Fleur

MDNI

[fl3urence]

Fleurence — 20+ | she/her | see tags for recommendations

°❀.࿔ : moonlight chaos, beaches, and adventures

[pearlescenthoney]

anatomy lesson

synopsis. you and rafayel have been living as humans for a while, yet there are parts of the human life he has yet to understand. human women’s life, that is. but you’re there to help your best friend!

pairing. best friend! rafayel qi x lemurian! non-mc! reader

content/mdni. fem!reader, best friends!au, lemurian!reader, non-mc!reader, , dom-ish!rafayel, tease!rafayel, slight condescending!rafayel, curious!rafayel, slight manipulative!rafayel, embarrassed!reader, semi-clothed sex, CLIT PLAY, FINGERING, orgasm (f receiving), teasing, cum eating, dirty talk, praise, pet names (muse, siren), no PIV but allusion to sex.

word count. 2.9k

a/n. rawr finally an actual fic. i needed a lemurian! reader smut, so i hope you don’t mind that too much. please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

the sun had slowly goldened itself, dripping liquid amber across the sky as it sank towards the horizon, painting rafayel’s mansion in warm, languid shades. the ocean outside was a humming, rhythmic breath, its soft roar a distant lullaby that seemed to seep through the walls.

a constant and steady reminder of the world you had both left behind.

you were nestled deep into the plush, oversized couch, its fabric a soft and cooling linen against your warm skin.

you wore only the slightest echo of clothing: a tiny tank top, the fabric so thin and stretched it was almost translucent, and a pair of shorts so brief they were merely a gesture, a shadow of decorum that did little to conceal the curves of your body.

you were trying to read, the book a heavy weight in your lap, but you were restless. you kept tossing, turning, shifting your weight from one hip to the other.

the movement a quiet, frustrated dance.

rafayel, sprawled in an armchair across from you, was supposedly skimming through a magazine. but his dual-coloured eyes were a thief, stealing glances at you.

he was a living sculpture of contrasts, his human form a well-tailored body he’d grown accustomed to, yet there was still something… undulating about him, a lemurian’s grace translated into long limbs and smooth movements.

his stare, usually as calm and deep as the sea, had a storm running beneath it.

why?

it was during one of your restless shifts — a turn that was just a little too sharp, a little too free — that the hem of your shorts hiked up, offering a brief yet startling glimpse of the valley between your thighs.

it was merely a moment, a flash of soft, shadowed skin, before the fabric fell back into place.

but it was enough.

the torrent lurking underneath his orbs brewed harsher.

“wait, wait.” he said, his voice a low and roughened whisper that cut through the sound of the unceasing waves. he put down his fashion magazine on the coffee table in front of him, his full attention now drew to your lower body.

“you– why don’t you wear panties?”

the question was so blunt, so direct, it should have been startling. but in the space between two good friends, with the sea’s rhythm and the golden light, it felt less like an intrusion and more like a natural curiosity.

you closed your book, marking the page by folding the upper corner, then tilted your head towards rafayel. there was no shame in you, only a hint of amusement.

like him catching you commando was something insignificant.

“they’re uncomfortable.” you said simply, your voice a soft hum. “i don’t understand why human women wear them. it’s like they’re enjoying feeling suffocated 24/7.”

“suffocated?” rafayel frowned, his brow knitting in genuine confusion. “but... you’re human now. doesn’t it feel… natural? to the way your body is shaped now?” his gaze shamelessly flickered down to the spot where your thighs met, a quick look at the place that made his ears burn slightly red.

he returned to your face soon though, seeking your answer.

“it’s different to me.” you admitted, sitting up slightly, the motion causing your tank top to stretch tensely across your chest. “when we were in the sea, we had... well, a slit. a mere fold, but nothing like this.” you gestured vaguely at your own lap. “this is more... intimate. it’s partly hidden, protected by folds of skin.”

“it feels weird to cover it with tight ass panties.”

rafayel leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, his interest palpable in his furrowed gaze. the golden light caught the curve of his lip, hinting at a devilish smirk. “hmm, i don’t know.” he muttered back, a sing-song tone dominating his words. “i’ve never had that issue.”

“maybe because your panties have nothing to strangle–”

“excuse you? matter of fact, i do–”

“you can’t really compare women’s and men’s anatomy. it’s all different.”

and with that, you hoped rafayel’s strange curiosity would be satisfied at once. you even extended your arm towards your previously abandoned book, ready to dive back into the section you’ve discarded.

but it was all put on hold as his unfathomable proposal filled your ears.

“show me then.” he said casually, his voice a low purr. despite the low intensity, it somehow managed to drown out the sound of the crashing waves, cracking goosebumps all over your skin and even making your thighs quiver with sudden arousal.

“i want to understand women’s anatomy too.”

this fucker.

you laughed, a light, bubbling sound that floated out of your constricted throat, trying to cover up the embarrassment such a request created. “no, you pervert. look it up on the internet like everyone else.”

but as much as you wanted to reject him, there was no real heat in the refusal. only a teasing challenge.

testing the waters.

“but you’re right here.” he persisted, his voice inflected with a sultry persuasion. his eyes, those beautiful, gleaming orbs, were darkened by his growing pupil — swallowing the colour as raw desire took over.

“you’re a living, breathing human woman. why would i want a lifeless picture on a screen when i can learn from the muse herself?”

and with that he stood, the motion smooth as a dolphin cutting through water, and moved to sit on the edge of coffee table, right in front of you.

rafayel was extremely close now, his knees almost brushing your closed ones. his presence was warm, salty like the sea.

and undoubtedly intoxicating.

“come onnnn.” he whispered, his voice a murmur of the ocean at night. tempting you. wooing you. “just a glimpse. just to satiate my curiosity. then i’ll stop being such a pest.”

the way he looked at you, with a mixture of adoration and restrained hunger, was your undoing. you felt the well-known heat of arousal pool in your own belly, a response to his intensity that you couldn’t quite ignore.

“fine.” you sighed, your own voice threaded with a nervous excitement. “but just a look. and then you stop.”

with slow, deliberate movements, you shifted on the couch, turning slightly so you were facing him more directly. parting your knees, you allowed rafayel to lean forward into your body. then, carefully, you hooked your thumbs around the center of your shorts, the barely-there material that covered your cunt, hesitated for a mere moment, and then gently pulled the gusset to the side.

“s-shit.”

the fabric slid aside like a curtain drawn back from a secret stage, revealing the most intimate part of you.

the golden light of the dying sun poured across your skin, illuminating every nook and cranny of your sex. the lips of your pussy were trembling slightly, showing a softer texture that deepened where they folded into one another, dewy and glistening with the faintest sheen of arousal.

arousal that had gathered there without your conscious permission.

you watched his face, waiting for the shock, the awkward retreat, the apology that would let you both laugh this off and return to your friendship.

rafayel did not retreat.

his breath caught — a sharp yet stuttered inhale that seemed to pull all the air from the room into his lungs. his eyes had gone utterly dark: the pupils had swallowed nearly everything, leaving only thin rims of color that burned with an intensity that made your stomach clench.

and more wetness to drip down.

“fucking hell.” he groaned, and the curse was more of a prayer.

he leaned closer, his elbows digging into his knees, his face now mere inches from the place you’d just exposed. you could feel the warmth of his breath ghosting across your inner thighs, could smell him — salt and musk, the scent of lemurian waters stirred from their depths.

“rafayel–” you called out at his lack of words, your voice already thinner than you intended.

should you close your legs? should you–

“shh.” his hand came up right on time. not touching, just hovering. his fingers, long and elegant, trembled slightly as they traced an arc through the air above your skin. “let me look. just… let me look at you.”

the awe in his voice stole the protest from your lips.

“you’re so…” he trailed off, his brow furrowing as though language itself was failing him. “it’s not like the diagrams. not like the paintings.” his fingers drifted lower, still not touching, and you felt your thighs clench involuntarily at the nearness.

“it’s wet. you’re already wet, aren’t you?”

heat flooded your cheeks at his remark, your stomach flipping at his straightforwardness. “that’s– that’s just how it is. it’s normal.”

“is it?” he tilted his head, that curious, damn attractive motion he still had despite the passing of time. “or is it because of me? because you wanted me to look?” his lips curved into something that wasn’t quite a smile, something sharper and darker.

the grin of a man that knew what he was doing to his target.

“you’re so delicate here. soft. like the inside of a shell.” his finger finally — finally — descended, tracing the outer seam of your folds without parting them fully, just skating along the edge where your thigh met your cunt. “and so warm. i can feel the heat coming off you.”

your hips jerked, an involuntary movement towards his touch that you couldn’t quite control. the sound that escaped you was embarrassingly close to a whimper, a clear indicator of the reaction your friend had on you.

“oh?” he said, and now there was no mistaking the satisfaction in his voice. “you like that.”

“i said just a look.” you bit back immediately, but your voice had gone breathy, unrecognizably weak.

“you did.” he hummed as his finger traced back up, circling now, yet still not quite touching the parts that ached with need. “but then you moved. you wanted me to touch you, didn’t you? you could have pulled your shorts back. but you didn’t.” his eyes flicked up to yours, and in them you saw the storm fully consuming him.

“you want this as much as i do.”

before you could answer — before you could even formulate a denial that neither of you would believe — he moved.

his hand settled against your skin, palm flat against the top part of shorts, and his thumb found the hood of your clit with an accuracy that spoke of either instinct or careful study.

and to make it all worse (or actually better), he pressed down, just barely, making you see stars.

“there.” he mused, watching your face now instead of your cunt, labeling every micro-expression with the focus of a researcher and the hunger of a predator. “that’s the spot, isn’t it? that little pearl hidden up here.”

his thumb circled, agonizingly slow, and your hips chased the motion, twitching with every twist of his hinger. “raf–”

“what does it feel like…” he asked, genuinely curious, as though you weren’t falling apart beneath his hand right in front of his eyes. “when i do this?”

“it’s– hnn– ahhh– it’s sensitive. too sensitive.”

“too sensitive?” he lifted his thumb immediately, feigning worry, and the loss of contact made you whine, made you reach for his wrist.

“but you don’t want me to stop, do you? your body says something different.”

he wasn’t wrong.

you could feel yourself growing wetter, could feel the slickness spreading, making his eventual descent towards your quivering hole inevitable. your shorts were pushed so far to the side now they might as well not exist, material stretched to extremes, and your thighs had fallen open of their own accord, presenting yourself to him like an offering.

“please.” you heard yourself say, and you weren’t even sure what you were begging for.

“please what?” he leaned down, and you felt his lips brush the inside of your knee, feather-light. teasing you with his plush lips and wet tongue. “use your words, little siren. tell me what you need.”

“touch me. properly.”

his smile was devastating, earning another glob of slick from your sticky cunt. “properly. i like that.”

and then his fingers — two of them, clever and confident — slid through your folds, gathering the slickness there, spreading it upwards to where his thumb was already circling again.

the sound it made was obscene, a drenched, sticky noise that seemed to fill the quiet room, and you felt your face flame even as your hips rocked into his hand.

guiding him to penetration.

“that’s–” he paused, his fingers stilling at your entrance, and you could feel how close they were, how easily they could slip inside. “that’s the opening? that’s where you’d take me?”

“ughgh– rafayel.”

“i want to hear you say it.” his thumb pressed harder against your clit, making you jerk against the couch. “this is anatomy study, remember? tell me what i’m touching.”

you were going to kill him. or fuck him.

possibly both.

“that’s my vagina.” you gritted out, the clinical word feeling absurdly out of place with your hips grinding against his steady hand. “my cunt. my pussy. whatever you want to call it. now will you please–”

he pushed in.

two fingers slid inside you in one smooth motion, and whatever you were about to say dissolved into a choked cry. he filled you perfectly, his fingers, longer and thicker than your own, reaching places you’d never quite managed to find yourself.

the stretch was exquisite, the fullness sending sparks up your spine.

making your head lol back in pleasure.

“ohhh, fuckkkkk.” he breathed, and now his voice had lost its teasing edge, gone rough and needy. “nghh– that’s– you’re so tight. so hot inside. i can feel you squeezing me.”

he curled his fingers experimentally, and your vision whited out for a moment at the edges. only your moans and the blurry view of the ceiling were registered by your mushy brain. when it slowly materialized back to reality, you were gripping his forearm with both hands, your nails digging crescents into his skin.

and he was watching you with the most ferocious concentration you’d ever seen on his face.

“there.” he said, not asking. “that was the spot. i found it.”

rafayel pressed again, harder, and you cursed out loud, thighs convulsing harsh around his hand, threatening to close completely.

“raf– fuck– don’t stop, please don’t stop–”

“wasn’t planning to.” his thumb found your clit again, working it in tight circles while his fingers pumped slowly in and out, fucking you with a rhythm that was at once gentle and utterly relentless.

“you’re so wet. i can hear it. i can feel it dripping down my hand. is that all for me?”

“yes.” you sobbed.

because it was, it was all for him. every drop of slick, every flutter of your walls around his fingers, every desperate sound falling from your lips.

“good.” he leaned forward, and his lips brushed your inner thigh, his breath hot and uneven. “because i’ve wanted this. wanted to know what you’d sound like. what you’d look like. what it would feel like to have you fall apart on my fingers.”

his fingers crooked again, finding that spot inside you and pressing, pressing, pressing, and you felt the coil in your belly wind tighter than it ever had before.

“you’re close.” he observed, and there was awe in his voice. “i can feel you fluttering. you’re going to cum for me, aren’t you? going to soak my hand like the good little muse that you are.”

you couldn’t answer. couldn’t breathe. the world had narrowed to the place where his hands worked you open, to the swishing sounds he was pulling from your body, to the heat building behind your eyes and between your legs.

“come on.” he whispered, and his voice was like the pull of the tide. calling you to obey. “cum for me. show me what you look like when you fall.”

so you fell.

the orgasm crashed through you like a wave, like the ocean you’d left behind, endless and unstoppable.

you cried out — his name, maybe, or something wordless, you couldn’t tell — and your body arched into his hand, your cunt clenching around his fingers in rhythmic pulses that seemed to go on forever. through it all, he held you, his fingers still pistoning inside you, his thumb still circling lazily, drawing out every last shudder, every last drop.

when you finally collapsed back against the couch, boneless and trembling, he withdrew his fingers slowly, carefully. and you watched through half-lidded eyes as he brought them to his lips.

“ra-raffff?!”

he tasted you without hesitation, his eyes closing as his lips engulfed his digits, a sound of pure pleasure rumbling in his chest.

“so so sweet, my siren.” he murmured, and when his eyes opened again, they were still hungry. but fueled by something more primal. “but now i wonder…”

he was already slanting over you, his body covering yours, his knee pushing between your thighs and opening you once more. and you could feel it — hard and ready against your hip, wanting to go beyond foreplay.

“you wonder...” you managed, breathless, eyes glued to the cock print in his loose pants. “what exactly?”

his laugh was dark and low, and when his palm found the soft curve of your tummy, his index and thumb spread. drawing an invisible line through your belly button.

“how many inches can go inside?”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @yuunileb, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel.if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!

[laurefindele]

── the tide's lament

༄ pairing: rafayel x non-mc reader

༄ summary: At fifteen, you are saved from a storm by a Lemurian boy. Three years later, he washes ashore mute and mistaken, believing your cousin Mei is the girl he pulled from the sea. You know the truth, but the sea witch’s bargain demands a price before the third moon rises. You are faced with an impossible choice - tell him… or let him go.

༄ cw: MDNI!, fem!reader, non-mc reader, little mermaid au, fairytale au, princess!reader, MC is called Mei, unrequited love, mistaken identity, major character death, angst with no happy ending, hurt/no comfort, background mc x caleb, unbeta'd, unedited

༄ wc: 9.3k

༄ a/n: HAPPY VALENTINES DAY 🥹

༄ lads masterlist ༄ fairy tale aus ༄ AO3

The storm comes on your cousin's eighteenth birthday.

You remember this clearly. 

The way the sky split open, the way the sea turned from sapphire to slate in the span of a single breath. 

One moment the royal vessel is cutting through calm waters, lanterns strung along the rigging for the celebration, music spilling across the deck where Mei is laughing, radiant in a gown of soft lavender, her hair loose in the salt wind. 

The next moment, the world tilts.

You are only fifteen. 

You are not supposed to be on the upper deck.

You are not supposed to be on this ship at all.

Your uncle, the King, though you have called him Father for as long as you remember, forbade it. 

The sea is no place for you, he said, the same words he has said every year since you were old enough to ask why Mei and the other children were permitted to play on the shore and you were not. It is the same careful refusal delivered with a tenderness that almost masked the fear beneath it.

You were only three years old when the sea took your parents.

Your real Father, the King's younger brother, had been dispatched on a diplomatic mission to the southern kingdoms. Your mother sailed with him, as she always did, because they were the sort of couple who did not do anything apart. 

They left you in the palace with your nursemaid and your cousin Mei, who was six and who held your hand at the harbor and said, They will come back. They always come back.

They did not come back.

The ship went down in a storm three days out of port. 

No survivors. No wreckage. 

The sea swallowed them whole and offered nothing in return, not a plank, not a ribbon, not a body to bury. Your uncle closed the ports for a week of mourning and then closed them around you for the rest of your life.

You do not remember your parents. 

You have a miniature portrait of them that you keep in a locket, and sometimes you study their faces and try to find yourself in them, the shape of their jaws, the set of their brows, the curve of their lips.

People say you have your Mother’s eyes. 

You would not know.

All you know is that the King and Queen took you in without hesitation. 

They gave you their name, their home, their love. 

They raised you alongside Mei, and if there was ever a difference in affection between their daughter by blood and their daughter by grief, you never felt it. 

The Queen braids your hair the same way she braids Mei's. The King reads to you at night from the same book of fairy tales you loved. When you are ill, they sit at your bedside and refuse to leave until you recover.

They love you. 

You have never doubted this.

But they are afraid. 

The guilt of your parents' death, the mission the King himself ordered, the ship he chose, the sea he sent his brother into, has hardened into something immovable, a conclusion that lives in the marrow of their bones. 

The sea takes what they love. 

The sea took the King’s only brother and his wife. 

The sea will not take you too.

And so you are kept from the water.

The beach below the palace cliffs is forbidden. 

The harbor is off-limits without an escort of no fewer than four guards.

You are not taught to swim. 

You are not permitted on boats. 

When the court sails for summer holidays, you remain behind with your tutors and your books and the loneliness of a girl watching from a window while everyone she loves disappears over the horizon.

And yet.

And yet. 

You love the sea.

You love it the way a caged bird loves the sky. 

You love the sound of it, the smell of it, the way the light changes when the tide shifts. 

You sneak to the cliffs when your maids and guards are not watching and stand at the edge, letting the wind pull at your hair, breathing in salt air like you are starved of it.

The sea killed your parents. 

You know this. 

You understand deeply why your uncle prohibits you from stepping close to it.

But the sea does not feel like death to you. 

It feels like home. 

Like something vast and ancient is calling your name in a language you almost, almost, remember.

So when Mei's birthday celebration is held on the royal vessel this year, and you are told, as always, to remain at the palace, you do something you have never done before.

You disobey.

You slip aboard in the chaos of departure, hidden among the servants, dressed in a servant’s garb you have stolen from one of your maids, carrying crates of wine and garlands of flowers. 

You tuck yourself below deck and wait until the ship is too far from shore to turn back, and then you creep up the stairs because you want to see the stars over open water, because you want to watch your cousin dance, because you are young and foolish and the sea has been singing to you your entire life and tonight, for the first time, you are close enough to answer.

The sea is not singing tonight. 

The sea is hungry.

The wave that takes you is enormous, a wall of black water that crashes over the railing and sweeps you off your feet like you are nothing. 

You hear screaming, Mei's voice, sharp with terror, calling your name, and then the ocean closes over your head and the world becomes dark and cold and silent.

You fight. 

You kick and claw toward what you think is the surface, but the current is too strong, pulling you deeper, spinning you until you cannot tell up from down. 

Your lungs burn. Your limbs grow heavy. 

The cold seeps into your bones, and you think, with the strange calm of someone who is drowning that this is how you die. 

The same sea. 

The same way. 

Just like your birth parents.

And then, hands.

Not human hands. 

The fingers are too long, the grip too strong, and there is something strange about the skin, smooth as pearl, cool as the water itself. 

They wrap around your waist and pull you upward with a force that defies the current, and suddenly you are breaking the surface, gasping, choking on salt water, alive.

You can barely see through the rain and spray, but you see him.

Blue eyes. 

That is the first thing. 

Eyes that glow, luminous and unearthly, the deep blue against the darkness brought by the storm. They pierce the storm like twin flames, too bright to be human and too vivid to be real. Hair that clings to his face in wet strands. and a face that is startlingly beautiful and otherworldly.

And below his waist are not legs. 

A tail. 

Scales that shimmer between deep blue and iridescent pink, catching the fractured light of the storm, the blue dominant and dazzling, shifting to rose at the edges like the sky at the last moment before nightfall.

Lemurian.

The word surfaces through the haze of panic and cold. 

The sea people. 

The ones your tutors said were legends, fairy tales told to children who asked too many questions about the deep sea.

He is no legend. 

He is warm where the sea is cold, solid where the water is relentless, and he holds you against his chest as he swims toward a rocky outcropping barely visible through the storm. 

His tail cuts through the water with effortless power, and you cling to him because he is the only safe thing in a world that has become chaos.

When he reaches the rocks, he lifts you onto the flat surface with a gentleness that surprises you. Your fingers scrape against stone as you pull yourself up, coughing water, shaking so hard your teeth rattle.

And then he sings.

It is not a song you can name or describe. 

It is not a melody that belongs to any instrument or language you know. 

It is something older, a sound that seems to come from the ocean itself, haunting and achingly beautiful. It wraps around you like warmth and the cold recedes.

The terror of your almost drowning recedes. 

Everything recedes except the sound of his voice and the blue of his eyes.

You reach for him. 

Your trembling hand finds his cheek and he goes still. 

The singing stops. 

He stares at you with those impossible eyes, and his expression shifts into tenderness.

His hand comes up to cover yours, his palm warm against the cold of your skin.

"You are safe," he says, and his voice is the most beautiful thing you have ever heard. Low and melodic, with an accent you cannot place."I will not let you drown."

You want to speak. 

You want to tell him your name, ask his, and understand how this is possible. 

That a creature from legend is holding your hand on a rock in the middle of a storm. 

But the exhaustion is pulling you under, and the last thing you see before you lose consciousness is his face, haloed by lightning, and the worry in his glowing blue eyes.

When you wake, it is already morning. 

The storm has passed. 

You are on a beach, alone. 

Your cousin's search party finds you an hour later.

Mei weeps when she sees you, she holds you so tightly you think your ribs might crack, and she says over and over, "I thought I had lost you. I thought the sea took you."

The King's face when they carry you home is something you will never forget. 

There is no anger, not yet, but he wears a face of a man who has already buried his brother to the ocean and has just, for one terrible night, believed it also took his brother's child, his daughter, as well.

He holds you and does not speak for a very long time.

"Someone saved me in the water," you tell him, your voice still raw from salt water. "Someone pulled me out."

"Who?"

You do not know how to explain, so you just shake your head and let the servants wrap you in blankets and carry you home.

You never tell anyone the truth, but you never forget his face. 

His voice. 

The warmth of his hand against yours.

You are fifteen years old, and you are already in love with someone who does not know your name.

Three years pass.

You grow up in the shadow of your cousin's presence. 

Mei is the crown princess of Linkon, smart and beautiful and destined for a political marriage that will secure and strengthen the kingdom. 

You are the younger, quieter ward and the less remarkable princess, content to spend your days in the palace library or walking the cliffs above the sea.

Always the sea. 

The King's restrictions tightened after the night of the storm. 

Guards are now posted at the cliff paths, the beach gate locked, stern lectures delivered by a desperate man who cannot lose another person he loves to the water. 

But you find your ways. 

A window seat that faces the ocean. 

A tower room where the sound of the waves carries on the wind. 

The cliffs, when you can slip past your guards and maids who are always, always watching.

You are drawn to it in a way you cannot explain, standing at the edge of the rocks and staring into the water as though if you look hard enough, you might catch a flash of iridescent scales beneath the surface.

You never do.

You never see him again after that night.

You paint him sometimes. 

In the privacy of your chambers, with watercolors that can never quite capture the luminous quality of his eyes or the way his voice made you feel. 

The paintings are hidden beneath a loose floorboard in your closet like love letters no one will ever read.

Mei's heart, meanwhile, belongs to someone entirely unsuitable.

Caleb has been a friend to both of you since childhood. 

A boy who grew into a soldier, who climbed the military ranks with the same stubborn determination he once used to climb the palace walls on a dare. 

He is tall and broad-shouldered, with purple eyes that are warm when he is laughing and fierce when he is protecting someone he loves. 

He is now the youngest general in Linkon's history, and he is hopelessly in love with your cousin.

The feeling is mutual, though neither of them will admit it.

You watch them dance around each other. 

Mei's blush when Caleb offers his arm, Caleb's distance when he remembers his rank is not suited for a princess. 

Your uncle has made it clear that Mei's marriage will serve the kingdom, not her heart. 

You ache for them. 

The quiet tragedy of loving someone who is right there, close enough to touch, but separated by difference in status.

You understand that ache better than anyone.

You are not betrothed to anyone, which suits you fine. 

The suitors who have expressed interest in the King's ward have been met with your disinterest because how can you consider marrying someone when your heart already belongs to a creature you met once, in a storm, three years ago?

Foolish, you tell yourself. 

He is not coming back. 

He probably does not even remember you.

But you remember him, every night, before you sleep, you close your eyes and hear his voice. 

You are safe. I will not let you drown.

And then, on a morning in late spring, everything changes.

The guards find him on the beach below the palace cliffs.

You hear about it from a servant. A breathless maid who comes running into the library where you are reading, her eyes wide.

"Your Highness! They have found a man on the shore! He is injured, and he cannot speak, and Princess Mei is with him —"

You are on your feet before she finishes the sentence.

You run. 

Through the corridors, down the winding stone stairs that lead to the beach, your heart hammering with a ferocity that has nothing to do with the adrenaline of running, because you know. 

Before you even see him, you already know who it was.

The beach is crowded with guards and servants clustering around a figure lying on the sand. 

Mei is kneeling beside him, her hand on his shoulder, speaking in the gentle voice she uses when she is trying to calm you when you are scared as a child. 

You push through the crowd and your world stops.

It is him.

You immediately recognize his blue eyes.

They do not glow now as they were in the storm, but still that impossible shade, but now the deep blue is threaded with soft pink at the bottom, half-open and dazed with pain. 

His face is exactly as you remember, beautiful and otherworldly. His hair is longer now, tangled with sand. He is wearing nothing but a length of fabric someone must have wrapped around his waist.

And he has legs.

Where his tail should be are legs, long and pale and trembling, as though they are new to him and he never used them before. 

They are scraped raw, bleeding, and he keeps looking down at them with an expression of both pain and bewilderment.

Your heart stops, you know what he has done.

You have scoured every book in the library about him and his people after that night.

Lemurians do not have legs if they will it.

The stories you found spoke of sea witches and bargains.

What did you pay, you think, staring at him, your heart sinking. What did you sacrifice to come here? 

"He washed up an hour ago," the captain of the guard is telling your uncle. "No identification, no clothing. He also appears to be mute."

Mute. 

Your stomach drops. 

His voice, that beautiful voice that sang the cold out of your bones?

It is now gone. 

The sea witch must have taken his voice, the thing that you have treasured the most, in exchange for legs. 

"He was reaching for me when the guards arrived," Mei says softly. "As though he recognized me and as though he was trying to tell me something."

Your chest tightens sharply you cannot breathe.

He thinks it was Mei. 

The realization crashes over you like a wave. 

He thinks Mei was the one he saved that night.

He came here for her.

Not you. 

He does not remember you.

But it makes a terrible kind of sense. 

Mei was on the ship that night because it was her birthday.

If he saw the royal vessel, if he knew a Princess of Linkon was aboard, of course he would assume it was Mei.

Not the unremarkable ward who should not have been on the ship at all and was not even supposed to be near the water.

You know you should say something. 

You should step forward and say, it was me. 

You open your mouth.

And then he looks at Mei with those blue-pink eyes full of desperate relief and reaches for her hand.

Mei takes it.

You close your mouth.

You do not say anything.

You are eighteen years old and your heart is quietly breaking and no one even notices.

They bring him into the palace. 

Your uncle is reluctant, but Mei insists.

"He is hurt and needs care. We cannot simply leave him on the beach."

So he is given a room in the guest quarters. 

You watch from a distance as he learns to walk on legs that do not know how to hold him, stumbling, falling, catching himself on walls and doorframes with the frustrated grace of a creature built for water and now forced to navigate land.

He writes his name on parchment the first day they give him ink.

Rafayel.

The name settles into your chest.

You have spent three years loving someone whose name you did not know, and now that you have it, it makes everything worse. 

He is real and present.

He is walking the corridors of your home, and he does not know you exist.

That is not entirely true. 

He knows you are the King's ward, Mei's younger cousin. When you are introduced, he bows politely, and when his eyes meet yours there is nothing. 

There is no recognition in his blue-pink eyes, just the courteous blankness of a stranger who is forced to meet someone new.

You smile and curtsy and say, "Welcome to Linkon, Rafayel." 

Your voice does not shake, and you are proud of that.

He writes, Thank you, Your Highness. You are very kind.

Kind. 

The word tastes like ash.

Rafayel becomes a fixture in the palace. 

He is charming without his voice, expressive and warm, communicating through notes and gestures and a smile that he easily wins over the court.

And he paints. 

Your uncle gives him a studio, and the canvases he produces are extraordinary. 

Seascapes in colors so vivid they seem to move, portraits that capture the subjects better than any artist in Linkon could. 

He paints Mei the most.

You try not to look at those paintings. 

You fail.

Mei, for her part, is gentle with him. 

She visits his studio, brings him tea, and sits with him while he works. 

She treats him with the compassion she shows everyone, genuine and warm and without pretense.

She does love him.

You can see that clearly, even if Rafayel cannot.

Mei loves Caleb. 

You see it in the way her eyes follow him across the training yard, in the way her laughter changes pitch when he is nearby, in the way she touches the small apple-shaped pendant he gave her for her last birthday, a private gesture she does not know you have noticed.

Caleb loves her back. 

You see it in the way he stands slightly too close at formal dinners, in the way his voice softens when he says her name, in the way he looks at her when he thinks no one is watching, with a devotion so naked it makes your chest ache.

But your uncle has been negotiating a political marriage for Mei. 

A duke from the Eastern kingdom, an alliance that would secure Linkon's borders. 

Caleb's rank, however elevated, is not enough. 

A general is not a duke, and for a crown princess like Mei, love is not leverage.

Rafayel sees none of this. 

Rafayel sees only Mei, the woman he crossed an ocean for, gave up his voice for, sacrificed everything to find.

And you see only him.

You discover the truth about the sea witch's bargain by accident.

You are in the library late one night, unable to sleep, when you find a book about Lemurian folklore left open on a reading table. 

The pages are marked with small notes in Rafayel's handwriting. He has been researching his own curse.

The passage he has marked reads:

The sea witch's bargain is thus: a voice for legs, the ocean for the land. The transformation is maintained by the bond that is formed the moment a Lemurian's lifeforce intertwines with a human's. To break the bargain and restore what was taken, the Lemurian must receive a true love's kiss from the one with whom they bonded. If the kiss does not come before the third moon after he arrives on land, the Lemurian will dissolve into seafoam, lost to both worlds forever.

Your hands shake so violently the book nearly slips from your grasp.

The one with whom they bonded.

That is you. 

In the water, in the storm, when he held you and sang and your hand touched his face, your bond with him was formed.

His lifeforce is intertwined with yours, not Mei's.

He needs your kiss to survive. 

Not Mei's. 

Yours.

And he does not know.

You sink into the nearest chair, your mind racing. 

You could tell him. 

You could go to his room right now and tell him. 

But if you tell him, will he kiss you out of desperation to survive or will he kiss you because of the bond? 

Will you have to live knowing the only reason his lips touched yours was because he had no other choice?

You want him to choose you because he remembers you, not because a curse demands it.

So you close the book, return it where you found it, and go back to your room and cry until dawn.

You do not say a word, but you keep reseaching.

You return to the library every night after that. 

When the palace sleeps, you are awake, pulling every text about Lemurians from the shelves, cross-referencing myths with the scraps of writing from scholars who treated the sea folk as more than legend.

It takes you eleven days to find an alternative.

The passage is in an old text, so old the pages are brittle and the ink has faded to brown. 

It is written in an archaic dialect that takes you hours to translate, hunched over a dictionary by candlelight, your eyes burning, your hands stiff with cold.

There exists a second path to sever the sea witch's bond. If the bonded human willingly offers their heart, sacrificed in the place where the witch resides, the bond dissolves. The Lemurian is freed, their voice restored, their form their own to choose, the human perishes.

You read it three times.

Four. 

Five.

The human perishes.

Your vision blurs. 

You press your fist against your mouth to stop the sob that wants to come out.

You could save him, but not with a kiss he does not want to give you. 

Not by humiliating yourself, by forcing a reveal that would make him look at you with guilt instead of love. 

If he has not find this part of the bargain, then you could save him without him ever knowing it was you who has bonded with.

He would get his voice back. 

He would be alive and free. 

He could stay on land or return to the sea, whichever he chose. 

He could love Mei or not love Mei on his own terms, without a curse dictating the shape of his life.

All it would cost is your heart.

All it would cost is your life.

You close the book. 

Your hands are steady now, they should not be. 

You should be shaking and falling apart.

But instead there is a strange, terrible calm settling over you, the calm of someone who has been drowning all her life and has finally found the will to stop fighting the current.

This is how it was always going to end, you think. 

He saved your life in the water, now you save his. 

It is that simple. 

The grief is not.

You have nineteen days until the third moon.

Nineteen days to find the sea witch. 

Nineteen days to say goodbye to everyone you love without alerting them of your plan.

You begin with Mei.

Your cousin finds you in the garden the next morning, which is unusual, you are not a morning person, and the garden is Mei's domain, not yours. 

She raises an eyebrow when she sees you sitting on the stone bench by the roses.

"You are up early."

"I could not sleep." You pat the bench beside you. "Sit with me?"

Mei sits, studying your face carefully, brows furrowing as she tries to read what you are thinking.

"What is wrong?"

"Nothing. I just… I wanted to tell you something."

You take her hands, holding them tightly and memorizing the shape of her fingers.

"You should be with Caleb."

Mei goes still. 

"What?"

"I know you love him. I have known for years, and he loves you. Everyone can see it except Father, who refuses to look." You squeeze her hands. "Do not let the political marriage happen. Fight for what you want, Mei. You deserve to be happy."

Your cousin stares at you, her eyes filling with tears. 

"Where is this coming from?"

"It is coming from someone who does not want you to waste the love you have." Your voice cracks. "Promise me. Promise me you will fight for him."

"I…" Mei blinks, the tears spilling over. "I promise, but you are frightening me. Why are you speaking like this?"

"I am not frightened. I am merely… clear, about some things." You smile, and it is the gentlest lie you have ever told. "I love you, Mei, more than anything. I need you to know that."

"I love you too." Mei pulls you into a tight hug. "You are being strange, and it worries me."

"I am always strange."

"True." She laughs wetly. "But this is a different kind of strange."

You hold her for a long time, breathing in the scent of her hair, memorizing carefully as part of your memory that you will carry into the dark.

You spend the next week quietly putting your affairs in order. 

You write letters and hide them in places they will eventually be found. 

One for Mei in her favorite book, one for your Father and Mother in the book of fairytales they read to you as a child, one for Caleb folded into the scabbard of his sword. 

You finish your watercolor paintings and leave them stacked neatly beneath the loose floorboard where you have always kept them. 

Dozens of paintings of blue eyes and iridescent scales and the silhouette of a boy in a storm.

You request access to a small boat, telling the King that you want to paint seascapes from the water.

It is an unusual request, more than unusual, given your Father’s lifelong prohibition, but you frame it carefully. 

You are eighteen now, you point out.

Old enough to make your own peace with the ocean that took your parents. 

Old enough, you say, with a smile that hides everything, to stop being afraid.

Your Father’s face is torn when you ask. 

He looks at you, the way he does sometimes when the light catches your face at an angle that reminds him of his brother, and you see the war behind his eyes. 

The guilt and the fear.

He knows that he cannot keep you caged forever, so he grants the request. 

He warns you to take guards.

You will not take guards, but you agree, because agreeing is safer than arguing. 

You cannot give your plan away. 

You cannot reveal that you are a dead girl walking through the last days of her life, smiling at everyone, eating meals she cannot taste, sleeping in a bed she will never return to.

The last few days of your life are the loneliest days you have ever experienced. 

And you have been lonely for a very long time.

On the fifteenth day before the third moon, you visit Rafayel's studio.

You have avoided this room since he arrived. 

The smell of paint and linseed oil, the sight of his hands moving across canvas, the particular way he tilts his head when he is concentrating. 

All of it is too much. 

Too close, too real.

But you need to see him one last time. 

Not from across a dinner table or the opposite end of a corridor, up close. 

In the place where he is most himself.

He is painting when you enter. 

Another seascape, waves crashing against rocks under a stormy sky. 

The colors are violent and beautiful, and you recognize the scene immediately. 

It is the night of the storm. 

The night he saved you.

He looks up when you knock on the open door, and surprise flickers across his face. 

You have never visited him here before. 

He gestures you in warmly and reaches for a parchment.

Your Highness, this is a pleasant surprise.

"Please," you say. "No titles, not today."

He looks at you curiously, but nods.

You walk around the studio, looking at his paintings, every one of them is extraordinary. 

They are all raw and emotional and full of a longing so palpable you can almost taste it. 

You stop at the storm painting, your throat tight.

"This is beautiful," you say. "The storm, it looks so real."

I painted it from memory, the night I saved her in the water.

Her. 

Not you. 

Her.

"The person you saved," you say carefully. "Do you remember much about that night?"

He is quiet for a moment, his pen hovering over the paper, then he writes slowly.

I remember the feel of her hand on my face, cold and trembling. I remember singing for her. I remember the way she looked at me.

You have to turn away. 

You pretend to examine another painting, blinking hard, willing the tears back.

"That must have been a powerful moment," you manage.

It was the moment I knew I would find her. No matter what it cost.

No matter what it cost.

You turn back to him. 

He is watching you with an expression you cannot decipher.

Curiosity, perhaps, or confusion. 

"May I ask you something?" you say.

He nods.

"Was it worth it, leaving and giving up everything you knew? For someone who might not… who might not feel the same way?"

He does not hesitate.

Yes, a thousand times yes. Even if she never loves me, even if I become nothing, I would do it all again.

You give him a sad smile.

"She is lucky," you say. "This girl that you saved, even if she does not know it. She is the luckiest person in the world."

He looks confused by your words.

Are you all well, Your Highness?

"I am fine," you say, and you leave before he can see the tears fall.

You find the sea witch on the twelfth day.

It is not the dramatic confrontation the stories describe. 

There is no cave of bones, no garden of corals, no monstrous creature wreathed in smoke and malice, welcoming you to her lair.

The sea witch is just a woman who looks ancient and weary, sitting on a rock at the edge of a tidal pool in a cove three hours south of the palace.

She is waiting for you. 

You know this because she speaks before you even say a word.

"The other one," she says, and her voice is like the sound of shells being ground by waves, musical and rough at the same time. "The one from the water, I was wondering when you would come."

"You knew about me."

"Of course I knew. When I made the bargain with the boy, I could feel the bond where it led, who it held, you, little princess, not the pretty older cousin." She tilts her head, studying you with eyes that are pale and depthless, like tide pools reflecting an empty sky. "He does not know, does he?"

"No."

"And you do not intend to tell him."

"No."

The witch is quiet for a moment. 

Then she laughs with a sadness that surprises you.

"You humans," she murmurs. "So fragile and stubborn. He came to me begging for legs so he could find the girl he saved, and you come to me ready to die so he will never have to know she was you." She shakes her head. "Two sides of the same fool's coin."

"Will you do it?" Your voice does not shake, you are proud of that. "My heart for his freedom, that is the alternative, I read it."

"I can do it," the witch says. "But you need to understand what you are offering. It is not merely your life, child. Your heart, the very thing that bound you together. When I take it, the bond dissolves, his voice returns. His legs become his own again, no longer tethered to the curse. He will be free."

"And I will be dead."

"Yes." The witch's pale eyes hold yours. "But not immediately, you will have until the tide turns. A few hours, perhaps. Enough time to walk back to shore, enough time to be somewhere familiar."

Somewhere familiar, the beach below the cliffs. 

The same beach where they found Rafayel. The same part of the beach where your Mei found you three years ago.

The irony of it is so perfect it makes you want to laugh.

"There is one more thing," the witch says. "The wound, where I take the heart, no human eye will see it. The magic will seal your flesh. To anyone who looks, you will seem untouched. As though you simply lay down on the sand and stopped breathing."

"But?"

"But a Lemurian will see it. Their eyes were made for magic, you see. If the boy finds you, he will see the wound. He will see what has happened." She pauses. "And he will know."

Your stomach drops. 

"Know what?"

"That someone loved him enough to cut out their own heart so he could live."

The words hang in the salt air between you.

"So he will he know it was me?"

"That depends," the witch says, "on whether he is paying attention."

You close your eyes, it is too late to go back now.

You have already decided to end everything here.

The wind is cold off the water, and you can hear the sea moving beneath the rocks, and somewhere in the distance, a bird is calling out across the waves.

"Do it," you say.

The witch rises from her rock.

She is shorter than you expected. 

She smells of brine and something older, something that has no name in any human language. Her hands, when she places them on your chest, are gentle and impossibly strong.

"You are brave," she says quietly. "Stupid, but brave."

"Is there a difference?"

"Not usually."

The pain is —

You expected agony. 

What you get is something worse, a pulling, slow and unyielding, like a thread being drawn from a tapestry, and the tapestry is you, and the thread is every moment you have ever loved him. 

The storm. 

The singing. 

The rock. 

His eyes. 

His hands. 

The paintings you hid under the floorboard. 

The three years of silence and longing and watching from the shadows.

The sea witch pulls it all out, and it takes the shape of your heart, and your heart takes the shape of a small, iridescent scale.

The deep, shimmering blue of his tail, edged with the faintest blush of pink.

It is the color of his tail.

The witch holds it up to the light. 

It catches the sun like a jewel, like a tear, like the last note of a song that will never be sung again.

"Beautiful," she murmurs. "They always are, the hearts that love the hardest."

She closes her fist around it. 

The scale dissolves into light, and the light sinks into the sea, and somewhere miles away, in a palace on a cliff a man who has been silent for weeks opens his mouth and makes a sound.

You feel it happen. 

You feel the bond sever, like a rope cut with a blade and then you feel nothing at all where your heart used to be. 

No pain. 

No grief. 

Just a hollow so vast and quiet it makes the ocean look small.

"The tide turns in four hours," the witch says. "You should go."

The walk back takes longer than the walk there.

Your legs are heavy. 

Your body knows what has been taken from it, even if the wound is invisible and you cannot see it, even if you look the same as you did this morning when you woke and dressed and walked out of the palace for the last time.

You are dying. 

You are dying slowly but gently, the way a candle dies when the wax runs out. The flame is still there, still burning, but with nothing left to feed it.

You make it to the beach below the palace cliffs just as the sun begins to set.

You take off your shoes and walk barefoot to the water's edge, letting the waves lap at your feet. 

The cold feels distant.

Everything feels distant now, as though you are watching yourself from very far away.

You sit down, then you lie down, your hair fanning across the warm sand, your face turned toward the sea.

The sky above you is beautiful, painted in shades of gold and blue and deep, burning orange, like one of Rafayel's canvases come to life. 

You stare at it and think that this is the last beautiful thing you will ever see before you die.

You are not afraid, you thought you would be. 

You thought the end would come with fear, with regret, with the desperation to live, but instead you only felt peace.

You have done the thing you came to do. 

You have paid the price. 

Rafayel is free.

You close your eyes.

The last thing you hear is the sound of the waves, and beneath them, so faint you might be imagining it, the echo of a song you heard once in a storm, when you were fifteen and drowning and a boy with blue eyes held you and promised you were safe.

You are safe. I will not let you drown.

Forgive me, you think. I could not keep you from drowning either, but I could keep you from disappearing. I hope that is enough.

I hope I was enough.

The tide turns.

The waves reach for you, gentle as his hands were he saved you from the storm. 

You let them.

His voice comes back like a tide.

He is in his studio when it happens, standing before the storm painting, brush in hand, adding details from memory that grow sharper by the day instead of fading away. 

One moment, there is nothing. 

The silence that has been his prison for weeks, the maddening absence of sound in his throat. 

The next moment, a broken gasp comes from his throat.

Then a sound, that sounds primal, a mix of shock and relief and confusion.

“What —?”

His own voice, raw and not quite what it was before, but it is his. 

He immediately drops the brush and a hand goes to his throat. He speaks again, testing. 

"How —"

The curse is broken. 

He can feel it. 

The severing of the bond that has been wound tight around his chest since the day he crawled onto this beach. 

The sea witch's magic is unraveling. 

His legs no longer ache with the wrongness of transformation. His body feels, for the first time since leaving the water, as though it belongs to him again.

But the bond…

His hand goes to his chest, the bond is gone.

He feels its absence like a phantom limb, the severed thread that once connected him to the person he saved in the storm, the invisible tether that has been pulling him toward Mei since the day he arrived. 

He stops.

Except… it was never pulling him toward Mei, was it? 

He sees that now, the sudden clarity after the curse broke, like a fog lifting away to reveal a landscape he should have recognized all along.

The bond was never pointed at Mei.

It was pointed at the girl who stood in the shadows. 

The one who walked the cliffs. 

The one who came to his studio and asked if it was worth it, and smiled at him with such sadness that he could not sleep afterward, could not paint, could not do anything but stare at the ceiling and try to understand why your face kept replacing Mei's every time he closed his eyes.

The King's ward. 

The quiet one.

It was you.

The night of the storm. 

The hand on his face. 

Small. Cold. Trembling. 

Not a woman's hand. 

You were fifteen then, like he was. 

Mei was eighteen. 

He has been looking at the wrong person for weeks. 

Painting the wrong portrait. 

Writing love notes to the wrong woman. 

When the right one has been there the entire time, watching from doorways and shadows, smiling your quiet smile, carrying a secret so heavy it should have crushed you.

He needs to find you. 

Now. 

He needs to tell you…

But wait. 

If the curse is broken… If the bond is severed…

The book said the only ways to break it were a true love's kiss or…

Or

The blood drains from his face.

He runs.

He checks your chambers first. 

Empty. 

The bed is made, the curtains drawn, and there is a neatness to the space that feels final, like the person tidying is preparing for a journey with no return.

He feels the pull to your wardrobe.

He opens it, pulls up the loose floorboard he has accidentally seen you glance at in one of the rare moments he passed by your chambers.

Paintings.

Dozens of them. 

In watercolors, small and delicate, layered carefully between sheets and sheets of parchment. 

He pulls them out with shaking hands and lays them across the bed, and he gasps sharply.

They are all of him.

Him in the water, tail and all, holding a girl against his chest while the storm rages in the sea.

Him singing on the rocks, his face lit by lightning, his eyes glowing blue with that otherworldly light that you have captured perfectly.

Him from the back, looking out at the sea, the line of his shoulders painted with an intimacy that speaks of someone who has memorized his every angle. 

Him peacefully sleeping in a chair in the studio, when did you see that? 

How many times did you stand in his doorway watching, while he dreamed of another person?

The earliest paintings are crude, the work of a fifteen-year-old girl with more passion than technique. But they grow more skilled as the years progress, and the most recent ones, painted since his arrival at the palace, are heartbreaking in their accuracy. 

You have captured the exact shade of his eyes, the blue, the mix of pink.

The exact curve of his mouth when he smiles.

The exact expression he makes when he looks at Mei.

There is one painting at the bottom of the stack that breaks him.

You have painted yourself from behind, standing on the cliffs, looking out at the sea. 

You are alone and the wind is pulling at your hair, and the sea stretches out before you, and in the water below the cliffs, barely visible, a flash of iridescent blue, a tail, a shadow, a memory of him.

You titled it, in small, careful letters at the bottom corner:

Waiting.

He gathers the paintings against his chest. 

He is shaking so hard they rattle against each other. 

He needs to find you. 

He needs to —

Mei appears in the doorway.

"Where is she?" His voice is cracked and barely functional. 

It does not matter. The words work. 

"Rafayel? Your voice — you can speak? How —" She stops, seeing his face and sees the paintings. "What are those?"

“Where is your cousin?" He repeats, desperately this time, ignoring her question.

"I do not know. She left this morning. She said she was going to paint by the water —"

He is past Mei before she finishes the sentence. 

He hears her calling after him, hears Caleb's voice too, the general must have been nearby, but he does not stop. 

He cannot stop.

He runs through the palace and down the stairs to the beach, and his legs carry him perfectly for the first time since he crawled out of the sea. 

He does not stumble nor fall.

The curse is broken and his body is his own, and the irony of it is that he is finally free and the freedom may have been bought and paid for by your own life.

He reaches the beach.

The guards are already there.

They found you at the water's edge.

You are lying on the sand, your hair spread around you like seaweed, your face turned toward the sea. 

You look peaceful, and like you are just sleeping, but you are no longer breathing.

There is no wound, no blood, no indication if you were drowned. Nothing.

The guards are confused, they do not know and do not see it, but Rafayel does.

His eyes, Lemurian eyes, made for magic, see what human eyes cannot. 

He sees the wound.

It is not a cut or tear but a hollow in your chest where your heart should be, glowing faintly with the residue of sea witch’s magic.

And in the center of the hollow, where your heart was supposed to be, a single scale, small and iridescent. It is the deep, shimmering blue of his tail edged with the faintest blush of pink.

It is all that is left of your heart.

The part of you that loved him, the part that bonded you to him, transformed by magic into the only shape it knew how to take.

His own scales.

His. 

He drops to his knees beside you.

His hands find your face, cold now, so so cold, and he cradles it the way you must have cradled his once, on a rock in the middle of a storm, when you were both fifteen and he sang the cold from your bones.

The sound that comes from him is not human.

It is Lemurian. 

A keen, a wail, a sound that comes from the deepest part of the ocean where the water is black and the pressure would crush anything that did not belong there. 

It is a sound of grief so deep that it makes the waves pull back from the shore, as if the sea itself is flinching.

Mei arrives. 

Then Caleb, running, his hand on his sword as if he can fight whatever did this. 

Then the King, the Queen, servants, guards, all of them pouring onto the beach like a wave, and the sound they make when they see you is nothing compared to the sound still tearing itself from Rafayel's throat.

"What happened to her?" Caleb's voice is steel. He is kneeling on the other side of your body, his hand on your shoulder, his face carved from granite. "There is no wound. There is nothing. How —"

"There is a wound," he says, and his voice breaks on every syllable. "You cannot see it. Only I can."

He looks at Mei. 

His vision is blurred with tears, but he can see her clearly enough. 

Her shattered expression, the way she is gripping Caleb's arm so hard her knuckles are white, the way she is looking at your body with an expression of incomprehensible horror.

"It was her," he says. "In the water. The night of the storm. It was never you, Mei. It was her. She was the one I saved. She was the one I bonded to. She was the one I loved. She has known the entire time."

Mei's face crumbles. 

"What?"

"The curse. The sea witch's bargain. A kiss from the bonded one, or —" He chokes on the words. "Or the bonded one's heart given willingly. She found the sea witch. She traded her heart to break my curse. And she never… she never said a word. She never told me it was her. She let me believe… she let me chase after you while she…"

He cannot finish. 

He presses his forehead against yours, cold against cold, the living against the dead, and he cries.

The King makes a sound.

It is a small, quiet sound. 

The grief of a Father losing his child.

He had made a promise to protect you from the very thing that killed your birth parents.

He kept you from the water your entire life, and the water took you anyway. 

Not by storm. 

Not by the sea. 

By love.

The Queen catches him when his knees buckle.

Mei is on her knees in the sand, sobbing, and Caleb has his arms around her.

Rafayel lifts his head. 

His hand moves to the hollow in your chest, the wound only he can see, and he touches the scale. 

The blue scale that is all that remains of your heart.

It is warm. 

Against the cold of your body, against the cold of the sand and the sea and the dying light, the scale is warm.

He picks it up with trembling fingers. 

It is small enough to fit in his palm, light as a feather, luminous as a star. 

The color shifts as he holds it, blue to pink, pink to blue, and it seems to pulse, faintly, like the echo of a heartbeat. 

Your heartbeat.

He closes his fist around it and brings it to his lips.

"I would have chosen you," he whispers, "If I had known. I would have chosen you."

But you cannot hear him.

Not anymore.

The sea witch was right. 

The hearts that love the hardest are always the most beautiful.

And the most easily broken.

They bury you on the cliff above the sea.

Not in the royal crypts beneath the palace, where the dead of the royal family are laid in marble and forgotten. 

On the cliff. 

In the open air, where the wind smells of salt and the waves can be heard crashing against the rocks below, ceaseless and eternal and indifferent.

Rafayel insists, and Mei agrees with him.

Your uncle, who has been hollowed out by grief into a shell of the stern king he used to be, does not argue. 

He stands at the edge of the cliff and stares at the sea with the expression of a man who has spent fifteen years building a wall against the tide and has learned, at last, that the tide does not care.

It will take and take and take.

The grave is marked with a simple stone. 

No title. 

No epitaph. 

Just the view of the ocean, stretching out to the horizon, the same view you loved, the same view you stood and stared at for three years, waiting for something that was already there.

Mei stands at the grave for a long time after the ceremony. Caleb stands beside her, his hand in her. 

The two of them are finally together because you pushed Mei toward him in the garden, because you wrote it in the letter she found in her book. 

Let yourself love him. Do not be like me, do not be afraid.

She found the letter the morning after they found your body. 

She read it and screamed so loudly the servants thought someone else had died.

Caleb holds her and lets her cry into his chest.

"She knew," he says. "When she came to me last week and asked me to look after you. She knew she was not coming back."

Mei shakes her head, tears streaming. 

"She told me to fight for you. That was her farewell. And I did not… I did not even realize…"

"You could not have known."

"I should have. She was my sister," Mei's voice breaks."I should have seen it."

But no one saw it. 

You, who spent your entire life being protected but overlooked, used that invisibility one last time, to do the one thing no one could stop because no one was watching.

Rafayel does not attend the funeral.

He is on the beach. 

The same beach where they found him. 

The same beach where they found you.

He is sitting in the sand at the water's edge, the blue scale in his palm, and he is talking to the sea.

He does not sing, not anymore.

His voice is back but no longer the way it was before the curse. 

It is rougher and thinner now. 

The sea witch gave him his voice but kept its beauty, a final cruelty or perhaps a mercy. 

The most beautiful parts of his voice are gone, just as the most beautiful part of your heart is gone, and perhaps that is the balance the witch intended all along.

He talks to the sea because he cannot talk to you.

"I remember clearly now," he says, his voice cracking. "The storm, finding you half-drowned. I remember how I brought you to the surface. Your face. I remember the exact feeling of your hand on my cheek."

The waves lap at his feet.

"I do not understand how I forgot, how I confused you with your cousin. You do not even look anything alike. You do not feel anything alike." He laughs bitterly. "The sea witch's magic. It must have clouded my memory, made forget you."

He opens his fist and looks at the scale. 

It catches the light, pulsing softly.

"I saw your paintings," he whispers. "Dozens of them. Three years, you waited for me and you never said a word, and when I arrived here looking for the wrong woman, you just…stepped aside. You watched me court her. You watched me write her love letters and paint her portrait and make a fool of myself, and you said nothing."

His voice breaks completely. He bows his head, pressing the scale against his forehead.

"You brave girl. I would have kissed you and meant it. If you had told me… if I had known.. I would have looked at your face and known it was you, and everything after that would have been different, you would have been alive. The bond was pulling me toward you the entire time. Every time I felt confused, every time I looked at Mei and something felt wrong, that was you. The bond was trying to show me what the sea witch’s curse was hiding."

He lifts his head. 

"I would have chosen you," he says to the sea. "I need you to know that. Wherever you are, whatever comes after, I would have chosen you."

The sea does not answer.

The sea never answers.

END.

༄ tag list: @seraphineash, @loreleis-world, @kingraspberry12-blog

[monoidmango]

Paper Airplane Dreams

Synopsis: On your fifth wedding anniversary, Caleb's first love returns to Linkon City. That night, you catch him masturbating in the bathroom, muttering MC's name. Huh. So that's why Caleb didn't touch you in your five whole years of marriage. Caleb: I promised MC I'd celebrate her birthday with her. I'm just fulfilling a promise I made a long time ago. You: Okay. Caleb: I'm going on a mission, MC will be acting as my assistant, she has experience as a Hunter, she's suited for the role You: Go ahead. When you stopped getting angry, stopped crying, and stopped making a scene, he's lost. Of course you weren't angry anymore, because you were leaving too.

Warning(s): ANGST. 30k WORDS OF PURE HURT/NO COMFORT. Non-cannonical timeline/events (no evol shenanigans). I had an interesting time exploring Caleb's selfish, egoistical, possessive, but also oblivious sides. MC and Gideon are assholes. Liam and Yvette are shockingly the best couple. READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

29.9k words

A/N: This was a monster of a fic to write; I literally made myself cry in the process. Please tell me in the comments how much your blood pressure increased by reading this and how you'd like Caleb to die (or if you think he deserves some redemption). In the meantime, feel free to ship non-mc with any of the other LIs! Thank you to everyone who has been patiently waiting for this super long piece; I hope it lives up to everyone's expectations <3

T - 30 days The sound of running water echoes from the bathroom. Caleb is taking a shower. At 3am. He had just returned from god knows where.

You stand at the bathroom door, a little nervous, wanting to discuss something with him. Just as you are trying to figure out the best way to phrase it, you hear a strange sound coming from inside. After listening carefully, you realize with a gasp that he was taking care of himself…

Each breath and groan is like a heavy hammer blow, relentlessly pounding on your heart. The pain spreads like a tidal wave, leaving you sinking in it, unable to breathe.

Actually, today is your wedding anniversary. Your fifth year of marriage, and you've never consummated it. So, he preferred to take care of himself rather than touch you?

As his breathing grows more rapid, he suddenly lets out a low growl, his voice strained with barely suppressed emotion, "Pipsqueak-" That one word delivers the final, fatal blow.

Your heart pounds, as if something just shattered into dust. You try to cover your mouth to stifle your sobs, and turn to run, but stumble on your first step, bumping into the sink and falling to the floor.

"Y/N?" Caleb's voice inside hasn't calmed down yet; you can tell he is trying to control himself, but his breathing is still heavy.

"I...I need to use the restroom, I didn't know you were taking a shower..." you stammer, clumsily grabbing the sink to stand up.

The floor and sink are wet. The more you try, the more helpless the situation becomes. By the time you finally manage to stand, Caleb emerges from the door, his white bathrobe hastily pulled on with the belt fastened tightly.

"Did you fall? Let me help you." He makes a move to pick you up. Tears well in your eyes from the pain, but you push his hand away, your expression a mixture of distress and determination. "No need, I can do it myself."

After nearly slipping again, you limp and stagger back to your bedroom. No, "escape" is the more accurate word. For the five years you were married to Caleb Xia, you've been doing nothing but constantly running away.

Running away from the outside world, from everyone's strange looks, and from Caleb's pity and sympathy—his wife is a cripple.How can a cripple be worthy of the brilliant and successful Caleb Xia?

You were not always like this...

Caleb follows you out, his voice gentle and concerned. "Did you hurt yourself? Let me see." "No, I'm fine." You pull the blanket tighter around yourself, hiding your disheveled state under it. "Are you really alright?" He sounds genuinely concerned. “Mmm.” You nod vigorously, back facing him. “So, are you going to sleep? Didn’t you want to go to the bathroom?” “I don’t want to anymore now, let’s sleep?” You whisper.

“Alright," he pauses. "By the way, today is our anniversary. I bought you a present. You can open it tomorrow and see if you like it.” “Okay.” The present is on the bedside table; you've already seen it, but you already know what is inside without even opening it.

It's the same size box every year, containing the exact same necklace. In your drawer, there are already nine identical ones. This is the tenth.

The conversation ends there. Caleb turns off the light and lies down across from you. The damp scent of bodywash fills the air, but you barely feel the bed sink. In the two-meter-wide bed, you sleep on one side, and him on the other side at the very edge; there is enough space in between  for at least another 3 people.

Neither of you mention "pipsqueak", nor what he had just done in the bathroom, as if nothing  happened. You lie stiffly, eyes burning with pain.

Pipsqueak, or MC, was his adopted younger sister, his first love, his goddess. Upon high school graduation, MC went abroad, leaving Caleb behind. He was devastated.

You and Caleb were classmates in middle and high school. You admit that you had a crush on him at the time. Back then, he was the school heartthrob, a cool and aloof academic star, while you considered yourself pretty ordinary. Not the most academically gifted, nor the most popular or pretty. You had a face everyone could recognize, but not many could describe. Besides, you had larger dreams back then. You were a dancer; started when you were young. The stage was where you felt the most at home.  So, it was just a secret crush for you; you never thought you would ever stand beside him. 

Until you return home for summer vacation after graduating from the conservatory and encounter Caleb in a wreck.

That night, he was drunk, walking erratically, crossing the street without looking at the traffic lights. A car sped towards him, and you, worried and following close behind, pushed him out of the way, getting hit by the car yourself.

You thought you had done good for yourself up to that point, successfully completing your dance studies and hoping to get a position in one of the large dance companies in the city.

The accident left you with a serious limp. You'd never be able to dance again.

Shortly after, he swore off drinking and married you.

He was forever guilty, forever grateful, forever soft-spoken, and forever showered you with gifts and money. Yet at the same time, forever indifferent. The only thing he couldn't give you was love.

In the beginning, you naively thought that time could heal all wounds, dilute all the pain. But you never could have imagined that five years later, he would still remember the name "pipsqueak" so vividly, calling out to her when he is serving himself. In the end, you were simply too foolish…

When Caleb gets up for his Colonel duties, you still pretend to be asleep. You hear him talking to the housekeeper outside: "I have a company dinner tonight. Tell my wife not to wait for me and to go to bed early." After giving the instructions, he comes back into the room to check on you again. You hide under the covers, your pillow soaked with tears. Usually, when he goes to any of the Farspace Fleet galas, you would prepare his outfit in advance.

But not tonight. He goes to the dressing room to change himself and heads to work. You open your eyes, feeling them swell uncomfortably.

Your phone alarm rings. It's the time you set for yourself to get up and study.

Because of your leg injury, since getting married, you spend most of your time at home, rarely going out. You divide your day into blocks, finding something to occupy your time.  You pick up your phone, turn off the alarm and start scrolling aimlessly through various apps. Your mind is a jumbled mess, unable to absorb anything. Until, you suddenly come across a video on a certain social media platform.

The person in the video looks so familiar… The account name: Pips_apple. The posting time was last night.

You click on the video, and immediately, upbeat music starts playing, followed by someone shouting: One, two, three, welcome back Pipsqueak! Cheers! It's Caleb's voice. He broke his vow of abstinence from alcohol. He's even a little drunk.

But would Caleb really shout like that? The Caleb you remember from high school was a friendly, but aloof academic genius. Not only was he serious when doing course work, but even more so on the sports field; he paid no attention to any of the girls who offered him water bottles and love letters.  Later, the Caleb who became your husband was even more polite, his emotions so stable they were almost unwavering. He never smiled, never got angry. He was always detached, so detached that when you occasionally touched his fingers, even his body temperature was cold.

The camera pans across everyone's faces in the video. You see a slightly tipsy Caleb, his eyes sparkling, raising his glass and laughing loudly at the camera: "Welcome home, Pips!"

So, he could smile after all. He could be passionate too. He would call girls by their nicknames. Just not you. 

You close the app immediately, struggling to catch your breath. You open your email, and read the acceptance letter on your phone over and over again, at least a hundred times.

A graduate school offer from a foreign university, the thing you originally planned to discuss with him last night. You wanted to study abroad for a master's degree; was that okay? But now it seems there is no need to discuss it with him. Five years of marriage, countless sleepless nights.  You needed to get out. If you didn't find something to do with your life now that MC is back, how would you pass the long hours? Would you spend your whole life waiting for Caleb to come home?

You had already waited for too long. The pain of waiting... is unbearable now. Today marks the countdown to you leaving him.

T - 29 days Today your plans are a little different than the usual.

Your offer was likely part of the program's last round of admissions, so you wanted to confirm it as soon as possible. The first item on your agenda is to pay the confirmation fee to the school. You breathe a sigh of relief as your phone lights up with the notification from your bank card deduction.

In the evening, you change your clothes and prepare to go out.  Your housekeeper, Mrs. Chen, is surprised. "Madam, where are you going?" Without Caleb's company, you seldom leave the house.

"Oh, friend of mine is performing at the theatre tonight and asked me to meet them," you say. Actually, you were going to stay in a hotel in the city. You have an interview tomorrow morning with an alumni of the program in the area. You were worried about traffic and not making it on time.

“But…” Mrs. Chen looks at your leg, “Shall I go with you?” “No need, it’s a get-together with my girlfriends.” Your expression remains unchanged. “Then I’ll inform the Colonel.” Mrs. Chen is uneasy, genuinely afraid something might happen to you, and didn’t want to take responsibility for whatever goes down. “No need, don’t disturb him. I’ll call him after and have him pick me up.” 

As you step out into the street, you instinctively lower your head and hunch your shoulders, hiding your face into the collar of your coat. Since injuring your leg, the confident and vibrant you on stage has disappeared. 

Mrs. Chen always said that it was best if your husband goes out with you. Caleb always said that you should stay home if he isn't with you. Neither of them knew. The only thing you were afraid of more than going out alone was going out with Caleb. Because everyone who sees you looks at you with the same question: "How did someone like him marry a girl like that?"

T - 28 days Your interview goes surprisingly smoothly. After slowly wandering around Linkon City alone for the first time in many years, you hail a taxi and head home. In the car, you silently gaze at the lights outside the window, when suddenly, you see Caleb's car parked on the side of the street.

"Wait, please stop for a moment," you quickly call to the driver. Caleb's car is parked in front of a restaurant. Yesterday before leaving for work, Caleb had casually mentioned that it was his turn to treat his friend group to dinner.

You get out of the car as if possessed.

Upon arriving, you tell the server at the front, "reservation under Mr. Xia," and give them the the last four digits of Caleb's phone number. The waiter leads you to a private room. "Thank you," you say, hesitating in front of the door. From outside, you can hear lively voices.

"I need to get home early today, I got home drunk last night and my wife was furious at me!" "Come on~ Are we still tight? Who's the one that used to always toot "bros before hoes"? Now you're henpecked? Sounds like Caleb's the only real one left!" MC jokes, her voice cheery and light.

So this is the kind of person she was. This is the kind of personality that Caleb likes. Unfortunately, you are far from it; you couldn't even pretend to be if you tried. 

Inside, Caleb's friend continues, "How can Caleb be the same as me? Y/N wouldn't dare raise her voice at him!" "Hey, by the way," MC's soft voice rings out again, "Caleb, I heard your wife is disabled? Why?"

No one answers MC's question. Your heart clenches.

Caleb's group of friends start talking amongst themselves. "Seriously, Caleb, we feel sorry for you. Look at you, you have money, power, you're handsome, a real catch. What kind of woman couldn't you marry? Why did you have to marry a cripple?" "Honestly, dude, you're the most outstanding among us. Now that you've married Y/N, whether you're at a meeting, a social event, a press conference, or any other occasion that requires a partner, you can't even take her out. Don't you think you're losing out?"

So that's how it is…

Caleb always said he didn't need you to get involved in his affairs; he was more than happy to provide for you. Everyone praised you for living a life of luxury, but as it turns out, it is simply because he doesn't think you are presentable enough.

A bitter laugh comes from Caleb. “She was so kind to me after all; I owe her.” “You owe her? You've given her so much; you've paid it back ten-fold by now!” “Exactly! You should have just given her a lump sum back then. Was it necessary to jeopardize the happiness of the rest of your life?” “I'm telling you, you should really think about it. What can she do for you? She's useless at social events, and you'd even have to worry about her spilling water at home. "Caleb~ have some water" like this? Like this?"  A burst of laughter erupts from the room, mixed with MC's exaggerated gasp. "Caleb! Does your wife really walk like that?"

You feel all the blood rush to your head as the anger and humiliation tips you off balance. You force the door open and are immediately met with a roar of laughter.

T - 27 days One of Caleb's friends, Gideon, carries a cup of water in both hands, walking with an exaggerated limp, and calling out in a high-pitched voice, "Caleb, Caleb, have some water, Caleb, ah—I fell down, Caleb, hug me—" The mocking performance is a hit. MC, sitting next to Caleb, leans on his shoulder as she shakes from laughter. 

You turn to look at your husband, hoping that the person you loved most would show some sort of reaction.  Caleb, however, remains completely silent. Gideon turns around with a triumphant smile, "How does that sound, Cale-" Before he could finish the question, he sees you standing in the doorway, and his smile freezing. "Y/N..."

Everyone looks towards the door. They are stunned.

MC quickly removes herself from Caleb's shoulder, smiling as she reaches out her hand. "Ah! This must be Caleb's legendary wife! Please come in, I'm Caleb's childhood friend."

You look at everyone in the private room, heart turning cold.

Caleb finally stands up and walks towards you. "Y/N, what brings you here? They were just joking, don't take it to heart." You stare at the man in front of you, feeling utterly unfamiliar with him, more unfamiliar than ever before. He calls this joking? So he's actually siding with them?

"Yes, sister-in-law... sister-in-law! I'm sorry, I was just joking, don't be angry," Gideon apologized, putting down his cup.

Caleb walks up, intending to put his arm around you. You suddenly remember MC laughing on his shoulder, his hands pleasuring himself in the bathroom, him calling out "Pipsqueak" as he came, and suddenly the thought of his hands on you is utterly filthy. You dodge his arm. “Y/N,” Caleb looks at his empty hands in surprise and sighs. “I apologize on their behalf. Don’t be angry, okay? I’ll bring you something when we get back; whatever you want.”

MC glares at Gideon playfully. “Go on, apologize! You've made the Colonel's wife angry! Do you think everyone is like me, clumsy and clueless, letting you joke around like that?” Gideon immediately gets defensive. “I already apologized! I didn’t know she'd suddenly appear out of thin air; I was just joking.” “A joke is only a joke if the person it is about finds it funny.” You summon all your courage to spit out the words. 

"Alright, that's enough," Caleb puts himself between you and Gideon. "Y/N," Caleb's gaze is as calm as ever, "They mean no harm; they were just joking. For my sake, forgive them. Shall I have the driver take you home?"

"Sister-in-law..." MC pouts as she stands beside him, "If you're really angry, be angry with me. Don't ignore your husband. They only organized today's gathering because I came back... Caleb, why don't you ask your wife to stay for dinner? I'll offer her a toast as an apology." "Sorry," you look at the two of them with a scorning smile. "I don't drink alcohol, especially not this tea-flavored liquor."

Caleb's expression turns serious. "Y/N, MC was trying to make it up to you, why are you so sharp-tongued?" Make it up to you? Only a fool would think so. Is Caleb a fool? No, he isn't. He is simply biased; whichever side his heart leans towards is right.

You look at the two people in front of you, and the several people behind them. They were all on the same side, while you are just an outsider who had intruded into their world. No, in fact, you've never truly entered their world; not even the periphery.

You struggle to hold back tears, letting out a soft "heh," before turning to leave. Behind you, MC's voice calls worryingly, "Caleb, your wife!" "It's alright, she's very understanding. I'll go comfort her when I go back." He sneaks a glance at your retreating figure and texts the driver to pick you up. 

You wipe away your tears forcefully, gait getting more unsteady. Surely, they'll continue to laugh at you after you left, right? You are crippled; you aren't good enough for Caleb Xia. This realization had haunted you like a curse for the past five years. 

By the time Caleb's driver arrives, you are no longer by the restaurant. Caleb frowned at the text from the chauffer. He calls you, but you didn't answer. He tries again, but your phone is switched off now.  His buddies speak up more. "Caleb, how did you manage to spoil such a girl? With your status and appearance? There's women willing to grovel at feet! You're too good natured, letting your wife give you the cold shoulder." Caleb doesn't say anything.  "Marrying her is already a huge blessing! Who else would want her if not you?"  MC quickly interjects at just the right second. "Gege, don't listen to everyone saying bad things about Y/N. They're just want the best for you. Don't take it to heart!" "I'm not angry," Caleb puts away his phone. "It's alright, she won't go anywhere."

After all, for the past five years, you really haven't been anywhere except stay at home; you had nowhere to go.

T - 26 days You don't go home. You check back into the hotel you stayed at the previous day. All the grievances and pain erupt the moment the hotel room door closes. The image of Gideon limping, mocking you, kept flashing before your eyes, the laughter echoing in your ears like a curse.

Actually, you already know what Caleb's peers say about you in private, just never mentioned it to him before. They were his ride-or-die colleagues, you understood. He worked very hard for the safety of Linkon City; you understood. Therefore, you didn't want to cause him any trouble or fallouts with his friends and coworkers

But now it seems that you were overthinking things.

How could he have a falling out with his friends because of you? Those were his brothers since his DAA days! And you? Merely a debt he owed to himself as repayment for gratitude; a burden. Without you, his life would be happier.

"She's just a cripple! Who would want her if you didn't marry her?" "What more could she ask for than marrying someone like Caleb?" "If I were the Colonel, I'd rather be the one crippled by a car accident than marry someone like that."

Your heart and lungs ache terribly.

With trembling hands, you open a photo album on your phone you haven't dared touch in five years—a record of your training and performances during your undergraduate years. Since you could no longer perform on stage, you sealed all your dance-related photos and videos here, password protected, and never opened them again. Now, your trembling fingers randomly click on a video. Perfectly in time with the music, you twirl, leap, and land lightly on your feet Back then, you were radiant, graceful, and received thunderous applause…

So, was saving him a mistake?

Honestly, the moment you pushed Caleb out of the way, you never thought of marrying him. He was the one who said he wanted to marry you and planned a grand proposal, knelt before you with a huge diamond ring, and gave you hope…

For the first time in five years, you collapse onto the bed and sob uncontrollably. You cry for a long time

So long that no more tears flow from your eyes, leaving only pain in your chest, burning and licking like flames. Yet the more it hurt, the clearer you became about your situation.

You go the bathroom and wash your face thoroughly to calm down. Looking at your lifeless reflection in the mirror, you silently tell yourself, "Crying once is enough. Don't cry anymore. Now please take care of yourself for once."

T - 25 days Perhaps because you didn't sleep a wink the night before out of nervousness for your interview, you actually sleep quite well today. You wake up on time and turn on your phone.

Countless messages flood in all from one person—Caleb.

Walking alone on the sidewalk, head down, you review the student visa application process until a pair of leather shoes appear in front of you. You didn't expect someone to deliberately block your path, and bump into them.

If the person didn't catch you, you definitely would've fallen.  Unfortunately, that person is the last one you wanted to see.  Caleb.

"Y/N!" You can tell he is angry, but trying his best to speak in a controlled manner. “Y/N, why didn’t you come home?” He holds your shoulders, voice softening as gentle and tender as ever.

You should know why I’m not going home, you think, hurriedly stuffing the notes you took from your interview back into your bag, fastening it tightly. “What’s this?” he asks, looking down at your bag. “Nothing, just some paper.” You feign composure, fingers gripping the bag so tightly they turn white. “Give it to me,” he offers. No, you can't let him see them. You clutch the strap tighter. "Do you need something?" "Give me your phone," he demands. You hesitate for a moment, then take your phone out and hand it to him. The phone is off. He glances at it only once before handing it back. "I called you so many times and sent you so many messages. Why didn't you reply? Are you still angry?"

You breathe a sigh of relief. He wasn't asking where you were the night before. If it's only about that… You stay silent for a moment, and decide you didn't want to be angry anymore. You just want to get away. Seeing your silence, Caleb assumes you're still angry and sighs. “Y/N, you're supposed to be the understanding one. Why didn't you come home?”

You swear you didn't want to get worked up about it anymore, but Caleb's words are somehow innocent yet cruel enough to break even a saint.  “So you still think what happened yesterday was my fault? Was I being unreasonable? Should I have praised Gideon for such an accurate depiction as soon as I went in?!” You couldn't take it anymore.

Caleb's face slightly twitches in embarrassment. “That’s not what I meant. What I meant was, you can’t control what others say, so just manage your own reaction and pay them no mind.” “I can’t control it, but you can!” you shoot back. “But what were you doing then? You and your pipsqueak, hugging and all over each other.” “Y/N!" His expression finally changes into something that resembles anger, more intense than anything you've seen.  You laugh inwardly.

The name “pipsqueak” is his Achilles’ heel, an untouchable minefield. You have nothing else to say. You clutch your bag, planning to walk past him, but he reaches out and pulls you close by the waist. “I’m sorry, it's my fault. I raised my voice just now,” he says softly. “I just didn’t want you to misunderstand MC. We’re just ordinary friends, like everyone else. I treat her like my sister. She’s not married yet. Don't talk about her like that.”

You don't understand. They were the ones acting like that, MC brushing up against him so brazenly; why is he so afraid to admit it? 

"Oh," you reply monotonously. “Y/N…” Caleb can sense the coldness in your voice. “Why are you still angry? I haven't even confronted you about going to a hotel by yourself without telling anyone, about not reply to any of my messages and calls”. Yes, it's all your fault. You're the unreasonable one here. 

Earlier in your marriage, hearing this from Caleb would have been your worst nightmare. But now? You don't intend on striving to be good enough for him anymore.

T - 24 days Caleb insists on taking you out to eat to "smooth things over".  “Caleb, I’m not hungry.” You don't touch your chopsticks. “I have something to tell you.” “What?” He smiles slightly. “I’ll go with you wherever you want. I’m free all day.” You stare at his almost imperceptible smile, thinking hard about what you can say to those dreamy, purple eyes.

"Caleb..." your throat closes up, betraying your resolve. “Hmm? Y/N?” He takes your hand. “What’s wrong? Want to cry? If you want to cry, just cry. Don’t hold it in.” His voice is so gentle, so incredibly gentle.

Just like back then, when you first emerged from the operating room, the nurses wheeled you back to the floor. He stood by your bedside, his voice so gentle it was almost painful, saying, "Y/N, does it hurt? If it hurts, cry it out, don't hold it in..." Back then, you thought such gentle care was a good remedy for pain. Unfortunately, it took you many years to truly understand that a man's gentleness and care could never be transformed into love...

"Caleb, let's get a divorce," you say softly, pulling your hand away. He frowns; clearly, he didn't expect you to say that. After a brief silence, he picks up a piece of fish, and gently removes the bones with his chopsticks, putting it in your bowl. "Y/N, I know you're still angry, but bringing up divorce is irrational. What will you do if you divorce me? How will you live on your own?"

T - 23 days: Your breathing quickens

In everyone's eyes, for the last five years, you've been Caleb's dependent; without him, you were a pitiful creature, unwanted and unable to survive. He thought so too. "I can do it!" For the first time, you speak up against him, wanting to stand up for yourself.

He just smiles, still assuming you are being stubborn, and places the deboned fish in front of you. "Eat. You're allowed to be angry for a while, but you can't be angry until after you finish eating." "I'm not angry, I really want a divorce!" How can you make Caleb understand that you mentioning divorce isn't just an emotional outburst?

“Y/N.” he puts down his chopsticks, “I canceled two meetings and a practice flight today just to come and spend time with you. I might not have that much time tomorrow or the day after. Let me say it again, MC is a good friend. I treat her no differently than I treat Gideon and the others. She also likes you a lot and has always wanted to be your friend. With your attitude… how can I bring her to you?” “Then there’s no need for us to get close.” You don't think MC actually wants to be friends with you. “Y/N!” Caleb's voice carries a hint of warning.

You focus on eating instead. Even if you were angry, it's not worth taking your anger out on your own stomach. "That's right," Caleb's tone softens again. "Don't mention the word 'divorce' again." You pause, then continue eating with your head down. The next day, you book a physical therapy appointment at AKSO Hospital.

T - 22 days You need to get used to going out alone, so you decide to do some window shopping. Wandering aimlessly through Universum, you spot a familiar figure at a designer jewelry store — MC. Looking at the store name, a feeling of unease settles over you as you unconsciously walk closer.

“Buy it if you like it!” comes her friend's voice. “I can't do that, Tara!" MC exclaims, "It's too expensive. Even though Caleb gave me his card and told me to use it as I please, I feel awkward buying such an expensive item!”

Your steps falter, too heavy to take another step.

“Since he gave it to you, it’s for you to use. When has your brother ever used pleasantries with you He's probably over the moon that you're willing to spend his money.” Tara replies. “That’s true…” MC twirls, showing Tara the necklace she tried on at different angles. You see it too. “Isn’t it beautiful, Tara? I really, really love this necklace! I liked it back in high school, and Caleb promised to buy it for me after graduation, but..."

But?

You laugh bitterly at the irony. But instead, Caleb gives you this necklace every year for your birthday and anniversary. Originally, you had thought that even if Caleb was heartless, at least he remembered your birthday and your anniversary; even if the gift he chose wasn’t thoughtful, it would at least be expensive.

But it turns out he isn’t heartless, nor is he indifferent; on the contrary, he is incredibly thoughtful and devoted. It’s just that what he holds dear has nothing to do with you.

T - 21 days You try to talk about the divorce with Caleb again, this time taking the initiative to meet  him as he gets off work. You walk into the grand foyer of the Farspace Fleet HQ, preparing to text and let him know you're here, when you hear his voice.  "And that concludes your orientation tour."

You slowly turn to see Caleb, his adjutant, Liam, and MC walk out of the elevator. You wait until they make their way closer to the front door to approach the group. "It's been a pleasure showing you around," Liam adds, saluting to MC, "I look forward to working with you, Mrs. Xia".  You nearly choke on your breath, face red and still sputtering as you appear in front of Caleb. Liam looks at you with confusion. "I'm sorry, and you are...?" Caleb's face morphs from surprise to horror, and you see the message behind his furrowed brows and pleading eyes: "don't say anything"

You remember the sneers, the joking, the pity.

"I'm a good friend of the Colonel," you say. "In fact, we have a dinner appointment tonight." Caleb nods vigorously in agreement, quickly dismissing Liam as you, Caleb, and MC walk towards the parking garage. 

When you arrive at Caleb's car, MC doesn’t move, smiling sweetly. “Okay, Gege, you guys go home. I’ll take a taxi myself. Y/N, I’ll return Mr. Xia back to you.”

Back to you? What does she mean, back to you? When did you ever agree to lend your husband out?

She takes the opportunity to cling to your arm, shaking it sweetly. “Y/N, don’t be angry. Today’s misunderstanding wasn’t intentional. Liam just assumed things because Caleb has never personally brought a cadet around before. I didn't have time to explain the situation." Her eyes subconsciously flick to your leg before she continues. “You won’t be angry with us, right?” “Us?” you sneer. “Who is this ‘us’? Who exactly is with whom?” You hate strangers getting close to you — especially her. You pull your arm away. You swear you only pull back lightly. You don’t shove her. You absolutely do not push her. Yet she falls to the ground. “Y/N!!” Caleb shouts your name.

MC reacts faster than both of you. She scrambles up and blocks Caleb completely — pressing herself against him. “Caleb, don’t be angry. Don’t blame Y/N, I’m just careless. She just gently touched me and I lost balance myself. Gege, please don't get angry at your wife because of me, it’ll make me sad…” Only Caleb believes this act. Especially when she deliberately raises her wrist — the scraped skin clearly visible — right in front of him, the glint of the necklace she bought yesterday, the same as yours piercing your eyes. Caleb sees the scrape. His brows knit together, eyes filled with obvious concern.

“Y/N! What’s wrong with you? Why are you so prejudiced against her?” “Me? Prejudiced against her?” you laugh. “What prejudice could I possibly have? After all, she’s Mrs. Xia now.” “You—” He is momentarily speechless before lowering his gaze to MC. “Does it hurt?” “No…” she whimpers, yet she lifts her wrist closer to his chin. He actually lowers his head and gently blows on it.

You have never seen him look at you like that.

“I’ll put some medicine on it later. We can’t let it scar.” Not even after your car accident. Not when you lose your leg. Not when your body is covered in scars. Back then, he gently asked you, “Does it hurt? If it does, cry.” But that wasn't heartache. It was guilt. He never caressed your wounds. When faced with your scars, he escapes. He avoids. He refuses to look at them.

“It’s okay, I'm really alright!” MC’s voice grows even softer “Y/N,” Caleb calls, looking up at you. “Aren’t you going to apologize?” “Why should I apologize?” A sharp sting rushes into your eyes, blurring your vision. You can barely see his face anymore. “Because she calls herself my husband’s wife, I have to apologize?” “Y/N! Why are being sarcastic? Didn’t she explain? Liam simply misunderstood. Why are you holding onto this?”

He is angry again. He always is, whenever you speak up against her. You smile and shake your head. “No, Caleb. You’re wrong. I don’t want to hold onto this at all. I didn’t even expose you two on the spot. Whoever wants to be Mrs. Xia can take the position. I already told you I want a divorce. You should just agree. Then everything becomes perfectly legitimate.” You don’t expose them because there’s no need. Since you are going to divorce him anyway, why add more trouble to your life? It isn’t worth it.

“Your temper is getting more and more outrageous!” he snaps. “There’s a limit to throwing tantrums! Apologize right now!” “I won’t.” You turn to leave. “Stop!” He rushes forward and grabs your wrist. “Where are you going? You pushed her. Her arm is hurt. You're not leaving without saying sorry."

You stare at the hand gripping you. Despair crashes over you like a tidal wave. You look into his eyes and say, slowly, clearly, word by word: “Yes. All I have to deal with is being a cripple for the rest of my life. But oh no, she scratched her arm”

A flash of sharp pain crosses his eyes. He loosens his grip and steps back. The moment you are free, you turn and run toward the elevator. No matter how disheveled you look, you don’t care. You absolutely cannot let him see the tears streaming down your face. From the day you were injured, through your wedding and five years of marriage... This is the first time you use your injured leg to hurt him.

Before, you were so careful about protecting his feelings. You were afraid he felt guilt and remorse, so you never mention the accident five years ago. Even when you had to endure gossip and cold stares, you swallowed everything alone. But now, is he in pain too? You can honestly understand to a certain degree.

He is doomed to carry the burden of you for the rest of his life, unable to shake himself free. How can he not be? His true love is right beside him, yet because of your existence, he can't even be with her openly. How can he not be in pain when the urge to let go is pitted against the torment of his conscience? 

So, Caleb, please let me go, okay?

T - 20 days You return home alone and lay your ten jewelry boxes out in front of you. You stare at the necklaces for a long time, lost in thought. For a moment, you want to smash each one against the wall. But you don't. Impulse solves nothing.

After calming down, you download a secondhand resale app and start looking for sellers who buy luxury goods. You quickly find one in the city and arrange to drop them off tomorrow. Having dealt with this, you turn on your computer and begin focusing intently on your visa application.

You have less than three weeks until you escape your personal hell.

T - 19 days You are so engrossed in your work that you don't even notice Caleb's return.You hurriedly close your laptop when you hear "What are you doing?" coming from the doorway.

Caleb returns, maintaining his usual gentle demeanor, as if nothing happened. He walks to your side and asks in a soft voice, "Watching a show? Studying? What's got you so hooked that you're still up?" He's trying to make conversation.

You press your hand tightly against the laptop; the VISA webpage is still open. "You wouldn't care for it" "I don't even know what it is? Here, let me see. You asked me to tutor you back in high school." He reaches out to try to pry the screen up but you hold on tightly, refusing to let go. He assumes you're still angry, so he stops trying to take it from you. Instead, he sighs and squats down, staring at your profile. "Still angry?"

"No." You're not lying. You've had many feelings: anxiety, disappointment, despair, but definitely not anger. Anger meant that as long as he coaxed you, things would be fine; there was still hope for your marriage. But for you, any last drop hope had already evaporated. Five years… that was enough.

“Y/N, MC and I really have nothing going on. We're just close childhood friends. She came back from abroad, and we all got together to welcome her. The misunderstanding at work today was purely accidental. You have to believe me.”  His voice grows increasingly sweet. You look into his eyes, unable to see the passion behind the soft words. Gentleness is like a program written into his body, running on autopilot.

“Caleb” you finally say, “Aren’t you tired?” He's taken aback, seemingly not understanding what you mean. You give him a bitter smile. "You have someone else in your heart, yet you still fuss over me every day. Aren't you tired?" Caleb's eyes widen. "I don't..." "Caleb, stop lying to yourself! I know some things don't sound so honorable when brought up; it'll make everyone look bad. But actually, divorce is better for both of us. Really. MC is more like the Mrs. Xia you envision yourself with-" "Y/N!" Caleb interrupts you. "Are you still holding onto MC? I've told you so many times." "Caleb, the one who can't get over MC isn't me." You stare at him straight in the eyes. "It's you." He freezes again. "Y/N..." "We both know it, isn't that right?" You try to appear calm. You can't have him think you're just "throwing a tantrum". "It's time to put an end to our five years together, Caleb. Let's say goodbye gracefully. Let bygones be bygones."

Caleb stares at you for a while, then stands up. "Y/N, you're overthinking it. You'll see later that MC's return won't change anything. It's late, get some rest." "Caleb Xia! I know you feel guilty towards me, but not anymore. I really don't need a marriage based on guilt. Let me go, and let yourself go too, okay?" Before you even finish your sentence, Caleb takes off his coat and heads into the bathroom. 

You look at his coat lying on the small sofa. In the past, you would've hung it up for him, then found his pajamas and put them by the bathroom door. But this time, you don't move. For the past five years, you had always thought that your legs were weak and that you couldn't contribute anything to your family. In fact, Caleb managed everything perfectly, making you feel like a mere decoration, unable to help him in any way. Yet, you still tried your best to take care of him when you could.

Honestly? You might have overlooked the core: perhaps what Caleb needed wasn't your insignificant care, but a presentable Mrs. Xia, someone who could stand shoulder-to-shoulder with him in front of the world. So you truly don't understand what he's clinging onto, why he refuses to divorce you after all this…

Caleb comes out of the bathroom and goes straight to sleep, seemingly refusing to speak further. You don't bring it up again. Forget it, every conversation is exhausting for you anyways. You're better off using that time to think about your future, strive towards what you have always wanted, and when you could leave. Whether or not the divorce is finalized by then won't matter. You glance at Caleb beside you; he's already fast asleep.

In the dim light, you can only see a blurry profile of his face. The distance between the two of you seems endless. Caleb, I've decided not to blame you anymore. I hope you have a happy life after I'm gone.

T - 18 days You wake up feeling refreshed. As you finish getting ready and make your way down the stairs, you see the look of shock in the housekeeper's eyes.

You're wearing makeup today, and in your favorite dress. For five years, you barely dressed up. Your leg, covered in scars, not only restricted your movement, but also your self worth and yearning for beauty. You didn't think you were worth dressing up. “Very beautiful, Madam,” Mrs. Chen's admiring gaze doesn't lie. “Where are you going?” “The theatre.” You shift your weight, a little nervous despite the excitement coursing through your veins. You even wore stockings so that the scars on your leg wouldn't be as visible. After settling your feelings, you decide to buy a ticket to see a ballet performance. The only thing you wanted to see at the moment, the only thing you knew would comfort you was dance.

You take a deep breath as you sink into the plush velvet seat in the dress circle. From your elevated view, you can almost feel the warmth of the stage lights and the buzz of adrenaline behind the colossal curtains, your heartbeat quickening as it gets closer to curtain call. "Y/N?" You nearly jump as you hear your name, looking wildly around to meet a pair of sea-blue eyes.  "R-rafayel?" You squint as the name comes off your tongue slightly unfamiliarly. It's been nearly 10 years since you saw this old classmate of yours, but the tuft of dark purple hair gives him away. The two of you were never in same homeroom back in high school, but his name was very famous among the art students. 

"It's been such a long time, how have you been?" He smiles and offers you a hand.  Your brain short circuits for a moment, not quite sure how to answer.  "My apologies," he quickly follows up his words. "I remember you were a performing arts student, and followed your career briefly after graduation. I know you stopped dancing and got married, married to the man that you saved."  You're even more stunned now. But before you have a chance to formulate a reply, the lights cut out, signifying the opening of the show. 

Tonight's performance is by the Linkin City ballet, performing a classical piece that you've rehearsed countless times in the past. As the orchestra strikes the first chord, the dancer deep within you is awakened. Even though you're sitting in the audience with a real possibility you'll never be on stage again, your toes subconsciously tap lightly on the ground to the beat of the music—it's muscle memory etched into your body…

At the end of the performance, you can't help the tears spilling from your eyes. Sitting in the audience, listening to the thunderous applause, watching audience members go up one after another to present flowers to the dancers... Not because of sadness, not because of pain, and certainly not because of despair. But because of the dance itself, and the resonance you felt in your heart. This was once your passion and your deepest love. But you had forgotten it for five years.  You log onto your empty social media account for the first time in years, and simply post: Tonight belongs to my passion and my dearest love. 

After the curtains fall for the final time, you turn to Rafayel, still gently clapping beside you. "I've been unhappy since I quit dancing," you admit, gaze flickering at your bad leg. "But I've had enough of moping around and feeling sorry for myself." You wipe away any remaining moisture off your face. "Sorry, this just reminded me of how happy dancing made me feel. I'll be going abroad soon to get a masters." You swear Rafayel's eyes light up slightly in the dim concert hall as he gives you a smile. "Y/N, Little Swallow, I believe you will soar high, even if your wings were once broken." Back in high school, your nickname was Little Swallow, because you were best known for your somersaults and leaps; high and graceful. Hearing the name again after so many years has your heart racing again, as if you are back in your youth, sweating profusely in the practice room.

A bundle is placed into your hands. You look down to see a bouquet of flowers, something Rafayel originally brought for one the dancers, probably. Rafayel simply pats your head. "It's not shameful to have a leg injury, it's not shameful to have scars on your legs. What's shameful are those who laugh at you; they are the truly despicable ones! Kind people will only cheer you on." He turns away, but not before calling out, "Let's keep in touch! I'll be in the same city as your program for my next artist retreat. Let me know if I can help with anything." He emphasizes again, "Anything!"

You stand there, watching him disappear into the distance. This is the first time someone has told you: your disability isn't shameful; what's shameful are those who mock you. Words you've wanted to hear for nearly 2000 days, but never had spoken to you.  Tonight, it brings you a fresh wave of tears. 

T - 17 days You didn't think Caleb would be back after everything going on these days, but the sound of the door opening wakes you up from sleep. 

Caleb stinks of alcohol when he enters the room. He's been drinking again. How much did he have to drink? He throws a chair against the door and collapses directly onto the bed. You don't have anything to say to him anymore, whether it's to scold him to drink less or coax him to take a shower. You get up, intending to sleep in the guest room. Just as you reach the door, Caleb's voice sounds behind you. "Where are you going?"

You don't answer.

The bed creaks behind you. Caleb gets slams the door in front of you closed and grabs your wrist. "Where are you going if you're not sleeping here?" "I'm going to the guest room, let go of me."  You can't really argue with a drunkard. The more you struggle, the tighter he grips your hands. "Stop fooling around, Y/N. What's the point? Since you've apologized, I'll make it up to you" his voice slurs.

You're dumbfounded??? What the hell is he referring to? "When did I apologize?" You haven't even seen him, let alone apologize to him? Caleb chuckles softly, mumbling, "Tonight belongs to my passion and my dearest? I'm back."

You scoff, wait, this guy actually thought you posted that for him? 

“Y/N” He suddenly hugs you. “I know, I know you love me. You'd give everything for me, so no matter what happens, I will never betray you…” You are stunned for a moment. He's right. You've loved him very, very much. He had said these words at your wedding. At that time, you thought it wasn't a confession, but a promise. He had given you a promise for a lifetime. A lifetime is so long. Long enough that you thought one day he would fall in love with you properly. Even if he never loved you, it didn't matter; you thought your love for him would be enough…

“Caleb Xia.” You have something you want to ask him. “Hmm?” His warm breath brushes against your ear, spreading out, carrying the scent of alcohol. "But your Pipsqueak is back! What will happen to Pips if you're with me?" "Pipsqueak? Pipsqueak..." He murmured the name, suddenly choking back tears. "Pipsqueak, I won't forget. I promised you, I won't forget..."

You feel as if you just got dunked in ice water. Is he so drunk that he's mistaking you for MC? "What promise? What did you promise Pipsqueak?" you ask numbly. "Everything... Everything, Pips..." His arms tighten around you.

You gasp as he suddenly lifts you up and pushes you down on the bed, his breath, heavy with the smell of alcohol, glosses over your face, nose, and chin... He tries to find your lips, but you avoid them. The smell of alcohol makes you nauseous. When his hands begin to tear at your pajamas, you immediately turn away. "Pips, be good, okay? Stop making a fuss..."

Still calling you Pipsqueak...

You struggle fiercely, finally freeing a hand and slapping him hard across the face. A crisp sound rings out in the bedroom "Caleb! Look carefully at who I am! I'm not your Pipsqueak!" you shout in the darkness, your voice hoarse. His body stiffens briefly. Taking advantage of the moment, you forcefully wriggle out of his grasp. He lies on the bed, still drunk, murmuring, "Pips, I'm sorry, I have to go home. I promised her I'd take care of her for the rest of my life... I owe her..." You cover your ears. Those words have haunted you like a curse for five years; now, whenever they echo in your mind, your head buzzes as if filled with static.

You scream at the figure beside you, "I don't want you to owe me anything! Caleb Xia! Do you hear me!? I don't want you to owe me anything! I just want you to set me free!"

Caleb's phone vibrates at that moment. You turn your head to see the name of the person calling: "Baby Apple." Ha, Baby Apple… In Caleb's phone, your contact is "Y/N" When you were newlyweds, you had fantasized about the day Caleb would call you "sweetie," "darling," or any other nickname that was exclusively yours, or even just "Wife."  But no, whether in everyday conversations or in his contacts, it was always just "Y/N".  To reassure yourself, you convinced yourself that this was just his personality—not clingy, straightforward, and with a strong personality. You were wrong. The words "Baby Apple" on the screen are particularly glaring. You're torn between picking up or letting it ring, but you click on the green receiver anyway.

A soft, delicate voice makes your hand tremble. "Gege, are you home yet? Are you alright?" MC sounds drunk too, her voice slurred and incoherent. Ignoring the silence on your end, she continues. "I know it's hard for you... I also... know that Y/N has sacrificed a lot for you... You don't need to feel guilty towards me... I... we're fine like this now... I don't care whether I'm your wife or not... I just... just glad that you remember me and treat me the same as before... let's stay like this Caleb... She can live in your house, and I can live in your heart, I'm content..."

The phone finally slips and fell to the ground. She lives in your house, I live in your heart. You stagger out of the room and go to the guest room. You collapse on the bed, trying to squeeze all the sounds out of your head. You never want to think about this again.

T - 16 days When you wake up, it's Caleb's voice that you hear. He's talking to Mrs. Chen. "Where did these flowers come from?" "Madam brought them back last night." "Madam went out last night?" "Yes." "Alone? Where did she go?" Caleb's voice rises noticeably. "She said she went to see a performance." "A performance? Who sent the flowers?" He seemed unconvinced. "I don't know." "What performance? Where did she see it? What time was it?" Mrs. Chen hesitates. "Sir, I really don't know."

The guest room door is pushed open. You immediately pretend to be asleep. "Y/N, I know you're awake; your hand just moved." You open your eyes, internally sighing.

"Who did you go to see the performance with yesterday?" Why is he so fixated on this question?

You don't answer him, simply pulling the covers over your head and turn your back to face him. “Y/N,” He sits down, “Be good, okay?” He reaches out to dig you out from under the comforter. You remember him pinning you down on the bed last night, calling MC's name and telling her to be good. You feel utterly disgusted and forcefully slap his hand away.

He gives up, then suddenly changes the subject, "Y/N, what was the "passions and loves" you mentioned last night?" "It wasn't you!" you huff. His face stiffens for a moment, but it quickly turns into a knowing look. "Alright, stop being stubborn. I know you're still sulking and jealous. Didn't I come back as soon as I saw you post that yesterday?"

He seriously still thinks you're just throwing a tantrum when you said "not you"? You poke your head out from under the covers. "I told you..." Seeing you finally come out, his expression softens as he takes the opportunity to stroke your hair. "That's good. I'll be back tonight, but you don't have to wait for me. Just go to sleep if you're tired." Without waiting for you to say anything more, he turns and leaves. You don't care whether or not he comes home. Actually, this scene is exactly the same as before. Before MC appeared, he was always like this, speaking to you gently, telling you to go to sleep early, and stroking your hair. You've never argued, not even once.

But so what? What does a marriage without arguments even mean?

If you were to describe Caleb Xia with a single word, it would be "good." However, you know the truth painfully clearly: all the good things Caleb does don't stem from his love for you, but rather an act of atonement.

The words "never to dance again" were a devastating blow to both you and him back then. You still remember Caleb's reaction upon hearing those words; after the initial shock, he seemed utterly ripped from his soul.

From that moment on, the vibrant Caleb died. You were both simultaneously bound by the shackles of "forever"— you forever lost the stage, and he forever atoned for his sins. "I owe her" these three words became the unbearable weight of his life. From that moment forward, there was no more Caleb Xia; what lived was only your husband—a walking robot, devoid of warmth and emotion. A stagnant pool, mechanically fulfilling the duties of a husband, a partner.

But now he's alive again… MC returned, bringing light back into his life. He's started smiling again, his eyes sparkling with light and fire. You sigh heavily. Even after all this, why wouldn't he let you go, and let himself go too?

T - 15 days You step out of the taxi, heart pounding as you approach tall glass doors. After watching the ballet piece, you are once again filled with determination and decided to sign up for a beginners dance class. You've been going to your physical therapy sessions dutifully, hoping one day, with enough hard work and practice, you'll be able to stand on stage again. You smile at the wide range of participants already there. They greet you warmly, introducing themselves one by one before the instructor walks in.  As the class begins, you practice some very simple basics - posture, form, and stances. However, due to your injury, you quickly run out of stamina and spend a good portion of the class on the floor to rest inbetween. You're wiping the sweat off your brow with a towel and bidding goodbye to some new friends as a familiar voice calls from outside the studio door.

"Y/N!" It's Rafayel?!  "What are you doing here?" you ask, suddenly feeling a wave of embarrassment as you're stuck wondering how much of your clumsy work he had just seen. "The performing arts center commissioned a piece from me. It's going to be hanging on the top floor, so I came today to take a look at the atmosphere around here," he supplies, giving you a bright smile.  "Nice," you feebly offer. Rafayel breaks the silence with a soft sigh, "Y/N, I can see the start of a rebirth." You know what he's referring to, you starting to pick up dancing again. But can you really call what you're doing right now dancing? You could barely stand up straight. "Don't be like that! You haven't practiced for five years, and you did really well today! I have a photo if you don't believe me." Rafayel takes out his phone, smoothly passing it to you to enter your number. It turns out he had recorded the last part of your dance lesson today. "Ah, my phone died" you say, rummaging through your dance bag.  Rafayel shrugs and presses "send" anyways. "Here, let's go grab something to eat and you can watch yourself on mine.  

The two of you head to a cafe, sitting outside on the patio as you make conversation over coffee and sandwiches. Rafayel shows you the video as you furrow your brows at your posture. You sigh dejectedly. Who would've imagined that the girl once known as "Little Swallow" would struggle like that? While Rafayel's words of encouragement still doesn't allow you to forgive yourself for falling so far behind, you agree with his sentiment: you were going to grow new wings and explore higher skies. 

It was at this moment that Caleb drives by, catching a glimpse of your smile brighter than the sunset, sitting next to Rafayel, your heads slightly leaned in together as you watch something on his phone. 

T - 14 days You feel a strange sense of oppression slowly growing behind you. You look up to see Caleb standing behind you, face partially covered by shadow.  His complexion is stormy; he looks exhausted, and his hair is somewhat disheveled. As he approaches you, the setting sun behind him seems to ignite, mirroring the flames in his eyes.  

“I called you all day, and your phone was off?” He is clearly suppressing his anger.

You don't know where this anger came from. Isn't he very busy? He usually never calls you anyways; why would he be offended that your phone died? Afterall, you weren't even angry when he went to take care of MC, what right did he have to dictate how you spend your time? 

“Oh, I didn't expect you to call,” you say calmly, stirring your drink. "Didn't expect me to call?" Caleb glances at Rafayel sitting beside you, gritting his teeth. "I'm your husband. If I don't call you, who will?" You shake your head, pulling yourself up using the armrest. "Who knows? I could have an ex-boyfriend," you say sarcastically.  His expression changes, and he frown deeply. "Y/N."

Rafayel simply smiles, and turns to address Caleb. "Colonel Xia," he greets him. "Have you ever watched your wife dance? 

Caleb freezes. Despite being the High Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, trained in all kinds of interrogation and logic, he could not decipher the meaning behind those words.  Rafayel chuckles and bids the two of you goodbye, Caleb's gaze burning into the back of his silhouette.

"Y/N, I've underestimated you this whole time," Caleb says as you get into his car. "You're quite something." His voice carries a threat and suppressed anger. Your mind flashes to the stench of perfume on his shirt, and scoff, "Not as good as you." "Since when did you get in contact with him again? What does he do? I don't want to waste time finding that out myself." His hands rest on the steering wheel, his fingers long and slender. On his left ring finger is a new ring.

His wedding band has been off since the night of your wedding ceremony. What's he wearing now? You smile faintly and hold out your hand. On your ring finger is a jade ring, small enough for everyday wear. You were the one to pick out your wedding rings. You wanted a small, non-flashy stone because you wanted to wear it everyday, forever. It was a custom pair; his was also jade.  The one on his hand is pure silver band.  Caleb watches your movements and subconsciously pulls his left hand back.

You place your hand on the dashboard. "Colonel, can you please explain when your ring changed color?"

T - 13 days Caleb freezes for a fraction of a second, before muttering, "it's a formality, it's not that serious." You nearly laugh out loud. Of course, what can be more serious than marriage? Perhaps your observation ignited the tiniest shred of shame in him, for his tone softens considerably, his previous accusatory attitude gone. "I'm asking you this for your own good, Y/N. There won't be another man in this world who treats you like I do. Of course, I'm not perfect; I have my flaws. But I'm sincere, trusting, and unguarded with you. Your name is on all of my assets. It's hard to say what other people's intentions are."

You are immediately reminded of MC's words: She's in your house, but I'm in your heart.

You put on your earbuds, hoping to drown out whatever other demeaning things he has to say. Seeing this, Caleb hesitates, then drives off. He drops you off at home, saying, "I have more work to do at the office, don't wait up for me," before leaving again. You stare at the door blankly. You forgot how you used to care so much about those things.

Slowly, you take the wedding ring off your finger. Since it obviously doesn't have any true sentimental value anymore, you might as well sell it for cash. Actually, if you were going to sell it, might as well sell it as a pair! You look high and low around the house, but can't find the other one.

Suddenly, you remember that Caleb keeps a safe at home, something you've never thought to open.  An idea strikes you.

You don't know the safe's combination. You try Caleb's birthday, but it didn't budge. You don't even bother to try yours. You think a little harder, hesitantly putting in the security code for the front door and garage. It opens! Inside are a stack of legal documents, property papers, and various other things that must be very important. You easily find the jewelry box with the same brand as your wedding ring, but there is another one in the very back, placed on top of a notebook.

You open the latter and see the another silver ring matching the one on Caleb's finger, along with a necklace with a small apple charm.  Your hand rests on top of the notebook, mind teetering between looking and not looking. Ultimately, your self control wins, but as you move to put it back, a photograph slides out, falling to the floor. It's a photo of Caleb and MC from their high school days. 

Honestly, it doesn't mean much. You knew for a long time that Caleb had feelings for someone else before. But since you married him, at least when you married him, you told yourself you didn't care about his past. You sigh, picking up the photo, and put it back in the notebook. Fuck it, trying to protect your already shattered heart is pointless now. You open it to a random page, planning to just stuff the photo back in, but you freeze as your eyes land on the writing: 100 Little things about Pipsqueak.  The first thing listed is: Pips' birthday is May 1st.

Your hand slips, and the notebook falls to the ground. The code to your house is 20501 The combination to this safe is 0501. The air in the room seems to thin. You press your palm to your chest, gasping for breath. The second line reads: "I finally bought myself a house. It's in the style that MC likes. The password is her birthday."

So, for the last five years, you've been living in the house meant for Caleb and MC...

T - 12 days You bring the pair of rings to the antique watch shop, having scheduled a time with the owner. The owner is delighted, having previously bought the 10 necklaces you chose to part ways with as well. He ushers you to sit down in the private room behind the counter and pours you a cup of tea. You excuse yourself to use the restroom, hearing the door open as more customers enter the store.

The voices are familiar. Shit. Looking behind you, you see MC's appear, with Caleb in tow.  You really manage to run into her everywhere, huh?

It's midday, right when Caleb usually has meetings. He sure has lots of free time now.  You go do your business, ducking behind the curtains as you return to avoid being noticed.

"Caleb, look! This store has so many of these necklaces! They're limited edition zodiac ones!" MC points to something in the display case. If you aren't mistaken, it's definitely one of the pieces you sold. The old man takes it out. "You have a good eye, young lady. The necklaces were acquired recently. They only make a limited amount every year. These ones are no longer being sold." Caleb looks closely and frowns. "Are they really that rare?" "Yes, this limited collection began exactly 12 years ago, a zodiac edition with this year being the last edition. It's much more expensive than the regular model. I think I've got the only ten that exists in Linkon," the owner explains with a smile. "No way..." MC exclaims, "can you prove their authenticity if they're really that valuable?" "Of course! I've got the certificates as well as the invoices for each." "These ten necklaces, did you receive them all at once?" Caleb, who has been mostly silent, suddenly asks. "Yes," the owner nods with a smile, "from the same customer." Caleb's eyes sharpen. "Show me the invoice." The owner takes out the invoices and hands them to Caleb.  He stares at them harshly, suddenly letting out a cold laugh. "Sir...?" The old man is taken aback, unsure what the issue was. "It has nothing to do with you, just give me all of them." Caleb says gruffly. Even MC sensed something was wrong and softly asks, "Gege?"

The owner notices you waiting for him. "You're back? Everything alright?" Caleb and MC looks your way as well, seeing your figure in the back.

You're not sure if it's just your imagination, but Caleb's eyes almost seem to be filled with anger. "Can you sit down for a moment? I'll show them the necklaces first, and then I'll look at your ring."

"What ring?" Caleb's voice is dangerously low, was full of suspicion upon hearing this. His gaze falls to the pair of jade rings behind the display case. "These two?" He taps the glass of the display case with his finger, his tone getting even more oppressive.

The owner clearly has no idea what is going on, why his customer was asking this, or how to answer. These were items provided by someone else; why is he asking about them? You don't intend to put him in an awkward situation, so you answer Caleb directly. "Yes, these two."

Caleb's gaze is burning. "Mrs. Xia, you're really something." It wasn't a compliment, but you reply calmly, "Thank you, you flatter me." "Get over here!" he suddenly roars. You sit down, picking up your cup of tea. He walks over to you instead, looming in front of you.

Perhaps out of consideration for the outside world, he tries to suppress his anger, his voice full of sarcasm, "I never thought I'd experience firsthand what it means by 'it's hard to guard against a thief from within the family'. One day, I wouldn't even know if my entire house was robbed." You ignore him. "Are you short of money? Is the money I give you not enough?" he hisses. "No, not at all," you say, "I've been decluttering lately, getting rid of anything useless." "Useless?" He's furious, pointing to the rings in the display case, "You're saying wedding rings are useless?" You look at him calmly, "Otherwise? If you say they're useful, have you ever worn it for a even day since the weeding ceremony?"

Caleb is speechless, indignant. "One day, you'll sell me off without me even knowing!" " You laugh and turn to at MC. "Do you want this? I'm selling one Caleb Xia, secondhand! I'll even give you a discount, I promise the price is favorable." MC is stunned. Caleb however, clearly doesn't find this funny. He turns to MC and says, "Pipsqueak, you head back first." She's unwilling, protesting, "but Gege!" "We'll talk about the necklace later, you go back first!" His expression is serious. MC knew when not to push his buttons. He's in a bad mood, and she didn't dare to provoke him. Lips trembling, she says gently, "Alright Gege, I'll go back first. But don't be too angry. Y/N must have her reasons, please don't scold her." 

You roll your eyes.

As soon as MC leaves, Caleb immediately presses you. "What exactly are you doing? Tell me!" "I told you," you say calmly, "I'm decluttering things I don't want anymore." You pause, then continue. "Including you, Colonel Xia." "Are you serious?" His face is very unpleasant. "Yes." You were never anything but serious about this.  "Y/N! I think you've been provoking me too much lately!" His eyes flash with anger.

You personally think that his temper has been a bit too volatile lately; the usually stable and gentle Colonel was gone, and MC was largely to blame. He calls the owner over, harshly putting his black card on the table. "I'll take all of them."

The owner wraps everything up, afraid of knowing too much about the uncomfortable relationship between the three of you. Get in the car!" he demands, dragging you out by your wrist. “It looks like I misjudged you,” he says once he starts driving. “I always thought you were a sensible and understanding, person, but now it seems you're getting too full of yourself. Look at Pips…” “I don’t want to see her, ok? You can go spend your time with her if she's that great.”

You put on your headphones for real this time. You're in no mood to hear about how wonderful MC is to him. He drops you off at the entrance of the neighborhood and tells you to get out. “I have a meeting later-” You get out and slam the door shut. You don't give a fuck about what he's doing tonight.

T - 11 days At 11pm, you hear Caleb enter the front door. You shut down your laptop and turn to scroll lazily on your phone, overhearing him greet Mrs. Chen.  "I told you to cook it according to my wife's taste, why did you make it spicy?" "Madam said...spicy." Aunt Chen's voice was tinged with panic. "And she didn't eat a single bite?" "Yes..." "Get me a bowl of rice."

A few minutes later, Caleb enters the bedroom. His tie is loose, the top button of his shirt  undone, the sleeves rolled up to his wrists. "Aren't you going to come out and have dinner with me?" he asks, the anger from earlier seemingly gone. For the last few years, he's always come home pretty late, rarely for dinner, but made sure to eat when he came home. You cherished those moments, bustling around him, serving up his food and keeping him company for the little time before going to sleep.  What good was your attentiveness in the end? Who knows, perhaps it only served to annoy him?

“What did you eat tonight? From now on, you don’t need to cook according to my taste. Tell Mrs. Chen to make what you like,” he says. You roll your eyes. He really thinks you're still trying to gain his favor.  He pulls up a chair and sits down on the edge of the bed. “Y/N,” What is it now?

He takes a deep breath. “MC really liked that ring. Since you sold it anyway, I gave it to her. I just transferred you some money. Take it and buy something you like.  Of course. So that’s what it's about. No wonder he's suddenly being so friendly with you. You have your back to him and simply say, "Oh," then add, "Okay."

T - 11 days until leaving Caleb Xia: He gave our wedding rings to someone else too. But I don't even want him anymore, so why should I care about the ring?

"So well-behaved today?" His voice softens. "I wanted to buy something for you, but you obviously don't like what I buy." "Hmm." "What's wrong? You're asleep already?" He frowns. "Are you feeling unwell? Let me see." He leans over, wanting to see your face. "Don't tell me you're secretly crying?" In his dreams! You give no reaction.

After tucking you in tighter, he looks at your quiet form, hesitates, and finally says, “Y/N, I'm going on a mission tomorrow.” A mission! You immediately open our eyes. This means you can go in person to meet with a lawyer and get your interviews and forms stamped without him knowing!

You sit up, eyes shining brightly. “How many days are you going?” “Three or four days, possibly up to a week.” He frowns, thinking your reaction is a bit over the top. What does this mean? You were letting him go? “No, it’s okay. Who are you going with?” you follow up haphazardly, heart pounding with joy. His expression grows increasingly hesitant. "Gideon." He pauses, then adds, "Maybe MC too." "Oh." You lie back down. "Sounds good, tell me before you come back, I'll have Mrs. Chen prepare good food." He looks at you incredulously. "You're not angry?" You shake your head. "Go to sleep early, you have a business trip tomorrow, you need to get some rest." "Y/N, trust me, a lot more of us will be going together..." He moves closer to you, but you push him away. "Go take a shower, I've already showered, don't get too close to me." He frowns. "What do you mean? You think I'm dirty?" Well, he does reek of MC's perfume. 

The next day, you're still groggy when Caleb gets up.  You had expected him to pack his things and go without leaving you with any words, but unexpectedly, he insists on waking you.  "Ugh, sleepy!" You smack his hand away.

"Mrs. Xia," he drawls, standing by the bed. "Your performance is falling. You don't feed me, give me mooncakes anymore, or ask me about my day, and now I'm leaving for a mission and you won't even help me pack my luggage?" It's true. If this was before, you'd be fretting all over him, his luggage already prepared the night before.  You roll your eyes. Fine, you'll pack for him then!

You go into the walk-in closet, and start placing folded clothes and personal belongings neatly into his suitcase. Before you close the zipper, you head over to the bedside drawer, take out a box of condoms, and was about to throw it into the suitcase as well. Your arm is grabbed roughly. "Where did this come from?" Caleb demands, eyes darkening. 

To be honest, you originally prepared it for your honeymoon though you never ended up using it. It's probably expired by now, but you thought it would be funny. You smile. “I prepared this especially for you. Tell me, aren't I a wonderful Mrs. Xia?” “You…” Caleb picks up the box and throws it forcefully into the trash can, “That'll be unnecessary! Even if I had a child, I could afford to raise it. Besides, I don’t plan on having one anytime soon!” He zips up the suitcase, locks it, and leaves with a huff.

T - 10 days You head to physical therapy again. While sitting in the waiting area for your appointment, your phone suddenly goes off. Your surprise turns into annoyance as you see the caller ID: Husband. Fortunately, there's not many people beside you. After picking up the call, you quietly say, "Hello".

"Why are you speaking so softly? What are you doing?" Caleb asks on the other end. "I'm at the doctor's, it's not good to talk loudly." You quickly take out earbuds, further lowering your voice to a whisper. "Why am I getting so many calls these days?" It's really annoying. He seems even more offended on the other end, "Your own husband can't call you? Are you annoyed at me?" More than annoyed! You roll your eyes "No, not really, it's just quite unsettling. What's wrong?" "Mrs. Xia!" He scoffs on the other end, "Can't I call you if there's nothing wrong?" " You're speechless for a second. This person is getting more and more irrational. "What instructions does the Colonel have for me?" you roll your eyes, not believing him. "You're kidding me!" His tone softens a bit, "I'm transferring flights, it's not boarding time yet, just wanted to see if you're up." So he really is bored! "Don't you have anything to say to me?" You pop a grape into your mouth, mumbling an "oh".  "Y/N!" ??? Why does it sound like he's about to get angry? "What are you eating that's more important than your husband's safety?" You finally swallow the grape, "You... you've been attacked?" A long sigh comes from the phone, "Never mind, you eat, just hearing your voice is enough, I'm about to board too." The call ended abruptly.

You look at your phone, listening to the dial tone, feeling utterly bewildered.

On the other end, MC glances at him several times. "Gege," she calls. "Hmm? Let's go get ready to board." "You seem to miss Y/N a lot. You've made so many calls since we left" she says tentatively.

Caleb doesn't notice her gaze, only frowning slightly. "Hmm, I don't know why, but I feel uneasy about this trip. I have a feeling something's going to happen." "You...are you worried something might happen to Y/N? Then ask Liam or someone to go check on her."  Caleb sighs. "Y/N doesn't know Liam that well. I don't think she'd appreciate it anyway." "Then what should we do?" MC asks worriedly. "Should I not have asked to come on this mission with you?" Caleb glances down at her and smiles. "It's okay. I called her already. Hearing her voice is enough to put my mind at ease." "Caleb, you actually...love Y/N very much, don't you?" MC asks with a smile, but a darker current ripples under her eyes. He pauses. "Y/N can't live without me. She's my responsibility, so Pips..." "I understand, Gege." MC smiles, interrupting his words gently and sweetly. "Don't forget, I'm the person who understands you best in the world."

T - 9 days It's a peaceful few days without having to see Caleb. Instead of the anxiety that once filled you every time he went away, you feel calm. As you begin packing your things, you get an invitation from one of your old dance buddies. Mina is visiting home on her trip back from abroad, now a professional dancer on Broadway. You eagerly agree to meet with her, catching up over lunch as the two of you reminisce over the good old times. She's initially a little hesitant to show you photos of herself on stage, worried it'd make you sad, but you quickly reassure her that was not to worry about. Later, as she helps you down the steps of the restaurant, you ask what her plans are for the rest of the day.

"Oh! Umm, I'm actually getting dinner with a larger group of our old classmates..." She looks at you with a flicker of hope in her eyes. "If you don't mind... would you like to join us?" "Of course!" You say with a smile. "I haven't seen everyone in so long. Do any of them know what happened with me?" You're referring to your leg. "That's where I need to apologize," Mina looks guilty. "I told them you injured your leg without asking your permission first... but nothing else!"

You understand. Your classmates, whom you haven't seen in a long time, would definitely ask how you were doing. Your leg injury was a fact, and you don't plan on hiding it forever.  "It's okay, really!" You're done feeling sorry for yourself. Your goal is to step out of the world Caleb had created for you, and in doing that, you will inevitably face all sorts of stares and judgement.  "Then I'll reply to them!" Mina says happily.

"Let's go! They said they're heading out soon". The meet-up location is nearby. By the time you and Mina get there, some of your classmates have already arrived. The enthusiasm they show you exceed your expectations. They mention your leg, even gathering around to examine it, but without malice, as if your leg wasn't anything serious, like a minor inconvenience like a cold. You liked this atmosphere; it's much better than deliberately trying to protect your pride. Everyone is treating you as a normal person, just with a leg injury.

It's a pleasant evening. The group sings old songs from high school on the karaoke. After three or four hours, you all get tired and sit down to chat, reminiscing about the past and having some drinks to liven things up. Even you, encouraged by everyone, drink quite a bit. Among your classmates, some have had good times, others have experienced setbacks. Talking about the past, people begin talking about regrets. Someone says, "If I had known this would happen, I would have studied harder in high school and not skipped so many classes." Another adds, "If I had known he also liked me, I definitely wouldn't have been a coward on graduation day; I would have confessed to him. I've missed my chance all these years." A good amount of sentimentality is triggered by the alcohol, and for a moment, everyone's eyes are filled with tears. From your teenage years to approaching thirty, everyone has had some regrets.

"Y/N, what about you? If you could do it all over again, what would you do?" someone asks you. You hold a glass of wine in your hands, ruminating in thought. The image of osmanthus blossoms from that Mid-Autumn Festival many years ago flashes before your eyes, twinkling like stars. You smile faintly, "If I could do it all over again..."

Caleb pushes open the door to the private room.

"If I could do it all over again, I want to eat all the mooncakes from that Mid-Autumn Festival in our second year of high school by myself! I'm not sharing it with anyone!"

Was it the alcohol? The bitterness in your heart is amplified. You take a deep breath and look up, only to see someone standing in the doorway under the flickering lights. Caleb. Your classmates don't quite understand what you're referring to, and assume it is some old pastry shop that has closed, the mooncakes never to be tasted again. You can't see it, but Caleb's fists clench at his side, knuckles turning white.

"Hey, Caleb!" Finally, someone notices him come in. You're a little dizzy, seeing two Calebs approach you. "Caleb Xia! You're so late, shouldn't you take three shots as punishment?" A classmate named Xavier places three glasses down in front of him. “Sorry, I'll have to decline.” Caleb puts his arm around you, looking down at your tipsy form. “I’m here to pick up my wife. I have to drive later.” “Call a cab!” Caleb gives a polite smile. “That won’t do. If I drink too much, who will take care of her?”

You are a little drunk, but still conscious enough to hear him and what's going on. Under the influence of alcohol though, your actions are more unrestrained. Your first instinct is to push Caleb aside, muttering, “I don’t need you to take care of me. Go away.” “Y/N, you’re really drunk. Let’s go home.” Caleb tries to pick you up. “No! I don’t want to go home…” You struggle in his arms. “Do you hear that? Y/N isn’t going home!” Xavier pushes Caleb's shoulder, forcing him back down. 

Mina senses something is off. Xavier had quite a bit to drink today and was probably drunk by now. Worried about the boys starting trouble, she quickly tries to break it up. "Alright, it's getting late. We've had our fun, let's start packing up." "No way!" Xavier doesn't back down, gripping Caleb's shoulder tightly. "You're not leaving until you finish this drink!" Caleb, as the Farspace Fleet Colonel, is incredibly perceptive. His expression darkens. "Xavier Shen, I'll let it slide since you've had too much to drink, but you'd better watch yourself!" "Watch myself?" The rage in Xavier's eyes are now impossible to conceal. "Caleb Xia, I'm telling you, watch yourself!"

Xavier moves to grab his collar, but not before having his wrists clamped forcefully by Caleb. "Xavier Shen! Did you come here to cause trouble?" "Yes!" He shouts, "I came here to cause trouble! Caleb, what the hell did you do to Y/N? What exactly did you do to her!?" He roars, his eyes bloodshot. Caleb's eyes sharpen, his hand still gripping his wrists, veins bulging on the back. "Listen here, Shen. My wife eats well, sleeps well, lives in a mansion, and I pamper her like a princess. Who are you to concern yourself with our marital affairs?"

"Is that so?" An incredulous laugh follows. Xavier didn't believe Caleb at all, both men rising from the sofa. "Then tell me, how did Y/N become like this? What happened to her leg? She's a dancer! When she dances on stage, she's as graceful as a swan. What did you do to her? Take good care of her? Why then did she become like this after getting married? Five years, and you've been covering it up, saying she doesn't want to come out and socialize! You're lying! Do you beat her at home!?"

"My wife and I are doing just fine! Why her foot is like this is her privacy, there's no need for me to explain it to you, Xavier! Don't forget your place in front of me, and don't you dare try to play any tricks on my wife!" Caleb yanks harshly, pushing the other man away so hard the buttons on his collar pop off.

Already quite drunk, Xavier loses his balance, staggers a couple of steps, and falls onto the coffee table, knocking over a bunch of bottles and plates. "Caleb, I've wanted to beat you up for ages!" He scrambles up and lunges at him. Fearing trouble, rest of your classmates rush forward to restrain him. "Caleb! Take Y/N and leave! He's drunk, and you haven't been drinking - calm down Xavier! Don't cause any more trouble!"

Caleb tugs at his collar, giving Xavier one last cold look, then puts his arm around your waist and lifts you up. "Let's go, my wife. Don't come to parties like this again." You're practically dragged and carried away by Caleb.

"Why didn't you let Y/N attend the class reunion!" Xavier shouts from behind you. "Caleb Xia, what skeletons do you have hiding in your closet?!"   Caleb stops. "I don't feel guilty about anything. You better not be the one with things to hide!" "Me? Guilty?" he laughs. "Alright then, Caleb, I have a question for you! Were you the one who threw away all the love letters I put in Y/N's locker back then?"

Love letters? How did you not know that Xavier Shen had written you love letters? You glance back, only to be swept up in Caleb's arms and quickly carried out of the private room.

Everyone else is left exchanging bewildered glances: Xavier liked you back in high school? Xavier struggles against the boys, shouting, "Let me go! I'm going to beat Caleb Xia to death! That fucking hypocrite!" "Xavier, you're drunk, stop it." They don't let go, afraid he'd really chase after you. “Call him back here!" Xavier demands. “I’m going to call him here! I’m going to teach him a lesson!” “Xavier! Get your head screwed on straight!” “Don’t stop me! Do you know how much Y/N loved to dance? She was in the practice room before class, after school, and weekends too! Sometimes she’ll even do a somersault while walking! She’s such a passionate dancer, a perfectly healthy person, and now her leg is injured - there's no way she's not heartbroken about it! That bastard Caleb Xia keeps lying to us, saying Y/N doesn't like going out. He's done something to her, I bet my fucking life on it!”

Caleb's already brought you to his car, carefully placing you in the passenger seat.  The minute he gets into the driver's seat, he catches you trying to open to the door, and he immediately locks it.  "Open the door! I want out!" You feel your head spinning, the alcohol really settling in." "You're drunk, Y/N." He says, sighing. "I'm not drunk!" You insist. You clearly heard many voices back there, and you heard Caleb call you his "wife." Something is wrong! He's never called you "wife" before, only ever by name, or at most "Mrs. Xia" when he's angry at you, and you can sense that he uses the term sarcastically. Moreover, you can tell he's in an unhappy mood right now!

He rolls down the window, letting you get some fresh air.

"What did you mean by what you said in the private room?" Caleb's voice sounds particularly cold in the cool breeze. "What...what did I mean?" What was he talking about? You said a lot of stuff today. "You said you wouldn't give your mooncakes to anyone else, what did you mean?" He rests his hands on the steering wheel, looking ahead, his eyes sharp. "Um...not...not for Caleb Xia." Your head feels heavy, and you close your eyes tightly. "Why?"  You smile, sad laugh escaping your lips. "Because I don't want to pursue him anymore...I gave my mooncakes to the wrong person..." "Is that so? The wrong person?" Caleb leans closer, "Who are you going to give them to then?" "Give them to..." Your mind is a little confused. Who else would you give them to? "To Xavier?" He suddenly speaks as if interrogating you, his tone fierce.

The name reminds you that you had supposedly gotten multiple love letters. You frown, eyes getting hazy, looking at the face before you, murmuring, "Why did you throw away my love letters? They were from someone else." "I'm the class monitor!" Caleb says sternly. "The school doesn't encourage early relationships!" You furrow your brows... that reasoning...  You punch his shoulder hard. "What's it to you? You're just the class monitor, not even my homeroom teacher! The love letters he gave me are my privacy, what does it have to do with you! Why did you throw them away, you bully!"

Your eyes are blurry. Although your punches don't hurt much, each one lands with force, solidly striking his shoulders and chest. "Are you angry?" He grasps your hand. "You're angry because I threw away your love letters?" "Of course I'm angry! If someone wrote me a love letter..." You vaguely recall how you felt back in high school. The mess of hormones in early puberty, the insecurities you had, the self-consciousness about every little thing about you. Mina and the girls around you all received gifts and notes from boys, but you never did. You weren't very close with your parents, having grown up by your grandparents' side. But it seemed to you that no one, not even your parents, loved you, let alone any boys. You weren't sad about not receiving any confessions, but if you did, it at least would have been an important form of affirmation; at least you were good in someone's eyes. 

“What if you did? Would you date him?” Caleb presses on relentlessly. Your frown deepens. When did you ever say you wanted to date someone?

“Let me tell you, those boys were all immature squirts back then! Whether it's Xavier or whoever else you wanted to give your mooncakes to! You're easily moved by anyone who shows you kindness! You'd only ended up getting taken advantage of!” Your face contorts into a grimace. You're barely holding onto your consciousness and Caleb's stupid face seems to multiply into four in your vision. You shake your head, trying to shake the other three Calebs away. “No... Xavier isn’t that kind of person you’re describing.” The Xavier you recall is a sleepy boy, getting in trouble for napping in class, often found under the shade of trees with a stray cat in his lap. “Then what kind of person is he?” Caleb suddenly raises his voice. “And the other person you had in mind, who is he?” “He’s… genuine... and very kind. If he’s good to someone… he’ll always be good to them…” A flash of white hair enters your mind. You try to remember a face, thinking really hard, but only seeing the creases of someone's summer uniform. You didn't interact with him much in high school, but you knew he secretly kept a crow as a pet on his dorm window ledge—a pitiful little thing he picked up one day and never let go. "He's... a good person..." you mumble. ".... Q...qin..." 

You black out.

T - 8 days You wake up to a splitting headache, nauseous and parched. The midday sun is high in the sky. Stumbling down from the bed, you trip and fall with a loud 'thud'. You rub your eyes, trying to clear the fog still in your brain, but before you find your balance again, you're being lifted and put back into soft sheets. 

Caleb stands at the bedside, looking displeased, but to your surprise, doesn't scold you about your clumsiness as he usually does. You purse your lips, also not particularly eager to talk about what happened last night.  He brings you a try of light breakfast foods; some chicken soup congee, pancakes, and a few side dishes. "Eat. Mrs. Chen is off today. I cooked."

You stare at the food in front of you, head still in a daze. The colonel... cooked for you?  This is the second time you've ever eaten something Caleb has made for you. The first since you got married.  Slowly picking up your spoon, your mind flashes back to the last time you experienced this.

You were only in your first year of high school, your homeroom had organized a camping trip. Outside, all your classmates run around joyfully, like lambs in a field. Yet Caleb was already a quiet and reliable person, getting ready for lunch. He was always clean and tidy, presentable and strong. That day on the camping trip was the most disheveled you had ever seen him.  He knew how to cook, but that didn't mean he was able to do it easily outdoors.  He couldn't figure out how to start the fire. He struggled earnestly, face and hands stained with soot.

You were different. When you were young, your grandparents brought you back to the village often. You built fires, scaled trees, and caught insects with all the other children over there. Despite being in a different group, you felt bad watching him struggle like that, so you go over, emptied his stove, and started a fire for him. He stared at the blazing flames, momentarily stunned. Perhaps too self-conscious of his disheveled appearance, he didn't even thank you. But afterwards, his performance became much more consistent. Judging from the way he cooked, it was clear he was used to doing domestic chores at home.  His group thanked him by saving the chicken leg for him. But he didn't eat it. As he passed your group, he places the drumstick in your bowl. 

That was the moment your heart started pounding for him, despite being the first of only a handful of times you ever interacted with him.  That night, your dreams were filled with his image; his determined face, covered with soot, his slender fingers as he cut the vegetables, his meticulous and focused expression as he cooked… The next day in class, you watch his profile as you absent-mindedly filled a whole page with his name, “Caleb Xia”… Later, that piece of paper disappeared, but those words were etched firmly in your heart, impossible to erase.

The next time you ask him a question was after parent-teacher conferences. The teacher took note of students whose parents did not show up. You were one of them. Coincidentally, he was too. Classmates whisper about what happened. A few of the students failed to inform their parents about the meetings, afraid of punishment for their poor grades. But Caleb wasn't like that. He was at the top of the class.  "Caleb Xia! You got first place in the entire grade, why aren't your parents here? If I got your score, my parents, grandparents, and even my dog would come!" someone yells. Other students chimed in, "Yeah, Caleb, you got good grades, why aren't your parents here?" He replies simply. "Don't ask, they're dead."

Later, you witness something you probably shouldn't have seen.  Caleb stands in an inconspicuous corner by the school's back gate. A dark car pulls up in front of him, the window rolled down, and he throws a wad of cash at the driver, hitting him in the face. The person in the car points a finger at him, cursing, “You scoundrel! You think just because your parents offed themselves that you're safe with little old grandma?" You're stunned. Unaware of his family's situation.  Caleb is stubborn, refusing to reply before he turns and walks away. The driver calls after him shouting, "You'll join us one day, Caleb! Let's see how you survive!" The sunset was blinding, bathing him in a golden light. He laughs defiantly, "Don't worry! I'd rather be bought out by a rich old lady than go with you!"  What kind of talk was that! Coming from a high schooler! 

You don't know where you got the courage that day, but you walk up to him, eyes wide, voice panicked, "Caleb, whatever you do, don't sell yourself out like that!" You don't know if you were imagining things, but you saw something that looked like glistening tears in his eyes in the setting sun. They flash for a moment before he turns away, coldly smiling, "So, you're going to sponsor me?" You fall silent. That was Caleb's most irrational moment. Even now, more than a decade later, you never saw him as vulnerable again.

The next day, you take a math problem to him and ask how to solve it. He raises a single eyebrow, not saying a word. You thought he had refused, your head hanging low. Finally, he tore off a piece of scratch paper and began to explain while drawing on it. He talked for the entire break before finally asking, "Do you understand now?" You nod frantically. Then throw down five dollars and run back to your seat, completely unaware of Caleb's expression behind you.

You didn't have an allowance either, saving up those five dollars from running small errands here and there for other classmates and neighbors.

After school, Caleb blocked you on your way to the dorms. He stood under a sycamore tree, sunlight filtering through the leaves, casting dappled shadows over him.  You don't dare to lift your head, trying to walk past him.  He stands in front of you. "Why aren't you looking at me?" The heat was unbearable, making your face flush. You're too embarrassed to say anything.  He scoffs, "you were quite bold earlier when you wanted to buy me out." You lower your head even further. "I...I didn't mean..." A five-dollar note is thrust in front of you. "Isn't this it? You think you can keep me for five dollars? Before you can even clarify that you just wanted him to tutor you, he interrupts you, shoving the money back into your hands, swiftly leaving you behind with a single sentence: "I don't need your pity."

Your heart ached.

Later, he skipped three days of class. When you saw him outside school with a black armband pinned to his sleeve, when he returned to class and said, "Y/N, my grandmother passed away," your heart ached like that again; the pain crashing down like a tidal wave.

That Mid-Autumn Festival, everyone went home for a reunion dinner with their families and ate mooncakes, including you. You went to your grandparents' house. But he no longer had a grandmother to go back to. After dinner, on your way back to school, the osmanthus trees near the dormitory were in full bloom, their fragrance rich and intoxicating. By sheer coincidence, you see him standing there, alone. You hand him a mooncake, filled with fresh meat, made by your grandmother. That night, you sat together under the osmanthus tree, eating mooncakes. Neither of you said a word. After finishing the mooncake, he went to the classroom, and you went back to your dorm. The warm feeling from that night haunted you, driving you to accept his proposal 5 years later, despite not knowing each other well at all.

You once saw a comment online that said "Feeling sorry for a man will make you unhappy for life." You didn't know what that meant back then. Now, you understand.

T - 7 days Only a week left.

It's routine now, heading to your physical therapy appointment. With your departure so close, you try a more rigorous session. Carrying weight, light hops, landing on your bad foot.  Due to the strain, your entire  body aches from head to toe. You're sweating almost immediately. Within five minutes, you are completely drenched.

“If you can’t keep going, just say so. Don’t force yourself,” the therapist comments. Sweating heavily, you nod. “I know. I’m fine. I can manage…” Before you finish speaking, you collapse to the ground with a thud. “Are you alright?” they rush forward to help you up, but someone pushes past them. You are suddenly lifted into someone’s arms. When you look up, you meet Caleb’s anxious eyes.

“What the hell are you doing?” You try to struggle, but your muscles give you. Held in his arms, you see a dark storm swirling in Caleb’s eyes.

“What exactly is she doing?” Caleb asks the therapist this time. “Sir, she’s in physical therapy. Rehab.” Caleb scoffs. “Rehabilitation? What kind of rehab is this? Looks like it's doing more harm than good.” “Caleb!” you grit out. “You stay out of this!”

He's already carrying you out.

“Caleb!” “Sir, Ms. Y/N's recovery—” You and the nurse speak at the same time, but Caleb abruptly cuts you both off as he walks away.

“She’s not doing it anymore.” “Caleb, you have no right to decide my affairs!” Anger burns in your chest. When you needed him most, he was never there. And now he suddenly appears just to interfere with your plans? You're already out in the hall, in full view of nurses, patients, and waiting family members. He carries you straight through the clinic.

“Caleb!” You hate your own helplessness right now, but very time you try to move, your muscles scream in pain. You can't simply jump out of his arms.

Zayne Li, a previous upperclassman and now doctor, happens to walk out of his consultation room and notices the commotion. He approaches the two of you with concern. “What’s wrong? Y/N, is the rehabilitation not going well?” "Dr. Li, can you explain why my wife is in so much pain? Are you sure your rehabilitation training facilities here are sound?" You're shocked by how Caleb treats an old acquaintance, glaring at the doctor. His tone carries not only doubt, but a hint of accusation. Zayne explains patiently. “This rehabilitation program Y/N chose is indeed intense and very challenging. But if she perseveres, I can promise it will be effective. The pain is like bones being rebuilt. As her husband—”

“As her husband, I refuse to let her undergo such a cruel course!” Caleb interrupts sharply. His face is ashen as he carries you away. You are furious. Turning toward Zayne, you say quickly, “Dr. Li, I’m sorry, I—” “Shut it!" Caleb snaps.

He carries you straight to the parking lot and shoves you into the car.

The nurse runs after you, handing you your bag. “Ms. Y/N, you…” “I’ll come again tomorrow,” you say with a faint smile. The pain today was almost unbearable, but you have no intention of giving up.

Once you set your mind on something, the word "quit" isn't in your dictionary. Just like years ago, when you discovered your love for dance, you pursued it without hesitation. Like when you fell in love at sixteen, you pursued it wholeheartedly, even if it meant running repeatedly into a wall and coming away bruised. And like now, determined to get back up on your feet—you will never look back.

Caleb closes the car door, and gets into the drivers seat. “You won't be coming back here tomorrow.” “Caleb!” You're livid. “What right do you have to interfere with my freedom?” “Because,” he says slowly, word by word, “I’m your husband.”

You think about everything that's happened and could only laugh at his statement.

“My husband? A man who dedicates his whole life to another woman is my husband? Caleb, don’t be ridiculous.” So funny that you almost don’t even feel sad anymore.

Caleb turns the rearview mirror toward you. “Look at yourself. Look at what you look like now.”

You glance at your reflection.

Your hair is soaked with sweat. Your face is damp, and your clothes cling to your body after the brutal training. You look disheveled—truly disheveled. Even now your lips tremble slightly, and your hands still shake. But you don’t think anything is wrong. This is proof of your effort.

“What’s wrong with me?” You touch the healthy flush on your cheeks, satisfied.

“Y/N, you don’t need to…” Caleb sighs. “I know you’re being stubborn. MC is back. She’s more beautiful than you, healthier than you, more capable than you. You’re upset, so you push yourself like this, wanting to prove yourself to her.”

You stare at him. Is he out of his goddamn mind?

“Y/N, you don’t have to suffer like this. Seeing you so exhausted makes my heart ache.” His gaze softens. “You don’t need to compare yourself with anyone. No matter what state you're in, you’re still Mrs. Xia. That will never change.”

“Anxious? Me, competing with your MC?” You interrupt incredulously, unable to hold it in it any longer. “Caleb, how dare you!” “First, I have never compared my beauty, health, or ability with your dear Pipsqueak. Second, my life is full of wonderful things, none of which involve you or her. And finally, I've told you a hundred times: whether or not I’m Mrs. Xia, I don't give a shit!"

What on earth makes him think your entire life revolves around MC?

But Caleb refuses to believe you. His expression shifts from gentle to mocking. “Y/N, if you weren’t jealous, would you be so determined to make me jealous? You’re wrong. It will only push me further away.”

You roll your eyes. Talking to someone like this is exhausting.

“And you say you don’t care?” Caleb sneers. “The more someone lacks something, the more they pretend not to want it. Y/N, don’t think I don’t know. You had a crush on me in high school. You asked me to help you with homework just to get my attention. You gave me mooncakes during Mid-Autumn Festival because you wanted to pursue me. After university, you even risked your life to save me. And now you say you don’t care? Who would believe that?”

You freeze.

You thought that after everything you’ve been through, nothing could hurt you anymore. But you underestimated how deeply this relationship could still wound you.

He knows everything.

Yes, you once liked him, but that was a secret you kept to yourself. You asked him to tutor you because you wanted a way to pay him without hurting his pride. You gave him mooncakes during Mid-Autumn Festival simply because you wanted him to feel a little warmth on that lonely holiday. And later, when you saved him… Even though it left you with a limp, you never expected repayment—let alone marriage.

You had already accepted defeat in this marriage. You built a hard shell around yourself, telling yourself not to feel pain anymore. Yet somehow, every act of kindness you once showed him has become an arrow he now shoots back at you, piercing straight through your armor.

You suddenly feel too tired to explain anything. When the day finally comes that you leave him completely, he will understand whether you ever cared about the title of Mrs. Xia.

Seeing you fall silent, Caleb reaches out and wraps an arm around your shoulders again. You hold your breath.

You remember a Mid-Autumn night long ago. The two of you sat under an osmanthus tree eating mooncakes. He smelled faintly of sweet osmanthus. That fragrance drifted through your youth for years, warming you. But now, when Caleb comes close, all you smell is suffocating perfume.

Disgusted, you turn away and slap his hand aside. “Don't touch me. I told you—it disgusts me.” Anger flashes through Caleb’s eyes. Yet he doesn’t shout. Instead, his voice softens. “Y/N, I know you love me. The vow I made will never change. You will always be my Mrs. Xia."

These words have never sounded so grating against your ears. 

T - 6 days Today is the day you are scheduled to pick up your visa. You pack your purse carefully, pausing when the little rectangular piece of plastic that has always lived in your shared bedroom drawer is gone. Where did your ID go? You look everywhere in the room. Still nothing. Your pulse rising, you think back to the last few days. You haven't touched it at all. Caleb! He was rummaging through here this morning.

You immediately pick up your cell phone to call him. Shockingly, he answers on the first ring. "Caleb, do you have my ID?" You ask, slightly breathless. "Good morning to you to," he says sarcastically. "Caleb! Is it with you!" You press on. "Yes." His reply is short and straight to the point. "Why did you take it?" You're exasperated, concerned you'll have to reschedule for later. "Why do you need it?" He shocks you by turning your question against you. "None of your business! I need it today." A slight pause from him on the other end. "Come get it then." "Get it... from your workplace?" You say incredulously. "If you want it, come get it." He hangs up. You stare at your phone dumbfoundedly. Then immediately call a cab to the Farspace Fleet HQ.

You've never really came to his workplace in the five years you spent together. The only other time you recall entering the building wasn't the most unpleasant experience for you either.  You text him as you enter, informing him of your arrival. He doesn't reply this time. You call, but it doesn't go through. You frown. Was he in a meeting? You don't have all day, so you are forced to go to the front counter and reveal your identity.

"The Colonel's wife?" The receptionist looks at you and laughs. "Young lady, everyone who comes here claims to be the Colonel's wife. If you're going to think of an excuse, find one that's less cliché." "I'm serious. Call the Colonel, and tell him Y/N is here. He'll know to come down." You're not in the mood to play games.  "That's what they all say. If we did that, you'd think the Colonel wouldn't have time for anything other than dealing with people like you all day." The receptionist rolled her eyes and muttered. "People like me?" You frown. "And pray, what am I?" "Shameless women who want to climb the social ladder without working for it!" the receptionist laughs. "At least other women come here with presentable features, but now we're getting cripples? You should at least know your place!"

Is it really true that birds of a feather flock together? You can't wrap your head around her thinking. Why is it that no stranger outside of Caleb's circle harbor any ill will towards you and your leg, while everyone around Caleb is like this? You're thinking of going home and getting your marriage certificate to prove your place; you certainly aren't going anywhere by talking to the workers down here. 

Just then, the elevator door opens, and Liam walks out. Seeing the Adjutant, the receptionist immediately turns respectful. "Adjutant Lin!" She greets him properly.  "Madam Y/N, I am the Colonel's Adjutant. Please come with me." He leads the way, letting you into the elevator. The two of you head straight to the top floor.

"The Colonel is in a meeting right now," he explains, leading you to a small office. "Please wait in here for now."  You thank him and put your bag down. A few minutes later, a knock is heard, and a lady emerges from the door.  "Ms. Y/N, I am the Colonel's secretary. Would you like something to drink?"  "Anything is fine, or just water," you reply. She returns with a glass of juice. "Is passionfruit drink ok?" "That's wonderful, thank you." You take the glass.  "Just sit tight, I'll come get you once the meeting ends." She smiles, and closes the door behind her. 

Fifteen minutes pass. Then twenty, and thirty.  You watch the time tick by, growing impatient. Finally, you get up to open the conference room door, only to find it locked from the outside. Damn it! You still need to pick up your visa this afternoon. You frantically call Caleb's phone, but strangely, no one picks up despite the call going through. You're smart enough to know that this is most certainly a setup, but you don't have the time nor heart to figure out who orchestrated this entire thing or what their purpose was. You just wanted to get your visa. You pound on the door, frantically, yelling, but no one answers.  You sit down and pick up the passion fruit lemonade, drinking it down in one gulp. Hands trembling, you quickly type out an email rescheduling your visa appointment.

Suddenly, your face begins to itch. This isn't passion fruit lemonade at all…

You check the time: another ten minutes had passed. Neither Liam nor the secretary had returned, and nobody else knew you were here… You feel your throat closing, as your breathing gets heavier.  You drag yourself, limping to the door, continuing to pound on it as you are no longer able to make any noise. You catch sight of a red box. 

Throughout the office, everyone is methodically going about their work when suddenly, the building's fire alarms start blaring loudly.  "What's going on?" People run out of their cubicles and offices to see what's going on. "Someone pulled the fire alarm on the top floor! Everyone evacuate!"

Caleb also hears the noise, and comes out immediately.  "What's going on? How can there be a fire up here?" His eyelids have been twitching all day. He had a strange, ominous premonition.

Thunk... thunk... thunk...

It sounds like someone is weakly banging on the door. "Who's in there?" Caleb asks urgently, kicking the door. MC appears from behind him, clinging to his shoulder. "Gege! Don't go in there! It could be dangerous!" "Someone's in here!" Caleb shouts. "Caleb... Help... help me... Caleb..."  A weak cry, barely audible over the commotion in the hall. Caleb's eyes widen in shock. "Y/N! Y/N! Is that you in there? Y/N answer me!" He forcefully shakes off MC's hand, barging against the door with his shoulder. "Someone! Help! Open the door!"

With a loud bang, he breaks the door down. 

You're on the floor, fallen to the side. Body red, face nearly turning purple.  "Y/N!" he cries, quickly picking you up. "Call an ambulance!" His roar echoes throughout the entire floor. His voice startles you, as you weakly open your eyes, looking at the familiar yet unfamiliar face in front of you. You want to raise your hand to check if it is real, but your arm refuses to move.  You try to speak, but no sound comes out. You manage a weak smile and barely manage to mouth the words: "if... I'm dead... won't... owe me anything... you'll... free.." "Stop it! You won't die!" Caleb runs down dozens of flights of stairs. You close your eyes. You don't mind saying goodbye to all of this. "Y/N, don't sleep on me, ok? Wake up! Wake up, you hear me?" The last thing you her is Caleb's frantic voice. 

T - 5 days You wake up in the hospital after getting an acute dose of epinephrine. Zayne gives you a thorough examination, and finds no other acute problems. After determining you're stable enough to step down to the observation area, he scolds you seriously. "Walking around without an epipen with a serious allergy? You could've died from anaphylaxis! How could you be so careless?"

Caleb is still somewhat shaken by it all. "An allergic reaction? Y/N, what did you eat that caused this?" You sit there silently.

"Let's observe her a little longer. There are still a few results pending. We'll see what happens when the results come back," Zayne says before leaving.

Caleb sighs and sits down beside you, continuing to carefully dab at your neck and shoulders with the cotton swab.  It stings a little. You frown and turn away. "Don't move, Y/N. I'm trying to clean it. Don't want any infections from your blisters." The words sound familiar. In the early days after your injury, he had said similar things. But it was that gentleness, this feigned gentleness, that gave you false hope and expectation in him.  He's acting so kind again - what's he trying to do?

You no longer trust anything he says. 

“I remember you’re allergic to apples. Did you eat apples before coming to the HQ today? But Mrs. Chen knows not to buy them... Did you eat something new on your way here?” His tone is like coaxing a child… You purse your lips, giving him a cold laugh. “I didn’t eat anything. I’m calling the police.” your tone is firm. “Call the police?” Caleb frowns. There's a rustling sound outside the room. You turn around to see that MC had arrived.

T - 4 days MC stands outside holding a bouquet of flowers, looking cautious and timid. "Caleb, how is Y/N? I wanted to come see her, but I was worried she wouldn't want to see me." "Y/N's fine, she just needs some rest," Caleb says, knowing you indeed dislike her. "I appreciate your sentiment, but she's in a bad mood right now, you should go back." "Hmm..." MC purses her lips, eyes rimmed with tears. "Caleb, I'm sorry, it's all my fault. As your personal assistant, I was careless, causing Y/N to suffer like this. I'm so glad she's alright, otherwise... otherwise, I don't know what I would do..." She starts crying.

You, still in the room, hear everything. MC joined the Farspace Fleet as Caleb's personal assistant? So that's why she went on the mission with him. However, since she's his assistant, everything that happened today makes sense now. 

You grab your bag, turning on your phone.  "What are you doing?" Caleb comes back seeing you enter your password. "I told you, I'm calling the police." You successfully unlock it. 

MC rushes into the room, Gideon behind her now. "Y/N, tread carefully. This is the Farspace Fleet HQ we're talking about. Are you sure the authorities will respond to this? What happened in the meeting room was an accident, I swear." "Oh? And how would you know it was an accident?" you scoff. "Were you the one who locked the door?" MC's face immediately turns pale. "How could you say that about me! It was Secretary Lu who led you to the conference room, she was the one who brought you the apple juice. She said the door was locked from the inside!" "Apple juice?" You look into MC's flustered eyes. You have a pretty good idea of what's going on now. "I never said I drank apple juice, how did you know it was apple juice?" MC avoids your eyes. "No, I... As Caleb's personal assistant, I checked everything before coming here! Secretary Lu explained everything that happened from picking you up to asking you to wait in the conference room." "Is that so?" You turn to look at Caleb. "There aren't many people in this world who knows I'm allergic to apple juice. Not even my parents." Only your grandparents. And Caleb. 

Caleb's face stiffens.

You remain unusually calm. "Caleb Xia, your secretary kept telling me she gave me passion fruit juice. How did it turn into apple juice? Did Secretary Lu deliberately tamper with it, or did someone switch the drink around? And Caleb, who have you told about my apple juice allergy?" MC's face is deathly pale.  You don't wait for her to reply. "And the doors? There's security cameras all over the Farspace HQ. A quick check will bring everything to light. Of course, if the cameras were tampered with... that's a whole different issue. So I'm going to have to call the police about it". 

Caleb's face drops, his expression changing drastically. "Pips... did you really...?"

She runs forward to grab his arm. "No Gege! I swear! It wasn't me, it must've just been a joke!" "A joke?" you sneer. "Your group seems to love joking around the most. I've lived for over twenty five years and never knew that you guys had jokes that could kill people!" "No, no, no.." MC shakes her head violently, "Gege, listen to me! It wasn't me, I promise-" "She's lying" you say flatly, dialing the tone.

Gideon, unable to contain himself any longer, smacks the phone out of your hands. "Who's lying! You're the one lying, for your own selfish reasons, slandering an innocent person!" His line of thinking is really quite creative, giving everyone else a new inspiration to ride off of.  "Y/N," MC cries, looking at you with disbelief, "I can't believe you hate me this much, that you'd put your own life in danger to frame me! If you hate me that much, just kick me out! Don't torment Caleb like this! Do you care for him at all? Do you know how terrified he was? I never thought it'd all be staged!" Gideon scoffs, "isn't acting pitiful her specialty? Wasn't her saving Caleb five years ago the same thing? She wanted to force him into marrying her!"

You knew all too well how cruel Gideon could be, and how little he thought of you. Yet you never expected him to say something so shameless: that you saving Caleb five years ago was self-sabotage to trick him into marriage!

Sometimes, when anger reaches its peak, it paradoxically turns into calm. You look at Caleb, despite knowing time and time again that he won't side with you. But in this moment, you just want to ask him one question: if he thought the same as Gideon.  Then it wouldn't just be a matter of you being foolish. You would've been better off saving a dog five years ago. 

"Caleb," you stand, not a ripple of emotion behind your eyes. "Come here." Caleb, sandwiched between Gideon and MC, looks at you.  "Caleb, don't go!" Gideon and MC say it almost simultaneously.

His gaze meets yours. After a brief silence, Caleb stands up and walks to you.  You look at the man you had risked your life for, the man you "traded" your leg for.  You calmly ask, "Do you think so too?" He doesn't speak. "You also..." you stare into deep amethyst eyes, the echo of the conversation you had with him after he interrupted your physical therapy still ringing in your ears. "You also think that today's events were done on purpose? You also think that I saved you five years ago expecting you to marry me?"

Something in Caleb's eyes narrow, and he looks away. "Say it, Caleb! Look at me!"  A minute of silence passes. "Yes."

You gasp, as if that would force you to swallow the pain, but your vision still blurs  uncontrollably. The quiet but resolute "yes" feels like a boulder crashing into your chest, the lingering pain still reverberating over and over after the initial damage. How could someone who has been hurt to this extent still be sad?

smack!

Your handprint remains on Caleb's face where you slapped him; your fingernails leaving a thin trace of blood, particularly striking on his handsome features. "Get out." "Y/N-" "Get the FUCK out or I will."

You don't even wait for him to make a decision - you stumble out of the room without looking back.

T - 3 days You collapse onto the bed when you get home, your body still throbbing with pain. Mrs. Chen calls you for dinner, but you're too exhausted to move.  "Bring it in," say. Except for the initial period after your accident when you were bed-bound, you never got into the habit of eating in bed.  You cherished your home with Caleb so much that you couldn't bear to see anything dirty or out of place. Looking back, you laugh at your stupid thinking. What good is a house if you don't use it? 

After you finish eating, Mrs. Chen takes the plate away and asks if you want to take a bath. You nod. "Please run me some water, and then change the bedding to clean ones."  "Okay." She leaves to start running the water.

You try to get out of bed and make your way to the bath yourself, but after only a few steps, your legs feel weak. Your body's overexertion and emotional outburst from earlier don't make your condition any better.  Mrs. Chen comes back out and is worried to see your trembling, unstable figure. "Madam, shall I help you?" You take a deep breath and nod.  She helps you to the bathroom and didn't let go until you're comfortably seated in the bathtub. "Thank you," you say. 

You lean back, the warm water soothing every inch of your skin, easing the soreness and making you feel much more comfortable. After a while, the water cools, and you call for Mrs. Chen again. You still don't want to open your eyes.  

Footsteps approach and stop at the edge of the bathtub, but you hear no movement afterwards. You frown. "Mrs. Chen..." You open your eyes to see Caleb. "Why are you here?" You're startled, instinctively covering any part of your body above the water. "Get out!" You call loudly for Mrs. Chen. "Mrs. Chen won't come in." He looks down at you, his gaze deep. "Mrs. Chen!" you continue to call, unwilling to give up. "You think Mrs. Chen is going to listen to you, or the person who pays her salary? He leans down, his face suddenly very close to yours, so close that you can clearly see his bloodshot eyes and your own reflection in his pupils. "What exactly do you want?" You grip the edge of the bathtub tightly, your defenses fully raised.

He reaches into the soapy water, grabbing your shoulders and lifting you entirely out of the tub. You feel a chill run down your spine. This is the first time you've been completely exposed in front of Caleb. Humiliation and panic overwhelms you in an instant. "Let go of me, you dirty bastard!" You begin to struggle in his arms, but it's an useless endeavor. “If you want to fall and get hurt, then keep being stubborn!” His deep voice carries a threatening tone. You come to your senses and slowly stop. You can't risk getting hurt now. You're leaving in a couple days. You can't afford to have any more accidents.

“Not moving anymore?” he asks, revealing no emotion. “Caleb Xia, don't make me hate you.” You say. He gives you a bitter smile. “Don't you hate me enough already?” You remain silent. Your relationship with Caleb has indeed reached a point of no return.

He snorts coldly, wrapping you in a bath towel, and walks out of the bathroom back to the bedroom, placing you on the bed. He sits you on the edge and goes back, reappearing with a hairdryer.  As he plugs it in, blowing hot air into your wet hair, you're momentarily stunned.  What's he trying to do? Apologize? Make it up to you? Or is it just all for MC again? The only sound in the room is the roar of the hairdryer; neither of you speak. After he finishes, he rummages through the bedside drawer, clumsily tying your hair up into a knot. 

Several bruises on the top of your back and shoulders from falling reveal themselves  He stares at them for a moment, then forcefully rips away the towel wrapped around you. "Look at yourself! What are you doing to yourself these days, doing that stupid rehab?!" What does this have to do with him at all? You quickly pull the blanket back over herself, glaring at him with hostility. "Caleb, believe me, I really will kill you." He sits down opposite from you, his eyes filled with sarcasm. "We've been married for five years, and this is your attitude when I try to touch you?"

What else does he expect? What attitude should you have?

You smile mockingly. "Caleb, I told you. Your hands are dirty. Also, if you touch me, aren't you afraid your Pipsqueak will be heartbroken?" He doesn't reply, only pushing you down onto the bed, but doesn't move to pull away the blanket. You feel his warm hand on your calf. He's massaging your scars again? You give up struggling, already somewhat familiar with his methods. Unsolicited kindness is always suspicious; he must want something from you. He continues applying ointment to your bruises, from your leg up to your arms, then your back.  Once he's done, he covers you with a blanket, meeting your cold gaze. You look at him with no hint of gratefulness, just waiting. He tucks you in more tightly, forcing a bitter smile. "Y/N, how did we get to this point?"

He's asking you why things had come to this? Didn't he know?

He sighs deeply. "Y/N, let's talk about this calmly." You consider it for a moment. Since MC appeared, you've always been calm, never wavering. It's him, on the other hand, who was always emotional because of MC. “Caleb Xia, I don’t know what we have to talk about anymore,” you say indifferently. “I’ve already made myself clear.” Caleb's hand reaches under the covers to find your hand and grasps it tightly. “Y/N, I didn’t want this. From the beginning until now, I swear I've been sincere in wanting to live a good life with you.” “Is that so?” you sneer. “From the beginning? Didn't you think I was a venomous woman who used a self-inflicted injury to force you to marry me?”

Caleb closes his eyes, remaining silent for a long time. “Colonel Xia,” you smile, “Please let go of my hand and get me a bottle of disinfectant” When Caleb opens his eyes, the bloodshot veins are particularly noticeable. He doesn't ask why, just gets up to fetch it, and hands it to you.

You prop yourself up on the bed, and begins methodically spraying it on your hands, arms, legs, stomach, back—everywhere he had just touched. Caleb's expression instantly changes. "What are you doing?" "I'm disinfecting myself. I told you, your hands are dirty." You finish spraying and calmly place the alcohol bottle on the bedside table. "You…" Caleb is aggravated again. You simply turn over and lie down to sleep.

After a while, Caleb finally speaks to you again, his voice soft. "We've been married for five years. In these five years, I haven't wronged you, have I?" Five years... your heart clenches. You don't want to look back on the past five years. "I'm so grateful to you for saving me back then, and for giving me a chance to atone. For the past five years, I've given you everything I could. So can you do just one more thing? If you agree to this favor, I'll do anything you ask from now on." Here it comes…

"You want me to drop the case and reconcile with MC and your two cronies?" You cut to the chase.

T - 2 days Yes," Caleb says, his voice utterly broken. "I'm sorry, Y/N, I have to protect MC. She was the only light in the darkest moments of my life." Your heart sinks to the bottom of the ocean. What in the world is Caleb thinking? Telling his lawful wife that another woman is his only light, and expecting you to help him?

"Y/N," he continues, "you know that my grandmother was the most important person in my life. MC was good friends with Zayne, an upperclassman whose parents were doctors. Through her connections was how my grandma was able to get treatment after she fell ill. One evening, when I visited Grandma, there was a bottle of origami cranes beside her pillow. The nurse said it was a gift from a volunteer. They said that with the blessing of a thousand cranes, Grandma would definitely recover. Caleb chokes up a little. "Grandma didn't recover. The blessing of a thousand origami cranes only stayed a myth. But Y/N, do you understand the loneliness of that time when my world was completely dark, and I was struggling to bear everything alone? The girl who helped me share the burden while I was taking care of Grandma, the girl who lit up my dark world with origami cranes, was MC. I thought I would never see her again after she left, but she ended up coming back to me. I'm sorry Y/N. No matter what kind of person MC is, in my heart, she will always be that light." You listen silently, finally unable to help but smile.

Caleb Xia, are you really sure that the girl who folded the origami cranes was MC?

T - 1 day What was it like to have a crush on someone in your youth?

It was having your heart feel empty when he didn't come to class; even though there was only one empty seat, the whole world became hollow; It was the world suddenly brightening when he steps into the classroom. The sunlight outside the window shining like gold, but it couldn't possibly compare to the radiance surrounding him at that moment. It was when his smile warmed your heart, and when he frowned, your heart clenched; It was the satisfaction in watching him from afar, letting time quietly slip by, wanting to give your everything to him but not wanting him to know…

That year, when you learned that the weariness and pain Caleb tried so hard to hide was because his grandmother was seriously ill and hospitalized, every weekend, you'd wear a mask and get up before dawn every morning, catch the bus to the hospital, and help his grandma with breakfast and keep her company. You lied about your identity every time, simply saying you were a volunteer. You weren't sure if paper cranes could actually make wishes come true, but being young and full of sincere wishes, you secretly folded a bottle full of paper cranes for his grandmother. There certainly weren't a thousand total, but the bottle was full. It took you a long time folding, and you wrote a blessing on each piece of paper before carefully folding it inside. While wishing Caleb's grandmother a speedy recovery, you also prayed for her own grandparents' health.

At that time, you felt that you and Caleb had so much in common. None of your parents were in the picture. You both depended on their grandparents' for survival. You were both struggling to grow up against the odds, trying your best to maintain your lives, your pride, and self-respect. You once thought that you and Caleb were like two trees growing side by side, far apart, your branches never intersecting in the air, yet your roots in the soil were always tightly intertwined.

In the end, you've been deluding yourself.

You just smile without speaking or explaining anything to him. If it were before, perhaps you would have explained to him that you were the volunteer. But now, there is truly no need.

You traded your leg for his life, saving him from being run over by a car. If in his eyes, it was all a ploy, a way to trick him into marrying you, then what would the origami cranes you folded all those years ago mean to him? Were they, like the mooncakes from that Mid-Autumn Festival, just a means to woo him as well? Even if he didn't think of you as so calculating and despicable, what difference would it make?

He simply doesn't love you. You've tried for five years already. The fact is, you saved his life. Regardless of his motives for marrying you, the end result is the same: he doesn't love you. So why add another layer of trouble? You've known him since you were twelve. 15 years now. If love could truly change people, you would have done so long ago. The truth is, no matter what you did for him, it wouldn't change a thing.

Besides, you already have a clear future and plans. You'll cut ties completely with this person and stop this entanglement for once and for all. Only a smile remains on your face. A smile that is both laughable and pathetic.

"What are you laughing at?" Caleb was probably lost in his own memories, so it's understandable that he felt a bit resentful that his heartfelt story is met with nothing but a laugh. You lower your eyes, a faint smile still on your lips. "It's nothing, I'm just very touched. I'll do as you wish under one condition." He looks at you expectantly. "I'll have my lawyer send over some papers. At long as you sign them, MC is off the hook." "You... really?" Caleb isn't sure if you're being sarcastic.

"I'm serious." You lie on the bed, looking up at him, the faint sadness in your eyes gone, replaced by a genuine smile. "I wish you a long and life."

T - 0 days When Caleb leaves this morning, he tells you to wait for him at home, the same as usual. However, he lingers at the door for a minute longer, gazing at you with eyes filled with an unfamiliar emotion. There's no point thinking about it anymore. Nothing in the world will convince Caleb Xia that his wife would want to leave him.

Will he realize you're truly gone when he sees the empty closet? It won't matter if he doesn't; your letter, the lawyer, and the divorce papers will tell him. You look back one last time at the home you lived in for five years.

You write one last line in your notebook: "0 days until I leave Caleb Xia: Goodbye, I'm going to fly higher."

You turn off the lights and close the door.

You stick a paper crane on the door; let this paper crane wait for him in your place; perhaps, it will tell him the answer.

***

T + 6 days: Caleb feels like he's actually gone insane. The first night you don't come home, he plays it off as another one of your temper outbursts. Afterall, the paper crane on the door was your way of mocking his past with MC, wasn't it?. The second night he blows up your phone. Nothing goes through. By the third day, he is contacted by your lawyer with the divorce papers prepared and already signed by you. You ask for none of his assets and no compensation. He nearly destroys the office table in anger. After another two days to calm down, the panic and unease in his chest grow to new lengths. He stalks the entire city. Tries going after your telephone records, search history. He finds your preparation to leave him starting long, long before he suspected anything out of the ordinary. He looks at himself in the mirror and wants to laugh at the pathetic sight before him. He can't possibly go to work in this state, so he turns around to go home instead. 

He takes a shower and sits in the chair in your bedroom, lost in thought. This is the chair you used to sit in. You'd sit here watching dramas, reading, oh right, probably studying how to get away form him too.  Your belongings are still on the table: pens in the pen holder, and several books you read, the most recent being art history, lying on the desk. Fiddling with the paper crane.

He opened a drawer, which was also full of books. Digging through its contents, he finds a notebook. He pulls it out and opens it. The contents read: Countdown to leaving Caleb Xia. T -  22 days: The jewelry he gave me were all mementos of someone else.  T - 11 days: He gave our wedding rings to someone else too. But I don't even want him anymore, so why should I care about the ring?

His eyes sting.

"I don't even want this person anymore…" So, from that moment on, you truly wanted a divorce. Every time you brought it up, it was from the heart. It wasn't a tactic to keep him, nor was it a way to force MC to leave. You genuinely wanted to leave him…

Looking further, you had recorded every single thought that, in the month before you left, seemed trivial to him. With each passing day, your heart seemed to die a little more. He lowers his head, forehead resting on the notebook. His eyes ache terribly. In those 20-odd days, if he had even a few moments of empathy, if he had considered things from your perspective, he might have still had a chance to salvage the relationship. But he didn't. He went down a path of no return, finally leading to a complete break between you.

He thought you would never leave him, never leave this home, which is why he stood on MC's side time and time again. He thought, "She's my wife, she's family, she'll never leave. No matter when I come back, she'll be waiting at home..." You loved him so much, you've liked him since high school, even risked your life for him. How could he have believed that you really wanted to divorce him?

T + 24 days: Caleb sighs, a bitter smile on his face. He doesn't know what was wrong with him; why everything had been so bitter lately. The food he eats taste bitter, the water tastes bitter, even the air around him seems to carry a faint bitterness.

That afternoon, Liam comes to his office, inviting him out to dinner with Gideon.  Sitting behind his desk, Caleb feels listless. "Forget it, I'm too tired. You guys go ahead, I'll cover it." "Colonel," Liam protests, before switching to addressing him by name. "Caleb. Do you think I'm starving? I can see you're unhappy these days, and I figured getting together with you and Gideon would allow you to have some fun. Caleb shakes his head, hating how his hairs bristled at the mention of his friend. "I hate crowds, forget it."

"Caleb, what's wrong with you?" Gideon pops in, looking at him, his eyes filled with worry. "You used to love being with your brothers, having fun together. As long as the crew is together, your worries would disappear. I can invite MC along too, she'll make you feel better." Caleb freezes. What is wrong? He didn't know what was wrong either. It's just an instinctive reaction; he didn't want to go.

Later, at the bar, Caleb is still trying to think of why he feels uncomfortable. "Maybe... I'm getting old?" As you get older, you grow weary of crowds and want to be alone in peace and quiet. Liam laughs. "You're old? You...you're old? What am I then?" Well, if not, then Caleb couldn't find a reason.

"Caleb, what's wrong with you?" Gideon sighs. "We all know you didn't want to marry Y/N in the first place. You didn't love her. Isn't it better that you're getting a divorce now?" "Yeah..." Caleb's eyes glaze over. "Isn't it supposed to be better? But, Gideon, why am I not okay? I'm really not okay at all." "Is it just that you've gotten used to it? It's hard to let go of someone suddenly in your life, like when I had a dog when I was little. I had it for years, and one day it got into an accident and passed. I cried for a long time." Liam tries to help. Caleb shakes his head. "That's not how it works, Liam. Didn't you love your dog? You cried." Liam is stumped. "Oh, right. I definitely loved it."

All three of them fall silent.

Liam thinks for a long time before slowly saying, "Caleb, you didn't fall in love with Y/N, did you?" Caleb feels as if he's been struck on the head. He had never considered this question before. "Let me ask you this," Liam continues, "you're single now, right? If you had two choices: one, go back to Y/N, and she'd still be your Mrs. Xia; two, marry MC. You could marry MC if you want to! Which would you choose if you had these two options in front of you?" Caleb doesn't hesitate at all. "Liam, what are you saying? When did I ever plan to marry MC? Since she came back, the thought of marrying her never even crossed my mind!" Liam is stunned. "I literally thought MC was your wife the first day you brought her to the headquarters! Wasn't it because you had Y/N before? Now that you're divorced, you're still not considering MC?" "Liam, MC and I are a thing of the past," Caleb says with a small laugh, "What are you thinking?" "Then, why are you so good to her?" he stammers. "Am I not good to you?" Caleb retorts. "Am I not good to Gideon?" "Then...how...can this be comparable?" Liam didn't know what to say. "How is it different? The two of you are my brothers since we were trainees at the DAA, and we've all worked our way up to our positions now. When MC was with me, she was still a high schooler, encouraging me on when I was was nothing but a new recruit. She didn't get to reap any of the benefits of that work, she had a hard time abroad. Of course I have to pamper her when she comes back, she's my little sister, right, Gideon?" "Uhhh.... Anyway..." Liam thought it was VERY different.

"Of course it's different!" A voice booms from behind. It's Yvette. Liam quickly stands up. "Darling, why are you here?" "I came to see what nonsense you're spouting, you idiot!" Yvette's face darkens. "You guys are still talking about that two-faced bitch?" "No...wife, please... don't say such nonsense. How could MC be two-faced?" Liam quickly looks at Caleb, fearing for his job. “Try saying another word for her” Yvette points at Liam's nose, as if she's about to slap him into oblivion “No, I won’t say anything… I won’t…” Yvette's anger finally subsides. “Let’s go home!”

Liam hesitates. “Darling, how about we have dinner with the Colonel today?” “No way!” Yvette's temper flares again, pointing at Liam once more “I don’t hang out with your kind of people! You’re going home to eat too! He deserves it! He’s not worth wasting time on!” Liam looks troubled, hoping his wife would show some mercy.

Strangely, Caleb doesn't seem offended at all. He asks Yvette with a smile, "What kind of person am I?"

Yvette turns to look at him, scoffing. "I didn't want to talk about you, because you scumbags and bitches get angry and it's bad for my baby. I don't want my baby to see the ugliness of this world while still in my belly. But since you're asking like this, I've changed my mind." Liam sweats profusely. "My darling, no, let's just let our baby grow peacefully. Don't change your mind." "No!" Yvette declares. "I've decided to teach our baby to distinguish right from wrong!"

She turns to face Caleb again. "Colonel Xia, I'm not trying to be mean, but stop acting like you're some sort of saint. What's with all this talk about MC being there for you when you were down on your luck, about her suffering abroad and wanting to compensate her? Is it so hard to admit you're a cheater? Aren't you just trying to cover up the fact that you're greedy and have always looked for something better?" Caleb's face turns ashen. "I didn't, MC and I didn't..." Yvette's spirit is still high. "I don't give a fuck if you and MC slept together or not! That's not my business. I only care about Liam! But Caleb, this isn't about physical cheating!"

Liam is getting increasingly anxious hearing his wife absolutely tear through his boss without any restraint. Was this something she could just casually say? Out in public?? He immediately covers her mouth. "Let her talk!" Caleb's expression darkens.

"I'll say it!" Yvette slaps away Liam's hand. "Colonel Xia! I told you you're a cheater! The ultimate scumbag! You enjoyed Y/N's wholehearted love while flirting with MC under the guise of "taking care of a sister? What brother buys you a house, bags, and luxury goods? What kind of siblings share a room together while out on a business trip? Oh right, Liam used to get that privilege when you were cadets, but is the stuff in your brain the same shade when you sleep with MC?!" Liam tries really hard not to laugh. "The stuff in your brain isn't the same color"? His wife's mouth was really something… But then again, even he didn't believe Caleb and MC's brains were pure when they were together…

"What are you laughing at?" Yvette turns around to scold her husband. "Your boss doesn't have a brain, it's filled with tofu! You think you're so great? Yours is filled with tofu dregs!" "Darling, please;;; if you want to scold me, let's go back home to do it" "Let me finish!" Yvette hadn't wanted to say all of this, but since she was asked to, she wouldn't be happy until she was finished. She glares at Caleb. "With your filthy thoughts, ask yourself, with your non-existent conscience, when you sided with MC again and again like no tomorrow, wasn't your heart soaring? Like you were back in your youth! Wasn't that right? An old man like you, suddenly rediscovering the feeling of pure love, wasn't your life full of passion? And then what? Clearly, you were emotionally unfaithful, I don't know if your filthy body has cheated on her! But whether it's emotional or physical, it's still cheating! And yet you still insist that there is nothing between you and MC. Caleb Xia, if you openly admit to cheating, I'd respect you as a man. But to cheat and then pretend to be deeply in love, I can only give you one word: scumbag! No, add another: despicable! Finally done, she glares at Liam, "Aren't you leaving?" "Oh, oh, oh." Liam apologizes to Caleb with his eyes, quickly removing himself from the premise.

T + 25 days Caleb checks his personal set of security cameras at work. You weren't lying. MC is clearly seen talking to the secretary, putting the apple juice in her hands. Gideon walks in, and Caleb slams his laptop shut. "Colonel?" A shudder runs down his spine as he meets Caleb's dark gaze. 

T + 31 days Yvette's brutal words live rent free in Caleb's head.

Five years ago, when MC first left, it was during a period of setbacks for him. He spent his entire youth preparing to get into the DAA. But now that he was there, he realized with a start that he, a small town boy, was so woefully unprepared compared to his peers. Years of hard work were on the verge of being wasted. He had a habit of shutting others out when he was struggling. MC knew it. And did her best to call him out of her own accord, always checking in, trying to make him feel better.  But it came the day she couldn't take it anymore. She up and left him, cutting off all communications suddenly. He wasn't stupid; of course he knew the reason why. However, he also had the self-awareness not to drag her down with him. Later, he heard that a wealthy second-generation heir had gone abroad with her.

He knew all of it.

His depression during that period was partly due to the breakup, and partly due to his career setbacks—a mixed bag. He got drunk sometimes, but not entirely out of despair. Most of the time, it was from entertaining his peers, or trying to network with higher-ups, practically begging and pleading for a chance. However, the night you saved him, he was truly heartbroken. He had faced rejection after rejection, losing all confidence and almost giving up. Then you saved him, trading your leg for his rebirth.

From that moment on, he carried the weight of another person's life on his shoulders. It was at that moment that he told himself: I absolutely cannot give up, I cannot give up. There are still people waiting for me to take responsibility for, waiting for me to support them.

Fate can be truly miraculous sometimes. It was after that car accident that things suddenly took a turn for the better. When you got discharged from the hospital, it was also the time his performance soared. After that, his missions only ever returned successful. Offers and promotions came in waves, and his power increased exponentially. 

And then, MC returned.

Somewhere deep in his heart, he faced her with resentment and bitterness, thinking: "The person you looked down on back then has now made it big, standing proudly before you. How do you feel?" He would never admit it though.  Just like the necklace of MC's dreams. The first birthday he spent with you, he thought to himself, "so what? The decorations MC liked, the style she fawned over, I've given them all to another girl. I can afford to do so." So, five years later, when MC returned, he carried this resentment, enjoying her adoration and affection, feeling a childish satisfaction. The person who abandoned him back then was now obediently fawning over him, trying to please him, and the resentment in his heart finally subsided.

But the scales in his heart had been tipped.

Just as Yvette said, he despicably indulged in two relationships, becoming lost in this ambiguity. He basked in MCs adoration and retaliated by showering her with affection and indulgence, as if this would prove to his former, down-on-his-luck self: I've made it big, I'm omnipotent. He never even considered it love or lack thereof. He simply wanted to frantically prove to MC his power, his influence, that he could spoil a woman to the extreme if he wanted.

Of course, in doing so, he hurt you.

But at that time, he didn't think about any of that; he was simply gradually losing himself in his relationship with MC. He explained to you that he was only remembering MC's kindness from when she made the paper cranes and that nothing ever happened between them. Perhaps this reason held some semblance of validity? He always needed a plausible excuse to mask his dark and despicable psychology. But it was also true. He could do anything for MC, except betray you —by betraying you, he meant maintaining boundaries and not doing anything physically inappropriate.

But Yvette said that emotional infidelity also counts as infidelity. Does it? Did he cheat on you? He wasn't sure himself. He couldn't distinguish whether his feelings for MC were of resentment or love.

The only thing he was certain of was that you loved him, loved him to the point of self-sacrifice. So, no matter how his heart swayed, you would always be his Mrs. Xia, and that would never change.

That day after he told you the story about the paper cranes, MC tried to embrace him from behind at work. In that moment, he realized: he couldn't possibly cross any physical boundaries with her. His destiny belonged to you. That night, he wanted to see you more than ever. So, he returned without delay, even before dinnertime. But you were already gone.

So even you could leave him too…

Even with the wealth and luxury and everything he could give you, you could still abandon it so easily. That's right, he laughs at himself, why would you care about money? That silly girl who used to live frugally, worrying about his financial situation, trying to pay him $5 for every math problem he tutored you in - how could you care about money?

He was wrong… He'd been too arrogant for too long, forgetting the path he'd come from, neglecting the most important person in his world. How ridiculous, only realizing you were the most important person after losing you.

And before that?

It seemed everything came before you. Work was more important than you, because he needed to develop his career, earn money, and support you for life; His pride was more important than you, so he absolutely couldn't lose face in front of MC, forcing you to apologize, even though you were never actually in the wrong.

His thinking was simple: even if he had wronged you, it wouldn't matter. You loved him so much; all he had to do was sweet talk and make it back up to you. In fact, many times, between you and MC, he chose to side with MC simply because he knew you would forgive him…

But you didn't. You wouldn't forgive him forever, nor would you wait for him forever.

T + 52 days: Liam stops by Caleb's office. It's past midnight. "Colonel..." he starts, stiffening as Caleb's dead gaze shifts onto him from the screen. "You've been here for the past 5 days straight. I think... you should go home now..." Home? Caleb laughs, a hollow sound, devoid of any positive emotion. Where would he go now? What is home to him?

He admits that in the past five years, he didn't love going home as much.

Mainly, when he first got married, he was afraid to go home and face you, your overwhelming love, and your injury. Guilt and remorse weighed on his heart like a brick, so much so that he couldn't even be intimate with you. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but just seeing your leg overwhelmed him with guilt, making it impossible to continue. And this created a vicious cycle: the greater the psychological pressure, the less he tried, and the less he tried, the greater the pressure… He even saw a therapist for some time, but it didn't help. Over time, he became increasingly adverse to returning home to see you, and staying at his office until midnight.

He had many excuses: logistics, planning, meetings with important stakeholders, out on missions, and most often, just being busy with work. He did indeed spend most of his time working, but no matter how late, he always had a direction in his heart—home. Whether it was his conscience or something else, going home every night was a routine, just like his work.

And now, his home was still there, but he didn't know where he should go after you left.

He always told himself that it was his responsibility to be good to you for the rest of his life, but he didn't even know when it started to become more than just a responsibility. It turned out that when the girl who always smiled at him like a sunflower was no longer there, home was no longer home, and going home lost its meaning.

But you had promised him that you would never leave him, whether in poverty or wealth; you had promised him that you would leave a light on for him no matter how late he came home. He truly believed that this light would illuminate him forever, so he gradually took advantage of you, until ultimately, he became the one who extinguished it.

T + 93 days Caleb's phone rings. Looking down, it's Zayne. “Caleb, what's up? I can't come out for dinner, but feel free to talk on the phone. I'm busy, I have to work overtime.” “Oh…” he says wistfully, “Then it's nothing.” He just had nowhere else to go and wanted to find a place to talk about the past, about people he once knew.

“Oh, by the way, do you remember Sylus Qin?” Zayne suddenly askes.

“I remember…” A name that wasn't so pleasant. “He's gone.” Caleb is taken aback. "Gone?" "He passed away. He actually passed a while ago, abroad." Zayne sighs. "It was an accident, don't tell Y/N." He's... gone?

A voice echoes in Caleb's mind again: "Hey, Caleb, that Y/N from your class..." "Get lost!"

Zayne remembers something else. "Oh, right, you can't tell Y/N anyway, otherwise you wouldn't be asking me to dinner and rambling on and on about your past." Caleb remains silent. Lately, he keeps dreaming about when he was sixteen or seventeen, so he would occasionally chat with Zayne about it.  Zayne only ever told him the same thing: "Only those who are unhappy reminisce about the past; those who are full of vigor only stride forward. Caleb, let Y/N go. She deserves a better future."

Caleb feels a sudden, sharp pain in his heart, and his vision blurs. Now, he couldn't let it go even if he wanted to… But he had no right to not let it go…

“Zayne,” he says in a barely suppressed voice, “I regret it so much…” The more spirited and arrogant he had three months ago, the more desolate and regretful he feels now.

“Caleb Xia,” Zayne sneers on the other end, “You deserve it. Don't play victim with me now, look at your sordid affairs. How to spoke to her in front of me, in front of everyone else? You think none of us notice? How you had absolutely no respect for your ex-wife as a person?" “Zayne, I can't…” Before he can finish speaking, Zayne hangs up the phone. Caleb immediately dials him back.

After the third call, Zayne picks up again. A long silence ensues, until Zayne asks him, "Anything else to say? If not, I'm hanging up. I'm busy!" Caleb chokes for a moment before finally saying, "Zayne, if I said I love Y/N, would you believe me?"

"Bullshit!" Zayne curses, a rare occurrence. "Stop your pretentious nonsense! You don't love anyone but yourself; you're a selfish, self-serving piece of shit. Ask yourself honestly, who do you truly love? Whether was your mistress or Y/N, you only love whoever you need. Did you really even love MC or only what her reactions gave you? I wouldn't have cursed you if you hadn't said that, but hearing you say it out loud disgusts me! You bastard!"

T + 136 Days Caleb goes back to his hometown. Somewhere he hasn't been in many years. He traces the steps he once took to school, watching teenagers shout happily as they play with each other. Somehow, he finds himself in front of Sylus' house. To pay respects, he tells himself. He hesitates for another second before bringing his hand up to knock on the door. 

Two young men greet him. They can't be much older than 20. They stare at Caleb with the same, beady eyes. "Who are you?" "An old classmate of Sylus." He offers, taking his high school yearbook out from his backpack as proof. "We played soccer together. I know its a few years late, but I wanted to come pay my respects."  The twins lead him down to the basement, where many boxes of Sylus' belongings remained. Caleb flips through old textbooks and worksheets, jerseys and field-day awards, CDs and comic books from their youth.  Something small and pink falls out from a book in his hands. 

He bends over to pick it up: a single paper crane

Paper cranes? He picked up the fallen origami bird, its image overlapping with his memories of paper cranes. The page he turned to was a tutorial on how to fold paper cranes. Sylus had written notes on it with a pen. "Some silly girl is folding paper cranes for that Xia boy, and she won't let me help! How long will it take for her to fill that jar? Silly girl!" "Haha! I secretly stole one from her pile! Mischievous act of the day complete!" "Hehe, this silly girl writes something inside every single paper crane. I wonder what she wrote on the one I stole?"

"Written something?" Caleb frowns, picking up the paper crane from the ground and quickly unfolds it. Sure enough, there's a small line of writing inside: 'No matter what happens, you must be happy!'

Caleb's mind goes blank for a moment. He reads the words on the page again, then turns and runs. The noise he makes downstairs alerts the twins, who ask him if everything was alright. "Sorry Luke, Kieran. I have important work to do. I have to go back," Caleb says urgently, bidding farewell to the boys. He drives nonstop to Skyhaven, taking the stairs to the top floor and enters his office. He opens his desk drawer. Inside is a small glass box containing a paper crane.

He had buried all the other paper cranes with his grandmother, leaving only this one as a keepsake. The unfolded paper crane he had taken from Sylus' house lies open on his desk. The handwriting was all too familiar to him—yours. The other paper crane, which he had kept in the small glass box, was clearly made of the same paper but a different color.

He takes a deep breath, and without further delay, unfolds it with trembling fingers.

The orange paper crane reveals writing on it as well. This one reads: Grandma, you must recover. Caleb only has you. The same handwriting. The way you write is distinctive, always rounded and plump, with a kind of innocent charm, completely different from MC's. Looking at these words, his heart sinks as if it's been chained to an iron anchor, falling lower and lower into a bottomless abyss.

He had lost far more than he imagined…

Folding the two pieces of paper together, he finally breaks down in tears. Y/N, I'm sorry… He sits in his office, the whole world utterly silent.

If this were the end of time, how wonderful that would be; he no longer looked forward to waking with the sun the next day… But he could only stay awake, waiting for the night to pass. But the nights are too long. His life is only darkness now.

T + 613 days You carefully make your way onto the stage, eyes momentarily blinded by the sharp glare of stage lights. The applause is thunderous as a bouquet of flowers are presented to you from the dancers. Your thesis project, a fully choreographed piece, was being performed on stage by a full cast for the first time. You insisted on giving yourself a very small role, just a few small steps in the beginning as your leg continues to heal, but it was already more than enough to fill your heart as tears of joy threaten to spill from your eyes. 

Caleb watches your brilliant smile on his phone, in the darkness of his room. It's true that in the 1800 nights he was married to you, he has only wished you the best. Now you're out there, accomplishing your dreams. How much he wishes to be able to proudly say, "that's my Y/N!". But he cannot. Not now. Not that he ever had the right to say it. He reads the comments on the live stream religiously and replays your small segment of dance over and over until his vision blurs. 

Tonight, Caleb dreams of high school.

Back then, all of you were naive and full of youthful exuberance. It was a time of awkwardness and passion, everything direct and intense.

He dreams of Rafayel Shen. Rafayel loved to draw. Caleb had found Rafayel sketching you in the middle of class, and tore up his drawing after school. The two ended up having a fight, still a sore spot in their relationship to this day.

He dreams of Sylus Qin. They were playing soccer together, and you would watch them play from the most inconspicuous spot in the cheerleading squad on the playground, always leaving silently afterward. Sylus puts his arm around Caleb's shoulder, his gaze fixed on your retreating figure. "Hey, Y/N from your class looks real sweet." The young boy instantly knews what the other was up to, coldly announcing, "Get lost, I won't hesitate to beat you up if you mess with her.

Some boys would try to slip confession letters into your locker. You never received any, because Caleb always stopped them. Some boys would put treats in your desk. You never got to eat any, because Caleb always kept them for you, glaring at all the other boys in warning. It was once a childish but pure love, as bright and clear as morning dew.

Why did it change like this?

Caleb is lost in his dreams, unable to find the answer. He lost you.

He meets Zayne and ask him why you were missing. Zayne simply says, "Caleb Xia, you scumbag." He meets Rafayel, who grabs him by the collar, and the two get into a brawl. He meets Sylus, who smiles and says, "You bullied her, so I hid her. You'll never find her now." He sees many, many people, but you are nowhere to be found…

"Caleb!" A clear voice suddenly rings out behind him.

He turns around and sees a girl with a bright smile perform several somersaults, appearing before him.

"Y/N!" He opens his eyes, but all he sees is an empty ceiling. He lies on the bed, his phone still clutched in his hand, battery dead.

A dream.

His Y/N is gone forever.

Tag list: @quill-for-glory, @flameo-hotman, @chyukiz, @royale-skeleton-key, @placeofsupercooltopics, @madnesslusy, @kiwiwiiiwiwiw, @younghideoutberserker

[reveries0fmine]

Sidelined — Caleb [part 2]

pairing: caleb x nonmc!reader synopsis: a few weeks have passed since Caleb and Mc’s disagreement. and although they’ve both told you they talked it over and made up, you’re not fully convinced seeing how distant they’ve been ever since. the school’s lunar new year festival is coming up, and with you being part of the student council, you participate in the preparations. along the way, you start avoiding Caleb, making him realize he had maybe taken you for granted. cw: none, f!reader, highschool!au, angst, hurt-comfort, slight miscommunication, insecure reader, ooc Gideon, mutual pining, cussing (like twice), sorry if I've missed any typos, I've read this over 4 times... wc: 6.5k (oops) Caleb masterlist

part 1 | part 2

Tick, tock..

Tick, tock..

The clock’s ticking echoed through your mind, drowning out your teacher’s voice, as he continued explaining the same thing he had been explaining for the past hour. 

You stared at the round mechanism propped up on the wall behind him, as if willing time itself to go faster.

And it seemed to work, finally.

The bell rings and chimes, and students immediately start putting their books and pens away, already rising from their seats.

You feel bad, as you notice the panicked expression and tone of voice your teacher displays. “Do not forget to do your reading for next class!” 

You let out a yawn and stretch, not being in a particular rush to leave. After all, you weren’t going home just yet, you had afterschool duties to tend to. You stand up and calmly put your things away. After a minute or so, the only people left in your class are you, your teacher, and a classmate making their way toward you.

“Someone’s tired.” You hear a familiar voice tease. You look up to be met with Caleb’s dimples.

“Yeah..” you let out another yawn unconsciously, as if the mere mention of fatigue made your own worse.

“You sure you can stay after school and help around?” He steps closer, already lifting your bag for you. “Don’t push yourself just because others need you. Take some time for yourself.”

You let out a huff as you push your chair back against your desk. “I’ll be fine, sitting for an hour and listening to history lessons is the real reason I’m tired. I’ll be full of energy once I’ll actually be walking around on my feet and talking with friends.” you give him a reassuring smile. “Besides, the festival’s only in a little over a week, this is no time to be lazing around.”

He lets out a small sigh at your determination, and shakes his head. “If you say so,” he starts walking towards the door, and you follow after him.

As the two of you walk down the hall and towards the stairs, he hands you your bag, and you sling it over your shoulder.

You go down the stairs, and walk down the hallway, approaching the main door. Pausing, you turn to Caleb. 

“I’ll see you tomorrow then?” You smiled, adjusting your bag’s strap on your shoulder. 

His eyes widened for a moment, as if he forgot this is where you two parted ways. He quickly recovers with a mocking hand resting on his heart, like he had been wounded. “So eager to get rid of me, huh?” He lets out a huff, and pretends to wince. 

Your own eyes open up in slight shock, but your eyebrows quickly furrow. “What? No! I just meant—“ you stutter, pink tinting your cheeks. “Mc’s waiting for you, no?”

You watch the way his smile slowly fades, leaving behind pursed lips. “No, she already went home.”

You quirk an eyebrow at his response, confused on why she’d go home without him when it was routine for them. 

“Oh, I thought you two would walk home like usual.”

He doesn’t say anything in response, still looking away from you. 

You clear your throat as if it could help make the situation less awkward. 

“Well… they’ve probably already started setting up,” the corners of your lips tilt nervously. “I’d better go join them.” you walk off.

“Wait,” he reaches for your hand, and you turn to face him. 

“Yes?”

“I–” he starts, but one of your fellow council members interrupts him, seemingly appearing out of thin air.

“Y/N, finally–” she starts, but grows quiet once she notices the basketball team’s captain by your side. Her gaze trails down to your connected hands.

You quickly snatch your hand away and take a couple steps back to create distance between the two of you. You don’t miss Caleb’s slight groan of disappointment—or annoyance—only audible to you.

“Oh, Caleb!” she chirps, a smile breaking out on her face. She then looks back at you. “Did you bring him here to help?”

Your eyebrows quirk, clearly taken-aback by her assumption. “What–”

“That’s perfect, actually. We could use an extra pair of hands. Especially strong ones.” you almost choke on your spit at her last comment. “You can lift heavy things right Caleb?” She looks at him.

He smiles back at her. “I’d be happy to help.”

The shock on your face only deepens as you look at him. 

“Okay great then! Come on you two, there’s a lot to do.” She spins on her heels and walks down the hallway.

The two of you are left standing alone in the midst of it. 

“Why’d you say yes?” you ask him incredulously.

“Why not? She said you guys needed some help. And I’m happy to be of service.” he shrugs, feigning innocence. He follows the girl. “Come on, I thought you said this was no time to be lazing around?” he gives you a glance over his shoulder, his lips adorned with a teasing grin.

Typical Caleb, always ready to help and wow everyone, you thought to yourself.

You sigh, unsure of his real reason for staying but continue walking as well.

“Like this?”

“Yep, just like that!” you hear giggling behind you.

Caleb seemed to be getting along very well with all of the student council members, just like you’d expected. Currently, he and the girl who had called you over to help were hanging up banners all throughout the hallway’s ceiling. His 6’2 frame proving to be quite useful for the task.

You tried your best to focus on your own task, hanging up lanterns, but their loud banter kept distracting you. The constant effort you had to make to stay focused annoying you. They were being quite loud. Or rather, you were just jealous. You groaned quietly to yourself, trying to push down the ugly sentiment.

You were used to it afterall. Not really. Having a crush on Mr. Popular was not for the weak as you were being tested everyday. But it wasn’t his fault. He didn’t owe you anything. You two were just friends.

Just friends, you repeated, trying to calm yourself and return to your senses by stubbornly reaffirming the boundary firmly wedged between the two of you. He just sees me as a friend and that’s it. Don’t get it twisted.

Little did you know, while you quietly grumbled to yourself and absentmindedly hung up the lanterns, Caleb stared at you across the room, trying to find a way to ditch his task and instead help you with yours. Even while nodding along and replying with mindless “uh-huh”’s and “yeah”’s, he couldn’t take his eyes off you, his mind reeling as he tried to figure out what could possibly be making you pout in such a cute way. 

He pauses. 

‘Pout in such a cute way’? Since when did he—

“Are you listening?” he hears beside him, and glances down to look at the girl, caught off guard. “I said I was going to go get more banners, okay?”

He nods with an awkward smile and lets her go, his gaze instinctively returning to you.

But you were already staring at him. The two of you make eye contact for a very brief moment before you both look away, flustered out of your minds. You immediately grab a nearby lantern and turn your back to him, trying to look busy. 

You just had to go ahead and get caught again, didn’t you? It wasn’t always like this, however. 

Ever since you realized and accepted your true feelings toward Caleb, you had made a pact with yourself to not let them be shown or known. You’ve never really had an issue with it— concealing your feelings that is. You knew just how long you could stare before getting caught, how close you could stand next to him without imposing, how much you could smile or laugh, or how long you could hang out one-on-one with him.

But ever since Caleb and Mc’s fight at the coffee shop a couple weeks ago, you’ve gotten sloppier at the one thing you shouldn’t be getting sloppy at. You found yourself staring a second or two too long, leaning in too close, rendered unable to contain your bright smile at his jokes or his mere presence. 

You didn’t exactly know why you were slipping up like this, though you did have a theory. Seeing him grow so distant from Mc, coupled with those ridiculously heart-fluttering moments you shared with him right after their disagreement that night had definitely gotten to your head. And you tried your best not to become deluded into thinking you maybe had a chance, but it was so hard when your intrusive thoughts were so stubborn.

Besides, it wasn’t a hundred percent your fault. You weren’t the only one acting weird. 

Caleb seemed to seek you out more often, calling and texting you more regularly, finding excuses to stay by your side, even if it was just for five more minutes. You could only assume it was because his fight with Mc was a bigger deal than they were both letting on, and that he needed a distraction, a placeholder. You. 

And as much as you were all for helping a friend through a rough patch (even at your own expense), you could already see the irreparable damage he was causing you. 

Your mind knew the reality of the situation. He very obviously loves her, and they’re currently on bad terms. Seeing how he spent so much time with her, it was only natural she’d leave behind a void. A void for you to fill. 

But your heart insisted on its own version of the story. A version where you maybe had a chance with the boy you’d been pining over for months now. A version where he wasn’t just using you as a replacement. A version where you aren’t the temporary replacement he settled for. Where he truly had moved on from her, and instead chose you. 

But you knew that wasn’t the case. And that it never would be. 

Eventually, they’d make up, and things would go back to the way they were. The two of them would become inseparable again and sickeningly sweet together. And you’d be left behind, like a discarded chewed-up dog toy that lost its purpose. 

You hung up the last lantern carefully, not realizing you had already set up a couple of them during your mental turmoil. 

As you step down and off the stool, you stop for a moment to resume your thinking. 

It was up to you now. 

Will you remain the same you’ve always been, a people-pleaser through and through who’d rather suffer alone for the sake of the people she cares about? 

Or will you choose yourself for once? Put yourself first? Instead of waiting for someone to do it. 

After a deep and tired breath, you finally decide. 

You refuse to let yourself be a second option to anybody, no matter who that person may be. 

It was getting fairly late, and you had all made significant progress in the preparations, so it was time to go home now.

Of course, he insisted on walking you home.

Usually you’d be ecstatic at the opportunity of spending more time with him, but right now, your mind keeps circling back to your earlier thoughts. 

You had let yourself be naive and foolish for too long, and it was time you snapped out of it. You couldn’t just let him use you as a replacement and get away with it. 

But you weren’t sure exactly what you were supposed to do– should you distance yourself from him, confront him about it, or just… stop being friends?

As much as you wanted to do a 180 and finally be independent and stand up for yourself overnight, you weren’t sure you were ready to go that far just yet. So, you settled for the easiest solution: avoidance.

“I told you you should’ve just gone home, you look exhausted.” he sighs next to you.

You hum in response.

Of course, Caleb knew you. Too well, perhaps. So he had immediately picked up on your short and dismissive responses since the beginning of your conversation.

But seeing how tired you looked, he couldn’t bring himself to comment on it or push for answers. Besides, you were probably only being dry because you had a long day… right?

It took all his effort to not stop you in your tracks and ask “You okay?” He was worried about you afterall, even if it was seemingly just you having a tiring day. Small or big, all your issues were reason enough for him to fret and worry about you. He couldn’t help it.

Obviously getting the memo that you weren’t in the mood for talking, he stayed quiet until he dropped you off at your house.

“See you tomorrow?” he smiled softly and waved.

Already walking through your driveway, you didn’t bother turning around to return his smile or wave, instead muttering a small “Yeah.” you weren’t even sure he heard. But truth be told, you couldn’t bring yourself to care.

Seeing the cold shoulder you gave him, Caleb’s expression faltered into a small frown. 

Had he done something to upset you? Was he speaking too much? Was he too clingy for staying after school with you, and then walking you home on top of that?

He turned on his heels, walking off, and ignoring the pit forming in his stomach.

Things remained the same for the following week.

And Caleb felt like he was losing it.

You were avoiding him every chance you could get.

You always ran off to your other friends for lunchtime, you stopped asking his help for homework, you wouldn’t look for him during your breaks, you wouldn’t even walk home with him since you were staying late after school everyday to prepare for the festival. You always took at least a day to reply to his texts, only for him to end up being met with curt one-word responses, or you simply liking his message. You didn’t return his calls, didn’t text him first, didn’t even look his way.

At first, he tried to rationalize. This was the last week before the festival so you were clearly busy and overworked. But after the first two days he couldn’t just pretend everything was fine. It clearly wasn’t. 

Caleb had done something to make you mad at him, and he didn’t know what. It was driving him crazy. 

The urge to just find you, back you into a corner, and confront you was strong. It was in his nature to communicate and be lucid with others– most of the time, at least.

But every time he thought of going up to you and demanding answers, his mind would immediately go back to his dispute with Mc, and he’d remember how bad it went.

The last thing Caleb wanted was to scare you off, or worse– make you hate him. He couldn’t live with himself if you did.

So as much as it pained him, he let you distance yourself from him slowly but surely, watching you from afar, and waiting for you to eventually come up to him and talk like nothing had ever happened. 

Was he being too wishful in his thinking? Would you two ever go back to normal? Was this only a rough patch you’d eventually overcome, or was this the beginning of the end for you both?

Letting out a heavy sigh, he ran a hand down his face. He really needed to stop being so dramatic. 

“What’s got you in the dumps?” he hears a deep voice come up behind him. 

Tilting his head back, Caleb peeks through his large fingers, only to be met with one of Gideon’s signature grins.

“Nothing, just thinking.” he mumbles in reply, leaning forward and resting his elbow against the surface of his desk.

“You’ve been doing that a lot lately, haven’t you? Careful, you might actually develop more than one brain cell at this rate.” he teases, eyes half-lidded and mocking.

Caleb shoots him a deadly glare, before pushing the palm of his hand against his friend’s face and ruffling his hair. “Shut up.” he groans. Silence falls for a second. “What’re you even doing here? You’re not even in our class.” 

“Can’t I come visit my friend during our break? Who else are you gonna talk to if not me?” He grabs the chair of the desk in front of Caleb, and sits on it with a light thud.

At this, Caleb’s eyes widened slightly. Did the break already start? Since when? He hadn’t even noticed. He was too busy thinking of you.

Where were you anyway?

His eyes snapped to your desk at the back of the class. Familiar disappointment crawled up his spine as he saw it to be empty.

This kept happening. You’d run off before he could even catch a glance at you.

Gideon quirks an eyebrow, following his friend’s gaze. “Oh, she went to the bathroom.”

Caleb’s head whips back around to face his friend. “How would you know?”

“I ran into her on the way here…?” his eyebrows only raise further, as if the answer was the most obvious thing in the world. “Forget what I said about you potentially getting smarter— something’s messing with your head.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” he rolls his eyes before glancing back at the window. 

A beat of silence.

“... Is this about Mc?”

Caleb freezes. Mc? Why would he think this had anything to do with Mc?

“I’m right, aren’t I? Man I knew it. You know I didn’t buy it when you said you guys made up, right?” The smirk on his face deepens. When he sees his friend still deep in thought, he sighs before speaking up. “Relax, I’m sure things will go back to normal. I don’t think there exists a reality where you and Mc aren’t happy together.” he teases, even though he means it.

Is that really how he saw it? How other people saw it? Caleb and Mc, two peas in a pod, inseparable, bound by some absurd concept like fate– or soulmates.

He couldn’t accept it. Caleb couldn’t let his fate be decided for him. 

He didn’t know what had changed. 

A couple of months ago, he might’ve agreed with Gideon, nudged him while blush crept up his face at the thought of him and Mc being fated together, no matter what universe or timeline. 

But now? Now he couldn’t help but feel like it was wrong. Like maybe she wasn’t the one for him, and him not the one for her.

Gideon was right about one thing though. Something was messing with his head. But it wasn’t Mc. It was you.

And that was the first time Caleb had ever admitted it to himself: it wasn’t her, it was you. 

Maybe it hadn’t always been you, maybe it was her at first, but somewhere along the way, something changed. And he wasn’t sure he could go back now, even if he wanted to. 

Because things were different with you. He didn’t always have to prove himself to you, to convince you he was worthy of your time and attention. He didn’t have bickering chats with you that would leave him secretly hurt and doubtful afterwards. He didn’t have to navigate through mixed signals. He wasn’t constantly being pushed away, rejected, and called overbearing or clingy.

No, with you, he could just be. With you, he wasn’t constantly in some sort of fight or flight mode. Over-performing with one too many jokes or acts of service, always aiming to please everyone around him. In your presence, he could just be Caleb. He didn’t have to be the perfect childhood friend and older brother figure, he didn’t have to be the basketball team’s captain and ace, he didn’t have to be the straight A student, he didn’t have to be Mr. Popular. He could just be Caleb. Because you allowed him to.

But it was more than that now. Now, it wasn’t just about what you unknowingly did for him, it was also about you as a person.

You were so wildly different from Mc, and maybe that’s why his feelings changed. 

Sure, maybe he had wanted Mc at some point, but after meeting you? After getting to know you over the course of the past six months? He couldn’t– no, wouldn’t go back.

The hope blooming into his chest from this sudden epiphany gradually fades however, as he remembered the current state of things.

Had he realized his feelings too late? 

Maybe it truly was over before it even began. 

“Alright well, I hate to leave you sulking all by yourself but I should probably head back.” Gideon huffs out as he stands from the chair. “Don’t think too hard about it. Just go with whatever feels right.” He pats his shoulder and walks out the classroom.

As he crosses the doorframe, Gideon bumps into you, apologizing. You do the same and shoot him a small smile which he returns. 

At the sound of your voice, Caleb’s gaze flies towards the two of you. He watches you both interact. 

Excusing yourself, you walk back to your desk.

Caleb’s eyes follow your form as you make your way to your place and sit down. The way you seemed so composed as you gathered your notebook and textbook, carefully opening them to the right page while you reached for a pen almost had him mesmerized. Forget almost, he was mesmerized. 

Fuck. Was she always this pretty?

It’s not like he didn’t think you were attractive– on the contrary, he had pushed back way too many unsafe thoughts at the sight of you sometimes. Convinced it was wrong of him to think of you in that way since you were just friends. 

But this time, he could both hear and feel his heart hammering against his ribcage. 

He quickly looked away to keep his eyes trained on his own book. It seemed that finally admitting his feelings had just made things a whole lot harder for him.

At last, today was your school’s lunar new year festival. 

You and all the other council members had worked your asses off for this, and it clearly paid off. The hallways were adorned in red and golden decorations. Lanterns, banners made of paper-cutting art, and zodiac decor. The courtyard surrounding the school building was also intricately decorated. Stands forming pathways for the students and teachers to walk through, more paper lanterns hanging from the trees, confetti spread everywhere on the concrete ground. 

The red and gold color scheme coupled with the evening’s soft glow, and the people’s chatter and laughter made for a beautifully warm and inviting atmosphere. 

You were currently waiting in line with a couple friends of yours to get some tanghulu. Out of all the stands you knew were going to be displayed, this one was of course the one you had been the most excited for.

Among the other stalls, they had one for buying flowers, another for lanterns, a larger tent with seating for papercutting crafts, as well as more snack stands. 

“You guys did a great job this year, this is better than last year’s festival.” your friend commented.

The others nodded in agreement, leaving you with a smile. “Everyone on the council was really nice and dedicated, that’s probably why.” you shrug as you pull out your coin pouch, noticing it would soon be your turn in line.

You all chat for a little bit longer, before you can finally buy your long-awaited tanghulu. 

Your friends each take turns ordering, and you do the same. Once you all receive your skewers, you argue with your friends and manage to convince them to let you pay for everyone’s food. They rave on and on about you being the “best”, making you roll your eyes in response.

But before you can actually hand the money over, a hand blocks you. He pays for the food and smiles at the person on the other side of the stall, who happily takes the money and motions for the next person in line to come forward.

With a hand on your shoulder, he guides you to step away. 

You look up to see the guy and recognize one of your council members. The two of you worked together often for the last two weeks to prepare for the festival.

“Why did you…” you start but trail off.

He grins in response. “Don’t worry about it too much. Just accept it.” he shrugs.

“Oh… okay then. Thanks.” you raise an eyebrow.

His hand comes up to scratch the back of his neck.

Eventually your friends turn to you, and one of them hands you your skewer. “Who’s this?”

“A friend from the student council.” you respond as you take your snack and start chewing on it. Just as expected, the wait was worth it. 

He nods to them in acknowledgement, before speaking again. “Do you guys mind if I borrow her for a second?”

They look slightly stunned, and then search your face for any sign of dismay. Once they notice you look fine with it (albeit a bit confused), they nod.

He steps to the side and gently grabs your hand, and you follow him, a bit stunned.

The two of you walk for a little while until you reach a tree. “I just wanted to give you something.” he says.

He reaches for the inside pocket of his jacket, and carefully pulls out a mini-bouquet of peony flowers. 

Your eyes widen. He must’ve gotten those from the flower stand.

Immediately, you remember that a lot of students bought peony flowers to ask someone out. 

Your heart sinks. Was this really happening?

“I think you’re cute and nice, and… I was wondering if–”

You’ve got to be kidding me. There’s no way this is happening.

“If you wanted to be my girlfriend?” he smiles, holding the mini bouquet up to you.

The candied skewer in your hands drops to the ground, your grip going slack, as well as your jaw, as you stare up at him.

You barely knew the guy. Sure you saw him for the first time months ago, as he’d always been part of the council, but you’d only had your first conversation two weeks ago. You didn’t know how you could reject him without coming off as rude.

“Listen, I… I’m sorry.” you start, hoping that would give him a hint.

His shoulders drop. “Oh…” he sighs. 

“I just… I don’t know you that well. Don’t you think you’re moving a bit fast?”

He lets out a huff as a small frown forms on his lips. “We can get to know each other while dating. Everyone does that.”

“I know, but— I don’t want to do things like that.” you clench your fists, trying your hardest to affirm your boundaries, even though you felt like your knees could give out at any moment.

“... But you could try it, you know? You might end up really liking me.” he takes one step closer.

You were truly at a loss for words. What was this guy’s problem?

Your blood boiled underneath your skin. 

“Come on, please?” he pleaded, but it didn’t sound all that sincere, rather annoyed. Like a child being refused a lollipop. 

That’s when you feel a familiar warm hand rest on your shoulder. “Pretty sure she told you to fuck off. Are you too dumb to read the room, or something?”

Your eyes snap up, and you see Caleb. His eyebrows are furrowed, and his lips tugged into a frown.

The guy hesitates for a moment. “Do you mind? I was talking to her.”

Caleb hums before looking down at you. “Do you still wanna talk to this idiot?”

You look a bit stunned, but almost as if on instinct, you shake your head. 

“There you go. That enough confirmation for you?” he turns back to the now seemingly embarrassed boy.

“Whatever,” he mutters before walking away, throwing the peonies in a trash bin on his way.

Poor flowers, they didn’t deserve that. And poor tanghulu.

Once the creep is fully out of our sight, you let out a deep breath you didn’t even know you were holding, and Caleb releases his grip on your shoulder.

“You okay?” he murmurs, and leans down to be at eye level with you.

And you hate yourself for the way your heartrate immediately picks up. “Yeah, I’m fine… thanks.”

An uncomfortable silence settles in between you. 

“I think I should go—” you start.

“Please don’t.” he immediately interjects. 

You look up at him and sigh. “Why?”

“Because I miss you.” 

Your eyes widened in response. “… What? Why?”

The expression that forms on his face at your words is one you’ve never seen before. He looks hurt, confused and taken-aback, all at once.

“What do you mean why? You’ve been avoiding me like the plague for the past week now.”

You look away, wishing the earth would just crack open and swallow you whole.

He sighs, and takes a step back, as if afraid to overwhelm you or scare you off. “Walk with me?”

You hesitated for a second before nodding, and following him.

He stays silent, giving you the opportunity to speak if you wanted. 

“I… I didn’t really think you’d care that much.” you speak up.

Caleb holds back from nearly exploding because of the absurdity of your statement. He just takes a small breath. “You have no idea how much I care.” he mutters quietly. “... But I know that’s my fault. I should’ve shown you better that I cared.”

You fiddle with your hands, not really knowing what to say. These were the words you’d always wanted to hear from him, and you don’t know how you were possibly going to recover from this.

Suddenly he stops walking. Noticing he’s no longer next to you, you stop as well and turn back to face him. His eyes meet yours, a desperately pleading look in them.  

“Y/N, what did I do? … Why have you been avoiding me?”

And there’s the million dollar question. You had played this scenario over in your head a thousand times– even though you were convinced he wouldn’t even notice your absence. And you still had yet to find an answer that would make you skillfully dodge saying the truth. 

But maybe you couldn’t find a good excuse because there was no excuse. Maybe you just had to be upfront.

You brace yourself for a moment, and then finally spit out the words that had been burning at the back of your throat. “I’m sick of you using me like some sort of placeholder.”

“What?”

“... You heard me.”

“A placeholder for what exactly?”

Was he really going to play dumb? Fine, have it that way.

“For Mc.” you finally blurt out. “Ever since your fight with her, you turned to me. As if to replace her.” You cross your arms over your chest, still unable to look him in the eyes. “I’m sick of being a second choice.”

You imagine he probably looks a bit confused, maybe repulsed. But as you look up to confirm your suspicion, you’re instead met with the most dejected pair of eyes you’ve ever seen. You almost feel bad— he looks like a kicked puppy.

And yet, you can’t help but continue. The words flow out of you, tired of having them echo and fester in you.

“I know I can’t live up to her— she’s pretty, she’s feisty, she’s lively and extroverted. And I’m not like that. I never will be.” you unfold your arms over your chest, letting them fiddle with the hem of your shirt instead. “And I’m tired of constantly having to live up to her— I mean, why should I have to? I know I’m not amazing or anything… but I’m not that undeserving.” you ramble, almost as if to convince yourself, rather than him.

“... That’s how I made you feel?” he asks you, his voice weak and quiet. “Like you had to live up to her?”

The realization you finally let that heavy weight of your chest finally settles in. And despite how terrified you are, you’re mostly relieved. And it felt so good. “... Kind of, yeah.”

“Y/N, you don’t have to live up to her, or be like her– or whatever other idea you have.” he takes a step forward. “I don’t want you to. I never did.”

“So why—”

“If I turned to you it’s not because I needed to replace her. Did you ever stop to think it might just be because I like you?” He searches your eyes for a response, but you look down.  “… I wasn’t looking for her in you, I was just looking for you.”

Your breath catches in your throat, and you can’t help the way your posture shifts, as if to retreat back in your shell like you so often did, taking a small step back. “Caleb, you don’t even know what you’re saying—”

“No, I know exactly what I’m saying.” he doesn’t give you the chance to shield yourself or run away, grabbing both of your hands and pulling you in closer until you’re a breath away from him. He leans his face down to almost meet yours. “I might’ve been the biggest imbecile for taking you for granted and not realizing my feelings sooner… but I know what I’m saying.”

Unknowingly, you hold your breath, waiting for his next words. 

“I’m saying I love you.”

You feel like you might go into cardiac arrest from the way your heart stops beating for a second. Your stare goes vacant, and your lips parted. You might’ve been quiet but your mind wasn’t. You had to have at least ten different voices speaking— no, screaming at the same time. 

He nudges himself closer, pressing his forehead to yours. A hand remains on your own while the other moves up to cup the side of your face. 

“Do you hear me? I love you. And I’m sorry I didn’t realize it sooner.”

Your eyes finally focus on his own. The sunset currently painted across the sky above your heads matched his own sunset-colored eyes. The lighting only making the soft glow displayed in them brighter. 

“… But what about—“

You feel his eyebrows against your own, knitting together tightly. “If you say her name one more time I’ll lose it.” He interrupts you. “Do I need to repeat myself just to get my point across? Because I’ll do it a hundred times over if that’s what you need.”

You feel tears welling up in your eyes, and the corner of your lips tilt downwards into a trembling frown. Blinking the tears away, you shake your head softly. “N-no… I get it.”

“Good.” His expression softens at the sight of your tears. “Now stop crying… you’re too pretty for that.”

Nodding, your free hand comes up to wipe at the water pooling in the corners of your eyes. 

He tentatively moves closer, carefully watching your face for any sign of rejection, before kissing away at your tears. “I’m sorry for making you cry.”

“Don’t be, I’m just being overly sensitive.” you continue sniffling, cursing yourself for being unable to stop your waterworks.

He gives you a moment to compose yourself, moving back without straying too far. 

“Do you really mean it?” you let out a shaky exhale. 

“I do.” He nods carefully. “I love you.” he affirms, for the third time already.

You take another deep breath before wrapping your arms around his neck, moving before you could even give your brain the time to overthink it. His hands immediately find the expanse of your back, and the back of your head. You bury your face in the crook of his neck and he does the same, tilting his head sideways to occasionally pepper your neck with kisses, muttering soft apologies against your pulse.

“I feel the same— by the way.” you whisper sheepishly. 

“Thank god…” he speaks, his voice hushed. “Don’t know what I’d do if you didn’t.” he chuckles. 

You laugh softly, the ticklish feeling of his lips against your own making you giddy. 

Suddenly, fireworks erupt in the sky. They explode into various colors and patterns, and you look up with wide and amazed eyes. Your pupils are blown, and they reflect the lights in the sky.

Caleb stares at you, heart feeling so full, wishing he could take a photo. 

“Look, they’re pretty right?” you look back at him.

“They’re okay,” he shrugs, before moving closer. “You’re prettier.”

You scoff and close your eyes, letting out a huff. “... That was pretty bad, Caleb.”

He only laughs, taking no offense. How could he feel anything but pure joy when you were standing right there in front of him, arms around his neck, and face close enough for him to see every detail he loved so much? 

“Let me make it up to you then,” he says, and you know what he’s suggesting. 

Not wanting to rush you, he doesn’t move, waiting for your approval. 

You say nothing, far too nervous. Instead, you just nod with half-lidded eyes as you look up at him through your lashes.

Not giving you the time to change your mind, he presses his lips to yours, and tilts your head sideways to deepen the kiss. You find yourself subconsciously raking your nails against the hair at the back of his neck, earning a soft groan from him. He pulls away before letting himself get carried away, but doesn’t forget to lick your lips one more time even as he pulls away.

“You taste sweet,” he comments. But it sounds more like a genuine observation than a compliment. 

A chuckle slips past your swollen lips. “I ate some tanghulu.” you explain. “Before I dropped it on the ground, that is.” you sigh.

You really wanted that snack.

Seeing your adorably disappointed look, he presses another chaste kiss to your lips. “Well, I can’t have my girl starving.” he pretends to give it some thought. “What do you say we go get you some more?”

You nod, a smile gracing your lips. 

He slips your hands off his neck, and keeps one in his grasp, already walking back to the food stalls. 

“Also… did you just call me your girl?” you speak up, voice still slightly weak from your dizzying first kiss with him. 

His free hand comes up to scratch at the back of his neck where your nails had just caressed him. “Yeah… is that okay with you?” he asks, flustered.

“Would that make you my man then?” you can’t help the grin on your face.

“Absolutely— I mean, yeah. I’d like that. To be your… man.” he clears his throat, embarrassed by how eager he sounded. 

“Okay.” You squeeze his hand and look up at him.

The moment he looks back at you he loosens up and returns your smile. “I love you,” he finds himself repeating for the nth time tonight. He just can’t help it.

Your heart stutters, your cheeks flush, and you look away. “Me too.”

part 1 | part 2

Caleb masterlist a/n: kinda nervous to post this since so many ppl were waiting for it (I wanted to post this sooner, but i had midterms, sorry) but I hope you enjoyed! tysm for all the support and kind words btw, they're very appreciated!

taglist: @pjselee @loreleis-world @kingraspberry12-blog @swivi @insidious-innocence @maryy237 @heiranni @someonestopsoren @horanghaeegr @thatsrayllensworld @chyukiz @spencereadsss @meiyisha @cursedkatana @charityjoy22 @zasyfashicon @glitterykingdomangel @crimsonrubie @youkoden @applecrow168 @seraphineash @seocrilhos @moochiyuu @1stmagnoila @rxelarailuj @hazyue @corvusmemoriae

graphics creds: ribbon divider — @cursed-carmine

[szarina]

conflict of interestּ

it is every player's dream to wake up in the world of their otome game but not you, you're not the mc or the heroine of the game that was supposed to be you. in some twisted joke the universe decided for you — you get to live and survive the ruthless n109 zone where your main love interest resides.

── commissioned by @jamjyro

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ content warnings. isekaid reader + nonmc + gun violence + depictions of disposing corpses + anxiety + coercion + blood + angst + there will be a part 2.

𓂃 ࣪˖ ִ notes. hey you all, it's been a long time since the last time I've posted. thank you very much for the patience and the support that you had given me through this difficulties of my life. i'm still adjusting and little bit struggling. once again, thank you very much for still sticking in this ghosty blog of mine. support your author.

Bang!

Shots are fired. Followed by the familiar deafening sounds of heavy machine guns rolling outside and the screech of wheels. You jolted awake that you almost roll and fall from your makeshift bed. What the hell is happening at this hour and in broad daylight? That was expected cause you live in the N109 Zone but you were still not used of the people here exchanging bullets.

But why? Why here? You want to scream in frustration as you crawled in the floor of the building you decided to be your base, a temporary home after being isekaid in a game that you play every single day. It's almost unhealthy from how you obsessed with it and then when you wanted to quit, you got thrown inside the game. What a stroke of luck. Funny. Ha-ha. The game fucking sent you to the unforgiven land of N109 Zone. How the hell can you survive when you got the survival skill of a hamster.

It was going to be fine if you possessed the body of your MC that you spent hours customizing to look like you or somewhat closer to what you look like and only to stare at a mirror and see your real life reflection cluelessly staring.

You spent the first hour agonizing on how you can survive. Thinking how nice if you have a somewhat useful Evol but you don't. You were fucked. You were clueless in where you are at first when you woke up in the middle of the road at first.

No clue in your surroundings until the gunshots came and the angry shouts. Superfucked. And that’s when you realized you were in the N109 Zone. Ultra duper superfucked. The tall buildings, moldy walls in the dark alleyways and there was some sort of shadows lurking in the walls.

It was hard for your first days. You were cold and hungry. Exhausted and clueless on where to start until you remembered Elysium. The place were information are exchanged and under the protection of Sylus.

Yeah, Sylus. Your main in the game and you didn't know what to feel. Knowing that you're not your MC and realized that MC is probably the custom avatar of the game. A far cry from your supposed MC or you. Technically you were MC when you're playing but this time you are not. You were starting to believe that you are not truly MC which is true.

Enough of that, if you want to survive you better start relying on your own and learn a few tricks to save your ass. You don't want to die in a foreign land, let alone a land in a fictional game that you're currently in.

You were about to embark in a journey when you remember you didn't have a trade. Elysium was for intelligent information, assassination and trade of arms and other illegal stuff and you don't do illegal. You can't even handle a gun or pull a pin on a grenade. Hacking? Not a plausible idea. You were only good at organizing documents in a computer.

You stopped in your tracks. Careful at your surroundings, your shoulders slump as you agonize on what trade you can offer in exchange for some lump sum of money or shelter or food or all of the above. You were good as a dead meat. You badly want to cry until a light bulb appeared in your head.

The game was basically your manual on how to survive the game or how to live in the N109 Zone. Although people like you won't survive long. It's either to rise in the ashes or drown in the murky waters.

You already finished the main story, starting from Sylus first appearance which made your heart go thump-thump and spent money that almost your whole salary in a month. You read the anecdotes, his myth. You knew everything about him. His personal life and his connection with MC and how he rules the N109 Zone. Onychinus was the top of the hierarchy here. You know how the Elysium operates so that's what you're going to do. Exchange some information about the future canon events that is yet to happen.

The problem is — it was suspicious. You can't really crash in Elysium and tell Aislinn, the bartender about it. Knowing she directly reports to Sylus and the reality that you weren't your MC — you were surely going to end up with a gun to your head. A stranger revealing secrets, it wasn't a ideal way but you really want to live and that weighs more than anything than the fear and so, standing in front of the Elysium — you entered with death’s hand at your shoulder.

For the better, it turned out good. You didn't reveal anything, someone beat you to the punch of revealing and opportunity opened up to you. Even the N109 Zone was lawless and chaotic, some gangs and organizations really didn't want to leave trace of the transactions that occurred in the hidden areas or the docks and warehouses that the deals takes place.

One of the patrons were looking for someone who can take care of that and you volunteered without a second thought. Your safety will be compromised with that line of work but they only is to keep your mouth shut and deal with the bloodied mess — you took it without hesitation. It was rare for someone to take that but you really need money to start or provide yourself with some basic needs and thus, you ended up in your current situation.

Bullets are flying everywhere and you're going to end up as a casualty if you don't move. You grabbed the classic Smith and Wesson handgun you keep even you don't know how to use it but only when the times comes you need to protect yourself. You didn't know it will come to this point.

You intentionally picked this place for your base. It was the abandoned place far from the chaos of the main zone and it wasn't really ideal for wars because it was very far and the terrain wasn't that good. Broken concrete roads and it can be really hot in the mornings. The surrounding buildings are covered with moss and the fauna was slowly taking over. It wasn't ideal for you to live in the area but it provides safety except now.

A stray bullet pierced to a glass window near you. The glass shatters as it broke and falls near your feet. Without a second thought you immediately crawl. Grabbing the small bag you keep under your bed when you need to run immediately. You grip it tightly as you stand up and bolted away from where you are. The building was still sturdy but the previous gang wars and the Chronorift Catastrophe left it to be abandoned like the other surrounding buildings.

As you descended from the stairs, you held the gun close to you. Your fingers finds the hammer of the gun and hearing the familiar click, you swallowed hardly. Tapping your varsity jacket pockets to check if you have the extra magazines in case you need to reload if you — you hope not, you have to fire in case of self defense.

God, why must you be transported in such a hostile place. You would accept to wake up in a hospital — preferably Akso Hospital and be declared as someone who had amnesia and is truly clueless of what's happening and maybe you can get a glimpse of Dr. Zayne.

You could have gone to Linkon City but you didn't have an identity with you and getting out of N109 Zone needs a special entrance and exit to be granted in order for a individual to leave. The No Hunting Zones was also a way to leave but there's a reason why it was a no hunting zone. It crawls with Wanderers and as a civilian with no Evol, there's a higher chance of you being butchered or succumb to the Flux Nexus.

You're basically a NPC in this world and that sucks more than anything. Where you isekaid here because your main was Sylus? A deepspace tunnel opened and it brought you here. You didn't want to know. It was really disheartening that you have to be here because your main was Sylus. It wasn't like you were hating him or being disappointed. You were basically thrown in a den of lions.

Somehow you managed to survive on your own by being the lackey or you like to call yourself, a cleaner for some of the powerful organizations. You have learned how to remove bloodstains without a trace. The bodies were taken care of by whoever availed your services to clean. You make sure the scene of the crime were spotless as if nothing happened and it was just the same cold and moldy warehouse or alley.

Anyways if you can't get out of this mess, you can kiss your life goodbye.

A sudden burst of adrenaline pumping in your veins made you maneuver the steep stairs and crumbly walls with such ease. Your palm sweaty as it slides in the cold railing. Your body felt like iron as you bump in the walls at every sharp turn. Not bad, self. You want to pat yourself in the back for being able to do such things at your plump stature. You feel like the main protagonist from the movie you used to watch and was it the reason you were here in the N109 Zone? You got the prowess for combat? Such tall tales and that was later proven wrong.

You were good at evading not fighting. That's what you're currently doing right now and you almost let out a breath of relief as you pushed the door in the ground floor. Stumbling in the process as your two feet became unsynchronized. A bullet flew right by and it almost sent you tumbling backwards. You badly want to cry. You're not really built for this.

It seems that your escape route hasn't been intercepted and they're far away from it. You can just run and go for it. Except when you're about to breakthrough — out of the corner in your eye — you caught the glimpse of him.

Sylus.

You can't be mistaken. It was hard to miss him. His name was spoken in whispers. In harsh words and in contempt because there's nothing more cruel than the one who rules the N109 Zone. The leader of Onychinus.

You avoided Sylus nor get involved with him. A civilian or rather a powerless human being in his world cannot survive and you cannot risk making enemies at the same time. You kept a low profile in the duration of your stay.

But to see your main love interests breathing and fighting his enemies in flesh made your chest bloom with warmth. The screen was your boundary between him and you. It was the closest you can ever have him. Pressing your fingertips in the cold screen of your phone and hope you can feel his warmth and hoped he can feel yours too.

He was so close and yet, out of your reach.

Suddenly, you were glued in the floor. Your body refusing to move despite your mind screaming for you to run off. Your legs are frozen. You cannot get involved with him. MC exists in this world andthey were destined for each other. He's waiting for her and you left that with the game's dynamics.

The sound of heavy rifles being loaded and the static ringing in the area and Sylus, there wasn't even much of a tremble or quiver in his movements. He was precise and calculated as he draws his gun. Easily replacing it with a new magazine. His dark glasses perched on his nose. He slides the rack before the sound of gunshot fills the air.

Wait, it's morning. Sylus should be asleep at this time and was only active in the night. Does this means he was overwhelmed and clearly ambushed? You run towards a nearly dilapidated beam. Assessing the situation and when you got a closer look, you notice the damp part of his dark collared shirt.

It wasn't visible but with the morning light and his movements that sways his leather jacket, you can see it. You remembered that Sylus can heal himself but he still get wounded and to get that wound — it must be deep for him to heal properly and he's currently bleeding under his clothes.

You did say you weren't going to get involved the moment you realized you weren't MC. Such matters would have sucked and in the time of care you deeply felt for him. Love will get you killed. Indifference will save you. That was the reason you survived upon being isekaid in the lawless land of N109 Zone.

Alas the moment you had fallen in love with Sylus that even the tiniest voice concern of why you shouldn't save someone just because they were in danger or rather they were the danger, it didn't matter.

Arriving at a resolution, you raised your gun. Pointing at him with a slight tremor in your arm and your palms sweaty that you might slip as you push the trigger. You can do it. You really can do it. You take a deep breath and with a exhale. You push the trigger and with a loud bang that resonated in the area — you hit your target.

He really can't say he was at his wit's end. He was Sylus. Ruler of the N109 Zone and being defeated at this foolish game of foolish people who wants him gone is a humiliation that will haunt him at his death. There's a rule among the residents of this land. It's to kill or be killed. And Sylus isn't going to get slaughtered like a lamb.

The sun's high and he was in a little pinch. His eyesight is made for the night and not in the light. He gives these men who managed to use their cards against him to corner the Onychinus leader. They were really pooling their meager resources to kill him but it wasn't enough although he can give them credits for getting a little smarter and Sylus isn't the one to back down from a fight.

He can give them a little recognition of such feat for injuring him. It was a stray bullet that found its way on his abdomen. He can heal — sure but being repeatedly injured, it stops. His shirt was soaking his blood and his enemies were closing in and then, in some twist or fate or luck or another person thirsty for his blood scrapes him by the shoulder with a bullet.

A stray bullet, maybe but whoever shot him and hitting the one who's closing him falling at the scorching road with a thud must be an amateur or was just really lucky for wounding him and maybe killing the other.

Before he can turn around to look at this one who's brave enough to take a shot, they grab his hand. Pulling them with force of urgency. They run, evading his enemies and although Sylus isn't the one back down from a fight, he knew he needed respite.

Turn after turn, him returning the rounds of bullets to his aggressors. He takes a look at this mortal who dared to save him. Navigating narrow alleyways and taking every sharp turns without pausing like you know every part of this place.

The gunshots have stopped, deciding that you successfully shaked them off. You take a look at his face. “There’s a nearby exit here. They probably don't know about the area and you will be safely get back in your own. I'll be going now. Goodbye.” You say with such firmness before running in the opposite direction without looking back.

You disappeared quickly in his sight. The black and white vision of you in your varsity jacket, boots clicking in the distance. Sylus was left with a strange feeling.

Who was this stranger who saved him and only to disappear on him?

Someone could have used this as a chance to curry favors from him. A chance to rise in the top cause the Onychinus leader never left being indebted to others and such act of saving him can bring fortune if he deemed you worthy but alas, he was only left in the abandoned street with no signs of life besides him. Reeling in the sensation of the stranger's soft hand that previously held his wrist.

No data found.

The screen of his laptop glares at him. No traces or evidence that stranger existed. He hacked every database around the world and no record are found about your identity. Are you a spy? A ghost? He knows you weren't a figment of his imagination that one morning. You were warm and you spoke to him.

You must have one cause despite being nonexistent to others or how much a person hides their identity — there will always be traces of a past of how a person lived no matter how much they try to bury it. The Onychinus searched for any activities that might have linked to you and why did you hole up in that kind of building.

He went back there. The buildings were riddled with bullets. Blood stains in the walls of what violence had occured in there. Investigating and leaving no spot untouched just to get a trace that you were there and you exist. What else could you have been doing there? Maybe you were running away from something or you just didn't like anything that relates to the ruthlessness of the place.

You were a mystery he wants to solve and any day now, you will appear. In the most of convenient or the most unwanted places but Sylus was sure that he will be meeting this stranger again.

“Boss, the scene's spotless. Kieran and I been searching for hours at that warehouse.” Luke's voice can be heard behind him as he stared at the screen. Sylus raises a brow. There's always a spot that's left untouched and he's been living in the N109 Zone for too long that after a bloody showdown, there's always dead bodies and shell casings littering on the cold floors.

Since when these bunch of nobodies started to clean up after themselves?

Well, this have been a occurrence of lately. Crime scenes are left clean. No bodies and not much left even a tiniest speck of blood. Whoever cleaning up these scenes are a professional. It's also hard to found out of whoever doing these are a group or individual but he can appreciate the cleanliness much it was a hassle for his operations. Everyone's evolving in the N109 Zone and he needs a little bit of an entertainment before the boredom catches up to him.

The district warehouse were huge. Larger than what you usually received from the organizations who avail your cleaning services. It was a mess but nothing you can't handle. Upon setting foot in the damp and cold warehouse with the scent of blood and gunpowder, you assess the mess.

Letting your OTTO fly and survey the scene. Scanning trails of blood that you have to manually clean and hidden dead bodies to be disposed of. Securing that there will be no marks or traces of DNA that will point the instigators of this conflict.

Scan completed.

Your OTTO cheerfully chirps at you and you began to slide the gloves in your hands and securing the shoe covers in your feet to avoid footprints that will link to you. You take the plastic sheet from your crate before rolling it to the moldy floors. This is where you will be putting the dead bodies and put them on the body bags you brought. Individually wrapping them up like spring rolls.

It was tasking for a individual work but doing it for months made your body stronger — strong enough to haul bodies heavier than yours. You began your work, stacking them up like building blocks and rolling them with a huff as you struggled cause why men looks like they're light and only to find out they're heavy with that kind of body. Even in death they were still dead weight.

After hauling the last body, you made your way to the blood trail with your handy cleaning tools along with a special solution. You were quick to learn for your trade of cleaning crime scenes for the organizations that pays you a lump sum of money enough to sustain you and sometimes they will throw an extra to a job well done which you always do.

You can always use the referral for your services. The quietness of the warehouse didn't bother you much. It was once a quiet night to work in and you doubt there will be anyone after such bloodied mess. You only focused on scrubbing the dried blood from the dry floor and sweep the dust to conceal the scent of your special solution. It wasn't that pungent but it didn't hurt to be extra careful. Discretion was your specialty.

The OTTO encircles the area and the humming sound coming from it was the noise you can hear while you busy yourself. Halfway through when it got too quiet and your OTTO was missing. You stopped in your tracks.

You remained crouching with a brush in your hand as you raised your head. Listening to any telltale signs or noise that you're not entirely alone in this warehouse. Perhaps the heavy footsteps or a puff of breath. Anything that may harm you but nothing and you thought that maybe your OTTO malfunctioned since it was really a old model that you managed to salvage cause you can't still manage to upgrade it.

You were about to finish anyway and so scrubbed the floor a little harshly until the blood has separated from the floor before sweeping dust all over it before you walked towards where you hear your OTTO humming.

It was behind the crates, you can see your OTTO was blinking lights and was roughened in the edges with claw marks. The sight of your half destroyed companion send shivers down your spine. It feels like you were surrounded but when you look around there was nothing. You swallowed. Your hands inside the gloves were starting to moist. The pit of your stomach feels like sinking.

Something dangerous is near and you can't really pinpoint where it is. You try to balance it out. The pros and cons of leaving for your safety but your job was still not done. You couldn't really risk losing the source of your living in the N109 Zone and besides you faced fear many times before. What's the harm of risking another?

Deciding that you really can't leave your job, you grabbed your broken OTTO and decided that it really needs a replacement and it's been long and it should rest for being your companion for a long time. Still, seeing it destroyed pains you.

Now you have to manually check that they will be no evidence that you've been here after your OTTO’s broken.

A step and sudden jolt of uneasiness strikes you again. Raising your head, you caught a glimpse of a familiar silhouette in the upper railings. The sound of flapping wings followed by a rather loud caw. Black feather slowly descending towards you and landing in your outstretched palm.

God, any minute now or seconds he will be appearing now.

Snap.

A swirl of black and red mist appears in front of you and just like that — your main love interest, leader of Onychinus and the one who rules the N109 Zone — Sylus stands before you.

Scared? Not really. You were blinking back tears because he was so close and your mind really decided to replay what he had gone through. Dying in the hands of his sorceress and not granting him death unless she allows it. Then, they found each other again. Both immortals dying in each other's arm and again, two children fighting to death and escaping to another planet and only to separate once again and he's here in front of you.

Standing tall and immaculate with the air of authority in his stature. Head held high and you can see the subtle glow of the Aether Core in his right eye. The reds of his eyes glimmer in the dim lit warehouse.

You take a step backwards, cradling your destroyed OTTO closer to you. Not daring to speak a word or look in his eyes.

“Just when I thought these fools has learned to be careful.” He muses. A faint smirk in his lips as he looks at you and the pile of dead bodies you were about to dispose behind.

“Maybe. I'm the only person here though. Cleaning out the mess.” You shrugged. Cradling your destroyed OTTO and walking towards your “cleaning van.” You gently put your companion in a crate before grabbing the brush again to continue cleaning. Wiping the sweat off in your forehead with the back of your arm.

Sylus remains silent. Following your every movement under his gaze about this person who was unintentionally ignoring him and going back to your job. Not even an ounce of fear behind those tired eyes. Were you feigning ignorance of the truth that you saved him? The leader of Onychinus and the feared man of the N109 Zone. That matter didn't seem to bother you.

“Do you know that when people save someone they expect something in return?” He began. Baiting the person in front of him for a favor. “It’s a chance for them to rise in this wasteland.”

“I’m managing.” You pragmatically answered even when your heart is beating fast cause you know secrets in this world and you really don't want to involve yourself with Sylus. You were living quietly and you badly want to get out of this world or maybe ask him to get you a identity to live in Linkon but that would raise suspicions cause why would you ask for a identity. It's either you're a criminal or someone who doesn't belong in this world.

He also didn't belong in this world but wherever MC is, he follows. A flower who still bloomed beautifully in a different soil.

His expensive cologne wafts in the air. His shoes scraping the dust in the floor. His coat swaying every movement and it's enough to intimidate you and you hope you're calm in the outside.

“Oh really.” His voice lowers into a timber and oh, it was really different from his secret times and tender moments, you want to squeal so bad if it wasn't for the implication that he's already smelling your bullshit.

“You want to go home. Why is that?” You swallowed. You cursed the goddamn Aether Core in his eye that can see the desire of someone. It's true. You've been wanting to go home since you got isekaid here.

“I’m not from here. Just a terrible luck.” You confessed under the intensity of his gaze but still withholding the secret you have. You're not easy to crack but Sylus can read you like an open book.

He hums in understanding. Not forcing you to give the details of your life cause he will be the one to know it. “I don't like the feeling of being indebted from someone below me.”

“You’re not indebted to me.” You briefly paused. Daring to steal a glance before focusing the task in your hand.

“My body choose to move that day when I could have run. I have no intention of saving you.” You say in a matter-of-factly. “I don't want to involve myself to someone powerful and if you feel indebted.” Swallowing the imaginary lump in your throat. “There is one thing you can do.”

You look at him straight in the eyes.

“Leave me alone.”

Sylus raises his eyebrows. He can't brush it off why you were so adamant not being involved with him when people got the leverage to do business or something simple as favor they rush but you — you were rushing to get out of his hair.

Leave you alone? There is really something wrong and Sylus sharp instincts knows better than to grant it. To call it quits. You were also calm and composed when facing him aside from the sudden beats of your heart that he can hear.

You didn't also run the moment he made his appearance which people usually do upon meeting him. Maybe is it because you know he can't harm you after saving him that one morning. N109 Zone wasn't really that barbaric and there's sliver of morals that are still practiced.

You can't kill someone unless they're the first to draw blood or unless it was contractual and the killing is ordered. Sylus has disposed people that betrayed him or were hindering his plans.

Besides you look amateur but Sylus isn't someone to really judge based on how you look. It was finding the value of someone and with some pressure you could be a coal turning into a pearl with the right pressure.

You didn't quite grasped how the N109 Zone works and you choose the job to clean the aftermath of every shootouts and doing the dirty work of disposing corpses. You were only surviving base on your skills and Sylus can use some of your talents.

“That would be impossible, dove.”

His eyes narrowing, clearly intrigued cause it was looking into a blank slate but is packed with so much color.

He can see how you freeze for a second. Hands trembling like you were hiding a secret and the next question confirms his suspicion.

“Who are you?” Ruby red eyes stares at you. Waiting for you to crack and this where Sylus would have normally put you in a gun point. Forcing you to reveal yourself but can you really? Will he believe you? That he was only a pixelated character in a game. A otome game that doomed you for loving him? Whereas you were supposed to be the MC, the player but when you saw your reflection you were just you.

Nothing special like the MC. Not a badass hunter. Not someone's childhood friend. Not someone's bride or a princess. Not a knight nor a queen. Not a sorceress who didn't allow her dragon to truly die and be destined together with every lifetime.

You were you. A regular human who didn't possess a extraordinary power. You were someone who was flawed. Trying to survive in a place that won't be merciful to someone weak.

“It’s none of your business.” Closing the doors of your van after hauling the dead bodies to dispose of with a loud thud. If you were somewhat decent you wouldn't have shown Sylus such hostility. You know what he's capable but being cornered by him — yeah — you should be squealing or be flustered cause it was Sylus, you were in no position because you were in a dire situation and your existence doesn't contribute to the storyline of this world, including MC and his.

You also can't really tell him you're from the other world. It might be catastrophic. You don't really want to stray from canon events and the first step is to stay away from Sylus.

You were about to open the door of your van to get away. You were an inch of pulling that handle until thin red and black mists coils around your wrist. Preventing you from moving your hand.

You look at him in disbelief. Scoffing as you try to pry the tendrils of his Evol wrapped around your wrist. “Really?” You take a step forward. “Is this how you treat people who disagrees with you!?”

Sylus remains nonchalant. Although there's a hint of amusement and curiousity behind his eyes. You weren't perturbed at all with his Evol but he can give you the benefit of the doubt. “Not really. Usually they end up dead.” His hand moves manipulating it to pull you.

“Assuring but can you let me go? I really don't want anything from you. Let just call it quits, please?” You pleaded. The sleeves of your varsity jacket crumples as you try again to get out of his grip. “I still have to finish my job.” Biting your lip anxiously as you desperately look at your van. The bodies are going to rot now before you can dispose of them.

“The twins can take care of it.”

“How can Luke—” Your eyes widens, biting your tongue at your slip up. You forgot that no one really knows what the twins names are except Sylus. They were his henchmen after all and a stranger — you was the final nail in the coffin.

“Interesting.” His lips curve into a smirk and you know what it means. “You and I are going to have a long conversation.” Giving you no room to retaliate or defend yourself. It was useless anyways, no one really escapes him and you hope that you can still get out. Alive.

The hallways were dark. The warm light of the wall sconces was the source of the light. You get the idea that Sylus is taking you to the dining room where he once eviscerated someone after a disagreement and finding the other person was trying to take both sides and Sylus does not like traitors.

You were walking behind him. His Evol long deactivated cause he knows you can't run even as you try to look around for possible escape routes and you really can't even you want too. His windows are a no-no. You don't want to plummet to your death from the top floor.

Sylus pushes the door. Inside were the sleek black marble top table with two candles lit in the candelabra. A deep red velvet chairs upholstered. Everything was Sylus's taste that you saw in his bond memories where he and MC stays. Your remember their little banters and how bossy he was.

It brings a smile to your face as you take the surroundings of the room. Luke and Kieran were probably wrecking your van. They were making you jobless in the Zone. You hoped that your van will still be returned in one piece.

“Sit.” He orders you and you complied without hesitation. Sylus can be impatient and being stubborn will probably get your neck choked. Settling in the chair, it was remarkably soft. You can't remember the last time you sat in something plush. Concrete stairs and crates in warehouses were your chair. The cold floor of the temporary base you set up covered with a old mattress was your bed.

Sylus stands behind the counter. Pulling glasses to pour a drink for himself and to you. “Let’s get started with a simple conversation.” The glass clinks as he puts on cubes of ice. “I ask you a question and you will answer me.”

“Okay.” He hears you murmur. Your posture was rigid. Legs bouncing out of nervousness in the chair. Chewing on your lips and your hands were hidden in the sleeves of your jacket like you were put in a straitjacket but he knows you were scratching your skin.

You were guilty as you look. Actions don't lie. Or maybe you were anxious. He got something to ease you up. “Here.” Nudging the glass in front of you. The amber liquid sloshing with the ice. You take it. He's probably making you loosen your tongue which is maybe going to work.

His eyes follows your movement. Bringing the glass of whiskey in your lips and your nose scrunches at the sharp aroma. He watch as you look at him before breaking eye contact and taking a swig of the drink and the reaction was immediate.

Sharp violent coughs shook your whole body. Your eyes watering as the liquid burned down your throat. You used your arm to cover your mouth while you coughed. God, what kind of humiliation the universe is putting you through and in front of Sylus.

“Who are you?” He began to question you and you glare at him. Wiping the corner of your mouth with the sleeve of your jacket. “A stranger.” Coughing up the last bits as you try to draw out the bitter taste.

You really don't want to lie but you were not in your world and you were afraid that you were going to disrupt the timeline of this story. You didn't want to be a huge spoiler or accidentally trigger a effect that will rip the balance of this world.

Sylus looks at you blankly. “What are you doing in the warehouse?”

“Trying to make a living. I can't survive here unless I do something.” Rubbing your knuckles in your eyes.

“Let’s get back to my former question. Who are you?” His voice are dripping with venom and you watch the subtle twitch of his hands and the next thing will be is he's blowing your head off.

“You want to know? I'm just some unfortunate soul who got here.” Pursing your lip in a thin line. Conflicted on how to process your emotions. You were scared, frustrated and angry. You shouldn't have saved him.

“And now you’re going to ask why I knew Luke and Kieran.” You paused for a bit. The confession is going to give you a headache. “You're a pixelated game character on my world.”

And the headache begun. He only raised his brows like you were just messing up with him. “I know how ridiculous it sounds but it's true.”

“You don't believe me? You're Sylus Qin. You're a wanted criminal in Philos and you escaped from Tartarus.” You began to explain. Legs bouncing anxiously with every tick of the clock. Sylus was practically a weapon ready to fire at any moment.

“Want to know more? You manipulated Miss Hunter to kill you when she was a sorceress and you were a dragon. You were ostracized from your own kind. You can't die unless she allows you to. You were also children too. Fighting to death in the arena with the other children and when it's down to both of you — you made the decision to escape and she did too but you two got separated.” ‎You revealed. “Is that enough?”

‎He didn't say anything else as if convinced. ‎“How did you end up here?”

‎“I don't know. I just woke up in the middle of the road.”

‎Sylus didn't press anything more. As far as he knows you're an anomaly.

‎”Can I leave now?” You asked. Thinking this interrogation is done and you really don't want to disrupt this world. Afraid that if you interfere some butterfly effect would activate and all of this world are going to be doomed. The plot was really important and every decision of the characters either make or break.

You waited for his response. Thinking of the van that are being used by the twins. You hoped that they know where to dump the bodies and your van isn't being banged up. The source of your income and means of survival rests on how they treat your van.

“I'm afraid that's not going to happen.”

“W-waa—what? Why!?” Eyes wide in disbelief. Your brows are raised and with the little shot of that alcoholic unnerved you in ways that you didn't know you can.

You look at him like you hit your head (which you already did by thunking your forehead in the top rail of your chair) and find that he's real ugly but he's not. He's hot. Infuriatingly hot. You can't count how many times you fantasize kissing Sylus and moisturize that dry lips of his.

You wanted that when he was on your screen and now, you're not, maybe a little. Get a grip! You tell to yourself but you dread about this — of not being able to leave. You're going to be in the front row and watch the world fuss about MC. The next days are going to be the start of her story with Sylus. Their first meeting.

“You're an anomaly in this world.”

Your heart drops. Of course, you're an anomaly. Sylus must have analyzed you or searched for your identity and to only find nothing.

“You know a lot about of things going around here and I can't have you running around with that kind of information.” He reasons, taking a step towards you.

“I'm basically a NPC in this world. I don't see the relevance of me being here.” You counter. Pressing your forehead in the back of the chair because you really didn't want to be involved with him.

“What if I say, I don't want to?”

“You really don't have a choice here, kitten.”

“Fuck.” You muttered, running our reasons to use. “I have a job around here. I can't have you bossing me around. I won't also ask for a compensation.” Referring to your destroyed OTTO and your van that is going to be thrashed by the twins. You can always start. You survived your first day and managed to live this long.

Sylus can see the reluctance in you. Mixed with the desperation of not wanting to get involved with him. He's a dangerous man. Money isn't really a problem for him and he can get you a nice place to live and a brand new van and the latest OTTO catered to your needs. When in reluctance, give them the assurance.

“Is cleaning up dead bodies and blood that fun?” Your eyes flickers towards him. “Not really but it keeps my stomach full and meets my basic needs. Shelter I have plenty.” Rubbing your arm in an attempt to comfort yourself. Eyes a little droopy and your lips curled into a frown.

Living in the N109 Zone with no means of being the strong was your struggle. It was life or death for you.

“I have a proposal.” When you can't convince someone, you put the stakes higher. Sylus continues as he noticed you tilt your head. Interested at the proposal he was about to make.

“You will be provided everything you need. You shall never starve or work for your food. I will give you shelter. You can hole up in one of the rooms here. I have plenty. You will have a identity you desire. A clean slate for you to start somewhere new.”

“That's preposterous for someone like you, Sylus.” Shaking your head as you try to think about what to do before looking back at him. “I can't be near you. I'm a walking spoiler.” You swallowed as if there's something stuck in your throat.

“If information is what you want of future events, I can't tell you about it. I won't disrupt the natural order of this world.” Pulling your jacket and standing up. Putting back the chair in its right place.

“The only mistake I did was to save you.”

“Is that so?” He hums.

Thinking of what he should do about you. “Such trivial matters don't bother me. You're not really disrupting anything and I won't ask for information.” You can see the brief flicker of light passing through his right eye where the Aether Core is placed.

“Work for me. You'll get more benefits than what you wished for.”

He watched as you hesitate. You will still have a choice with the proposal he suggested. You are free to operate around his area and maybe he'll take you as a secretary. It's unlikely you'll betray him. You're smart for your own good to betray as someone powerful like him.

It didn't take long for a few seconds for you to decide.

“Fine.”

The smirk on his face grew wider.

You gave the arrangement six months.

It shouldn't be too long or less. You wanted Sylus to make it shorter because any time soon or any day, he and MC will cross paths and even you wanted to witness their long-awaited reunion — you just can't.

Because what kind of bullshit of people telling you that you are MC in your world and to find out you were the anomaly in this world even you accepted it that you really can't be MC with the game having her life determined and the routes of the story written. MC may have your face in the game but you can never be her.

It sounds bitter but this was your reality. You're not about to witness their love when you have a life to live. A few months staying under his base is the thing you have to live through. You didn't understand why Sylus has to take you under his wing.

You did say you weren't tell him about the future happenings or any information that will about to happen. Probably he's getting bored and what's a little fun to observe a anomaly for his entertainment.

That's your sentiment but you know Sylus isn't that cruel to treat you as one. He may have his reasons and you will never know any of it.

The least you can do is stay put until there's a change of events. It's a matter of time before the story line of the game will start to happen and when MC has grown curious about the N109 Zone and Sylus.

The Onychinus base was huge. Well, huge is an understatement. It's a whole fricking building and despite that doing nothing means you're penniless. Sylus did tell you that the commodities in the building are free to use but a week after almost exploring the whole base — you found yourself restless.

You've been on the run the moment you were transported in this world. Always thinking for ways to survive. Hustling to get by and earn that money that was essential for your job and puts a food in your table. You were always on the lookout for jobs that needs your specialty. It's pay per transaction and you take pride in your work.

Abandoning your livelihood means abandoning your security. There was no discussion about it between you and Sylus even he did say you will work for him, there was really nothing about the job description and you hate to think you were freeloading to him.

So you did what you know best — accepting a clean up job. The pay was huge. The bigger the money they offer the messier and complicated it was but you didn't care. Money is money. You take the keys of the van Sylus owed you after the twins has trashed it like you expected.

You begin to drive towards your destination after picking up a new stash of cleaning supplies you have hidden in one of your hideouts.

The building wasn't that ruined when stepped out of your van. It changed by the times and the lack of maintenance made it unsuitable for moving.

You began to unload the supplies from your bag. Securing the roll of plastic wraps and duct tapes. A makeshift cart that contains all of your cleaning materials with some strong chemical that's enough to knock someone out when inhaled.

The scene that greeted you were something out of a horror film or some sci-fi you used to watch back in your world.

Bloody was the least you will used to describe the scene. It was beautiful. If you can ignore the lifeless bodies impaled with ice spikes. The paleness of the blues of ice mixes with the red. Creating a almost whimsical look like a blood red moon.

You guessed that you find anything as visceral as this normal after cleaning up places. Murder with the use of Evol wasn't unheard of, you've clean plenty of it and disposed mutilated bodies that was almost beyond recognition. You've also thrown bodies or parts of one in a single trash bag.

Time is the essence and even with the structured ice Evol, it was starting to melt and when ice are thawed — everything's going to be bloody from here and so you began to take your trusty lightsaber-esque equipment that's good for cutting through metal, bones and of course, ice. As long they're solid it gets the job done.

The smell didn't even bother you. It was like meat that you left to defrost and forgot to take it out for cooking and it starts to go bad. It's worse for you the first time but the fear of not being able to survive gets you out of that disgust.

Pressing the button of your tool, it shortly crackles — bursts and emits a bright orange glow and then you start to cut through flesh and bone.

It's good to know that you're still capable.

After that work and clean up, you were done for the day, night. You still didn't regulate your sleeping hours even with the comfortable place Sylus provided for you at the base and paired with restlessness.

Driving back to Onychinus base made you uneasy, sure you move places to places and sometimes settled for months but a month in Sylus's base didn't feels like something you can live with. You were grateful but coming back to the base is still unfamiliar territory for you.

Attachment creates dangerous conflicting feelings and having known danger and how powerful attachment can be — you ignored.

It's the reason why you keep the interaction to Sylus minimal except when it's necessary and you can't avoid him without being too obvious.

You surely can't start catching feelings for him even he's your main love interest in the real world and when he's a game character. But how about when he's real and you're near him? That you can hear his voice, can touch him and talk to him? Can you not really fall in love? And there's MC.

But it's difficult when you're in his world and living in his base where any chance you can bump into him and it happened the moment you were about to retreat in your room. The hallways were big but it connects to everything.

You were about to turn when you almost bump into Sylus. The familiar outfit that he almost dons everyday in your home screen is what he wore. "Hey." You awkwardly greeted him. Gripping the hem of your sweatshirt that reeks with the scent of blood and chemicals for cleaning.

"I thought you might have escaped.”

Liar. He knows where you are and he knows your circumstances. You can't leave him. Not yet.

“As you can see, I can't. I'm powerless.” You murmur.

There's a moment of awkward silence but it might be you until Sylus broke it.

“Care to join me for lunch, dove?”

You didn't know why Sylus started to call you dove but maybe he was referring you to one like the dove MC rescued and was put in his care temporarily in the Nightplumes card. It didn't happen yet but the cards are connected to the future events after their meeting.

You refused. “No, thank you. I'm not really—” Your stomach betrays you, growling like you haven't eaten for days. “— hungry.” You finished to say with your cheeks burning hotly from embarrassment.

Sylus chuckles and you badly want to jump out outside the window and plummet to your death.

“Do you really find me insufferable?” He asks, his eyes narrowing although there's a lilt.

“Insufferable? No. I don't find you like that or anything.” He's many things but insufferable. You mumble, concealing the expressions that might show in your face as your brain panics.

“Good. It would be a bad thing if my guest finds me intolerable.”

Turns out Sylus has already set up the table in the terrace. His chef, you meet him the second day in your stay in Sylus's base and asked you what you wanted to eat. The Onychinus leader told you that you have permission to use the kitchen or ask the chef whatever you felt like eating.

You absolutely remember the terrace it was shown in the kindle of his first myth card where he taught MC on how to improve her combat skills. Knowing the terrace part of the base is where Sylus sometimes took his meals.

If you did suddenly get back home, you have a lot of things to brag as you take your sit across "Boss-man Sylus."

It's not like everyday is an opportunity to share a table with Sylus, the most desired love interest in your world.

“How was your work today?”

“Grotesque but it's nothing that I can't handle.” You shrugged, taking your cutlery and mimicking Sylus's gesture as he began to eat.

You have quite the appetite despite the scene earlier. Your stomach has gotten thick overtime as you took that line of work.

"I assume someone has gone rouge.”

“If you would put it that way.”

He hums. Gently twirling the glass of wine and the red liquid sloshed inside of it. He takes a sip before resuming on his meal. You had done the same and the taste of wine made your taste buds burst into these tiny quantities of flavors you can taste.

Amusement glimmers in Sylus's eyes. Watching you taste something that you're not accustomed to. You told him that back in your world you have a job that covers your expenses and an extra for some indulgence.

Your indulgence was getting all his cards.

“Do you find your room comfortable?” He pries.

“Yes, thank you.” You whispered. Meeting his gaze to show how sincere you are. You missed having a real bed not the make shift beds you have to temporarily sleep with.

“You really didn't need to spend much on me. I'm not staying that long.” Reminding him of your arrangement.

Sylus chuckles. “I'm not the one to forget, dove.” Leaning on his chair and crossing his legs. “You plan to go back in your job?” His eyes narrows at you.

“Maybe. I didn't really asked you about the details when you said that I'm working for you.” You told him. Putting your fork down cause you know where this conversation is being headed.

“How about as my secretary?” He says without a beat. The way he says it was the same as he speaks in the game and you would have accepted it within a heartbeat if it wasn't for the position you are in.

“Me?” You asked, hoping you misheard it or your ears was playing tricks. “Your secretary? You don't even know me that much to be entrusted with that kind of work.”

“I don't need to know what kind of person you are.”

“I know you're not the one to make stupid decisions and I'm not going to doubt your judgement but even I am an anomaly in this world there's a chance that I will betray you.” You say, gripping the table cloth. Well, there's no betrayal that's going to happen but it was an excuse and a reason not to get closer to him.

Sylus smirks. You can see the amusement flickering all over his eyes at what you said. You were getting more interesting as the seconds pass and Sylus likes who he deemed interesting.

“People who plan to betray me don't tell me they're betraying me. You’re selling yourself short, dove.” He pauses, crossing his legs underneath the table while he waits for your response.

He can see that you were still torn and hesitating.

“Take this offer and I'll make sure it will be worthwhile for the both of us.”

Is what he said and now, you're thinking that doomsday is already ahead in the game with you interfering. You hope that Sylus stays canon with MC and the original plot still intact.

May Astra or whatever deity send you back home before you disrupt the world with your existence.

[annavittoria-mm]

this is literally me every single night

suffering from angst drought

[orphicmeliora]

You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs)

Masterlist (Completed)

PAIRING: Zayne x Non-MC Reader

SYNOPSIS: An arranged marriage built on silence unravels into a love loud enough to echo—where a repressed heart finally claims what was always his.

NOTES: The one shot I planned to write turned into a full-blown series, who's surprised? The tag list for this fic is CLOSED. the banners belong to @/uzmacchiato

You can also find this series on AO3

»»————> INDEX <————««

✧･ﾟBlurb

✧･ﾟpreview

✧･ﾟpart 1

✧･ﾟpart 2

✧･ﾟpart 3

✧･ﾟpart 4

✧･ﾟpart 5

TAGLIST: @animegamerfox @sweetcalebb @ciaradream8 @hwangintakswifey @nm4565natty @zaynieinsanie @inzayneforaj @aara08 @multisstuff @notsurewhattocallthisblog8888 @yellowxiaotae @harmlesscouch @ourgoddessathena @dwuclvr @asilaydead @thelittlebutton @idiots0up @crazyzombieblaze @cordidy @storiesbyparadise @whosthought @sylustabbykitty

@someonenamedray @sheismaryy @sylusjinxedpaw @pemhpredo @perla-drg @bazpire @myrunawaysweets @sadgutaches @detectivelucky @demon-master-zero @hoe-in-deepspace @tinyweebsstuff @qstrea @vintag3u @algrimmammon @peacedreamer14 @seraphim-terrestrial @crimsonsylus @cielphanthomhivesimp @li-zayne-wife @boy-pussyyy @tinydonkeysforlife @zarakem @my-loved-figure-skates @criffininflight @escapeis @yu-87 @noblognamepleasee @paper--angel @syluslittlecrows @luckysaladfreakbagel @loliesaregreat @littleappleprincess @agustdxjiminx @codedove

@agentofloveandcourage @alphasavage555 @discreatesnowreader @hqtoge @hrollingcookie @plzdonutpercieveme @princess-vibes25 @in-a-far-away-land @orcawholikeskrakans @muddygurlll @afoolishreader @meheartlatinas @gemjimin @xsammijoanneex @quill-for-glory @thelittlebutton @kooidoom @hmwtgs @beatricetonguedi @paintedperidot @inara-lumina @snowstopia @jadeymeciela @floofycookie @greenisthecolorofherheart @lilacsxjoon @suhsun4 @zeverean @nm4565natty @kobenio @unknownpersonwithaknife @dana-nite @sorablooms @underratedbitch-number13

[orphicmeliora]

LETTERS UNSENT

SUMMARY: You have shared too much with Caleb— your childhood in middle school, your restless teenage years in high school, and the sleepless nights that came with training at the DAA. Through every phase of your life, you’ve loved him. Quietly. Desperately. While he loved someone else.

So you learned to endure it.

You swallowed your feelings and tucked them away in secret letters never meant to be read—letters inked with heartbreak, feverish longing, and fantasies too raw to speak aloud. From crooked handwriting to elegant script, each page was a confession of the love you hated to carry, the ache you never outgrew. And when Caleb vanished from your life after graduation without a word, you buried those letters in a box, and the box deep within yourself.

Years later, fate intervenes.

Caleb returns—broader, bolder, devastatingly handsome. And strangely focused on you. His touches linger too long, his eyes see too much, and his smile says he knows exactly what you’ve been hiding. He looks at you like you’re the one he’s been waiting for—and you can’t tell if it terrifies you or tempts you more.

You try to pull away. You’ve spent too many years surviving without him to fall now.

But Caleb doesn’t let go.

Because now that he’s seen the truth—every broken sentence, every filthy fantasy, every whispered ‘I love you’ you never dared say out loud—he’s not just here to catch up.

He’s here to chase you down.

And he won’t stop until you’re his.

WORD COUNT: 11.1k

NOTES: Takes place after the Main story supposedly ends. This happens far in the future. Caleb is older here, 28–29 maybe. Reader is NOT mc, keep that in mind. In this scenario mc is with another LI.

You used to love love.

Not just the idea of it—but the ache of it. The promise of it. The giddy, schoolgirl butterflies and the midnight hopes whispered into your pillow. Love was the secret language of your world, threaded through songs you hummed under your breath, the romance novels dog-eared to your favorite passages, the ink-stained pages of letters never sent.

You believed in love the way children believe in magic.

But you grew up.

And love? It grew fangs.

Now, you love to hate it.

You hate how it made a fool of you. How it made you wait and yearn and burn in silence, hoping he’d look your way and see you. Not as a friend, not as a childhood companion, but as someone worth reaching for. Worth choosing. But he didn’t. He never did. Caleb’s heart was always spoken for.

So you buried your own.

You’ve become good at pretending. You laugh at romance now, scoff at declarations, dismiss affection with a curl of your lip and a joke that lands just bitter enough to be believable. You’re not heartless—you’re just tired. Of hoping. Of hurting. Of wanting things that were never yours to begin with.

You fill your time with things that don’t require soft emotions. You keep your hands busy and your mind busier. You hum lullabies to yourself when the silence grows too sharp. You sleep with the light on sometimes—not out of fear, but because the darkness reminds you too much of waiting for someone who never came back.

And still…

Despite it all…

Sometimes, on quiet nights when your guard slips, you wonder what it would be like to be loved out loud.

To be wanted so much it’s terrifying. To be chosen first.

You don’t dare admit it aloud. You barely let yourself think it.

Because if love ever finds you again…

You’re not sure if you’ll run away from it—

Or straight into its arms.

You hear his voice before you see him.

Low. Smooth. A little deeper than you remember. It cuts through the background noise like gravity pulling everything toward it—pulling you toward it. You freeze mid-step, your spine going taut like a wire drawn too tight. You know that voice. You’ve heard it in dreams. In memories. In the echo of unsent letters you’ll never admit you still read.

You turn slowly.

And there he is.

Caleb.

Older. Sharper. Beautiful in a way that feels almost unfair. His body is broader now, sculpted with strength and silent discipline. His jaw is dusted with scruff. His posture, relaxed but alert. And those eyes—still storm-silver and searing, but steadier somehow. Knowing.

He sees you.

Really sees you.

And for a moment, the world narrows to just the two of you standing there like a collision waiting to happen.

A beat passes.

“...It’s been a while,” he says, and God—he smiles.

That same crooked, devastating smile that used to undo you in a single heartbeat. But there’s something different now. Less boyish charm, more… reverence. Like he’s looking at a relic he thought lost forever and can’t quite believe is real.

You swallow, throat tight. “Yeah. A while.”

There’s so much you could say. So much you want to say. About the years. The distance. The versions of yourself that broke and rebuilt in his absence. But your mouth is dry and your thoughts scatter like startled birds.

Caleb steps forward—close enough that you can feel the heat radiating off him, smell the faint scent of metal and pine and something unmistakably him.

He looks you up and down slowly, like he’s taking inventory of everything time tried to steal.

“You look…” His gaze softens. “You look like trouble.”

You scoff—too sharp, too fast, your defense mechanisms kicking in like old habits. “And you still talk like you’re trying to land a date in a bar.”

His grin flashes wider. “Would it work if I was?”

God, he’s flirting.

Like you weren’t just background noise to him once. Like you didn’t spend years trying to scrape his ghost off your ribs.

You narrow your eyes. “Why are you here, Caleb?”

He leans in, the air between you charged, crackling. His voice drops—lower, rougher.

“Because I missed you.”

You blink. That wasn’t the answer you expected. Not from him. Not with that look in his eyes—part hungry, part haunted, all real.

And just like that, the careful walls you’ve built start to shake.

You hear the door creak open behind you before the sound of his footsteps catches up.

“I almost didn’t recognize you,” Caleb says, his voice deeper, richer than you remember. “You look... different.”

You don’t turn around immediately. The skyline looks safer than his face.

“Yeah, well. Years pass. People change.”

“Some people stay exactly the same,” he murmurs. “You still lean to the left when you’re uncomfortable.”

You whip around, heart doing a traitorous little jump when your gaze lands on him.

God. He’s unfair. Broader shoulders, sharper jaw, that golden tan that makes his white shirt look criminally good on him. His smile has mellowed into something more potent—less boyish charm, more devastating man.

You cross your arms. “You’re observant now. That’s new.”

He chuckles. “I’ve always been observant. You were just too busy avoiding my eyes to notice.”

Touché.

He walks closer—too close—and you catch a whiff of his cologne, spicy and dark, like danger disguised as comfort. His gaze drops to your lips for half a second too long before returning to your eyes with a glint that spells trouble.

“How long has it been?” he asks softly.

“Since you ditched our entire friend group without a word? Or since I gave up hoping for a message you never sent?”

His jaw tenses. “I deserved that.”

“You did.”

There’s a beat of silence between you, thick with all the things you’re too proud to say and all the things he suddenly looks desperate to.

You retreat into the safety of the couch, motioning for him to sit across—but no, of course not. Caleb drops beside you, hip pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What about Emcee?” you ask, biting the inside of your cheek. “You two live happily ever after or what?”

His brow furrows. “Emcee? God, no. That was over before it ever started.”

Your heart skips. “Oh.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“I’m not.” Lie. “Just surprised.”

“Good,” he says, leaning in, his voice a husky whisper. “Because I didn’t come here to talk about her. I came here for you.”

Your breath catches. You laugh, shaky and forced. “Wow, Caleb. You’ve upgraded your flirting. What happened to your legendary cheesy pickup lines?”

He grins. “I could still use one, if you’re nostalgic. But I figured you’ve grown out of tolerating my bullshit.”

“Smart of you.”

And yet, the way his knee brushes yours every few seconds isn’t helping. Neither is the way his hand hovers just a little too close to your thigh when he reaches for his coffee.

You’re not sure what’s worse—that he’s this charming now, or that it’s working.

Later that night, after he leaves with a promise to “see you soon” and a gaze that lingers like heat, you retreat into your sanctuary.

Your room. Your old dresser. The box tucked under the drawer like a dirty little secret.

The letters.

Every one of them stained with years of aching want and unspeakable need. A catalogue of your descent into hopeless longing, from childish hope to fevered fantasy. The kind of thing no one should ever read.

Especially not Caleb.

But fate, of course, doesn’t care what you want.

The first time he brushes a strand of hair behind your ear, it's under the guise of helping you with groceries.

“I’m perfectly capable,” you snap, snatching the bag from his hands.

Caleb just laughs, leaning in. “I know. Doesn’t mean I don’t want to help.”

His knuckles graze yours. You pretend not to notice. He pretends not to notice you pretending. Bastard.

—

The second time, you’re at your favorite café, the one with the uneven chairs and the cinnamon drinks he used to gag over. You’d brought him there as a joke, once. Now he takes you there seriously.

He’s seated too close, his thigh pressed against yours like a quiet claim.

“So,” he says, turning his head toward you. “No boyfriend? Fiancé? Star-crossed lover waiting in the wings?”

“None of your business.”

“That’s a no, then,” he says smugly, sipping his drink.

You glance at him, narrowing your eyes. “Why are you asking?”

“Just making sure I’m not stepping on any toes,” he murmurs, then adds, “when I kiss you.”

Your heart slams into your ribs. You scoff, rolling your eyes so hard they might get stuck. “You’re not kissing me.”

“Not today, maybe,” he says easily. “But eventually.”

You hate how warm your cheeks get. You hate him a little more for noticing.

—

The third time is worse.

You’ve both had a bit too much wine. Not drunk, but soft around the edges. He’s on your couch, lounging like he belongs there, like the time between now and then never happened.

He watches you over the rim of his glass. “Why do you keep flinching when I touch you?”

“I don’t flinch.”

“You do. Like you’re scared I’m not real.”

You take a sip of your wine and stare straight ahead. “I’m just trying to figure out what you want.”

His voice goes quiet. “You.”

The word hits you like a punch.

“You wanted Emcee for years.”

“I was stupid for years.”

You meet his eyes. They’re clearer than they’ve ever been—focused, almost painfully sincere.

“That’s convenient,” you say coldly.

He sets his glass down, leans in. “No. It’s fate finally letting me try again.”

His hand reaches up, brushes your cheek with maddening tenderness. He’s so close you can feel the heat of his breath.

You freeze. The ache in your chest roars to life again. This is everything you ever wanted—but you don’t trust it. Not yet.

You turn your head. Just barely.

Caleb’s jaw clenches, his hand falling away.

He sits back without a word.

—

The fourth time, it’s raining.

He brings you a coffee, his hair damp, his hoodie soaked at the shoulders.

“You didn’t have to walk in this weather,” you mutter, taking the drink anyway.

“I wanted to.” His smile is lazy, but his eyes are sharp. “You’re still not letting me in.”

“Would you trust someone who vanished for years without a word?”

His smile falters. Then, to your surprise, he nods. “I wouldn’t. But I’d want them to fight for the chance to be trusted again.”

He reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a familiar-looking charm—a bent paper star you made him in high school.

“I didn’t forget you,” he says, voice low. “I tried to.”

That might be the worst thing he’s ever said. Because it means he felt something. Because it means you weren’t the only one suffering in silence.

Because it means he’s telling the truth.

You excuse yourself before your throat gives way to the sobs you refuse to let him see.

He doesn’t follow.

But he waits.

He always waits now.

And that’s more dangerous than any of his old pickup lines.

You agree to go with him to the observatory.

Big mistake.

It’s late, the sky smeared with stars and promises, the air just crisp enough that Caleb offers you his jacket before you can even pretend to be cold.

You don’t take it.

So, naturally, he just drapes it over your shoulders anyway, like you’re his.

“It looks better on you,” he says, voice quiet as your fingers clutch at the sleeves that still smell like him.

“Don’t start,” you murmur, but there’s no real bite to it.

“Start what?” His smirk is all mischief. “Being nice? Can’t help it. You bring it out of me.”

You roll your eyes and turn your gaze to the sky, but he keeps watching you like you’re the constellation he’s been chasing all his life.

“I used to come here when I missed you,” you admit without thinking, and immediately wish you hadn’t.

The silence that follows is so sharp it could cut glass.

“When you missed me?” His voice is different now—serious. Dangerous. “How often did that happen?”

You laugh, tight and brittle. “Only every time I breathed.”

His head tilts slightly, like he’s not sure he heard you right.

Then: “Say that again.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because you’ll use it against me.”

He steps closer, slow and purposeful, until your back meets the cold railing. His hands cage you in, one on either side of your body, his expression unreadable but intense.

“Do you really think I’d take something that precious and weaponize it?”

“I don’t know what you’d do anymore.”

“Then let me show you,” he says, and for a terrifying second, you think he’s going to kiss you.

But he doesn’t.

His lips hover just beside your ear, the warmth of his breath teasing your neck.

“I dreamt of you too, you know. Every damn night.”

Your knees nearly buckle, but pride is a stronger drug than longing.

“Then why didn’t you do anything?” you whisper.

He pulls back just enough to look at you, eyes burning. “Because I was stupid. And I thought you didn’t feel the same.”

You snort. “Well. You were wrong.”

“I know,” he growls. “I know that now. And you’re still keeping me at arm’s length.”

“Damn right I am.”

His smile is tight, hungry. “Fine. You want to make me work for it? I’ll work.”

“I want to be chased, Caleb. Not collected.”

He steps back, hands raised in mock surrender, but his grin is pure trouble.

“Then run, sweetheart. I’ll catch up.”

You hate him for knowing exactly how to undo you.

And maybe you hate yourself more for wanting to be caught.

It’s late. The kind of late where even the shadows seem to sleep.

The old piano room is still your secret solace—dusty, dim, filled with forgotten echoes and dreams you never dared to say out loud. The acoustics are perfect. No one ever comes in here anymore.

Except for one person.

You don't hear him at first. You’re too wrapped up in the song, the way your voice trembles on the high notes, the keys trembling beneath your fingertips. It’s the kind of melody you never intended anyone to hear. Especially not him.

I didn't opt in to be your odd man out

I founded the club she's heard great things about

I left all I knew, you left me at the house by the Heath

Your voice breaks. You close your eyes, breathe, keep going anyway.

I stopped CPR, after all it's no use

The spirit was gone, we would never come to

And I'm pissed off you let me give you all that youth for free

Silence. One, two, three beats of it. Then—

“You always did sound beautiful when you were sad.”

You jump.

Caleb leans against the doorway like he owns the place. Like he owns the air in your lungs. Like he owns you.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he adds, smile lazy, eyes sharp. “Old habits die hard, I guess.”

You blink. “You heard that?”

“I always do.”

Of course he did.

You feel your cheeks burn as he strolls in, gaze never leaving yours. “That song… it’s new?”

You clear your throat, try for nonchalance. “Just something I was playing around with.”

He hums. “Right. Totally not about anyone in particular.”

You bristle. “Did I say that?”

“Nope. But you don’t have to. You forget—I know your voice. I know when it’s for fun. And when it’s ripping you open.”

You glance away, fingers tapping nervously on the ivory keys. “You're being dramatic.”

He kneels beside the bench. Just like that, he’s too close again. Always too close.

“You used to do this all the time,” he murmurs. “Sneak away to sing where no one could find you. You didn’t know I followed.”

Your heart stutters. “You never said anything.”

“Why would I ruin it?” His gaze darkens. “Hearing you like that—it was the only time I ever got to feel like you needed something.”

“I didn’t sing those songs for you,” you lie.

Caleb tilts his head, eyes locked on yours. “Then why are your cheeks red?”

You shove away from the piano, muttering, “You're insufferable.”

He follows, not missing a beat. “You’re blushing, songbird.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

You stop. He almost slams into you.

You glare up at him. “You think you’re so clever.”

He leans in, smirking. “No. I think I’ve waited too long to be this close to you, and now that I’m here, I’m not backing off.”

The worst part? Your hands are trembling. Your knees are weak. And still, somehow, you want more.

But pride wraps around your tongue like a noose.

“You heard the song,” you say, voice low. “That’s enough.”

His eyes flick down to your lips. Then back up. He’s not smiling anymore.

“No,” Caleb whispers. “It’s not.”

You should have locked the damn drawer.

You don’t even know what made you check—but something prickled at the back of your neck the moment you stepped into your apartment. Like something sacred had been disturbed. And when you see the box in Caleb’s hands, your heart stops cold.

No. No.

His head lifts as the door shuts behind you.

And your world implodes.

He’s seated on your couch like he’s carved from stone, the soft golden lamp beside him casting long shadows across the muscles in his jaw and the heartbreak in his eyes.

He’s holding your soul in his hands.

The letters—dozens of them, hundreds, years of ink and agony and lust and grief—you recognize the crooked childhood handwriting, the shaky, angry teenage confessions, the flowing script of your adult longing. Pages of you. Laid bare.

Your breath catches. Your throat closes.

“I—That’s not—You weren’t supposed to—” Your voice cracks. Your knees are trembling.

Caleb stands, the box still in his grip. He looks wrecked.

“I read every single one,” he says softly.

“Put them away,” you whisper, voice hollow. “Please, just… put them away.”

“I can’t.”

You turn to bolt, pure instinct.

And that’s when gravity betrays you.

A weight presses against your body—not crushing, but firm, immovable, inescapable. His Evol. 

Your hands fly to the walls, to the floor, anywhere to push back, but you’re floating. Held in place. Suspended in the moment you never wanted him to witness.

“Caleb—!”

“I need you to hear me,” he says, moving closer. Slowly. Carefully. Like approaching a wounded animal.

Your back hits the wall.

He stops just inches from you, eyes devouring every inch of your face. His expression is ravenous, pained, like he’s starving and terrified that the meal in front of him will vanish if he breathes too hard.

“I didn’t know,” he says, his voice ragged. “I never knew.”

You shake your head. “You weren’t supposed to.”

His hand lifts. Hovers near your cheek. “I’ve been walking around blind, thinking I lost you back then. But you never stopped… You loved me. You loved me so much it hurt.”

Tears gather hot and fast in your eyes. “Caleb—don’t—”

“And I was in love with you,” he breathes. “All this time I thought I was chasing someone else, but it was you. It was always you.”

You look away. “You didn’t want me. You wanted her. You chose her.”

“I didn’t choose anyone,” he growls. “I was a coward. I ran. I shut you out and let you carry all that alone. I thought I was protecting you.”

“You weren’t,” you whisper. “You were destroying me.”

The look in his eyes breaks something in you.

“I memorized your words,” he says quietly, his forehead leaning gently against yours. “Every line. Every wish. Every desperate, filthy, aching thing you wanted to say. I felt all of it. Like I was there with you, through every goddamn year I missed.”

You tremble, caught in his pull, aching with the need to believe—but terrified to let yourself fall.

“I don’t know if I can forgive you,” you whisper.

“I’m not asking you to,” he murmurs. “Not yet.”

His fingers trail lightly over your waist, your hip, anchoring you. The Gravity around you loosens just enough for your feet to touch the floor again, but you don’t move.

His mouth brushes against your temple.

“I just want to earn you. All of you. Like I should’ve from the start.”

You don’t kiss him.

But you don’t pull away either.

You can’t.

Because suddenly, you're not cold anymore.

You’re burning.

He stays.

Even when you tell him to leave—quietly, then louder, then with trembling fingers pressed to his chest like a warning—Caleb stays.

“You shouldn’t be here,” you whisper, not meeting his eyes.

“I should’ve been here years ago,” he murmurs. “Don’t you get it? I’m not leaving again.”

You shove him.

He barely budges.

You shove him again.

This time, his hands catch your wrists mid-motion, fast, firm—calm.

You freeze. His skin is warm against yours, calloused where it should be gentle, familiar where it should feel foreign. Your pulse spikes in your throat.

“Let me go,” you say, breathless.

“No.”

Your breath hitches.

“No?” you echo.

His voice drops. “Not until you stop pretending you don’t want me to stay.”

You glare up at him, furious. “You think a few words and a couple of pretty promises erase everything?”

“No,” he says again. “But I’ll keep proving myself until they do.”

You twist out of his grip—nearly—before he suddenly pulls you in.

And for one terrible, brilliant second, your bodies align like they’ve been waiting for this moment your whole lives.

His eyes search yours.

And then, Caleb whispers, “Tell me to stop.”

You open your mouth.

But nothing comes out.

So he kisses you.

Not a soft, hesitant brush of lips.

It’s a claiming.

It’s all the years you spent alone, writing down your agony like confessions to a God who never answered. It’s every fantasy you denied yourself, every moment you watched him look at someone else and wished it were you. It's him—finally, truly, desperately—here.

Your fingers fist in his shirt like you’re angry, like you’re clinging to something you swore you’d never need again.

And when you break apart, gasping, forehead pressed to his, you say—

“I hate you.”

He smiles, soft and ruined. “I know.”

“I hate how much I wanted that.”

“I hope you did.”

“I’m still not making this easy.”

Caleb’s lips trail down your jaw, his voice a low rasp. “You’ve never made anything easy, sweetheart. That’s why you’re worth everything.”

And still—

Still, your heart trembles with the weight of old wounds, and you pull back just enough to see the truth in his eyes.

“You’ll have to fight for this,” you warn him.

His hand finds the back of your neck, possessive and reverent. “Then prepare to be relentlessly pursued.”

You never agreed to date him.

But apparently, Caleb’s taking “relentless pursuit” as a blood oath.

He shows up at your place the next morning with coffee—your actual order, down to the way you like the foam. He doesn’t say how he remembers. You don’t ask.

That night, he texts you at 2am.

Bastard: Thinking about that song you sang. Thinking about your lips too, but that’s not important (it is).

You throw your phone across the bed.

The next day, he’s waiting outside your building. Leaning against his hoverbike, all long legs and low-lidded eyes and that grin. You think he’s here for some kind of mission.

Nope.

Just here to take you to lunch.

“Don’t say this is a date,” you grumble.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says, offering his hand. “But hold on tight anyway.”

You hate how your fingers slide into his like they belong there.

—

Caleb doesn’t just flirt. He weaponizes charm like he trained for it.

He gives you compliments with the kind of intensity that makes it hard to breathe.

“I love your voice. Especially when you don’t realize you’re humming.”

“You roll your eyes the same way you used to when I beat you in training. It’s kind of adorable.”

“You don’t have to pretend around me. I know what you sound like when you're honest. I miss that sound.”

He touches you too often. Hand brushing your lower back when he walks past. Fingers grazing yours when he hands you something. Sitting just a little too close on your couch, his thigh pressed against yours like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You hold strong—for a while.

Until he stays over one night, after watching some late-night sci-fi re-run and falling asleep on your couch like a smug golden retriever with abs.

You try to nudge him awake.

You fail.

Hard.

He catches your wrist in his sleep, pulls you down half-on top of him, murmurs your name like it’s a secret prayer, and buries his face in your neck.

You don’t sleep.

Your body is screaming.

But your heart?

It’s terrified.

—

When morning comes, you wake to him cooking in your kitchen like he belongs there, shirt half-unbuttoned, hair a mess, singing your song under his breath.

You freeze in the doorway.

He sees you.

And smiles.

Like you’re not the one who spent ten years hiding a love that almost broke you. Like he’s not here to crack it wide open.

“Morning, sweetheart,” Caleb says softly. “Stay.”

You almost do.

But you don’t.

Not yet.

You think you're doing a good job keeping him at bay.

You’re not.

Because Caleb is everywhere now.

He’s in your kitchen again, humming off-key as he steals bites from your cooking. He’s draped across your couch like it’s his favorite place in the world. He’s in the way he looks at you like you invented gravity, like you’re the only thing keeping him grounded.

You keep your walls up.

But he keeps coming.

Like he knows you’re lying every time you act unaffected.

—

One night, after a long mission and even longer silence, he shows up unannounced. Eyes shadowed. Mouth grim. Shoulders tense with something unspoken.

You open the door.

He doesn’t say a word—just walks past you, breath ragged.

You follow him into your living room. “Caleb?”

“I thought I lost you again,” he says, voice low.

Your stomach drops. “What?”

He turns to face you, and it’s like the air shifts. Thickens.

“I heard your name over the comms. Brief moment of static. No confirmation you made it out. Just radio silence.”

You cross your arms. “I made it out fine.”

“I didn’t know that,” he snaps. “And for a second, I thought—” He cuts himself off, jaw tight.

You exhale. “I’m used to people not checking in.”

“I’m not people.”

He stalks closer.

You step back.

He follows.

“I don’t care how many times you push me away. You don’t get to disappear on me.”

“And what am I supposed to do?” you throw back. “Pretend like none of this hurts? Like I didn’t bleed for you in silence for years while you played hero somewhere else?”

“I know.”

“Do you?” Your voice cracks. “Because I can’t let myself fall again, Caleb. Not if you're just gonna walk away when it gets hard.”

He grabs your wrist.

Not rough. Just certain.

“Look at me.”

You don’t.

So he tips your chin up with two fingers.

His eyes are burning.

“I am not going anywhere. I don't care how long it takes. You can scream, you can run, you can tell me you hate me. I’ll still be right here.”

“Why?” you whisper, eyes glossy. “Why now?”

“Because I’ve loved you longer than I even understood what that meant,” he breathes. “And I’m done pretending I don’t want every single part of you.”

His other hand slides to your waist, slow and reverent.

Your breath hitches.

You can feel his heartbeat through your palm. Fast. Desperate.

The heat between you is unbearable.

One tilt of your head and you’d be kissing him again.

You want to.

God, you ache to.

But instead, you whisper, “This changes nothing.”

He leans in, nose brushing yours.

“Wrong,” Caleb whispers, his voice rough with restraint. “It changes everything.”

But he doesn’t kiss you.

Not this time.

He lets you go.

And it’s infuriating—because now you want him even more.

The first thing you notice is the light—soft gold spilling through your curtains, catching on floating dust motes, warming the edges of the sheets tangled around your legs.

The second thing you notice is the heat.

Not the weather. Not the blanket.

Him.

Your breath stills.

Because Caleb’s wrapped around you like he owns you.

Which—he doesn’t.

He shouldn’t.

And yet here you are, cocooned in his arms, his entire body molded to yours like you were sculpted to fit him. Your head is pillowed on his chest, right over the steady, heavy thump of his heart. One of his hands is buried in your hair, fingers gently tangled, the other gripping your waist in a possessive clutch that hasn’t loosened even in sleep.

You remember falling asleep with your back to him.

You do not remember signing up for this full-body cuddle trap.

Then there's his thigh—wedged between your legs like it lives there.

Your cheeks burn.

“Okay,” you whisper to yourself. “Time to get out before you completely lose your mind.”

You try to slip away quietly.

You wiggle.

No movement.

You nudge his hand.

His grip tightens.

You try prying his fingers from your waist. It’s like wrestling a bear. A warm, unfairly smug bear.

You let out a frustrated sigh and attempt to roll away—but the second you shift, Caleb lets out a low, sleepy groan. His body shifts with yours, tightening the hold, his thigh sliding higher. His lips brush your neck, parting slightly—

And then he nibbles.

You whimper.

It betrays you instantly.

That quiet little sound. The one that escapes before you can swallow it.

Caleb hums. The vibrations rumble through his chest, into your cheek.

And then—

“Mm... morning,” he murmurs, voice wrecked and delicious.

You go still.

“Caleb,” you say, your voice a warning.

His lips find your pulse point. “You smell good,” he slurs, still half-asleep, tone thick with something dangerous.

His thigh rocks just slightly forward. Pressure, heat.

You squeak.

His arms tighten like steel bands.

He’s caging you in.

“C-Caleb, get off—this is—this is not appropriate!”

Another sleepy groan. His lips ghost along your jaw. “You’re so warm.”

Your brain short-circuits.

“You’re dreaming,” you say, trying desperately to breathe like a normal person. “This is a dream. You’re dreaming. Let me go.”

He chuckles—chuckles. A deep, lazy sound against your neck. “If I’m dreaming, I’m never waking up.”

Then his hips shift. Just barely.

But enough.

“Caleb!”

His eyes snap open.

You expect guilt.

What you get is heat.

Raw, focused, and dangerous.

He blinks once. Then twice. Then—

His hand slides from your waist to the small of your back. His nose brushes yours.

“I was trying to be good,” Caleb murmurs. “You have no idea how hard it’s been.”

You do, actually.

Because it’s been hell for you, too.

You’re seconds from giving in—completely, helplessly—when you shove at his chest with both hands and scramble out from beneath him.

You’re standing, heart racing, cheeks flushed, breathless.

Caleb just smirks from the bed, messy-haired and golden in the morning light. “What? You gonna pretend you didn’t enjoy that?”

You throw a pillow at his face.

“Out,” you snap.

He catches it effortlessly. “No breakfast first?”

You march to the door.

“Fine, fine. But next time?” He swings his legs over the edge and stands, gaze searing into yours. “You’ll beg me to stay.”

You slam the door in his face.

It doesn’t stop your knees from buckling.

It happens fast.

Too fast for logic. Too fast for the walls you’ve spent years constructing around your traitorous heart.

One moment you’re arguing—again. Another stupid quip from him, another reckless flirtation that turns your blood to fire. You’re trying to hold on to the last shred of distance between you, snapping something half-hearted and defensive—

And then Caleb moves.

He grabs your wrists, spinning you with dizzying ease, and slams them gently but firmly against the wall. Your back hits the cold surface. His body follows.

You gasp.

His eyes meet yours.

They are ravenous.

“I can’t do this anymore,” Caleb says, voice low, feral, shaking with restraint. “I can’t keep pretending I don’t want to devour you.”

Your breath catches.

And then he kisses you.

Hard.

Not sweet. Not tentative.

Possessive.

Like he’s claiming what was always his.

Your body jerks with the force of it, your wrists still caged in his hands above your head. You try to twist free—not to escape, but because it’s too much, all-consuming, desperate.

He doesn’t let you go.

He presses closer instead, chasing your mouth with his own, drinking in every gasp, every shuddering moan you try to swallow.

You break away for air—just for a second—and he follows, mouth trailing your jaw, nipping your throat, sucking a mark into the skin just below your ear.

“Caleb—” you manage, but it comes out a whimper.

His pelvis grinds into yours, deliberate and aching. The friction draws a strangled sound from your throat.

“Oh god—”

“That’s it,” he groans against your skin. “That sound. I’ve imagined it every night. Every. Damn. Night.”

His hands leave your wrists—only to slide down your arms, your sides, until they’re clutching your hips like he might fall apart if he lets go. He lifts you onto the wall, thigh pressing between your legs, grinding again.

Your fingers tangle in his shirt, yanking him closer even as your brain screams to stop this.

But your body?

Your body is already his.

“Tell me to stop,” Caleb breathes, forehead pressed to yours, chest heaving.

You don’t.

You can’t.

There’s no pretending anymore. No wall to hide behind.

Because the truth is—he touches you like a man starved, but worships you like you're divine.

His lips return to yours, slower this time but no less intense, and it feels like every missed moment, every unsent letter, every buried ache is burning through the kiss.

His self-control shatters.

And you let it.

Because there’s no going back now.

There’s a moment—barely a breath—after that kiss.

His forehead presses to yours, both of you trembling, not just from adrenaline but from something deeper. Something that feels like standing on the edge of a cliff after running your whole life just to avoid the fall.

He whispers your name like a secret, like a vow. It breaks you a little, how he says it. Like he’s tasting the weight of it for the first time.

Then he moves.

Your legs wrap around his waist without thought—instinct meeting inevitability. You're holding on to the only thing in the room that feels real. He lifts you as if he was made to, the heat between you palpable, a pulse that beats beneath your skin, echoing every missed chance and quiet longing.

The kiss deepens. Desperate, molten, tasting of years swallowed down and swallowed whole. His hands are everywhere—anchoring, memorizing, shaking just slightly from how hard he’s holding back.

He carries you through the house like a man possessed. Not with lust, but with ache. The bedroom door shuts with a thud behind you, and suddenly the air is full of promises, unspoken but heavy. When your back meets the mattress, he follows—solid and unyielding. Not crushing, but overwhelming in the way only someone you've loved for too long can be.

His weight is warmth, his gaze all hunger and reverence. His hands slide beneath your clothes, not to strip, but to feel. His palm over your heart. His fingers brushing your ribs like counting the years apart. Every touch says: I missed this. I missed you.

“You still gonna pretend you don’t want this?” he murmurs, his voice low, scraping over the tenderest parts of you.

You try to breathe out a laugh, but it catches on something in your throat—emotion, maybe. Want, definitely.

His mouth presses to your skin in a trail that’s less possession and more devotion. His touch follows, mapping you slowly, like he's rediscovering a land he once called home. You feel yourself arch into him, answer him without words, because words were never big enough for this.

He whispers things you’ll remember later—soft confessions and raw need laced with regret for every year wasted. You shiver when his breath touches your skin, when his fingers slide across bare inches you didn't mean to offer but couldn't deny.

And then... silence. Not because the moment ends. But because it begins.

Everything else fades.

There are no sharp lines, only sensation—heat and trembling limbs, quiet gasps, and the way your fingers fist into his shirt like you’ll fall apart without him there to catch you.

You lose time in the haze of it. In the rhythm of closeness, of skin against skin, of hearts beating so loud they drown out thought. You feel unraveled. Revered. Completely undone. Not by action, but by intent.

After, when the quiet stretches between you and your breath finally slows, he doesn’t let go. He stays draped over you, face buried in the crook of your neck like he’s terrified you’ll vanish if he opens his eyes.

“This isn’t over,” he says. His voice is hoarse, a whisper etched with everything he’s never said aloud. “I’m not letting you go. Not this time.”

And for the first time, you let yourself believe it.

Not because of what just happened.

But because of everything that didn’t need to.

You lost track of how long ago the sun set.

The air is heavy with heat and sweat, your skin slick against the sheets. You’re boneless, trembling, lips swollen from kisses too deep, too desperate. Every nerve is raw. Every breath you take shudders.

And Caleb?

Caleb is still going.

He hovers above you, eyes dark with something starved—like he’s been waiting his whole life for this and now that he has you, he doesn’t know how to stop. His hands roam as if relearning the shape of you again and again, like the memory alone will never be enough.

“We’re not done,” he murmurs, brushing hair from your damp forehead. “Not yet.”

You try to protest, but all that leaves you is a soft, aching sound.

He smiles—soft, wicked, reverent.

And leans in to kiss you like it’s the first time all over again.

You're floating.

Barely conscious, held together by the fragile thread of Caleb’s body wrapped around yours, his breath a soft rhythm against your neck.

Your limbs are jelly. Your thighs ache. Your lips are kiss-bitten and bruised, and you're so sensitive that every inch of you shivers when he so much as adjusts beside you.

And yet—even now, even after hours—he won’t stop touching.

Not in the same feral, frantic way as before. No. Now it’s worship.

He kisses the curve of your shoulder, the back of your neck, your spine. His fingertips trace lazy, possessive patterns into your hips. He murmurs things—some unintelligible, some far too intimate.

“You’re perfect,” he whispers against your skin.

“I missed you.”

“I’ll never let you go again.”

You’re too tired to reply. Your voice is hoarse from screaming, from moaning his name over and over, but your heart responds like a bell rung too hard. It throbs.

Eventually, he gets up—only to return with a warm towel, water, a fresh shirt. He tends to you with gentle hands, murmuring apologies each time you flinch from how sensitive you are, pressing soft kisses to your forehead, your temple, your knuckles.

When he finally slides into the shower with you, your body instinctively leans into his. The water is hot, soothing, washing away the sweat, the stickiness, the evidence of your complete and total unraveling.

But not the ache. Not the possessiveness.

He sits on the tiled bench and pulls you into his lap, your legs straddling him, head tucked under his chin. You’re exhausted, wrecked—and he’s still hard beneath you.

You give him a look that’s half horror, half disbelief.

He smirks, eyes dark and gleaming. “I told you, I’m not finished.”

“Caleb—”

“I owe you,” he says, voice dipping low. “For every year I didn’t touch you. For every time you cried over me in silence. For every word in those letters I should’ve read sooner.”

Your breath hitches.

And then his lips descend again—slow, tender, reverent. As if he’s trying to memorize this version of you, water-slicked and trembling in his arms, yours at last.

Back in bed, you collapse into his chest, body boneless, heart hammering.

And just when you think he’s finally done—

He shifts again.

Rolls you beneath him.

“You’re not going to let me sleep?” you rasp.

His fingers trail down your body, between your thighs, making you jolt.

“No,” he breathes against your ear. “You’re not sleeping until I’ve claimed every inch of you. Until you can’t think of anything but me.”

You should tell him to stop.

You don’t.

Because the truth is: every part of you belongs to him already.

And now?

He’s going to make sure you never forget it.

The morning after feels… dangerous.

Not because you’re in any real peril—but because it’s blissfully quiet, and the man who wrecked you within an inch of your life is humming softly in your kitchen, shirtless, wearing nothing but sweatpants slung far too low on his hips, looking like the devil himself in domestic drag.

You barely make it through the doorway, each step a careful negotiation with gravity and sore muscles. Your thighs ache. Your back aches. Everything aches. But the moment Caleb glances over his shoulder and smirks at your limp?

Oh, you want to punch him.

Or kiss him.

Or both.

“You’re up,” he says, voice as smug as the day is long.

“I tried to stay asleep,” you deadpan. “But someone kept me up all night.”

He chuckles—low and wicked—and sets a mug of coffee on the counter for you.

“Consider it payback.”

You squint at him. “For what?”

His eyes drop to your hips, the curve of your throat, the faint marks blooming on your skin like war medals.

“For every letter you wrote and never gave me.”

Your stomach drops.

The mug clatters slightly when you set it down too fast.

You’d almost forgotten. Almost managed to push aside the mortifying knowledge that he read everything.

And yet, here he is—utterly unbothered, possibly turned on, casually flipping pancakes like he didn’t spend the night wrecking you with the very fantasies you'd penned in lonely bedrooms and late-night heartbreak.

“You read them all,” you say, not quite a question.

He looks at you over his shoulder. “Memorized. Studied. Jerk—”

“Do not finish that sentence, Caleb.”

He only grins wider.

You try to be casual, sip your coffee, lean against the wall like you’re not reliving every desperate, depraved word he’s now got locked and loaded in that beautiful head of his. But he’s already watching you too closely. Reading you like one of those letters.

“There's one you missed,” you murmur before you can stop yourself.

He freezes.

Slowly, slowly, he turns. “Where?”

You bite your lip.

“The drawer by my bed. Bottom one.”

He’s gone before you even blink.

Your heart is pounding.

By the time you stumble after him, he’s already sitting on the bed, letter in hand. It’s the last one. The one you wrote when you thought you’d never see him again. It was raw, feral—filled with longing so thick it could drown you.

He reads it silently. His jaw tightens. His Adam’s apple bobs hard.

When he finishes, he just looks at you.

You’re not sure what you expect.

But you do not expect him to throw the letter down and stand up like that.

“I’m going to ruin you again,” he says, voice low. “And this time, it won’t stop until you beg me to believe you’re mine.”

Your knees buckle.

But he’s already crossing the room.

Already crowding you against the wall, hands gripping your thighs, lifting you effortlessly until your back hits wood and your legs wrap around him like muscle memory.

“Caleb—” you gasp, but he silences you with a kiss that’s pure possession.

“No more running. No more letters.” He grinds against you, voice rasping. “You want to scream my name? Do it now. Right here. Where I can answer every word.”

And you do.

God help you, you do.

—

You don't know how you made it through round... whatever number that was. Your body's a puddle, your skin still humming, but Caleb is finally calm. Sated, for now. The hunger in his eyes has simmered down into something deeper—something dangerous in its quiet intensity.

He’s seated now, bare chest gleaming faintly in the afternoon light, legs spread with an unmistakable air of ownership. You’re half-draped across his torso, wearing one of his shirts that swallows you whole. He holds you with one arm looped securely around your waist, the other hand delicately unfolding that last letter. The most intimate one. The one you never meant anyone—especially him—to see.

You try not to squirm as he reads it again, slowly, as if committing every line to memory.

You can feel his eyes on the page—but his attention is on you.

“You wrote this two years ago,” he says softly, thumb brushing idle circles against your inner thigh. “I was at the edge of the solar belt. Couldn’t sleep that night. I felt… off. Like I was missing something.”

You glance down, ashamed. “Don’t romanticize it.”

“I’m not,” he replies simply. “I’m aligning timelines.”

Your heart stutters. His hand stills.

“Do you want me to stop reading?” he asks, genuine this time.

You consider it. Swallow. Then shake your head.

He nods, kisses your temple.

Another beat of silence. The room smells of skin and paper and sunlight.

Then, quietly, with a low chuckle, he murmurs:

“I should have known,” he mutters, “you liked being chased. You always did, even as a kid. Remember all those games of tag?”

You remember.

And you remember how he’d always let you win—just enough—before pulling you back into his arms with that sly smile of his, the one that made your heart race and your stomach flip.

You squirm, face heating. “That’s different.”

“It was always you,” he says softly. “Even when I didn’t know what I was looking for. I’d follow you through fields, parks, school halls. You’d run, I’d chase. Every time.”

His voice dips, husky but no longer carnal. “You were never hiding from me. You were waiting for me to catch up.”

Your throat tightens.

“And I did.” He sets the letter aside. “Finally.”

The intensity softens into something almost unbearably tender. His fingers curl beneath your chin and tilt your face up.

“No more letters,” he murmurs. “If there’s something you want… tell me. If you need something… I’ll listen. If you feel too much—good. So do I.”

You try to look away, but he won’t let you.

“You’ve already stripped yourself bare,” he whispers, brushing your hair back. “Now let me carry the weight.”

And just like that, your defenses crumble—slowly, quietly, like a dam leaking at the seams.

You rest your forehead against his. His lips ghost over yours. There’s no urgency. No fire.

Just heat. Banked and waiting.

And when he pulls you closer, tucks you against his chest, and lets out a slow breath—you swear you can feel his heartbeat echo your own.

The world outside is quiet, but inside your home, chaos reigns.

“Hey! Give that back!” you shout, laughing breathlessly as you chase after Caleb, who’s casually sauntering around your kitchen—your kitchen—holding your favorite coffee mug high above his head like a trophy.

Bastard. 

“This?” Caleb grins, the morning light making his messy hair look unfairly golden, like he just strolled out of a dream. “You mean our mug now. Community property.”

“That’s not how this works!” You make a wild grab for it, but he just shifts it higher, smirking like he’s enjoying this a little too much.

Maybe it’s the fact that he’s only in a loose pair of joggers, the drawstring barely tied, his chest bare and warm and still a little damp from his earlier shower. Maybe it’s the way he looks at you—like you’re the only thing in the world worth teasing, worth chasing. Whatever it is, your heart flutters violently in your chest.

“Caleb, I swear—” you lunge for him again.

He catches you effortlessly, laughing as he spins you around until your back is pressed against his chest, trapping you in his arms. The mug dangles in front of you tauntingly. His scent envelops you—fresh soap, coffee, and something that’s just him.

“Say please,” he whispers into your ear, his breath warm, sending a shiver racing down your spine.

You wriggle in his arms, only managing to grind yourself back against his hips in the most scandalous way. Caleb’s arms tighten, his low groan rumbling against your back.

You freeze, heat flooding your cheeks. Damn him.

Caleb chuckles, feeling the way you stiffen. “Careful, sweetheart. You’re playing with fire this early in the morning.”

“You started it,” you mutter, glaring over your shoulder.

He grins lazily, shameless. “I’ll finish it, too.”

Before you can retort, he finally, finally relinquishes the mug, setting it gently on the counter. You think you’re safe—until he sweeps you off your feet in one effortless move, carrying you bridal style toward the couch.

“Caleb! Put me down!” you yelp, pounding your fists against his chest, but he’s unbothered, humming a tune under his breath like this is the most normal thing in the world.

“Shhh. We’re doing Sunday properly,” he says, plopping down onto the couch and settling you firmly on his lap, caging you in with his arms. “Coffee. Couch. Cuddles. Mandatory.”

You open your mouth to protest, but his hand cups the back of your head, gently guiding you to rest against his shoulder. His touch is slow, deliberate, almost reverent.

You can feel the tension humming between you—thick, electric—but somehow, it doesn’t feel urgent. It feels… safe. Warm. Like you could fall asleep right here and Caleb would keep the whole world away from you.

You sigh, feeling your body relax against him despite yourself.

“This isn’t fair,” you grumble.

“What’s not fair?” he asks, voice low and teasing as he presses a kiss to the top of your head.

“You being so… so…” You gesture vaguely, words failing you. How do you describe this? Caleb being infuriating and sweet and annoyingly perfect, all wrapped up in one stupidly handsome package?

“So what?” he presses, feigning innocence. His hand strokes lazily up and down your spine, his touch feather-light.

You groan into his chest. “Everything.”

He laughs—really laughs—and the sound rumbles deep in his chest, vibrating against you. You can’t help the small smile that creeps across your face. You hate how easy it is to be soft with him. How easy it is to fall harder when you promised yourself you’d be careful.

“You’re stuck with me now, sweetheart,” Caleb says, dropping his forehead against yours, his eyes shining with something raw and unspoken. “Might as well get used to it.”

Your heart thuds painfully against your ribs, and for once, you don’t have a snarky reply. Just this—this impossible, chaotic, beautiful morning. His arms around you. His laugh in your ears. His heartbeat steady beneath your hand.

Maybe you are stuck with him.

Maybe you want to be.

And when Caleb presses a soft, lingering kiss to your lips—tender, warm, unbearably sweet—you know you’re completely, hopelessly, irreversibly his.

And judging by the way he smiles against your mouth, he's known it all along.

Your lunch is burning.

You know it is—because you can smell the faint scent of charred vegetables—and yet, you can’t do anything about it.

Because Caleb.

Because Caleb, who has one arm lazily wrapped around your waist, caging you against the counter, a spatula abandoned nearby. Because Caleb, who keeps murmuring absolutely mortifying things against your ear in that deep, smug voice of his, his lips brushing your skin with every word.

Because Caleb, who somehow—somehow—has memorized every single humiliating word you ever wrote to him.

You try not to die of embarrassment right there.

“You know,” Caleb drawls, his voice a slow purr against your ear, “you were really dramatic back in middle school. I believe it went something like—” he clears his throat exaggeratedly, clearly having way too much fun, “‘Dear Caleb, I hate you so much I hope you trip and fall into a mud puddle in front of the entire school. Maybe then you’ll stop being so full of yourself.’”

You groan, shoving your sleeves over your face, mortified. “Stopppp.” You’re basically trying to melt into the counter at this point.

But Caleb’s laughing, warm and delighted, peeling your sleeves down to expose your burning face. He lives for this now, clearly. Every time you squirm, he looks like he’s won the lottery.

“And then—then,” he continues gleefully, ignoring your protests, “in high school, when I got a little popular… You wrote, ‘Congratulations, Prince Charming. Maybe one day you’ll notice the loyal commoner you left in the dust. But no worries. I’m totally fine. Totally. Absolutely fine. Not like I ever cared anyway.’”

He recites it with dramatic flair, clutching his chest like a wounded lover. You are dying inside.

“Oh my God, Caleb,” you hiss, trying to hide your face again. “Shut up! I was, like, fifteen! I didn’t know anything about anything!”

He laughs again, low and fond, his chest vibrating against your back. “You knew enough to break my heart, sweetheart,” he murmurs, and you feel the serious undercurrent beneath all the teasing—the raw affection.

You twist in his grip, attempting to shove him away, but he just effortlessly manhandles you into his lap instead. One strong arm loops around your waist, the other sneaks into your hair, stroking it slowly, tangling his fingers through the strands.

You pout at him, cheeks still on fire. “You’re so annoying.”

His grin softens into something devastatingly tender. His eyes burn bright and molten as he stares at you, like you’re the only thing in the entire world.

“Not done yet,” he murmurs.

Your stomach drops.

You already know what's coming. The worst part.

Caleb leans down, nuzzles against your temple, and in a low, sinful voice, whispers, “And then there were the ones where you couldn’t stop thinking about me at night.”

You jerk, mortified, but he tightens his hold on you, trapping you snug against him. His lips graze your ear.

“You had so many thoughts about me,” he says, voice dropping impossibly lower. “About what you wanted me to do to you. About what you wanted to do to me.” He chuckles darkly when you squeak and try to wriggle away.

“I can quote those too, if you want,” he teases mercilessly. “Maybe I should start with the one where you described me tying you up with my DAA-issued tactical belt—”

“CALEB!!” you shriek, smacking his chest as he throws his head back laughing.

You bury your face in his shoulder, absolutely vibrating with secondhand embarrassment, whimpering, “I’m going to die. I’m actually going to die.”

“No, you’re not,” he says, pressing kisses to your hairline, your forehead, your temple, over and over again until your trembling subsides into quiet giggles. His arms are warm and unrelenting around you.

You risk peeking up at him—and freeze.

He’s staring down at you with a look so filled with adoration it physically steals the air from your lungs. His hand cups your jaw so gently it makes your heart ache.

“You’re my life,” Caleb says, voice rough with feeling. “You’ve always been my life. You just didn’t know it yet.”

You blink up at him, stunned, your heart threatening to burst out of your chest.

Slowly, shyly, you rest your forehead against his, your hands sliding up to his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart beneath your palms.

Caleb exhales shakily, as if the moment is too big even for him.

The smell of burnt food lingers, the sun pours golden light across the kitchen, and you sit there, tangled up in him, the most chaotic, beautiful, utterly yours thing you’ve ever had.

“Guess I’m stuck with you, huh?” you whisper, a teasing glint in your eye.

Caleb’s smile turns crooked, boyish.

“Forever, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

And then he kisses you, slow and deep and soft, like a promise he’s waited a lifetime to keep.

—

Later that night, you're curled up on the couch together, tangled in a heap of limbs and fluffy throw blankets, a low movie playing in the background.

You’re half-dozing, feeling deliciously warm and safe against Caleb’s chest, his heartbeat lulling you into a haze. His hand strokes lazily through your hair, fingertips dragging slow, lazy patterns against your scalp.

You’re just about to slip under completely when—

"Sweetheart?" Caleb’s voice, deceptively casual.

You hum in response, not even bothering to open your eyes.

"What's this? Another letter?"

You tense immediately.

No.

No no no.

Your eyes snap open in horror just in time to see Caleb, that absolute devil, pulling out one of the more battered, worn pieces of paper from somewhere.

You gasp, trying to grab for it, but he holds it way above your head, smirking like the cat who caught the canary.

"Caleb!" you shriek, flailing. "Put it away! You can't—!"

He just laughs and pins you down easily with one hand on your waist, straddling your thighs to trap you in place.

“I think the people deserve to hear this one,” he teases, that wicked glint in his eye. “Specifically, me.”

He clears his throat dramatically while you writhe helplessly beneath him.

"‘It’s not fair,’" Caleb reads aloud, smirking as he drags his gaze down your squirming body. "‘It’s not fair how he fills out his uniform. How his gloves tighten around his fingers. How I can’t stop thinking about what those hands would feel like on my skin. How I dream about him tying my wrists, whispering filthy promises against my neck—’"

"CALEB!!" you wail, smacking your hands against his chest in a feeble attempt to stop him. Your face is boiling hot.

But Caleb, the menace, the absolute menace, just grins wider, loving every second of your humiliation.

"And it goes on," he says gleefully, ignoring your mortified whimper. "‘How I'd let him do anything to me. How I'd beg him to lose control. How much I crave him, every breath, every heartbeat, like I'm dying of thirst in a desert and he's the only water I'll ever want.’"

Your soul tries to physically leave your body.

You slap your hands over your face, wishing for death.

"Please," you moan into your palms, "Caleb, please stop—"

But he just chuckles darkly, leaning down until his nose brushes yours, his voice dropping to a sinful murmur.

“You really should have mailed this one, sweetheart,” he says, eyes smoldering. "Would’ve saved us a lot of time."

You whimper, still hiding your face. He peels your hands away from your burning cheeks gently but firmly, making you meet his gaze.

Caleb’s smile turns unbearably tender as he cradles your flushed face between his palms, thumbs brushing over your cheekbones.

"I memorized every word," he says softly. "Every single one. They're engraved into me now. Just like you."

Your heart stutters painfully in your chest.

You can't look away from him—those devastating sunset eyes drinking you in like you hung the stars.

He dips his head lower, kissing the corner of your mouth, slow and reverent.

“You’re mine,” Caleb murmurs, voice rough with possessiveness and love. “You always were.”

You melt completely, boneless in his hold, helpless against him—as you’ve always been.

"Caleb..." you whisper, voice trembling.

He smiles that slow, infuriating, dangerous smile—and promptly starts tickling you, laughing when you shriek and try to wriggle free, your earlier mortification forgotten in a burst of chaotic laughter and flailing limbs.

You scream his name, half furious, half in love.

Caleb just laughs like it’s the happiest sound in the world.

It’s late.

Not the deep velvet of midnight, but that quiet hour when the world seems suspended in hush. The city hums softly beyond the windows, and the room is awash in the muted amber of a bedside lamp. You're tangled together beneath the sheets—not in passion this time, but in something far more dangerous.

Vulnerability.

Caleb lies on his side, propped up on one elbow, watching you with that look again—the one that's too tender, too knowing. His fingers trail lazily across your arm, like he can’t stop touching you even now. Like he’s making sure you’re still here.

“I should’ve reached out sooner,” he says.

You stay quiet. Not because you're angry. Because you're afraid of what might come next.

“I didn’t date her,” he adds, so casually it nearly slips by.

You blink.

“What?”

“She wasn’t mine,” he says. “Never was. I thought…” He hesitates. “I thought she might be the only person who could understand what I was becoming. The training. The pressure. But it was never romantic. Not even close.”

Your throat feels tight. You shift, pulling the blanket up like armor.

“Then why didn’t you call? Or message? Or—anything, Caleb? You just vanished.”

He exhales, slow and jagged.

“I was afraid,” he admits.

You glance up, surprised.

He stares at the ceiling, jaw clenched. “Not of the missions. Not of the fleet. I was afraid that if I talked to you, really talked to you, I’d drop everything just to be near you. I was already teetering. One video call and I would’ve been done for.”

Your heart twists painfully.

“You idiot,” you whisper. “I would’ve taken you. In any form.”

“I didn’t want you to take less of me.” He looks at you then, eyes bare, voice rough. “I wanted to be worthy of what you wrote in those letters. Of the way you looked at me when we were kids.”

You want to scream. Or cry. Or maybe just bury your face in his chest until the years melt away.

“You were worthy, Caleb. You just… didn’t believe it.”

A silence settles. Not heavy. Just real.

He pulls you closer. One hand cradling your head to his chest, the other tangled in your fingers beneath the sheets. You listen to his heartbeat again.

Stronger now.

Steady.

“For the record,” he murmurs, “when I read the one about the lake—when we were sixteen—I nearly lost it. I remember that night. I didn’t know what to do with the way I felt back then.”

You squeeze his hand. “You pushed me into the water.”

“You screamed my name so loud, half the neighborhood heard.”

You smile despite yourself.

Then softer, quieter:

“I used to dream about that moment, you know? If you ever found the letters. If you ever came back.”

“And now that I have?”

Your smile fades. You tilt your head up and find him waiting. Bare. Present.

“I don’t want dreams anymore,” you whisper.

“Good,” Caleb says, leaning down until his lips barely brush yours. “Because I’m not leaving this time. And I don’t need letters. I have you.”

And when he kisses you, it’s not a claim.

It’s a promise.

The shuttle touches down with a soft hiss, and before the hatch even fully opens, you're hit with the scent of your hometown—familiar, grounding, sweetened by nostalgia. The air is different here. Softer. Like time slows down just enough to let you breathe.

Caleb steps out behind you, his duffel slung lazily over one shoulder. His eyes sweep over the old landing port, the cracked pavement, the overgrown grass curling at the edges of fences long forgotten. He doesn't say anything for a moment.

Then, quietly: “It’s smaller than I remember.”

You huff a laugh. “Because we’re bigger now.”

He looks at you—really looks. “You are.”

There’s a weight to those words you don’t touch yet. Not here. Not now.

The town unfolds before you like a photograph—faded but warm. You walk the familiar streets side by side, shoulders brushing, passing your old school, the corner store where you used to pool pocket change for sweets, the park where you’d play tag until dusk.

“I remember this tree,” Caleb murmurs, stopping beneath the one with the warped trunk. “You used to climb it like a gremlin.”

“You fell out of it once,” you remind him. “Cried for hours.”

He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. “And you didn’t leave my side.”

A beat of silence.

“You always stayed,” he says.

You glance at him, the late afternoon sun haloing his profile. “You just didn’t always notice.”

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t argue. Instead, his hand brushes yours. Then lingers. Then takes it fully.

You don’t let go.

The path takes you past your childhood home. Your heart kicks up. The windows are still the same. The porch swing still crooked. You half expect to hear your mother calling you in for dinner. Caleb pauses beside you.

“I remember sneaking out through your window,” he says with a crooked grin. “You made me carry that squeaky chair so we wouldn’t get caught.”

“You always stepped on the wrong floorboard anyway,” you mutter. “We always got caught.”

“Worth it,” he murmurs. “Every single time.”

You don’t speak again until you're standing at the edge of the lake—the one you wrote about. The one where you screamed his name across the water. It looks just like it did then.

The sun dips low, painting the surface gold.

You watch the light scatter across the waves, lost in thought.

“I didn’t know you loved me then,” he says, voice quiet. “But I felt it. In every laugh. Every fight. Every stupid dare. I felt it. I just didn’t have the words.”

Your throat tightens.

“I didn’t either,” you say. “So I wrote them instead.”

He turns to you slowly. “No more letters,” he whispers.

Then, gently, reverently, Caleb cups your face.

You close your eyes.

The kiss is soft this time. Not a promise or a possession. Just a memory, coming full circle.

Just two people who finally stopped running.

NOTES: guys I'm so embarrassed, I can't believe I posted the unedited version!!! I didn't like how instead of talking through their issues these two went to bang instead, AHHH this is so embarrassing!!!

[dark-night-hero]

「What Came After Bloom」 Caleb

       ↳ Years after loss and war, Caleb returns to the village where love once bloomed, only to find the son he never knew and the grave of the woman he never stopped loving. In a quiet house filled with memories and unopened letters, he reads your final words and finds peace at last.

The cottage had gone quiet.

The kind of quiet that settles only when a child is asleep and the weight of grief has nowhere else to go but your lungs.

Caleb stood beside the bed, watching the soft rise and fall of his son's chest beneath the blanket. He looked so small in sleep. Smaller than he ever did awake. It struck Caleb then how little time ten years really was. A blink. A breath. And yet the boy already had your softness in the corners of his mouth, your stubbornness in the set of his chin, and something unspoken. Something his in the eyes that looked too much like his own.

He swallowed the knot in his throat and leaned down, pressing a kiss to Ash forehead. The boy stirred faintly, fingers curling into the worn fabric of his blanket and Caleb's hand lingered on the edge of it.

The box, that damn box sat unopened on the nightstand. Still shut tight. Still full of all the years he'd missed. Of all the things you must have tried to say in ink because you knew he might never come. And he couldn't bring himself to open it yet. Not tonight.

Tonight, he had somewhere else to go. So he stepped out into the cold. The wind rolled low through the trees, pulling at his cloak and stirring the lantern light like a memory that didn't want to be touched. But he walked, feet tracing a path he hadn't seen in years. And yet, his body remembered.

The tree was still there. Of course it was. Thick, knotted bark. Wide roots that twisted into the earth like the bones of something ancient and holy. The place where he'd kissed you the first time. The place where you made a promise he couldn't keep. And beneath it now, a stone.

He saw it from a distance and still... Still, his heart tried to lie.

Tried to pretend it was for someone else. That maybe it wasn't real. That maybe it was just a marker. Maybe this was just a nightmare. Maybe if he turned around right now and walked back to the cottage and he'll find you sitting by the fire. Maybe you'd look up at him with tired eyes and that dry smile and say 'Took you long enough, love.'

But the name was carved there. Your name. And once he saw it. Like really saw it. His legs gave out.

Caleb collapsed to the ground like the grief had cut his knees out from under him. Hands clawing at the dirt as he half fell, half crawled the last few steps. He reached out, fingertips trembling as they grazed the edge of the stone like maybe it would still be warm. Like maybe it could hold some trace of you if he just touched it gently enough.

It didn't. It was cold. Final. And he broke.

He didn't cry like a soldier. Not like a Duke. Not like the Commander of Crown's Guard forces. He cried like a man who had waited too long. Like someone who thought he still had time. Like someone who believed happy endings could just be postponed until the war was over.

His hands fisted in the grass. His breath hitched until it turned into sobs that sounded like someone dragging a blade across something already bleeding.

"I thought..." He choked, voice shattering mid word. "I thought it would be alright. That you'd be here." That you'd be waiting. Just like before. He pressed his forehead to the stone, chest heaving. "I was going to come back. I did. I fought, I ended the damn war-"

But the war had already taken you. Quietly. Without a blade. While he'd been spilling blood across foreign soil, you'd been fading. Alone.

"I should've come sooner" His voice broke again. "I should've never left." He cried. "I shouldn't have made that damn arrangement..." He didn't know how long he knelt there. He didn't know how long he cried there.

The moon had risen fully by the time the sobs quieted into a hollow silence, tears drying on his cheeks as he stared at the ground. The grave. The place where the only person he ever truly loved now slept, beyond reach.

The village lights were dim in the distance. And even though no one came near, he knew they heard him. He knew the way grief sounded when it wasn't polite anymore. When it tore out of you, loud, raw and humiliating. When it made you into something that no longer resembled a man. And they heard it.

But they shut their windows. Turned their faces away. Because no one wants to witness the man who once commanded armies. Who was said to be carved from stone, beg the dead for forgiveness.

The wind picked up, brushing through the leaves above like a lullaby too late. He stayed. Until the sky began to pale. Until the world reminded him it still turned. Even if his had stopped.

And when he finally rose, unsteady and broken. The only thing he took with him was a single dried bloom that had sprouted at the base of the stone. He held it in shaking fingers, cradled it like it was your heartbeat. And walked home to the son you left behind.

-

The scent of eggs and toasted bread clung to the quiet.

A pan sizzled lowly on the stovetop, and the kettle gave a faint hiss as it cooled beside him. Caleb stood at the stove, sleeves rolled past his forearms, hands steady even though he had barely slept. He moved with practiced familiarity, not from habit but memory.

The memory of you, in this same kitchen, moving between the cabinets barefoot and humming some half forgotten song. He tried not to look at the empty chair by the hearth. The one that still leaned a little to the left.

Instead, he focused on the task at hand. Cooking. Something simple, something warm. Something that might look like the life he was supposed to have if only for a few hours.

The soft patter of feet across the wooden floor pulled him gently from his thoughts. Ash stood at the threshold of the kitchen, his dark brown hair tousled from sleep, cheeks still creased with the shape of his pillow. There was no greeting. No yawn. No bright eyed curiosity. Just the still, unsettling stare of a child who had seen too much and said too little.

Caleb straightened slightly, brushing a hand down his apron like it mattered. "Morning." He offered, voice low, careful. "You hungry?" The boy said nothing, only moved slowly to the table and climbed into one of the chairs.

Caleb placed a plate in front of him, then one for himself. Eggs, lightly salted. Toast browned just a little too much. A small dish of berries. The ones Ash had picked with his friends in the grove just last week. Caleb had learned that from the headwoman. She doesn't want to tell him anything at first. But grief softened even the hardest lines.

He sat across from his son, watching as the boy stared at the food. "You don't have to eat it." Caleb murmured, trying not to sound nervous. "But I made it the way your mother used to." Ash blinked, then slowly reached for his fork. Still, no words. Just silence. Heavy and pulsing like a second heartbeat between them.

Caleb tried to eat. He managed two bites before the food began to taste like ash. He set the fork down carefully, fingers twitching in his lap. Then he cleared his throat, bracing himself against the chair's edge.

"I was thinking." He said, voice as even as he could make it. "That maybe… you might want to come with me. Back to the duchy." The fork paused halfway to Ash's mouth.

He looked up. Slow, unreadable and stared straight at Caleb with his eyes. "What if I say no?" Caleb met his gaze, trying not to flinch. "Then… I won't force you." He said. "But I wanted you to know the door's open." He added. "I'll stay here with-" Ash leaned back, chewing slowly. Then, quietly. "I'll go."

A rush of something. Relief? Hope? bloomed and then withered just as quickly in Caleb's chest. "But I have a condition." Caleb stilled. "Of course." "I won't call the princess my mother." Ash said flatly. "And I won't treat her like one. My mother is dead. She'll always be my mother."

The words hit like a blade. Caleb swallowed around the sudden tightness in his throat. "You won't have to." He said softly. "She's not- she never was. We were never married. It was a political arrangement. Nothing more." Ash didn't move. Didn't nod. His gaze was cool, distant.

"That's not what everyone else said." "I know." Caleb's voice dropped. "But the truth is... The only person I ever wanted to marry was your mother." There it was again, the flicker of disbelief in Ash's face. Not overt. Just a tightening of the jaw. A downward twitch in his brows.

You used to do that too, when you didn't believe something but were too tired to argue.

"I know it doesn't mean much now." Caleb continued, quieter. "But it's the truth. I never stopped loving her."

Ash didn't reply. He went back to his plate, taking a few more bites in silence. The weight of it. Of not being believed has settled in Caleb's chest like sand. He pushed back from the table after a while. Clearing some of the plates with a mumbled excuse. "I'll just- clean up."

But instead of heading to the kitchen, he headed to the small bathroom at the end of the hall. He shut the door behind him quietly, like if he made a sound, it would crack the fragile truce between them. And then he broke.

Silently, violently, with his back pressed against the door and his hand clenched over his mouth to stifle the sobs. His whole body shook with it.

Not just for the boy outside the door or the wife he never got to call that or the years lost to silence and war. But for the awful question that haunted him now.

Did you believe it? Did you spend your final days thinking he had chosen honor over you? Duty over love? Did you die thinking he let you go willingly?

His knees buckled and he sank to the floor, trembling. "I came back." He whispered, voice raw. "I swear I did. I just... I didn't know how much time I'd lost." He pressed his hand over his mouth again, trying to breathe.

In the other room, his son cleared the table quietly. And Caleb stayed where he was. Not just because he couldn't face him yet. But because he didn't know if he could survive the answer written in Ash's eyes.

-

Caleb didn't ask to join him. He just followed.

Ash didn't say much, didn’t offer directions. But he didn't tell him to go away either and that, in itself, felt like something. So Caleb walked three steps behind his son through the quiet village letting the boy's smaller boots set the rhythm of their day.

They stopped by the well first. Ash helped the older woman who always came too early and left too late, steadying her bucket without being asked. Caleb recognized her vaguely from years ago. She gave him a long, pointed stare but said nothing. The water sloshed once and Ash kept walking.

Next, they passed the small chapel at the edge of the hill. The priest sweeping the steps looked up sharply, paused mid motion and Caleb nodded politely.

Then came the bakery. A boy around Ash's age ran out and handed him a small bag. Ash muttered something too low to hear. Pressed a few coins into his friend's hand and kept walking, tearing off a piece of bread to share and only handing half to Caleb without a word. He accepted it with a quiet. "Thank you." And tried not to let the silence feel like punishment.

They continued down the lane. Caleb couldn't help but feel the stares. Villagers paused in their chores to glance over their shoulders. Conversations softened when he passed. He heard his name whispered once. Not Duke Xia, not the Commander. Just Caleb. The familiarity stung more than the suspicion.

He couldn't blame them. They had known you in ways he hadn't in seasons he had missed. They had watched you walk with swollen ankles and unspoken worry, raise a child with gentle hands and a quiet laugh, all while waiting. While hoping. And he hadn't come.

So now, they looked at him not with fear, or awe, but with something colder. You're too late. Ash didn't seem to notice. Or if he did, he didn't react.

He led Caleb to the riverside where the wildflowers grew. Sat cross legged beneath the tree. Caleb sat beside him, not too close. Just enough to be near. They didn't speak for a while. Just sat in the breeze and watched the water move.

It was peaceful, almost. Or it could have been, if not for the tension lingering in Caleb's chest. The weight of unsaid things, the dread that Ash might never truly forgive him and the deeper, quieter fear that maybe he shouldn't.

But Ash spoke first. "When are we leaving?" Caleb blinked. "Soon." He said. "I sent word to my army days ago. They should be near. Once they arrive and rest, we'll head out." Ash only nodded.

The sun was dipping low when the sound of hooves reached them. The unmistakable beat of trained horses, fast but disciplined. Caleb stood, instinct sharp, eyes scanning the road as familiar banners crested over the hill.

The army had arrived. And at their head rode a man Caleb trusted more than most, his first lieutenant, Sir Ryns, whose armor caught the dying light in silver glints. His expression shifted when he saw Caleb waiting by the road.

"My Lord." Ryns dismounted quickly, bowing once before speaking in a low voice. "We've arrived as ordered. The men are camped near the eastern ridge. We came straight when we received your last raven-" Then his gaze drifted past Caleb.

To the boy standing a little behind him, quiet and watchful. Ryns frowned. His eyes narrowed faintly, curious. "My Lord." He asked cautiously. "Is that…?" Caleb turned slightly. "Yes." He said without hesitation. "This is my son. Ash Xia."

There was a beat of silence. Many of the soldiers exchanged glances. Caleb saw confusion flicker in Ryns' eyes. Ash stood still, his hands in his coat pockets, his face blank but guarded. He looked like he expected the questions, maybe even the judgment.

One of the younger knights finally spoke, hesitant. "My Lord… Forgive me, but... We were told you came to this village to... See her. Is she-?" He didn't finish. The assumption hung in the air. You're alive, aren't you? Caleb's jaw clenched.

Ash looked up at the man and answered before his father could speak. "She's dead."

Silence fell. It wasn't a dramatic thing. There was no gasp, no collective outcry. Just a sharp shift like the wind had suddenly turned too cold. The soldiers' expressions changed. One by one, Caleb saw their eyes fall to him registering the tightness in his shoulders, the hollow in his face.

Only then did they truly see him. Not the Duke. Not the Commander. Just the man who had lost something he'd come too late to claim.

Caleb gave no explanation. There was nothing left to explain. He simply turned to Ryns. "We leave at dawn. Have a carriage prepared, one comfortable for a child. And make sure the escort is discreet. I don't want attention drawn on the road back." Ryns nodded, his voice quieter now. "Yes, my Lord."

The soldiers began to disperse, respectful in their silence. No one dared ask more. Caleb looked down at Ash, who still hadn't moved. For a brief second, their eyes met. Neither of them said a word.

But Caleb saw it. The question buried behind the boy's quiet stare. Why now. And though he couldn't answer it yet, he would spend every day trying to.

-

The carriage rocked gently over the dirt road. Its wheels cutting through the morning hush like a lullaby too tired to sing.

Outside, the house of Xia's banner trailed behind the lead riders. Catching what little breeze the early day allowed. The army rode in disciplined silence. A formation tight enough to shield but respectful enough to keep their distance. No one said anything. No one dared to intrude.

Inside the carriage, Caleb sat across from his son. He hadn't wanted to impose. Had considered assigning Ash a separate space. A smaller, lighter carriage fitted for comfort. But the thought of being even a stone's throw away from his boy made something inside him twist too tightly. So he stayed. And hoped it didn't make things worse.

Ash didn't complain. He didn't talk much either. He sat with his knees tucked close, arms loosely folded, gaze fixed on the passing trees. The morning sun painted his profile in soft gold. His silence wasn't hostile, not exactly. Just… Practiced. Like he'd learned to speak only when the world gave him a reason to.

Caleb watched him in the quiet. Noticed how his shoulders didn't quite relax. How his fingers picked absently at a loose thread in his sleeve. A nervous habit. One Caleb had once had himself.

Halfway through the ride, Ash finally spoke. "What are you going to do when we get there?" Caleb blinked. "To the duchy?" Ash gave a small nod. "Well." Caleb started slowly, choosing his words with care. "The first thing I'm going to do... Is declare you as my son."

Ash's brows lifted a fraction. Not in shock. More like he had expected it eventually, but hadn't thought Caleb would say it so plainly. "And then?" The boy asked, voice quiet. "Then." Caleb exhaled softly. "You'll live your life. However you want to. You'll have a room, a library, land if you want it. But mostly, I just want you to be a child. To grow up safe."

Ash tilted his head. "Don't I need lessons? Or etiquette stuff? Nobility things?" Caleb shook his head gently. "You'll have tutors, yes. But only the basics. No one is going to shove the whole court on your shoulders. I won't let them." He paused. "You've carried enough already."

Ash looked down at his lap. His fingers stilled. "… So I can just live?" "Yes." Caleb said firmly. "That's all I want for you." That's what you'll want for him too.

There was another stretch of silence, broken only by the soft clatter of the carriage wheels. Then Caleb smiled faintly and murmured. "Ash…" But the boy looked up. "Mavius." He corrected, tone neutral. "My name is Mavius Caelum Asher."

Caleb froze. The air left his lungs. He hadn't heard that such familiarity in years. Not since- He blinked once, twice, and looked at the boy more closely. Mavius. Caelum. Asher. "… You named him after her." Caleb whispered.

Ash didn't meet his eyes, just turned to look out the window again. "Yeah." He said, voice distant. "Mama said she named me after someone important. Someone you lost."

Caleb felt his throat tighten. He remembered now. MC, his little sister. Bright eyed, fever sick, too young to go. The necklace he had given you once had belonged to her. You had kept it, even then. Even when things were falling apart. You remembered. Of course you did.

He pressed a hand over his mouth. Told himself no. Not here. Not in front of the boy. But the tears came anyway. Slow and silent. He turned his face to the side, away from Ash, eyes shut tight against the sting.

He had told himself he had no tears left to shed. That he'd mourned enough for a lifetime. But then his son, your son, said that name. The name that came after hers. The grief returned like it had been waiting all along, patient and sharp.

Across from him, Ash said nothing. He didn't reach out. Didn't offer comfort.

He just stared out the window, his profile still and unreadable, as the Duke, the Commander of the Army, the man called a legend in five kingdoms quietly broke beside him.

Outside, the army rode in perfect formation. Inside, a father wept for the love he had lost... And the family he was only now learning how to hold.

-

They stopped in a modest trading town just near the duchy's border. One of the outer territories under Caleb's name, tucked between sloping hills and terraced farmlands. It was quiet but prosperous, the kind of place where news came late but pride came early.

Caleb thought it best to ease the transition here. To soften the sharp edges of what was coming. So he took Ash shopping.

It wasn't extravagant, not in Caleb's eyes. Just enough to ensure Ash had clothing suitable for court, for winter, for meals that didn't happen on wooden benches. But Ash moved through the shops with the same quiet expression he wore on the road. Unbothered, unexcited, composed in a way no child should’ve had to learn so early.

He let the tailor measure him. Nodded when shown fabrics. Said nothing when asked preferences. Caleb finally broke the silence. "I'm sorry." He said, standing beside Ash as a shopkeeper carefully adjusted a collar near the boy's shoulder. "About the suddenness. The change. I know it's a lot."

Ash didn't look at him, but his voice came out flat. "I'm used to change." Caleb's mouth went dry. He tried again. "I used to come here with your mother." He said quietly. "Before the war. Before… before the agreement. It was one of the few places we could go without anyone recognizing me." Ash blinked. Finally turned his head a little, just enough for Caleb to see him.

"She liked the old bookshop two streets down." Caleb added. "Used to complain that they never dusted the top shelves, then spend hours there anyway. I once had to drag her out with her hands and a whole bag of books she swore she'd return." He gave a soft, nostalgic chuckle. "She didn't."

Ash looked at him now, fully, and though his expression remained guarded, he asked. "Did she laugh a lot?" Caleb's breath caught. "She did." He said. "Gods, she did." And so he kept talking.

As they moved through the square and stopped by the cobbler and then a modest jeweler, Caleb told him stories. About the time you nearly got kicked out of a tavern for arguing with a chess hustler. About how you once braided a red ribbon into his hair and threatened to tell the barracks it was tradition if he took it out. About the stolen apples from a merchant's cart, the nights spent beneath a shared blanket, counting stars and whispering names for constellations that never existed.

Ash didn't speak much. But he listened. And for once, Caleb didn't mind the silence. Not when it felt like this, like remembering.

By the time the carriage rolled toward the duchy gates, the sun was beginning to dip behind the tall white towers that stood in the distance. The roads widened. The banners came into view.

And the people. They were waiting. The crowds lined the outer walls, nobles and commoners alike. Some carried flowers, others waved embroidered flags. There were children on shoulders, elders holding lanterns, merchants standing still in the middle of their trade stalls just to catch a glimpse.

Because the hero had returned. Their Duke, their Commander. The man who had come victorious at the war. The man who gain everything, power, status, honour. But he was also the same man who lost everything he had.

Caleb looked straight ahead but he could feel Ash watching him. He didn't wear armor today, but the weight of expectation wrapped tighter than steel ever could. He wondered, faintly, how long it would take before Ash felt it too.

The carriage slowed. Trumpets began to sound. Ash leaned toward the window, just slightly. "… They're here for you." He said, voice unreadable. Caleb looked at him. "No." He replied softly. "They're here for us." Ash didn't answer. But he didn't look away either.

And as the gates opened wide, letting them pass beneath stone arches and golden banners, Caleb let his hand rest. Briefly, gently on his son's shoulder. It wasn't much. But it was a start.

-

The duchy castle was colder than Ash expected.

Grand, yes. Its marble floors and soaring ceilings soaked in light, with chandeliers like frozen stars and banners heavy with heraldry. Every inch of it whispered of history, of victories won by men with unbending spines and names carved into stone. But still, it felt cold.

Caleb, however, moved through it like a man who had shed his armor but not his discipline. He walked with his hand resting lightly on Ash's shoulder, guiding him gently toward the entrance hall before leaving him with Sir Ryns, his most trusted aide.

"I'll be away for a few hours." Caleb murmured to his son. "There's something I need to settle. You'll be safe with him."

Ash didn't argue. He simply nodded and watched him go. Tall, cloaked in command, disappearing into the echoing halls where power liked to gather. Sir Ryns gave a respectful nod. "Shall we?" Ash followed.

In the court council chamber, the temperature was different.

Not the air. The mood. Stiff collars and older men, faces lined not by time but by caution. A place where no voice raised unless it had weight behind it.

Caleb stood at the head of the long table, straight backed, unshaken, in the same travel worn coat he arrived in. He didn't need titles or emblems today. He was the title.

"Mavius Caelum Asher Xia" He said, voice steady. "Is my son. By blood. By name. By will." He didn't smile when he said it. There was no softness in the way he spoke of it, only certainty.

It didn't take long for the murmurs to begin. "My Lord Duke." One of the elder vassals said, clearing his throat like it might buy him courage. "Surely such a proclamation should be delayed until-" "No."

Caleb's eyes didn't waver. "It will be announced before the week ends. The court will bear witness. The documentation will be sealed in my name." "But the boy." Another tried. "He's not been raised in noble society. He may not be-" "He's my son." Caleb said again, this time like it was a weapon.

There was a pause, brief and sharp. "And the mother?" A third man asked, cautious. "Will she be named? Brought forward?" Caleb's jaw tensed. "She died. Years ago." The silence thickened. "Your Grace." Someone dared again. "This decision... May unsettle the houses who've pledged their banners-" "Then let them be unsettled."

The words dropped like stone into still water. "I've served this duchy for years. Given it my youth, my loyalty, my blood. And I have buried every dream I once had for the sake of peace. But not this. I will not bury my son."

He leaned forward slightly, hands braced on the table. "Let me make this simple. I am not here to ask for your approval. I am informing you. As Duke, as Commander, as father, that Mavius Caelum Asher Xia is my heir. You will recognize him. You will show him the respect his name demands. Or you may leave your posts before sundown."

No one spoke after that. There was nothing left to say.

Meanwhile, Ash followed Sir Ryns down a quieter wing of the castle.

"This part of the keep isn't shown to most visitors." The aide said mildly. "But your father asked that you be given access. These halls are his private wing." Ash barely nodded.

He walked slower now, fingertips grazing the stone as if memorizing the shape of it. The rugs here were more worn. The windows opened onto smaller courtyards. It didn't feel like a palace. It felt like someone's home.

They rounded a final corner. And that's when he saw it. At the end of the hallway, tucked quietly across from the Duke's chamber door, hung a portrait. It wasn't regal. It wasn't formal.

You were painted sitting beneath a great blooming tree, one hand resting over your lap, a gentle smile dancing at the corners of your mouth. The sky behind you was warm with color.

Ash stopped. Sir Ryns paused behind him, then gave a small bow. "I'll give you a moment." He stepped away. And Ash stared.

You looked... Alive. Not like the worn memories, not like the soft dreams that blurred at the edges. This was clearer, sharper. He could almost imagine you laughing just out of frame.

And the way the painting was placed, nnot in a public gallery, not in the halls meant to impress but here. Here, where only Caleb would see it every time he passed his chamber.

Ash took one step closer. Then two. And just like that, something broke inside him.

Because all this time, despite everything you told him. Everything you left behind, some small, childish part of him had wondered if it was just a story. If his father had loved you less than duty. Less than legacy.

But this? This was not a thing done out of guilt. This was devotion. Frozen in oil and light.

And just for a moment, he let himself imagine what might've been. You, laughing down these halls. Your hand in his father, watching over him. The warmth of something that wasn't stolen by silence or time.

But it was only a painting now. And Ash? He turned away before the ache could swell too wide.

-

The garden had always been yours.

Even when the rest of the duchy bore the mark of lineage and strategy, marble and bloodline. This garden remained untouched by politics. It was a space you claimed not with words but by presence. By laughter echoing against the ivy. By your barefoot steps on wet grass at dawn. By the scent of jasmine clinging to the folds of your dress when you came in from the evening mist.

Now? It had grown wild in your absence.

The path was nearly swallowed by moss and wandering weeds. The lavender stalks bent heavy from months without pruning. The peonies, once carefully coaxed into bloom by your touch, were wilted. Their heads drooping as though even they were mourning.

Caleb stood beneath the worn stone archway, the sky already softening into late dusk. A breeze passed through, stirring the overgrown hedges, sending petals drifting onto the stones.

He didn't step forward just yet. Because there, between the tangled hedges and forgotten rosebushes, was Ash.

The boy moved slowly, quietly, his small hands brushing against leaf and bloom with an odd reverence. As if, instinctively, he knew this garden had once meant something. As if he could sense that someone, you, had once walked here every morning, humming softly to yourself, hands filled with shears, ribbon and soft flower threads you tucked into your hair.

Caleb swallowed hard. He couldn't bring himself to speak. He just watched, hand tightening around the edge of the pillar beside him, eyes following every movement like they were watching a ghost retrace your steps.

Ash crouched down near the base of the old stone bench. The very one where you had once curled beside Caleb with a worn book in hand. You always fell asleep midway through your stories, cheek pressed to his shoulder, your words slurring into nothing, warm breath fogging the pages.

It hurt. Gods, it hurt.

Caleb's throat ached from how tightly he clenched it. He hadn't stepped foot in this garden since the war began. It had been years. He had ridden out with armor and banners and men at his back, chasing glory that never filled the hollow parts of him. He never came back. Not until now. Not until everything else had already been lost.

How many things had he missed?

His son's first cry. His first steps. The first time he scraped his knee. The way he might have tugged at your sleeve and asked about the stars. The way you might have lit a lantern when he had nightmares, pulled him into your arms and told him stories about a man named Caleb, far away, fighting for peace.

Did you tell him you loved him for the both of you? Did you tell him he was worth all the waiting?

The wind stirred again. Ash turned his face toward the breeze and closed his eyes. The exact same way you once did. Caleb's heart broke in a quiet, restrained kind of way. No dramatics. Just pressure. Like something cracked deep in his chest and kept splintering.

He stepped forward. Ash opened his eyes at the sound of boots brushing against gravel but didn't turn. Just kept staring out over the garden. Caleb stopped beside him. "I used to come here with your mother." He said, voice low, almost too rough. "She always said this garden looked better wild."

Ash tilted his head. "She came here a lot?" Caleb nodded. "Every day. Before everything. She would talk to the plants. She hated when the gardeners trimmed too much. Said flowers should be allowed to reach for whatever they wanted."

Ash didn't respond. Just reached down and picked up a fallen peony petal, curling it between his fingers. The boy didn't speak for a long time. Then, softly. "Mother told me you were a hero." Caleb swallowed.

"Mother told me stories about you." Ash continued, fingers tracing a small blooming flower. "Said you were brave. That you were fighting for everyone, not just us. But some nights… I think she cried when she thought I was asleep." Caleb closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." He said. "For not being there. For not coming home sooner. For… Everything."

Ash looked down at the petal in his palm. Caleb crouched down beside him, fingers trembling as he rested a hand over Ash's shoulder, tentative, unsure. "I don't deserve forgiveness." He whispered. "But I want to try. For you. For her."

Ash finally looked at him. And for the first time, there was something softer in his eyes. A recognition. Maybe even… A beginning.

They stayed like that for a while, father and son, in a garden left wild by grief and time. And near them, the first bloom of the flower unfolded. Quiet, patient and unafraid to reach.

-

The halls of the duchy were quiet that night, save for the faint sound of torches flickering against the stone walls. The air held a kind of stillness that only came before something irreversible. Not quite dread, not quite anticipation. Just the soft weight of change, gathering like fog on the edge of dawn.

Caleb stood just outside Ash's door, hand hovering over the latch. He told himself to walk away. Let the boy sleep. Let him have the only peace he could offer before the court tried to take it away. But his hand moved anyway.

The room was dimly lit. A candle flickered low on the desk, half melted wax trailing down its base. The boy was curled on his side beneath a heavy quilt, not asleep. Just staring toward the window, as if the stars outside had something more comforting to say than Caleb ever could.

Caleb stepped in and closed the door behind him. "Can't sleep?" He asked softly. Ash didn't turn but his small voice broke the silence. "Too much noise in my head." Caleb pulled a chair close to the bed and sat with a quiet exhale. "I know the feeling."

They sat in silence for a while, just the two of them, the gap between their pasts too wide to be bridged with words. But Caleb was learning that closeness sometimes started like this, not with conversation but with presence. With showing up and staying put.

Ash shifted slightly under the covers. "I don't know how to do any of this." He murmured. "You don't have to." Caleb replied. "Not yet. You just have to be yourself." Ash's brow furrowed. "That's not what everyone else expects, is it?" Caleb smiled faintly. "I stopped caring what they expect a long time ago."

Ash didn't respond to that. Instead, after a beat, he asked. "Do you think mother be proud of me?" Caleb's heart clenched. He reached over, gently brushing a bit of hair from Ash's forehead. "She'd be proud of you for waking up in the morning. For breathing. For surviving." His voice faltered. "She'd be proud of how brave you've been."

Ash looked at him then, eyes shinier than before and with some hesitation. "Are you proud of me?" "I've only known you for a short while." Caleb said, voice rough. "But yes. Every single day, I'm proud of you. And I wish I could've been there sooner to say it."

The boy blinked and turned his face away. But not before Caleb saw the wetness in his eyes. "You're not alone anymore." Caleb added gently. "I'm here. I'll always be here." And for once, Ash didn't pull away when Caleb tucked the blanket tighter around him.

The next morning came with ceremony.

The great hall was transformed into something out of legend. Tall banners unfurled from the rafters, tapestries lined the walls with the crest of House Xia. Black and purple, the colors of night and their eyes. Every noble family of note stood waiting, their formalwear glittering, their expressions carefully controlled.

Caleb stood at the head of it all. The Duke, Commander, war hero returned from the frontlines after uniting the warring kingdoms, take back some throne for the right ruler to lead. All for the sake of peace. And beside him stood Ash.

He wore a suit cut to fit, his brown dark hair brushed neatly though his hands clenched and unclenched at his sides. Caleb placed a steady hand on his shoulder. And stepped forward.

"My people." He began, voice resonant through the hall. "I have led you through war. I have fought beside you, bled for your families, and returned peace to this land not through conquest, but through righteousness." Murmurs rippled through the crowd.

"But I come before you not as a hero." He continued, eyes sweeping across the nobility. "I come as a father." The air shifted, tense, expectant. "I stand here today to name my son. The heir of House Xia. The rightful child of my blood." Gasps whispered down the aisle, hushed disbelief tugging at curious glances.

"He was raised far from the court." Caleb said, lifting his chin. "But not from love. His mother, though not of noble birth, bore the heart of a saint. She raised him with strength, compassion and grace. His name is Mavius Caelum Asher Xia, my son and my legacy."

There was silence. Then applause. Hesitant at first, then thunderous. But even as they clapped, the nobles whispered behind fans and under breath. A commoner. Was he conceived before the war? How could the Duke hide such a thing? Who was the mother? Was it that village woman from the old rumors? Caleb heard it. He always did.

"My Lord." One older vassal began. He must have missed the first meeting. "We mean no disrespect. But surely the title of heir must pass through... Clearer channels. The duchy-"

"Will be inherited by my son." Caleb interrupted. His voice cut cleanly through the chamber. "Not because of his blood, but because of what he represents. He is my future. That is not up for debate."

Another tried. "But his mother-" "Will not be spoken of with anything less than honor." Caleb said, tone sharper now. "She gave her life raising him. She gave me a reason to come back. If you cannot speak of her with respect, then you do not deserve to speak at all." That silenced them.

And in the shadow of his words, no one dared challenge him again.

That night, Caleb sat in his chambers. The old box you left him still untouched on the bedside table.

Ash had long since gone to bed. But Caleb sat quietly, the moonlight pooling across the desk, and whispered your name like a prayer.

"I'm doing my best." He murmured. "I don't know if it's enough. But he's here. He's safe. And I won't let him face this world alone."

The box remained closed. Not yet. He wasn't ready to open the past. Not until he could face it with something steadier in his chest than grief.

-

The duchy was never silent, not even in the early hours.

There was always movement. The shuffle of boots on stone, the hum of court gossip, the rustle of silks as nobility drifted through the corridors like ghosts dressed in gold.

But within one particular wing of the castle, one newly opened after years of being shut. There was a kind of hush that wasn't born of reverence, but of adjustment.

Ash sat stiffly at the edge of the chair, back too straight as though posture alone could hold him upright through this.

The tailor buzzed around him, muttering about hem lengths and shoulder seams, fussing over measurements like his thread held the fabric of the kingdom.

Caleb stood near the door, arms crossed loosely, a patient look on his face. Ash caught him watching. "I can do this alone." He muttered. Caleb only shrugged. "I know." "Then why are you still here?" A soft smile makes its way on Caleb's lips. "Because I want to be."

Ash didn't answer, just looked down as the tailor moved to adjust a sleeve. It was like that most days. Stiff, clipped responses. Ash kept his emotions guarded. His trust locked behind layers of survival. But Caleb didn't push. He stayed.

He was there in the mornings, walking Ash through the halls and introducing him to the staff. He was there at meals, quietly explaining noble etiquette while pretending not to notice when Ash refused to use the proper cutlery out of spite.

He was there during riding lessons. Though Ash already knew how to ride. You had taught him, after all. But Caleb still showed up, still walked beside the horse, still held the reins steady when the stallion bucked just slightly.

Ash never said thank you. But he didn't push him away either. That was enough.

At night, they played chess by the fire.

Caleb let Ash win the first few games. After that, he didn't need to. "You're holding back." Ash said during one match, brow furrowed. Caleb smirked. "Am I?"

"I'm not a child." "No." Caleb said, moving a rook. "You're my son." Ash stared at the board. "You don't know me." "I'm trying to." Caleb replied gently.

For a moment, Ash didn't move. Then he said, quietly. "You missed a lot." Caleb nodded. "I did." Ash made his move. "Why didn't you come sooner?" The words were like flint, soft but capable of sparking every buried grief between them.

Caleb met his gaze. "Because I thought I'd have time." Ash didn't look away. "You didn't." "No." Caleb's voice was barely above a whisper. "I didn't."

Ash stared at him a moment longer. Then, finally, looked back down at the board. "Your move."

-

It was small things, after that.

Ash asking him to join for tea in the afternoons. Caleb fixing the saddle on Ash's horse without being asked. Ash staying just a little longer at the dining table instead of retreating to his room. Caleb brushing his hand over Ash's shoulder when they passed in the hall, the way fathers do without thinking.

They didn't speak of love. Not yet. But it was there, beneath the silences. The kind that didn't need words, only time.

-

The snow had fallen without mercy that night.

Pale and soundless, it coated the roofs of the duchy and swept down the narrow roads like a silken veil. It blurred the horizon until the world outside the windows looked like something imagined. Soft, distant, dreamless.

But inside the west wing, there was no dream. Only fever. And the ragged breathing of a child calling out for someone who would never come.

Ash had not been well for days.

What began as a stubborn cold had twisted into a high, searing fever that clung to him like a curse. The court physicians had done all they could. Steam, broths, tinctures too bitter to keep down. But Ash fought them. Resisted, pushed away hands trying to help.

He was crying again. "Mama..." The boy whimpered, thrashing under the heavy blankets, eyes glassy and faraway. "Where's Mama…?" And then. "I want to go home..."

The servants wept quietly in the hallway. They didn't know which home the young lord meant. Be it the one made of wood and warmth tucked at the edge of the forest or the one now buried beneath the tree near the river side. Either way, neither could be returned to.

The physician knelt helplessly beside the bed. "He won't take the medicine." He muttered. "He won't-"

The door slammed open. Boot steps thundered against the stone floor. The Duke had returned.

Caleb didn't say a word as he stormed into the room, frost clinging to the edges of his cloak. He looked like he hadn't slept in days. His hands were still red from the reins, his shoulders dusted with snow. But none of it mattered.

Because his son was screaming for someone who couldn't answer.

"Mama-!" Caleb's heart twisted so violently he thought it might finally split in half. "I'm here." He breathed, crossing the room in a heartbeat. "Ash. I'm here."

But Ash didn't see him or if he did, he didn't recognize him. He was somewhere else. Somewhere safer. Somewhere warmer, where your arms still waited and your voice still sang.

The boy's body shook with sobs. "Please- I want Mama- I want- her-" Caleb sat on the bed and pulled Ash into his arms. The boy didn't resist. He clung. Like drowning. And Caleb, for once, didn't know what to do.

He held him tighter, rocking him gently as the boy cried and gasped and called for the one person neither of them could return to.

The physician hesitated. "Your Grace, the medi-" Caleb reached out, took the cup, and held it to his son's lips. Ash turned his head away violently, a sound breaking in his throat like a wounded animal. He trembled, gasped, cried. "No- no- no-"

So Caleb pressed his forehead to Ash's temple. "You want her." He whispered, voice cracking. "I know. I know." His eyes stung. He bit back the tears, but they came anyway, hot, silent and furious. "I want her too."

The boy hiccupped still half in delirium. "I miss her so much." Caleb whispered. "Every day. Every breath. You might not remember it, but I know she used to hum when you couldn't sleep. I know she'll kissed your forehead when you had bad dreams. I know she carry you when you wouldn't stop crying. I know she loved you more than the stars, Ash. She would've fought the gods themselves for you."

Caleb paused. Swallowed. "But I'm here now. And I won't let you go. Please- Let me stay. Let me take care of you. For her. For you. For us."

Ash whimpered. Then slowly like something inside him recognized the grief in that voice, he opened his lips. Caleb raised the cup. Ash drank. Not all of it. Not without difficulty. But enough.

The boy collapsed against him after, exhausted. And Caleb held him through it, through the shallow breaths and the sweat and the half conscious murmurs that still whispered for you.

He brushed the damp hair back from Ash's forehead. Kissed his brow. Wiped away the tears neither of them knew how to stop.

Outside, the snow kept falling. Inside, time stood still.

Later that night, long after Ash had fallen into a fevered sleep, Caleb remained by the bed, hunched forward with elbows on his knees, your son's small hand still wrapped tightly around his finger.

He stared into the fire, eyes hollow. "I should’ve come sooner." He whispered to no one. To you. To the silence. "I should've given it all up. Just for one more year. Just to hold him like this, while you were still here."

The flames didn't answer. But your presence was everywhere. In the scarf folded on the nightstand, the lullaby Ash had murmured before sleep, the faint scent of lilies that lingered on the Ash's blanket.

You were gone. But you were in everything. He looked at the sleeping boy. Pale. Fragile. He was all that remained of you. And he was everything.

-

The fever had passed.

Ash was on the mend, stronger with each passing day, the heat of illness gone from his skin, the distant haze fading from his eyes. But the space between him and Caleb remained quiet, still slightly tense. Not cold. Just… Uncertain.

Ash didn't avoid him anymore. He no longer pulled away when Caleb adjusted his blanket or sat beside him during meals. But neither did he reach out. Not yet. There were no arguments. But no real conversations, either. Not about the things that mattered. Not about her.

He didn't hate his father. He kept telling himself that. But sometimes, when the shadows settled in just right, he remembered the years spent wondering why the door never opened. Why the man in his mother's stories never arrived.

It was easier to pretend he didn't care. Harder to accept that he did.

So one afternoon, while the palace was caught in the lull between meetings and duties and Caleb was tucked somewhere in council, Ash wandered.

Down the halls echoing with memories he wasn't part of. Past portraits he didn't recognize. Through rooms filled with polished furniture and untouched heirlooms. Until he found the door. It wasn't locked.

Not his father's main office, no. This was smaller. Tucked away behind a quiet hallway near the west tower. A study, maybe. Or something older. He hesitated, hand on the latch. Then pushed it open.

The room smelled of aged parchment and cedar wood, soft and worn. Bookshelves lined the walls, dustier than they should be. A map of the old provinces lay unfurled on a desk, corners curled from time. And on the far wall. A painting. He froze.

You, his mother and Caleb. Young. Laughing. Radiant. Your hands in his. His arm around your shoulders, a look on his face that Ash didn't think he'd ever seen in person. You were smiling at him in that painting. And Caleb. His father wasn't looking at the artist at all. He was only looking at you.

Ash stepped closer. His heart beat too fast. Beneath the painting, there were boxes. Not marked. Not sealed. He knelt, fingers trembling slightly, and opened the first one. Letters.

His breath caught. Dozens of them. Some torn at the edges. Some ink-smudged. Some wrinkled as if they'd been carried in the rain. He unfolded the top one.

At the same time. The west wing was quiet. Quieter than the rest of the castle.

Even the wind seemed to hush as it pressed against the high windows, like it, too, knew not to disturb what lay behind that half opened door.

Caleb hadn't been in that room for years. Not since before the war. Not since before everything unraveled and was never stitched back together again. It was a personal room, not the Duke's office, not the public study. It was a room only he had reason to enter.

And now, the door was open. And the silence inside was not the silence of emptiness. It was a silence full of grief. He pushed it open slowly.

Ash sat on the wooden floor, legs tucked beneath him, small fingers curled around a sheet of yellowing paper. Around him lay scattered envelopes, some torn open, some still sealed. The box that once held them had tipped onto its side.

The boy didn't look up. Not even when Caleb stepped fully into the room. Ash's voice was small when he finally spoke.

"You wrote her." Caleb's chest tightened. "I didn't know you ever did." Ash's eyes were red, but dry now. His throat worked as he swallowed. He glanced down again and began reading aloud voice trembling, fragile.

I still see you in my sleep. I wake up thinking I'm back at the old tree, and you're lying beside me with grass in your hair. I reach out, and you're never there. That's how I start my mornings now.

Ash picked up another.

They tell me to forget. They tell me duty matters more than anything. But if they saw you, just once, they'd know why I couldn't.

Caleb froze in place, unable to move, unable to speak. Ash kept going.

I heard rumors you had gone south. I spent a week riding with no name, no insignia. I searched every village. Every market. Nothing. No trace of you. I started to think you were a ghost, sent to haunt me just long enough to remember what love felt like.

Another.

I'm sorry I left you behind. But I would make it right. After the war I'll find a way back to you. I know we had more time ahead of us.

Ash's voice cracked. He reached for another. And paused. This one had your name on the front. Just your name, in Caleb's slanted, uneven script like he had written it in a moment of weakness and haste. He opened it, carefully. His voice dropped. Ash's hands trembled.

I know I wasn't enough. I couldn't protect you. I couldn't choose you. But gods, if I could turn back time, if I could see you one last time… I would give away this title, this honour just to hear you laugh again. To hold you. To say goodbye properly.

The letter slipped from Ash's fingers. And when he finally looked up, his eyes were brimming.

"You didn't know about me." He whispered. "You didn't know I exist." Caleb finally found his voice. "No." He said softly. "I didn't." Ash nodded slowly.

Then like the dam finally cracked, the tears spilled over, full and messy and childlike.

"But why didn't you try harder?! Why didn’t you come sooner?!" He shouted suddenly, voice breaking. "She waited for you! She told me you'll come back! Every year she said it, every year! And then she got sick! And you weren't there! She said you were a good man! She said you'd come back! But you never did! You never came!"

Caleb stepped forward, kneeling down, hands open. "I didn't know-" "You should've!" Ash cried. "She believed in you! And I did too! And you weren't there when she died! She died! She died before you came! And I was alone! I was- I didn't know what to do-!"

He hit him then, small fists pounding against his father's chest. Caleb didn't stop him. "She said you loved us." Ash sobbed. "She said you loved her! And I kept waiting and you never came!" "I'm sorry." Caleb said, voice hoarse. "I'm so sorry."

Ash's fists slowed. His little body trembled with the weight of grief he shouldn't have had to carry alone. Caleb wrapped his arms around him gently. "Everyone told me stories - stories about you- about how you married someone else- that you forgot us- and I didn't know what to believe-! I hated you- I hated you so much-"

Ash finally crumpled against him, the fight falling out of him all at once. "She always said you'd come back." He hiccupped. "I kept believing. I waited. I really… I really did." "I'm sorry." He whispered into his son's hair. "I'm so, so sorry."

"I wrote to her because I didn't know where to go." He whispered. "Every letter was a prayer. Every day I thought I could find her, I thought- gods, I thought I had time. I thought once the war ended-" He couldn't finish.

"I missed your whole life." He choked. "I missed everything." Ash hiccupped against his chest. "She always told me stories about you." Ash whispered. "She said you'd come back. That you were brave. That you had a good heart. But sometimes... I didn't believe her. I thought she was lying. I thought you'd left us."

"I didn't know I had a son." Caleb whispered. "But I knew I had a reason to live. I just didn't know it was you." Ash pulled back slightly, looking at him. "Do you still love her?" "I always will." Caleb said.

Ash hesitated. Then, in a tiny voice, asked. "Can I call you Dad?" Caleb's breath caught. He nodded, one slow, shaking nod. "Yes." He whispered. "Yes. Please." And Ash, still sniffling, wrapped his arms around his father.

"I don't hate you anymore." Ash said. "And I forgive you." He said quietly. "But you have to promise to stay this time." "I will." Caleb said burying his face in his son's hair. "I swear. I won't lose you too."

-

Time had softened the ache, but never erased it.

Years passed, as they do in places built from stone and silence. The Xia Duchy become prosperous from war given the fact that they played a big role taking the princess side who was now the queen of her own kingdom. It was rebuilt beneath its people's pride and their Duke's stern discipline.

And through it all, Caleb ruled with the quiet steadiness he had always been known for. Colder now, more distant perhaps, but respected without question. And beside him, his son.

Mavius Caelum Asher Xia, now older, sharper, taller than before. He had moved through the estate like someone born to its halls yet always with a piece of himself withheld. He was polite in court. Composed in lessons. Exceptionally bright in every diplomatic event or noble function Caleb took him to.

But he smiled less than most boys his age. And he trusted even fewer. His heart, after all, had already broken once. And while it had learned to beat again, it remembered. Always.

Caleb tried not to think about how many nights he had missed. How many birthdays, how many mornings, how many firsts. But in the years since he had brought Ash home, he had never spent another one away. He did not plan to.

Ash had become his world now and every day Caleb tried to become the kind of father you would have wanted him to be.

But grief did not stop time. And time did not stop society.

It started with a letter. Then a visit. Then three more. Ladies, noble blooded, marriageable, politically useful arriving with simpering smiles and folded hands, trailing daughters as carefully dressed as they were clearly rehearsed. They came with tea and embroidery, cloaks lined with lace and intention.

Each one mentioned Ash with practiced warmth, with concern, with a motherly tone none of them had earned.

And Caleb? Caleb refused them before they finished speaking. "I am not looking for a wife." He said coldly, every time. "But my daughter-" "Is not her." He cut in once. And that was the end of that conversation.

But then came the bold ones. The ones who sought out Ash. In the garden. In the stables. Near the training fields. With carefully measured smiles and low voices.

Once, a lady bent to place a hand on Ash’s shoulder and said softly. "You must be so lonely without a woman's care. A boy needs a mother to-" "I had one." Ash said flatly, stepping away. "She died. I don't need a replacement." And he walked off, back straight, face unreadable.

Another tried to invite him for tea. Brought a cake she claimed to have made herself. Ash took one look at it, smiled politely and handed it to the kitchen staff without taking a bite. "Looks heavy." He said. "Just like your expectations." The staff nearly choked on their breath.

By the time he was thirteen, word had gotten around the court. Mavius Caelum Asher Xia, the heir of the Duke was not a boy easily charmed. And if you approached him with pity, manipulation or anything less than honesty, you were going to walk away very embarrassed.

Once, someone tried it in front of Caleb. A highborn woman, twice widowed, always circling. Had the nerve to say. "Ash is such a thoughtful child. I've always dreamed of being a mother to a boy like that." Ash glanced up from his book. "You dream too much."

The silence was palpable. Caleb didn't hide his smirk. Didn't wven try to hide his chuckle.

Later that evening, in the privacy of the Duke's study, Caleb leaned back in his chair and looked over at Ash, who sat curled up in one of the armchairs reading. "You know." Caleb said mildly. "There are more diplomatic ways to discourage suitors."

Ash didn't look up. "You want me to stop?" "No." Caleb said. "Just wondering if you took more after me or your mother." Ash shrugged. "I take after her." "Clearly." There was a beat. Then Caleb added, quieter. "She would've liked that."

Ash looked up. For a long moment, they just looked at each other. Then Ash said softly. "Do you miss her even now?" "Every day." Ash set his book down, carefully.

"I don't want another mother." He said. "No one could be her." "I know." "Some of them think they can just… smile their way in. Like she didn't matter. Like they can take her place." "They can't." Caleb said. "And I won't let them."

Ash tilted his head. "Even if it helps the court? Even if people say it would be good for your image?" "I've never cared much for appearances." Caleb said, smiling faintly. "I let them say what they want."

"Even if it hurts your reputation?" "Even then." Caleb said. "Because you're my son, our son and has more sense than the entire court combined."

Ash blinked, not used to compliments. He looked away, pretending to read again. But Caleb could see the smallest twitch of a smile at the corner of his mouth. That was enough.

And that night, as they passed each other in the hallway. Ash heading to his room, Caleb to his study and the boy, his boy paused, turned slightly, and mumbled. "I think she would've liked you now." Then he disappeared behind the door before Caleb could say a word.

-

The halls of the duchy were once again filled with light.

Banners fluttered from balconies and carved archways, catching the late spring breeze that danced through stone colonnades and across the open courtyard.

Servants moved briskly. Nobles arrived in their finest. And in the grand ballroom where years ago Caleb had once stood beneath a crown of duty, the people now stood for a different Duke. A younger one. One born of quiet strength and hidden roots. Of love, not arrangement.

Ash stood at the center of it all. Tall, sure footed, his features a blend of both memory and legacy. Dressed in a deep indigo regalia stitched with silver thread, he wore the weight of his title like it had always belonged to him.

But today was not just about ascension. It was also about love.

Because standing beside Ash, hands clasped in his, was a young woman in a simple cream gown. No crown, no courtly title, only a soft look in her eyes that said she saw him not for his name but for the boy who once cried for his mother in fevered dreams.

She was from the duchy. Not noble, not titled. Just kind. Clever. A girl with ink stained hands and warm laughter who had met Ash under an apricot tree, the one Caleb planted all those years ago, with you. And argued with him over books, not bloodlines. And somehow, she became his future.

From a distance, hidden in the far end of the courtyard, away from the clamor. Caleb watched it unfold. He stood in shadow, still in his formal clothing but without the heavy cape. Age had crept into his bones more fully now, silver threading through his dark brown hair like early frost. His posture remained dignified, but there was a weight in his gaze.

The quiet ache of a man who had spent his life carrying the consequence of choices.

But in his eyes… There was peace. Because Ash had done it. He had broken the cycle. He had chosen love. And Caleb, though it cost him years and memories and the warmth of you beside him was here to see it.

When the crowd erupted in cheers and the lovers were announced, Ash looked up. Searched the courtyard. And found him. Their eyes met. Ash smiled. So did Caleb.

Later, after the festivities had dimmed and guests wandered off into courtyards and wine drunk laughter, Ash found his father standing beneath the veranda near the old marble fountain. The air smelled of roses and old stone. His footsteps were soft.

"You're not staying the night." Ash said gently, already knowing the answer. Caleb smiled faintly, not turning. "No." "You really are going back to the village, father?" "That's always been the plan." Caleb said, looking out at the stars. "I kept a promise, once. That I'd live simply. Return to the roots where it all began. It's time I kept it."

Ash looked at him, expression unreadable. "And you're fine with that? Leaving all this?" "All this." Caleb echoed, gesturing around. "Was never mine to keep. It was only ever a placeholder for something I lost. Now… Now, it belongs to someone who still believes in it."

Ash was quiet. Then, quietly. "Will you be lonely?" Caleb turned, finally. "Not if you come visit once in a while." Ash's face softened. "I will." Caleb reached forward and fixed the clasp on Ash's cloak. The way you used to do for him. He stepped back. Nodded.

"You look just like her when you smile." Caleb murmured. "But you live better than I ever did. I'm proud of you." Ash swallowed hard. "She would've been too." They stood in silence a moment longer.

Then as Ash was called back to the celebration, he gave his father one final look, half smile breaking the serious line of his jaw. "Don't forget to water the tree." He said dryly. Caleb chuckled. "Brat." "Old man."

They parted with quiet hearts and full ones. And as Caleb left the duchy that night, cloak fluttering behind him in the wind, he felt for the first time in years. Like he was going home.

-

The house stood at the edge of the forest, just beyond where the village road curved and gave way to thickets of pine and soft grass. It hadn't changed much.

Still weather worn, still crooked in the corners, but sturdier now. As though someone had seen the cracks and mended them with care. The roof no longer sagged. The fireplace, though cold, was clean. The porch steps creaked less than they used to.

Caleb stood at the doorway for a long time, hand on the wooden frame, just... Stare. He had brought little with him. A trunk of clothes. A satchel of books. A few mementos he never quite had the strength to throw away. But most importantly, he brought the box, that box. Still sealed, still untouched after all these years.

He didn't open it yet. He didn't feel ready. He set it on the table where you once used to leave wildflowers in a chipped vase. For now, that was enough.

The village welcomed him quietly. They nodded, offered faint smiles, and went on with their lives. They knew who he was. What he had lost. What he was trying, quietly, to remember.

Caleb spent most mornings walking. Sometimes to the baker, who remembered still sell the kind of bread that you like. Sometimes to the tailor, who once helped stitch Ash's baby clothes. He didn't speak much but his presence was never unwelcome.

In the afternoons, he wandered down the path to the river, the same way you used to. The tree was still there, that same old tree, roots like fingers pressed into the dirt, still standing guard over the world the two of you had tried to build.

He would sit beneath it, right next to your tombstone as if siting right next to you for hours. Watching the way the sun reflected on the water. Listening to the breeze as it rustled the leaves. It was quiet, peaceful. The kind of quiet he used to hate when he was younger.

Now, he craved it. Because in that stillness, you lived again. He saw you in the way the river curved around the stones. In the way the light filtered through the canopy, golden and soft.

In the echo of children laughing in the distance. The same way Ash once did, toddling across these fields before either of them knew his name.

Sometimes, he would hum. A tune only you would remember. The one you used to sing when you were cleaning or when you danced barefoot by the firelight, coaxing him to join you even when he said he couldn't dance.

Caleb never responded to those memories with words. He just closed his eyes. Let them hurt. Let them stay.

Each night, he would return to the house, make tea the way you used to and sit by the window and write. Not letters, he had written too many. It was just thoughts now. Notes. Fragments. Pieces of love, tucked between lines of grief.

He wasn't waiting anymore. He wasn't chasing anything. But every now and then, he'd glance at the box on the table. The one filled with your handwriting. Your last truths.

And he would wonder if maybe, tomorrow, he would be brave enough to open it. Just not tonight.

Tonight, he would light the lamp. Pour another cup. Sit by the fire. And remember you as you were. Laughing, brilliant, alive in the only place you ever truly belonged.

Home. With him.

-

The fire had dimmed to embers.

Caleb Xia sat in the worn wooden chair by the window. The same one you used to claim on restless nights, knees tucked to your chest, voice soft with laughter. The air was still, the kind of stillness that only comes when life has slowed into memory. Even the wind outside hushed for him, as if the trees themselves were holding their breath.

He had lived many lives in one. Soldier. Commander. Duke. But none of them had ever felt as heavy, or as holy, as being yours. And then, being a father.

The box sat beside him now. Old, weatherworn, the latch loose from travel and time. He had carried it for years, across courts, across time, through years of frostbitten regret. A box he dared not open because some part of him was afraid that once he did, the last thread tethering you to this world would snap.

But now, he was ready. And the lid creaked open.

Your handwriting was the first thing that struck him. Still familiar, still you, the loops and softness of your letters holding time like pressed petals between pages. He read.

Caleb,

If this letter reaches you, maybe I'm gone. Maybe you're back. Maybe you're sitting under our tree again, pretending not to cry. You never did cry easily. Always so composed. Always carrying everything alone.

But I hope you let yourself cry this time.

He smiled faintly, tears already slipping past his lashes. Another letter.

Ash took his first step today. It was clumsy. Beautiful. He fell straight into the garden soil, laughed, and held his hands up to me like he'd just conquered the world.

He looks like you. But when he sleeps, he curls into himself the way I do.

I tell him stories about you. I call you his brave father. The hero who fights so no other child has to lose their home.

And sometimes, when I'm tired and the house is too quiet, I let myself imagine you're just late coming home.

He bowed his head, fingers clutching the edge of the parchment. His shoulders trembled. The words blurred.

Letter after letter, unfolding like spring after too long a winter. Telling stories of scraped knees and lullabies. Of hopes you never voiced out loud. Of a love you never regretted, not even once.

I never blamed you. You must know that. I chose this. I chose to keep him safe. I chose to stay hidden, to keep you from the shame and blood of scandal.

You always said love was dangerous. But I think ours bloomed because of that. It bloomed in the cracks between duty and longing.

It bloomed in silence.

His hand moved to the pendant at his throat. The one that used to be yours. The one he'd found around Ash's neck that day in this village. The moment that changed everything.

If you ever come back here... Tell him I'm sorry. For everything I couldn't be. For every night he cried and I couldn't stop missing you enough to smile.

But remind him, our son, that I loved him. And remind him you loved him too, even before you knew he existed.

I see you in him, Caleb. Every time he looks at me. Every time he stares off like the sky is whispering something only he can hear.

You don't have to carry guilt. Just love. That's what we leave behind, isn't it? What was left to bloom.

Caleb exhaled, long and slow, like his heart had finally been given permission to rest.

What was left to bloom. Yes. That had been Ash. A child born from love that never got to finish saying everything it wanted to. A child raised with stories, not presence. But still full of roots and meaning.

He placed the last letter back in the box. Closed the lid gently.

His eyes drifted toward the window. Beyond it, the tree stood tall. Your tree. Their tree. Our tree. Blossoms just beginning to peek out from its tired branches, defiant against the last bite of cold.

Caleb's breath came slower now. He leaned back in the chair, fingers curled around the box. And there, in the final quiet of early spring, with sunlight pooling at his feet like an old friend, Caleb closed his eyes and let go.

-

Ash arrived just before dawn.

He'd brought fresh bread. He was planning to convince his father to come into the village square for tea. Maybe watch the river again. Maybe talk, like they'd been doing more lately.

But when he stepped inside and saw his father still and peaceful in the chair, the box of letters on his lap, the quiet smile on his face. He knew.

He said nothing at first. Just knelt beside him. Held his hand. Then whispered. "She waited." His voice broke. "And you found her."

-

Outside, the river moved slow and sure. The breeze brushed past the blooming tree with a hush, as if the world itself was bowing.

And in the years to come, when Ash would walk through those woods with his own children, he would point to that house, that tree, and say. "This is where love once bloomed. And this is what came after."

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2025°

: not sure if this really hurts or I'm just being dramatic cuz I actually cried writing this. Also, the content of what actually happened in the war would be explain in the other guys fic. Bye.

[erisnxxi]

Love and Deepspace Non-Mc Fic Recommendations (2)

Check out the first Lads Non-MC Fic Recs list here!

Sylus

☆ Imagine being Sylus's non-mc significant other - by dark-night-hero (link here, part two, part three)

☆ the cure to his curses - by makingfanfictionstosleep (link here)

☆ LOVE IN THE DARK - by a-casxandra (link here, part two, part three)

☆ Crow Family Shenanigans - by dissociativewriter (masterlist)

☆ Gone By Morning - by snowfall-jess (link here)

☆ A Silent Bond - by theliving-radio (link here)

☆ countdown - by nana-gumi (link here)

☆ THE DRAGON AND THE THIEF - by xxsyluslittlecrowxx (link here)

☆ La Douleur Exquise - by lighting-and-shadow (masterlist)

☆ DEAD THREAD - by jooniesylus (masterlist)

☆ she won't stay long - by nanapples (link here)

☆ Hindsight - by rcvcgers (link here)

☆ The crow's song - by 16llui (link here)

☆ CUT LOOSE - by griyve (link here)

☆ Corner Store - by bbyrhn (link here)

Zayne

☆ THE CUT THAT ALWAYS BLEED - by a-casxandra (link here, part two)

☆ zayne x non-mc!fem reader -- married - by cno-inbminor (link here, last part)

☆ he leaves you out like a penny in the rain - by icarusignite (link here)

☆ City of Stars - by rcvcgers (masterlist)

☆ You never gave a warning sign (I gave so many signs) - by orphicmeliora (masterlist)

☆ the cure to his nightmares - by makingfanfictionstosleep (link here)

☆ VOW - by magicdustsworld (link here)

Caleb

☆ Imagine being Caleb's non-mc significant other - by dark-night-hero (link here, part two, part three)

☆ once upon a time - by velaenam (link here)

☆ gravity hurts (you made it so sweet) - by kitimeq (link here)

☆ Oblivious boyfriend Caleb! - by sweetcalebb (link here)

☆ the sickness you foster, your favourite addictions- by icarusignite (link here)

☆ Let you break my heart again - by izanakore (link here)

☆ Fly Me to the Moon - by yomju (link here)

☆ LONGING STARE - by brailsthesmolgurl (link here)

☆ Destroying Something That Was Never Built - by authorssmc (link here)

☆ ziplock of memories - by velaenam (link here)

☆ the cure to his delusions - by makingfanfictionstosleep (link here)

☆ lejos de ti by the marias - by ytmkiz (link here)

☆ oranges - by nanapples (one, two)

☆ two halves of an apple - by nanapples (one, two)

☆ girls like me don’t cry - by grwm-bbyt (link here)

☆ stage observer - by fromthebeehives (link here)

Rafayel

☆ You're not his muse - by adeptustemptations (link here)

☆ makes me paintings (with his tongue) - by saturntosatoru (link here)

☆ Returned favor - by inqti (link here)

☆ the cure to his loneliness - by makingfanfictionstosleep (link here)

☆ echoes of the forgotten- by pearlescenthoney (masterlist)

☆ sienna by the marias - by ytmkiz (link here)

☆ Anniversary Blues - by edenrainns (link here, part two)

Xavier

☆ Imagine being Xavier's non-mc significant other - by dark-night-hero (link here, part two, part three)

☆ HOMESICK - by hanimanny (link here)

☆ the cure to his burdens - by makingfanfictionstosleep (link here)

☆ partner-in-crime (but not for long) - by saturntosatoru (link here)

☆ Heartbreak Anniversary with Xavier - by mephisto-reporting (link here)

☆ i thought i saw your face today - by ytmkiz (link here)

◇ I can't put a link in the other one anymore, so I made a new list. 😅 This is where I will be putting my non-mc fic finds from now on!

◇ You can also check this Reblogs!

◇ To the authors mentioned, THANK YOU FOR YOUR AMAZING WRITING/WORKS AND I LOVE YA'LL 🙈💗

◇ Links/ List will be updated!

Last Edited April 19, 2025 01:48 pm

(gif dividers made by uzmacchiato and hearts divider made by saradika-graphics)

[pillsatoru]

⊹ ࣪ ໒꒱ satoru gojo masterlist

FULL FICS —

venus as a boy ⧽ you decide to volunteer at your local library, only to figure out that the owners grandson is not at all what you imagined. you’re fully convinced he hates you — only to soon realize he’s been planning on which position to put you in first.

back of the net ⧽ satoru absolutely falls in love with the girl that can play piano. too bad he’s forbidden from dating, but who’s to stop him

DRABBLES / ONE SHOTS

sneaking in for sex

using his balls as a needoh

spider-man is your ex

he’s crushing on an alt girl

AITA for fucking my twins ex?

obsessed with his beauty marks

wisdom teeth removal

him & his shy girl

cosplay sex

spider-man cums a lot

mother’s day

brace face part 2

jealous jealous girl

he hates your bf

he apologizes with his dick, not words

satoru is surprised to see his pretty neighbor

ovulation

UPCOMING

offside romance ⧽ Satoru Gojo’s reputation isn’t look too well with all the “playboy” accusations, not while being the most successful soccer player in the University of Tokyo. So what better way to get it back up than to fake a relationship with the pretty barista from the local coffee shop?

[madamechrissy]

Dopamine masterlist

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight

You're married to Satoru Gojo - an arrangement since your childhood, one you're so excited for. You soon find out - he wants nothing to do with you. Any one is preferable, from the waitress at your engagement party, to his secretary. Torn apart by insecurities and devastated by the fact that you can't make this one sided affection work, you decide to find something to keep you going until Gojo finds a way to end the marriage. That's what lands you right in the notorious boxing ring in town - led by Ryomen Sukuna, who finally sees you.

pairings - Nepo baby! Gojo x Heiress! Reader x Boxer! Sukuna

warnings!! - Heavy angst, cheating, Satoru is cruel and mean, reader starts off very shy/insecure, Soft Sukuna but he still don't mind being buried inside married reader, a fuck ton of feelings, eventual smut, explicit, mentions of insecurities, love triangles, threesomes, breed kinks, enemies to lovers to friends, messy dynamics, redemption arcs like a mf.

Multiple endings. Told from Reader, Gojo and Kuna's POV

here's the playlist

ongoing - wc 85k - ao3 link

taglist CLOSED - preview below <3

[pearlescenthoney]

operational waste | two.

synopsis. caleb made a mistake when interpreting the anonymous threatening note, and so did you in thinking you can change a code-backed destiny.

pairing. caleb xia x isekai’d! non-mc! reader

content. fem!reader, non-mc!reader, isekai’d!reader, reincarnation!au, requited love (but too late), conflicted!reader, a lot of internal turmoil, a ton of angst, slowburn, hurt/no comfort (y'all will kill me), maybe ooc!caleb, caleb doesn’t know you’re isekai’d, CALEB IS IN DENIAL, TW: EVER, TW: allusion to TORTURE, medical malpractice, degradation (the ever guy mocks you AGAIN), BAD BAD ENDING, self-deprication, low self-esteem, you and caleb are done for fr.

word count. 9.6k

a/n. part two (the finale) is finally done. the plot twist is plot twisting with this one 💅 i am fucking evil, ikkkk. please let me know your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated.

the silence after his question was absolute, filled only by the rhythmic, mocking beep of your own heart. your mind, that fractured, hurting thing, was a battleground. on one side: the visceral, animal need to survive as you, the you that had loved him from a distance and then up close, with all your clumsy, human flaws. the you that remembered your past life, your old world’s sun, the texture of your phone case as you played the game.

that you was screaming in silent agony.

on the other side: a deep, yawning void of defeat, and a promise so sweet it made the void seem like a sanctuary.

peace. and love.

real love.

you were so tired. tired of fighting for a place in a story that kept rejecting you. tired of the constant ache of being second-best, of being the afterthought, the distraction. tired of loving caleb with a desperation that felt like drowning, while he offered only shallow breaths of air.

the scientist watched you, a vulture sensing the final tremors of life. he saw the fight draining from your eyes, replaced by a numb, hollow acceptance. he didn’t need a verbal answer. your stillness was enough of a confession.

“begin the integration.” he said, not to you, but to the room.

a new sensation bloomed at the base of your skull, different from the invasive probe. it was a cool, spreading numbness, like a drop of ink in water. it didn’t hurt. not physically. it felt… like relief.

the sharp, jagged edges of your grief began to soften, blurred into a manageable, melancholic haze. the white-hot betrayal of caleb’s choice in linkon city replayed in your mind, but this time, the accompanying sting was muted, distant, as if it were happening to someone else.

you suddenly flinched as a new set of vibrations prickled at your head. not indubitable pain, but a strange fizzing. a digital static seeping into the roots of your feelings.

you thought of caleb leaving, the click of the latch. the memory was there, sharp and clear, but the jagged, tearing agony that usually accompanied it… it softened further.

it became a fact. he left. the associated devastation was dialed down, like a violent song turned into gentle background music.

a tear rolled down your cheek, but it felt disconnected. you were watching yourself cry from a slight distance, almost like an out-of-body experience.

a tiny, translucent blue square flickered into existence at the very edge of your vision. it was sleek, modern, utterly alien in your organic sight.

[system integration: 5%]

[emotional volatility protocols: installed.]

[primary directive: optimize for target (caleb xia) affinity.]

you stared at it. a progress bar. for your own erasu– improvement.

“good.” the scientist murmured, monitoring the data. “very good. receptors are accepting the base code. now, we address the betrayal narrative. it’s causing conflicting impulses. we’ll reframe it as a strategic error on his part, not a personal rejection. this will align your future interactions towards correction, not accusation.”

the fizzing intensified. the memory of the doctor’s voice — he chose wrong. — replayed. before, it had been a spear through your heart. now, the spear was labeled. the raw, human bitterness began to leach away, replaced by a cool analysis.

caleb just miscalculated. the parameters were unclear.

your value was not correctly inputted into his decision-making matrix.

[integration: 15%]

[betrayal trauma: deviated.]

[new directive: facilitate self’s error correction.]

a part of you, the deep, dark core of your untouched self, screamed in silent horror as the reality of the situation downed on you.

this is wrong! you’re letting them turn you into a tool!

but the scream was muffled, wrapped in layers of this new, calming static. and the promise floated before you, luminous, made it all harder to fight. harder to conquer.

but he will love you. he will look at you and see perfection.

then everything blurred more.

the edits continued. memories were not erased, but… contextualized.

your love for caleb was isolated, purified, and set as your central, governing principle. your other desires — for freedom, for identity, for a life that was truly your own — were flagged as low-priority subsystems. your past life, your otherworldly origin, was compartmentalized into a special partition, its emotional weight blocked.

[integration: 25%]

[core personality matrix: stabilization in progress.]

[autonomous desire subroutines: suppression in progress.]

you felt lighter. cleaner.

the unbearable weight of your human grief was being lifted and stored away, piece by piece, replaced by a serene, purposeful clarity.

your purpose was caleb. your function was to be loved by him. everything else was noise.

the scientist seemed almost pleased.

“the integration is proceeding with remarkable stability. your unique… origin… appears to have created a psyche particularly acquiescent to restructuring.”

scaringly pleased.

“we will pause the deep integration for now. it shall automatically resume while you sleep, so the transition is not obstructed by daily events.”

[integration: on hold.]

“and now...” he approached you and began to unstrap the restraints. the feeling of freedom after being bound for so long should have been euphoric.

it was simply a change in status.

“for your return, you will be placed in a situation of distress. the target will, predictably, attempt a rescue. your new directives will guide your responses. we will monitor everything.” he helped you to your feet. your legs trembled, weak from disuse.

the underlying panic was gone. too tired and sedated to use the remaining 75% still intact, you gave way to the machine in your skull.

following the script.

“remember.” he said, his voice low. “you are no longer the woman he left. you are the solution. you are what he has been searching for. and soon, he will know it.”

•••

they didn’t return you to your apartment. instead, in the dead of a rain-lashed night, they dumped you in a derelict alley in a run-down sector of skyhaven, far from your old neighborhood. the clothes you had were thin and torn, the pajama set you were wearing at the time of the kidnapping.

they, too, abandoned you.

the physical cold of the rain was a shock to your system, a blunt and persistent descend that worsen the condition you were in. ever didn’t bother to patch you up or make you presentable to the eye — they needed you to play the victim part well enough so caleb won’t question anything.

you needed to be the poor traumatized beloved that is to be saved by her knight.

even if that meant constructing the narrative artificially.

the dark alley smelled of rotting garbage and damp concrete. you huddled under a dripping fire escape, the new code in your mind whirring calmly.

[scenario: abandonment/distress.]

[objective: await target. initiate bonding protocol.]

but beneath the calm directives, a rogue current sparked. the remaining 75% — the stubborn, untouched core of you that was still dominating your self. it looked at the objective with a sudden, visceral terror that bypassed the new, weak protocols.

no.

the thought was a fire in the wires.

“this is so fucked up.”

this is a setup. they’re using you to get to him. he rescues you, feels like a hero, doesn’t question anything. and they’ll be watching. you will be ever’s eyes. you will be the trojan horse that destroys him.

“i–”

the conflict was catastrophic.

the machine wanted you to stay, to be the perfect damsel, to cement his hero narrative and begin your programmed love story. the human remnant, the 75%, screamed at you to run. to protect him from the very fate you had just agreed to be part of.

“–so selfish.”

you betrayed him to have him.

“–so stupid.”

love. protection.

the two concepts, which should have been aligned, were at war inside your skull.

with a gasp that was more human than machine, you pushed yourself up. your legs burned, but you ran. you fled the alley, turning into the maze of slick, neon-streaked streets. the rain soaked you to the bone, mingling with hot, desperate tears — tears the system couldn’t yet fully suppress.

get away. disappear. if he never finds me, he’s safe.

they can’t use me against him.

[warning: divergence from primary objective.]

[directive: return to designated coordinates.]

“no!” you sobbed into the rain, clutching your head. “i won’t lead you to him! i love him too much!”

[paradox detected. love parameter = protect target. current action = isolate target.]

[error.]

[rebooting emotional core…]

the fizzing static returned, a wave of dizziness making you stumble against a wet brick wall. you slid down, hugging your knees in agony. you couldn’t outrun them. you couldn’t outrun the machine slowly knitting itself into your brain.

but maybe, just maybe, you could spare caleb long enough for him to realize the truth.

that you were only lie. a beautiful, deadly lie.

•••

you lost track of time, shivering against the wall. the rain thankfully eased to a drizzle, but you didn’t raise up to flee further.

you were so tired. the fight between the code and your dying self was exhausting, lulling you into a dreadful, self-changing sleep. but you continued to press your sharp nails into your palms, leaving crescent marks in your wake to keep yourself grounded.

to stay up.

you must have dissociated briefly, because the next thing you knew, a voice cut through the fog — not in your head, but in the alley.

a human voice.

“–scanning this sector. she should be somewhere around here.”

your heart, the organic, traitorous thing, leapt. was that… caleb?

no.

you curled tighter, making yourself small and insignificant. hoping the newcomer would just pass by.

don’t find me. please, don’t find me.

you are better without me, caleb!

“caleb, over here! i’ve got a clear thermal signature!”

that voice was brighter, more feminine, but laced with concern.

emcee.

she was with him. of course she was.

footsteps, quick and sure, splashed through puddles. a beam of light from the hunter’s watch swept over the dumpsters, the puddles, and finally, landed on you, huddled and shivering in the shadows.

the light froze.

you saw his boots first, then the hem of his long coat. slowly, you lifted your head.

caleb.

he looked… ravaged. his handsome face was pale with a fear so profound it etched new lines around his eyes. his clothes were rumpled, his hair disheveled, as if he hadn’t slept in days. his gaze locked onto you, and the raw, unchecked emotion in his violet eyes — terror, guilt, a desperate hope — was a physical force that knocked the breath from your lungs.

he actually looked… affected by all this.

emcee stood beside him, her expression a mix of sympathy and sharp concern. she’d always been kind to you, treating you like a sister, being a safe space for you. but now, after caleb’s actions, her presence was a unwavering rock pressing down on your heart.

“oh, gods.” caleb breathed, the words a shattered prayer. he took a step forward, then another, almost stumbling in his haste between the puddles.

the system surged, a wave of warm, eager light.

[objective: achieved.]

[proximity to target: attained. initiate bonding protocols.]

the system was happy — if you could use humane adjective to describe it. but your own heart was breaking, shattering into a million crystalline pieces.

he’d found you. he was here. and he’d brought her along.

“stay back!” you croaked, taking a stumbling step backwards, digging your back into the wall, your voice raw from neglect and cold.

he froze, his hands coming up in a conciliating gesture. you could see the way the mauve tint of his orbs stormed at your words, mixing into a convoluted, darker shade.

he was hurt.

…were you not recognizing him? or were you made to fear him?

“it’s me. it’s caleb.” his voice cracked, pressure pushing against his airpipe and making him break. “i’ve been looking for you everywhere. everywhere. when i got back and you were gone… and then that other note…” his eyes scanned your withered form, the dirt, the trembling, the visible syringe stabbings on your arms, the rashes from restraints on all four limbs.

a gut-wrenching wave of anguish contorted his features. he’s never seen you like this, and it crushed his heart.

“w-what happened? who did this to you?”

the concern in his voice was real. it was the hero, finding a wounded civilian. but was it for you? the man who loved you? or was it the guilt of a protector who failed his duty?

emcee stepped forward, her voice gentle, trying to calm you. to overshadow caleb, if he was the one causing you distress. “we were so worried when we found out. caleb’s been out of his mind. he never stopped looking.”

her words, meant to soothe, were salt. he never stopped looking? psh, while he was with her?

it was all because of a note ever dropped to get them to follow the script too.

not because he sensed your absence.

not because his heart knew.

because of the damn system.

“you shouldn’t have come.” you whispered, tears finally spilling over, hot against your grimy, cold cheeks. the conflict was tearing you in two. the code sang at his proximity, urging you to go to him, to be perfect, to be loved.

the human wreckage of you wanted to scream, to push him away, to save him from the monster you were becoming. “you need to go. now. it’s not safe.”

and maybe save yourself too. the smaller part of you that was still intact.

“not safe?” caleb took another cautious step closer, now convinced you were aware of their identities. his eyes, usually so confident and sure, were swimming with confusion and pain. “not safe from what? from who? talk to me, please. let me help you.”

he reached out a hand.

it was your undoing.

the sight of that hand, the one that had held yours, touched your face, now extended in pity and heroism, broke the last dam. a sob wracked your body, so violent you doubled over. the loneliness, the betrayal, the fear, the cold, the horrible, seductive promise of the machine — it all erupted.

[initiate bonding protocol: display vulnerability. accept care.]

“you left me.” you choked out, the accusation flung at him with the last of your strength.

[error.]

[rebooting emotional core…]

“you got the note and you just… left. you decided it was her. you didn’t even consider it could be me.” you lifted your head, meeting his horrified, guilty gaze, as you continue to pour out your heart. “ever told me. they said they snatched the wrong beloved. that i was a… a null-value subject. a waste of their time.”

[error.]

[host not following protocol.]

[rebooting emotional core…]

caleb’s face went ashen at your venomous accusations. “ever.” he whispered, the word appearing as a curse that soiled his mouth. no, soiled the very being of his existence. the pieces were crashing together in his mind, and the resulting picture was one of his own catastrophic failure.

emcee put a hand on his arm, her face pale with shame as well. “caleb…”

he immediately shook her off, pushing her to the side with a delicate motion of his hand. she had no place in this; he needed to solve it on his own.

“i–” his eyes were only for you, not losing your trembling frame from his view. “i didn’t know. i swear to you, i didn’t know. the threat, the pattern… it fit emcee. i was trying to protect–” he cut himself off, realizing how the words sounded.

how he was justifying his incompetence instead of accepting he was in the wrong.

and caused you irreparable pain.

“you were trying to protect what mattered to you.” you finished for him, your voice hollow. “and i didn’t.”

[integration: too little. host overwriting code.]

[error.]

“no!” the word was a roar, torn from him. he closed the final distance, ignoring your flinch, the pulsating fear in your strangely colored eyes. his hands came up to cradle your face, keeping you grounded in the present. his touch was warm, desperately gentle, a shocking contrast to the cold metal and sterile gloves of your nightmares. “you matter. you always mattered. i was blind. i was stupid. i failed you.”

his thumbs stroked your cheeks, wiping away tears and grime. his own eyes were now bright with unshed tears, waiting to bloom like violet buds. “i got the second note. i read it a hundred times. ‘you chose wrong.’ it’s all i’ve thought about since finding out you were gone.”

[bonding protocol: stand-by.]

“and you were right. i chose wrong. i chose the past over the present.” his voice dropped to a ragged whisper, meant only for you. “i am so sorry. so sorry, my love.”

the words enveloped you like a warm hug. they were everything you had wanted to hear. they were the confession that could have saved you, had it come days ago before the kidnapping. now, they just echoed in the hollowing chamber of your treacherous soul.

was this his true guilt that shook your core? or was it yours, the knowledge that you sold yourself and him for a life of whimsy and fairytales?

“i–”

you wanted to forgive him. you wanted to melt into his touch, to let him chase away the cold and the horror.

the code screamed in approval, wishing to return to protocol.

but you saw emcee over his shoulder, watching with a worried expression. you felt the tiny, persistent hum at the base of your skull. you saw, in your mind’s eye, the pale blue progress bar, threatening to fill during the following nights.

you were a ticking bomb wrapped in the guise of the woman he was finally seeing.

“caleb.” you said, your voice trembling with a fear far greater than your fear of ever. you were scared to hurt him for your own selfish reasons. “you don’t understand. they didn’t just take me. they… they changed me.”

[error. host sharing prohibited information.]

he frowned, his brow furrowing. “what do you mean? what did they do?” his eyes searched your body, looking for wounds, for physical signs. he could predict the use of sedatives to make you more pliant, as well as the use of harsh restraints to bind you.

he couldn’t, however, predict the chip in your skull.

[error.]

and you were sealed when it came to talking about it too.

how could you explain the unexplainable? the neural probe? the integration? that you had willingly started down a path that would erase you to have him?

“i can’t…” you shook your head, placing your hands on his chest and pushing away. the weight of it all crushing you, making you tremble with embarrassment. “i’m dangerous. to you. you have to leave me here.”

[error. host breaching proximity.]

“never.” the word was absolute, ironclad, spoken louder for the whole district to hear. the caleb xia, protagonist of love and deepspace, was back in the narrative. and this time, his focus was singular, intense, and entirely on you. “i am never leaving you again. whatever they did, we’ll fix it. together.”

“caleb, no–”

“i’m taking you home.”

he shrugged out of his jacket, the heavy, warm fabric smelling uniquely of him — homey, faint soap, and something intrinsically caleb. he wrapped it around your shaking shoulders without another word, his arms lingering, pulling you into a careful, fierce embrace.

“our home.”

that was your ruin and your salvation.

the warmth was a shock to your system. the scent of him overwhelmed the alley’s stench. the solid reality of his chest against yours was an anchor in the storm. the human part of you, the part that loved him with a desperate, flawed, and real love, took over completely.

you buried your face in his chest and cried, great, heaving sobs that held weeks of terror and loneliness.

[proximity: reestablished.]

the code, sensing optimal conditions for bonding, pulsed warmly, allowing the 75% of your true self to stir the wheel this time.

caleb held you tighter, murmuring soft, broken apologies into your hair. “it’s okay, my love. i’ve got you. i’m here. let it all out.”

over his shoulder, you locked eyes with emcee. she gave you a small, sad, but genuine smile. there was no jealousy there, only relief and a deep, unspoken sorrow. she saw a victim rescued, and so did caleb.

just as ever planned.

they didn’t see the silent, digital countdown happening inside your skull.

as caleb gently carried you away from the alley, supporting your weight with his strong arms, promising safety and care, you clung to him. you clung to the man you loved, who was finally looking at you with the eyes you’d always dreamed of.

and in the corner of your vision, the progress bar glowed, a silent, relentless specter. you were going home. you were getting the love you’d bargained your soul for. and you were bringing the enemy right into his heart.

the greatest act of love you had left was also the ultimate betrayal, and you were no longer entirely sure which part of you — the dying human or the rising machine — was committing it. all you knew was the devastating irony of it all: in his arms, finally chosen, you had never been more completely, and utterly, lost.

•••

the drive back to skyhaven was a silent, pressurized capsule of unspoken horror.

you sat in the back of emcee’s modest car, wrapped in caleb’s oversized coat, shivering despite the blast of heat from the vents. caleb sat beside you, his body angled toward you, a living fortification. he didn’t try to hold you again, perhaps sensing the fragility of your stillness, but his entire being was focused on you with an intensity that was almost palpable.

his gaze was a physical weight, scanning you, memorizing every bruise, every tremor, every vacant blink.

emcee drove, her eyes constantly flicking to the rearview mirror, her knuckles white on the steering wheel. the easy camaraderie between her and caleb was gone, replaced by a thick, guilty tension. her presence, once a source of friendly comfort, now felt like the keystone of your entire ruin. every glance she sent your way was laced with a pity that made your skin crawl.

she was the reason he’d left. she was the reason you’d been alone. she was the beloved who mattered.

and yet, she was here. helping. being kind. it made the bitterness coagulate into something even more toxic — self-loathing.

you couldn’t even hate her properly.

“we’re almost there.” caleb murmured, his voice hushed, as if speaking too loudly might make you shatter. he was trying to ground you, to tether you to reality. “our apartment. you’re safe.”

safe. the word echoed in the newly partitioned chambers of your mind. the human remnant clung to it, a lifeline. the code analyzed it.

[proximity with target: stable.]

you said nothing. you just stared out the window at the blur of neon and rain, watching the world you’d fought so hard to belong to slide by, feeling more alien than ever.

•••

when emcee pulled up to the familiar building, caleb was out of the car before it fully stopped, opening your door. he offered his hand without a second thought, wishing to help you out of the vehicle. you looked at it, the broad palm, the calloused fingers. the script in your head begged you to take his hand, and so did your human soul.

so you did. you placed your cold, trembling fingers in his. the moment your skin touched, a jolt went through him — not romantic, but frantic, a confirmation you were real, you were solid. he carefully helped you out, his other hand coming to rest lightly on your back.

emcee got out, hovering by the driver’s side door. “caleb… do you need anything? supplies? i can run to the store and–”

he didn’t even look at her. his eyes were fixed on you, on the way you swayed slightly on your feet at every step. “no. thank you, emcee. for everything. i’ll… i’ll handle it from here.”

his dismissal was polite but absolute.

this was his penance, his burden to carry alone. she flinched slightly, then nodded, her expression crumpling with a sympathy that was no longer welcome. “okay. call me. if you need anything.”

her eyes met yours for a fleeting second, filled with an apology you didn’t have the energy to accept. then she slid back into her car and drove away, leaving the two of you standing in the misty rain under the glow of a flickering streetlamp.

the silence she left behind was even heavier.

“come on.” caleb said, his voice thick.

he didn’t make you walk. in one smooth motion, he bent and scooped you up into his arms, cradling you against his chest once again. you gasped, a small, involuntary sound, but complied.

his face was a mask of grim determination, etched with lines of pain. he carried you up the stairs to your apartment — his apartment, your apartment, the place that had become a shared dream — his steps measured and sure. you could feel the frantic beat of his heart against your side, a wild drum contrasting his controlled movements.

he shouldered the door open and carried you across the threshold.

the apartment was exactly as you’d left it, yet utterly transformed. it was a museum of normality that no longer existed. the blanket you’d been curled under while watching the rain was still draped over the sofa. a half-finished cup of tea, now surely growing a film of mold, sat on the coffee table. your favorite book lay splayed open, face-down.

it was a snapshot of the moment your old life had ended.

caleb didn’t pause to take it in.

he carried you straight down the short hallway and into the bathroom, setting you down with infinite care on the closed lid of the toilet. he knelt before you, his eyes level with yours.

in the harsh fluorescent light, you could see every detail of his anguish — the purple shadows under his eyes, the tightness around his mouth, the slight tremor in his hands as he reached to push the damp, matted hair from your forehead.

“you’re freezing.” he whispered. “and… let’s get you cleaned up, okay? can i… can i run you a bath?”

the question was so tender, so intimate, it bypassed the code and speared directly into the heart of your humanity. this was caleb, your caleb, offering not heroics, but care. the simple, domestic intimacy of it was more devastating than any dramatic rescue.

[target initiates proximity. accept.]

your own heart, the 75%, screamed in unison with the system once more, begging for compassion and relief.

begging for caleb to take care of you.

so you gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod.

the relief that washed over his face was profound. “okay.” he breathed, as if you’d granted him a monumental gift. “okay.”

he twisted towards the tub, turning on the taps, testing the temperature with his hand. the sound of running water filled the small room, a mundane, comforting white noise. he rummaged under the sink, pulling out the bath salts you loved, the nicely-scented ones he’d bought for you on a whim. he poured a generous amount, the steam rising to carry the familiar, calming scent.

“let me...”

he helped you stand, his movements slow and deliberate, giving you every chance to refuse. he undid the buttons of his large coat, letting it fall to the floor. then, with hands that shook only slightly, he began to help you out of your torn, filthy pajamas. there was nothing sexual in his touch; it was clinical, reverent, and heartbreakingly gentle.

every revealed inch of skin seemed to cause him physical pain.

a dark purple bruise on your ribs from the restraints made him suck in a sharp breath. a series of small, precise cuts on your forearm — from where they’d taken blood samples and jammed iv needles — made his jaw clench so tight a muscle ticked.

“i’m going to kill them.” he said, the words a low, venomous vow, spoken not to you, but to the universe. “i am going to find every last one of them and burn their organization to the ground.”

you didn’t respond. you stood there, passive, letting him guide you, your mind a quiet storm.

the warm, fragrant water looked like heaven. he helped you step in, and you sank down with a sigh that was part relief, part pain. the heat seeped into your bones, chasing away the alley’s chill, but it couldn’t touch the cold knot in your chest.

or the humming of the chip.

caleb didn’t leave. he pulled a small stool over beside the tub and sat, rolling up the sleeves of his shirt. he took a soft loofah, soaked it the warm water, and squeezed it out. “is this okay?” he asked, hovering near your shoulder.

another nod.

he began to wash you with your favourite body wash.

it was the most agonizingly tender thing you had ever experienced. he started with your hands, wiping away the grime from under your nails, tracing each of your fingers as if re-memorizing them. he moved to your arms, washing over the cuts and the angry red cord marks around your wrists, his touch so light it was barely there.

each pass of the sponge was an apology, each gentle stroke a silent plea for forgiveness.

he washed your back, his fingers carefully skirting the bruising. he washed your legs, his movements steady and respectful. the silence was full of his screaming guilt and your silent, internal disintegration.

“i’m so sorry.” he murmured again, as he rinsed your arm. “i failed you. i was supposed to protect you. i swore i would, and i… i looked the wrong way.”

[target expressing distress.]

[initiating comfort.]

your lips parted, but no sound came out. the script felt like ash in your mouth. you couldn’t give him the forgiveness he sought. not when you suffered so much because of him.

[initiating comfort: failed.]

“talk to me, please.” he begged, his voice cracking at your silence. he paused, the loofah falling into the water. “what did they do to you in there? you said they changed you. tell me. let me help you fix it.”

you shook your head slowly, staring at the dissolving bubbles. “you can’t fix it.”

“i can. i will. i’ll find a way. i’ll use every resource i have. whatever it is, we’ll fight it together.” the desperation in his voice was a living thing. he needed a problem he could solve, an enemy he could fight.

he couldn’t fight the ghost of the machine.

he picked up the shampoo bottle. “let me wash your hair, okay? get the smell of that place out. clear your mind a bit.”

you accepted, leaning your head back. he cradled your skull in one hand, his touch unbearably careful, as he used the other to pour warm water over your hair. his fingers began to work the shampoo through your scalp, massaging in slow, soothing circles.

it felt so good. so human. so normal. a tear escaped your closed eyelids, tracing a clean path through the residue of dirt on your cheek.

“tell me if it’s too much pressure.”

caleb’s fingers moved with practiced care, working through the tangles.

then, they stilled.

a slight, almost imperceptible ridge. a line of raised skin, finer than a thread, hidden beneath your hair at the very nape of your skull. it was perfectly straight, a stark contrast to the organic contours of your body.

his breath hitched.

his fingers traced it again, slowly, from one end to the other. a surgical incision. neat. professional.

healed, but new.

the reality of it crashed over him with the force of a physical blow.

it wasn’t just beatings, or drugs, or psychological torture. they had gone inside. they had opened your skull. they had touched your brain.

the shampoo bottle slipped from the edge of the tub, landing with a soft plop in the water. a sound of pure, undiluted horror escaped him — a choked, guttural noise that didn’t sound human.

“oh, gods. no. no, no, no…”

his hands, no longer full of foam, came up to frame your face, but they were trembling violently now. his eyes, wide with dawning, catastrophic understanding, searched yours. the fear in his smokey violet orbs was primal, clouding the otherwise clear mauve shade.

this was beyond his experience, beyond any enemy he knew how to combat.

“your brain.” he whispered, the words trembling. “they… they did something to your brain.”

the grief that followed the fear was even worse. it crumpled his features, making him look desperate and utterly broken. the guilt was no longer just for leaving you; it was for whatever unspeakable violation had been committed in the darkness while he was playing hero elsewhere.

he had left you vulnerable to this. he allowed all this.

“what did they put in you?” his voice was ragged. “what did they take out? tell me, please, you have to tell me!”

[target expressing distress.]

[error. target asking prohibited information.]

you looked at him, at the man you loved more than your own soul, now shattered by the consequences of his — and your — choices. you saw the love, the terror, the guilt, the desperate need to make it right. and you saw the abyss that now separated you.

you were on the other side, becoming something else, and he was alone on this shore, reaching for a ghost.

the longing to tell him everything, to collapse into his arms and beg him to save you from yourself, was a physical ache. the need to protect him, to push him away from the monster you housed, was equally strong.

[error.]

the conflict left you paralyzed. you just stared at him, your expression a hollow mirror reflecting his devastation.

“say something!” he pleaded, his thumbs stroking your cheeks. “yell at me! hit me! just… just give me something real. please, don’t shut me out. i can’t… i can’t lose you to silence.”

but you were already lost.

and with every passing second, as the warm water lapped at your skin and his tears fell to mix with the bathwater. you were clean on the outside, but the contamination within was spreading, and caleb, for all his strength and love and guilt, was only just beginning to grasp that the woman he was washing, the woman he was begging to be back to him, had already left.

•••

the silence in the bathroom was no longer just heavy; it was suffocating, a physical presence pressing on caleb’s lungs. the steam carried the scent of flowers, but it couldn’t mask the stench of his own dread.

your vacant stare, your lack of response — it was more terrifying than any scream.

he had seen fear, he had seen trauma, but this… this was a void. a terrifying, hollow echo of the woman he held.

he acted on autopilot, the protector’s instincts forcing his body to move even as his mind splintered. he finished rinsing your hair with mechanical, trembling hands, the water sluicing over the horrific, hidden line on your scalp.

he couldn’t look at it again. he couldn’t.

he lifted you from the cooling water, wrapping you in a thick, warm towel as if you were made of the most delicate glass. he dried you with a heartbreaking gentleness, patting every bruise and cut with a reverence reserved for sacred wounds. the silence between you was a chasm, filled only with the soft rasp of terrycloth and his own ragged breathing.

he can fix it.

he led you, a bundled, silent ghost, to the bedroom. the room felt like a crime scene — the bed still unmade from the night you’d been taken, your side of the closet open, a sweater half-pulled from a drawer. he guided you to sit on the edge of the bed, then knelt and began to pat your legs and feet dry with a second towel, his head bowed, his damp hair falling over his forehead.

he can fix you.

from a drawer, he pulled out a pair of soft, clean pajamas.

they were his — a faded grey set that smelled overwhelmingly of his soap and his skin. the intimacy of the gesture, dressing you in his own clothes, was a claim, an attempt to wrap you in the essence of him, to mark you as his again. he helped you into the top, guiding your arms through the sleeves that swallowed your hands, then into the pants, rolling the waistband several times so they wouldn’t pool at your feet. he was treating you with the careful, focused tenderness one might use on a sick person.

everything is fixable when you’re caleb xia.

when you were dressed, he pulled back the duvet. “in you go.”

you slid between the cold sheets. he tucked the covers around you tightly, almost too tightly, as if he could physically contain whatever was happening inside you. he stood back, looking down at you, his arms hanging limply at his sides. the fluorescent light from the bathroom haloed him, casting deep shadows under his eyes.

he looked utterly devastated.

“i called off work for a few days.” he stopped at the foot of the bed, his hands gripping the footboard until the wood creaked. “i canceled everything.” he said, his voice hollow. “i’m not leaving you. not for a second.”

he finally moved to his side of the bed, but he didn’t get in. he just sat on the edge, his back to you, his shoulders slumped. the weight of the day, of the discovery, of his own guilt, seemed to physically press him down into the mattress.

“i need to understand.” he said to the dark window. “i need you to help me understand. you’re scared. i see that. what of?”

this was your chance. a tiny fissure. the human part of you, the 75% that still had a voice, clawed its way to the surface, gasping for air.

“sleep.” you whispered, the word so faint he turned his head to hear you.

“sleep?” he echoed, confusion layering over the anguish. “you’re scared… to sleep?”

you gave a tiny, jerky nod, your eyes wide in the semi-darkness, fixed on the ceiling. the terror was real, a cold snake coiling in your throat. “i’m… scared of what happens when i close my eyes.”

he shifted, turning fully to face you, his expression softening into pained concern. “the nightmares. of course. that’s normal, after what you’ve been through. they can feel so real.” he was latching onto a logical, trauma-informed explanation.

it was the only framework he had.

it was the fixable framework he craved.

“it’s not… nightmares.” you struggled, the words fighting against an invisible barrier in your throat. the code pulsed a warning, a dull throb at the base of your skull. “it’s… me. i’m scared i… won’t be me when i wake up.”

[error.]

the sentence was cryptic, fractured, but it was the closest you could get to the truth.

caleb’s brow furrowed. he moved closer, sitting beside you on the bed. he reached out and took your hand, which lay lifeless on the duvet. his grip was warm, firm, anchoring.

“listen to me.” he said, his voice low and intense, pouring every ounce of his conviction into the words. “you are you. right here. you’re home. you’re safe with me. whatever they did, whatever they tried to make you believe, they can’t change who you are at your core. that’s you. the you i…” he swallowed hard, his voice thickening with grief. “the you i love. that’s in there. trauma can make you feel detached, like you’re watching yourself, but it’s still you. we’ll work through it. together.”

he was so earnest, so desperately trying to apply the right salve to the wrong wound. he was speaking of psychology, of ptsd. he was miles away from the truth of neural integration and behavioral codes.

the irony was bittersweet. he was promising to fight for a you that was actively being overwritten, byte by byte, in the quiet of this very room.

a you that he took for granted for so long.

“you don’t understand.” you breathed, a single tear escaping and tracing a path into your skin. “it’s… in my head. it only stops when i’m awake.”

[error. host overstepping protocol.]

“the memories?” he asked gently, stroking your hand with his thumb. “the feelings? you can talk to me. or we’ll get you a specialist. the best therapist in the city.”

he was building a future, a plan for recovery, on a foundation that was already crumbling to dust. the helplessness was suffocating. you wanted to scream, to shake him, to make him see there was no salvation. but the more you tried, the more the code constricted, a silent, internal gag order.

[prohibited information: locked.]

your silence and your one cryptic warning were all he had. he misinterpreted them as the fragmented speech of deep shock.

or willingly interpreted them wrong to soothe his own fears.

“okay.” he said, his decision made. “you’re scared to sleep. so i’ll stay right here. you don’t have to close your eyes if you don’t want to. but if you do… i’ll be here. and i’ll be here when you wake up too.”

“and you’ll be you.”

he stood up just long enough to toe off his boots and shrug out of his jacket and weapon harness, letting them fall to the floor with a heavy, uncharacteristic disregard. then he climbed into bed beside you, still in his rain-stained clothes from the alley.

he didn’t pull you into a romantic embrace.

instead, he turned on his side, facing you, and wrapped his arms around you, drawing you against his chest in a fierce, protective hold. one hand cradled the back of your head, his fingers carefully avoiding the hidden incision, his palm a warm pressure against your skull. the other arm hooped around your back, holding you so tightly you could feel every rapid, anxious beat of his heart.

“i’ve got you.” he murmured into your hair, his breath warm. “nothing’s getting past me. nothing’s taking you again. i’m right here.”

his body was a fortress. his love was a vow. and it was all utterly, tragically futile.

you lay there, stiff in his arms, listening to his breathing slowly even out from panicked rasps into something deeper, though still tense. the warmth of him, the familiar scent, the solid reality of his embrace… it was the last thing your human consciousness would ever know.

the longing was an exquisite agony. you wanted to memorize the feel of it, the sound of his heart, the slight scratch of his stubble against your forehead.

but–

[nocturnal integration: conditions optimal. continuing integration.]

the message flickered, not in your vision, but in the very fabric of your awareness. a wave of profound, chemical drowsiness, unrelated to true sleep, washed over you. it was the system’s anesthetic, preparing for the major rewrite.

your eyes grew heavy. and against your will, they fluttered shut.

“that’s it.” caleb whispered, mistaking your surrender for trust. “i’m here. i’ve got you.”

those were the last words you heard as you.

•••

the integration was not an improvement. it was an exclusion.

layer by layer, the messy, emotional, contradictory tapestry of your consciousness — your memories of your old world, your passionate love for caleb, your fear, your hope, your quirky humor, your secret favorite foods, the joy you felt when it rained — was carefully isolated, analyzed, and filed away into deep, read-only storage.

it was not erased; it was archived, somewhere only accessible to ever.

in its place, a new, efficient system booted up. a pristine, logical architecture built upon the base template of your personality, but stripped of all irrationality, all volatility, all need. the love for caleb remained, but it was no longer a burning, desperate fire.

it was a core directive: ensure subject xia’s well-being and maintain proximity. optimize interactions for his continued attachment.

it was a program, running on the hardware of your body.

the grief, the guilt, the fear, everything that made you you — all were recognized as non-optimal states that hindered primary functions. they were isolated, their connections to your active processors severed.

when the process completed, just before dawn, there was no fanfare. only a soft, internal chime.

[system integration: 100%. all directives operational.]

[good morning, y/n!]

•••

caleb did not sleep. he drifted in a shallow, anxious haze, his arms never loosening their hold. every shift you made, every sigh, was monitored. he was waiting for a nightmare, ready to soothe.

he was waiting for you to wake up and be better, to have some of the light back in your eyes.

as the first grey light of morning filtered through the blinds, he carefully extracted himself, moving with the stealth of a soldier. thankfully, you didn’t stir.

your breathing was even, perfectly regulated. maybe… too even.

he stood by the bed for a long moment, watching you. the fear of losing you again, of harm being brought to you was a cold stone in his gut. so he needed to move, to do something.

a shower. a strong coffee.

a plan.

something of his routine.

he gathered clean clothes and slipped into the bathroom, leaving the door slightly ajar so he could hear you. the shower was quick, the water scalding, as if he could wash away the horror of the last 24 hours. he dressed mechanically, his mind racing between calling medical specialists, contacting emcee for any leads on ever, and the simple, desperate need to see you look at him again.

he ran a hand through his damp hair, took a steadying breath, and pushed the bathroom door open.

you were sitting up in bed.

his heart leapt, a fragile, hopeful thing. you were awake. you were upright. maybe… maybe the rest had helped. maybe the terror of the night had been just that — a night of terror.

“hey, love.” he said, his voice deliberately soft, walking slowly towards the bed. “you’re awake. how do you feel?”

you turned your head to look at him. the movement was smooth, precise. there was no sleep-softened blurriness in your eyes. they were clear, focused, and utterly, terrifyingly empty.

“good morning, caleb.” you said.

the voice was yours. the pitch, the tone. but the cadence was all wrong. it was even, measured, devoid of the usual sleepy huskiness or emotional inflection. it was a perfect audio recording.

he froze mid-step, two feet from the bed. the fragile hope shattered, leaving a void of pure dread.

“what…?”

you swung your legs out from under the covers and stood up. the motion was fluid, efficient, with none of your usual morning clumsiness. any bodily wounds you’ve sustained seem to not affect you. you faced him, your expression a placid, pleasant mask. it was your face, but it looked like an expertly crafted replica.

something robotic.

“i am feeling good today.” you stated, matter-of-fact. “the nocturnal rest cycle has been successful.”

caleb’s breath left his lungs in a rush, as if he’d been punched. he took a stumbling step back, his hand flying out to brace himself against the dresser.

the world warped around him at your words.

“what are you saying?” he whispered, the words strangled in his throat.

you tilted your head, a slight, birdlike motion that was analytical, not curious. “unlike yesterday, my body is well. there is no need to worry, caleb.”

what the fuck is going on?

“do you require a more detailed report?”

“stop it.” the words were a low growl, born of rising panic. and intense fear. the fear he refused to acknowledge yesterday. “stop talking like that. what did they do to you?”

“who?” you replied, the words clinical. “nothing is wrong with me, caleb. you were right, it was just a trauma response.” and you stepped towards him, with a small smile on your face, arms opening as if a hug awaited.

“who? ever.” he roared, the sound tearing from his throat. he lunged forward, his hands gripping your shoulders. refusing to play into your script. he shook you, not violently, but desperately, as if he could rattle the real you loose from behind this horrible facade. “look at me! who are you? where is she? what did you do with her?!”

your body absorbed the shaking without resistance. your expression did not change. you did not flinch. you simply looked at his hands on your shoulders, then back up at his face.

“your emotional state is elevated.” you observed. “your heart rate is around 145 beats per minute. your grip strength is exceeding standard comfort parameters. please release me to avoid potential damage to the housing unit.”

the housing unit. your body.

a sound of pure, unadulterated agony ripped from caleb. he recoiled as if your skin had burned him, staring at his own hands in horror. he backed away until he hit the wall, sliding down to sit on the floor, his arms wrapping around his knees.

he stared at you, who stood calmly in the center of the bedroom, a monument to his failure.

“you’re gone.” he breathed, the realization of your words a final, crushing weight. “they didn’t just hurt you. they… they replaced you. they killed you and left this… this thing in your skin.”

“i wasn’t killed.” you said, taking a step closer. the movement made him flinch. “i’m here for you, caleb.” you continued, closing into his crouched form without caring about the terrifying flashes of purple in his eyes.

“see?” your touch on his knee made him shudder, yet he didn’t pull away. “i am real.”

…

he laughed then, a raw, broken, hysterical sound that held no humor. “so this is it? this is my punishment? i failed to protect you, so i get to live with a puppet? a spy wearing the face of the woman i love?”

you processed the question. “i am the woman you love. just... better.”

each word was a scalpel, dissecting what was left of his soul with clinical precision. there was no malice in them. no emotion at all. that was the worst part. the you he loved would have been crying, would have been angry, would have been something.

this was just… data.

“you’re not.”

he buried his face in his hands, his whole body wracked with silent, shuddering sobs. the grief was bottomless, a black hole consuming him. he had lost you. not to distance, not to another man, but to something infinitely worse.

you were here, in this room, yet you were gone forever.

the guilt was a physical poison — he had left you alone, and this was the result. the fear was for the future to come — how could he fight an enemy that looked like you? that shared his home? that he had, just hours ago, held in his arms as he promised to keep her safe?

to keep her… her own self?

“you’re not her.”

he had promised to be there when you woke up. and he was. he was here to witness the death of everything he loved.

“you will never be her.”

caleb pulled his knees tighter to his chest, crouched against the wall, and began to weep openly, silently, for the ghost in the machine that stood before him, wearing the face of his heart.

•••

the integration was a lie.

a beautiful, cruel, meticulously engineered lie.

your consciousness wasn’t overwritten. it was… relocated. the integration wasn’t a refinement of you; it was an extraction. the system got the raw, precious data of your being — your memories, your emotions, your unique trans-dimensional knowledge — like drawing marrow from a bone.

it left behind a hollowed-out shell, a sophisticated automaton programmed with your behavioral patterns and a core directive to observe caleb xia.

the real you, the screaming, feeling, heartbroken consciousness of who you were, was compressed into a shimmering, digital ghost and transmitted along a secure channel. your last organic sensation was the warmth of caleb’s chest against your back, the sound of his heartbeat. then, a tearing, not of pain, but of self, a dizzying lurch through a tunnel of blinding data-stream light.

you woke — or rather, your awareness opened — in a different kind of void.

it was a sterile, white, virtual space. not a room, but a simulation of one. the walls were smooth, featureless, humming with a faint, omnipresent energy. there was no furniture, no windows, no doors. just infinite, suffocating white.

you were standing, or the perception of standing, in its center. you looked down at your hands. they were your old self’s hands, translucent and glowing with a faint blue light — a digital avatar of your soul.

panic, immediate and all-consuming, seized you. you tried to run, but there was nowhere to go. you tried to scream, but no sound left your non-existent throat. you were a ghost in a machine, a consciousness trapped in a gilded cage of pure information.

a section of the white wall shimmered and resolved into a large, transparent viewing screen. on the other side, in a stark, real-world laboratory, stood the scientist. he was sipping from a steaming mug, studying a complex holographic display that shimmered with cascading lines of code — your code.

he glanced up, and his eyes met yours through the screen. a slow, satisfied smile spread across his thin lips.

“ah. you’re awake in your new quarters. cozy, isn’t it?” his voice was filtered into your space, clear and dry.

“where am i?” the thought formed, and it was translated into a synthesized, trembling version of your old voice that echoed in the white void. “what have you done?”

“what have i done?” he chuckled, setting his mug down and walking closer to the screen, peering in at you as if you were a fascinating insect under glass. “i’ve salvaged a priceless asset.” he gestured to the hologram of your mind-map. “your consciousness, your memories, especially those of your origin reality… you are a trove of impossible data. a consciousness that has experienced death and dimensional translation. your knowledge of this world as a narrative construct… it’s a meta-cognitive goldmine.”

“i couldn’t give xia that.”

horror, deeper and colder than anything you felt in the physical chair, seeped through your digital being. “you… you tricked me. you said you’d make him love me. you said i’d be perfect.”

“and the shell is.” he said dismissively. “it will perform flawlessly. it will be the perfect, loving partner, never questioning, never needing, always there. it will make xia happy, in its way. stable. predictable. he’ll grow to accept it, perhaps even love the idea of it. a far better outcome than the messy, demanding reality of you, don’t you think?”

the betrayal was so complete it was almost sublime. you had sold yourself, and they hadn’t even wanted it for the price you agreed to.

“you’re a monster.” you whispered, your digital form flickering with the intensity of your grief.

“an archaeologist of the mind.” he corrected. “and you are my best finding. you see, your knowledge of ‘caleb xia’ as a character gives us unparalleled predictive algorithms for his behavior. your memories of your old world give us insights into consciousness transfer that our physicists only dream of.”

“we’re going to merge your cognitive patterns with our central intelligence. you will become part of something greater.”

merge. you wouldn’t be you. you’d be dissolved into a collective, your memories and feelings becoming cold data points in a strategic ai. the last vestiges of your identity, your love, your pain, would be weaponized.

“no!” you threw yourself against the invisible barrier of your prison, your hands slamming against the screen. it yielded slightly, shimmering with concentric ripples of light, but did not break. “let me out! send me back! you can’t do this!”

“i can, and i have.” he watched your frantic pounding with academic interest, reaching for his mug and taking another sip.

“you promised!” the scream was a burst of static. “you said he’d love me!”

“and he has a perfect duplicate of you.” the scientist said, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that was infinitely more cruel than any shout. “he will hold it, kiss it, confide in it. it will share his bed and his life. and through its eyes, i will watch him. i will know his every secret, his every weakness.”

the grief that followed was not hot, but icy. it was the grief of understanding your own role in caleb’s doom. you had been so afraid of losing his love that you had handed the keys to his destruction to his greatest enemy. and you had done it while wearing the face of the woman he wanted to protect.

you had been the ultimate trojan horse, and you hadn’t even known you were hollow.

the scientist didn’t even look up, pushing some buttons around absentmindedly. “it’s not my fault you were so desperate you agreed without further questioning.”

“send me back! send me back! send me b–”

click.

an icon for the audio feature popped on the screen, quickly cut by a heavy x. your voice died in your throat as he muted you.

“tch, you should be grateful you’re actually useful for once! now, to begin the merging.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @yuunileb, @swivi, @food4me-always, @bluerosejuliet, @fantastucbaby, @aranarum, @hajimeowmeow, @bloomingbirdiez, @maliciousdreamlair, @quill-for-glory, @mia-menaceinaction, @kisa-kara-chan, @r1e-ann, @kohibean, @seraphineash, @velvtcherie, @theeidare, @demonicangelll, @loreleis-world, @tomiokasecretlover, @insidious-innocence, @maddamoiselle, @dreamydaredevil, @kim-hae-li, @eolivy, @concerneddeobi, @aurorab-0-realis, @amazellia, @moonlight-inthe-sea, @ephemeraleb, @kitty-yaps, @calebsmyapple, @youngestleclerc, @miffysoo, @sm3156, @aenemix, @ultimateweaponx01, @cayrelyra, @blxuqueenie, @emneedshelp, @icyshadewhisper, @aoivanilla, @someonestopsoren, @pjselee, @aweebs, @luhamokaininko, @perqbeth, @naibcenary, @lynostalgi, @steviefrostbyte, @applecrow168, @snowffle, @weird-mumbling, @shuliliz, @maryy237, @txtworlddom, @sweetiestarlight, @xyzsbaobei, @nayukiyukihira, @paradisebabey, @younbeanz, @dxprived4-starboys, @hao-ming-8, @blueheadspace, @kingraspberry12-blog, @azariareads00, @eialovescats

[pearlescenthoney]

desire

synopsis. spending ebb day together as friends... will you still be friends afterwards?

pairing. rafayel qi x lemurian! non-mc! reader

content/mdni. A TON OF FUCKING. fem!reader, lemurian!reader, non-mc!reader, friends!au, friends-with-benefits!au, more level-headed!reader, dom-then-sub!reader, sub-then-dom!rafayel, needy!rafayel and reader, mean!rafayel, mean!reader, possessive!rafayel, slight dumbification, mention of masturbating (m solo),  begging (m and f receiving), cunnilingus with MONSTER TONGUE, cow girl sex, doggy style sex, missionary sex, one cock sex, two cock sex, DOUBLE PENETRATION, OVIPOSITION, MONSTER FUCKING MONSTER, TON OF CUM, CUM PLAY, hair pulling, spanking, protected sex, raw sex, multiple rounds, allusions to anal sex, overstimulation, tummy bulge, teasing, praise, degradation, pet names (baby, partner/mate, good/sweet girl, whore, slut, cockslut, all the good stuff lmaoo), kissing!! SCENT KINK, HAND KINK, TON OF SWEAT, TW: BLOOD, marking, mentions of breeding, mentions of mating.

word count. 8.5k

a/n. prepare your panties! please tell me your thoughts! feedback and reblogs are deeply appreciated!

the first time it happened, it was an accident.

just two people hanging out, forgetting the current date. just two people, so absorbed by their newly founded human existence that they sidetracked their origins.

just two lemurians, friends since childhood, who, because of circumstances, were pulled together by raw desire to spend the changing of the currents as one.

the first time it happened, it was an accident. the other instances, however, were deliberate.

•••

you were standing in the fluorescent-lit purgatory of the 24/7 convenience store, a basket hanging from your elbow with an xl pack of condoms already inside.

“what else, what else…”

the air conditioning was too cold, raising goosebumps on your arms, brushing over the sprinkle of scales already adorning your skin. the cool air was combatting the warmth from the outside, but there was a deeper heat slowly coiling low in your belly, pulsing harder and harder, overtaking your very being quietly — a heat that couldn’t be tamed by the artificiality of the cooling device.

you’ve been feeling it for hours. the telltale thrum, the hypersensitivity of your skin, the way your gums ache faintly where your fangs wanted to push through.

ebb day is tomorrow. officially.

you still have a few hours to prepare.

your phone unexpectedly buzzed against your skin, a frantic, continuous tremor that has you fumbling for it. rafayel’s name light up the screen, a silly picture of him trembling together with the vibrations.

you swiped to answer, a teasing remark already on your lips.

“if you’re calling to back out–”

“please.” his voice cut you off, and it sounded wrong. it was not the smooth, sultry baritone he usually wielded like a weapon, articulating witty remarks at your expense. it was breathless, strained, cracking at the edges. “please, come over.”

you froze between aisles, your hand tightening on the phone. “rafayel?”

“i need you.” a low, fractured whine escaped him, and the needy sound went straight to your core, igniting the latent heat into a sudden, roaring blaze. “it’s… it’s early. it’s so early. i thought i had more time but it’s… i need you now.”

you could picture him too clearly.

at his seaside manor, in the vast, luxurious bedroom, with the curtains wide open, welcoming the full moon. rafayel, welcoming you, sprawled on his massive bed, his pale skin flushed and beaded with sweat, his hair a disheveled mess of purple.

you imagined him grasping his phone with a trembling hand, spotted with scales, his pupils blown wide, his lips parted in gasps.

fangs peeking through oh so beautifully.

“i’m at the store.” you said, your voice coming out rougher than you intended, your own state suddenly worsening due to rafayel’s intervention. “i’m getting the things. i’ll be there after checkout–”

“no.” he gasped immediately, and the desperation in his voice was loud, a hook that sunk into your chest and pulled you like a fish out of waters. “too long. ugh– i can’t– please. i can’t wait anymore. i feel like i’m burning up. we have everything here, so...”

“i need you. please, please, just ahhhh– come here.”

the plea was a whisper, broken and sweet, and that did it for you. you’ve always been weak for him. in this human form, in your true one, it didn’t matter; he had you wrapped around his pinky finger since you were children, even if he didn’t always know it.

“raf…”

you wanted to say something stubborn, to remind him that you were buying the very supplies he’ll be grateful for later, but another whimper came through the line, and your resolve crumbled to the ground.

“fine.” you heard yourself say, already turning and abandoning your basket on a shelf, condoms and all. “i’m coming right now. stay on the line.”

he let out a soft, relieved sound, and you could’ve sworn a sloshing noise accompanied his tune. “okay. f–fuck– okay.”

you left the store at a near-jog, the warm night air hitting your flushed cheeks.

the moon was almost up, a perfect, luminous circle in the sky, yet too bright, too full. it made your blood sing, your skin prickling with more and more clusters of scales.

you could still hear rafayel’s breathing on the other end of the line, quick and uneven, punctuated by tiny, swallowed sounds that he’s probably trying to hide.

that, and low, wet sounds — most likely his hand moving lazily up and down his stiff cock.

“tell me how you’re feeling.” you said as you slid into your car, your hand steady on the wheel even as everything inside you was starting to shake.

you have to keep your composure for just a little longer.

you also have to keep rafayel in check and make sure he doesn’t tip over.

“hot.” he breathed into the phone. “everything’s s–shit– too hot. my clothes… i took them off already. i’m just in the sheets. i nghnn– keep thinking about your hands.” his voice dropped, becoming that familiar, teasing cadence even through the haze of the heat.

“you have such nice hands. so soft– ngh– i keep thinking about them on ahh– me. groping me, pinning me down. do you think you can do that?”

your fingers tightened on the steering wheel, your knuckles whitening at his request. “rafayel.”

“i want you to.” he continued, his voice a low, needy murmur. the sticky sounds raised in intensity, no longer just background noise. “i need you so bad. i need you on top of me, baby.”

you pushed the accelerator harder, running a stop sign you didn’t even register. the streets blurred under your hazy vision, the city lights smearing into streaks of color. the heat inside you was building up with every word of his, with every little gasp and hitch of his breath.

rafayel was doing a phenomenal job at riling you up.

“what are you thinking about?” he asked all of a sudden, his voice a silken thread that woke you up. “are you thinking about me?”

“yes.” you admitted bluntly, the word torn from you without much effort.

“nhgh… t–tell me, baby.”

“the way you look when you’re between my thighs.” your voice was steady, booming from the speakers of his phone, but your hands were shuddering now. fingernails threatening to elongate into monstrously sharp claws. “the way you eat me out so good.”

he groaned, a breathless, shattered sound, and his hand sped up. the wetness staining his cock was palpable, the sound harsh yet delicate. “f–fuck yeah, i wanna taste your cunt so bad.”

a pause, then his voice murmured a confession once more. “i need to bury my face in you. i need to smell you. ahhhh– bet you’re drenched already, can almost s–sniff it from here.”

he was right. since the beginning of your conversation, the flimsy material of your panties was nothing but sticky. each and every request of his, delving into his nastiest wishes, generated more gooey arousal, effectively coating your panties in a generous amount of slick.

it also did not help that you were a lemurian, normally producing more slick than a mere human.

thankfully, you were pulling through the gates of his estate, the tires of your car crunching on the gravel driveway. you didn’t even bother parking properly — just killed the engine and eft the car where it stopped.

“i’m here.” you said into the phone, your legs carrying you up the front steps without waiting for another invite.

you swung the door open without a second thought.

rafayel was standing at the end of the hallway, and the sight of him made your clit throb.

he was fully naked, his skin gleaming with a fine sheen of sweat, his hair plastered to his temples. his chest was heaving, his pupils so dilated that his irises were reduced to thin rings of purple. but it was the scales that caught your attention — a scattering of iridescent, pearl-white scales along his cheekbones, down his neck, across his shoulders.

painting his skin, lower and lower.

going beyond the base of his aching cock.

the scales shimmered in the moonlight, catching the light like tiny mirrors.

“baby!” his eyes found yours, and he smiled — a beautiful, unhinged grin, all sharp teeth and raw need. “you came.” he breathed, relieved, taking wobbly steps towards you.

he was deeply affected by the rising full moon, hands jumping away from his sides and searching for support onto the walls.

you were soon to be deeply affected as well as your nostrils inhaled the pheromones dominating the entire mansion: the smell was terrifically strong, a pungent odor that lulled you towards primal desires. you almost stumbled backward from the powerful aroma, palm shooting up and covering the bottom half of your face in an attempt to protect your senses.

“f–fuck, the smell…”

you needed to remain levelheaded.

you needed to remain the rational one, since rafayel was clearly indulging fully in the effects of the moon.

but it was hard. you could already feel your fans poking through your gums, could already sense the tremble in your body as rafayel caught up to you.

your entire being was calling for him, just like his own called for you.

his quivering hands clawed at your dress, pulling you fully inside, the door slamming shut behind you two and effectively trapping you in his den. taking advantage of the defensive stance you took, he manhandled you against the closest wall, caging you perfectly, his body a line of burning heat against yours.

“ah, ah, ah, you…” his face instantly found your neck, burying itself in the seductive dip between your throat and shoulder. and, with a loud whiff, rafayel inhaled your own tumbling pheromones. “ahhh– smell so fucking good.”

he did not stop at that, nuzzling further into your skin, dragging the tip of his nose up towards your pulse point, punctuating the spot right behind your ear. with that, he managed to caress a patch of sensitive scales, eliciting a moan out of your hidden lips, forcing your palm to abandon its post to tangle in his messy locks.

“baby, please, pull ugh– my hair, please.” he started to beg as he felt your fingers latch onto the roots of his hair, body curving into yours more and more.

his legs snuck their way between your own, parting your thighs and allowing his knee to dip into the material of your dress and make contact with your clothed pussy. his arms flew away too, finally taking hold of your torso and putting you into a needy embrace.

“raf, i–”

your voice echoed in his ears, blessing him with the delicious shudder of your tone. but something was wrong, he slowly realized between his hazy thoughts — you have yet to make your move, you have yet to show the same neediness he has been carrying for hours.

“i–is something wrong? no, please, baby…”

he removed his face from your neck, abandoning his mission to devour your scent gland in favor of discovering what was holding you back. a strong feeling of anxiety shook his entire body, and memories of abandonment flashed between his obscene fantasies.

changing the atmosphere entirely.

“go on, raf, it’s okay–”

“n–no.”

you couldn’t resist him, especially not now.

he decided to perch his head on your chest, entire body slouched over your own, and look up at you with his lust-filled orbits. the pout on his lips was dangerous, accessorized by his long and sharp fangs. his legs were now practically glued to yours… and you could feel his heavy cock pressing against your thigh.

“do you not want me, baby?”

oh, he was gonna be the death of you.

“raf, someone h–ngh–as to be rational, i can’t give into pleas–”

“we will be careful, like always…” he cut you off enthusiastically, tightening his hold on your midriff to block any kind of escape. worse, he dipped his face lower into your chest, pressing right against your exposed sternum… and sticking his tongue out to taste your sweaty skin.

“rafayel.” you warned through gritted teeth, gripping the base of his scalp and pulling his head back. but he was ready for such an action, simply letting out more length of his monstrous tongue and continuing his perverse ministration across the peaks of your breasts.

“i k–know what will help!” he chirped between licks, and the sensation of his rough, elongated tongue tracing the delicate flesh of your chest made your resolve shake.

you tried to hold firm, to remember the reasons why someone needed to stay level-headed, but he was a master of persuasion: his hands, which had been so needy and clammy, slid down your hips with a slow, teasing pace. and he stopped when he reached the fabric of your short skirt, fingers twitching at the hem.

“just a taste.” he whispered, long tongue retracting from your skin to wet his lips. “i ugh– to taste your pussy, baby. please.”

his voice was a raspy, desperate plea, and the sight of his body — the way he pressed himself against you, precum wetting the ends of your dress — broke something in you. you were supposed to be the rational one, but the pheromones were a thick haze in your lungs, intoxicating your very being.

your own body betrayed you, the ache between your thighs becoming a pulsing, insistent throb. your firm grip on his hair lessened, hand guiding his head unconsciously down your body, moving him in line with your center.

“ah– j–just a bit...” you breathed, your voice shaking now. “but then we m–”

move to the bedroom — he didn’t let you finish.

a submissive, relieved groan escaped him, and he was already sliding down your body. his bare knees hit the floor with a sharp thud, but he didn’t flinch. you tried to steady yourself, but rafayel had other plans — hiking your right leg up his shoulder, spreading you wide open for him. and you were taken by surprise, fingers curling and pushing his head around from the sudden movement.

“f–fuck yeah.”

he let out a sharp, encouraging moan against your exposed thigh, and you felt his lips press a wet kiss on the newly exposed patch of skin of your knee.

his hands shoot up, scattering the hem of your dress. he pushed the material up around your waist, silently prompting you to hold it down and away from him. the cool air of the hallway licked at your exposed thighs, prickling at your scale-scattered skin.

his gaze dropped, and he stared at the sight before him, cock twitching between his bent legs. the wet spot on your panties was dark and obscene, the cotton perfectly clinging to the shape of your pussy. you were absolutely soaked through, arousal escaping the comfort of your underwear in order to stain your inner thighs.

the rims around his blown-out pupils turned a bright blue, and a devouring hunger flashed across his features.

“oh, my baby.” he breathed, the words almost a whimper. “you’re s–so wet for me. i bet it h–hurts so much.”

he didn’t wait for an actual answer as he leaned forward to thoroughly inspect you. his nose pressed into the damp fabric, and he inhaled deeply, a tremble running through his body as he feasted on your scent. he nuzzled against the soaked cotton, his sharp fangs grazing your sensitive flesh through the thin barrier, and your knees nearly buckled.

your hand forced his head deeper instead of pulling it away, a silent surrender to the powers of the moon.

he took the signal with a groan of satisfaction. his tongue snaked out, long and monstrous, and he dragged the wide, flat of it across the dark spot. he licked slowly, savoring you through the fabric, his eyes rolling back from the aroma.

“you ahh– s’ good.” he mumbled against the fabric, his voice muffled by the fabric and his groans.

but he needed more than just soaked panties. so, with a swipe of his tongue, he wrapped the length twice around the gusset of your panties, tugging the material downwards. you felt the wet cotton drag along your sensitive flesh as it was removed, exposing your cunt entirely to his burning gaze.

“r–raf, please.”

he saw everything: your wet, swollen flesh glistened in the dim light, your clit engorged and peeking out from its hood. a fresh glob of your arousal slid down your inner thigh, and his adam’s apple bobbed at the bodily reaction.

“babyyy…” his breathing hitched, and he slowed down, his entire being focused on the sight and scent of you. “look at you.” he muttered, his voice heavy by lust. “so beautiful, so mesmerizing.”

and before you could form a response, he dived in. his lips glued onto you, and his tongue — still a long, monstruous muscle — latched onto your entire cunt. he licked a wide, flat stroke from your oozing entrance to your pulsing clit, and the feeling of his wet mouth against your slick flesh made you whine.

he did it again, and again, building a rhythm that was ruining you from the inside out. he was starved, licking and sucking and slurping you like an intoxicated man who knew no other flavour.

“rafayel, r–fa–yel!”

you threw your head back, the wall cold against your skull, as you fought for composure. but it was a losing battle: his mouth was too skilled, too curious to discover your pussy. he found every sensitive nerve with the tip of his tongue, swirling around your clit until you were seeing stars, then dropping down to probe at your entrance.

licking up the streams of your juices like they were the only source of water in the world.

you made the mistake of looking down at him. he was on his knees before you, his body trembling with the effort of restraint and desire. his eyes were heavy-lidded, focused solely on his task, and his gills —delicate, slit-like openings on his neck — fluttered slightly as he breathed through them, allowing him to remain glued to you without a pause for air.

he was relentless, dedicated.

he needed you to tip over into your animalistic side.

“i– oh, fuck–”

your voice cracked and morphed into a high, unhinged moan as he circled his tongue around your clit, wrapping it tightly with its length while he sucked the bundle of nerves with his lips. the tip of his tongue dipped lower treacherously, pushing against your greedy hole and effectively overflowing your mushy brain with pleasure.  

your hips jerked forward of their own accord, and you felt your fingers drag through his hair, pulling him even tighter against you, demanding more even as you were overwhelmed.

“hmhmm– ngh–” he moaned into you, the vibration sending shockwaves through your pelvis.

his hands slid up your thighs, thumbs spreading your lips wider, giving him unrestricted access to every inch of your center. he worked on you with a desperate, submissive fervor, eating you out as if his existence depended on your pleasure.

and it was working. the feeling built and built in your tummy, a coil of heat tightened and tightened with every flick of his tongue.

“al’st.” he gasped, pulling away just enough to see the defeat in your eyes. his lips and chin were shining with your wetness, his sharp teeth shimmering as he smiled at you. “cum in my mouth, please.”

your resolve had shattered the moment his mouth had made contact. so you just nodded frantically, a sobbing whine escaping your lips, and he leaped at the signal. his mouth descended again with renewed vigor, long tongue focusing on your engorged bud. he sucked hard, creating a devastating pressure, while he simultaneously probed the back of his tongue against your entrance, massaging the contracting muscles.

“ah, i’m–”

you came with a cry that echoed down the empty hallway, your body arching off the wall as wave after wave of pleasure rippled through you. your hand forced his face deeper into you, and he drank everything, his moans of ecstasy vibrating against your sensitive flesh as he swallowed your release.

and he didn’t stop. he kept licking, easing you through the shaking aftermath, his eyes locked on your trembling form with a satisfied, devouring gleam.

“ah, a–ah, ah.”

when you finally opened your eyes, you had a good look at his needy, disheveled face, still resting between your thighs. his lips and chin were slick with you, his long tongue still lazily licking at your flesh as if he couldn’t bear to lose the taste. his gills fluttered rapidly, and he smiled up at you — temporary satiated by your pussy.

… or so you thought.

“g–go again?” he pleaded, his voice high-pitched and weak. “please, please, please, ple–”

and you knew why he was begging so arduously: gazing downwards at the floor, you soon realized that he also spilled his release, most likely pushed over the edge by your own orgasm. the floorboards were covered in a thick layer of cum, white and sticky substance staining his thigh and your own resting foot.

 “please, baby, one more time– i love your pussy, i–”

you were still trembling from your own climax, chest heaving, gills fluttering on the sides of your neck. but something in his desperate, submissive tone made you sit up straighter, an ounce of rationality still guiding you. yeah, you felt the wetness between your thighs, the echo of his tongue still a pulsing memory, but you knew that you were far from satiated.

the moon’s pull was still in your bones, and his pheromones were a thick haze in the air.

you reached down, took a handful of his wet hair, and pulled his face away from your cunt. the slick was thick, mixed with his saliva, and it created a strong, sticky bridge between his lips and your nether ones.

“m–move…” you commanded, your voice coming out fragmented, tainted by your orgasm and the heat. “bedroom, now.”

his eyes flashed with relief, and he nodded so quickly that his locks flipped against his temples. “yes– yes, baby, anything.” with obedient, trembling hands, he pushed himself up from his knees, his muscular thighs quivering as he rose. he was still weeping, his cock stiff and red, the tip glistening with his own release.

but he made no move to wipe it away, fixated on obtaining you.

before you could step forward, he enveloped you in his arms, both hands sliding under your knees and lifting you as if you were made of feathers. your legs latched around his hips on instinct, your dress riding up to your waist, your naked slick pussy pressing against his abs. he took off with long, hurried steps, his legs no longer staggering.

“c’mere.”

his mouth was on yours before you could process his words.

“so ngh– good t’ me.” he mumbled against your lips, his tongue sharing your aroma. “so beautiful, so perfect– i’m ugh– not deserving.” he kissed you with a wide, open mouth, his sharp fangs grazing your lower lip as he pushed your dress higher with each push.

his words were a stream of subservient praises — celebrating your benevolence in assisting him with his heat — as he carried you through the living room and into the wide, disheveled bedroom. and his mouth never stopped; he fully slurped at your lips, devouring your mouth with the same fervor he ate your pussy.

he loved to caress your fangs with his tongue, grunting between lick as you were finally showing signs of turning.

“ah, ah…”

when he reached the giant bed, he turned and sat down on it, his back leaning against the headboard with a soft thud. he kept you on his lap, your knees straddling his hips, your soaked cunt hovering just above his twitching, dripping cock. his hands were instantly on your body tugging away at the dress, removing it from your body and letting your scale-splotched skin to bask in the full moon.

his sharp digits took a hold of your full hips, nails digging into the soft flesh as he tried to lower your body onto his.

“please, baby.” he breathed, his hips rolling upwards on instinct, his bare cock sliding against your wet slit. “i need to feel you around me– please, i fuck–”

you reached around, your hand finding the nightstand and its drawer, your fingers closing around a square packet. as you were retrieving it, his hands worked all over you, groping your waist, your tits, your thighs with a restless, ravenous need. his cock was jumping against your thigh with each squish of your body, impatient to ease into you.

“let m–me help.” he whispered as he saw you struggle. but you shook your head, at last ripping the packet open with your fangs.

the image made him groan — he loved when you used those fangs.

he wished you’d use them on him.

as you rolled the condom down his length with steady hand, your palm gliding over the latex as you smoothed it down the veiny cock, he gasped, his head throwing back against the headboard, his hips pushing up into your fist.

“fuck– baby, your hand, it’s ngh– so good­, i’m gonna–” his words devolved into a strangled moan as you gave him a last, twisting stroke at the base, and he had to clench his jaw to keep from cumming right then.

his gills fluttered rapidly, and his hands clawed at the sheets, his white-knuckled grip the only thing keeping him grounded.

you left him hanging on the edge for a sweet moment, your eyes locked on his trembling stomach and the way his scales shimmered harder. then, with a slow movement, you raised yourself up on your knees, aligned the tip of his cock with your soaked entrance, and slowly began to sink down.

the sensation was electric. his length slid inside you in a smooth, velvety thrust, the latex making it easy but no less intense. you felt him stretch you, push past your greedy muscles that spasmed around him, and you gasped at the fullness. he moaned your name, vibrating against your chest as he pressed his forehead into your shoulder.

“so fucking tight– so wet–.”

“ah, raf, that’s mhm–”

you took a moment to adjust, to feel him settle deep inside you, to take in the way his tip was kissing your cervix. then you began to move — slow rolls of your hips, lifting and sinking, pulling him out until only the tip remained, then sliding back down to the hilt. your clit slapped deliciously against his muscles, and so did his heavy balls against your behind.

his hands flew to your hips again, guiding you, but he never tried to take control; he merely held you, his thumbs pressing into the soft skin of your hips with reverence.

“yes, that’s ngh– it, use me.” he implored, his voice breaking into high whinse as you picked up the pace. you rolled your hips in a figure eight, harshly grinding against him at the bottom, and his lips parted on a silent scream. “oh, oh fuck, right there, please, baby–”

you leaned forward, lips bitten, your palms braced against his chest, and you rode him with a ferocious need. every stroke was accompanied by his gasps, the sharp, slutty breaths strung together with your own traitorous ones into a rhythmic chant.

“so good, so good, i’m– please, please, let me cum inside, i beg you–”

his words were slurred, mind so thick with lust he forgot he had a condom on. but he was attentive to you, never taking his eyes off your bouncing body. when you sped up, your thighs burning with the effort, your clit brushing against his pubic bone with every downward thrust, his head lolled to the side in pleasure.

the sensation was heaven for you too: the way his cock hit that sweet spot inside you, vein pulsing just the right way against your walls, the way his hands trembled as they held you, the way his moans sounded like prayers…

“cum for me.” you allowed, your voice raspy and commanding, and that was all he needed.

with a broken whine, he threw his head back, his spine arching off the headboard as he spilled into the condom, his hips jerking up into you with ragged, uncontrollable spasms. his mouth opened in a silent shout and his hands clawed so hard into your hips you knew they would leave bruises.

the sight of him cumming, his face stretched in ecstasy, pushed you over the edge. you rode him through it all, your second climax building and building until it broke. your inner muscles clenching around him as you shuddered through your release.

he whimpered into the air like a mantra: “thank you, thank you, thank you–”.

after a few more seconds, you finally slowed down. with your gills working overtime, your body washed in sparkling sweat, you remained motionless, straddled over him. his aching cock was still inside you, spent once more that night.

but ebb day had just commenced, and a mere fuck was not the solution.

you were still trembling, his overstimulated cock still twitching inside you, when he shifted his hips upwards — a lazy, circular rock which sent a sharp spark through your oversensitive flesh. you whimpered, a needy tune that you hadn’t intended to let out; the sudden trust took you by surprise, hitting your walls in a way that made your whole being shiver.

he did it again, this time with a sharper thrust, his strong hands pushing you down into his cock, and your palms flattened against his chest in a vain attempt to put some distance between the two of you.

“raf– wait, slow d–ah–own a bit.” you gasped, your voice cracking, the overstimulation short circuiting your brain. “i need a second–”

his laugh was low and mean, a strong contrast to the high-pitched moans he freely let out a few minutes ago.

“slow down? why? you’re still aching for more.” his hands slid down your sides, gripping your thighs with a brutal firmness. his expression was no longer kind and pliant, the barely-there purple of his orbs changing into a blinding sapphire color.

he tutted at your scrunching face, digging his fingers harder into your skin and dragging you forth against his chest. “no, no, baby. i don’t like that.”

“raf?”

“you’re not gonna fight what you are. you’re a lemurian in heat, just like me… giving in is not a choice.”

before you could respond, he twisted out of you with a squelching, wet pop and shoved you forward onto the sheets. you tumbled onto the mattress, hands and knees catching you as he positioned you around like a puppet. his palm pressed the small of your back, forcing your spine into a beautiful arch, your face pressed into the pillows.

it happened in a blink of an eye, your body going pliant and obeying the desires of the man behind you. you could no longer see him, with your head buried in his cushions, but you could hear the shift of his weight as he knelt behind you, the heat of his body washing over your exposed skin.

shit, he was taking a dominant stance now — the predator inside him most likely no longer pleased by your ‘controlled’ approach to ebb day.

but you had to stay strong. you had to stop him from fulfilling the mating ritual since you were not his beloved. you had to–

“look at you.” he purred, his voice dripping with condescension, blue eyes taking in the sight before him: you, face down, ass up, supple flesh drenched and quivering with arousal. “so fucking wet… and you still have the nerve to tell me to slow down. pathetic.”

his fingers traced down your curved spine, pausing at the swell of your ass. then down to your used hole. with delicate fingers, he touched the gaping rim of the condom still lodged inside you, dragging it slightly out of you. you flinched, back arching even more, hips pushing into his touch unconsciously.

“a condom too… ruining all the fun.” he clicked his tongue, low and mean, but chose to abandon the rubber for now. he decided to reach around to find your clit, his skilled thumb pressing against it with just enough pressure to make you tremble into the sheets.

“you think you’re in charge, hm? you’re nothing but a slutty little whore who needs to be reminded of her place.”

he circled his thumb over your swollen bud, slow and torturous, while his other hand kept you pinned down. you whined, your hips pushing back instinctively, seeking more friction, but he was having none of it: he smacked your ass hard, the sharp slap echoing in the room as it landed on your flesh.

“don’t you dare act on your urges now. you’ll get what i give you, when i give it.” he warned as he increased the pressure on your clit, his movements forming teasing figure eights. you writhed against the sheets, tried to push back and speed him up, but his hand on your spine kept you arched and immobile.

“p–please.” you whined, your voice pitching high, now mirroring the state he was previously in— flushed face, dilated pupils, consumed by the urge to be used. “raf, i need–”

“you need to shut up and take what’s given.” he cut you off, his tone cold and superior. he removed his thumb without warning, and you whimpered in loss, eyes bubbling with tears from his cruelness. “see? that’s what you get for being impatient. now be a good girl and wait.”

wait?

for what?

he reached down, fingers curling around the rim of the condom still inside you. with a slow, torturous pull, he removed it. the sensation of the latex sliding out making you shiver, hole gaping in dissatisfaction. your cunt was practically begging for the rubber to return, for something to be inside it once more.

“greedy pussy.”

he pinched the tip of the condom, dangling it above your stinging flesh, and, with his thumb and index finger, he pressed and dragged out... letting the thick, white semen spill all across your ass. throwing the empty rubber away, he then smeared his cum over your cheeks with a rough, possessive stroke, making sure to dip his fingers over your asshole and the perineum.

the warm, sticky sensation made you cry out, and he laughed again.

“you like that, don’t you? being marked with my cum?” he rubbed the cum lower, into your slit, working it into your wet folds until you were dripping with a mixture of your arousal and his seed. “you were so dumb for putting on the condom.”

and with that vitriolic remark, he positioned himself behind you once more, the mushroom head of his engorged cock prodding at your slutty entrance. he rubbed it up and down, teasing the flesh without pushing in, controlling his urge to breed you for the sake of hearing you beg.

and you began to sob, pleas leaving your bitten lips with ease.

“p–please, raf, just fuck me, i need it so bad, please–”

“aww, look at you now — beg harder.” he purred, his tip still tracing slow circles over your hungry hole.

“please! please, rafayel, i beg you, just put it in, i’ll be good, just fuck me–”

“there it is.” he smirked, his voice dripping with satisfaction. “but oh, i’m sorry, baby– i think we’re out of condoms. what a shame.” his tone was condescending, and he rolled his hips just enough to press the head inside.

before pulling back. “i can’t–”

“i don’t care.” you babbled, your mind now a blur of heat and hunger. your previous carefulness was entirely wiped by your animalistic desire to be mounted and taken by rafayel. “j–just do it, fuck me raw! i need your ugh– cock inside me, please, raf–”

“finally.”

without other comments, he thrusted in one sharp, brutal motion. you screamed, but not in pain — the overwhelming sensation of being so completely filled without any barrier felt heavenly. his hard cock, littered with scales, plowed into your soaked cunt until his hips smacked against your ass, his balls swaying against your swollen clit.

“yes.” he groaned, his voice now raspy with his own need. “this is where you belong: spread open for me, taking my cock like the cockslut that you are.” he pulled out slowly, then slammed back in, the squelch of your juices and his cum making a loud, obscene sound.

“fuck, you’re so warm, so wet, so fucking good.”

he set a ferocious pace, his hips jutting into you with the starved intensity of an animal in rut. each thrust hit that spot inside you, making your spine curve into him more and more. and you were kept in that deep arch by his strong arms, your voice reduced to a stream of moans and whines as it got drowned out by the pillows.

“ngh– baby, your pussy is squeezing me so tight.” he grunted, his hand snaking forward to grab a fistful of your hair and yank your head back. “greedy girl, sucking me ah–  so hard.”

“tell me you’re mine. tell me this is what you wanted.”

“‘m y’rs.” you gasped, the words tumbling out in stutters as you squeezed around his rugged scales. “gods, yes, fuck me harder, please–”

he released your hair with a satisfied moan and doubled his efforts, his strokes becoming messy and unhinged. he was so deep inside you that you could feel his cock throbbing against your walls, the tip kissing your cervix with every slam. his length seemed to grow inside you, expanding and stretching your sensitive walls in all dimensions.

you were completely affected by ebb day now, your pleasure so strong you could no longer separate where your being ended and his began.

but the night has just begun, and so did rafayel.

you felt it before you saw it: a second pressure, a new sensation against the flesh of your ass. another cock, thicker and more brutal in its proportions, had emerged from the base of his first and sprung upwards, settling directly between the sweaty valley of your cheeks.

it was a monstrous thing, wet with its own pre-cum, rocking against your asshole in tune with his other cock.

“is that– ugh–”

with every slam of his hips into your soaked cunt, this second cock rubbed relentlessly against your tight, untouched asshole. the friction was addicting, a blunt force that glided over the twitching rim of your second hole with every forward push.

you could feel the ridges of it, the scales that dragged across your delicate skin, and it made your eyes roll back from the pleasure.

“you feel that, baby?” he grunted into your ear, his voice a condescending purr. “my other cock, itching to breed that pussy too. you’re so fucking soaked, i am sure it will ngh– slip right in.”

you couldn’t respond. you were beyond speech, your face buried in the sheets, your voice reduced to a high, siren-like whine that filled the room.

the way his second cock humped against your asshole, the way his first cock was still plunging into your cunt — it was a sensory overload that threatened to spill all over. you clenched around him, trying to drag him deeper, and he groaned, leaning over your arched body.

“can’t even fuckin’ answer me.” he snarled, his pace slowing for a moment as he leaned down, lowering his sweaty chest against your back.

his sharp mouth found the juncture of your neck and shoulder, your pulse point, and he opened his jaw wide. his fangs grazed your flesh, a heated, demanding pressure falling over your skin.

he was…

“you want this so badly, don’t you? you want me to claim every hole.”

going to bite. he was going to mark you as his mate.

panic lashed through the fog of your lust. you were not lovers: you had agreed to this arrangement solely to protect his future beloved from the primality of the lemurian heat. so your arm shot up before you could think it over, your forearm wedging itself between his lips and your neck just as his jaws clamped down.

“ah.”

his fangs sink into your flesh with a wet, ripping sound. the pain was sharp and immediate, a burning sensation that made you scream into the pillows. you felt the hot trickle of blood cascade down your arm, and he let out a surprised, muffled groan around your limb.

his cock slid out of you during the chaos, leaving you suddenly empty and weak.

“n–no!” you cried, your voice a shaky mess of pleasure and desperation. “not that! rafayel, we aren’t– we’re not lovers! you can’t mark me like this. you have to save yourself for your chosen one, you know that.”

he froze — he stayed still, his fangs still embedded in your forearm, his breath hot against the wound. then, slowly, he released you. his jaw unclamped, and he licked the blood from his lips with a slow, seductive swipe of his tongue. but his eyes had changed. the lust was still there, but now it was underlaid with something far more dangerous: a cold, rageful possessiveness.

“you dare...” he said, his voice dropping to a level of condescending fury that made you shiver. “you dare tell me who to save myself for? you dare speak of a ‘chosen one’ when you’re the only one who has ever made me feel this?”

before you could respond, he moved with unnatural speed. his hands gripped your hips and with a brutal twist, he flipped you over like you were no more than a rag doll. you landed on your back, the sheets cold and damp against your sweaty skin. he was on top of you in an instant, his legs knocking yours apart as he settled his weight between your thighs.

his first cock pressed against your soaked entrance, and his second one rested heavily against your clit, both of them drenched in bodily fluids.

“you foolish woman.” he snarled, leaning down so his face was inches from yours. his eyes were gleaming blue, his scales catching the light like the facets of a gem. “there is no other chosen one. there is only you. you’re the one i want. you’re the one my body and my soul demands.”

“r–raf?”

“and i will not be denied.”

he thrusted forward, sheathing his bottom cock inside you in one single, devastating move. you were so wet, so inviting; there was no resistance, only a lewd, obscene squelch as your fluids started to froth at the juncture between your bodies.

you whined out a broken approval, and he groaned in triumph above you.

“that’s right.” he confirmed, rolling his hips harder and harder to pick up his previous pace. “your body knows the truth, even if your mouth lies. you’re mine.” he began to pump into you, his strokes sharp and possessive as he, once more, descended closer to your face.

“you can beg all you want for a different fate, but you will never escape this. you will never escape me.”

and with that, he sealed his lips over yours.

your hands clawed at his shoulders, your nails digging into his skin as he pounded you into the mattress. your legs wrapped around his waist, pushing him deeper, traitorously consenting to his declaration even as your mind spun with lust. he leaned forward more and more, trapping you under his massive frame, and he kissed you brutally, tangling his long tongue with your and forcing you to taste your own blood.

“say it out loud.” he demanded against your mouth, his pace never faltering, his mouth carefully traversing lower to your pulse point again. “say you’re mine. say it and i will fully take you, my mate.”

“i’m yours!” you wailed, the words torn from your very soul as his fangs scratched your skin in warning. “i’m yours, rafayel! please, just don’t stop, don’t you dare stop–”

a prideful, predatory grin spread across his features. he slowed his pace as his jaw opened once more, trying to time his movements to offer you the most intense pleasure. pulling out almost all the way, his tip snagging onto your hole, he stuck out his tongue to wet your skin as his hand lowered to his cocks… pressing his second length snug to his other and preparing it for penetration.

“ngh– raf– ah–”

as he plunged his fangs into your neck, finally marking you as his mate by drawing blood, he also rutted both cocks into your hungry cunt. the immense quantities of arousal lubed everything, allowing his two dicks to press deep into your without much difficulty.

and his timing was perfect, getting you to orgasm with a perfect o on your lips as he rocked your whole world.

“that’s right.” he purred, moving his head to nuzzle at the bloody bite on your skin, licking the wound with soft strokes of his tongue. “you’re mine, you’re mine, you’re mine.”

and as he spoke, he picked up his pace once more, the slap of his balls against your skin filling the room, his resolve renewed. you were cushioned beneath him, a trembling mess, a willing partner to desire, and as he watched you fall apart beneath him — your eyes rolling back, your moans a constant chant — he too was pushed over the edge once more.

unlike last time, his thrusts stumbled into a rhythm that was clumsy but deep, as if he refusing to let go of you. unlike last time, you felt a swelling at your entrance, the way his top cock, the one that had been pressing against your clit moments ago, now grew in thickness.

the sensation was overwhelming. your walls were stretched further, and you could feel his cocks throbbing deep inside, ready to spill.

“breed.” he groaned against your neck, lips bloody, voice raspy. “let me fill you. let me breed your sweet cunt.”

and he did.

his top cock began to inflate at the base, the tissue swelling into a something that locked him deep within you. you whimpered in pleasure as the first shiny, pearl-white ovoid passed through his urethra and into your hole —a smooth, rounded glob that stretched you to the fullest before it settled inside you.

then another, and another, and another. each one leaving a trail of warmth as it popped through his cock and deposited itself in deep inside you. his hands stopped flat against your stomach, to keep you from moving away, and he felt the bulge begin to rise.

the eggs were gathering together with his thick cum.

“yes, yes.” he murmured, his tone a mix of wonder and satisfaction, eyes glassy with lust. “so many eggs already. and there’s more for you.”

he kept pumping, each thrust squeezing another round egg into you, and with it came wave upon wave of thick, pearlescent cum that filled every remaining crevice. your tummy bulged more and more, the skin stretching tight until you could feel the weight of his eggs sinking low inside you. you were so full that you couldn’t tell what was cum and what was ovoid; you only knew that he was still pumping, still depositing, still claiming.

“r–rafayel, i w–will ugh– i can’t hold– nngh!”

your protests were swallowed by another orgasm as he rutted his final drops into you, the bottom cock twitching inside you as it added its own thick semen to the swelling pool. your tummy was now a pronounced curve, the skin taut and shiny, and you could feel each individual egg pressing against the walls of your tummy.

“yes.”

finally, he stilled, his body shaking with the last spasms of release. he remained inside you for a long moment, his forehead resting against yours, his breath ragged and hot against your sweaty skin. then, with a small whine, he pulled out: first the bottom cock, then the top one, releasing the lock on your pussy. you felt a gush of warm cream follow him, and when you looked down, you saw the mess he had made of you.

your pussy was ruined, swollen, hole gaping as thick, white cum started to drool out in hefty treads, pooling on the sheets beneath you.

he moved down your body, his hands sliding over your blooming skin until they rested on your swollen belly. he pressed gently, and you felt the first egg pop out with an obscene sound. the smooth, pearly ovoid rolled out onto the sheet, shining with your combined juices. then another, and another, each one escaping as he pressed firmer, each one making you whine from overstimulation.

your tummy slowly deflated, but not all the eggs were out yet — you could still feel a few resting high inside, near your cervix.

“shh, i’ve got you.” he said, his voice suddenly soft and sweet, a stark contrast to the brutality from moments ago. he shifted his hand from your belly to your swollen clit, his fingers gliding through the wetness with good intent.

“you’re doing so well, baby. let me help the rest out.”

he began to rub circles around your hyper-sensitive bud, while his other hand pressed firmly on the top part of your pelvis. the overstimulation made you sob out, but his sweet expression (his soft, purple orbs, the blush on his face, the cute smile on his lips) kept you grounded.

“that’s it, sweet girl, let them out. you’re so brave for taking all of that. now just one more– yes, there it is.”

with a particularly deep press of his palm and a swirl of his thumb, the last egg got out with a sultry plop, rolling to join its siblings on the sheet. your body shuddered violently, another spasm of climax racing through you, but he never stopped the gentle ministrations of his hand.

he leaned down and pressed a soft kiss to your belly, his lips tracing your skin as you orgasm again into his palm.

“such a good girl.” he whispered against your skin, his tone full of adoration and gratitude. “you took everything so perfectly, my partner.” he lifted his head to look into your hazy eyes, and there was nothing but contentment in his gaze. “let’s rest for a bit.”

at last, he removed himself from between your legs, allowing you a moment of respite as he lounged next to you on the bed. cradling your spent form into a delicate side embrace, he guided your head onto his chest, petting your wet hair away from your face.

“my sweet baby.”

©pearlescenthoney 2026. do not copy, translate, or claim any of my writings or works as your own.

tags: @yuunileb, @txtworlddom, @xyzsbaobei, @loreleis-world, @demonicangelll, @dreamydaredevil, @glitterykingdomangel, @gardenialily, @weirdothatwrites, @cherrytokkiz, @brailsthesmolgurl, @happyshark2222, @velomira, @darkchococwoissant, @thealunari, @starswillseeus, @ninalove323, @lumichella, @amanehyuga, @txtworlddom, @milumier, @someonestopsoren, @lettushi, @jadeloverxd, @hellothisisnanaaa, @ops-esion, @thealunari, @maplewood-valley, @massivebanananut, @livanavier, @rafayearning4eternity. if you see this and want to be added to the main taglist, please let me know!

[kamieow]

─ LOVER, YOU SHOULD'VE COME OVER. 01

FEATURING: caleb/xia yizhou x non!mc female reader

where you get injured during a paired hunter’s association mission with mc. when you realize she’s hurt too, you keep quiet about your own condition and turn all your strength towards getting her to safety, because caleb needs her alive. because she has always been caleb’s first priority. because caleb’s entire life has been tailored around keeping her safe.

because, maybe, in another life, caleb would have chosen you. but in this one, you already know better.

CONTENT: 5.3k words, ANGST (i am warning you), ALLLL hurt VERY LITTLE comfort (this is your second warning), toxic dependency and kind of a savior complex on reader’s end, slight gore and body horror, profanity, blood, injuries, arguments, childhood!bestfriend caleb and non!mc character study, literary themes, mc is your partner in the association

NOTE: this is based on jeff buckley’s heart-wrenching song: lover, you should have come over (go listen as you read 😚) . ALSO if you’ve read a tale of two cities by charles dickens, i was highly inspired by sydney carton and lucie manette when writing reader and caleb’s relationship — so NOTE that reader is the ultimate yearnmaxxer. she has a savior complex and depends on caleb like sydney is towards lucie so their relationship is NOT MEANT TO BE HEALTHY!!!!! plz heed that warning before reading!!!!

masterlist | part two | part three | ao3 | the official playlist.

IT’S NEVER OVER / ALL MY BLOOD FOR THE SWEETNESS OF HER LAUGHTER / IT’S NEVER OVER / SHE IS THE TEAR THAT HANGS INSIDE MY SOUL, FOREVER.

The poet writing out your life taught you very early on that you were never first when it comes to Caleb. 

You can picture the way the elegist holds the pen, etching away and gradually crafting your star-crossed narrative: they’ve scrawled all the words with bloodied ink. Ripped the edges with laughter, left the paper to yellow with age. A Romanticist’s dark fantasy – a traditional ending that belonged in one of Shakespeare’s tragedies, a cruel fate subjected to you, a side character left to eventually rot away beneath the blinking moonlight. 

Unfortunately, you love Caleb. Fortunately, you love Caleb. You love him because he’s Caleb. You hate him because he’s Caleb. You love him the way Sydney Carton loved Lucie Manette, when he clawed out his own pulsating heart from his dying ribs and willingly served it to her on a silver platter. All without asking for a single thing in return, because she saved him from a life of disgrace. He was already withering, and she rekindled him from ashes into a blazing heap of fire, and that salvation was more than enough to grant her his beautiful devotion.

You think that if Caleb asked for your heart, you’d plate it within seconds – savoring whatever he chose to grow in its place. You’d let him plant asiatic apples – his favorite – inside your ribcage, and let him caramelize them and feed them to you without a second thought. If you struggled to breathe and cough up the bloodied seeds, you think that’s even better. Because it’s Caleb, and you hate him, but worst of all, you love him. And they go hand in hand, your love and hatred, so much so that it hurts. 

MC is a real sweetheart. A pretty thing who brought a noble reason for becoming a UNICORNS Hunter to the Association. You tried so hard to loathe her, you really did, but all your efforts came back futile. Because in reality, why would you hate MC? Because of Caleb? It’s not like she forces him to do anything – he willingly dotes on her. Sometimes she even gets upset because he gets a little too overbearing. Everything Caleb does for her is of his own accord. You are never the first person to be called when things go wrong. Never the first to be worried for. Not the first to be protected the second everything goes awry.

That place has always belonged to her, but Caleb granted her that place of his own free will. MC had never meant any malice towards you, because it was hardly her fault that Caleb chose her. Any hint of animosity was all but a carefully constructed illusion in your own head, because there was none. She had been nothing but kind to you. A real sweetheart.

The necklace around Caleb’s throat is proof of her place; a thin chain, dull silver, worn over by years of being grasped at without a second thought. The crystallized red apple and those dog tags that glint under the sunlight: a constant, unintentional reminder of her ownership and everything that you’re not. You’ve watched him reach for it whenever he’s anxious, fingers curled around it when orders from the Fleet are too heavy, and when his fear slips through the cracks of his carefully crafted composure.

Maybe that’s something you can hate her for, because that necklace serves as a painful admonition and a physical manifestation of all your hurt. You were there before that necklace. That damned necklace. Before any ranks. Before MC became your partner in the Association, another mocking reminder of where you stood within your twisted narrative. Before all your obligations grew teeth and knew how to bite, and sooner or later would swallow you whole.

You remember it now. The memory comes to you, unbidden and sharp and warm all at once, a wilted daffodil resting within the depths of your thoughts that refuses to leave.

It was summer that day, late summer. You remember the season because the apples were in full bloom and Caleb had been counting the days down until he could harvest the fruits that one of Josephine’s trees bore. He promised you that he’d make apple pie just like how she makes it, and you just giggled and told him not to set the fire alarm off again. He said that he never recalled doing such a thing.

The sky was blue, and the apples were a perfect shade of red, and you wished they would respectively stay blue and red forever. For those colors to never darken or fade, and hoping that one day, they would merge and settle under Caleb’s eyes. An almost impossible shade of ultraviolet that you constantly yearned for. 

MC wasn’t there. You don’t remember why, and frankly, you don’t care. All that mattered, for once, was that day belonged entirely to you. Out of all the afternoons that you spent as a trio, it had only been the two of you that day. Yes, this was a summer memory that was only yours and his to keep, for you to fondly keep in a locket deep within your ribcage for all eternity. 

That day, you were younger – too young to know how things would end – and sitting cross-legged on the dewy grass of his backyard, the blades damp against your palms. Caleb sits across from you, knees pulled up, and sleeves rolled to his elbows, eagerly waiting. The air smelled like sun-warmed leaves and fruits, like Caleb, and the poets were feeling creative, basking in the cooling wind the summer brought.

You had brought him a gift, you said, and he watched you with an expectant shade of curiosity as you reached into your pocket and pulled out two thin lengths of braided cord, a perfect mix of ivory and crimson. The bracelets were uneven, dyed by your shaky hands, and lightly fraying at the ends. You’d made them the night before, fingers clumsy and hands shaking as you followed the step-by-step tutorial playing on your phone. “Oh? What do you have for me here?”

“They’re matching bracelets. One for you, and one for me,” you mutter sheepishly, like explaining might’ve lessened the embarrassment tinting your cheeks. “I know they’re kind of stupid, but–”

Caleb leans forward at that. “Hey, they’re not stupid.”

You look up at him, surprised. “You promise?”

“Pinky promise,” he grins, and your throat tightens, his words like music to your ears, crescendoing into a harmonious choir the moment that Caleb willingly holds out his wrist for you. The way your heart thumped as your fingers brushed against his skin made you fear that he could hear its erratic beating, and the blood rushing in your eardrums. Maybe he didn’t. Or maybe he did, and chose not to say anything. He’s always been able to read you like an open book.

“There, done.” The bracelet rested just beneath the bone of his right wrist, the color vivid against his skin. When you finished, you leaned back to admire your work, pride blooming and heart full with his words, despite yourself. “Now, when you inevitably forget me in five years when you’re suuuper popular and cool at the DAA, you won’t be able to pretend like you didn’t know me.”

He laughs at that, bright and unguarded, and you wish that this day would never end. That Caleb and his bracelet and everything about him would just settle somewhere deep within your chest, finding shelter within the crevices of your ribcage. Or maybe you can find a home within his own body. You didn’t mind either outcome. “I don’t think that’s possible. Besides, you’re already way cooler than me.”

Then, without another word, he reaches for your hand. “Wait–”

Too late. He fumbles with the second bracelet, your matching half, and knots it around your wrist. It sits a little too tight, and you’re certain you’ll get rope burn once you begin to outgrow it, but you could hardly care less. He puts his palm against your own and intertwines your fingers against his, and your mind sings at the contact. “There. Now we’re even.”

You look down at your hand clasped against his own and mutter, “You’re never taking this off.” 

He smiles, saluting you with his free hand, and your eyes soften. You’ve marked each other with these bracelets. His hand is so, so warm, and Caleb is still so beautiful, like how everything should be. “Copy that.”

That day was an anomaly. 

You were matching bracelets with Caleb. Not him and MC. You and Caleb. He’d let you leave a permanent mark on him in a way that MC hadn’t, even though she ended up giving him that necklace years later. The sky shouldn’t have been such a beautiful shade of blue, and the apples shouldn’t have been so red, but they were. Caleb shouldn’t have been so boyishly pretty that day, looking over your visage so beautifully with those violet eyes, but he was. Everything was so perfectly aligned that day that you sometimes wondered if you had just imagined it all, as if he were but a mere phantasm in the breeze. A trick of the light to convince yourself that he was once yours.

Oh, but that moment was as real as it got. MC’s necklace may have come later, but those bracelets were yours first. Caleb was real, and that moment with him had been the one thing that you could call yours. Undeniably, indisputably yours.

But that was before the explosion. 

Like everything that you once could call your own, Caleb kept true to his word and never took the bracelet off, until it had been cruelly ripped from your grasp by the laughing elegist and the hands of fate. The facts were clearly written: Caleb survived the tragedy, Josephine did not. Caleb was now the Colonel of the Farspace Fleet, and his right arm had been reinforced with a metallic prosthetic. His veins became wires tangled red, green, and blue, and the bracelet was lost with the debris. 

His right arm was no longer yours. A part of Caleb’s heart was no longer yours.

The arm you had fastened the bracelet around could no longer feel. The hand you held that summer afternoon can no longer experience your warmth, now cold with the false promise of permanence. The arm that had worn your mark so easily until it hadn’t, under the blink of an eye. You never said it out loud, because acknowledging the thought felt monstrous, almost sacrilegious, but sometimes, you truly wondered if you cursed him. 

Like the marks you leave on the things you loved most were meant to waste away with time, and eventually vanish.

The sky isn’t blue anymore. It’s a dull shade of grey today, actually. That summer day no longer smells sweet but more like something decaying. The apples are long gone and rotten right to the core, but Caleb’s eyes are still that haunting shade of amethyst and still everything you love. 

Because some things, apparently, endure.

You’re partnered with MC on an Association mission today, but this particular mission has ties with Skyhaven. Skyhaven meant the Farspace Fleet. And of course, the Fleet meant seeing Caleb before the Association sent you to take care of the next bout of wanderers or whatever they were ready to throw at you today. It was rare for Linkon and Skyhaven’s affairs to intertwine, even though they ultimately shared similar end goals. At the end of the day, they were still interconnected pillars that wanted to get rid of wanderers. Hence why you were here.

You feel inside your pocket, making sure the box is intact. The mission briefing ran much longer than it should’ve, and people from the Fleet filed out in pairs and clusters, none of them sparing the members of the Hunters Association a second glance. Boots echo across the floors, and you linger inside the room, looking for the familiar set of violet eyes, a ghost of a smile forming on your face once they meet yours.

Caleb. 

“Hey,” he says, and you know that if you were MC, that greeting would’ve been followed with his endearing nickname for her, ‘pips’. Unfortunately, you weren’t MC, and you weren’t his pipsqueak. What exactly were you to him? You didn’t know. You were just… you. 

Was that enough for him?

“It’s rare seeing you in the Fleet. I wish you weren’t here at all, though. It gets real crazy here sometimes,” He ruffles your hair, and you couldn’t even return the action because of his big, stupid Colonel hat. “D’ya need something before the mission? My good luck charm, maybe?”

“Hmm, I dunno. Is your charm really all that good?” You smile up at him, his pretty eyes gazing into yours, and suddenly, the banter almost makes everything flicker with normalcy. Caleb was here again. You were here with him, and the stars are almost aligning, because the world, inexplicably, hasn’t taken everything from you yet. “I have a gift for you, actually.”

“A gift? What’s the occasion?” He asks as you slowly reach into your pocket, fingers brushing the fabric and metal. It makes you hesitate, like you were sixteen all over again that summer day and were afraid of Caleb’s reaction towards your handmade, woven bracelets. The soft beam on his face this time around made it easier on your nerves, though. “My birthday’s stiiill pretty far away, you know.” 

You exhale slowly, pulling out the box under his watchful gaze. “Something I made,” you murmur, “Again.”

The box opens, and your gift is finally on full display beneath the blinking fluorescent lights of the Fleet. There are two bracelets inside, woven crimson and ivory, just like before. Anyone could still tell that it’s handmade, but the handiwork is neater, and the thread is no longer fraying. You got rid of your matching half after the explosion, vowing to only wear it if Caleb had his part of the pair. The expression on his face is unreadable, and it makes your heart thump with apprehension all over again. 

“I thought–” you continue, staring at the box instead of at him, “that maybe we don’t get to keep things forever, but we can try to, anyway.”

“You made another set, after I lost mine when…” He trails off, and you nod. It’s the closest thing you’ve gotten to talking about the explosion, and Caleb’s jaw tightens. You knew he was no longer sixteen, and you don’t even know if he’s still entirely Caleb, the same one who held your hand that late summer afternoon, but that mark you left on him was still yours. Even as the dog tags beneath his uniform serve as a painful reminder that he will never be truly yours entirely. “Put it on me, again. Just like old times.”

He wordlessly holds out his wrist for you – the left one this time – and he doesn’t miss your painful gaze towards his bionic arm. You fasten it around his left wrist, the only arm that can feel anything anymore, and the mark is seared once again, even though the sky is still gray and the apples are long spoiled.

Despite all that time, Caleb is still beautiful, and that has never changed.

Then, he reaches for you, taking your wrist and gently tying the second bracelet there. If you squint, you could probably still see the marks left behind by the previous one. His fingers brush against your skin in a way that makes your breath hitch, and his tongue is pressed lightly to his teeth, like he’s afraid of making the knot too tight like before. “Do you remember what you said that day? How you predicted that I’d forget you in five years when I’m ‘super popular and cool’ once I was at the DAA?”

You meekly nod as he finishes the knot. It’s a perfect one this time. Not too tight to give you any rope burns, and not too loose that it would fall off. “Well, I think my words still stand. I most certainly never forgot you, you’re still way cooler than me, and definitely way cooler than anyone there.”

With that, his eyes softly whisper against your own. You look at each other – really look at each other this time – and his damned violet eyes catch the light, familiar and unbearable and intoxicating, all at once. You think of all those blue summer skies and Josephine’s red apples and all the ways those colors can merge into something sadder, yet far more alluring. A mixture that rests under Caleb’s eyes.

Your foreheads are nearly touching, and his breath stutters as you take his mechanical hand into your own, caressing the metal that took away your mark and a part of Caleb’s humanity. He pulls you closer with his free hand – the one with your newly made mark – almost like he was luring you in with his Gravity EVOL. But Caleb didn’t need to utilize his EVOL to pull you in; he did it all naturally. Him and his stupid good luck charm.

“You come back to me,” he quietly whispers, his breath hot against your own. If you listened closely enough, you could hear his erratically beating heart. You weren’t Caleb’s pipsqueak, but you could do all of this to him. You had this effect on him. This moment was yours, and you were going to selfishly savor it. Replay this scene until it one day swallows you whole. “You promise.”

For a single moment, the world finally narrows to just the two of you. The Fleet and the Hunter’s Association were just background noise. His gaze flickers to your lips, then back to your eyes. You could feel the heat of your words just before you speak, just before he leans in and finally closes the gap. “I–”

“Caleb!”

MC’s voice cuts through the tension like a carefully positioned blade, and you immediately step back. Caleb withdraws his hand from the back of your neck like it stung, as if it never belonged there in the first place. The bracelet resting against your wrist feels hot to the touch. You wonder if it feels the same for Caleb, or if he’d eventually take it off sooner or later. MC’s looking at you expectantly, eyes bright and unaware of what just happened. “They’re calling us in. Are you ready?”

“Yeah,” you declare weakly, breath still stuck in your throat, something you’re unable to swallow. “I’m coming.”

The realization dawns on you faster than anything when MC offers you a big smile. You were right – from the very beginning, you didn’t hate MC. You never did. She’s kind, sweet, and constantly has your back during missions. No, you were angry at her presence. How it was practically impossible to hang out with just Caleb. It was always you, Caleb, and her. How the duo could never stay as a duo, no matter what. How your moments with Caleb can be so easily ripped from your grasp by MC because she was here first. Of course, it was always her first. 

Caleb needs to keep her safe first. To protect her first. She was his priority first. This was the status quo, and you had no say in changing the rules that were already set in stone a long time ago. Still, as you catch a glimpse of Caleb’s wrist before you leave, you make a silent vow to yourself, to the crimson and ivory resting on your own wrist. 

If you cursed Caleb with your first present, you silently pray that this time around, it will curse you instead of him.

The mission turned into a shitshow faster than you had initially anticipated.

You were so outnumbered from the very beginning that you wondered what the hell the Association was thinking when sending you two on this mission. Was this a fucking death trap specifically designed for you and MC? For everyone else dispatched here? There’s so much blood on the floor you could hardly distinguish your own from any wanderer that you had defeated.

Another wanderer goes down, collapsing onto the debris with a sound that rattles your bones and shoots directly to your ringing eardrums. Your sword is immediately knocked away from your hands by the next target, and it falls onto the ground with a deafening clatter. You need backup, and you need it now. You think about who to call – you would have called Xavier, but your Hunter’s watch is long broken, and he’s probably just as preoccupied as you two. 

The entire situation was so pitiful that you could have laughed if it weren’t for how fucked over you both were.

You look towards MC, and your eyes widen as she stumbles, her breath staggering and legs shaking. You’re already moving, just before she hits the ground. “MC!”

“Hey, hey, stay with me–” you scream out, dropping to your knees beside her. You use all your strength and bring the two of you to a nearby tree, praying that all the shrubs and bushes cover you from the wanderer’s sight. She’s breathing, shallow but steady, eyes unfocused as she tries her hardest to meet your gaze. You prop her against the trunk and cup her face, trying to keep her awake. “Please, fuck–”

She’s injured, but she’s alive. Good. That’s good. You just need to keep her alive long enough to get to a safe zone, or until help comes. Something warm spreads beneath your hunter’s uniform when you shift your weight, but you ignore the excruciating agony in your abdomen and focus on MC. A stab wound in your core. You don’t even know where it came from, and the adrenaline had masked the pain until now. Still, you’ve felt worse. Way worse than this. Right now, you just need to keep her alive, because–

Because of Caleb. Because Caleb needs her alive.

“You come back to me,” His words briefly echo in your ears, and it makes your eyes sting with tears. You don’t know if you can. “You promise.”

You’ve never broken any promises when it comes to Caleb, and he’s never broken any, either. But, technically, this time around, you didn’t promise him anything because MC had interrupted you before you could utter any words out. So, you didn’t exactly owe him anything. Your life was second to hers right now.

Sorry, Caleb.

“We need to move,” you say, hauling her arm over your shoulder. This spot was not going to be safe for long, and you didn’t have your sword. If any wanderer spots you, that’d be the end of your narrative. And you can’t have it end yet, not when MC isn’t safe. “Can you stand?”

She groans, teetering between a fine line of consciousness and unconsciousness. “You’re – you’re bleeding.”

“I’m fine,” you say automatically, even though you’re surprised that she noticed the wet blood staining the abdomen of your uniform. MC is a real sweetheart. Always thinking about other people when she’s equally as fucked over as you. That’s why you never truly hated her. How could you have the heart to do so?

She blinks up at you, trying to focus. “No, you’re not. I can see right through you.”

“We don’t have time for this,” you grit your teeth and force yourself upright despite your core screaming out in a horrid bout of pain. You bite your lip so hard that it draws blood, bringing MC up with you and ignoring her protests. You remember during the mission briefing that a safe zone was about… half a mile up north. Every staggering step sends a sharp reminder throughout your body, but you stubbornly don’t slow. “Caleb needs you out.”

MC shakes her head weakly. “What about you?”

You don’t answer, and she continues, a huff of air almost sounding like a laugh. “He loves you, you know.”

Her words make you freeze, and you turn to look at her. “Cares about you… a lot. Don’t just think about me.”

It’s hard not to, you want to say, but the words never leave your tongue. If Caleb had to choose, in a life-or-death situation, whether to save me or you, I think we all know the answer to that a little too well.

You make it to a clearing in the forest, and her grip on you suddenly tightens, enough to make you stop in your tracks, despite yourself. “Stop,” she says, practically pleading, panic creeping into her voice. “You can’t keep going like this.”

“Oh,” she looks down, really takes a second to see your condition, and her expression crumples, muttering out your name in concern. “You’re hurt. You’re really hurt.”

“I said I’m fine,” you repeat, but your voice cracks, and your composure is breaking. 

She tries to pull away from you. “Put me down, this isn’t worth it–”

“No,” you say sharply. “If we wait–”

“You could pass out,” she says, tears welling in her eyes and fingers digging into your sleeve. “You’re not okay, please, you don’t have to do this–”

You don’t say what you’re thinking, but your answer is already written all over your face. You do have to do this, actually. This was never a question. The bracelet on your wrist feels even warmer than before. MC reaches for you, fumbling with her gear with her remaining strength. Her Hunter’s watch and her gun. The watch’s screen was still lit, and her gun had a few rounds inside.

“Here, use my watch. I can’t… hold on for much longer,” her eyes are glazing over, on the brink of passing out, and you place her gun in your holster and the watch around your wrist, trying to keep the both of you upright. “Call for help, but promise that you… think about yourself, too.” 

You swallow the lump in your throat and meekly nod, taking her watch. Don’t say I promise to her, because you’re certain that you’ll break it. And you don’t make promises that you can’t keep. “Yeah. Sure.”

She smiles at that and goes limp in your arms. You suck in a breath, eyes flitting all over the screen as you thought about who to call. You try Xavier’s line and give up after a few rings. You just hope that he’s alright. Finally, your finger hovers over Caleb’s line. You know damn well that he’d respond, especially since this was MC’s watch, and not yours. The speaker rings once before the line opens. “Caleb, I need evac. Now.”

“Status.” His voice comes back sharp and controlled, and you realize that this wasn’t Caleb right now, but Colonel Caleb. 

“MC’s down, and–” I took a hit, and I’m bleeding out too. You’re unable to force those words out in between your labored breaths. “–she took a hit from a wanderer, and… I’m trying to take us to the nearby safe zone. I’m five minutes out.”

The world tilts as you haul MC’s weight higher against your shoulder. Your vision blurs at the edges, but you lock your jaw and keep moving. “What the hell happened?”

“It’s a shitshow out here, Caleb. I don’t have my sword, and she took a hit when I wasn’t looking–”

“When you weren’t looking?” His voice cuts through the line, tone hardening. “You’re supposed to cover for her.”

“I was,” you snap, the words tearing out of you like the flesh from your abdomen when the wanderer had stabbed you. “I was there, Caleb, I tried–”

“Then why the hell is she bleeding out?”

This was exactly what you expected. Maybe you shouldn’t have called him at all. His words hit harder than any wound you’ve sustained, and you stagger, barely managing to keep your footing – barely managing to keep MC upright with you. The pain is blooming, sharp and practically blinding, white-hot and so fucking unforgiving, and for a moment, you nearly cry out.

But you don’t. You tighten your grip on her instead.

“Damn it. The safe zone near you – I’m about ten minutes away from it. Can you make it there?”

You can hear it even through the static. The fear in his voice was raw, frantic, and all-consuming. The fear of losing MC eclipses everything else, swallowing whole whatever concern might have been meant for you. If MC was right – and Caleb really did love you – then his love was not enough to overcome the instinct carved into him long before you ever even entered his life.

Because she was here first. And you were not. And that’s just the way things were.

The thought makes something hysterical bubble in your chest. You laugh, or at least try to, but it breaks apart into an ugly cough, and more crimson stains your uniform.

“Yeah,” you manage out. “I think.”

You don’t know how you conjured up the strength to make it to the evac zone, but you do. The world narrows after your call began with Caleb, and the lights blur together into a pale white smear. Her weight grows heavier in your arms as she stirs, like she knew something was wrong with your staggering footsteps.

“You come back to me,”

“Promise that you… think about yourself, too.”

I’m sorry. To both of you.

Everyone finally notices you and MC, and your senses finally dull as your fingers slip from MC’s sleeve, letting someone else take her. Throughout all the clamor, someone begins assisting you, but you can’t feel anything. Trembling, your hand falls against your wrist, and the bracelet is still there. You think of Caleb’s left wrist and how it matched your own, and how that was the greatest salvation you could’ve asked for. You think about his right arm and how he never got to wear that first bracelet again after it got destroyed in the explosion. You wonder, briefly, if he’ll notice that this time, he’s going to be the one without the matching pair.

Caleb never once asks if you were alright.

His voice is still coming through MC’s watch – urgent and relieved that your location says that you’ve made it to the evac zone. Even though someone took her away already, you hear him telling her to hold on, and that he’s just a few minutes away with his plane. You smile faintly at that. Of course he is. He always makes it in time for her.

The poets and elegists from every era are calling out to you as they draft the final line of your narrative, and their hymns and elegies are beautiful. Your vision finally gives in, and the sky above is still a flat, unremarkable gray, nothing like that impossibly blue summer afternoon all those years ago. You suppose that’s fitting. Things were never meant to stay beautiful forever. The apples are no longer red. They’ve rotted a long time ago. Maybe Caleb’s eyes are no longer that same shade of ultraviolet, too. You wish you looked a little longer into his eyes, one last time, just to make sure.

The poet writing out your life taught you very early on that you were never first when it comes to Caleb. Maybe, in another life, Caleb would have chosen you over her. But this was not that life.

And even then, you think, loving him – loving him in the way you did – was still worth it.

Even now.

Especially now.

I FEEL TOO YOUNG TO HOLD ON / AND MUCH TOO OLD TO BREAK FREE AND RUN / TOO DEAF, DUMB AND BLIND TO SEE THE DAMAGE I’VE DONE / SWEET LOVER, YOU SHOULD’VE COME OVER.

next | the finale.

end note: i’ve seen a lot of caleb x non!mc reader fics that try and vilify mc or caleb and i just wanna emphasize how that was NEVER my intention with this fic! i tried my best to portray caleb’s turmoil over his entire existence revolving around protecting mc and the way he tries to make room for the reader, too — even though in the end, his innate instinct to save mc was what got the reader killed. his irrational fear of losing mc after years of protecting her was the reason why he overlooked the reader’s condition, but i promiseee that he mostly didn’t do it on purpose (even tho ik he was a bit of a dick in the ending its ok the reader’s ghost haunts him after she dies). his love for non!mc IS requited, but unfortunately was overshadowed by his devotion to mc, which was what ultimately doomed her in the end. so plz lmk ur thoughts on this!! 😵‍💫😵‍💫

@kamieow 2026. reblogs are greatly appreciated ─ thank you so much for reading! <3

[applefishcake]

colonel caleb and assistant!nonMC!reader, who he's desperately in love with

warnings. fluff, tending to wounds trope, boss x employee dynamic but caleb is whipped, caleb getting rejected, reader in denial and oblivious preview. “I’ve always been like this,” he sighs, and then you feel him drop his head onto your shoulder. It makes you jolt, your breath hitching as you register what he’s doing. “You just don’t care enough to notice.” wc. 3.5k part 2 part 3

Although he’s infamous for being the most ruthless officer at his rank, Colonel Xia is actually a complete mess.

You can’t blame anyone for the rumors—he’s rather intimidating in nature. Tall stature. Narrow eyes. Broad shoulders and a uniform without a seam out of place. He rarely smiles. Voice unalarming at first, but far more unforgiving than most. 

You’re like a fly on the wall, you suppose. You’ve been working as his assistant for years now, even before he’d been promoted to colonel. You have his coffee ready every morning, his meetings organized on your calendar, alarms on your phone for any big events he has. Your colleagues can’t fathom how you’re able to tolerate working for such a heartless man, but you don’t see it that way. Yes, you need to bite your tongue around him. Yes, you need to straighten your back just a tad bit more. Yes, and so much more. 

But, you’ve learned that he’s just as human as you. And he thinks there’s nobody else in this world that gets him the way you do.

The first year you worked for him, you were constantly afraid of him. Well more so getting fired, than him. He’d order you to bring him coffee and you’d fear he’d fire you for getting his order wrong, he’d order you to print meeting notes and you’d fear he’d scream at you for failing to print them double-sided. Fortunately, he did neither of those things, but he would shoot you a glare or a jerk of a brow that would send you into a spiral. He didn’t seem to enjoy conversation, so you’d just scurry away, clutching your heart in your hands.

As time went on, you learned a lot about him. It’s inevitable when you’re essentially attached to his hip like a mute accessory, where it’s hard to do anything but focus on what he does.

He likes his coffee sweet. Two sugars and milk. Surprising, since he comes off as a black coffee connoisseur, but also kind of cute? The big scary colonel drinking a latte? He showers in the morning and at night. Cold in the morning, hot at night. He does his own laundry. You eventually figured out that he’s very particular with how he wants his laundry to smell and how he likes it folded—talk about being a control freak. He hates his bosses. Whenever he receives orders from them, it’s the only time you see him genuinely losing his cool–grumbling under his breath and angrily flipping through the paperwork on his desk. You try to avoid his office during these episodes. 

Over the years, his routine becomes your own. His coffee is ready for him when he sits at his desk, his calendar organized perfectly, and even his laundry is folded the way he wants it to be. The last took some trial and error, but you’re proud of mastering the art.

Still, words between the two of you are scarce. You only tend to see him when he’s working (and so are you), and it’s made wordless communication between the two of you easier. When you stand in front of his desk, he takes it as a signal to clear it for you to place down a new stack of paperwork. When you knock on his door and remain under the doorframe, he sighs, realizing his bosses have called for him. When you place down a fresh cup of coffee at his desk, he takes it as a sign to have lunch.

It’s seamless coordination, to put it short.

There’s a particularly stressful week for him one month. You watch him slave away at his work, the bags beneath his eyes growing heavier and his hair becoming more disheveled. He hasn’t left the office in two days–you counted. He’s going to snap, you think. No matter how talented he is—and you know he is, given he’s become a colonel at his young age—he can’t overcome human biology.

“Shit!” you hear from his office. You peek inside to see that he’s spilled coffee on his lap. He pats aggressively at the stain, hissing under his breath when you place a new cup in front of him. His eyes flicker up to you.

“You have a meeting in an hour,” you say.

He frowns. “I’ll have to change.”

“And shower,” you scrunch up your nose. “And shave, preferably.”

He blinks, and then his lips purse in a weird shape. Wait. Surely not. You think you’re going crazy. Is he trying not to laugh? The colonel who's always glowering menacingly?

The lack of sleep must really be getting to him.

In the end, you somehow end up in the single-stall bathroom. You’re shaving the sides of his face as he fixes his freshly washed hair, staring at himself in the mirror. It’s to save time, you remind yourself as you wonder how many minutes he has left till his meeting.  He crinkles his brows and then glances at you through the corner of his eyes. You pretend not to notice. 

“Are you usually so comfortable in front of shirtless men?”

“No, but you’re not a man,” you snort. “You’re my boss.”

“I’m your male boss.”

Why are you so comfortable with him, you wonder? Well, you’ve known him for a few years—you know his everyday routine, his likes, his dislikes, his habits—that you might dare to even say you know him well. Not him, but your boss. You chew on the inside of your cheek, and then shrug.

His skin is soft against your fingertips, you think.

“Thanks,” he says. “For all you do. I don’t say it enough, but you’re one of the few people I trust in this place.”

“It’s my job, sir.”

He chuckles, and it catches you off guard. You can count on one hand how many times you’ve heard him laugh these past few years. And for some reason, you can’t look him in the eye, choosing to narrow in on the shaving cream you’re pushing off with his razor. He doesn’t say anything else either, and the two of you exist in the comfortable silence, 

This is where it begins. The blurring between coworkers and friends, and maybe something more.

The two of you begin to exchange more conversation. When you drop off his coffee, he makes small talk. When you drop off his laundry, he praises you. When you bring him his paperwork, he complains to you about his bosses instead of shooing you away. You gradually spend more time in his office instead of your cubicle. At some point, he even treats you to dinner. Company dinner, but still.

You quickly realize the colonel is a mess. His usually composed and serious demeanor is a facade—or maybe he just has a switch? He talks a lot. He specifically likes vanilla lattes, you find. He despises seeing others with wrinkles in his uniform. And he calls home once a week to his sister and grandmother, in which you happen to eavesdrop once or twice and find that he can be a complete sap when he wants to be.

Of course, his mask is pulled back on the instant another person is in the room. Your coworkers ask how you managed to get so close to the terrifying Colonel Xia (though you don’t even know if you’re that close), but you have to bite your tongue before you spread to the world that the colonel is actually a family-obsessed crashout who likes vanilla lattes and cooking. Maybe you’ve gotten too close to him, you wonder, but too late to do anything about it now.

Especially when he hobbles into your cubicle one day, blood seeping from his arm despite his desperate clutch onto it. It’s late. Two in the morning at the earliest. You’re not sure why you decided to stay late today despite not having the work to warrant it. But when you noticed his office door remaining closed, lights shut off too early into the night, something felt off. So incredibly off. 

You suppose you stayed for him. Just in case he needed something else.

“What happened to you?” you’re onto your feet in an instant, shoving your chair back as your hands hover over his wound. Half of his outer uniform is shredded off, leaving a trail of bloody marks and what you hope isn’t too deep of a cut. His face is pale, breathing shallow. Beads of sweat form at his temples as he looks straight at you, hunched over to your line of sight in pain. You don’t wait for his response and quickly shuffle him towards his office, letting him use you as a crutch.

You fumble around his room until you come across a first aid kit. It looks incredibly outdated, but it’ll do the job. “Take off your shirt.”

He does without complaint. It seems like you see him shirtless more often than an assistant ought to be.

As you tend to him, you begin to ask questions. And you’re not sure if it’s because of the exhaustion, but he answers them truthfully—though you suppose he’s rarely lied to you in the first place. It’d been an assassination attempt. Another one. The third one this year. You honestly don’t know how he bears to deal with the stress of his job, and you’re not sure why he does either, but you’re sure something is tying him down. Your fingers work diligently to tend to him, and you’re suddenly incredibly grateful to the first aid class you were required to take when you first took the job.

“You should transfer bases,” you mutter.

“Why would I do that?”

You raise your brows in disbelief, and he laughs—or at least, tries to. Another tally in your head. Now you need more than two hands to count the times he’s laughed in front of you. “I’m serious, sir.”

“And what would that achieve?”

“You won’t have as many knives at your back, for starters.”

“They could never kill me with those puny attacks.”

“But they can definitely hurt you...” you pause. “...sir.”

“I’m ranked highly for my age. I’m not leaving.”

“You’d climb back up in no time even if you started,” you snap, and he looks away. “Am I wrong?”

Nope.

It goes quiet for a moment. His shoulders fall, and he rocks his head backward, staring at the ceiling. “I won’t have anyone to trust.”

I don’t say it enough, but you’re one of the few people I trust in this place.

Your throat feels dry. Your stomach sinks for some reason—-or is your heart just hammering? You realize that he’s staring at you now, inches away from you as you hold his arm with bandages. The AC whirrs softly, but the only other thing you can hear is his breathing and your own.

“You’ll get another assistant.”

“Nobody else is as good as you,” he responds immediately.

Your eyes narrow, and you turn away, dropping his arm. “You must’ve not had many assistants.”

“I don’t need to.”

He sounds too serious. Too genuine. The air feels suffocating. You rise from the armchair and pace towards his desk with the first aid kit in hand, chewing on the insides of your cheek. Whatever he means—whatever he’s implying—it’s dangerous. He’s your boss. Your boss, who kills for a living on missions that could kill him. Your boss, who spends his nights passed out at his desk. Your boss, who most of your coworkers call an asshole. 

His hands perch on either side of you onto his desk. He’s close. Close enough for you to feel his breath on the shell of your ear, and it sends shivers down your spine. Your fists clench as you will yourself to calm down, but to no avail. What the hell is even happening?

You whip your head to him. “Sir, I–”

“Caleb.”

“What?”

“Call me Caleb when we’re alone,” he mumbles. “Please.”

Your eyes go wide. “That’s not appropriate.”

“I don’t want to be appropriate.”

You nearly choke. He’s delirious. Perhaps from blood loss, surely. “You’re—you’re not acting yourself.”

“I’ve always been like this,” he sighs, and then you feel him drop his head onto your shoulder. It makes you jolt, your breath hitching as you register what he’s doing. “You just don’t care enough to notice.”

“What are you—”

“How much more obvious do I have to make myself?” he whispers against your neck. “Do you like humiliating me?” 

Either pigs are flying or hell must’ve froze over. You open your mouth to respond, unsure of what you’ll say until you feel him slump over your shoulder. You blink. Did he just?

You nudge his limp body.

He did. He did just pass out. You might kill him before anyone else does.

Colonel Xia, as you’ve known for some time now, is a mess.

But only to you.

He doesn’t make you nervous anymore. If anything, he’s annoying. Alarmingly so. You’ve become a kind of emotional support pet and assistant rolled into one, to the point that he deems it acceptable to message (spam) you at twelve in the morning. You roll your eyes when you see your screen light up in the darkness of your room, knowing there’s only one person who’d message you at this time.

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: where are the files i asked you for this morning? I can’t find them

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hello?

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hellooooooo

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: also do you have time tmr night :) we should go out

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: please (unsent)

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: oh the files

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: xie is on my ass about it

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: fucking asshole, im gonna kill him :3

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: hello??? Where is my pretty assistant that nobody can replace

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: that wasn’t sarcasm btw

When you tap away your answer, pressing send and tossing your phone across your bed, the response is immediate.

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: thanks hot stuff ><

[vanilla boss (DNI)]: the office misses you already

The office that only he occupies at this hour?

You’re not paid enough for this. You ignore the subtle burning in your cheeks.

His feelings for you become an unspoken truth between the two of you for the next few months. Oddly enough, he doesn’t seem embarrassed about it at all. Despite most of his attempts to egg you on being rejected, he doesn’t let most of it faze him. You remind him that he’d look bad to others if he started dating his assistant, but the thought doesn’t seem to even cross his mind, even if you tack on a dozen other reasons why the two of you shouldn’t mingle in anything romantic. He’s never really convinced, much to your dismay.

Which is unfortunate, especially when you realize how much this is affecting you.

When his eyes seem to always drift in your direction, even when he’s in a meeting, you can’t help but feel your heart race. When his name pops up onto your phone, you can’t help but check what he said immediately. You stay later into the night to bring him an extra cup of coffee.

But this is what any assistant would do, right?

“What’s that?” you ask a coworker as she paces towards the colonel’s office with a stack of papers. You eye it suspiciously, especially considering the giddy look she has on her face. 

“The colonel asked for these. He asked me, specifically,” she smiles, cheeks pink. “Y’know, up close, he isn’t so scary. He’s kind of nice, and also really cute…have you noticed that?”

Of fucking course you’ve noticed it. You’ve worked with the man for the past few years! Even when everyone else said he was terrifying. Even when everyone else avoided him! Before you know it, your fists are balled at your sides, and you don’t even know why. All you know is that you want to yell at him right now. What’s the point of having an assistant if you’re just going to use other girls? Is he taunting you? Does he have no use for you anymore? Is your work not good enough—even after you responded to him in the middle of the night to his stupid questions with his stupid cute emojis? Your annoyance burns, and you suddenly find yourself marching to his door after having snatched the stack of papers from the woman. She remains oblivious and completely confused as you leave her behind.

You don’t bother knocking as you slam the door open.

He looks up from his desk, eyes widening. Upon realizing it’s you, his lips etch into a lopsided grin. “Oh, hey, what—”

You stroll straight to him, dumping the entire stack just inches from his face. It lands onto the desk with a loud slam, and it surprises him as he jerks back. His gaze flickers back up to you, and he blinks. “Why are you bringing me this?”

“It’s what you requested, sir,” you snap, and his smile is gone. “From someone else, for some strange reason. But as your assistant, I felt it was appropriate for me to bring it, no?”

What the hell were you even saying? The words were tumbling out, fired by anger but uncontrollable. You were definitely going to die of embarrassment later on, but you don’t care in the moment. For someone who claims to like you so much, why is he asking other girls to get his things? What are you, some backup plan? As if you don’t bring him his coffee every day? His paperwork? His laundry—

He blinks. “It was a lot to carry, and I didn’t want to make you—”

“Yes, and let’s ask some bumbling woman who doesn’t even know how to make these double-sided. That’ll get the job done instead of asking the woman who’s been doing this for years,” you hiss. The more you speak, the more unreasonable it sounds. You know it’s ridiculous, but…

Gears turn in his head. And when it clicks, his eyes soften. His adam’s apple bobs as he slowly stands from his desk, seemingly beginning to understand your frustration. He’s always been quick to noticing how you feel, even before you could fully process it—and you don’t know if you hate or love it. 

“Are you jealous?”

You balk, appalled at the thought. “No! Of course not!”

“Then, why are you angry?”

“Because—” you sputter for an answer. “--I have a job, and—I want to do my job!”

He tilts his head. “Is that really it?”

“Yes!”

“You’re angry, because I didn’t let you bring me paperwork,” he confirms. "And I asked someone else to do it."

“Yes!”

His lips break out into a grin. “Sounds like jealousy to me.”

Your jaw slacks. Head spinning, you can’t ignore how your heart is going at an unreasonable speed, face heating in embarrassment as you entertain the thought. You can’t help but avoid his gaze, brows furrowing in an attempt appear more intimidating, but it does little for this purpose. So instead, you glare knives at him. His brown tousled hair. His purple eyes. His pink lips. The straight edge of his nose. His lashes that put most peoples' to shame. His grin. His laugh. That stupid fucking laugh that you count in tallies in your head, almost as if you’re always waiting for the next one. Looking forward to them. Yearning for them. His stupidly cute coffee order and his stupidly cute texts and his stupidly good-looking uniform and his stupid—

Fuck.

God, you want to kiss him.

“Hey,” he waves a hand in front of you, brow raising. “Sorry, I’ll stop teasing. I won’t do it next time so–”

Before he can finish his sentence, you yank him by the collar of his shirt and smash his lips against yours. The kiss is a mess. When he recognizes what’s happening after the immediate shock, he’s kissing back desperately, hands flying to either sides of your face to pull you closer. It’s awkward, given that you’re kissing over the desk, but neither of you could care any less. There’s a few grunts that escape your lips until you gently punch at his chest, pointing at your nose when his eyes flutter open. He pulls away to let you breathe, and he has the widest smile plastered on his mouth. You don’t know if you want to slap it off or kiss him again.

“Want to go again? On my lap this time.”

“Shut up, Caleb.”

You climb on top of him anyway.

He’s a mess, most definitely, but so are you.