You're catching up on a climactic romance K-drama episode when Xavier walks in at the worst moment. How will he react?
You're watching your favorite kdrama. It's a climactic moment. Two would-be-lovers who've been pining are finally going on a date. You know its a juicy moment and you're glad Xavier isn't home while you sit squealing in delight, curled up on your couch.
And then you feel your heart catch when the door opens. He's home. At the worst possible moment.
And then you feel your heart catch when the door opens. He's home. At the worst possible moment. The two leads are in the car together, and the male lead has it all, eye candy, a buttery voice, a hopeless smirk that would make any woman melt, and you can't take the way he looks at her. You secretly wonder if he might have a crush on his costar. How could he not? She was beautiful and meek and hilarious. You might've been weak in the knees in her presence. And there he was on the screen, looking at her like that? Can acting be that good? Either way, you're sucked in. And he's leaned over the female lead, strapping her in, saying something suave.
The footsteps behind you draw nearer. You feel a tap on your head and a groan behind you. Your response can't be helped.
"Xavier! Shhh!!"
"Oh, so you remember my name now?"
You are not going to respond to that.
He looks from you, to screen, then from the screen to you. And he cluelessly is making faces that you can feel but are glad you can't see. Vaguely you're aware he's moved around the couch somewhere to your closer vicinity. Maybe he even sat down. You wouldn't know, because meanwhile on the screen,
"DongChae.... aren't you supposed to be focusing on the road?" The female asks timidly while her hand has been wrapped in his while driving.
He smirks while driving and you feel weak. "Mina, we've wasted so much time. I'm making up for all the times I wanted to hold your hand. Can't I be a little reckless with you?"
It's a good line. You clutch your pillow while a grunt from the man beside you escapes him.
"But I won't let you worry," DongChae continued. "My love for you is patient. This seat beside me has been so empty without you in it."
This suave banter continues and they discuss some plot points that have been resolved. You're eating up every second. Until eventually you feel a heaviness plop on your arm that makes you look at its source. You're irritated to be pulled out of the moment.
"Xavier! This is the good part! I'm trying to watch! I don't want to hear any of your unnecessary commentary!" You already knew full well how he felt about all this. The eyes he gave you had no effect today.
Xavier doesn't pout, just looks pathetically stern. "Why. Do you want to be in the passenger seat next to him? This isn't as romantic as when we go out."
"Ugh," you reply while the pillow in your lap becomes useful cannon fodder to smack him lightly with. "Who wouldn't be? Besides! You don't drive anywhere. It's different!"
As soon as you say it you regret it.
You don't mean to come off that way if it sounds like that, but you know you struck a nerve. You've never actually had a problem with public transport, especially with him, when it feels so much safer. With him, it becomes your own safe space. You can be more carefree riding places with him, or even taking your twin hunters cycles places. But. You know it might've stung, so you look away while the characters on the screen come to a stop light.
Meanwhile, the pillow you'd tossed so adamantly at him now rests in his lap, and he stares at it blankly for a moment, then clears his throat. "Fine."
You brace for whatever you'll have to soothe and start mentally doing damage control, but what comes out throws you so off guard… you hardly know how to act.
"Please keep your seatbelt on, Miss. It's the law. Oh it's stuck? Allow me." Xavier leaned far over you and mimed strapping a seatbelt on and used the pillow as a makeshift wheel. "Don't worry, I'm driving the speed limit today. You'll be safe. Look, there's a cow straight ahead. Just there- Oh? It's a man. Never mind…"
Now you're not sure whether to be annoyed or amused. "Xavier! Right now!?"
"Careful, please don't distract me when I'm driving. Even if… it's impossible not to be distracted with someone so beautiful beside me."
You half-scoff, half laugh at his antics, and feel him take the remote control, pause the screen, and take your hand.
"I'm quite skilled, and we're going slow. I'll be able to hold your hand just fine."
You don't even know what to say next when you feel him let go and wrap his arm around you, pulling you closer. "Xavier, we're driving- you can't just-!"
"No, we're at a stop light. Which means, I can safely do this."
He takes your chin from the side and kisses you just for a moment and grins wickedly. "Most stop lights last exactly 30 seconds. So I have this much time to give you. And the rest of it…. is all yours when we reach our destination. Is that satisfactory….Miss?"
You turn pink as a the tip of a rutabaga, and give him a small shove. "What's gotten into you…"
But you'd be lying if he wasn't being so stupidly charming, you wished you were actually going somewhere with him in that moment. You feel his thumb doing circles in your shoulder, and the world stills while you give him a peck of your own and lean in.
"Ah, the light's green," he interrupts and hits play on the remote to resume where you left off. In fact, you notice he goes back a few moments to see where you missed. For a minute, a good minute, you can't focus while you're processing. There he has ruined a perfectly juicy episode…and created a new memory of your own.
"Ah. I forgot." You hear him start again, and you wonder what more he could possibly have.
He pulls you a little closer so you can hear him while he whispers,
straight crack, but this is an unavoidable reality of sleeping in the same bed, y'all.
Xavier: Slow-release, silent killers. You never know when he'll strike until it's assaulted your nostrils already.
Sylus: Loud, frequent, but not too smelly. It really picks up after he falls asleep, his body expelling all the excess in one stunning burst.
Zayne: Deadly. Absolutely deadly. Aside from the sweets, he's got a good, well-rounded diet, but those are the ones you have to watch out for. He does have the decency to warn you ahead of time, at least.
Caleb: Loud, stinky, and proud of it. Finds joy in creating a hotbox under the blanket where you're unfortunately tucked in with him as well. Better not release that seal, or you're in for a bad time.
Rafayel: Cute little toots that are able to create an unusually wide range of tones, rhythm, and pitch. He looked up what a flatulist is one night and got utterly taken by the idea of producing a song with his gas. Unfortunately for you, it's when you're trying to sleep that he holds his lengthy practice sessions.
Caleb x gn reader, Caleb x mc. This is a short little entirely wholesome memory of Caleb before he leaves for the DAA, inspired by this post. You help him with a crossword puzzle. No warnings, unless you dislike being tickled and somehow forgot that Caleb dies in chapter 4. Fluff, banter, teasing, yearning. It needs to be the 22nd so that I can get him out of my head.
Oh.
You’re here again.
You’ve been here before.
The sunlight, golden, late afternoon shine—sheets through the open windows.
Cicadas, a constant, keening buzz. The rustle of full green leaves in the summer breeze, as the cicada susurration dips low before rising again.
Hydrangeas, bursting with petals in the garden down below. Pink and purple, like Caleb’s eyes.
You’ve been here before, in the late summer haze.
His room smells like him. Clean laundry. Male deodorant in clean armpits. He stopped wearing the really heavy, awful body spray after you complained about it.
You hadn’t liked how it covered up so much of his natural scent.
He lifted his eyebrows in surprise. You don’t like it? All the other guys wear stuff like it.
Of course, you couldn’t explain why you hated it.
You scoffed, tried to sound authoritative. Didn’t you know? People hate body spray like that. It stinks like unwashed teenage boy. If you really wanna attract people, then you should wear nice cologne. Subtle. Like a sophisticated, adult man.
Sometimes your mouth moved before it should, without your permission, as you blurted nonsense to cover up all your secrets. You didn’t want to help him attract other people. The thought made your stomach turn.
But it was all you could think, instead of saying I’d rather just smell your skin.
He snorted a soft laugh. What about you? He reached over, ruffled your hair.
You scowled, batted his hand away. What do you care what I think?
A funny look drifted over his face, there and gone before you could catch it. Just curious. Have you smelled the cologne you’re talking about on another guy?
You stared at him. Of course not. You’re surrounded by dumb sweaty boys at school, stinking of body spray. Where does he think you would have smelled a man’s cologne? But you’d read books. Of the romance variety. The male leads always smelled subtly spicy, expensive eau de toilette. Sandalwood and whiskey and words like vetiver, whatever the fuck that smelled like.
You didn’t want to smell all that. You just wanted to smell Caleb, fresh out of the shower.
Of course, you couldn’t say that.
Wouldn’t you like to know, you tease instead.
He frowns a little. But then he grins. Like a switch being flicked.
Yeah, I do wanna know, that’s why I’m asking, Pipsqueak.
He set his pen down, on the notes he’d been making, revising for exams.
Too bad, you had singsonged. Lifted your book in front of your face, pointedly ignoring him.
You heard the rustle of fabric. Soft steps across his rug, around the little table you were both studying at. Like you always did, together.
This is your final chance to come clean. Where’d you smell the cologne you’re talking about? His voice sounded teasing, but with a thread of something else underneath. Worry? You couldn’t tell.
Oooh no, I’m so scared, you drawled, still ignoring him, pretending to read, when all your senses were attuned to him.
And then he was suddenly behind you. Leaning over you with his big body. His big hands drifting up your sides, fingertips skating up, up, until he was tickling you under your armpits. You tried to clamp your arms to your side, dropping the book, already howling.
No, no, no, not fair, you yelled, squirming, trying to wriggle out of his grasp as he pulled your back into his chest, as he laughed at your breathless laughter, as he continued to torment you.
He paused when your squeals got so high pitched that they could probably break the glass of his trophy case, containing all of his sports medals and trophy statuettes. Track and field. Football. Baseball. Ready to surrender, or will the interrogation continue?
You melted back into him, panting. Revived by the reprieve. You told me to never quit, to never give up. Why would I surrender, just because you’re the one asking? You reached up behind you, poked him gently in his cheek. My lips are sealed. Then you made a gesture, as if zipping his lips, instead of your own.
I should be your only exception, always, he murmured. And then: Tell me, tell me, tell me, he chanted, beginning his assault anew.
You laughed, and laughed, and never admitted that you had read about mature, subtle colognes that men wear in romance books where you imagined it was him, kissing you, as the leads finally admitted their long-burning love for each other.
He finally gave up, and you turned in his arms, tried to tickle him in revenge. He just laughed softly, letting you. He lifted his arms a little, so you had even more access to his armpits through his sleeveless shirt.
That’s not my weak spot, Pipsqueak. You know this.
You scowled at him. You had never been able to find what he called his weakness when it came to tickle wars. He always had the advantage over you, and your sensitive skin. I’ll find it, someday, you insisted, letting your fingertips dance down his sides, feeling his warmth through the fabric of his shirt.
As your hands reached his stomach, he lifted his big hands, caught yours in his. He looked into your eyes, a rare, serious look crossing his face. He lifted your hands to his chest, right over his heart. Do you really not know yet?
You stared at him, into his lovely indigo eyes, the pink shimmering when the sun hit them just right. Like the hydrangeas in your gran’s garden. His face this close to yours, you could smell his breath, still sweet from the apples you had cut for him, carved into cute bunnies—the extent of your culinary skills. Why learn to cook, when Caleb always cooked for you? You liked playing with knives, though.
This close, you couldn’t remember what you were talking about. You could only hear the thunder of your heart, as it sped up, as you breathed in his breath, as you became aware of his solid, warm bulk underneath you, his thick thighs spreading yours as you sat in his lap.
What? You breathed, resisting the urge to lean forward. To press your lips to his.
To ruin your family, and the best thing that had ever happened to you.
Caleb.
You leaned back.
Do you really not know what my weakness is? he repeated, bringing you back to the question, pressing your palms over his heart, his heart which thumped in time with yours in his big chest.
You shook your head. For all that you knew about him—his steadfast strength, his sense of humor, his ability to change masks depending on the demands of the social situation, his hatred of cilantro—there was still so much you didn’t know about him. Didn’t know how to ask him.
Do you love me, in the same way I love you?
You simply shook your head.
He smiled, sadly, fondly. Ask me, when you’re ready to know. I’ll tell you.
Now, you’re here again.
You’ve been here before.
The sun-soaked room, the summer leaves shimmering, shifting golden light, shadow, light, shadow again across Caleb’s face, as the cicadas buzz, as you turn the pages of your book, as the flowers from Gran’s garden release their scent, carried by the soft breeze into Caleb’s bedroom while you pass some leisure time, a couple weeks before Caleb is to leave for the DAA and flight training.
You’re reading a book. He’s working on some kind of puzzle, holding a pen in his long fingers as he stares down at the newspaper.
You’re absorbed in the story, soothed by the summer sounds, Caleb’s presence. After a long stretch of time, you reach a natural breaking point and look up.
Caleb is staring at you, a soft, fond, helpless look on his face. So unlike his normal cheerful, teasing expression.
What? You ask him in confusion. Do I have something on my face? You start to lift your hand to your face, but he smiles, lets out a breath. He leans over, across the table and the newspaper, and brushes his thumb gently along your cheek, back and forth.
You watch him in confusion, even as you savor the feel of his skin on yours.
He leans back again.
Some graphite. From your pencil, he explains.
You stare at him. Watch as he rubs his thumb and forefinger together, slowly. As he returns to the newspaper, his word puzzle.
You shake yourself, return to your book. Try to ignore the feelings that fill you. That constantly threaten to spill over. To drown you, him, your family.
Pipsqueak.
His soft voice breaks the quiet.
You don't lift your eyes from the book’s pages. You have a pencil in your hand, for underlining passages, collecting little bits of prose that are beautiful, true. Its graphite is smudged a bit, on your fingertips. That must be what was on your face, although you hadn’t touched your face. You don’t know how it got there.
Caleb. You echo him.
What’s French for ‘I love you?’
You look up at him. Squint. He’s sitting crossed legged on the carpet, big legs barely fitting under the small table the two of you have studied together at for years. He rests one big arm on his elbow on the table, the other now leisurely twirling his pen in the air with his evol, broad shoulders rounded. He looks like a big kid, even though he’s a huge man now.
He’s so cute, your heart hurts.
Pretty confident, doing a crossword with a pen, you note, eyes flicking from his beautiful hands to his lovely face.
I have good aim, baby. He winks at you, cocky. I never miss my target once I’m locked in.
Which is why you’re asking me for answers to your puzzle, you say, dryly.
You’re my co-pilot. It’s okay to need each other to strike the target.
You snort, softly. You don’t need me.
He shakes his head. You have no idea how much I need you, he murmurs. Then he pauses, shakes his head. So what is it? You’re taking French. He smiles warmly at you, admiration filling his eyes. And Spanish. And Mandarin.
You feel your cheeks, the blood hot under your skin under his unabashed praise. Knowing so many will be useful for when I’m a Hunter, and have to travel. Or help tourists. For undercover ops.
He laughs. You don’t have to justify your nerdiness, Pipsqueak. C’mon, how do you say ‘I love you’ in French?
You look at his face. His lovely hydrangea eyes. The strength in his throat, broad shoulders. The pen, snatched from the air where he was toying with it, now held between his long, pretty fingers, ready to write.
Je t’aime. You say, telling him the truth, and answering his question.
A warm pink rises from his throat, to his cheeks. He clears his throat. Looks back down at the newspaper. How do you spell that?
You spell it for him, admiring the soft fall of his brown hair in the sunshine.
He glances back up at you. Are you sure?
You roll your eyes at him. If you doubt me, don’t ask me.
Hey now, I’m not doubting you. It just doesn’t fit, with the other answers.
You tilt your head, considering. Try ‘Je t’adore.’ You spell it for him.
He mouths the letters silently, and you watch his full lips as they form each letter, as he ticks off each box. His face lights up. That’s it! He looks up, grins at you.
You turn your head, overwhelmed by how much you love him, how his delight is your delight as he grins—happy, triumphant.
Pipsqueak. His voice is low, soft. Beckoning.
You look back at him. His grin has faded, but the warmth in his eyes remains. When your eyes meet his, he says, Je t’adore.
You stare at him. What does he mean? Why is he saying this? Your heart thumps, thumps, thumps.
That’s ‘I love you’ in French, right? he asks, coaxing. You nod. It’s hard to breathe.
How do you say ‘I love you’ in Spanish?
You tell him the truth, again. Te amo.
He stares into your eyes. Te amo, he says, softly. You can only nod again, confirming his pronunciation, the correctness of his words, even as your heart feels like he’s saying these words to you, instead of just repeating after you. Your silly, foolish, imperfect heart.
He looks pleased with himself. How do you say it in Mandarin?
You sigh. You answer with your truth, in any language, in any lifetime. Wǒ ài nǐ.
He leans forward, across the table, letting the newspaper drift to the floor. He brushes his fingers softly against your cheek. Wǒ ài nǐ, he says.
You hold your breath. Keep your eyes open, when you want to close them. When you want to invite him in, grab his wrist, pull the rest of him to you, press your lips against his. You keep your eyes open, try to memorize his precious face, to be able to remember when he’s gone, when he boards the train, and then the plane, and leaves you down on earth.
The moment stretches. He looks like he’s about to say something else, the sunlight drifting through the leaves, dappling his face, his eyes flashing, darkening, flashing again. But then you hear the front door open downstairs. Your gran’s voice, calling to you both.
Caleb leans back, letting his hand fall away from your face.
“oh my god, how is it already 6:50? it was 6:10 the last time i checked,” you ramble, practically shoving your left earring in.
fiddling with his cuff link, sylus chuckles unhurriedly. “that’s how time works, sweetie.”
“shut it. we’re gonna be late,” you whine, whipping around to rummage through your handbag. “we’re gonna be late, and…”
pausing your panicked search, you look around the room forlornly.
“keys,” he drawls mercifully, paying your lost expression no mind.
“right. keys,” you sigh in relief, snatching your discarded keychain from the coffee table. “now where is my—”
“wallet?” he teases. sauntering up behind you, he wraps an arm around your waist and slips the leather case into your hands. “right here.”
frowning, you lift it to eye level, glaring at it suspiciously. “i swear, i left you in my purse. how did you even escape?”
an amused hum sounds from behind you.
“well, that’s it, i think.” pausing, you scan the room around you to double-check and give him a frazzled nod. “okay, yes. i’m ready, let’s go!”
you make it a total of two rushed steps before sylus blocks your path, wordlessly cocking an eyebrow.
“what?” you wheeze, heartbeat pounding in your ears. “sylus, we have to hurry! our reservation is at 7:00!”
in front of you, crimson mist suspends something small and black in midair. “phone,” sylus says, voice dipping with a fond sigh.
“oh. yeah. i guess i do need tha—”
dangling helplessly above you, your phone blinks to life with a new message. but before you can grab it, it rises several inches higher in the air.
with a lazy smirk, sylus settles his eyes on you expectantly. “are you forgetting something else, kitten?” he asks, checking his watch with a playful tsk. “we don’t have all day.”
for a moment, you gape at him, too flustered to play his guessing game. but as your stalemate continues, the gleam in his ruby irises clues you in.
slowly, you approach him, running your palms along his chest. “you’re right. how could i forget?” you whisper with a small smile. standing up on your tiptoes, you brush his cheek with a sweet kiss. “thank you.”
Summary: Caleb hides that he was injured in a crash during a mission, and you get into a fight.
Author notes: Didn't proofread this, sorry :P
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You had a fight…
A big one.
The first real one since the two of you had become official. This one was different though, not just the basic nagging, teasing, or yapping the was second-nature to yours and Caleb’s relationship since before you could remember. This has shaken you.
You felt a shift, a rift, And that scared shit out of you…
You were used to Caleb being selfless. To such an extreme it really was a fault. All he has ever cared about was you. Your health, your wellbeing, your happiness. You were his whole world, and he had made that abundantly clear after your reunion, since you were the reason he had joined the fleet in the first place. To protect you.
…But what about him?
You are his whole world, but he seems to forget that he is yours. That you burn with just as much passion for him as he does for you. That you will do anything for him if it means seeing that lazy, boyish smile of his. Where those big pools of lavender stare at you so loving and longingly. You want to be the peace and solace he so cruelly lacked up until this point. And that fact makes you want to bang your head against the wall until he gets it into his thick head.
So, when the man you so deeply love, time and time again puts himself in danger without a single thought, it’s easy to see why it would upset you.
And that’s exactly what initiated the fight tonight.
Caleb got into a crash when returning from a mission in the deep space tunnel and it was no small matter either. It had been quite the show. It was bad enough to leave the spacecraft in pieces and many crew members with serious injuries, including Caleb. He had ended up with a dislocated shoulder and a nasty cut on his back. Thankfully all personnel were treated, but he hid the whole thing from you.
You had been visiting him in Skyhaven on a small vacation after completing your own mission for the association. You arrived earlier that day at his house, where he greeted you with open arms and a smile, ready to spend time with his beloved pipsqueak. You guys had gone out and spent the day around town until you returned home for him to make dinner. It was only then in his kitchen when he was moving around that you noticed something was off.
His upper back and shoulder were stiff when lifting the pots and pans to start cooking. He would grimace when stirring some food when he thought you weren't watching. But you had, of course. He might know everything about you, but you are the same for him. He would be a fool (which he is, that idiot) if he thought you couldn't tell the difference. You asked if he was okay, but in true Caleb fashion, he laughed it off and ruffled your hair to change the subject. From that moment onwards, you knew he wasn’t telling you something.
You felt the hair on the back of your neck and arms rise with irritation and a heavy pool of dread was weighing in your gut. Something happened and knowing Caleb, it was probably something big that he didn’t even bat an eye at.
From there, things spiraled.
Regardless that you were together now, Caleb still has a bad habit of keeping things from you. And that was no longer going to cut it.
You asked him and he deflected, but you kept pushing until he confessed about the crash. You were angry, but he didn’t want to burden you. Your usual cycle was repeating itself.
Why couldn’t he just see that by hiding things, he was hurting you?
You brought this fact up to him, but like usual he didn’t want you to see that side of him. You guess old habits die hard. But it still hurt because you thought you were past this…
It ended in a screaming match. You pleading your case that he needs to be open and honest with you. And his that he’s just trying to keep you safe from the fleet and other forces at play. But you raise the point that this wasn’t about that.
“ Caleb, this is about the fleet or me! This is about you! You got into a CRASH, and you didn’t tell me! You got injured and you’re playing it off like nothing happened! THAT is what is important here!”
“Pips, it’s not! I’ve been in much worse and I’m fine, see?” he responses, lifting his arm up and looking down at himself to indicate his supposed fine state of being.
You felt a lump growing in your throat and a pressure building behind your eyes as you felt the sting of tears forming on your water line.
You want to cry. Not for yourself, but for Caleb.
For the person who cares so much, but not an ounce for himself.
And at that moment, you couldn’t take it.
“…get out,” you whisper.
A look of confusion flashes across Caleb’s face as he looks at you from a few feet away.
“what?” he responds quietly.
Anger and sorrow were swirling and growing in your chest, constricting you’re heart like a vice, as images of a blood and mangled body flashed in your head. It was all starting to feel like too much. Being near him felt like too much.
“I said GET OUT! You yelled at him, looking him straight in the face.
Caleb was dumbfounded…
Shock traveled through him, rooting him to the spot as he took in what you just said. Did you really just tell him to leave? Forget from his own house, but from this situation? Away from you? A new seed of anxiety and irritation blossomed in his own chest. Confusion and hurt swept across his face as he addresses you.
“you’re kidding, right?” he questions, while you continue to look at him with indignation.
“No” you calmly reply, returning his stare with narrowed eyes.
Caleb, for a moment just looks at you. Searching for any signs that you want him to stay. But… he doesn’t see one. And that….that’s starting to tug and ripe something in him that is so deep in him, something too delicate… it almost feels unbearable.
You’re his love, his light, his sole reason to return. Why can’t you see that’s why he doesn’t tell you these things? Because he made a promise to himself a long time ago that he would always return to you. Because you are his home.
But currently, his home is shoving him out. And he’s having a hard time coping with that fact.
He sucks in a small breath to get some semblance of air into him. It does little to comfort him and feels more like a stab to the chest as he continues to look at your stone face.
After another moment of no change, he releases a scoff.
You were really playing like this, huh? …fine, he’ll play by your rules then.
“…Fine”. He replies calmly, but with clear hurt and anger in his lavender eyes. The ones you love so much that now look at you with pain and a bit of resentment.
He doesn’t say another word as he turns around, heading out of the kitchen, towards the couch to snatch his jean jacket. He turns around one last time, looking at your small figure in the kitchen, unmoved, staring back at him with that lump in your throat and ache in your chest. His brows nit together in a look of apprehension before turning around and opening the door.
He slams it shut, and you’re left alone in the kitchen.
The silence feels like a repressive weight shrouding you…
You are now left only with yourself and your thoughts now. Rehashing the events that just occurred in your head.
It’s only after minutes have passed that you let a soft strangled sob leave your mouth. The tears you have been holding back fall silent down your soft checks as you let the wave of emotion take you away. You just felt so…helpless.
He could have died…. could have left you alone in a world without him…again.
That’s something you couldn’t bear.
In the kitchen, you are left alone with your thoughts and roaring emotions.
Alone in the silence of the unknown.
Some habits truly die hard...
(This is my first ever little drabble, so please be nice. I have a pt.2 planned if that is something people want. Let me know in the comments!)
About dawnbreaker....I don't think he's a human being, I don't even think he has a body. The anecdote made it seem like he did but I think we were supposed to find out in this chapter. Dawnbreaker is not a different entity, he really is zayne, he lives inside zayne. Dawnbreaker's reality is bleak because zayne knew the experiments he conducted failed. So whenever he dreams, he imputs that guilt and sorrow to Dawnbreaker who then manifests in a horrible world full of alterum--failed experiments that haunt zayne.
And every time zayne is too tired, too angry, he lets dawnbreaker take over. That's why he tried to leave--because if he loses control again and if he's with mc during it, if he loses consciousness, he knows dawnbreak will hurt MC for having protocore syndrome. Zayne's absolutely terrified of hurting her again. But he loves us a lot. And he makes sure to point out that hurting mc would be the greatest regret of his life.
It's sad but they didn't leave on bad terms, no one is angry at one another, they're desperate, they went through an entire ordeal, zayne's nightmares, his worst fear, came to ife. MC found out she might destroy the world.. I also think something big had to happen for zayne to realize he wasn't in control at all. Not of his evol nor of himself. And he can't risk the consequences if the consequences all lead to mc. He couldn't keep being a doctor nor ignoring his nightmares and his past.
This is just a theory. I saw your posts about dawnbreaker and it got me thinking, you know??
Oh wow anon :O
That's a really interesting theory actually!!! All of Dawnbreaker's lore being a sort of inner world that doesn't actually exist.... Huh... Definitely an idea to keep in mind.
I'm really curious in general about Zayne's mental state, because as much as we joke about Caleb's, we haven't stopped to think about the rest of the LI's. I feel like I need to go over all of Dawnbreaker-in-Zayne's lore when I get free time to establish a proper timeline and key points.
It feels like a subject that should be treaded lightly, since dissociative disorders are already quite misrepresented in media so, from a narrative standpoint, I'm not sure if Infold should be taking that direction though. I hope if they are, they handle it carefully.
You're right about the control thing. I hadn't thought about that, but it's true that he was too confident in his ability to remain in control that it wouldn't let him see beyond, and though it's sad that it had to happen this way, it's better if he realizes now than when it's too late.
Still, I hope the lesson he learns from this isn't 'I can't do anything so I should leave everything to external forces' and instead he realizes 'There should be a balance between the things I can do and the things I can't'.
Gifted children and gifted people in general tend to have a strong internal locus of control, which means they blame their faults on themselves just as much as their successes, and it's reflected quite well here with how Zayne insisted on taking these challenges on his own. I hope he realizes he can rely on other people and the story doesn't isolate him completely (which would inevitably lead to the Foreseer's timeline).
As much as I hate that little kid that went looking for him, I hope he keeps Zayne company.
I'm probably going to be thinking about your DB theory all week now XD Thank you so much for sharing it!!
"Commandant still has pending paperwork on their desk." The calculative construct said, gazing into the ruins of the city. The air was dry and pungent of the smell of rust and corpses. Mosses growing on the surfaces of the abandoned buildings looked dull and gray from the dark clouds blanketing above them. The Commandant snickered at the straight reply of Lee before letting out a deep sigh and falling into a contemplative silence.
"Lee..."
"Commandant, please refrain from talking. We're on a mission."
The Commandant laughed with mirth, easing the guard of Lee, "Come on! Just humor me for a moment, okay?"
"... Fine."
"Lee."
"What is it, Commandant?"
"I'm worried about my pension..."
"Commandant, please stop talking now."
"I'm serious!" They giggled, "I am worried about it! I assumed it would be quite big, and I think they'll take some of it."
"I doubt it. You gave Babylonia your best services and are humanity's hope."
"... Haha, maybe."
The surroundings were peaceful again, with the wind carrying the sounds of mournful spirits and the anguish of the living. Lee's Inver Device rang, but he chose to ignore it, giving his undivided attention to his Commandant.
"Lee," Commandant called once more.
"Yes, Commandant."
"Let's go, they're calling us now."
"Understood." Lee stepped forward, walking into the Red Tide where the Commandant was.
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