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MORE THAN FRIENDS — CALEB XIA

pairing — daa pilot!caleb x hunter!reader

summary — seeing caleb's bloodied face on the morning news wasn't how you planned to find out your childhood friend nearly died. and it hurt even more that he didn't tell you himself. when gideon invites you to caleb's celebration, you can't say no—but seeing him again means you're both forced to decide if you're going to keep pretending this is just friendship, or admit you've been lying to yourselves all along.

word count — 12.1 k

genre/tags — childhood friends to lovers (or worse), mutual pining, unresolved tension, we don't talk about our feelings core, slow burn, hurt/comfort, fluff and angst, yearning, jealous!caleb, dry humping because we need, flying together

warnings — 18+ ONLY. contains explicit sexual content, alcohol use, reference to dangerous missions and mentions of blood

author's note — hello lovelies ! i think i'm quite obsessed with aviation lately so of courrseeee i had to write yet another caleb story where we go flying with him (and fight because what am i if not obsessed with toxic couples). hope you enjoy ! <3

masterlist + support my writing + ao3

He always called.

Always.

After a childish fight with Gideon. When he spotted a pretty nebula on a night flight. When he couldnt sleep and just wanted to hear your voice. The same way you always called him—for everything and nothing, because that's what you did, that's who you were to each other.

But then why were you finding out about that Caleb nearly died from the morning news?

Your spoon froze halfway to your mouth as his face filled the television screen, that stupidly handsome, achingly familiar face now streaked with dirt and blood. A thin line of crimson ran from his temple down to his jaw.

The footage showed him emerging from his fighter jet, flight suit torn and stained, one arm wrapped around a wounded pilot that could barely walk.

The headline scrolled across the bottom: DAA pilot leads daring rescue mission in Deepspace Tunnel attack.

A rescue mission. Some pilot got lost in the shallow parts of the Deepspace Tunnels when Wanderers attacked. Caleb had been first on scene, first to respond, first to risk everything to bring someone home.

Your breakfast sat forgotten as you watched him drag the injured pilot toward the medical team on television. Even bloodied and exhausted, he wore that faint smile on his lips—the same one that always played on his lips when you were kids, when he patched up your scraped knees and talked you through nightmares. Always calm. Always bright.

But the wrongness of it all settled heavy in your chest.

You'd been sitting here, eating yogurt with fruits and already dreading the stack of paperwork waiting for you at the Hunter's Association later, living your normal, ordinary, boring Tuesday morning—while he was out there, staring down death in the void. And you'd only found out because you happened to turn on the news.

The footage replayed. You watched it again and again, caught in some masochistic loop you couldn't break. Caleb's hands steady on his teammate, that tired but genuine smile you knew so well on his lips, while the blood on his temple caught the harsh lights from the rescue team, and something twisted in your chest—sharp and bitter, like swallowing glass.

He didn't tell you. Hadn't called.

The news moved on to other stories, other tragedies. But you stayed frozen at your kitchen table, staring at the empty screen.

When had everything changed? When had you stopped telling each other everything? You used to be his first person he'd call when something happened. And he was yours. But now you'd learn about important things the same way as everyone else in the city.

Like some stranger.

Your phone buzzed against the table.

Gideon: caleb's probably gonna kill me for this but there's a celebration thing for him soon. for the rescue. you heard about it right? it's all over the news

Gideon: he wants to be all humble about it but i know he'd love if you were there

Gideon: should i pick you up from the train station? make it a surprise?

You stared down at the messages.

Humble. Is that it? Was Caleb being humble, or was he just... not telling you? There was a difference, wasn't there? A big fucking difference between modesty and deliberately keeping you in the dark.

You could picture it—Caleb brushing off congratulations, downplaying what he'd done like he always did. "Just doing my job," he'd say with that slight shrug, the one that made people love him even more. But this wasn't about false modesty. This was about you finding out from the morning news that the person you cared about most had nearly died.

And wasn't that rich? Caleb, who worried about everything when it came to you. Caleb, who called if you were five minutes late from work because "what if something happened?" Caleb, who made you text him when you got home safe, even from a short walk to the corner store. Caleb, who once drove three hours in the middle of the night because you'd mentioned feeling sick in a text and he "wanted to make sure you were okay."

That same Caleb could apparently face down Wanderers in the depths of space, bleed from his fucking temple, risk his life pulling someone else to safety—and not think you deserved to know about it. Not think you'd want to worry about him the same way he always worried about you.

It stung. How many times had he made you promise to tell him everything? Every mission briefing, every late night at the office, every time you so much as stubbed your toe. But when it came to him nearly dying? Radio silence.

Like your worry didn't matter. Like you didn't matter enough to include in the aftermath of something that could have killed him.

Your fingers hovered over your phone. Part of you wanted to type back immediately—yes, pick me up, I'll be there. But another part, the part that was still stinging from being left out, wanted to ask why Caleb hadn't invited you himself. Why it took Gideon texting behind his back for you to even know there was something to celebrate.

Your fingers moved before you could overthink it.

You: when's the celebration?

Gideon: friday night. 7pm at the airbase on skyhaven

Gideon: should i pick you up?

You stared at the messages, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Friday night. Less than seventy-two hours to decide if you were going to show up and pretend everything was fine, or stay home and let the silence stretch between you and Caleb until it became something you couldn't cross.

You: yeah. can you pick me up at 6?

Gideon: sure thing! he's gonna be so happy to see you

You shoved your phone into your bag and grabbed your hunter's jacket from the back of the chair.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

The train to Skyhaven felt longer than usual, every kilometer stretching endlessly as you stared out the window at the clouds below. Your stomach twisted with nerves you couldn't quite name—part anticipation, maybe longing, mostly dread.

When the train finally pulled into the station, you spotted Gideon right away. He was leaning against a pillar, scrolling through his phone, dark hair falling messily across his forehead. The moment he saw you, his face lit up.

"Holy shit, did you grow again?" he called out, pushing off the pillar with that bright grin of his.

"I'm the same height I've been for the past five years."

"Nah, definitely taller." He pulled you in one of those crushing hugs that reminded you why you'd always thought of him as more of a big brother than Caleb's best friend. "It's good to see you again. It's been way too long."

You melted into the hug, breathing in the familiar scent of DAA pilots, who always smelled a bit like fuel and whatever surprisingly fancy soap they used at the dorms.

For a moment, it felt like old times—like that weekend you'd visited them during pilot training, when the three of you snuck off to watch the sunset from the riverbank, feet dangling over the edge, passing around lukewarm cider in the fading light and laughing until your sides ached. Back when everything was simple, before everything got complicated, before Caleb started keeping secrets.

"You look good," Gideon said, stepping back to get a proper look at you. "Tired, but good. Work keeping you busy?"

"When isn't it?" You tugged at your simple outfit. "Is this okay for tonight? I wasn't sure what to wear to a celebration at an airbase."

"You look perfect." His expression softened. "He's going to lose his mind when he sees you."

You hesitated, the words sticking in your throat. "He didn't… he didn't tell me."

Gideon's face changed immediately. He'd always been able to read you too well. "Ah. Yeah, he didn't want to bother you. You know how he gets—worries about you so much he forgets his own mind."

"Still, it's…"

"Hey." He grabbed your shoulders gently, making you look at him. "Listen to me. You're the most important person in his life. That idiot's been sulking for weeks because he misses you. He's overprotective to a fault, but he really cares about you, okay?"

Something in his voice made the tight feeling in your chest ease up a little. Gideon had never been one to sugarcoat things, especially not when it came to Caleb.

"He really is an idiot."

"The biggest." Gideon's grin returned as he slung an arm around your shoulders, steering you toward the exit. "Come on, let's go surprise our hero."

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Walking into the DAA airbase felt like stepping back in time. Nothing had changed—same oil stained floors, same pilot portraits lining the walls, same faint smell of fuel and metal that somehow seep into every corner of the airbase.

You'd walked these halls countless times growing up, trailing behind Caleb and Gideon when they were still cadets, sneaking into places you definitely weren't supposed to be. It felt a bit like home in a strange way.

"Is that—oh my God, it is!"

You turned to see Lieutenant Chen from the communications department, weighed down by so many insignia it was a wonder her uniform held together.

"We had no idea you were coming!"

"Surprise," you said awkradly, suddenly aware of all the eyes turning your way.

"Caleb's gonna absolutely lose it." Chen smiled. "He never shuts up about you. We've been wondering when you'd visit again."

More faces you recognized started appearing as you walked down the hall. Captain Morrison from tactical planning, who remembered you from the academy's family days. Sergeant Liu, who'd once caught you and Caleb trying to sneak into the flight simulators and had pretended not to see you.

But also not familiar faces smiled when they saw you. It was almost a little unsettling how everyone here knew who you were, even if you didn't know them.

"The famous childhood friend," someone said with a smile.

"She's prettier than in the photos," another voice added.

Gideon squeezed your shoulder. "Told you he talks about you. Pretty sure half this place knows your name."

It should have made you happy. Should have been sweet, knowing that even when he was here, surrounded by his colleagues and his other life, you were still on his mind. That he spoke about you enough that people recognized you on sight, that your name was familiar in rooms you'd never entered.

But instead, it just made the confusion worse. Because how could you be important enough to mention in casual conversation, important enough for wallet photos and desktop frames, but not important enough pick up the phone when he almost died?

"Where is he?" you asked.

"Probably in the dorms, working off his nervous energy," Gideon replied. "You know how he gets before big events."

You followed him through the dorms, past rows of identical doors until Gideon stopped at one marked with a familiar call sign.

"Here we go," he whispered, pressing a finger to his lips. "Let me just—"

But before he could knock, you heard grunting sounds from inside. Your mind immediately went somewhere it shouldn't, and heat flooded your face. Was he—?

You were about to grab Gideon's arm when he pushed the door open. And to your relief, it wasn't what you'd thought.

Caleb was hanging upside down from the top bunk, feet hooked over the bed frame as he did hanging sit-ups. His shirt had slipped down, revealing his abs as they contracted with each rep. Sweat gleamed on his skin, and his dark hair hung in damp strands toward the floor.

"Caleb," Gideon called out.

Caleb crunched up—or down, given his position—his hands behind his head, and the moment his eyes met yours, his face went completely scarlet.

"What—how—"

His concentration faltered, and suddenly he was falling, tumbling off the bunk in a tangle of limbs and hitting the floor with a loud thud.

"Caleb!" You rushed forward, dropping to your knees beside him. "Are you okay? Did you hit your head?"

He lay there on his back for a moment, staring up at you in complete shock, legs still tangled with the bed frame.

"What? Why are you here?”

He slowly pushed himself up to sitting, his eyes never leaving your face like he couldn't quite believe you were real.

"That's one way to greet me. Should I be worried you don't want me here?"

Without hesitation, he reached for you, hands finding your waist and pulling you closer until you were almost in his lap on the narrow floor between the bunks.

"Silly girl. Of course I want you here." One arm wrapped around your back while the other cradled your head, pulling you close against his neck. "How did you—when did you—"

"Gideon," you said. "He helped with the surprise."

Caleb's eyes flicked to Gideon, who stood in the doorway with a crooked smile, before returning to you. He was still warm from his workout, smelling faintly of soap and sweat and something else you could never name—but always recognized.

Just him. Just home.

"I've missed you so much," he whispered against your ear, arms tightening around you.

"I missed you too." Your fingers found the soft fabric of his shirt, then brushed against the apple pendant he wore—always wore. "I saw what happened on the news. I was so scared, and then so proud, and I just... I needed to see you."

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, those violet ones you knew so well catching the light filtering between the beds. His face was so close, breath warm against your lips. It would only take a breath to close the distance.

"I'm so glad you're here."

And somehow that stung. It always did—this easy intimacy, this magnetic pull that made the rest of the world fade away. He could hold you like you were the most precious thing in his world, speak to you in that voice reserved only for you—and then turn around and shut you out completely when it actually mattered.

Gideon cleared his throat. "Alright, you two. As sweet as this is, maybe Caleb should find a real shirt before someone walks by and gets the wrong idea."

Caleb glanced down at himself, seeming to remember his state of undress, and his cheeks flushed red again as he quickly tugged his sleeveless shirt down.

"We've got a few hours before the party starts," he said, standing and pulling you up with him. His hands lingered on yours, fingers intertwined. "Want to go flying? We could catch the sunset if we leave now."

"Am I even allowed to do that? This is a military base..."

Caleb grinned, that boyish smile you always loved so much. "With me? Absolutely. Perks of being the hero of the week." His expression went soft. "Besides, I've been wanting to show you something."

You hesitated. But there was something hopeful in his eyes, almost vulnerable, that pulled at something inside you. You remembered how he'd looked on the news earlier this week—bloodied, exhausted, but alive. How your heart had stopped thinking you might lose him.

You agreed before you could overthink it.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Twenty minutes later, after Caleb's quick shower, you found yourself in the pilots' prep room staring at the flight suit he'd laid out for you. The suit was thick and technical, covered in zippers and patches you didn't know how or where to put on.

"It might be a little big," Caleb said, emerging from the locker area in his own suit, hair still damp, clinging in soft curls at his temples. "But it'll keep you safe up there."

You held up the suit, then hesitated. "Okay, so... how exactly does this work?"

"Here, let me help." He stepped in front of you, close enough that you could see the water droplets still clinging to his neck and count his eyelashes if you wanted to. "Arms first."

You slipped your arms through, his fingers guiding the fabric over your shoulders, adjusting the fit with light touches.

"Now the belt." His hands moved to your waist, threading the utility belt through the loops. You had to remind yourself how to breathe as he worked, standing so close that you felt his breath on you lips.

You really hadn't thought this through. Flying apparently involved a lot more... proximity than you'd expected. Maybe you should've said no.

"Almost done," he said, like he could read every thought on your face. When the belt was secure, he paused, hands still resting on your hips. His eyes traced over you—down to where the suit hugged your waist, then slowly back up to meet your gaze. Something shifted in his expression, and his grip on your hips tightened slightly.

Your knees went weak. Just from the way he was looking at you—like he was memorizing every detail, like you were something he wanted to unwrap slowly and take his time with. Heat pooled low in your stomach.

You hated how he always had this effect on you. How he could make you forget everything—your hurt, your anger, the fact that he'd kept you in the dark—with nothing but a look.

You tilted your head slightly. "Caleb?"

"Sorry." He blinked, shaking his head like he was coming back to himself. "Just need to..." He reached for the front zipper, his knuckles brushing your chest as he slowly, carefully pulled it up. Each inch seemed to take forever, and you hated how much you wanted it to last even longer.

"There," he whispered, hands smoothing over your shoulders. "Perfect fit. How does it feel?"

You looked down at yourself, aware of how close you were standing, of how his flight suit clung perfectly to his broad shoulders where yours hung loose.

"Good," you managed. "Feels good."

His hand came up to adjust your collar that was already perfectly straight, fingers brushing the heated skin of your neck.

"Is this standard procedure for all your passengers?"

"Only the special ones." His eyes dropped to your lips and stayed there, like he was considering something stupid. Something stupid you'd wanted him to consider.

"Caleb," you breathed, not even sure what you were asking for. Maybe for him to close the distance. Maybe for him to step away before you did something stupid.

His thumb traced along your jaw, so light you might have imagined it. "Yeah?"

Voices echoed from the hallway, breaking whatever spell had settled over the room. He stepped back immediately, hands dropping to his sides, but his eyes stayed locked on yours.

"Ready to fly?"

You nodded, not trusting your voice. With your lips still warm from the way he'd been staring at them, flying was definitely the last thing on your mind right now.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

You really should have said no. Because what the hell were you thinking, getting into a fighter jet? You stared at all the bewildering array of screens and buttons, not understanding a single thing.

Damn Caleb and his stupidly pretty eyes of his. You could never say no to him.

He leaned over your shoulder from behind, reaching around to point at different instruments. His helmet brushed yours as he talked, voice coming through the headset.

"Okay, so this is your primary flight display," he said, finger tracing across a screen. "Shows altitude, airspeed, heading. And this controls your oxygen flow—"

"Caleb," you cut him off with a nervous laugh, "why are you telling me all this? I'm not flying this thing."

"What if I have a heart attack up there? You'd have to take over."

"Please don't joke about that. I can barely parallel park, and you want me to land a fighter jet?"

"It's easier than it looks." He reached across to flip a switch, his arm brushing against yours. "Besides, you've got good instincts. I've seen how you think under pressure."

"Quick thinking and flying are completely different things.”

"Are they?" His laugh rumbled over the comms as he flipped a few more switches. "Both need you to stay calm, think fast..."

Suddenly, the engines roared to life, vibrations running through your entire body. Your stomach dropped as the reality hit—you were actually doing this.

"Don't worry. I have every intention of staying alive," he added, his hand coming up to steady your helmet. "Besides, I can't leave you alone up here. How else would I get to see how cute you look when you're terrified?"

"I'm not terrified."

"Sure you're not." He glanced down at where your knuckles were white from gripping the seatbelt. A smug smile spread across his face. You wanted to punch him. "That's why you're holding on like the plane's about to fall apart."

"I hate you."

He ignored your comment. His hands moved to your harness next, checking each strap. You felt his fingers brush against your shoulders and chest as he tightened the restraints.

"Snug enough?" he asked, giving the straps a tug.

"I think I'm more secure than the aircraft itself," you replied, testing how much you could move. Which was basically not at all.

"Good. Ready to fly?"

"Absolutely not."

"Too late now." He moved to settle into the pilot's seat in front of you. "Don't worry, I'll take good care of you up there."

"Just promise me," you called over the growing engine noise, "if you do have some kind of medical emergency, can you at least wait until we're back on the ground?"

His laugh crackled through the comms. "Deal." More switches flipped and the engines roared louder. "Now hold on and visor down."

You found the mechanism on your helmet, and the tinted shield clicked into place, casting everything in a greenish hue.

"Tower, this is Apple-7 requesting clearance for takeoff," his voice came through the comm system, suddenly serious and stern.

"Apple-7, you are cleared for runway 2-7. Wind at 2-1-0 degrees, 8 knots."

"Copy that, tower. Apple-7 rolling."

And then the jet lurched forward.

Oh shit.

This was really happening. You were actually doing this, and you were a complete idiot for agreeing to it. What kind of sane person just casually gets into a fighter jet? Normal people took trains. Normal people stayed on the ground where they belonged.

The engines roared even louder, and suddenly you were moving. Fast. Really, really fast. The runway blurred past in streaks of white and gray, and you gripped your harness so hard you thought you might break your knuckles. Pretty sure you were about to meet your end just because you couldn't resist some pretty violet eyes.

"Oh god, oh god, oh god," you said, probably straight into the comms that anyone could hear, but you were past caring.

"You okay back there?"

"No. Definitely not. Why did I say yes to this?"

The nose tilted up, and suddenly you were pressed back into your seat like a giant, invisible hand was shoving you down. The force was insane—your whole body felt heavy, pinned against the seat as the jet climbed. Your stomach dropped straight through the floor while the rest of you felt like it weighed a thousand pounds.

You squeezed your eyes shut as the ground disappeared beneath you, that weightless feeling making you want to throw up.

Why the hell had you said yes this time?

Caleb had asked before. Multiple times, actually. "Come flying with me," he'd say, eyes bright with the adrenaline that always courses through pilots after a flight. "I want to show you what it's like up there." And you'd always brushed him off with some excuse—too busy, too tired, maybe next time.

Flying seemed like his thing, not yours. You were perfectly happy with your feet on solid ground, thank you very much.

You'd never really thought about why you kept saying no. It just seemed... unnecessary. Dangerous. Something that belonged to the part of his life that didn't include you—the military side, the pilot side, the side that took him away from home for weeks at a time.

But now, strapped into a fighter jet and climbing toward the clouds at a speed that defied all logic, you couldn't figure out what had changed. What had made you finally say yes when he'd asked with that hopeful look in his eyes? Was it the way he'd seemed so excited to share this with you? The fact that he'd almost died and you'd realized how much you'd been holding back? Or were you just losing your mind?

Probably the last one.

"Breathe." Caleb's voice. "I've got you."

"This was such a terrible idea," you managed, eyes still clamped shut. "I'm going to die because I can't say no to you."

"You're not going to die. I'm a pretty good pilot."

"That's exactly what someone says right before they crash."

He laughed. "Open your eyes."

"Not happening."

"Come on. Trust me."

"I trusted you enough to get in this death trap. That's all the trust you're getting today."

"Hey." His voice went gentle. "Remember when we were kids and you'd get scared during thunderstorms? I'd always stay with you until they passed."

"That's not the same."

"I'm still here. Still got you." A pause. "Open your eyes for me."

Damn him. Damn him and that stupid, soft voice of his and the way he could make you feel safe even when you were hurtling through the air in a metal coffin.

You cracked one eye open, then both, and your breath caught in your throat at what you saw.

A dreamlike landscape stretched out below you. Fields and forests and winding roads, all bathed in golden evening light. In the distance, the sun was sinking towards the horizon, painting the sky in watercolours of pink and orange, bleeding together like spilled paint.

And there was Skyhaven, floating in the distance like something from a fairy tale. Its artificial island hung suspended in the twilight, lights already twinkling as evening settled in. From up here, you could see everything, the tall buildings, the landing platforms and the anti-gravity trains that looked like silver threads connecting it to the mainland.

You flew over the DAA airbase, which looked suddenly tiny and orderly from this height. You could make out the runways in perfect geometric patterns, hangars lined up like building blocks, the control tower standing watch over it all.

"Holy shit," you breathed.

"Language, pipsqueak."

"Holy shit, Caleb. This is..."

"Pretty amazing, right?"

You stared out at the endless sky, at clouds that looked like cotton from up here, at how perfect and small everything looked below. Your death grip on the seat loosened a little.

"Yeah," you whispered. "It's beautiful."

"Want to see more? We've still got time before we need to head back."

Caleb steered the jet gently to the left, and a few seconds later, you were flying over mountains that looked like the spines of a sleeping dragon, their snow laced peaks catching the last of the sun.

"Those are the Taishan Mountains," he said. "See that lake down there?"

You followed his direction and spotted it—a perfect mirror of water nestled between the hills, reflecting the sunset like liquid fire.

"It looks incredible," you breathed, pressing your face closer to the canopy. "I had no idea it looked like this from up here."

He guided the jet in circles around the lake, giving you the full view. "This is my favorite part of flying. Seeing the world like this." His voice went softer. "I've wanted to show you this for so long."

Mountains rolled beneath you in waves of green and amber, dotted with tiny villages that clung to the slopes. A river wound through the valley below, silver in the twilight.

"There—see that waterfall?" Caleb pointed toward a white ribbon of water cascading down the mountainside, each level catching the dying light before disappearing into the mist below. "And that one over there—" He tilted the jet slightly to one side so you could see another cascade, this one wider, spreading like a bridal veil across dark stone.

"They're amazing, Caleb," you said, watching the water dance in the fading light.

"I knew you'd love them. I've been wanting to bring you up here since I first flew this route. Every time I pass over, I think about how much you'd love seeing this." A pause. "When things calm down, when we're not so busy with work... I want to take you hiking up there. Show you those falls up close."

You smiled. "I'd like that."

The jet drifted through wisps of cloud that parted softly around the canopy, and for a moment, you felt weightless, suspended between earth and sky, while the world below seemed to stretch endlessly.

A flock of birds flew far below, tiny dots moving across the green landscape. Everything looked so peaceful from up here, so perfectly arranged, like someone had painted the world and hung it beneath the clouds just for pilots to see.

"You really love this." It wasn't a question. "Flying, I mean. I finally get it."

"Took you long enough."

"I always knew you loved it. I just... never understood the why until now."

"And now?"

You gazed out at the endless sky, at how calm everything looked from up here. "Now I think I might love it too."

"Good," he said, and you could hear him grinning. "So... want to test some speed?"

"What kind of speed?"

"Nothing crazy. Just a little taste of what she can really do."

"I don't know, Caleb. This is perfect as it is—"

"Hold on tight."

"Wait, what—"

The world exploded into motion.

The jet shot forward like a bullet fired from a gun, the landscape below blurring into streaks of color. Your body slammed back into the seat with crushing force—you couldn't breathe, couldn't think, could only grip your harness as everything became pure speed and sound and the absolute certainty that you were about to die.

"Caleb!"

"Just breathe!" His voice came through the comms, way too calm for someone currently trying to kill you both. "Let it happen!"

Within seconds, the fear melted away, replaced by an electric thrill that surged through you. You were flying—really flying—slicing through the sky like something loosed from gravity itself.

"Oh my God!" you shouted, but now you were laughing. "This is insane!"

"Amazing, right?"

"Don't you dare slow down!"

His delighted laugh filled your headset. "I knew you'd love it."

Clouds blurred past in a rush of speed so unreal it stole your breath, and for the first time in months, maybe years, you felt impossibly alive. You never wanted it to stop.

"Hey," Caleb said after a while of flying, way too casual. "You do remember how to pull up, right?"

"What? Why would I need to—"

"Just in case."

A soft click echoed through the comms.

The nose dipped.

Your stomach dropped as realization hit.

"Caleb?"

The aircraft kept descending, the horizon tilting dangerously.

"Caleb!"

Without thinking, your hands flew to the controls, yanking back on the stick. The jet responded immediately, nose lifting as you overcompensated. Your stomach lurched violently with the sudden change in altitude before finally finding level flight again.

"Take over!" you screamed, heart pounding against your ribs. "What the hell are you doing?!"

His laughter crackled through the headset. "Relax. I've got backup controls the whole time. You were never actually in danger." He paused, clearly grinning. "God, I wish I could see your face right now. I bet your face is all scrunched up."

"I'm having a heart attack!"

"You're doing fine. Keep your hands on the controls. I'm handling everything else. Feel how responsive she is?"

Despite yourself, you were starting to enjoy it. Every tiny movement you made with the stick and the whole aircraft would shift—left, right, up, down—and you finally understood what Caleb meant about dancing with the sky. In a way, it felt like dancing, but with gravity and wind and thousands of pounds of metal that somehow felt weightless under your command.

"This is terrifying."

"This is flying. And you're a natural."

And the longer you held the controls, the more confident you became. It was almost intoxicating, having this much power literally at your fingertips.

"This is actually incredible," you breathed, making a gentle turn.

"See? Told you."

Then you spotted the throttle. Your hand moved before you could think, pushing it forward. The jet surged ahead, speed shooting pure electricity through your veins.

"Oh, this feels amazing!" You pushed it further.

The world blurred below as you picked up speed. You felt powerful. Alive. Like you could conquer the entire sky.

"Okay, that's... probably fast enough," Caleb said.

But you were drunk on it now. You pushed the throttle more.

"Seriously, maybe we should slow down—"

"Just a little more!"

"No, no, no. Fun's over." You felt him take back control, gradually bringing the aircraft down to a safer speed. "You're absolutely insane. Remind me to never let you near a motorcycle."

"That was the best thing I've ever done," you laughed, breathless and light headed. "Can we do it again?"

"Absolutely not. I love you, but—"

He stopped, and your heart skipped a beat.

Did he just…?

He did.

And he said it so natural, so easy, so seamlessly woven into the fabric of who he was that he'd forgotten it was supposed to be a secret.

But you knew what would come next. You'd been there before, knew every version of his backtracking, his deflection, of his careful rewording that would drain all the meaning from what he'd just said until it became something safe and meaningless.

It had been this way since you were teenagers, the pattern so familiar you could predict his next words before he said them. In a way, you'd gotten used to it. But knowing it was coming didn't make it hurt any less. If anything, the predictability made it worse.

Silence stretched.

"I mean—" he started, voice tight. "What I meant was—"

Suddenly, Gideon's voice crackled through the comm system.

"Apple-7, this is base. You two lovebirds need to head back. Party started early—apparently someone couldn't wait to celebrate our hero."

"Copy that, base," Caleb responded after a pause, his voice controlled again. "Apple-7 returning to base."

As he banked towards home, all the playful energy drained away. Something heavier settled between you, the weight of words said and unsaid, of feelings that existed in the space between friendship and whatever this was.

"ETA fifteen minutes," he added quietly. But you weren't listening anymore.

When Caleb brought the jet down onto the runway at the airbase, you felt sick. Whether from the flight or his confession, you couldn't tell.

"You hungry?" His voice came through the headset as you taxied toward the hangar. "Martinez has been going on about the catering all week. I bet they've prepared lots of food."

You stared at the back of his head, feeling your frustration rise like a tide. You hated how he always backed off so quickly whenever things got too real, like he'd burned himself on the truth. Always leaving you to wonder if you'd imagined the weight in his voice, if those three words had meant anything at all or if he'd said them to anyone who'd listen.

"Yeah. I'm starving."

You could feel him wince at your tone.

"Wait until you try the barbecue," he continued anyway, forcing cheerfulness into his voice. "Base cook actually knows what he's doing for once."

The canopy opened with a soft hiss. Back to reality, where Caleb would pretend his heart hadn't been in his throat when he'd said those words, and you'd pretend you weren't exhausted from constantly dancing around whatever this was between you.

He'd said he loved you. Actually said it. And now he was talking about barbecue like it never happened, like you were just friends and always be just friends, like you were supposed to smile and nod and pretend your chest wasn't caving in from the weight of loving someone who could say everything and nothing in the same breath.

Before you could argue with him or he could apologize or you could both just sit in the wreckage of another almost moment, Gideon appeared beside the aircraft.

"There you are!" He grabbed both your arms before you'd even fully climbed out. "Come on, they're waiting for the guest of honor."

"Wait, we should change—" you started, but Gideon was already dragging you toward the main hangar where music and laughter spilled into the evening air.

Caleb unzipped his flight suit as you walked, letting it hang around his waist and tying the sleeves around his hips. Sweat darkened the fabric of his shirt, outlining the muscles in his chest and shoulders in a way that really didn't help your current frustration with him.

You did the same, unzipping your own suit and tying it around your waist. Not exactly the prettiest outfit for a celebration—but thankfully, no one else seemed to care about fancy clothes either. At least now you could breathe in the warm evening air.

You'd never seen the hangar look anything like this. String lights crisscrossed the ceiling, tables lined the walls loaded with food, and what looked like half the airbase was crowded inside with drinks, laughing and talking.

A cheer went up the second people spotted Caleb. Suddenly you were swept into congratulations and backslapping. Someone pressed a beer into your hand while others recounted the heroic rescue you'd only heard about on the news.

"Speech! Speech!" someone shouted, and the entire crowd picked up the chant.

Caleb got pushed towards the center of the crowed, looking genuinely uncomfortable. He held up his hands for quiet.

"I, uh..." He stopped, running a hand through his hair. "I'm really not good at this."

Everyone laughed affectionately.

So humble. Of course everyone loved him.

You watched him fumble through his discomfort. Even now, with everyone celebrating him, he looked like he'd rather be anywhere else. The same way he'd rather deflect than deal with what had just happened between you up there.

"Look," he continued, finding his voice, "what happened out there wasn't heroic. I was just doing my job. Any of you would've done the same thing."

More affectionate protests from the crowd. Someone yelled, "That's our Caleb!"

"It was a team effort. We all did what we were trained for." He paused, scanning the crowd until his eyes found yours. "But what really drives us, what makes us willing to risk everything, is knowing we have something worth coming home to."

Beside you, Gideon nudged your ribs, grinning like he'd won a bet. But instead of something warm, all you felt was irritation.

Of course. Of course he'd say something like that—something that could mean everything or nothing, something that let him dance around the truth while giving himself an out if anyone pressed him on it. Something worth coming home to. It could mean you, it could mean his whole found family here, or it could mean his favorite mechanic for all the specificity he was giving.

You took a long pull of your beer, jaw tight, as the crowd cheered his carefully noncommittal words.

When he finished his speech, you turned away before his gaze could find yours and headed for the bar. Maybe it was frustration, maybe adrenaline crash, or maybe you just needed something to numb whatever game you and Caleb kept playing with each other's hearts.

You stopped counting drinks after the third one. You'd come here to celebrate him, to be proud of him, but all you could think about was how stupid you'd been to hope for something real.

Luckily, Gideon was just as drunk as you and completely oblivious to your mood.

"Another round!"

He appeared beside you with two fresh beers and a grin that said he was already several drinks ahead of you. His cheeks were flushed, eyes bright.

You took the beer and clinked it against his, laughing at something funny he'd said that you were already forgetting.

"Maybe you should slow down a little."

A hand suddenly reached for your beer.

Caleb.

You pulled it away from his grasp, giving him a look that could've cut glass. "We're here to celebrate, right? Isn't that what you said? Something to come home to and all that?"

His eyes narrowed at your tone, violet turning darker, but before he could respond, Gideon threw an arm around both your shoulders.

"Exactly! Tonight we celebrate our hero!" he slurred, pulling you both closer. "And his beautiful—"

"Friend," you cut in flatly, taking another drink. You stared straight at Caleb as you said it, watching the word land heavy.

The music shifted to something upbeat, and Gideon dragged you towards the dance floor before either of you could say anything else.

He spun you around, both of you laughing as you nearly collided into other people. The alcohol had loosened you up, and for the first time all night, you actually felt carefree.

"You're awful at this," you laughed as Gideon stepped on your foot again.

"Hey, I'm a pilot, not a dancer," he protested, catching you when you stumbled slightly and keeping a steady hand on your waist.

Out of the corner of your eye, you spotted Caleb still at the bar, those violet eyes locked on Gideon's hand at your waist. His knuckles were white around his beer bottle.

You knew this wasn't fair. It wasn't like you—getting drunk, making a scene, using poor Gideon in whatever messed up thing you and Caleb had going on. But you were so tired of it all. Tired of the mixed signals, the distance, the way he could say he loved you at ten thousand feet then stand in front of everyone and talk about you like you were just another face in the crowd.

You were done being careful. Done protecting his feelings while he stepped all over yours. When Gideon's hand moved to guide you through another spin, you didn't pull away. Instead, you leaned closer, letting your arms wrap around his neck as he swayed with you. You rested your head on his shoulder, eyes closing, knowing exactly who was watching.

If Caleb wanted to keep you at arm's length, he could watch someone else hold you close.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Hours slipped by in a haze of music, laughter, and terrible dance moves. Considerably, the crowd had thinned out, leaving only a few dedicated party people and those too drunk to find way back to their quarters. You fell squarely into the second category.

"Alright," Caleb's voice cut through your alcohol fueled fun as he appeared beside you and Gideon at the bar sometime deep into the night—or possibly early morning. "I think it's time to call it a night."

"What? No!" You swayed as you turned to face him. "Party's just getting started. Right, Gideon?"

But when you looked around, Gideon had somehow vanished. When you turned back to Caleb, you understood why.

He was angry.

"Come on. You've had enough."

"I'm fine," you insisted, though the way the room tilted when you moved suggested otherwise. "We're celebrating! You said it yourself—something to come home to, right? Well, your precious something is celebrating."

A muscle jumped in his jaw and then he was moving. He scooped you up and threw you over his shoulder like you weighed nothing.

"Caleb! Put me down! What are you doing?"

"You think I'll let you do whatever you want?"

You kept protesting as he carried you across the hanger, but his grip was iron. Other drunk stragglers whistled and made comments as you passed, which only made your face burn hotter.

He finally stopped at his room in the dormitory and fumbled with his keycard while still holding you. Once inside, he set you down and locked the door behind you both.

You stumbled as your feet hit the floor, the room spinning enough to make you grab his desk for support.

"What the hell, Caleb?"

He was standing between you and the door, arms crossed, looking more serious than you'd ever seen him.

"What was your mission tonight? Were you trying to irritate me?"

You leaned back against his desk, crossing your arms to match his stance. The alcohol was still making your head swim, but his tone was sobering you up fast.

"Don't be so dramatic. It's a party. You're the hero, saved lives and all that, remember?"

"Is that why you were all over Gideon?"

A bitter laugh slipped out. "Like you care."

"I don't care?"

"No, you don't!" You pushed off from the desk, anger making you bold. "You don't get to care! Not when you do this—say things like that, tell me you love me, act all possessive, then pull away like it never happened!" Your voice got louder, years of frustration finally breaking free. "It's fucking exhausting, Caleb! I never know what you actually feel because you won't just—"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"No! It's not obvious! Nothing about you is obvious!" You gestured wildly, the alcohol making you unsteady. "You're like a puzzle with half the pieces missing, and I'm tired of trying to figure you out."

He stepped closer. "You want to know what I feel?"

"Yes," you breathed, suddenly aware of how small his room was, how close he was getting.

Another step. "You want me to be obvious? Aggressive? Want me to press you against this desk and make it impossible to misunderstand how I feel?"

Your back hit the desk as he kept coming. "Caleb," you whispered, but it sounded more like a plea than a warning.

He braced his hands on either side of you, palms flat against the desk, caging you in. His body was close enough that you could feel his heat, could count the golden flecks in his eyes.

"Tell me what you want from me." His voice barely a whisper, his face inches from yours. "You want me to kiss you? Touch you?" He tilted his head. "...Fuck you?"

"I'm not playing this game again—"

His hand left the desk to find your waist, fingers spreading across the strip of skin where your shirt had ridden up above your tied flight suit. Your words died as his touch sent heat shooting through you.

"What game?" He leaned closer and placed his other hand on your waist too, his hands warm against your skin. "The one where you pretend you don't want me?"

"I'm not—" you started, but your breath hitched when his hand came up to cup your face, thumb tracing your cheekbone.

"Or this one where you act like I'm always the one holding back when you do the exact same thing?" His words ghosted across your lips as his hands slowly moved upward, thumbs brushing under the hem of your shirt. "Because that's what this feels like. Like you want me to make the first move so you can blame me if it all goes wrong, have an easy way out—"

"Don't."

Your heart pounded so hard you were sure he could feel it through your chest. He was close enough now that the slightest movement would bring your lips together.

"Tell me to stop. Tell me this isn't what you want, and I'll walk away."

But you couldn't. Because despite all the frustration, despite all the hesitation and almost moments, this was exactly what you wanted. And he knew it.

When you stayed silent, he leaned in, lips finding your neck. His kiss was soft, almost careful, but it sent heat through your veins. His lips moved down your neck unhurried and slow, each touch a question you answered with a tilt of your head, giving him more access. Your hands found his shoulders, fingers gripping his shirt as he stepped closer and pressed you back against the wall.

"Who's holding back now?" he murmured against your throat.

Your answer got lost in a shaky breath as he continued his slow exploration, hands tightening on your waist. Everything felt electric, charged with years of want finally given permission to surface.

But even as he held you close, even as his lips traced every inch of your neck, he never quite crossed that final line. Never kissed your mouth the way you desperately wanted. Always hovering on the edge of something more, leaving you breathless and wanting. And you wouldn't close the gap either—too stubborn, too scared.

"Caleb," you whispered.

He pulled back just enough to meet your eyes, his own dark with want. "What now? Should I kiss you? Undress you? Want me to…"

His thigh nuded your legs apart, and then he pressed closer until there was nothing between you but heat and fabric. Your breath hitched, and your fingers clenched around his shoulders, nails digging in.

"Do you have any idea how much I think about this? About touching you you the way I really want to, without holding anything back? How much I need you?"

Your head tilted back, trying to find space to breathe, but he followed, lips grazing your throat. Each touch was torture, every kiss threatening to undo you completely. He moved slowly, mouth tracing down to your collarbone where he sucked gently, drawing a soft sound from you.

"You're so frustrating," you said, the words tumbling out. "You—God, Caleb, you always stop, you—"

"You think I want to stop?" His voice was raw. "You think I don't lie awake every night thinking about throwing away every reason I have for keeping my hands off you?" He sank his teeth into the curve of your shoulder, making you gasp. "I'm trying to do this right."

Your heart ached at his words, but the alcohol and years of longing made you bold. "I don't want right," you said. "I want you."

Something shifted in him then. His hands slid to your hips and pulled you in, pressing against you until you felt him, unmistakably hard, right where you wanted him. You moved without thinking, your body drawn to the pressure, to the spark it ignited.

He cursed, voice breaking as he buried his face in your neck and guided your movements with his hands. Each shift of your hips made the desk creak beneath you, the sound loud in the quiet room.

Your hands slid into his hair, tugging at it as you arched into him, heat building between you with each and every movement. His mouth traced lower, kissing along the edge of your top before his teeth caught your strap, pulling it down your shoulder. He kissed the newly bared skin like it was something sacred.

"Caleb," you gasped, voice catching as he thrust harder, growing more desperate.

Papers and pens slid off the desk, which was rattling loudly now, but neither of you cared. His hand left your hip to brace against the wall behind you, arm trembling with the effort of holding back, of keeping this from spiraling into something neither of you could take back.

You felt him shudder against you, his breath hot and ragged against your neck as he kissed every inch of skin. Hips pressed closer still, grinding against you in a way that made your head spin, and you couldn't help the soft moan that escaped your lips. It seemed to undo him completely—his grip tightening as he moved against you harder, the desk shaking.

"I can't think straight when you're like this," he whispered, his hand slipping under your top, palm warm against your lower back. "Do you have any idea what you do to me? How hard it is to be around you and not just—"

Your legs tightened around him, wanting nothing more than for him to stop thinking altogether, and he groaned, the sound vibrating through you.

You could feel exactly how much he wanted this—wanted you—but he still held back, his lips never claiming yours, only leaving marks along your throat and collarbone. It was maddening, this dance of almost, but the way he touched you like you were something precious made it impossible to pull away.

You could feel how close you both were getting—his breath heavy and uneven, body trembling against yours.

His hand slid down from your waist to find your thigh. He hooked his grip under your knee, lifting your leg until it rested over his shoulder. You gasped, fingers clawing at his hair as his hard length slid back and forth between your thighs with such maddening friction you were sure you'd come any moment.

"I'm trying," he breathed. "I'm trying so fucking hard not to lose it right now."

Your leg trembled, and he tightened his grip, holding you in place.

"I'm so close." Your lips hovered inches from his, your soft moans spilling into his open mouth. "Caleb, please." You didn't even know what you were begging for—just more, all of him, anything to ease the ache that had been building for so long.

His hand on the wall slid higher, fingers curling like he needed to hold onto something, and for a moment you thought he might finally give in. But—

Footsteps echoed in the hallway outside, followed by muffled voices. Caleb froze, lips still close to yours, his whole body going tense. He lifted his head, eyes darting to the door. The voices got closer, then faded, but the thread between you had snapped.

His hand on the wall slid down slowly. He exhaled shakily and stepped back, leaving you cold and aching where his warmth had been. "You should sleep and get sober."

You felt dizzy from how quickly he could switch off, go from consuming you completely to treating you like a mistake that needed correcting.

"And pretend tomorrow that this never happened? You go back to being distant and I pretend I'm fine with it?"

"That's not—"

"It is." You leaned forward on the desk, straightening your top. "This is what you do, Caleb. You get close, make me think maybe this time is different, and then you pull away."

He ran a hand through his hair, looking frustrated. "I'm not pulling away. I'm right here."

"For how long? Until someone walks by in the hallway? Until you remember all the reasons why this is complicated? Until you decide I'm better off as just your friend?"

"You know that's not—"

"Don't. Just… don't. I can't keep doing this with you. I can't keep wondering if you actually want me or if you're just lonely, or caught up in the moment, or—"

"You think this is just loneliness?" His voice went sharp, almost angry. "You think what I feel for you is some momentary lapse in judgment?"

"I don't know what you feel, and that's the problem. You never tell me anything. Not when you nearly die, not what you're thinking, nothing. You just nearly fuck me and look at me like that and expect me to figure it out, but I can't read your mind, Caleb. And I'm tired of trying."

Everything went quiet.

"I'm scared," he said finally. "I'm scared of ruining what we have."

"And what exactly do we have? Because from where I'm standing, it feels like nothing."

He starred at you like you'd slapped him, and maybe you had. You watched his face crumple for just a second before he pulled himself together, but you'd already seen the hurt.

"Nothing," he repeated quietly, almost to himself. He took a step back, then another, putting space between you. "Right."

Nothing but breath.

Yours.

His.

Heavy, tangled, filling the silence.

You wanted to take it back, to explain that you didn't mean it like that, but your frustration and anger kept your mouth shut.

"Sleep it off," he said finally, voice flat as he headed for the door. "Take the bed. I'll find somewhere else."

"Caleb, wait—"

He stopped for just a moment, hand on the handle, and you thought maybe he'd turn around, maybe he'd finally fight for this, fight for you.

"Lock the door behind me."

And then he walked out.

You sat there staring at the empty space where he'd been, the ghost of his touch still burning on your skin and the taste of regret bitter in your mouth.

You could hear his footsteps in the hallway, getting fainter until there was nothing left but silence and the weight of words you couldn't take back.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

Morning light streamed through the window, way too bright for your pounding head. You groaned and burried your face deeper into the pillow that smelled like Caleb—a painful reminder of where you were and what had happened.

A soft knock made you wince. "Come in," you mumbled, though speaking felt like sandpaper against your throat.

When you finally looked up, Caleb was standing by the bed with a glass of water and two aspirin. His expression was carefully blank, but the dark circles under his eyes told you he'd slept about as well as you had.

"Figured you'd need these," he said, setting them on the nightstand.

You slowly sat up, immediately regretting it as the room spun. "Thanks."

He sat down on the edge of the bed beside you while you swallowed the aspirin and drank half the water.

"I'm sorry," you started, finally meeting his eyes. "About last night. What I said."

"Which part?"

"All of it. I was really drunk."

"Yeah, you were."

"It wasn't fair of me."

He gave you a small, sad smile. After a moment, he pulled out his phone, scrolled through it, and set it on the nightstand. Soft music started playing, something gentle and slow.

"What are you doing?"

"What I wanted to do last night." He stood up from the bed and held out his hand. "Before you decided dancing with my best friend was more fun."

You looked at his outstretched hand, then back at his face. "Caleb, I'm still pretty drunk. Or hungover. I haven't brushed my teeth, I probably smell like tequila, and I look like I got hit by a truck—"

"You're beautiful."

Your heart did that tender flutter thing it always did when he spoke to you like that—gentle and sure, like you were something precious instead of the mess you felt like.

Here he was, bringing you water and aspirin with dark circles under his eyes, being impossibly kind when you'd spent last night deliberately trying to hurt him. You'd used his best friend, his trust, weaponized his feelings against him when all Caleb had ever done was love you too much for his own good.

Even when you were being a complete mess, even when you said cruel things you didn't mean—he was still here, still calling you beautiful when you looked like death, still wanting to dance with you in his tiny room. You felt like such an idiot.

He offered you his hand like a peace offering, like forgiveness you didn't deserve, and you wanted to cry from how much it hurt to want someone this badly.

After a moment's hesitation, you found yourself taking his hand anyway, because even if you didn't deserve his kindness, you were too selfish to turn it away.

He helped you up slowly, steadying you when you swayed. His other hand settled gently at your waist, and he started moving in tiny circles, barely dancing at all in the small space between his bed and the wall, just holding you while music played softly from his phone.

"You got what you wanted, by the way," he said quietly against your hair.

"What?"

"Making me jealous. If that was your plan." His voice had that old teasing note, but beneath it, something honest. "Watching you with Gideon last night... it worked."

"I didn't mean to—"

"Didn't you? Even a little?"

"You were jealous," you said, more to confirm it to yourself than to ask.

"Insanely jealous." His hand tightened at your waist. "But I'd be lying if I said I wasn't always jealous of every guy who even looks at you."

"You're an idiot," you whispered, but there was no heat in it.

"Probably."

He spun you gently, turning you so your back was against his chest. His hands settled on your waist, and you could feel his steady breathing against your shoulder. It made your head spin—whether from the hangover or his proximity, hard to tell.

"Easy," he murmured when you swayed, arms tightening to steady you. "I've got you."

You leaned back against him, letting his warmth sink through the thin shirt of his you were wearing.

"This is so stupid."

"Dancing with a hungover girl in my bedroom at eight in the morning? Yeah, probably."

"That's not what I meant."

"I know. But I don't care. I've wanted to hold you like this for so long that I'll take whatever version I can get. Even if you're mad at me and smell like Gideon's aftershave."

You stiffened. "I do not—"

"Relax," he said, and you could hear the smile in his voice. "You smell like you. Just... you and a bit of tequila."

"You're awful."

"I'm honest." He buried his face deeper into your shoulder, inhaling your scent. "And I'd rather have you here, mad at me and smelling of some other man than not have you at all."

It hurt how he said it.

Not because his words were cruel, but because of how tired he sounded. Like he'd already accepted that this was all he'd ever get. Like he was okay with loving you quietly, safely, even if it meant never really having you. Even if it meant watching you walk away with someone else someday.

And maybe that's exactly what you'd both been doing all along. Playing it safe. Because relationships were messy when hearts got involved, when people made themselves vulnerable. Love always ended in pain—that much you knew. Better to keep things the way they were, even if it hurt, than risk losing each other completely.

But God, you were so tired of being careful, tired of pretending that your heart didn't race every time he said your name, and of lying awake at night replaying every touch, every look, every almost moment where you'd felt the pull between you and chosen to step back instead of forward.

All those times in his kitchen when he'd stand just a little too close while making coffee. All those movie nights when you'd end up curled against his side, pretending it was just friendship. All those conversations that felt like confessions, where you'd catch him looking at you like you were something he wanted but couldn't have.

Not this time.

You turned in his arms, slowly, until you were facing him again. "Kiss me," you said, the words reckless and desperate and born from nothing but foolish hope.

"You're still drunk."

"I'm not that drunk."

"Didn't you say so yourself?"

"I lied."

"Pipsqueak."

"Don't deflect."

He let out a breath. "You're hurting. And confused. And you'll probably hate yourself for this when your head clears."

"Maybe." You reached up, fingers finding the soft cotton of his shirt. "But I'm asking anyway."

He went quiet, those violet eyes moving between yours and your lips. "I don't want to be something you regret."

"You won't be. Caleb, you could never be something I regret."

His breath caught, and for a moment, that careful control slipped. His hand came up to your face, thumb brushing your cheek.

"You have no idea what you do to me," he murmured, leaning closer. Your heart hammered against your ribs as the space between you shrunk to nothing. His forehead touched yours, lips hovering close enough to feel the warmth of each word—

His phone rang. Sharp and loud.

"Fuck," he breathed, but he didn't pull away.

The phone kept ringing.

"Caleb," you whispered.

"I know." His thumb traced your cheek one more time before he reluctantly stepped back and reached for his phone. His face darkened when he saw the screen. "It's Commander Reeves. I have to—"

"Answer it," you said, though your heart was still racing.

He picked up with a clipped "Caleb," his voice immediately shifting into something professional and distant. You watched his expression grow more serious as he listened.

"How many?" A pause. "Yeah, I'm on my way." He hung up and looked at you. "Emergency at the base during training. I have to—"

"Go," you said quickly. "People need you."

He moved toward the door, then stopped. Without a word, he came back to you, his hands cupping your face with that careful tenderness that always undid you and pressed a soft kiss to your forehead. It was chaste, safe, and full of everything he couldn't say and you wouldn't risk asking. It left an empty sort of sting in your chest, how much it meant and how little it changed anything.

Then he was gone, grabbing his jacket and rushing out to save someone else, leaving you alone with his goodbye that wasn't quite a goodbye, and a promise that wasn't quite a promise.

Only another almost to add to your collection.

· · ─ ·✶· ─ · ·

By the time Caleb finally made it back to his room, the sun was high and unforgiving.

He opened the door, expecting to find you still there—maybe asleep again, or pacing impatiently, ready to give him an earful for making you wait so long, telling him that you were hungry and bored and he'd smile and take you to eat with the other cadets right after he finally, finally kissed you.

But you weren't there.

The bed was empty and his shirt you'd borrowed was neatly folded at the foot of the bed. The only proof you'd been there was a note on his nightstand, scribbled on the back of his training plan:

thank you for everything. had to catch the 11:30 train back to linkon. talk soon — you

Caleb stared at the note for a long moment, then slowly crumpled it in his fist. Of course you'd run. Of course you'd slip out while he was dealing with the emergency, avoiding the conversation you'd both been dancing around for months and years. But he couldn't even be angry with you, because he understood.

This thing between you had crept up so slowly that neither of you had noticed when it stopped being just friendship. When his need to protect you had shifted from something innocent to something that kept him awake at night. When your easy comfort around him had developed this electric edge that made every touch feel like playing with fire.

He could trace it back if he really tried. Being fifteen and suddenly noticing how pretty you were, then feeling guilty about it because you were his childhood friend and that felt like a betrayal of something pure. He remembered you at seventeen, falling asleep on his shoulder during a late night study session, and the way his heart had started racing for reasons he couldn't name.

How you'd started looking at him differently after he'd enlisted, like you were seeing him as a man instead of the boy who'd grown up next to you.

But somewhere along the way, the easy intimacy of childhood had gotten complicated. Every conversation now carried the weight of things unsaid. Every touch too fleeting to truly satisfy. Every glance asked questions neither of you knew how to answer.

Now there was so much distance between who you'd been as kids and who you were now that neither of you knew how to bridge it. Too much history to pretend this was simple, but too much fear to admit it had never been simple at all.

He sank onto his bed and stared at the spot where he'd almost kissed you. You'd both wanted it—he could see it in the way your breath had hitched, in how you'd leaned into him. But wanting and having were different things when everything felt this fragile.

Because this wasn't just about attraction, this was about the person who knew all his secrets, who'd sat with him through his worst moments, who he trusted more than anyone. This was about risking the most important relationship in his life for something that might burn bright and beautiful—or destroy everything.

His phone buzzed. A text.

You: made it back safely. thanks for last night. and this morning

He stared at the message, knowing that beneath those polite lines was the same confusion he felt, the same want tangled up with the same fear.

He typed and deleted a dozen replies.

Caleb: why did you leave?

Delete.

Caleb: please don't run from this. don't run from me

Delete.

Caleb: i wanted to kiss you

Delete.

Caleb: i think about kissing you all the time

Delete.

Caleb: i love you. i'm in love with you. i have been for years and i'm tired of pretending i'm not

Delete.

Caleb: i don't know when i fell for you, but i can't remember not being in love with you. and when i was on that deepspace tunnel rescue mission, all i could think about was that i can't die before i ever get to tell you how i feel

Delete.

Caleb: i'm sorry i didn't tell you what happened. i wanted to protect you, but lately i think i don't know how to take care of you anymore and all i do is screw things up

Delete.

In the end, he sent:

Caleb: glad you're safe

Three dots appeared, then disappeared. Then appeared again.

You: hope the emergency wasn't too bad. get some rest

And that was it. You were gone, back to Linkon, back to your life of hunting Wanderers and keeping the world safe. Back to pretending that whatever had almost happened between you was just leftover adrenaline and alcohol.

But Caleb knew better. The way you'd looked at him, the way you'd asked him to kiss you—that wasn't the tequila talking, that was twenty years of friendship finally admitting it wanted to be something more, that was all the careful space you'd both maintained finally crumbling under the weight of wanting someone you were too afraid to lose.

His fingers found the silver apple pendant resting against his chest, the one you'd given him with "When U Come Home" engraved on its surface. Such simple words that had carried him through countless flights, countless nights when the distance between you felt impossible to cross.

But as he held it now, all he could think about was the way you'd felt pressed against him. The warmth of your skin beneath his hands. The soft sound you'd made when he'd kissed your neck. The way you'd trembled against him like you wanted him just as desperately as he wanted you.

God, he wanted you. Had wanted you for so long that desire had become a constant ache in his chest, something he'd learned to carry like a pilot carries the weight of sky—always there, always pulling, always threatening to drag him down if he let himself think about it too much.

And he was so fucking tired of being afraid. Tired of measuring every touch, every word, every look for signs that he might be crossing some invisible line. Tired of pretending that loving you was something to be ashamed of instead of the most natural thing in the world.

You'd asked him to kiss you.

You'd said he could never be something you'd regret. And instead of believing you, instead of trusting what he'd seen in your eyes, he'd let fear make the choice for him again.

Afternoon light streamed through his window, warm and golden, the same light that was probably falling across your face right now as you sat in your apartment, maybe thinking about him the way he couldn't stop thinking about you. Maybe touching your lips and remembering how close he'd come to kissing them. Maybe wondering if he'd ever be brave enough to choose love over safety.

And as he sat there, all he could think about was the empty space where you should be—in his arms, in his bed, in his life without any barriers between you.

He was done being afraid of losing you. Never truly having you would destroy him far more quietly, far more completely.

Caleb stood, touched the apple pendant once more, and reached for his keys.

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author's note — so you might be wondering why this story sounds so similar to my other caleb fic and to give you an answer it is because i'm quite uncreative and had exactly two things on my brain: flying with him and dry humping. excuse my complete lack of originality with this one lol.

anyway, thank you for taking the time to dive into this emotional mess with me. i'll maybe write a part two for this. if you enjoyed the story, comments and reblogs always make my day and mean the world to me. thank you again for being here <3

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