relish like he was the driver of some grand stretch instead of a beaten Saturn. He’d taken one look at Nott -and Caleb hadn’t thought it would be a problem but maybe he really should have considered the possibility- and waved her into the backseat with a throw away “Takes all types my dears.” He did not explain what it took all types for, but Caleb pretended to not let the hanging statement bother him. The car had slowly gotten more and more full as people forced their way into the backseat with every stop Molly made. Luckily, everyone seemed to like each other. Even more luckily, any movements made to join himself and Molly in the front had been cut off with charming ease by the tiefling and Caleb was… Well. He wasn’t comfortable. But he wasn’t panicking.

By the time they’d arrived at what was absolutely the most divey dive bar he’d ever seen, there were seven of them, five in the backseat alone. Nott had very quickly made an unholy alliance with the blue tiefling whose lap she’d been shuffled into, and in turn the half orc man who held them both in his lap. Fjord was his name, and he’d had an awkward stumble to his southern drawl as he introduced himself around Jester- hands hovered over her hips. It was by no means safe, and the weight of the car was wildly unbalanced, but they’d gotten there in one piece.

They’d gotten there, and they’d gotten very, very drunk. The only other human in the group, a younger woman named Beau with an abrasive approach that reminded him of Nott, had ended up latching onto him – perhaps recognizing that they were both equally bad at love or maybe simply for the familiarity. She’d gotten three beers in before girls had come up, but the subject had not left since. She rambled, making sense in only the loosest terms, about women in general. And one woman in particular. A woman who, judging by the stiff hold of her admittedly impressive shoulders and the dusting of charming pink across her cheeks, could absolutely hear them.

Caleb didn’t think it mattered much to stop Beau. She was having fun very harmlessly, and Molly’s warning from before suggested this was common. Instead he met the eyes of the large woman, holding the contact despite the discomfort it brought him, and lifted his drink in her direction. Solidarity. Awkward, awkward solidarity. The woman, Yasha he reminded himself, returned his gesture with a nod and from his place sprawled across her shoulder Molly downright giggled. They were all drunk disasters, as promised.

At some point Nott had dragged away their DD, the blue tiefling who had expressed a gentle discomfort with drinking that spoke of experiences. They had gone off to do something, and Fjord had followed after like a very concerned duckling as they cackled away. Now it was just the four of them, not really sitting together but also not sitting apart, as Beau rambled about the arm muscles of a near to goddess named Yasha.

It was all… very charming. Caleb couldn’t remember the last time he’d felt so comfortable with anyone, let alone this many people. And while he wouldn’t dare to say he was well and properly… comfortable… he was closer to it than he’d been in a long time. It hadn’t been since. Since he was much, much younger and fancied himself in love.

He never did know, now that he was far enough removed to consider it, what it was about her that he was in love with. Astrid. He wasn’t over her, not by a long shot. You never really got over people you once loved, you just learned to miss them less. He had learned to miss her less so well that sometimes he could even think about the moments he hadn’t loved her. The moments that hadn’t left his heart clenched and his breath short and wild. It was when he thought of these moments that he wondered. By any stretch women had never quite been his cup of tea, romantically speaking. But she had been an exception. Had it been her? Or had it been the way she was with him? Gentle and guiding, but still pushing him further. She would lead as they danced, in more ways than the literal, but he had still danced when he was with her. Had that been what he loved? Or had it just been her? Was there a difference?

His eyes burned, and Caleb realized with a start that he was drunk. Way too drunk to be thinking about this. He looked up, as far up as he could reasonably excuse as being socially acceptable, in the hopes that gravity itself would stave the sluggish tears where he could not. Instead he met red. Molly. Molly was looking at him, his coat slung over the back of his chair and his smile soft with drink and something he couldn’t read. Something almost like concern, or affection, or a mixture of both. He looked away, settling his eyes over Molly’s shoulder and letting his breath out slowly. The emotion in his gut wasn’t quite under control before Molly stood, graceful in his drunkenness as he let the waves only he could feel take his body in a way that almost seemed sensual. Or maybe Caleb was just drunk and far more interested than he should be.

“Alright you twat, my turn. Switch cuddle buddies!” The purple tiefling stood next to them, tall but not towering. Beau narrowed her eyes in suspicion and tightened her grasp on Caleb’s arm despite the way the rest of her immediately leaned a little more toward Yasha.

“Why?” She asked, the headstrong aggression of her default sober softened into an almost pout.

Molly huffed, all drama and jutted hip. “Because,” he stressed, “that’s my date you’re macking on. I blackmailed him into coming out, I want me some cuddles.”

“We’re talking.”

“He’s gay.”

Caleb didn’t correct him, didn’t know if he needed to. Didn’t know if it was true. His gut twisted.

“So am I!” Beau continued, clearly not noticing his vague distress. Maybe he was hiding it well. Maybe no one knew. The gentle cast of Molly’s gaze over his features suggested otherwise.

Molly shifted his weight to his other hip and jerked his head very pointedly at Yasha, who watched with equal parts understanding and discomfort. Truly, she was one of Caleb’s people. “So are you,” he agreed with a sharp annoyance.

Beau followed his gesture, remembering who exactly she was switching to, and sat up properly. She spared his arm a parting pat as she stumbled to the other side of the table and bodily threw herself into Yasha’s side. Yasha did not move, although a small smile did turn at the corner of her lips as Beau clung onto her arm and began blathering about needing to be carried. His attention was torn away from the image they made – admittedly quite the cute one – as Molly settled on his other side. He was close, but not touching yet and Caleb noticed that he had brought his beer with him.

“Better?” Molly asked, head tilted to the side inquisitively. His hair fell in short, purple curls between his bejeweled horns in such an artistic way Caleb thought briefly that he was like a painting. Exquisite and rich and colorful and in no way meant to be touched, particularly not by someone like him who burned so easily from his fingertips.

He stared, and beer loosed his tongue before he could think to stop it. “Not really.” Caleb looked away from the flash of concern in vibrant red eyes, instead staring defiantly at his hands wrapped around the chipped glass stein his beer had been served in. “It was not her fault. I was just thinking. About… things that are better left un-thought about.”

Beside him Molly hummed and eased himself to lean gently against his side. There was no way to settle his head without stabbing Caleb’s shoulder with his spiraled horns, but the warm press of another body against him was not unwelcome. Tieflings ran hotter than most, something about the hellfires in their blood or some other vaguely racist wives’ tale. “Wanna talk about it?” He asked, voice rolling like spiced honey with care and caution so overwhelmingly obvious in his tone that Caleb felt his cheeks heat in shame.

He glanced to the side to hide it.

“Nien. I am fine.”

“You sure?”

Caleb dared a glance back at him, wondering if Molly’s face would hold the same careful condescension he’d seen in countless strangers’ faces during break downs and anxiety attacks and moments of fierce hyper fixation. None of them had intended to understand when they'd asked. It did not, and for a brief moment his mind pipped up. Tieflings are largely immune to fire damage, with very few examples of diluted blood removing the racial advantage. This was first observed in- No one cared Caleb. Pay attention.

Blue eyes flicked to Molly’s proper, meeting his gaze head on. He was concerned, clearly, but not demanding. Not condescending. Just… there.

Caleb swallowed and made himself smile. It hurt, a little, and it felt wrong. Even he could feel that it was a bit angry, a bit broken. But it was true. “Nien, nien. I just need to… not think. For a bit.”

Molly’s returning smile was far easier, and far more beautiful as he sat upright to reach for his mug. “Sounds to me then like you’re not drunk enough.” Molly offered his mug to him, raised expectantly. “Cheers?”

“Ah. Cheers. Did you know the custom of touching glasses originated in ancient human society? It evolved as a way for a host to put his guests at ease, by serving everyone drinks from the same carafe and – ah. I am… rambling. No one cares.”

Molly blinked and leaned in, resting his chin on Caleb’s shoulder with the same easy, beautiful smile. “No, no. I do,” he corrected in a tone that was entirely, confusingly genuine. “It’s interesting. I always wondered but never bothered to find out. Go on.”

He blinked in response, slow and off kilter. Tieflings are immune to fire damage. His mind supplied, and this time Caleb leaned into the thought. There was a twist of emotion deep in his gut still, but not entirely her. Some of it was gentle affection. A soft thought of ‘Oh. That’s cute’. A gentle linger in the way his eyes caught on purple curls twined around large horns and sharp fangs peeking just behind lightly chapped lips. He focused for a moment, on a place lower, but found that he had likely already drunk his way into whiskey dick. For all the gentle interest and slight stirring there was no response. Generally, not great. But right now, it was somewhat reassuring. There was only so much damage he could do to their relationship. Drunk as he got, there was only so much his mind and particularly body would allow.

His fingers birthed flames, but tieflings were immune.

Caleb swallowed, and saw the way Molly’s eyes followed it – feeling his gut twist just a little bit more. He raised his glass and drank deeply, then bumped their mugs together as gently as his drunken hands would allow before Molly could look disappointed. “Ah… the host would drink first. Like that. To show the drink was safe. Before raising their cup to the guests and inviting them to drink in good health.”