[ And Essek did not know precisely what he did not deserve because all of his value had been on things that in the long game had never truly mattered to begin with. Value in knowledge, in prestige, in his position and the facade that he carefully cultivated-- for the most part truth except there had always been a part of himself that had longed to be less lonely.

The touch, the finger brush against his palm-- coolness of his palms from the ice magic that flowed through them hit the heat from Caleb's own warmer hands.

And so the touch was comfortable, the warmth a herald to something-- and gardens often times came with the thawing of winter, for that was when the blooms started to grow. It was a thawing and a growing, for each other ]

Have you learned to take your own advice, Caleb Widogast? [ He inclined his head to the side even as he shifted his hand to settle their hands palm to palm with his fingers against a wrist, his other hand reached for his wine glass to pick it up, settling it against his lips ] I have heard stories from Jester about how you do not think you deserve nice things.