Cade's Inbox

[onlyhymns]

[For personal threads, memos, things left in his quarters for him to stumble on, confessions of love, injunctions, jars of bees, and so forth.]

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[onlyhymns]

Cade has been pretty much a beacon of misery for the last month or so. He is constantly embarrassed and stressed out from being supervised at all hours by near strangers, most of whom are younger or ranked lower than himself.
When Cole finds him, he's eating lunch, alone save for his chaperone, at one of the tables near the kitchen. He looks up at the boy, wondering where he's seen him before, and immediately going on his guard; judging by his two black eyes, he has reason to fear everyone who approaches him of late.

[colecomfort]

He's sitting across from Cade. Before he even looks up, his fingertips curl against the wood of the table top.

"Red against white, blood and bone—" Quickly, he remembers how much his words disturbed Cade last time, can already feel the sharp edges pressing inward.

"Sorry," he interrupts himself, holding up a hand. "I want to do it right, this time."

[onlyhymns]

Cade knits his brow at Cole, already a bit disturbed by his choice of phrasing, but he doesn't spook immediately.
"...do I know you from somewhere?" he cautiously asks, his gaze flitting to the knives on Cole's belt. He looks then to the Tranquil nearby, who, as with Merrick, wouldn't be able to stop an attack before it's mostly played out. Already he's creating an escape plan in his mind.

[colecomfort]

The Tranquil is still staring ahead, mechanically eating the meal in front of them, with no concern for the food apart from continued survival. Not so much as a glance in Cole's direction.

"We met before - it doesn't matter." He doesn't pause long before going on: only for a second, enough to collect the words. He speaks with a sure, measured voice:

"It was wrong, what he did. Sometimes you think the words, but you blame yourself when you should believe them. He pushed the darkness onto you. You did nothing to deserve it."

It won't fix everything. Won't take away the pain. It is only, Cole hopes, the first brick in a wall that can only be dismantled piece by piece. Before he can forget, he has to forgive himself.

Cade will feel the intent behind the words stream through the cracks in his consciousness, illuminating darkened corners, dispelling shadows. The change may come with relief, a swell of emotion that leads to tears, the bite of buried memories that are now being uncovered, or all three to varying degrees. It is, after all, only a start.

[onlyhymns]

Cade looks for another moment as though he's about to flee, and maybe get anxious in the meantime, but Cole's words have a strangely calming effect on him. He watches the boy, pursing his lips, brow knitted uncertainly.
He knows exactly what Cole is talking about. It came to light recently, in an unexpected way, and for it to be dredged back up like this is... well, it would be alarming if it weren't Cole. Somehow he is able to accept that Cole knows this without anyone having necessarily told him.

"...I don't know where to go," he says quietly, imploringly.

[colecomfort]

"You don't have to go anywhere. You can stay still."

Easier said than done, perhaps. Simply being where you are can be the hardest thing in the world, when everything in you wants to run and hide. But being given permission might help.

As would being assured that the monster he wants to hide from really isn't waiting around every corner. Something else that may take more time. Another brick.

"Still in the stream, but still holding to what happened. Let go, and it all washes down and away."

[onlyhymns]

As far as Cade is concerned, staying still equates to death. Staying like he is? An inconvenience, a broken tool that no one has the heart to throw out? Cole isn't the only one who worries about being forgotten.

"I can't," he quietly insists, "this is my last chance." He knows it, deep down. He's been in the dungeon once already, and now this, and... he doubts anyone will still have any patience if he should 'let go' again, at least the way he's interpreting it.

[colecomfort]

Cole can sense the place where their meanings become misaligned, the piece of his understanding that Cade is missing. He tries to set it in its place.

"You think it means losing control. But you're still afraid. You're still holding on." To the anger, he means. It's a hard, hot, bitter thing, held so tightly for so long that it's solidified in Cade's grasp.

"I can help." He sets his hand, palm upward, on the table. He could do more than he has already, but Cade has to want it. Accept it.

[onlyhymns]

Normally, Cade would be a lot more reticent, but he gets a good feeling from Cole. A feeling that tells him perhaps he won't be judged so harshly, his life ruined, if he does this thing.
He made it through the encounter with Zevran, even if he's afraid to show his face to the elf again. But perhaps, sometimes, people do want to help and not just push him down further.

He tentatively rests his hand on Cole's, not even curling his fingers-- he just lays it there, waiting for the boy to do what he will. Already he can feel a tension in his chest, a lump in his throat as he watches the youth across from him.

[colecomfort]

Cole's fingers curl upward only a little, his palm softening in response to Cade's hand.

There's a softer, brighter place inside him somewhere. A part that remains unaffected, separate from everything sharp and brittle. Cole not only needs to remind him that it's there, but that there is a divide — a space that might, with time, be allowed to soften and expand, until the pain washes away.

"Mother in the kitchen, reaching out to take the basket of mushrooms. Passing down a warm, buttery crust of bread. 'Another log for the fire, Kitty' — it was so heavy, I needed both arms. But it made her smile."

Warmth. Family. Service to something simple and good. The memories light up, old coals stoked back to life. This is where you can start.

[onlyhymns]

A quick, jarring intake of breath heralds Cade's sudden awareness of what he's being shown, and his face goes white as a sheet. He stares forward at nothing, something buried deep inside feeling as though it will batter through an invisible wall he didn't realize was there. It's like a punch in the lungs.

Mum. It's been so long since he saw her, she's become an abstract concept to him, a memory of a memory that affects nothing about his life. But suddenly she's real again, and the barrage of warmth and pleasantness is almost more painful than the cold emptiness that would remain if he had just let himself continue to forget.

[colecomfort]

The harsh reaction is enough to capture the attention of the Tranquil, who looks away from the bowl of soup with that characteristically blank expression. Cole ducks his head, knowing he's been noticed, prepared to force them to forget, but the Tranquil doesn't make a move beyond that. Only watches, as if waiting for something more to react to. Some signal from Cade that intervention is required.

Cole's hand doesn't move. If Cade flinches away, he will allow it, but he hopes he won't have to. He keeps his palm soft, his fingers lightly curled.

"You were able to let love in, once." Because there was nothing blocking its way. Allowing its passage again will take work, but it's possible. "There was a place for it. There still is."

[onlyhymns]

Cade gives them no such signal, instead turning his head away, hiding his expression from them and at least half from Cole. His face screws up in anguish, his shoulders tensing as though he's expecting a physical blow. To Cole, he shakes his head lightly. He doesn't believe it. No one will ever love him like that again.

[colecomfort]

Cole looks down at their hands, now, as if reminding Cade of the connection. Positive touch. It's not the only one he's been offered recently, and it won't be the last.

"The spaces are there, even if you don't see them." There's little he can say, probably, that will make Cade believe that. It's enough that the idea is presented to him. So perhaps it's better if Cole leaves him with that.

He allows for one more pause before he slips his hand away, slowly, then stands, the chair underneath him scraping against the floor. He begins to walk away.

The Tranquil blinks. "That young man made very little sense."

[onlyhymns]

Cade allows Cole's hand to slip away, and sits there for several moments after, mulling over what the boy said. He's all but paralyzed by the new rawness of his being, an infected wound torn back open so it could be cleaned and dressed properly. After a lifetime of dull and constant despair, feeling a true and honest emotion like this is a shock.
He doesn't even look at the Tranquil, instead just sitting there and staring forward like one himself.