but there’s a part of me that recognizes you
FANDOM: Love and Deepspace
PAIRING: Caleb & non-mc reader, background Caleb/MC
RATING: T
WARNING(S): Angst, references to canon, medically-induced memory loss, references to terminal illness, past unrequited feelings, platonic confession, Caleb suffers for almost 6k words
Notes: Since everyone wanted to see it, here’s the ending where reader did get the operation. Thanks to everyone who voted in the poll; I originally wanted to end it with the diary entries, but now I got to use more of the original version that I scrapped.
Fair warning, this will not have much comfort. (Unless you want Caleb to suffer. In which case… uh, enjoy?) (We ignoring story timelines with this one because I’m tired and the points don’t matter)
For context, please read Part 1 first.
(If you want to be tagged in future fics, let me know.)
Quick taglist: @aiycnlyme @needsumcomfypillowstosleep @shadowlesssilence @heavensmyths @kingraspberry12-blog
There was a bloodstain on the floor.
It was faint, yet it was there - dark and splattered and stubborn. On the floor beside your bed. Right there. If he closed his eyes, he could almost imagine you hunching over as blood and bile hit the hardwood.
In the stale silence of your apartment, your bedroom was the loudest. Pictures lined the mirror above your dresser. Photobooth strips of you and her and him, Caleb and MC cuddled up while you smiled awkwardly from the fringes. A card from your physical therapist tucked in the corner, outlining post-op recovery and exercises. Trinkets scattered about your desk, crowded around your laptop, some figures of some show you and MC watched, one or two Lego planes you’d remembered he liked. A string of lights above your bed, a string of lights he remembered you buying. It was during the winter holiday a year or two ago —a year or two ago?— and you and MC had squealed over the dripping beadlights in soft hues of your favorite colors.
The ghost of the girl he barely remembered permeated each corner of the empty bedroom. Awards hung on the wall from middle and high school, things he didn’t remember you mentioning. A poster and ticket were framed, though he didn’t recognize the movie until MC reminded him that it was the blockbuster they’d all gone to see during their high school years. Now he remembered; he had invited you to go with them, and your face had lit up like a warm hearth. Stuffed animals sat in your bed, your chair, on top of your closet - he recognized the gilded apple plush in the center of your pillows, and something in his chest ached. Now he remembered; he had given it to you when MC was frustrated that it wasn’t the little apple she needed for her collection. You’d kept it all these years later?
Your closet, full of clothes and boxes. Some of them were labeled “Bedroom”, still full. Inside one was a black-and-white shoebox (had you and MC bought matching shoes?) full of old notebook pages with doodles and written conversations and photographs, among other miscellany. He pulled out one of these conversations, recognizing his handwriting; it was dated back to 2037, your fading childish scrawls mapping out a discussion about what to get MC for her birthday that year.
How much of you - their friend - had he forgotten? How much had he never bothered to remember?
The journal MC had taken home from your hospital room offered very little clues: apparently you hadn’t written in it very often, as evidenced by some entries spanning a several years back.
June 2038. MC and I got matching journals! This is my first entry. She already made hers look really cute. I wanted to decorate mine too, but Dad didn’t want to “waste money” on washi tape or stickers… (Here, there was an old sketch of you and her holding hands and smiling. Next to it was a cutesy sticker, undoubtedly one of MC’s.)
July 2038. MC invited me to go swimming. Caleb’s gonna be there, so I should look my best!
August 2038. Caleb shared an apple with me. Well… he gave me a slice that MC didn’t want. But he shared it with me!
Several pages followed, dated from June to December of that year, full to the brim of gushing over little things you remembered about him or things you’d done together. His heart sank deeper in his aching chest. He couldn’t remember how you sounded back then. He didn’t remember what you looked like.
May 2042. I can’t believe I’m graduating. I’m so nervous. MC’s pouty that I’ll be in university for her final year, but I can’t do much about that. Dad was thrilled when we got my acceptance letter. Linkon U, here I come!
September 2042. I’ve been really busy so far, but it’s a good busy. I’ve already made a few friends in my courses. Dad said Grandma’s real proud of me for getting in. I’ll make you proud!
February 2045. Finally got my own place closer to the university. Mom’s not happy about it, but I hate commuting. Plus, it’s going to be nice having my own space.
September 2046. Just talked with MC. She’s doing fine. Caleb’s still busy with the Fleet.
13th June 2048. Josephine is dead. Caleb is dead. MC is distraught. I still can’t believe it. He was alive. We actually texted for the first time in a while. I was going to meet up with them for lunch the day after the explosion. Happy birthday, Caleb. I’m sorry that I couldn’t hype myself up enough to—— (here, something was viciously scribbled out.)
January 2049. Caleb is alive. I can barely believe it. I haven’t felt this happy in a long time.
September 2049. Got slashed by a Wanderer yesterday. I’ll need surgery to get some shards out of my back. Hurts like hell. Mom visited me in the hospital since she was already here to see my uncle. It was nice. I missed her.
October 2049. Caleb and MC got together this summer, I guess. I’m trying to be happy for them but it’s hard. I’ve been sick lately too, which is just what I needed.
30th November 2049. Hanahaki. Stage three. Not quite stage four. (This page was speckled with blood.)
1st December 2049. I’m going to die.
… Caleb closed the book.
He sat on your bed for a few moments, looking around the room, breathing in the quiet. The barely-there wisps of your favorite room spray. The hum of the fairy lights. The plush of your comforter. MC had left a little while ago to get cleaning supplies from her apartment to finish wiping down the windows in the living room, leaving him to wander through the memories of a friend.
No, not a friend. Her friend. His own words echoed back at him from the night you were hospitalized.
“Caleb!” She’d exclaimed, offended.
“You know what I meant,” he implored.
“It’s not like she’s trying t’seduce you, for heaven’s sake.” MC huffed. “I can’t believe you. It’s a good thing she didn’t hear - that was so rude! She’s our friend!”
“Your friend,” he corrected.
MC had gone stone silent at that, expression wavering between outraged and appalled.
“She mourned you, Caleb.” She said then, quiet, voice simmering. “Just as hard as I did. You didn’t have to see her fall apart. Be grateful she’s even still here at all.”
The unspoken, the bitter undertow of her words had made his stomach lurch then. Remembering it wasn’t much easier.
Nausea roiled in his guts, tickling his throat with shame and sickness. Why had he said it? He knew MC was fiercely protective of you; you were her anchor when he was trapped in Skyhaven. And if he had to admit it, he liked your presence. You played off of her energy well and you made him laugh. You were sweet. Easy to talk to. Good company.
She mourned you.
Had he lost that smile — that laugh — you — forever?
MC had given him the silent treatment for two days. In the aftermath, even though he hadn’t remembered what was said, she remained silent until he showed up with food and an apology.
“It’s not me you owe an apology to,” she’d snapped. “The next time we see her, you’d better explain yourself.”
And he promised her he would. But when MC saw in the group chat about your hospitalization, they rushed to see you— and the words would not come.
You looked so frail, shivering under your blankets. There was a pallor to your skin, eyes glassy, that made his guts churn. That was not the face of someone with hope. That was the face of someone with nothing else left to lose.
The words could not come.
Hanahaki. That was what they said you had. He’d researched it a little in the train ride over, and what he saw didn’t soothe his nerves. Yet you lay there, trying to smile, trying to pretend everything was fine. Like you weren’t on your deathbed.
MC cried over you. She couldn’t stop. “She can’t die. Yin can’t die. Losing you almost killed me. I can’t lose her too, Caleb.”
Even now her brave facade broke, lips wobbling, eyes watery, as she walked about your room almost reverently; touching the mirror and trying to smile at the old pictures, hugging your plushies, going through that box of memories and huffing shaky laughs at its contents.
Seeing her so desolate was killing him.
Caleb had spent a long time without you. Yet now, for the first time, he realized he didn’t want to imagine a world without you in it, smiling and laughing with MC as you both teased and pulled him from shop to shop. He didn’t want to imagine a world without your voice, lilting and bright. He didn’t want to imagine a world where your name was immortalized on a headstone, spoken only by those who loved you. You had always been there, a support pillar, even when EVER tried to rip the trio apart through death.
For what wouldn’t be the last time, he bitterly wished he hadn’t taken you for granted.
—————
The world turned slowly. December gave way to January, turned to February, melted to March. Life in Linkon went about its path. Caleb returned to Skyhaven, trying not to think about the sickly face and tremulous voice that haunted him in sleep.
Now he was visiting again, taking in the fresh buds of green in the trees and the heady floral sweetness permeating the air.
The bell jingled as the bookstore door opened. The owner greeted them from the same old desk eternally overflowing with books. The few customers in the store briefly glanced at them before going back to their perusing. The thick smell of dust and old bindings was nostalgic, comforting.
MC flittered around, picking at this or that, peeking into one book and squinting at another. He didn’t really know what they were looking for, if anything; MC had mentioned wanting to take a quick look for old time’s sake.
…
It had been a long few months of recovery, but now you could say you felt more like yourself again.
Your first day back at work was met with a welcome party. Your coworkers hugged you tight. Your boss brought you what she said was your favorite dessert from the cafe next door. Even regular customers seemed surprised - and happy - to see you again.
Life was starting to pick up again. Thankfully you hadn’t lost too many memories altogether - except that your childhood was a scattered mess. Fragments of memories weaved together, a patchwork quilt of your upbringing. It was unnerving and numbing. Luckily you had your loved ones to fill in some of the gaps, but it was often not enough.
Your mother fretted over you when the time came to return to the city. She begged you to stay, to keep rebuilding yourself, but you knew it was just an excuse to get you to move back home. And so she and your father reluctantly let you go, back to your quiet apartment and familiar routines. It was still a struggle to get back into the swing of things, but you adjusted quickly.
You were eager to get back to your work. You loved the old bookstore, with its musty carpet and creaky joints and vintage tech. You loved your boss, a pleasant middle-aged woman who had been childhood friends with your aunt. You loved your coworkers despite their good-natured teasing of you being Mom (due to both you being older and it being an after-school job for most of them).
And then, one day a girl came in. Vaguely familiar, her name perched on the very tip of your tongue, there but not. Like a sneeze that refused to escape.
When she saw you, she gasped. And then she rushed over, grasping your hands. “You—! Yin, you’re okay! What— when did— it’s been months since I last saw you! We— we thought you—!”
Her voice was choked and her eyes were shiny. Those expressive eyes - they reminded you of a child you met, back when you were in elementary school. Though that child was shy and quiet, hardly like the girl holding your hands so tight.
What was that girl's name again…?
… Ah, now you remembered. MC. Your childhood best friend.
You put on a smile, squeezing her flailing hands. “Sorry, I was so preoccupied with recovery that I kinda… went off-grid. I was staying with my parents.”
“So that’s why you weren’t at home…” she heaved a sigh. “Well, you’re okay now, right? We should go out and celebrate! Like old times!”
“Sure, sounds fun.”
With a bubbly grin, she turned to the young man beside her. “Isn’t this great? I was so worried you weren’t coming back. We have a lot to catch up on, huh, Caleb?”
He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck a little awkwardly. “Yeah. Hey, Yin. You’re doing okay?”
“Yes, thank you.” You gave him a polite smile.
You felt like you ought to know who this was. His nebular eyes seemed to search you, waiting for… something. You weren’t sure what it was.
MC blinked at you once. Twice. Then she nudged Caleb.
“Oh, right, sorry. Uh… Caleb, remember?” He smiled hopefully at you.
Your voice was full of false cheer. “… Yeah. Caleb, right.”
…
Caleb and MC shared a look. Something doubtful, worried, crept up his spine. What was that?
It had only been about three months since they’d last seen you. Talked to you. You had met them the evening before your removal surgery, weakly grinning and giving a shaky thumbs-up.
“Those stupid flowers aren’t gonna get the best of me,” you’d emphatically stated. And he believed you. You weren’t ever one to go down without a hell of a fight.
But then the surgery took place. And when he could get time to come see you, MC told him that you’d been discharged for recovery.
Except… your apartment was silent. Still. Empty of you.
And now, nearly three whole months later, you didn’t look up at him with that familiar warmth anymore. No, you looked instead like—
His face went slack as understanding gripped him tight, chased closely by horror.
—like you didn’t know who he was.
—————
When MC invited you to a restaurant she claimed was your childhood favorite, you had to take her word for it. The name was familiar, but still a jumbled mess in your brain. You remembered it in flickers, glass pieces of memory that reflected a haze. Sometimes with her, sometimes with friends, sometimes alone. When you arrived, she was waiting by the door talking with Caleb. She lit up when she saw you, waving you over. The man seemed a bit wary for a moment, then he gave you an easy smile.
“You made it!” She cheered, tugging at the man’s hand. “This is gonna be fun! You, me, and Caleb - just like old times!”
You must have looked a little too puzzled for a little too long, because Caleb shook his head at her anxious frown. “Easy, Pips, give her some room. She just recovered.”
“Oh, no, no,” you cut in, raising your hands in a placating gesture. “Sorry, it’s just… been so long since we last hung out. I kinda blanked for a sec. I’m still trying to get used to Linkon again.”
“Part of that is your fault,” she huffed, giving Caleb a look. “I still want you to come over for drinks sometime. We didn’t get to do that before you got sick.”
“Maybe when I’m off my medication,” you said, patting her shoulder. “C’mon, I’m starving.”
—————
Caleb.
That was the name that haunted your apartment. A man you didn’t know. A face you couldn’t pick out of a crowd. MC’s… boyfriend. Or, that’s what she called him. You were more preoccupied with wondering just when exactly she got a boyfriend. Had it happened while you were in recovery?
Caleb. That was the name scrawled on the backs of photos under days you didn’t recall, in the margins of notebook pages otherwise full of nothing worth saving, looped with yours and MC’s like something precious. The latest of these artifacts was a photobooth roll; on the back you’d written the date, some day in October. The you in that photo looked sickly, even in the back of the washed-out print. In your own hand, shaky from sickness, you gave yourself a clue to the gaping maw of your memories. Staring at the photos on your mirror until your vision went blurry, you couldn’t help but wonder. You had been in for a minor surgery - and had awoken with a stack of get-well-soon cards and a bundle of flowers, one of which bore his name. What was so important about him that you would keep it close, like a secret you were wary to reveal?
MC and Caleb were reticent about the reason you had surgery. It wasn’t like you wanted to know— the doctors and your parents had said there was an issue with your heart and lungs, and that explained enough— but the unusual tenderness surrounding the issue annoyed you. MC would trail off sometimes when she talked about her relationship. Caleb, when you did see him, looked at you as if you were some kind of scientific enigma. Or like he was upset about something. Or both.
It was frustrating. You hated being treated like the truth would shatter you.
—————
The truth was killing him.
It seeped into his chest like something hot, molten and venomous. Unable to be ignored or explained away. But he wanted another explanation. He needed it.
You seemed a bit out of it when he first saw you again, but you’d been through such an ordeal that he ignored it. Even when you politely smiled and huffed a quiet little laugh at old jokes and stories, where before you would have come alive and added on to MC’s reminiscing, he tried to tell himself that you were just healing. It had been a strenuous few months, after all, and you didn’t seem keen to talk about the past. He hadn’t been either, when he himself had come back from death’s door.
But after he saw your smile falter in confusion for the first time at the sound of his name, he started paying attention. It was little things; the way you would pause when you saw him, the way you would smile and nod along when your childhood was discussed like you were some bystander in your own experiences. It was the way you didn’t seem to pay attention to him the way you used to and how you would hesitate when inside jokes were shared, jokes that always earned your laughter before - the little things began to pile up, and soon an uncomfortable gnawing pit of dread began to form in his guts.
MC may not have noticed the differences (and if she did, she wasn’t saying anything), but he knew better. Something had changed. Naturally, you didn’t remember having Hanahaki, but the way you regarded him seemed so… aloof. Like a stranger you’d only met but once. You had once pointed out the green apple keychain she had and wondered aloud about where she’d gotten it: it had been a birthday gift from Caleb. You had been there when she got it. The puzzled look she’d given him for the split-second before answering your question had only deepened his suspicions.
You didn’t. You couldn’t. Not with him.
This wasn’t his fault. (It was.)
You weren’t in love with him. (You were.)
He shouldn’t blame himself for almost losing you. (He would.)
Your weary, watery eyes and strained smile flashed in his brain again. The diagnosis was death’s bell, echoing mercilessly.
Hanahaki. Protocore Syndrome. Your fault.
Sure, you were close - and sure, you seemed down sometimes when you third-wheeled with them on dates and outings - but it hadn’t been because of your feelings for him, was it?
Hanahaki. Your fault.
Even as you lay in bed, you refused to name him. You refused to tell them about the one you loved so much it was killing you. At that point in time, he should have seen it as the red flag that it was. He should have been more curious, dug deeper, demanded more.
Your fault.
“Does it matter?”
Your fault.
“You couldn’t have done anything to prevent this.”
Your fault.
Caleb shattered on the floor, clutching that worn out journal in his shaking fingers. Between the dried sprays of blood on the page, teardroplets dampened the final entry.
—————
They were acting strange.
You were sure MC must have said something to Caleb - or maybe he just felt bad for you - because he invited you to visit him one afternoon.
You had never been to Skyhaven before, to your limited knowledge - and you couldn’t stop staring at the futuristic floating city around you. This had been a place you’d dreamed of visiting, though you’d strangely never found the time to.
He was waiting there at the train station, smartly dressed, and for a moment you almost didn’t realize that he was there. It was only when he waved at you and walked closer that you finally recognized the man in the uniform jacket.
He had told you that he was in the Fleet, but somehow it hadn’t stuck in your brain. It certainly cut an impression now. All sleek black and white, fitted, intimidating. If you hadn’t been introduced, he might’ve been someone you’d dread meeting at all.
“I’ve…” you trailed off. “I’ve never seen you in uniform before.”
“I try to keep a work-life balance.” He shrugged it off. “You’ve never seen my apartment either, have you?”
“Well, even if I have, it’s been so long that I’d have forgotten anyway,” you offered, after a hesitant pause.
Something about what you said made his smile twist into something more of a grimace.
…
The trip to his apartment was a short one. As you walked into the cozy atmosphere, you couldn’t help the awed “Wow” that escaped.
Caleb chuckled a little. “MC really helped with the decor. She said it wasn’t ‘me’ enough.”
You could tell. Little bits of her could be found everywhere, in the decor, in the random trinkets, even in the throw blanket draped over one side of the couch.
“How long have you lived here, again…?” You questioned, glancing at an old photo you didn’t recognize - of him and her in matching denim outfits, likely taken in their teenaged years judging by how bright his smile was. Something about that thought ached, and your fingers traced your surgery scars for a moment. Just how long had they known each other? Had you somehow forgotten something?
“Over a year now.” He shrugged off his jacket. “Excuse me for a minute.”
You watched him disappear into one of the bedrooms before turning your attention to the living room. It wasn’t nearly as colorful as MC’s apartment was, yet it wasn’t drab or clinical. A few pictures hung on the walls - one of them seemed to have been taken recently, a selfie taken at the beach. Both of them seemed to glow in the summer sun. Little plane models were carefully lined up in a display cabinet with cards detailing the names, number of pieces, and the date of completion. Curiously, some of them had two dates - a recent one, and one from years ago. Perhaps they had been broken and rebuilt once he settled in Skyhaven?
Caleb walked back in as you were inspecting a model of a wanderer. “She did that one,” he said, making you jump in surprise.
“Whuh- uh, what?” You stuttered, looking up at him with wider eyes. “Oh, uh, MC made this?”
“Yep. She has one, and I have the other.” He gestured to the placard. “This came in a set of two.”
You hummed in approval. “She’s lucky. You must really love her.”
It was a mumble, more of an aside, but he heard you anyway.
Caleb nodded slowly. “She’s everything.”
Something in your ribs sat hollow at that.
“Look,” he sighed. “I didn’t invite you over just to show off my place. I… I wanted to apologize.”
You turned with a frown. “For what?”
“For being… a jerk. To you. I didn’t mean to make you feel unwanted.” He rubbed the back of his neck, purple-gold gaze as piercing as it was guilty.
You shifted from foot to foot. “If this is about me being hospitalized…” you ventured uncertainly.
“No, it’s not. I was so focused on MC that I forgot we also had you. When she chewed me out for falling out of touch with you, it made me realize that I haven’t been treating you as well as I should have.”
“Oh,” you replied, a touch relieved. So you hadn’t done something. “That’s okay.”
“No, it’s not.” Caleb insisted. He stepped closer, yet he didn’t reach out to touch you. “When you were in the hospital dying, I… I realized I couldn’t imagine a world where you and her weren’t in my life. I mean, you’ve known us since we were kids. MC adores you. And I…” he trailed off, a flash of pain running across his face before he continued, “... I forgot all about you.”
“... Why?” You were almost too anxious to know the answer.
He heaved a sigh. “The chip. The Toring Chip. It… wreaks havoc on my memories. I couldn’t-- couldn’t let them take her away from me.”
“And… you forgot me,” you confirmed slowly.
“At first, I did. I forgot a lot of people we knew growing up.”
“But you forgot me.” You repeated, matter-of-factly. And then you chortled. “So that’s why she was so insistent on us meeting again.”
“Just like old times,” he reassured.
You wordlessly shook your head. So much made sense. Perhaps that was why you kept all of those mementos to yourself - so you would at least still have a name to put to a face where he hadn’t before. So you could at least say you remembered that much.
“You don’t need to concern yourself with any of that.” You said quietly. “Whatever we had— all of us— is in the past. I appreciate that you wanted to apologize, but I honestly forgot about all of that. If it hurts too much to keep me around, then I’ll go.”
Here, Caleb paused. And then he raised his hands, interjecting, “No, no, no, that’s— that’s not what I meant.”
“It’s okay, really,” you reassured. “Honestly, I really don’t remember much of our history anyway, so you don’t have to pity-invite me—”
He stilled, and for a second you felt like you said something wrong when he looked over at you with creeping despair. “So you-- you don’t remember.”
“The doctors said that despite whatever the issue was, it would be normal to experience memory loss.” You shrugged uncertainly. “I don’t have a lot of early memories anymore. Honestly, it’s kind of funny that you forgot about me - because I forgot about you too.”
Silence hung between you, thick and heavy, as your words settled in. Caleb was now staring at you like you’d just told him he had two years to live.
“Uh…” you started, tightening your grip on your purse, “… did I say something wrong? Should I go?”
“No!” He spoke quickly, too quickly. When you blinked, he elaborated more calmly, “No, I— uh, I was gonna make us lunch. Besides, you— you just got here. Stay. Please.”
Well, you didn’t have much else to do for an afternoon - and you didn’t feel like wandering around Skyhaven or waiting at the station so soon after getting here. So you shrugged, set down your purse, and followed him into the kitchen.
Why had he looked so wounded?
Wasn’t it natural for memories to fade? It wasn’t like you’d been particularly close, or so you figured; in all of the scraps of him that you’d found in your room, in old memento boxes, in albums - you had always been off to the side. There, but not the focus. Even if he had known you, well, apparently you weren’t important enough to remember. Apparently you hadn’t known him well enough for him to survive your medically-induced amnesia.
As you sat at the counter, Caleb stared into the fridge. Quiet. Tense. His fingers flexed and relaxed on the handle. His eyes flickered here and there, but it was disoriented, unfocused.
“Do you…” you trailed off quietly, “... do you want help?”
And in an instant, he broke.
“Yin.”
“Y- uh, yeah?”
When he looked at you, his eyes were watery. His lip trembled. His fingers, curled into a fist, gripped the handle tight enough to shake.
“I’m… sorry,” he finally spoke up, voice cracking.
Taken-aback, you got up from your seat and hurried over. When you were close enough, he shut the fridge and pulled you into a tight hug, his face hidden in your hair.
“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he repeated, voice hiccupping as dampness hit your shoulder.
“Hey, whoa, it’s-- it’s okay.”
“It’s not. I’m… I’m the reason you can’t remember anything.”
What?
You unconsciously echoed your thoughts out loud, and he finally sank to his knees, hitting the kitchen floor with a loud thump. He pulled you down with him, and you landed on his thighs as he pulled you ever closer.
“What do you mean? I thought I just had a cardiovascular issue.” You squirmed, face hot with uncertainty. What would MC say if she saw her boyfriend hugging you like this?
“You had Protocore Syndrome.” He pulled back just enough to look you in your eyes, his own teary and wide. “You almost died, Yin. We almost lost you.”
Something in you sat numbly about that. Your fingers ghosted across that scar again, your mind somehow uncomprehending of it.
“Well, I’m… here now, aren’t I?” You weakly defended. “Those stupid protocores aren’t gonna get the best of me.”
He let out something that sounded like half-laugh, half-sob.
“Is that why you always look so depressed around me?” You wondered.
“It’s my fault. I-- I-- you nearly died because of me.” He sniffled, swiping his thumb across his lower eyelids. “You had a rare variant. Flowers. If they grew enough, they’d have…”
Killed you. The unspoken end of that sentence hung heavier than your heart.
You stared at him. “And… I got it because of…?”
Caleb swallowed harshly. “You were in love with me.”
For the first time since that sickening realization, he spoke it aloud. Manifested it himself. The confession you were determined to take to the grave had the grave not threatened to take you first.
You blinked. Incredulous. Wary. And then you chortled, “Wh… what? Caleb, c’mon.”
“Hanahaki. A Protocore variant where flowers grow in the lungs of someone who feels unrequited love for someone else.” His voice took on a colder note, flat, like he was trying to steel himself so he wouldn’t fall apart even more. His trembling fingers gave him away. “You-- you had it. Because of me. And I never knew until…”
“... until I almost died.” You said softly.
That made about as much sense as anything else. But you already had nothing more to go on. If it hadn’t been for MC reintroducing you, and if it hadn’t been for what you found in your bedroom, you could have gone for the rest of your life without him. Just like he almost had. Two strangers in two separate worlds. The only common thread was…
“MC… what-- what will she think?” You pushed against his chest again, a little firmer this time.
“She won’t care. You’re alive.”
“But-- won’t she be angry? That I…?”
“You’re alive,” he reiterated, a little angrier.
Alive and recovering from the world’s worst bout of heartbreak, if what he told you was accurate. You didn’t dare entertain the possibility that he returned your feelings before in any capacity. Given your near-death experience, you bitterly wondered if he even thought of you at all.
“... And you, what, you wanted to get it off of your chest? Apologize? For something I’d never have remembered anyway?” You pointedly asked.
Caleb flinched.
“Even if we did end up friends again, it’s not fair that you would’ve known what I don’t. It’s even more unfair that now I have to have the knowledge that I was hiding my feelings for you when you were dating MC. What am I supposed to do now? Just-- just forget about it?”
“You deserved to know.”
“Yeah, if I had asked.” You shook your head in disbelief. “I barely remember a thing about my school years. Have I known you for that long?”
“Second grade. I was in third.”
That confession chilled you more than the reason you’d gotten sick in the first place.
“S- so,” you shakily continued, “my whole life. Practically.”
Then, a quieter question: “Did she know?”
“That you loved me? No.”
The definite answer made you huff another laugh. “Are you sure?”
He wasn’t.
“Even if she did, she wouldn’t have hated you for it.” Caleb insisted. “You’re one of her closest friends.”
“Am I really as good of a friend as you claim I am?”
His voice broke. “I wanted to-- to protect you.”
Well, a lot of good that did, a snide little part of you remarked. You didn’t voice it aloud.
“You don’t even like me.” You said instead, tired. “And now that you’ve told me all of this… you’re only going to be nice to me to try and make up for some self-inflicted sin.”
“Don’t. Don't you tell me how I feel. I... I l—!” he cut himself off, stopping and starting several times, before going quiet.
You had some dreadful feeling that you knew what he was about to say. “Don’t say it.” You quietly, sternly, responded. “Not now. Not when it never mattered. Not when it’s too late to.”
“But it’s the truth. You deserve the truth.”
“Even if I would have been safer never knowing?”
Caleb fell silent. His hands gripped your arms, tight, desperate. As if you would wilt away in front of him again.
“I love you,” he weakly admitted.
Your entire face twinged with exhaustion, with sadness. “But not in the way I needed you to.”
Your phone started ringing from your purse. Some old Taylor Swift song, something MC had picked out forever ago as her ringtone and you’d never changed it.
Neither of you rushed to get up from the floor.
Caleb’s grip remained.
I could have saved you. I could have stopped it. Please don’t look at me like that.
I could’ve—
—Don’t look at me like we’re strangers.
I could’ve—!
Your words from before, weak and tired and scared, were now a cruel, muted echo, a chaser of your heartbeats: “You couldn’t have done anything to prevent this.”