梦想的开花

nana, 19

[16llui]

navigation .ೃ࿐

hii ۶ৎ

call me Ann/Nana or just Vill | she/her | 20 | sylus girlie

° this is my very fresh start on writing, so please be patient 💋

° feel free to send your asks & ideas <3

art blog @xvillui

୨⎯ masterlist ⎯୧

𝜗ৎ caleb x reader, noble!AU, angst >>>pt. two

୨⎯ series masterlist ⎯୧

The crow's song

[linarae119]

[avananabread]

Thinking about Sylus who loves a particular kind of gentle skinship: pressing his nose on your skin.

Waiting in line for your sudden milk tea craving and he’s behind you nosing into your hair (he claims it makes the waiting better)

You’re preparing some food on the counter and he’s there behind you pressing his nose on your shoulders as he watches your hands move

You just wanna feed him some fries but he’s grabbing your wrist to press his nose there then playfully nip the side of your thumb instead of the fries

When he’s in a bad mood, just holding you and pressing his nose on your chest and he’s instantly cooled down

You wear an off-shoulder top and you bet he’s gonna be perching his nose there as if he’s Mephisto

Or nuzzling into the crook of your neck when he wants a cuddle

Or catching you right after a shower and he’s running his nose down your arm and giving little pecks

Maybe it’s the feel of your skin, maybe it’s your scent he wants to inhale all the time

Maybe it’s his dragon’s way of showing affection

You’re lying down on one side relaxing and he’d playfully rub his nose on your waist to tickle you and hear you laugh

And when your scent changes he knows you’re ovulating, it’s sweeter he says, with that hungry look in his eyes, because his very favorite place to bury his nose in is—

Wait am i ovulating? (ignores my empty period tracking app, opens Lads instead to consult his notes)

[16llui]

Sometimes, when you feel like routine is starting to wear you out, and a mental breakdown is hanging like a heavy cloud somewhere over your head, you finally decide to relax a little. Some fun couldn't hurt you, right?

And for once you happily agree to your bestie's offer to drop by some shady club. (It's definitely not because you think she's going to explode if she postpones a "casual" meeting with a certain silver-haired situationship for another week. Yep. Who happens to be the owner of the club. Which for some reason she can't visit alone).

And so, because you are a kind soul, and a very impatient one, not to mention, you grab her the moment she ends her shift (poor girl works even on weekends, so naturally, you needed to spice up her dating life a little), and exactly two hours later you set out on your way to get the best out the Sunday night left.

But, as expected, your solitude doesn't last long, as the moment she brags how she managed to book you the last two seats for tomorrow's lecture on art history (the one you never expected to get to) (the one you were ready to die for) a familiar figure appears at your VIP table, not so apologetically whisking her away, sliding your reward across the table in return with a knowing nod.

The gleam of his black card matches the one in your eyes, and so you decide that today is the day you try something new.

And then, as expected, you enter your favorite part of the evening with music and some sweet cocktails as your only companions.

Or... not?

Somethere across the room, near the bar, you catch someone's gaze.

And suddenly you can't look back.

And the next morning, as your friend tries to bring you back to your senses, you learn that you, in fact, never did. Didn't stop at just looking, too. She tells you she had to physically remove you from some guy when she finally managed to find you two around midnight, and no matter how many obscene details she adds describing you being glued to his neck, it stirs no memories whatsoever.

Straight up no thought. Mind blank.

And she must be lying for sure, because you never drink that much, no matter how tempting the offer to max out the given card seems to you. And you never even come up to random guys, so for you to kiss him? You needed to be wasted. And, again, you never drink this much, so....

But there's no time to argue as you frantically get ready, and absolutely no chance to ask more later, when you manage to squeeze into the bus to the uni. And only as you try to slip into the lecture hall, seeing your visible confusion, she gently squeezes your hand and whispers, "Don't worry, I can probably just ask Sylus to look through the cameras. We'll find your Romeo in no time—"

"If you are late, ladies, try to keep quiet at least."

Wait.

You know that voice.

You freeze somethere near the second row, and turn.

There, under the light of the projector, a familiar gaze slides down your figure, slowly taking you in. Your breath hitches as he smirks and slightly fixes the collar of his black turtleneck, and you swear something dark flashes on his pale skin.

Oh, well. If anyone should be telling you about art, it might as well be him. The soft curl of his hair, the gentle slide of his waist, the slight curve of his lips: everything about him almost hypnotizes you, calls to you like a siren song.

And you're ready to swallow your pride and quietly hide in the back row, apologizing profusely, but your eyes flicker up involuntary.

Your heart drops.

As if to make it worse, your friend chooses exactly that moment to whisper to you quietly, "Omg... It's him."

And the worst thing? He hears it. Of course he hears it.

The light softly reflect in his rimless glasses, as he smirks slowly, "There are some sits left at the front row. Why are you going so far away?"

You must be still under a spell, truly, one that was casted on you yesterday night, as you obediently find two sits at the front row, a little bit to the left (simultaneously giving you a nice view of his side profile). Unbearable silence stretches while the room is frozen in anticipation, and you nervously search your bag for any piece of paper and a pencil.

The later suddenly slips out of your trembling grip, but before you manage to embarrass yourself even more, a hand catches it. You forget how to breathe as the same guy quickly twirls the pencil between his slender fingers before placing it gently right at the center of your sheet.

"Well, once again," he catches your gaze, "for the newcomers. My name is Rafayel Qi, and I will be the speaker for today's lecture. Feel free to ask any questions."

He turns away, returning to his place at the pulpit, but before you can breathe out, he turns slightly, pure amusement in his eyes shining dangerously.

"Latecomers are kindly requested to come over after the lecture."

⋆ 𐙚 a.n. something short & sweet I was preparing for Rafayel's birthday, but forgot :(((

Professor Rafayel tho.... 🫦

[andypantsx3]

Along the blackwater coast of Romirro, people whisper about the Lemurians—the beautiful strangers said to emerge from the sea wearing human shapes. Legends say they come ashore seeking humans, whether as meal or more, no one knows for certain. What is certain, however, is that they always find the exhausted, the indebted, or the heartbroken first. According to folklore, the Lemurians never drag anyone beneath the waves by force. Instead, they court their chosen for months or years, until the sea begins to feel more inviting than the land ever was.

You think you know what is happening, then, when the most handsome man you've ever seen washes ashore after a storm.

This is your family's hardest year yet, and somehow, despite the unlikeliness of the tide, he's deposited along the shallow pools where you and your sister gather shellfish. Water pools too enticingly in the hollow of his throat, beads along his long lashes, glittering against his pale skin. You do not trust the look of him. But your sister is already halfway in love with him, and cannot bear to leave him behind.

So you take him home, hoping that you are wrong.

You nurse him back from the state the sea left him in, careful not to let your sister go too near. Her fantastical, romantic waxings in the warmth of your hut have you almost believing you were too quick to draw conclusions about him. She is a year younger than you, in ways that feel more like a thousand years sometimes, but the naiveté and idealism of her world view make you want to believe the world can like be that too. You hope she is right, and he is just a beautiful man.

But then he wakes, and you are all too certain he isn't.

His eyes fix too readily on you when he opens them, his attention too immediate and precise. He is too interested in you when he recovers enough to speak—and repeats your name in a way that makes a shiver slink down your spine.

He tells you his name is Rafayel, and he's been shipwrecked. When pressed, however, he cannot name his home port, the name of his ship, or any of his crewmates. The memory of what they were carrying is conveniently lost to the tides. He is too empty of anything except the sea, you think, and you watch him as closely as he watches you.

Your sister is entranced and enthralled with him. You should feel relief that his attention does not linger on her the same way hers lingers on him. But you cannot, with Rafayel inside your home, asking after you instead, your habits, your likes and dislikes. He's come ashore for something, you know, and you do not intend for him to find it in your home.

You watch him carefully, and when he is well enough, you cajole him outside with a request for help gathering shellfish. You lead him back down to the tidepools, a large bucket clutched in hand. You are apprehensive that he will catch on to your plan so you move slowly, try to turn back to him often, tipping your face up to his. You find yourself doing it almost too willingly, reluctant to tear your eyes away from him.

You turn your face up to his again as you make it to the tidepools, and Rafayel steps closer this time. His mouth lingers over yours, his body so close, the promise of something slipping between you. His eyes glint blue like the sea, and you almost forget yourself for a minute as his mouth lowers to yours.

It's half and accident when you overturn your bucket of collected rainwater between you.

But Rafayel's face changes immediately as he takes a shocked step back, and it's then that you know for sure.

Harbor folklore says Lemurians cannot pursue someone across running fresh water. And Rafayel stumbles back, long eyelashes fluttering as he stares at you in stunned disbelief. The tide laps angrily at his heels, suddenly growing discontent, roiling like a pot over the fire.

He says your name, sweet and entreating.

But you turn and leave before your small, freshwater stream can run its course into the sea. You will hang braided eelgrass across your door tonight, and burn peat in the hearth, so that he cannot get in again. You tell him as much as you clamber back up the shoreline to safety, tell him he is wasting his time on you.

But what you do not know is that once a Lemurian falls truly fond of someone, they become dangerously patient. He will wait, like the tide that keeps arriving, until the shore gives way grain by grain, and little by little slides into the waiting sea.

[taitaiitaiii]

my first artwork of Zayne <3

[linarae119]

[cinnamon-and-vanilla]

I just went down a rabbit hole about Lord of the Rings/The Hobbit and I just had an thought you all need to hear me out on.

Thorin, Kili, and Fili give the same vibes as Sylus, Luke, and Kieran.

[blodwyrm]

warm blanket / 12x16, oil & pastel on panel

[snoozer-crow]

some headcanons for sylus's dragonlike tendencies i was thinking about (i might come back and edit this with more so i don't spam reblogs of it) 🐉

the first time he puts a piece of extravagant jewlery on you, one of two things happens (or maybe both things): 1. he gets a raging hard on 2. he gets the urge to be incredibly clingy. whether he acts on this urge depends on where you are and how close your relationship is.

when he's half asleep and not fully in his right mind, if you scratch at his scalp in just the right way, he'll start to purr quietly. his purr is deep and makes his chest vibrate in a way that feels nice against your cheek. this also happens if he's drunk enough.

after a long day, he lets out a big huff when he lays down in bed or sits on the couch for the first time.

part of the reason he tracks you so thoroughly with mephisto is because you're his greatest treasure, so it goes against his hoarding instincts to let you leave his 'hoard' (his home). he needs to keep an eye on you to make sure you return safely.

since you're his favorite treasure, he likes to admire you. whether you're awake or asleep, he enjoys staring at you for long periods of time, studying the small details of your appearance and seeing if he can find anything new. this isn't only a sexual thing! (though he does stare even more intently when you're wrapped in pleasure.) if you're focused on something else and he's by your side, sometimes he'll take your arm to examine it a bit closer and spin it around to get a good view of all angles, or hold your hand in his own and watch how your little joints move when he plays with your fingers. if you ask him about why he's staring so much, he'll often offer up something he learned in a thoughtful yet slightly smug tone. "You have a new mole here. On the back of your shoulder." (he's proud of himself for knowing you so thoroughly).

if he's displeased, sometimes he'll let out a low rumble. it's difficult to hear if you don't know to listen for it.

[16llui]

Sometimes, when you feel like routine is starting to drain all your strength out, and a mental breakdown is hanging like a heavy cloud somewhere over your head, you finally decide to relax a little. Some fun couldn't hurt you, right?

And for once you happily agree to your bestie's offer to drop by some shady club. (It's definitely not because you think she's going to explode if she postpones a "casual" meeting with a certain silver-haired situationship for another week. Yep. Who happens to be the owner of the club. Which for some reason she can't visit alone).

And so, because you are a kind soul, and a very impatient one, not to mention, you grab her the moment she ends her shift (poor girl works even on weekends, so naturally, you needed to spice up her dating life a little), and exactly two hours later you set out on your way to get the best out the Sunday night left.

But, as expected, your solitude doesn't last long, as the moment she brags how she managed to book you the last two seats for tomorrow's lecture on art history (the one you never expected to get to) (the one you were ready to die for) a familiar figure appears at your VIP table, not so apologetically whisking her away, sliding your reward across the table in return with a knowing nod.

The gleam of his black card matches the one in your eyes, and so you decide that today is the day you try something new.

And then, as expected, you enter your favorite part of the evening with music and some sweet cocktails as your only companions.

Or... not?

Somethere across the room, near the bar, you catch someone's gaze.

And suddenly you can't look back.

And the next morning, as your friend tries to bring you back to your senses, you learn that you, in fact, never did. Didn't stop at just looking, too. She tells you she had to physically remove you from some guy when she finally managed to find you two around midnight, and no matter how many obscene details she adds describing you being glued to his neck, it stirs no memories whatsoever.

Straight up no thought. Mind blank.

And she must be lying for sure, because you never drink that much, no matter how tempting the offer to max out the given card seems to you. And you never even come up to random guys, so for you to kiss him? You needed to be wasted. And, again, you never drink this much, so....

But there's no time to argue as you frantically get ready, and absolutely no chance to ask more later, when you manage to squeeze into the bus to the uni. And only as you try to slip into the lecture hall, seeing your visible confusion, she gently squeezes your hand and whispers, "Don't worry, I can probably just ask Sylus to look through the cameras. We'll find your Romeo in no time—"

"If you are late, ladies, try to keep quiet at least."

Wait.

You know that voice.

You freeze somethere near the second row, and turn.

There, under the light of the projector, a familiar gaze slides down your figure, slowly taking you in. Your breath hitches as he smirks and slightly fixes the collar of his black turtleneck, and you swear something dark flashes on his pale skin.

Oh, well. If anyone should be telling you about art, it might as well be him. The soft curl of his hair, the gentle slide of his waist, the slight curve of his lips: everything about him almost hypnotizes you, calls to you like a siren song.

And you're ready to swallow your pride and quietly hide in the back row, apologizing profusely, but your eyes flicker up involuntary.

Your heart drops.

As if to make it worse, your friend chooses exactly that moment to whisper to you quietly, "Omg... It's him."

And the worst thing? He hears it. Of course he hears it.

The light softly reflect in his rimless glasses, as he smirks slowly, "There are some sits left at the front row. Why are you going so far away?"

You must be still under a spell, truly, one that was casted on you yesterday night, as you obediently find two sits at the front row, a little bit to the left (simultaneously giving you a nice view of his side profile). Unbearable silence stretches while the room is frozen in anticipation, and you nervously search your bag for any piece of paper and a pencil.

The later suddenly slips out of your trembling grip, but before you manage to embarrass yourself even more, a hand catches it. You forget how to breathe as the same guy quickly twirls the pencil between his slender fingers before placing it gently right at the center of your sheet.

"Well, once again," he catches your gaze, "for the newcomers. My name is Rafayel Qi, and I will be the speaker for today's lecture. Feel free to ask any questions."

He turns away, returning to his place at the pulpit, but before you can breathe out, he turns slightly, pure amusement in his eyes shining dangerously.

"Latecomers are kindly requested to come over after the lecture."

⋆ 𐙚 a.n. something short & sweet I was preparing for Rafayel's birthday, but forgot :(((

Professor Rafayel tho.... 🫦

[16llui]

Hello! I just wanted to let you know how much I adore your The crow's song series... I was rereading it again today... I know you haven't updated it in a while... But I still appreciate your work... Thank you so much for sharing it ❤️

Hiiii!!! I am so happy to hear it 🥺 Please know that I'm not giving up on it! It's very dear to me for many reasons + since April is Sylus's month, I'm hoping to step up again 🫡

Thank you for your support!! It means sooo much to me :)

[16llui]

Sometimes, when you feel like routine is starting to wear you out, and a mental breakdown is hanging like a heavy cloud somewhere over your head, you finally decide to relax a little. Some fun couldn't hurt you, right?

And for once you happily agree to your bestie's offer to drop by some shady club. (It's definitely not because you think she's going to explode if she postpones a "casual" meeting with a certain silver-haired situationship for another week. Yep. Who happens to be the owner of the club. Which for some reason she can't visit alone).

And so, because you are a kind soul, and a very impatient one, not to mention, you grab her the moment she ends her shift (poor girl works even on weekends, so naturally, you needed to spice up her dating life a little), and exactly two hours later you set out on your way to get the best out the Sunday night left.

But, as expected, your solitude doesn't last long, as the moment she brags how she managed to book you the last two seats for tomorrow's lecture on art history (the one you never expected to get to) (the one you were ready to die for) a familiar figure appears at your VIP table, not so apologetically whisking her away, sliding your reward across the table in return with a knowing nod.

The gleam of his black card matches the one in your eyes, and so you decide that today is the day you try something new.

And then, as expected, you enter your favorite part of the evening with music and some sweet cocktails as your only companions.

Or... not?

Somethere across the room, near the bar, you catch someone's gaze.

And suddenly you can't look back.

And the next morning, as your friend tries to bring you back to your senses, you learn that you, in fact, never did. Didn't stop at just looking, too. She tells you she had to physically remove you from some guy when she finally managed to find you two around midnight, and no matter how many obscene details she adds describing you being glued to his neck, it stirs no memories whatsoever.

Straight up no thought. Mind blank.

And she must be lying for sure, because you never drink that much, no matter how tempting the offer to max out the given card seems to you. And you never even come up to random guys, so for you to kiss him? You needed to be wasted. And, again, you never drink this much, so....

But there's no time to argue as you frantically get ready, and absolutely no chance to ask more later, when you manage to squeeze into the bus to the uni. And only as you try to slip into the lecture hall, seeing your visible confusion, she gently squeezes your hand and whispers, "Don't worry, I can probably just ask Sylus to look through the cameras. We'll find your Romeo in no time—"

"If you are late, ladies, try to keep quiet at least."

Wait.

You know that voice.

You freeze somethere near the second row, and turn.

There, under the light of the projector, a familiar gaze slides down your figure, slowly taking you in. Your breath hitches as he smirks and slightly fixes the collar of his black turtleneck, and you swear something dark flashes on his pale skin.

Oh, well. If anyone should be telling you about art, it might as well be him. The soft curl of his hair, the gentle slide of his waist, the slight curve of his lips: everything about him almost hypnotizes you, calls to you like a siren song.

And you're ready to swallow your pride and quietly hide in the back row, apologizing profusely, but your eyes flicker up involuntary.

Your heart drops.

As if to make it worse, your friend chooses exactly that moment to whisper to you quietly, "Omg... It's him."

And the worst thing? He hears it. Of course he hears it.

The light softly reflect in his rimless glasses, as he smirks slowly, "There are some sits left at the front row. Why are you going so far away?"

You must be still under a spell, truly, one that was casted on you yesterday night, as you obediently find two sits at the front row, a little bit to the left (simultaneously giving you a nice view of his side profile). Unbearable silence stretches while the room is frozen in anticipation, and you nervously search your bag for any piece of paper and a pencil.

The later suddenly slips out of your trembling grip, but before you manage to embarrass yourself even more, a hand catches it. You forget how to breathe as the same guy quickly twirls the pencil between his slender fingers before placing it gently right at the center of your sheet.

"Well, once again," he catches your gaze, "for the newcomers. My name is Rafayel Qi, and I will be the speaker for today's lecture. Feel free to ask any questions."

He turns away, returning to his place at the pulpit, but before you can breathe out, he turns slightly, pure amusement in his eyes shining dangerously.

"Latecomers are kindly requested to come over after the lecture."

⋆ 𐙚 a.n. something short & sweet I was preparing for Rafayel's birthday, but forgot :(((

Professor Rafayel tho.... 🫦

[16llui]

⋆ 𐙚 Caleb x reader, noble!AU, angst?

>>> pt. one

𝜗ৎ w.c. 4.1k

It's exactly three hours from the capital to your estate, four hours if you first need to escape the city center, and three more if you have an evening meeting you can't miss.

Exactly seven hours keeping you away from Caleb. There, in the future, are you still waiting for him?

Are you even...?

He sighs. The evening pulls on nerves, testing his patience. The hall is bright, bathed in the soft light of hundreds of candles, shining with a dance of too many smiles, voices and viands. Honestly, it's too big for a person not to get lost in, a tad bit too provoking to feel small and unnecessary among fine figures.

Out of habit, he cautiously tries to squeeze his right hand; a familiar resistance greets him, making him sigh once again.

What is even the point of being here?

Because yes, as a Colonel, as a renowned hero he's now highly valued in society, placed to sit near the host, even; but this familiar feeling still creeps up to him, slowly, unnervingly setting somewhere low in his stomach. Once again, Caleb feels like a decoration, an impressive trophy flaunted around. He had always thought that status would free him from the need to feign interest; now he knew that the need grew with the said status accordingly.

Can you even endure seven more hours?

Caleb thinks back to the morning, the letter's sharp corners still crisp in his palm, almost burning.

Were you hurt badly?

What would it cost him to be there then, to be with you? His pride, maybe? He had reveled in his freedom for so many years, stuck to this distance providing the sence of control. The thought suffocates him now, seeps into his heart with slow, heavy drops.

Has the attacker been caught yet?

Looking around, how's this any different from the Lady Monten's ball you mentioned? A business meeting? More like a feast in honor of another victory that none of them had a hand in. Dressed up, self-absorbed pricks.

Were there as many of them at the ball when you were attacked? Were they smiling as someone cornered you in a hall full of people? It wouldn't have mattered if he had been there, though.

How could this have happened? How could someone of your status have been left alone? No, this couldn't be just an attack on a noble lady; it has to be something personal, something between two people.

And oh, Caleb has already heard what society had to say.

It had only been a couple of days, but the gossip was already overwhelming: that a possible suspect, your longtime admirer, was involved in a political scandal, that you must have found out something you shouldn't have known and paid for it in return. Some insisted that you got out of control in your own game, lost yourself in your own circle of intrigues. They painted an image of an insidious woman, proving that you had always been secretive and calculating before— for what else if not to hide your own sinister intentions? Others lamented how unfortunate it was that a tragedy happened to such a kind soul; if not for the rejection, they sighned, there might have been someone to stand up to you.

And sometimes, between laments and sighs, someone would sneer: oh, but you must be alive, and just leading everyone on.

Caleb believed none of it, but he certainly harbored hope for the latter.

Who did you reject, though?

Because if it is who he thinks it is, things are simply not adding up. Because among all of your suitors (and it's not like Caleb is keeping count) there is only one with the needed amount of power and pettiness to commit something alike, and the only one, who happened to attend the said ball too; but Lord Wallies is a man of principle, and of strong beliefs, too, with a short temper long left behind in his youth — very unlikely to act up even due to a sudden rejection.

But he still was prideful though...

And he was a part of opposition.

So what was he even doing there, compromising himself like that on the event almost completely funded by the royal family?

The questions multiply in his head, buzzing like a disturbed swarm. The fact of death has not been officially confirmed, but people definitely saw blood, and a lot, and your estate remained stubbornly silent, suppressing any questions. Some supposed that the county must be quietly preparing for the funeral.

By the time the last toast is raised, it's well past midnight, and Caleb feels the chance of seeing you again fading away as the wine in the cups go.

Why is he still here? Is it worth it? Is this the freedom he ran away from you for?

His mind fogs up suddenly; he doesn't remember getting up from the table, or how someone called out to him as he passed the wide columns at the entrance, out of breath.

Because as his hands tremble on the reins, Caleb still can't think about anything else,

but you.

...

It's already sunrise when the roofs of your estate finally rise above the hills, like silver awakened by the sun itself, covered in soft fog.

Inside, everything is unusually quiet and motionless, as if time had not touched this place at all. This stability always weighed on Caleb; constancy confused him, made him doubt his position, his powers. Here he was always too young and harsh, too inconsiderate in his desires.

And even though he had trully grown up far from these walls, but one glance — and he is eighteen again, and behind the cover of ivy at the far wall your voice is barely audible, but insistent and direct. Your eyes are shiny as you gaze up at him, and on your tongue are the same words: "From now on, you will be truly free, Caleb. Free from your duty in here, from this walls, from..." you avert your eyes for a moment and smile bitterly, "...from me."

And you are on the verge of tears when he struggles to interfere, because during so many years he had never seen you crying, and it unsettles him, feels wrong, and-

And you press on, unknowingly twisting the knife even deeper, "But I want you to know, Caleb. You don't have to return here because it weights on you; because you owe me. You— you don't," your voice betrays you, so the next words come out breathless, almost a whisper, "I just want you to remember. Indulge me, for the last time".

And he never got to ask in what exactly: because as his brows furrow, betraying his confusion, you stop talking at all.

The last thing Caleb remembers is your lips, suddenly warm and soft on his, pressing shyly, but stubbornly. He remembers how you suddenly become so small to him, so delicate in your attempt to reach his height.

He had never understood why you didn't come to see him off; now the purpose lays clear — he did remember, after all.

...

Your room is on the third floor, with a nice view overlooking the garden and a small part of the training grounds.

Caleb knows it well — he's felt your silent gaze on him far more than once.

It's easy for him to slip by the guards, easy to follow the way he knows by heart. But it's one thing to find your room, tucked a little to the left near the staircase in the east wing;

to find it silent and empty is another, however.

The air is still inside, almost weighted, like the window was left closed for days.

No, that just can't be true.

His pulse jumps and an unfamiliar panic rolls over Caleb, heavy, ringing in his ears. It's— it's that the room is too dark, he can't even see properly; yes, the moment he opens the curtain, all will fall right into place. There is no way you are really—

Dim light abruptly fills the bedroom, cold and silent as it falls directly on the canopy of your bed. Desperate, he pulls it aside, too.

It's empty.

No— no, it can't be happening to him-

The war has long ended, and Caleb hoped that he would never experience it again- that feeling, that overwhelming feeling of helplessness before the loss.

He takes a few steps back, taking the room in one last time, hoping he missed something, but to no avail: once so familiarly warm, it feels void now, scraped clean of your existence. There's no books on your bedside table, no dresses hanging from the screen near your wardrobe, no drawings on the walls.

Was everything put away after you— no, no that can't be—

Next step back greets him with something cold by his nake, and Caleb winces, turning around in one swift motion, and freezes, forgetting how to breathe.

Your eyes are as sharp as the blade of your sword by his throat, tired but piercing as you silently gaze up at him.

He gasps, "You —"

"Caleb?" your eyes widen as you take a step back yourself, lowering the blade slightly, still too cautious to put it away completely.

He feels his throat dry up.

You are alive.

"Why? You— You can't be here—" Your voice comes out too quiet, full of hesitance and confusion, and he reaches a hand to soothe your almost instinctively. You don't oblige him, however, and Caleb holds his breath as you raise the sword a little higher once again. It shines as the first rays of sunlight catch on its surface, and his eyes follow down, all the way to your tightly clasped hands. Your knuckles are almost white from the tension, but still, your hands don't shake. Caleb furrows his brows.

You can't be used to the weight, can you?

"What are you doing here, Lord Xia? Don't make me repeat myself." Oh, that hurts. Your voice is weirdly unfamiliar when you talk like that, he notices; the title only adds to the weight, drawing the line clear. You used to talk like that to noisy servants.

He hadn't heard it in years.

"Lord Xia —"

"You... you're alive," he whispers.

"What are you doing here?" your breath comes out uneven, and Caleb stiffens at the way you purse your lips, a telltale sign of your patience slipping away. You look afraid and lost, like his appearance here is something unlikely, wrong, and he feels like he needs to calm you down to stop this.

"Wait, look— I didn't mean to scare you," he forces himself to say something, bracing the ringing in his ears as relief mixed with confusion rolls over him in one strong, overwhelming wave.

"When why are you here, Caleb?" you press on, still on guard and panting, "Why are you in the middle of my room, in my estate, in ungodly hours of the night?! What am I to think?!" You search his eyes, "Tell me!"

It dawns on him that you must be still living off the aftershocks of the accident, torn and restless, because no, there's just no way... you can't be afraid of him.

This time you make a step back, as if slipping away, and the next words that suddenly leave him are rushed, desperate.

"I came to see you."

You pause.

His voice seems too calm for you liking, and Caleb watches as your eyes widen, the realization sinking in. You grin then, cruel and almost mad, something he never saw you doing, and lower your sword slowly.

"Oh, did you, now?" you straighten up, shuddering slightly, and shift your weight to one side, using the sword as a support. It digs slightly into the floor, but you pay it no mind, almost entertained, "And what made you do it, exactly?" you tilt your head slightly. "Am I suddenly too good to loose when my life is at risk?"

He wants to protest, but you continue, tilting your head.

"Don't tell me you pity me, Xia."

It sounds terribly like truth, even though he knows it's not only that that brought him here.

No, it's a lie, for sure. But the real thing feels too scary to confess, even more terrifying in its core; he can't just admit something so overwhelming at once, so he stays silent, only urging you further.

"Oh? You are?" you pick up the sword again, slowly approaching him. A soft rasp fills the room, sharp and unsettling. "But I don't need it. I don't need you checking in on me from time to time. I haven't been a part of your responsibilities for a long time, don't act like I am and please, leave me out of this."

You come even closer, the distance so small he could feel your breath on his skin.

"Why are you here? Why did you come, Caleb?" you whisper.

"I thought you— I just wanted to see you." And everything falls at once. You expression breaks, pure outrage clouding your eyes, and you twist your hand on his collar, yanking him down. Your sword crashes to the floor in one fast, careless motion, as you press a finger to his chest, firm and accusing, too sudden for him to react.

"You wanted to see me?! You? Oh no, Caleb, you wanted to see that everything is still alright, that you still have control under the situation!" you yank him again, even harder. "But the thing is, you don't. Because I'm not your duty anymore, even if you treat me like one."

"I do not treat you like that—" he tries to free your hand from his shirt, agitated.

"But you only ever show up if you feel like you need to! Be it obligation or your wounded dignity, I don't even care!" Tears stream down your cheeks, unwanted and unstoppable, and he feels like he's suddenly drowning, unarmed before them.

Because it must be the tears, the way your eyes are finally full of emotions, how your hair is parted today — all making you seem smaller, more vulnerable than before; you almost remind him of his sister, when she would complain about her loneliness, eyes red as she told him how other girls her age did not want to play with her.

"I almost died, Caleb! I- I almost died and you come here to see me? I waited for you for... for so many years, and it's my supposed death that makes you come here? To check?" you turn away and try to free your hand up, but he squeezes it even harder, moving it from the crumpled colar to his beating heart.

And, just because he can't help himself, because he is used to always having the last word, because he needs to resist you, like it always been before, Caleb doesn't even register the words that slip him in an attempt to justify himself.

"You say that now, but it wasn't my decision to suddenly go away to the other side of the Empire, no?" you take in a sharp breath, and slowly look up at him, stunned. "Or was it me who woke up one day and decided it was enough, because everything become boring overnight? You accuse me of treating you like a duty, but admit it, it was you who drew a clear line between us! You who didn't want to see someone out of noble bearing next to you, so you sent me away to try and acquire it," Caleb feels your pulse quicken ander his palm, restless rhythm matching his heart.

Fighting with you seems like something wrong, inappropriate, but you're alive, and it's too thrilling for him to just accept silently.

"But I'm not your loyal dog anymore and-

The ringing sound of a slap reverberates in the predawn silence, and you both fall silent, equally stunned.

You look at him then, really look, and he feels pinned under the calculating pressure of your gaze. There is something in your eyes once again, this wandering edge, like you are thinking other your next step, but it's gone before he can properly catch it, buried under a new flood of tears.

You take another step back, then another and another, trying to feel the surface of the dressing table with your hand. He watches you wince as soon as you sit down on the settee next to it, pressing a hand to your left side.

Two small bloodstains silently appear on the snow-white nightgown.

For a few moments you just sit there, quietly trying to rein your sobbing. You still do a poor job at that.

"You know, Caleb, there are things that even status can't hide," you are looking away from him now, down and out the window. At the training grounds, it seems.

"Even if you're noble now, there are some things you perhaps... just can't grasp. I should have realized it sooner."

"What do you mean?"

You don't answer directly and just shrug, wincing again.

"Imagine you fall in love with somebody and you really, really want to tell them. But you can't," you lower your eyes as you pick on the settee's velvety trim, "And not even because it is inappropriate, through it surely is, but because you know the answer already and you know that you would only ruin everything."

"So you don't." A small ribbon rips off the ruffles and you clench it into a fist, "You don't and you just pretend nobody knows. You look for excuses, try to buy some time, hope it will pay off."

"But of course, you can't wait forever and you can't torment others forever. So you gather all the strength you have left, grit your teeth and make a deal. A ticket to a new life for a certain someone in exchange for an indefinite service. Debts for a new chance of equality."

"And then you wait again, and some more, and a little bit longer, until there almost none of your time left."

"All that just to find out the person you did it for thinks you just got disposed of him."

And even though he can't see his reflection in your eyes now, when he meets them again, Caleb feels like he is not ready for what comes next. The sound of blood in his ears drowns all else, making it difficult to think straight.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, something in him surely breaks as you wipe away the tears, sobbing softly.

"What do you think is easier, Caleb: to find some unfortunate nobleman who owes you, and, promising to forgive his debt, force him to adopt someone so that you can fake pregnancy and marry him, or,—" you sob again, even harder this time, your body shaking with it, "or, knowing how reckless it is for you, to make a deal for the opportunity to send him to a prestigious academy, from which he may not just not return to you, but as practice has shown, he may not return at all? What would you choose?!"

Your gaze flickers across his face, searching for something only you can get. He doesn't know if he wants you to find it yet, though, and not a word comes to mind to answer you.

He hears and understands every word you say, gets the hint; but putting it all together still feel impossible under the stubborn pounding of his heart.

What exactly did you do to place him in the academy? You were so young, which means that any kind of power would hardly have been available to you. What did you do then, so many years ago, to ensure this for him?

Because yes, you may have been very young, but he was too, so why didn't he ask you about it?

Wearily, you cover your eyes with your palms and turn away, curling into yourself slightly. A thin chain slips from under the collar of your nightgown, shining cautiously with a poisonous-yellow topaz. A gift from the ruling family, forever present on you since your sixteenth birthday.

No, something's definitely wrong; he can't just lose his grip. During all these years, you haven't been able to convince him, so why now...?

Still, he takes a step closer.

"Is that's why you've been attacked? Does it has something to do with me?" He watches as some more tears roll down your hands, and softens, quietly kneeling next to you.

It's not an interrogation.

"Hey, don't hide from me, please," he reaches for your hand and slowly lowers it; you surprisingly let him, eyes following from there he holds you and up to his face, again.

And that look of yours, tired and teary, with eyes slightly red from crying, the way your lips quiver to stop the sobbing, it all surely do something to him. He always has been so weak before women crying, be it his sister or his worried grandmother, but yours feel different, almost make him grow hot.

It's him who you are crying over. He who makes you this emotional, him who you worry about. It feels like it only ever been him, and it both scares and thrills him.

Do you even know how it affects him, he wonders?

"It’s not," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes. "I- I can't blame you for this. You don't have to follow me around, Caleb. I just needed to be smarter."

"Do you know who it was? Is it that Lord? Wallies, or something?" it feels wrong to inquire, but his appearance itself was very suspicious, as much as your reaction, as you slightly stiffen, grasping his hand.

"I don't know... I doubt he is involved, honestly. I know he must be under suspicion since we arrived together, but I don't want to jump to conclusions, Caleb." Something in your world makes him displeased, so he presses on, eager to find out the truth.

"Together? Did he invite you? Or was it you who invited him? Because in that case—"

"Can we not talk about this right now, Caleb?" you beg. "I thought you understood how unpredictable nobles can be, now that you're part of this environment... But that's not the point, right? You are still afraid of me."

"Every time I think things are about to get better, similar things happen. Do you know what it's like to be a woman in charge of a county? When you are seen not as a person, but only as an incredibly profitable match? A stupid girl who just can't survive without a husband?!" You tremble, unable to free yourself from his grasp. More tears roll down your cheeks, and Caleb wolfishly follows each one.

"I just don't understand. What am I doing wrong? I just want someone to understand me. Someone to keep my secrets so I can keep theirs."

You bend over slightly and rest your head on his forearm, gently wrapping your arm around it, cautious, as if testing the waters. You're so careful and warm that it feels like all the heat is gathered right at the the very tips of your fingers. He can almost feel them through his clothes, right on his skin.

But you can't possibly know that this is the arm he was wounded in, can you?

"Is it really that hard to just be on my side?" you whisper, pressing even closer to him.

And Caleb feels that this is the moment when everything has to be decided. His will crumbles, and the answer arises by itself, clear and obvious, as if someone is gently leading him by the hand to this decision. He doesn't feel any doubt, and you, here, very-very close, closer than you ever been before, are clearly not something to be afraid of.

But something still looms over him, a vague sense of a point of no return. Something inside is still stubbornly pulling back.

Caleb tells himself that it must be just wounded pride.

"I'm on your side."

You sigh shakily, unable to control yourself, and Caleb pulls you even closer, head spinning at the thought that you easily allow it to him. Cling even closer even, burying your face in his neck, your breath right at his pulse point.

Caleb takes one last look at you, soaking up the warmth of your body, and closes his eyes.

...

The sun slowly slips through the open curtains, promising the beginning of a new day. One of the rays hits the mirror by the dressing table, and you look up, catching your own gaze.

Despite the tears, the smile on your face is too pleased, so you quietly hide it in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. Your pulse jumps as you press impossibly closer, and it's not just his scent that makes your head spin, almost intoxicating.

You look at you both for the last time and close your eyes, sighing.

Got you.

⋆ 𐙚 a.n. hi guys!!! guess what? ohhh omg I was writing this part for soooo long... been trying so hard to make it interesting for you, so i hope the wait was worth it and you were able to find all the clues to what really happened :) waiting for your comments to discuss!! 💋💋

tags #

@fiendsgf @starry-riri @kisa-kara-chan @nm4565natty @brailsthesmolgurl @twismare @tarzanathetumblingwarrior @gavin3469 @calebsnumberoneapple @sylusbigapples @his-ocean-emissary @abbylee0710 @vellihor @chiikasevennn @lh1a @bluerosejuliet @tediouslyboredoflife @brutallynimbleeidolon @krasuee @sirenpearldust @poptrim @multisstuff @peachmartini @maryy237 @thekingswin @kaz4tora @nirichu @toorurio

[16llui]

didn't mention it in the original post, but this song helped me greatly to complete the second part 👀

the melancholic atmosphere & lyrics fit soo well, so you might want to give it a try to see the story from a new perspective, perhaps :)

[16llui]

THAT CALEB NOVEL!AU HIT THE RIGHT SPOT!! I CANT WAIT FOR PART 2😩 IT’S MANDATORY TO VISIT UR PROFILE EVERYDAY IN CASE U UPDATE LMAO. IM SO EXCITED😋

forgot to answer that omg.... sorry sorry the part is out 😭

[sunsetagain]

"To be honest, I like it too... especially when I'm the glass."

[16llui]

⋆ 𐙚 Caleb x reader, noble!AU, angst?

>>> pt. one

𝜗ৎ w.c. 4.1k

It's exactly three hours from the capital to your estate, four hours if you first need to escape the city center, and three more if you have an evening meeting you can't miss.

Exactly seven hours keeping you away from Caleb. There, in the future, are you still waiting for him?

Are you even...?

He sighs. The evening pulls on nerves, testing his patience. The hall is bright, bathed in the soft light of hundreds of candles, shining with a dance of too many smiles, voices and viands. Honestly, it's too big for a person not to get lost in, a tad bit too provoking to feel small and unnecessary among fine figures.

Out of habit, he cautiously tries to squeeze his right hand; a familiar resistance greets him, making him sigh once again.

What is even the point of being here?

Because yes, as a Colonel, as a renowned hero he's now highly valued in society, placed to sit near the host, even; but this familiar feeling still creeps up to him, slowly, unnervingly setting somewhere low in his stomach. Once again, Caleb feels like a decoration, an impressive trophy flaunted around. He had always thought that status would free him from the need to feign interest; now he knew that the need grew with the said status accordingly.

Can you even endure seven more hours?

Caleb thinks back to the morning, the letter's sharp corners still crisp in his palm, almost burning.

Were you hurt badly?

What would it cost him to be there then, to be with you? His pride, maybe? He had reveled in his freedom for so many years, stuck to this distance providing the sence of control. The thought suffocates him now, seeps into his heart with slow, heavy drops.

Has the attacker been caught yet?

Looking around, how's this any different from the Lady Monten's ball you mentioned? A business meeting? More like a feast in honor of another victory that none of them had a hand in. Dressed up, self-absorbed pricks.

Were there as many of them at the ball when you were attacked? Were they smiling as someone cornered you in a hall full of people? It wouldn't have mattered if he had been there, though.

How could this have happened? How could someone of your status have been left alone? No, this couldn't be just an attack on a noble lady; it has to be something personal, something between two people.

And oh, Caleb has already heard what society had to say.

It had only been a couple of days, but the gossip was already overwhelming: that a possible suspect, your longtime admirer, was involved in a political scandal, that you must have found out something you shouldn't have known and paid for it in return. Some insisted that you got out of control in your own game, lost yourself in your own circle of intrigues. They painted an image of an insidious woman, proving that you had always been secretive and calculating before— for what else if not to hide your own sinister intentions? Others lamented how unfortunate it was that a tragedy happened to such a kind soul; if not for the rejection, they sighned, there might have been someone to stand up to you.

And sometimes, between laments and sighs, someone would sneer: oh, but you must be alive, and just leading everyone on.

Caleb believed none of it, but he certainly harbored hope for the latter.

Who did you reject, though?

Because if it is who he thinks it is, things are simply not adding up. Because among all of your suitors (and it's not like Caleb is keeping count) there is only one with the needed amount of power and pettiness to commit something alike, and the only one, who happened to attend the said ball too; but Lord Wallies is a man of principle, and of strong beliefs, too, with a short temper long left behind in his youth — very unlikely to act up even due to a sudden rejection.

But he still was prideful though...

And he was a part of opposition.

So what was he even doing there, compromising himself like that on the event almost completely funded by the royal family?

The questions multiply in his head, buzzing like a disturbed swarm. The fact of death has not been officially confirmed, but people definitely saw blood, and a lot, and your estate remained stubbornly silent, suppressing any questions. Some supposed that the county must be quietly preparing for the funeral.

By the time the last toast is raised, it's well past midnight, and Caleb feels the chance of seeing you again fading away as the wine in the cups go.

Why is he still here? Is it worth it? Is this the freedom he ran away from you for?

His mind fogs up suddenly; he doesn't remember getting up from the table, or how someone called out to him as he passed the wide columns at the entrance, out of breath.

Because as his hands tremble on the reins, Caleb still can't think about anything else,

but you.

...

It's already sunrise when the roofs of your estate finally rise above the hills, like silver awakened by the sun itself, covered in soft fog.

Inside, everything is unusually quiet and motionless, as if time had not touched this place at all. This stability always weighed on Caleb; constancy confused him, made him doubt his position, his powers. Here he was always too young and harsh, too inconsiderate in his desires.

And even though he had trully grown up far from these walls, but one glance — and he is eighteen again, and behind the cover of ivy at the far wall your voice is barely audible, but insistent and direct. Your eyes are shiny as you gaze up at him, and on your tongue are the same words: "From now on, you will be truly free, Caleb. Free from your duty in here, from this walls, from..." you avert your eyes for a moment and smile bitterly, "...from me."

And you are on the verge of tears when he struggles to interfere, because during so many years he had never seen you crying, and it unsettles him, feels wrong, and-

And you press on, unknowingly twisting the knife even deeper, "But I want you to know, Caleb. You don't have to return here because it weights on you; because you owe me. You— you don't," your voice betrays you, so the next words come out breathless, almost a whisper, "I just want you to remember. Indulge me, for the last time".

And he never got to ask in what exactly: because as his brows furrow, betraying his confusion, you stop talking at all.

The last thing Caleb remembers is your lips, suddenly warm and soft on his, pressing shyly, but stubbornly. He remembers how you suddenly become so small to him, so delicate in your attempt to reach his height.

He had never understood why you didn't come to see him off; now the purpose lays clear — he did remember, after all.

...

Your room is on the third floor, with a nice view overlooking the garden and a small part of the training grounds.

Caleb knows it well — he's felt your silent gaze on him far more than once.

It's easy for him to slip by the guards, easy to follow the way he knows by heart. But it's one thing to find your room, tucked a little to the left near the staircase in the east wing;

to find it silent and empty is another, however.

The air is still inside, almost weighted, like the window was left closed for days.

No, that just can't be true.

His pulse jumps and an unfamiliar panic rolls over Caleb, heavy, ringing in his ears. It's— it's that the room is too dark, he can't even see properly; yes, the moment he opens the curtain, all will fall right into place. There is no way you are really—

Dim light abruptly fills the bedroom, cold and silent as it falls directly on the canopy of your bed. Desperate, he pulls it aside, too.

It's empty.

No— no, it can't be happening to him-

The war has long ended, and Caleb hoped that he would never experience it again- that feeling, that overwhelming feeling of helplessness before the loss.

He takes a few steps back, taking the room in one last time, hoping he missed something, but to no avail: once so familiarly warm, it feels void now, scraped clean of your existence. There's no books on your bedside table, no dresses hanging from the screen near your wardrobe, no drawings on the walls.

Was everything put away after you— no, no that can't be—

Next step back greets him with something cold by his nake, and Caleb winces, turning around in one swift motion, and freezes, forgetting how to breathe.

Your eyes are as sharp as the blade of your sword by his throat, tired but piercing as you silently gaze up at him.

He gasps, "You —"

"Caleb?" your eyes widen as you take a step back yourself, lowering the blade slightly, still too cautious to put it away completely.

He feels his throat dry up.

You are alive.

"Why? You— You can't be here—" Your voice comes out too quiet, full of hesitance and confusion, and he reaches a hand to soothe your almost instinctively. You don't oblige him, however, and Caleb holds his breath as you raise the sword a little higher once again. It shines as the first rays of sunlight catch on its surface, and his eyes follow down, all the way to your tightly clasped hands. Your knuckles are almost white from the tension, but still, your hands don't shake. Caleb furrows his brows.

You can't be used to the weight, can you?

"What are you doing here, Lord Xia? Don't make me repeat myself." Oh, that hurts. Your voice is weirdly unfamiliar when you talk like that, he notices; the title only adds to the weight, drawing the line clear. You used to talk like that to noisy servants.

He hadn't heard it in years.

"Lord Xia —"

"You... you're alive," he whispers.

"What are you doing here?" your breath comes out uneven, and Caleb stiffens at the way you purse your lips, a telltale sign of your patience slipping away. You look afraid and lost, like his appearance here is something unlikely, wrong, and he feels like he needs to calm you down to stop this.

"Wait, look— I didn't mean to scare you," he forces himself to say something, bracing the ringing in his ears as relief mixed with confusion rolls over him in one strong, overwhelming wave.

"When why are you here, Caleb?" you press on, still on guard and panting, "Why are you in the middle of my room, in my estate, in ungodly hours of the night?! What am I to think?!" You search his eyes, "Tell me!"

It dawns on him that you must be still living off the aftershocks of the accident, torn and restless, because no, there's just no way... you can't be afraid of him.

This time you make a step back, as if slipping away, and the next words that suddenly leave him are rushed, desperate.

"I came to see you."

You pause.

His voice seems too calm for you liking, and Caleb watches as your eyes widen, the realization sinking in. You grin then, cruel and almost mad, something he never saw you doing, and lower your sword slowly.

"Oh, did you, now?" you straighten up, shuddering slightly, and shift your weight to one side, using the sword as a support. It digs slightly into the floor, but you pay it no mind, almost entertained, "And what made you do it, exactly?" you tilt your head slightly. "Am I suddenly too good to loose when my life is at risk?"

He wants to protest, but you continue, tilting your head.

"Don't tell me you pity me, Xia."

It sounds terribly like truth, even though he knows it's not only that that brought him here.

No, it's a lie, for sure. But the real thing feels too scary to confess, even more terrifying in its core; he can't just admit something so overwhelming at once, so he stays silent, only urging you further.

"Oh? You are?" you pick up the sword again, slowly approaching him. A soft rasp fills the room, sharp and unsettling. "But I don't need it. I don't need you checking in on me from time to time. I haven't been a part of your responsibilities for a long time, don't act like I am and please, leave me out of this."

You come even closer, the distance so small he could feel your breath on his skin.

"Why are you here? Why did you come, Caleb?" you whisper.

"I thought you— I just wanted to see you." And everything falls at once. You expression breaks, pure outrage clouding your eyes, and you twist your hand on his collar, yanking him down. Your sword crashes to the floor in one fast, careless motion, as you press a finger to his chest, firm and accusing, too sudden for him to react.

"You wanted to see me?! You? Oh no, Caleb, you wanted to see that everything is still alright, that you still have control under the situation!" you yank him again, even harder. "But the thing is, you don't. Because I'm not your duty anymore, even if you treat me like one."

"I do not treat you like that—" he tries to free your hand from his shirt, agitated.

"But you only ever show up if you feel like you need to! Be it obligation or your wounded dignity, I don't even care!" Tears stream down your cheeks, unwanted and unstoppable, and he feels like he's suddenly drowning, unarmed before them.

Because it must be the tears, the way your eyes are finally full of emotions, how your hair is parted today — all making you seem smaller, more vulnerable than before; you almost remind him of his sister, when she would complain about her loneliness, eyes red as she told him how other girls her age did not want to play with her.

"I almost died, Caleb! I- I almost died and you come here to see me? I waited for you for... for so many years, and it's my supposed death that makes you come here? To check?" you turn away and try to free your hand up, but he squeezes it even harder, moving it from the crumpled colar to his beating heart.

And, just because he can't help himself, because he is used to always having the last word, because he needs to resist you, like it always been before, Caleb doesn't even register the words that slip him in an attempt to justify himself.

"You say that now, but it wasn't my decision to suddenly go away to the other side of the Empire, no?" you take in a sharp breath, and slowly look up at him, stunned. "Or was it me who woke up one day and decided it was enough, because everything become boring overnight? You accuse me of treating you like a duty, but admit it, it was you who drew a clear line between us! You who didn't want to see someone out of noble bearing next to you, so you sent me away to try and acquire it," Caleb feels your pulse quicken ander his palm, restless rhythm matching his heart.

Fighting with you seems like something wrong, inappropriate, but you're alive, and it's too thrilling for him to just accept silently.

"But I'm not your loyal dog anymore and-

The ringing sound of a slap reverberates in the predawn silence, and you both fall silent, equally stunned.

You look at him then, really look, and he feels pinned under the calculating pressure of your gaze. There is something in your eyes once again, this wandering edge, like you are thinking other your next step, but it's gone before he can properly catch it, buried under a new flood of tears.

You take another step back, then another and another, trying to feel the surface of the dressing table with your hand. He watches you wince as soon as you sit down on the settee next to it, pressing a hand to your left side.

Two small bloodstains silently appear on the snow-white nightgown.

For a few moments you just sit there, quietly trying to rein your sobbing. You still do a poor job at that.

"You know, Caleb, there are things that even status can't hide," you are looking away from him now, down and out the window. At the training grounds, it seems.

"Even if you're noble now, there are some things you perhaps... just can't grasp. I should have realized it sooner."

"What do you mean?"

You don't answer directly and just shrug, wincing again.

"Imagine you fall in love with somebody and you really, really want to tell them. But you can't," you lower your eyes as you pick on the settee's velvety trim, "And not even because it is inappropriate, through it surely is, but because you know the answer already and you know that you would only ruin everything."

"So you don't." A small ribbon rips off the ruffles and you clench it into a fist, "You don't and you just pretend nobody knows. You look for excuses, try to buy some time, hope it will pay off."

"But of course, you can't wait forever and you can't torment others forever. So you gather all the strength you have left, grit your teeth and make a deal. A ticket to a new life for a certain someone in exchange for an indefinite service. Debts for a new chance of equality."

"And then you wait again, and some more, and a little bit longer, until there almost none of your time left."

"All that just to find out the person you did it for thinks you just got disposed of him."

And even though he can't see his reflection in your eyes now, when he meets them again, Caleb feels like he is not ready for what comes next. The sound of blood in his ears drowns all else, making it difficult to think straight.

Even if he doesn't want to admit it, something in him surely breaks as you wipe away the tears, sobbing softly.

"What do you think is easier, Caleb: to find some unfortunate nobleman who owes you, and, promising to forgive his debt, force him to adopt someone so that you can fake pregnancy and marry him, or,—" you sob again, even harder this time, your body shaking with it, "or, knowing how reckless it is for you, to make a deal for the opportunity to send him to a prestigious academy, from which he may not just not return to you, but as practice has shown, he may not return at all? What would you choose?!"

Your gaze flickers across his face, searching for something only you can get. He doesn't know if he wants you to find it yet, though, and not a word comes to mind to answer you.

He hears and understands every word you say, gets the hint; but putting it all together still feel impossible under the stubborn pounding of his heart.

What exactly did you do to place him in the academy? You were so young, which means that any kind of power would hardly have been available to you. What did you do then, so many years ago, to ensure this for him?

Because yes, you may have been very young, but he was too, so why didn't he ask you about it?

Wearily, you cover your eyes with your palms and turn away, curling into yourself slightly. A thin chain slips from under the collar of your nightgown, shining cautiously with a poisonous-yellow topaz. A gift from the ruling family, forever present on you since your sixteenth birthday.

No, something's definitely wrong; he can't just lose his grip. During all these years, you haven't been able to convince him, so why now...?

Still, he takes a step closer.

"Is that's why you've been attacked? Does it has something to do with me?" He watches as some more tears roll down your hands, and softens, quietly kneeling next to you.

It's not an interrogation.

"Hey, don't hide from me, please," he reaches for your hand and slowly lowers it; you surprisingly let him, eyes following from there he holds you and up to his face, again.

And that look of yours, tired and teary, with eyes slightly red from crying, the way your lips quiver to stop the sobbing, it all surely do something to him. He always has been so weak before women crying, be it his sister or his worried grandmother, but yours feel different, almost make him grow hot.

It's him who you are crying over. He who makes you this emotional, him who you worry about. It feels like it only ever been him, and it both scares and thrills him.

Do you even know how it affects him, he wonders?

"It’s not," you murmur, looking at him through your lashes. "I- I can't blame you for this. You don't have to follow me around, Caleb. I just needed to be smarter."

"Do you know who it was? Is it that Lord? Wallies, or something?" it feels wrong to inquire, but his appearance itself was very suspicious, as much as your reaction, as you slightly stiffen, grasping his hand.

"I don't know... I doubt he is involved, honestly. I know he must be under suspicion since we arrived together, but I don't want to jump to conclusions, Caleb." Something in your world makes him displeased, so he presses on, eager to find out the truth.

"Together? Did he invite you? Or was it you who invited him? Because in that case—"

"Can we not talk about this right now, Caleb?" you beg. "I thought you understood how unpredictable nobles can be, now that you're part of this environment... But that's not the point, right? You are still afraid of me."

"Every time I think things are about to get better, similar things happen. Do you know what it's like to be a woman in charge of a county? When you are seen not as a person, but only as an incredibly profitable match? A stupid girl who just can't survive without a husband?!" You tremble, unable to free yourself from his grasp. More tears roll down your cheeks, and Caleb wolfishly follows each one.

"I just don't understand. What am I doing wrong? I just want someone to understand me. Someone to keep my secrets so I can keep theirs."

You bend over slightly and rest your head on his forearm, gently wrapping your arm around it, cautious, as if testing the waters. You're so careful and warm that it feels like all the heat is gathered right at the the very tips of your fingers. He can almost feel them through his clothes, right on his skin.

But you can't possibly know that this is the arm he was wounded in, can you?

"Is it really that hard to just be on my side?" you whisper, pressing even closer to him.

And Caleb feels that this is the moment when everything has to be decided. His will crumbles, and the answer arises by itself, clear and obvious, as if someone is gently leading him by the hand to this decision. He doesn't feel any doubt, and you, here, very-very close, closer than you ever been before, are clearly not something to be afraid of.

But something still looms over him, a vague sense of a point of no return. Something inside is still stubbornly pulling back.

Caleb tells himself that it must be just wounded pride.

"I'm on your side."

You sigh shakily, unable to control yourself, and Caleb pulls you even closer, head spinning at the thought that you easily allow it to him. Cling even closer even, burying your face in his neck, your breath right at his pulse point.

Caleb takes one last look at you, soaking up the warmth of your body, and closes his eyes.

...

The sun slowly slips through the open curtains, promising the beginning of a new day. One of the rays hits the mirror by the dressing table, and you look up, catching your own gaze.

Despite the tears, the smile on your face is too pleased, so you quietly hide it in the crook of his neck, breathing him in. Your pulse jumps as you press impossibly closer, and it's not just his scent that makes your head spin, almost intoxicating.

You look at you both for the last time and close your eyes, sighing.

Got you.

⋆ 𐙚 a.n. hi guys!!! guess what? ohhh omg I was writing this part for soooo long... been trying so hard to make it interesting for you, so i hope the wait was worth it and you were able to find all the clues to what really happened :) waiting for your comments to discuss!! 💋💋

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