summary: a god of ruin leaves a part of themselves in Caleb when they save him as a child. the corruption grows from there.
tags: fantasy au, corruption, lots of worldbuilding, non!mc reader, gn!reader, knight!caleb
notes: i actually have so much more i can write abt this but i had to cut myself off or it would become a full length novel. i love worldbuilding and fantasy and fucked up relationships <3
word count: 5.8k
You wake and you are no longer human.
You have not been human for a long, long time.
Physicality feels foreign. The weight of a corporeal body is suffocating, though you no longer need to breathe. You simply exist within a space far too small for you, an emptiness that expands and swallows everything it touches.
Something calls to you, pulls at the core of your existence. You allow it to change you, give you form, shape you into something humanoid, but not human.
You blink your eyes open and stand inside a tomb.
It must have been yours. There is a faint trace of grief and fondness that lingers in the corners of the cold stone. When you look into the coffin, there is no body. Age has faded all the colors within the tomb; it feels right to be someplace so colorless and void of life. It is as you are.
You would be content to stay here forever. But the call is strong and it wraps around your very reason for waking, pulling you into the world proper.
The world grates against your senses. It's all too bright and loud and busy, full of movement and constant change, every moment propelling into another, every organism growing and dying in equal measures. You let go of your corporeal form to lessen the impact the world has on you, drifting through it formless and invisible, observing all you come across.
Please, the call whispers, Please. Please.
Need fuels the call, desperation, a fear that tastes sweet and thick in your throat. The call whispers through the world and you are the only one to answer, claiming it as your own.
Tell me what it is you seek, you return. Your words echo through the fabric of the universe itself, settling to where it is needed.
Please. The voice clears and remakes itself into the form of a little girl, a human with a destiny so bright it hurts to look at. Here, now, she is still young and afraid, looking up at you with teary eyes. Her small hands clutch at another body, a child pale with death. The world resolves itself and you are before them in the smoldering ruins of a dungeon. You can feel Death sweep by, dragging along the newest souls to leave this mortal plane.
The child hiccups over a sob. She holds the body of the other child closer. "Who are you," her trembling voice demands even as her soul whispers please please please endlessly.
You called for me, you say, drifting down to kneel before her, your body solidifying enough to have limbs again. Four, just like anything else mimicking humanity. What is it you seek?
"Help him," she begs. "Help him. Please, he can't die here. He's the only one I have. I don't have anyone else."
You peer into her eyes and see a crown, hardship after hardship, a kingdom to which she will bring ruin or prosper. You see the boy, grown and alive, beside her, walking in step behind her, a distance pulling them apart. You see him dead, her growing up alone and jaded, the birth of an evil set to devour the world.
You want to let that happen. Hunger is your domain. It would be so easy to refuse her plea, to set her down that path and watch as she devours the world in her pain. It is your calling; that hunger, that void is your very existence. Allowing it to grow will bring you strength.
But you look down at the dead little boy and beneath the smoke rising into the sky, the stone rubble and bodies, the tears of a child who should not have to survive this—
Despite everything, a part of you remains human.
It is human enough to help her.
A price must be paid, you tell her, reaching down to cradle the head of the boy.
"What do you want? I don't have anything…"
Your Name, you whisper, sweet as anything. Give me your Name.
She hands it over willingly. You swallow it down and lock it tight within you. She is Nameless now, an absence she must build her identity around. Never shall anyone call to her, never shall a name be tied to her, never shall she be tethered to this world so tightly again. It gives you power, just enough to make the impossible change beneath your hands.
Void and hunger and a brief spark of life. The boy breathes.
You pour a little part of yourself into him; his spirit is too weak to survive without it, now that Death has taken him once.
It is complete, you say, fading away. The rest is up to you.
How interesting. To be awoken by a single call. To be able to push her into her burning destiny. To have the opportunity to change the fate of the world itself. And it all depended on whether or not you saved one child.
You leave them be. It took much energy to perform a miracle so far out of your domain. Life is not something you are meant to meddle with; you work within emptiness, darkness, the space between stars, endings and entropy. Life gives. You take, endlessly, a hunger that is never sated.
It would not be wrong to call you a monster.
Death comes to rest beside you at a quiet corner of the coastline. You explore your abilities now that you are awake to use them, pulling the void within you to eat away at the sunlight entering a small cave. The darkness within it deepens. It reminds you of your tomb; perhaps you should make this your new resting place.
You Are Awake,They say, a black crow flying off their shoulder to fetch a lost soul from the sea.
I am, you agree. Do you have need of me?
I Did Not Expect You To Awaken After Entering My Domain.
You nod. You also did not expect to wake up after you died. You certainly did not expect to wake up Other, no longer human. The memories you hold are hazy and faded; flashes of a full life, of the power you held and the fear others held for you. You remember choosing to die. You don't wish to remember anything more. The memories of your old life can disappear. You'll be happier that way.
I was called, you say. And so I answered.
You Took A Soul From My Grasp.
I was given a Name in return.
Death nods. A Fair Trade. Tread Lightly In My Domain. I Allow This, But No More.
There will be no more, you assure Them, I am Endings and Void and Hunger. Life does not become me.
Death laughs lightly, a hoarse sound that resembles dead trees shaken in strong wind. Life Is Far Too Kind To Resemble Any Of Us. They Will Be Happy With Your Interference. I Am Sure To Hear About It Next We Meet. They look at you without eyes, form shifting between a towering shadow and a skeleton wrapped in dead vines. What Shall You Do Next?
You consider the question. In the far distance, you can feel the piece of you embedded in the boy's soul be shaped by him, evolving with him as he grows and changes. He is alive and well and the hunger you embody is beginning to find a home in him.
There are no more calls for you. Entropy continues to eat away at the edges of the universe, swallowing stars and leaving black holes in its wake. It needs no guiding hand; all you must do is exist as the body in which you interact with reality and it will carry on as a force of nature.
I shall return to my slumber, you decide, I will rest until I am called again.
I Envy Your Peace, Death tells you, For I Shall Never Rest. Until We Meet Again.
Goodbye, Death, you nod, and They vanish, leaving to continue their never-ending rounds, gathering souls to deliver to the afterlife.
You turn your back on the sea and enter the cave. Your void has been eating away at it steadily, leaving it unnaturally dark. No sunlight can reach into it now. It is quiet and comfortable, the damp, cold stone similar to your long abandoned tomb. It is not a deep cave, going down and into the side of the cliff by a few meters. At the bottom, the stone gives away to the ocean, sweeping in from beneath the land.
The thin, weak connection you hold with the boy you brought back to life is steady. You send a little ripple of void down it just to feel him jump, a quiet little amusement before you return to your resting. There is no need for a being like you to remain in the world, so you settle down, release your grip on reality, and sink into slumber.
Time slips away. Time is meaningless to immortal beings.
Now that you have awoken once, true sleep is impossible. You are spread far and wide, in every emptiness, in every darkness, pulling the universe to ruin just for the sake of keeping balance with creation.
Sometimes you sink into the essence of rot, eating away at leaves on forest floors just to feel small. Other times you float between the stars, coalescing into a black hole just to enjoy the taste of light.
What happens to humans on the planet you reside on is irrelevant. You care little for them.
But they care for you.
Your little coastline cave is discovered and curiosity pulls brave souls to explore the unnaturally dark depths. They whisper of a slumbering god of destruction and ruin, who holds the power to destroy the very world.
A shrine is built for you, done with enough movement that you take note of it, becoming aware of the unwelcome changes being done to your place of rest. You idly consider having the darkness eat away at those humans, but let the idea fade away; it's too much work, and it would get their attention fixed on you, which is the last thing you need.
Then come the offerings: gold and jewels and food that crumbles to dust quickly in your half-awake presence. Nobles demand that you bring ruin to their rivals. Common folk beg for those who exert power over them to fall and wither away. Most requests you ignore, but occasionally there comes a a prayer that interests you enough to move.
You swallow the ambition of a king set on conquering the far shore of the continent and he is left an empty husk of a man. You steal away the softness of a child's heart to ease the pain and help them kill the orphanage directors that starve them. You make a castle fall completely, burying all the bodies it held, simply because a young boy, cast aside, wished for them to disappear.
You are not kind. You are fickle and bored and always so hungry.
Humans fear and worship you in equal measure. It does not take long for whispers of your unwanted shrine to spread, for more people to make pilgrimages to you in the hopes of catching your attention. It only takes a few years for it all to be too annoying to handle anymore, so you force yourself awake and leave your cave, searching for a new place to rest.
The other gods have been busy, leaving their marks across the world. In the distance, you can hear War bellow and laugh. Harvest sweeps by, leaving you plenty of fallen crop to feast on and you help the fields decompose, turn over the soil into something healthier for the next planting season. Death's crows fly overhead endlessly, forever on the move. You can feel Life dancing through the land, pushing new sprouts up through the earth and pulling animals and humans gently through the movements of Time.
As you drift through the world, you observe humans move through their fleeting lives. Some are untouched by the threads of fate, free to choose what path they wish to follow. Most of those humans are quiet and little, wanting for nothing, so you give them some of your hunger to turn their sights onto greater things. Other humans are so tightly wound by fate that it makes you recoil in disgust, sneering at their burning ambition; their hunger will consume them whole if you leave them be. Most you leave untouched to find their own ruin, but for some you see more that can come from them and rip out portions of their hunger to reclaim as your own.
It takes a few years before you are able to settle down again, fighting against your own appetite that demands you search for more to eat. Too much interference is troublesome, especially without the right motivation. Hunger is simply what you are, not a motivation that informs your decisions.
You find a nice mountain top and carve a resting place into the high cliffs, surrounded by nothing but strong winds and large birds that are more than happy to keep their distance.
You sink into sleep again.
The dreams begin then, something pulling your slumbering consciousness to observe a young man, just settling into adulthood, chase after a fate-woven girl. His armor is dull and cracked in several places, but his sword is well kept and sharp. His eyes sweep over his surroundings, keeping the girl safe as she sleeps. When he looks at her, his eyes are dark and dangerous and you can feel your own hunger rise up within him.
There he is, you think, looking at the once-boy-now-man you saved so long ago. He has grown up well. He has grown up strong. He has grown up hungry but his control of it is tight and unforgiving. You are pleased by this; you would not want part of your essence to be imbued in someone weak.
You dream in flashes: portions of fights against monsters, laughing with the girl as she leads him through a market, running from masked figures across the continent. He grows steadily, more and more jaded as time passes. He is separated from the girl. She is beyond the reach of your dreams and so you can only watch him worry and despair, taking down his enemies with greater violence than before.
And then, the call comes. His call.
Please, his soul screams, please please please.
You brought him back to life. You have a responsibility to him. You answer his call.
He is panting in the aftermath of a bloody fight, exhaustion weighing down his limbs. There are bodies around him, still warm, and Death stands off to the side, watching Their crows pluck souls from the corpses. They give you a single nod, but offer no words.
You acknowledge Them briefly, then take a moment to allow yourself to fully wake, pulled out of the dream by your connection to him. You body forms, growing heavy under the weight of reality, and you fill a space that was once empty.
It has been a long time since you were properly corporeal. It's hard to keep your features clear and unchanging, so you give up. Darkness rises up and drapes itself over you like a veil, hiding you from view.
For what reason have you called me, you ask, grimacing at the strange sensation of a proper voice moving the muscles of your throat.
The man whips around, sword raised, with a fierce light in his eyes.
"Who are you," he demands, an echo of the girl so very long ago.
You tilt your head to the side. You know me.
"No, I don't."
Perhaps a little reminder is in order, then. You pull at the void connecting you, reaching out to touch the essence you left in his death-soaked soul.
He jumps, then swears.
You laugh. Yes, you remember me now. Speak. Why have I been called?
He pales, swallows heavily. Then he says, "There's someone I need to save."
And what will you give me in return for my assistance?
"What do you want?"
Your Name.
His expression hardens. "I won't give you my name. But you may call me Caleb. Ask for something else."
Clever, you say approvingly, Then I want your hunger. Let it consume. Let it grow. I wish to see what you can do with it.
"So you just want to see what I can do?"
If that is how you wish to interpret that, then yes, you nod. I want to see what you can do.
"You—what are you?"
Hunger and Void. Darkness in empty space. Ruin and rot. I am the End of all, and the reason you breathe still.
Caleb lowers his sword, though his eyes remain guarded. "A god, then."
Or a monster. There is no difference between the two.
"No, there isn't." He runs a hand through his hair, then looks down at the cooling corpse around them. Death has since taken Their leave, always needed elsewhere, though the heaviness of their presence still lingers. "They took her. Betrayed us on the way back to Philos when we thought we were finally safe. I'm going to get her back."
Her. Yes, the girl desperate enough to give me her name. Very well, you give him a slight bow, a mockery of human politeness, I shall aid you in her rescue.
"She's Nameless because of you?"
Caleb, you say, relishing the way the shape of his name in your mouth makes him shudder, You live because she is Nameless. Had she not offered, I would have left you still dead.
He looks both enraged and terrified, subtly shifting back a step. He's trying to put on a brave face, but such facades mean nothing to you. He is one of Yours, tethered to you by a shared hunger. He can not hide from you.
But that is in the past. We need not revisit it. Lead the way, Caleb, and I shall follow.
…
He's heard rumors about a new born god of destruction. Part of him had been tempted to follow the whispers and find the shrine hidden along the coast with Pips. They could have asked for help in taking down EVER, of getting rid of the heartless king of Philos to help Prince Xavier onto the throne. They could have sought help in restoring Pips' Name so he wouldn't have to call her by a nickname, no matter how affectionate it was.
He knew her name. Pipsqueak had a name that was engraved onto his soul, but all he can recall when he tries to revisit a memory of saying it is ̶̛̞̳͐͛̀̔̆͝m̶̢̨͍͙͕̘̮͇͈͔̘̓̀͌͘ͅx̷̛͙̊̇̐̓͝ỉ̵͓̑͌a̷̬̘̚͜͝ ̶͈̪̌̿́c̸̡̪̺̲̱͍̲͑͋́̃̋͊́͌͂̾̓͗͜͜ā̸̼͎̗͖͍́̆͐͐̈́̏͘͠͝x̴̫̩͂̓̌x̵̘̙͔̯͎̼̯͈̠̜͑ì̴̹̭̙̻̺̱̗̔͂̅́͌̈̚͘͝͝ẍ̷̢̢̣̳̥́̃̿̓̈́̓͂͛͛̇̈a̸̢͔͖͙͓̤͐͆͋͑͋̌̿̏͝ — just the thought of it makes his head pound.
Pips told him to give up on her Name.
"I'm happy with whatever you want to call me," she had said, "So stop making your nose bleed by thinking about it too hard!"
He should have pushed harder. He should have done the impossible. He should have given her name back so he would have something left of her.
It's all his fault.
Caleb had gotten too comfortable, too complacent. Everything had been going well; five years after being knighted, three years after she joined him serving under the Crown of Philos, time enough to form bonds and believe that the worst parts of his life are safely behind him. They're both so much stronger now, no longer the scared kids they once were, jumping at every noise in the dark and running from EVER. He thought that, as a knight, he would be able to keep everyone safe now.
He didn't think he needed to keep Pips safe from the very people they fought alongside with.
Now, betrayed and injured and furious about it all, he's back to where he was all those years ago: terrified and running away. They got separated, put in different missions before their fellow knights turned on them by order of the crown. Their ties with the disgraced first prince, Xavier, put a target on their backs and now Pips is gone and Caleb has never hated the crown more.
There must be a bounty on his head. He didn't kill everyone when he escaped and word must have spread by now. Everyone after him has worn Philos' emblem. He'd torn his own off, swearing revenge no matter the cost.
It had been easy to shut away his heart, to look upon familiar faces and kill them without hesitation. He doesn't feel bad about it. He doesn't feel anything but vicious satisfaction and he's sure, now, that there was always something monstrous about him, just biding its time to make itself known. He had a faint sense of it before, when they were kids and still growing up, but he had smothered it down and ignored it, desperate to play the part of Pips' kind, protective, fun older brother. Even as his own affection for her twisted and grew hungry, wanting her in ways that would make her look at him with horror.
There's no need to seek out this new born god of ruin; They found him instead, and Caleb can see his reflection in Their darkness. They are largely silent, only speaking when he speaks, Their words heavy with intent, a gravity that pulls at the weight of reality.
He understands now: he was always part monster, reborn with Hunger in his core. They brought him back to life, but They brought him back changed.
The thought that They can take away the twisted gift of life They gave him is terrifying. He refuses to die while Pips is still in danger, her fate up in the air. They are meant to be feared and he fears Them despite trying not to, but oddly enough, They're not… scary.
It is simply human nature to fear what is powerful, and mortals can never compare to gods. He's heard the legends of those who cross gods, who are punished eternally, who are changed. He's grown up to hearing bits and pieces of tales told around fires and in taverns of how the world is shaped by the rage and mercy of immortal beings. They are to be worshiped and feared in equal measures, fickle beings who demand more just to allow anyone to escape their gaze.
This god of ruin could care less for any of that, it seems. They demand nothing for him after the deal is made. They just follow, silently, leaving darkness dripping in Their wake.
Your mind is loud, They say suddenly, making him jump.
Caleb watches Them from the corner of his eye, unable to fully look away. It's uncanny, seeing this figure of darkness walk the same path as him, small and unfathomable. The dark veil that covers Them is thick, heavy as the night, concealing what lies beneath. Is there even a body under there? Or just darkness?
"Can you blame me?" he says, trying to make his voice even and unbothered, "It's not every day a god walks by my side."
They tilt their head to the side and a shiver of unease works its way up his spine. You are the one who called for me.
"I don't see how I did."
The soul tells no lies. You had need of me, and so I am here.
"Not sure I buy that."
What you believe matters not to me.
"Great," Caleb huffs, shoving a branch aside forcefully as he continues he's long walk through the forest. The god beside him just drifts through all obstacles. Leaves once dark green turn brown and brittle, falling to the ground as They pass.
He's tempted to ask for more aid. He can't do this alone, no matter how hard he tries. Evading EVER while rebelling against Philos is a suicide mission but it's one he has to undertake for Pips. He knows he's not coming out of this alive, but it will be worth it as long as he can make them all pay for what they've done. What's the point in having a connection to a god of ruin if he doesn't use Them to see this through?
Your hunger grows, They say, amusement deep in their voice. What is it that you are wanting so strongly?
If he's going to die anyways, he may as well take some more risks. "What would the price be for having you help me take down EVER? Or Philos?"
To what extent?
"Complete destruction. I want them all dead. I want them all to feel it. What will you take for this to happen?"
Suddenly, They're right in front of him, grabbing hold of his chin. Their hand is cold, fingers a deep black that fade as it moves up Their arm into something more human in color. It's startling to see something resemble humanity from Them when they're so monstrous and he can't help but stare at this sudden hit of a physical body emerging from beneath Their veil.
His heart pounds painfully in his chest. Though Their hand is gentle, it feels as though it takes his energy from him, leaving him weak.
What I want, They croon, for a desire so grand, is to consume and be consumed. To claim you as my own.
Caleb swallows heavily. "What do you mean?"
Other gods have priests and emissaries. Humans who move in Their name. Why should I not have the same? Be mine. Swear yourself to me and I shall grant you greater power to achieve what you hunger for. Let go of your restraint on the Hunger I have given you.
He doesn't know where he finds the strength, but he manages to force his body to move and wrench his face away from Their grasp. "I'll think about it," he bites out, fear resting bitter on his tongue.
They do not pursue. They allow him some distance and drop Their arm, hiding it from sight again.
Caleb wonders: why this form? From what he's heard of other gods, they make themselves large, imposing, impossible to ignore. They tower above mortals and change the world to their whims. So why does this powerful deity, of darkness and hunger, choose to be small?
If he didn't know any better, he would think Them fragile. The memory of that small hand, slim and gentle and colder than a corpse, cements itself into his mind.
Curiosity burns away at him.
But Caleb is practiced in biting his tongue, in playing his role, focusing on his task and nothing more. He pushes his need for knowledge away, grapples with what little he can control.
The important thing now is to find Pips and get revenge. Nothing else. His own growing hunger for more is nothing in comparison.
He struggles through each day, hiding as best he can. He sticks to quieter, smaller roads, choosing to go around towns in an effort to remain unnoticed by those who want him dead. Every part of him hurts and exhaustion weighs heavy on him.
It's an accident when he stumbles upon a group of EVER enforcers, no doubt sent to capture him again. Pips doesn't remember anything but the end, but their time with EVER was filled with pain and blood, cut open endlessly while a man blessed by a healing god twisted the power to ensure they could never escape through death. Caleb can pick them out easily, his entire body wired to recognized and attack them, striking first before they can make a move against him.
He's about to do the same, gripping the hilt of his sword as he watches them from behind a large fern, hate rising as he listens to them chat and laugh around a fire.
He's about to move, when he hears one of them say, "If we get them back and get a kid out of the woman, think they'll let me have a go with her? I've seen her a few times and man, she grew up fine."
They better not be talking about what he thinks they're talking about.
"Subject Aether is too valuable to be given to folks like us," another one retorts, "But if we were given a chance with Subject Chaos—"
"Him? Didn't know your tastes swung that way."
"Bet I could break him, you know?"
They laugh together, as if they're not talking about forcing themselves onto both him and Pips.
Caleb nearly leaps out and begins the slaughter when small, cold hands grip onto his shoulders and freeze him in place.
At ease, They whisper to him.
"I want them dead," he snarls, taking far too much effort to keep his voice low.
Yes. But a simple killing is not enough. Power floods into him suddenly, enough to make his knees buckle. They are the only thing keeping him upright as his sense of the world suddenly expands. Every darkness is so visible now, and sparks of life from plants and animals and even the enforcers draw his eye, igniting in him a hunger he hasn't felt since his first kill.
I shall give you a taste, the god of Hunger and Void and Endings whispers sweet in his ears, This is what my power can do for you. This is what it means to embrace the hunger. Go on, my Caleb, devour them.
He is bigger than his body. He moves without sound. The night rises around him, the shadows cast from the flickering fire twisting unnaturally among the bodies. They are flesh and blood and warmth that he is eager to feel against his tongue, his teeth. The void within him sings with pleasure, swelling until it is all he is, barely any of Caleb left as he descends upon them.
The god follows behind him, watching, always watching. They spare no mind for the screams or the blood spilling onto the ground. Caleb can feel their satisfaction, their own hunger pulling at his own until they twist into a macabre dance.
He blinks, and he is inside his body again.
The fire has gone out. His sword is on the ground, bloody. His hands are still dripping with it.
There are no bodies around him.
The taste of iron rests heavy on his tongue.
"What did I—" he tries, but his voice gives out, and then his legs, and he falls to the ground.
The god is kneeling on the ground and They easily pull his head onto Their lap, running a hand through his hair. It shouldn't be so comforting, but They touch is light and kind and he has not felt this safe in a very long time. They do not run from his darkness. They are his darkness, his sickest desires, the very worst parts of him brought to life and they do not flinch away from him.
There is no need for masks here; They see him in his entirety. Their power still flows through him, but it's less now. Not so overwhelming. It is familiar and the price of blood is well worth it. Caleb has not felt this settled in so long, not since he was still small enough to share a bed with Pips, curling around her in the dead of night.
He wakes in the morning feeling well rested. It has been weeks since he felt this good. There is no blood on him anymore, but he knows the last night was real; the ever present hunger in him is as close to sated as it's ever been.
They journey on, dodging bounty hunters and EVER and knights of Philos. The god never pushes him to accept Their proposition, to become Their paladin and fight in Their name, but the thought lingers in him. He has tasted Their power. He has tasted Them.
Old fantasies of licking the salt off of Pips' skin are fading, replaced with the need to rip his god open, to see all They have to offer. Gone is the longing to swallow down her sounds, to feel how she would move, helpless, in his grip while he devoured her. Instead, he wants for more of his god, to know Them as much as he can, to greedily steal Their affections and gentleness, to feel Their teeth on his throat.
Hunger like this cannot be stopped. It grows, endlessly, relentless in its desire to consume all that is around it. Caleb is just a vessel for this Hunger. He has always been a part of it, a part of Them. He understands that well, now, as he chases after whispers of Pips and Xavier, plotting to take down the current rulers of Philos.
They will need him to be strong when he finds them again. They will need a monster to put an end to the current Crown.
"I will agree to move in your name, so long as you see my desires granted," he says, one day. It's the first time he's put this into words, letting them escape the confines of his mind.
They are before him in a blink, black hands decorated with faint impressions of stars long devoured cradling his jaw. Caleb, They say. The weight of his name is different, heavier that it usually is. My paladin knight. Mine to devour.
A mouth splits across the veil, wide and full of sharp teeth. A thrill runs through him at the sight of it and he eagerly tips his head back, relishing the pain of having his throat torn in to. Power floods through him and Caleb lifts his head.
He bites back.
(The New Golden Age of Philos is a popular tale. It's spread far and wide when King Xavier's reign begins to near its end. People speak of an unfortunate child, tossed out when the first Empress died. The consort that took her place wanted him dead, and so he was left abandoned and trapped in an old castle full of her people, working to kill him.
The castle collapsed one day, leaving no survivors but him.
He grew up bitter and strong but with the love of his people giving him the willpower to keep going. He was joined by a Nameless who was able to twist the threads of Fate itself to ensure their success, and by a paladin of Ruin, bringing destruction to those who oppressed the common folk of Philos.
They are painted as heroes, people meant to become legends.
Caleb knows they are monsters: Xavier is cold to everyone but Pips, ruthless in all he does, Pips burns brighter than the sun and fears nothing, and he devours all in their path in the name of his god, uncaring for how his once beloved and her king watch him warily, always ready for him to turn that hunger onto them.
But that's not a tale anyone wants to hear, so it is forgotten and left to end, safe in Their hands.)
Summary: What hurts more? Your heart or your ego? You'll find out whether you want to or not, as they all gravitate towards MC.
Pairings: LADS Love Interests x Non!MC.
Warnings: Angst with the ending not yet decided as of now.
A/N: Listen. I have nothing against MC. I never see myself as her, just as I never see myself in the MC of other otome games. That being said, I'm so fucking OBSESSED with Non!MC angst that I decided to jump into the train wreck as well. This is gonna be a series but I don't know how far I'm going take this story.
-
They say falling in love is easy.
Falling out of love? Even easier.
And afterwards?
The answer comes to you quicker than love ever did.
Linkon City is not only technologically advanced, it's also vast. More than a thousand people make their lives here. With that in mind, 'coincidences' should be impossible right?
"...Are you going to buy that last red bean bun?"
Wrong.
You ignore the owner of the voice in favour of wrapping up your purchase and yes, the bun included. The cashier beams when you softly thanked her and only then did you turn around.
Today, the bakery - the one that your heart claimed as a favourite because of their raisin breads and cheesecake - is in a sleepy dull due to the early morning rays. It won't be long before the rest of city is awaken. And yet, when you turned around...
Xavier is there, two steps behind you despite having the empty spaces in the shop, dressed as if he had just woken up. He looks even more so, beautiful eyes blinking slowly. Lazily. Almost like a cat. Or a wolf underneath that soft, white hoodie.
"Are you going to do anything about it?" You ask with a raised eyebrow, holding up the plastic bag of baked goods, as if taunting him with it. You're not, though. You just didn't appreciate how close he is. The you from three and a half months ago wouldn't mind, but the you now is currently undergoing some much-needed self-reflection, and your fraying patience is the result.
Xavier didn't pout or scowl. His face doesn't betray any facial tics as he stares at you. His stoicism can give Zayne a run for his money. "I remembered you said that you preferred the raisin breads."
"And do you see any right now?"
His eyebrows furrow, sensing the sharpness laced underneath your tone, but before he could reply, the cashier helpfully chimes in from behind the counter. "Sir? Did you want the red bean bun too? If you could just wait for a few more minutes, we'll have a fresh batch out for you soon!"
And then, just as you expected, another impossible 'coincidence' manifested itself in the form of a bell tinkling.
"I knew it was you guys! And to think I almost missed this street just now."
MC, dressed in a simple workout attire but still effortlessly beautiful, closed the shop's door behind her. Xavier's lips immediately tug into a small smile as she approaches the two of you.
"Good morning. Were you out for a jog?"
"Woke up earlier than usual today. The weather seems nice for a change. If I knew you were up, I would've invited you, Xavier and you too."
Something... indescribable flashes over Xavier. You're surprised that his eyes darted towards yours for a split second. Usually, you might as well cosplay as a ghost with how intense his attention is on MC. Nothing else matters but her.
You've added that little titbit into your ever-expanding file of self-reflection.
"I'll be sure to text you next time, MC." Xavier promises her.
You didn't fidget, but you're wondering why you're still in the bakery. You got what you wanted - a treat in the hope of sweetening your already soured day. Was it because of societal expectations that prevented you from being rude? Not really. Why should you care about propriety against people who are ignoring you in favour of their clearly animated conversation? Perhaps you're a masochist?
...Well. That's going into the file as well.
"Oh! Do you want to join us for breakfast?" MC suddenly turns to you when she notices that you're leaving. "I feel like we didn't get to know you much since you're our new neighbour. Even if you live next to our apartment." When you didn't reply, some of that bubbly cheer dims into hesitation. Xavier wastes no time glaring at you. "S-Sorry, was that too forward? I just thought it would be fun since I always see you and Xavier hanging out at that diner in the corner."
You exit the bakery without acknowledging MC's offer or Xavier's silent displeasure. Ignoring the twisted knots in your heart as you made a beeline straight home, knowing that no more unpleasant surprises were waiting for you now that you know where MC is.
Because while you don't believe in coincidences, you do believe in patterns, and they take the shape of MC.
When you first moved into your brand new home, when Linkon City was an unfamiliar-familiar scene to you, you met Xavier while eating outside. Too lazy to cook despite having done grocery shopping the day before. Small yet pleasant words were exchanged while he was hovering near the rows of barstools, waiting for his food. Both of you kept to yourselves, but every time you meet him on the streets, something more begins to take root. He chuckles at your jokes, especially regarding astronomy, and you find his nonchalant demeanour humorous during that time when a couple broke into a loud argument in the middle of the convenience store.
And then MC returns from her work trip.
Suddenly, she's there whenever you are with Xavier. At first, you brush it off, thinking nothing of it. The three of you live closely after all. Nothing suspicious about that. She introduces herself to you while you're busy drinking in her appearance, noting every little detail. A cocktail of emotions is brewing inside you. The second time she integrated herself was when you and Xavier made plans to visit the bookshop. Her text brought a Wanderers emergency, and she needed backup. Xavier left right away, forgetting to call you, who were waiting for him at the shop for more than thirty minutes.
The patterns soon became a norm.
You didn't bother with Xavier after he ditched you, emergency or not, after the third time.
You're a woman with a healthy amount of self-respect and pride. You didn't mope about a man you're barely acquainted with. Sure, you're annoyed at the constant interruptions via MC and the ghostings, but there's more to this life than some man with a pair of sleepy eyes, no matter the amount of butterflies he puts in your tummy. You'll be alright.
You decided to stay indoors after that scene in the bakery. Content to laze around playing video games and sustaining yourself with nothing but sugar and junk food (it's the weekend. The perfect day to indulge! You can feel guilty on Monday) until the sun dips below the horizon.
The end credits appear after the final cutscene plays out. The final boss is defeated, and the heroes are granted their happy ending. If only life followed the same formula. You stretched your arms and yawned. "Shit, it's that late already?" You mutter, seeing the first stars emerging in the night sky from peeking through the curtains. "Right. Dinner. Maybe something with veggies at least..." You snatch your phone from the couch.
Your thumb swipes away the text notifications from Xavier (and one from MC. Xavier must've given her your number. Without even asking for your permission. You made a mental note to block and delete their numbers later. Right now, you're too busy breathing in and out and counting to a thousand) in favour of the food delivery app.
With your food ordered and on the way, you decided to pretend to be a semi-functional adult who has her life together: You did the laundry, put away the clean dishes into the cupboard, cleaned the house a little, and showered. The scalding hot water that threatens to peel your skin off feels wonderful that by the time you step out of the bathroom and slip into something comfortable for the evening, you feel like a million gold coins.
'Your food has arrived. Please meet with the driver to retrieve your order.'
Just in time, too! Your stomach is already growling.
However, the hunger is replaced with a heavy lead when Xavier is standing outside your house, holding your food hostage.
"Why do you have my food?" You ask flatly.
"The driver had other places to deliver, and it just so happened that I was on my way back to the apartment." He explains. At least he had the decency to look sheepish.
Not like you believe him. The delivery guy could've just left the food at your doorstep. Xavier must've said something to him.
"Uh-huh. Well... thanks." You made a move to snatch it, only for Xavier to step back.
"You haven't been answering my calls." Xavier accused. His expression then morphed into an awkward one. It heckles you. "Please... can we talk for a bit? I know I've been bailing out on our trips lately. I've just been so busy..."
You can't help but wonder if Xavier knows the difference between apologies and excuses. Either way, it's not your problem.
You shrug, copying his nonchalance. "It's cool. It's not like we're friends."
Xavier looks positively stricken now. Eyes wide in surprise and mouth pressed into a hard line. The reaction is a bit over the top in your humble opinion. If it has nothing to do with MC, is he so detached from this world that he doesn't grasp the concept of being mindful of other people's emotions?
...And to think you had a crush on this man. You mentally pat yourself on the back for dodging this white bullet.
This time, you successfully steal your food from a stupefied Xavier and close the door on his face. He can roleplay as a gargoyle outside of your house until he gets bored and goes home. Just as you passed into the kitchen, you didn't even need to glance out of the window to see that the balcony curtain where MC's floor is rustled. As if someone had quickly withdrawn.
Another day, another narrowly avoiding drama here in the big Linkon City.
Caleb didn’t remember when sleep last came easy. Nights felt long and restless, like something inside him kept pacing even when he was still. He carried your absence like a bruise beneath the ribs—tender, sore, impossible not to bump into.
Everyone else saw it too. His friends asked if he was sick. Professors gave him looks like they were trying to diagnose him. Even strangers noticed the way he walked too fast, like he was rushing toward something only he could see.
But it was always you.
He had never been the anxious type. Not really. He always moved with this quiet, steady confidence—like he knew the ground would hold him and the world would make room for his footsteps.
But ever since that argument… ever since you stopped looking at him with softness… something inside him had been off.
Unsettled.
Disturbed in a way he couldn’t name.
He had never realized how loud silence could be until it came from you.
Not angry silence.
Not annoyed silence.
Worse— the kind of silence that means someone has closed the door on you in their heart.
And the thing that tore at him the most?
He knew he caused it.
He carried that knowledge like a stone in his stomach, heavy and grinding every time he tried to swallow or breathe.
Whenever you crossed campus, he caught himself searching for your eyes first, hoping for a flicker of recognition… and feeling something small and fragile inside him collapse when he found nothing.
Not anger.
Not coldness.
Just… nothing.
A tired sort of nothing.
Like you didn’t have the energy to hate him or even care enough to avoid him deliberately.
And that hurt worse than anything he’d ever known.
He wasn’t alright.
Because there were these flashes—
you brushing past him in a hallway,
you tucking hair behind your ear,
you lifting your eyes then looking away when you realized he was watching—
Each moment left him breathless.
Desperate.
Unraveled.
So he chased.
If you walked fast, he walked faster.
If you turned a corner, he followed.
If you ducked into a building, he was right behind you.
“Shortcake, wait—please—just talk to me.”
“I’m begging you, just five minutes.”
“You can’t ignore me forever—”
“Please,” he whispered one afternoon when you kept walking. “Just a minute. Just tell me what I did.”
You didn’t flinch.
Didn’t speed up.
Didn’t look at him.
He was invisible to you, and it was eating him alive.
It all came to a head one late afternoon. His mind refused to focus. Every attempt at homework dissolved into static. His foot tapped uncontrollably beneath his desk. His phone lay face-up, screen blank, taunting him with the absence of your name.
The same messages.
No new ones.
The silence felt like rejection carved into the bones.
Finally, he couldn’t take it.
He shoved back his chair, grabbed his jacket, and left before he fully decided where he was going.
His body moved before his mind did.
And of course it carried him to you.
By the time he showed up outside your dorm that night, the stillness of the campus only magnified the noise inside his own chest. The lamps glowed this pale gold that made everything look softer, quieter… like the whole world was holding its breath.
He shoved his shaking hands into his pockets and looked up at your window.Then—because he was a little anxious and a lot desperate—he bent down, picked up a tiny pebble, and tossed it gently.
It pinged against the glass with the smallest sound.
He winced. Picked up another.
ping.
Another.
ping—ping—ping—
“Okay—okay—I'm coming!” your muffled voice finally called, exhausted and annoyed, and he nearly sagged in relief.
A moment later, the dorm door swung open and you stepped outside, looking soft and sleepy and worn-down in a way that made Caleb’s heart stutter painfully.It hit him suddenly how tired you’d been lately—how the weight between you hadn’t just been crushing him.
You saw him and stopped like you’d run into an invisible wall.
“Caleb,” you breathed, and it wasn’t anger or annoyance—just this deep, exhausted disappointment. “What are you doing here? It’s past curfew.”
He swallowed hard. “I needed to talk to you.”
“There’s nothing to talk about.” Your voice wasn’t sharp—just drained, like someone who’d been holding too much for too long.
“I can’t take this anymore,” he whispered. “You won’t even look at me.”
“I’m tired.”
Your words were so quiet he almost missed them. “I’m so, so tired, Caleb.”
He felt them land like stones, heavy and merciless.
“I know,” he said quickly, stepping closer without meaning to. “I know and I’m sorry—I never meant to make things this hard. I just… I need you to tell me what’s going on.”
“You don’t get to need things from me right now.”
There was no heat behind it.
Just truth.
The kind that scraped.
He ran a hand through his hair, pacing a small anxious circle. “So I’m supposed to just… guess? Just suffocate in this silence and pretend it doesn’t matter? You won’t text me back, you won’t look at me—”
“Because I don’t have the energy to relive everything every time you speak.”
He froze.
Your eyes lifted to his—finally—and it wasn’t anger he saw. It was weariness. This heavy, quiet hurt that made you seem so far away.
And he hated himself for putting it there.
“Shortcake…” he whispered, voice cracking. “Please. I never meant to break anything.”
“That doesn’t mean it’s not broken.”
The wind moved gently between you, carrying the smallest chill. He watched you wrap your arms around yourself and something inside him twisted cruelly.
“I don’t know what to do,” he confessed, sounding younger than he meant to. “Just tell me how to fix it.”
“You can’t always fix everything.”
“But I want to fix this.”
You shook your head, looking past him like even holding eye contact was too heavy.
“I can’t do this tonight,” you murmured. “I really can’t.”
You stepped toward the door, meaning to end the conversation—softly, quietly, like someone laying down a burden they’d held too long.
But Caleb panicked.
He stepped in front of you, too desperate, too lost in the moment.
“Please,” he whispered. “Don’t walk away again.”
“ I don’t want to talk with you.”
He felt that like a punch.
Low.
Final.
You stepped toward the door, wanting to end it.
He stepped in front of you.
“Move.”
“No.”
“Caleb—move.”
“Just talk to me—”
“I SAID MOVE!”
Your shout echoed off the dorm walls.
Lights flicked on.
Curtains rustled.
A door opened somewhere above.
And then—
“HEY! You two! Inside. Now.”
The RA’s tone could’ve curdled milk.
Sitting in the advisor’s office felt like being called to the principal as a kid, but worse.
Fluorescent lights buzzing overhead.
The smell of stale coffee.
You sitting rigidly in a chair five feet away from him, angled toward the door—never toward him.
Caleb didn’t look at you,he didn’t trust himself not to stare.
The advisor pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re both honors program students. You’re not supposed to be wandering around campus after curfew. But instead of formally writing this up…” He sighed deeply, like he regretted his own mercy. “You’ll serve mandatory hours helping the theater club with their upcoming production.”
You blinked.
Caleb straightened.
“What?” you said flatly.
“It’s better than a disciplinary mark. They need help anyway.”
“I’ll do it,” you said immediately, wanting the whole miserable situation to be over.
“And I’ll join her,” Caleb added before the advisor could dismiss you.
The advisor raised a brow.
You shot Caleb a glare that could peel paint.
But Caleb didn’t care.
If this was his chance to be near you—
to maybe fix things—
he would take it.
You hated everything about rehearsals.
The scripts.
The costumes.
The stupid wooden sword they made Caleb use.
The angsty, romantic, poetic writing.
A knight.
A girl he betrayed.
A love ripped apart by one stupid mistake.
How fitting.
How cruel.
You barely tried.
You never looked up from the script.
Every line fell flat.
Caleb kept sneaking glances at you—
your jaw tight,
your eyes dull,
your posture screaming I don’t want to be here.
He kept wanting to talk, to apologize, to explain—but every time he leaned in, whispering something—
“Not now.”
“Stop.”
“Caleb, please—just focus.”
Which he absolutely could not do.
Rehearsals were a mess from the start. You were physically present, but your mind lived somewhere far away, somewhere he no longer had the map to. Caleb kept losing the thread of the play, forgetting lines, missing cues, because every time he looked at you he could feel the distance like a bruise he kept pressing.
The play’s story didn’t help—two people falling apart because of betrayal and silence.
It felt too familiar.
Too close.
Too cruel.
Finally, the theater teacher erupted.
“ENOUGH!”
His voice echoed through the auditorium rafters. “I don’t know what… personal drama you two are going through, but if you don’t take this seriously, I WILL have you written up. Do you hear me?”
You both nodded like scolded children.
The teacher jabbed a finger toward the stage. “Run the confession scene. From the top.”
When the teacher demanded the confession scene again, Caleb stepped onto the stage and felt something inside him snap—the tight, quiet part of him that had been holding everything together with shaking hands.
Your eyes stayed on your script.
His stayed on you.
“Begin,” the teacher said.
You lifted the page.
Caleb didn’t.
He stepped forward, his voice soft but carrying through the whole theater.
“Why do you turn away from me?”
You paused. Blinked. “Caleb—that’s not—”
But he wasn’t speaking to the character.
He wasn’t speaking to the script.
He was speaking to you.
And for the first time in weeks, he didn’t hide anything.
“I can’t keep doing this,” he whispered, voice rough and unsteady. “Not when it feels like I’m watching you fade further from me every day.”
Your breath hitched—barely, but he noticed.
“I know I hurt you,” he continued, stepping closer, the stage lights catching the rawness in his eyes. “I know I messed everything up. But you, shutting me out like this… it’s killing me, Y/N. It’s like trying to breathe underwater.”
The script slipped in your grip.
He dropped to his knees.
Just… sank down, like his body finally stopped pretending he wasn’t breaking.
The teacher froze.
Everyone froze.
Even the lights seemed to hush.
“Please,” Caleb said, looking up at you like you were the only thing in the world keeping him upright. “I’m sorry. For everything. For what I said, for what I didn’t say, for making you carry this alone.”
His voice shook.
“I miss you.”
A breath.
“I miss the way you talk to me. I miss your voice. Your presence. Your smile. I miss knowing you didn’t look at me with… empty eyes.”
Your eyes glistened, but you stood perfectly still.
“I’m begging you,” he whispered. “Just tell me I haven’t lost you. Tell me there’s a way back.”
He stayed there, on his knees, chest rising and falling unevenly, waiting for your voice to anchor him.
Waiting for anything.
Waiting for you.
The silence stretched—soft, fragile, trembling.
Someone else sniffled.
But all Caleb saw was you.
And all he waited for—
was the sound of your voice
finally reaching him again.
The theater was silent—except for the trembling in his breath.
Then, from the middle row…
The director clapped.
LOUD.
“FINALLY!” he shouted, springing to his feet. “SOMEBODY’S ACTING!”
His clapping echoed like fireworks.
“This! THIS is what I’ve been begging for all week! Emotional devastation! Real tears! Knees! OH, THE KNEES!
The theater teacher’s clap cracked through the auditorium like a whip.
“OH! BRAVO! I mean—completely off script, completely inappropriate, completely not what I asked for—but my GOD, the emotion!”
Caleb stayed kneeling.
You stayed standing, heart thundering.
The director wiped his eyes dramatically. “Beautiful. Gorgeous. I’m framing this moment.”
But all Caleb cared about was you.
He stayed there, chest rising and falling unevenly, waiting for your voice to anchor him.
Waiting for anything.
Your chest tightened painfully.
You couldn’t stay there. Couldn’t breathe under the weight of every stare.
Before anyone could say another word, you reached down, grabbed Caleb’s forearm, and hauled him up—hard enough that he stumbled. His breath hitched, and you felt the tremor there, felt the way he moved instantly with you, like he’d follow you anywhere if you didn’t let go.
You didn’t say a word.
You dragged him across the stage, past the gaping castmates and the teacher still muttering, “Brilliant but reckless—why do they always pick the dramatic ones?” You pulled Caleb behind the curtain into the dim backstage shadows, where the harsh stage lights couldn’t touch either of you.
Back here, the world softened—the ropes hanging from the fly loft, the dust swimming lazily in the single shaft of light, the smell of paint and old costumes settling around you. Caleb stumbled again as you stopped abruptly, and his palms landed on either side of a pillar to steady himself.
He looked at you like you were the only thing in the room that mattered.
You finally exhaled.
“You can’t just do that,” you whispered, voice shaking despite how badly you tried to steady it.
His chest rose and fell, uneven. “I know.”
“That wasn’t part of the play.”
“I know.”
“And everyone heard you.”
“I know,” he said again, softer this time, like each admission stripped something from him. “But I needed you to hear me, too.”
You closed your eyes for a second because the sincerity in his voice was too much—warm, cracking, unbearably raw. When you opened them, he was still watching you, his expression so open it almost hurt to look at.
“Caleb…” Your voice was tired. Not angry—just drained to the bone. “Why now? Why like that?”
His breath caught. “Because you weren’t listening any other way.”
“That’s not fair.”
“I know.” He swallowed hard. “Nothing about this is fair. Not what I did. Not how I handled it. Not how late I realized what you meant to me.” His voice dropped, low and trembling. “But I’m trying now. I’m trying because losing you…” He shook his head helplessly. “I can’t. I can’t do that.”
Your throat felt tight, and you hated—hated—that it wasn’t easy to tell him no. That his words didn’t fall off you the way they should have after everything.
You didn’t answer him. Not because you didn’t want to, but because you didn’t know how.
And he saw that.
His face softened, something in him settling, like he finally understood the depth of what he was asking of you.
“You don’t have to decide anything now,” he said quietly. “I just… needed you to know that I’m done running. And if you ever—ever—let me try again… I’ll put you first this time.” His voice cracked the tiniest bit. “I’ll show up. I’ll stay. I’ll fight for you.”
The words hit you like warmth and pain tangled together. You stepped back—too quickly—and he froze, as if any sudden movement would break whatever thin, trembling peace hung between you.
Someone called your name from onstage, breaking the moment like glass.
You pressed your lips together, turned away, and walked back toward the curtains before your heart could betray you.
You didn’t look back.
But you felt it—the burn of his confession sitting behind your ribs, deep and aching and impossible to shake.
The next day, you met Gideon at a cozy, quiet café tucked between two brick buildings on the edge of campus. Afternoon light spilled through the windows like honey, warm and soft, catching in his lashes when he smiled and pulled out your chair.
He was beautiful in the understated way that felt safe. Steady. Easy.
You wished you could focus on him.
But your mind kept replaying the sound of Caleb’s voice cracking. The way he looked at you backstage. The way he lifted his hands slightly when you walked away—as if he wanted to reach for you but didn’t think he had the right.
The guilt sat in your stomach like a stone.
“You’re quiet,” Gideon said gently, stirring his drink once, twice, then setting the spoon down with a soft clink. “More than usual.”
You forced a smile. “Sorry. I’m just—distracted.”
His eyes softened with something like understanding before you even finished the sentence.
“I know,” he said.
You blinked. “Know what?”
He hesitated, then pulled out his phone and slid it across the table. A paused video sat on the screen—Caleb on his knees, under stage lights, saying your name like a prayer and a plea.
Your heart stopped cold.
“Someone recorded it,” Gideon said quietly. “It’s everywhere in our program group chat.”
You stared at the still frame. Caleb looked devastated. Brave. Terrified. Yours.
You pushed the phone away, shame washing through you so fast it made your eyes sting. “Gideon, I’m so—”
“Don’t apologize,” he said, cutting you off with a gentle shake of his head. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”
“I still feel like I did.” Your voice came out cracked, small. “This isn’t fair to you.”
He leaned back in his chair, studying you for a long, heavy moment. Not angry. Not hurt. Just… seeing you.
“You care about him,” he said simply.
You closed your eyes because the truth was too loud.
“And that’s okay,” he added, his tone so soft it almost broke you. “It doesn’t make you a bad person. It doesn’t make me a fool. It just means your heart already chose something before you had time to catch up to it.”
Your throat tightened painfully. “You deserve better than this.”
“Maybe.” A small smile touched his mouth. “But I also deserve honesty. And so do you.”
You looked at him, really looked at him, and he was still warm. Still steady. Still kind.
“You don’t have to choose me out of comfort,” Gideon said. “Or guilt. Or because I’m easier.”
Your breath shook.
“And if you want him…” His smile turned wistful. “Then go want him.”
Tears pricked behind your eyes—not falling, just burning. “I don’t even know if I can trust him.”
“Then let him earn it,” Gideon said softly. “If he drops the ball again…” He paused, tilting his head slightly as his smile sharpened just a little. “I’ll make sure it doesn’t land in his court next time.”
You huffed out a laugh through the ache in your chest.
Gideon reached for your hand, squeezed once, gentle and sure.
“Go where you’re pulled,” he said. “I’m not going anywhere. But I won’t stand in the way of something your heart keeps returning to.”
And just like that, the weight of every burning, confusing emotion finally settled into place.
The campus library hummed with midterm panic—whispered complaints, clicking pens, the soft rustle of exhausted page-turning. You tried to focus, tapping your pencil against your notebook.
Tap.
Tap.
Tap.
A habit born from years of waiting.
For rides.
For answers.
For them.
Your phone buzzed, lighting up the table.
Caleb.
Your breath caught—ridiculous, but real. You grabbed the phone before the vibration even stopped.
“Sorry shortcake, we’re gonna have to reschedule. MC needs my help.”
The words didn’t surprise you.
They just… landed.
Right in the middle of your chest.
You typed back:
“It’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”
And as you hit send, the library air shifted—someone walked past smelling faintly of sun-warm grass, and just like that, your mind slipped somewhere else entirely.
It was the same smell from that summer when the three of you were eight, running around the old neighborhood park. MC was trying to balance on the wooden beam behind the playground.
“I don’t like this,” she squeaked, wobbling dangerously.
Caleb was already there before her voice even shook—hands out, steady, sure.
“I got you.”
He lifted her down like she was made of something breakable.
She clung to him.
He held her tighter.
You watched from the swing set, pushing yourself lightly with your toes.
You had expected him to come get you too—you always did, back then.
He glanced over eventually, smiling like he’d just remembered something.
“Hey! You coming?”
You jumped off the swing, pretending the sting in your palms was from the chains and not the tiny ache of being an afterthought.
MC tripped on the walk home.
Caleb caught her instantly.
You tripped a minute later.
Hard.
Knees scraping concrete, palms stinging.
Caleb looked back.
Just looked.
“You okay?”
You nodded. You always nodded.
“Yeah. I’m fine.”
He smiled, relieved.
And kept walking with MC safely tucked under his arm.
You dusted your hands off alone.
A chair scraped loudly nearby, jerking you back into the present. The library, the books, the steady hum of students—it all felt too bright, too sharp.
Your phone buzzed again.
“You sure you’re okay? I can come by after.”
There it was.
That same tone he’d always had for you—light, polite, concerned in the way someone is concerned about a misplaced homework assignment.
Never the instinct.
Never the urgency he had for her.
You typed slowly this time:
“Really. Go help her.”
Then you set your phone facedown and stared at the ceiling.
Across campus, Caleb was probably already at MC’s side—shoulders turned toward her, eyes soft, voice quiet in that way he didn’t even know he reserved only for her.
He didn’t realize his whole life had curved around her.
He didn’t realize he’d stopped checking if you were okay years ago.
And you—
You still looked at him the way he looked at her.
Quietly.
Steadily.
Hopelessly.
The heartbreak wasn’t romantic.
It wasn’t dramatic.
It was the subtle tragedy of being someone’s afterthought for so long that you learned to live with it.
The kind of pain that didn’t shout—
It just… stayed.
Like a childhood lesson you never quite unlearned.
You weren’t sure how long you stayed in the library after Caleb’s text. Minutes blurred into hours the way grief always softened time—quietly, numbly, without permission. By the time you returned to your dorm, your chest felt like it was carrying more weight than your backpack.
Your room was warm, golden with fairy lights, and instantly louder than the world outside.
Tara stood in front of the mirror, eyeliner winged sharp enough to cut glass, hair curled and bouncing as she danced to music under her breath.
She didn’t even look over when you walked in.
“There you are,” she said, glossing her lips. “How was golden boy?”
You tossed your bag onto your bed.
“Not tonight.”
Tara paused mid-swipe.
Turned.
Studied you carefully.
“…That bad?”
You shrugged, but your throat felt tight.
“It wasn’t bad. Just… cancelled plans. Again.”
Her eyes softened in that way she reserved for you—no judgment, just knowing.
She clicked the lip gloss closed.
“Alright,” she said decisively. “Then we’re going out.”
You blinked.
“ Tara —”
“Nope.” She raised a finger like a goddess issuing a decree. “I’m not letting you sit here and study yourself into an emotional coma. We’re hitting the Theta party.”
“Tara.”
You flopped onto your bed. “I am not going to some frat house just because I’m sad.”
She arched a brow.
“Oh, so you admit you’re sad.”
You groaned into your pillow.
“I hate you.”
“You love me.”
She was already rifling through your closet.
“You’re coming. You need music, lights, sweaty bad decisions—something that isn’t sitting around waiting for a boy who doesn’t even realize you’re waiting.”
You froze for half a second too long.
Tara noticed.
Of course she did.
“Hey.”
Her voice gentled.
She sat next to you, nudging your shoulder.
“I’m not saying he doesn’t care about you. He does. But, babe… you deserve a night where you’re the main character. Not his afterthought.”
Your chest tightened. The words hit exactly where they weren’t supposed to.
“I’m tired, Tara.”
“I know.”
She didn’t push—she just placed a top in your lap, soft and sparkly.
“But sometimes being tired is exactly why you need to go out.”
You stared at the fabric.
At your hands.
At the way your breath trembled just a little.
Tara bumped her knee against yours.
“Come with me. Just for an hour. If it sucks, we leave. Promise.”
You hesitated…
And somewhere inside you, something small and exhausted whispered:
Why not?
You exhaled a slow, uneven breath.
“Fine. I’ll go.”
Tara grinned, victorious and bright.
“Yes! Okay—hair first, then makeup, then you’re wearing the black boots because those make your legs look incredible.”
You couldn’t help it—you laughed.
A real one.
Maybe it didn’t fix anything.
Maybe it didn’t erase the ache Caleb left lingering in your ribcage.
But for the first time all day, the weight felt a little lighter.
And maybe that was enough.
The Theta house throbbed like a living creature.
Music slammed through the walls, lights flashing in dizzy washes of color. You laughed when Tara pulled you onto the makeshift dance floor, your body moving more out of instinct than rhythm.
One drink softened your shoulders.
Two blurred the edges of the night.
Three washed everything—every ache, every memory—into something warm and numb.
Tara grinned, spinning in a circle of strangers.
“You having fun yet?”
You nodded.
And you meant it.
For a moment, at least.
More drinks appeared—someone pressed a cup into your hand, then another. You took them without thinking. Without caring.
Eventually, Tara disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by bodies and bass.
“Tara?” you called, laughing at first.
Then again, quieter.
No answer.
Your head felt heavier than your body.
Your steps wobbled.
The lights stretched and bent in strange directions.
You pushed through the crowd toward the door, telling yourself you just needed air.
The night hit you like a bucket of cold water—sharp, startling. You stumbled down two steps, gripping the railing so you wouldn’t fall.
The world tilted sideways.
You blinked but it didn’t stop.
“Okay… okay, that’s… not great,” you mumbled to yourself.
You checked your phone—blurry screen, dancing numbers.
No texts from Tara.
Your stomach twisted.
Not from the alcohol.
From the sudden, hollow feeling of being very alone.
You needed something steady.
Someone steady.
Your thumb hovered over a name—
not because you meant to call him,
not because you thought he’d drop everything…
but because your body, in that moment, ran on reflex.
And for better or worse,
your reflex was Caleb.
You hit call before your brain caught up.
One ring.
Two.
Three—
Then his voice, warm and sharp with concern:
“Hello?”
You flinched.
Hearing him was like touching something too hot.
“C-Caleb?” you managed, the word soft, shaky.
His tone changed instantly.
“Shortcake? Are you okay? Where are you?”
“I… I’m at a party, but I lost Tara” you slurred. “She—she disappeared. I don’t know. I’m outside. It’s… cold.”
You weren’t crying, but your voice had that trembling edge, like tears were waiting for permission.
“Hey, hey—it’s alright,” he said, grounding and careful. “Are you sitting down?”
You looked at the steps.
“No.”
“Sit,” he ordered gently. “Right now.”
You did.
Your head spun.
Your eyes stung.
Something inside you cracked open—
the combination of alcohol and loneliness
and years of swallowing every quiet heartbreak.
“I didn’t mean to call you,” you whispered.
He exhaled—sharp, like the words hit somewhere he didn’t expect.
“You called me,” he said softly. “So I’m coming.”
“No—you don’t have to—”
“I’m already on my way.”
“But—”
“Shortcake,” he said, voice steady, unshakable, “I’m getting you. Just stay where you are.”
Your fingers tightened around the phone.
And though you didn’t say it—
though you would never say it—
it meant more than it should have
that you hadn’t been left alone on a cold staircase
with no one to look for you.
The night air had settled into your bones by the time headlights swept across the steps. A car door slammed, footsteps hit pavement fast, and then—
“Shortcake.”
Caleb dropped to a crouch in front of you, breath visible in the cold, eyes wide with worry.
You looked up at him, vision doubling for a moment.
“You came,” you whispered, like it surprised you.
“Of course I did,” he said, brushing hair from your face. You blushed lightly at the gesture. Giggling like some schoolgirl as you sat up quickly. A part of you wants to blame the alcohol in my system for your reaction but another sort of you knows that the butterflies in your stomach from him coming would’ve been there even if you were sober. His touch was gentle but tense, frantic in that way he never realized. “You’re freezing. Why didn’t you stay inside?”
You blinked slowly.
“I was waiting for you”
He slipped his jacket over your shoulders, lifting you by the waist with careful, steady hands. “Come on. Let’s get you into the car.”
You swayed, gripping his arm.
“Oh—okay. Okay…”
He kept an arm around you all the way to the passenger door.
But as soon as he settled you into the seat, his phone buzzed.
He glanced at the screen.
You saw the name.
You didn’t have to read it.
MC.
Caleb’s jaw tightened.
He answered immediately.
“Hey—yeah. What happened?”
A pause.
His brows pinched together.
“Okay. I’ll be there. Just—just stay where you are, alright? I’m coming.”
Your stomach dropped.
When he hung up, he opened your door again, squatting beside you with a sigh that wasn’t meant to hurt—but did.
“That was MC,” he said.
Of course it was.
“She’s having a panic episode. Something happened at the dorm and she’s freaking out. I need to go.”
You nodded numbly.
“Right.”
Caleb swallowed, guilt flashing across his face.
“But I—I can’t leave you like this.”
He fumbled for his phone again. “I’m gonna call Gideon. He’s closer to this side of campus. He can take you back to your dorm and stay until Tara shows up. He won’t mind.”
Something tightened, sharp, under your ribs.
“Gideon?” your voice cracked.
“He’ll take care of you. I promise.”
You shook your head slowly.
“But you’re right here.”
He froze.
And maybe it was the alcohol loosening everything you kept tied down—
or maybe it was years of swallowing your hurt—
but the words came out trembling, fragmented, honest.
“Why can’t… why can’t you take care of me?”
Caleb stared at you, expression blank with shock.
You swallowed, breath shuddering.
“I can be needy too, Caleb.”
Your voice cracked into something small, desperate.
“Sometimes I need you too.”
His lips parted—just slightly.
“I didn’t know,” he whispered.
You laughed—except it wasn’t really a laugh.
It was the sound of something breaking.
“How could you not know?”
A tear fell, then another, your voice spiraling louder.
“You always know when she’s scared or sad or hurting. You always run to her—always—without thinking, without asking, without even considering anything else.”
“Shortcake—”
“But me?”
Your hands shook, gripping the seatbelt.
“You never look at me the same way. You never see when I need you. You never even check.”
Caleb’s face crumpled.
“It’s not like that—”
“Yes it is!”
The words burst out, raw and trembling.
“You don’t even realize it, but she has you. All of you. And I—”
Your breath hitched hard.
“I’m just someone you help when you have time.”
Caleb shut his eyes.
For the first time ever, he didn’t have an answer ready.
Didn’t have that calm steadiness.
Didn’t have that instinctive certainty he always had around MC.
He was just silent.
And that silence told you everything you had been terrified to admit.
A car pulled up. Gideon leaned out the window, confused.
“Caleb? Everything good?”
Caleb didn’t look away from you.
Not at first.
But eventually, he stood.
Slowly.
Guilt written across him like a shadow he didn’t know how to escape.
“I’ll come by tomorrow,” he said softly.
“After I make sure MC’s okay.”
You nodded, tears silent now.
You didn’t argue.
You didn’t reach for him.
And he didn’t reach back.
Caleb looked at you one last time—conflicted, torn, but still turning toward the person he’d always run to first.
Then he closed the car door gently.
And walked away.
The car hummed along the quiet streets, headlights cutting through the darkness like streaks of gold. You slouched in the passenger seat, the blanket Gideon had draped around you still clutched to your shoulders.
“Hey… you holding up?” Gideon asked softly, eyes flicking to the rearview mirror.
You shrugged, staring at the streaked blur of streetlights outside. Your words tangled with the alcohol in your system. “I’m… okay.”
He didn’t push. He never did. Not like Caleb, anyway. Instead, Gideon let the silence fill the space, a quiet cushion that somehow felt safer than words.
At the dorm, he eased the car into a spot near the steps. The engine was still when he reached over and opened the passenger door.
“You got your keys?” he asked, already guessing the answer.
You fumbled in your bag, fingers stiff and clumsy. “Yeah… I got them.”
“Alright. Careful getting out,” he said, steadying you with a hand at your elbow.
The cold air hit you like a slap. You shivered, clutching the blanket tighter. Gideon held the car door open, giving you a moment before finally letting you step down.
“Thanks,” you mumbled, voice small and hoarse.
He nodded, giving you a quiet, understanding look. “No problem. You’re good. Call me if you need anything.”
You managed a weak smile. “Yeah… okay.”
Gideon shut the door gently and walked back to his car. You watched him pull away, tail-lights fading into the night, and then turned toward your dorm.
The door was waiting. The room was waiting. And so was the silence.
The door clicked shut behind you with a soft thud, and the sound echoed more loudly than it should have in the cramped little dorm room.
Maybe because it was the only sound.
Your steps were slow, uneven. Not from the alcohol anymore—most of that haze had burned off into a throbbing headache—but from everything else. The kind of exhaustion that lived deeper than your bones.
You let your bag fall to the floor.
Your jacket slid off your shoulders.
You didn’t bother to turn on the lights.
The moonlight spilling through the blinds was enough to see the outline of your bed, the curve of your desk, the familiar clutter you hadn’t touched in weeks. Everything was where it had always been.
Everything except you.
You sank onto the mattress, blanket dragging behind you as you pulled it tight around your shoulders. Your hands were still trembling—the last leftover pieces of adrenaline, hurt, and humiliation.
Your phone lay next to you.
Silent.
Dark.
You knew he wouldn’t call back.
You knew he wouldn’t check in.
You knew he hadn’t even stayed long enough to see if you could walk straight.
He had somewhere else to be.
Someone else who needed him.
And that someone was never you.
Your breath hitched, and the tears you’d been holding since he walked away finally slipped loose. They fell quietly at first, one by one, until you couldn’t stop them. Until you were shaking with the effort of trying to breathe evenly.
“I can be needy too…”
Your own voice replayed in your head, small and breaking, the words tumbling out before you could catch them.
You pressed your palms to your eyes, like you could erase the memory.
Like you could hide from the truth inside it.
You’d said too much.
And somehow, not enough.
The blanket slid off your shoulder, pooling at your waist. You leaned forward, elbows on your knees, head hanging as the sobs grew heavier—raw, hollow, muffled by the quiet of the room.
You weren’t crying because he didn’t love you.
You already knew that.
You were crying because he didn’t even consider you.
Because he had never once turned around and seen the way your eyes lingered.
Because you had never been the person he rushed to.
Because even drunk and alone and shaking, you weren’t the one he chose to stay for.
Your phone buzzed suddenly, vibrating violently against the sheets.
Your heart jumped—idiotic hope flaring—before you even picked it up.
But it wasn’t him.
Just the campus alert system reminding students to walk in pairs at night.
The irony almost made you laugh.
Almost.
You tossed the phone away and fell back onto your pillow, staring up at the ceiling through blurry eyes. Your chest ached with that familiar heaviness—the one that had been growing quietly for years.
You curled onto your side, bringing the blanket up to your chin.
The room was too quiet.
Too still.
Too full of the things you wished you could forget.
You closed your eyes.
The silence pressed in.
And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself think:
Maybe you were always destined to be the one standing in the shadows while he ran toward someone else.
WARNING(S): Non-MC reader, childhood friends to acquaintances, Hanahaki, illness, some melodrama, ghosting, discussions of dying and medically-assisted death, depression, unrequited love, third-wheeling, mild blood/gore, body horror, cliffhanger ending
Notes: (Shameless Billie Eilish lyric as the title, again.) I’ve had this thing sitting in my drafts since summer. Figured I’d finally post it and get it out of my hair. I know a lot of you don’t vibe with Non!MC, but I find the angst absolutely delicious, so fuck it we ball. If that’s not your thing, keep scrolling.
You were MC’s best friend.
Well, it wasn’t just you - but after the explosion that left her spiraling, you were all she had left of her old life. She clung to you in her rapid swings between numbness and breakdowns, and in turn, you grieved quietly.
You’d loved Granny Josephine and Caleb. You’d spent countless afternoons playing with them, spent so much time that you had practically assimilated into their patchwork family. Granny was a cautious woman, yet no less patient with you as her adoptive children dragged you into their life. Caleb was the cool older cousin figure you’d never had - and you grew to love them all as deeply as you loved your own family. And as you grew older, your love for Caleb began to blossom from innocent childhood admiration to something mature, something real, something deeper. But you weren’t blind to the way he and MC looked at each other now that you were adults - and so you pulled back. Put on a smile. Played the part of the childhood friend the best you were able.
Josephine and Caleb’s deaths rocked you to your core for months after. Yet you picked yourself up, determined to be there for MC when the younger woman needed support.
So when MC called you one night, breathless and upset, babbling about Caleb and the Fleet and something-something-alive, you almost dismissed it as wishful thinking. How many times had you both had dreams about him, whether it was saving him from the explosion or him crawling up from the grave? But she sounded so earnest, so distraught, that you had no choice but to believe her, as flabbergasted as you felt.
And when she brought him to Linkon, it was almost like seeing a poltergeist.
Caleb was alive, in the flesh, smiling softly with something unreadable in his gaze, something heavy and pained. It wasn’t until he spoke that you broke down crying, clutching them both as tight as your shaking hands could muster. MC cried with you, a dam of emotions finally bursting, and Caleb comforted you both, forever the pillar of calm when you were swept up in the tides of chaos.
From there, life got better. Or so you thought.
You spent as much time as you could with Caleb and MC when he was in Linkon. You laughed with them as you walked through the mall, teased Caleb about the same exact ice cream order since he was nine, followed them as they walked side-by-side, fingers so close yet not quite touching.
You played the part of the childhood friend as best you could. Well, until it all came crashing down.
—————
Your latest bout of illness had left you frustrated. It was autumn now, and while you expected sickness, you hadn’t expected it to last. Between getting slashed by a Wanderer on your way to the store, and now a stubborn cold, you were starting to hate the look of a hospital waiting room.
A persistent, mild cough - and minor chest pains, although those were irregular enough that you figured it wasn’t serious enough to report.
Your doctor furrowed her brow, looking at your chart. “This doesn’t seem like seasonal illness,” she told you, glancing up over her facemask. “But given you don’t have any underlying symptoms that could contribute, It’s unlikely you’ve contracted something worse.”
You just put on a smile, exhausted yet not surprised.
As you left the hospital, your phone buzzed. It was MC, asking you to meet her and Caleb at one of your favorite restaurants, one that you’d gone to a lot in your teen years. Given you hadn’t been able to get out much due to work, you typed back an affirmative and hurried home to change.
When you got there, Caleb and MC were sitting together in a booth. She noticed you first and waved you over with a big grin.
“Hey!” She greeted. “We just got here five minutes ago.”
“Good, I was worried I’d made you wait.” You nodded, sitting down and taking the menu.
MC nudged Caleb, and he said, “It’s been a while. How’ve you been?”
“Decent,” you answered distractedly before glancing up from the menu. “I’ve been a little sick, but it’s nothing serious.”
The waiter came around and took your orders, and after he left, you leaned in.
“So what’s the occasion?” You wondered, looking between them. “You workaholics don’t usually invite me out anymore.”
At this, Caleb and MC hesitated. They glanced at each other for a moment in silent dialogue before MC held up their intertwined hands. “We, uh, started dating.”
You nearly choked on the sip of water you’d taken. Coughing a little into your arm, you wiped your mouth. “Then what the heck am I doing here? Chaperoning?”
“We wanted to celebrate with you. Why? Is that against the rules?” Caleb teased, nudging your ankle with his shoe.
“More like I’ll feel like I’m intruding,” you mumbled under your breath.
Dating? Your chest gave a phantom ache at the thought. While you were content to step aside, it still really hurt. You’d loved Caleb for years, and you always dreamed that he would finally look at and see you someday. But, of course, he always had eyes for MC instead.
A smile, a twinge bitter, spread across your face. You would simply be the childhood friend, the anchor to a life that no longer existed.
Raising your glass, you held it out. “To the happy couple.”
As your drinks clinked together, you added, “Just don’t kiss in front of me and we’ll call it even.”
MC’s face flushed and Caleb chuckled. “I’ll try my best to keep her in line,” he teased, earning a slap to the arm.
Somehow that only made your chest ache worse. You coughed into the crook of your arm, blaming water that got down the wrong pipe.
—————
Another sleepless night.
Your bedroom was full of noise, raucous coughs wracking your body and making you tremble in your blankets. Dizziness fogged your head as your lungs demanded you cough harder.
As you rubbed your aching ribs, you threw a watery frown at your phone screen. Picking it up revealed the time: just a little past two AM.
How long had you laid here trying to fall asleep? How long was this fit going to last? You were exhausted. This was the third night in a row - and soon to be third day in a row - that you’d been forced to call out sick just so you could catch up on the sleep you desperately sought.
Setting the phone back down, you nestled into your pillow, mildly damp with sweat, and closed your eyes.
What had triggered the fit this time? As much as you tried not to think about it, it crept back into your mind anyway: it was a social media post, a picture from earlier in the evening on MC’s page. It was a picture of her and Caleb, arm-to-arm, the latter mid-laugh at the camera while she pressed a kiss to his cheek. It must’ve been taken on their date to the amusement park, the one she’d been gushing about in the group chat.
Remembering it made you start coughing again. Your chest prickled, painful like thorns with every breath in. The surgery scars down your back where the wanderer’s claws had gripped you now tingled uncomfortably.
You knew it would bother you. You knew their relationship would be a lot to swallow. But as bitter as you felt, you didn’t have the heart to ruin two friendships by making a move, nor did you have the heart to leave them. They were your oldest friends, and they were still good to you - well, as good as they could be. Both of them were horribly busy these days, MC with her hunting job and Caleb with the Fleet. In the rare instances where you could all hang out, they always seemed more preoccupied with each other than you. You’d quietly dipped out once or twice, only to have to apologize to MC later when she texted you upset that you hadn’t even said goodbye.
And Caleb… he was different now. Less attentive. To you, at least. Texts would get left on read, calls would be missed (and apologized for later), and it was nigh impossible to see him outside of your third-wheeling their dates. It hurt. It hurt a lot.
Even his old DAA buddies kept in touch with him, some more than others. Gideon sympathetically patted your back with a crooked smile. “He’s got a lot more going on now. I-- well, I guess I’m just glad he’s back.”
It didn’t help your feelings. It didn’t help your longing. And as you lay in bed coughing your eyes out, you reminisced on your childhood. While you remembered he had been hyper-attentive to MC, you slowly began to realize just how hyper-attentive he’d been. Playdates had been cut short or ditched entirely for her. Wherever she wanted to go, whatever she wanted to do, it was like he put himself aside for her. And MC exploited it as much as she could. Caleb wasn’t just your friend, he was her anchor. She may not have been mean about it, but she certainly kept his attention without realizing it.
Still, you couldn’t blame her. You had tried, once. You tried to hate her. But you realized you couldn’t. She was too ingrained into your life, dug too deep in your heart. And so you let her have him, as much as it ached to see the love of your life love someone else.
You coughed again, tears stinging your eyes as something crept up your esophagus. A lump, stuck in the base of your throat, unable to be dislodged as your fit subsided.
—————
“Hey,” MC’s voice came through the receiver, worried and breathless, “are you alright?”
“Yeah, I’m fine, why?” You answered, sipping your soup slowly.
“I went to the cafe to see you and you weren’t working again today. Are you still sick? Do you need medicine?”
“It’s just a really stubborn cough, I’ll be fine.”
“You’ve had ‘a really stubborn cough’ for like a month now,” she pointed out flatly. “What did the doctor say?”
You sighed. “She said it was nothing to worry about. It’s not like I’m throwing up or anything. I promise I’ll go in the second I feel like I need to.”
The other side of the line was quiet for a moment. Then she heaved a sigh of her own. “... Well, alright. I’ll swing by with some soup later. Caleb made too much for me to eat alone.”
“Ah, good. I just finished the last of my canned stuff.” You set the bowl aside, glancing at the window. It was so bright and beautiful outside, and it was unfair that you were stuck in your apartment. “Speaking of, how is he? I haven’t talked to him in a while.”
“Busy,” she deadpanned, and it got a chuckle out of you. “He had some free time yesterday, so I went to visit him. He said he’ll be out for a few weeks.”
He hadn’t told you any of that. Your chest throbbed. If you’d known you were able to see him, you’d have taken a trip to Skyhaven to say hello.
Instead, you hummed, “I see.”
“I told him you said hi,” she reassured. “I can’t wait until we can get together again.”
You tried your best to smile, even though she couldn’t see. “... Yeah, me too. Maybe by the time he gets back, I’ll get rid of whatever the heck this is.”
—————
Your chest pain got worse. Your cough got worse, more insistent, leaving you with dizzy spells that bordered on fainting.
One evening, MC called you. She was giggling, words slurring a little, denoting that she’d been drinking. “C’mon over, Yinnnn, Drinkin’s no fun when you’re not here!”
“I dunno, I probably shouldn’t,” you hesitantly answered. It had already been a long day, and you were looking forward to relaxing with a movie.
“Aw c’mon, Caleb’s back! An’ I wanna see m’bess friends together again…”
Your heart clenched. He was back? You’d seen a post earlier in the day, but you’d ignored it. You were ignoring a lot from MC and Caleb now - seeing them be so playful and affectionate on the timeline made your sickness flare.
Finally, you sighed. “Well, okay, maybe for a few minutes.”
She cheered. There was a laugh in the background - and your stomach did a flip when you realized he was already there. “Kayyy, we’re waiting! Hurry up, slowpoke!”
You couldn’t help but smile at her enthusiasm.
Just as you were about to hang up, you heard a mumble from the background. It was faint, but you could almost pick it up: “Why’d you invite Yin? I thought it was going to be just us tonight.”
“Because Yin’s my best friend and you have sooooo much to catch up on,” she scolded, her voice slightly further away. Perhaps she’d forgotten to hang up and had set the phone down.
Caleb’s next reply made your heart fall into your shoes. “I don’t like her, I like you.”
Fingers shaking, you fumbled with the buttons, trying to end the call. MC’s offended gasp was the last thing you heard from the other end before you were coughing again, finally succumbing to the fit that you’d been so desperately trying to keep quiet. You coughed so hard you stumbled into the wall, the tang of something metallic and bitter on your tongue. Tears stung your eyes, both from the fit and from the sudden slam of hurt that hit your chest like a heavy door.
When at last you could breathe again, you almost screamed at the crimson splattered across your sleeve. At the same time, you looked down and really did scream when you saw a mass of something dark, splotchy-black, curled in on itself in an oozing puddle of blood and mucus.
—————
Test after test, doctor after doctor, nurse after nurse. You’d been in the ER for hours, shivering in the thin blankets you’d been given, trying to keep your anxiety - and your coughing fits - to a manageable level.
Finally, a doctor walked in just after sunrise with a grim expression. He did his best to give you a sympathetic smile, though it fell flat as he spoke to you.
“Miss Lin, I’m very sorry, but your tests came back positive for a rare variant of Protocore Syndrome.” He adjusted his glasses and scanned through your chart again. “You have Hanahaki, stage three. It’s a more difficult disease, but it is treatable. You’re lucky you came in when you did - had you gotten to stage four, your chances of survival would drop to the forty-to-fifty-percent range.”
Your stomach churned. “What… uh, is Hanahaki?”
“It’s a new disease, one that isn’t very well-documented due to just how rare it is. You’re the first case of this variant in about five years or so, and I have reason to suspect that you contracted Protocore Syndrome sometime approximately two or three months ago.”
Two or three months ago… so that would be…
“When I got attacked,” you murmured dizzily. “That Wanderer incident… that was when…?”
He nodded. “To put it bluntly: the fragments we took from your back caused the germination of flowers in and around your lungs. What we’ll need to do is locate the root and surgically remove it. The good news is that this will cure you of the disease.” Then the doctor heaved a sigh. “The bad news is that you will lose any and all memories of the person who caused the growth in the first place. Hanahaki is primarily caused by a certain type of emotional distress. When a patient feels abandoned or unloved by someone, the stems grow from the root and form buds. These can be coughed up as flower buds or flower petals. Should you ignore it long enough, the disease will trigger a frenzy and the stems will thorn, piercing your heart and lungs and causing imminent death.”
You were numb with disbelief. Your hand reached for your ribs, pausing along your sternum. There were flowers growing inside you? Flowers that could - and would - kill you?
“So… so if I want to live…” you swallowed. “... I have to forget him? All of him?”
“Everything,” he confirmed. “Even the fact that you contracted Hanahaki in the first place. We’re still unsure as to why - researchers have theorized that it minimizes recurrence.”
You nodded. There was a new lump in your throat, one that was not a result of rotting flowers.
“I understand if this is a difficult decision to make. Many before you have agonized over it as well. If you do choose to pass, we will monitor you until the point of no return; then you will be put into a medically-induced coma until the frenzy. You will not pass away in pain.”
Bobbing your head in another shaky nod, you stared at the blankets. Your limbs felt unusually cold. Your chest ached when you mulled over all that he’d said.
“I… I need some time to think about it,” you finally answered weakly.
You wanted to scream. To cry. To stomp your feet like a child. None of this was fair. Why was this happening to you of all people?
Your parents wouldn’t understand. Surely they wouldn’t. They’d be so disappointed in you, getting yourself sick over a boy that had never given you a second glance. Your friends would find out eventually. MC would find out eventually. And when she did… he would too.
“I understand. You will have to stay for further testing, I’m afraid.” Here, he really did smile, albeit it was a pitying one. “You’ll be transferred to a proper room soon. Is there anyone you want to call? Family, friends…?”
Something sour settled in your guts, and you swallowed again. “Uh… no, that’s okay. I just need to call my boss and let her know I won’t be available for a while.”
—————
It didn’t take long for people to visit.
Your friends rushed in, sheepishly admitting they would’ve brought you flowers until they remembered what it was you said you had. You just laughed. It was ironic, wasn’t it? Bringing a Hanahaki patient a get-well bouquet?
You coughed up more buds now. Sometimes they were shriveled and small, other times they were barely peeking open. Sometimes it was petals, pale pink and wrinkled beneath the splash of blood and mucus and bile. You didn’t quite know what they were, but seeing them was simultaneously a comfort and a horror.
Your parents eventually called, in a panic over hearing from a friend of a friend about your hospitalization. Your mother chewed you out for not telling them and your father warned that you’d better make the right decision for your health. They didn’t shame you like you assumed they would, although they were likely too worried about your safety to be disappointed in the cause. Or perhaps they figured you were suffering enough without bringing up the reason.
And then MC and Caleb showed up.
You hadn’t spoken to either of them since the night MC invited you over, too stuffed-up with shame and hurt over what you’d heard him say. Neither of them seemed to have realized you’d accidentally eavesdropped; MC was just as concerned as she always was and Caleb frowned sympathetically.
You could hardly bear to look at him. Your chest prickled with agony. Your trash can was filling slowly with bloody buds and shriveled petals.
“Why was Simone the one to tell me that you were in the hospital?” She scolded, setting the bouquet in the vase on your bedside table before grabbing your hand. “Are you okay?”
“I will be,” you reassured with a ghost of a smile. “Don’t worry so much. You might give yourself what I’ve got.”
Her throat bobbed and her eyes looked misty. “You aren’t upset that we got you flowers, right? Caleb tried to warn me, but I thought you might want some color…”
“No, no, of course I’m not. It’s not like you gave me the flowers in my lungs or anything. It’s a sweet gesture, thank you.” You motioned towards the pile of get-well-soon cards next to the vase. “Honestly, if it was another card, I think I might’ve hit you.”
She let out a shaky laugh with you. Caleb remained quiet.
“I’ll be fine,” you repeated. “You’ve got each other, anyway. If something goes wrong, Caleb will be there.”
“But…” her voice cracked, “... but it won’t be the same without you.”
Your heart squeezed tightly. “You… you’ll live,” you finally landed on. You frowned, your own eyes prickling with moisture as she wiped hers on her sleeve.
After so long remaining silent, Caleb’s voice made the heart monitor beep quicker for a few seconds. “… so who is it? Who did this?”
And there it was. The million-dollar question. The one you’d hoped one of them would avoid asking.
“Does it matter?” You asked instead, flat. “I’d still be sick, and you wouldn’t be able to do anything about it.”
“But— Yin, you’re dying.” She pointed out shakily.
You nodded slowly. “I’m aware.”
“Maybe if— if I knew, I could… beat them up for you!” She offered, squeezing your hand. She was so, so warm. “Or maybe I could drag ‘em in here and… and make them hear you out… or…”
You smiled sadly, pressing your thumb across her knuckles. “He doesn't see me that way. Never has, never will. I appreciate your support but there’s really no reason to take revenge on someone who can’t help his feelings.”
MC sniffled. Behind her, Caleb squeezed her shoulder.
“Please tell me you aren’t throwing your life away because of some loser,” she muttered bitterly.
You almost huffed a laugh at the irony. Instead, you gave them a wry smile.
“If I don’t get the operation, I die. If I do get the operation, every last memory - the good and the bad - is gone. Months, years of my life, gone. I will never get them back, even if I get Hanahaki again. I’ll just have more to lose.” You paused as the gravity of your words settled in. “If you had it because of Caleb, could you go through with it?”
Caleb stiffened in horror, and MC faltered. Her glassy eyes went wide, and then they softened with understanding.
“You don’t understand. You’ll never understand. You and Caleb are smitten as kittens.” You felt choked. You could feel the roots tightening painfully in your lungs. “These— these stupid damn feelings— I hate myself every day because I can’t seem to let him go. I hate myself for letting someone affect me this much. But I can’t just forget about him. I’m selfish. I want him in my life, even if I’m nothing to him.” You faltered for a moment, before admitting, “If that makes me a fool, then I am. If it means I’m stupid, I am. You’d say the same exact thing if it were you dying in this bed.”
“But you won’t,” Caleb said softly. “You won’t die.”
You could feel another bud lodged in your throat. As you coughed into your arm, you mumbled, “You can’t be sure of that.”
—————
When MC stepped out to use the bathroom, you were alone with him. You struggled to keep your coughs in as he stared out the window.
It was now or never. You felt deep in your bones that you wouldn’t get another chance to say it.
“Caleb,” you croaked out.
He turned his head. “Yeah?”
You hesitated for a moment. The heart monitor picked up speed for a few beats before you closed your eyes and took a breath. “Take… take care. In Skyhaven. I hope you and MC are happy together.”
He was quiet. And then he physically turned to look at you. “Sounds too final when you say it like that,” he said carefully.
You scoffed a laugh, interrupted by a cough. “This is pretty final. Either I lose a big part of myself, or I die. Either way, I— I don’t want you to feel any kind of guilt. Either of you. You couldn’t have done anything to prevent this.”
The room was silent. Beeping monitors and the mumble of whatever was playing on TV filled the gaps.
“I know,” you admitted. “I know you’ve been frustrated with me. I’m sorry I third-wheeled you so much. I just thought… since she included me, I thought I could pretend everything was fine between us. Like we were still friends.”
“… What?” He sounded breathy, almost as if he was about to laugh. But there was no humor in how he looked at you.
“I… I heard you, that night. When MC invited me over for drinks.” You couldn’t quite meet his eyes. If you did, you worried that you’d start crying. “That’s— it’s kind of why I feel more at peace about this. You have each other. Even if I’m not there… you’ll protect her. Just like you always do.”
“That’s not— you…” Caleb trailed off. And then he chuckled, a hollow, flat sound, and tried again. “You’re going to break her heart.”
You considered this. Guilt settled heavy in your chest like bricks. “Even if what I’m about to choose breaks her heart, she’s got you. She always has.”
He raised a brow at the almost bitter note to your tone, but before he could respond, MC came back.
“Sorry, we have to leave,” she apologized, clutching your hand again. “I promise, I’ll come back and visit when I can. Just—” she bit her lip. “If… if you do choose to go, then…”
“Relax. I’ll let you know.” You gave her your best reassuring grin. “I don’t wanna keep you. Thanks for the flowers.”
Even as they left, MC gave you worried, longing stares. Caleb glanced back, a contemplative frown on his face, but didn’t say a word.
And you were alone.
Heaving a sigh, you turned tiredly to the bedside table. Someone - maybe a nurse, or a friend, you couldn’t remember - had left you a notepad and pen.
Taking the pen, you tapped the end to your chin. You had some arrangements to make.
caleb has been inviting himself into your bed lately, spending more nights under your sheets than a best friend should. alert as ever, he notices when you try to sneak off with a problem one morning... and doesn't let you.
Your room feels drowsy, soaked in yours and Caleb's dreams like it has been for a few days, though you barely remember how it came this far. Caleb coming to your room, making you unable to say no, and so you've been waking with your best friend's arm over your waist — possessive in that way he's always been — after spending the night sharing a too narrow mattress.
This morning, something's different — uncomfortably different. Tent in your pants kind of different. Definitely not the sort of problem you need your best friend to notice when his hand is resting so close to that pulsating need between your legs. When you shift, your intention was to move away, it really really was. But instead, Caleb's instinct to keep you close kicks into gear, hand reaching, and tightening in his sleep, and unintentionally pressing perfectly over your erection.
You gasp without meaning to, the distressed sound waking the other male from his sleep. Your hand flies down to where his is, hectic when you try to pry it away, but it's too late.
Caleb stirs, fingers flexing as his mind works out what exactly is pressing against his palm, hard and warm, and so, so shameful. Your push is completely useless against his strength, fully awake the second he realized what's going on.
"Caleb-" you try to get ahead of it, defend yourself, make him move his damn hand before you start rutting against it out of pure need- but a strong squeeze shuts you right up.
"What's this, pip-squeak?" he murmurs, sleep drunk, and mean, and if you'd look back, the expression on his face would scare you. But you don't turn around, preoccupied with your own horrified look — wide eyes, hot cheeks, parted lips while attempting to find a way out of this.
You again try to squirm away, desperate words blurring together, trying to excuse yourself, explain this isn't your fault, you didn't mean to-
Finally, Caleb's hand shifts, a wave of relief washing over, muscles springing to action to scramble out of bed, and relieve yourself of this humiliation. But instead you're pulled back against Caleb, his warm chest pressed to your body, both arms wrapping around you to keep you where you are.
"I don't mind," he whispers into your ear, nuzzling the back of your head, "cuddle your gege for a bit, yeah?"
You don't have it in you to protest, not when you're feeling so ashamed of yourself, your body, and how he seems to just brush it off. You're stuck completely stiff, every muscle tensed, humiliation cursing through your veins. But Caleb doesn't do anything more — he's just there contently nuzzling into your nape, probably drifting right back to sleep. Maybe he won't even remember this happened when he wakes up again. The thought eases you, breathing freely again.
This short relaxation is ripped from you when Caleb's thigh nudges between yours, not high enough to make contact with the still very hard problem in your shorts, but so close you can't help but jerk, held in place by Caleb's arms still.
"You're still hard?" he mumbles, like this is common occurrence, common topic even — but it isn't and you're not ready to pretend it is.
"Yes, shut up." Your hiss is rewarded with the pressure of his leg against your groin, and a chuckle at your horrified protest, hand flying down to press his knee away. The fact that you can't even move him an inch scares you.
Caleb's palm flattens on your tummy, caging you in, lips by your ear, "Hey now," he murmurs, knowingly making you shiver, "you're so grumpy, is it because of this?" His thigh presses upwards with more pressure again, ignoring your gasp. "Then… why don't I help you get rid of it? Just this once."
"Caleb- no…" your attempts to move away are futile. He promptly interrupts you. "Pipsqueak," Caleb's hand slowly moves down your body, fingertips slipping just an inch below your waistband, and your lungs stop working, "let Caleb handle it. It's what I'm here for."
When his hand moves further, confidently wrapping around your shaft, you no longer have it in you to stop him. The feeling is paralyzing — warm, and wrong, and already overstimulating. Pressing your face into the pillow, you barely manage to turn a moan into a pathetic whimper of his name, still trying to get him to stop, still pretending this isn't the most addicting kind of pleasure.
"It's okay," he growls against your nape, his hand starting with languid strokes, and it's entirely too much, your whole body, and mind on fire. He keeps mumbling, influencing, trying to convince you to enjoy this while your mind is racing how wrong this is — just relax, let your gege handle it, this is what best friends do for each other, you know you want it too.
Caleb's still gravely voice is like paste in your brain, making everything sticky and too cloudy to think right… before you know it, your hips rut into his strokes. You feel so ashamed, still somewhere sleepy, too horny for your own good, and a tiny bit curious about the fact that Caleb seems to be pushing his own hips against you in time with his strokes.
A sob rips from your throat before you know it, and the hot tears wetting the pillow below your face surprise even you. Caleb's strokes slow for only a moment before continuing, firmer now, maybe slower too. "Hey, what's wrong?" He pushes himself up on his elbow, leaning over you, nose nuzzling your too warm cheek, hiding a subtle kiss in the gesture. You promptly push your head further into the cushion, away from Caleb.
"You're allowed to enjoy this, pipsqueak," he purrs, his hand continuing to send whole body tingles through you, "forget about the other stuff. We'll still be best friends after this." Somewhere along his words your sobs turn into suppressed moaning, still trying to deny how good this feels. "You'll always be mine. I'll always be your Caleb."
Your cock throbs in his hand, so close, yet nowhere near coming from the pace he set, you really have no other choice but to move your hips the way you need it! When you finally come, your body surrenders completely, allowing it to wash over you like you haven't released in ages. Your mind contrarily fights against it, remaining hesitant to allow Caleb to coax something so intimate from you. Still it makes you limp, sinfully milky ropes shooting over yourself and the mattress.
Somewhere along the haze, you're sure you hear Caleb moan into your skin, syncing with your breathless noises. And when he mutters, "I wouldn't mind waking up like this every day," you're not sure if the tightness in your chest translates excitement or dread.
caleb x male!reader — being older than caleb, but shorter and smaller than him
[ can be read as in a relationship or that classic slow-burn, caleb is desperately yearning, childhood friend to CAN WE PLSPLSPLS BE LOVERS trope :3. personally, i wrote it with the latter in mind bc i LOVE that....as it's obviously seen in eveyrthing else on my profile ]
he would enjoy teasing you so much about this. always talks about how you used to be so much taller when you two were younger and wonders what happened, all a cocky smirk on his face. it’s not like you’re short either! it’s just that caleb is a tall piece of work (6’2 heart eyes hehe). not to mention, the fact that he works out and is basically a gym rat doesn’t mean he’s even somewhat equal to you in terms of muscle mass. if you were to stand in front of him, the width of his body would be almost double the size of yours.
so standing next to each other, a lot of people assume he’s the older one. but then he goes on to lovingly call you his hyung with a boyish grin on his face.
some of his habits include:
— leaning down to hear you, even though you’re not even that much shorter than him! he just really likes rubbing in your face that he is just taller. so whenever you speak, he’s bending at the waist to lower his face near yours, teasingly saying, “sorry couldn’t hear you, you’re so much shorter than me,” which almost always results in you shoving his face away.
— uses it to his advantage, a lot. being bigger than you generally means he overpowers you in a lot of contexts. for example, you want to get up off of the couch from your tv-binge crossed with cuddling session? that’s a hard no coming from caleb. he’ll hold you by the waist, pressing your back into his front and making sure you really can’t escape. you’d have to plead your case hard in order for him to even loosen his hold. but just when you think you’re free, he’ll tug you back down by the wrist, making you fall right on top of him.
“promise to come back?” he’ll ask with his puppy dog eyes, “i’ll be so lonely waiting for my cute hyung,” he whines, and you can’t tell if he’s really playing it up or if he’s seriously this distraught. seeing as he does it every single time you want to leave though, you’re starting to think it’s the former.
— guard dog privileges. well, even if you were taller and more muscle-y than caleb, there’s no way he’d ever let his guard down when he’s out with you. you being smaller and shorter than him just makes it easier for his presence to really linger to those around you. walking through the store, caleb is not far behind, holding onto your wrist in a tight grip to not lose you.
and even if he did, his head towering over those nearby makes it easier for him to find you. but, still he hates being separated from you for too long. leaves him feeling twitchy and anxious.
when people you know come up to you, caleb takes the backseat in the conversation, standing behind you and just listening intently. his buff arms are crossed over his chest as he quietly, but intently, observes whoever it is that is striking up conversation with you. if their gaze looks up at him for even a second, he narrows his eyes and tilts his head. as if he’s waiting for a reaction from them, for them to do something just to give him an excuse to pounce.
yeah, he enjoys using his height and intimidating build like that probably the most.
— if he hears anyone else make comments about your height and/or build, he actually will fight them. it’s a very much “you’re lucky he’s here right now because if he wasn’t, you’d be dead,” situation…he don’t play about his (unofficial official) mans yall T.T caleb is very protective of your image and you, in general. so even though you’ll catch him making jokes 24/7 about how hes younger, but taller and whatnot, the moment anything similar to that is said by some random, he’s actually rolling his sleeves up.
“were you talking about [name] just now? think carefully before you respond,”
“let me catch you saying stupid shit like that again and i’ll really fuck you up,”
“hyunngg, can’t i just punch him? just once? nice and hard?”
meanwhile, you’re dragging him by his wrist with as much force and strength as you can, but he’s planted like a tree, staring that mf down. not until you physically pull his gaze away by turning his head does he back down. and even then he’s still throwing glares over his shoulder at the person.
— likes being the small spoon just to annoy you sometimes. he juts his entire body into yours, that backwards scoot thing, and sighs in relief and relaxation at your warm embrace. meanwhile you’re trying to get his ass off of your entire waist and stomach. he’s talking about, “hehe, hyung you’re so comfy~” meanwhile you CANNOT breathe.
but even if he isn’t little spoon, he’s still obsessed with cuddling into you. if he’s the big spoon, you’re unfortunately still suffocating in his heavy ass limbs sprawled over on top of you.
he’s a big physical touch guy and you have to put up with him and his clingy demands for as long as he’s around, aka for forever.
his head will bury itself into your neck or rest comfortably on top of yours, the feeling of his breath hitting your forehead while he sleeps peacefully. the arm around your waist is secure. if he’s feeling extra handsy, his hand will sprawl out wide across your stomach and rub up and down. it’s funny because it’s a motion that relaxes you, but it seems he does it more so for himself than you — wanting to truly feel your skin against his at any given moment. his legs will tangle with yours, resting in between your own, squeezing every now and then.
and not even in a perverted way - he loves when you two sleep in just your boxers and nothing else because it lets him really feel you. he just loves being able to squeeze and grab at you whenever he please, his wandering hands when he sleeps are a testament to that.
— lowkey, he kinda manhandles you. not in a rough or rude way, though. it’s all very gentle and careful, but he does do it. he’s just so strong and loves the feeling of being in control and protecting you. what i mean by manhandle is kind of like, just maneuvering you around in crowded spaces, pulling and tugging you to keep you close and to follow him. he always walks ahead, clearing a path for the two of you since most people do make space for a glaring, 6’2 buff guy. you don’t know he’s glaring though and just assume people are being really kind…they’re not, they’re kind of scared.
(scenario time because i love to think about caleb just so easily using his strength to guide you with little to no effort because he’s so strong and buff and handsome and muscle-y and i want to bite his biceps) (im very serious)
you two were waiting in line at the busy cafe, at the end of the counter waiting for your name to be called. in hindsight, going to the one cafe on campus during peak traffic hours wasn’t entirely the smartest decision, but you really wanted a good caffeinated drink and who was caleb to deny you that. he would jump that counter and craft it for you himself if he could, but opted to just patiently wait like everyone else.
one of the baristas called a name of a person standing behind you and caleb, who was hovering a centimeter behind you for this exact reason, quickly pulled you in by your waist, keeping you steady despite you losing your balance at the sudden grab.
“caleb! i almost knocked you over! actually, you and the other ten people next to you, what was that for?” he just shakes his head, eyes trailing over the guy who was now grabbing his coffee, clenching his jaw.
“it’s nothing, just wanted to make sure you didn’t get body slammed,” he says in a simple tone, watching the guy until he left. then he turn his gaze down to look at you, “are you okay?”
flustered at his sudden concern and soft voice, you nod, going silent.
“people gotta learn some manners,” he sighs, brushing your hair aside before cupping your cheek with a touch that can only be described as gentle. his other hand still rests comfortable at your waist. he gives it a tender squeeze, “stick close to me, okay, hyung?”
“m’kay,” you murmur, feeling bashful at his affectionate self.
when the two of you finally make it out of the crowded space, he’s still holding you close with his arm around your shoulder. you walk side by side and there’s a secret pleased look on his face at how snug you are against him. right where you should be.
tall, muscle-y, and buff caleb can be a handful sometimes, but at the end of the day his 6’2 self is just full of so much love for you <3
summary: Zayne, Caleb, and MC have always been your friends. the problem is that you don't really feel like you're their friend. after far too long of letting yourself be sidelined and forgotten, you finally make the choice to put yourself first, even if it means losing them completely because sometimes the greatest act of self-love is to say goodbye.
notes: part one of two; i know caleb is older than mc, just pretend for this fic that he purposely got held back enough when they were younger to be in the same grade.
word count: 6.4k
After nine years, you would have thought the four of you would be closer.
That's how it goes with childhood friends, isn't it? Circumstance brings you together as children, and you stay together for the rest of your lives in that unshakable bond built up over the years. But the close friendships you've daydreamed about are no where to be found in the real world.
You stare at the table, slowly finishing off your drink while Emily Claire, still stubbornly insisting everyone call her MC, laughs at something Caleb said. Zayne, able to join you for once while he's here for the summer, smiles fondly as his gaze is fixed on MC. Even while sitting at a table with the three of them, you feel worlds away.
Has it always been this bad?
Things must have been better when you were younger. Before the world became big and complicated, before Zayne moved away following MC's accident, before you were aware of how others saw you.
In your memories, childhood is soft, full of easy laughter and flowers and skinned knees. You were the last to join the group, moving into the neighborhood a few months after Zayne. He was the first one you met, sent over by his parents to greet the new family. It was Zayne that invited you to Caleb and MC's house to join a game of hide-and-seek, and from there you were a part of them.
You remember being overjoyed to have such wonderful friends. Zayne was awkward but dependable, Caleb was cheerful and eager for adventure, and MC was bright and kind in a way that made everyone love her. They were nothing like you: quiet and shy, hesitant after being bullied in your old school, always hiding behind them.
No wonder you drifted away. You were never going to fit in with them, and they knew it too. They're just too nice to say it out loud to push you away.
"Ooh, the claw machine is open!" MC says, jumping up from her seat. "Come on, let's go! I want to break my plushie winning record today!"
Caleb follows after her easily. "You mean I'm going to win the plushie winning record today. You know my skills are unbeatable."
Zayne leaves the table a second later, content to follow along silently, watching them bicker.
Not a single one of them looks back at you. You stay seated, slowly sucking up the dregs of your drink.
Was it high school when you finally started noticing? Sophomore year, without any shared classes with MC or Caleb. The three of you had the same lunch period, and while you were grateful for it at the start of the year, it soon became the hour you dreaded most during the school day.
Suddenly, instead of it being the three of you always together, with Zayne only returning during summer, you were stuck watching Caleb and MC get closer with new inside jokes, never looking away from each other. You couldn't complain about the same teachers or work on homework together. The invites to Caleb's basketball games stopped coming and you decided against going, unwilling to be ignored after the school day ended.
MC took all of Caleb's attention. She took most people's attention, being so cheerful and perfect. Most guys had crushes on her. A few girls did as well. She was everything you weren't and the rest of the school could see that too.
You overheard too many whispers about how you were clinging to her like an idiot, unwanted but unwilling to take the hint.
It hurt to hear. You didn't want to believe it, stubbornly digging your heels into a friendship that had already started fading years ago. You made an effort to join their conversation some more, but it rarely went anywhere without MC changing the topic. You tried to make plans to hang out during the weekends but they were almost always turned down or canceled last minute. You tried to be more active in the group chat, but the sudden silence after you sent a message was too awful to keep up at it for long.
You wondered if it was just you, or if Zayne was being excluded too. Was it just that Caleb and MC were too close? They did live together. It would explain some things.
But when summer came, Zayne slid back into place like nothing changed and MC and Caleb made space for him. He was never ignored when he spoke, his messages always answered, his presence welcomed easily. Your first friend in Linkon City didn't pay much attention to you either.
Invitations to hang out were sparse that summer. You're sure they spent more time together without you, and only occasionally remembered that you existed.
You can vividly remember the day you trailed after the three of them, going downtown to get lunch at a new restaurant that MC had been excited to try. You caught sight of your reflection in the display window of a boutique and the sight of such a plain, unremarkable person following after a group of incredible people hit like a punch to the gut. It was the first time you really realized how pathetic you've been, always rushing to catch up when they're so clearly trying to get rid of you.
It was a long lunch. An even longer day. You spent the evening looking back through your chat history, seeing all the unanswered messages and cancellations. To rub salt into the wound, you checked MC's stories and found pictures and updates about all sorts of things she's done with her friends — all without you in them.
You got the point. It didn't need to be spelled out for you anymore.
You know when you're unwanted.
You wanted to ditch them completely and make new friends that would actually want you around, but by then, social groups had been set in stone. No one wanted you around. They were friendly, but you didn't speak to any of your classmates outside of school. Any attempt of finding a new place to sit at lunch or other people to talk to lead to MC suddenly remembering your existence and physically dragging you back to join her and Caleb.
They refused to let you go, but treated you as if you didn't exist.
You wanted to rage, to start a fight, to scream that if they didn't want you around so badly, the least they could do is let you go. But you bit your tongue and lowered your gaze.
What good would lashing out do?
At least the promise of university reassured you. Soon enough, you'd be out of Linkon City entirely and you can do what you have to in order to never see them again.
And now, two years later, it's almost time to go. Graduation is a week away. Zayne's university already entered summer vacation, the timing lining up perfectly for him to attend graduation. He's only got a few years left of his degree before he can get a residency, and after that it'll be much harder to meet with him.
Good for him. Whatever he or any of the others do won't matter to you soon.
Hang on a little longer, you tell yourself. Just another week, and then you're gone.
"Are you not joining us?"
You look up from where you've been staring blankly at the table. Zayne is by your side, frowning at you.
"Oh," you say, voice flat. "No. I'm going to get another drink, actually."
"I see. I'll join you, then."
Why now of all times? Frustration squeezes your heart and it takes a deep breath to keep yourself calm. "I was thinking of going down the street to that boba shop. I don't think they have the sweet drinks you usually like."
"I'm always open to trying new things," Zayne replies easily.
You eye him, a little thrown off by his insistence to join you. He hasn't spent time with you one-on-one in… years. He's only ever around for MC, and without her there, you never get to see him. Not that he sees you while she's around.
"Alright," you say slowly, getting up. You glance over to the arcade, where MC is focused on lining up the claw to get her next plushie. Caleb leans against the machine, eyes fixed on her. You're not going to bother with telling them where you're headed. They'll be fine without you.
You take your empty cup and toss it into the trash, then leave without looking back. Zayne picks up his pace to walk beside you on the sidewalk. You can feel him staring at you and it makes you want to scream. He's a few years too late to start caring about you.
The silence holds steady as you head to the boba shop. There's a line inside the store and you're quick to join the queue, looking through the menu options hung over the back counter. You're not a fan of overly sweet drinks, and most of the ones offered are fruit based or interesting flavors such as creme brulee or strawberry shortcake. Oolong boba tea sounds decent enough, so that's what you go with once you're called to the counter to order.
After you, Zayne orders something with a long, baffling name that is sure to be 80% sugar.
You wait together off to the side as your drinks are made. Had this been any previous summer, you would have been trying to fill the silence and get a conversation going, but you're too tired to try anymore. The silence stays, lingers, remains unbroken even as Zayne looks at you strangely, a furrow in his brow.
"Let's find someplace outside to sit," he suggests once your drinks are in hand.
You nod and let him take the lead, exiting the store and walking through the streets, dodging other people on the sidewalks. You're getting father away from the arcade where you left MC and Caleb and you're surprised that Zayne doesn't mention them at all. Something's clearly up.
He leads you to a small park, where other people sit on the grass having picnics, watching kids play in the sandbox and swings. There's an empty bench in the shade of a tree that the two of you quickly claim.
You sip your tea, enjoying the flavor, popping boba pearls between your teeth. The day is pleasant, warm but not hot, a cool breeze keeping you comfortable.
Being so frequently ignored means you've given up on having conversations with any of your 'friends'. You've spent a lot of time this year getting lost in your own thoughts, attention drifting off to a space where no one can hurt you. It's second nature to let your mind wander by this point, idly watching people move through the park as you enjoy the mild, slightly bitter tea.
The presence next to you is hard to ignore, but you've had months to master to the art of stubbornly not caring.
Let him glance at you all he wants. Soon, you'll have nothing to do with him and you can start over from scratch.
What kind of life do you want? You've never really thought about it much. Most thoughts about what you want to do with your future devolve into comparing yourself to MC and Caleb, chipping away at your confidence. They're so sure of everything. Caleb already has his eyes set on Skyhaven, following his childhood dream of becoming a pilot. MC's been researching the Hunter's Association and spending more time at the gym to prepare for the entrance exam for the Hunter's Academy.
Zayne is someone you stopped comparing yourself to years ago. He's always been above everyone else; a true genius, making waves in the medical world with his youth and talent.
You, on the other hand, have no promise. There are no special skills for you to show off, no guiding dream to help you figure out what your future will be. To add insult to injury, you're the only one in the group to not have an EVOL.
The universe must really want to make how worthless you are sink in.
You wonder if you can convince your parents to let you take a gap year. Travel around a bit, grow as a person once you're no longer held back by this farce of a friendship. Perhaps you'll even discover something you love, something you can pursue for the rest of your life.
"You're quiet today," Zayne say suddenly. You almost don't catch his words, too distracted by the future.
You give a light hum in response.
"Is everything all right?"
"Yeah. Why do you ask?"
"You just…" Zayne hesitates for a moment. "You seem distant. Did something happen? Are you… upset about anything?"
How ironic to be noticed just as you're preparing to disappear. This attention is coming a year too late to be any use now. "No," you say mildly, disinterested, "Nothing happened and I'm not upset. Just getting ready for graduation."
"Ah. You must be excited to be done with high school."
"I am." This, at least, is honest. The sooner you can leave behind every judgemental gaze and pitying whispers, the better. You'll be happy if you never seen any of your classmates again.
He doesn't say anything after that, so you return to slowly drinking your tea, letting your thoughts spin in whatever direction they please. You risk glancing at him just once and catch sight of Zayne frowning, looking uncharacteristically awkward.
The you of the past would have kept the conversation going. You would have rambled about any number of things to fill the air and help his shoulder's loosen up, eagerly waiting for him to speak as well. Now, you leave him to his discomfort. A sharper, more bitter part of you is glad that he can experience a taste of what he and the other two have put you through.
You finish your tea and stand up. "I'm gonna head back now."
Zayne hurries to stand and follow. "I'll walk with you. I'm sure MC and Caleb will be wondering where we've been."
"Oh, no. I'm not going back to the arcade. I'm going home. You can let them know I headed out early." You start walking away, turning to give him a small wave. "It was nice to see you again. Bye, Zayne."
He stares after you, eyes dark and conflicted. "I'll see you later," he returns. You don't bother replying; there's only one meeting left for the two of you at graduation, and after that, you will silently, gracefully exit his life.
You don't go home right away. Instead, you wander the streets of Linkon City, taking in the small details you rarely ever pay attention to. The city is so full of light, people everyone living their lives. The architecture is all neat and clean, plants decorating the streets and hanging on balconies.
Not a single soul spares you more than a glance. You are just another face among the crowd, free of the burden of being unwanted. No one knows how little your friends care for you and it's a relief.
Yes, this is the right move. This is what's best for you.
After graduation, you'll join your parents in moving to a new city for your mother's job. You'll get rid of every trace of MC, Caleb, and Zayne in your life. You'll make a place of your own in this cold world and find happiness alone.
When you get home, your parents are already in the kitchen, cooking dinner together. They look at you with such obvious concern, worried about you as they have been since you told them about not really being friends with anyone anymore.
At least you'll always have them. Your parents love you, and that's more than you deserve.
"How did it go?" your father asks.
"Same as always," you answer, "Left early too. Can we go shopping tomorrow so I can get a new phone? I want a completely new number so they can't contact me again."
"Sure. We can also buy whatever else you want as a graduation gift."
"I don't need a gift," you say, the same line you've been repeating all month. "Really. I'm just ready to leave and go someplace new. Take a gap year and worry about university once I figure some things out."
"I can see if any of my new coworkers have children your age, try to get you some friends," your mother offers.
You laugh. "No need. I can manage just fine without you setting up playdates for me. I kind of want to find a new hobby, see if there's something I can dedicate myself to."
"Why not pick up an instrument again? You used to play the violin when you were really little."
"Really? I don't remember."
"That's because it was while we lived with your grandparents. Your grandmother used to be quite the musician, and she taught you the basics of the violin."
"Huh. I'll think about it," you say. "When will dinner be ready?"
"About an hour."
"Alright, I'll come back down later to eat." You head upstairs to your room, already half packed. You've thrown away quite a few mementos and pictures of you with MC, Caleb, and Zayne. It had been hard at first, getting rid of the things you treasured for so long, but your own peace of mind is more important than any nostalgic relic. After the first few days, it became easier to just toss it all out, erasing the history you shared with them.
It's not like they'll care about you remembering them. There's no point in feeling guilty, so you kick those emotions right to the curb.
By this point, it's more surreal to see you're bedroom mostly packed up, years of your life put away in boxes. One more week, and you'll be somewhere completely new. The thought both excites and terrifies you.
You scroll through social media to pass the time until dinner; seeing the classmates you follow share snapshots of their teenage adventures, always surrounded by friends, no longer causes envy to stab your heart. These days, you just feel hollowed out and wanting. You must have done something wrong, made a mistake somewhere all those years ago to be where you are now. You wish you could go back and try again, live out your teenage coming-of-age movie the way everyone else seems to be.
Abruptly, halfway through watching a video of someone decorating a cake, you get a text notification from MC.
Hey! Zayne told me you went home first. Hope you feel better soon!
You swipe it away quickly, refusing to open it. Zayne must have thought that you were feeling under the weather. As expected of the future doctor. It's all so… performative. Every time they reach out to you now, you can see how it's just obligation rather than genuine care.
Caleb, of course, doesn't send anything at all. The last message you sent him, two months ago, was read but never replied to. The past year, all the conversations have been started by you, save for when he asked you about what you were getting MC for her birthday.
It's going to be so cathartic to throw your phone into the ocean once you get a new one. You've already moved all your precious pictures of family into an external hard drive and plan to get them printed and saved in an album, so everything else can be lost forever.
The urge to see what they've posted on their Moments is too strong to resist. You know it's a terrible idea, one that always ends with you upset, but it's like poking a bruise. You just can't help it, needing to feel the pain to know that it's real.
MC's Moments is full of pictures, random updates, and Caleb and Zayne tagging her in random things. The last photo you're in is from last summer, a group shot of everyone in line for an ice cream truck at a park. Even in that picture, you're stuck in the back, behind everyone else, fighting to be seen, strained smile and all.
Your own Moments page is quieter. You don't post much, never having much to say and unable to copy everyone else in how they're so comfortable sharing every aspect of their lives online. What you do have are candid pictures of your parents, of MC with Caleb and Zayne, of your classmates on field trips. But never of you. Even in your own eyes, you're rendered invisible.
Well. You did know it was going to upset you!
You toss your phone aside and collapse onto your bed. You'll just stare at the ceiling until you're called down for dinner. It's just as productive as making yourself feel worse through social media, really.
…
The final week of school seems to drag on endlessly. There's nothing for you to do in classes anymore, so you're left just daydreaming until the hour's up and you can move to the next period.
In an effort to avoid MC and Caleb, to make cutting ties feel more natural, you avoid them completely. You leave extra early to get to school before them, you hide in various spots around campus during lunch, then stay twenty minutes after classes end to make sure they've left before you start making your way home.
MC texts a few more times, but you ignore each message, swiping away the notification as soon as you see it.
It almost feels like they give a shit about you now that you've set into action your exit strategy; you catch sight of Caleb and MC walking around campus more than once, clearly searching for someone. Hell, you even get a text from Zayne asking if everything's alright since no one's spoken to you in a while, as if it's not obvious that you're avoiding them for a reason.
Or maybe they do get that you're avoiding them on purpose, they just can't wrap their heads around why.
Whatever. It's too late for them to start caring about you. They've had plenty of opportunities for the last nine years.
Luckily for you, you've mastered the art of being unseen. You can slip between any group of students and disappear. Caleb and MC can search all they please, they're not going to find you unless you want them to.
And then they start trying to invade your house.
Halfway through the week, two hours after school has ended, the doorbell rings. You're up in your room, watching old videos of your grandmother performing in her prime before the Chronoshift Catastrophe. Some of your memories are coming back, though they've remained faded with time: sitting in her lap, awkwardly holding the bow and dragging it across the violin she held, the smell of rosin, the smooth wood beneath your fingers.
She died when you were young, before you moved to Linkon City, so you don't remember much else about her, but the music makes you wish you did. Something about seeing her perform on stage, just a few years older than you are now, makes your heart ache. It's part missing her and part longing, wanting the same peace that seems to settle over her as she brings a piece to life underneath a spotlight.
The doorbell rudely interrupts her performance. You pause the video and listen to one of your parents go to the door, figuring it's just a package.
And then Caleb's voice filters in from downstairs and your body goes cold.
Numbness settles against you, then it's chased off by anger.
How dare he come here. After so many years, this is the day he decides to ruin your peace when you finally decided to choose yourself? All these years, you've been going to them but now is when they decide to come to you instead? To trap you in your own home?
He doesn't come in, thankfully. You've never been more grateful to have shared your frustrations and heartache with your parents. They liked your friends before, but those affections have cooled after being confronted with your pain.
MC comes the next day while you're in the living room, and you get to here your mother's cold voice say, "I'm afraid she's out right now. If it's really urgent, why don't you text her, Emily Claire?"
Fulling naming MC is the clearest indicator that she has been pushed away from your family. She doesn't come back after that, though Caleb isn't so easy to chase away.
On the last day of school, you don't bother going home until hours later, waiting for the all clear text from your parents. You pass the time by treating yourself to taiyaki ice cream, wandering downtown, enjoying your last free day in Linkon City.
Despite all the pain you've been put through with this friendship, Linkon City is where you grew up. It's been your home for so long. You'll miss it when you leave, though you're sure you'll come to love your new city just as much given enough time.
You take a few pictures with your new phone, just to have a few memories of these streets to take with you. It's a relief to be able to use your phone without feeling like you're suffocating; the growing number on your messaging app haunts you, and MC has yet to give up on getting a response from you.
The only numbers in your contact list right now are your parents, and you're more than happy with that.
Naturally, it's when you've let your guard down that you get ambushed.
Zayne, of all people, is out on the street. He spots you first and quickly crosses the street to reach you. You see him too late, and by the time you start looking for someplace to hide in, he's grabbed you by the wrist, looking a touch panicked.
"Why haven't you been answering anyone's messages?" he demands, "We're all worried about you."
You yank your arm out of his grasp. "I didn't answer because I didn't want to. That's all."
"And what's with avoiding everyone? MC's been distraught. She thinks she did something to upset you, but doesn't know what. You need to talk to her."
"I do not," you reply sharply.
"Please," Zayne pleads, "We just want things to go back to normal."
Normal?
They want normal?
Normal, to you, is being ignored and forgotten, feeling alone even when surrounded by the people you call friends. It's being unwanted but stuck in place, unable to leave for someplace better. It's feeling ugly and worthless and pathetic. It's clinging to whatever scraps of affection they feel like tossing to you. It's watching them laugh easily with each other, fitting into each other like puzzle pieces, while you watch from the sidelines, never invited in.
The only thing that's out of the ordinary is that you're not desperate for their attention, clinging to any opportunity to be with them, struggling to be heard or seen or wanted while they get to enjoy their time together.
You've decided to care about yourself for once. To put yourself first and say, this is enough. I'm not putting up with this any longer.
"Do you?" you say lightly. "Do you want normal? The normal where you get to laugh together and talk all the time and know that everyone else is listening to you? The normal where you walk together on the sidewalk while I'm stuck in the back, alone? The normal where I'm talked over and ignored? That normal?"
"We don't—"
"The three of you can still have normal. Nothing has to change at all about how you spend time together, just because I'm not there. You still have normal. But now that I'm not clinging to you all and trying to keep you all happy, you have to think about how you've been treating me and come to terms with being shitty friends."
Zayne opens his mouth to speak, to refute what you've said, but you give him a glare sharp enough to stop him in his tracks.
"Don't interrupt," you hiss. "I am so unhappy when I spend time with you all. You've never had any issues ignoring me while I was around, but now that I'm not there you all suddenly want me back? Quit the bullshit. I've had enough of being treated like this. I never once deserved it."
The shame crawling across his expression is slow, but it's still there. You can practically see him thinking, casting his mind back to all the time you've spent with them, trying to find the truth in your words.
He finds it. You can see the moment he understands why you're so upset.
"I didn't realize," he says quietly. "I'm sorry. I did notice something was off last week, but I didn't think much of it. I thought you were just tired or stressed about graduation."
"I was just tired of pretending everything was fine. I stopped acting like everything's fine. You were the only one who even bothered to look at me, really look at me, that day."
"Is there no way to make things better?"
You sigh, looking down the street. People are giving the two of you a wide berth, unwilling to interrupt the argument. Normally, you'd be embarrassed about behaving in such a way in public, but you can't bring yourself to care about anything right now.
"No," you say, "I'm done. I've spent all week avoiding everyone to make cutting ties easier. I'm moving out of Linkon the day after graduation and then I'll be gone from your lives for good."
"You're leaving?"
You blink. You've never heard him sound so wrecked before. It makes your heart clench in sympathy and you stomp it down. This is the natural consequence for how he treated you. There's nothing you need to feel bad about.
It still makes you feel like the worst person in the world.
"I need to get out. I need to put this facade of a friendship far behind me. I want to start over, someplace new, and learn how to feel like I'm worth something. The three of you are bad for me. Do you get it now, Zayne? I'm tired. I've been tired for years."
Zayne is silent and shame-faced, staring down at the ground. He can't even meet your eyes anymore.
The conversation has drained you of all you had. You can't even feel upset anymore, just hollowed out.
"You can tell MC and Caleb whatever you want. But I'm not talking to them again. Bye Zayne." You almost add a vague well wishing about residency, but stop yourself in time. It wouldn't be sincere, so why bother wasting your breath?
When you walk away from him, he doesn't stop you.
Zayne lets you go. You wish you could feel relieved, but mostly you just want to cry.
But that's a common enough feeling for you that you push it down and keep walking all the way home.
You don't have to say anything when you come home. Your father takes one look at you and sweeps you up into a hug, holds the fractured pieces of yourself together.
When the doorbell rings later that evening, he doesn't bother to open the door. Your parents keep the door shut and locked until Caleb and MC leave as night covers the city.
Graduation is a time you've been dreading. Your entire graduating class together in the auditorium, ready to walk across stage to get their high school diplomas. You're ready to leave the school behind completely, and this is your final hurdle to getting out of here.
It's pure luck that you aren't approached by MC or Caleb.
For once, they've spotted you almost as soon as you walked in, but the vice principal is strict about everyone staying lined up in order of who's walking first, organized alphabetically by last name. You listen intently to her explain the scheduling of the ceremony: the welcome speech from the principal, the valedictorian speech, walking the stage, and then a closing speech which is when they can toss their graduation caps into the air. She gives repeated reminders for everyone to keep their graduation robes on for the entirety of the event, and no never go barefoot in the auditorium. You idly wonder who was responsible for causing those rules to be implemented.
All the while, you ignore the stares burning into the back of your head. Caleb and MC are separated in the line, but both keep their eyes on you and the weight of their attention honestly makes you nauseous.
If it weren't for the vice principal keeping everyone in line, you're sure they would have already dragged you out someplace more private to demand answers for everything Zayne's told them.
You keep your gaze focused straight ahead, counting the seconds until the ceremony begins. It seems to take an eternity before everyone is seated and the lights dim, the principal walking onto stage to deliver a speech to the graduating class and all the attending families.
He goes on at length about how proud he is of the students, encourages everyone to seize the rest of their lives with strength and bravery, to make the most of their futures. The valedictorian goes up next, a girl you recognize from being the lead cheerleader at pep rallies. She talks about everyone's struggles to get here, making the most of their four years in high school. You tune her out a bit; most of what she's saying in her speech is for the more socially active students and therefore have nothing to do with you.
Once that's done, you begin the long wait for your row to be called up to walk the stage. You're in the third row out of the eight total, so it's comes faster than you expect.
Suddenly, you're walking across the stage to polite applause from the audience, shaking hands with the teachers, the vice principal, and the principal. You take your diploma and make your way to the stairs leading off the stage, then following the student in front of you back to your seat.
The next hour and half is dedicated to watching everyone else walk the stage. You let your mind wander, running your fingers over the diploma. It doesn't feel real. Four years, all coming to a close because of this one piece of paper.
After a quick closing speech, the principal congratulates everyone on graduating, and you join your now former classmates in moving the tassel to the left and tossing your cap into the air.
You can't help but smile. It's a small act, but it feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders.
All around you, people move. Friends hug each other with great big grins and laughter, and families swarm the aisle, reaching for their children. You move with the crowd, hoping to escape the chaos before MC or Caleb can get a hold of you.
There's a dinner reservation for just your family at the fancy place you only get to go to on birthdays.
You manage to make it outside where you promised to meet your parents to avoid the crowd in the auditorium. You find them as expected, but what's not expected in Zayne standing awkwardly with them. He holds three small bouquets; one of orange flowers, one of red flowers, and one of white and blue flowers.
"Hi," he says softly, stepping towards you. Your parents watch him with critical eyes, ready to jump in the moment he upsets you.
"…Hi," you return.
"I wanted to congratulate you on graduating. Regardless of anything else, I wanted you to know that I'm proud of you, and I wish you nothing but the best in the future." He hands over the white and blue bouquet, which you take with hesitant hands.
He's not apologizing or asking for forgiveness. He's not bringing up anything you said to him the day before. He's not taking away from your night to make you go through an emotionally draining conversation.
Zayne is a thoughtful and wonderful friend when he tries.
He just never really tried with you.
"Thank you," you say. "They're lovely."
"I'm glad you like them."
"MC and Caleb are still inside."
"I see. I'll go to them now, then. I… hope we'll be able to speak again someday. I'll be looking forward to it, no matter how long it'll take."
"And if I refuse to speak to you again?"
Zayne dips his head toward you. "Then I'll accept that. But if you ever change your mind, know that I would be happy to see you again."
"I'll keep that in mind," you sigh. "I'll be heading off now. Bye, Zayne."
He nods once again, then visibly steels himself and heads inside.
As soon as he's gone, your mother is quick to pull you into a hug. Your father joins in, wrapping the both of you up in his arms. They congratulate you and go on about how proud they are of you, for school and the maturity to decide what you want your relationships to be like.
This has been the hardest choice you've ever made, and you made it again and again for the course of the year. It's finally starting to feel like the right choice instead of the desperate one. It finally feels like you can breathe again.
Your graduation dinner is small but delicious. The night fades away quickly. You all go home as soon as you're done and settle in to sleep.
In the morning, you'll make the long drive to your new home. In the morning, you'll leave Linkon behind without another word, cleanly disappearing from everyone's life. In the morning, you'll start over anew.
In the morning you'll figure out the rest of your life and find the courage to go after it.
But for tonight, you curl up in bed and cry; the mix of relief and grief is hard to work through, but this was inevitable. This was always going to end with you alone, and as much as you wish things could have been different, you also feel so much freer knowing this chapter of your life is over.
Whatever comes next, you will be ready to face it. You'll never put yourself through this pain again.
summary: five years after cutting ties with your childhood friends, you move on with your life. a chance encounter brings Rafayel into your life, and he's determined to help you heal and learn what a true friendship is, even when the past comes knocking.
notes: part two of two! read part one here. as a reminder, this is a story about friendship and healing. you can view the relationships here as pre-relationship if you like, but the focus is on platonic bonds and their importance. thank you all for the love youve shown this fic!
word count: 16.3k
The final note rings out into the air. You hold it, then let it fade, opening your eyes to see the setting sun turn the sky above the ocean pink and purple. Satisfied, you stand and put your cello back in its case, then stretch. Hours of sitting in a chair and practicing have left you feeling stiff and sore.
Still, you don't regret it. You spend at least four hours a day just practicing, playing different songs before moving into blind improv, playing whatever note strikes your fancy with your eyes completely closed.
Like your grandmother, music is your refuge. But you're not following directly in her footsteps; rather than a violin, you found yourself drawn to the cello. Your parents were more than happy to buy you one and sign you up for lessons. It was a welcome distraction from the stress of being someplace completely new after cutting off the three 'friends' you had in Linkon City.
The loneliness was hard to carry the first few days, but the sweet sounds of the cello helped fill all those empty spaces. You threw yourself into learning and improving, filling the house with music.
Who would have thought that one choice would alter your life so much?
It's your fifth year after cutting ties with your childhood friends, and you've just graduating from university with a degree in music performance for cello. Already, you've joined an orchestra, passing the audition two months before graduating. Surrounding yourself with other performers has been wonderful. Some you can even call your friends, though your experience with friendships so far have left you overly cautious in getting too close to anyone.
Sometimes, it's hard to believe that this is your life now.
You have your own house, living in a small cottage next to the beach, in a quiet neighborhood away from the busier areas of Whitesand Bay. It's strange to be back in Linkon, but you're far enough away from the district you used to live in that it doesn't really feel like the same city.
Nothing in your life has gone the way you thought it would, but you think it's for the best. The life you have now is one you're proud of, one that makes you happy when you thought you'd never be truly happy again.
There is something to be said about leaving. A peace that comes with it. In choosing to walk away for your own sake and seek out something better. Once you got used to it, the quiet wasn't so bad. The loneliness isn't so crippling when it's what you wanted instead of a consequence of being left behind. Solitude became addicting and there's a certain freedom in knowing that when things get bad, you can always leave. The door is still open behind you. You don't need to stay in any cage.
It does also mean you keep everyone at a distance; you don't let anyone close now, always leaving an escape route in any relationship. It's not healthy, but it keeps you from being hurt again, so you'll take it.
The life you have now is quiet, but peaceful. You wouldn't trade it for the world.
(Sometimes, you wonder about them. Nine years is a lot to erase and emotional wounds don't fade overnight. You preemptively blocked the three on social media when you first got your new phone so you wouldn't hurt yourself trying to get a glimpse of their lives. It was a good choice. More than once you tried to take a peek at their Moments' page, and only your past self saved you from another night of heartache.
Still.
They were your closest (only) friends for nine years. It's only natural that you'd miss them.
You've been missing them for a long time, long before you ever left.
It's a wound that will never fully heal.)
You take your cello back inside, then check on the garden, hunting for any weeds that have popped up between the flowers. Butterflies drift past and the sun sinks into the golden hour that makes everything shine like magic.
The weather is so nice you can't resist the urge to take a walk on the beach, going barefoot to enjoy the warm sand beneath your feet.
The waves crashing against the shore is a soothing white noise, keeping your mind from wandering too far. Whitesand Bay is popular for tourists, the ideal beach for any type of trip. The main beaches are always crowded and busy, but the residential areas keep the beaches private to prevent disturbances in neighborhood. That means only a few other people are out on the beach at the same time as you, letting you enjoy the peace and quiet.
There are a few sculptures and murals farther up near the road that you like to visit when you go on walks. This neighborhood is apparently popular with artists of all kind. You're beyond lucky to have gotten the house you did, able to practice for hours on end without getting a noise complaint. Instead, your nearest neighbors tell you often how much they love listening to you play when you run into each other. Some of the other neighbors have slipped notes into your mailbox, requesting certain songs. You make sure to practice at the same time everyday so they know when to listen in for their request.
Sure, you're not particularly close to anyone these days, but this little neighborhood and your own passion for the cello is healing something in you that you thought would forever be broken.
You're a rising star in the world of classical music. People seek you out for your talent with the cello.
No one's around to overshadow you. For once, you get to be special, to take pride in your skills. You've already got plans to travel with an orchestra, playing around the world in grand venues.
But that's for later. For now, you practice for you current orchestra, a local one that plays in theaters and opera houses.
You can't help but hum a portion of the song you've been practicing most recently, walking along the beach. Hermit crabs scuttle away from you and sea shells poke out from beneath the sand. The sun sinks farther, golden light disappearing in favor of purple turning into the blue of twilight. Soon enough, the moon will be out, shining bright enough to hide the stars.
You reach the end of the private beach, sand turning into tide pools and rough sea rock. From there, you turn and make the walk back, thinking about what to eat for dinner.
It's such an ordinary day, but it makes your heart swell with light.
It really is shocking to look back to your time in school and remember how unhappy you are. You never once thought life could be so good to you. You wish you could go back and give the girl from six years ago the reassurance that she's making the right choice, that things will work out and she'll be happy.
The urge to look into your past friends hits again.
You call your parents instead.
The next day follows routine: you wake early and make breakfast, water the plants, take care of chores, attend rehearsal, then explore Whitesand Bay a little more by choosing a new place to get lunch. After that, you return home and practice the cello some more, setting up in the little tiled corner beneath the arched trellis covered in jasmine.
The low, somber tones of the cello sing into the air, drowning out the ocean. You play from memory what you rehearsed earlier in the day, then play a few requests. When you finish a piece you decided to play just for yourself, someone claps.
You startle, jumping in your seat as your eyes snap open.
Standing on the other side of the garden gate is beautiful woman with dark hair swept up into an elegant bun.
"Hello!" she says with a warm smile, "I didn't mean to scare you. You play so beautifully, I couldn't help but stop to listen."
"Oh, thank you!"
"Are you part of an orchestra?"
"Ah, yes," you nod. "Right now I'm with the Whitesand Symphony Orchestra. We've got a show in two months, if you're interested."
"Very interested! I've had the pleasure to work with the Whitesand Symphony Orchestra before. A wonderful group, no doubt more wonderful with you in it."
"You flatter me," you say, unable to hold back a smile.
"It's only the truth. Would you mind very much if we talked a bit?"
You put your cello away and tuck the case beneath the arched trellis. "Not at all. I'd be happy to."
"Wonderful." She holds her hand out from over the gate. "I'm Talia, a soprano singer."
You take her hand and introduce yourself in return. She invites you out for a walk on the beach, half small talk and half business. She's got a show she wants to put on soon, performing songs she wrote for herself, and was seeking musicians to play with her.
"I am simply enchanted by the way you make your cello sing," she says, breathlessly, "I would just love to have you play for a performance of mine."
Talia is bright and warm, a comforting person who is the perfect mix of polite and friendly. She's attentive too, in a way you're not used to. It's enough to make you flustered, unsure of how to handle that steady attention, the careful consideration of every word you offer her.
Your curiosity about her singing is what pushes you to agree to play with her once she gets the performance planned.
It's nothing you've ever done before and nerves twist in your stomach. But the excitement pushes you forward.
To think that someone heard your playing, saw the efforts of your years dedicated to cello, and wanted you to play for them…
You're glad you chose to go down this path.
She promises to attend the concert in two months before she heads off to return to her evening. You expect that to be it until the performance is over, but Talia returns at least twice a week, happy to listen to you practice and then talk to you afterwards. She mentions that she's in Linkon for the time being to support her nephew, and that she's excited to bring her husband over from Verona for her performance. She slyly suggests introducing her nephew to you, since you're apparently around the same age.
You laugh it off, unsure about meeting anyone else while your orchestra performance is coming up soon.
Besides, being introduced to someone by a family member is always awkward. There's a reason you don't like having your parents trying to set you up with people.
The conductor gives everyone in the orchestra a few tickets to pass along to family and friends. You immediately mail two over to your parents, then save the last two for Talia.
She's overjoyed when you present the tickets to her, promising to listen for you specifically during the concert.
Both of you become too busy to meet up regularly two weeks before the concert, but Talia makes sure to text you often, never caring when your responses are late coming or awkwardly short and formal. Her usual kindness helps you loosen up to lightly joke around with her the more you text, and you even gather the courage to ask for her opinion in which black dress you should wear during the performance.
Orchestra takes over your life completely in the last week as everyone practices nonstop for hours on end, playing in the venue to get used to it. Familiarity chases away nerves and the conductor is determined to have everyone play at their best.
Time seems to pass by in the blink of an eye. Suddenly, you're setting up for the concert, smoothing down the fabric of your dress. Around you, the rest of the orchestra members chat lightly as they set up their instruments, making sure everything in clean and put together properly, playing test notes that echo through across the stage.
Spotlights come on, the crew above the stage adjusting everything to make sure everyone is in the light. There's just another half hour before your first official performance with an orchestra and your take several deep breaths to keep calm. Your palms are sweating. As one of four cellists in the orchestra, you can't hide within a row of the same instruments. Any mistakes you make will be very noticeable.
"Nerves hitting you?" Jason asks, leaning closer to you. He's another cellist, one you've played with several times in university.
"If I pass out, make sure you drag my body away to someplace where no one can see me," you respond.
He laughs, then reaches out to pat your shoulder. "Relax, you're gonna be fine. You're one of the best cellists I've ever met. Trust yourself a little more, yeah?"
"I'll try," you offer, taking your bow in hand.
He mimics you, and the two of you play a quick set of scales to make sure everything sounds right.
People begin to settle down in their seats, positioning their instruments to begin playing. The conductor smooths down his suit lapels, then stands on his podium. He claps his hands together to get everyone's attention, waiting just a few seconds for the light chatter to die down as everyone turns to face him.
He lifts his hands, nodding to the winds section. They follow his lead to play a portion of the opening song, getting into the rhythm together. He does the same with all the other sections, making sure the whole orchestra is in tune and on time, no discordant notes jumping out of the symphony.
The conductor lowers his hands, and everyone lowers their instruments. You take a final centering breath, pulling yourself into the focused state where the rest of the world fades away.
"Everyone," the conductor begins, "Doors will open in just a few minutes. In half an hour, we'll begin the concert. Now is the time for any last minute restroom runs or water breaks. And above all else, I want you all to know that I am immensely proud of how we've come together over the past few months. This will be a wonderful performance, and I'm excited for the audience to celebrate your skills just as I do."
You join in with the others in applauding, calling out their own thanks and appreciation to the conductor.
The stage becomes a rush of movement, everyone hurrying to run to the restroom or grab some water. You join in the small crowd of people leaving the stage just to walk around the halls backstage, getting rid of some of the anxious energy that's built up.
This is hardly your first performance. You've done solo concerts plenty of time in university. You've played with the orchestra there, too. But the lingering doubt of your own talent never leaves you and you always fear letting the audience down, suddenly forgetting how to play and making a fool of yourself. It'll never happen, of course, with the muscle memory of just how much you've practiced guiding you through every song, but the fear remains nonetheless.
You're called back to the stage with the other stragglers, hurrying to get to your seat while the curtain is still down. Jason gives you a good luck fist bump, a custom the two of you started in your freshman year at university, and then you're both setting up your cellos, bows drawn and ready, sheet music open on the stands.
The rest of the orchestra settles down around you. As you all become still and focused, the sounds from the audience begin to filter in: shuffling feet, the low din of conversation, a few coughs here and there.
A hush falls upon the crowd. The curtains lift the next moment, revealing nothing but darkness, and then the lights come on, shining down on the stage.
The conductor lifts his arms. You take a deep breath, lifting your bow up to play the first note, and the concert begins.
Time moves differently while you're performing.
While preparing for it seems to last several centuries, decades upon decades collapsing into themselves the hours before opening night, the moment you begin to actually play before the audience, it speeds by in the blink of an eye. Music rises into the air and you add to it with the notes you've learned by heart over the past few months. Everything falls into place and you're no longer just you on the cello, but a part of a greater whole, interconnected. The world narrows down to the music sheets, the cello, the growing dull ache in your wrists as you play for an hour straight until intermission.
The ten minute break is spent rolling your wrists out and stretching with the other cellists. Part of you is still floating somewhere off in the distance, making this momentary pause from the music feel dream-like and easily forgotten.
The rest of the concert passes by similarly, and you almost can't believe it when you draw the bow on your final note, extending it, letting it echo through the stage and slowly fade out.
Applause rises from beyond the stage. The lights blind you, keep you from seeing anything pas the first few rows, but of those rows, you can see people give a standing ovation. The conductor turns and bows to the audience, then spreads his arms wide to prompt the audience to give even louder applause to the members of the orchestra.
You stand with the others at the conductor's cue, then take a quick bow, holding onto the neck of your cello with one hand.
Once the applause peters out and the lights brighten, people begin to leave. You join the others backstage to put your cello and bow into their case and pick up your purse, then say your goodbyes.
The performance trance fades and you're left exhausted but pleased. The only thing on your mind is dinner and sleep.
You almost don't notice the calls of your name as you enter the lobby. It takes a few seconds of searching to find your parents waving at you. Smiling, you change course to meet them, hugging first your mother then your father. They congratulate you on the successful concert and praise your skills with the cello, then eagerly pry details of your current life out of you with the skills of a master interrogator.
Your father is the one to help you escape, clocking how tired you are. He makes you promise to visit them for dinner once the concert finishes out in two days, then pulls your mother away as she throws one last insistence that you start looking for dates soon.
Shaking your head fondly, you pick up your cello case again and head out the door make the walk back home.
"Wait up!"
For a moment, you think that call is for someone else. Then you place the voice as Talia's and turn to face her.
"I'm so glad we caught you before you left!" she says, speed walking towards you in her heels. Following after her is a man with purple hair and bits of paint staining his white shirt.
This must be the Rafayel she's been wanting you to meet for so long.
"Hey, Talia," you greet, "I'm glad you could make it. What did you think of the concert?"
She claps her hands together, delighted. "Oh, it was beautiful! The conductor wrote some truly stunning pieces. I would love to work with him some time. And what did you think, Rafayel?"
"It was nice," he answers blandly. "I couldn't really pick out your playing from everyone else's, but I'm sure it was decent."
Talia slaps his shoulder. "Don't be rude!" And she turns to you, apologetic. "I'm sorry, he's a little sour that I pulled him away from a painting while he was 'in the zone'. Though he really needn't take it out on you."
"I don't mind," you say, shrugging. "I wasn't expecting him to be able to pick out cellos from the rest of the orchestra anyways."
Rafayel glares at you. "Wow, excuse you? My ears are great. I can absolutely pick out cellos."
"If you say so," you reply, disinterested. He's not really the silly sweetheart Talia described him to be; the attitude he has on display right now makes you glad you've refused to meet him before. At least now you can say that the two of you have talked so there's no need for her to push for you to meet him again.
"I totally can," Rafayel insists, pouting.
…Okay, so you're not done with this topic apparently.
"Defensive much?"
"Am not!"
"Literally proving my point," you say. "Are you always so determined to make a bad first impression? I'm almost impressed by how quickly you put your foot in your mouth."
He flushes, all the way up to his ears, and you can't bite back your grin. Talia rolls her eyes, but smiles at you as she lightly slaps Rafayel's shoulder again.
"I'm sure you're eager to rest after your performance," she says, "We won't keep you for any longer."
"Good riddance," Rafayel mutters under his breath. You graciously pretend not to hear him, even as he eyes you for a response. Talk about immature.
"Alright. Thank you again for coming! It's always nice to know the tickets I gave away were put to good use." You take a step back. "I'll get going now. Got a long walk back."
"Wait, you're walking?" Talia asks.
"Carrying that?" Rafayel adds, pointing his chin to your cello case.
Your gaze darts back and forth between the two of them. "…Yes? Is that a problem?"
"As a matter of fact, it is," Talia says primly. "We'll drive you back. His car has plenty of trunk space for your cello."
"Thanks for asking, Auntie," Rafayel grumbles, "My car is totally yours to offer to whoever you please."
"I'm glad we're in agreement. Help her with her cello?"
He rolls his eyes, but doesn't protest, moving to take the case from you. You frown and move it away from him. "I can carry it just fine myself."
"I know, but she wants me to do something nice for you. Let me or neither of us will ever hear the end of it."
You glance at Talia, who is watching you two with an expectant expression. Hesitantly, you hand it over, watching warily as Rafayel takes hold of the handle and lifts the case up with ease. He fishes a set of car keys out of his pocket and tosses it to Talia, who snatches them cleanly out of the air and turns on her heel to walk to the parking lot.
With no other option, you follow after them, anxiously keeping an eye on your cello case. As a fellow artist, though of a different field, you don't think Rafayel would purposefully damage your cello. But since he's not a musician, you're not sure he knows how walk around with a giant instrument without causing harm.
Despite your worries, he's careful with your cello. The earlier friction between the two of you is left behind as he keeps the case off the ground, stabilizing it with his other hand as he walks.
Talia leads you to a fancy sports car. The sight of it makes your eyebrows rise, wondering how rich they actually are. You quickly smooth out your expression to something more neutral when you catching sight of Rafayel smirking at you, clearly pleased by how impressed you were with the car.
What an annoying guy.
She pops the trunk open and Rafayel lays the cello case in it slowly and carefully. You let out a relieved breath once it's safely down. He doesn't slam the trunk closed either, which you're begrudgingly grateful for. Most people use too much force, not accustomed to being careful with instruments. Apparently Rafayel is a little more thoughtful than that, thankfully.
He opens back seat door for you with a flourish. "After you, fair lady."
You roll your eyes, but get into the car.
He closes the door once you're seated, then moves to take the passenger seat. A glare from Talia and a finger pointing to the back makes him circle around the car to sit next to you.
"Got put in time out, huh?" you can't help but comment.
"It's not time out," he protests as Talia sits down and starts the engine. "She just wants me to make friends with you and thinks this is what's going to do it."
"So not time out, but a play date?"
"You know, I liked you better when your mouth was closed. Can we go back to that? I think we should go back to that."
"I think you should instead reflect on this experience. It's how people feel when you open your mouth. Maybe it's time to do a little thinking on that."
"I can't believe she told me you were a 'sweet girl' with a talent for music. Where's the sweetness? I only see a sour old maid in the body of a twenty-something nobody."
"I'm only a sweet girl to people who deserve it," you say with a bright grin. "Perhaps one day you'll be worthy of it. I highly doubt it, though."
Rafayel gasps in offense, then begins a long monologue about why he does deserve it, listing out everything he thinks is a positive trait about himself. You wonder to yourself if he's ever going to question why he even wants your sweeter side when the two of you have been like cats and dogs from the first second together, but Rafayel is on a roll and clearly doesn't intend to stop. You listen with half an ear, amused despite yourself, and catch Talia's eyes in the rearview mirror.
You don't burst out laughing, but it's a near thing as you wretch your gaze away and try to keep your composure as Talia drives down the streets of Whitesand Bay.
A hand snaps by your ear, making you jump. You glare at Rafayel, batting his hand away.
"Are you even listening?" he demands, "I'm clearly talking!"
"Talk about something worthwhile and I'll listen."
You really did intend to ignore him for the entire ride, then go home and never see him again, but Rafayel keeps drawing you back into this verbal spar. It's more fun than you want to admit. You've never been like this with anyone else, always preferring to go quiet and let yourself fade from the conversation rather than be rude out loud. Something about Rafayel brings out a fire you didn't know as burning in you, and you can see in his eyes that he's enjoying this too.
It's almost a disappointment when Talia pulls up outside your house.
Rafayel goes quiet, peering out the window to get a good look at where you live.
"My place is bigger," is his observation.
"Compensating for something?" you suggest as you unbuckle your seatbelt and open the door. He follows suit, opening the trunk before you can and lifting the cello case up.
"I'll carry this to your door," he says, "So you can have your hands free to unlock it."
"Oh. Thanks." His sudden moments of thoughtfulness throw you, cracks in your understanding of his characters. He's annoying and easy to rile up, but surprisingly considerate at the same time. You've never met someone so confusing and entertaining.
You dig your house keys out of your purse, then lead Rafayel up the walkway to your door. You open it and set your purse on the small table at the entryway, then take your cello from him. He keeps a hand on it until he's sure you've got a good grip on it.
"Thanks again," you say, "And thank Talia for the ride from me too."
"Sure thing," Rafayel says, stepping away. "I'll see you later."
"Please don't."
You wave to Talia as Rafayel gets back in the car, allowed in the passenger seat this time. They drive away and you close the door. Now that you're home, you kick off your heels with a great big sigh of relief and make your way to the bathroom, eager to have a relaxing bath with the lavender scented salts you rarely let yourself use.
You unwind for the day. A successful opening night means you treat yourself to take out from your favorite curry restaurant on Linkon. Once your stomach is full and sated, you fall into bed and are asleep in no time.
With opening night done, there are only two nights of concert left. You expect the second day to be quieter and more boring since no one you know will be in the audience. Closing night will come with a celebratory dinner afterwards, so you have something to look forward to, but that's still a day away.
Day two goes similarly to opening night. Pre-performance nerves come back, but they're easier to shake away now that you've played each piece for an audience. You yawn as you leave the venue, wondering if you should bring a pair of flats to change into for the next night so you don't have to walk home in heels with the weight of your cello against your hip as you carry it.
"Need a ride?" comes an unfortunately familiar voice.
You freeze, close your eyes and hope it's not who you think it is, then look at Rafayel.
"What are you doing here?"
He's leaning against the wall of the lobby, idly spinning his car keys around his index finger. "I thought you could use a ride home, since you were ready to walk all the back to your house last night. And look at that! I was right."
"I haven't agreed to let you drive me home."
"But you will. I mean, between walking home in heels and getting a ride in my car, the answer's obvious, don't you think?"
You hate that he's right. Part of you wants to insist on walking just to spite him, but you wouldn't but it past him to slowly drive beside you the whole way, window rolled down to annoy you.
"Fine," you relent. "Since you're so kindly offering, let's get going."
He moves to take your cello case from you again, and you figure you might as well indulge in his politeness while it lasts. Though, you do show him how to properly carry the case so it doesn't bump into anything and damage your cello.
The two of you fall back into rhythm, cheerfully sniping at each other as you get in the car and join the slow moving line of people leaving the parking lot.
He brags about an exhibition he's done that ended with all his paintings sold and more prestige to his name. You retaliate by calling him desperate for attention and saying that your own skills are too good to be bought like that. You don't give material objects, but experiences that people chase after.
Rafayel never gets seriously offended and every insult carries an undertone of laughter. He very unfortunately endears himself toward you and you can't help but wish that the drive would last longer. He doesn't seem eager to say goodbye either, happy to let the car idle in front of your house as you move from the fun back-and-forth you're having to complaining about overbearing managers and conductors.
It's only after your stomach growls, reminding you of important things like hunger and how tired you are, that you force yourself to get out of his car. Rafayel follows once again, carrying your cello up to the door for you.
"Should I be expecting to see you tomorrow?" you ask as you unlock your front door.
"Obviously. If I'm committed, I'm committed."
"Cool. Tomorrow, then."
He hands over your cello and stares at you for a long moment after you smile at him in thanks. Was that weird of you to do? You're not rude, unlike him, and you know how to thank someone for what they do for you no matter your personal feelings.
You heft your cello case up to get the weight of it on your hip and awkwardly nod to him. "Alright," you say, "See you tomorrow."
Rafayel blinks like he's coming out of a trance. "Right," he says, "Right. See you." And then he turns and retreats back to his car, though he doesn't leave until you wave at him and go inside.
When the concert finishes the next night, closing out the weekend of performing, the orchestra is in high spirits. The joy and relief of a successful concert sweeps you away as well, hugging the other cellists backstage. The conductor reminds everyone of the reservation he's made at a popular restaurant in two hours, wrangling promises out of everyone to be there on time.
You say quick goodbyes to the other cellists then head out to the lobby. Instead of waiting by the door, this time Rafayel waits right where you enter the lobby, snatching the cello case out of your hands before you can even process that he's there.
"Rude," you say, allowing him to carry it for you.
"The correct thing to say right now is thank you," he returns, already walking to the door.
You decide to play along for once. "Thank you," you say as dramatically as possible, holding the door open for him. Rafayel sticks his tongue out in response because he's secretly never left middle school.
You open the backseat door of his car as well, watching to make sure your cello is placed gently and held in place by the seatbelt. Before you can move to the passenger seat, Rafayel grabs hold of your shoulders and says, "Wait for one second."
Curious about this change in routine, you do, watching as he grabs something from the driver's seat.
The bouquet he pulls out is large and colorful, full of white, pink, and purple flowers, wrapped with a gold ribbon. He passes it to you with a sincere smile. "Congratulations on a successful show," he says.
You take the bouquet gently, feeling touched to the point of tears. You lift the bouquet to hide your face in the flowers, grinning helplessly.
The only other flowers you've ever gotten were from Zayne at your high school graduation, and your parents at your university graduation. You would have never expected Rafayel to get you anything, especially for a show he only attended because Talia dragged him along.
"Thank you," you manage to say, blinking back happy tears, "These are lovely."
Rafayel shrugs awkwardly, looking away. "Yeah, yeah, I know. I've got great taste. Don't make such a big deal out of it. Let's get you home."
He opens the passenger seat door for you and you carefully slide in, taking care not to crush any flowers.
He's clearly uncomfortable with your sudden display of gratitude and brings up all sorts of topics to distract himself. It takes you a few minutes before you feel composed enough to fall back into the easy banter that springs up between you two. You then discover how easy it is to send him into angry, impassioned rants when you get common art history knowledge purposefully wrong.
Insisting that the Mona Lisa was painted by Mona Lisa herself nearly made him miss the turn onto your street, furiously arguing with you and bringing up facts that you happily ignore in favor of pissing him off more.
"Get out of my car," he says angrily, "I can't believe I'm sharing space with someone so uncultured."
You laugh at him, hopping out. Even while grumbling, he gets out to carry you cello to the door again.
"Can't believe you," he continues as you open the front door, "I don't even want to show you my paintings anymore. You clearly won't appreciate them properly. Ugh. Whatever, get some sleep or something."
"Sure, sure. I have dinner with the rest of the orchestra later tonight, but I'll be sure to get plenty of sleep after that."
"Wait, really? Where?"
You give him the name of the restaurant the conductor has reserved for the night. You've never gone before, but you've heard nothing but good things. Now that the concert is over and you can focus on other things, you figure it would be a good idea to look up where it actually is so you don't get lost trying to find it.
Rafayel glances around, brow furrowed. "Do you have a car?"
"No, I don't really need one. Linkon's got decent public transportation and I usually just take my bike during the day."
"Hmm. No."
"No, what?"
"You're not taking the bus. I'll drive you," he decides with enough finality you don't feel like arguing. It's his time, anyways! You'll just kick him if he complains about driving you around when he's the one who offered.
Besides, it'll be faster than taking the bus and walking. And maybe you want to keep spending time with him, too.
"If you say so," you say agreeably. "Pick me up in an hour and a half? I need to showed and get changed."
"How about I just hang out here until you have to go? That's way more convenient than driving back home just to come back here again."
You hesitate. With the concert taking up so much time, you haven't really been able to clean as you normally would. You're in no state to host a guest, much less one you've known for barely three days.
"Won't you be bored?"
"Nah, I'm sure I can find some way to entertain myself. What do you say? Gonna invite me in?"
Well. It's not like he can say anything about your house that will actually hurt you. You shrug and push the door open. "Fine. Come on in. Shoes off at the door, please."
Rafayel shuffles in with your cello. You hurry to take your heels off, and run to the kitchen to set the bouquet on the counter, then take your cello from him so he doesn't accidentally drop it as he tries to toe off his shoes. You leave him at the door to set your cello down in the living room, near the back door to the garden. Rafayel appears soon after, looking around with clear interest.
"Feel free to take a seat," you tell him, nodding to the couch. "Remote's on the table if you want to watch anything. I won't be long, so don't go poking around while I can't see you!"
"I make no promises," he says with a grin as you head for your room.
You shake your head, amused, then close the door behind you. Normally, you'd take your time and enjoy a nice hot shower before getting ready for the dinner. With someone else in your house, you speed through your usual routine, blow drying your hair instead of letting it air dry. You get dressed in comfortable black dress pants and a pale blue blouse, not too formal but still classy enough that you won't feel out of place in a nice restaurant.
Rafayel is on his phone when you reemerge, the television on and playing a medical drama at a low volume.
"You're not playing with any other groups for the next few months, right?" he says without any context.
"No?"
"Cool. Auntie's gonna buy your plane tickets to Verona so you can stay with her for a month and practice for her performance."
"I can buy my own tickets."
"But you won't! Just accept it, she's excited to host you."
Apparently your next month is spoken for. No time for any other plans. You'll reschedule with your parents for some time when you're back in Linkon City.
It is incredibly flattering that Talia wants you to play for her so much.
You drop down onto the couch next to Rafayel, checking your own phone for any messages and notifications that came in while you were performing.
Rafayel peeks over to see what's on your screen, rudely, and you shove him away with your elbow. "Nosy, much?" you say.
"You can't blame me for being curious! What, you can invite me in but you can't let me see what's on your phone?"
"Exactly."
"You're ridiculous," he complains, slumping back. "I just wanna know what your other friends are like."
You hesitate, good mood plummeting. Rafayel frowns at you, clocking the suddenly change in mood. You shrug and say, "I don't really have any friends."
"You have me," he argues.
…You didn't actually know he thought of you as a friend. The two of you just met, after all.
"It's been three days since we met."
"And? We get along well enough and I enjoy spending time with you. So we're friends. Don't be weird about, okay?"
"Sure, I guess. Bet you'll get bored of my in a week's time."
"I would not," he replies confidently, "Listen. We clicked instantly. Finding someone I can talk shit with so easily is practically unheard of. You're out of your mind if you think I'm ever going to stop bothering you."
That's such a weirdly sweet thing for him to say. You wish you could believe him, but nine years of friendship all for nothing but silence and hurt remind you why you shouldn't put much faith in his words.
Rafayel gives you a hard look. "You don't believe me."
"It's a nice sentiment and all," you say, "But it won't last. No one else ever did."
"Old friends treat you bad?"
"I'd rather not talk about this with someone I met three days ago."
He lifts his hands in surrender at your tone, then glances at the time. "Want to head over now? You'll be a little early, but that also means you can grab a good seat before everyone comes in fighting for a chair."
"Sure." You take the escape he's provided, eager to leave the uncomfortable conversation behind. You have to keep reminding yourself that you don't really know Rafayel, that three nights of being driven home hardly equate to trust. It's so easy to talk to him that you almost forget that you haven't known each other all your lives. Nothing has ever been this easy with your old friends. It scares you a little, how smoothly Rafayel fell into your life.
He talks about random things the whole drive over, easily accepting your silence and not prodding you for details, though his frequent glances betray his curiosity.
"Let me know when you're ready to be picked up!" he calls as you head into the restaurant. You give him a thumbs up and walk inside to get started with your dinner.
You're not the first person there, despite being early, and you're deeply relieved to find Jason already sitting at a table. The two of you talk about future plans until the rest of the orchestra starts filing in, settling around tables in the largest dining hall the restaurant has.
The conductor gives a small speech once everyone's seated. His clear pride in the success and efforts of everyone there makes something warm settle in your chest.
Then waiters are flitting around, grabbing everyone's orders, and you let the good food distract you from everything else for the next few hours.
Rafayel texts you two hours later, asking if you're still alive. You let him know you're doing well and that you'll be heading out in another hour. As soon as that hour passes, he sends a barrage of stickers, artsy bird bonking its head against a window, demanding attention. You send back a cat rolling its eyes, but say your goodbyes to Jason and the others at your table, thanking the conductor for everything as you pass by the leave the restaurant.
Out front, Rafayel taps the steering wheel impatiently.
"You didn't have to wait out here when I hadn't called you yet," you say, putting your seatbelt on.
"Well, you weren't communicating enough! Besides, it's late and I didn't want you to be drinking too much."
"Oh, I don't drink."
"Not a fan of the taste?"
"More like I never had a reason to?"
He side eyes you. "How did you get through university without drinking until your liver cried for mercy?"
"I just never went out. Not like I really had anyone to go out with anyways. The club and bar scene isn't really for me."
Rafayel looks at you thoughtfully. "Well, if you want to experience some of that scene, I know the best bars in Whitesand Bay. I promise they're all quieter places that you'd enjoy."
"I don't know…"
"Tell you what. You think up a list of everything you haven't been able to do because you didn't want to do it alone, and we'll do them together."
"You don't have to—"
"Apparently I do! Usually people just accept when I say that we're friends. But you're making me work for it. I'm gonna get you to admit we're friends soon enough," he says, vaguely threatening. "It's only a matter of time."
"Weirdo," you say with a laugh. "Fine, I'll make the list, but you're not allowed to complain about anything on it. Think you can handle that?"
"It's a deal."
…
True to his word, Rafayel insists on going out with you every chance he gets to cross things off your list. You were hesitant to share some of the things on it, embarrassed by how much you missed out on by being unwanted and uninvited, but Rafayel refused to let you be ashamed of trying new things. His insistence and patience helped you become more comfortable, looking forward to the days when he would text that he's on his way.
So far, while in Whitesand Bay the two of you have done: 1) roller skating through a park, 2) snorkeling, 3) rating the drinks across three of Rafayel's favorite bars, 4) picnics on the beach, 5) a trip to the farmer's market.
And when you went to Verona to begin practicing for Talia's performance, Rafayel tagged along and dragged you outside every time you finished practicing. He became your tour guide for Verona, taking you to the best hole in the wall cafes and restaurants, local artist galleries, antique shops and boutiques, even a hidden cove on a beach that only locals know about.
It's the most fun you've had in a long, long time. Laughter comes easy when you're with him and you barely notice the time passing by, too distracted by all the stupid things he says.
Rafayel is both determined to make you accept his friendship and incredibly sincere in his affection for you.
He doesn't ask about your old friends, thankfully, but sometimes he gets a look on his face, almost looking through you to your past, offended on your behalf for how you've been treated before. It usually comes when you thank him for waiting for you while you bought a souvenir, or how startled you are when he remembers something about you.
Talia never seems to mind that he steals you away so often. She's content to wave the two of you away with a warm smile as soon as practice finishes.
Everything is going smoothly and you're comfortable with the pieces you have to play. None of them are complex, meant to accompany Talia's singing in the background rather than demand attention from the audience. The other musicians, a cellists, flutist, and violinist, are easy to work with and just as dedicated to their craft as you are.
It's only a week before the performance that Talia reminds everyone to have their clothes prepared. She requests everyone to wear light gray formal wear and minimal accessories. You realize rather belatedly that you haven't packed any clothes fit for performing in and quietly start to panic as everyone else nods and assures her that they have everything ready.
"I need to go dress shopping," you tell Rafayel when he appears to spirit you away after practice.
"So suddenly?"
"I didn't bring anything I can perform in for Talia's concert. I need to get something decent today so I don't have to do panicked last minute shopping the day before we perform."
"I know a few good places to start," Rafayel says, "Come on, I'll help you pick out something nice."
Relieved to have his help, you follow after him as he leads you down the street and to the charming main street of Verona's seaside district. The stone roads are smooth and clean, and lights are strung up between the buildings, giving it a magical feeling. It's always busy here no matter the time of day, filled with tourists wanted to indulge in luxury. Rafayel walks with the ease of a local while you scramble to keep up, dodging around people.
He takes you to a fancy boutique that most people pass by without entering, instead choosing to look longingly inside. You feel out of place as soon as you enter; the place is fancy and modern and you're jeans and tank top stand out like a sore thumb.
"Start looking over there," Rafayel directs you to one side of the store, "I'll look on that side. We'll meet in the middle and have you try on everything that might work."
"We could just go to a normal store. I don't have the money to just get a fancy, high end dress suddenly!"
He gives you strange look. "Who said you were paying? I brought you here and I have the money to spare. Don't worry about it and start shopping!" He gives you a light push to the rack of dresses, then quickly hurries away before you can retaliate.
By now, you know he's not going to relent. He'll trip you and run ahead to pay if he has to. He's done it before.
Whatever, you'll just find a way to pay him back later.
Shaking your head fondly, you beginning to look through the dresses available, looking for first any that are light gray, then seeing if any fit your tastes. With those criteria, the selection is sparse. You end up with only two dresses to try on: a satin floor length mermaid gown with a slit going up to mid thigh, and a sweetheart pleated satin ballgown with a lace corset.
Rafayel only brings back one dress for you to try on: a metallic silver drape gown with a neckline a little too low for your comfort.
He catches your expression when he presents it to you and rolls his eyes. "At least try it on," he says. "It won't hurt to see how it fits you."
The store attendant helpfully guides you to the dressing room, hanging the dresses onto an empty rack outside the door so you can try on each dress one at a time.
You start with Rafayel's pick just to get it out of the way. He nods approvingly when you exit the dressing room, doing a little spin for him to see.
"It looks good on you," is his verdict, "It's your confidence that needs work, not your appearance."
"That's not helpful," you say, escaping back into the dressing room to try on the next dress.
He politely claps with the other two dresses, reluctantly impressed with your choices. You like both of them and can't choose which one to go with. When you say as much to Rafayel, he starts grilling you on accessories and shoes to help decide which dress would work best. You just give him wide, befuddled eyes, and he breaks off laughing, promising to help with those as well.
With his advice, you go with the sweetheart ballgown. It's wrapped up and packed into a hard bag at the counter, and then Rafayel is shoving you aside to hand over his card.
The attendant smiles at the action and comments on how sweet it is for him to be treating his girlfriend to a new dress.
You both choke and sputter, denying it.
"I promise you I have better taste than this," you insist, pleadingly.
"Excuse you, I'm a catch!" Rafayel gasps. "But yeah, we're not dating. I'm too high maintenance for her to handle. Her loss, honestly."
The attendant laughs and apologizes for the assumption, then wishes you a good evening.
Rafayel grabs the bag before you can, and steers you out the store with a hand on your shoulder so you can't snatch it back from him. He's weirdly insistent on carrying your things for you and you still don't know why. It's been weeks. Surely you should have an answer to this by now that isn't 'he's just weird like that'.
But here you are.
You go through two more stores to get all the accessories chosen and your shoes bought. It's overwhelming, so you gladly let Rafayel handle everything. Most of your own clothes shopping is at small, quieter stores, where you go in and out quickly. You know your own tastes and what you want, so it's just a matter of finding those things in your own size. No need to deliberate over everything the store has to offer when you clearly know what you want.
At the very least, Rafayel seems to be having the time of his life. He takes his time, looking through various accessories and holding them up to you with a considering eye. He gets you way more than what you need for one performance, but he insists that you have extra for future concerts, so you give in and let him spend his money as he pleases.
Most of the accessories he buys are adorned with pearls, but he does get a few simple silver pieces as well, and a pair of earrings despite the fact that your ears aren't pierced.
Going to the shoe store after that was a relief, if only because you got to sit down while Rafayel wandered the store, looking at what's offered. He darts back every few minutes with another pair of heels for you to try. You do have to draw the line at five inch heels; you're not athletic in the slightest and just looking at how high those heels are make you feel like you're falling.
He does jokingly return with an eight inch pair that you threaten to hurl at his head.
Rafayel has a discerning eye. He's an artist, it should be expected that he has more refined tastes. After seeing the dresses you chose for yourself, he's clearly got a better idea of what your tastes are and accordingly searches for things he thinks you'll like.
You're really going to owe him so much for this.
He insists on getting two pairs of heels for you: simple silver strap heels for this concert, and a pair of golden heels with angel wings extending from the backs.
With all the bags your shopping trip had ended in, you're able to take half from Rafayel, teasingly spinning out of reach when he tries to take them back.
You think you're starting to understand why people like shopping with their friends so much. With your old friends, you always ended up watching MC dress Caleb and Zayne up until Caleb forced her to put on the outfits he put together for her. You had to pick out your own things and only occasionally got one of the others curiously looking at what you had chosen. The only time you asked about why MC doesn't dress you up the same way, she had said that you had a quieter vibe and wouldn't like how much energy is needed to try on all those clothes. She didn't want you collapsing in the dressing room after she runs you ragged with outfit after outfit!
…Yeah. You preferred to go clothes shopping by yourself after that.
Though you are tired from shopping with Rafayel, you don't want the evening to end just yet. It doesn't take much convincing at all to wander around the streets of Verona with him, enjoying the night life that arrives as the streetlights turn on.
You take in the sites, gently ribbing Rafayel as he complains about his manager Thomas insisting he return to Linkon City soon to finish a painting. All his groaning and grouching about people interrupting his 'pondering time' means he can't get the mood of the paintings right, as he needs such specific circumstances to create anything. It's clearly not procrastination, so you take to coming up with more absurd reasons as to why he does all of that until Rafayel can't argue with you, laughing too hard to speak.
You return to Talia's house well after the moon has come out, struggling to bite down your laughter so you don't interrupt her night. Rafayel shushes you frantically between giggles, sneaking up the stairs to leave your newly purchased outfit in your room.
The light, giddy joy that settles in you from that night stays for the rest of the week, all the way up to the evening of the performance. You can't remember the last time you spent so long laughing, your cheeks a little sore with all the smiling you've been doing. Rafayel just makes everything fun. It's as if all your worries melt away the second he bursts into the room, already in the middle of a dramatic monologue of whatever is on his mind that given moment.
Talia does forcefully shoo him away after lunch, stating that she can't have him distracting everyone as they set up.
He still sticks around long enough to drive you and Talia to the hotel where she's rented out a ballroom for her concert. She has enough ties in the community that such a large, extravagant space is needed, and you have no doubt that there will be others who are visiting Verona just to listen to her sing.
The staff have already decorated the ballroom, a few round tables and chairs at one end, close to the tables where food will be set out for people to pick through at their leisure. There's a spot in the corner, slightly elevated, for another small group of musicians to play at after Talia's concert.
The actual concert will take place outside, in the gardens that overlook the ocean. It's apparently a very popular place for weddings, so it's always kept in good shape and carefully decorated. Chairs are set out for people to sit and enjoy her singing, and the stage has chairs for you and the other instruments accompanying Talia's voice.
You and Talia are the first to arrive, but within ten minutes, everyone is there and preparing. You've all been given a room for the night, just to have a place to leave your cases and so you can change into your formal clothes before the concert begins. The hotel staff have been happy to have you all in, no doubt due to the open invitation Talia gave them to sit in on the performance as well, and you're all welcome to stay the night and get a free, complimentary breakfast the next day.
You're more interested in trying a new cafe with Rafayel the next day, so you doubt you'll stay the night, but you appreciate the gesture nonetheless.
With everything set up, you practice with the others for a few hours to make sure you're all ready to perform at your best.
Talia does a few vocal warm up, but saves singing for the concert, not wanting to put too much strain on her voice.
An hour before the concert is set to begin, you head back to your hotel room to change into your dress. You grab something small to eat as well, generously provided from the hotel's restaurant.
The dress fits you well, and you can't help but admire yourself in the mirror, doing a small twirl just to see the fabric move. Then you get to work on fixing up your hair, using a hair stick Rafayel got you to sweep your hair up into a simple, elegant updo, carefully held in place. You add a thin necklace with a pearl pendant and a matching pearl bracelet to complete the look.
Satisfied, you head back to the garden to sit down and wait for the concert to start.
People are steadily filing in as the other musicians join you. They gather in small groups, chatting, or find seats immediately. Everyone is dressed to the nines and you're immensely grateful that you let Rafayel get this dress for you; the usual, semi-formal ones you are more comfortably buying would not have been enough.
Talia enters with Rafayel and her husband, who walk her up to the stage, then into their reserved seats in the front row. Just her presence is enough to have people sitting down and quieting themselves, looking up at her with admiring eyes.
She begins with a quick welcome, thanking everyone for taking the time to attend her concert. Then she shifts her feet, and you take your cue to lift your bow.
The flute comes first, a single smooth note that lingers in the air. It invites the other instruments to join; first the piano with a gentle series of falling notes, and then the violin and you on the cello, coming in with low notes in the background to give the music more depth. You lose yourself to the familiar songs, carefully threading each note of your cello with the singing of the other instruments as Talia's voice rises and falls, a perfect harmony each time, captivating the audience. It still captivates you, honestly, but you're here to play for her, to make her shine, and that's all the motivation you need to keep your focus strong and steady, bow dancing across the cello strings.
The evening darkens around you as the concert goes on. The sun has fully sunk below the horizon and the soft pinks and purples of the sky fade into the night. Stars glimmer overhead and the moon gradually brightens, shining down on Talia.
She looks magical. Mythical. Like she walked right out of the pages of a fairy tale just to enchant the audience for a night.
The crowd is enraptured. The moment her voice drifts down and steadily fades out, an awed silence settles over the space. Applause comes a little late, but it's large and loud, thunder breaking apart the spell she cast on everyone.
Talia beams and takes a bow. Then she gestures to the musicians behind her, and you join the others in taking a small bow fo your own.
She thanks the audience and invites them into the ballroom for dancing, eating, and socializing, taking her husbands hand to walk with him down the aisle between seats. The rest of the crowd follows, swept along in her wake.
You stick back and linger with the other musicians, rolling out your wrists and shaking out your fingers. Rafayel is already gone, needing to stick with Talia for the first hour in the ballroom, but he promised to grab a plate of the best finger foods while you put your cello away, so you don't bother seeking him out yet.
Only the piano player goes into the ballroom immediately after the performance. Perks of playing such a large instrument: moving it around is someone else's problem.
You hurry to get your cello packed up again in your hotel room, and take the time there to take off your heels for a few minutes. They look great and you're glad Rafayel found them for you, but wearing them for hours on end is deeply uncomfortable.
Well, there is a reason why people say beauty is pain.
Once you feel rested enough, you put your heels back on and make your way to the ballroom. You're not used to staying after a performance. Usually, you go back home after saying your goodbyes to the people you played with, and then pass out for the rest of the night. It's odd to return to a venue without your cello in hand. It almost feels like you're doing something wrong.
You slip in through the main entrance and skirt around the edges of the room, looking for Rafayel in order to get the food he promised you. People are gathered around Talia, talking to her eagerly.
Off to the side, Rafayel speaks to someone, giving them their full attention.
That's interesting. You begin to walk over, wondering what could have him so focused on someone when he's usually so quick to wander off and pay attention to nothing but his own thoughts.
"Hey, Raf," you say as you get closer, "I hope you got that plate for me—"
He shifts, turning to face you with a grin. In doing so, he reveals the person he was talking to.
MC.
You freeze right then and there, rooted in place as you meet her wide eyes. She's shocked; she must have just gotten her and missed the whole performance if she didn't know you were here. She's not dressed for the night either, wearing what you recognize as a hunter's uniform.
She says your name, breathless and hopeful, and you feel sick.
Five years.
Five years and all it takes is hearing her voice again to revert you back into the insecure teenager whose only friends didn't want her. You had been doing so well, chasing happiness in your life without them in it, and now she's come crashing back to make it all mean nothing.
Rafayel looks between the two of you, brow furrowed. "Do you two know each other?"
"No. Not anymore," you say, just as MC says, "Yes."
He looks at MC closely, and you can see him being pulled in towards her, unable to escape her gravity.
You know how this story goes: she is everything you're not and no one has ever chosen you before her. Rafayel will see how she's more fun to be with, more interesting, more everything and will only find you lacking in comparison. He'll pull away, focus his attention on her, and you'll be alone again.
Stupid, you tell yourself, This is why you don't get close to anyone.
"Okaaaaay," he says, stretching out the word, "I'm getting some mixed signals here."
"We're old friends," MC says before you can even open your mouth. "Childhood friends. We grew up together."
"That's in the past," you cut it, "We don't have any kind of relationship anymore."
She has the gall to look hurt by that. Rafayel looks at you with a sharp gaze and you can see him begin to turn against you. The hurt of that betrayal, expected but still devastating, makes your heart ache.
"Can we talk?" MC tries. "Somewhere quieter, maybe."
"No."
"Please. You left so suddenly and we never really got to have a conversation before graduation—"
"I said no. I cut ties with you and everyone else for a reason. I'm going to head back. See you later, Raf."
"Wait!" She begins to move towards you, no doubt trying to grab hold of your wrist to stop you from escaping her, but Rafayel bodily blocks her. "Rafayel?"
"She said she didn't want to talk," he says, voice hard.
You blink at him, the sight of his back filling you with a strange comfort. Is he… choosing you? Even with MC here, he's taking your side and keeping her away?
…That's not how things usually go.
"Please, we ended things on such a bad note. I just want to make things better," she pleads. "You don't understand how important it is to me."
"No, but I can understand why she rarely talked about her old friends. I knew she had been treated badly before, but I didn't know it would be you. I know you can be better than this, so why are you ignoring everything she's saying just to get your own way?"
Your chest feels tight. The confrontation is getting too much attention from the people around you. You need to get out.
You turn on your heel and start walking back to the door, eager to get away. You hear both MC and Rafayel call out to you, but the room is getting too hot, the walls closing in, and you're not sure you can keep from stress puking if you stay any longer.
Rather than return to your room, your feet lead you back into the garden. Around the back, past the stage set up for Talia's performance, is a little gate that opens up to a small path that goes down to the beach. You slip through and walk away from the hotel. The wooden steps soon turn to sand and you take off your heels before you can fall over, walking towards the waves that turn silver in the moonlight.
You let out a slow breath, then sink down to sit in the sand. No doubt it's getting all over your dress and you'll be shaking sand out of it forever, but you just can't bring yourself to care.
This was not how you were expecting the night to go.
How long has Rafayel known MC? Has he been friends with her this whole time? He never mentioned her, or anyone else, to you and you figured he was a reclusive artist who only really talked with his manager and his family. Somehow, you manged to get onto the exclusive list of People Rafayel Seeks Out, without ever knowing that MC was there too.
Behind you are muffled footsteps, sands shifting beneath weight.
"You okay?" Rafayel asks, coming to sit down next to you.
"Fine," you reply shortly, keeping your gaze fixed on the ocean.
"That was… rough, wasn't it. Here, eat something." He grabs your hand and balances a plate on it. "There's nothing worse than being upset on an empty stomach."
"I'm not hungry."
"Try? Please? Don't let all my effort to get you the best pieces go to waste."
You glance over at him and catch him pouting, making his eyes wide and watery and extra pathetic. You can't help but let out a little huff of laughter, bring the plate up to balance on your knees.
"Fine," you say, giving in. "I'll eat."
As much as you hate to admit it, the food does lift your mood a little. Rafayel got you fancy little cakes and plenty of chocolate covered goodies. He keeps quiet as you eat, leaning back against his hands as he takes in the view, completely relaxed as if you hadn't ruined his night by reacting so badly to the sight of MC.
It makes you embarrassed now. You're an adult who pays taxes and you're now a successful cellist. You can be mature in dealing with people you don't like. So what was with that overdramatic reaction to MC? Why get so defensive and run away so fast when she's supposed to mean nothing to you now?
This really is the worst.
At least the performance went well, even if you completely flubbed the event afterwards.
Once you clear off your plate, you sigh and set it on the sand. "You're not going to ask about what happened back there?"
"Not unless you want to talk about it. Do you want to talk about it?"
You shrug.
"Hm. Well, it sounds like you want to talk about it. Just get it off your chest, and if you don't want me to bring it up ever again, I won't."
You fiddle with the hem of your dress. Just as you suspected, it's covered in sand, the fine grains getting into the threads. There's a lot you can say, a lot of history you can reveal that you've kept close to your chest these five years. But there's a more pressing question on your mind. "How long have you known her?"
"Just about a year now. I met you a few months after I met her. She walked into my studio unannounced while I was painting because I was s suspect in a case. Apparently, some guy died after buying one of my paintings and she thought I did something to it that attracted Wanderers. We kept running into each other afterwards and got to know each other better."
"I never knew."
Rafayel sighs. "Yeah, well. She's usually too busy for me. Our schedules don't line up easily. I invited her here tonight, but I honestly didn't think she'd show."
"…Why are you out here with me?"
"What do you mean?"
"You invited her here. She's your guest. And she's been your friend for longer. Should you be inside with her?"
"Nope," he answers easily.
"Why not?"
"Because you're here. I may have known her for longer, but I'm closer to you. And if my best friend is upset, then I'm not going to leave her alone."
You duck your head, trying to hide the pleased flush at being called his best friend. You've never been anyone's best friend before. He's really choosing you over MC. He means what he's said.
"I'm fine on my own, you know," you say.
"Sure. I am too. But that doesn't mean we have to be alone. I want to be here for you."
"And not for MC?"
"She's got plenty of other people," he replies. There's some bitterness in his tone, one you've heard in your own voice plenty of times back in high school. "I know she's got a wider support system and plenty of people in her corner. She doesn't need me. But you do."
"I better not just be a charity case to you."
"Of course not! I'm vain, not shallow. I wouldn't be your friend just to make myself feel better. I'm your friend because you're fun to be around with. It just feels like we click, you know? Like we get each other. You don't expect anything from me and it's great, because you've accepted all of me so far. It's been really nice, having you in my life."
"Shut up," you say, shoving him, "I can't believe you. You're usually so annoying and you choose now to be sappy? I'm trying not to cry!"
"Cry all you want, it's fine. Better get all those feelings out now, right?" Rafayel scoots closer and puts an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into him. You lean against him and stop holding back the tears, letting them fall as they please. You've very glad you skipped the mascara today; at least cleaning up will be easier without streaks of black running down your face.
Rafayel holds you without comment as you cry. He doesn't offer any more comfort or needless platitudes and it's just what you need. It means to world just to have someone there with you, patient and kind.
It takes some time for the tears to finally come to a stop, and by then you're tired and slightly dehydrated. With a deep breath, you sit up straight, pulling out of Rafayel's arms.
"Feeling better?" he asks.
"Yeah," you answer. "Thanks."
"Don't mention it. Want to go back?"
"I really just want to go to sleep. I'm probably going to spend the night here."
Rafayel sighs. "Guess I'm staying the night too."
"You don't have to—"
"I want to. Don't worry about it, okay? I'm doing this because I want to. Come on, let's head inside." He stands, brushes the sand off of his pants, then extends a hand to you. You take it, letting him haul you up to your feet.
A cold breeze sweeps in, making you shiver. Without wasting a second, Rafayel takes off his jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, then picks up your heels and the plate from the ground.
Normally, you'd complain about him trying to do everything for you, but you're exhausted and emotionally wrung out. You don't have the energy to do it all on your own. The warmth of gratitude grows in your chest and you take a moment to thank the universe for letting him come into your life.
He takes care not to run into many people as you return to the hotel. No one stops you to talk and MC is nowhere to be seen. You tell him your room number and he walks you there, then stays for a while to make sure you're alright on your own. He only leaves when you kick him out, insisting that you're fine and that you'd like to sleep now, something you can't do while he's pacing the length of the room.
Rafayel promises to swing by in the morning so you can get breakfast together, then leaves. You take quick shower and leave the dress on a hanger, then fall into bed, eager to put the night behind you.
True to his word, Rafayel is up bright and early, waking you up for breakfast. He's cheerful and a little too determined to keep you in high spirits, but it's effort you're not used to receiving from others, so you don't complain about it too much.
With the concert over, there's no need for you to stay in Verona any longer. You say your goodbyes to Talia and her husband, and return to Linkon City with Rafayel. He insists that you give him the rest of the week to spend time together, cross more items off your list of things you've never done before. He even helps you add new things so that there's always more to do.
The pain of running into MC is quickly swept away by Rafayel dragging you all over the city.
That doesn't mean the thought of her doesn't linger. Despite his best attempts to distract you, your thoughts keep circling back to your old friends. You made the right choice is cutting ties and moving away, but it's been so long. The wall you put up to stop any thoughts of them from coming through has crumbled into dust. Have they changed? Do they regret how they've treated you? Do they think about you at all?
The marks of their friendship is an open wound. The scab has been ripped open. You're bleeding all over again.
It's a terrible idea, but you can't help but want to talk to them all one last time. You just want the answer to the question you've been asking all this time: why did you treat me like that?
Reaching out is daunting. Terrifying. You don't want to do this alone.
"Don't be stupid," Rafayel says, flicking your forehead. "You're not alone. Obviously I'm going to go with you when you meet up with them."
"When?" you repeat, leaning away from him and sinking back against your couch.
"Yeah. You've clearly been thinking about this a lot. Just get it over with! Talk to them one more time and then it'll stop haunting you!"
"It's a terrible idea."
"Oh, definitely. But you want some closure, don't you? Even if it ends badly, at least it'll end. It won't keep hurting you like this."
"You're terrible. Stop enabling me," you groan.
"Well, someone clearly needs to do it! You're too passive. Take the risk and get it over with. I'll be with you the whole time, promise."
"I don't have their numbers anymore," you try. As much as you don't want to see them again, you also really want to have this conversation. You weren't ready for it back then, but you think you are now.
Rafayel pulls out his phone. "I gotchu. I'll give you MC's number, and she can organize the rest of your old friends into this meeting. Make it her problem, not yours."
…Well, there goes your last excuse. Sighing, you input MC's number and start typing out a message. Rafayel leans closer to read over your shoulder as you type and retype endlessly, rethinking every word you use.
Unsurprisingly, he gets bored of it very quickly. "Do you want me to write it for you?"
"Please," you say, handing him your phone.
"Kay." He types out a quick message and sends it before you can panic any more about it. "Done."
You take your phone back to see what he said. I'm ready to talk. Meet me at Rafayel's place with the others in three days at noon.
"Why your place?"
"So they don't have to come here, and we don't have a whole big scene for the public to watch anywhere else. My place is big and can be neutral ground. Plus, it'll be easier for me to kick everyone out if they upset you."
"My hero," you say drily, "Let me guess. It's also because Thomas is bugging you about a new painting and you want to have an excuse for why you're not done with it yet."
Rafayel grins. "You caught me."
You roll your eyes and turn your attention back to the movie the two of you were supposed to be watching. You're not really sure what's happening in it, at this point, but there's a body on the floor, people yelling, and an alarm blaring so clearly something important must be playing out. You gently nudge Rafayel's foot with yours and say, quietly, "Thanks. For all this."
"Oh? What was that? I don't think I heard that right! Say it again," Rafayel needles, annoying. You push his smug face away, biting back a laugh. "Noooo, come on! This is a momentous occasion! Genuine thanks! From you!"
"Shut up, I've thanked you before."
"Only when I buy you stuff because you have manners. This is different!"
"You clearly heard it, so I'm not repeating myself. Watch the damn movie."
He sticks his tongue out at you because his favorite hobby is imitating grade schoolers, and you reach for the bowl of popcorn on the coffee table to throw a piece at him. He tries to catch it in his mouth, misses miserably, and glares at you, daring you to comment as he picks it up from his lap and eats it.
You kindly don't mention it and put all thoughts of your old friends out of your mind. You'll deal with them in three days. Until then, you want to enjoy the time you spend with Rafayel.
Three days pass far too quickly. It's like you blinked and suddenly you're at Rafayel's house, following him as he tries to clean up a bit upstairs.
The office Rafayel never uses is a mess of hastily put together art supplies. Bottles of half empty paint cover the table, along with extra canvases and old bedsheets, stained with paint. He's managed to clear enough space for five chairs to fit, all the other furniture shoved against the walls.
When you asked why you weren't using any of the other larger, cleaner rooms like the other guests he entertains, he primly remarked that using the nice rooms is a courtesy he doesn't feel like extending to them.
Fair enough. It is his house, after all.
He doesn't bother bringing out refreshments, but he does make sure you get brunch with him an hour before noon.
The relief you felt at finally dealing with this years old problem with Rafayel by your side has dissipated. All that nervous energy is back, making you fidget and pick at the skin around your nails. Rafayel keeps slapping your hands, trying to get you to stop, but the urge is too strong to fight for more than a few minutes.
Even with three days to prepare, this is a lot. There's a part of you that will always been a lonely fifteen year old, wondering why your friends don't seem like care about you, and she's terrified of what they'll have to say to you. The loneliness they gave you is one you can never put down. You have no idea what to say, and though you want to keep your cool and pretend you're unaffected by them, you're sure you're going to make a mess of things.
As if knowing what thoughts run through your mind, Rafayel brings his hands up to squish your cheeks together and sternly says, "Everything's going to be fine, okay? Don't get lost in your head. I'll be here the whole time. Promise."
You feel touched only for a moment. Then he makes you nod your head, snickering as he moves your head around. You slap his hands away and jab him in the stomach as retaliation.
The doorbell rings a moment later and you take a deep breath, steeling yourself for what comes next.
Rafayel goes down to bring everyone up. You take a seat, tapping your foot against the floor as you wait.
The sudden confrontation of your past is not big and dramatic. It's not a tearful reunion full of apologies or old feelings rekindled. When your old friends file into the room, it's quiet. All you feel is the old dull pain of what you once felt for them. For all the years you spent wishing they would really see you, having their eyes on you now makes you want to hide.
MC can't take her eyes off of you, drinking in the sight of you as though you came from a dream and you'll vanish at any moment. Caleb's eyes skate up and down your figure, as if cataloguing all the changes, trying to see all of you, committing you to memory. Zayne stares for a long moment at your face, then smiles—a soft, sad thing—and looks away.
They all sit down and don't say a word.
Rafayel is there a second later, dropping in to the seat next to you, crossing one leg over the other at the knee. He's reclined back, the image of careless arrogance, his very posture screaming how much he doesn't care for the other people in the room.
It's very intentional. In the months you've spent together, one of the first things you've noticed about him is how he wields image and body language as a weapon.
You force yourself to look back at your childhood friends. MC is the same height, but she's put muscle on, no doubt from her job. Caleb seems to have gotten taller, somehow, and the last softness of youth has fallen from his face. Zayne has settled into his looks, much more mature now, a pair of thin frame glasses perched on his nose.
"Sorry for suddenly calling you all here," you start, hesitantly.
Rafayel loudly makes a buzzer noise, as if you've given the wrong answer in a competitive T.V. show. "Nope, start over. Don't begin with apologies when you've done nothing wrong."
"Do you have to be here?" Caleb asks, glaring at Rafayel.
"I'm the only one she actually wants here," Rafayel gloats.
"Cut it out, you two," you snap, "This is hard enough as it is. Ugh. Fine. Long time no see, I guess. How have you all been?"
"I've been well," Zayne says, politely reverting to small talk to prevent any awkward silences. "And you?"
"Ah, same I guess. I play the cello professionally these days."
"I saw a performance of yours online. You're very talented."
How unexpected. You didn't think any of them would care about what you were doing, much less take the time to listen to you play. "Thank you."
"Why did you want to talk so suddenly?" MC asks suddenly. "You cut contact with us completely and refused to talk to me at Talia's concert. What changed?"
Well, no more stalling it seems. You take a moment to gather your thoughts and put pick out the words you want. You don't want to mess this up. This is the last time you'll see them and you want it go well, just so you can finally move on without feeling guilty about it.
"Honestly, I'm still not ready to face all of you, but I don't think I'll ever be. I wanted to put this behind me before I go any further." You take a deep breath. "Was I ever really your friend? Did I matter at all? Why did you keep me around for so long just to treat me like I was nothing?"
The guilt on MC's face is clear. She pulls down the sleeves of her light cardigan, keeping her hands busy. Zayne lowers his gaze to the floor, regretful. Caleb, though, doesn't stop glaring at Rafayel.
"You were our friend," Caleb says, "If you wanted to be closer to us, or wanted us to treat you differently, you should have said something instead of running away and hurting all of us."
You blink, shocked. There's genuine anger in his words and it hits you like a physical blow.
Rafayel leans forward, flames beginning to dance between his fingers. "Watch it," he warns.
"I did try," you say, thinking back to all those attempts to reach out to them, to be heard, to change things for the better. But it was never something you could do on your own. They had to meet you halfway, and instead they left you stranded. "You just never wanted to listen. How many times were the plans I made canceled by you? How many times was I left out? How many times was I pushed out of the conversation and ignored? Don't give me that shit about trying harder, I did my best! So why didn't you?!"
"You really hurt us all, leaving without warning," Caleb says, stubbornly pushing the blame onto you.
"And you've been hurting me for years! What is your problem, Caleb?! I am still trying to recover from the many years of being treated like I was worthless by you, and you're making it my fault?!"
He goes to open his mouth again, but MC puts a hand on his arm and shakes her head. That's all it takes to make him back down. Figures.
Even now, he doesn't listen to you.
"This was a mistake," you say tiredly. "It was never going to go well. I have my answers, I guess. You can see yourselves out."
"Wait," MC begs, "Give us another chance, please. Just to talk. I am sorry. So so sorry. I really didn't realize until you pulled away. Can't we try again? I'll be a better friend this time, I promise."
"No. Do you really think I'd ever trust you again? It's because of you that I don't trust anyone to be my friend or actually want me around."
"Um, hello?" Rafayel interjects, hurt.
You pat his shoulder. "Except for you, I guess. You're too stubborn to let me keep my distance." You turn back to the other three, feeling bone weary and exhausted. MC is teary eyed and Caleb is scowling, looking away even as he crosses his arms, squeezing himself in some semblance of a hug. He always did that when he was upset when you were younger. It looks like he hasn't broken habit.
Zayne is quiet. You glance at him curiously, but he doesn't say anything.
"I don't think there's anything else for us to say. We can move on now. Thanks for coming by, it's been enlightening."
Rafayel stands and summons a dagger into his hand with a swirl of fire. He idly twirls it around his fingers, a clear warning. "Let's go," he smiles dangerously, "Office hours are over. Time for you all to go."
Caleb stands and pulls MC with him, leaving without looking back. His shoulders are a tense line as he hunches into himself somewhat, and MC tries to catch your eye as she's dragged out, a final apology tumbling from her lips.
Zayne stays where he is.
"Aren't you going?" you ask.
"I would like to talk without them here," he says. "They tend to… complicate things. I never got to say it properly before you left, so I'd like to take that chance now: I'm sorry. I was a terrible friend to you and I didn't notice until it was far too late. There's no excusing my behavior. I should have known better, but I treated you like you were disposable even as you quietly supported me through so much."
Zayne bows his head to you and all his words are sincere. There's no attempt to make you think it was all your fault, or to make it about himself instead. He keeps the focus on you and how you were hurt. He apologizes without expecting anything in return.
Was it because he moved away after getting into medical school so young? He got to grow up partially away from Linkon City, to mature without MC and Caleb influencing him.
A weight lifts from your heart. It's easier to breathe suddenly. "Thank you," you say softly. "I appreciate your apology. I don't know if I can forgive you for all those years just yet, but I think I can get there one day."
He looks up slowly, hope shining in his eyes. "Truly?"
"Yes. You were the first one I met, remember? And you were the only one to see me that last week. MC and Caleb are more stuck in their ways, but you've changed."
"For the better, I hope."
"I think so."
He nods. "Thank you for hearing me out. And it really was nice to see you again. I'll head out now, I have a shift at the hospital in a few hours."
You stand to go with him, biting your lip as you fight the urge to do something stupid. But isn't today all about facing your fears? About doing what you can to live with no regrets?
You gather your bravery and reach out once more.
"Zayne! Before you go… can I hug you? Would that be alright?"
He pauses, startled, then his expression softens into something lovely. "Of course." He opens his arms and waits for you to come into them. You wrap your arms around him slowly. When he carefully holds you, arms around your upper back, you relax and sink into him.
Somewhere, sometime long past, there is a little girl who is scared and lonely and in a new neighborhood. Somewhere, sometime long past, there is a young boy walking up to greet the new neighbors. She peeks at him from behind her father, and he will make a split second decision right then and there. He'll hold out his hand and invite her to play. She'll hesitate but reach out and this one choice will set the rest of her life in motion.
Somewhere, sometime even now, that little girl is inside you and she clings to her first friend in Linkon, who is back in her arms after so many years of distance and heartache, and she will still be young enough to believe in new beginnings.
"I don't think I can ever have a relationship with Caleb and MC again," you say into his shirt, "But if you'd like to try again… I'll give this one more shot."
He squeezes you lightly. "I would like nothing more. I will be better this time, I swear. And if I'm not, then you are more than welcome to send your new friend to set me on fire."
"…Don't you have an ice EVOL?"
"And what of it?"
You can't help but laugh, pulling back to look at him fully. "I'm gonna need some time to process everything that happened today, but I'll talk to you soon. Okay? Here, give me your number." You pass him your phone so he can add himself to your contact list once more.
He does so, and leaves shortly after with little fanfare. Rafayel returns to his office, no doubt having eavesdropped from outside, and gives you a long look.
"So, you're forgiving the doctor?"
You nod.
"Better than the other one. What a jackass."
"Says one to the other," you tease, laughing when he flicks embers at you. "Thank you, Raf. Seriously. As rough as that was, I'm glad you pushed me to do it."
He shrugs, looking away with something sad in his eyes. "Closure is important. Otherwise you just end up clinging to ghosts. Take it from someone who's lost a lot of people: cleanly cutting ties is the best way forward, even if it hurts."
"Did it hurt for you?"
"Of course it did. But I got you in return, so I think it's worth it." He shakes his head. "Never mind all that! Let's go do something fun. How do you feel about a beach picnic?"
"Sure," you smile, "That sounds nice. Let's go shopping, buy some fancy charcuterie board foods, really make a day out of it."
"You just want an excuse to go to that fancy grocery store with my money."
"And? You get to buy stuff too. Let's go!"
You take hold of his hand and pull him out the door, eager to leave the past behind. He follows, grumbling dramatically but still allowing you to have this.
The old wounds will always remain, but they don't seem so devastating any more. Time and care have let them fade. The last weights of that painful friendship finally fall away; you hadn't even known you were still dragging it around.
You will never be that lonely girl ever again.
In her place is an accomplished cellist with a dear friend in a famous artists, and a new beginning with a renowned doctor. Her life is quiet and filled with little joys. The world sings around her and she hears not what she lacks but all she can gain should she have the courage.
Caleb leaned against the kitchen counter, pretending to scroll through his phone as you pushed through the front door, your gym bag slung over one shoulder.
The way your tight leggings clung to your legs, damp with sweat, made his jaw tighten just a bit.
He’d noticed you’d started hitting the gym more often lately, and fuck it if it didn’t stir something possessive in him.
No one else got to see you like this, flushed and breathing heavy, except him. He hid it behind his usual easy smile, though, because that’s how he always played it with you.
“Hey, pips,” he called out, his voice light and teasing like always, the nickname slipping out naturally.
He pushed off the counter and stepped closer, close enough to catch the faint scent of your sweat mixed with the familiar scent of the shampoo you used.
It hit him harder than expected, his cock twitching in his pants already. “Rough workout? You look like you could use a cold drink.”
You nodded, wiping your forehead with the back of your hand, and mumbled something about needing a shower first.
Caleb just grinned wider, his eyes flicking down your body for a split second before he turned away, acting casual. “Yeah, go for it. I’ll whip up something quick for dinner later.”
As you headed to your room, he waited until he heard the door click shut, his heart picking up speed.
This wasn’t new, no. He’d done it before, too many times to count, sneaking what he needed when you weren’t looking.
Sometimes he’d kick himself after, telling himself it was fucked up, that you deserved better than his hidden urges. But right now he fucking needed it. Needed you, in whatever twisted way he could get.
He slipped into the laundry room quietly, his steps silent from years of practice. Your gym clothes were already in the hamper. You’d stripped them off fast, probably eager to rinse off.
His fingers dug in, finding the soft fabric of your panties easily, still warm and damp from your sweat. He brought them to his nose without thinking, inhaling deep, and fuck, the smell hit him like a punch in the gut—and in his cock, too.
Sweaty, musky, with that thicker discharge clinging to the cotton. He knew what it meant, he knew it so well it drove him mad. You were ovulating, your body ripe and ready to be fucked full, and the thought made his cock throb hard against his zipper, leaking precum already.
Images flooded his head, vivid images of pinning you down, burying his face between your thighs, tasting you until you shook in pleasure.
Caleb retreated to his room, locking the door with a soft click. He shoved his pants down fast, his hand wrapping around his length. It was thick and straining, the head slick and desperate to feel your mouth around it.
He pressed your panties to his nose again, breathing you in as he stroked slowly at first, then faster.
“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, his voice low and rough. The fabric felt perfect against his skin when he wrapped it around his cock, the dampness mixing with his own leak.
He pumped harder, groans escaping through gritted teeth. “Fuck, you smell so good… wish I could just…”
His mind raced with it. Imagining spreading your legs, licking up every drop of your leaking pussy, fucking into you deep and raw, claiming what no one else ever could.
You were his, even if you didn’t know it yet. He’d make sure it stayed that way, charming his way through while keeping this side of himself locked down.
His hips bucked roughly into his fist, the panties soaking up more of his precum, and he cursed again, louder this time. “Goddamn…fuuuck, gonna fill you up one day...”
It didn’t take long. Honestly, it should have been embarrassing how little it took for him to reach his peak. He couldn't take you off his mind, mind replaying how fuckable you looked with your skin slick with sweat, soft and intoxicating, and he needed to feel you so badly.
He came hard, ropes of cum spilling over the fabric, soaking it through completely. His body tensed, a deep groan rumbling out as he milked himself dry, the scent of you still filling his lungs.
Panting, he stared down at the mess, a smug twist to his lips despite the faint guilt creeping in.
He’d clean it up, slip them back before you noticed. Like always.
Listen I'm no wizard in the kitchen but I think I can make some half decent snacks. That being said, this post is long, does not have accurate measurements for half of it, bc why the hell would I actually write stuff down I Totally Don't Forget Things All The Time.
Also like. mid-effort snacks. You know, you're not just Opening a bag of chips but you are going to need. At least a microwave. (also, using minimal dishes possible nobody wants to clean up). This is all stuff I've made or at least eaten, myself, lmk if you try it or if I missed a vital detail LMAO
ANYWAYS if this post is popular enough I'll share some like. Actual recipes as well, the Culinary Crucible thingy finally came in and I feel INSPIRED, some of these have little uhh like 'justification' or story behind them some don't bc I feel like it's obvious. GTAT refers to the section at the end, I got tired of writing it out over and over again sldkjhklsjdf
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Heartslaybul
Riddle - (Dark) Chocolate Strawberry Bark
Materials and Ingredients:
- Parchment paper
- Cutting board/cookie tray
- Microwave-safe bowl
- Knife
- Strawberries (it's okay if they're overripe, as long as you can still cut them safely)
- (Dark) Chocolate chips or Nutella, your choice
- Peanut butter
- Sweetened condensed milk (scm)
- Plastic container
- Freezer
Instructions:
Cut your parchment paper to about the size of a cookie sheet, but really it depends on how many strawberries you're using (I do not remember how many I used, I think it was like 8, you do not need many, especially if you cut them really thin) and put on top of cutting board/cookie sheet. A flexible cutting board is best, but it's whatever fits in your freezer.
Destem your strawberries and slice them thinly while they're standing upright. Like the part you destemmed is against the parchment paper. (or cutting board but y'know. Why Dirty It). Place them laying down on the parchment paper as close to each other as possible. I found like. Fitting the triangle shapes together like teeth was the easiest way but something else might work better for you. Dice one or two strawberries and set aside.
In a bowl, measure out about a cup of chocolate. If it seems like too much, you can just. eat it ig or dip leftover strawberries into it like I did. If it's not enough, babe just add more it's okay lmao. If you're using chocolate chips, add some sort of fat before you microwave (any oil, lard/Crisco, butter, margarine, etc.) in fifteen second intervals. (if you don't have a microwave, there are instructions under 'General tips and tricks' to hopefully help!). If you're using Nutella, just pop that bad boy in there for fifteen second intervals. In both cases, mix in between intervals until it's kind of runny.
Pour chocolate evenly over the strawberries, at least enough to cover them completely from the top/fill any gaps that are present. Wash the bowl, and repeat the process with peanut butter.
This is optional I really like chocolate and think it's more aesthetically pleasing than peanut butter, but peanut butter doesn't harden as well as chocolate does to bind the strawberry layer together so I couldn't put it first. I did another layer of chocolate on top, but it was thinner than the original one.
Sprinkle diced strawberries on top, and drizzle SCM to your hearts content. (Any leftover SCM needs to be put into a separate container and can stay in your fridge for up to 3 weeks).
Freeze it. It's just faster this way and helps the peanut butter out. I left mine in there for a day, but I think it's okay after like an hour, idk, you decide.
Snap/cut your bark into smaller pieces, use the parchment paper to help line whatever container you're going to use and store your treat in there. I enjoyed these treats best frozen or on top of vanilla ice cream, but they do need to be kept at least refrigerated. Fair warning, if you're a slow eater, these will get messy if you wait too long slkdjfhlkjsdfsdf recommend you eat with a fork.
THE REST ARE UNDER THE CUT WOOT WOOT (Riddle's is easily one of the higher effort ones, so do not be dismayed! There are some on this list with only 2 ingredients, I just talk a lot LMAO)
Trey - Tanghulu
No baking required, still satisfies his sweet tooth.
Materials and Ingredients:
- Stove (someone said you can use a microwave, IIIIII don't Like That for this, but I'm sure you can)
- Fruit (doesn't really matter what kind. I used kiwis, strawberries, and grapefruit.)
- White sugar
- Water
- Bowl of ice water
- Fork (skewers are better but I didn't have any, and toothpicks...don't fw toothpicks for this okay??)
- Parchment paper\Plate (you just need to make sure it's hardened BEFORE you put the fruit on it kdfjhsfjkd)
Instructions:
Ensure your fruit is washed/dried, peeled or otherwise "ready to eat" before starting
Use a 2:1 sugar to water ratio and put it in a pot. (So 2 cups of sugar to 1 cup of water, or a more likely amount you'll actually use up is 1 cup of sugar to 1/2 cup of water)
Heat on medium and watch closely, it's not suggested you mix it, I did, just by swirling the pot to make sure all the sugar was in the water, but then I left it alone. You'll see it starting to change colour to yellow-y rather than clear. Use a spoon/fork to dip into the sugar mixture and then immediately into the bowl of ice water. If it appears stringy or is still soft and sticky to touch, it's not ready yet. Keep boiling until your test drop solidifies on contact/within seconds of being in the ice water.
Turn the heat down slightly and use your fork or skewer to poke your fruit, and dip carefully into sugar mixture. Immediately, (but carefully) place your sugar covered fruit into the ice bowl. Once you take it out, it should only take a moment to harden before you place it on a plate/parchment paper.
Intended to be eaten immediately, does not store very well. Check 'general tips and tricks' for how to clean the pot/fork
Cater - Spicy Garlic Cheese Bread
Materials and Ingredients:
- French Bread (works the best, but you can use whatever bread you have on hand) or premade garlic bread
- Butter/Margarine
- Salad herbs (like the premade mix or whatever, other seasonings optional)
- (Shredded) Cheese
- Jalapenos
- Other toppings + hot sauce (optional)
- Bowl
- Spoon
- Microwave
- Oven
Instructions:
If using premade garlic bread, skip to step 3. Otherwise, get your bowl and chunk of butter (if using french bread, I would say about a half cup) and pop it in the microwave just long enough to get it soft, but not melted. Measure salad herbs with your heart and mix with a spoon.
Cut your bread in half and slather that son of a bitch in butter, having worked in a bakery I know that premade garlic bread literally gets a Handful of "butter" (it's margarine) that just gets. Slathered onto half of a day-old French bread loaf. (Safeway. Looking at you.) If you want to try putting on some BBQ sauce or tomato sauce now would be your time to add it. If you are adding sauce, a little less butter is recommended otherwise it will get Soggy
Put on as much cheese as you want. Whatever cheese you want. I'm not the boss of you.
Throw on jalapenos and any other toppings you want. (red onions, bell peppers, make it a meal with some chicken or something idk)
Broil on high until It Looks Right, as in the cheese is melted and golden brown in some areas (assuming it's marble cheese), or wrap in aluminum foil (risky with The Cheese) and bake at 350 F for like 10 minutes (I still recommend baking over broiling but it's your choice bestie)
Drizzle with hot sauce if you want/any other condiments.
French bread is pretty big, so cut into smaller pieces and share with friends/family/your neighbour/ whatever or full send it or you can try to store it, I think once it's cooled, a plastic bag would be the best bet for storage, and only for a day or two before your bread gets Sad.
Deuce - Ants on a Log
He used to love it when his mom would send him to school with these.
Materials and Ingredients:
- Cutting board (unless you would like to be a heathen like me)
- Knife
- Celery
- Peanut butter
- Raisins/Chocolate chips/Cereal/whatever you want
Instructions:
Decide if you even want to bother cutting your celery, you can leave it whole if you really want.
If you want to cut your celery, cut it according to taste or break that motherfucker with your bare hands just to hear it snap and get that little bit of Emotion and satisfaction out of it. Not recommended if you want bite sized pieces. Generally only cut in a way that keeps the 'sides' of the celery in tact, like you should have a little 'dip' to put peanut butter in, but its ok if its not comfortable to eat it that way and you need to cut it vertically as well, nbd, BUT DON'T CUT IT THAT WAY YET it's so much harder to get the peanut butter on.
Use a butter knife to add peanut butter to your celery. It should fill the little valley in between the sides of the stalk. **Now would be the time to cut again if you want Planks if you know what I mean
Add your toppings, be it raisins, chocolate chips, etc. along the peanut butter to represent the ants slkdjhflksjdf
Ace - Oreo Mug Cake
His brother showed him once and he didn't stop since.
Throw 4-6 Oreos in. (4 for an 8 ounce mug, more for a bigger one) and soak in 1 less tablespoon of milk than the amount of cookies you put in. (so 3 tbs for an 8 ounce mug)
The longer you soak them, the easier it is to crush them and break them up, it should become kind of cakey texture already
Pop that bad boy in the microwave for a minute, and in 20 second intervals after that as necessary. Its not like it matters if it's 'raw' though.
Let it cool until you can handle the mug comfortably, add whipped cream or other toppings and enjoy!
Savanaclaw
Leona - Bacon Wrapped Sausages
Materials and Ingredients:
- Baking dish (should have some depth to it)
- Parchment paper
- Cocktail sausages
- Bacon
- Scissors/Knife
- Toothpicks
- Brown sugar (optional)
- Oven
Instructions:
Cut your bacon in half
Preheat your oven to 350 F. Roll up cocktail sausage in half a rasher of bacon and secure in place with a toothpick.
Place parchment paper in/on baking dish and place the rolls inside
Once you've prepared as many as you'd like, you can sprinkle brown sugar on top.
Bake for about an hour
Ruggie - Elote Loco (Mexican street corn/ 'crazy corn')
Materials and Ingredients:
- Canned corn
- Mayo
- Lemon/Lime
- Salt
- Pepper
- Cayenne
- Bowl
Instructions:
Drain your corn can, then add corn to your bowl
Literally. Add everything else according to taste. Heat if you want to, or put in the fridge to eat cold. (I like it cold).
Jack - Fruit Leather (this is a higher-effort, more time-consuming recipe)
Materials and Ingredients
- Cutting board (not optional this time :/)
- Knife/Corer (if applicable)
- Stove
- Large saucepan
- Water
- Blender/Potato Masher
- Lemon/Sugar/Cinnamon/Nutmeg, Etc. (optional, but recommended)
- Parchment paper
- Baking tray
- Oven
- Pizza cutter (makes things easier, not necessary)
Chop into chunks, and simmer in 1/2 cup of water for every 4 cups of fruit while covered for 10-20 minutes, or until fruit is cooked. You can mash by hand or just go ahead and transfer everything to a blender, but you will have to transfer back into the pot after.
Taste, and add sugar/lemon/spices according to your preference.
Simmer and stir until everything is mixed in completely and the puree has thickened. (5-10 minutes)
Preheat oven to 140 F (check GTAT at the end for troubleshooting). Puree thoroughly in a blender/food processor.
Line baking tray and pour puree evenly onto it, it should be about 1/4 inch thick. Bake for 8-12 hours.
Use pizza cutter to cut into smaller pieces. You can cut the parchment paper underneath and roll the pieces accordingly to store.
This is a more labour intensive snack, BUT it keeps for sooo long. It can keep at room temp in ziploc bag for a month. In the fridge for 6 months. In the freezer for a year. Also a really good way to use overripe fruit.
Octavinelle
Azul - Funnel Cakes >:D (I had to look up a recipe to base the measurements off of, I did not memorize this, but I changed a few things when I Actually Made them)
Materials and Ingredients:
- Stove
- Large pan
- Oil (Vegetable oil, but I think coconut or sunflower oil should work too if you have certain restrictions)
- 1/4 cup Milk
- 1 Egg
- 1 tbsp Water
- Splash of Vanilla extract (splash is generally between a 1/4 tsp and 1 tsp To Me)
- White sugar (to taste)
- 3/4 tsp Baking powder
- Pinch of Salt
- 1/2 cup Flour
- Powdered sugar (to taste)
- Cinnamon (to taste)
- Plate
- Paper towel
- Large measuring cup
- Fork or tongs
- Other toppings (optional)
Instructions:
Throw all the Wet ingredients into the large measuring cup and whisk
Add sugar, cinnamon, salt, and baking powder, whisk until combined
Add oil to pan and start heating on medium, it should be about an inch deep to deep fry. Add flour to measuring cup and whisk until smooth.
(Refer to GTAT at the end to know when oil is hot enough). Use the measuring cup to drizzle the batter in a line around the pan and overlap as desired. Honestly, the thicker the lines the better imo. Cook for 2 minutes until golden brown, then flip and repeat.
Once cooked, move carefully to plate with paper towel to soak up the oil, and add powdered sugar on top. Add other toppings as desired.
Jade - Roasted Chickpeas
Easy protein to bring on a hike
Materials and Ingredients:
- Can of chickpeas
- Baking tray
- Parchment paper
- Olive oil
- Seasoning as you wish (Personal recommendation: garlic powder, salt, paprika, pepper and a little cayenne)
- Oven
Instructions:
Line a baking tray with parchment paper and preheat your oven to 400 F.
Drain your can of chickpeas, rinse, then drain again. Try and dry them out a bit before you season them, either leaving them in a colinder or letting them sit out on paper towels or a cloth...or on the tray if you've got time to kill. **If you don't like the feeling of oil on your hands, you might have an extra dish to wash but thats okay. Add your chickpeas to a glass bowl before the next step.
Transfer chickpeas to the tray (if you're not using the bowl) and coat with a generous amount of oil. Add seasonings as you wish, then mix with your hands (or a spoon if you're using the bowl, then transfer to the tray.)
Bake for 20-30 minutes, shaking the pan gently about every 10 minutes to help rotate the chickpeas. Once they're golden brown and crunchy, they're done.
Best eaten straight away, but you can keep them in container for a few days.
Floyd - Trail Mix (AKA the ADHD snack Ever imo)
Materials and Ingredients
- Anything you got in your pantry that already kinda qualifies as a snack food
- Something to put it in (bag or bowl/container with a lid is preferable)
- My favourite mix to make is granola, cranberries, raisins, and chocolate chips
Instructions
Grab your materials
If you're using something that should probably cut up, (like fruit by the foot or something idk) just rip it and throw it in the Container.
Mix everything in a bowl or bag. Use more of your Favourite Ingredient than everything else, then close your storage thing.
Shake that motherfucker
Put everything back (or do this As You Add it so you're left with nothing to clean up at the end)
Scarabia
Kalim - The Forbidden (I made this when I was like 6 for a week straight after school, I DO NOT recommend)
He came up with this as a midnight snack and didn't want to bother Jamil.
Materials and Ingredients
- Microwave
- Microwave safe bowl
- Chocolate chips
- Mini marshmallows
- Fork
- A very high tolerance for Texture and Sweetness
Instructions:
Put chocolate chips and marshmallows in the bowl
Microwave for 15 second intervals, mixing with your fork in between.
When it becomes a sticky amalgamation from hell and looks like a dung beetle would be proud of it, it's done.
Jamil - Fattoush
He saves the leftovers of the dishes he makes for Kalim throughout the day in order to make some version of Fattoush
Materials and Ingredients:
- Cutting board
- Knife + Pizza cutter (not necessary, but fun)
- Lettuce
- Tomato
- Cucumber
- Radishes
- Pita bread
- Pan
- Stove
- Olive oil
- Salt + pepper
- Bowl x 2
- Glass measuring cup
- Lemon juice
- Garlic powder, dried mint, and sumac (you don't have to use these)
- (I like adding Granny smith apples and goat or feta cheese, but it's not traditional)
Instructions:
Cut up your veggies like you would for any salad and throw em in a bowl
Use the pizza cutter to slice pita bread into smaller, bite sized pieces.
Fry the pieces with a little bit of olive oil, salt and pepper, then set aside in a different bowl so they stay Crunchy
In the glass measuring cup use about 2 tbsp of lemon juice, add some garlic powder, dried mint, salt, pepper, sumac, and whisk.
Slowly stream in about 3 tbsp of olive oil and whisk continuously until it combines. (this might take a while to emulsify, yes you can use a hand mixer on low if you want)
Drizzle dressing over your salad portion, and add pita chips as you wish
Pomefiore
Vil - Parfait
He let the French man into his life, also this is bougie parfait, you don't have to follow this exactly lmao, this is just how I used to make it for my mom
Materials and Ingredients
- Cutting board + knife
- Grapes, red and green if possible
- Granola
- Blueberries (they can be frozen)
- Cherries, cored/halved except one (can also be frozen)
- Yogurt (I prefer vanilla for this stuff, Vil probably uses plain Greek yogurt and some honey for sweetness)
- A wine glass, otherwise just a clear glass makes it look best, but it doesnt really matter
- Spoon
Instructions:
Dice those grapes as small or large as you like, mine are generally the size of like. The eraser end of a pencil. Set aside.
Get your glass and gently spoon yogurt into the bottom, up by about 2 inches. If you have the patience, gently arrange the blueberries into a 1 berry layer. If not, just grab less than a handful of blueberries and put them on top of the yogurt.
Add another inch of yogurt to completely cover the berry layer, and add a thin layer of granola. Cover completely with yogurt again, using another inch-2 inches to do so
Again, if you have the patience, you can arrange your cherry halves into a nice circle to completely cover the yogurt layer. If not, do the same thing as the blueberries.
Cover with another inch-two inches of yogurt. Add a thicker band of granola this time, and top with yogurt once more, to nearly the top of the glass.
Add your whole cherry to the middle of the parfait, and add the mix of diced grapes around it.
** if you used frozen fruit, let it thaw for a couple minutes so you can see the colour bleed into the yogurt a bit bc it looks cool. I'm the boss of you for this one rule because I'm right about it sdlkjfhsldjkf
Rook - Maakouda
A guilty pleasure of his. He remembers them fondly from home. Works best with leftover mashed potatoes.
Materials and Ingredients:
- Mashed potatoes (if you don't have left overs, just boil chunked potatoes in lightly salted water. Once they're soft, drain them, use a handmixer to mix, add some butter/whipping cream, season as you wish (garlic powder, salad herbs, salt, pepper), add shredded cheese if you want idc. Once everything is mixed you got yourself. Mashies.)
- Egg
- Garlic, Parsley, Cumin, Tumeric, Salt, Pepper
- Flour in a bowl
- Oil
- Pan
- Stove**
- you can use an air-fryer for this if you want
- Slotted spoon/tongs/fork
- Plate w/ paper towel
Instructions:
For every 2 cups of mashed potatoes, you will add one egg, but don't do it yet. Add seasoning to your mashed potatoes first so you can taste and adjust the flavour as necessary, THEN add your egg(s).
Start heating oil, (about 2 inches) in a pan at medium heat. While you wait for it to get to temperature, (Look at GTAT to know when the oil is hot enough) roll your potato mixture into small balls and roll in flour
Fry until golden. Remove from oil using your utensil of choice and let it drain on the paper towel
Repeat until all the "batter" is used up
Epel - Dulce de Leche + Apple Slices
Ruggie showed it to him
Materials and Ingredients
- Sweetened Condensed Milk (if you don't just have dulce de leche on hand)
- Apples (Granny Smith recommended)
- Two glass baking pans, one larger than the other
- Water
- Oven
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 425 F
Pour SCM into smaller glass pan, cover with foil
Place smaller glass pan into larger glass pan. Fill the larger glass pan with as much water as necessary to cover the level of SCM in the smaller pan
Throw it in the oven for like 2 hours and monitor periodically to refill with water if necessary. Keep cooking until it's the colour golden brown you want
Once it's to colour, remove from oven carefully, remove foil, and remove from larger glass pan carefully.
Once cool enough, store in glass jar if possible, or wait longer and store it in a plastic container.
Cut up apple and whatever is left in the pan, scrape it out with the apple and eat it lmaooo unless you have a silicone spatula ain't no way you getting all that caramel out of the pan. Serve yourself more as necessary lmao
Ignihyde
Idia - Worms and Dirt Baybeeeeeeee
The far less healthy version of a parfait
Materials and Ingredients:
- Crushed Oreos (Oreos + double bagged ziploc bags and you Gamer Rage sldfhlskdjfhlsj)
- Whipped Cream
- (If making from scratch, you'll need whipping cream, vanilla, and powdered sugar + hand mixer. Just throw ingredients in to taste and mix)
- Chocolate pudding
- Gummy worms
- Rolling pin (optional)
- Mixing bowl (glass or metal preferable)
- Spatula
- (Clear) Glass
Instructions:
Crush the Oreo's by any means necessary. Obliterate them.
Pack the Oreo remains into the bottom of your cup
Mix your whipped cream with the chocolate pudding using the spatula to fold it into each other until it Tastes Right. That is subjective, so if you Like it and it's Brown you Did It.
Spoon/plap how much of your chocolate mousse you'd like into your cup. Throw in a couple gummy worms, add more oreo corpse if you want then fill to the top with chocolate mousse.
Top with more oreo ashes and more gummy worms
Leftover mousse is pretty versatile if you have it with fruit or make more worms and dirt, but it only keeps for a day or two in the fridge
Ortho - :(
Diasomnia
Malleus - "Snow Cone"
Materials and Ingredients:
- Rage
- Double or triple ziploc bags
- Ice
- Hot water
- Grenadine, Maple syrup, Lime and salt, something else (Choose ONE per serving or embrace Lilia's energy and regret it)
- A bowl + spoon
Instructions:
Double/triple bag ice
Run bags under hot water for a few minutes to help melt the ice a little bit (assuming you don't have already very small pieces of ice)
Crush the ice via brute force (its a good work out) OR I GUESS you could use a BLENDER but where's the fun in that
Get rid of any extra water and serve very finely crushed ice in a bowl
Top with your desired flavouring to taste
Lilia -
REDACTED
Silver - Refried Beans
Another Ruggie special lmao I love him so much
Materials and Ingredients:
- Canned black beans
- Salsa (optional)
- Chicken bouillon
- Oil
- Pan/Stove
- Wooden spoon/potato masher
- Chips or some sort of bread
Instructions:
Drain a little more than half of the Bean Juice
Over medium heat, add a little bit of oil to the pan, (enough to cover the bottom), and add the Beans
As it heats up and the remaining Bean Juice starts to bubble, add chicken bouillon and salsa to taste.
Mash the beans while they cook to mix in flavouring and to get beans to the right consistency. They'll be done when there's no liquid left sloshing around, but you can decide how Dry you want your beans
Add beans on top of tortilla chips, sprinkle cheese on top and call it done, throw some in a burrito or on top of salad, lightly toast some bread, put some mayo on it and add the beans, do what you want <3
Sebek - Salmon Croquettes
Materials and Ingredients:
- Canned salmon
- Diced bell peppers (choose your favourite colours)**go to GTAT for other substitutions and notes
- Diced red onion
- Egg (if you don't have any just add more mayo)
- Worcestershire sauce
- Mayo
- Garlic powder, salt, pepper, paprika, other seasonings (your choice)
-Bowl
- Flour
- Panko (optional, or substitute bread crumbs)
- Oil
- Stove/Pan
- Tongs (you can try to use a fork but it won't always work lol)
- Plate w/paper towel
Instructions:
Prepare your veggies, and drain salmon
Mix in with canned salmon, and add mayo, Worcestershire, and seasonings to taste. Add just a tiny bit more than you think you should in regards to spices because when you throw the flour in, it'll 'dilute' the flavour a bit
Lightly beat 1 egg for every 5 ounces of salmon (should be on the can) and add to mixture, using hands or wooden spoon to mix.
Add just enough flour and breadcrumbs to the mixture that it doesn't stick to your hands.
Set up your pan with oil, (just enough to cover the bottom), over medium heat and make little 'patties' out of your mix.
Fry your patties until golden brown (2-3 minutes) on both sides.
Remove from heat and place on plate to drain.
Staff
Crowley - Fuckit Fudge (AKA Rocky Road Fudge)
Materials and Ingredients:
- Parchment paper
- Cake pan
- 2 cups Chocolate chips
- SCM (14 oz = 1 3/4 cups, should be on the can)
- 1/4 cup Butter
- Vanilla
- Marshmallows
- Almonds
- Anything else you want (just be aware you'll have to add more chocolate and you'll likely have to cut down on the other fillings as well)
- Glass bowl
- Spatula
- Microwave/Double boiler (GTAT tells you how to make one)
- Patience
Instructions:
Melt chocolate chips, SCM, and butter (about 90 seconds in the microwave)
While it's melting, set up your cake pan with parchment paper
Add a splash of vanilla extract and mix with spatula until smooth
Stir add-ins into mixture, and pour into cake pan carefully
Make sure mixture is spread evenly, and refrigerate until it solidifies (depends on how deep you made the fudge)
Cut into chunks and serve. Stores well in an airtight container in the fridge for up to 2 weeks.
Trein - Raspberry Cordial
Not a 'snack' but like if the Shaftlands are known for ruby berries I feel like this is close enough. It's from Anne of Green Gables, shhh its soooo good
Materials and Ingredients
- Raspberries (GASP can you believe it)
- Lemon/lemon juice
- White sugar
- Water
- Sparkling water/Ginger Ale works too. Sprite is a stretch.
- Pot/Stove
- Fine mesh strainer
- Pitcher
- Ladle
- Glass measuring cup
Instructions:
We're making a raspberry syrup, so you can use fresh, overripe or frozen raspberries. For every cup of raspberries, use just under a half cup of sugar, (3 cups of raspberries = 1 1/4 cups of sugar), and put both into a pot/saucepan.
Cook on medium/high heat and mash with like. the bottom of a ladle or something. It'll take like 20 minutes to have it cooked down to a liquid.
Strain into the measuring cup. If there are still seeds or pulp, strain again. Squeeze lemon into it in small amounts and taste as you go until you get the flavour You Want. This is your syrup. At this point, if you want to save some to use for other recipes or something, set some aside.
Boil the water (Use one cup more of water than you did of raspberries) and add it to the pitcher with your raspberry syrup. Mix, then let it chill in the fridge.
** if you would like to use sparkling water/lemonade or ginger ale instead, you'll just have to mix for longer is all, don't heat those
Serve and garnish with lemon or mint.
Crewel - Carrot Salad
idk man I'm running out of steam and ideas lmaoooo
Grate your carrots into the bowl you're gonna eat out of
Squeeze your shredded carrots to get rid of the extra Juice (look at GTAT)
Add lemon/lime, salt and cayenne according to taste, and mix with fork
Tastes best chilled, eat immediately
Vargas - Deviled Eggs
Materials and Ingredients:
- Saucepan/pot + Stove
- Water
- Eggs
- Mayo
- Salt, pepper, paprika, cayenne
- Bowl + fork
- Lime juice (optional)
- Knife and cutting board
- Bowl with ice water
Instructions:
Choose how many eggs you're gonna want to make, idk, maybe 6? Put them in the pot and gently fill with just enough water to cover them. Add salt and lemon juice (GTAT) to the water and heat on medium
Prepare your bowl with ice water. Let your eggs boil for about 8 minutes before draining the water and running them under cold water until they're cool enough to handle for a few seconds to put in the ice bath
Wait until your eggs are cold enough to handle for you to crack the egg shells off. I love using my hands but if it's easier to put it in a container with a lid and shake it gently, go ahead, just shake it enough to break the shell in a way you can remove it.
Once all your eggs are shelled, cut them in half the long way, (be careful they are Slippery)
Remove the yolks gently without ripping the egg white. Generally, you can just use your fingers or turn the egg upside down orrr very gently push the yolk out from behind into the bowl.
Add mayo and seasonings at your discretion. (if it feels like it's missing something, you can try adding diced pickles/pickle juice, bacon bits, dill, or mustard.) Mash together with the fork until smooth, or if you're using a lot of eggs you can use a hand mixer. Mixture should be creamy.
Gently spoon the mixture back into the egg whites. Any leftover mixture will be great on sandwiches!
Sam - Sausage Bites
Materials and Ingredients:
- 1 Pillsbury OG Crescent Roll dough
- Sausage of your choice, cut into 1 inch pieces (unless it's cocktail sausages, leave them as is)
- 1 Egg + 1tbsp for an egg wash
- Baking sheet + parchment paper (oven)
- Flour
- Pizza cutter (more fun than a knife)
- Plate w/ paper towel
- Sauce: 1/2 cup Mayo, 1 tbsp mustard, 1 tbsp ketchup + Cajun seasoning to your hearts content
or
a simple chipotle mayo works too
Instructions:
Make your sauce, throw it in the fridge to cool, set your oven to 350 F.
Lightly flour your counter and spread out the Pillsbury dough. Cut each triangle into 3 smaller triangles. Place sausage on wide end of the triangle and wrap it to make kind of like. A donut around it.
Place on baking sheet and add egg wash. I don't have a basting brush so I kinda wing it with whatever bright idea strikes me first. Usually I just end up using my fingers lol
Bake for 15 minutes, until pastry is golden brown
Once done, place on plate and allow to cool. Add toothpicks if you'd like, and serve with your dip.
Others (BONUS, come on guys I'm pretending like this is something people actually want to read LMAO)
Jack T. - Vanilla Latte Bars
Materials and Ingredients:
- Coffee beans
- Vanilla
- Pitted dates
- Rolled oats
- Food processor
- Cake pan + parchment paper
Instructions:
For every cup of oats, match with pitted dates + 1/2 a cup. (2 cups oats = 2 1/2 cups of dates). For every cup of oats, add a 1/8 cup of coffee beans. (2 cups oats = 1/4 cup coffee beans). Add vanilla with your heart. Everything goes in the food processor and gets blended.
Pinch the 'dough' between your fingers. If it doesn't crumble, it's ready. If it does, add a splash of warm water, blend again, and repeat until the dough holds it's shape.
Press mixture into cake pan evenly and refrigerate
Cut and serve once hardened
Che'nya - Cheez-whiz, pickle and mini-marshmallow sandwich
Oh, context? Yeah my dad said this was his childhood snack and I wanted to be like him when I was like 5. Do not recommend. But I also don't like processed cheese.
Materials and Ingredients
- White bread, Wonder bread is ideal
- Cheez-whiz
- Sweet pickles, sliced
- Multi coloured mini marshmallows
- A psych assessment
Instructions:
You don't get help with this. You know what you're doing.
Falena - Chicharrones (Like. Pork bites.)
Materials and Ingredients:
- Cutting board + knife
- Pork cutlet (I only need to feed myself, so a huge cut of meat isn't necessary
- Salt
- Baking tray + parchment paper (oven)
Instructions:
Preheat oven to 350 F.
Cut your pork cut into ~1 inch cubes, or smaller. Place on baking sheet and use a generous amount of salt to season. Mix with your hands.
Cook until you can easily pull the pork apart
I like to use a little lemon, a little homemade tortilla and some crema to eat them, but just lemon or using them to top nachos works too
Cheka - Poor Man's Horchata
He just likes it more because he can set it up mostly by himself, and he can share it without worrying about nut allergies.
Materials and Ingredients
- Pitcher
- Water
- White sugar
- Oats
- Vanilla
- Cinnamon
- Ice
- Wooden spoon
Instructions:
For every cup of oats, add half a cup of sugar into pitcher (or cup for a personal serving)
Bring 3/4 full with water and add ice to bring it as high as you are comfortable stirring.
Add remaining ingredients to taste, and add sugar/water/oats as necessary
Najma - Mango with Tajin
Materials and Ingredients
- Cutting board and knife
- Mango
- Tajin
- Bowl
Instructions:
Cut your mango however you like. I typically cube my Haden mangoes, but Ataulfo I do the grid thing and pop it up
Add Tajin to your preference. If you don't have Tajin, use lime, salt and cayenne.
Neige (and the dwarves) - Tarte Soleil (higher effort snack)
It's easy to share and 'sun tart' feels fitting
Materials and Ingredients:
- 2 puff pastries, cut into equal size circles
- Egg for wash, like Sam's
- Black and white sesame seeds, (Optional)
- Garlic butter (softened butter w/ garlic powder, salt, lemon and parsley to taste)
- Baking sheet + parchment paper (oven)
- Water
- Cup/Glass
- Knife
Instructions:
Cut your puff pastry so it's just small enough to fit on your baking sheet. Leave one on the sheet and put the other in the fridge for now. Preheat your oven to 350 F.
Spread the garlic butter on the circle, leaving about a half inch untouched all the way around the circle. Place in the fridge for 5 minutes to set.
Dab the edges of the crust with water and set the other puff pastry on top, gently pressing the edges together (not squishing)
Put the glass smack dab in the middle, or at least best you can, and upside down. (Do not Press.) Use your knife to cut away from the glass and make a bunch of 'rays' (easiest way is to quarter the dough, then cut each quarter into sixths.)
Remove the glass and gently press where your 'ray' meets the circle the glass made to prevent it from ripping as you twist it. Repeat for every 'ray'
Egg wash, (just like Sam's), sprinkle sesame seeds and bake until golden brown (30-35 minutes)
Let it cool, transfer to serving plate, and rip off the rays to eat.
---------------------------------------------
GENERAL TIPS AND TRICKS
If you need to melt chocolate and don't have a microwave (been there love, I know), you can use a small pot with water in it, I would say about a third of the pot is good, and a glass bowl big enough to sit on top of it. Boil that motherfucker and melt chocolate in the glass bowl, this is basically a poor man's double boiler
To clean melted sugar from the pot, there's a couple ways to go about it. I can't relax when I know there are dishes still waiting for me, so I used my kettle to boil more water, poured it into the pot, mixed it around with the fork I used, and most of it dissolved. I poured it down the sink, then used a sponge, soap and brute force to get the rest of it out. The other option is similar, where you just add fresh water to what's left of the sugar mixture, let it sit overnight, boil it again, and then dump it. (don't use cold water it will harden against the pot and be even more difficult to clean)
Some oven's don't go that low, I think the other common lowest temp is 170 F. That's okay! You can use a pair of metal tongs to keep your oven slightly ajar, just check in on it every once in a while. I use the same trick when I make meringue cookies and it works perfectly. Makes it wonderful during winter, but in summer make sure you don't overheat love <3.
You'll know the oil is hot enough to deep fry if you 1. put the back end of a wooden spoon in the oil and bubbles form around it, or 2. drop a small bit of the batter/flour in and it starts bubbling.
If you don't like bell peppers, you can shred carrots or zucchini, just make sure you squeeze and drain out the water first. You can do this with a cheese cloth or just your hands and pouring the water/juice out of the bowl over the sink. The dryer you can get it the better.
Adding lemon juice to the water helps separate the shell from the egg
I did this shit in like 8 hours gooooooooooooooooooooooooood I hope it doesn't flop. But if it does, I hope whoever it does reach, enjoys it, I had fun making it.
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