though it's been said many times, many ways

[more_magic]

It’s strange to think of where he was a year ago, exactly. Waking up in Alex’s bed, hung over from the shame of the night before and the lingering effects of whatever Manuscript had given him, preparing for his first full day in a city outside of the world he knew and realizing in the process that he’d lost nearly two months in the space of a breath. There were more shocks to come, more alterations in what he thought to be true, but very little had managed to surpass the disorientation of that initial beginning to his tenure in Darrow.

Back then, Darlington had wondered what they might have done at home, if Alex would’ve been on a plane to California at the start of break--or if he might have managed to convince her to stay, to spend Christmas at Black Elm with him. What they got instead was better, that makeshift celebration with hastily-bought gifts and the smell of a half-remembered recipe wafting from Alex’s kitchen; the start of something new, even if neither of them had known the depths of that newness at the time. And now, a year on, through hard work and some kind of miracle, he gets what he’d wondered about after all.

Christmas Day will be just for them, presents and breakfast and relaxing by the fire, but tonight is a chance to celebrate. They decorate the main floor of Black Elm, filling the rooms they’ve already managed to furnish with light and warmth, the tree they’d bought earlier in the month standing by one of the large picture windows in the great room. Alex cooks all of Estrea Stern’s recipes she can think of, adds a few of Bernadette’s that Darlington remembers from his childhood. There’s music low on the stereo, a fire lit in the vast fireplace, the new table and chairs they’d bought for the formal dining room arranged just so beneath the chandelier at the center of the room. Even Kirby gets into the spirit in a new, festive collar, bright red against his black fur.

Above all, they’ve invited the people that matter, the few who have come to mean something--to one or both of them--in the year that’s just passed. It’s the first real party Black Elm has seen in many years, not since Darlington’s grandfather was alive. It feels, once again, like starting something new.

[[tag in, tag around, enjoy the party!]]

Comments

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

"Not even a little," he answers, snickering. Then he gasps and points in a random direction. "Fuck, yes I do!" he yells, then shushes Neil like he's the one who yelled. "I was in it. I was checking the lights, and Daniel left one on for me tonight, he told me." He leans closer, green eyes going big and liquid and serious. "D'you think he knew I'd get drunk?" he whispers, utterly ready for a conspiracy.

[shadows_have_offended]

"I mean, he clearly knew better than I did," Neil says, but at least he's sort of laughing about it now, smiling, enjoying the silliness of Caleb's mood now.

When they get to the library, Neil turns on a couple more lights and shuts the door, as if closing out the party will help with the situation. He's not sure if it will, but it's worth a shot, right?

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

Somehow, miraculously, Caleb manages not to spill his eggnog. He continues sipping it once they're in the library, and he hums at the flavor before tipping pulling Neil into a hug and resting their heads together.

"You're such a boyfriend," he murmurs, contented and warm, if still a bit slurred.

[shadows_have_offended]

Neil's quiet for a second, holding onto Caleb, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Even if Caleb's in a good mood now, it's one induced by a bunch of good moods around him, and good drunken moods, and Neil's never seen him quite like this before. He's not sure what to do.

After a moment, he realizes he has to say something.

"Thanks?" He laughs about that stupid response, at least, just once. Soft and quiet. "You are too, Caleb. I'm sorry I snapped at you, I shouldn't--"

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

"Shh, psh-psh-psh-psh," Caleb interrupts, and sort of squishes their noses together when he goes in for an affectionate nuzzle. "No, you're fine, Neil, you're fine, you're fine, you're fine." He kisses him, drinking in the mossy green of Neil's feelings. It's sunkissed, right now, dappled over with Neil's concern and plush with his amusement. As it settles into his body, it pushes away the swirliness of everyone else.

And in the wake of it, a headache burbles up like carbonation, settling at the top of his brain and expanding.

He takes a deep breath, but it's not something that he can push out of himself. It's a side-effect, and one that has to run its course, like any side-effect. But it still makes him groan weakly, and he hides his face against Neil's shoulder.

[shadows_have_offended]

There isn't even room for joking indignation at being shushed like that, because as soon as it's done, Caleb is murmuring assurances, and kissing him, and Neil feels maybe a little guilty about that, but only a little bit. And even that melts away into nothing at all.

He runs the fingers of his free hand up the back of Caleb's neck and into his hair, rubbing his scalp gently.

"You wanna sit down for a little bit?"

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

"Fuck, yes please," he sighs out, and then whines out a pitiful little laugh. But he makes no effort to actually move and sit, he just clings to Neil for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he mumbles. "We're supposed to be having a good time at a party and I'm being such an asshole."

[shadows_have_offended]

"No, hey," he murmurs. He takes the eggnog from Caleb and sets it aside, pulling Caleb over to a low-slung couch and pulling him down so that he can hold him close. "You're not being an asshole. I know I--these can be a lot for you to handle. I wasn't being helpful. I'm sorry."

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

"No, no, you're not—" He sighs, wincing when pain flares a little, and he leans his head on Neil's shoulder. "Maybe your nicotine craving was getting to me. I don't know. I could've handled that way different."

Maybe they'd both been assholes, a little bit.

[shadows_have_offended]

Neil chews on his lip a little bit and doesn't get into the nuance of cravings versus nervous fixations. Isn't Caleb supposed to be studying all of that psychology stuff? Anyway, it doesn't matter, and he really doesn't want to make a thing out of this anymore.

So he runs his fingers into Caleb's hair, rubbing his scalp gently. "We're going to make ourselves dizzy apologizing in circles."

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

That earns a little puff of a laugh, at least. "Oh, I thought that was just the hangover." He smiles, a small, pained thing. "Also — and I'm not trying to start anything? — I'm pretty sure I willfully just... chose not to know you smoked."

[shadows_have_offended]

"It's not, like, a habit. More a hold over than anything else." Which isn't a good explanation, either, but he owes Caleb that much. "And I did it a bit more when Guy and Harry were around, but that just means, like, one or two a month when I was hanging out."

He rubbed his thumb into the side of Caleb's neck to work on some of the invisible tension, like it would help relieve it a little bit.

"I know it's not healthy," he said. "But it gives me something to do when I'm nervous that isn't making a complete idiot of myself. So I tend to carry a pack when I go to parties, and I have one in the bathroom at the apartment, too."

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

Caleb nods, but he doesn't say anything because he feels like they'll just start their circular apologies again. Neil's thumb feels amazing, and Caleb leans into it a little. The longer they're away from the party, the easier it's feeling. And maybe, now, he can try to push that stuff out of him on his own, know that he knows how it feels.

"Fuck, this one was bad, huh?" he notes. "I've been empathy-buzzed before, and I've been, like, mostly empathy-drunk? But it's never been like that."

[shadows_have_offended]

"I've definitely never seen you get this wobbly before," Neil says in quiet commiseration. He hadn't thought anyone else was drinking quite enough, but he's also been watching his own more than anyone else's.

"Is there anything else I can do to help?"

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

"Mm," Caleb murmurs. "You're already doing it," he assures. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. "Just kinda... pushing everything else outta me. I'm just gonna need a few minutes, I think."

[shadows_have_offended]

"I don't think there's a rush," Neil says softly, just sitting there and letting Caleb take whatever calm and relaxation he gets from him. There's a certain pride that comes with it, that he helps; he's known that, since they've started going out together. Was it the wedding the first time that Caleb told him that he helped ground him, or before that?

Either way, Neil's just glad that he hasn't completely soured the evening and that he can do something to help right now. He rubs his fingers against Caleb's scalp and holds his other hand.

"...it reminds me of home, a little bit. Not mine. Mine wasn't really this nice. But I had a couple friends who had big places like this."

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

Caleb frowns as he listens, and he looks at Neil. "Is... In the bad way? Should we leave?" Had he really not noticed? Had he not wanted to?

[shadows_have_offended]

"No," Neil says, soft, looking around the library rather than at Caleb. There are very few times he really misses Vermont, but in this quiet moment, it's one of them. He thinks Caleb would have done amazingly at Welton, a regular Dead Poet like the rest of them were; but besides that, being surrounded by so much New England in Daniel's home makes him miss his friends from back home, makes him miss the forests and mountains and rivers, the sleepy town and old hallways of the school.

"No, I like it."

[greatamazingfeelingsboy]

Nostalgia.

Caleb forgets what that feels like when he's not feeling it, but here it is, now, warm and sad and fond and happy in an impossible tangle of contradicting feelings. He reaches up to cup Neil's jaw, then slides his hand around to the back of his neck, just holding him.

"Okay," he murmurs, because he knows he's not lying, at least, but he must still be at least a little drunk because he isn't sure what to say, or how to help.