— Freckles ?!
summary. You adore Caleb’s freckles. He doesn’t. note. Yes, me realizing Caleb Xia has freckles.
Caleb runs a hand over his face as he stares at his mirror. His frown deepens the longer he looks at himself. The marks that dot his face are the subject of his gaze. He isn't fond of them. Not really, not after he got multiple hurtful remarks over it as he grew up.
He does his best to not bring attention to it the older he gets. It became a habit to cover his face often, when he laughs, when he smiles, when people tend to stare at him a bit too much.
But you were vocal about how much you liked his freckles.
When you were younger, you raved about them, wishing you had your own. He didn’t see the appeal, but he liked it when you stuck your face close to his and admired the dots.
He loved it when you ran your hands over his face, brows furrowed as you murmured about how cute it was. If that made him flush 50 shades of red, then you didn’t notice.
You’re still obsessed with them, years later.
Even when he doesn’t understand why, staring at the mirror in the early morning or late night, trying to make sense of what made the small dots on his face endearing to you when to him it was just an insecurity. Brows furrowed, lips turned down as he judged his own appearance.
He hears your footsteps before he sees you. The soft, familiar manner of your feet on the floor– something he could recognize anywhere. You were looking for something in the bedroom, with the way you were opening and closing drawers like you were on a mission.
When you open the door to the bathroom, your voice echoing against the tiles, he didn’t move from his place in front of the mirror. “Caleb, have you seen my eyeliner? The new one that I just got this week?”
Your reflection appears behind him, searching around the bathroom, still in his hoodie and when your gaze lands on him, you see the small flicker in his gaze.
You frown. “What are you doing?”
“Nothing.” He mumbled, a bit too quickly than he hoped.
Your eyes narrow immediately.
Caleb looks away first.
The silence stretches for a moment. It's the silence that exists between two people that know each other too well, and in the way you stare at him through the mirror, Caleb knew you always clocked him.
Your arms cross over your chest, and he avoids your gaze, fixing it on anywhere but your reflection. The sink, the faucet– and the eyeliner you were looking for hidden behind the toothbrush cup.
That alone tells you enough about what he was doing in front of the mirror, and you sigh. Quietly. “Caleb.”
“Mhm?”
“What were you doing?”
“Nothing.”
Your frown deepens. His gaze moves to you for only a split second, before you catch him looking at his own reflection. It’s a short moment, but you could see the way he looked at the freckles scattered across his cheeks and nose. Then it clicks, and your expressions soften. “Oh.”
His jaw tightens, and he avoids your soft gaze again.
The silence that follows is heavier than the last one. It’s not heavy, nor uncomfortable. But vulnerable in a way that Caleb doesn’t let himself be around you too often.
Because he is supposed to be the strong one. The protector.
And to him, it’s stupid that this measly negative thought on his own features is making him this way.
"They're still there." His voice comes out quieter than expected.
You blink. "What?"
"The freckles."
For a second, you simply stare at him. Then you almost laugh.
Not because it's funny. But because of course that's what had him standing in front of the mirror at six in the morning looking like the weight of the world was on his shoulders. "They've been there your entire life, baby."
"I know."
"So why are you surprised?"
"I'm not surprised."
"You seem surprised."
He shoots you a look that makes you smile. He groans, just as you laugh. “There you are.”
“What?” Caleb frowns.
“You’re finally looking at me.”
He pauses, and the soft look in your eyes makes his ears turn pink. Your smile only widens as you step towards him. Your arms wrap around his waist, and you peer through the side to the mirror, humming. Caleb relaxes against you, moving you until you’re standing next to him in the mirror. Your eyes meet his through the mirror, then it drifts downwards to his freckles.
There are more than most people notice. Tiny constellations scattered over warm skin.
Some are darker than others. Some are barely visible unless sunlight hits them just right.
You have every single one memorized. A fact Caleb would never recover from if you told him.
Unfortunately for him, you decide honesty is important in relationships: "I think I know at least twenty-seven of them."
His eyes widen. “What?”
“Twenty-seven.” You tilt your head up at him to look more closely at his face. His eyes are widened slightly, brows furrowed, voice pitched slightly higher in disbelief. “You counted?”
“Maybe.” You shrug.
“You counted.”
“Maybe.”
“You;re insane.”
You grin, and lean up to peck his cheeks. “I know.”
Caleb lets out a mix of a laugh and a huff. His ears are completely red now, the flush spreading to his cheeks as he shuts his eyes at the absurdity of you counting his freckles.
When he opens them again, he catches you staring. Again.
It’s not like you hide it, at this point.
His voice drops into a mutter. “I don’t get it.”
“Hm?” You meet his gaze.
“I don’t get why you like them so much.”
You tilt your head and watch him carefully. You watch the uncertainty hiding beneath his expression, the remnants of old words. Old comments. Old wounds. Things said carelessly by people who probably forgot them the moment they spoke, but they were things that Caleb had quietly carried for years.
You reach up, and your fingers brush against his cheek. Gentle. Careful.
As though touching something precious.
Because to you, he is.
Your thumb glides over the bridge of his nose. Over the freckles resting there.
Caleb's breath catches, and you smile softly.
"Because they're yours."
His eyes flicker.
You continue before he can interrupt. "I don't like them because they're perfect." His gaze remains fixed on yours as you continue, your fingers still on his skin, tracing lines between his freckles. "I like them because when I think of you, I think of them. When I picture your face, I picture your freckles." You laugh quietly, "You know, when I was younger, I used to think they looked like stars."
His expression falters.
And you know you've won the moment he looks away. Because Caleb only looks away when he's overwhelmed.
"I still do."
His throat moves and Caleb looks back at you. Your other hand moves to the back of his neck, pulling him a bit closer so you could trace more of the freckles. "They make you look like you."
You cup his face. His hands immediately find your waist, like its instinct to him. And really, it is.
"There isn't a version of Caleb in my head without them."
Your smile softens.
"And honestly? You'd be less cute without them."
"Don't."
"You would."
He grumbles your name.
"You absolutely would."
"Stop."
"I think I'd cry."
"You would not cry."
"I'd mourn."
Caleb drops his forehead against your shoulder with a groan. A genuine one this time, one not out of frustration. Just hopeless, because just by your hands on his face, and your sweet, embarrassing words, he has been completely and utterly defeated by you.
You laugh, wrapping your arms around him, and his arms tighten around you immediately.
The bathroom falls quiet again. But this silence feels different.
Comfortable– Warm.
After a while, you feel him nudge his face against your neck, followed by his muffled voice."Twenty-seven?"
You burst out laughing.
"I knew you were still thinking about that."
"Twenty-seven?"
"Actually, it might be thirty."
Caleb makes a sound that suggests he's reconsidering every life choice that led him here.
You only smile wider and gently move his face up so you could press a kiss against his temple. Then to his cheeks – like you were kissing every single dot on his face.
Until his face is burning red enough to rival the sunrise peeking through the bathroom window.
The funny thing is, Caleb never truly learns to love his freckles.
Not the way you do. Not the way you look at them, like they're something worth admiring.
He can't rival the way you love it.
But over the years, he slowly stops hiding them. Stops treating it like something wrong on his face.
Because whenever he catches himself doing it, he remembers the way you look at him.
Like every freckle is something precious.
Like every single one belongs exactly where it should.
And Caleb stops frowning at the sight of them in the mirror.
©ahnaiee [do not repost, copy, translate, or modify]
