He’s always liked sunsets. Especially the crepuscular purples and the celestial blues as they meet and meld with the apricot orange that the dying sun casts wild upon the horizon. And when the evening star appears in the west, his heart is at its fullest. It’s just Venus blinking into view once the sky’s dark enough to give her the backdrop she needed to shine her brightest. The stars are sure to follow, the multitude of lights shimmering coruscant within the tenebrous, ink-spilled sky.
“You getting horny about the sky again?” Dawn asks, leaning out of his bedroom window like she’s got half a mind to join him.
The clove cigarette that dangles precariously from his lips nearly falls when he breaks out into a bright smile at her apathetic appearance. Pats the roof tiles beside him. “Evening star just popped up,” he explains simply. “Your fave.”
She wrinkles her nose at that, then ducks her head to slip through the window to join him upon the eave. “Yeah, my fave. So why are you all horny about it?” Dawn doesn’t sit beside him as much as she topples over with indeterminate design, landing hard on the hand he’s leaning on and ignoring the inconvenience as she reaches to snatch the clove cigarette from his lips to try.
She makes a rare hum of approval. “Is this cherry?” The disarray of her legs have somehow folded themselves into something artful, the bend of her knee pressed indelicately to his side.
Caleb nods. Resists the urge to touch that knee. “Yeah.”
She takes a long drag. “Nice,” is her only verdict, then stuffs the clove cigarette back in his mouth. Reaches for the chain she’d given him and yanks him closer just bury her nose in that spot where his hair meets the fragrant softness behind his ear. “Smells good on you.”
It’s like some sort of feint. She leaves him stunned as she reaches around his waist to fish out the packet of cloves in his pocket for herself, taking one without asking (knowing full well he’d never deny her). She leans in again, lighting her own cigarette with the embers of his. “You’re nervous about tomorrow.” It’s not a question. “You always get moody when you’re nervous.”
Caleb’s staring out at the horizon, avoiding her eyes. “I’m not moody,” he says. Tries not to sound petulant but… “I’m contemplative.”
He can’t see her but he knows she’s pulling a face. “Yeah. I know. You probably picked that up from Zayne.”
He’s not entirely sure it’s disdain he hears in her voice. It’s not out of line with the usual tone she takes with him. Or anyone. But maybe he’s looking a little too much into it.
Probably because he wants to.
He doesn’t say anything so she fills the silence. “I know you wish he was around. So he can see you become … something. Which, honestly, is a little lame of you, given how little he comes around. You’d think you’d get used to it. But—“ She takes a long drag as if to steady herself. Frowns a little before half-choking out, “He’d tell you good luck. Or good job. Like something he’d tell a patient or a crying child. You know, with that shitass constipated look he gets when he doesn’t know how to process human emotion in an appropriate way?” A sharp drag this time. “If that makes you feel any better.”
The cigarette dangles precariously from his lips, threatening to fall if his jaw continues to slacken. Was this her coarse, hideous attempt at encouraging him?
Dawn sniffs, shifts where she sits when she feels his eyes on her. “I’m leaving if you’re going to stare at me like a creep.”
He laughs, still incredulous about this rare turn of volitional kindness. “Sorry, I just …” What was he supposed to say? That he was surprised she could be nice? Thank her for her effort like an insincere kindergarten teacher searching for something nice to say? Anything he’d say would just come off as condescending to her. Especially when she was in a mood.
She takes that moment of hesitation and makes a noise of disgust. Claps a hand on his shoulder and uses him to get on her feet with a groan, the heel of her boot nearly crushing his fingers underfoot. “Don’t fuck up tomorrow, okay?” she advises tersely, her tone bright just to exacerbate the irritation in her tone.
His hand slips between the part of her legs, catches her by her slender thigh, just above the knee. “You know, they used to use a radio instrument back in the day before we had computer navigation systems. In order to synchronise with base and watch out for friendlies, every plane used to have a little instrument that would beep every few seconds, emitting a frequency to identify itself. They’d also use it to fix themselves. Stay on course. Keep from fucking up.”
Silence from Dawn’s end. But neither is she moving. Just lets the ashes fall from where her cigarette burns between her sylph’s fingers.
“They called it a pipsqueak. Just like you. Because you’ll always be the reason I find home again.”
“Fuck,” she swears under her breath, finally moving to leave just at the moment that he’s leaning in, lips chasing the warmth of that thigh.
It’s better that way. That she doesn’t take him seriously. That way his feelings aren’t a burden to her. He thinks about the letter he was going to give her, burning a hole in his jacket pocket. Maybe it should stay there. It’s probably best it does.
It’s quiet again without her. His fingers get restless with every passing thought that feels like he should doing something. But isn’t.
Caleb reaches for the phone in his pocket, thumbs idly at the screen like he’s looking for something before he finally resigns himself to his fate and looks up his recent calls. Six calls to the same unresponsive number. Maybe seventh time would be the charm.
It’s not. Goes straight to voicemail, and for a second, he’s ready for that familiar, even voice on the other end, whose timbre always seems to resonate within the marrow of his bones, set every hair on edge. But it’s an automated voice. Must have changed recently. Or maybe the number’s changed. (Since last night?)
The message tone beeps. “Hey. Sorry, I know I’ve been calling a lot. You’re probably busy, and I get that. I’m not trying to be annoying, I promise.” A beat. “Tomorrow’s my exam. I’ve done this a thousand times at this point, but this is the only one that matters. I know it’s not .. med school, but it’s kinda … you know. Dream come true. That sounds corny as fuck. It is corny. But … yeah. Wish you were here. I’ve talked so much shit about being a pilot, I figure it might be nice to see I wasn’t full of shit about it. Dawn’s .. I don’t know if Dawn’ll make my landing, but that’s okay. It would have been dope if you both could have come. Maybe you could come to visit later. Whenever you’re free. I could make dinner. No carrots, I promise.” His knee bounces furiously as he screws up the courage to say, “I miss you.”
« 𝚃𝚘 𝚜𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚌𝚞𝚛𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚝 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚢. 𝚃𝚘 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚒𝚝 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝚊 𝚗𝚎𝚠 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚛 𝚔𝚎𝚢. »
He makes his selection.
« 𝙼𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎 𝚑𝚊𝚜 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚍𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚍. 𝙰𝚝 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚛𝚎𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚖𝚎𝚜𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎. 𝚆𝚑𝚎𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚊𝚟𝚎 𝚏𝚒𝚗𝚒𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚍, 𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚜𝚎 𝚙𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚙𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚍 𝚔𝚎𝚢— »
Click.
It’s like trading one kind of ruination for a more manageable one. At least this one’s a little less closer to home. Figuratively and literally. There’s a little more space between them. A little less acute. At least for the moment. He doesn’t have to live with the apical spikes of terror and pleasure every time he passes him in the halls. Or the way the scent of his perfume lingers on Caleb, like an effluvium that haunts him with the inlying and intimate cruciation of the possibilities and potentialities that would never be. How even a breath sounds like a melody to him, a sigh like an unhappy glissando that reverberates in strange polyphony with the hollow ache of his heart. Those little devastations belonged to Dawn. Caleb only really had the memories of late night sleepovers that made up for all the unhappy frowns directed at him, or usually nothing at all. Even those frowns felt almost like they’d existed in a dream. Like they were ephemeral, already fading from memory. Like they maybe had been a figment of his imagination, some torment of a crush that he’d made up in his mind.
Because how could he care so deeply for someone who barely knew he existed? And then he remembered he’d done it twice.
@dev1l / @cardiolog1st
