crossed over (alver x og cale)

Part 9

Cale wasn't happy.

Who the fuck would be happy? The last few weeks of his life had quite thoroughly ripped away all of his stability, trapped him in a world he didn't understand, and forced him back into the role he played during the most toxic time in his life.

It was nauseating. His whole existence ran through a fucking blender for the entertainment of a cruel god or whoever the fuck was responsible for this fucking mess.

He had to question every fucking day is it me? Have I just gone fucking insane? And then reassure himself that regardless of his own insanity, he could only respond to the situation in front of him.

He'd lost every shred of autonomy in his life and nothing, nothing, felt okay.

It was enough to make any other person in his circumstances break down. He'd probably already broken down.

It was just lucky for him that his version of breaking down meant that he still had to fucking handle the problems in front of him.

Cale Henituse wasn't a kind person.

He was the sort of person who couldn't sit still. Not even in the worst dredges of despair, he moved onwards. If he were to lose his whole family in a war, he'd probably be the sort to enlist as a soldier. He just didn't stop.

He wasn't particularly capable or smart, he was just stubborn down to his very bones.

And every fucking moment living in this goddamn fantasy world was torture. It made him crave the oblivion of death just to stop this endless bullshit.

Cale was taking to Puzzle City swimmingly. He was traveling incognito so he couldn't really show his face or go out drinking or even do much sightseeing. He had to sit patiently at the inn while Ron fucked off to do who the fuck even knows and feel the restless anger of his entire world still crashed around him.

He'd taken to people watching. Rather brutal people watching. Sitting by the windowsill and making crude assumptions about every innocent party who happened to walk by his line of sight.

'That guy? He's a fucking freak who fucks horses because he likes hearing them cry.' Cale accused his latest victim, sneering down at him with absolute contempt for the horse fucker.

It would be fair to say that Cale wasn't okay.

Those accusatory thoughts were precisely why Cale was watching the passersby so carefully. It was a lot easier to come up with a nasty thing to say about someone after getting a good look at them.

And yet.

Despite how he'd been watching so carefully that he could remember the contours of the face of the allegend horse fucker, Cale didn't need to look nearly that close before his heart jumped in his throat when he saw him.

It was just the corner of a shoulder.

How crazy.

He could recognize the corner of a shoulder.

But he'd always had such proper posture. It stood out in a crowd.

Cale was already on his feet before the half veiled face was revealed.

No way.

Cale didn't jump out the window. He wasn't crazy. He had his modern sensibilities and jumping out of a second story window was a good way to break a leg.

That's why he didn't jump out the window.

He just grappled with the wall, slid on an overhang, almost broke a drain pipe, and still sprained his ankle on the landing.