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Essek winces when Caleb’s grip crushes his fingers suddenly with another bout of quiet sobs.
“M’n Fehler—“ his voice cracks and Caleb flinches away, curls more into himself than he already is. Slipping down onto the carpet in a heap, his shoulders shake uncontrollably though hardly any sound escapes. In a moment. Essek is down on the floor with him, slipping his fingers back into Caleb’s hand.
“It— It’s alright, Caleb.” He says softly but curses himself that he said anything at all. Caleb descends into another shuddering sobbing fit, now louder and messier than before.
Essek wishes he had Jester here, or Veth, those whose natural joy he has seen do miracles. Or Caduceus, who has spent his entire life next to others’ grief. Fjord’s assurance or Yasha’s quiet stability. Even Beuregard’s abrasive humor brings a smile to Caleb sometimes. Anyone, anyone better suited for this than him.
He sits quietly and lets Caleb crush his hand and cry next to him. It is all he knows how to do, as it was what he did as a child for Verin when he would fall to pieces like this.
A half hour passes, then another. Caleb’s grip finally loosens at a quarter past the second hour, and his shoulders stop trembling. In a stroke of insanity or perhaps selfishness, Essek lays another hand over Caleb’s shin, patting gingerly like he’s seen Veth do in the past. If it weren’t for his already heightened state, he would have yelped when Caleb lists to the side and collapses over him as much as he can all curled up. Essek’s heart clogs his throat, restricts his breath, and swells painfully gazing down at Caleb’s scrunched, red face. He is not beautiful when he cries.
He feels a soft bump at his side and sees a long haired brown tabby. It chirps in an oddly demure way and sniffs in Caleb’s direction.
“Oh,” Essek’s voice catches. There is a pit in Essek’s stomach that he wishes was not there when he looks at Caleb in this state. Guilt? Fear? It claws at his stomach and lungs, howls at Essek to fix this, put Caleb’s thoughts back in their proper order.
“Ah… Something— Something cold. Please.”
He gets water with a handful of small, spherical hunks of ice.
“Caleb,” he says softly and squeezes his numb hand in Caleb’s. “Caleb, here. Drink, please, if you are able.”
Caleb nods and takes the glass carefully, Essek follows with his own, just in case Caleb’s hands start to shake again. He downs it all in one go, then takes one of the ice chunks into his mouth and crushes it noisily. Essek flinches at the sound but conceals his wince as Caleb does the same with the other three in the glass.
“Thank you,” Caleb whispers huskily. His throat sounds raw, his voice thick with mucus.
“It is the least I could do. It acts as a shock to the system. It has helped me in the past when I would be… out of sorts.”
“That’s what I am, aren’t I?” Caleb coughs a laugh.
“No,” Essek says quickly. “You are… within your rights. I don’t know much about grief, but I…”
Have seen it. Have caused it. Have grappled with it from the moment news of his father’s death had reached Rosohna.
“You are dear to me.” he says instead of all that, “And I should like to see to your well-being to the best of my ability.”
Caleb nods and presses his forehead against Essek’s.
“Thank you, friend.”