Home.
James wasn't sure he knew how to define home. Home wasn't a place, and yet it was. Home was a memory of a farm and a family he could never return to. Home was a set of circumstances. It was an idea of comfort. It was people - people he loved - but even people felt like an intangible concept. It was more than what was around him, or where he was, or who he was with.
Home required a sense of belonging, and maybe that was where it all stopped.
James never felt like he belonged, and that was a feeling he carried with him wherever he went. And he didn't think that anyone was going to make him feel different either.
It had only been two weeks since he'd been at the guild, but each day felt more and more suffocating - and not just because they were underground. With each passing day the realization became clearer that the only person who could make him feel like he belonged was himself, but the problem was, at some point, and he couldn't pinpoint to a particular moment, he decided that he was an outcast. And that was what he would be forever.
Or at least, that's what he'd thought he would be forever. Now it seemed like things were changing, but it felt like everyone else was moving forward without him. Somehow, everyone else was taking long strides forward, and he was stuck. Left behind. It would be too on the nose to say he still felt like he was trapped under the palace, but there was still a part of him that felt like he never left. Like everything since then was just a dream.
It was strange. Though strange wasn't the right word to describe what he was experiencing.
Every day felt full, but in every experience, he felt empty. He kept doing everything he needed to do, but the things that used to bring him joy no longer supplied it. Though he kept showing up to keep up appearances and keep his few commitments, he couldn't help but feel like he was just a bystander, watching on the sidelines of the human experience. It stung the most when he was with Hild, or with his family. It took everything he had to try to be present with them, but even when it seemed he was saying the "right" things, he hated that his heart wasn't in it.
It wasn't enough to say that he was just tired. He wasn't sure he had the energy to do anything at all.
Two weeks of outside pressure and obligation kept him on his feet. And then another week went by, and he kept showing up. He kept going to the stables, taking care of Elliot and the horses. He kept going to dinners with his parents. He kept having breakfast with Hild. Lunches with Larrel. Physical therapy with Lyall. Reading and writing lessons with Caspar. And then finally, when the day would end, he would collapse into his bed, and he felt nothing. Nothing but the weight of his own frame pulling him down into the bedsheets, from which, he didn't want to leave.
It didn't occur to him that, at some point, his body would finally give in to the exhaustion.
There was no daylight. There was never daylight to tell the time, but something told James that he'd slept far longer than normal. His mind felt foggy, and there was a ache in his body that he'd only ever felt from lying still for too long.
He knew that moving was the only long-term solution to get rid of the ache, but he couldn't find the energy to move. His body felt weak, and though he didn't feel like he could fall back asleep, he felt listless.
He laid there, unmoving, and wondered if he'd overslept.
A shot of anxiety ran through him, but even that wasn't enough to get him up.
People would be worried. And he didn't know what to tell them if they worried. He didn't think he could handle it if he let everbody down. But then again, hadn't he already done that?
Distantly, he thought he heard knocking, but it only made him curl up, clinging to his bed.
He didn't want to face the world today. He didn't want to do anything. He was tired of trying.
"You in there, bud?" Caspar's voice eventually called through the door.
Caspar. Was he worried? He sounded worried.
He mustered up the srength to speak.
"I'm fine," he said, but he knew it wasn't even near loud enough to reach out the hall to the door.
Maybe Caspar would leave and look for him somewhere else. That would give James time to get out of bed and look presentable, and to think of an excuse. It would be enough to say he wasn't feeling well, right? Caspar wasn't a doctor. He wouldn't check for symptoms or overthink it.
There was a bit of a pause before Caspar went on, "It's a big place here, so in reality you could be anywhere, and that I'd just be talking to an empty room, but no one's really seen you around yet today? Just...thought I'd check in."
James was lying on his side. For a moment, he buried his face in his bed, hoping that Caspar would just go.
But he knew if he didn't open up, things would only escalate. If he wasn't seen for a while, people would get concerned. And if they got concerned then he'd never get a moment's peace.
That was the one thing he didn't want to lose. And that was what little freedom he felt like he had.
Finally, he dragged himself out of bed, taking the blanket with him. He held it over his shoulders, letting it drag behind him across the carpeted floors. Even with carpet, the floor was still cold against his bare feet. An unavoidable result of being underground in the winter.
He felt lightheaded as he made his way to the door - like, perhaps he'd gotten up too fast.
By the time he paused at the door, he felt like he could fall over. He took a moment to try to steady himself, and then opened the door slowly, looking up at Caspar.
It was at that moment he realized he had no idea what he looked like, but knowing he just woke up, he could only imagine what Caspar was looking at.
Caspar, to his credit, didn't react in any way that might have indicated how he looked. Just offered a small sheepish smile as he tucked his hands in his pockets. "I don't mean to bother. Just wanted to, uh, check that you were somewhere. I can go now if you need some time on your own."
James nodded slightly, struggling to find words.
"I just... slept in," he said.
To everyone else that would probably sound like good news. Maybe it was. He hadn't been sleeping well for weeks.
Caspar nodded. "You look like it." He cleared his throat and asked, "Trouble sleeping last night?"
James looked off to the side.
"I don't really remember," he said quietly.
"That's probably good, then," Caspar offered. "Right?"
James nodded again, humming. He realized he hadn't put on his glasses. That was why everything felt blurry.
"Yeah," he said distantly.
Leaning a little on the doorframe, Caspar tilted his head. "You don't look quite ready to join the land of the living yet," he said in a gentle tease.
James's head kept bobbing slightly.
"Yeah," he said again, admittedly still feeling half asleep and out of it. Caspar wasn't far from the truth.
"Sorry to... worry you," he said.
"No worry," Caspar answered quickly. Then conceded, "Just a smidge, but it's really fine. You've got a lot of sleep to catch up on, probably."
James tried to force a smile, but he wasn't sure if he even managed to move his mouth at all.
"Yeah," he said again, realizing that was his third time offering the same response. "I should... probably go back to sleep. I'm still tired."
With a final nod, Caspar straightened. He began to turn, paused, then fully faced James again.
"I probably sound like a broken record at this point," he said, "but if there's ever...anything, at all, you know you can talk to me anytime, right?"
James found himself looking up at Caspar with a vacant stare. He felt defeated. Nothing he could say to brush it off would feel genuine, but nothing genuine felt right. It felt selfish, for him to merely want to return to his bed and hide, but his eyes already felt like they were trying to close again. He was practically sleep-walking.
"I know," he said, letting his eyes close, just for a moment. "I know."
There was a moment of just silence.
"Rest easy, James," Caspar eventually said with warmth.
It occurred to him too late that he had started to drift off. James didn't know how long Caspar had been left hanging. When he opened his eyes, Caspar was gone. Looking down the hall, he could see Caspar walking away.
For a moment, James thought of calling out to him. But he didn't know what to say.
Instead, he closed the door and turned around, returning to his bed.
Someone knew where he was. Knew that he'd slept. Thought it was for the best. And Caspar was probably right. James did need the sleep. He couldn't think of the last time he'd slept so long, at least, without having previously been in mortal peril and left severely wounded. The last sleep he'd been in that was this long was drug or sickness induced.
At least this time he didn't have to fight it. The moment his head hit the pillow, he was swallowed up again, and he didn't wake again until he heard a noise. The creak of a door, then some purposeful steps steadily approaching.
Was he dreaming?
Alarm processed as a delayed reaction. It felt like his body was stuck to his bed, too heavy to move.
"Have you perished entirely?" Hild's voice asked, tone mostly breezy as a soft light flicked on several feet away.
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