Welcome to your new home!
Yandere Asylum staff! Bllk boys x Yandere Patient! fem reader
Tw: Concept includes murder, mentions of abuse, torture, body horror, sexual harassment, sexual themes, drugging, unwanted surgery, eating disorders, surgeries done wrong, unwanted nudity
Part 1
Somewhere deep in the forest, there lay a hidden facility, a refuge for sick and mentally-ill people to rest and be treated. A sanctuary for the abandoned, a place for the neglected, demented, and disturbed; a magdalene asylum. But workers prefer to call it a psychiatric hospital. A term to make it sound more safe and convincing for patients to cave into.
And that was the one and only place for a person like you to stay in.
Day 1
Skinny and scarred fingers traced over the papers, your files in the hands of one of the best psychiatrists in Japan, Sae Itoshi, reading through your profile with a cigarette in hand. The acrid smell of burnt tobacco spread in the open area, Rin, who works as a nurse, glared at the burning stick.
“Can you stop smoking for once?” He clicked his tongue in annoyance, face covered with a surgical mask, not enjoying seeing his older brother shorten his lifetime from inhaling the cancer stick.
“Hm…we have another wild one coming in..” Sae ignored him, bringing the cig to his lips before taking one, long, drag out of it, tired from dealing with patients 24/7 and losing hours of sleep.
Their teal eyes watched a white van enter the tamed garden entrance with journalists chasing from behind, wanting updates on the patient, from you. Being brought here due to two murderous cases.
With the mental, emotional, and physical kinds of abuse you've gone through from your parents, you were blind to see through what love was, the lines were blurred out for you to understand, though something inside you snapped when you found out the love of your life was railing himself inside a woman a few years younger than you.
And you lost it, your vision was white, holding onto the letter opener with unmeasurable rage and denial inside. Thus stabbing them both repeatedly with your head on the loose.
Your body collapses on the ground as you're covered in blood, body rocking back and forth while mumbling deranged whispers of complete denial of the situation you just saw.
‘Why would he do that!? We're married! We’re married!’ You looked at the ring he gave you, oh the elegant golden lining of bonded souls didn't even fit your finger, he may have gotten the size wrong, yet, you still adored it.
You laughed maniacally, clutching the sides of your stomach as you laid on the floor, you were going insane, the hard work of devoting yourself, your entire being to a man you loved everyday, only to get ruined by him fucking a younger woman.
Yet, you were still in denial, because your husband wouldn't do that. That must've been a man that looked like him? Yes! Maybe you made a silly mistake!?...
It didn't take long for the police to come in after hearing screams from the 2nd floor, neighbors reporting their concerns as they found you bloodied and collapsed on the ground, the two dead bodies naked and full of stab marks, their blood soaking the mattress.
After that, you woke up hazy, you couldn't remember what happened back then, but you felt drained. You tried to move but you were strapped on a bed, two figures watching you as your vision blurred, not being able to see who they are as they let you inhale more gas, sleeping gas which made you pass out again. And now you’re put here.
“Watch your step ma'am.” A tall man with raven colored hair carefully tended to you, guiding you towards the entrance as journalists called out and took pictures, a record of the cunning murderer being put in a hospital to have her well-being updated for the world to see.
“Welcome to your new home!” A louder, more enthusiastic guard with blonde and pink hair approached your side without care. Your eyes reading into his badge. ‘Shidou’ didn't care if you had no handcuffs, no guns pointed behind your back, no nothing to keep you from moving freely despite what you're capable of doing, because ‘criminals are still humans’ said the owner of this place. But then again, they had the upper hand here, and you don't.
You looked around the environment, it was unexpected to have it well maintained, a regal pedestal fountain, thick pine trees perfectly lined up, a white colored rose garden surrounding the cemented 16 foot walls with barbed wires attached on top making it impossible for any escape as your brows clenched. The entrance building looked more of a mansion rather than a white brick with multiple floors.
“Fancy ain't it miss? You'll enjoy your stay here.” The guard, ‘Karasu’, from earlier, opened the door for you, this is where you start to get better, they say, your new life. That someone like you deserves high quality treatment after the gruesome murder.
You saw a woman at the reception desk, most likely older than you, dark blonde hair and light pink eyes, the bold red lipstick on her mouth highlighted her lips as she looked at you with animosity for a second. Just for a second before she plastered in a fake smile upon seeing Karasu and Shidou walking besides you.
“How long will I stay here?” You asked, immediately wanting out, you didn't belong here, you belonged at the two story apartment you and your husband had shared.
“250 days with a 3 hour therapy session everyday.”
You all turned your heads to see two men approach you, both had teal eyes, yet one had salmon-pink hair, while the other a dark shade of green. The smell of cigarettes entered your nostrils every time they walked closer. “..I’m Dr. Sae, me and my brother here Rin would watch over you alternatively with the other doctors for examination.”
“...”
He was blunt about his introduction, but you didn't say anything, your dull (e/c) eyes were just staring at them with a hint of threat, but they noticed that, “..We’ll have you put in your room, your first session would start with Dr. Yukimiya in about two hours.” Was all he said before leaving, Rin glared down towards you but was called out by his brother with Shidou following them.
—---
Your room was decent, fancy but decent, a soft single bed with washed linens and a window with indoor metal railings inside, the walls were cream colored with oakwood foundations covering the ceiling corners. And best of all, you had no roommates, this whole room was your space unlike the ones you've seen on the 2nd floor.
“Bathroom's in the left wing, 3rd door, oh and just a reminder, all patients ain't allowed to bathe themselves alone, nurses do that for them with a sched.” You turned to look at Karasu again, an expected reaction from him, but instead of an embarrassed face, you just simply looked mad.
“..Of course..” You say monotonously before putting in a forced smile, it caught him off guard as you looked at the medical gown folded neatly on your bed along with indoor slippers placed on the floor. “...Right, jus’ wait for the nurse to tend to ya.” And the door was closed shut, not even a second passed and you started to gaze around your bedroom, no shelves, no tables, no pictures, no nothing, just your bed and the window present.
Despite it being fancy looking, it was empty, you have no escape, especially when you're placed on the 5th floor of a different building, different from the one you've entered in. Your fingers twitched, you weren't scared, you were desperate, you needed to escape and get back to your husband.
Your head whipped towards the door, the sounds of muffled voices were exchanged, making you alert.
*Knock knock*
“Uhm excuse me miss (L/n)?” A head peeped inside as the door opened, a man with dark blue hair and a sprout dressed in blue scrubs came inside the room, holding a towel in hand. “Sorry to bother but it's time for you to have your bath..” He was meek, a kind smile rested on his adorable face as you looked at him.
“Harlan.”
“Pardon?” He answered back, face filled with half surprise and confusion, “(F/n) Harlan, I'm married to Victor Harlan.” You held your tongue out of anger, glaring at the young man as he sweated under your gaze.
“O-oh! Right! Mrs. Harlan, we need to get you ready for your therapy session alright?” Despite being a bit mean to him, he acted nice towards you, used to the hostility he encountered from different patients he took care of on a daily basis. So all he did was raise his arm for you to hold onto and follow him.
Though to his understanding, you didn't accept the gesture and just followed with Karasu watching behind.
—---
You stood against the cold tiles, feeling uncomfortable with the nurse who introduced himself as ‘Yoichi Isagi’ or Isagi if you would, wearing surgical gloves as you hugged yourself, back turned against him, only wearing your undergarments. “..It's ok ma'am, I know it's scary, but it's essential to have all patients be cleaned regularl-”
“I can wash myself.” You felt exposed, though you were used to people looking at you, but another man who isn't your husband touching you? You'd rather kill yourself than to let this happen. “I'm aware of that ma'am. But trust that I won't do anything but clean you, I'm sure you need it…” He was convincing you in the sweetest tone possible, with how the previous patients he took care of, they would melt into him and have his trust immediately…you were harder to crack and give in.
“I said I. Can. Do. It. Myself.”
You bit your tone harshly under your teeth towards him. Isagi didn't have all the time to go back and forth with you, so he let you be, let you ramble about your capabilities and your husband as he held the syringe behind his back.
“I'm sorry ma'am.” Before you could even ask why he said that, a sharp feeling pricked on your neck, and before you could even look to where that came from, Isagi covered your eyes and gently rested your head against his shoulder, breath shortened with your body suddenly getting heavier by the second.
“...I- whe..? I’m..”
“Shhh it's ok, this'll be done quickly.” He held on to you gently, your shoulders were lightly twitching in response as your body laid on to him, his other arm wrapped around you to balance yourself. Carefully sitting you down on the chair, your back resting against it as you felt light headed.
You couldn't think nor process what just happened, the feeling of warm water suddenly hit you as you felt hands softly massage on your scalp, but before you could lift an arm, you passed out as he continued his job.
—---
“‘nother rough one huh?” Karasu teased Isagi with a grin, watching him carry you bridal style out of the shower, all fresh and wrapped in a towel while he looked tired from cleaning you head to toe.
“Shut the fuck up..” The scrubs he wore were wet despite wearing a plastic cover up, Karasu noticed that Isagi always comes out the shower dry even after putting some patients to sleep, it's odd to see that his scrubs were wet too.
“Damn did she lose her shit in there?” He asked, pushing himself off the wall as he followed suit, going back to your room as other nurses and patients did their regular things in other spaces.
“No…the stupid cover up had a few holes in it.” Except that it was true, it did have holes, yet he could've changed to a new one, he always hated getting wet while doing his job. But he can't let you be alone for a millisecond, you looked pitiful to look at.
He didn't want you all vulnerable and exposed even if each patient had nurses tended to them. Even if he knew how guarded this place is, he could easily change, but he chose not to. A nurse like him feeling pitiful towards you was just natural.
He laid you on your bed as Karasu waited outside your room again. Bored and out of his mind. While Isagi grabbed a new towel to dry your hair out, the drug's going to last in a few more minutes. The dose was strong enough to put you to sleep, and the time limit was long enough for him to bathe and cover you up entirely.
Isagi dressed you up in new undergarments as he professionally put on your hospital gown, holding you like how a loving husband would take care of his sick wife.
He dried out your hair and let you rest for a bit, sighing from exhaustion yet satisfied for cleaning you up, giving himself a moment. How can someone like you just end up here? The whole staff knew what you did, preparing a schedule for you as he watched you peacefully sleep on the soft bed. So the last step was putting in your tracker, locked on your wrists, the cold metal blinking red against your skin.
He then cleaned up before Karasu would question his extended period of time in there as he grabbed the damp towels and left.
“Just wait for her to wake up.” Was all he said as he closed the door, the man in security uniform scoffed, already knowing what to do as he watched Isagi walk away while taking off the plastic cover up. “..Like I don't know shit.”
—---
“How are you feeling today, miss (Y/n)? Or do you prefer that I address you to your preference?”
You were still woozy from earlier, though you felt refreshed, tiredly sitting across Dr. Yukimiya’s desk, facing the floor. The pretty man stared at you with his glasses perched on his nose, patiently waiting for you to respond as time passed by.
*Snap*
You slowly looked up to see him raise his hand, his gentle yet forced smile never left his face. He snapped his fingers to get your attention. “..Are you here with me miss (Y/n)?”
“...Mrs.”
“I'm sorry, what was that?”
“Mrs. (Y/n)..”
“Ah alright then.” Yukimiya Kenyu is one of the best in managing holistic therapy, especially including one of his best methods, hypnotherapy.
“For this session, I'd like you to relax yourself and put your awareness to the lowest point, can you do that Mrs. (Y/n)?” He asked, holding onto a pocket watch as you nodded. “Very good.” He stood up from his seat, leading you to the long cushion for you to lay down as he took his notes. “I want you to think about anything that calms you down, but first, focus on my watch.”
A gold pocket watch dangled on his fingers, swaying left and right as your eyes followed it, instead of a spiral like you see in movies, it was just a regular one.
The ticking sound it made was quite addictive to hear as your focus was starting to leer, the pocket watch entirely grabbed your attention. “Think of it hard Mrs. (Y/n), the ocean? The sound of the forest? You’ll be entering a state of finding peace thinking of it.”
The room was quiet around you, warping into a pitch black space, your body relaxed as the watch did nothing but sway left and right. *Tick tock tick tock* It rang in your ears repeatedly, there's nothing else but you and the watch, no other sound but your breathing the ticks, and his voice. “Does the sound of the beach calm you? Or what about the rain?”
You couldn't answer him due to being entranced, his voice was muffled in your head, too comfortable to get out as you feel a bit sleepy. “Imagine one of the happiest moments in your life…” His voice was fading away, and in your head, you'd see your husband swaying you sideways to the slow music, hands on your waist and yours wrapped around his neck, dinner just finished as you both danced in the night.
“Or think about your husband cheating on you.”
You snapped out of your thoughts, everything had gone back to normal as your vision had disappeared. Only to be met by his face, your eyes wide with your heart beating quickly.
“..What?” You stared at him angrily, still in shock about what he just told you. “Ah.. nothing, you must've misheard me.” He calmly reassured you, writing down on his notes.
“We’ll continue our session on the next meet up,” You looked at the clock and saw the time, 4:00 pm, 3 hours since you came into his office.
“Time flies really fast when you're under the influence or intensely focused on what you're doing..” He smiled towards you, a minute had passed as you stood up and left, not wanting to stay in there any longer.
—---
“Right now's your free time, do whatever you want 4-6 pm. I'll catch up to you before dinner.” Was what Karasu had said before leaving you at the court, you looked at the tracker on your wrist, quite a thick one as you then looked around the court, heading inside a random building to explore and familiarise yourself.
You hear laughing behind you, whispers on the other, screaming and yelling on the rooms as you roam around. “They won't save us, they won't save any of us..” you heard an old woman mumbling in her room, her door was wide open and left alone, sitting in her bed as her eyes laid on you, as you stared back.
“They can't help you” She whispered like she was trying to warn you, your legs automatically walked on their own, slowly approaching her as she slowly smiled, her eyes close to crying.
“Then why am I here?” You asked her, but all she did was nod her head sideways, looking hysterical, her mouth shut as nurses came inside, “Please leave, she needs her meds.” One of them ushered you out as you looked back, they were injecting her wrist, as the poor old lady yelped in pain.
So back in the hallways you go again, the warm lights turning to a colder color the more you walk further from the crowded area. You were at the entrance, a few nurses doing their jobs as you see a few civilians at the reception desk, crying their eyes out to see their loved ones being placed here as they leave.
You walked further down the hallway, no longer seeing a soul in there as you explored, the sounds of your padded footsteps and shaky breathing was all you could hear. Doors upon doors you pass by as you look at the paintings hanging on the walls.
*Thud*
You paused your steps upon hearing the muffled bang beside you, a storage room for the pharmacy. You were close to just ignoring it till another thud hit the wall again, curious, you opened the door slowly, seeing a short hallway and upon heading inside with a faint light in the corner.
You walked closer, hearing muffled sounds as you reached the edge. “F-faster..” A woman moaned out, you peeked your head and saw an officer fucking the woman from the reception desk you saw earlier.
She was clutching onto his two-toned hair, black and green underneath as they both moaned, his pants were discarded as he carried her, resting her against the wall with boxes of medication stacked on each other,
“Ya fucking needy doll…” The man's voice was quite gruff, the sounds of skin slapping against each other as you watched, not knowing what to feel about this encounter.
But then she saw you, and instead of stopping because they were caught, she only smirked. “Ollieeee~” She moaned out a bit louder, her lipstick was ruined, grabbing onto him tighter as the man just mindlessly fucked her brains out, not knowing about your presence.
‘No one's going to believe you’ Was written all over her face, and that made you mad. You left the area quietly, heading back to the court area at a fast pace.
Your knuckles turned white, not out of jealousy, but because you wanted to murder her for making you feel that way. Because who does she think she is?
She felt superior because she works as a nurse at the reception desk and getting railed, and you? You're just a patient, one that's mental in the head. Who's gonna believe you for seeing two workers slacking off just to fuck each other instead of doing their jobs?
You'll deal with her in the meantime before you escape, but for now, it's time to focus on making the plan.
—---
The mess hall was loud, Karasu found you sitting alone in the bench near the grassy court. The walk from there was normal, though he tried to ask you about how you were doing here but all you did was nod, looking around the area to see any accessible rooms to hide when night falls.
But Karasu noticed, “Don't even think about escaping, locks are tight to break through and security doubles at night, so give it up.” He was discouraging you and you know he's right, but there has to be a way out.
You poked at your own dinner and analyzed it, shepherd's pie, a salad, and a side of peppered salmon. The more you looked at it, you slowly realized that this was the dinner you had with your husband during your anniversary, the exact same thing.
You lifted your head in a panic, feeling weirded out as you looked around the cafeteria, a sea of patients, nurses, and guards scattered all over.
You still must be asleep with Isagi still bathing you, speaking off, you're still mad at him for putting you to sleep behind your back. Upon looking down, you did a double look towards your food, greens, potato salad, and chicken tenders.
‘What the hell?’ You rubbed your eyes in confusion. Just what is it with you today? You pinched yourself, definitely wide awake, you listened to the cryptic convos of patients besides you, definitely still conscious. There's nothing wrong with you.
So you shook it off and ate away with your dinner. Though the feeling of being watched with multiple sets of eyes made you feel paranoid and shiver under it.
—---
It was time for bed, everyone was lined up by section, a nurse had given you a capsule with a glass of water, “These help you with your sleep.” You hesitantly looked at it, the pill resting against your palm didn't look promising yet, she wouldn't leave until you took it.
You swallowed the pill and drank the glass of water, feeling it slide down your throat as the nurse grabbed the cup and guided you back to your room. Locking it.
You stared at your bed, looking soft, covered in clean sheets as you lay on it. You thought about whatever just happened today, the encounters, the situations, the convos.
You were questioning yourself, but you're sure enough that you're not insane. You laid yourself on the bed, doubt was filling you up, you had scouted the area for the rest of your free time to look for an escape after seeing that…event.
Anger seethed up, that nurse pricked at you and it left a scar, you’ll do something about it, probably get her fired or murder her, if you can. Sleep started to consume you, eyelids heavy and body relaxed, did they give you a sleeping pill? If so, it’s working, as much as you hate it, you begin to drift away as the sounds of muffled screaming from a different room left your ears.
(A/n): Brooo this was supposed to be a one-shot with no parts or continuation but I js had to write it out like this to prioritize plot TOT so ig 2-3 or so parts coming in </3
Soulmate AU | Epilogue (Caleb x Non MC Reader; Sylus x Non MC Reader)
prev. | masterlist | Zayne spin-off
Sylus is jolted awake by the pressure on his face. For someone who is small, you take up ninety percent of the bed. Your hand has smacked him in the nose.
He sleepily reaches for it, not before taking a few moments to admire the wedding ring on your finger. He presses it against his lips before another limb kicks him on the side of his ribs.
He turns to you and sees both you and your toddler deep asleep, same mouth slightly ajar. The unruly white hair on top of your slowly breathing chest and small arms wrapped around your torso. His face and your mannerisms had funneled into this little bundle of fiery joy.
He smiles to himself before trying to scoot his way inside your little bubble. Your kid's hand finds puchase in his cheek. Sylus returns to sleep.
You laugh as your recap your girl's night out with both of your moms. You tell him about the unlimited mimosas that had the three of you knocked out. Only to wake up around noon and only to realize that you were already left behind by the tour.
You tell him about the good food and ask him about the fishing trip he's had. He tells you about how him and fishes don't get along. He notices you stop in your tracks and follows your line of sight.
A familiar figure in a lab coat, wiping the face of someone in overalls.
"Dr. Zayne? ", you call out and the man turns to you. You notice the person with him, tools strapped on their waist. A hammer, some screw drivers, wrenches, and a pair of eyes that looked...wise beyond their years?
" Hello.", Dr. Zayne smiles.
He gives Sylus a nod in acknowledgement, and eyeing the toddler with white hair strapped against Sylus' chest with amusement. The kid turns, and it has a pair of unmistakable ruby eyes and your nose and lips.
Dr. Zayne turns to his companion, before introducing her, "This is my wife."
You heard about him and MC filing for a divorce but other than that, you didn't really dive for further details. Besides, after you got discharged from the hospital, and Zayne's research coming to an end, you had no contact whatsover. You and Sylus are dumbfounded as Zayne introduces your names to her. He turns to her and briefly explained how the three of you got along together and with something along the lines of...
"You might know them from my study as Patient A and Patient B."
"Ohhhh."
Your child let's out an approving smile at the sound of her voice and reaches out to her. She asks you and Sylus for permission before patting them in the head.
She turns to both of you and tell you her name. Shakes both of your hand, you notice the matching watch on her and Zayne's wrist.
"You might also know me as Case Number Zero."
and that's a wrap!!!! thank you so much everyone for supporting this project. it really means a lot!!!! <3 <3 <3
tags: mdni (smut ahead!), afab reader, dubcon, dark content (yandere tendencies/kidnapping), aphrodisiac usage, little bit of OOC Caleb, oral (f recieving), p in v, praise kink, panty stealing, messy makeout, lightly proofread, dont do drugs kids!
word count: 3.3k
Three weeks. It had been three weeks since your childhood best friend and adoptive brother pricked you with a needle to sedate you while he brought you to an undisclosed location. For three weeks now, you two had fallen into a routine that echoed normalcy so well it was frightening.
When you first woke in the unfamiliar bedroom, you were rightfully scared and distraught. Caleb had hushed you, his large, warm hands resting on your back to pull you in for a gentle hug. He was always so careful with you, but now his touch was exponentially softer, seeking to calm your worried disposition. Apologies and explanations were whispered into your hair, followed by soft pecks along the top of your head.
“I’m so sorry, pips. There is a lot of scary stuff going on in the fleet right now and you are in danger. This is just a temporary thing until we can get you back to your friends at the Hunter’s Association.” Caleb had pulled away as he was speaking, and had busied himself playing with a strand of hair that had fallen out of your hairstyle and was now laying against your cheek.
To his credit, he did look remorseful. But under that gentle demeanor and boyish smile, you saw something far darker. It was heady and burning and you didn’t even know if you had a word for it. All you could feel was the pit of your stomach drop and a shiver pass through your bones. You should have known it was all a ploy.
The routine was as follows; he would stop by early in the morning, before leaving for work. A warm hand would find your cheek, brushing stray strands of hair out of your sleeping face as Caleb gently woke you. You would eat breakfast with him, and he would comb your hair while telling you about his plans and assignments for the day. The morning always ended with him dropping to one knee and bringing your knuckles to his lips. He kissed each one, his violet eyes dark as he stared into yours.
“I will keep you safe. I swear it.”
Around lunch time, he would rush home to spend as much of his break with you as possible. Caleb always had some sort of treat as well, like your favorite milk tea or dessert. He would listen to you talk about your day, sometimes completely silent, like he was trying to absorb every single part of the moments between you without disruption. When he had to leave, he would kiss your knuckles again and ruffle your hair, a boyish grin playing across his lips.
“See you later, pipsqueak.”
The evening always seemed heavier. When he came in, he was silent. His eyes were dark, and his hat slightly askew on his head. It was like all of the exhaustion of his job was dragging the breath from his body, and he was struggling to regain control. On certain days, he would put your food on the dresser, plop down on the bed, and rest his head in your lap. Caleb wouldn’t even take his uniform jacket or hat off first. His breathing would become labored, and sweat beaded at his brow as he clenched his eyes shut. In these moments, your heart ached for your adoptive brother who had the weight of the world on his shoulders, just to keep you safe. To help him, you would hum songs Grandma used to sing to you and run your fingers through his soft hair, watching the tense muscles melt into a relaxed state. When he opened his eyes, they were full with so much love and adoration, you thought if you looked too long you would drown.
Your childhood friend was silly and sweet and in some ways nothing had changed between you. For the first two weeks you had been hopeful and trusting and believed that you would be free soon and able to return to your normal life. After no developments, you began to ask him for details regarding the mission, but he would just go dry and blank, like he was reciting an answer he had practiced in the mirror many times before.
“It’s not safe yet. I just need a little bit more time.”
The words begged you to behave. They begged you to listen and let Caleb protect you. Unfortunately, you were never very good at following directions.
At the end of the second week, you were fed up. You began to act out, challenging Caleb’s every word. You didn’t let him touch you as much and argued every single chance you got. At first, he was taken aback by the sudden change in behavior. Much to your dismay, he quickly recovered.
What followed was a battle every day. You tried refusing to eat, but he would just hold your mouth open with one hand and feed you spoonful by spoonful with the other. You tried escaping, but the entire place was booby trapped and had so many cameras you couldn’t even find them all. You tried begging and pleading, but nothing got through to him.
“I’m sorry, honey. This is for your own good. You can hate me if you need to but I have to protect you.”
You hated how kind he was. You hated how no matter how much you acted out, he still brought you treats and delicious meals and treated you like a princess. It wasn’t fair that even though he kidnapped you with no explanation, you were the one that felt bad.
On the first day of the third week, Caleb was more solemn than usual when he brought breakfast. There was a certain heaviness in his steps that wasn’t there before, along with a slump of his shoulders. Worry creased his forehead. This picture of anxiety made you sit up expectantly. Maybe there would be some sort of development? Maybe you could finally leave?
“I have to leave on an assignment. I’ll be gone for three days.”
Your heart soared with the information. This was your chance. Guilt wormed its way into your heart as you remembered he was just trying to protect you, but logical thought won. No matter what his intentions were, he couldn’t just keep you here against your will. You could protect yourself.
After he left, you spent the first two days anxious that the trip was a test. You had no reason to be scared of him, but something in your gut was on high alert. On the third day you had to make a move.
Scanning the room, you decided it was time to put your plan into action. Knowing that Caleb was logical, but could panic when it came to you, you decided to find a way to make yourself sick enough to be taken to the hospital where you could slip away or ask for help. The problem was finding something that would do the job. Caleb had hidden all sharp objects and dangerous things in areas you couldn’t access. You scoured the house from top to bottom, huffing when your search ended fruitlessly.
You laid down on the rug next to the bed and stared up at the ceiling, ready to give up. When you rolled over in defeat, you spotted something under the bed. Hidden in the corner and in a false leg, was an orange, unmarked bottle of pills. You reached under, wrapping your fingers around the bottle and pulling it out to examine.
It didn’t look dangerous, just unassuming white tablets. Glancing at the clock on the wall, you realized you had about two hours before Caleb was expected home. The perfect amount of time for the pills to take effect but not long enough that it would be irreversible.
Sitting yourself on the edge of the plush bed, you dropped three pills out of the bottle, placing it onto the bedside table. Three should be enough. Not enough to kill you or seriously injure you, but enough to make you sick. You swallowed them dutifully, laying down, and closing your eyes. It was time to rest until Caleb got home and the performance began.
You awoke with a start. Something was very, very wrong. The room felt hot and your skin was sticky with sweat. Your throat felt impossibly dry, and there was an uncomfortable damp heat pooling between your legs. Your limbs felt like they were made of lead, even just shifting them so you could try to sit up was exhausting. What the hell was going on?
Huffing, you finally sat up, feeling the wetness between your legs intensify. What was in that pill bottle? You carefully reached over, trying to grab the pill bottle off the table so you could look more closely. Unfortunately, you leaned too far over, leaving you tumbling off the bed, the pill bottle falling with you and popping open on the floor. Pills scattered everywhere, and you let out a quiet whimper as you tried to sit back up. It was so hot. Everything was burning. You could barely breathe and your core was pulsing with the heat you were surrounded by.
The clattering of a tray of food being dropped drew your attention, and you snapped your head to the doorway into the room. Caleb was standing there, his mouth agape at the state of you. He rushed to your side, helping you sit up, and cradling your face with both of his hands.
“Caleb…”
You whined, your eyes glossy and lips puffy. His pupils dilated as he put two and two together. Spying the pills surrounding you on the ground, he dragged his eyes back up to yours. You were sitting up, rubbing your legs together uncomfortably while you panted. Your face was damp with sweat, and a few strands of hair stuck to your forehead. Your cheeks were flushed, and the pajamas you were wearing clung to you for dear life, the sweat having made them sticky.
Caleb took a deep breath, licking his lips and bringing his large hands down to rest on your hips. You trembled at the contact, a shiver running through you so strongly you almost couldn’t stay sitting up.
“Pips, what did you do?” It was a rhetorical question, as Caleb had already figured it out. To think you were driven to such lengths to try and escape… It pained him. But seeing you in this state made blood rush downwards. You were so helpless, and completely at his mercy.
You leaned into his touch, the grip of his hands grounding you. You felt so heavy but also weightless at the same time, and any points of contact you had with Caleb made you feel a bit better. You dropped your head down, laying it on his shoulder with a small groan.
“It hurts Caleb… I’m so hot…”
You raised your head and looked at him with pleading eyes. You weren’t sure what you were asking for, but you needed help. His help. Your body craved him.
He brought his hands back to your face, squishing your cheeks together a few times as he laughed mirthlessly.
“You’re so naughty. Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to put strange things in your mouth?”
Through your brain fog, you managed to nod. He dropped his hands and moved his face closer to yours, his lips ghosting over your own.
“Tell me to stop. Please. Tell me to stop.”
You had no verbal response, but his begging made something burn deep inside of you. His control was slipping. Letting your body move, you leaned forward, pressing your lips gently to his. It was like you had thrown gasoline onto a small spark. He surged forward explosively, using one hand to cradle your head as his body pushed you to the floor. His lips claimed yours with a feverish possessiveness, tongue pushing inside of your mouth. A groan escaped his lips at the taste of you. Caleb pulled away, a string of saliva still connecting you two.
“I won’t make you suffer alone baby.”
With that, he grabbed a handful of the pills off the ground and swallowed them quickly, before descending again and latching his lips onto yours. You whimpered into his mouth. What have you done?
Your skin was buzzing and burning where he touched you. At some point you both ended up on the bed, him on top of you and you squirming beneath him. You could barely breathe at some points, the intensity of his kisses almost suffocating. He had undressed you except for your bra and panties. The air felt warm on your heated skin.
“Ah… um… Caleb…”
You whimpered as he began kissing his way down your neck and stomach.
“You’re so beautiful. Fuck… you have no clue what you do to me, pips.”
He groaned, licking a trail across your tummy and then continuing to pepper you with kisses.
“Caleb, it hurts… Please…”
You could barely speak, the drug fogging up your brain and causing all of your thoughts to jumble inside of your head.
“I could never say no to you.”
He stopped at your panties, moaning at the way they were completely soaked through.
“So wet… all for me.” Caleb muttered, his violet eyes dark and possessive. The commander pulled them off, shimmying them from your legs and stuffing them into his pocket. He inhaled in a silent gasp, taking in the view of your glistening and soaked cunt.
Before he could think, Caleb dropped onto his elbows, hooking his arms around your thighs to pull you to his mouth. His lips latched onto you, and his tongue swirled around, gathering as much of your wetness as he could. He hummed at your taste, his eyes shut in complete bliss.
You arched into the feeling, the sensation finally soothing some of the fire burning inside of you. Moans and gasps escaped your lips as Caleb sucked and licked and worked at your heat, obscene slurps echoing through the room around you.
“You taste so good honey. So delicious…” His voice was muffled as he spoke, but the vibrations of his voice heightened the sensations you were feeling. You shook your head in embarrassment. You brought your arms down, trying to push his head away, as you felt a strange burning sensation start in your lower belly.
Caleb lifted his head enough to meet your eyes, growling at the feeling of your weak pushes. His violet irises were burning with a desire so strong that you stopped your ministrations. You whimpered a bit louder as the burning kept building.
“I think I-” You were cut off by the feeling of a knot snapping low and deep inside. You began to shake, your orgasm pulling you under and making every touch feel hundreds of times more intense. Your moans and gasps were magic to Caleb’s ears as he worked you through your orgasm, one of his hands finding his belt and opening it. He began to pump himself to the timing of his mouth, your sounds only making him harder.
Once you stopped shaking, Caleb pulled back from your cunt, his chin and mouth glistening in the low lighting of the bedroom. You drank in the sight of the powerful commander who had been brought to his knees to worship between your legs. His cheeks were flushed and some hair was plastered across his forehead. He began haphazardly pulling off his uniform, until all that was left was his white slacks, and his hat. You glanced down, your mouth dropping open at the sheer size of him and the precum dripping from his tip. He shifted up, his dick settling against your cunt as he began to thrust slowly, the length slipping up and down against your slick heat and catching your clit.
“Please… please please please, pips. Can I?” Your breath was labored with want as you looked up at him. His nose had started to drip with blood, likely due to the drug he had taken. You wanted him so bad it hurt. You felt so empty inside.
All it took was a nod from you. Caleb lined himself up, and pushed himself inside.
“Fuck….” He drew the word out as he sheathed himself fully, his tip pressing tightly against your cervix. Your toes curled and your mouth opened in a wordless O, the stretch almost unbearable.
“This pretty pussy is all mine… Just for me…” He was already pussydrunk, muttering to himself as he began to pull back and push in, slowly at first to let you adjust. Once you relaxed a bit, the little self control he had left snapped. Caleb hoisted your legs over his shoulders, and grabbed your hips as he started drilling into you.
“Ah-ah… Fuck! Can’t believe I waited so long for this. So worth it. You’re so beautiful, baby. Oh my god… You’re so perfect.” He babbled as he lost himself inside of you, using your hips to pull you back to him every time he thrusted. You felt him so deep inside of you, it was like he was carving your insides into the shape of him and they would never return to normal. Caleb brought his hands from your hips up to your chest to palm at your breasts, twisting your nipples between his fingers. You arched into the feeling, your gasps and whimpers only spurring him on.
“Baby, honey, sweet girl, tell me you’re mine.” He grabbed your chin and made you look into his eyes. Your childhood friend looked insane. His eyes were wide, pupils blown, and the violet was swimming through your vision. Dried blood sat under his nose trailing to his lip, and his glossy lips were pulled into a crazed smile. You had never seen him look like this before.
“Tell me you’re mine forever. No one else can have you. Please.” He dropped his head to your neck and began sucking marks into it, moving from one side to another.
“I’m yours… I’m all yours Caleb.” His hips snapped against you faster, spurred on by your words. He moaned against your skin.
“All mine, all mine, all mine… Gonna make sure everyone knows… Gonna fill you up.” You felt a familiar knot building inside of you again, your legs shaking with overstimulation. He captured your mouth again, sloppily kissing you until you could no longer think and only moan into his mouth. Your cunt gushed around him.
“Poor little pipsqueak. Stuck with someone like me. Ugh, fuck, such a perfect pussy…” Caleb had lost all coherent thought. Your insides clenched as he latched his mouth onto one of your nipples, his fingers twisting the other.
“Caleb.. Caleb I’m so close-” Your voice was desperate, chasing that high that your body needed. He pulled away, licking the sweat away from your cheeks.
“Gonna fill you up baby. Gonna make sure you can never leave, okay?” Caleb used his hand to grab your chin, making you nod. He reached between you two, rubbing rough circles onto your clit, sending you flying over the edge.
You whimpered as you came, your insides clenching so tight Caleb could barely thrust anymore. He came with a groan, biting down on your shoulder, his teeth indenting on your delicate skin while you felt the hot liquid flood inside of you.
Your body went limp, your muscles exhausted from the strenuous activity. Caleb slipped out carefully, laying you down flat as he went to retrieve a warm washcloth and water. He wiped you down reverently, having you sip water every so often.
“You did so well baby. I’m so proud of you.” His warm words soothed you as you drifted off, haunted by the possessive look in his eyes and his lips ghosting over your forehead.
i hope you guys enjoyed! this is my first time writing in quite a bit lol so we will see how it goes :3 credits to @angeliicide for the cute dividers! -kitty
summary: breaking up with your ex-fiancé, caleb, is like trying to cancel your gym membership: unfortunately, you'll be locked in for a lifetime. but at least being his ex comes with some nice perks. period care on demand, cuddles whenever you like, and a solution to all of the problems that come with an old apartment. he's a constant in your busy life. a little crazy... maybe a lot crazy. but soon, you come to accept that rather than forsake him for it.
contents: nsfw (sexual themes but no actual sex), kinda crack and angst, implied death of minor character(s), implied that caleb drugs you, swearing (you know me), yandere and themes of possession and obsession, reader has a cat hence the header images, 9k words
original thought post + read on ao3
It's just after 9am when your doorbell rings. You glance up, eyes wide like a cat caught in the midst of pawing a glass over the edge of a table. Your breakfast sits in front of you, half-eaten. Grabbing a napkin, you hastily wipe your mouth before scurrying over to the front door. Swinging it open, you find a young delivery boy holding a beautiful bouquet of flowers.
"For Miss—"
You take them from him and sign his tablet, uttering a quiet, "Thanks," before closing the door. You've been receiving a fresh bunch every week for about a month now, ever since you separated from your long-time partner. The flowers from last week sit in a vase on your island bench, casting you a disapproving look as you set the fresh bouquet down nearby and go on a scavenger hunt for another vase. Finding an old pitcher instead, you undo the bouquet and arrange the flowers inside it, adding some water and the provided flower food afterwards.
With your breakfast growing colder by the second, you plop down in the opposite chair and finish it off, your bites rough like sandpaper and chewing menacing like it's not the right grit. Your brow heads inch toward each other, forehead creased and shoulders tight as you eat. He has to stop doing this, you think…
Finishing your breakfast, you wash up your plate and other dirty dishes. Drying yourself off, you dive for your phone and scroll through your contacts, searching for the name with the love hearts only to remember you removed them a few weeks ago. Pressing the call icon, your phone starts to ring. Almost instantly, the line connects.
A rather chirpy voice comes through the speakers, "Good morning, pipsqueak. How are you feeling today—?"
"I told you stop sending me flowers, Caleb," you ground out, your mood thoroughly soured by his unwanted generosity.
"Did you?" He chuckles awkwardly, definitely remembering your last phone call to him a week ago. "It must have slipped my mind. Whoopsies."
"Caleb," you grumble. There's no winning with him. His love is like the fresh air, fuelling your flame. But his warped ideals are the glass placed over the candle, snuffing it out until only grey tendrils and hardening wax are left behind. Your simmering heat dies. Ashes in your heart. You release a defeated sigh. "At least, send them every fornight, okay? They don't wilt that quickly…"
"You got it. Oh, and by the way, how are your cramps? Your period should start in a couple of—"
"Caleb, oh my god! You still track it?!" You exclaim, affronted. It's bad enough that you couldn't recover all of your panties from his abundant collection. Must he track your cycle as well? You suppose it's better for your lover to care more about your reproductive health then not care about it all. But that doesn't apply to exes.
"'Course I do. I can send you some chocolate if you're having cravings. Do you want dark or nutty? That brand you like also came out with an orange flavour if you wanted to try it." You pinch your brow, settling down on the couch as you feel this stabbing pain in your stomach, like some demon slipped out of hell, twisting your guts in its grotesque hand. You're rendered speechless.
"Do you have enough pads?" Caleb asks, continuing to obsess over you the way you wish he wouldn't. "Why don't you text me the ones you need and I'll pick them up for you? I was heading to Linkon this afternoon, anyways."
"No, you weren't, Caleb…" You mutter, growing more exhausted by the minute. "Just give it a rest, okay? I already have all of the chocolate and pads I could ever need. And you don't need to come over."
"Didn't you say your tap was leaking? I can fix it while I'm there. And I'm sure your cat misses me, too. I bought her some treats while I was at the pet store the other week. I should be there about three. Oh, and I can buy some groceries on the way. How about I make us some braised chicken wings for dinner? My treat." You don't even get a chance to respond as he continues on, "Alright, I've gotta get going. Fleet stuff. But I'll see you later, alright? And don't worry about cleaning your place up. Just take it easy."
"Fine. Bye," you utter, quickly hanging up and slamming your phone down on the coffee table. Leaning back, you clutch your abdomen. God, that guy is such a pain in the ass. Just barges in on your life whenever he wants. Giving and giving until you can't take anymore. That's the main reason things fell off between you two. The Fleet was stressing him out, and rather than keeping that stress at work, he'd let it out on those who threatened your relationship. Threatened as in offered to grab something from the top shelf for you, or even smiling at you just a little too much to the point where Caleb became worried they would try and take you away from him.
When he became like this, you can't say. But the man you walked away from most certainly wasn't the one you ran toward. He understands that you're not a possession that can be stolen, or a naive girl that can be misled by creepy older men. But despite his understanding, he still clings to this archaic idea of protection. Your radient light shouldn't be dimmed by the stains of humanity. It should be kept pure. In the palm of his hand.
Moving out and finding your own place was challenging enough. Of course, Caleb wouldn't let you carry any of the boxes or handle any of the white goods. Nor would he let you pay for the rent or utilities. But at least he let you decorate. Oh, and gave you this illusion of space with his recent absence. But your address is ingrained into his mind alongside bittersweet memories of your time together. Your laughter is sewn into his soul, your intellect the sparks that set his neurons alight. Your body is branded into his.
Quiet meows pull you from your daze. You cat, Mittens, stretches before you, paws spread and rear high before her spine curves into an arc. She must have heard Caleb's voice and grew curious. Brushing up against your leg, she meows again, her soft fur sticking to your lounge pants. You give her few head scratches, spouting utter gibberish in a baby voice about how Caleb will be coming over later today. She perks up at the mention of his name, a purr starting in her chest.
Unfortunately for you, your sweet kitty, Mittens, loves your ex-fiancé. She's never been as affectionate with you as she is with Caleb. And he spoils her rotten. The most expensive treats, the prettiest pink collar with her name embroidered into it. Her cat tower remained at his place in Skyhaven because of its size, but you brought along the numerous cat beds, scratching posts, dangly toys and other bizarre cat things Caleb bought for her to your new place; they fill an entire bedroom. And to say she loves them would be an understatement. But the little plushies and other items you've given her over the years? She couldn't be less disinterested.
Resigned to your fate, you fetch a heat pack and chuck it in the microwave, letting it get nice and toasty while you choose a movie to watch. Thankfully, it's your day off, so you have no objections to taking it easy. You end up picking a comfort film and settle back onto the couch, pouting as Mittens goes to sit on her fur-covered cushion that also has her name embroidered into it, but this time, with a crown (guess who bought it?).
The time flies by, 3pm steadily approaching between films and grabbing snacks. There's no knock on the door when Caleb arrives, just the jangle of keys and shameless thud behind him before he removes his work boots. You don't even turn around. He's still in his colonel uniform, you can smell it. Guns, sweat, and unreported violence. The rustle of grocery bags overpower your senes.
Caleb leaves them in the kitchen before stalking into the living room, a big grin on his face as he comes over to you. "Hey, honey." He wraps you in his arms, your face smushed against his shoulder as he squeezes you tight. "I missed you." Drawing back, he cups your face, the heat of his hands soaking through his gloves, into your cheeks. "Where's my kiss?"
"Ca-leb," you groan. "We're separated. Sep-ah-rated. I'm not kissing you."
"Oh, come on, baby. I've had a long day. And besides, it'll make you feel better." His boyish charm is difficult to resist. But you must. As you're about to say no— "Please." Your ancestors must be looking down upon you with disdain as you begrudingly lean in and give him a peck.
"One more?"
"Oh, fuck off."
"Fine, fine. But I expect something a little more generous after dinner." Releasing you, Caleb retreats to the kitchen, going through his overnight bag you knew he'd end up packing.
"I'm not sleeping with you, fuck wit!" You call out to him, remaining on the couch to sulk. His laughter rings off the walls, geniune amusement. You bet Mittens has her tail curled around his calf right now, seeing as she's disappeared from her cushion.
He doesn't shout back. He knew you never liked it when he shouted. And his voice is loud enough, unmistakeable in the quiet of your apartment as he says, "I never implied you should. All I meant was that you're being a little curt. Breaks my heart, you know?" You can envision his sad pout, those cunning, puppy eyes staring at you.
Every retort dies on your tongue. Pushing off the couch, you head to the kitchen and see Caleb feeding Mittens a pureed treat. She laps at it happily, excited every time he pinches the packet and sends another meaty curl springing up from the opening.
"Can you get changed, please? Don't tell me you're gonna fix my tap in that." Your eyes roam over his uniform, noticing the small splatter of blood on his sleeve. The sight causes you to gulp.
"Why not? I thought you liked it when I wear my uniform," he teases, squeezing out the last of the treat for Mittens. Once she finishes eating, he pats her head and cooes gently, "There we go. That's my good girl."
"Caleb." You fold your arms across your chest, your patience wearing thin. He should be saying that to you. "Just hurry up and get changed, okay? You can use my shower or whatever. But don't use all of my body wash. I don't have much left."
"Don't worry. I bought you another bottle just in case." Caleb stands up, Mittens pawing at his leg while he unveils an extra large pharmacy-exclusive bottle of your go-to body wash. Of course, he had time to go to the pharmacy and buy that for you. No! Of course, he made time to go to the pharmacy and buy that for you.
Without another word, your ex-fiancé begins unpacking the groceries he bought, putting them away without any difficulty (he has pictures of your kitchen on his phone, all of the drawers and cupboards labelled accordingly). You help him with maybe one of the bags. He's awfully fast. Sunlight streams in through the windows, illuminating his dark locks. It feels like old times. Noon grocery shopping or after work convenience store runs. Delicious home cooked meals. Lazy Sunday morning sex with breakfast to follow. You miss those times. You miss who Caleb was back then. Who he never stopped being. But not who he ended up becoming.
Your kitchen is spotless by the time he ducks off to your bathroom. You rest against the coutertop, your fingers pressed to your lips, mind off in the clouds. There's a weight that's missing. He kept your engagement ring. You remember that conversation like it was yesterday, though the wound is but a scar left behind.
"I'm not taking it back. It's yours." Caleb huffed, incredulous as to how you could offer up your ring to him like that, the ring he gave you to symbolise the lifetime you'd spend together.
"Caleb! I'm serious. We're over!" You held out the ring to him, inching it closer despite his obvious hesitation. All he had to do was take it from you, and then your soul would finally be freed. You'd be finished with him. For good—or so you thought.
"I told you, I'm not taking it back. I don't care if we're over. I don't care if you pawn it off or throw it in the ocean. It's yours."
"Then keep it safe for me, will you?" You countered, grabbing his wrist and placing the ring in his palm. All your love, in his hand. His to protect. Forever more.
You wonder what happened to it—the ring, that is. If he still has it. He definitely still has it. Probably keeps it in his bedside drawer and stares at it longingly before bed each night like the pathetic loser he is. Your loser… (un)fortunately.
A traitorous grin stretches across your lips, concealed by your hand. You immediately scowl at yourself, mumbling like a mad woman about getting your head in the game. But it's difficult to when you see a fluffy tail swaying until its out of your sight, obscured by the wall. You bet Mittens has wandered down the hall to sit outside bathroom… Yep, you can hear her scratching at the door.
Sighing, you trudge down the hallway, eyeing your precious little baby who must get inside that steamy room with Caleb. Oh, how you wish that was you—! Stop it! You shake your head, intent on banishing those thoughts before they take root and fester. Reaching the bathroom, you go to open the door when the handle turns. The door opens. Not just a little ajar thing, no. Like some freak of nature Caleb opens the door wide, chilly air flooding his soaking wet body, your towel haphazardly slung around his hips.
"Hi ba… by." His voice drops from high-pitched to his familiar resonance, expression turning from over-excited to bewildered in seconds.
"I was. Getting the door." You glance down at Mittens who happens to be licking the water droplets off Caleb's ankle, your cheeks heating up at the speed of light.
"Riiiiight." He quirks a brow at you, mischievous smile on his lips.
You gesture to his (or rather, your) towel. "You couldn't grab a clean one?"
"There were none left in the linen cupboard." He shrugs, quickly catching the edges of the towel as it begins to slip. All you can see is wet, rippling contours. Taut skin. Veins running up his hands and forearms, those on his hips disappearing beneath the pink, Egyptian cotton. It's been a little while…
"You're such a liar, Caleb," you mutter. "You didn't even look! I put fresh ones in there the other day."
"Really?" He says as if he's surprised. His hand comes to his chin. Everyone talks about ovulation cravings, but none dare speak of the beast you become as your period approaches. "Hm… I can't remember seeing any—"
"Because you didn't look—"
"But you don't have many, right? Isn't it better to save them, anyway? We might need them for later tonight." You gasp at his insinuation.
"Caleb!"
"What? You're thinkin' about it, too. There's no need to be shy about it. I thought we got over that a long time ago—"
"Oh my god, shut up!" You groan, your frustration palpable as you stomp away from him, fingers pressed to your temples. You've got a headache coming on. And Mittens will be all damp by the time she and him emerge from the bathroom. You'll have to dry her off while Caleb works on your kitchen tap. The agony that persists. Must life only bring suffering?
Only once the sun kisses the horizon is Caleb finally fiddling with your kitchen tap, twisting it, unscrewing it, examining it while you struggle to keep Mittens away from him. Since you dried her off, she's been strutting through his legs, flopping over and demanding belly rubs almost every minute he works on your tap.
As she does it again, you slide her across the floor and scoop her up in your arms, bouncing her like a restless baby as Caleb flashes you a grin.
"She's really missed me, huh?"
"Yeah. She used to start meowing at like 2am when we first moved in here. And she wouldn't stop until I got up to feed her. But now, she's calmed down a lot." You release her on the ground, watching as she inevitably bounds over to Caleb.
"That's good to hear. But I wish you told me she was giving you trouble. I would have visited if I knew she was keeping you up at night." Caleb dismantles your tap with ease, laying each part out on your sink so he can assess them one at a time.
"That's why I didn't tell you, dummy. I needed some space. I still need some space, actually," you remark.
"I've given you plenty of space, honey."
"You still track my cycle," you grouch.
"Okay, yeah." He picks up one of the parts, sniffing it like that rusty scent will tell him something other than that your apartment is overdue for a reno. "But it's not like I'm reviewing your discharge nightly."
"Anymore," you quip. "I bet you miss doing that, freak."
"You don't have to be so mean, you know? Especially not to the person who's doing you a favour right now." That shuts you up. You glare at him as Mittens begins to meow, anxious for an ounce of that handsome man's attention. As she stretches up, paws on his shorts, hind legs and torso elongated, he bends down and lifts her beneath the underarms. His fingertips overlap. You forgot just how large his hands are. Merely seeing them is different to seeing them wrapped around something. You gulp.
Caleb places her arms over his shoulder, one hand beneath her rear as he continues going through each part of your tap. You don't say anything else as he works, intent on watching her drift off to sleep with her little furry head on his shoulder. Your chest pangs. Everything you've tried to convince yourself you don't need is before you… It's times like these that make you forget those moments when you were curled up in bed, crying as Caleb just had to put another innocent person in their place for 'flirting' with you (showing basic kindness). If he would just change—
You stop yourself. There's no use relying on someone else to change. For someone cannot change unless they truly wish to. And Caleb, you're sure, feels justified in his actions. He can't see his wrongdoings, only how his 'righteous' actions upset you. What he does is not the problem, but he himself is. Or at least, that's how you understand him to be. If his perceptions have changed in the short time you've been apart, then you'd welcome that with open arms. But…
"Looks like it's your o-rings," Caleb says, holding up four little rubber rings.
"My what rings?" Your brow furrows. They really need to rename those to something else.
"Your o-rings. They create a seal between parts, so water doesn't leak out of places it shouldn't. It looks like one of them was loose. But to be safe, I'll replace all four." He sets them down and stalks off, returning with a packet of assorted replacement rings. It doesn't take him long to find the perfect match, and it's all too soon before he's re-assembling your tap, attaching it back to the sink like it hadn't been touched in the first place. He turns it on then off, waiting for any leaks. But there are none.
"Thanks, Cay," you murmur, gracing him with a sweet smile. A high unlike any substance can give him. He beams back at you, attempting nonchalance and thoroughly failing at it.
"It's alright. Wasn't too complicated or anything. But if you have anymore trouble with it, let me know. I can try replacing the washers next time to see if that'll do it." He packs up his few tools and leaves the kitchen, likely heading to his bag which he undoubtably left in your bedroom. You scoff. There's no way he's sleeping in your bed tonight. The couch is calling his name.
It's a little early for dinner, but seeing as Caleb hasn't returned for a minute longer than he ought to, you start pulling out the ingredients he meticulousy packed away earlier in the afternoon. He's probably going through your dirty laundry basket. If you're missing a pair(s) of panties, you'll know who the culprit is that's for sure.
By the time he waltzes back into the kitchen, Mittens trailing behind him, you're already measuring out the ingredients for the sauce.
"Hold on there. Are you starting without me?" Caleb pouts, clasping his heart like it hurts. You roll your eyes at him, snapping the lid back on the soy sauce.
"What does it look like I'm doing, dummy?" Now where is that darn hand grater when you need it? You start pulling open drawers, a bulb of ginger in your other hand as you frantically skim through knives and spoons. It's not long before Caleb is by your side, magically retrieving the grater you swear wasn't there a second ago.
"Looking for this?" He can barely contain his smirk.
"Thanks," you mutter, your eyes narrowed as you take the grater from him. Returning to your array of little bowls, you grate the ginger into one before mincing garlic into another. Meanwhile, Caleb soaks the chicken wings in water and a pinch of salt. But of course, braised chicken wings simply aren't enough for dinner. He also bought your favourite noodles, bean sprouts, and other yummy ingredients to make stir-fry noodles.
Easily, you and Caleb slip into a familiar routine, him at the stove while you man the chopping board. Mittens is off rubbing her scent all over Caleb's work boots. All that's missing is oldies jazz playing in the background. You wonder where you put your speaker as you chop the spring onions. A bit of music wouldn't hurt, right?
The onion slips, but your clouded mind doesn't react fast enough. The blade comes down and pierces your skin. A thin red line appears. A whimper escapes you. Caleb is beside you within a second, prying your hand off the knife and setting it down so he can examine your finger.
"You alright?" He asks, his voice slightly gruff.
"Mhm," you hum, trying to pull your hand back, but he won't let you. His grip is like a vice, clamped up in concern.
"Go sit down." He finally relents, releasing your hand. "I'll grab the first aid kit."
"I'm fine, Cay—" He's already stormed off, en route to your bathroom to grab the bandaids and disenfectant. Petulently, you throw yourself into one of chairs at the island bench, groaning about how he's making a big deal out of nothing (even though he can't hear you right now).
When he comes back, he sits beside you and diligently patches up your finger, chastising you lightly for not being more careful. After all, it's not the first time you've done this when cooking with him. His presence can be so distracting… But it's not like there's anything else for you to do in the kitchen other than chop. There's no way he'll let you near the stove when he's around. Maybe he'll put you on dish duty next time. How exciting.
You're banished to the couch while Caleb finishes up with dinner, your sweet kitty oblivious to your indignation as she finds a way to sit inside of your ex's boots. To leave her scent all over them simply isn't enough. She must infuse herself with the lining, coat the insole with her fur until he's forced to recall her every time he gets dressed for work.
Once Caleb finishes cooking, you help to set the table, watching with keen eyes as he plates everything. It looks delicious, steam rolling off crunchy fried noodles and tender chicken wings sparkling beneath the overhead light. Before digging in, you set out a bowl for Mittens, the clang of the metal on the floorboards enough to rouse her from her cosy spot.
Caleb's shoulder brushes against yours as you sit down, the cotton fabric of his t-shirt catching on yours. You can feel his heat, fabric sliding over skin. An ephemeral touch, replaced by hairs on edge as you yearn to close that small gap between you. He loads up your plate first, giving you the best looking chicken wings before dishing himself out a couple.
You start with the noodles, and oh boy are they divine. Perfectly crisp. The bean sprouts go so well with the salty flavour. Picking up a chicken wing, you bite into it and find that Caleb's cooking has only improved since you last saw him. Taking another bite, it dawns upon you that you forfeited a man who's good both in bed and in the kitchen. You should be ashamed of yourself!
As the silence stretches on, you decide to break it with, "How's therapy going?" Caleb nearly chokes on his chicken wing's bones.
"The-rapy?" He coughs out, clearing his throat before chugging half a glass of water.
"Yeah. Remember? I said that if you wanted to get back together, then you'd have to start going to therapy."
"I know, but I… didn't think you were being serious." Caleb's brow puckers in thought, his hand on his chin as he recalls that fight you two had in the days leading up to your separation.
You sigh dramatically. "Of course, you didn't."
"Hey…" He turns to face you, expression slightly pouty yet undeniably serious. "Look, pips, I don't need to go to therapy—"
"Princess, you're deranged." You twirl your chopsticks in your noodles, gathering them up in a bundle. "You need to go to therapy."
"I'll have you know I'm not deranged." He says, defensively.
"Yes, you are, Caleb. And even if you weren't, I'd still want you to go to therapy or at least maintain a journal or something."
"I have a journal." You cast him an 'oh, really?' look, which he nods at. "I'm serious. I have a journal. I write in it nightly."
"What do you write about?" You ask, pointing your noodle-ladden chopsticks at him antagonistically.
He chuckles in awkwardly. "Uh, it's a secret. There's no point having a journal if I tell you everything I write in it."
"I didn't ask you what you wrote, dummy. I asked what you write about. Work stuff, airplane model stuff, daily life stuff. What? What goes in there?" He scratches the back of his neck sheepishly, suddenly avoiding your gaze. You've got a bad feeling about this.
"Don't tell me it's a log of my discharge." His eyes widen. Caught red-handed. "Caleb!" You nearly shriek.
"What?" He winces, acting as if his unspoken admission is competely normal and natural.
"At least tell me it's in a physical journal." You silently pray his answer is 'yes'.
"Of course, not. I can't visualise patterns and trends in a physical book," Caleb says like that's painfully obvious and absolutely essential to the nature of his journaling. "I've got it on a spreadsheet. I can show you sometime, if you'd like. Actually, I noticed as I was going through your laundry that your recent discharge was slightly yellowish. Has that been happening for long or—?"
"Caleb!" You exclaim, almost dropping your chopsticks.
"If it persists, it could be a sign of an STI. Have you been having sex with other—?"
"No!" Your eyes are like those of a deer in headlights, heart pounding defeaningly loud in your ears, and chest heaving. When did you get so worked up? Quiet ensues, neither one of you sure what to say next. Eventually, you utter, "Okay, one, gross—"
"That's not gross—"
"Two, you don't even keep a journal. A journal is supposed to be for mindfulness, Caleb!"
"Well, I would say that tracking your cycle is pretty mindful, wouldn't you?"
You groan, clearly frustrated with his smart ass attitude right now. "You see, this is why you need to be going to therapy."
"You don't want me to track your cycle?" He pouts, ready to turn on the puppy eyes should your temper rise. Of course, that's all he got from what you just said.
"No, you fuck wit. Just listen to me," you grit out. "Yes, I want you to track my cycle. But also, we're not together anymore, so you can stop tracking it now. But even if you do track it, you can just use an app. You don't need to be going through my underwear on a daily basis to figure out where I'm at in my cycle. It's not normal, Cay."
"Well, dating is pretty rough these days." He shrugs, cupping his chin pensively. "I can't imagine many men going to the lengths I do to take care of their partners."
Setting your choptsticks on your plate, you run your hands down your face, exhausted by his antics. "What I'm saying is that it's weird, Caleb. God, you never listen to me."
"Don't say that, baby. You know I always listen to you." He leans over, palm on your shoulder to comfort you. But you push him off.
"No, you don't. You never listen to what I say. You always just do what you think is best for me without asking what I want." Your words hang in the air, floating atop wispy steam. The food's getting cold.
In a gentle voice, Caleb murmurs, "Let's not do this anymore, okay? This conversation isn't going anywhere, and it's only upsetting you."
"You're upsetting me!" You lash out, on the verge of tears. Unexpected, they crept up on you. Your appetite shrivels up and rots in your stomach. Sniffling, you grab your plate and take it to the kitchen counter, wrapping it in aluminium foil and turning on the oven. After placing it inside to keep your half-eaten dinner warm, you dash down the hall, making it to the bathroom to wash your greasy lips.
"Honey…" You hear Caleb coo. Why does it always have to end like this? You, balling your eyes out. Him, unwaveringly oblivious to the pain he's caused you. And your steadily approaching period doesn't help either. Your hormones are out of wack. But at least he doesn't tip toe around you. That would be worse. To be treated like some bomb about to explode any minute. At least respects you enough to argue with you like you're his equal. As if you could call that spat a true argument.
Ducking into your bedroom, you see that indeed, you were correct; his overnight bag rests at the foot of your bed. With tear-filled eyes, you grab it by the handle and drop it on the floor, climbing under the covers to cry in peace. But it doesn't last for long. You're only graced with five mintues before there's a knock on your bedroom door. Caleb doesn't bother to ask for permission to enter, he simply slips inside, sitting on the edge of your bed and stroking where your head is beneath the quilt and blankets.
"I'm sorry," he utters, regret in his voice.
"For what?" You grumble, muffled by the layers between you. But he hears you all the same.
"I'm sorry for making you feel you like I don't listen to you. And I'm sorry for making you cry. It was never my intention to do either of those things." He pauses for a moment, waiting for you to accept his apology. But those magical words never come. With a deep breath in, he concedes, "I know that I can be a little overbearing sometimes. But it's for your own good, I swear." You push the covers back, fresh air swarming your red, puffy face.
Sitting up, you wipe your snotty nose on your arm, swallowing thickly before mumbling, "If your overbearing nature is making me feel unheard and upset, then how is it good for me?" He opens his mouth, retort ready when it withers away. That look in your eyes—it's as if he's been thrust back in time to a month ago—broken. All he succeeded in doing by coming here (besides from fixing your tap) was to shatter your spirit. And even worse, up until this very moment, he felt justified in doing so. But now…
"I'll go to therapy, okay? If it's that simple to make you smile again, then I'll do it. I'm sorry I didn't start sooner." You shake your head. The perfect answer rejected.
"You have to go to threrapy because you want to. You have to want to change. You have to want to get better. It's not about me, Caleb. It's about what you want," you stress. He licks his lips, inredulous, tasting the metaphorical saltiness of your tears. Don't you understand? Caleb can't exist without you. Whatever you want—as long as it's good for you—Caleb wants, too.
"I want to. Go to therapy—"
"No, you don't—"
"Well, I'm going to go anyway, alright? Whatever helps get us back on track. I want you to know that I haven't given up on us. And I'm pretty sure you haven't either." Caleb grabs a tissue from your bedside table before inching closer to you, carefully patting away the wetness of your cheeks. Your lips are swollen, quivering slightly as you feel your tears renew from his sweet affection.
With his hands on either side of your face, tissue in his lap, Caleb leans down and plants a kiss on your forehead. He trails down your temple and cheekbone, coming across to the reddened tip of your nose and then dipping to your lips. His kiss is light and fleeting, nothing too overwhelming as your emotions spill over. Resting your head against his shoulder, you snake your arms around his torso and squish him like a teddy bear. A soft chuckle arises. He embraces you just as tightly if not more.
"You're the worst ex." You mumble into his shirt, a big sniffle following behind.
"Yeah?" He replies, teasing lilt to his tone.
"Yeah." You rub your face against him like a feline; Mittens doesn't deserve to have all the fun. Speaking of the devil, she jumps up onto the bed, nuzzling at Caleb's side in an attempt to make your sacred cuddle a group hug.
"Caleb."
"Mhm?"
"I love you," you murmur, squeezing him a fraction tighter. He chuckles quietly, big warm hands rubbing circles into your back soothingly.
"I love you, too."
That night, you reluctantly let him sleep in your bed, his warmth lulling you into the deepest sleep you've had since separating.
Your heart is racing, jitters crawling up your spine as you futz with your hair. You're supposed to be going on a date tonight in—you tap your phone screen. It lights up. 17:52—8 minutes. More precisely, it'll be your first official date with Caleb since you two separated. He's been good for the past six months, going to therapy and keeping his distance (thanks to the cameras he installed all over your place when he was minding Mittens (you were away on a short business trip)). Slowly, you've been growing closer, falling back into old patterns you never really shook off. He's taken care to listen to any problems you've raised, and learned to let you initiate (for the most part).
But of course, Caleb is still Caleb. You can hear him enter through the front door from where you stand in your bedroom, hunched over your vanity.
He coos to Mittens, "How's my favourite girl?" You hear the rustle of treats. Must he feed her? She just ate an hour ago… Huffing, you give up on your hair, resigned to accept the awkward curve of your fringe. Grabbing your perfume, you rip off the cap and douse yourself in that luxurious scent.
"Pipsqueak?" Caleb's footsteps grow louder. He opens your bedroom door. "There you are, honey." You gaze at him through the mirror, eyes roaming over his tailored suit with delight and settling on his orange striped tie. A smile breaks out across your face.
"I'll be done soon, okay?" You tell him, heading over to your wardrobe and unveiling your shoe collection, many of which, Caleb bought for you on a whim. 'I thought these would go with that cream dress you like.' 'The bow reminded me of you.' 'Weren't you searching for a pair of heels just like these?' Skimming through your options, you settle on a sleek pair. Thankfully, you taped your toes together in advance. Slipping the heels on, you wobble a bit when standing up. But Caleb's there to catch you. He grasps your forearms and holds you steady, leading you forward like a parent does to their toddler. That's what you feel like in these fuckers anyways. A wittle baby.
"You okay? You know, you don't have to wear these if they're too hard to walk in," Caleb reminds you. But you shake your head, intent on surviving the next few hours in these beautiful (tortuous) heels.
"I'll be fine, Cay. I wanna look pretty for our date tonight." You tell him. He chuckles lightly, halting and stepping closer to you. His hands trail across to your waist, gripping you firmly.
"You look very pretty, honey, with or without heels." He grins at you, leaning in for a kiss, but stopping short of your lips. He wouldn't dare to ruin your lip combo before you've even reached the restaurant. "Tell you what, I'll keep a second pair of shoes for you in my car. How does that sound? You can change into those once you get tired of these."
"Mhm, yes, please." You nod, scampering off to retrieve your comfiest sneakers. Handing them to Caleb, you follow him out your bedroom door, grabbing your handbag on the way out. Mittens is happily munching on some gourmet treats as you two lock the apartment up. On the kitchen counter, you notice a small plate with a delicious looking slice on it.
Pointing to it, you say, "For me?"
Caleb whips around, a big grin on his face. "Yeah, I made some banana bread this morning. Thought you'd like to try it."
"I'm watching my weight—"
"I know, I know. That's why I only brought you a slice. Try it, won't you?" Staring at him for a few seconds, you eventually sigh.
"Fine. I'll try it later tonight." You abandon the treat and rejoin Caleb's side, ready to leave for your date. Mittens is oblivious to your departure, unperturbed by the lights going out as she finds the jacket Caleb left on the couch for her to sleep on.
The drive down town is short, accompanied by some nice jazz and light chatter. Caleb gets the door for you once he's parked the car and keeps an arm around your shoulders as you walk up to the restaurant's entrance. Heading inside, the hostess greets you both and leads you to a quiet table at the back Caleb specifically reserved. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out your chair for you and pushes it in before taking his seat opposite you.
"You don't have to be so chivalrous, you know?" You remark. Table water and two cups are placed in front of you. The hostess leaves you both to go through the menu.
"I wanna make a good impression." Caleb shrugs, a little shy. You chuckle at that.
"I think we're past that stage, don't you?" You flip the menu open, the insanely high prices jumping out at you. Gulping, you read through the offerings. Weird pairings. Beijing this, Parisan that. You remind yourself that Caleb can afford this kind of fine dining.
"Well, it never hurts, does it? And I've always been chivalrous, pipsqueak." You glance up. He hasn't even opened his menu.
"Aren't you going to read the menu?" You gesture to it, bemusement creeping into your voice. He graces you with a reassuring smile.
"I'll have what you're having."
"Cay-leb," you grumble. It's always these little bullshit games when it comes to him. You thought he got past that months ago. "What if I want a salad?" You challenge, the menu pressing awkwardly against the sides of your fingers. It's rigid. The binding is stiff. Perhaps, they were freshly printed? But these aged pages tell a different story.
"You're not having a salad, honey. We're at a nice place. Why don't you have the roast duck instead?"
"You been here before?" You ask, wondering if he's brought other girls here during the time you've been apart. But as soon as that thought enters your mind, you cast it out. Caleb wouldn't. He's not like that. And neither are you. But he doesn't have to be so smug about this all.
"Well, I had to make sure you'd like it," he replies off-handedly, signalling to a nearby waiter that you're ready to order. You expect Caleb to do the talking once the server arrives, but instead, he nods at you.
For a moment, you stare back at him, the gears slowly turning in your mind. And then—"Hi, um, I'll have the Beijing roast duck and my partner would like—" You glance down at the menu, saying the first dish you see, "The teriyaki glacier 51 toothfish, please." The waiter smiles at you and gathers up your menus.
"Any drinks?" You turn to Caleb and find him to be rather unhelpful. He's wearing this proud smirk, enjoying seeing you struggle like this.
You stutter, "U-uh, yes, please. Just a bottle of red wine."
"Which one, miss?"
"U-uh." You hadn't even gone through the drinks menu! Of course, a place like this has about 30 different varieties of red wine to choose from. "What. Do you recommend?" You ask, your words clunky like this is your first time speaking to a waiter.
Flipping open the extensive wine list, the server points to the reds section. "The 2017 Côte D'Or Bourgogne by Benjamin Leuroux is my personal favourite. The fruit fades into the background, allowing a lightness to take centre stage. Very refreshing and moderately affordable." You eye the $380 next to the wine's name. Very affordable, indeed. "But if you're looking for something premium." The waiter directs your attention to the next page. "I'd suggest the 2013 Chambertin Grand cru by David Duband. Only two barrels were produced from vines over 50 years old. It's beautifully balanced with a broad range of earthy notes complemented by florals and a wild berry that creates a smooth finish. A truly exquisite wine, I can assure you." For over $2,500, you'd be expecting a pretty exquisite fucking wine, yeah.
Again, you meet Caleb's eyes, figuratively on your knees and pleading for him to utter a few words. But now, he seems distracted. He looks at you without really looking at you, smiles at you without smiling.
"Um. We'll have the first one you suggested. Thank you." You grin at the waiter, watching as he retreats before facing Caleb. "Hello-oh? I could have really used your help back there, dummy." He seems to recover from his daze, blinking back to reality at the sound of your irritated tone.
"On the contrary, I think you did great. I should let you take the lead more often," he says playfully.
You roll your eyes at him. "Yeah, yeah. I never wanna do that again. You didn't even give me enough time to look at the menu! And now I just ordered a $400 wine—" His phone buzzes, promptly shutting you up. With a grimace, Caleb pulls out his phone and checks the notification.
"Sorry, honey. Work stuff. I'll be back in a minute, alright?" He pushes his chair out, rising to standing. Your eyes widen, your lips forming into a pout.
"Everything alright?"
"Yeah," he breathes out, quick to reassure you. "Let me handle this and then it'll just be you and me, okay? No more interruptions." You nod earnestly, watching with sinking shoulders as Caleb weaves through the tables to the exit. He's a busy man, you know. But it's hard to remember that when he always prioritises you. If he's not on a mission, then he'll be at your doorstep at the first sign of trouble, no hesitation, no 'Sorry, honey, I have a meeting' or other commitments coming between the two of you. You wonder what's so important that it could disturb him during your date. Maybe something went wrong at the HQ and he'll have to return right away. You sincerely hope not.
As you wait for him to return, you admire the patrons surrounding you. You see glittering pearls and shiny bald spots, beer bellies and opulent diamond rings. The overhead chandeliers are warm and cosy. A pianist in the corner plays, their fingertips agile and skilful. It isn't too long until Caleb sits before you once more, his phone out of sight.
"You okay?" You murmur, your brow puckered from concern.
"Yep. Everything's been taken care of. So where were we?" Caleb replies, sounding rather chipper. Your conversation comes easily, slipping into something comfortable. There's a push and pull, the two of you on the edge of your seats as you lap up the other's words like excited puppies. The food arrives all too soon, the wine poured by a different waiter to the one who took your orders. You have a sip, tasting the subtlety of the fruit. It really is quite refreshing and smooth on the way down.
"D'you like it?" You ask Caleb as he sets down his glass (he won't pick it up again for the remainder of the evening).
He shrugs. "It's a bit bland for my liking, but it's alright. How's the duck?" You pick up a tender slice with your fork and pop it into your mouth. Savoury-sweet bursts on your tongue. You can taste the onions it was roasted with. There's this slightly gamery undertone that you don't mind. Overall—
"It's pretty good. D'you wanna try it?" You hold out a slice to Caleb. Leaning forward, he bites it off your fork, sitting back and tasting the duck.
"Mhm. It's nice," he says, beginning to cut into his own meal. You sample the toothfish you ordered for him and find it to be similar to king crabs with a hint of cucumber and honey. It's a delicacy. But you end up preferring your own dish to his.
"Told you you'd like the roast duck." Caleb smirks. His plate is empty, save for any spilt sauce.
"Yeah, yeah," you sigh offhandledly, reluctant to admit that he was right all along. After finishing your meal, you head to the bathroom to clean up. In the meantime, Caleb pays for your date. When you emerge from the ladies room, certain your makeup still looks good, you find him waiting for you nearby with the bottle of wine in hand.
As soon as you make it out of the restaraunt, you're slung over his shoulders, laughing giddily and kicking your feet while he walks back to the car. He sets you down in the passenger seat and fetches a blanket he conveniently had on hand, wrapping you up in it as you giggle uncontrollably. You only had a couple of glasses of that wine, but there's a buzz in your system. Your body feels hot, and the world moves slowly. You slip off your heels and get cosy as Caleb settles into the driver's seat and gets the car going.
Back at home, you stumble inside, barefoot, while Caleb nurses your heels, back-up shoes, handbag, and the wine. You dash over to the couch and collapse on it, your cheeks aching from smiling the entire ride home.
"Cayyy-leb," you coo. Mittens jumps down from the couch and runs off, probably to greet your date.
"Coming, honey." Within a minute or so, Caleb comes into view, holding the plate of banana bread he left at your place earlier and a glass of water.
Sitting next to you, he hands you the water and says, "Let's sober you up, huh?" You take a sip from the glass, eyes following Caleb's movements as he undoes the cling wrap covering the banana bread and places the plate on his lap. Picking it up, he aeroplanes the slice to your mouth, feeding you a generous bite between your chortles.
"How is it?"
"Yum-myyy." You grin, happily accepting the next bite he offers you. "Mhmmm, Caleb."
"Yes, honey?" You cover your mouth with your fingertips, intent on delaying the next bite.
"Caleb. I love you." Not an odd thing to say. But something you haven't said since that night all those months ago. The liquor has loosened up your tongue. You can't stop yourself from admitting, "And sometimes, I wish I didn't break up with you. You're so handsome and kind to me. But you've got a few screws loose, you know? Like… I think you're a bit fucked in the head. But I still like you." Caleb stares at you for a moment, mouth half-open, unsure of how to react. And then, he chuckles, shaking his head lightly.
"Is that so? Well, I like you, too, pipsqueak. I love you."
"I love how you take care of me," you counter. "And I love your cooking. And I miss your homemade lunches. I miss having you around and waking up with you by my side. And I miss our intimacy. I really miss it... I wish that we could rewind or something, that we could… I don't know. Be together again? Even if you're a little crazy, I still want to be with you. I just don't want to you to hurt me again."
Another bite of banana bread down the hatch. Only one little piece to go.
"Honey…" Caleb grasps your jaw, thumb swiping a crumb past your parted lips and onto your tongue. You taste the tip of his finger before it flees, hand falling down to your knee. "We'll talk about in the morning, okay?" So much he wants to say, lodged in the back of his throat. He chokes on it, lips sealed in an attempt to contain his heartfelt feelings.
You accept the final bite of banana bread Caleb pops into your mouth, munching on it calmy as you stare at him. The only man who's ever loved you like you were the very thing that kept him alive. With reverence. With respect. But also at times, with obsession. Your eyelids begin to feel heavy. That wine must have been stronger than you thought.
Quietly, you say, "I love you, Cay. I want…" You sway a little, finding it hard to keep upright. Caleb wraps his arms around you, pouting at the sight of his precious girl trying to fend off sleep after a long day (or rather, a teeny-weeny dose of valium). "I want to elope with you. Let's just get married. Somewhere in the moutains. Or maybe on an island. Just the two of us, and maybe a few friends." You yawn like a lion cub, adorable in Caleb's eyes as you snuggle into his warmth.
"Honey…" His tone holds a warning. He can't let himself fall prey to your sweet temptation. His fingers card through your hair, feeling the soft strands with a hesitant, yet elated smile on his face. Slowly, you drift off, knocked out real good before Caleb carries you to your bedroom. In true chivalry, he removes your makeup and changes you into a comfy pair of pajamas.
Pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, he whispers, "'M sorry," before straightening up and booking it to your front door. He's out for the early hours of the morning, staining his hands and suit crimson with the blood of that friendly waiter. After ordering Liam to dispose of the body, Caleb returns to your apartment; orange burnishes the dark sky. The sun rises as he showers, burgundy like that damned wine trickling down your drain. Eventually, he joins you in bed, your bodies fitting seamlessly together; the underlying scent of body wash that clings to your skin are the same.
His therapist taught him a valuable lesson, probably because he wasn't a therapist but a cardiac surgeon instead. Rather than quitting an addiction, you should learn to hide it better (or at least, that's what Caleb heard during a 2am phone call with the esteemed doctor last week). He'll give you the perfect life and pick off anyone who dares to disrupt that one-by-one. That's what scared you away. But how can you be afraid of something that's hidden from your view, unknown until Caleb makes a silly mistake. But that won't happen, he's certain of it now. Your separation didn't teach him to let something breathe so that it may flourish. Rather, it taught him to keep something in a spacious cage so it believes it can flourish.
elle's notes: just in case you were confused, when caleb leaves the restaurant to take a phone call, he's actually arranging with liam to have the waiter that recommended you wine picked up. He also cooked the banana bread with valium (or diazepam), which calms your nervous system and induces drowsiness. thus, when you eat it later on, coupled with the alcohol in your system, you fall asleep relatively quickly after the valium takes effect.
@starkissedxav - it's been a while, but i hope you like this!
side header images from pinterest (not mine, obviously). but i did take the centre photo of caleb when playing his myth ages ago. sword divider at the end is from fairytopea, and pearl dividers by anitalenia.
rating: nsfw/explicit 18+ (read at your own risk)
category: f/m, non-mc!reader x caleb
tags: slowburn to explicit, multiple scenes, thriller, suspense, dead dove, dubcon, forced proximity, stuck in a cabin, kidnapped, being saved by caleb, being comforted by caleb, awkward!caleb, goodytwoshoes!caleb, caleb has a split personality, paranoid!reader, reader smokes, stockholm syndrome, caleb takes real good care of you but..., making out, marking, cunnilingus, titplay, fingering.
synopsis: what happens when a boy you know from your highschool days miraculously saves you from a sadistic serial killer and offers you his cabin to wait out the storm?
a/n: hhhhellooo T_T i noticed that people were looking for this fic, so i decided to give it a reupload. i originally took it down because i thought that the ending wasn't executed well enough, and you could tell it's a bit rushed. but i'm here to bring it back for those who wants to continue reading it!
wc: 20k
keep your eyes closed just a little longer.
can you hear it?
the sound of your own shoes dragging through the wet loam, the clumsy scraping of a girl who has suddenly run out of room in her own story.
let’s go back to the car, just for a second.
back to where the air inside the car felt choked by the stench of stale iron—like an old toolbox left out in the rain. he hadn't said a single word to you, had he? that was the part that made your heart thrash against your ribs. monsters in the movies always growl, always give you a reason to fear them, but this one just had those quiet hands. when his leather-gloved fingers shoved you back against the passenger seat, it felt like being tucked into a coffin by someone who was simply doing their chores.
“get off—ugh, let me go!” the words were nothing but little scraps of sound, bouncing uselessly off the dashboard.
you weren't a delicate creature who knew how to faint on cue, though. no, you were wilder than that.
your boots found the floorboards, digging in until the rubber groaned, and you lunged forward with your teeth bared. when you bit down on the rough canvas of his sleeve, you tasted a faint hint of peppermint. it was an ugly, frantic thing. he didn't even flinch, not even when your knee drove hard into the center of his chest. he just tilted his wrist, and that sharp little silver tooth of a dagger bit down into your thigh. one. two. three. four times. a sickening prickle of heat that turned the dark woods outside into a blinding flash of pure white canvas.
“aaagh!!”
but it bought you a second. just enough for your numb fingers, tied, to catch the cold metal of the door latch.
and then, tumble. crack. you were down in the dirt, out in the five o'clock air.
running when your hands are bound tightly behind your back with plastic zip-ties is such a silly childish sight, isn't it? you looked like a little bird with its wings clipped, tilting dangerously forward as you leapt over the mossy roots of the acacia trees. behind you, the heavy thud of the car door closing wasn't loud, but it settled deep in your chest.
run, run.
the sky above was throwing a tantrum, bleeding out into a bruised palette of deep violet and charcoal clouds. the acacias hung their heads low, their massive branches whispering secrets to each other as the first few drops of cold rain began to prickle the air.
“help! please, is anyone out there?”
your jeans were soaked through now, the dark denim turning heavy and stiff as the warm ribbons of red ran down your shins. every step was a blind guess. you couldn't see the sharp stones hidden beneath the carpet of dead leaves, couldn't tell where the earth simply dropped off into the black throat of the ravine. you were just a panicked thing breaking through the brambles, your heart drumming a frantic little rhythm against your ribs, running from a hunter who didn't even have to chase you to keep you moving.
but the universe is a playful storyteller, and it loves to toy with its favorites.
with a sharp gasp, your boot caught the slick underbelly of a wet log. the earth rushed up to meet you, knocking the air right out of your lungs with a miserable huff. you stayed there for a moment, your cheek pressed into the rotting mulch. stay down, the mud seemed to whisper. it’s easier if you stay down.
everything was gone. your purse, your keys, the small trinkets of your ordinary life—all left behind on that leather seat. but there was still a reassuring weight pressing against your hip. your phone was still there, tucked away in the closed pocket of your jeans.
you twisted your torso, your purple-tipped fingers scratching uselessly against the thick fabric behind your back. but with your wrists clamped together so tightly, your hands were nothing but clumsy weights. you couldn't even reach the metal teeth of the zipper. you wanted to cry out again, to scream for a savior, but the woods had grown eerily quiet. if you made a sound, you’d be giving the man with the knife a perfect map straight to your hiding place. so you just lay there, grinding your wrists against the plastic ties until the skin split, hot tears finally cutting clean paths through the grime on your face. please, just break. please.
snap!
only it wasn't the plastic that broke. it was a twig, just a few feet away.
instantly your head jerked up, eyes wide and glassy with a primitive sort of horror as you pressed your spine hard against the rough bark of the log. through the misty twilight, a silhouette stepped out from between the acacias. a tall, familiar frame. an oversized hoodie that looked entirely too ordinary for a nightmare like this.
a boy.
for some reason, your brain gave a dizzy little hiccup—a spark of memory that felt like looking at a blurred high school yearbook through a window. wait... do i know those eyes? but your survival instinct didn't care about names. it just screamed at you to crawl, and so you scrambled forward on your knees like a broken doll, throwing your weight toward him.
“please,” you sobbed, your voice breaking into pieces. “please, you have to help me... there’s a man... he has a knife...”
the boy stopped dead in his tracks. for a heartbeat, his face went completely blank—a sort of stillness that felt a bit too quiet. then, like a curtain being pulled back, his expression shattered into pure breathless panic.
“oh my god—hey, hey, stop moving, what the fuck happened to you?”
he dropped heavily into the leaves, his knees sinking into the damp dirt. his hands hovered over your shaking shoulders, trembling slightly as if he were afraid that touching you would make you fall apart into smaller pieces.
you knew this guy. it was... calvin. wait, no, clark? cal... caleb!
caleb from senior high. the boy who used to sit just two rows ahead of you in class. what was he doing out here in the deep woods? why now?
none of it mattered, anyway. he wasn't the man in the mask. he was safe. and you have to ask for help.
“jesus, your legs... you're bleeding so much,” he stammers, his eyes wide and swimming with concern while he takes in the state of your torn denim. “are you okay? can you hear me? who did this to you?”
isn't it beautiful how the world works? out of all the corners in this forest, the universe dropped a safe familiar boy right into your path. you could finally let go of the breath you’d been holding. everything was going to be fine now.
the tiny click of his pocketknife was the sweetest sound you’d ever heard. the moment the plastic tie snapped, your hands flew forward like trapped birds escaping a cage. your fingers were stiff, burning with a painful rush of pins and needles, but you ignored it, shoving your hand into your pocket to pull out the small rectangle of your phone.
your thumb left a dark smudge of dirt across the glass as the screen flashed to life, illuminating your pale face in a harsh square of digital light. no service. the little gray bars in the top corner were empty, a row of hollow lines laughing at your desperation. you dialed the three emergency digits anyway, your thumb shaking so violently you could barely hit the glass, but the screen just spun a uselessly endless circle before dropping into nothingness.
“no, no, no... please, work,” you whispered, the tears finally spilling over your lashes. you instinctively reached out, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his jacket before you even realized you were gripping him. “please—your phone. try your phone. we need the police. we need an ambulance right now!”
he looked down at you, his features soft and utterly helpless, heavy with pity. he slowly pulled his own phone from his pocket, his thumb tapping the glass with a worried crease between his brows, before turning the empty screen toward you. “there's nothing,” he said softly, voice dropping into a comforting murmur meant to soothe your rising hysteria. “we’re too deep down in the valley. the reception doesn't really reach out here...”
“w-we have to walk then,” you babbled, a spike of adrenaline forcing you to try and push yourself upward. you pressed your palms against his shoulders, trying to force your legs to bear your weight, but the moment you put pressure on your right thigh, the cuts ripped open with a blinding flare of agony. your knee buckled instantly, the world tilting sideways as your vision went fuzzy.
if he hadn't caught you, your head would have cracked right against the rotted log.
but caleb’s arms were right there, locked around your waist to keep you from falling. “hey, hey, hey easy. please stop trying to move,” he coos, his voice falling right back into that familiar one you remember from years ago, though he looked at you with the detached worry of a stranger who had simply stumbled upon a tragedy. “you can't run in this state, ma'am. you're losing too much blood, and the main highway is miles away. if you try to walk, you're going to collapse before we even make it past the ridge.”
then, he fell silent.
his hands stayed planted firmly on your hips, placing you against him. for a long second, the frantic panic on his face settled into something else—something unreadable, calculated, and entirely too still. his violet eyes slowly dragged down the length of your torn jeans, watching the way the wet crimson was staining the fabric. he took in the shivering curve of your exposed throat, the way your breath came in terrified little hitches.
“please, ma'am, listen to me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your freezing cheek. “my cabin is just over the crest. it’s not far, maybe a five-minute walk at most. i can wash these cuts, bind them up so you stop bleeding, and let you rest. once the storm passes and you're stable, i'll get you out of here. okay?”
no, no, you wanted to fight him on it. you wanted the safety of a hospital room, the comfort of the lights, the security of walls that didn't belong to a lonely house hidden in the middle of nowhere. but your body was giving up. the blood loss was drawing a curtain over your mind, making your eyelids feel like lead weights.
the air was turning freezing cold, and caleb was the only warm thing left in the whole world.
before you could even mutter a protest, he shifted his weight, slipping one strong arm under the crook of your knees and the other behind your shoulders. he lifted you effortlessly, pulling you tightly against his chest as if you weighed nothing at all.
“hospital...” you managed to slur, the word breaking apart on your lips. “take me... to the hospital...”
“no need for now, alright? i’ve got you,” he murmured back—the very last thing you heard.
—
you open your eyes. slowly.
and there, you find yourself—
tucked away so neatly, blanketed on a sunken couch that divots deeply under your weight, right within the quiet premises of the cabin caleb promised an hour ago. the orange glow of a crackling fireplace dances across the exposed timber walls, casting playful shadows that stretch across the floorboards like reaching fingers. you’re still wearing the same clothes, dried into uncomfortable creases against your skin, and the iron tang of your own blood has cooked into a heavy musk under the warmth of the wool thrown over you.
just as the fog in your mind begins to lift, a rhythmic scuff of socks echoes from the far end of the hallway.
out steps caleb—carrying a candlestick, the small yellow flame haloing his face in a way that makes him look almost saintly, a golden boy stepping out from the shadows to check on his patient. the moment his eyes find yours open in the firelight, his entire posture softens, with shoulders dropping into a visible sigh of relief.
“oh, thank goodness,” he rushes to you, his steps hurried but careful, setting the candlelight down on a small wooden side table where it flickers against the polished grain. “you're awake. i... jesus, i am so sorry about all of this. the situation, the... the place. it’s a bit rustic, i know, and it probably feels terrifying waking up somewhere, you know, after what you've been through.”
you try to swallow, but your throat feels like it's coated in sand.
your head is still heavily fogged, swimming with the lingering aftereffects of shock and blood loss, so all you can do is look around cautiously, wordlessly, and tiredly.
the cabin is small, wrapped in dark wood, the corners swallowed by a cozy gloom. on the table beside the candle, a white plastic medical kit sits waiting, its red cross staring back at you like a clinical eye...
“oh, uhm- i wanted to wait until you woke up before i did anything,” caleb explains gently, kneeling down by the edge of the couch so he's at eye level with you. “i didn't want to start treating your wounds while you were unconscious. i thought... well, given everything, waking up to a stranger touching you would be a nightmare.”
you try to shift, pulling your legs inward to sit up, but the movement drags the dried denim against the raw gashes along your thighs. so the cuts sting fiercely, a sharp reminder of the dagger that makes you wince. “ugh—”
“hey, hey—don't move, please,” caleb says instantly, moving closer and sitting on the very edge of the cushion beside you. his hand hovers over your knee, twitching slightly as if he wants to press you back down, but he keeps his distance to maintain that careful boundary. “you're going to tear the edges of the cuts open again. just... stay still.”
he looks down at your legs, and a subtle awkward tension thickens the air between you.
with your tight jeans still on, it’s obvious to both of you—it would be incredibly hard to treat cuts that high up without getting the fabric out of the way. he clears his throat, his cheeks catching a faintly boyish flush in the firelight as he pulls the medical kit a little closer, though he doesn't make a move to touch you.
you ignore his gentle commands, your brain completely bypassing the medical kit, because of a cold prickle of reality beginning to chip away at the warmth. your eyes travel past his shoulder, fixing onto the dark pane of the window. outside, the rain is persistent and incredibly loud.
“...what time is it?” your voice comes out rough, cracking against the quiet of the cabin.
caleb blinks, shifting his weight as he awkwardly clears his throat again, his gaze deliberately facing away from your legs, staring instead at the flickering hearth. “it’s... just past seven, the storm really rolled in fast. it's coming down pretty hard out there.”
“seven?”
two hours.
you’ve been away for two hours.
and your bag is gone.
and your phone is fucking dead.
you turn back to him, your eyes growing more frantic as the questions begin to tumble out of you, one after another, getting faster and more panicked by the second. “where exactly are we, caleb? how far is the road? did you see anyone else out there? did you hear a car? my family—someone is going to notice i'm missing, they're going to call the police, we need to try the phones again, there has to be a landline here, right? caleb, is there a landline?”
there was a tiny microscopic hitch in his shoulders, the sort of stillness that makes the fire crackle just a little louder in the silence. he doesn't answer right away. instead, his head turns slowly back toward you, the candlelight catching the genuine confusion written across his brow. his lips part, a faint perplexed half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he points a finger at his own chest.
“wait, how... how do you know my name? have we... met before tonight?”
you stare at him, your own panic temporarily short-circuiting into bewilderment.
huh, how did he not remember you?
your mind races, digging through the fog. sure, you two were never close—never the type to hang out after the final bell or trade text messages—but you sat right behind him during senior year calculus. you watched him doodle in the margins of his notebook for an entire semester. you walked the same stage at graduation. granted, it had been years, and people change, but to be erased from someone's memory while you were currently bleeding out on their couch felt like a joke.
“a-are you serious?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly as you look at him. “caleb. caleb xia, right? we went to senior high together, we graduated from the same school.”
caleb blinks, his brow furrowing deeper as he genuinely seems to search his brain, looking at you with clueless eyes. “i—yeah, that's my name, but... high school? sorry i'm trying to place you, but my head is kind of spinning right now with the whole... you know, finding you in the woods thing.” he bites his lip, that was a bit too insensitive? “uh did you go to the main campus?”
“yes!” you burst out, frustrated by the sheer absurdity of the timing. “we were literally in the same department. we took the same core classes. think about it—do you remember section three? mr. harrison's homeroom? the room right at the end of the second-floor hall next to the old laboratory?”
there is an agonizing stretch of silence where caleb just stares at you.
the rain hammers against the windowpane, loud and persistent, filling the gap between your desperate breaths. and then he looks at your face, eyes tracing your features with a deliberate attempt that makes the hairs on your arms stand up, though his expression remains perfectly and innocently blank.
then, his eyes widen—
“oh!” he lets out a breathless gasp, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck in sudden realization.
“oh my god, to think that you still remember me...” he breathes, shaking his head as a self-deprecating smile breaks across his face. “wow. you're... you're that girl. you're [name], right? from the back row? wow, jesus, i am so stupid. sorry, [name]. it’s been what, four, five years? what are the odds?”
“clearly very high.” you mutter, rubbing your temple as a fresh wave of exhaustion hits you. a chill ripples down your spine despite the heat of the fire—something about the seamlessness of his realization feels just a fraction too neat, but you shake it off. you don't have the mental capacity to analyze high school politics right now. “look, it doesn't matter. the point is, i need to get to a hospital, caleb. or a police station.”
“right, right, obviously,” caleb slides off the edge of the cushion, kneeling back down on the floorboards and pulling the white plastic medical kit toward him. the latch pops open with a snap. “but like i said, the storm is terrible right now and you're actively bleeding through your clothes. we need to clean these cuts before they get infected. let me just get the antiseptic and the gauze, and i can—”
“i can do it myself,” your hand extends to block his path, palm flat against the cool plastic lid of the box.
caleb stops, his fingers hovering over a roll of white bandages. he tilts his head, looking up at you through his eyelashes with a look that is too innocent. “are- are you sure? you can barely sit up straight without wincing. it's really no trouble, i can just do it for you. i took a first-aid course back in college, i promise i won't mess it up.”
you look down at him, one of your eyebrows slowly arching as the reality of the situation settles between you.
“caleb,” you say, deadpanning. “they're thigh wounds. you're... implying that you're going to sit there and watch me take off my jeans?”
immediately, caleb’s cheeks catch a bright furious flush, the boyish color rushing all the way up to the tips of his ears.
“no! no, oh my god, obviously not,” he mumbles, you could clearly hear his voice cracking while he scrambles backward an inch or two on his knees. “i swear i wasn't thinking about it like that. i just saw the blood and kinda panicked. i am so sorry, didn't mean to make you... uncomfortable at all.”
you remained quiet, looking at the medical kit, then down at the dark crimson patches drying high up on the denim of your thighs, and then right back into his eyes.
“look, i'll—i'll just give you the supplies. i can leave the room, i'll go to the kitchen, get some water, whatever you need. and you go ahead.” he looks so genuinely flustered, so thoroughly embarrassed by his own lack of foresight, that a tiny part of the tension in your chest actually loosens. he’s still the same harmless, easily flustered guy from senior high.
safe...
respectable...
—
the bathroom of the cabin had been a cold sort of mercy. peeling the copper-scented denim away from the raw gashes on your thighs had brought tears to your eyes, the hot water from the showerhead stinging the freshly bandaged wounds until your hips throbbed in rhythm with your pulse. but the clothes caleb had left hanging on the brass hook outside the door were clean. they smelled deeply of laundry detergent and cedar, though they were too large—the soft grey sweatpants bunched heavily over your ankles, and the oversized flannel shirt hung low enough to clip the backs of your knees. it made you look small, swamped, and ridiculously fragile.
you stepped back out into the main room, twisting the damp ends of your hair into a white towel.
but as your eyes swept the room, you froze.
caleb wasn't by the couch. he wasn't tending to the fire, nor was he standing awkwardly by the kitchen counter like you’d expected. it was something far much more unexpected, because instead he was sitting exceptionally straight in a heavy wooden chair by the small dining table at the end of the room.
his broad shoulders were squared, large hands resting flat against the dark wood in a posture that felt way too rigid, too deliberate. on the table between his hands sat a dark bottle of red wine, two tall-stemmed glasses catching the amber firelight, and a large ceramic plate piled with perfectly seared cuts of meat that were still glistening with warm fat.
you stopped in your tracks, one hand still holding the towel over your shoulder with your eyebrow slowly crawling upward.
how... domestic?
it looked like a dinner date. a romantic little setup prepared solely for you, laid out in the middle of a literal survival nightmare. it was so incredibly and profoundly awkward that you didn't even know how to orient your mouth to speak.
caleb caught your expression.
“oh—hey! you're out,” he stammered, his voice jumping a half-octave before he gestured vaguely toward the table. “i... uh, i hope the clothes fit okay? and, i’m sorry if this looks... weird. or sudden. i just thought, you know, you’ve been through a lot out there earlier, and your body probably needs the protein. i had some steak in the cooler, and... well..."
he broke off, clearing his throat awkwardly as he picked up the wine bottle, thumb nervously tracing the edge of the label.
“and the wine, it’s... it’s been sitting in the cabinet for months,” he rambled on, his violet eyes darting to your face and then quickly dropping back down to the polished wood. “it’s a really nice vintage, honestly. my dad gave it to me, and it just felt like... it would be a total shame not to share it with someone. and since you’re here, and it’s raining, and we’re stuck... i just thought it might help take the edge off the shock, no?”
you watched him tumble over his own words, your mind working through the surreal nature of the moment. you walked over to the edge of the dining area, your bare feet making no sound against the floorboards. deliberately, you unraveled the towel from your head and began folding it into a neat square, draping it over the high back of an empty chair.
“...do you have any cigarettes?” you had asked.
caleb blinked up at you, his thumb freezing against the wine bottle. as if the concept of a cigarette had never crossed his mind in his entire life. “cigarettes? oh. uh... no. no, sorry, [name]. i don't smoke.”
“shucks.” you let out a humorless little breath, dropping your hands from the chair.
you didn't pull out the seat, though. you didn't sit across from him at the neatly set table, and you certainly didn't lean into the cozy and intimate atmosphere he had so carefully constructed. you felt more comfortable with reaching across the dark wood, fingers wrapping around the stem of one of the wine glasses, and then taking the heavy ceramic plate of meat right out from the center of the table.
caleb watched you, his mouth parting slightly as you simply turned on your heel, walking away from the dining setup entirely.
you walked back over to the fireplace, the heat hitting your face in a comforting wave. with a soft grunt, you lowered yourself directly onto the floor near the hearth, tucking your oversized sweatpants around your ankles. you set the plate in your lap and the wine glass beside your knee, content to eat like an exhausted animal on the floor and miles away from the polite constraints of a dinner table.
“are you... comfortable down there?” caleb’s voice drifted over from the dining area, sounding faint and distinctly hollow.
“perfectly,” you replied, picking up a piece of the meat with your fingers, not even caring about silverware. “the fire is warm.”
“right. yeah. the fire is good,”
“and thank you, for the food.” from where you sat, focused on the crackling logs and the heavy comfort of the red wine coating your throat, you couldn't see his face. you couldn't see the way caleb remained seated at that table, a few meters away in the shadows. you couldn't see the utter, freezing disappointment that washed over his features, the soft curve of his mouth twisting into something odd while he stared at the back of your damp head.
the scent of the wine was just beginning to blunt the raw edge of your nerves when you decided to break the silence. you chewed slowly, swallowed, and leaned your head back against the edge of the couch. “so, what is this place, anyway? and why do you quite literally live in the middle of nowhere?”
at the table, the tension in caleb’s shoulders evaporated. it was like watching a wilted flower catch a drop of water—he lit up, immediately grabbed his own finished plate to discard it down the sink with an easygoing smile returning to his face.
“oh, this? it’s actually my grandfather’s old hunting lodge,” caleb answered, his voice rich and fluid while he stepped out of the dining area with the wine glass and walked into the warm radius of the firelight. “he left it to me when he passed away a couple of years ago. it was pretty run-down, but i've been fixing it up by myself whenever i get a break from work. it's quiet. and really nice.”
with ease, caleb lowered his large frame directly onto the floorboards, sitting a few feet away from you. he kept a careful distance—close enough to share the warmth of the hearth, but far enough that your knees wouldn't brush.
“must be a long drive to work if you're living out here permanently,” you remarked, poking at another piece of meat. you’d always been a slow eater, but tonight the exhaustion made your hands heavy.
“well, i don't live here full-time, just most weekends,” he swirled the dark red liquid in his glass, his eyes reflecting the orange tongues of the fire. “and my job isn't exactly local. i'm actually based out of the regional airfield near the coast now. aha, i went into aeronautical engineering after graduation.”
you paused, a piece of meat halfway to your mouth. you turned your head to look at him. “aeronautics? i figured you’d end up in business or something corporate. you always looked like the type.”
caleb let out a boyish chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah, everyone thought that. my dad wanted me to take over his agency, actually. but i don't know... i like things that are precise. there's a weird comfort in that kind of control.” he pursed his lips inwards, stealing a glance from you. “like- like if a plane stays in the air, it’s because you engineered it perfectly. no room for variables.”
“sounds tedious,” you muttered, taking a sip of the wine.
“it can be,” he agreed, his gaze shifting from the glass straight to your face again. “but it pays well. and it gives me enough free time to come out here and disappear for a few days. but uh, what about you, [name]? last i heard, you were finishing up your degree city-side. what brings you back to the outskirts? and... working at that restaurant by the highway?”
“it's just supposed to be temporary until i figured out my next move. then the shit earlier happened.”
“jesus, [name]...” caleb’s voice dropped into a sympathetic murmur. “i still can't believe it. when i heard the screaming through the trees, i thought i was losing my mind. to think you were just working a normal shift and then... some psycho...” he trailed off, shaking his head as if the weight of the reality was too much for his sensibilities to handle. “have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around the restaurant lately? any weird customers? stalkers?”
“no,” you said, your eyes fixed on the flames. “it's a quiet place. mostly truckers and old couples. the man... he didn't say anything. just grabbed me from the alley behind the kitchen while i was taking out the trash.”
“that's insane,” caleb whispered, his expression darkening with a protective sort of worry. “the world is getting so fucked up. but hey... you're safe now, you're here. he's not getting through that door.”
“i know,”
you turned your head to look at him, intending to ask about the old high school crew, but as your eyes met his, a strange feeling established itself.
you held his gaze for a second, two seconds—but caleb’s eyes on yours didn't waver. they were perfectly and intensely still, holding your stare with an unblinking confidence that felt entirely out of character for the stuttering, flustered boy from minutes ago. after a moment, the weight of it felt too heavy, and you were the one who blinked your eyes back to the fire.
“do you ever hear from anyone else?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing naturally. “like... gideon? or that girl who used to sit next to you—tara?”
“tara moved to the capital, and gideon... well, gideon and i lost touch after he started getting into some sketchy stuff. people drift, you know? you think you know someone in high school, and then years later, they’re a completely different person.”
“yeah,” you murmured, cutting another piece of meat. “people do change.”
“or maybe they just stop hiding who they always were,”
you looked up again, caught by the odd phrasing, and once more, his eyes were already there waiting for you. they were dark, absolute, and perfectly locked onto your own. again, an instinctual prickle of discomfort made you break the contact first, your eyes dropping down to your glass. maybe he was just like that, you reasoned. some people just had intense eye contact. it didn't mean anything.
“either way,” caleb said, his tone warming up as he raised his wine glass toward you in a silent toast. “i'm just glad i was the one who found you tonight, [name]. out of everyone else who could have been in these woods... i'm really glad it was me.”
the warmth of the red wine had just begun to settle in your stomach when the words finally caught up to your brain. working at that restaurant by the highway.
you paused, your fork hovering a few inches above the ceramic plate. “wait a minute... how did you know i worked at that restaurant?”
for a fleeting second, his shoulders went rigid, and his gaze dropped from your face, breaking eye-contact to stare down at the dark remnants of wine in his glass. it was the first time tonight he had been the one to look away first.
then, just as quickly as it had vanished, the sheepish smile slid back onto his face. he let out an amused huff, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “oh, that? well, i drive past that stretch of the highway all the time when i'm heading out to the airfield. i've seen you through the front windows a couple of times while i was stopping for gas across the street. it’s hard to miss a familiar face, even if it’s been years.”
you raised an eyebrow, “and you didn't bother stopping in to say hi?”
“well...” caleb chuckled, his cheeks catching that familiar flush in the firelight as he looked back up at you through his lashes. “we weren't exactly friends in high school, you know? i didn't want to be that weird guy who bursts into your workplace like, hey, remember me from highschool? i figured it’d just be awkward for both of us.”
you stared at him, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of your glass. “so you did recognize me. which means when you found me out in the woods... you already knew my face?”
caleb’s hand froze against the back of his neck.
“but earlier,” you continued, “you acted like you had no idea who i was. you asked if we'd ever met. you even made me list out our old high school section just to get you to remember my name.”
caleb stopped rubbing his neck. he didn't stumble over his words this time. he just sat there on the floorboards, staring right into your eyes with that stillness you had noticed earlier. then, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, nodding slowly to himself. a breathy laugh escaped his lips.
“okay,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a smoother and an entirely unbothered tone. “fine. you caught me. i kind of lied.” he swirled his wine, watching the dark liquid catch the orange glow of the hearth. “i did recognize you when i pulled you out of the brush, [name]. but it’s true that i genuinely couldn't remember your name right away. my... brain was in full panic mode seeing all that blood. but as for the rest of it... yeah. aha. i played dumb for a second.”
an uneasy spike of suspicion bloomed right in the center of your chest. your survival instinct, the one that had been temporarily put to sleep by the warm blankets and the steak, suddenly jolted awake. “why... would you lie about something like that, caleb?”
“because think about it,” caleb answered instantly, turning his head to face you full. “it’s already an incredibly high-stress situation. you’re running for your life, you’re bleeding, you’re... traumatized. then you stumble upon a guy you used to know, but barely talked to, living in a secluded cabin. don't you think it would feel just a little bit... awkward? or weirdly intense if i immediately went, oh hey, [name], wild seeing you here!?” his eyes searched your face as he momentarily placed the glass on the floor. “i thought it would be easier on you if we just focused on getting you safe first, without the weird high school baggage. you know, i was just trying to keep things low-key.”
you remained quiet, eyes dropping down to your empty plate. you didn't nod. you didn't tell him it was fine. you just left the explanation hanging in the air between you, letting it rot.
it’s not safe out here.
it didn't matter that he had sat two rows ahead of you five years ago. it didn't matter that he had an aeronautics career or a nice smile. you were a wounded, exhausted girl trapped in a damn cabin in the middle of a raging storm, miles away from civilization, alone with a man.
you looked away, your gaze fixing onto the persistent sheets of rain lashing against the windowpane, your mind frantically trying to map out a way to stay awake until dawn.
“hey.”
you turned your head back toward the hearth, your breath catching in your throat as you realized caleb had moved. he had inched closer across the floorboards while you were lost in your thoughts. now, he was resting his elbow directly on the plush edge of the couch right behind your shoulder, resting his temple against his fist, tilting his head slightly so he was looking up at you from under his thick lashes.
“what are you thinking about there so hard?” a small, almost teasing smile played at the corners of his lips. “you aren't... suspicious of me, are you, [name]?”
“no,” you forced a shrug of your shoulders, keeping your palms perfectly loose against the floor. “why would i be suspicious? you saved my life... i-i’m just tired. my head feels like it’s full of cotton.”
it was the safest play.
if he really was someone you needed to fear, showing your teeth now—when you could barely stand without your thighs screaming in agony—would be nothing short of suicide.
caleb stared at you for one more second, his eyes searching the micro-expressions on your face from beneath his lashes.
“good,” he let out a relieved chuckle, pushing himself up from the floor. “because if you were, i’d have to start questioning my hospitality skills. my ego wouldn't be able to take that tonight.” he reached down to gather the empty ceramic plates and the two wine glasses, turning toward the small kitchen alcove. “you've been through a lot tonight, [name]. i think it's time to call it a night? you can take the bedroom,”
“i can sleep here.” you said quickly, gesturing vaguely toward the plush couch near the hearth. “you ...don't have to give up your room for me. i've already taken up enough of your space.”
“absolutely not,” caleb called out over his shoulder, the sound of running water echoing from the sink while he rinsed the dishes. “i am a lot of things, but a bad host isn't one of them. you're wounded and you need a proper bed, so i'll take the couch.”
he turned off the tap, drying his hands on a dishtowel before walking back over to you.
he extended a hand, fingers open and waiting. “come on. let's get you sorted out.”
—
tick. tick. tick.
the sound of a small wood-framed clock somewhere in the shadows is the first thing that bites through your sleep.
you hadn't even realized you’d drifted off, but the blackness of the midnight hours has already swallowed the evening whole. you wake with a faint groan catching in your throat, your eyelids being heavy with the residue of exhaustion and red wine.
you turn your head to the side, expecting the warm flicker of the candles caleb had left on the bedside desks.
nothing.
the room is ...pitch black.
the candles are entirely gone—not just blown out, but absent.
adrenaline instantly slices straight through your groggy brain, melting the last remnants of sleep. and then your eyes travel to the foot of the bed, only to see that—
the door is open.
it isn't really wide open, just slightly ajar, a narrow slice of dim orange light cutting through the darkness from the hallway outside. a thin sliver of the living room’s dying hearth dances across the floorboards like a warning.
how...?
you distinctly remember the weight of the little brass thumb-lock turning under your fingers....
a lock doesn't just undo itself in the dead of night.
gone was the cozy and domestic quiet of a boy hosting an old classmate; now it’s a tight breathless suspense, like the air inside a room right before a balloon pops. every instinct you possess—the cold-blooded survival code that got you out of that leather passenger seat—screams at you to move.
carefully, so carefully, you slide your legs out from beneath the heavy down comforter. the grey sweatpants caleb lent you sweep against the sheets with a hush that sounded more like a roar in your ears. the moment your bare feet touch the cold floor, the gashes along your thighs throb in protest, a burning ache that you force yourself to swallow. you don't wince. you don't breathe.
you creep toward the vertical slit of the door, fingers pressing lightly against the wood as you peer out into the hall.
all the candlelights have been shut dead, their little wicks pinched into cold black stumps. the only illumination left is the bleeding glow of the hearth in the living room, casting distorted shadows against the dark wood walls.
your bare feet make no sound while you steal down the hallway, and your eyes scan the darkness, hunting for a silhouette, a mask, the silver glint of a dagger.
if your lock was bypassed... if someone broke in while you were unconscious...
you round the corner into the living room, your chest heaving in shallow and silent hitches.
there, on the plush couch near the fireplace, laid a shape.
you freeze, your muscles locking instantly in place. but as you squint through the deep red gloom, you realize it’s just caleb. he’s wrapped entirely in his thick blanket, his large frame buried beneath the wool. his head is tilted back against the cushion with eyes shut.
he looks completely peaceful, harmless.
but a fresh wave of horror washes over your skin.
if caleb is asleep right here... and the front door is still barred from the inside... then who the fuck opened your bedroom door? did the masked man find a way in without making a sound? did he look at you while you slept?
your mind spins a terrifying web of variables, but you refused to just let yourself panic. there is no room for tears. there is no room for questions. there is only the necessity of getting out.
you turn away from the sleeping boy, your eyes scanning the dark perimeter of the room. you need a tool. a weapon. a map. a landline. anything.
as you glide toward the dark wooden cabinets flanking the stone hearth, your fingers were trembling slightly. you slide the first latch open, the wood giving a slow creak. you reach inside, your hands blindly rummaging through the contents—old decks of cards, manuals, boxes of matches, heavy iron tools for the fireplace. your fingertips scrape against the rough edge of a folded piece of paper. a map? a ledger? could it be? you immediately pull it out, trying to catch the faint red light of the dying embers to read the print.
please. just give me a direction. let me find the highway. i need to go home.
“[name]?”
you immediately jerked your shoulders back at the voice, the paper slipping from your fingers and fluttering back into the open cabinet drawer.
shit, caleb is awake.
as you turned around to face him, he was already sat up on the couch, the wool blanket pooled in folds around his hips. and...
he was... shirtless.
you couldn't help your eyes from flicking down to the broad line of his shoulders and the manly expanse of his torso before you forced your gaze back up to his face. you knew plenty of guys slept like that, but the domesticity of it felt like a trap. there was no time to get flustered right now. your fingers curled into tight fists against the cabinet door.
“what...” caleb's voice came out thick, raspy with sleep. he blinked up at you while rubbing his left eye. “what are you doing up this late?”
you awkwardly cleared your throat, the sound dry and scratching against the quiet of the room. you needed an excuse that didn't involve the open bedroom door or the fact that you were currently hunting for a map to escape whatever it is you need to escape from.
“i'm just... looking for a cigarette,” fuck, that was such a bad lie. “i couldn't sleep. thought you might have some hidden in these cabinets.”
caleb could only blink at you, his head tilting slowly to the side while his brain tried to process the words. cigarettes? this late? he let out a huff that sounded like a sleepy laugh, rubbing the back of his head where his hair was slightly messy.
“a cigarette...?” he looked from you to the open cabinet drawer, then back up to your face. “you really must have an addiction, huh? i told you earlier, [name], i don't smoke. my grandfather didn't either.”
you had no choice but to nod, keeping your posture stiff against the woodwork. “right. worth a shot, though...”
caleb let out a sigh, the sound long and loose as he shifted his weight on the cushions. he swung his legs out from under the rest of the blanket, his bare feet hitting the timber floor. he stayed there for a second, hunched over with his hands dangling between his knees, just staring at the floor as if waiting for his head to stop spinning from the sudden wake-up.
“look,” his voice drops into a more grounded register while he looked up at you through his bangs. “if you're that restless, i can go to the kitchen and put the kettle on. make you some chamomile tea or something? my dad swears by it for shock.”
“i-i don't need tea,” you muttered, shifting your feet.
but the movement was a mistake.
the sudden twist of your hips dragged the loose fleece of the sweatpants directly across the gashes on your right thigh. and it fucking stung.
he seemed to have notice it, as his eyes abruptly snapped down to your legs. the sleepiness have also seemed to vanish from his posture by the way his broad shoulders squared when he slid off the couch and stood up.
“hey,” he gestured vaguely toward your lap. “you're limping again. did you tear the bandages when you got out of bed? you shouldn't even be walking around right now.”
“...they're fine,”
“they don't look fine,” caleb pointed a thumb back toward the couch. “sit down. let me actually look at them this time. if you bled through the gauze while you were sleeping, we need to change it before it sticks to the cuts.”
your throat felt incredibly dry as you swallowed, your hand lingering on the edge of the cabinet door. “seriously, it really is fine. you don't need to do all this...”
he didn't argue immediately. instead, he simply turned toward the side table where the white first-aid box still sat under the dying light of the hearth. his fingers wrapped around the handle, lifting it with a clack. but as he turned back to face you, he froze, his eyes dropping down to his own chest, then flicking rapidly back up to your face.
“oh—jesus,” he mumbled, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck. “i... i am so sorry. is it because i don't have a shirt on? let me just... go grab something from the room. give me a second.”
“it's not about that,” you said quickly, the words slipping out before he could turn away.
am i just losing my mind?
you asked yourself, your fingers gripping the soft flannel of the oversized shirt he’d lent you. is this just the trauma? you had been kidnapped, almost stabbed, and chased through the dark by a literal monster. it made sense that your brain was treating everything—even the creak of a floorboard or a slightly ajar door—as a mortal threat. you were painting a sinister caricature over a guy who had literally dragged you out of the mud, sliced his own knuckles to free your hands, and offered you his bed. if he wanted to hurt you, if he wanted to do anything to you at all... he’d had hours while you were unconscious, dead to the world under his roof.
but you had woken up untouched.
and yet, that voice in the very back of your skull refused to fully quiet down. stay on guard, it whispered. always stay on guard.
still, the sheer weight of the guilt was starting to make your chest ache. he was trying so hard to be the helpful guy, and you were treating him like the monster in the woods.
with a slow sigh, you crossed the small distance between the cabinet and the couch.
“fine,” you lowered your weight onto the edge of the cushion. and unceremoniously, you began to pull the hem of the sweatpants up, the fleece dragging against your skin until it bunched up in folds around your upper thighs. the movement exposed the white gauze wraps—now messy, slightly unraveled at the edges, and blooming with wet spots of red where the cuts had split back open from your midnight walk.
caleb stood perfectly still.
as you focused on adjusting the bunched fabric around your lap, you missed the way his breathing hitched. his eyes lingered, carefully, on the exposed line of your ankles, climbing up the curve of your calves, on the skin behind your knees, and finally settling on the wounded skin of your thighs.
but before you could look up and catch that, he was already moving.
in one motion, caleb lowered himself onto his knees right beside your legs. he popped the latch on the medical kit, fingers pulling out a fresh roll of gauze and a packet of antiseptic wipes with a faint smile. “i hate to say i told you so, [name], but... you did a total hack job on these bandages.”
“i was working with one hand and a lot of adrenaline,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice even while he brushed his fingers against the side of your knee to steady your leg.
“clearly,” he teased, his thumb lightly pressing against your skin to test your reaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners with that playful grin. “you wrapped them up all wrong. it's too loose at the top and too tight at the bottom...”
the crinkle of the wrapper was the only sound for a moment as caleb tore open a fresh pad of gauze, but you kept your face resolutely turned toward the stone hearth, watching the orange embers pulse and die in the ash.
he didn't say anything for a while, his fingers working with a touch while he peeled away the blood-soaked cotton from your skin. his thumb caught the edge of a fresh strip of medical tape, tearing it with a sharp rip with his teeth.
“you know,” caleb squinted through the dark, breaking the quiet without looking up from his work. “you're giving the fireplace a really intense stare. if it's because i'm still missing half my clothes, i can really just go grab a shirt.”
“i'm fine,” though you kept your eyes locked on the brickwork. “i'm just tired.”
he let out a breathy laugh, fingers gently smoothing the edge of the clean white pad against the meat of your upper thigh. “you should've just let me handle the first round of bandages earlier. would've saved you the trouble of bleeding like this.”
you decided not to reply.
and he didn't mind your continued silence, pulling the roll of gauze to tighten the dressing. but as he went to tuck the loose end, his thumb pressed down—just a bit too hard—directly into the swollen edge of the fourth laceration.
“shit, that hurts-” your hands instantly flew to the leather cushion to push yourself backward.
caleb gulped, the prominent line of his throat moving sharply in the dim red light when he stole a glance at your face. “sorry,” he whispered, a little raspy. “you okay?”
“be careful.” you choked out, your breath coming a little faster now as you stared back at him.
his palm remained resting flat against the curve of your knee, his thumb lightly, almost absently tracing the edge of the sweatpants' hem. he looked down at your legs for a quiet second before his eyes slowly crawled back up to meet your frown.
“is this your first time?”
your brow furrowed deeper, “what?”
“seeing a guy half-naked this close,” caleb clarified, a knowing smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained perfectly steady and unblinking. “you look like you're holding your breath, [name]. i didn't think i was that intimidating...?”
“no, it's not my first time.”
“oh yeah?”
caleb tilted his head, his elbow resting on his knee to lean in further. “so there's been other guys then? past boyfriends?”
“...what does that have to do with anything?”
“nothing,” letting out a low chuckle, he finally pulled his hands back, capping the antiseptic bottle along the way. “just making conversation. we're catching up, aren't we? five years is ...a long time. i figured a girl like you would've had someone.”
caleb slowly sat back on his heels, eyes tracking the way your fingers dug into the fabric of your flannel shirt.
“there was... someone,” you muttered, wanting to shut the topic down. “a while ago. it didn't last.”
“really?” his voice carried a strange satisfaction as he picked up the discarded bandages. he didn't look disappointed at all. “why's that? he didn't know how to appreciate what he had?”
“he was just too much, too possessive. always wanted to know where i was.”
caleb stopped moving for a split second, his back to the fire. “hmm, can you really blame him?”
“yes, you can blame him.” you reached down, your fingers catching the hem of the grey sweatpants to slide the heavy fleece back down over your calves. “how would you feel if you had a partner like that? someone constantly demanding to know every single person you talk to?”
caleb stared up at you from beneath his fringes.
“i don't-” a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head accompanied the words. “i don't think i'd mind it at all.”
you let out a humorless click of your tongue, pulling the fabric down past your ankles. “you're just saying that because you've never actually experienced it.”
caleb simply laughs, “well... you've got me there, [name]. i guess i haven't really had the chance to be in a relationship yet.”
that caught your attention.
“really? in five years? i remember girls in high school lining up to slide letters into your locker. you're telling me you never got into anything like that?”
“never,” he snapped the lid of the medical kit shut. “a few talking stages that fizzled out after a couple of weeks, maybe a blind date or two that my friends dragged me into because they felt sorry for me. but nothing too close. nothing that lasted.”
“that's pretty hard to believe.”
caleb xia was the definition of the golden boy back then, as far as you could remember—approachable, attractive, naturally charismatic, and the exact type of guy most people wanted to take home to their parents. it didn't make sense that he was so utterly single. “what could possibly be the reason? are your standards just impossibly high or something?”
caleb stood up from the floor, lifting the medical kit in one hand. but instead of walking away to put it back on the side table, he stayed right there, standing over you in the dim glow of the hearth.
“hey, my standards aren't high at all, i think i'm actually pretty simple. when i find something- or someone- that actually catches my attention, i tend to, just, keep my focus entirely on them. i don't see the point in looking anywhere else if... if- the perfect thing is already right in front of me.” he tears his gaze away to put the first-aid back into its place.
“well, good luck finding that in the city. people change their minds every two weeks out there.” goddamn it, the pain below is really getting unbearable. you were far too focused on the throbbing ache in your thighs, your brain already drifting back to the logistics of tomorrow morning's drive to the police precinct.
“maybe... but luckily for me, i'm a very patient guy. i don't mind waiting for- for a long time.” you hear him murmur. with his back faced to you like this, you can't really help yourself but trace the beautiful definition of his back muscles with your eyes, and the ridiculous ratio of his broad shoulders down to his waist.
with that physique, he might be a liar, he definitely have some situationships going on.
caleb suddenly turns around to meet your eyes, making you instinctively avert them. “you still want that tea?”
“no thanks, i'm really... fine 'nough now.”
“i see. well, i think you probably couldn't sleep back there because of the cold,” he walked towards the hearth to throw more logs into the pit. only now you realized how dim the room had been getting when the fire crackled back into its fiery light. “you need the warmth here in the living room, no?”
you sheepishly smile. “would that be okay?”
“of course, [name].”
—
“you're kidding me.”
under the sun through the acacia trees, you squinted your eyes.
the words didn't even have the energy to carry a real edge. they just fell out of your mouth, evaporating into the cold morning mist that hung thick between the towering leaves and outside caleb's cabin.
meanwhile, caleb didn't bother looking up from under the rusted hood of his dark blue pickup truck. he was hunched over the engine bay, the fabric of a sleeveless hoodie stretched tight across his shoulders. his hands, grease-stained and calloused, were buried deep near the battery terminal with a wrench catching the daylight.
“i wish i was, not gonna lie.” caleb muttered, his voice muffled by the metal hood. he let out a frustrated sigh that blossomed into a little puff of white steam in the damp air. “i've tried priming the pump, i've checked the spark plugs... nothing. the starter won't even click.”
you had woken up with a spark of renewed relief in your chest, because finally, finally, you can go back to where you feel the most safe, you can finally report whatever bullshit that happened to you yesterday.
but instead, you were met with an apologetic boy trying to fix his truck because, apparently, the engine decided to end its own life overnight.
“how does a truck that was running fine yesterday just die overnight, caleb?” you walked closer, your knuckles white as you shoved your hands deep into the pockets of the flannel shirt.
he finally pulled his head out from under the hood, wiping a thick smear of black grease across his forehead with the back of his forearm. he looked at you through his messy fringes, and you caught the way his eyes looked a little bit too... puppy-like.
“the storm,” caleb vaguely gestured.
the ground was completely saturated, littered with fallen leaves and broken branches from the torrential downpour that had finally died down to a drizzle just before dawn. “with this much humidity and the drop in temperature, moisture probably got into the distributor cap. or a wire shorted out. these old engines are finicky as hell, [name]. i'm sorry.”
you stared at the truck, your jaw locked so tight it made your temples throb.
a miracle.
a perfect little miracle for a guy who had just told you last night how much he loved precise systems where nothing was left to variable.
“...i can't stay here,” you insisted, your voice rising just a fraction. “my family is probably contacting the police right now. and my manager... caleb, they're going to think i'm dead. i need to get to a phone. i need to get to the highway.”
“i know that.” he replied, stepping away from the bumper. “i know you do. but, we can't drive this thing until i figure out what's wrong with the ignition.”
“then i'll walk.”
caleb’s hand froze mid-air as he went to wipe his wrench with an old rag. his dark eyes narrowed. “walk? [name], you can barely take three steps without a limp.”
“i don't care. you have a map, or- or a compass. i know you do- this is a hunting cabin after all.”
“no.”
“what?”
caleb tossed the wrench onto the truck's battery cover with a clank that made you jump. “it's not just about the distance,” he took two steps toward you, his large frame instantly blocking out the morning light. “the highway is nearly seven miles from here, and there are ravines out there that are flooded right now from the storm. one bad slip and you'll tear those stitches wide open, and then you're bleeding out in the mud with nobody to help you.”
“i'll take my chances.” you muttered.
caleb raised a brow. “and what about the man with the knife, [name]? he could be sitting behind a tree just half a mile from here, waiting for you to walk right back into his arms. do you really want to risk that?”
your fingers curled into the rough cotton of his top, the cold reality of his words settling into your stomach like a block of ice.
he had a point.
a terrifying, undeniable point. the monster was probably still out there.
“it's better to be safe,” caleb murmured, his tone softening back into that sweet cadence. “i'm not trying to keep you prisoner here, i swear. i want to get you home just as much as you want to go. but you have to trust me on this. it'll take me a few hours, maybe 'till noon.” he turns back to the hood of the truck with a frustrated frown. “go back inside and let me do my job. okay?”
you let out a trembling sigh, looking away from his face to stare at the woods surrounding the clearing. you hated the situation. you hated how logical his arguments were, and you hated the warmth where his eyes had just been.
“fine,” you whispered, your shoulders slumping in defeat. “just... hurry up, please.”
“i will, promise.”
you went back inside.
hours had bled away into the sluggish afternoon, and you had done nothing but count the knots in the pine ceiling and flip through the moldering pages of three-decade-old hunting manuals you found in the dusty cabinets.
they got you nowhere.
no phone numbers scribbled in the margins, no hidden emergency radios, no secret landlines. just instructions on how to field-dress a deer and diagrams of traps.
it was past two in the afternoon now. and this was getting ridiculous.
you paced the creaking floorboards of the living room, your bare toes digging into the cold grain of the wood. through the window pane, you watched caleb. he was still out there. his sleeveless hoodie was damp from the mist, broad back bent over the open hood of the truck with a disciplined concentration that should have been comforting.
he looked like a saint, honestly. a boy working himself to the bone in the cold just to get an old classmate back to safety.
but the timing was too perfect. the dead engine was too convenient. and you couldn't afford to spend another night here, isolated in the middle of nowhere, wrapped in his clothes and eating his food.
your eyes drifted from the window, turning slowly toward the hallway.
there was a second door down there. it sat right beside the bedroom he had given you last night—a wooden door with no brass lock on the outside, completely quiet and unassuming. but it had been poking at the back of your mind since you woke up. and for some reason, a hum of intuition told you that behind that specific piece of wood lay the missing piece of the puzzle.
you glanced back out the window to see caleb having his back turned, and reaching for a socket wrench from his toolbox.
quietly, holding your breath until your lungs burned, you padded down the hallway. the floor seemed to hold their breath with you, refusing to creak just as you stopped in front of the door, your hand hovering over the cold brass knob.
until, eventually, you stopped hesitating and twisted it.
it wasn't locked.
with an agonizingly slow click, the latch gave way, and the door swung inward.
you stepped inside, ready to find a dusty storage closet or a pile of old lumber.
instead,
the room was... dark, the only light filtering through a black curtain drawn tight over the single window, but it was enough to reveal a space that looked less like a cabin bedroom and more like the inside of an... obsessively structured mind.
you didn't know why, but your legs felt suddenly weak, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead as you stepped deeper into the gloom. the walls weren't bare wood. they were covered in large corkboards, maps of the county and hand-drawn diagrams. and in the center of the main board, pinned with color-coded pushpins, was you.
it was a photo from your high school yearbook, your smiling face circled in faded red ink. but next to it were newer photos, candid shots.
you walking to the vintage restaurant.
you holding a trash bag in the alley behind the kitchen, captured from the treeline.
you sitting by the register.
then, scrawled beneath the photos in a precise draftsman's print—the hand of an engineer—were pages of notes.
> [name]'s shift: 9:00 AM - 4:00 PM
> route predictability: 94%
> vulnerability point: rear kitchen exit (blind spot from highway)
your hands began to tremble so violently you had to press them against your thighs to keep them still. your eyes darted across the board, picking apart the timeline he had constructed. there were outlines of schedules, maps of these very woods with red ink tracing the exact path you had run last night. there was even a drawing of a leather passenger seat with a detailed list of strap measurements.
so, he hadn't really saved you...?
your eyes swept to another section of the wall, where photos of other people were pinned—friends you used to know, people you were still connected with in the city, and even your ex boyfriend. across his face, a line had been drawn in black marker, with a note written beside it: easily removed.
your brain screamed at you to run, to get out, to lock yourself away. but your eyes were drawn to the far corner of the room, where a smaller, shadow-draped board hung.
you took three slow steps toward it.
there were no yearbook photos there, there were polaroids instead. raw and flash-lit pictures of coldly pale skin, bloodshot eyes staring at nothing, and wet earth.
dead bodies.
people who had gone missing from the county over the last few years, their faces preserved in caleb's organized archive.
“what the fuck—...”
you stumbled backward, your heel catching on the edge of a small wooden stool. it caused you to hit the floor hard, the jarring impact sending a fresh flare of agony through your wounded thighs, but you barely felt it. you scrambled back on your hands and knees, your palms smacking against the cold wood as you frantically covered your mouth with both hands to choke back the sob of pure terror rising in your chest.
what the fuck is this?
what the fuck did he do?
don’t scream. if you scream, he’ll know exactly how much of his little theater you’ve torn apart.
there was no time to feel the dizzying slide of panic in your veins. your body, now operating on a raw survival code, simply forced you up. you scrambled off the floor of that room, your numb fingers catching the edge of the doorframe to drag yourself out. and immediately, you pulled the wooden door shut behind you.
you stood in the hallway, your chest heaving in ragged hitches, your hands pressed flat against your ribs to keep your heart from bursting out of your skin. calm down. calm down. if you pass out now, you're dead.
you gulped down the air of the hallway, forcing your legs to carry you back to the living room. you limped to the windowpane, your fingertips pressing against the cold glass as you peered out into the misty clearing.
the truck hood was still open. the wrench was resting on the battery.
but caleb was gone.
shit.
shit, where is he?
a cold prickling wave of dread washed down the back of your neck, and you abruptly turned around—
and there he was.
caleb was leaning casually against the laminate kitchen counter, holding a clear glass of water and slowly drinking from it. his violet eyes watched you over the rim, perfectly still, perfectly calm, tracking the frantic movement of your shoulders. he then lowered the glass, setting it down on the counter with a hollow thud, before using the back of his hand to wipe a stray drop of moisture from his chin.
“what's wrong?” he asked, a sweet smile touching the corners of his mouth. “why do you look so pale, [name]?”
you couldn't even bring yourself to answer.
is he... is he the one with the mask?
no, it didn't make sense. you had bitten the masked man's sleeve, you had wedged your knee into his chest, you had run while caleb found you. but the room... the photos of you and your friends with a black line through their face... the dead bodies...
it was an orchestration, wasn't it?
a sick, meticulously trap designed to drop you right into his waiting arms. and he was playing the savior so perfectly.
this sick bitch.
caleb's brow furrowed, his expression changing into a look of pure concern. “hey, are you alright?”
he looked so soft. he looked like the kind of boy you could rely on when the world was falling apart. it was disgusting. it was terrifying.
your eyes darted wildly around the room. a weapon. i need a weapon right now. your gaze flicked to the fireplace tools—the heavy iron poker—but it was too far. you looked to the kitchen counter, but caleb was blocking the knives. you were trapped.
caleb’s brow raised slightly, his tone softening even more. “are you hurt? did the wounds on your thighs start bothering you again? let me see, i can—”
“stay back!”
you pressed your back hard against the wall near the window.
“i'm getting out of this house! don't you dare come near me! stay the fuck back!”
caleb stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in what looked like genuine fear. the sudden outburst actually seemed to startle him. he quickly raised both of his hands in front of his chest, palms open and facing you in a classic gesture of surrender.
“whoa—whoa, [name], okay! easy,” he stammered, his voice trembling slightly as if your anger was physically hurting him. the safe-boy mask was still pinned so perfectly to his face. “i’m not coming closer. i swear. please, just breathe. the engine... i’m almost done fixing it, okay? just ten more minutes. please, just sit down, calm down, and let me make you some tea—"
you didn't let him finish.
you didn't care about his hands, or his voice, or the pathetic, frightened look in his eyes. you just lunged toward the front door, your feet slipping slightly on the timber—
“don't open that fucking door, [name].”
you stopped.
the hand you had stretched toward the brass deadbolt froze, hovering barely an inch from the metal. you couldn't move. your feet felt as though they had been poured into the floor, rooted by a sudden paralyzing instinct that warned you any sudden movement would end in violence. you didn't look back at him. you couldn't bring yourself to face whatever had just taken the place of the guy that had been so good to you.
then, you heard him sigh.
it wasn't the frustrated breath of a man losing his temper, but an almost endearing sound, like a parent watching a child refuse to eat their dinner. the scuff of his socks against the wood started up again, drawing closer and closer.
“i'm sorry...”
another step closer.
“you just... you've been acting so off since this morning, [name]. why won't you just trust me?”
the hypocrisy of it reeked.
you didn't move as he stepped into your space. the heat of his chest pressed nearly against your back, casting his shadow completely over the door. slowly, his hand reached around your face, fingers remarkably steady while they caught the edge of your jaw, gently but firmly lifting your chin. his skin was hot against your cold face. and with his other hand, he reached past your shoulder, his fingers intentionally wrapping around the brass handle of the door.
your breath hitched.
god, what do i do?
your mind scrambled and dug into the walls of your brain, fighting to find a way out. you couldn't fight him—not with your legs this torn up, not in his territory. if you ran, he’d track you down in the timber in minutes. if you screamed, no one would hear you. so...
the only way out was to play the game.
you had to dismantle him from the inside, lower his guard, and make him believe his perfect plan was working exactly as planned.
you gulped, forcing the frantic rhythm of your chest to slow down, forcing your hands to uncurl. then, slowly, you turned your head to meet caleb's questioning gaze.
his face was so close, eyes wide and looking down at you with a searching innocence that made your stomach twist with revulsion. he looked like he genuinely cared. he looked like he was waiting for you to tell him it was all just a bad dream.
“i...”
you looked at his lips, then back up to his eyes.
“i found it.”
caleb’s brow furrowed, his head tilting slightly to the side as his fingers finally removed themselves from your chin. “found what, [name]?”
“the... the pictures,” you whispered, letting your gaze drop to his chest, then slowly rise back to his face, just to make sure your eyes looked warm and convincing enough. “in that room. i... i found everything, caleb.”
the wind outside seemed to die down, leaving only the sound of your own breathing.
you just hoped to yourself that whatever it is you were planning would also work as perfectly as caleb's did. otherwise, the universe would be a sick, unfair thing.
caleb just blinked down at you, and you couldn't seem to figure out what look he had on his face. his eyes, reflecting the dim light of the cabin, stared into yours without a single shred of readable emotion. it was like looking into a pair of deep wells.
he smiled, then.
a screeping tilt of his mouth that crinkled the edges of his eyes, blooming into a face of what seemed like euphoric disbelief.
“you found them?”
“yes,” you forced a shaky laugh to escape your lips, playing the part of the girl who had finally found her savior. “and i... i just wish you would've told me sooner, b-because... i've been waiting.” you gulped. “i've been waiting for you, too.”
caleb put on a frown. “really? you... you aren't disgusted? you accept me?”
you swallowed hard, nodding your head. “yes, i accept you.”
“even if i've been plotting this since high school, [name]?”
“even then,” you whispered, nodding again.
“even if it took me this long to finally find the courage to speak to you?”
“yes.”
“even if...” you watched the way his eyes narrowed, lingering just right below your neck. “i killed people for you?”
your stomach did a sickening flip, but you forced your expression to remain compliant. “even then.”
“even if it thrilled me when i cut your thighs?”
when i cut your thighs...?
so the man in the car... the monster with the knife...
it really was him.
but how? where was the car he had used? how had he chased you through the mud, sliced your legs, and then somehow circled back to “find” you and carry you to his cabin without a single drop of mud on his clothes? how had he flawlessly executed a sequence that should have been physically impossible? and if he was this dead-obsessed with you—if he had built a literal shrine to your existence in his spare room—why would he hurt you? why would he carve into your flesh?
is he really that fucked in the head?
he wasn't just an obsessive stalker. he was a sadist. a monster who needed to break you, to bleed you, just so he could be the one to stitch you back together and play the hero.
you had to answer. you had to.
forcing your eyes to soften, forcing the horror back into the darkest corners of your mind, you let out a trembling sigh.
“yes.”
the shuddering breath that left caleb’s chest was shaky, thick with an almost pathetic relief.
he let his eyes slip shut, his shoulders finally dropping when he leaned forward to rest his forehead directly against yours. it's like he left only the boy who looked entirely drunk on your submission.
only now you realized that his fingers were already on your neck, sliding up to tangle into the strands of your hair and cradling your head like a piece of porcelain. “such a pretty, pretty little thing... i knew you'd understand. i knew it had to be you.”
but behind your closed eyes, your mind was nothing but a machine. you gulped, the sensation of his hand on your throat still making your skin crawl, but you forced your pulse to steady. keep it together. you needed to break this stalemate. you couldn't stay in this cabin for another hour, let alone another night. if you kept playing the passive victim, he would keep you here forever.
you needed him weak. you needed him distracted, his guard completely shattered, so you could find an opening, grab whatever heavy object was closest, and run.
and the fastest way to blind a boy like caleb was to give him exactly what he’d been dreaming about since high school.
without saying a word, you reached up, your fingers wrapping slowly around the side of his jaw.
caleb perked up instantly.
his eyes snapped open, pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the deep purple of his irises. he looked down at you with a breathless, desperate anticipation—like a stray puppy waiting for a hand to finally feed it.
and then, dreadfully, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.
it's the perfect distraction, and–
you had experience. you knew the rhythm of it, how to tilt your head, how to apply just enough pressure to make a man lose his focus. but caleb was an entirely different story.
the moment your lips met his, his entire body went rigid. for a split second, he didn't even seem to know how to breathe, his lips dry and unmoving against yours as if the sheer shock of the contact had short-circuited his brain. it was the kiss of a boy who had never done this before—clumsy, hesitant, and utterly terrified of breaking the illusion.
but the innocence didn't last.
“mhmm—”
as the realization of what was happening finally sank into his brain, caleb got completely carried away. another needy groan vibrated deep in his throat—a desperate sound that echoed in the cabin. before you could even pull away, his large hand slid down from your neck, arms wrapping tightly around your waist like iron bands.
and with a sudden tug, he pulled you backward. his bare thighs hit the armrest of the nearby couch, and he sank onto it, dragging you with him until you were standing flush between his knees.
he didn't let go of your mouth for a single second. the kisses became heavier, deeper, and uncomfortably loud as his lips parted against yours. a deep frown was etched across his brow, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as if he were trying to force himself to wake up from a dream he couldn't quite comprehend.
the sound of his mouth against yours suddenly cut off as caleb pulled back. he didn't go far—just a fraction of an inch, just enough for the cold draft of the cabin to rush between your lips, leaving them chilled and slick. his chest was heaving, torso expanding and contracting in heavy hitches while he stared directly into your eyes.
from this close, the bruised purple of his pupils looked almost black, dilated so wide that the iris was nearly gone.
slowly, a cruel smirk carved its way across his mouth.
“you're good,” caleb whispered, his voice a low vibration that brushed against your wet lips.
“you're really, really good, [name]. but i'm not an easy guy to fool.”
your hands, still resting against the sides of his neck, went cold.
“you saw everything. of course you're terrified of me.” his smirk widened, and his fingers tightened around your hips. “you even wanted to run out that door the second you realized what i did. so... what are you kissing me for, huh?”
your eyes widened slightly, your breath catching in your throat. he knows. the universe was indeed a sick, unfair thing, but you should have expected this. as irreversibly sick in the head as caleb xia was, he wasn't stupid. he was an engineer. he spent his life calculating variables, measuring tolerances, and anticipating failure points. of course he had planned for the possibility of you trying to manipulate him.
you couldn't speak. your tongue felt like lead in your mouth as you simply stared at him, the carefully crafted mask of compliance slipping away to reveal the terror underneath.
seeing the fear finally return to your face, caleb let out an amused sigh. he pulled back a bit more, putting a physical distance between your faces, though he remained sitting on the armrest with you standing locked between his knees. deliberately, his hands slid off your hips, his arms dropping to his sides in a gesture that looked mockingly like surrender.
“if you're really that scared of me... then go. run away. the door is right there.”
he nodded toward the exit behind you.
it felt too good to be true. it was a trap—it had to be. but as you stared at the brass deadbolt just feet away, your survival instinct screamed at you that staying here, trapped between his knees, was a guaranteed death sentence. it would be incredibly stupid not to take a chance in a desperate situation like this. if you could just get the door open, if you could just reach the misty treeline...
you inhaled a sharp breath, gathering every ounce of strength left in your aching thighs.
then, you turned on your heel and lunged for the door.
but you didn't even make it a single step.
before your foot could fully plant on the floor, caleb’s hand abruptly wrapped around your upper arm like a steel cuff. and with a violent surge of strength, he tugged you harshly backward. the world instantly spun in a blur of gray as your feet lost their grip, and your body was slammed hard down onto the cushions of the couch.
“ah—!”
and before you knew it, caleb was already over you.
it was indeed too good to be true.
his frame completely pinned you into the deep cushions, blocking out the light, the room, and the air. and immediately, as if afraid that he might also lose a chance, his mouth was already devouring yours from above.
it wasn't the clumsy kiss of a boy anymore. it was a rabid, starving thing. he pinned your wrists to the couch on either side of your head, his calloused hands locking over your joints with a crushing force that left no room for struggle. you writhed beneath him, trying to turn your head away, trying to keep your neck angled high to escape the suffocating heat of his face, but he simply used his weight to hold you down, lapping at your mouth, his lips parting yours with a wild hunger.
“god— hmm...” he was kissing you as if he were trying to pull the very breath out of your lungs, his head tilting from side to side to drink you in deeper, harder, completely losing himself in the taste of you.
finally.
that was the only word echoing through the hollow spaces of his head as he crushed your body beneath his. finally.
your fingers, pinned flat against the couch, twitched helplessly beneath the crushing weight of his palms. you tried to keep up. you tried to keep your head above, trying to maintain the distance that had kept you alive since last night. but the overwhelming reality of him was starting to dissolve the boundaries of your own mind.
why were you keeping up?
all of this, all of it—it was a visceral assault on your senses. it felt gross. it felt incredibly, deeply gross to be the literal centerpiece of a sick years-long blueprint, to have your body subjected to the whims of his twisted fantasies. but as his weight settled more heavily beside your thighs, pinning you down until you couldn't move an inch...
it felt... good?
it felt good.
you found yourself ghost-blinking, your vision swimming as a sudden feverish warmth crawled up from your chest, flooding your throat and burning across your cheeks, before pooling into an ache in your lower body. you were completely paralyzed by it, caught in a terrifying tug-of-war between your survival instincts and a thrill you had never felt before. but you didn't dare kiss him back. you kept your lips stiff, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, even as your body betrayed you.
caleb, still lapping hungrily at your mouth, finally and unwillingly began to pull away.
the transition was painfully slow, his lips dragging against yours with a heavy reluctance. as he lifted his head just a few inches, a glistening string of saliva stretched between your parted lips, bridging the tiny gap between you before it finally snapped.
your chest hitched.
the sight of it made a burning blush erupt across your face. you couldn't explain it to yourself. you didn't know how to place the sudden, wild drumming of your pulse. it felt like discovering a hidden corridor inside your own house, a door you had never known existed, and you had absolutely no idea what to do with the monster waiting inside it.
above you, caleb stared down. his eyes narrowed, glassy, and wild, like a lovesick dog that had finally been thrown a scrap of meat but was still starving for the whole meal.
his fingers tightened around your wrists with a sudden bruising force, pinning your arms so hard against the leather you could feel the pulse in his own palms hammering against your skin.
“i didn't do any of this to hurt you, [name],” he whispered frantically, eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of comprehension in your gaze. “you have to believe me. you have to understand. i've been so quiet for so long. for five years- five years of watching you from afar, watching you walk home, watching other people take your time, watching them treat you like you were just... normal.” a breathless laugh escaped his lips. “like you weren't the center of the fucking universe.”
his forehead dropped for a split second to press against yours, closing his eyes shut.
“the people who tried to touch you, the ones who thought they had a right to you—” then, he opens his eyes ajar, pulling away just an inch. “i had to clear them out. i had to. because no one else could love you like this. no one else would go this far for you, [name].”
he gulps, letting out a small grunt. “no one.”
his grip on your wrists tightened even more, the bones of your hands aching under his hold, but his expression was so incredibly, terrifyingly soft.
“tell me you understand that. please. tell me you see it now.”
he didn't look away, he couldn't. his entire body trembled with the weight of his own confession, desperately waiting for you to say something. to curse him, to scream, to agree—anything.
but you remained flush beneath his grip.
you lay there, pinned to the couch. the words washed over you in a dizzying wave, but you couldn't process a single one. you couldn't think. you couldn't move. you could only listen to the rhythmic beating of your heart against your chest. only that.
caleb watched the rise and fall of your chest, tracking the silent rhythm of your breath as you lay trapped beneath him. you weren't screaming. you weren't trying to tear your wrists from his fingers anymore.
a drop of satisfaction settled into his features. to a mind as twisted as his, the absence of a fight wasn't fear—it was an invitation. it was consent.
slowly, his gaze drifted away from your face. his eyes traveled down the column of your throat, sliding past the open collar of his oversized flannel shirt, before tracking the line of your torso. and finally, his eyes landed specifically on your thighs.
even beneath the sweatpants, the muscles in your legs were locked rigid, your knees pressing together so tightly that the fabric was bunched and strained between your joints.
caleb raised a single brow. his eyes flicked from your locked knees back up to your face.
fuck.
the warmth that had pooled in your lower body was a physical weight now, and the fact that he was actively studying it made a sudden surge of panic flare up in your chest.
“let go,” you choked out, twisting your hips and jerking your wrists in a frantic effort to hide yourself from his stare.
his palms remained locked over your wrists like iron clamps, while he just watched your struggles with a curiosity, his head tilting slightly. “why are you doing that?”
you stopped twisting, your teeth clicking together as your glare turned into a frown. “doing what?”
then, without warning, the suffocating weight above you vanished.
caleb simply let go of your wrists. he rose from the couch in one motion, his bare feet hitting the timber floor without a sound.
he turned his gaze entirely toward the front door. and when he turned his face back toward the couch, the sadist from a second ago was gone. his eyes were bright, his face soft, and that sweet, reliable smile was pinned neatly across his lips. “the engine is finally fixed. the moisture cleared out of the distributor cap while we were... catching up.”
you sat up slowly, your elbows trembling as you propped your weight up on the cushions. what the actual fuck?
“i can drive you home now,” caleb continued, walking over to the side table to pick up his truck keys. “or the police precinct. or anywhere else you want to go. let's get you sorted out, yeah?”
you just stared at him, completely bewildered, your brain grinding to a screeching halt. he couldn't just do this. he couldn't build a literal shrine to you, kiss you like that, pin you to a couch until you were wrecked, and then just pull back and offer to take you to a drive-thru the next second. it was insane. the sheer whiplash-inducing absurdity of his behavior was breaking your ability to process the situation.
caleb turned on his heel, turning his back to you as he took two easy strides toward the wooden exit.
fuck it.
your survival instinct was screaming at you to just let him open the door, to get into the truck and never look back, but the chaos of the entire afternoon had pushed you past the breaking point.
“caleb,” you called out.
he paused, his hand hovering just inches away from the door handle. smiling, he turned his head back over his shoulder.
“hmm?”
“what are you doing?”
caleb fully turned his body away from the door, his hand dropping loosely to his side with the truck keys giving a jingle in his palm. “what do you mean?”
a spike of frustration flared up in your chest, mixing dangerously with the adrenaline still lingering in your veins. what was he trying to pull? did this look like a joke to him? the absolute whiplash of his behavior—switching from a dead-obsessed guy on top of you to a polite, helpful one in the span of thirty seconds—was maddening.
you took a slow breath, your fingers digging into the cushion of the couch. “replace the bandages,” you told him. “before we go anywhere. they're bleeding again.”
caleb blinked at you, a momentary flash of surprise crossing his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came.
“of course,” he murmured, setting the keys down on the kitchen counter. “give me a second.”
minutes later, the quiet of the cabin was broken only by the pop of the first-aid box latches. you sat on the edge of the couch, your spine rigid, watching caleb lowering himself onto one knee on the floor directly in front of you. he was focused, broad shoulders hunched forward while he neatly laid out the fresh rolls of gauze, the medical tape, and a packet of antiseptic wipes onto the small wooden coffee table.
you pursed your lips inward, your fingers reaching down to the elastic waistband of the grey sweatpants, preparing to roll the heavy fleece back up your thighs.
“actually,” caleb said, without looking up from his neat arrangement of the medical supplies. “take them off this time.”
your fingers froze against the fabric.
“the blood's probably soaked through to the inner lining by now,” he explained, before he lifted his eyes to meet yours through his bangs. “if you keep them on, the fabric's just going to rub against the fresh dressing while i'm driving. i'll just grab you a new pair of pants from my room before we walk out.”
you hesitated for a long, heavy second. every sensible instinct in your brain told you to refuse, to maintain whatever boundary you had left. but there was something else shifting beneath the surface—a pull of submission, a curiosity that quietly nudged you to just see how far this would go.
keeping your eyes locked on his face, your hands gripped the waistband. you slid the fleece down past your hips, down your thighs, and kicked the sweatpants away, leaving your legs bare, covered in nothing but your underwear.
but caleb didn't look.
he didn't lean in, he didn't smirk, and his eyes didn't wander down the exposed line of your hips. instead, he kept his gaze entirely focused on the task at hand, his fingers moving with a careful discipline as he reached out and gently peeled back the blood-stained cotton from your torn skin.
“sorry,” his thumb lightly brushed the undamaged skin just above the laceration to steady his hand. “sorry about these.”
even with the pants gone, you couldn't help it—your knees were still locked together, your inner thighs pressing flush against each other in an instinctive attempt to hide the dampness ruined into your underwear.
with a fresh roll of gauze held between his fingers, caleb looked up at you from his knee on the floor. his expression was entirely too innocent, brow tilting up with that infuriatingly boyish look.
“if you keep pressing your legs together like that, i won't be able to wrap the tension properly. they're just going to split again.” he let out a quiet chuckle. “come on. relax for a second.”
the audacity of the sound made your jaw tighten. you didn't know what was happening to you anymore. the logic of the world had unraveled within the span of an hour. you knew who he was now; you knew what lay behind that closed door down the hall. you should have been frozen in pure, unadulterated terror. you should have been vomiting from the revulsion of sitting naked in front of a monster.
but you weren't.
instead, that heat was turning into a literal ache between your hips. your pulse was hammering directly into the cushion beneath you, your skin hyper-aware of the cool air traveling over your bare skin. why are you like this? why do you want him to do something?
with a gulp, you slowly let your muscles give way.
you spread your legs just an inch or two, exposing the wet patch blooming right through the center of your cotton panties.
caleb’s eyes dropped down.
he stared at the damp fabric for one long, unblinking second, but he just wordlessly forced his gaze back down to the lacerations on your right thigh, his throat moving as he swallowed hard. his hands became incredibly precise, almost stiff, as he rapidly laid the clean pad down and began winding the white gauze around your leg, securing it with three tight strips of medical tape.
once the final piece of tape was smoothed down against your skin, caleb didn't linger. he immediately picked up the discarded wrappers, dropping them into the white first-aid box and snapping the latches shut.
you blinked, the sudden withdrawal leaving you feeling strangely hollow. trying to shake the dizzying fog from your head, you leaned forward, your fingers reaching toward the floor to grab the discarded sweatpants.
“are you just going to leave it like that?”
caleb’s voice cut through the room, low and raspy.
your hand froze on the fleece.
then, you looked up. he was still kneeling between your feet, his hands resting flat against his own knees.
“do you want to take care of that too before we go?” he had asked.
the question left you staring at him, bewildered, with your mouth parting slightly. you felt yourself grow even wetter, the cotton clinging miserably to your skin as the ache intensified.
caleb didn't wait for a verbal answer, because your reaction was written entirely across your burning face.
he stared at you for one more second, and then, his hands reached forward, fingers wrapped firmly around the insides of your knees. with an unyielding pressure, he pushed his arms outward, spreading your legs even wider, just to leave you open and exposed to him.
he kept his dilated eyes locked directly onto yours from below, his mouth curving into a small smile. “i guess that makes the two of us, then.”
his thumbs swept slowly across your skin, tracing burning circles right over the edges of the fresh white bandages, his eyes never leaving yours.
“you're shaking,” the contrast was dizzying—the innocent smile still pinned to his face while his pupils were dilated so wide they looked like pools of leaked ink. “is it because it's cold in here, [name]? or is it because you're finally realizing you belong right here?”
“shut up.” you choked out, your knuckles turning white as you dug your fingernails into the cushions beneath you. your brain was screaming at you, a siren warning you that this was the man who had carved into your flesh, the monster who had mapped out your entire life on a corkboard down the hall.
but your body was operating on an entirely different command. the dampness between your legs had soaked through the cotton, and the cool air of the cabin rushing over your exposed skin made the ache unbearable.
caleb let out an amused hum, the sound vibrating against your bare knees as he slowly lowered his head. he leaned in close to your right leg, his warm breath fanning across your skin a second before his lips pressed down against your inner thigh.
god.
the kiss was slow, heavy, and searingly hot. he dragged his mouth upward, his lips parting slightly as he nipped at the soft skin just an inch away from the white gauze wrap. you let out an involuntary gasp, your hips jerking slightly against the couch.
“caleb—stop—” the protest was weak, entirely devoid of any real force.
“can't do that,” he whispered against your skin. “you're too wet, [name]. it's messy. let me clean it up for you.”
he shifted, dropping fully to both knees between your feet while his hands slid up from your knees, his palms flattening against the outsides of your hips, anchoring you into the cushions so firmly you couldn't move an inch even if you tried. he looked up at you one last time, a lovesick gaze taking over his features before he bent his head down completely.
his nose nudged the edge of your panties, pushing the damp cotton aside with a single finger until he found you.
when his tongue first made contact, a broken sob immediately tore right out of your throat.
“hngh-!”
it was slow. agonizingly slow. caleb wasn't rushing to finish, it was like he was testing you, studying the way your breath hitched, measuring just how much you resisted him. his tongue was broad, hot, and thick as he swiped it upward, tracing the sensitive length of your clit with his mouth. it made your toes curl inside his wool socks, your back arching off the couch.
“you can't... just...” your logic was losing the war, shattering into pieces under the heat of his mouth.
caleb let out a rumble of satisfaction against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh. he began to pick up the pace, his tongue lapping at you hungrily and drinking in the sweet taste of your cunt with an uncomfortably loud sucking.
he was testing himself too, learning the exact angles that made you writhe, the specific way that made your breathing turn into desperate pants. every time you tried to pull away, tried to reassemble the logic that told you he was dangerous, he would use his tongue to push you right back over the edge, lapping you down from below until you were helpless under his control.
“you taste so good,” he gasped out, pulling away for a mere fraction of a second, his lips shiny and wet in the dim light before he buried his face right back between your thighs. “so perfect. i knew you would. i knew it.”
the heat between your thighs suddenly vanished, leaving the sensitive skin tingling and cold against the drafty air of the cabin. you let out a whine, your head tossing against the cushion as you blinked through the dizzying haze of pleasure.
but caleb didn't give you room to breathe.
he crawled up your body like a shadow, his large frame blocking out the rest of the room as he pinned you back down into the couch. he was panting, his purple eyes fixed on your face with a rabid hunger.
“you're... so loud for me, [name],” he rasped, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration that brushed against your burning cheek. “i love it. i love hearing what i do to you.”
before you could even gather the breath to respond, his hands slid up your torso, his fingers hooking into the front of the oversized flannel shirt. with one tug, he parted the fabric to bare your chest to the cool air and his scorching gaze. your breath hitched sharply as his eyes locked onto your breasts.
“...so beautiful. so perfect.” he breathed.
and immediately, caleb leaned down, his mouth targeting your left breast while his large hand cupped the right one, his calloused thumb rubbing over the sensitive tip with a pinch that made you arch off the cushions. when his hot tongue finally swiped across your nipple, a broken gasp tore out of your throat.
he took your nipple into his mouth, his lips locking around it as he sucked deeply, pulling the sensitive nub against the roof of his mouth.
“caleb—ah! wait—” you whimpered, your hands flying to his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscle to push him away.
your logic was screaming at you, a fading voice telling you how humiliating this was, how deeply wrong it was to be falling apart under the touch of the man who had orchestrated your capture. the shame burned hotter than the blush on your face. but even as your hands pressed against his shoulders to push, your hips instinctively tilted upward, begging for something more, for something else.
caleb switched sides, his wet mouth dragging across your chest to devour your other breast, his tongue lapping and swirling around the stiff peak until you were panting.
“...you like it,” he murmured against your skin, “you want more, don't you? tell me.”
“no... i don't—ah!”
the lie died instantly in your throat, turning into a ragged sob as a sudden intrusion stretched you open from below.
while your mind had been entirely consumed by the sensation of his mouth on your tits, caleb had slid his hand back down your abdomen. his fingers had touched the cotton of your underwear, and without a single word of warning, he had buried two of his fingers deep inside your tight warmth.
the suddenness of it made your toes curl once more, your fingers instantly gripping his hair to pull him hard against your chest. his fingers were so long, stretching you open before he immediately began to pump them inside you, his knuckles rubbing hard against your clit with every thrust.
caleb's tongue dragged flat over your wet nipple, his teeth catching the peak just hard enough to make your hips jerk off the cushions. he sucked it deep into his mouth, chest expanding with a rough breath while his two fingers drove all the way into you, bottoming out against your tight walls.
the sliding sound of his knuckles against your soaked panties filled the space between you, sharp and uncomfortably loud.
caleb pulled his mouth away from your breast, his eyes locked onto yours with his messy bangs brushing your forehead. a slow, small smile crept across his lips—that same dependable expression he used when he was tending to you last night, now utterly curdled by the sight of you pinned beneath him like this.
“shh, it's okay,” he whispered, suddenly pulling his fingers out of your heat. “i'm just taking care of you, [name]. we can't have you getting into the truck all wet like this,” and then, he plunges them back into you much, much deeper again. “that'd be something, wouldn't it?”
“fuck you,” you choked out, the curse losing all its weight when he suddenly hooked his fingers and drove them faster, hitting your spot with a punishing pace.
“ah—! caleb—”
you were a complete hypocrite.
your brain was screaming at you that this was the man who had planned your isolation, the monster who had cut your legs, but your body was entirely detached from your sanity. shame burned hot in your throat, a nauseating weight in your stomach, but as he drove his fingers in even faster, your knees instinctively fell further apart.
you spread yourself wider for him, your thighs loosening and opening your pussy to his hands as you chased the pressure of his knuckles.
caleb let out a grunt that was followed by a chuckle, “hmm, look at you. look how wide you're opening up for me.”
he drove his hand in harder, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit, rubbing in circles with every wet thrust.
“caleb, please—fuck—stop, it's too much—!”
“no, it's not?” he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath blooming against your skin. “you want this. just take it, [name]. let me finish taking care of you.”
the friction inside you became too much, the pressure of his knuckles building into a wave that you couldn't fight anymore. your breath caught in your chest, your fingers clawing uselessly at the fabric of his hoodie as you felt something tightening into a knot in your lower abdomen. your logic, your shame, the memory of the room down the hall—everything completely shattered as the sensation pushed you over the edge.
you fell straight into an orgasm.
“caleb—ah! caleb!”
your thighs convulsed, legs trembling against the cushions as you came hard right against his hand, the muscles inside you clamping down around his fingers in pulses. you were utterly mortified, tears of pure overstimulation stinging the corners of your eyes, but your body was utterly out of your control.
and caleb didn't stop.
even as your hips bucked and your legs shook, he kept his fingers inside you just to continue to pump his hand. he didn't slacken the pace for a single second, driving his hand in deep, forcing you to ride out the hypersensitive waves of the climax.
“aw, look at that,” he squeezed and grunted his voice. “look how much you're cumming for me, [name].”
he gave two more deep, dragging thrusts, bottoming out against your walls one last time before he finally and slowly curled his fingers and pulled his hand out of you.
the sudden withdrawal left you feeling empty, shivering instantly as the cool air hit your wet skin. you lay there helpless, your arms thrown back against the cushions, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath.
you watched the way caleb lifted his wet hand, how his fingers were coated in your orgasm, shining in the low light. keeping his eyes locked onto yours, he brought his hand to his mouth and wrapped his lips around his middle fingers, sucking the slick moisture off his skin.
you widened your eyes, “hey, that's-”
he suddenly reached up, his palm resting gently on the top of your head. his fingers smoothed through your messy hair, patting you with a smile that felt terrifyingly domestic, like a pet owner rewarding a good animal.
“there,” caleb murmured. “is that already better, [name]? did i take good care of it for you?”
he let his hand slide down from your hair, his thumb lightly brushing the side of your knee where your legs lay loose and parted against the cushions.
“no more legs tightening now, right?”
“shut up.”
caleb stayed kneeling between your feet for a few moments longer, his serene smile never wavering as his thumb traced a gentle circle on the side of your knee. “i'll get those pants for you now.”
he stood up, his bare feet making no sound against the floor while he walked toward the hallway. you watched his broad frame disappear down the corridor, heading toward the bedroom—past the heavy wooden door that held the corkboards, the maps, the candid photos of your life, and the polaroids of the dead.
the second he was out of sight, the spell broke.
the fog in your brain cleared with a sudden, violent snap. the shame was a bitter taste in the back of your throat, but you couldn't afford to sink into it. your legs were loose now, the tight tension gone, replaced by a cold adrenaline. you sat up, your bare feet hitting the floor.
you didn't wait for the new pants, instead you grabbed the discarded ones on the floor and put them back on again.
then, your eyes locked onto the kitchen counter.
there, resting on the laminate wood right next to the empty glass of water, was the heavy metal keyring. the keys to the truck.
holding your breath, you stood up on your trembling, bandaged legs. every step was a sharp flare of agony against the fresh gauze, but you pushed through it, padding silently across the living room. your fingers closed around the cold metal of the keys, wrapping tight to keep them from jingling.
you turned toward the front door, before your hand gripped the brass deadbolt.
click.
the sound of the latch releasing felt as loud as a gunshot in the cabin.
“[name?]”
you didn't look back. you threw the door open, the air of the misty afternoon hitting your bare skin like a physical blow. you lunged out into the gray light, your wool-socked feet slipping on the wet grass as you sprinted toward the open hood of the truck.
slimming into the driver's seat, you jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. the engine roared to life, coughing violently before settling into a rumble.
through the grimy windshield, you saw him.
caleb had stepped out onto the porch of the cabin. he didn't run down the steps. he didn't scream your name. he just stood there in the mist, holding a pair of neatly folded red flannel pajama pants in his left hand. his eyes locked onto yours through the glass, his face entirely expressionless as the wind whipped his messy bangs across his forehead.
you slammed the truck into reverse, the tires spinning and spraying thick mud into the air as you backed out of the clearing. you threw the gear into drive, stamping your foot down on the gas pedal, tearing down the overgrown dirt track that led toward the highway.
the trees blurred past in a sickening rush of green and gray. you were breathing hard, tears finally spilling over your hot cheeks as you gripped the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white.
finally, you were escaping. you were going home.
but as your eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, watching the silhouette of the cabin disappear into the dense timber behind you, a sickening realization settled deep into your chest.
you had the truck. you had the keys. but he had the blueprints. he had your schedule, your routes, your predictable blind spots, and the black line drawn neatly across the face of everyone you loved. you were driving back to the city, back to your life, but you knew—with a certainty—that you were just moving along the exact path he had already paved for you.
the truck hit the smooth asphalt of the main highway, the tires humming against the road, but the shape of the woods followed you all the way home.
𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤. out of job and potentially your shelter. a stranger came into one of your darkest day. it's easy to overlook him when he offers what you need, a safe haven. struggling, you can't say no and when he begins to show his true colors, you find no reason to leave.
ᯓ➤ content warnings. waitress non mc reader + stalking + stockholm syndrom + creepy? caleb + hints of surveillance + domesticity.
ᯓ➤ notes. commissioned by @dorkyclavis. thank you very much for waiting. rest assured that I'm still working on the other comms and i apologized how long it take to finish. once again, thank you very much for the support.
It's raining buckets outside.
The sound of the cars honking and screeching with the splash of puddles are muffled under the rainy weather. Lights are blurry from where he sat. Condensation dripping down in the surface of the windows. It's been days and rainy days in Skyhaven are the heaviest.
It doesn't deter him to visit the diner he frequents. The braised chicken wings were good and Caleb is a connoisseur of good food that reminds him of home but what piques his interest was not the food but the waitress responsible in the area where he sat at.
It begins with a “What can I get for you, sir?” Followed by a smile that's been plastered for a thousand times to be polite for the diners because a pleasing personality will surely pay the bills stacked in the coffee table of your rented apartment.
Caleb saw you write orders in your notepad with the same worn smile. Juggling between balancing food trays and anticipating every demand even it was ridiculous and beyond infuriating. You live in the constant state of demand. Almost mechanical that you can't even fathom of wether you were still alive or dead and was constantly living in the motions.
He notices everything about from the slight tremor of your hands. Your head tilting to the side while you listen with intention. Anticipating every movement and the sudden change of heart with every order. He can make out the way you write in your handwriting. The little swish and curve of the letters being jutted down in paper. He knows everything about you like the back of his hand and despite everything about it — you will never know him for he was a stranger.
He only upgraded to be a patron who orders the same thing and asks for the specials. You didn't bother to know his name as you politely take his order and offers him the same worn smile that you wear every single day and Caleb itches to know you more. See the facadé you were putting on and to peel the layers of your skin to find the real you.
Despite that somehow Caleb thinks that you truly knows him even it's simple as putting a cup of water in his table or how you plate his food. Avoiding suggestions of specials of the day that contains cilantro or simply requesting the cook to remove the much despised herb on his food. He also likes to think that he was special — that the smiles you have given him were different.
He allowed himself to hope that you might feel something for him. That your genuine smiles was only meant for him. It must be the corners of your lips naturally creasing, slowly fading in their usual lines. Your shoulders are relaxed and it means that you're comfortable with him and you can truly trust him.
He didn't think that maybe you have given yourself some little respite after hearing that there's a chance of salary increase enough to cover your monthly dilemmas from bills. He didn't think of it. He can only think of the smile you were giving him. He thought that you were giving him a chance and you see him as more than the patron who sits in the corner.
Out of the streaky paint of the walls and cracked leathers of the chairs — a stranger that goes by the name of Caleb, his dark brown hair under the warm light and eyes with the color of the Orion Nebula, wearing the same flight jacket holds in his heart that you will look at him. Someday.
It takes thirty steps from the diner to the bus stop. Fifty when you like to bask in the surroundings. A twenty minute ride to your home. Another thirsty steps and forty when you take five steps backwards when you almost forgot to greet Patches, the resident tabby cat that likes to nap near the post and another five steps when you continue walking after greeting the cat. Sometimes it takes a lot more when you stop for your groceries although it only consists of frozen foods much to his dismay. You don't need a quick easy meal, you deserve a warm home-cooked meal.
He can tell the weather's cold. Probably dropping another degree as he watch you puff a breath of cold air instantly dissipating in the thin air as you began to climb the stairs in your apartment. Then, he hears the familiar music blasting in your earphones. It's been on the charts for weeks and you seem to love that singer as you hummed. You've been streaming for days. It kind of grows on him too. Lately he's been scrolling and listening to your preferred music.
He takes what he can. Absorbing every details about you. Caleb feels closer to you when he does it. Making sure you arrived safely at your home and protect you from the dangers that lurks around the corners including those strangers that likes to be near you. He took care of that problem before they can cause you real harm. They were a danger the moment they think it was okay to be near you.
Here in this rundown diner he can see everything. Taking notes of everything. Everyone that may cross that line and thinking that they own you because you serve them. He doesn't miss what you were doing. Caleb can't take his eyes off you for a second and he got the talent for not being so obvious about his staring.
The diner moves in a average pace. A few diners scattered around your area. A family of four in the middle booth trying to keep the food down in their children's throat and not be thrown across the table.
In the next booth, a couple silently shares a slice of pie. The rest was the few people that sometimes gets their fixed of food that they've been downing since they learned how to eat.
He sees you cleaning a table before the bell rings. A bunch of rowdy friends entered. Caleb knows they're going to be trouble and they really choose the area where you are serving.
You move with years of experience. Clearing the dirty plates in the speed of light and walking towards the table. It's instinct at this point for Caleb to be alert. Anticipate every movement of the party that may threaten you or act in pure stupidity.
He keeps his eyes on you. He can the exhaustion in your eyes, your shoulders stiff and your lips almost trembling as you kept smiling. Crossing out their previous orders cause they can't decide on wether to annoy you or make your life miserable for such a simple task.
They obnoxiously laughed as you left to tend their orders. Their chatters sounding like teeth scraping against teeth on his ears. Irritating.
In his months of visiting this diner, he saw how many times you handled this kind of situations before. You have the patience of a saint. Calmness that surpasses beyond. Efficiency that you can get any job done because you can.
Even if you possess all the good qualities — Caleb knew you were bound to crack one day. You forget that you were human too. Any day, any minute, any second. It will take a small trigger to shatter and release all your bottled feelings because Caleb always knows anything about you. If you did he will be right there by your side to save you.
The surface of the ceramic mug burns his fingers. Gripping the ware that it might crack under his hold but Caleb likes to pretend that he was just stressed — under pressure. That his gaze still unwavering to the people who was rude to you were nothing hostile and it was just concern.
There's a lot of people who can hurt you in this world and Caleb can be powerless but he does anything in his power to shield you away from anything that wants to hurt you.
A loud crash can be heard. The fellow diners stopped whatever they were doing including him. Caleb look at the spot where the noise is.
His blood run cold but his skin burns from anger. Because what the hell is that. That isn't overreacting it's failing to show basic human decency who was working.
There standing, is you who was trying not to cry. A large chunk of food is pasted to your uniform. Staining the once pristine clothed that he knows you always clean to look presentable. He can also make out the sauce splattered in your face and arm.
You remained calm — unmoving, unblinking. He can hear you apologizing along with the line that their order will be replaced immediately and behind you, a fellow waitress scrambles as you usher her to immediately replace the ruined order.
From a bystander’s eye, it was all settled. A messed up order can be changed. The waitress apologizes for the mistake but Caleb knew people and people who thinks they're allowed to mistreat workers definitely didn't take this the easy way out and Caleb have to sit with his fists clenched.
It doesn't end there and Caleb without hesitation stands up. He can't allow you to be mistreated furthermore because of a simple mistake and allows for more room to berate you.
He makes himself known but Caleb didn't need to drag his footsteps to the sound of his heavy leather combat boots. Or puff his broad chest cause no one can ignore the tall man standing over six feet walking towards the waitress who's been serving his food for the last months.
The wasted food squelches under his boots. It was unintentional and quite wounded Caleb. He does not like wasting food and the people who can throw it casually just because they can and to aim at someone who had made an honest mistake makes his blood boil.
He steps between you and the man. The group behind him silences and whispers as he intervened. Shielding you with his body and to stop this kind of a overreaction over some mistaken order.
“Step aside, kid. There's no reason to be playing knight in shining armor for this stupid bitch.” Caleb glares at him. Stupid bitch. He calls you that name and this man must had kissed the floor if he punched him. Eating the wasted food this scumbag has thrown.
There are two kind of people Caleb hates. The one who thinks they have the permission to call you names because they can and the other who thinks you're available for them to touch.
The crunch of bone can be heard followed by the sound of a scream. It's easy to lose your appetite for this kind of sound coming from a grown man who's pathetic.
Does he really think he can touch you with this filthy hands and hurt you with it when he's around? No fucking way.
“Enough.” Caleb's lips are pressed into a thin line. “She apologized and we know that we won't be in this situation if it weren't for your companion’s indecisiveness and yours.” The man winces as he tightens his grip around the wrist. Further dislocating it.
“You think it's funny to annoy someone who's patiently accommodating your bullshit?” He hears the scratch of your pen crossing another order from the menu because they keep changing it while you try to remain steady. Repeatedly nodding and politely reciting today's specialties that none of them bothered to take.
“Hey, cut it out.” He glares at the woman huddled in the booth. “Cut it out? You didn't tell this scumbag that's enough?” The woman freezes at his words. Fear and embarrassment on their face.
“Then when you're provided with good service, you get angry because it's not your order when it really is or you just lack respect to anyone who serves your food?” He swats their hand away. Clutching their dislocated wrist that was blooming with bruise in the shape of his fingers.
“Leave. You don't deserve to be in this diner.” They didn't need to be told twice or look at him again. Caleb's looks was beyond murderous and would snap when provoked.
They scurry away like rats. Making a beeline towards the exit. The bell ringing behind them. Caleb exhaled and when he turns around — his eyes instantly softens. Caleb knows you doesn't owe him or anything because he helped you but the look in your eyes. Glossy and looking at him with such humiliation just rewire his brain into nothing.
It was a rough day for you and Caleb understands that. You kneeled beside the mess of the food. Ignoring the sticky mess clinging in your blouse as you crouch to clean up the floor.
Caleb kneels too. Helping you clean up. “You didn't need to help. Paying customers are not allowed to clean up. Management says.” You murmur but Caleb pretends he didn't hear you. He simply relishes that he's near you even when you don't look at him.
He can hear the pain in your voice though.
Caleb dislike rainy days that stretches into the afternoon until evening but with the pouring rain, there's only you and him under the bus stop.
The scent of rain, the metal corroding with rust in the bench and your scent lingers in the air. He saw you leaning in the corner. Despite the hood of your jacket covering your face, he can see the faint streaks of tears staining your round cheeks. Realizing that he was staring at you, you pulled the hoodie over to cover your face and he can see your left hand covered with bandage. Too tight that blood seeps into the white cloth.
It hurts Caleb to see you like this. He doesn't need to know what happened it was clear to him that you got fired. Your reaction was normal. The diner's wages plus the tips was the thing that pays the bills in your home and with it gone after the earlier commotion because of assholes who lacks basic decency of being human costed your job.
Caleb didn't like seeing you cry to and he wanted to comfort you. Brush the tears rolling down your cheeks but if he did it now, he will be scorned by you as a stranger who dare to touch you but you're too kind to do that or it will just scare you and Caleb didn't want that. He wants you to trust him.
“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” He apologizes, sitting in a comfortable distance. Not enough to invade but close enough to you.
In the corner of his eyes, he watches as you slowly slipped off the hood of your jacket.
“I don't mind.” You casually say despite the sob that was threatening to slip from your mouth. You cried enough for the day and a stranger to see you like this — it was pathetic.
Your eyes are bloodshot. Lips a bit dry but he knows they're daily moisturized but the cold weather and the earlier dilemma, it was bound to get chapped. You remained in your seat quietly. Clutching the sleeves of your sweater and it was hard for him to ignore your injured hand.
The rain continued to pour and the red sign of the next bus stopping blinks, it would be another fifteen minutes for you and he plans to stay with you.
Kindness is second to Caleb. He always has been the dependable one and it is only for those who deserves it. The children, the elderly and you. It's hard for him to turn a blind eye to those who need it and certainly not to you even he knows you were going to reject his help but vulnerability has it's perks.
“You’re bleeding a little. It would hurt more if it's not dressed properly.” He watch as your eyes shift. The cold must have numbed you up to realize your wound was stinging.
You avoided his gaze. Embarrassed that a stranger noticed your wound. “It’s not a big deal.” You murmured but the stranger in your eyes only smiled and Caleb knows how his smile can be disarming. A certain charm for people that always works.
He hums, unconvinced at your dismissal. He rummages through the paper bag that he brought surprisingly wasn't damp with moisture.
“May I?”
He extends his arm towards you. Waiting for you to take it. Will you just accept his help? You didn't need to be strong all the time. Let this be a moment of vulnerability for you. He will always have your back.
When you tentatively placed your hand in his, he almost sighs in relief. He carefully unwraps the poorly dressed wound.
What a coincidence it must be. A stranger tending to your wound has a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of bandage in his paper bag. He was running out of supply in his home. It wasn't intentional that he bought those things together to tend your wound properly. Caleb's just prepared even he's been following you and saw the whole scene of you being fired.
From the backdoor of the diner where you weakly closes the door. Clutching your coat while tears endlessly streams down your face.
Being fired from a job wasn't easy. You've been struggling for so long and that diner was your lifeline.
He kept his distance from that scene. He cannot offer you words of comfort and he feared he lost his means of being close to you without crossing boundaries.
The cameras didn't provide closeness. The longing made it worst. Separated between screens while watching you. The diner was the closest he can have you.
He can see the outline of your hands. There’s a tiny scar hidden in your pinky. A childhood mishap he can tell. He noticed it the first time he starts visiting the diner you previously worked at. Plush fingers contrasting his thicker ones and Caleb wonders how must it feel to have your hands wrapped in his.
Caleb briefly looks at your face. Your eyes a little swollen around the edges and the tears were still pooling at the corner of your eyes. Caleb knew that you didn't remember when was the last time someone was kind to you and he hopes that he will be the last to take care of you.
“All done.” He murmurs, the sound of his voice similar to someone who's wounded. It takes real compassion to master that but it was second to Caleb when it comes to you.
The fingertip of his thumb briefly brushes the skin at the back of your injured hand and he hesitates for a moment, not wanting to let go of your hand that he's been dying to hold but he still let go. He already took whatever he can right now and he will be having more if he remains patient and if everything falls according to plan.
“Thank you….” Caleb heard you whisper. Intertwining your hands together and your eyes flickering back and forth. Clueless on how to show the gratitude to this stranger. You put your hand in your pocket. Wondering if it was a good decision what you're going to do next. He hears your exhale.
“I don't know how to thank you but here's my phone number.”
Bingo.
“Text me or I don't know. I really don't want to owe you.” He frowns for a moment before switching to a confused look. Genuinely concerned why you were thinking like that but Caleb understands.
Those who usually lends a helping hand wants something for an exchange. The colonel in his civilian clothing doesn't want anything from you, not when he can get it.
“You don't owe me anything, but if you insist, how about I take you out for coffee some time? Only if you want to.” His voice warm and gentle, reminding you that maybe there is still some human decent out here and he's in front of you.
The coldness of the weather somehow seeps into your bones. The freshly tended wound in your hand stings. You look at the stranger in front of you. He's not really a stranger, you saw him many times.
The sight of him, waiting for your answer. You should have refused. Kindness doesn't need to be paid for when it's given. It's a choice, but leaving him with nothing but a mere gratitude of saying thank you, it feels wrong. Not wanting to left anything in loose ends — you agreed.
You didn't thought much of it. Coffee sounds nice with the weather and maybe it's a sliver of something good, you didn't really know. What's more to lose for you?
Caleb smiles, eyes glimmering with mirth like everything is falling into places. “I’ll text you.” Is what he told you.
You can only nod. Tucking your arms to your sweater and didn't give much a thought of it. You have no entertain and you will only be doing it because you hate owing. Nothing comes good from loose ends.
You were so close yet so far.
The distance was within arm's reach with only the table between you and him. “Thanks for accepting my invitation.” He says and you only shook your head before taking a seat when you arrived.
Caleb has managed to convince you in going out with him for a coffee despite your hesitation over the phone and part of him knows you won't be able to refuse him knowing how much you hated owing to people.
He watches as you sit warily in front of him. Your fists in your lap, almost shy and Caleb knows that you didn't have time for such leisure activities and being outside and not being on the hustle is a sort of a warning in your overworked body and brain. No time to waste as you chase for pennies that counts.
Of course he knows your situation and how difficult it must be for you these days and you were on the brink of crumbling but Caleb keeps his composure. Hoping to ease you out of your shell and trust him.
He already ordered for you. Your favorite drink and the assortment of sweets that you may like, well he knows it. He just pretends that it was all coincidence and it's nice to be heard without asking. He noticed how you were a little hesitant in taking a bite or touching the food he had offered.
“Don't worry about it. I'm the one who asked to hangout. It's my treat.” He smoothly says and with a smile, the corner of his lips lifts higher as you nod. Finally accepting and taking a bite of your favorite food.
“So...” He began and a conversation finally started.
You were every bit what Caleb thought of you. A little shy, wary of how a stranger like him treats you this nice but slowly you were starting to open up. Once he gets you trusting him, you were opening up like a lotus flower being able to emerge from the mud after being submerged for so long and was slowly blooming. He hopes to take care of you.
He was glad that you were softening up to him and took your mind off temporarily for things that burdens you and he was close to making it permanent. He can't be rash at this time, everything will fall into the right pieces and time.
You take a sip of your drink and Caleb noticed that your wound has healed up nicely. “Does your wound still hurts?” He asks even it was obviously just a scar and doesn't affect you much. You glance at the wound in your hand and gently brushes it with the tip of your finger. “It doesn't hurt anymore. Thank you very much for that day Caleb. I won't forget it.” You answered, meeting his gaze and he feels giddy inside. It was the right thing to do and no way in hell he will left you alone to fend for yourself.
“That's nice to know. I hope the diner compensates you for the damage.” He lightheartedly says even he knows of your current situation. He can see how your smile falters and your eyes losing it's mirth. “Actually, I don't work there anymore.” You murmured, ashamed of revealing it to him.
Caleb softens at your words. “No one should be treated that way and it's better you're not there anymore if they can't treat you with respect.”
Respect doesn't pay the bills. He knows it. Seeing the sullen look in your face, it was the reason you have endured for so long just to survive by staying at that diner. You forgot how to live your life and waste your best years in that old diner.
“I guess so, it's been my life for years and helped me.” You shrugged it off like you were more grateful of being treated like nothing just to live. Caleb disliked that of seeing you so beat up with no plan of getting up.
“If you don't mind me asking, do you have any plans after working in that diner?” He doesn't take his eyes off you. Watching as your eyes cast downwards. The same hesitation etched in your face of whether it was good to share it to a stranger.
“I'm finding a new place. My current situation is not letting me pay my rent ” You whispered. He immediately perked up upon hearing the words from your mouth. Caleb just needs to play it cool.
“If you're still looking, I have a place. Mine. I'm not really home often.” He suggested. Brushing it as nothing but a convenience for you. He knows how inappropriate it is for him to offer it to you. He was a guy and you can be wary or frightful at what he was offering. The more good it was to hear, the worst was the consequences but Caleb has no intention of hurting you, it was only to help.
“Thank you but I really can't take that. I don't want to trouble you.” You look straight in his eyes and he can hear the sincerity in your voice.
“It's no trouble and my offer still stands if you can't find a place.” He calmly accepts your decision but makes sure to leave the option for you if you ever changed your mind.
You wistfully smiled at him before thanking him for his help. You both stayed at the café until it was time to say goodbye.
You thought it was the last time you were seeing him but Caleb hasn't planned that and weeks after the conversation, Caleb was helping you move out of your apartment to his.
“Uhm, Caleb? Are you really sure that it's okay for me to live here temporarily?” You asked. Anxiously looking around at the interior of his home. You didn't know it would be this big. It was thrice the size of your apartment and that still excludes the other room.
The brunette pilot hummed. Occupied at carrying your heavy luggage that you brought with you, not even breaking a sweat. “It's fine. I'm not home that often.” He responded, easily carrying another heavy box that he helped you back during the final days in your old apartment. “It's a waste that nobody lives here and it's only collecting dust.” He added.
When he moved the final box of your belongings, he smiled at you. “Come, let me take you to your room.”
You followed him slowly. Unease and embarrassed at having him help you at your lowest even if you have survived many times despite barely scraping by.
Your gaze sweeps in the interior of the room and despite having a spacious living room. It was devoid of any warmth, like abandoned. The slate gray walls feel too gloomy even with the warm amber light casting in the corners. Caleb was right it feels like nobody really lived here and you felt more guilty knowing he must have cleaned it before you can move in.
He takes you to a door and you presumed it was going to be your room which you are correct. “Here, this is going to be your room. Treat it as your own and I'll be leaving you alone while I go make dinner.” He said as he opened the door, stepping aside to let you in and let you see your room.
It was big. Compared to the slate gray walls in the living room, the room was the lightest shade of your favorite color and in the middle was a bed. Also the shade of your second favorite color and you would think that it was just coincidence because it was cause no way Caleb would know it.
Inside was your luggage and a few boxed items that you have in your old apartment. “Don't mind it for now. We'll unpack after you're rested.” Caleb chimes in, taking your silence in mind. He can see the solemn look in your face. Probably finding it too much for a stranger like yourself which he never considered because he knows you more than yourself.
“Caleb, it's too much for me to stay in.” You protested because it felt you were imposing too much but Caleb only shook his head. A smile on his face. “Don't worry about it, no one's occupying in this room and like I said treat it as yours. I'll leave you now. I'm gonna start dinner.” He assures you and leaves you alone to get more comfortable with the room.
The sound of his heavy boots slowly being muffled as he went to the other room which you think is the kitchen. You were left alone and you went inside. Your gaze looks around and sees a few pieces of furniture. A table in the corner with a desk light and drawers. A cost rack and a bookshelf. It was perfect for the books that you have collected over the years. It feels like it was intended but you brushed it off because it was normal for rooms this huge to have a bookshelf just to fill the space.
It was too much you think and you don't plan on putting your things and letting it stay on the boxes to prevent attachment and setting a reminder that it was only temporary. You're not planning to stay here for long.
The bed slowly dips with your added weight as you sit down. Remaining still for a few moments to let it sink that it was real and brushing the soft blanket with your palm. The softness reminds you of the days when you did a nap in the comfort of your bed in your childhood home. It is a distant memory now. It was back when you were carefree before the reality of adulting has crushed every dream that you have.
You felt so helpless. A burden to someone after swallowing your pride for once to ask for help. To need someone in the time of your needs. You didn't take it for granted and was already thinking how you can bounce back and think of ways on how to repay him and get a job soon to move out and start again. It was still far fetched for your current situation but you hope that you have the strength to stand on your own feet after this bump on your life.
Caleb has said he was making dinner and wanting to make yourself useful. You dragged yourself to the bathroom in the room to change your clothes. When you entered you noticed your toiletries already set up in the wall rack. You didn't remember if you had already unpacked or Caleb had done it but nonetheless you paid it no mind. Too tired and wanting to help Caleb, you take a quick shower and change into your comfortable home clothes.
Caleb works really well in the kitchen. You didn't have the strength to interrupt him as he made you sit while he puts the ingredients together for a meal he's cooking. Insisting that you were a guest and should relax. You hesitate but you know better than to hinder him. You take a mental note to wash the dishes later.
He looks at ease. Relaxed while he expertly tossed and stirred the ingredients in the pot. It feels like he's done it a million times and you recognize that look, it wasn't like he was preparing it for himself but for someone. Habitually putting extra care and preparation. You take a look at his hands moving, then to his arms and then to his face.
There's a small smile on his face like he was really enjoying what he was doing. You might have been staring at him for so long that he stopped for a moment. You didn't realize until his eyes narrowed to the side and he turned his head to look at you, his lips curled into a lopsided smile. “Hungry?” He asks and there's an amusement tinged in his voice. Realizing that it was directed to you, your face burned in embarrassment and quickly shook your head. He chuckles at your reaction before continuing what he was doing.
The table was filled with homemade meals truly made by Caleb. They're still piping hot and served along with freshly white rice. You sit there a little lost. It's been a long time since you've seen food this many times when you only survived on microwavable meals and bread. The concept of home cooked meals was foreign to you.
Caleb served you with a bowl of white and put a braised chicken wing. You took it shyly and thanked him. Caleb served himself too. “What's the matter? Not to your liking? I can whip something real quick.” He suggested and you furiously shook your head.
“No. Everything looks delicious.” You replied, staring at your bowl and the scent almost made your mouth water. You know it's going to be delicious.
Thanking him again for the food, you take a bite. Slowly savoring the warm food. You chew for a few seconds and then swallow, you take another bite again. Wow. It's delicious. You take another bite again. Again. Again. Again. Who knew food could be this good. A home cooked meal at the best. You think that nostalgia's dangerous because it has the capacity to pull you to the past that once forgotten and Caleb's food was a reminder and it's good. You don't want to live with your previous situation and be the child again at the dinner table with your loved ones.
Wow, it's so good. “I could almost cry.” Is the thought that crossed your mind and suddenly you feel something wet rolling down your cheeks. Weird. You're inside his house and no leaky roof to fix. It's not raining and you realized it was tears coming from your eyes. You were crying just from eating the food that you thought you could never taste again. A homemade meal.
Were you really that low and beaten up in life that the concept of a warm food is enough to bring you in tears? It's been so long. You forgot the taste of home. Of the comfort of food that brought. For once you remember what it's like to be at home. Everything was so heavy that you didn't realize how much of a toll it was taking in your soul.
More tears cascaded at your cheeks and you know how embarrassing it is to cry while Caleb sits across from you. Quietly eating his own food. He remains silent and never makes any comment as he puts more food in your bowl. You take every bite. Grateful for every ingredient that was mixed to create this delicious food.. You eat what you like, like it was the last meal you were ever going to taste. Clumsily wiping the tears that were rolling down your cheek with the heel of your hand and coming back to eat again.
Caleb smiles a little. Looking at you while you enjoy his food but he can't help but to feel the ugly feeling in his heart seeing you suffer so much that food would bring you to tears. For months he watched you live at a fast pace. Sleep. Eat. Work. Worry. Back at the endless cycle that you can't bring yourself to spare a complete meal because you were thinking about tomorrow.
He lets you cry while you eat. Happier that you were eating a full meal and it was the start. He swears that you're never going to eat those packets of cold food and there will always be a warm food waiting for you.
Caleb never commented after the meal which you were kind of glad about but it doesn't stop you from thinking that he may have thought that you were an emotional weirdo crying about his food. The pilot remained silent while you helped him stack the dishes to be washed.
“Can I wash the plates? It's the least I can do.” You offered, already walking towards the sink. “You had a long day. I can do it and you need to rest.”
You were about to retaliate and Caleb interrupts you. “No buts.” He grinned. Ruffling your hair and basically pushing you out of the kitchen. Defeated, you bid him good night and thanked him for the food.
“Good night.” He says back to you. Already rolling his sleeves and turning the faucet on to wash the dishes and pans that he used.
Going back to the room that Caleb has lent you, you slowly laid down in the bed. Staring at the unfamiliar ceiling and thinking is this what your future should be and go back doing your odd jobs. You were thankful for Caleb appearing in your life. You didn't deserve his kindness and someday you're going to repay it. You thought of many things too. Calculating the acceptable duration of your stay and being able to save for a new apartment. You keep thinking and thinking. Your eyes slowly droop and your breathing getting shallow.
Today was nice, before sleep takes you, you think of what you are for dinner... Caleb... And then you were out. Engulfed in the softness of the bed with your last thoughts on the stranger that frequents the diner where you worked at.
The silence is deafening.
The room felt too big and the sea of the clouds floating outside the window of Caleb's apartment is vast. For the first weeks you weren't alone and Caleb has been taking care of the chores and not letting you work. Insisting that you should rest and let yourself relax but how could you, you were the one living for free in his home and you should be able to help him with the chores but Caleb remains firm that he's not letting you work and so you did. Not wanting to annoy or irritate. Well, with your interactions with him lately, he's yet to show that other emotions.
You were starting to understand why Caleb didn't stay much in his apartment. Living alone in this big apartment feels empty. You were starting to miss Caleb. He already told you that his work was demanding and said he would come home when he can.
You didn't really know much about his job but the DAA jacket he wore was enough for you to tell that he was a fighter pilot. Besides that, a thought crosses your mind, it is what you only knew of Caleb. He really didn't talk much about his life and you didn't ask about it but you remember he mentioned that he had a grandmother and an adopted little sister.
There's still much you didn't know about him and you feel stupid of having to depend on a total stranger for the meantime while you were struggling. You were better than this but the exhaustion of having to wake up every morning, you didn't know if you can get up or drop dead in the sidewalk to be forgotten. Another soul lost in the system.
A sudden cramp in your lower stomach suddenly shoots. You wince, holding the area and think that it must be that time of the month again. That explains why you were so melancholic lately, you have always been but when your period gets nearer, it gets worst.
Without needing to explore the apartment more, you went to your room to rest.
When you wake up, thunder flashes across the sky followed by lightning being illuminated inside you room. The rain drops lashed against the window before flowing like rivulets. You sleepily rubbed your eyes before looking at the clock. It reads 5 in the evening.
You put your blanket aside as you walked towards the kitchen to drink water and a familiar figure was already there.
“Slept well?” He asks, putting the groceries he bought in their designated storage while a pot of water is boiling above the stove.
“Caleb, you're home. I thought you're not coming back until the next day.” You commented, you were kind of happy to see him again. You were quite lonely by yourself.
“We finished early and I bought groceries. I also pick something up.” Aside from the bunch of paper bags there was the familiar logo coming from your favorite bakery along with a cup of your favorite milk tea.
You froze momentarily as you reach for the paper bag. You were getting comfortable. You stopped asking for permission and you didn't worry about being seen as too much or doing something that might annoy him.
Two weeks.
Two weeks have passed since you moved in and you were already like someone who lived here comfortably. You hesitate for a moment. Caleb must have noticed as he pushed the paper bag containing what may be a pastry and the cup of your favorite milk tea.
“I bought it for you. It's yours.” He reminds you.
Cinnamon buns. It was your favorite and in that specific bakery only. You look at the swirls in your cinnamon bun and to Caleb who was busily preparing for tonight's dinner, you stare at the kitchen counter where the ingredients for your favorite food are prepared, all washed and diced to be cooked and then to the cup of milk tea you hold.
You convinced yourself it was coincidence but it's too specific and you didn't remember telling Caleb about it but it was rude of you to think about him like he did something wrong. Maybe it was just fate. Right time, right place. You brushed it off, too exhausted to think of anything else or trying to connect the dots. It was just a coincidence you tell yourself again.
You look at Caleb again, all with his easy smiles that you don't know if it was really sincere to get you to trust him.
Eventually, months passed. You settled into a routine and have got to the point that you didn't feel that you no longer belong much to Caleb's delight.
In the days where he was away, you took care of the apartment. You cleaned, arranged the books on the shelves and you started cooking and you were happy, contented even though the thought of being back outside makes you uncomfortable.
The boxes of your belongings have been cleared as you unpacked and put them in their designated places. Your room felt like yours after a long time of hesitating that you won't be staying for long but Caleb insisted. Saying that your room should be up to your liking, he even helped you arrange your belongings.
Everything feels normal but nothing stays hidden for so long.
A manual handbook of the newest model airplane kit was completely ignored as you and Caleb both pored over the different parts, exchanging tiny pieces of what should be the part of the aircraft model.
Brainstorming of what parts goes where and somehow you find the activity soothing. You recently learned that Caleb likes to assemble pieces of aircraft models.
“You missed your old neighborhood?” He asks first, breaking the silence. Glancing at you briefly to study your reaction.
You did. That was the place where you lived since the first time you left home and it witnessed all your struggles and even though there were bumps in your life, there were also the times that you were genuinely happy.
You will remember the cold air in your late night walks and didn't forget to look in the night sky and see the stars twinkling in the darkness. The lamp post sometimes flickers while moths fly around the light.
“Sometimes, it was like home to me.” You replied, casually passing him a part and Caleb took it before placing it.
He smiles, mirth reaching his eyes. The DAA pilot looks at you and he tilts his head to the side. His eyes narrowed to the unfinished model before looking at you. “How about here? Does it feel like home?” He casually asks and you pause for a moment.
“I would be lying if I said no...” You blinked for a few moments before a melancholic smile appeared on your face. “I almost forgot what home felt like. Here I get to be me without worrying.”
You let out a soft laugh, fidgeting another piece that you have taken. “I probably sound like I'm taking advantage of you.”
Caleb shook his head. “You should and I'm the one who insisted on letting you stay here.” He says softly, glad that you were starting to be comfortable.
“I also miss the neighborhood cat too.” You mentioned, missing the tabby cat that sleeps near the post and purrs whenever you pet them.
Caleb hums, “I'm sure Patches misses you too.”
Huh? Did you misheard him? How did he know and you never mentioned any cats or possible names until now. You fell into silence. Suddenly the room feels small and your posture slowly deflates.
A quiet realization dawns on you. That's why. All the pieces have fallen into the right places. You felt betrayed. Played even but the fault lies on you, you were easier to manipulate. Desperation has clung to you and you took the nearest helping hand that offered you.
Outside, thunder rumbles and a flash of lightning burst and for a brief moment it illuminates Caleb's face and you see the other Caleb. It's not that different Caleb was Caleb no matter who he is. The same caring person or does he keep that facade to keep you. You wonder who's the real him. Or you were yet to see it when he got tired of playing nice to you.
In the corner of your eyes, you see the harmless trinkets from his childhood. You dare to turn your head and stare at it. He would notice it when he reviews the footage late in the night or was it reserved when he's away and you're the entertainment he keeps under surveillance like a house pet that's left alone.
Caleb remains silent or he was testing the waters but he didn't come out and reveal anything. He seems to be calm about it even if you did find out and you know how reasonable he will be if you ever did confront him.
You should. A part of you, reasons. This is not normal and from what Caleb had said, it was obvious he's been watching you for so long and that visits in the diner and that one rainy day in the bus stop, it's too much. You couldn't reason anymore or let it slip an excuse that it was a coincidence because it's too much to be.
He took advantage of your vulnerability. You want to say that you know. You want to ask why he did that but the other part of you argues that it is wrong but your life has been much easier since you started living under his roof. You didn't worry of bills or think of whether you will still have a roof to shelter over your head and you don't have to eat the same cold food that you put in your same beat up microwave just to make ends meet.
This such a life of the people who disappears quietly in the background waiting for someone to help them and Caleb was the one to pull you out.
A city mouse caught in the mouth of a cat but even that, you lived comfortably despite being caught in a cage. It's up to him to either sink his teeth until you bleed or let you go. He only got you by the nape and hasn't done anything harmful to you.
You look at him oblivious or pretending to be, still occupied with assembling that airplane craft. Caleb was kind to you. The first ever to see your struggles and you hate to think of him that way.
Your eyes are warm and the familiar sting of the tears burning in the corner of your eyelids appears. You want to tell him the truth but it scares you, will he just lock you up or kick you out after he gets bored of you? The answers were indefinite but the thought of leaving scares you more. You want to keep your tears at bay.
“Caleb...” Your voice trembles and he looks at you with concern on his face. He immediately went and kneels in front of you. Holding your cheeks in his hands. “What's wrong?” He asks you, you see the panic briefly crossing his face.
I know what you did. You thought of it and was about to say it. The tears start rolling down your chin and plops in the floor.
“I...” You stammer, wanting the words to get out. To hear what the reason he can tell you and to know what his real intentions are. You were about to say it.
“I don't want to leave you.”
A whimper escapes your lips as you slowly sob. Tiny hiccups coming from your mouth as you look at him through blurry eyes. This outweighs your decision to stay rather than know the truth and have your old life back again. It was the finality. Guess the city mouse would rather live a dangerous life with the comfort of a good life.
You can see how rounded Caleb's eyes turned back into the look of reassurance at your words. He wiped the tears on your round cheeks. He softly murmurs the words you desperately wanted to hear.
“You can stay here as long as you like. I can give you a good life.” Is what he says and he kisses your forehead. “You got me worried, I don't want to leave you too. I'll make you stay.” He added, letting you cry on his chest.
You didn't think much of anything. Only him and this life that he can give you. The city mouse would stay in her cage and live a happy life. Away from the people outside that would trample and leave her to die and be forgotten.
Caleb looks at you crying on his chest while rubbing circles on your back. This should show how everything should work out. Looking at the hidden camera he has set up. He knows and it was the right thing. You accepted this life he has planned for you and he plans to keep it that way for a long, long, long time.
okay so. you're her captive. she keeps you in her basement. she brings you 2-3 meals a day. you think it's cause she likes you strong enough to fight back. but because you don't want to be weak, you eat them. you need to eat
at first she left the meals and cutlery in the room then left you to eat. then she started staying to watch you eat. you didn't want to give her whatever kind of sick satisfaction she'd get from it, but you need to eat. so you put up with it
then she started sitting closer and closer to you while you ate. then she started holding the plate in her lap while you ate from it. it all happened so slowly, so gradually, that you didn't even really notice how strange it was until she started petting your hair while you ate. you tried not to eat for a few days after that. but you need to eat. so you cave. and she keeps petting your hair
one day she ties your wrists behind your back before she brings your meal. when she comes in with the food, she sits in a chair directly in front of you. you think about how much you hate her. you think about how much you hate that you're so used to being close to her. she picks up some of the food and cups it in one palm. then she extends the hand towards you
you stare at the food in her hands. your mouth starts to water. you understand, somewhere deep in you, that if you do this, you will be crossing a line. something in you will snap in a way that can't be fixed. you hate her. you don't want to give her whatever kind of sick satisfaction she'll get from it
𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐥𝐮𝐜𝐤. out of job and potentially your shelter. a stranger came into one of your darkest day. it's easy to overlook him when he offers what you need, a safe haven. struggling, you can't say no and when he begins to show his true colors, you find no reason to leave.
ᯓ➤ content warnings. waitress non mc reader + stalking + stockholm syndrom + creepy? caleb + hints of surveillance + domesticity.
ᯓ➤ notes. commissioned by @dorkyclavis. thank you very much for waiting. rest assured that I'm still working on the other comms and i apologized how long it take to finish. once again, thank you very much for the support.
It's raining buckets outside.
The sound of the cars honking and screeching with the splash of puddles are muffled under the rainy weather. Lights are blurry from where he sat. Condensation dripping down in the surface of the windows. It's been days and rainy days in Skyhaven are the heaviest.
It doesn't deter him to visit the diner he frequents. The braised chicken wings were good and Caleb is a connoisseur of good food that reminds him of home but what piques his interest was not the food but the waitress responsible in the area where he sat at.
It begins with a “What can I get for you, sir?” Followed by a smile that's been plastered for a thousand times to be polite for the diners because a pleasing personality will surely pay the bills stacked in the coffee table of your rented apartment.
Caleb saw you write orders in your notepad with the same worn smile. Juggling between balancing food trays and anticipating every demand even it was ridiculous and beyond infuriating. You live in the constant state of demand. Almost mechanical that you can't even fathom of wether you were still alive or dead and was constantly living in the motions.
He notices everything about from the slight tremor of your hands. Your head tilting to the side while you listen with intention. Anticipating every movement and the sudden change of heart with every order. He can make out the way you write in your handwriting. The little swish and curve of the letters being jutted down in paper. He knows everything about you like the back of his hand and despite everything about it — you will never know him for he was a stranger.
He only upgraded to be a patron who orders the same thing and asks for the specials. You didn't bother to know his name as you politely take his order and offers him the same worn smile that you wear every single day and Caleb itches to know you more. See the facadé you were putting on and to peel the layers of your skin to find the real you.
Despite that somehow Caleb thinks that you truly knows him even it's simple as putting a cup of water in his table or how you plate his food. Avoiding suggestions of specials of the day that contains cilantro or simply requesting the cook to remove the much despised herb on his food. He also likes to think that he was special — that the smiles you have given him were different.
He allowed himself to hope that you might feel something for him. That your genuine smiles was only meant for him. It must be the corners of your lips naturally creasing, slowly fading in their usual lines. Your shoulders are relaxed and it means that you're comfortable with him and you can truly trust him.
He didn't think that maybe you have given yourself some little respite after hearing that there's a chance of salary increase enough to cover your monthly dilemmas from bills. He didn't think of it. He can only think of the smile you were giving him. He thought that you were giving him a chance and you see him as more than the patron who sits in the corner.
Out of the streaky paint of the walls and cracked leathers of the chairs — a stranger that goes by the name of Caleb, his dark brown hair under the warm light and eyes with the color of the Orion Nebula, wearing the same flight jacket holds in his heart that you will look at him. Someday.
It takes thirty steps from the diner to the bus stop. Fifty when you like to bask in the surroundings. A twenty minute ride to your home. Another thirsty steps and forty when you take five steps backwards when you almost forgot to greet Patches, the resident tabby cat that likes to nap near the post and another five steps when you continue walking after greeting the cat. Sometimes it takes a lot more when you stop for your groceries although it only consists of frozen foods much to his dismay. You don't need a quick easy meal, you deserve a warm home-cooked meal.
He can tell the weather's cold. Probably dropping another degree as he watch you puff a breath of cold air instantly dissipating in the thin air as you began to climb the stairs in your apartment. Then, he hears the familiar music blasting in your earphones. It's been on the charts for weeks and you seem to love that singer as you hummed. You've been streaming for days. It kind of grows on him too. Lately he's been scrolling and listening to your preferred music.
He takes what he can. Absorbing every details about you. Caleb feels closer to you when he does it. Making sure you arrived safely at your home and protect you from the dangers that lurks around the corners including those strangers that likes to be near you. He took care of that problem before they can cause you real harm. They were a danger the moment they think it was okay to be near you.
Here in this rundown diner he can see everything. Taking notes of everything. Everyone that may cross that line and thinking that they own you because you serve them. He doesn't miss what you were doing. Caleb can't take his eyes off you for a second and he got the talent for not being so obvious about his staring.
The diner moves in a average pace. A few diners scattered around your area. A family of four in the middle booth trying to keep the food down in their children's throat and not be thrown across the table.
In the next booth, a couple silently shares a slice of pie. The rest was the few people that sometimes gets their fixed of food that they've been downing since they learned how to eat.
He sees you cleaning a table before the bell rings. A bunch of rowdy friends entered. Caleb knows they're going to be trouble and they really choose the area where you are serving.
You move with years of experience. Clearing the dirty plates in the speed of light and walking towards the table. It's instinct at this point for Caleb to be alert. Anticipate every movement of the party that may threaten you or act in pure stupidity.
He keeps his eyes on you. He can the exhaustion in your eyes, your shoulders stiff and your lips almost trembling as you kept smiling. Crossing out their previous orders cause they can't decide on wether to annoy you or make your life miserable for such a simple task.
They obnoxiously laughed as you left to tend their orders. Their chatters sounding like teeth scraping against teeth on his ears. Irritating.
In his months of visiting this diner, he saw how many times you handled this kind of situations before. You have the patience of a saint. Calmness that surpasses beyond. Efficiency that you can get any job done because you can.
Even if you possess all the good qualities — Caleb knew you were bound to crack one day. You forget that you were human too. Any day, any minute, any second. It will take a small trigger to shatter and release all your bottled feelings because Caleb always knows anything about you. If you did he will be right there by your side to save you.
The surface of the ceramic mug burns his fingers. Gripping the ware that it might crack under his hold but Caleb likes to pretend that he was just stressed — under pressure. That his gaze still unwavering to the people who was rude to you were nothing hostile and it was just concern.
There's a lot of people who can hurt you in this world and Caleb can be powerless but he does anything in his power to shield you away from anything that wants to hurt you.
A loud crash can be heard. The fellow diners stopped whatever they were doing including him. Caleb look at the spot where the noise is.
His blood run cold but his skin burns from anger. Because what the hell is that. That isn't overreacting it's failing to show basic human decency who was working.
There standing, is you who was trying not to cry. A large chunk of food is pasted to your uniform. Staining the once pristine clothed that he knows you always clean to look presentable. He can also make out the sauce splattered in your face and arm.
You remained calm — unmoving, unblinking. He can hear you apologizing along with the line that their order will be replaced immediately and behind you, a fellow waitress scrambles as you usher her to immediately replace the ruined order.
From a bystander’s eye, it was all settled. A messed up order can be changed. The waitress apologizes for the mistake but Caleb knew people and people who thinks they're allowed to mistreat workers definitely didn't take this the easy way out and Caleb have to sit with his fists clenched.
It doesn't end there and Caleb without hesitation stands up. He can't allow you to be mistreated furthermore because of a simple mistake and allows for more room to berate you.
He makes himself known but Caleb didn't need to drag his footsteps to the sound of his heavy leather combat boots. Or puff his broad chest cause no one can ignore the tall man standing over six feet walking towards the waitress who's been serving his food for the last months.
The wasted food squelches under his boots. It was unintentional and quite wounded Caleb. He does not like wasting food and the people who can throw it casually just because they can and to aim at someone who had made an honest mistake makes his blood boil.
He steps between you and the man. The group behind him silences and whispers as he intervened. Shielding you with his body and to stop this kind of a overreaction over some mistaken order.
“Step aside, kid. There's no reason to be playing knight in shining armor for this stupid bitch.” Caleb glares at him. Stupid bitch. He calls you that name and this man must had kissed the floor if he punched him. Eating the wasted food this scumbag has thrown.
There are two kind of people Caleb hates. The one who thinks they have the permission to call you names because they can and the other who thinks you're available for them to touch.
The crunch of bone can be heard followed by the sound of a scream. It's easy to lose your appetite for this kind of sound coming from a grown man who's pathetic.
Does he really think he can touch you with this filthy hands and hurt you with it when he's around? No fucking way.
“Enough.” Caleb's lips are pressed into a thin line. “She apologized and we know that we won't be in this situation if it weren't for your companion’s indecisiveness and yours.” The man winces as he tightens his grip around the wrist. Further dislocating it.
“You think it's funny to annoy someone who's patiently accommodating your bullshit?” He hears the scratch of your pen crossing another order from the menu because they keep changing it while you try to remain steady. Repeatedly nodding and politely reciting today's specialties that none of them bothered to take.
“Hey, cut it out.” He glares at the woman huddled in the booth. “Cut it out? You didn't tell this scumbag that's enough?” The woman freezes at his words. Fear and embarrassment on their face.
“Then when you're provided with good service, you get angry because it's not your order when it really is or you just lack respect to anyone who serves your food?” He swats their hand away. Clutching their dislocated wrist that was blooming with bruise in the shape of his fingers.
“Leave. You don't deserve to be in this diner.” They didn't need to be told twice or look at him again. Caleb's looks was beyond murderous and would snap when provoked.
They scurry away like rats. Making a beeline towards the exit. The bell ringing behind them. Caleb exhaled and when he turns around — his eyes instantly softens. Caleb knows you doesn't owe him or anything because he helped you but the look in your eyes. Glossy and looking at him with such humiliation just rewire his brain into nothing.
It was a rough day for you and Caleb understands that. You kneeled beside the mess of the food. Ignoring the sticky mess clinging in your blouse as you crouch to clean up the floor.
Caleb kneels too. Helping you clean up. “You didn't need to help. Paying customers are not allowed to clean up. Management says.” You murmur but Caleb pretends he didn't hear you. He simply relishes that he's near you even when you don't look at him.
He can hear the pain in your voice though.
Caleb dislike rainy days that stretches into the afternoon until evening but with the pouring rain, there's only you and him under the bus stop.
The scent of rain, the metal corroding with rust in the bench and your scent lingers in the air. He saw you leaning in the corner. Despite the hood of your jacket covering your face, he can see the faint streaks of tears staining your round cheeks. Realizing that he was staring at you, you pulled the hoodie over to cover your face and he can see your left hand covered with bandage. Too tight that blood seeps into the white cloth.
It hurts Caleb to see you like this. He doesn't need to know what happened it was clear to him that you got fired. Your reaction was normal. The diner's wages plus the tips was the thing that pays the bills in your home and with it gone after the earlier commotion because of assholes who lacks basic decency of being human costed your job.
Caleb didn't like seeing you cry to and he wanted to comfort you. Brush the tears rolling down your cheeks but if he did it now, he will be scorned by you as a stranger who dare to touch you but you're too kind to do that or it will just scare you and Caleb didn't want that. He wants you to trust him.
“I’m sorry. I didn't mean to make you uncomfortable.” He apologizes, sitting in a comfortable distance. Not enough to invade but close enough to you.
In the corner of his eyes, he watches as you slowly slipped off the hood of your jacket.
“I don't mind.” You casually say despite the sob that was threatening to slip from your mouth. You cried enough for the day and a stranger to see you like this — it was pathetic.
Your eyes are bloodshot. Lips a bit dry but he knows they're daily moisturized but the cold weather and the earlier dilemma, it was bound to get chapped. You remained in your seat quietly. Clutching the sleeves of your sweater and it was hard for him to ignore your injured hand.
The rain continued to pour and the red sign of the next bus stopping blinks, it would be another fifteen minutes for you and he plans to stay with you.
Kindness is second to Caleb. He always has been the dependable one and it is only for those who deserves it. The children, the elderly and you. It's hard for him to turn a blind eye to those who need it and certainly not to you even he knows you were going to reject his help but vulnerability has it's perks.
“You’re bleeding a little. It would hurt more if it's not dressed properly.” He watch as your eyes shift. The cold must have numbed you up to realize your wound was stinging.
You avoided his gaze. Embarrassed that a stranger noticed your wound. “It’s not a big deal.” You murmured but the stranger in your eyes only smiled and Caleb knows how his smile can be disarming. A certain charm for people that always works.
He hums, unconvinced at your dismissal. He rummages through the paper bag that he brought surprisingly wasn't damp with moisture.
“May I?”
He extends his arm towards you. Waiting for you to take it. Will you just accept his help? You didn't need to be strong all the time. Let this be a moment of vulnerability for you. He will always have your back.
When you tentatively placed your hand in his, he almost sighs in relief. He carefully unwraps the poorly dressed wound.
What a coincidence it must be. A stranger tending to your wound has a bottle of antiseptic and a roll of bandage in his paper bag. He was running out of supply in his home. It wasn't intentional that he bought those things together to tend your wound properly. Caleb's just prepared even he's been following you and saw the whole scene of you being fired.
From the backdoor of the diner where you weakly closes the door. Clutching your coat while tears endlessly streams down your face.
Being fired from a job wasn't easy. You've been struggling for so long and that diner was your lifeline.
He kept his distance from that scene. He cannot offer you words of comfort and he feared he lost his means of being close to you without crossing boundaries.
The cameras didn't provide closeness. The longing made it worst. Separated between screens while watching you. The diner was the closest he can have you.
He can see the outline of your hands. There’s a tiny scar hidden in your pinky. A childhood mishap he can tell. He noticed it the first time he starts visiting the diner you previously worked at. Plush fingers contrasting his thicker ones and Caleb wonders how must it feel to have your hands wrapped in his.
Caleb briefly looks at your face. Your eyes a little swollen around the edges and the tears were still pooling at the corner of your eyes. Caleb knew that you didn't remember when was the last time someone was kind to you and he hopes that he will be the last to take care of you.
“All done.” He murmurs, the sound of his voice similar to someone who's wounded. It takes real compassion to master that but it was second to Caleb when it comes to you.
The fingertip of his thumb briefly brushes the skin at the back of your injured hand and he hesitates for a moment, not wanting to let go of your hand that he's been dying to hold but he still let go. He already took whatever he can right now and he will be having more if he remains patient and if everything falls according to plan.
“Thank you….” Caleb heard you whisper. Intertwining your hands together and your eyes flickering back and forth. Clueless on how to show the gratitude to this stranger. You put your hand in your pocket. Wondering if it was a good decision what you're going to do next. He hears your exhale.
“I don't know how to thank you but here's my phone number.”
Bingo.
“Text me or I don't know. I really don't want to owe you.” He frowns for a moment before switching to a confused look. Genuinely concerned why you were thinking like that but Caleb understands.
Those who usually lends a helping hand wants something for an exchange. The colonel in his civilian clothing doesn't want anything from you, not when he can get it.
“You don't owe me anything, but if you insist, how about I take you out for coffee some time? Only if you want to.” His voice warm and gentle, reminding you that maybe there is still some human decent out here and he's in front of you.
The coldness of the weather somehow seeps into your bones. The freshly tended wound in your hand stings. You look at the stranger in front of you. He's not really a stranger, you saw him many times.
The sight of him, waiting for your answer. You should have refused. Kindness doesn't need to be paid for when it's given. It's a choice, but leaving him with nothing but a mere gratitude of saying thank you, it feels wrong. Not wanting to left anything in loose ends — you agreed.
You didn't thought much of it. Coffee sounds nice with the weather and maybe it's a sliver of something good, you didn't really know. What's more to lose for you?
Caleb smiles, eyes glimmering with mirth like everything is falling into places. “I’ll text you.” Is what he told you.
You can only nod. Tucking your arms to your sweater and didn't give much a thought of it. You have no entertain and you will only be doing it because you hate owing. Nothing comes good from loose ends.
You were so close yet so far.
The distance was within arm's reach with only the table between you and him. “Thanks for accepting my invitation.” He says and you only shook your head before taking a seat when you arrived.
Caleb has managed to convince you in going out with him for a coffee despite your hesitation over the phone and part of him knows you won't be able to refuse him knowing how much you hated owing to people.
He watches as you sit warily in front of him. Your fists in your lap, almost shy and Caleb knows that you didn't have time for such leisure activities and being outside and not being on the hustle is a sort of a warning in your overworked body and brain. No time to waste as you chase for pennies that counts.
Of course he knows your situation and how difficult it must be for you these days and you were on the brink of crumbling but Caleb keeps his composure. Hoping to ease you out of your shell and trust him.
He already ordered for you. Your favorite drink and the assortment of sweets that you may like, well he knows it. He just pretends that it was all coincidence and it's nice to be heard without asking. He noticed how you were a little hesitant in taking a bite or touching the food he had offered.
“Don't worry about it. I'm the one who asked to hangout. It's my treat.” He smoothly says and with a smile, the corner of his lips lifts higher as you nod. Finally accepting and taking a bite of your favorite food.
“So...” He began and a conversation finally started.
You were every bit what Caleb thought of you. A little shy, wary of how a stranger like him treats you this nice but slowly you were starting to open up. Once he gets you trusting him, you were opening up like a lotus flower being able to emerge from the mud after being submerged for so long and was slowly blooming. He hopes to take care of you.
He was glad that you were softening up to him and took your mind off temporarily for things that burdens you and he was close to making it permanent. He can't be rash at this time, everything will fall into the right pieces and time.
You take a sip of your drink and Caleb noticed that your wound has healed up nicely. “Does your wound still hurts?” He asks even it was obviously just a scar and doesn't affect you much. You glance at the wound in your hand and gently brushes it with the tip of your finger. “It doesn't hurt anymore. Thank you very much for that day Caleb. I won't forget it.” You answered, meeting his gaze and he feels giddy inside. It was the right thing to do and no way in hell he will left you alone to fend for yourself.
“That's nice to know. I hope the diner compensates you for the damage.” He lightheartedly says even he knows of your current situation. He can see how your smile falters and your eyes losing it's mirth. “Actually, I don't work there anymore.” You murmured, ashamed of revealing it to him.
Caleb softens at your words. “No one should be treated that way and it's better you're not there anymore if they can't treat you with respect.”
Respect doesn't pay the bills. He knows it. Seeing the sullen look in your face, it was the reason you have endured for so long just to survive by staying at that diner. You forgot how to live your life and waste your best years in that old diner.
“I guess so, it's been my life for years and helped me.” You shrugged it off like you were more grateful of being treated like nothing just to live. Caleb disliked that of seeing you so beat up with no plan of getting up.
“If you don't mind me asking, do you have any plans after working in that diner?” He doesn't take his eyes off you. Watching as your eyes cast downwards. The same hesitation etched in your face of whether it was good to share it to a stranger.
“I'm finding a new place. My current situation is not letting me pay my rent ” You whispered. He immediately perked up upon hearing the words from your mouth. Caleb just needs to play it cool.
“If you're still looking, I have a place. Mine. I'm not really home often.” He suggested. Brushing it as nothing but a convenience for you. He knows how inappropriate it is for him to offer it to you. He was a guy and you can be wary or frightful at what he was offering. The more good it was to hear, the worst was the consequences but Caleb has no intention of hurting you, it was only to help.
“Thank you but I really can't take that. I don't want to trouble you.” You look straight in his eyes and he can hear the sincerity in your voice.
“It's no trouble and my offer still stands if you can't find a place.” He calmly accepts your decision but makes sure to leave the option for you if you ever changed your mind.
You wistfully smiled at him before thanking him for his help. You both stayed at the café until it was time to say goodbye.
You thought it was the last time you were seeing him but Caleb hasn't planned that and weeks after the conversation, Caleb was helping you move out of your apartment to his.
“Uhm, Caleb? Are you really sure that it's okay for me to live here temporarily?” You asked. Anxiously looking around at the interior of his home. You didn't know it would be this big. It was thrice the size of your apartment and that still excludes the other room.
The brunette pilot hummed. Occupied at carrying your heavy luggage that you brought with you, not even breaking a sweat. “It's fine. I'm not home that often.” He responded, easily carrying another heavy box that he helped you back during the final days in your old apartment. “It's a waste that nobody lives here and it's only collecting dust.” He added.
When he moved the final box of your belongings, he smiled at you. “Come, let me take you to your room.”
You followed him slowly. Unease and embarrassed at having him help you at your lowest even if you have survived many times despite barely scraping by.
Your gaze sweeps in the interior of the room and despite having a spacious living room. It was devoid of any warmth, like abandoned. The slate gray walls feel too gloomy even with the warm amber light casting in the corners. Caleb was right it feels like nobody really lived here and you felt more guilty knowing he must have cleaned it before you can move in.
He takes you to a door and you presumed it was going to be your room which you are correct. “Here, this is going to be your room. Treat it as your own and I'll be leaving you alone while I go make dinner.” He said as he opened the door, stepping aside to let you in and let you see your room.
It was big. Compared to the slate gray walls in the living room, the room was the lightest shade of your favorite color and in the middle was a bed. Also the shade of your second favorite color and you would think that it was just coincidence because it was cause no way Caleb would know it.
Inside was your luggage and a few boxed items that you have in your old apartment. “Don't mind it for now. We'll unpack after you're rested.” Caleb chimes in, taking your silence in mind. He can see the solemn look in your face. Probably finding it too much for a stranger like yourself which he never considered because he knows you more than yourself.
“Caleb, it's too much for me to stay in.” You protested because it felt you were imposing too much but Caleb only shook his head. A smile on his face. “Don't worry about it, no one's occupying in this room and like I said treat it as yours. I'll leave you now. I'm gonna start dinner.” He assures you and leaves you alone to get more comfortable with the room.
The sound of his heavy boots slowly being muffled as he went to the other room which you think is the kitchen. You were left alone and you went inside. Your gaze looks around and sees a few pieces of furniture. A table in the corner with a desk light and drawers. A cost rack and a bookshelf. It was perfect for the books that you have collected over the years. It feels like it was intended but you brushed it off because it was normal for rooms this huge to have a bookshelf just to fill the space.
It was too much you think and you don't plan on putting your things and letting it stay on the boxes to prevent attachment and setting a reminder that it was only temporary. You're not planning to stay here for long.
The bed slowly dips with your added weight as you sit down. Remaining still for a few moments to let it sink that it was real and brushing the soft blanket with your palm. The softness reminds you of the days when you did a nap in the comfort of your bed in your childhood home. It is a distant memory now. It was back when you were carefree before the reality of adulting has crushed every dream that you have.
You felt so helpless. A burden to someone after swallowing your pride for once to ask for help. To need someone in the time of your needs. You didn't take it for granted and was already thinking how you can bounce back and think of ways on how to repay him and get a job soon to move out and start again. It was still far fetched for your current situation but you hope that you have the strength to stand on your own feet after this bump on your life.
Caleb has said he was making dinner and wanting to make yourself useful. You dragged yourself to the bathroom in the room to change your clothes. When you entered you noticed your toiletries already set up in the wall rack. You didn't remember if you had already unpacked or Caleb had done it but nonetheless you paid it no mind. Too tired and wanting to help Caleb, you take a quick shower and change into your comfortable home clothes.
Caleb works really well in the kitchen. You didn't have the strength to interrupt him as he made you sit while he puts the ingredients together for a meal he's cooking. Insisting that you were a guest and should relax. You hesitate but you know better than to hinder him. You take a mental note to wash the dishes later.
He looks at ease. Relaxed while he expertly tossed and stirred the ingredients in the pot. It feels like he's done it a million times and you recognize that look, it wasn't like he was preparing it for himself but for someone. Habitually putting extra care and preparation. You take a look at his hands moving, then to his arms and then to his face.
There's a small smile on his face like he was really enjoying what he was doing. You might have been staring at him for so long that he stopped for a moment. You didn't realize until his eyes narrowed to the side and he turned his head to look at you, his lips curled into a lopsided smile. “Hungry?” He asks and there's an amusement tinged in his voice. Realizing that it was directed to you, your face burned in embarrassment and quickly shook your head. He chuckles at your reaction before continuing what he was doing.
The table was filled with homemade meals truly made by Caleb. They're still piping hot and served along with freshly white rice. You sit there a little lost. It's been a long time since you've seen food this many times when you only survived on microwavable meals and bread. The concept of home cooked meals was foreign to you.
Caleb served you with a bowl of white and put a braised chicken wing. You took it shyly and thanked him. Caleb served himself too. “What's the matter? Not to your liking? I can whip something real quick.” He suggested and you furiously shook your head.
“No. Everything looks delicious.” You replied, staring at your bowl and the scent almost made your mouth water. You know it's going to be delicious.
Thanking him again for the food, you take a bite. Slowly savoring the warm food. You chew for a few seconds and then swallow, you take another bite again. Wow. It's delicious. You take another bite again. Again. Again. Again. Who knew food could be this good. A home cooked meal at the best. You think that nostalgia's dangerous because it has the capacity to pull you to the past that once forgotten and Caleb's food was a reminder and it's good. You don't want to live with your previous situation and be the child again at the dinner table with your loved ones.
Wow, it's so good. “I could almost cry.” Is the thought that crossed your mind and suddenly you feel something wet rolling down your cheeks. Weird. You're inside his house and no leaky roof to fix. It's not raining and you realized it was tears coming from your eyes. You were crying just from eating the food that you thought you could never taste again. A homemade meal.
Were you really that low and beaten up in life that the concept of a warm food is enough to bring you in tears? It's been so long. You forgot the taste of home. Of the comfort of food that brought. For once you remember what it's like to be at home. Everything was so heavy that you didn't realize how much of a toll it was taking in your soul.
More tears cascaded at your cheeks and you know how embarrassing it is to cry while Caleb sits across from you. Quietly eating his own food. He remains silent and never makes any comment as he puts more food in your bowl. You take every bite. Grateful for every ingredient that was mixed to create this delicious food.. You eat what you like, like it was the last meal you were ever going to taste. Clumsily wiping the tears that were rolling down your cheek with the heel of your hand and coming back to eat again.
Caleb smiles a little. Looking at you while you enjoy his food but he can't help but to feel the ugly feeling in his heart seeing you suffer so much that food would bring you to tears. For months he watched you live at a fast pace. Sleep. Eat. Work. Worry. Back at the endless cycle that you can't bring yourself to spare a complete meal because you were thinking about tomorrow.
He lets you cry while you eat. Happier that you were eating a full meal and it was the start. He swears that you're never going to eat those packets of cold food and there will always be a warm food waiting for you.
Caleb never commented after the meal which you were kind of glad about but it doesn't stop you from thinking that he may have thought that you were an emotional weirdo crying about his food. The pilot remained silent while you helped him stack the dishes to be washed.
“Can I wash the plates? It's the least I can do.” You offered, already walking towards the sink. “You had a long day. I can do it and you need to rest.”
You were about to retaliate and Caleb interrupts you. “No buts.” He grinned. Ruffling your hair and basically pushing you out of the kitchen. Defeated, you bid him good night and thanked him for the food.
“Good night.” He says back to you. Already rolling his sleeves and turning the faucet on to wash the dishes and pans that he used.
Going back to the room that Caleb has lent you, you slowly laid down in the bed. Staring at the unfamiliar ceiling and thinking is this what your future should be and go back doing your odd jobs. You were thankful for Caleb appearing in your life. You didn't deserve his kindness and someday you're going to repay it. You thought of many things too. Calculating the acceptable duration of your stay and being able to save for a new apartment. You keep thinking and thinking. Your eyes slowly droop and your breathing getting shallow.
Today was nice, before sleep takes you, you think of what you are for dinner... Caleb... And then you were out. Engulfed in the softness of the bed with your last thoughts on the stranger that frequents the diner where you worked at.
The silence is deafening.
The room felt too big and the sea of the clouds floating outside the window of Caleb's apartment is vast. For the first weeks you weren't alone and Caleb has been taking care of the chores and not letting you work. Insisting that you should rest and let yourself relax but how could you, you were the one living for free in his home and you should be able to help him with the chores but Caleb remains firm that he's not letting you work and so you did. Not wanting to annoy or irritate. Well, with your interactions with him lately, he's yet to show that other emotions.
You were starting to understand why Caleb didn't stay much in his apartment. Living alone in this big apartment feels empty. You were starting to miss Caleb. He already told you that his work was demanding and said he would come home when he can.
You didn't really know much about his job but the DAA jacket he wore was enough for you to tell that he was a fighter pilot. Besides that, a thought crosses your mind, it is what you only knew of Caleb. He really didn't talk much about his life and you didn't ask about it but you remember he mentioned that he had a grandmother and an adopted little sister.
There's still much you didn't know about him and you feel stupid of having to depend on a total stranger for the meantime while you were struggling. You were better than this but the exhaustion of having to wake up every morning, you didn't know if you can get up or drop dead in the sidewalk to be forgotten. Another soul lost in the system.
A sudden cramp in your lower stomach suddenly shoots. You wince, holding the area and think that it must be that time of the month again. That explains why you were so melancholic lately, you have always been but when your period gets nearer, it gets worst.
Without needing to explore the apartment more, you went to your room to rest.
When you wake up, thunder flashes across the sky followed by lightning being illuminated inside you room. The rain drops lashed against the window before flowing like rivulets. You sleepily rubbed your eyes before looking at the clock. It reads 5 in the evening.
You put your blanket aside as you walked towards the kitchen to drink water and a familiar figure was already there.
“Slept well?” He asks, putting the groceries he bought in their designated storage while a pot of water is boiling above the stove.
“Caleb, you're home. I thought you're not coming back until the next day.” You commented, you were kind of happy to see him again. You were quite lonely by yourself.
“We finished early and I bought groceries. I also pick something up.” Aside from the bunch of paper bags there was the familiar logo coming from your favorite bakery along with a cup of your favorite milk tea.
You froze momentarily as you reach for the paper bag. You were getting comfortable. You stopped asking for permission and you didn't worry about being seen as too much or doing something that might annoy him.
Two weeks.
Two weeks have passed since you moved in and you were already like someone who lived here comfortably. You hesitate for a moment. Caleb must have noticed as he pushed the paper bag containing what may be a pastry and the cup of your favorite milk tea.
“I bought it for you. It's yours.” He reminds you.
Cinnamon buns. It was your favorite and in that specific bakery only. You look at the swirls in your cinnamon bun and to Caleb who was busily preparing for tonight's dinner, you stare at the kitchen counter where the ingredients for your favorite food are prepared, all washed and diced to be cooked and then to the cup of milk tea you hold.
You convinced yourself it was coincidence but it's too specific and you didn't remember telling Caleb about it but it was rude of you to think about him like he did something wrong. Maybe it was just fate. Right time, right place. You brushed it off, too exhausted to think of anything else or trying to connect the dots. It was just a coincidence you tell yourself again.
You look at Caleb again, all with his easy smiles that you don't know if it was really sincere to get you to trust him.
Eventually, months passed. You settled into a routine and have got to the point that you didn't feel that you no longer belong much to Caleb's delight.
In the days where he was away, you took care of the apartment. You cleaned, arranged the books on the shelves and you started cooking and you were happy, contented even though the thought of being back outside makes you uncomfortable.
The boxes of your belongings have been cleared as you unpacked and put them in their designated places. Your room felt like yours after a long time of hesitating that you won't be staying for long but Caleb insisted. Saying that your room should be up to your liking, he even helped you arrange your belongings.
Everything feels normal but nothing stays hidden for so long.
A manual handbook of the newest model airplane kit was completely ignored as you and Caleb both pored over the different parts, exchanging tiny pieces of what should be the part of the aircraft model.
Brainstorming of what parts goes where and somehow you find the activity soothing. You recently learned that Caleb likes to assemble pieces of aircraft models.
“You missed your old neighborhood?” He asks first, breaking the silence. Glancing at you briefly to study your reaction.
You did. That was the place where you lived since the first time you left home and it witnessed all your struggles and even though there were bumps in your life, there were also the times that you were genuinely happy.
You will remember the cold air in your late night walks and didn't forget to look in the night sky and see the stars twinkling in the darkness. The lamp post sometimes flickers while moths fly around the light.
“Sometimes, it was like home to me.” You replied, casually passing him a part and Caleb took it before placing it.
He smiles, mirth reaching his eyes. The DAA pilot looks at you and he tilts his head to the side. His eyes narrowed to the unfinished model before looking at you. “How about here? Does it feel like home?” He casually asks and you pause for a moment.
“I would be lying if I said no...” You blinked for a few moments before a melancholic smile appeared on your face. “I almost forgot what home felt like. Here I get to be me without worrying.”
You let out a soft laugh, fidgeting another piece that you have taken. “I probably sound like I'm taking advantage of you.”
Caleb shook his head. “You should and I'm the one who insisted on letting you stay here.” He says softly, glad that you were starting to be comfortable.
“I also miss the neighborhood cat too.” You mentioned, missing the tabby cat that sleeps near the post and purrs whenever you pet them.
Caleb hums, “I'm sure Patches misses you too.”
Huh? Did you misheard him? How did he know and you never mentioned any cats or possible names until now. You fell into silence. Suddenly the room feels small and your posture slowly deflates.
A quiet realization dawns on you. That's why. All the pieces have fallen into the right places. You felt betrayed. Played even but the fault lies on you, you were easier to manipulate. Desperation has clung to you and you took the nearest helping hand that offered you.
Outside, thunder rumbles and a flash of lightning burst and for a brief moment it illuminates Caleb's face and you see the other Caleb. It's not that different Caleb was Caleb no matter who he is. The same caring person or does he keep that facade to keep you. You wonder who's the real him. Or you were yet to see it when he got tired of playing nice to you.
In the corner of your eyes, you see the harmless trinkets from his childhood. You dare to turn your head and stare at it. He would notice it when he reviews the footage late in the night or was it reserved when he's away and you're the entertainment he keeps under surveillance like a house pet that's left alone.
Caleb remains silent or he was testing the waters but he didn't come out and reveal anything. He seems to be calm about it even if you did find out and you know how reasonable he will be if you ever did confront him.
You should. A part of you, reasons. This is not normal and from what Caleb had said, it was obvious he's been watching you for so long and that visits in the diner and that one rainy day in the bus stop, it's too much. You couldn't reason anymore or let it slip an excuse that it was a coincidence because it's too much to be.
He took advantage of your vulnerability. You want to say that you know. You want to ask why he did that but the other part of you argues that it is wrong but your life has been much easier since you started living under his roof. You didn't worry of bills or think of whether you will still have a roof to shelter over your head and you don't have to eat the same cold food that you put in your same beat up microwave just to make ends meet.
This such a life of the people who disappears quietly in the background waiting for someone to help them and Caleb was the one to pull you out.
A city mouse caught in the mouth of a cat but even that, you lived comfortably despite being caught in a cage. It's up to him to either sink his teeth until you bleed or let you go. He only got you by the nape and hasn't done anything harmful to you.
You look at him oblivious or pretending to be, still occupied with assembling that airplane craft. Caleb was kind to you. The first ever to see your struggles and you hate to think of him that way.
Your eyes are warm and the familiar sting of the tears burning in the corner of your eyelids appears. You want to tell him the truth but it scares you, will he just lock you up or kick you out after he gets bored of you? The answers were indefinite but the thought of leaving scares you more. You want to keep your tears at bay.
“Caleb...” Your voice trembles and he looks at you with concern on his face. He immediately went and kneels in front of you. Holding your cheeks in his hands. “What's wrong?” He asks you, you see the panic briefly crossing his face.
I know what you did. You thought of it and was about to say it. The tears start rolling down your chin and plops in the floor.
“I...” You stammer, wanting the words to get out. To hear what the reason he can tell you and to know what his real intentions are. You were about to say it.
“I don't want to leave you.”
A whimper escapes your lips as you slowly sob. Tiny hiccups coming from your mouth as you look at him through blurry eyes. This outweighs your decision to stay rather than know the truth and have your old life back again. It was the finality. Guess the city mouse would rather live a dangerous life with the comfort of a good life.
You can see how rounded Caleb's eyes turned back into the look of reassurance at your words. He wiped the tears on your round cheeks. He softly murmurs the words you desperately wanted to hear.
“You can stay here as long as you like. I can give you a good life.” Is what he says and he kisses your forehead. “You got me worried, I don't want to leave you too. I'll make you stay.” He added, letting you cry on his chest.
You didn't think much of anything. Only him and this life that he can give you. The city mouse would stay in her cage and live a happy life. Away from the people outside that would trample and leave her to die and be forgotten.
Caleb looks at you crying on his chest while rubbing circles on your back. This should show how everything should work out. Looking at the hidden camera he has set up. He knows and it was the right thing. You accepted this life he has planned for you and he plans to keep it that way for a long, long, long time.
18+ mdni | mean brat tamer xavier for my wife @starkissedxav mueheheeh
TW. degradation, kinda petplay? he makes u bark, swearing, piv, face fucking, oral (m rec), creampie
“what should we do for dinner?”
you were spread across the couch, twisted into a position xavier swore couldn’t be comfortable as you mindlessly scrolled through your phone. the two of you finally had a consecutive day off, so a vast majority of it was spent sleeping, eating, or doing absolutely nothing.
he hummed from his spot in the kitchen, peering into the fridge before deciding to make the most of the remainder of the night.
“why don’t i cook for us? i’ve been seeing lots of good recipes on—”
xavier was cut off by an obnoxious snort, your sudden loud laughter filling the room. “what’s so funny?” he questioned, walking towards you with an inquisitive look on his face.
you threw your phone onto the ground, eyes trailing up his lithe figure before landing on his face. a smug, teasing grin formed on your lips as you spoke. “no offence xav, but you’re not exactly the best cook. i’ve seen you fuck up boiling water”
xavier’s ears flushed a bright red as he pouted, pink lips pursed as he tried to justify his skills or lack thereof. “boiling water’s unpredictable, how was i supposed to know it could get that…bubbly”.
you bit your lip in a poor attempt to conceal your amusement, nodding sternly to show your faux support. “oh i’m sure it is mr lightseeker…why don’t we do hotpot again? i doubt you could fuck that one up”
xavier’s eyes widened, the usual puppy-dog look being replaced with a dark gleam. he stepped closer, looming over your tangled position on the couch until his shadow completely covered you.
“you really love running that mouth, don't you?" he whispered, clicking his tongue as his blue eyes locked onto yours with absolute authority. "off the couch. now."
the sudden shift in his voice made your heart do a violent flip. your smirk instantly vanished as you scrambled to sit up properly, suddenly feeling very small under his gaze.
“w-wait” you stammered, holding your hands up as you tried to backtrack. "didn't mean it like that, i was just—"
a soft, breathy laugh cut you off, but there was no warmth in it. xavier didn't budge, his dark eyes tracking the frantic movement of your lips.
“three” he said calmly, taking a slow step until his knees were brushing against the edge of the cushions. your breath hitched.
“cmon xav, seriously i didn’t—”
he shook his head like he was genuinely shocked at your audacity, a pitiful gaze on his otherwise apathetic face. “two."
your heart raced as his presence seemed to fill the room completely, so overwhelming it made it hard to breathe. realizing there was no point in fighting back, you quickly scrambled to kneel on the floor, the sound of your knees hitting the tile making him smirk as he took a seat in front of you.
“aww, i was hoping to show you what happened when we got to one. why’d you have to start behaving now?”
a finger lifted your chin to look at him, your soft and gentle boyfriend replaced by the wicked sadist that only came out when he was with you.
you kept your fists tight on your thighs, lips shut until he gave you permission to speak. “such an obedient bitch when you wanna be, makes me think i’m not strict enough when you act up.”
tremors wracked through your body as he degraded you, your brain coming up with a million ways this could go—each making you more excited than the last. a shaky breath left your lips as you tried to calm yourself, your obvious excitement making him laugh.
“god, you’re fucking sick huh? make me feel so bad when you’re crying for me, but you like this shit too don’t you?”
you nodded your head rapidly, hoping he’d let you show how sorry you were. he hummed before pushing you back with a finger on your forehead, sending you to the other side of the room with a flick of his head before instructing you further.
“crawl to me.”
you hesitated to get on all fours, equal parts shame and arousal flooding your nervous system. you opened your mouth to speak but were reminded of your place as he quirked a brow. a whimper sounded from your throat as you slowly made your way to him, knees sore from pressing onto the hardwood floor.
“speak.”
embarrassment had tears brimming your eyes before you let out several soft barks in succession. if it were anyone else, you’d kick their ass.
but this was xavier, and even now, you felt safe. yes—he held the power, but you had the control to end this any time you wanted. it took time to build enough trust to ensure you were comfortable setting limits, but xavier knew you’d stop him if it were too much. the fact you didn’t meant he could push you further.
“still hungry puppy?” his husky voice spoke, your eyes flicking from his eyes to his lips to the hand palming his now prominent bulge.
you nodded and brought your fists in front of you in a begging manner, showing him how docile you had become. he chuckled before unbuckling his belt, the familiar sound of metal clicking making your cunt gush.
xavier barely pulled his jeans down, lowering them just enough to expose his boxers with a damp spot on them. he shivered as he began to stroke himself in front of you, drool pooling in your mouth at the sight.
“spread your legs. wanna see how bad you want it.”
any sort of shame had left you by now, immediately leaning back to discard your pants and spread your pussy lips, strings of slick between them concrete evidence of how much you loved when he took charge.
he groaned and threw his head back, adam’s apple bobbing as he applied pressure onto his twitching length. you pressed your thighs together in hopes to alleviate the heat building between them but were quick to separate them when he lifted his head and glared at you with furrowed brows.
“did i fuckin’ say you could do that? god, you just never learn huh?”
your figure trembled before him as he pulled his length from the confines of his boxers, grabbing you by the hair and bringing you below it, slapping his cock onto your cheeks.
you whined at his ministrations but made no move to stop him, the heat of his heavy length against your skin only further arousing you. “should i let you get it wet before i fuck you? or do you want it to hurt?”
you stuck your tongue out in response, a string of drool immediately falling from the muscle as you stared at the bead of precum running down his flushed length. xavier bit his lip to stop the whines that threatened to fall from them, choosing to distract you from how needy he felt by shoving his cock down your throat and bucking his hips to make you gag.
“let me see you can take it, puppy”
you hummed in response, trying to relax your throat and breathe through your nose as he buried himself in the tight muscles of your throat. he threw his head back once more to avoid finishing to early, the sight of you choking on his length too easily pushing him over the edge.
spit bubbled at the sides of your mouth as he continued to fuck himself into your mouth, loudly groaning when your nose tickled the hairs at the base of his cock. you felt his length twitch in your throat before he quickly pulled you off him, pumping his length slowly before signalling for you to get on top of him.
“fuck, so fucking good for me” he moaned, pressing his lips against yours in a harsh kiss. the taste of him on your tongue had him groaning, fingers circling your slick hole before lining his cock with your entrance and shoving himself into you.
“xav, t-too much” you finally spoke, raspy voice turning into a moan as he sucked at the pulse point at the base of your neck and circled your clit. he kissed up the column of your throat before looking at you with pure adoration, the sight of you falling apart because of him making his heart burst with love.
“i know starlight, but you take it so good, don’t you?”
you nodded before starting to bounce on him, thighs already feeling a burn as you desperately chased your release. xavier leaned back and stared at your movements, already nearing his climax again.
“so close angel, need you to finish first for me”
his thumb grazed the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of your cunt, your walls tightening automatically as he stimulated your most sensitive spots. you nodded eagerly before your release unexpectedly washed over you, triggering xavier’s orgasm as well.
spurts of cum filled you up, leaking out after it reached your hilt. xavier’s lips trailed across your shoulder, pressing gentle kisses on your sweaty skin before finally pulling back and brushing your hair from your face.
“shower then hotpot?” he whispered, voice once again soft and kind. you nodded, knowing that you guys were gonna go for a round two in the shower and end up just ordering in.
Summary: As an omega who has spent her entire life rejecting biology, destiny, and every alpha who thinks softness is something owed, you’ve built yourself out of spite and survival. You don’t believe in belonging. You don’t believe in bonds. You don’t believe love means anything if fate gets to choose it for you first. But then, Valko walks into your life: an alpha who might challenge every single thing you’ve ever believed about fate, freedom, and love. Do you dare follow?
Word Count: 9k
Cn: 18+ MDNI! Omegaverse, Alpha/Omega dynamics, Bunny Hybrid Reader, Alpha!Valko, Enemies to friends to lovers, Fated mates, Angst
An: Writing this chapter made me feel like I was cheating on Valko omfg but consent is so fucking hot. ;~; SYLUS WHY~
Chapter List | Fact Sheet | Valko Masterlist | Read on AO3
The N109 zone seemed to have eyes itself. It watched you. The border rose out of the night in pieces: broken concrete, rust-dark fencing, old industrial gates reinforced with newer metal, warning lights blinking red through the rain-slick haze. Beyond it, the city changed shape. Linkon’s polished order ended behind you in clean lines and lawful surveillance. Ahead, the N109 sprawled in jagged layers of neon, shadow, black glass, and architecture rebuilt into something meaner than what had fallen there before. Every window looked occupied. Every rooftop looked armed. Every alley looked like it had teeth.
You stepped out of the transport. Your boots hit the pavement hard. The black dress moved around your legs with each step, soft fabric cut close enough to look elegant if someone was stupid enough to stop at the surface. You had chosen it because it was dark, flexible, and easy to hide weapons under. Because the neckline sat right with the holster beneath your jacket. Because the slit gave your thigh room to move. Because the fabric skimmed over knives tucked where hands had no right to wander. Because with the combat boots, the gun, the blades, and the red lipstick, it stopped being a dress and became a warning.
Jenna had approved the mission three hours ago with her jaw set so tightly you thought you could hear her teeth grinding. The briefing had been short because there was nothing clean left to say. The Association had traced the lead as far as Rafayel’s ugliness could take it. The seller had answered. The seller had set terms. The buyer had the fragment, and if there was a straighter road to him, none of you had found it. Jenna had stood at the head of the table beneath the cold light of the operations room while your recorded call played once, then again, then stopped with Sylus’s voice still lingering in the speakers like velvet dragged over a blade. Jenna hadn’t liked it. Tara had looked as if she might be sick. Xavier had said nothing, which was somehow worse than if he had argued with you.
“This is your choice,” Jenna had said finally, and the words had landed heavy. Not permission. Not encouragement. A record. A boundary, “but I’m authorizing it because right now, this is the only lead we have that still has a pulse. You follow the terms exactly. You keep your tracker active. You keep comms open as long as the N109 zone lets us hold signal. You leave the second safe conduct stops meaning anything.”
Now, standing at the edge of the N109 zone with the red boundary lights staining your black dress the color of old blood, you wished anger had been the only thing she’d given you. Anger was easier to carry than worry. Your earpiece crackled once, then thinned into static.
“Signal’s already degrading,” Xavier said in your ear.
His voice was low and close enough to make something in your chest loosen despite yourself. He and Tara were miles behind you at the Association’s temporary relay point, far enough to stay out of the N109 zone’s immediate reach and close enough to hate it.
“I can tell,” you said.
“Tracker?”
“Active.”
“Weapons?”
You looked down at yourself. Two guns snug on each hip. Knife at your thigh. Second blade inside your boot. Thin ceramic edge pinned beneath the fall of your dress where it wouldn’t trigger standard scans. Another tucked under your sleeve because after the Nest, paranoia felt less like fear and more like education.
“Fully armed,” you said.
You looked toward the gate. Two figures waited beneath the red lights. They were dressed in black, long coats shifting faintly in the wind, their faces hidden behind masks shaped like crows. Not smooth masquerade masks. Not decorative. These had beaked lines and dark, horned hoods framing them so their heads looked avian at first glance, eerie and ceremonial under the border lights. The effect was theatrical enough to feel deliberate and unsettling enough to work.
“Your escorts are in view,” Xavier said.
“I see them,” you looked at the twins waiting under the gate, then at the darkness beyond them, “thing one and thing two in sight.”
Static broke over the line again, sharp and hungry. Xavier’s voice came through beneath it, calm with effort, “we’ll hold signal as long as we can.”
“Which is probably just one more second at best,” you said, “I’m going in, now. You guys stay vigilant. I’ll be okay from here. See you later.”
The comm hissed again, thinned, and went dead as you crossed the first red line into the N109 zone. One of the two crow-masked men tilted his head as you approached. The movement was almost exaggerated, bright with amused curiosity despite the blankness of the mask. Luke, you guessed. Sylus had told you names during the call, though not much else. Luke and Kieran. Twins. Escorts. Safe conduct. No disarming, no blindfolds, no sedatives, no scent interference, no hands unless necessary for immediate survival. The fact that Sylus had listed the terms back to you without irritation still bothered you.
“Look at that,” the theatrical one said, voice warm with delight, “she came dressed for a funeral! You’ll fit right in.”
The quieter one turned his masked face toward him, “Luke…”
“What? I didn’t say whose.”
“That’s exactly why I said your name.”
You stopped several feet away from them, keeping both in view. The wind tugged at the hem of your dress. The red light slid over the gloss of your boots, over the leather of your jacket, over the lipstick you had put on with the steady hand of someone loading a weapon.
Luke’s crow mask angled back toward you, “welcome to the N109 zone!”
You said nothing. Barely a perk of your brows before they fell back into place.
Kieran gave a small nod, practical and measured, “we’re your escorts to boss’s residence. You’ll walk between us only where the street narrows. Otherwise, you can keep whatever distance you prefer. No one touches you unless you ask or unless not touching you gets you killed.”
“Oh, how comforting,” you said.
Luke brightened. You could hear it even through the mask, “Kieran, look, she speaks.”
“Unfortunately,” you dead panned, “I do.”
Kieran’s attention dipped once, taking in your hands, your posture, the faint shifts of your jacket where the holsters sat over your dress Unlike most men who noticed weapons on you, he didn’t give off offended body language. He looked like he was updating a map.
“No weapons check?” You asked.
“Those weren’t the terms,” Kieran said.
Luke leaned slightly closer, though not close enough to enter reach, “also, if you’d planned to kill the boss-man, you wouldn’t have worn the obvious ones.”
You looked at him.
“What?” He spread his hands, pleased with himself, “just admiring the work. Jeez, don’t give me the dreaded death glare already!”
“I think that’s just her face,” Kieran turned slightly towards him.
“You can admire from over there,” you jutted your chin away from yourself, “I’m good by myself.”
“With pleasure.”
Kieran stepped aside and gestured toward the open gate, “this way. Follow Luke. I’ll be behind you.”
You walked. The N109 zone swallowed you one street at a time. It wasn’t empty and that alone was the first thing that crawled under your skin. Dangerous places in stories were always abandoned, all vacant alleys and echoing metal, but the N109 breathed around you with too many hidden lungs. Figures watched from balconies netted in shadow. Cars idled without headlights at intersections where no traffic laws seemed to matter. Men leaned beneath neon signs and stopped talking when you passed. A woman in a red coat looked you over from a second-story window, smiled faintly, and pulled the curtain shut.
The city smelled wrong. Rain on concrete. Hot metal. Old smoke. Alcohol. Oil. Lingerings of alpha scent threaded everywhere, unsoftened by civic manners or Association rules, but no one crowded you. No one stepped into your path. No one reached. That made it worse, somehow. Like the restraint had been ordered, or at least known by the mere sight of the hooded twins escorting you.
Luke walked half a step ahead on your left, easy as a host at an expensive party. Kieran stayed to your right and slightly behind, where he could watch the street without turning his head too much. Their masks caught stray neon, smooth crow beaks flashing silver, then black, then red.
“You’re a real quiet one, huh,” Luke observed after two blocks.
“Were you expecting small talk on our little stroll or something?” You cocked a brow, “sorry, but I’m not any good at that.”
“Not really,” he shrugged casually, “but, I was kinda hoping for threats.”
“You seem like someone who hears plenty of those on a daily basis,” you muttered under your breath.
“Great observation! I like you, you’re more fun than you look.”
“You have one hell of a weird idea of what fun is,” you shot back.
Kieran let out a chuckle. You kept walking. Above you, something clicked. It was faint. Almost lost beneath the drone of signs and distant engines. But your body had been trained by too many missions, too many rooftops, too many things that moved when they shouldn’t. You looked up. A crow, maybe a raven, watched you from the bent arm of a streetlamp. For half a second, it looked real. Black feathers. Sleek head. Curved beak. One glassy eye catching red light. Then its head turned too smoothly. Your fingers twitched once near your coat.
Luke followed your gaze, “you like to bird watch?”
Kieran sighed, “boooring. Thought you said she sounded fun.”
The crow opened its beak. A sharp mechanical caw slipped out, tiny gears hidden beneath the mimicry of life. Its wings shifted, feather plates overlapping with insectile precision. Your skin tightened.
“Depends, is that thing his?” You asked.
Kieran didn’t answer quickly enough.
Luke clasped his hands behind his back, “depends who you mean by his.”
You looked at him. He gave you nothing but the crow mask and amusement. The bird launched from the streetlamp without a sound. Not a flap so much as a controlled release, black body gliding across the narrow slice of sky until it disappeared between two rooftops. Surveillance, then. You kept walking and felt its absence like an eye pressed between your shoulder blades.
The deeper you went, the more the N109 changed. The broken streets gave way to smoother pavement. The graffiti thinned. The buildings grew taller, darker, more intact. Power gathered in the architecture by degrees, the same way it gathered around certain people before they spoke. There were fewer watchers here, but the ones who remained looked more expensive. Guards in tailored black. Cameras tucked into decorative ironwork. Windows too reflective to see through.
At the end of a long avenue, a gate opened before you reached it. Beyond it stood a residence that looked less built than claimed. Black stone rose in wide planes beneath the night sky, severe and elegant, with red light glowing from narrow windows like banked embers. The structure carried no softness from the outside. No garden warmth. No welcoming spill of gold through open curtains. It looked like a place people entered by invitation and left by permission, though the thought irritated you the second it crossed your mind. Safe conduct, you reminded yourself. Terms. You had terms.
Luke swept one arm out as if presenting a stage, “home sweet heavily fortified home!”
Kieran glanced at him, “don’t scare her, Luke.”
“What? I’m creating atmosphere.”
“I think she noticed the atmosphere six blocks ago. Hard to miss, eh?”
You had, unfortunately, “a real sight for sore eyes…Not.”
The mechanical crow appeared again on the top of the tall gate as you passed beneath it. Perched. Waiting. Two red reflective eyes, like cameras catching light. Its head angled down toward you with such focused, artificial intelligence that your mouth pursed before you could stop it.
“…I don’t think I like that thing,” you said, “it’s creepy.”
Luke sounded delighted, “many people don’t.”
The doors opened from the inside. Warmth rolled out first, then music. Not loud. Not immediate. Just the low brush of jazz drifting through some deeper room, saxophone and piano moving together in a slow, smoky rhythm that didn’t fit the violence outside and therefore fit perfectly. The entry hall was all black marble and red reflection, polished so sharply the floor mirrored your boots as you stepped inside. No one reached for your weapons. No one asked for your jacket. No one told you where to stand. That, too, felt intentional.
You looked toward the sound of jazz, “so moody. Really fits the whole murder mafia palace vibe, I guess…”
The twins opened a set of tall double doors further in, and you followed. The parlor was built like a lesson. Black marble continued across the floor, veined with deep red that looked almost organic beneath the low lighting. Shadows gathered in the corners despite the room being too carefully designed for neglect. Long curtains framed windows that showed only the darkness outside. Sculptural fixtures threw red light upward along the walls, tinting everything with the color of blood behind closed eyelids.
At the far end of the room stood an elevated platform. Not many steps. Not a throne. Nothing so obvious. That would’ve been too crude. Instead, the whole end of the parlor rose in a shallow, elegant dais where a man could stand above the room and make every guest understand the shape of the conversation before a word was spoken. Sylus waited there. And on his shoulder perched the crow. The sight hit cleanly. Not surprise, exactly. Confirmation. Irritating, polished confirmation. The mechanical bird sat against him like a pet, black metal feathers folded sleekly against a body too clever to be called a toy. Two taloned feet gripped the shoulder of his coat. Its head tilted when you entered, and the red lights inside its eyes brightened by a fraction.
Sylus watched you notice. He was taller than he had any right to be. That was your first coherent thought, and you hated it for arriving before strategy. He stood loose and composed in black. Silver-white hair fell in soft, deliberate disorder around a face made with almost offensive precision. Pale skin. Eyes like fresh blood under low light, bright and assessing without looking hurried. A strong frame. He was beautiful in a way that made the room more annoying, because beauty on dangerous alphas always felt like the universe rewarding bad behavior. Worse, he knew you’d noticed. Not because you changed expression. You didn’t. Not because your eyes lingered. They barely had. But something small shifted at the corner of his mouth, faint enough to deny and clear enough to irritate you.
“Right on time,” Sylus said.
His voice was the same as it had been through the phone, but in person it had weight. Low, smooth, edged with lazy amusement that never quite became mockery. It moved through the room like smoke, unhurried because it trusted everyone else to breathe it in.
Luke and Kieran stopped several paces behind you. You stayed where you were at the base of the steps. Sylus’s gaze moved over you, not crudely and not quickly. He took in the dress, the boots, the jacket, the places weapons altered the fall of fabric. His attention touched every visible threat you had brought into his house, and instead of displeasure, something quieter passed through his face. Delight, almost. Not flirtation. Not hunger displayed cheaply. Recognition. You felt it anyway, and it made your spine stiffen.
“What? You said dress nice, didn’t you?” You said.
“I did,” he replied, “you interpreted that beautifully.”
Your mouth flattened. The corner of your lips twitched between irritation and amusement, “thanks…But I came for the buyer, not theater.”
“Then it’s fortunate dinner was the price,” he lifted one hand, and the crow shifted on his shoulder, metal talons clicking once, “theater is complimentary.”
The bastard had a smart mouth on him. Unsurprising. Hizs bird opened its beak with a sharp mechanical caw in response like it had a mind of its own. Like it understood the conversation.
Sylus glanced toward it with something almost like fondness, “oh…This is Mephisto.”
You eyed the crow. Mephisto eyed you back. Of course the fucking spy bird had a name. Of course he introduced it like a pet instead of a surveillance device with wings. It looked clever. Creepy. Too still until it wasn’t. Very Sylus, from what little you already disliked knowing.
“It has a name,” you said, “…Totally normal N109 stuff. What else does it have, a high tech camera?”
His smile deepened by a degree, “he has…Personality.”
It cawed again. You grimaced at the noise. Luke made a sound behind you that might have been a cough. Kieran cleared his throat quietly.
Sylus extended his hand slightly toward the steps to receive you, “come up.”
You didn’t move. The room seemed to notice. Luke’s amusement quieted. Kieran’s head angled almost imperceptibly, curiosity sharpening. Sylus watched you from above, crimson eyes steady.
You held his gaze and remained on the lower floor, “no.”
One word. Calm. Final. The elevated platform sat between you like the answer to a question he hadn’t asked out loud. Something changed in his face. Not anger. Not offense. Interest, drawn thin and bright.
“You dislike being summoned,” he said.
“I dislike powerful men building rooms that do half of their talking for them…And, being summoned,” you added.
Luke went very still in the delighted way of someone witnessing a knife thrown perfectly at a target. Sylus looked around the parlor as if considering it through your eyes. Red light. Black marble. Steps. Height. Power arranged into architecture. Then he descended. No sigh. No grand concession. No performance of indulgence. He simply came down the steps with unhurried ease, Mephisto balanced on his shoulder, until the platform no longer mattered and he stood on the same floor as you. It was the first thing he did that you almost respected. Almost. Up close, he was worse. The height. The clean line of his pressed coat falling behind broad shoulders. The faint trace of expensive cologne. He stopped outside your reach. Not too far. Not cowardly. Just far enough that the distance felt chosen with irritating precision.
“Sylus,” he said, as if the name he’d given you at the end of the call deserved to be remade properly now that he could watch it land, “it’s pleasure to meet you in person, Y/n.”
Then his gaze dipped briefly to the guns at your hips. The knife strapped to your thigh, beneath your dress. Your boot. Your sleeve. The places your weapons should have been concealed, but somehow, he knew where to check with just a look.
“You came armed, I see,” he mused.
“That was part of the agreement,” you reminded him, “was it not?”
“It was.”
“Well then, I’m staying that way for dinner.”
“As you should.”
That answer caught on something inside you. You narrowed your eyes, “most men in your position would at least pretend to be offended right now…”
“Most men in my position are deeply boring, in my opinion,” he remarked. The jazz drifted in from beyond the parlor, warm and slow. Sylus turned slightly and gestured toward the open doors on the far side of the parlor, “well? Dinner, then. Shall we?”
He didn’t offer his arm. He didn’t put a hand at your back. He didn’t step behind you where you couldn’t see him. He simply walked ahead at a measured pace and let you decide whether to follow. That unsettled you more than pressure would have. You followed with Luke and Kieran several paces behind. Mephisto stayed on Sylus’s shoulder, head occasionally swiveling backward to watch you with his red eyes until you glared at him hard enough that his metal feathers ruffled in a mimicry of offense.
The dining room was excessive in a different language. Where the parlor had been built to instruct, the dining room had been built to seduce without touching. The long table wore a black cloth so crisp it looked like shadow laid over a blade. Polished silverware gleamed in precise arrangements on either side of porcelain plates. Crystal glasses caught the low light and fractured it into red sparks. Candles burned steadily in black holders. A bottle of red wine waited near Sylus’s place, corked and untouched. The jazz was clearer here, coming from hidden speakers or some neighboring room, piano notes falling soft beneath the slow sigh of saxophone.
There was too much care in it. Too much control. Every detail had been chosen by someone who understood that beauty could be a pressure point. The table wasn’t crowded, but it wasn’t bare. Small dishes waited beneath silver covers. Fresh bread steamed faintly beneath folded linen. Butter sat in a dish shaped like something antique and expensive. A dark sauce gleamed in a narrow porcelain boat. Deviled eggs, like he mentioned yesterday. There were roasted vegetables cut with precision, a bowl of glossy cherries, a covered dish that smelled like seared meat and herbs, and something rich with garlic and heat that made your stomach remember it hadn’t eaten much today. Your hunger irritated you. Sylus paused near the chair to your right. Then he looked at you instead of touching it.
“May I?” He gestured.
The question was so mild it almost slipped past your defenses. Almost.
You looked at the chair, then at him, “it’s fine, I have it.”
He moved his hand away immediately, “of course.”
No offense. No smirk. No little punishment tucked into politeness. You pulled the chair out yourself and checked beneath the table before sitting. You checked the legs. The underside. The angle to the doors. The distance to the windows. The silverware. The napkin. The plate. The glasses. No one told you that you were being excessive. No one told you that you were safe. No one told you to relax. Sylus took the seat across from you instead of the head of the table. That was another choice. You noticed. He noticed you noticing.
Luke and Kieran remained near the doors until Sylus glanced at them, “thank you.”
Luke’s masked face turned toward you, “try not to stab anyone before dessert.”
“You’d be the first,” you said.
He placed one hand over his heart as if moved, “she likes me!”
Kieran caught the back of his coat and pulled him toward the exit, “she threatened you.
Well, I guess maybe that’s the same around here.”
The doors closed behind them, leaving you with Sylus, Mephisto, the jazz, and a table laid beautifully enough to make violence feel rude. Mephisto hopped from Sylus’s shoulder to a perch near the wall that you hadn’t noticed before. He settled there over a low stone pillar like a gargoyle with better engineering. You watched the creepy thing as it watched back.
Sylus reached for the wine bottle and paused with his hand around the neck, “wine?”
“No thanks.”
He nodded and poured only for himself. That shouldn’t have mattered. Alpha men made small concessions all the time when they wanted larger ones later. You knew that. You had built whole walls inside yourself out of knowing that. Still, something in you catalogued the ease of it. No push. No coaxing. No performance of disappointment.
He lifted his glass but didn’t drink yet, “water?”
“I’ll pour it myself.”
He gestured toward the clear bottle near your place, “it’s sealed.”
It was. You checked anyway. The cap cracked beneath your hand. You sniffed the rim, poured a small amount into the glass, waited, watched the surface, then set it down without drinking. Sylus didn’t comment. The first course sat beneath a silver cover in front of you. You didn’t touch it. He leaned back slightly, one elbow resting against the arm of his chair, posture relaxed without being careless. His eyes remained on your face, not your mouth, not the neckline of the dress, not the places most men looked when they thought a woman had armed herself for their entertainment.
“You’re waiting for something,” he said.
“I’m waiting for you to prove this isn’t drugged or laced with anything.”
“Reasonable.”
The word landed strangely.
You blinked once, “…Seriously? You can say that with a straight face?”
“It’s a sensible concern. I invited you into my place after you were betrayed in someone else’s.”
A cold thread pulled through your chest.
Your voice lowered, “careful...”
Sylus held your gaze, “I am being careful. I’m being very careful.”
The jazz filled the space between you, soft enough to be intimate and distant enough to deny it. You didn’t like that he knew exactly what wound he was standing near. You liked even less that he hadn’t stepped on it for effect.
“Eat mine,” you said.
He didn’t hesitate. He rose slowly enough not to startle, came around the table with his hands visible, and stopped before he reached your side, “may I?”
You stared at him. He waited. Not frozen. Not smug. Simply waiting for an answer he had decided mattered.
“…Yeah,” you said finally, “go for it.”
He came closer, still leaving room between his body and yours, lifted the cover from your plate, and set it aside. The scent of food rose warm into the air. Seared fish, but not like Rafayel’s bright seaside excess. This was darker, spiced differently, crisped at the edges and laid over something creamy with herbs and lemon. Beside it sat roasted potatoes, tender greens, and a sauce the color of deep red wine. It looked beautiful. Everything here looked beautiful, and you were starting to resent beauty as a concept.
Sylus picked up your fork. You reached out and caught his wrist. The room went very still. His skin was warm beneath your fingers. His pulse beat once, steady and slow. You had moved before thinking, body reacting to someone else’s hand touching something meant for your mouth, and now you were holding him there with your knife hand free and your gun within reach. Mephisto’s head snapped toward you from the perch. Sylus didn’t pull away. His eyes lowered briefly to your hand on his wrist, then returned to your face. There was no anger there. No challenge. Only that quiet, dangerous interest again.
“You prefer I use my own?” He asked.
Your grip tightened for half a second before you released him, “…Yes, please.”
“Good correction.”
The words slid under your skin in a way they had no right to. Good correction. Not calm down. Not don’t be difficult. Not you’re safe with me, cutie, as if safety were something he could declare into existence and expect you to swallow whole. Good correction, like he approved of you enforcing a boundary cleanly. Your cheeks almost warmed, but you murdered the reaction immediately.
Sylus returned to his place, picked up his own fork and knife, then looked back to you, “alright, tell me what portion you want tested.”
“Hm…All of it.”
His mouth curved faintly, “thorough.”
He cut into the fish on your plate using his utensils only after you gave a short nod, took a bite from the section you indicated, then another from the potatoes, the greens, the sauce. He drank from your water glass after you gestured him to. When you looked toward the bread, he tore a piece from the loaf meant for you and ate it. When your attention moved to the butter, he spread some on another piece and ate that too. No irritation. No visible impatience. If anything, the longer the inspection went on, the more quietly pleased he seemed.
“You enjoying your own cooking?” You said.
“I’m enjoying being alive while you decide whether I deserve dinner privileges.”
“You think this is funny?”
“No,” he set the bread down and wiped his fingers with his napkin, “I think you’re very good at staying alive.”
That answer sat between you. It wasn’t flirtation. Not exactly. He didn’t soften his voice around it. Didn’t lean closer. Didn’t dress it up as a compliment meant to make you preen. He said it the way someone might admire a blade’s balance after seeing it thrown. You looked down at your plate because looking at him had become briefly inconvenient.
“…Try the wine,” you gestured towards the bottle.
“I thought you didn’t want any.”
“I don’t, not in particular,” you shrugged, “but I want you to drink it anyway.”
He lifted his glass and took a drink. You watched his throat move as he swallowed, and hated your own eyes for doing their job too well.
“No sedative,” he said, “no drug. No trick.”
“You’ll forgive me if I don’t take your word for it.”
“I’d be disappointed if you did.”
Your attention snapped back to him.
He rested the glass down, “trust given too quickly usually means someone is too tired to keep their guard up.”
The line should have sounded rehearsed. Maybe it was. Maybe everything about him was practiced until even sincerity came dressed properly. But the words still found the bruise they were meant for and didn’t press.
You picked up your fork at last. Sylus watched without moving. The first bite tasted better than you wanted it to. Warmth spread across your tongue: crisp salt, lemon, pepper, butter, the richness of the sauce beneath it. Your stomach clenched, then accepted. You took another bite before your pride could argue. Sylus looked away first. That, too, felt deliberate. He gave you the privacy of eating without making you feel observed in the vulnerable act of needing food.
The jazz curled around the quiet. For several minutes, you ate and said nothing. You kept one foot angled toward the door. You kept your knife within reach. You checked Mephisto twice. The crow remained on its perch, occasionally shifting its wings with tiny, whispering clicks. Sylus ate across from you with unhurried manners, his wine untouched after that first demanded sip. He didn’t fill the silence with useless charm. He didn’t try to pry open the mission before you had food in your mouth. He let the meal become real first. That was the most unsettling thing he had done all night.
Eventually, you said, “this is excessive.”
“Yeah. I made dinner, not a ration pack,” he said, “but that aside…I know you came here for a buyer I won’t name.”
Your fork paused. There it was. The real table beneath the table.
You chewed, swallowed, and set the fork down carefully, “you said you could lead me to him yourself, right?”
“I can.”
“And introduce me to him?”
“I said I could arrange for you to be in the same room. If you remember something different, I’d be happy to admire your optimism.”
Your eyes narrowed, “…Name him, then.”
“No.”
The refusal was soft. Absolute. Your hand drifted toward your water glass instead of your weapon, mostly because you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing the word had landed like a locked door. Sylus noticed anyway.
“You’re angry with me, now,” he said.
“I’m just focused on doing my job.”
“Those often travel together with you, I imagine.”
“You don’t know me well enough to imagine anything yet, Sylus.”
Yet. His gaze moved over your face, lingering not on your beauty, but on the places rage had left discipline behind your eyes.
“No,” he said, “but I suppose I’m learning.”
Quiet chemistry moved through the room like a current under black water You felt it. You refused it. You picked up your fork again because eating was practical and attraction wasn’t. Hunger had a purpose. Whatever strange calm he carried around himself, whatever unsettling precision he had with boundaries, whatever interest warmed his eyes when you corrected him or challenged him or reminded him you were armed, none of it mattered. You were here for the buyer. For the fragment. For the mission. For the trail Rafayel had dragged you onto with blood and lies. Sylus wasn’t a safe place. He was simply a dangerous one with rules.
“What do you get out of this whole thing, anyway?” You asked.
“Dinner.”
“You collect dinner from every hunter who points a gun at her informant?”
“No. Only the memorable ones.”
You gave him a look.
He lifted his wine glass slightly but didn’t drink, “you asked. I answered.”
“That wasn’t an answer.”
“It was the honest portion of one.”
“Okay, and the rest of it? What’s the rest?”
“The rest is that Rafayel made a mess of something that should’ve been handled with more finesse. I dislike waste. I dislike avoidable complications. And I especially dislike when someone interesting is thrown into an arena under false pretenses.”
The room cooled around the edges. Your appetite thinned. Sylus saw it happen. His expression changed, almost imperceptibly, the amusement settling deeper beneath something more controlled.
You set the fork down, “…So, you knew Rafayel fucked me over and I didn’t sign up for half of that shit.”
“I understood that he greatly assumed power over the arena rules,” he said with sincerity, “that he assumed your biology would mean you’d be granted mercy.”
“You knew my scent blocker was wiped clean off and I was thrown in front of an agitated alpha without agreeing to any of those things?”
“Knowing how manipulative Rafayel can be, I put everything together after our phone call when some of it didn’t quite add up.”
Your fingers curled around the edge of the table. Mephisto shifted on the perch, metal claws clicking softly.
Sylus didn’t look away from you, “if you want me to pretend I’m innocent, I won’t insult you with it. I attend those matches. I bet on the willing participants, at times. I just don’t bet on finding out an omega was brought in under the conditions you were brought in under.”
“If you knew,” you dared, “would you have tried to stop him from going through with it?”
“Yes.”
The honesty hit harder than a denial would have. Your pulse climbed. He let it. He sat across from you in his immaculate dining room while jazz played gently beneath the ugliest part of the conversation and didn’t ask you to make his answer easier.
A laugh left you once, sharp and humorless, “should that make me feel better?”
“No.”
“Good, because it doesn’t.”
“I know.”
You wanted to hate him cleanly. It would’ve been so much easier if he made excuses. If he dressed himself in noble intentions, if he called the arena complicated, if he blamed Rafayel for everything and placed himself somewhere spotless beyond the blood. Instead, he sat there and allowed himself to be implicated without flinching. Dangerous, you reminded yourself. Dangerous alphas could afford honesty when consequence didn’t reach them.
“You’re all the same kind of rich and powerful and privileged,” you said quietly, “different houses. Different masks. Same balcony watching everyone else down below for the sake of entertainment. Out of boredom.”
Something bright moved through Sylus’s eyes. Not offense. Interest again, threaded with something sharper.
“And yet,” he said, “you came tonight.”
“Because the buyer has the fragment and I’m doing my job.”
“Because you made a choice to come. I invited. You accepted.”
Heat moved up the back of your neck. You hated the sentence. You hated that it sounded like something you believed when it came from his mouth, because it was true.
Sylus continued before you could answer, “that’s why the terms matter. No sedatives. No disarming. No scent interference. Safe conduct in, safe conduct out. Food inspected at your discretion. Wine refused without consequence. Chair untouched without permission,” his eyes held yours, “you came here because you decided the lead was worth the room. The least I can do is make sure the room doesn’t lie about what it is.”
Your chest rose slowly. For one dangerous second, tension slipped sideways into something harder to name. Not trust. No. Never that quickly. But recognition again, irritating and unwelcome. He understood the shape of the wound without pawing at it. He understood that consent didn’t become meaningful only in bedrooms or romance or pretty stories people told omegas to make cages sound sacred. It mattered here, at a dinner table, with knives and wine and an exit behind you. It mattered in whether a chair was touched. Whether a glass was pushed. Whether a weapon stayed where you put it. It mattered in whether no meant no before anyone called it intimacy. You looked away first, furious with yourself for needing the breath.
The next course arrived without anyone entering. A narrow panel in the wall opened silently near Sylus’s side of the room, and a serving cart rolled forward on hidden tracks. Covered dishes waited on it, steam curling beneath polished lids. It was absurd. Dramatic. Efficient enough that no staff needed to enter the room and add another body to your threat count. You stared at the cart.
Sylus looked almost pleased, “better?”
“Did you design this place around making paranoid people run out of complaints?”
“No,” he said, “I just enjoy useful architecture.”
Despite yourself, your mouth almost moved. Almost. He saw that too.
You pointed at the cart, “same rules.”
“Of course.”
This time, he waited for you to inspect the dishes before he touched anything. You lifted the covers yourself. Braised meat in a dark glaze. Rice fragrant with spices. Small vegetables roasted until their edges charred. A dish of noodles slick with chili oil and scallions. Soup in a porcelain pot, clear broth rich with ginger and something earthy beneath. Your hunger returned with humiliating speed. Sylus tasted everything you told him to taste. He used his own utensils. He waited between bites when you told him to wait. He drank from the broth. He ate the rice. He tried the noodles and lifted one brow faintly when the chili hit.
You watched his face, “what, too much spice for ya?”
“…No.”
“Liar.”
“Not too much. Unexpected.”
“Oh, wonderful. He hates spicy food.”
“And she’s highly observant,” he murmured.
You froze. He didn’t smile like a man pleased with catching you. He smiled like someone had opened a window and he had felt air finally move.
Your voice went flat, “careful...”
“I remember, I remember.”
“You keep saying that.”
“And you keep giving me reasons to prove I’m being very careful tonight.”
The jazz shifted into something slower. The piano softened, notes falling into the room like rain against glass. Outside the tall windows, the N109 zone glowed red in the distance, but in here the world had narrowed to the table, the food, the mechanical crow, and the man across from you who kept refusing to behave the way your defenses expected him to.
You ate more. That became its own kind of problem. With every bite, your body accepted that nothing terrible had happened yet. Your shoulders lowered by fractions you didn’t authorize. The headache that had been stalking the base of your skull since Rafayel’s studio loosened one cruel finger at a time. Warm food settled in your stomach. Water cooled your throat. The red shadows remained red. Sylus remained dangerous. Mephisto remained creepy on his stupid little pillar perch. And still, you ate. Sylus let you. You spoke only when the silence stopped being useful.
“So…Why dinner?” you asked, “why, actually? We hardly talked about the buyer.”
Sylus looked at you over the rim of his glass and blinked once, slow and faintly puzzled, as if you had asked why doors had hinges or why knives had edges, “because it’s the proper way to express interest.”
You paused with the wine halfway to your mouth. The glass was cold against your fingers. Red darkened the crystal, catching the candlelight in bloody little sparks. You had only agreed to drink it after making him taste it first, and even then, every sip still felt like a calculated risk. But that sentence did more damage than anything in the glass.
You blinked, “…Interest?”
Sylus’s gaze stayed on you, steady and mildly curious.
You narrowed your eyes, “…In? In what?”
“In you.”
The wine went down wrong. You damn near choked, one hand catching the edge of the table as you coughed once into your fist, sharp and undignified, “huh?”
Sylus’s expression shifted. Not amusement this time. Something more attentive. The faint machinery of thought turning behind his eyes as he watched your face, then your posture, then the knife you had somehow found in your hand without even consciously deciding to reach for it.
“What did Rafayel tell you, exactly,” he asked slowly, “when he expressed my interest in meeting you after the arena?”
You went still at the word. Arena. The room seemed to dim around it.
“…Just that I caught your eye,” you said.
Sylus kept looking at you. And in the silence that followed, something opened between you. Not intimacy. Not trust. Something colder. A missing stair beneath both your feet. Information neither of you had known you didn’t have.
“The whole reason I fought in the arena,” you said carefully, “was because I told Rafayel I wanted contact with the seller of the spatium core. He said you were hard to impress, so, long story short, he set me up to impress you by having me fight in front of a stadium full of alphas,” your grip tightened around the knife, “not that I knew exactly what I was getting into, like we established earlier…”
Sylus looked away. It was small. Barely anything. Just his eyes shifting from you to the wine in his hand as he turned the glass once, watching the red drag slowly around the bowl, “I see.”
Your throat tightened, “…Why?”
“I didn’t know that part,” he admitted.
There was no smile on his face now. No lazy charm. No delicate pressure of amusement. He looked almost severe in the candlelight, unsmiling as the wine moved in slow circles in his glass.
“Rafayel never gave me details as to what an omega was doing down there fighting an alpha of that man’s size and power, when we were spectating,” he said, “I never asked because details like that are usually omitted for the sake of contestant privacy. I merely asked him to express my interest.”
His eyes returned to yours, quieter now.
“Unfortunately,” he continued, “I originally thought you might have signed up for that fight yourself for unrelated reasons. I see now that I was wrong about that part as well.”
You tried to process the words. They didn’t fit cleanly at first. They scraped against everything Rafayel had said, everything he had implied, everything he had let you believe because believing it had moved you exactly where he needed you to go. Your eyes drifted past Sylus without seeing the room anymore. The candles blurred. The black marble, the red wine, the mechanical crow watching from its perch. Your knife sat in your hand, gripped hard enough that the handle bit into your palm. Rafayel had lied to both of you.
“He told me you would accept my invitation to dinner if I gave you a lead to the protocore fragment, because you’re a deepspace hunter on that job and could use a lead,” Sylus said. His voice cut through the rising static in your head, low and controlled, “he didn’t tell me he had a two-sided death wish.”
Your pulse climbed. The studio came back in pieces. Sunlight. Blood. Rafayel on the floor. His colorful eyes too bright and too ruined. The long, unsightly skeleton behind him, enormous and ancient and obscene, its skull exploding beneath your bullet while your rage rang in your ears like a struck bell. But Sylus’s voice reached for you again, smooth enough to pull you out before you sank too far into it.
“Tell me something,” he said, “when you went to his studio, did you by chance see a large skeleton? One with the tail of a fish. A long, large, frightening thing.”
You blinked back into the dining room.
“Yeah,” you said, “the giant mermaid looking thing straight out of a b-rated sci-fi movie. Why?”
“The giant mermaid looking thing is actually mine,” Sylus smiled faintly, “I just wanted to confirm that it’s at his studio for pickup by Luke and Kieran.”
You stared at him. Then you took a careful sip of wine, because apparently the night had decided to become absurd on top of everything else.
“…Well,” you said, lowering the glass, “I’d hate to be the bearer of bad news, but I kind of destroyed it.”
Sylus came very close to choking on his next sip. For one shining second, the composure cracked. His brows lifted. The glass stopped halfway from his mouth. Even Mephisto clicked sharply from the perch, as if the little machine crow had taken personal offense.
“And what does that mean?” Sylus asked.
“I blew its head clean off,” you said flatly, then pointed two fingers at him from across the table, “bang.”
His lips twitched. He tried to hide it. You watched him try. It lasted less than a second before the smile broke through, sharp and unwillingly delighted. Then he laughed, low and real, the sound rolling through the red-lit room with far too much pleasure.
“Oh. Bang,” he said, “my, my.”
You gave him a flat look.
His smile stayed, bright at the edges, “it seems I don’t have to do anything to Rafayel after all. We can leave that for him as a learning lesson, then.”
“What kind of learning lesson?”
Sylus took another sip of wine, calmer now, though the amusement had not fully left his mouth. His gaze dipped briefly toward the table, then lower, toward the place your gun sat strapped at your hip.
“To not make any attempts at manipulating people smarter than him,” he said, “or deadlier.”
For a while, you ate in silence again. By the time dessert arrived, you had stopped pretending you weren’t hungry. It came in small portions, thankfully: dark chocolate, cherries, cream, a crisp carrot cake delicate and smoothed over with buttercream icing. You made Sylus taste each piece first because stopping would have felt like surrendering a ritual that kept the room balanced. He obeyed with the same calm as before. When the plates were finally pushed aside and your water glass sat half-empty near your hand, the room felt different. Not safe, exactly. You didn’t believe in safe rooms built by men like him. But the danger had edges now. It had rules you had tested and retested until your body, traitorous and exhausted, had accepted enough of them to sit still.
Sylus folded his napkin and set it beside his plate. There was no dramatic shift in music. No dimming of lights. No theatrical cue. Still, you felt the conversation turn.
“You want the buyer,” he said.
The food in your stomach went heavy.
“Yes.”
“I won’t give you his name.”
“I know.”
“I won’t point him out to you either.”
Your jaw tightened, “convenient for all your shady connections. You’re protecting him.”
“I’m protecting my network,” Sylus said, “there’s a difference.”
“Not to me.”
“To you, everyone between you and the answers to your questions looks like an accomplice.”
You leaned forward slightly, “are you saying you’re not?”
“No,” his crimson eyes held yours, “I’m saying accomplice is a broad word here in the N109 zone.”
You went still. The jazz continued, soft and low.
Sylus’s expression didn’t change, “if I give you his name, I create a problem with everyone who expects discretion from me. If I point him out directly, I create the same problem with witnesses. I don’t want trouble with him. I don’t want trouble with his people. And I don’t intend to close doors I may need open later because the Hunters Association wants a clean arrow drawn on a dirty map.”
Your hand curled once against the tablecloth, “that’s not enough information to help me and you know it.”
“No,” he agreed, “it isn’t.”
“Then why am I still sitting here?”
“Because it’s more than you had yesterday.”
You hated that. You hated it because it was true. Sylus reached into the inside pocket of his coat. You shifted instantly, one hand moving beneath the edge of your jacket. He paused. His hand remained visible.
“A card,” he said, “nothing else.”
“Slowly…”
He drew it out with two fingers and set it on the table, then slid it halfway toward you before letting go. Not all the way. Never into your space without permission. You looked at the card. Black. Matte. No name. No address. Only a thin red emblem pressed into the surface and a date written in silver. Next Friday. Your pulse changed. Sylus watched the recognition arrive.
“There’s a Protocore auction next Friday night,” he said, “this time, it’ll be here, in the N109 zone. One of my own, too. Private. Invitation only. More selective than the art show that started this mess, and significantly less polite.”
You picked up the card. It was heavier than paper should be.
“The buyer will be there?” You asked.
“Yes.”
“In the same room as you?”
“Yes.”
You looked down at the card again. The red emblem caught the light like a small wound.
Sylus continued, voice calm, “he attends these events when something interests him. The fragment interested him. I can get you into the room with me. I can make sure you come in armed and stay that way. I can tell you what signals to watch for, what manners matter, which mistakes get people killed, and which ones only get them laughed out of the building.”
“But finding him is my job.”
“It is.”
You looked back at him. He didn’t soften it. Good. You didn’t want soft. Soft would’ve made it easier to forget where you were and who he was.
“You realize the Association won’t like that,” you said.
“I’m not courting the Association.”
“No,” you said, “you’re just having dinner with one of their hunters for funzies.”
His mouth curved faintly, “I am, as far as they’re aware.”
Quiet stretched between you, charged and unwanted. You could feel the shape of what he didn’t say. That he had wanted this before Rafayel turned your life into a spectacle. That somewhere behind the formal terms and controlled hospitality, there was interest he hadn’t spent, only leashed. He was delighted by your lethality. By your suspicion. By every sharp edge you refused to file down for the comfort of his dining room. You knew it. He didn’t have to hit on you. He didn’t have to flirt. He simply sat there with his restraint and his blood red eyes and his infuriating respect for boundaries, letting you understand that if desire ever entered the room, he would want it awake, armed, and willing.
Your throat went dry. You drank water because water wasn’t a an insane admission. Sylus looked away, giving you the courtesy of pretending not to notice. That courtesy irritated you almost as much as being noticed. Mephisto suddenly clicked from the perch, wings lifting halfway.
You turned your head toward him, “why does your creepy bird keep doing that?”
“He’s judging the room.”
“It’s a machine.”
“Rude.”
“…Does it—he,” you corrected reluctantly, “have his own opinions?”
“Oh, constantly.”
Mephisto’s red eyes brightened.
You stared at the bird, “…I don’t like him.”
The crow cawed in response, as if offended.
Sylus looked deeply entertained, “he may feel the same way about you.”
“Good. Then we understand each other.”
He stood then, and this time you didn’t reach for your weapon. You noticed the fact and hated that too.
“I’ll have Luke and Kieran return you to the border,” he said, “safe conduct includes the way out.”
You stood as well, sliding the auction card into the inside pocket of your jacket, “okay…And if I agree to next Friday?”
“Then I’ll send instructions through the secure channel you used for tonight.”
“You’ll send them to me and the Association, right? Nothing involving Rafayel.”
His expression cooled by a degree, “I have no intention of involving Rafayel.”
The answer pleased you. You didn’t let it show.
“No sedatives,” you said.
“No sedatives.”
“No disarming me.”
“Correct.”
“No surprise tests.”
Sylus’s gaze held yours for a long moment.
“No surprise tests,” he said.
You believed that he meant it. That didn’t mean you trusted him.
“Okay, then I agree,” you said.
Something in him went very still. Not surprise. Satisfaction, maybe, but quieter than victory. More focused. As if your agreement mattered more because he knew exactly how much you hated giving it.
“Next Friday, then,” he said.
“Next Friday.”
The doors opened behind you before he called for anyone. Luke and Kieran stood beyond them in their crow masks, waiting as if they had never moved far.
Luke looked from you to Sylus, then to the intact dining room, “wow, no stabbing. I’m shocked!”
“Dessert survived too,” Kieran said, “well, some of it.”
“Miracles everywhere.”
You walked toward them. Sylus didn’t follow too closely. He stopped near the table, one hand resting lightly against the back of the chair. Mephisto launched from the short pillar and returned to his shoulder in a sleek black rush, wings folding with a whisper of metal feathers. At the threshold, you glanced back despite yourself, jazz still murmuring through the air as if the night had actually been civilized. It hadn’t. You had eaten with a monster and left with a map. That was all. That was enough. For now.
And then, Sylus’s eyes met yours across the room, “good night, Y/n.”
You held his gaze for one heartbeat too long, “…Night.”
Then you turned away before the room could make anything of it. Luke and Kieran escorted you back through the black marble halls, out through the fortified doors, and into the waiting teeth of the N109 zone. The city watched you leave the same way it had watched you enter, but this time there was a card in your jacket and warm food in your stomach and a new danger walking somewhere ahead of you, faceless for one more week.
At the border, your comm crackled back to life in a burst of static.
“Hey, I’m here,” you said, “don’t worry, nobody got killed and I made it out in one piece, unscathed.”
Tara exhaled so hard the sound distorted. Xavier said something low in the background, too faint to catch. You looked back once. High above a building, Mephisto perched on a metal arch, red eyes glowing in the dark. Watching. Your fingers closed over the card inside your jacket.
“I got the lead,” you said.
Tara’s voice shook, “and??”
You stared at the mechanical crow until it tilted its head.
“Next Friday,” you said, “there’s a protocore auction, and Mister Super Mysterious Buyer will be there.”
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