@fiendsgf - Tumblr Blog

Nov 26, 2025

── .✦ content: fake dating, idiots in love, gideon, tara, & simone scheming, arguments, university AU, drunk caleb, confessions <3

── .✦ word count: 8.7k

── .✦ based off of @16llui & @deepspacenova prompt requests! thank you for celebrating w me ♡

The dorm room always felt a little warmer when Caleb was in it.

You sat cross-legged on the floor with your back against the edge of his bed, controller warm in your palms, the glow of the TV painting both of you in soft blues and golds. Caleb was sprawled a few feet away, shoulders relaxed, focus sharp — that familiar crease between his brows appearing every time the game demanded too much precision. Brown hair fell into his eyes as he leaned forward, muttering under his breath when your character darted away just in time.

“Hold on,” he said, squinting at the screen. “When did you get this good?”

You grinned without looking at him. “Natural talent.”

“You’re cheatin’, pips.” His tone was all accusation and fond disbelief. “No way you just pulled that off.”

“Am not! I’m just better than you.” You glanced over your shoulder, smug, taunting. “Maybe you’re getting rusty.”

“Rusty?” He scoffed, shifting closer. “I taught you half those moves.”

“Yeah, and clearly you peaked in training.”

He reached out without warning, fingers sweeping into your hair, ruffling it just enough to mess up your vision. “And using my own tricks against me is not ‘natural talent’.”

“Caleb!” you laughed, swatting at his hand, trying and failing to push him away. “Stop! You’re being unfair.”

“Now you care about being fair,” he muttered, still grinning as you tried to shove his wrist off your head. “I’ve created a real monster here.”

“Your skill issue isn’t my fault,” you shot back, finally dislodging his hand. “Just admit defeat.”

He leaned back, eyes soft and amused — that quiet, steady warmth that always made your chest feel a little fuller. “Alright, alright, you got me. But I won’t go easy on you anymore, pips.”

Something about the way he said it, so natural, so him, made your heart stutter. It always did, being this close. The quiet affection. The ease. Like your lives had been woven together so long neither of you even remembered when it started.

“Good,” you said lightly. “Makes it more fun.”

Your laughter mingled, easy and familiar, the kind of sound that only happened when nothing in the world felt uncertain.

The door to the other side of the room creaked open.

“Wow, so domestic,” Gideon’s voice chimed in, bright with amusement. He leaned lazily against the frame, hair still damp like he’d just showered, a crooked grin tugging at his lips. “You gonna start arguing about whose turn it is to do the dishes too, or is that next semester?”

Caleb didn’t even look back. “You interrupt people this often or am I special?”

“Only when it’s you, heartthrob.” Gideon pushed off the frame and wandered closer, glancing at the screen. “Who’s winning?”

“Me,” you and Caleb said at the exact same time.

Gideon snorted. “Yeah, that checks.”

He rubbed at the back of his neck, tone shifting just slightly. “Anyway—there’s an aviation mixer coming up. One of the guys invited me, said it’s supposed to be huge.”

Caleb finally paused the game. “Mixer?” His voice was casual, but his posture straightened. “When?”

“Friday. Couple first and second year DAA guys, some engineering girls, a few from the aviation club. Apparently it’s the dream social event of the season,” Gideon said with theatrical gravity. Then he shot Caleb a grin. “And naturally, all of them are praying the DAA’s resident heartthrob makes an appearance.”

You stilled, though you kept your eyes on the screen. The word heartthrob echoed louder than it should have.

Caleb groaned. “Don’t start.”

“What?” Gideon shrugged innocently. “You know it’s true. They’re gonna be devastated if you don’t show.”

“I’m not that popular.”

“Please, there’s entire threads dedicated to you on the school’s forums. You’re like a campus celebrity!” Gideon replied cheerfully, glancing at you. “Right? You’d cry if he skipped out, wouldn’t you?”

You forced a laugh — light, normal. Easy.

“Totally,” you murmured, like it was a joke.

Like it didn’t twist something sharp and helpless in your stomach.

Because it wasn’t just the idea of girls that unsettled you.

It was the idea of him finding someone who mattered more than you.

The thought slid cold and dreadful down your spine, a slow realization you tried to drown beneath humor and muscle memory. Caleb had always been there — through everything. Late nights, bad days, dumb jokes, shared silences. A constant you never questioned.

You couldn’t imagine a world where someone else got to be closer to him than you were.

Where his soft smiles didn’t belong to you anymore.

Where his loyalty shifted. Where yours no longer mattered.

You swallowed, trying to ignore the possessive ache curling in your chest, the quiet jealousy that didn’t have the right to stir — because he wasn’t yours. Not really.

Caleb glanced over at you, the corner of his mouth tugging like he’d already made up his mind about something.

“Well?” he asked, nudging your knee lightly with his own. “What do you say, pips? Wanna come?”

You blinked, caught off guard. “Come?” You gestured vaguely toward the door, where Gideon had just disappeared. “To the mixer? I wasn’t invited, Caleb.”

A quiet laugh slipped from him. He leaned closer, and before you could dodge, his finger tapped gently against your forehead. “I just invited you, dummy.”

You swatted his hand away, though your smile betrayed you. “You can’t just invite me to someone else’s event.”

“Watch me.” He grinned, easy and unapologetic. “Why would I go without Mrs. Apple?”

You rolled your eyes, but warmth bloomed faintly behind your ribs. “Ohhh, I see.” You tilted your head, feigning understanding. “You wanna keep up appearances. Scare off the girls.”

He paused for half a second too long — just long enough for something real to flicker in his eyes.

“Maybe,” he said, quieter now. “Or maybe I just wanna spend my Friday with you. You’re the only girl that matters to me, pips.”

Your breath stuttered. Heat touched your cheeks before you could stop it.

“Caleb…” you muttered, suddenly very aware of how close he was.

“Alright, alright, enough.” Gideon’s voice cut in as he reappeared, dramatic as ever, a bottle of something clutched in his hand. “Save the flirting for the mixer, alright? There’s no girls that need diverting here.”

He turned to you fully then, eyes wide and pleading. “Please tell me you said yes. I cannot go alone. Have you seen aviation people? They’ll ignore me just like they do on the forums!”

You laughed despite yourself. “Gideon—”

“I will cling to both of you like ivy if you abandon me,” he declared, pointing between you and Caleb. “I will not survive that environment solo.”

Caleb smirked. “You’re a grown man.”

“A grown man who would greatly appreciate his best bud’s support.”

You looked between them, then back at Caleb — the familiar reassurance in his gaze, the quiet expectancy.

“…Fine,” you sighed. “I’ll go.”

“Thank god,” Gideon said immediately. “You’re my favorite for a reason.”

Caleb’s smile softened in a way that made something in your chest flutter. “Knew you would.”

And for a moment, it almost felt like that meant something more than it should.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

You linger a little too long in front of the mirror.

Not because you’re vain — but because your hands won’t stop fussing. Smoothing the fabric of your top. Tucking hair behind your ear. Letting it fall loose again. Your reflection looks the same as always, but the knot in your stomach says otherwise.

Caleb’s girlfriend.

Even if only for tonight.

The thought makes your chest flutter with something dangerously close to hope — hope you shove down immediately, because you know better. You always do.

A knock breaks the spiralling thoughts.

You open the door and there he is.

Caleb, leaning casually against the frame, hands tucked into his jacket pockets — brown hair perfectly undone in that effortless way, purple eyes warm and steady as they find you. His gaze lingers for a second longer than usual.

“You look pretty,” he says simply. “Trying to impress someone?”

“Shut up,” you deflect, stepping back so he can’t see the way your cheeks warm. “You didn’t have to dress up.”

“It’s a mixer,” he murmurs. “Kinda the point.”

You grab your bag and step into the hall, turning to pull your door shut when his hand brushes your wrist.

“Hold still,” he says.

You freeze, confused — and before you can ask, he steps closer. Fingers gentle, careful. You feel the faint tug of something cool being clipped into your hair, just above your temple.

You glance sideways, trying to see.

Caleb leans back and examines his work with quiet satisfaction.

A small hair clip rests against your strands — delicate little gems shaped like apples catching the hallway light.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, almost to himself. Then softer, more intent, “Now everyone’ll know we’re together.”

Something inside you stumbles — hard.

You laugh it off, turning away too quickly, already walking. “You’re ridiculous. C’mon, we’re gonna be late.”

He falls into step beside you, closer than he usually walks, shoulder occasionally brushing yours like it’s second nature.

The lounge isn’t far. The campus lights blur softly around you, the air cool, carrying the faint buzz of music drifting from the building ahead. Every step closer feels heavier instead of lighter.

You barely notice when his hand finds yours.

Fingers slip between yours like they’ve always known the shape. The contact is warm, grounding, devastating. You glance up — but he isn’t teasing this time. His expression has shifted into something more serious, more focused.

“Stay close to me tonight,” he says quietly.

Your throat feels tight. “I always do.”

And he doesn’t notice the way that sentence means more to you than he’ll ever know.

He squeezes your hand once — reassuring, possessive, comforting — all the things you’ve taught yourself not to read into.

Because this isn’t real. Because it’s a performance.

Because tomorrow, you’ll wake up alone.

Even if the way his thumb brushes your knuckles makes your chest ache.

Even if the way he walks just a little slower for you makes it feel like you’re the most important thing in his orbit.

The lounge hums with low music and overlapping voices, light spilling in warm gold over polished floors. Laughter bounces off the walls. The air smells faintly of citrus and something sweet — punch, probably.

You barely have time to take it all in before—

“Thank god you’re here!”

Gideon’s voice cuts through the noise, bright and unmistakable. He weaves through a cluster of students and stops in front of the two of you, eyes lighting up.

“I was starting to think I’d have to mingle on my own,” he says dramatically.

His gaze flicks to your hair, pausing on the little apple clip. A grin spreads across his face.

“Oh my—” He points, laughing softly as he nudges Caleb with his elbow. “Real subtle, man. Might as well put a neon sign over her head.”

You laugh too, instinctively, even as heat creeps up your neck. “It’s cute,” you mutter, fingers brushing the clip self-consciously.

“Mhm. Sure,” Gideon smirks. “Very casual. Very ‘not overcompensating for anything.’”

Caleb says nothing, just gives him a dry look. His hand remains warm and steady in yours.

And then—

“Hey! Over here!”

You turn to see Tara and Simone waving enthusiastically from one of the high tables near the windows. Both of them light up when they spot you, already scooting closer together to make space.

You smile, lifting a hand to wave back. “I didn’t know they’d be here,” you say, glancing at Caleb. “I’m gonna go hang out with the girls for a bit.”

His brow lifts slightly. “Already leaving my side?” he murmurs, thumb brushing lightly along your knuckles. “What happened to staying close?”

“I’ll still be close,” you smile. “Just…over there.”

Before he can answer, Gideon slings an arm around Caleb’s shoulder. “C’mon, man. You can’t just cling to your girlfriend all night. You gotta mingle. It’ll make me look cooler if you stand next to me.”

You almost laugh at the phrasing.

“She’ll be fine,” Gideon adds, nodding toward you. “Won’t you?”

You hesitate for a split second — just enough to notice the subtle shift in Caleb’s expression. Not anger. Not quite. Just a tightening of his jaw, a heaviness in his eyes, like something reluctant settling in.

“I will,” you say gently. “I’ll catch up with you guys later.”

His gaze searches your face, as if he’s measuring something unspoken — then he releases your hand slowly.

“Yeah,” he murmurs. “Alright.”

Gideon grins, already tugging him backward. “That’s my guy. Come on, heartthrob—your adoring public awaits.”

You watch as they disappear into the growing crowd, the space beside you suddenly colder than it should be.

You shake it off and walk toward Tara and Simone, past the glow of eyes that follow Caleb’s every movement — past the faint awareness that not every girl here is looking at him the way you do.

And as you slide into the seat beside your friends, you try not to let the quiet dread twist tighter in your chest.

Because even for just a moment…

You almost wished he hadn’t let go.

“Finally, you made it,” Tara says. “We were about to come drag you ourselves.”

“You say that like we don’t see her every day,” Simone scoffs, nudging you lightly. “But tonight is different.”

Sure is!” Tara chirps. “Tonight, we’re boy hunting.”

You laugh softly, though your attention keeps drifting. Your eyes wander past them, toward the centre of the lounge.

Caleb.

He stands a little apart, easy posture, hands tucked into his pockets — impossibly calm while two girls angle closer, laughing a little too loudly at something he just said. One brushes his arm as if by accident. The other tilts her head in a way that makes her intentions painfully obvious.

Your stomach knots.

“Okay but he’s kinda cute,” Tara murmurs, nodding somewhere behind you. “Dark curls. Jacket. Acts like he’s disinterested but isn’t fooling anyone.”

“That’s every man here,” Simone snorts. “Personally, I’m into that engineering guy by the snacks. He looks like he’d apologize if he bumped into a chair.”

You smile faintly, but don’t add anything. Your attention drifts — until a familiar presence settles close beside you.

“Hey, baby.”

Caleb’s voice is soft against your ear, lower than the music, almost intimate just by proximity. You turn — and he’s already holding a drink out to you, glass cool with condensation, his fingers brushing yours as you take it.

“Thought you might want this,” he murmurs. “Didn’t like you being over here so long.”

Your heart stutters. “It’s only been a few minutes.”

“I know.” His gaze lingers, warm and steady, the kind of look that always makes you forget to breathe for a second. “Still…missed you.”

The word slips out so easily, so naturally, like it isn’t dangerous at all.

His hand settles lightly at your waist, thumb warm through the fabric, and he leans down — slow, deliberate — pressing his lips to your temple. A little longer than necessary. Soft. Almost reverent.

“You okay?” he murmurs, breath still warm against your skin. “Having fun?”

“Yeah,” you manage softly. “I am.”

His eyes search your face, like he’s memorising something he isn’t allowed to admit he needs. Then, quietly:

“Good.”

A beat. A soft, almost reluctant smile.

“Don’t forget about me, alright?”

And then he pulls away.

Walks back into the crowd like nothing just happened.

Like he didn’t just say something that made your chest ache.

Like he doesn’t hold your heart without meaning to.

You stare where he just stood a second too long, fingers brushing the spot where his lips were, the echo of his warmth still lingering — knowing it felt real only because it isn’t.

Simone’s eyebrows shoot up. Tara lets out a slow whistle.

“Hello?” Tara grins. “When did that happen? No way you forgot to tell us the most important development ever!”

You laugh, but it sounds thin even to your own ears.

A few quiet seconds pass.

Then Simone’s tone softens. “Okay…why do you look like you’re about to cry right now?”

You swallow. The words hover on your tongue before you really think about them.

“We’re not actually together,” you admit, barely above the hum of the room. “He just…asked me to pretend. So the girls wouldn’t bug him as much.”

Both of them go still.

“He doesn’t like his ‘heartthrob’ title, I guess,” you continue, eyes dropping to the condensation on your glass. “So I’m his ‘girlfriend’ for stuff like this.”

“And you’re okay with that?” Tara asks gently.

“I mean, I thought I was.” You let out a quiet, humourless breath. “But it all feels so real…and then he acts like it’s nothing the next day.”

Simone’s expression tightens. “That’s not fair to you.”

“I don’t think he’s trying to hurt me. It’s just…confusing.”

They exchange a look.

“Look,” Tara says carefully, “if he wanted this to be real, it already would be.”

“And pretending is gonna wreck you,” Simone adds. “You’re not his shield. You’re not his placeholder. If it’s not going anywhere, it’s gonna end with you hurt and him still untouched.”

You glance past them again, instinctively drawn to Caleb.

Now there’s three girls near him. Laughing. Leaning in. Competing for his attention.

Your heart twists.

“You deserve someone who looks at you like you’re the only person in the room,” Tara says softly. “Not someone who only claims you when it’s convenient.”

“Maybe try…letting someone else see you,” Simone suggests. “Just a little. You don’t have to rush it. But don’t keep giving your heart to something that isn’t real.”

You nod, though it aches to.

Maybe they’re right. Maybe pretending is worse than being alone.

And somewhere across the room, Caleb laughs — unaware that this small, quiet conversation has just shifted the entire gravity of your heart.

Tara squeals softly when two guys wander over — one with warm eyes, the other with an easy crooked smile — and suddenly the table fills with casual laughter and introductions.

“Pull up a chair!” Simone beams. “We were just ranking the most insane majors on campus.”

The guys chuckle, easing in without hesitation, and conversation flows easily enough. Music. Classes. Someone’s disastrous group project. They’re nice — genuinely so — and when one of them leans slightly closer to you while talking, pretending he doesn’t notice the way your attention keeps drifting past his shoulder, you almost feel guilty.

You try to give it a real effort. Smile. Laugh. Ask questions back.

But every time the conversation ebbs, your gaze betrays you — sliding instinctively across the room, searching for one familiar silhouette.

Caleb.

You spot him in a booth near the far corner, shoulders slumped against Gideon’s side, cheeks faintly flushed — eyes half-lidded, unfocused. Something about the sight tightens your chest.

You don’t even realise you’ve gone quiet until Tara nudges you.

“You good?” she asks gently.

“Yeah,” you reply, forcing a smile. Then softer, “I’m gonna go check on Caleb real quick.”

Simone gives you a look — not judgmental, just concerned. “Remember what we talked about,” she murmurs.

You laugh weakly. “I know, I know.”

Still, you weave through the crowd toward the booth, each step feeling heavier than the last.

Gideon notices first. Relief flickers across his face.

“Oh thank god,” he says, lowering his voice. “He’s had, like…two drinks? I think? I didn’t realise he was such a lightweight.”

You glance down at Caleb. He’s leaned forward, head resting against the table, strands of brown hair falling into his eyes like he simply ran out of fight halfway through the night.

You slide into the booth beside him instinctively, hand settling gently on his shoulder.

“Caleb?” you murmur. “You alright?”

He stirs instantly, as if your voice alone pulls him back to the surface. His head lifts, eyes hazy but familiar, and the second he realises it’s you — his expression softens into something almost painfully vulnerable.

“Pips…” he slurs quietly.

Before you can react, he shifts closer, pressing forward until his face buries into the crook of your neck, warm breath ghosting against your skin as he exhales your name again, quieter now.

“Where’d you go?” he mutters, words soft and tangled. “You left me…Why’d you leave me with Gideon…”

Your fingers curl instinctively into the fabric of his jacket, heart twisting.

“I was close, dummy,” you whisper. “You came to see me, remember?”

He makes a faint sound of protest, barely more than a tired murmur. “Didn’t like it,” he mumbles. “Didn’t like not havin’ you here…”

Gideon clears his throat lightly, pretending he isn’t witnessing something borderline devastating. “I’m still here, man,” he adds dryly. “Technically.”

Caleb doesn’t move. If anything, his grip tightens slightly, forehead pressing more firmly against your collarbone like he’s anchoring himself there.

“You’re supposed to stay close,” he murmurs, drowsy and sincere. “You promised.”

And as his voice drifts against your skin, you’re painfully aware of everything the gesture stirs — the tenderness, the longing, the confusion — and how none of this is meant to be real, even when it feels like his head rests exactly where it belongs.

You let out a soft laugh, brushing your fingers lightly through the hair at the back of his neck. “You’re so drunk, Caleb.”

He makes a sleepy sound of protest, shifting closer instead of pulling away. “M’not,” he mutters stubbornly, nose nudging faintly against your skin. “Just…comfy.”

“Uh-huh.” You smile despite yourself. “Alright, heartthrob. Let’s get you back to your dorm before you ruin your reputation.”

He groans into your shoulder. “Don’t call me that…”

“Someone’s gotta,” you tease gently, easing back just enough to see his face. His eyes are unfocused but soft — still entirely him beneath the haze.

You glance at Gideon and jerk your chin toward Caleb. “Help me out here?”

Gideon’s already on his feet. He offers his hand toward you first. “Ladies first.”

You hesitate only for a second before taking it, letting him steady you as you climb out of the booth. His grip is warm, sure, and he flashes you a quick easy smile that makes something flutter faintly in your chest.

Then he turns to Caleb. “Alright, man. Time to stand up. We’re goin’ home.”

Caleb grumbles but eventually pushes himself upright, wobbling slightly before instinctively leaning into you for balance. His arm drapes around your shoulders, head tilting toward yours with a familiar gravity.

“Careful,” Gideon snorts, stepping in and gripping Caleb’s other arm. “Don’t crush your pretty girlfriend.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t seem to stop smiling. “He’s not that heavy.”

“Hey,” Caleb mutters hazily. “Are you trying to flirt with her?”

“You’re unbearable,” Gideon says with a grin, nudging him forward.

The three of you start toward the exit, Caleb shuffling between you — half-supported, half-clinging — his steps uneven but determined.

He bumps lightly into your side. “You’re warm,” he murmurs, almost fond. “You left me.”

“I didn’t leave you,” you whisper back, instinctively steadying him. “I was just across the room.”

“Didn’t like it,” he sighs again, stubborn even through the fog.

Gideon gives you a sideways glance, amused. “Who knew our golden boy was such a pouty drunk?”

You laugh, genuinely this time, and when you look back at him — really look — you notice the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. The ease of it. The way he keeps pace without drawing attention to it. How careful he is not to let Caleb stumble.

It’s subtle. Small.

But you notice.

The night air hits your skin the moment you step outside — cool, faintly damp, carrying the lingering scent of cut grass and distant cigarette smoke. The music from the lounge dulls behind the heavy doors, replaced by the hum of campus traffic and the occasional laughter of students passing by.

Gideon lifts a hand, waving down a slow-moving campus taxi with theatrical urgency. The small car pulls up to the curb, headlights washing over the three of you in pale gold.

“We don’t need a cab,” Caleb mumbles, still slumped into your side. “We can walk…it’s not that far…”

Gideon snorts. “I am not hauling you halfway across campus when you inevitably decide the sidewalk is your bed. Get. In.”

“I’m fine,” Caleb insists weakly, though his cheek remains pressed against your shoulder like a stubborn child.

“And I’m a professional ballerina,” Gideon replies dryly, already moving to the door.

He opens it and gestures to you first. “Go ahead.”

You hesitate, then slide into the cab, the worn vinyl seat cool beneath your legs. Gideon follows, settling in beside you — and after a moment’s fumbling, Caleb squeezes in on his other side, muttering incoherently under his breath.

The driver pulls away, tires whispering against pavement.

A few seconds pass in quiet before Caleb turns, squinting at Gideon like he’s just solved a great injustice. “Switch seats with me.”

Gideon bursts out laughing. “What, you want to crawl over each other?”

“I should be sitting next to her,” Caleb argues, chin lifting slightly, as if that settles it.

“You’re close enough,” Gideon points out.

“No,” Caleb frowns. “You’re in the way.”

“Absolutely not,” Gideon says. “You stay by the window in case you puke, because I’m not paying the cleaning fee. And God forbid it gets on her—I’ll toss you out the door myself.”

You can’t help the giggle that slips out.

Caleb rolls his eyes, squinting. “I’m not gonna puke.”

“You say that now.”

“I’m not.”

“Okay, warrior.” Gideon nudges his knee. “Be patient. You can bother your girlfriend all you want when you get home.”

Caleb’s gaze drifts back to you at that — slow, heavy-lidded — suddenly so sincere it almost knocks the breath from your lungs.

“I don’t bother you, do I, pips?” he asks quietly, voice softer, almost wounded.

You chuckle and reach up, patting his hair gently. “Sometimes,” you tease.

His expression falls, lips pursing like you’ve just shattered him.

“Kidding,” you hurry, poking his forehead lightly. “No need for the puppy eyes.”

Gideon laughs again, shaking his head. “You’re a lost cause, dude. Truly.”

“She likes me,” Caleb mutters stubbornly, leaning just a little closer again, as if anchoring himself to the sound of your voice.

Your heart gives an unsteady little thump.

The cab rolls on through the soft glow of lamplight, shadows stretching long across the pavement — and for just a moment, everything feels surprisingly gentle.

Your shoulder still warm from Caleb’s cheek. Gideon’s easy presence beside you. The quiet rhythm of night pressing softly around the car.

And somewhere beneath your smile, the ache remains — but it’s harder to notice when you’re laughing.

By the time the taxi pulls into the quiet stretch beside the dorms, Caleb is half-asleep, head lolled forward, lashes resting against flushed cheeks.

Getting him upstairs is a careful ordeal.

You and Gideon guide him down the hall, his weight sagging between you, occasional grumbles of protest escaping when he bumps into a wall or stumbles over his own feet.

“I’m fine,” he murmurs for the tenth time. “Just…tired.”

“You tried to argue with a vending machine five minutes ago,” Gideon mutters. “You’re not fine.”

Eventually you manage to coax him onto his bed, shoes kicked off, blanket pulled halfway over his chest. He blinks up at you sluggishly, one hand reaching out blindly until his fingers curl around your sleeve.

“Don’t go,” he whispers, voice rough with sleep and something deeper.

Your heart twists. You sink down beside him, smoothing your palm gently through his hair, fingers combing slow and careful at his temple. His eyes flutter, a soft, contented sound escaping him — a little sigh that sounds almost like relief.

“I’ll stay,” you promise quietly, brushing your thumb along his cheekbone. “I’ll be right here until you fall asleep.”

He tries to rally, mouth curving in a sleepy, hopeful smile. “You could stay…all night,” he mumbles, the words slurring at the edges as he fights the pull of sleep. “Forever…”

You can’t help a soft laugh, brushing your fingers through his hair again. “You’re so drunk, Caleb. You don’t even know what you’re saying.”

He shakes his head, barely, eyes struggling to stay open. “’m not drunk,” he insists, voice low and honest, already drifting. “I mean it…” The words trail off, getting lost in a drowsy mumble as his grip on your sleeve loosens and his breathing begins to settle.

You keep stroking his hair until his lashes finally rest against his cheeks, the barest ghost of a smile still lingering on his lips.

You sit with him, quiet and gentle, letting the silence fill in what words never could.

Gideon watches the whole thing in quiet amusement before gesturing vaguely around the room. “You can take my bed if you want. I’ll crash on the couch.”

You shake your head immediately. “No, it’s alright. My dorm’s not far, I’m fine to walk.”

“You sure?” he asks, studying your face with that easy, unreadable expression of his. “Surely this babysitting gig wore you out.”

You laugh weakly. “It wasn’t so bad. You’re well behaved at least.”

“I try.”

He grabs his jacket off the back of a chair as you turn for the door. “Come on. I’ll walk you.”

“I’ll be fine—”

He’s already stepping past you, keys jingling, expression stubborn. “Too late.”

Outside, the night is quieter now. Cooler. The kind of quiet that settles into your bones.

You don’t realise you’re shivering until he drapes his jacket across your shoulders without a word.

You glance at him, surprised. “Hey—”

“Not negotiable,” he says simply. “You’re cold.”

“…Thank you,” you murmur, tucking it closer around yourself. His cologne lingers faintly in the fabric — clean, warm, grounding.

You walk side by side down the dim path, the glow of lampposts stretching in soft pools along the concrete.

“So,” Gideon says casually. “Did you have fun tonight?”

You consider it for a second. “Yeah…I did. It was nice catching up with everyone.”

He hums thoughtfully. “You looked a bit…sad, though.”

You let out a breathy laugh. “Was it that obvious?”

“A little,” he admits. “You kinda go quiet. Your smile changes.”

You glance at him, surprised by the gentleness in his tone. “I didn’t realise anyone paid that much attention.”

He shrugs. “Hard not to notice when someone’s hurting.”

The words hang lightly between you.

“You don’t have to tiptoe around it,” he adds. “I already got the vibe earlier.”

You sigh softly, gaze drifting to the pavement. “It’s just…I don’t know. The whole ‘Mrs. Apple’ act gets to me sometimes.”

“Yeah?” he murmurs.

“I know it’s supposed to be harmless. Just easier for him. But…I think pretending is starting to hurt more than it helps.” You swallow. “It feels like the lines between us are blurring. It feels so real and then…it’s like it never happened the next day.”

Gideon doesn’t joke this time.

“That makes sense,” he says quietly. “You shouldn’t have to audition for a role you already deserve.”

You glance at him again — startled by the sincerity.

“Maybe he doesn’t realize it,” he continues softly. “But you shouldn’t let yourself get hurt just because he’s your best friend."

Your heart stirs in a quiet, complicated way.

He stops walking when you reach your building, the two of you standing under the lamplight.

For a moment, neither of you move.

“You can start being a little selfish, you know,” he says gently. “See how he likes it.”

“Maybe I will.” You offer a small smile. “Thanks for walking me back.”

He shifts, almost reluctant. “Anytime.”

Then, softer, teasing again but not unkind— “Try not to worry about it too much, okay? It’ll all work itself out eventually.”

You smile, warmth blooming despite everything. “Yeah, Thanks Gideon.”

And when he steps back, giving you space, his eyes linger just a bit longer than they need to.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

A couple of days slipped by in their usual rhythm.

Classes. Coffee. Caleb dropping by your dorm like always — teasing you, stealing half your snacks, acting as if the mixer night were just another Friday and not a moment where he’d clung to you like you were the only solid thing in the world.

He didn’t mention it. He didn’t seem to remember the way he buried his face in your neck and whispered that he didn’t want you to leave his side.

So you didn’t bring it up either.

Your phone buzzed while you were halfway through an assignment.

Tara: party tonight!! off-campus house, 10pm. come out w us??

You stared at your screen for a moment.

You: idk…kinda tiredTara: you can be tired tomorrow, lets have funnnTara: hot guys, good music, and drinks!! Tara: and NO CALEB

That last message made your chest tighten.

You: …fine. i’ll go.Tara: YESS. we’ll pick you up at 9:45. look hot!!

You laughed despite yourself.

─ ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──── ♡ ─── ⋅ ⋅ ⋅ ──

Tara’s car honked twice outside your dorm.

When you slipped into the backseat, Simone turned around immediately, eyes widening. “Thank god,” she said, looking you over. “If you didn’t agree Tara never would have shut up. You look hot.”

You flushed, smoothing your top. “Thanks…I’m kinda excited, actually.”

“Good,” Tara grinned, pulling out of the lot. “Doesn’t freedom feel great?”

The three of you laughed, music pulsing through the speakers as you headed across town. By the time you reached the house — already glowing with string lights and vibrating with bass — your nerves had settled into something warm, fizzy, anticipatory.

You stepped inside and were immediately swallowed by the party: warm air, a crush of bodies, the scent of citrusy drinks and someone’s vanilla perfume, music thrumming through the floorboards like a second heartbeat.

Simone grabbed your wrist. “Let’s find everyone!”

You wove through groups — familiar faces from your major, people you’d chatted with at mixers, a few acquaintances who hugged you like old friends. For the first time in awhile, you felt… present. Like you were more than the role Caleb had put you in.

You made it halfway to the drink table before someone collided with your shoulder.

“Whoa—sorry—”

You turned — and froze.

“Gideon?”

He brightened instantly, grin wide and warm. “Well, well, if it isn’t our runaway fake girlfriend.”

You snorted. “Oh my god, don’t start.”

“I’m kidding,” he laughed. “Mostly.”

You hadn’t expected to see him here, but the surprise wasn’t unwelcome. He looked good — casual dark tee, light sweater tied around his waist, hair slightly messy.

“You look like you belong here,” he said, eyes flicking briefly over your outfit. “Party suits you.”

You huffed. “I literally just walked in.”

“And already improving the atmosphere.” He said it easily, without flirting — but it still made your stomach flip.

Before you could formulate a response, the speakers shifted into a bass-heavy remix, the kind that sent a ripple through the whole room. A wave of cheers rose up, bodies surging toward the center where dancing had already broken out.

Gideon tipped his head toward the chaos. “C’mon.”

You blinked. “What? Now?”

“Yes now,” he laughed. “It’s a good song. And you—” he tapped your elbow lightly, “need to stop thinking and start moving.”

You hesitated only a second before letting him take your hand. The crowd swallowed you both in warm, electric motion — lights flashing in pink and blue across your skin, the air thick with heat and the smell of spilled drinks and sweat and perfume.

Gideon didn’t pull you close, didn’t push for anything. He just led you into the rhythm, giving you space when you needed it, matching your energy perfectly.

You shouted over the music, laughing breathlessly. “You’re actually a good dancer!”

He smiled, eyes crinkling. “You sound surprised!”

“I am surprised!”

“Well,” he said, spinning lightly to face you fully, “I contain multitudes.”

You laughed harder, the knot in your chest loosening with each beat. For a moment — a real moment — you let yourself forget the ache you’d been carrying.

You were just… you.

And then—

From across the room, someone’s gaze found you.

But you haven’t noticed that yet.

You’re too busy dancing under neon lights, smiling at someone who’s actually looking back at you.

The music swells into something heavier, deeper — bass threading through your bones as the crowd contracts and expands around you. Gideon laughs at something you say, head tipped down toward you so you can actually hear each other over the sound.

You’re mid-smile when a warm weight settles on your shoulder.

Familiar. Grounding. Unmistakable.

You turn.

“Caleb?”

The word leaves your lips on a breath of surprise. He’s close enough that you can make out the faint scent of clean soap and cold night air clinging to his jacket, his brown hair slightly tousled like he rushed to get here. Those purple eyes search your face, sharp and unreadable — a stark contrast to how soft they usually are with you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, raising your voice just enough to be heard.

“You weren’t answering your phone,” he says, voice low, controlled. “So I checked your location. Saw you were here.”

Your stomach tightens faintly at the implication — not anger, but something weighted, something close to concern… or ownership.

“And, what,” you tease lightly, trying to defuse the sudden tension, “you think I can’t handle myself at a party?”

His gaze flicks past you, landing squarely on Gideon.

“Didn’t say that.”

Gideon lifts his brows in greeting, unbothered, raising his drink in a casual salute. “Evening.”

Caleb’s jaw tightens — nearly imperceptible, but enough that you notice. His eyes drift back to you, sharper this time.

“When did you two get so close?” he asks, not smiling.

You blink. “We’ve always been friends, Caleb.”

Beside you, Gideon shrugs, taking a slow sip. “I’m very charming.”

The air feels suddenly thicker — charged.

Caleb’s hand drops from your shoulder only to slide down your arm, fingers closing lightly around it instead. The touch isn’t painful — not rough — but it is firm, insistent.

“Come upstairs with me,” he says. “I wanna talk.”

Your brows knit. “Right now?”

“Yes.”

There’s no anger in his tone — just something urgent, tight beneath the surface. Something he’s clearly holding back.

“Caleb,” you murmur, glancing around the room. “What’s going on? You’re acting weird.”

He doesn't answer. Just gives your arm a gentle tug toward the staircase, gaze never leaving yours. “Come on, pips.”

The nickname lands differently tonight — more serious than fond.

You hesitate for half a second, glancing at Gideon who watches the exchange quietly, concern flickering just beneath his usual ease.

“You good?” he asks softly.

“Yeah,” you reply, though you’re not entirely sure that’s true. “I’ll be right back.”

Caleb’s hand remains at your arm as he guides you through the press of bodies toward the stairs. The air grows less chaotic the higher you climb — music dulling, lights dimming, the pulse of the party fading into a distant hum beneath your heels.

At the top landing, cooler air brushes your skin. The hallway is shadowed, quieter, wood floors creaking faintly beneath your steps.

Caleb finally stops, but instead of turning to face you in the hall, he reaches back and grips the doorknob of the nearest room. With a quiet click, he pushes it open and steps inside, tugging you gently after him.

The door shuts behind you. The room is dark except for a faint glow from the streetlight filtering through half-closed blinds, painting soft lines across the hardwood floor and the edge of an unused desk.

He releases your arm, but he doesn’t move away.

You can still feel the warmth of his hand there.

Instead, he turns slowly, gaze fixed on you like he’s trying to anchor something volatile inside himself. His shoulders rise and fall once, breath controlled, jaw set tight.

The silence is thick. Intentional.

Your pulse beats louder in your ears than the music below.

“Caleb…” you murmur. “What’s your problem?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes track over your face — searching, anxious, unsettled — as if he’s bracing for something he doesn’t want to admit is already happening.

Finally, his jaw flexes once.

“What are you doing here with him?” he says, voice low, strained with something dangerous and unspoken.

The air in the room feels tighter. Closer.

And whatever calm you walked in with cracks, just a little — because you can tell from the way he’s looking at you that this isn’t about small talk.

This is about everything you’ve both been pretending not to feel.

You fold your arms, trying to steady the rush of nerves under your skin. “What?” you ask, voice sharp with disbelief. “I can’t hang out with a friend at a party now?”

He exhales a short, humourless huff. “Don’t play dumb, pips.”

Your stomach tightens.

“It was more than just hanging out,” he continues, eyes dark, unreadable. “And you know it.”

You blink, caught off guard, but you force your spine straighter. “So what if it was?”

The words hang between you, daring him.

Something flashes behind his eyes — frustration, hurt, something hotter beneath it — and he steps closer, slow and deliberate. The air shifts with him, his presence suddenly too near, too intense.

Instinctively, you take a step back. The back of your calves brush the edge of the bed.

“Is there something going on between you and Gideon?” he asks, voice lower now, edged tight. “Is that why you were ignoring me tonight?”

“I wasn’t ignoring you—Caleb—” you start, but he cuts you off.

“Were you ever plannin’ on telling me?” His voice sharpens, words tumbling faster now. “Or was I just supposed to find out that my girlfriend was done with me through a friend?”

The word girlfriend lands like a slap.

You stare at him, stunned. “I’m not your girlfriend.”

For a split second, he falters.

His gaze drops, just briefly — like something inside him cracked open before he could stop it. When he looks up again, his expression is quieter, but no less intense.

“You know what I mean,” he mutters.

“No,” you snap now, anger rising to meet his accusation. “Actually, I don’t know what you mean. Am I just supposed to put my life and my feelings on hold for you, Caleb? Is that how this works?”

The muscles in his jaw tense.

“Have you ever stopped to think about how I feel?” you continue, voice trembling, not from fear but frustration — heat rising behind your words. “How confusing this whole thing is? You parade me around when it’s convenient and pretend it’s nothing when it’s not.”

He opens his mouth, something raw flickering behind his eyes — but you don’t stop.

“You don’t get to decide who I talk to, or who I dance with, or whether I’m allowed to move on just because you’re…what? Uncomfortable?” your voice sharpens, trembling with everything you’ve been swallowing for too long. “You don’t own me, Caleb.”

Silence crashes down, thick and electric.

Your heartbeat pounds so loudly it feels like it’s echoing off the walls, every breath scraping against the tension wrapped tight around your ribs.

Caleb stares at you, expression torn open — the accusation landing exactly where it hurts most.

“You’re right,” he says quietly.

The edge of anger in his voice softens, giving way to something rawer, quieter.

“I don’t own you,” he repeats, slow, deliberate. Then, barely above a breath, like admitting a secret he’s never allowed himself to say aloud: “But you own me.”

You freeze.

“And that’s the problem,” he continues, gaze locking onto yours. “How you feel…it’s all I think about. Every second I’m not pretending I’m okay with this, every second I’m trying not to reach for you.”

His voice roughens, dragged up from somewhere painfully exposed.

“I wonder if you feel what I feel. If this is just some stupid game to you. I wonder if you’ll only ever see me as a friend…when you’ve always been it for me.”

A beat of silence follows, but now it isn’t angry — it’s aching.

Your breath stutters.

For a moment you’re not sure the words are real — not sure they didn’t form out of the heat and the darkness and the ache sitting heavy in your chest.

“Caleb…” you whisper. “What are you saying?”

He lets out a sharp, humourless laugh that sounds somewhere between pain and disbelief. “What I’m saying is—when I saw you with him tonight…” His gaze flicks away, jaw clenched, before forcing himself to look back at you. “Dancing. Smiling. Like you didn’t need me anymore—it felt like my heart was being ripped straight out of my chest.”

His voice cracks just slightly.

“The way you looked at him…” His voice drops, almost swallowed by the quiet of the room. His eyes flicker away for half a second like the memory physically hurts. “I’ve never seen you look like that before.”

He takes a step closer.

The space between you shrinks, the air warming with the heat of his body, his breath shallow now — uneven.

“I wish you’d look at me like that,” he says, softer, rawer. “Not just when you’re pretending.”

His voice wavers, the control he clings to finally unraveling.

“I’ve spent so long trying to convince myself you’d be better off without me. That I was just supposed to stay by your side—close enough to protect you, but never close enough to be wanted.” His eyes lift to yours again, glassy, exposed. “But every time you smile at me, every time you fall asleep on my shoulder or say my name like it’s safe…I want more. I need more,”

He moves closer still, close enough now that you can feel the faint brush of his breath against your cheek.

“I don’t want to be in the background,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to be the guy you almost choose. I want to be the one you run to without thinking. The one you reach for in the dark. The one you trust with everything.”

A sharp inhale escapes him, like admitting this costs him something.

“I fucking yearn for you,” he admits, voice breaking at the edges. “I want to be so close that there’s no space left to question it. No room for doubt. No room for anyone else to make you feel the way I do.”

His eyes search yours — desperate, hopeful, terrified all at once.

“But you only look at me like that when it’s pretend…and it’s killin’ me, pips.”

He stands there — angry, hurt, stripped down to something painfully vulnerable — and you realise you’ve never seen him like this. Not the steady one. Not the protector. Just a man standing in front of you holding his own heart out with shaking hands.

For a second, you can’t even speak.

All you can do is move.

Your hand lifts instinctively, fingers brushing his jaw, your palm settling warm and soft against his cheek. His breath catches at the touch, eyes flicking to yours like he’s afraid you might disappear if he blinks.

“Caleb…” you breathe again, this time with something breaking open behind the word.

You move closer. Slowly. Like gravity is pulling you together whether you intend to or not. His hand rises hesitantly, hovering near your waist as your faces draw within inches.

Your eyes drift to his lips. His to yours.

The room seems to still around you — the muffled party noise below fading into nothing but pulse and breath.

And then you close the distance.

Your lips meet, soft at first, trembling with years of restraint and misunderstanding, then deepening as the tension finally gives way. His hand finds your waist, fingers curling as if anchoring himself, as if this is the only solid thing in the world. The kiss tastes like relief and ache and everything you’ve both been too afraid to name.

He exhales against your mouth, a quiet sound that carries more feeling than words ever could.

For once — it isn’t pretend.

And when you part just enough to breathe, his forehead rests against yours, eyes still searching your face as if he’s confirming that this isn’t another misunderstanding.

Like he’s afraid to lose it. Like he’s afraid to lose you.

Caleb’s breath shudders out, his hand steady on your waist, eyes locked on yours — searching, almost desperate. “Tell me this is real,” he murmurs, voice raw and low. “Tell me you want this.”

Your heart pounds, hope and longing tumbling through you, years of uncertainty burning away in the warmth of his gaze.

“It’s real,” you whisper, fingers curling in his shirt. “I do. I always have…I just thought—”

But Caleb doesn’t let you finish. His mouth finds yours again, firmer this time, hunger and apology mingling in the kiss as if he’s trying to make up for every moment you both wasted. The world tilts as he spins you, strong hands guiding you until you’re straddling his lap, knees pressed to either side of his hips. The bed dips beneath you both, blankets rumpling as his arms wrap around your waist, anchoring you to him, pulling you closer than you’ve ever dared.

You break apart only long enough for him to press his forehead to yours, his thumb stroking your cheek with aching tenderness.

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, the words trembling between you. “I’m sorry I made you think I didn’t want this.”

His apology hangs in the air for only a heartbeat before you capture his mouth again, kissing him hard, pouring every ache and longing into the press of your lips. Caleb groans softly, hands tightening at your waist as he kisses you back with something that feels like desperation — like he’s been starving for you, for this, for far too long. The world narrows to the heat of his mouth, the brush of his tongue, the shudder that runs through him when your fingers tangle in his hair.

When you finally break for air, both of you are breathing harder, faces flushed, your noses nearly touching. Caleb’s gaze is fierce, reverent, haunted by years of wanting.

“I’ve always wanted to claim every part of you for myself,” he whispers, voice rough and intimate. “I waited so long…”

You pull back just enough to catch your breath, your lips brushing his as you whisper his name — soft, teasing. Caleb blinks at you, a little dazed, eyes heavy with adoration, lips swollen from your kisses. The sight of him — completely undone and lovedrunk — makes you giggle, your forehead tipping gently to his.

“We don’t even know whose room this is,” you murmur, still catching your breath. “Let’s go home.”

Caleb glances around, as if realizing for the first time where you are, and lets out a low, surprised laugh. “You’re right.” He sits up, running a hand through his hair before standing and reaching for you, fingers tangling with yours — solid, certain. “C’mon, pips.”

You follow him out, hand in hand, hearts still racing as you slip down the stairs, back into the thrum of the house party. As you reach the bottom, you’re greeted by the sight of Gideon, Tara, and Simone waiting by the door, matching grins plastered across their faces.

“Took you guys long enough,” Simone calls, arms crossed but eyes gleaming.

Gideon tips his head toward the hallway, smirking. “You’re welcome.”

You and Caleb share a look, both a little lost in the sudden attention. In the awkward pause, Tara bounces forward, eyes bright. “Come on—you guys did make it official, right?”

Heat rises to your cheeks, but you nod, unable to hide your smile. Tara lets out a triumphant squeal. “I told you guys it would work!”

Gideon and Simone roll their eyes, but there’s nothing but fondness in the gesture. You glance between your friends, shaking your head. “Did you guys set this up? How did you even know it would work?”

Gideon shrugs, a little too smug. “Listen, he may be top of the class, but he’s an idiot when it comes to you. And predictable.”

Simone grins, nudging Tara. “We figured you two needed a little nudge.”

You and Caleb both laugh, the sound light and easy now. Caleb squeezes your hand, tugging you gently toward the door. “Alright, you all can stop gawking. I’m taking my girlfriend home.”

Simone and Tara exchange an excited look, and you catch the glint of victory in Gideon’s eyes as Caleb leads you out, the night air cool and sweet as you step outside — hand in hand, together, and finally, finally yours.

a/n: i know i said drabbles but i loved this request so much it turned into a full fic😭 sooo many of you were on the same wavelength with university AU caleb & the arguments turned confessions prompt it was actually killing me ur all so real. i hope everyone who requested enjoys this🤍 it's been a minute since i've written i lowkey felt rusty... but unc still got it🤞🏻

#love and deepspace #caleb x reader #caleb #lads x reader #lads caleb #lnds #lnds caleb #university au caleb #k's 2k follower celebration ♡

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