Unloved and Obsessed. @maddamoiselle - Tumblr Blog

Mar 19

The Weight of Wanting You

Pairing: Caleb x NoMC!Reader Synopsis: They were erased, rewritten, and buried by the Fleet — but some things don’t stay dead… especially not the way they want each other.

A/N: I lied. I finished the first chapter of season II before zayne's story! I hope you weren't waiting too much for the story. Or maybe you expect it to end with last chapter, who knows? Well, I hope you will enjoy reading the season II of The Weight of Wanting You, I can not wait tor ead your thoughs about it. 12K

Chapter I : Weightless, For A Moment.

The sound of your boots echoed through the Fleet’s corridor in sharp, measured beats, each step landing with the same cold precision that had come to define your presence within these walls.

The corridor itself was spotless, the white floors polished so perfectly that the lights above reflected across them like frozen water, and the officers stationed along the walls straightened automatically the moment they saw you approach.

“Vice Commander.”

“Ma’am.”

The greetings followed you like a mechanical chorus, voices tense and respectful, yet you barely acknowledged any of them beyond the smallest tilt of your head, your attention locked firmly on the reports scrolling across the thin tablet in your gloved hand.

A problem with one of the Fleet’s reconnaissance planes.

A failure in navigation systems.

An entire unit assigned to monitoring atmospheric disturbances had somehow allowed the aircraft to veer off course before emergency systems corrected the trajectory, and although the damage had been minimal, the mere fact that the error had happened at all made your jaw tighten beneath the shadow of your cap.

How could this have happened?

Your team was responsible for that sector. Every protocol had been triple-checked, every calculation verified through the Fleet’s predictive systems, and yet the plane had still deviated, drifting dangerously close to an uncharted energy field before the autopilot forced a correction.

Someone beside you was speaking — a young officer trying desperately to keep up with your pace.

“Vice Commander, we believe the disturbance may have originated from an unexpected fluctuation in the upper atmosphere, but the data is still inconclusive and—”

You kept walking.

The officer stumbled slightly, clearly expecting you to respond.

You didn’t.

The silence stretched until he faltered completely, his voice dying away under the weight of your indifference. Your mind was already several steps ahead, calculating variables, tracing the chain of responsibility backward until the fault line appeared with brutal clarity.

Human error.

Unacceptable.

You reached the command wing, the large doors sliding open the moment the recognition sensors detected your approach.

Inside, the atmosphere shifted instantly.

This was where the Fleet’s decisions were made — where orders that shaped entire operations passed through a handful of people who had earned the right to speak within these walls.

Your eyes lifted.

Colonel Xia stood at the center of the room.

He didn’t look toward you immediately. His attention remained fixed on the massive holographic display hovering above the table, lines of data streaming across the air in pale blue light while the officers surrounding him waited in tense silence.

He had changed over the past years.

The boy who had once laughed too easily and fought too fiercely had hardened into something quieter, sharper, his posture straight and controlled in the dark uniform that marked his rank. The insignia on his collar caught the light when he finally turned slightly, acknowledging your presence with nothing more than a brief, professional glance.

“Vice Commander,” he said.

Your voice was calm, steady. “Colonel.”

The room seemed to exhale as the two of you stood facing the display together, the distance between you precise and deliberate — close enough to collaborate, far enough that no one could mistake the interaction for anything other than what it appeared to be.

Professional. Efficient. Detached.

One of the officers cleared his throat nervously before speaking.

“The plane deviation occurred at 0400 hours, Colonel. Initial diagnostics suggest a misalignment in the atmospheric monitoring grid, which falls under Vice Commander oversight.”

You didn’t move.

You simply lifted your hand, expanding the holographic display with a flick of your fingers until the entire flight path unfolded before you like a glowing thread across the air. Your eyes scanned it once.

Then again.

“The grid did not fail,” you said at last, your tone cool and precise. “The data was misread.”

The officer blinked. “Misread?”

You pointed to a section of the trajectory where the numbers flickered subtly. “The system predicted a shift in atmospheric pressure twenty seconds later than it actually occurred. Whoever was monitoring this sector ignored the early signal.” Your gaze lifted slowly. “Find the operator responsible.”

The silence that followed was heavy.

“Yes, Vice Commander.”

Colonel Xia watched the exchange without interruption, his expression unreadable as he studied the same projection, the faint pull of gravity around him subtly stabilizing the holographic field so the data remained perfectly aligned.

Finally, he spoke.

“Vice Commander.”

You turned toward him.

His eyes met yours briefly, calm and distant in a way that would have convinced anyone in the room, and yourself, that the two of you shared nothing beyond rank and responsibility.

“Correct the grid prediction algorithm,” he said. “If the system hesitates again, the next deviation might not recover.”

“Yes, Colonel.”

Your responses were immediate.

Controlled. Impersonal.

Anyone observing would have seen exactly what the Fleet believed the two of you to be.

The Colonel.

And his Vice Commander.

The command room remained silent for several seconds after the discussion ended, the holographic projection still glowing faintly above the table as the officers waited for further instructions that never came. Colonel Xia studied the data a moment longer, his posture perfectly composed, the dark lines of his uniform sharp against the sterile white light of the Fleet’s headquarters.

Then his gaze shifted.

“Vice Commander.”

You had already begun gathering the reports in your hand, preparing to return to the operations wing and correct the algorithm error personally, but his voice made you pause just long enough to look back toward him.

Your expression did not change.

“Yes, Colonel.”

For a brief second his eyes scanned the display once more, as if confirming that every variable had already been accounted for — which, of course, it had. When you handled something, the Fleet learned quickly that mistakes did not repeat themselves.

“You’re done for the day,” he said calmly. “Return tomorrow after the recalibration report is finalized.”

The statement sounded less like a kindness and more like an order.

You nodded once.

“Yes, Colonel.”

No hesitation. No emotion.

Just the crisp acknowledgment expected from the Fleet’s Vice Commander.

The officers in the room barely reacted when you turned and walked out, your boots striking the polished floor again in those same measured beats that had followed you through the corridors earlier. If anyone found it strange that Colonel Xia dismissed his second-in-command before the rest of the staff, they were wise enough not to comment.

Within minutes you were back in the private quarters assigned to command personnel, the quiet space a stark contrast to the constant hum of the Fleet’s operational floors.

You removed the cap first.

The weight of it lifted from your head like a small freedom.

Next came the gloves, each finger sliding free slowly before you dropped them onto the desk with a soft thud. The long black coat followed soon after, the heavy military fabric folding over the chair as you changed into something simpler — dark trousers, a loose sweater, clothing that belonged to a woman rather than a weapon.

By the time you left the Fleet’s station and stepped into the transport system toward Skyhaven, the transformation was complete.

Vice Commander.

Gone.

Just you.

The ride through the city was quiet, the lights of Skyhaven stretching across the horizon like constellations fallen to earth. The Fleet’s headquarters towered in the distance behind you, a monolith of steel and glass that watched the entire city like a silent guardian.

Or a cage.

Your apartment building stood high above the streets, its wide windows overlooking the glowing skyline. You barely registered the elevator ride before the doors opened and you stepped inside the familiar space.

The door shut behind you with a soft click.

And just like that—

The tension snapped.

You dropped your bag onto the floor and let yourself fall backward onto the sofa, limbs sprawling out as a groan tore its way from your throat.

“Oh my god—” Your voice echoed through the quiet apartment. “That cursed plane…” You dragged a hand down your face, eyes squeezed shut as the exhaustion finally caught up with you. “How does an entire team of trained idiots misread atmospheric data?” you muttered to the ceiling. “Did they learn to calculate wind patterns in a cereal box?”

Your head rolled to the side as you stared at the city lights through the tall window, irritation bubbling over again as the replay of the day ran through your mind.

“They’re lucky the plane corrected itself,” you grumbled. “If that thing had crashed, I’d be the one writing apology reports for three days.” You groaned again, pressing the heel of your palm into your forehead. “Seriously. I swear the Fleet recruits people based on how little common sense they have.”

The silence of the apartment swallowed your complaints easily, leaving only the distant hum of Skyhaven’s traffic below. Here, away from the Fleet’s cameras and soldiers and endless discipline, the Vice Commander disappeared completely.

What remained was the same woman who once laughed too loudly in grocery store aisles and threatened Caleb with carrot slices in the kitchen.

Still sharp. Still stubborn. Still very much herself.

You exhaled slowly, sinking deeper into the couch.

You reached blindly toward the coffee table until your fingers closed around your Switch, the familiar plastic cool against your palm, and for a moment you allowed yourself the small illusion that you were just another person coming home after a long day of work, someone who could collapse onto a couch, start a game, and let their mind empty into something harmless and meaningless.

The screen lit up with a cheerful chime.

Bright colors. Friendly music.

You stared at it for several seconds before selecting a game, your thumbs moving automatically over the buttons while your body sank deeper into the cushions.

For a few minutes, it almost worked.

Your character jumped across a small animated platform, collected coins, defeated a cartoon enemy, and the soft sounds of the game filled the apartment with something lighter than the quiet that had lived here all day.

But your mind didn’t stay there.

It never did.

The memory crept in slowly, like cold water slipping under a locked door.

A year. Maybe closer to two.

Time had stopped meaning anything inside the Fleet’s lower levels. You remembered the first days clearly.

The metal restraints.

The way your Evol had been suppressed until even breathing felt wrong, the air around you thick and unresponsive no matter how desperately you tried to reach for it. The white rooms. The bright lights that never dimmed.

And the voice. Your father’s voice.

Clinical. Patient. Disappointed.

“We’re doing this for your future,” he had said the first time they restrained you to the table, his hands steady as if he were performing an ordinary medical procedure rather than carving into his own daughter’s mind. “Emotion clouds judgment. We will remove the parts of you that make you weak.”

Your grip tightened slightly around the console. The game character fell into a pit. You didn’t even notice.

The chip had come later.

You remembered the moment far too clearly — the cold press of metal against your skull, the machine humming as they forced your body still, the way the needle slid into your spine to paralyze everything below your neck.

You had tried to scream.

Nothing came out.

And above you, watching through the glass like a man observing a scientific breakthrough rather than a human being, your father had smiled. “It will help you become what you were meant to be.”

The screen flashed Game Over.

You exhaled slowly through your nose, setting the Switch on your stomach without restarting the level. They hadn’t just tortured you. They had tested you.

Days blurred into endless evaluations of your Evol, forcing you to manipulate air pressure until your lungs burned, measuring how long it took before your body collapsed under the strain. And every time you broke—

They brought him in.

Caleb.

Your chest tightened slightly at the thought. They had kept the two of you apart for most of it. Not because they thought you hated each other. But because they knew the opposite was far more dangerous.

Sometimes they made you listen to him through the speakers. Sometimes they made him watch you through the glass. And every single time, your father asked the same question.

“Do you still feel anything for him?”

Your eyes drifted toward the dark ceiling of your apartment. The answer had always been yes. Even when the drugs blurred your thoughts. Even when the pain made it impossible to think clearly. Even when the chip burned behind your temple like a silent reminder that the Fleet owned your body now.

You had never said it out loud. Because the day you admitted that love out loud would be the day they used it to destroy you both.

Instead, you had done the only thing left. You had stopped reacting. You had let your face go empty. Let your voice become flat. Let your father believe the drugs had worked. Let the Fleet believe the Vice Commander standing in their command room was exactly what they wanted.

A weapon.

You reached up slowly, fingers brushing the side of your head where the implant rested beneath the skin, invisible but always there, humming faintly like a parasite that had learned to sleep beside your thoughts.

“They think they erased me,” you murmured softly to the empty room. Your lips twitched faintly. “They wish.”

The city lights outside flickered through the tall window, casting soft reflections across the floor.

And somewhere in the back of your mind, beneath the exhaustion and the lingering ache of memories you would never completely escape, a small part of you was already counting the seconds until the one person who knew the truth walked through that door.

You must have fallen asleep without realizing it, the quiet hum of the apartment wrapping around you like a thin blanket after the suffocating tension of the day, the controller still loosely resting in your hand where it had slipped from your fingers, your body sinking deep into the sofa as exhaustion finally claimed what discipline and stubbornness had refused to surrender.

Sleep is not deep. It never truly is anymore.

Ever since the Fleet.

Ever since the cell, the lights that never turned off, the cold hands that forced needles into your veins while voices murmured about obedience, about control, about breaking something inside your mind and replacing it with something that would belong to them.

So when the noise comes — faint, a subtle shift near the entrance of the apartment — your body reacts before your mind even wakes.

Your eyes snap open. Your heart slams violently against your ribs. And within the span of a second you are no longer the woman lying on a sofa in Skyhaven, no longer the Vice Commander who calmly directs entire squadrons through hostile skies — you are a creature trained by pain, sharpened by survival, your muscles already moving while the fog of sleep still clings to your thoughts.

You roll silently off the couch. Your hand reaches beneath the sofa. Your fingers close around cold metal.

The pistol slides into your palm like something familiar, something comforting in the worst way possible, the weight of it grounding you as you rise into a crouch beside the couch, the weapon already lifted, already aimed toward the entrance of the apartment where the sound had come from.

Your breathing slows. Your eyes narrow. Every nerve in your body is alive, alert, calculating distances, angles, possibilities, your finger resting lightly against the trigger as you wait for the door to move.

The handle shifts.

A quiet click.

The door begins to open.

Your aim steadies.

And then—

A low chuckle cuts through the silence.

Soft. Amused. Dangerously familiar.

“Well,” Caleb's voice says lazily from the doorway, “that’s one hell of a welcome home.”

Your entire body freezes.

For half a heartbeat your brain refuses to catch up with what your ears just heard, the tension in your muscles still wound tight like a pulled wire as your gun remains trained on the doorway where he now stands, leaning casually against the frame as though he had simply walked into any ordinary evening rather than into the sight of a loaded weapon.

Colonel Xia.

Your commander.

Your partner in strategy.

Your enemy in every argument.

Caleb.

And the man who looks at you now with a crooked smile, purple eyes glinting with unmistakable amusement as he slowly raises his hands in mock surrender.

“Vice Commander,” he adds, tilting his head slightly, his voice warm with teasing mockery, “are you planning on killing me, or can I come in?”

Your breath leaves you in a shaky rush. The gun lowers before you consciously decide to move it. And then suddenly the space between you feels unbearable. You cross the room before you even realize you’ve moved. Your arms slam around him.

The impact makes him grunt softly as your body collides with his chest, the pistol forgotten somewhere in your hand as you bury your face against him, fingers gripping the back of his jacket as though confirming he is real, solid, alive.

For a split second he seems startled. Then his arms close around you.

Strong. Certain.

Caleb exhales a quiet laugh against your hair, the sound vibrating through his chest as he pulls you tighter, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other presses firmly against your back as though anchoring you there.

“You missed me that much?” he murmurs.

You pull back just enough to look at him. And then you kiss him. It is not gentle. Nor is it careful.

Your lips crash against his with all the desperation that had been quietly simmering beneath your skin for days, the frustration of pretending not to know him in front of others, the exhaustion of holding yourself together in corridors full of enemies, the unbearable relief of finally touching him without the watchful eyes of the Fleet observing every movement.

Caleb makes a surprised sound against your mouth. Then he kisses you back.

Harder.

One of his hands slides to your jaw, tilting your head slightly as his mouth claims yours with a hunger that mirrors your own, the kiss deepening instantly into something heated and breathless as his body presses closer, trapping you between himself and the wall beside the entrance.

When you finally break apart, both of you are breathing harder.

His forehead rests briefly against yours. And then he laughs again, quieter this time.

“You know,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb along your cheek as he studies your face with a softness he would never allow anyone else to see, “most people just say hello.”

But the way his arms remain firmly around you says he has no intention of letting you go anytime soon.

You cannot help the small laugh that escapes you, breath still uneven from the kiss, your hands rising almost instinctively to cradle his face as though you need to reassure yourself he is truly here. Your fingers sliding along the sharp line of his jaw while your thumbs brush slowly across his cheeks.

Caleb lets you do it.

For once, the ever-controlled Colonel of the Fleet makes no attempt to move, no attempt to reclaim the distance he so carefully maintains in public, his body still close to yours as he looks down at you with that familiar glint in his eyes — the one that always appears when he knows you are about to start something.

Only now, standing this close to him, do you truly notice it.

He is still in uniform.

The dark Fleet coat sits perfectly on his broad shoulders, the sharp lines of the fabric emphasizing the strength of his frame, the silver insignia of Colonel Xia catching the light of the apartment in quiet glimmers, every detail precise and immaculate as if he had walked straight out of the command room and into your living room without stopping to breathe.

You tilt your head slightly, your fingers brushing the collar of his jacket.

A slow smile curves your lips.

“Well,” you murmur softly, your voice suddenly dripping with playful curiosity as your gaze drifts deliberately over the medals pinned to his chest before returning to his face, “to what do I owe the pleasure?”

Your thumb traces the edge of his jaw again, slow, teasing.

“What would the great Colonel of the Fleet want with me at this hour?”

Caleb’s eyebrows lift ever so slightly.

Ah.

So that’s the game.

You see the exact moment he decides to play.

The corner of his mouth curls.

His hands slide from your waist just enough to straighten the front of his coat with exaggerated composure, the gesture so deliberate it almost feels theatrical, before his gaze returns to you — calm, steady, and far too amused.

“Well,” he says slowly, voice dropping into that dangerously smooth tone he uses when he is about to ruin you, “I heard rumors about a certain Vice Commander.”

Your heart does a small, traitorous flip.

“Oh?”

“Yes.” His eyes move lazily over you, taking in the casual clothes you changed into after work, the slightly messy hair from sleep, the faint crease of the sofa pillow still marking your cheek. “Apparently she’s been causing quite a bit of trouble lately.”

You snort softly.

“That so?”

“Mhm.” His hand rises, brushing a loose strand of hair away from your face before his fingers slide lightly along your jaw, mirroring the way you had touched him moments ago. “I was told she’s reckless,” he continues thoughtfully. “Disobedient. Very difficult to control.”

Your lips twitch.

“Sounds terrible.”

“Extremely.” His fingers linger beneath your chin. Then he tilts your head up slightly so you’re forced to meet his eyes. “So naturally,” he murmurs, voice lowering another shade, “I came to investigate.”

Your breath catches. You force yourself to keep the playful tone. “And what exactly are you investigating, Colonel?”

His thumb drifts slowly along your lower lip. You instantly regret asking.

“Whether,” he says softly, “she behaves better when she’s alone with me.”

Heat floods your face.

“Oh my—”

The words die halfway out of your mouth.

Caleb’s grin widens just slightly, the smug satisfaction of a man who knows exactly what he’s doing flickering across his expression as your composure begins to crumble, the warmth rising visibly across your cheeks.

You shove lightly at his chest.

“That’s unfair.”

“Is it?”

“You’re using your rank.”

His head tilts again.

“And it’s working.”

You groan softly, burying your face against his shoulder for a moment, your hands clutching the front of his uniform jacket as if hiding there might save you from the embarrassing heat spreading across your skin.

Behind your hair, Caleb’s quiet chuckle vibrates warmly through his chest.

“Oh,” he murmurs, his hand sliding slowly up your back as he pulls you closer again, “I haven’t even started yet.”

And judging by the way his voice lowers against your ear, he fully intends to keep going until you’re completely ruined.

Caleb studies your flushed face for a moment longer, clearly enjoying the way you are trying — and failing — to recover your composure, the warmth still lingering across your cheeks as you hide partly against his shoulder, your fingers gripping the front of his uniform like it is the only stable thing left in the room.

His hand slides slowly along your back.

Then lower.

Your breath catches again.

“You know,” he murmurs, voice softer now but no less dangerous, “for someone accusing me of abusing my rank, you seem awfully comfortable standing this close to your Colonel.”

You scoff quietly, lifting your head just enough to glare at him, though the effect is severely ruined by the lingering blush that refuses to fade.

“That’s because I know the man under the uniform,” you shoot back.

His eyebrow lifts.

“Oh?”

“And he’s terrible.”

Caleb lets out a low laugh, the sound warm and amused as he suddenly moves, one arm tightening around your waist while the other slides behind your knees before you can even process what he is doing.

The world tilts.

A small yelp escapes you as he lifts you effortlessly off the floor.

“Caleb—!”

But he is already walking toward the sofa.

“You started this,” he reminds you calmly.

Before you can protest further, he lowers you down onto the couch, the cushions dipping beneath your weight as you land on your back with a soft bounce, your hair spreading across the fabric while you stare up at him.

He does not step away.

Instead he follows you down.

One knee presses into the sofa beside your hip as he leans over you, the sharp lines of his uniform framing him like something far too composed for the way his gaze darkens when it settles on your face.

Your fingers rise almost automatically, sliding into his hair.

“Colonel Xia,” you say slowly, trying very hard to sound composed, “what exactly do you think you’re doing?”

He hums thoughtfully. Then his mouth brushes your jaw. Your breath hitches.

“I’m conducting my investigation,” he murmurs.

His lips trail lower.

Your fingers tighten slightly in his hair as he moves down your neck, the warmth of his breath sending small shivers along your skin while he presses slow, deliberate kisses along the curve of your throat.

“Caleb,” you manage. He makes a quiet questioning sound against your collarbone. You tug gently at his hair. “That is extremely inappropriate behavior for a Colonel of the Fleet.”

He pauses. For exactly half a second. Then he chuckles against your skin. The vibration of it makes you shiver.

“Well,” he says lazily, lifting his head just enough to glance up at you, his eyes bright with mischief, “good thing I’m off duty.”

“You are still in uniform,” you point out weakly.

His gaze flicks down briefly as though noticing the dark Fleet coat for the first time.

“Ah,” he murmurs. Then he leans down again, pressing another slow kiss just below your collarbone. “That’s true.”

Your grip tightens in his hair again. “You’re terrible,” you mutter.

“I’ve been told.”

“And you’re doing this to your own Vice Commander.”

He lifts his head slightly once more, resting his chin briefly against your chest as he looks up at you with an expression that is entirely too smug.

“Correction,” Caleb says calmly. His hand slides along your side, fingers tracing lightly over your waist. “I’m doing this to you.”

Your mouth opens. Then closes again. Because that answer is somehow worse.

He grins.

“Besides,” he continues lightly, leaning down again as his lips brush another teasing kiss lower along your sternum, “you didn’t seem particularly concerned about my rank a minute ago.”

Your fingers curl tighter in his hair.

“That was before you started using it against me.”

Caleb’s shoulders shake with quiet laughter. “You started the flirting.”

“That was harmless!”

“And this isn’t?” His voice is almost innocent.

You stare down at him, your cheeks burning all over again as he continues to kiss lazily along your body like he has absolutely no intention of stopping anytime soon.

“You are so bad,” you accuse softly.

Caleb only chuckles again, the sound warm and entirely unrepentant as his hand slides up to rest against your waist.

“Vice Commander,” he murmurs teasingly against your skin, “I’m just making sure you behave better under supervision.”

And judging by the way his grin widens when you groan in embarrassment, he is enjoying every second of it.

Caleb’s teasing only seems to grow worse the longer he stays above you, his mouth wandering lazily along your skin as if he has all the time in the world, his hands sliding slowly along your sides while the heat between you deepens into something heavier than simple flirting.

You let out a soft breath, your fingers still tangled in his hair as you look down at him, the dark strands slightly disheveled now beneath your touch.

“Caleb…”

He hums again, distracted, his lips brushing another kiss just above the waistband of your clothes.

“You realize,” you murmur, trying to sound serious and failing miserably when your voice softens, “this investigation is starting to feel a little biased.”

“That’s unfortunate,” he murmurs, not sounding concerned in the slightest.

His hands slide gently along your sides before hooking lightly beneath the hem of your shirt.

He pauses. Just long enough for you to stop him if you want.

You don’t.

The fabric lifts slowly, sliding up your body before he pulls it off entirely, tossing it somewhere behind him without even looking where it lands, his gaze already returning to you as if nothing else in the room matters.

There is something in the way he looks at you now — quieter, deeper — that makes your chest tighten.

For a moment, the teasing fades. Then his hand moves again.

One piece of clothing after another disappears until you are lying there beneath him, your skin warm beneath the dim apartment lights, your pulse racing as his gaze travels slowly over you.

Caleb exhales softly.

“You’re staring,” you whisper.

“Can you blame me?”

Before you can answer, he shifts slightly, one hand moving to the buttons of his own uniform jacket.

You immediately grab his wrist. He freezes. His eyes lift to yours.

“No.”

One word. Firm.

Caleb’s brow lifts.

“No?”

You shake your head slowly, your fingers tightening slightly around his wrist as a small, mischievous smile tugs at your lips again.

“The uniform stays on.”

For a second he just stares at you. Then a quiet laugh escapes him, low and amused.

“Really.”

“Yes.”

Your eyes flick deliberately over the dark Fleet coat, the silver insignia catching the light, before returning to his face.

“I think,” you add innocently, “it suits you.”

Caleb shakes his head slightly, the smile tugging wider at his mouth as he releases the half-open button of his coat.

“Well,” he says lightly, leaning down again until his face is close to yours, “I wasn’t aware the Vice Commander had such specific preferences.”

You shrug faintly. As if he did not know.

“You learn something new every day.”

His hand slides slowly along your side again as he settles more comfortably above you, the heavy fabric of the uniform brushing against your skin in contrast to the warmth of his body.

“Interesting,” he murmurs. Then he tilts his head slightly, studying you with exaggerated curiosity. “Tell me something.”

Your eyes narrow suspiciously.

“What.”

Caleb’s grin returns, slow and wicked. “Who exactly is the Colonel here?”

You feel your face heat all over again.

“Don’t start.”

“Oh, I’m serious,” he continues, clearly delighted now. “Because from where I’m standing, it seems like someone else is giving the orders tonight.”

You roll your eyes, tugging lightly at his hair again.

“You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” he murmurs softly, leaning down until his lips brush the corner of your mouth, “you’re the one telling me what to wear.”

You give him a bright smile, the same from your university years.

Caleb chuckles quietly at your reaction, perfectly content to obey — at least for now — as the dark Fleet uniform remains exactly where you told him it should stay.

Your fingers slide up toward the brim of his cap, the structured Fleet hat still resting neatly on his head despite everything that has happened in the last few minutes, and with a small mischievous smile you pull it free.

Caleb pauses, watching you with quiet curiosity. You place the hat on your own head.

It’s a little too big, the brim dipping slightly over your eyes, but the moment it settles there Caleb’s expression softens in a way that makes your chest tighten.

A slow smile spreads across his face.

“Well,” he murmurs, voice warm with amusement, “that’s new.”

You tilt the brim slightly, trying to look authoritative despite the fact you are lying beneath him on your sofa, your hair a mess and your cheeks still flushed.

“How do I look, Colonel?”

His eyes move slowly over you, warmth and affection replacing the teasing mischief from earlier.

“Dangerous,” he says quietly.

Then he leans down again.

Your lips meet, softer this time, slower, the earlier teasing dissolving into something deeper and far more intimate as his hand slides up to cradle the side of your face.

You kiss him back just as gently.

The room grows quieter.

Your fingers slip into his hair again while his forehead rests briefly against yours, the brim of his hat brushing lightly against his temple.

“You drive me insane,” he whispers, almost like a confession.

You smile faintly, brushing your thumb along his cheek. “You came here anyway.”

“Of course I did.”

Another kiss. Longer this time.

His hand finds yours, threading your fingers together as the distance between you disappears again, the tension that has been building since the moment he stepped through your door finally breaking into something softer, warmer, filled with quiet murmurs and shared breaths.

Caleb’s voice lowers against your ear, his words half whispered, half breathed between kisses — soft praise, the kind he would never say anywhere else, the kind meant only for you.

You answer him in the same quiet way, your voice warm, your fingers brushing along the back of his neck as you whisper back to him, praising him just as softly, the two of you wrapped in a moment that belongs to no one else.

The teasing Colonel and the stubborn Vice Commander disappear for a while.

Here, there are only the two of you — close, breathless, and finally alone — as the apartment grows quiet again around you.

Caleb’s hands slide along your sides again, steady and warm, his body hovering above yours as the teasing energy from earlier melts into something quieter, heavier, filled with the kind of tension that has been building between you both for far too long.

You adjust the Fleet cap slightly on your head, the brim tilted back now so you can see him properly, and the sight makes him smile again — that soft, private smile that almost no one else ever gets to see from the rigid Colonel Xia.

Your fingers curl gently against the front of his uniform jacket, brushing the silver insignia pinned there.

“So serious,” you murmur, your voice low with affection.

Caleb leans closer, his forehead brushing yours.

“Not with you.”

Your lips meet again. Slow. Deep.

The kiss lingers as your hands slide into his hair and his arms tighten around you, pulling you closer against him until the last bit of distance disappears, the warmth between your bodies becoming something shared, something grounding.

He exhales softly against your mouth, the sound almost a sigh.

For a moment neither of you moves.

Then Caleb’s hand drifts upward to adjust the brim of the cap sitting on your head, pushing it back slightly so it doesn’t fall over your eyes again.

“There,” he murmurs. “Much better.”

You laugh quietly under your breath, your fingers brushing his cheek again as your lips meet once more, the kiss deepening slowly as the two of you hold each other close, the outside world — the Fleet, the missions, the secrets, the endless pretending — fading away for a while.

Here, there is only warmth.

Only closeness.

Only the quiet certainty that, no matter what chaos waits outside these walls, this moment belongs entirely to the two of you.

Time becomes difficult to measure after a while.

The world outside the apartment fades completely until hours seem to pass in a blur of warmth, laughter, tangled limbs, and quiet moments where neither of you speaks at all.

Eventually the storm settles.

Now the apartment is calm again.

The lights are dim, the evening having quietly slipped toward night, and the two of you lie together on the sofa beneath a soft drape you must have pulled over yourselves at some point, your body half resting across Caleb’s as the steady rise and fall of his breathing moves beneath your cheek.

His uniform is long gone.

So are most of your thoughts about the day.

Your fingers drift lazily across his bare torso, tracing slow patterns along the warm skin of his chest while his arm remains loosely wrapped around your back, holding you close without effort.

For a while neither of you says anything.

The silence is comfortable.

Safe.

Then you tilt your head slightly, brushing your lips against his shoulder before speaking softly.

“What do you want to eat?” Your fingers continue their slow path along his ribs. “I’ll order something.”

Caleb shifts slightly beneath you, his face buried in your hair as he exhales a quiet, sleepy hum, clearly hovering somewhere between contentment and the edge of sleep.

“Anything’s good,” he mumbles, his voice rough with exhaustion and comfort as his nose nudges lightly against your temple.

You smile faintly.

“That helpful, Colonel.”

“Mhm.”

His arm tightens slightly around you, pulling you a little closer as though he intends to keep you exactly where you are. Then, after a moment, he murmurs something else against your hair.

“We should play Animal Crossing after.”

You blink. Then you lift your head just enough to look at him. His eyes are still closed. But the corner of his mouth lifts slightly. The sight makes your entire face brighten instantly.

“Wait, really?”

Caleb cracks one eye open, clearly amused by the sudden energy in your voice. “Yeah.”

Your hands land on his chest again as you push yourself up slightly, the drape slipping a little around your shoulders while excitement spreads across your face.

“Oh my god, Caleb, you have to see it.”

He chuckles softly.

“I do?”

“Yes!”

You brush a quick kiss against his jaw, already grinning. “I redid the entire island since the last time you saw it — I moved the museum, built a whole orchard area, and I finally managed to get the stone path the way I wanted.”

Caleb opens both eyes now, watching you ramble with that fond, quiet look that always appears when you get excited about something.

“You’re very proud of this island,” he murmurs.

“I am,” you reply immediately.

He smiles, brushing his thumb gently along your arm. “Then I guess I’ll have to come visit.”

Your grin grows even wider.

“Good.”

You lean down to kiss him again, quick and happy this time.

You eventually force yourself to move, though it takes effort when Caleb’s arm is still loosely wrapped around your waist and the warmth of his body beneath the drape makes the sofa feel far too comfortable to abandon. Still smiling from the thought of showing him your island, you reach for your phone on the coffee table and scroll lazily through a delivery app while he remains sprawled across the cushions like a man who has absolutely no responsibilities waiting for him anywhere in the world.

“What are we getting?” he asks without even opening his eyes.

You glance back at him over your shoulder. “Fried chicken.” One eye cracks open immediately. “And fries.”

Now both eyes open.

“Perfect.”

You snort softly and finish the order while he stretches across the sofa like a large, satisfied cat, one arm thrown over the backrest and the other resting lazily across his stomach, watching you with that quiet amusement he never quite manages to hide when you start taking care of things around him.

“Delivery in thirty minutes,” you announce.

Caleb nods once.

“Plenty of time.”

“For what?”

He slowly turns his head toward the hallway that leads to the bathroom.

You follow his gaze.

“Oh.”

The corner of his mouth lifts again.

You roll your eyes but stand up anyway, grabbing the drape around yourself as you walk toward the bathroom while Caleb rises from the sofa behind you, stretching his arms over his head before following with far less urgency.

The shower fills the apartment with steam not long after, the hot water washing away the last remnants of the long day at the Fleet, your quiet laughter occasionally echoing through the small bathroom while the outside world continues without you.

By the time you both step back out again nearly an hour later, the apartment feels warmer, calmer, and the scent of soap lingers faintly in the air as you wrap yourself in something comfortable and Caleb pulls on a pair of loose sweatpants before collapsing back onto the sofa like he has every intention of remaining there for the rest of the evening.

A knock at the door interrupts the quiet.

“Food,” you announce.

Caleb lifts his head slightly.

“You’re a hero.”

“You’re dramatic.”

You walk to the door, retrieving the warm paper bag from the delivery driver before bringing it back to the living room, where Caleb has already made space on the coffee table and turned on the television.

The smell of fried chicken fills the apartment immediately.

You settle back against him on the sofa, leaning comfortably into his side while opening the container of fries and handing him one of the boxes.

He steals a fry from your portion instantly.

“Hey!”

“You’re slow.”

“You’re rude.” He grins and pops the fry into his mouth while you grab your Switch from the table and hand him the other controller. “Ready?” you ask eagerly.

Caleb shifts slightly so you can lean against him more comfortably, his arm draping loosely around your shoulders as he glances down at the screen.

“Alright,” he says. “Show me this famous island.”

Your face lights up instantly.

“Okay, first you have to see the orchard.”

The screen glows softly in the dim apartment as the two of you eat and play, the quiet sound of the game mixing with the occasional laughter and teasing comments while Caleb follows your character across the island, listening with surprising patience as you explain every path, every building, every tiny detail you worked so hard to arrange.

The soft glow of the television fills the apartment while the island music from the game drifts quietly through the room, cheerful and peaceful in a way that feels almost surreal compared to the chaos that usually defines your lives. Your character runs across the stone paths you spent hours arranging, the orchard trees swaying gently in the digital breeze while Caleb controls his own avatar beside yours.

You barely look at the screen now.

Instead, you look at him.

Caleb is leaning back comfortably against the sofa, one arm still loosely around your shoulders while the other holds the controller, his attention surprisingly focused on the tiny world you created. Every now and then he lets out a quiet chuckle when something in the game surprises him, the corners of his mouth lifting in that relaxed smile you rarely get to see during the day when he’s wearing the weight of command.

Your chest tightens a little.

You don’t get this often anymore.

Time together like this has become rare — stolen moments squeezed between missions, meetings, inspections, and the constant pressure of pretending in front of the Fleet that the two of you are nothing more than colleagues.

The chips inside your brains were supposed to ensure exactly that.

A small device buried deep within both of your skulls, placed there by the Fleet to regulate emotions, to suppress attachment, to make soldiers more obedient, more efficient, less distracted by personal bonds.

Less human. They were meant to erase whatever existed between you. Instead, somehow, they did the opposite. They didn’t dull the feelings.

They sharpened them.

Turned them into something almost unbearable sometimes — the need to be near him, the constant awareness of him even across a crowded command room, the quiet obsession that pulses beneath your skin whenever he’s close.

You glance down briefly at the controller in your hands before your eyes drift back to Caleb again. He’s smiling at the screen. Completely unaware you’re watching him.

Or is he?

Your lips curve softly. Then mischief sparks in your eyes.

“Hey.”

He hums absentmindedly, still guiding his character along the path you built near the museum. “Mm?”

You tilt your head slightly, studying him with a teasing smile. “Do you remember the last time you almost fired someone?”

Caleb pauses. His character stops walking. Slowly, he turns his head toward you. “That does not narrow it down.”

You grin. “The soldier who was flirting with me.”

For a moment he just stares. Then a slow groan escapes him as realization dawns. “Oh my god.”

You burst out laughing. “You were terrifying!”

“He was annoying,” Caleb mutters immediately, though the faint color creeping into his ears betrays him.

“He said I had a nice smile.”

“He said it three times.”

“He was nervous!”

“He was persistent.”

You lean more comfortably against his shoulder, still smiling. “You literally called him into your office.”

Caleb presses a hand briefly over his face. “I was not going to fire him.”

“You told him his career depended on ‘focusing his attention on military discipline rather than the Vice Commander’s personal attributes.’”

“That’s professional advice.”

“You glared at him for five minutes.”

“He needed to understand the situation.”

You laugh again, nudging his side with your elbow. “You were jealous.”

Caleb scoffs.

“I was maintaining order.”

“Sure, Colonel.”

He glances down at you, one eyebrow lifting. “You enjoyed that way too much.”

Your grin only widens. “Maybe.”

He watches you for a moment longer, the faint irritation fading into something warmer. Then he nudges your character on the screen.

“You’re blocking the path.”

“Because you stopped walking.”

“You distracted me.”

You beam proudly.

“Good.”

Caleb shakes his head with a quiet laugh before guiding his avatar forward again, his arm tightening slightly around your shoulders as the two of you continue wandering across the peaceful island you built together for a little while.

Your character finishes crossing the small stone bridge you proudly built near the river while Caleb’s avatar follows close behind, occasionally bumping into yours whenever he loses track of where he’s going because he’s looking at something else you’re pointing out.

“Wait,” you say, nudging his shoulder slightly. “No, go left. That’s the orchard.”

He obediently turns his character, watching the rows of fruit trees appear on the screen. “Huh,” he murmurs. “You really did move everything.”

“Told you.”

Your head rests comfortably against his shoulder again as you reach into the box of fries, stealing a few while he absent-mindedly grabs a piece of chicken from the container on the table. The quiet domestic rhythm feels strange and precious at the same time — something neither of you gets very often anymore.

Caleb watches your island for a moment longer, guiding his character slowly down the path you built. Then his voice softens a little.

“Did you find anything?” You already know what he means before he finishes the sentence. Your fingers pause around the fry you were about to eat. “…About your mother.”

For a second the cheerful music from the game feels oddly loud. You shake your head, trying to keep the answer light even though the weight of it sits quietly in your chest.

“No.”

Your voice comes out softer than expected, so instead of letting the silence grow heavy you lean sideways toward him and bite gently at his cheek.

Caleb immediately jerks his head away.

“Hey—!”

You’re already grinning.

He turns toward you with a half-offended, half-amused look, rubbing the spot you just attacked. “Did you just bite me?”

You shrug innocently, munching your fry. “Maybe.”

“That’s assault.”

“You’ll survive.”

He narrows his eyes at you, though the corner of his mouth twitches upward anyway. “You’re deflecting.”

You lean back against him again, nudging his shoulder lightly. “I’m hungry.”

“That doesn’t explain the biting.”

“Your cheek was there.”

He sighs dramatically, shaking his head before guiding his character forward again on the screen. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet,” you reply smugly, pointing at the screen again, “you’re about to walk into the flower garden I spent three days arranging.”

Caleb glances down. His avatar steps directly onto the carefully organized rows of flowers. You gasp.

“CALEB.”

“What?”

“You’re trampling them!”

“I thought this was a path!”

“That is not a path!”

Your outrage makes him laugh quietly, the tension from the earlier conversation easing as he raises his hands in surrender.

“Alright, alright. I’ll stay on the path.”

You lean against him again, still muttering about the flowers while he continues exploring your island, his arm settling comfortably around your shoulders as the two of you return to the peaceful rhythm of eating and playing together.

The hours pass quietly after that.

The fried chicken boxes slowly empty on the table, the fries disappear one by one, and the cheerful music of Animal Crossing eventually fades when you both grow a little tired of managing orchards and flower paths. The apartment grows darker as the night settles fully outside, the only real light now coming from the television and the soft glow of the console screen.

At some point you shift position across the sofa, stretching out more comfortably while Caleb switches to another game, something louder and faster where he actually has to focus.

Now your head rests across his thighs, your hair spilling lazily over the fabric of his sweatpants while one of his hands occasionally drifts down to absent-mindedly comb through the strands whenever a loading screen appears.

You aren’t really watching the game.

You’re watching him.

The concentration in his face is softer than the one he wears at the Fleet; there’s no sharp command behind his gaze here, no weight of rank pressing down on his shoulders. Just Caleb — relaxed, comfortable, his thumb moving across the controller while the faint light of the screen flickers across his features.

Your fingers idly trace along the seam of his pant leg.

After a while you tilt your head slightly, looking up at him from where you’re lying.

“Hey.”

“Mhm?” he answers without looking away from the screen.

You hesitate for a moment. Then curiosity wins. “What do you think Zayne and Pips are doing right now?”

Caleb’s character immediately runs into a wall on the screen. He glances down at you. “…That’s a random question.”

You shrug slightly against his leg.

“I was thinking about it earlier.”

“While we were playing?”

“Yes.”

He snorts quietly. You tilt your head again, studying him. “Do you think they’re together now?”

Caleb’s eyebrow lifts. “As in… a relationship?”

You nod.

“I mean,” you continue thoughtfully, playing with the hem of his shirt, “they spend a lot of time together, and Pips clearly likes him, and Zayne pretends not to notice but he always lets her get away with things he would never allow anyone else.”

Caleb resumes playing, guiding his character through another level. “That sounds like speculation.”

“It sounds like evidence.”

“You’re analyzing them like a case file.”

You grin faintly.“I’m observant.”

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh.

“You’re nosy.”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re literally lying here trying to investigate someone else’s love life.”

“Because ours is extremely suspicious already.”

That makes him glance down at you again.

“Suspicious?”

“Yes,” you say matter-of-factly. “Two high-ranking officers secretly obsessed with each other because the Fleet tried to remove their emotions.”

Caleb’s mouth twitches.

“That does sound problematic.”

“Exactly.”

You poke lightly at his thigh.

“So what do you think?”

He considers it for a moment while his character runs across another digital battlefield.

“…Zayne is cautious,” he says eventually. “He wouldn’t rush into something.”

“Pips would.”

“Definitely.”

You smile to yourself. “So maybe she’s slowly breaking through his terrifying doctor walls.”

Caleb chuckles softly.

“That’s one way to describe it.”

Your eyes drift back up to his face again, watching the faint smile that lingers there while he keeps playing.

How you miss them.

“…I think they’d be cute together,” you murmur.

Caleb glances down again. “You say that about everyone.”

“Not everyone.”

“Most people.”

You grin. “Okay, maybe.”

His fingers drift through your hair again for a moment before returning to the controller, the quiet rhythm of the game filling the apartment while the two of you settle deeper into the calm of the night.

The conversation fades into quiet again after that, the soft sounds of Caleb’s game filling the apartment while the night grows deeper outside the windows. The city lights of Skyhaven glow faintly through the curtains, distant and muted, as the hours slip slowly forward.

Your eyelids begin to grow heavier.

At first you try to stay awake, listening to the rhythm of the controller clicking softly in Caleb’s hands, the occasional shift of his legs beneath your head, the familiar warmth of his presence grounding you in a way nothing else ever quite manages to do.

But exhaustion creeps in anyway. Your breathing slows. Your fingers, which had been lazily tracing patterns along his thigh, gradually still.

Caleb notices before you say anything.

He glances down at you just in time to see your eyes drifting closed again, your cheek pressing more heavily against his leg as sleep starts claiming you piece by piece.

A small smile appears on his face.

“Hey,” he murmurs softly.

You hum faintly in response, barely conscious.

Caleb watches you for another second before setting the controller aside and pausing the game, the bright colors of the screen freezing in place.

Then he turns the television off. The apartment falls into a softer darkness.

You barely react when he moves, only stirring slightly when his arms slide beneath you — one supporting your back, the other under your knees — lifting you carefully from the sofa.

Your head falls against his shoulder. A quiet giggle escapes you.

“Caleb…”

“You’re falling asleep,” he murmurs, walking slowly toward the bedroom.

“M’not.”

“You absolutely are.”

Your arms wrap loosely around his neck anyway, your cheek brushing his jaw as you hide your sleepy smile against him.

He nudges the bedroom door open with his foot and steps inside, the room dim except for the faint glow from the city outside.

The bed dips softly as he lays you down. For a moment he stays leaning over you. Then he presses a gentle kiss to your forehead. Another to your temple. Then one to your cheek.

You giggle again, half-awake now as your hand drifts up to catch the collar of his shirt.

“Stop.”

“You’re laughing.”

“That’s because you’re being ridiculous.”

Caleb smiles faintly, brushing another soft kiss across your cheek before finally settling beside you, pulling the blanket up around both of you.

You immediately curl closer.

Your arms slide around his waist while his wrap around your shoulders, pulling you securely against his chest as though he has no intention of letting you drift too far away.

Your head tucks beneath his chin. His hand moves slowly along your back. Within seconds your breathing deepens again.

But just before sleep fully takes you, you murmur something soft and sleepy against his chest.

Caleb doesn’t answer.

He only tightens his arms around you slightly, resting his cheek against your hair while the quiet night settles peacefully around the two of you.

Morning comes softly.

Not with alarms or orders or the sharp edge of duty, but with light — pale and golden — slipping through the curtains and settling gently across the bed, warming the sheets, warming your skin, warming the quiet space where, for once, nothing is urgent.

You wake slowly.

The first thing you feel is warmth.

The second is him.

Caleb’s arm is still wrapped securely around you, his body pressed close behind yours, his breathing slow and steady against the back of your neck as though the night never ended, as though the world outside your apartment simply… paused.

For a moment, you don’t move.

You just exist there, tucked into him, your fingers lightly resting over his wrist where it lies across your waist, your thumb brushing absent-mindedly against his skin as you let yourself enjoy the rare stillness.

You shift slightly, turning in his arms until you’re facing him, your movement slow enough not to wake him immediately — though, of course, he does anyway.

He always does.

His eyes open lazily, still heavy with sleep, his expression softer than anything he ever allows anyone else to see, his hand tightening instinctively at your waist as if making sure you’re still there.

You wouldn’t be surprised if he had another nightmare last night and managed to hide it from you.

“Morning,” you whisper.

He blinks once. Then a faint smile appears. “Morning.”

His voice is rough, still caught between sleep and wakefulness, and it makes your chest ache in a quiet, familiar way. You brush your fingers along his cheek. He leans into the touch without thinking.

For a second, neither of you speaks. Then you press a soft kiss to his lips.

Slow. Sleepy. Real.

Caleb exhales quietly against your mouth before pulling you closer, his forehead resting briefly against yours as though memorizing the moment before it slips away.

Eventually, reality begins to creep back in. You both know it. You both feel it. But neither of you says it out loud.

Instead, you pull away just enough to stretch, groaning softly as you sit up, the blanket slipping down your body while the cool morning air brushes against your skin.

“I’m making breakfast,” you mumble.

Caleb watches you, still half-lost in the warmth of the bed. “That’s ambitious.”

“You’re eating it.”

“That’s less ambitious.”

You shoot him a look over your shoulder as you stand.

He smirks.

You shake your head and head toward the kitchen, pulling on something comfortable along the way while he lingers in bed just long enough to pretend he might stay there forever — before, inevitably, he follows.

The kitchen fills with quiet sounds soon after. Cabinets opening. A pan heating. The soft crack of eggs.

You move around the space with an ease that feels natural, like you’ve done this a hundred times even though moments like this are rare, your hair still slightly messy, your movements unhurried.

Caleb leans against the counter, watching you. Not helping. Just watching. And you can not help but feel like he will always feel safe around you not to always be the provider.

“Are you going to stand there all morning?” you ask without turning.

“I’m supervising.”

“You’re useless.”

“I’m ensuring quality control.”

You snort softly. Then he pushes himself off the counter and steps closer anyway, sliding behind you just enough to steal a piece of whatever you’re cooking the second your back is turned.

“Caleb—!”

Too late.

He’s already chewing. You turn, scandalized. “That was not for you yet!”

He shrugs, entirely unapologetic. “Tastes fine.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“And you’re slow.”

You swat his arm lightly, but you’re smiling. He steals another bite. You glare. He grins.

At some point, he actually helps — handing you something, reaching past you, brushing against you just a little too often for it to be accidental, his hand occasionally settling at your waist for a second longer than necessary before pulling away again.

It’s easy. Too easy.

Which is exactly why it can’t last.

The thought settles quietly between you both as breakfast finishes, as you sit side by side at the small table, as your knees bump under the surface, as you share food and small smiles and nothing that matters enough to hurt.

Until the time comes. You both know it without checking.

The Fleet doesn’t wait.

You stand first. He follows. There’s a quiet shift in the air as you both begin getting ready — different clothes, sharper edges, the slow reappearance of the people you have to be outside these walls.

Vice Commander. Colonel.

Strangers.

You adjust your jacket in the mirror. He buttons his shirt. Neither of you looks at the other for a moment. Then you both move toward the door at the same time. It almost makes you laugh.

Almost.

Caleb reaches it first. His hand pauses on the handle. He turns. For a second, neither of you says anything. Then he steps back toward you. His hand comes up to your face, fingers brushing your cheek in a way that is far too soft for the man he becomes once he steps outside.

You don’t pull away. You lean into it. “Take care of yourself,” he murmurs quietly.

“You too, Caleb.”

A faint smile. Then he kisses you. Not rushed. Not desperate. Just… certain.

His lips linger against yours for a moment longer than they should, like he’s trying to carry the feeling of you with him into whatever waits outside. When he pulls away, his forehead rests briefly against yours.

Then he exhales.

And steps back.

The distance returns immediately.

By the time he opens the door, he’s already changed — posture straight, expression composed, every trace of the man from last night carefully locked away.

He doesn’t look back when he leaves. He can’t.

You wait a half an hour. Then you follow. Not together.

Never together.

But with the quiet certainty that, behind closed doors, you are anything but strangers.

The Fleet swallows you the moment you step back inside it.

The warmth of the morning is gone, replaced by polished floors, sterile lights, and the constant low hum of machinery and voices echoing through long corridors that never truly feel alive. Your posture straightens without thinking, your expression settles into something composed, unreadable, your steps measured and precise as you move through the hallway with a datapad in hand, scanning through reports with the same sharp focus expected of the Vice Commander.

Engines. Malfunctions. Delays.

Your team’s mistake from yesterday still sits heavily in the lines you’re reading, your mind already working through solutions, corrections, consequences—

And then—

A voice.

You freeze mid-step.

Not physically at first.

It’s subtle — just a flicker in your movement, a pause too small for most to notice.

But inside—

Everything stops.

Because you know that voice.

Your eyes lift slowly from the report.

The corridor stretches ahead, officers passing by, conversations overlapping, footsteps echoing—

And there.

Just a few meters away.

“…I already told you, the results are stable,” the voice says, calm, controlled, carrying that same quiet authority you remember so clearly it almost feels unreal. “There’s no need to run the tests again.”

Your breath catches.

No.

That’s not—

But it is.

Your heart stutters violently in your chest as your eyes lock onto him.

Zayne

He stands with his back partially turned to you, speaking with another officer who’s holding a tablet, clearly going over some kind of medical report, his posture straight, composed, dressed in that familiar clinical precision that hasn’t changed at all.

Zayne.

Your best friend. your Ice Tea. Your Zayne.

The one who gossiped with you. The one who stood beside you long before Caleb ever entered your life. The one who believed you were dead.

Your fingers tighten slightly around the datapad. Your entire body goes cold. For a second — just a second — you forget how to breathe.

Memories hit all at once, sharp and overwhelming: his voice calling your name, the quiet conversations late at night, the way he used to look at you like he understood things no one else did, the way he—

No.

You swallow hard. Your training snaps back into place like a reflex.

Vice Commander. Fleet.

You can’t— You shouldn’t—

But your feet won’t move. You’re rooted there, staring at him like if you blink he might disappear, like your mind is playing some cruel trick on you.

He’s alive.

Of course he is.

He was never the one who “died.”

You were.

You and Caleb.

Your eyes scan him quickly, almost desperately — searching for change, for difference, for anything that might tell you time has passed in the same way it has for you.

But he looks…

The same. Maybe a little colder. Maybe a little more tired. But still him. Still Zayne. Still the person who doesn’t know you’re standing just a few steps away. Still the person who believes he lost you.

“…fine,” the officer says, clearly giving in. “But if anything changes—”

“It won’t,” Zayne replies calmly.

His tone hasn’t changed. That quiet certainty. That controlled calm. It hits you harder than anything else.

Your heart pounds so loudly you’re convinced someone might hear it. You should walk away. You should turn around, keep reading your report, disappear into the corridor like every other officer—

But your eyes won’t leave him. And for one terrifying second—

You almost say his name.

And then—

He turns.

It’s not dramatic. Not sudden. Just a simple shift, the end of a conversation, his body rotating slightly as the other officer walks away—

And his eyes land on you.

Everything stops. Zayne freezes. Not the subtle kind of pause you had.

No.

He stops.

Completely.

Like his entire body has forgotten how to function, like time itself has snapped around him and refused to move forward, his gaze locking onto yours with a shock so raw it strips every layer of composure he’s built over the years.

For a second—

He doesn’t breathe. Neither do you.

His eyes widen, just barely, but enough — enough for you to see it, enough for you to feel it hit you like a physical force, the disbelief, the confusion, the impossible recognition crashing all at once across his features.

You see the exact moment his mind tries to reject it.

Because it can’t be you. It shouldn’t be you. You’re dead. You died. And yet—

You’re standing right there. Alive. In uniform. Looking straight at him.

“…”

Your heart slams violently against your ribs.

No. No, no, no—

This wasn’t supposed to happen like this. Not here. Not now. Not in the middle of a corridor where anyone could see, where anyone could notice the way he’s staring at you like the world just broke open beneath his feet.

You see it. The question forming. Your name— Right there on his lips. And before he can say it—

You move.

Fast.

Too fast for it to look natural, but not fast enough to look like panic if someone else is watching.

You turn sharply, your grip tightening around the datapad as your boots echo against the polished floor, your steps quick, controlled — controlled — even though your pulse is spiraling out of control, even though your thoughts are crashing into each other so violently you can barely hold onto one long enough to think.

Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run.Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run.Don’t run. Don’t run. Don’t run.

You walk. You walk like nothing happened. Like you didn’t just see a ghost from your past standing in the middle of the Fleet. Like he didn’t just look at you like you were one.

Why was Zayne here? Why?

Your breathing stays even. Barely.

Your eyes stay forward. Barely.

Behind you—

You don’t know if he’s still staring. You don’t know if he’s following. You don’t know if he’s about to say your name out loud in a corridor full of people who should never hear the emotion it carries.

Your chest tightens painfully.

Keep walking. Keep walking.Keep walking. Keep walking.Keep walking. Keep walking.Keep walking. Keep walking.

You turn a corner.

Another.

Your pace quickens just slightly now that fewer people are around, your control slipping at the edges as your mind finally catches up with what just happened.

Zayne saw you.

Zayne—

Saw you.

Your throat tightens. Zayne doesn’t ignore things like that. He doesn’t let go. He won’t let go.

The thought sends a sharp spike of panic through your chest. You reach Caleb’s office faster than you intended, your hand pressing against the door panel a second too hard as it slides open.

The moment you step inside—

The mask cracks. Just slightly. Just enough.

Your breath finally stutters as the door closes behind you, your hand coming up instinctively to your chest as if you can physically steady your heartbeat.

You don’t even realize you’ve stopped in the middle of the room. All you can see is his face. The way he looked at you. Like he had just seen someone come back from the dead.

And the worst part— He wasn’t wrong.

The door has barely finished sliding shut behind you when the silence inside Caleb’s office crashes over you, thick and suffocating, the kind that makes every sound inside your body feel too loud — your heartbeat, your breathing, the faint tremor in your hands as you try, desperately, to pull yourself back together.

It doesn’t work.

Your fingers press harder against your chest, as if you can physically force your heart to slow down, but all you can see is his face — the way Zayne looked at you, the disbelief, the recognition, the certainty buried beneath it — and it tears through every wall you’ve built since the Fleet took you, since they erased you, since they turned you into someone who was supposed to no longer exist.

He saw you.

He knows.

Or at least… he’s close enough.

The thought spirals, tightening around your lungs.

You don’t hear the door open again.

Not at first. You only feel it. Arms around you. Strong. Familiar.

Caleb.

He doesn’t say anything immediately. He just pulls you in. One arm wraps tightly around your back, the other cradles the back of your head, pressing you firmly against his chest like he’s anchoring you there, like he can physically shield you from everything that just happened outside those walls.

And just like that—

Something inside you breaks loose.

Your hands clutch at his shirt, gripping the fabric tightly as you press your face into him, your breathing uneven, your body finally letting go of the rigid control you forced onto it the moment you stepped into the corridor.

“It’s okay,” he murmurs quietly, his voice low and steady against your hair.

You shake your head slightly.

“No, he— he saw me.”

“I know.”

His hand slides slowly up and down your back, grounding, repetitive, the kind of touch that doesn’t demand anything from you except to stay.

You stay.

You don’t even realize how tightly you’re holding onto him until his arms tighten just a little more in response, as if he can feel every ounce of panic still coursing through you.

For a while, neither of you moves.

You just stand there, in the middle of his office, wrapped around each other like the world outside cannot reach you as long as you don’t let go.

Your breathing gradually slows. Your grip loosens slightly. Your forehead rests against his chest. Eventually, Caleb exhales softly, his chin resting briefly against the top of your head before his voice breaks the silence again, quieter this time.

“…There’s something you need to know.”

You don’t move. But your fingers tighten slightly again against his shirt.

“What?”

There’s a pause. A small one. Just enough for you to feel the shift.

“My sister is here.”

Your head lifts slightly.

“…Pips?”

Caleb nods faintly, his hands still resting securely at your back. “She’s been here for a little while.”

A cold feeling settles in your stomach.

“What do you mean here?”

His jaw tightens slightly. “She truly became a hunter now...Like she told us two years ago.”

Your eyes widen.

A hunter.

Which means—

“She didn’t come through official channels,” Caleb continues quietly. “She infiltrated the Fleet.”

Your pulse spikes again, but this time it’s different — less panic, more sharp awareness, your mind trying to catch up with the implications.

Your thoughts tangle — Zayne, your past, your best friend who thought you were dead… and Pips, Caleb’s little sister, who you remember as someone bright, stubborn, too brave for her own good.

“They’re not here to hurtanyone,” Caleb adds softly, his hand lifting to brush gently along your cheek, grounding you again when he sees the flicker of tension return to your expression. “If anything… they’re probably trying to do the opposite.”

“To expose the Fleet,” you whisper.

He nods.

“They’ve been digging.”

Your heart pounds again, but slower now, steadier, your thoughts shifting from panic to something sharper, something more dangerous. “They think the Fleet is responsible for our death..?” you say quietly.

Caleb’s eyes darken slightly. “They’re right.”

The words settle between you. Everything you’ve been through. Everything they did to you. To both of you.

You swallow hard. “And now Zayne saw me.”

Caleb exhales slowly, his forehead resting briefly against yours. “Yeah.”

Neither of you speaks for a moment. Because you both understand what that means.

Your fingers curl slightly against Caleb’s chest again, but this time it’s not panic — it’s something else, something steadier, something closer to resolve.

Caleb’s arms tighten around you one last time, holding you close in the quiet of his office while the weight of what just happened settles fully into place.

The silence that follows is no longer suffocating.

It is… heavy, yes.

But clear.

You feel it settle inside you, replacing the chaos, replacing the panic, leaving something steadier behind — something sharper, more focused, the kind of calm that only comes when there is no more room left to run from what is coming.

Slowly, your hands loosen their grip on Caleb’s shirt. But you don’t step away. Not really. You stay close, your forehead still brushing his, your breathing finally even as your eyes lift to meet his fully.

For a moment, neither of you speaks. You just look at each other. There is something unspoken there. Something solid.

Unbreakable.

You reach up, your fingers brushing lightly along his jaw, grounding yourself in the warmth of him, in the certainty that he is here — that despite everything, despite the lies, despite the death they forced onto you both, you are still standing.

Still together.

“They’re not taking this from us,” you whisper.

Caleb’s gaze softens, but there’s steel beneath it, something fierce and unwavering that mirrors your own. “They already tried,” he murmurs.

Your lips press together slightly. Then you nod. A small movement. But certain. Your hand slides down, finding his, your fingers intertwining with his without hesitation, holding on like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“We’ll protect them,” you say quietly — Zayne, Pips, each other, everything that still matters in a world that tried to erase it.

Caleb squeezes your hand. His other hand comes up to cup your cheek again, his thumb brushing softly across your skin, the gesture gentle but the promise behind it anything but. “Always.”

Your eyes don’t leave his. Not as the silence settles again. Not as the weight of what’s coming presses closer. Because right here— There is only the quiet certainty of one thing. Whatever comes next—

You won’t face it alone.

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