(3) even when there was rain, sunshine came
pairing. caleb x fem! childhood friend! non mc! reader (x childhood bsf! zayne)
synopsis. caleb planted a seed in your heart when you were both young, nurturing it without meaning to until it sprouted and blossomed. it shouldn't have grown this much, not when you knew you could never have him.
genres/aus. angst, fluff, f2l, unrequited love, childhood f2l
warnings. mentions of death, attending (a) funeral(s), lots of crying, reader goes down an emotionally unavailable time period but worry she feels better afterwards, small and and brief mentions of hatred oops, and cursing bc someone now does that double oops! if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!
rating. pg-13 whoops.
wc. 5 k
a/n. not proof read as always lol also... mayhaps a double update is coming... maybe... also that last bit may be wonky bc obvi i havent graduated from uni yet so ion know how that looks like WHOOPS ❤️🔥
your fifteenth spring teaches you the reality of what it is like to truly mourn for someone. the news came to you in the midst of exams week at the aerospace academy, and it came to you in the form of your dad’s lieutenant colonel—his best friend. when you open the door to your dorm, you knew what it meant when you saw the man stand before you, his cap tucked in between his arm and side, his gaze downcast. your ears rang so loudly that you didn’t hear when he apologized.
and the rest of that week went by in a blur.
you took your exams and promptly prepared for the funeral the farspace fleet would give your dad in skyhaven.
it was an odd feeling.
attending your dad’s funeral in skyhaven was like a nightmare, a surreal experience that you wanted to wake up from. you always thought your dad would die of old age and be buried in bloomshore’s cemetery, long after retiring. yet, here you are: at the farspace fleet, watching as the general gave a speech about the brightest alum of the aesrospace academy and the best colonel he had the pleasure of training when he was a lieutenant. honestly, you don’t even pay attention to the old man. you know your mom isn’t either. you pay attention to the casket, the way the polished surface shines brightly against the unforgiving sun.
it’s an odd thing: attending a funeral when there is nothing in the casket.
because your dad died in the deepspace tunnel, the only casualty of the patrol team he was leading. you heard of his pilots’ recounts of the event, heard of it from his second-in-command. everything was normal, everything was going smoothly. then, the space felt weird. everything felt still for a second.
there was a vibration in the air, a low hum that intensified.
“your father gave the order for the patrol team to turn back.” a pause. “we were turning around when a vortex opened and…”
the deepspace tunnel.
what an unpredictable and unforgiving thing.
you blink, and suddenly there are people you’ve never seen before giving you their condolences.
“i’ll be organizing a small funeral for your dad,” your mom mumbles to you in between the shower of apologies you receive and the pitying gazes.
you glance at her. “do you need help?”
she shakes her head. “it’ll be small… just family.”
you suck a breath in and your finger twitches in your lap. “can zayne—”
“his family will be there,” she grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “they’re family, too. do you want caleb there?”
caleb.
there is a tinge of anger that tugs at the strings of your heart, searing ardently within you.
even now, when you think you can move on from the idea of him—the thought of him—he still manages to slither back in some way.
you shake your head. “no. i just want zayne there.”
what’s it to caleb, anyways?
he stopped caring in eighth grade, so he won't care now.
and you don't have time to mourn over a living person who broke your heart.
your mom was quick to organize your dad’s funeral. a week later, while you’re on spring break, you find yourself at the kitchen table with your mom.
“what do you want in the casket?”
you tilt your head at her question. “excuse me?”
she continues filling out some paperwork. “what do you want to put in his casket for tomorrow? i’m putting in his awful collection of vinyls.” she chuckles, but you see the slight tremble in her fingers.
your dad often joked that he’d like to be buried with his vinyls so no one else could have them—he mostly said that because his best friend always eyed them when they were students in the academy.
what do you want to bury?
you think of his cap, the one that sits in your dorm right by the picture of zayne you have on your desk.
“nothing.” you finally say. “i… don’t want to put anything in the casket.”
you want to keep your dad by your side, you don't want to forget him.
“okay.”
and this time around, the funeral feels real.
your throat feels tight, your heart beats faster than usual. the sky weeps along with your heart, you feel like the world is spinning too quickly and that you’re about to sink down.
everything feels like a mess.
your mom stands to your right, her eyes fixed on the casket that’s being lowered into the ground. she moves forward, standing in front of the pit. she says something you cannot hear, kisses the white flower in her hand and lets it fall inside.
a squeeze breaks you out from your daze, warmth seeping into you. from the corner of your eye, zayne nods at you. with a gulp, you take a step forwards, then another until you're in front of the pit. you stare down at the casket.
this is too real.
standing in front of his casket makes it too real.
the man who called you his little star, the man who wasn't always around but tried to be, the man who never read you the classic bedtime stories and instead told you about the different jets in the fleet, the man who made you fall in love with the sky, the man who loved you more than anyone ever will and proudly told you that as if it were an undeniable fact—he is dead.
your dad is actually gone.
dead.
and your knees give out. you’re unsure whether you’ve been crying from the start but you are now: the tears rapidly fall down your cheeks, burning in excruciating pain. you don't care about the mud that gets on your clothes, all you can focus on is that emptiness and pain you feel, the wide hole that sinks into your chest.
a warm hand touches your shoulder, gentle as if to not break you further. arms circle around you, carefully bringing your head into a familiar crook. zayne exhales softly, a hand running up and down the length of your back. the umbrella he held up now lays forgotten on the ground.
“it hurts,” you croak, grabbing a fist full of his coat. “it hurts so much, zayne… make it stop.”
he continues to hold you. “it will hurt for a long time,” he says. “because healing takes a long time. you’ll learn to live with this one day… maybe not now, but one day.”
you can only gasp in response, clinging onto zayne as your sobs begin to take over, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “he’s dead,” you shut your eyes and press yourself closer to zayne, “he’s gone.”
you feel him shake his head. “he isn’t. he lives right,” zayne leans back, the hand that once held your head now pointing at your heart, “in here. he’s always going to be there with you.”
the seasons come and go, the days blur together, and the faces you see everyday you can never put a name to. you talk to your mom every day, and you delude yourself into thinking that clipped responses are better than none at all.
it’s the most you can do, after all.
you talk to zayne less despite having lived in the same city for four years now. you pull away from him slowly, taking small steps away until the gap between you has grown into what it is now: a canyon. the distance was already there when he left, so it shouldn't matter if it's grown more now that you’ve done the same.
and the small girl you left behind? the one who made the sun rise? you haven’t spoken to her once since your dad’s funeral in bloomshore. you didn't even tell her of his passing—you just stopped talking all together, and in between your fresh sorrow and her constant messages, she stopped trying to get a hold of you, as if coming to the slow realization that you're… done.
honestly, you don't blame her for stopping. you were a bitch, the remnants of a heartache mixed with your grief drove you to give her the cold shoulder.
you’ve pushed them all away and locked yourself in the prison that is your fear: the fear of getting too close and experiencing that pain once again.
because you don't think you can allow yourself to mourn for the dead ever again.
the seasons come and go, the days blur together, and somehow you’re a week away from graduating. you’re surprised the academy even let you get this far—after all, your score on that exam was just fine.
the heat of summer is unforgiving: it beats down on your back as you climb down the jet, the sweltering heat making you take quick strides across the practice field, unfastening your helmet with a flicker of your hand. you’re practically booking it towards the locker room.
“how are you feeling, miss valedictorian?” a classmate runs up to your side, matching your quick pace. “you got your speech ready?”
you don’t spare a glance and continue walking. “i have everything ready.”
they whistle. “wow,” they awe, “that’s our legendary miss valedictorian for you.”
the title makes you roll your eyes. “i thought i told all of you to quit it with that.”
they shrug, still following you as you enter the locker room. “everyone knows it’s true. even the academy praises you.”
the prodigy of the aerospace academy, y/n l/n.
just like your dad.
you tune out the voice of your classmate, getting rid of your flight suit and equipment, and storing it neatly inside of your locker. you adjust your clothes just as fast before you're out the door, already heading towards the gates. there’s a man that stands not too far from you, his back towards you. there’s also a girl talking to one of the guards nearest to you, though you can't see her as the guard covers her from your line of sight.
you aren't even a step outside when a hand latches around your wrist, and you freeze because you know who it is.
how could you not? his warmth is so familiar to you, even after all this time.
what surprises you the most is the fact that he's here. why is he here? he lives so far away from the academy. how is he here?
he says your name quietly. “we… should talk.”
your heart lurches, but still you don’t pull away. “i thought you were busy with med school...”
you can practically hear the way zayne raises a brow at your words.
“how would you know?” he asks, his tone void of any real malice—just pure curiosity. “we haven't talked since august.”
“i… go through your moments… sometimes…” you mumble in embarrassment, “you were studying not too long ago, right?”
his hold on your wrist loosens and tightens at the same time, his touch hesitant. he wants to hold on tighter, but is unable to. zayne holds your wrist gently, thinking as if you are to crumble if he were to hold on any tighter. he breathes slowly, “can we talk?” he quickly adds on, “privately?”
you nod and grab his hand, leading him to your apartment.
and as you walk away, you don't hear the call of a familiar name.
“pips!”
you awkwardly sit next to zayne in your living room, knees touching. your leg bounces, and you refuse to look at the older male.
zayne wordlessly places a hand down on your knee, stopping it from moving. “…there’s no need to be nervous.”
“there kind of is,” you grumble. “i didn’t think you’d ever visit me over…”
the distance, you want to say, but the words lodge themselves in your throat. you tap your finger against your leg now.
he hums. “well, i wouldn’t be here in the first place had you not started to pull away.” zayne breathes in slowly, carefully grabbing your hand in his. “i don’t blame you for anything. i just… want you to know that i’m always here. it doesn’t matter if you start pulling away because i’ll just follow you. i just want you to know that.”
you grip his hand at his words. “i’m a terrible friend,” you mumble. “how can you not blame me for this? how can you even say that?”
“because you’re still mourning,” he replies. “i know you—that means i also know how much your dad means to you.”
means—present.
not meant—past tense.
because you still miss your dad. you miss the summer days in verona where he’d carry you on his shoulders. you miss when he would talk to you about the new jets on his fleet. you mourn not only him, but the future you never got to live with him. he was supposed to watch you graduate, watch you work your way up in the ranks of the fleet—his fleet, he was supposed to be there when you ask him for love advice, he was supposed to help you move into your apartment after freshman year at the dorms and haul everything inside because he would never let his little star move a muscle.
“but i should be over his…” death. you still hate saying that stupid word. “but instead, i’ve let it consume me. you don’t blame me for that? for letting my fears influence me?”
you know that zayne knows: you pulled away because you’re afraid of losing him like you did with your dad. you’ve thought about it, about a world without him, when your mind can’t rest during the late hours of the night. each time you would end up silently weeping. there are no words to describe a world without him in it.
“of course not.” he knows. “i understand.” he always does. “i can’t make promises that i don't know if i’ll be able to keep because the future is unpredictable, but i can promise to take care of myself for you to ease your worries.”
and just like that, the knots in your chest untangle themselves. your shoulders no longer feel heavy, and you can breathe for the first time in a long time.
“you…” you tilt your head to look him. “you’re too good to me, zayne li.”
“i’m supposed to be good to you,” he lets out an amused chuckle. you take in how he looks now, how he looks older and more mature, how his hazel eyes have more brown in them than green hues right now, how his lips are curved upwards just the slightest bit. “i’m your best friend, you know?”
the book you had been reading for the month lays discarded on your chest, your back on your bed as you cover your mouth, shoulders shaking. zayne stares at you with a deadpan on his features. “you still haven’t made any friends?”
he gives you a pointed look from his sitting position against the bedframe. “have you made any friends?”
you stick your tongue out at him. “touché.”
zayne blinks once before leaning forwards to pinch your cheek, stretching the skin out. you furrow your brows and flick his wrist. “what are you doing?”
the corner of his lip lifts. “pinching your cheek.”
“no shit,” you scoff, huffing through your nose in amusement when his hazel eyes widen at your words. “what? don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming?”
he clears his throat and lets go of your cheek. “i certainly didn’t expect such a colorful word to be a part of your… everyday vocabulary.”
you shrug and roll off the bed. “the officers have a nasty influence on first years,” you scrunch your nose, “even worse when flight training starts. they just bitch about everything.” you sigh, “obviously, i don’t speak like this to the officers… or anyone.”
“then why say it around me?”
“because i don’t have anything to hide from you,” you reply, “i tell you everything. i’m always going to be the most relaxed around you—that won’t ever change.”
zayne smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “you don’t tell me everything.”
you purse your lips. “yes, i do. i—”
“you never told me you liked caleb,” the smile still doesn’t leave his lips, and you tense at the statement. “but i knew that you did.”
you blink a couple of times.
the stupid kiss.
you never told him about what caleb did on the night of his fourteenth birthday. you didn’t tell him of the pain.
and you won’t tell anyone; no living soul will ever know.
looking away from him, your gaze falls on the snow globe on your nightstand. “and you never told me you liked her, but i knew you did.”
“i don't.”
your eyes go back to him, watching as he takes his glasses off. “i don’t like her… maybe i never did.” the last bit was quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear. before you can question him, he looks up and eyes your neck. a finger comes up to point at his own. “you don’t wear it anymore.” you know what he’s referring to.
you think to the box that sits underneath your bed in your mom’s house: the box that holds everything related to him—the pictures, the necklace, the notes and the doodles and the paper airplanes… everything. “i threw it away as soon as i left for skyhaven.”
the male hums. “is that so?”
you nod. “yeah,” you breathe out.
there was no point in bringing a piece of caleb with you when all you wanted was to forget him.
“it’s getting late,” zayne mumbles. “you have a spare room, right?”
“about that…”
zayne stares at the empty room you show him down the hallway from your room. he turns his head towards you. “why… is it empty?”
“i’m the one doing the visiting,” you say, “not the other way around. i found no need to set up the spare room…”
“i see…”
you smile at him, “we can sleep in the same bed.”
he furrows his eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. “what?”
“c’mon!” you nudge his shoulder. “it’ll be like old times!”
zayne sighs and pinches his nose. “you are a woman, and i am a man.”
“…and?” you raise an eyebrow at him. “are you saying you’re going to eat me up or something? should i be worried?”
“of course not,” he says quickly. there’s a slight frown on him that confuses you. “but… am i not a man to you?”
“of course you are,” you answer, leaning forwards. you reach out and grab onto his cheek, pinching it. “but i trust you enough to not do anything.”
“…i see.”
there were no classes for the rest of the week for the graduating class, meaning you no longer had to wake up in the crack ass of dawn to get ready. unfortunately, habits are hard to die, so despite having turned off your alarm, your mind wakes you up when the sky is a faded, dark blue. immediately, your mood sours as you stare up at the ceiling.
you lay in your bed for a fee seconds longer when you’re suddenly aware that your right side is empty and cold. with a yawn, your cold feet hit the ground as you stand up and quietly search for your missing friend.
zayne lifts his brows when you walk into the living room, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose. “did i wake you?”
you shake your head, padding over to where he sits on the couch. the cushion sinks when you sit down, your head immediately falling on his shoulder. “i’m used to waking up at this hour…” you squint at his hands. “are you studying?”
he nods, ready to say something but the word die at the tip of his tongue. zayne watches curiously at your outstretched hand that open and close repeatedly.
“give me your notebook.”
he does so without any complaint. you scan the contents quickly, gaze flitting up to him afterwards. “i’ll help you study.”
zayne chuckles softly, and shakes his head. “i appreciate that, but you should sleep some more.”
“i’m already up,” you say through squinted eyes. “besides, it’ll be like old times.”
“ah yes,” he hums, nodding once, “back when you were in middle school and i helped you study.”
except you never actually studied. zayne would read the questions out loud once, you would answer perfectly, and then you would decide enough was enough before spending the rest of your time reading with him.
friday morning comes in the form of a quiet and empty room.
when you wake up, your left side is empty once again. in the span of the week, you’ve come to learn that zayne has the habit of waking up earlier than you do. sometimes he’s up an hour before you, other times it’s half an hour.
you breathe in and exhale slowly, blink once at the roof and then stand up. the drowsiness leaves your body as you begin to get ready: you brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face before wiping it away, you put your uniform on, you comb through the knots in your hair, and you place your cap on your head. your eyes move towards your desk, eyeing the black cap that sits on it.
you’ll be able to wear it soon.
you slip your socks on, and move into the living room. zayne sits at the table, his laptop open in front of him as he highlights something on his notebook. he looks up, his hazel gaze locking with yours. he gestures at the steaming cup of coffee in front of the chair next to him, and you head towards it.
“i thought your graduation was at nine,” he says, eyes going back to his laptop. “why are you already ready?”
“force of habit,” you shrug, grabbing the cub. the warmth seeps into your fingertips, and you raise it to your lips, pausing, “and my class has to practice once before the ceremony. we’re supposed to be there an hour from now... head for breakfast afterwards,” you snort and shake your head, eyes narrowing in mirth, “someone called it brunch in the group chat. another person called them a dumbass.”
zayne’s lips quirk upwards as you finally take a sip from your cup. he watches you with a quiet intensity, one that somehow warms up the tips of your ears, yet you tell yourself to not dwell on it because he’s just zayne, the boy you grew up with.
“you sound happy.”
you bring the cup down to rest on the table. “i am,” you breathe out.
the rest of your time before heading to the academy is spent by quizzing zayne. he answers everything perfectly, and you promptly congratulate him every time, to which he huffs a laugh through his nose. when it’s time for you to leave, he offers to give you a ride and you accept.
his car is, as always, clean. it looks like it just had the day he bought—you were with him as he walked around the dealership, scrutinizing every car and analyzing every thing he learned about them until he found one he liked. it took almost two hours, and you were tired as hell, but it was worth it. he drove you to a small cafe afterwards, his treat. and though you were still mourning for your dad, despite it having been a year later, that day you felt the first semblance of normality.
the car comes to a stop, pulling you out of your thoughts.
“i’ll see you later,” says zayne.
you give him a smile. “yeah, see you later.” when you open the door, he grabs onto your wrist. you look back.
“you’ll be free afterwards, right?”
“well, i know that there’ll be a party to celebrate… but that’s in the evening, like at nine.”
he nods. “good.”
zayne doesn't say anything afterwards and only bids you goodbye, promising to see you in a few hours. with a small wave, you watch as he drives off, leaving you alone at the gates. you breathe in slowly and exhale.
you take a step back, twist around and begin to walk to the gates when you suddenly stumble forwards, your cap falling off your head and landing on the ground with a thud.
“shoot! i’m so sorry about that!” a voice rings out from behind you.
with a sigh, you lean down to pick up your cap, dusting it off. you glance behind you: there's two, tall guys. one has short hair, and he has his friend in a headlock. the one in a headlock has brown hair, bangs covering his face from your judging eyes. you turn to face them.
“my friend here sure is clumsy,” the guy laughs, tightening his hold on the hunched over friend. the friend grunts in response, trying to pry off the arm around his shoulder. “oh shit,” the guy gasps, seemingly having realized something. “you’re a graduating senior?”
“that’s right,” you say.
the guy beams, his free arm stretching out towards you. “congrats, senior!”
his enthusiasm brings a small smile to your lips, and you give him a firm handshake. “thank you.”
“caleb,” the boy snaps his head towards his friend in the chokehold. “i can’t believe your clumsy ass bumped into our senior!”
the name makes your smile curl downwards.
“ah, senior! don’t tell me we upset you!” the other boy panics.
you shake your head, eyes closed. “no,” you grimace, “but i do have to get going.” you put the cap back on your head, and with a small wave, you walk away.
“caleb, why the hell are you staring? show some respect!”
caleb.
what a way to sour your mood.
the practice was chaotic, to say the least. after you dropped a bomb on them with the salutatorian, everyone began to shout questions directed at the two of you. you got so fed up you yelled at them to shut up or else you wouldn’t go to breakfast with them afterwards.
which leads you to now.
you sit at a table with your classmates, all of them staring at you.
“…so, i didn’t want to give the speech,” you shrug and poke at the food in your plate. “big deal.”
“but why?” someone asks, followed by a quick no offense to the salutatorian.
“they have more memories with the whole class,” you answer. “it didn’t feel right for me to be up on stage and give a big speech on memories and stuff. made more sense for someone who actually spent time with the class to do it.”
when you look up from your plate, you see that everyone’s mouth are wide open.
“…what?” you grimace. “did i say something wrong?”
“you’re surprisingly cool.” someone says.
their comment makes you snort. “very cool of me to do that, huh.”
someone ends up pointing at you. “you just laughed.”
chaos erupts once again.
“holy shit, she just laughed for once!”
“knock it off before i regret being here,” you give everyone a pointed look.
they all still, mumbling apologies. in the next second, everyone starts talking and taking turns to ask you questions.
surprisingly, you don’t mind the attention. you don't mind talking to your classmates like this; in fact, now there’s a tinge of sadness that settles into your chest.
you should have talked to them more.
you swear you see the person siting next to you start crying during the salutatorian's speech.
as you stand at your assigned spot, hands holding your diploma behind your back, you see the same person start to cry harder once they’re tapped out by their family, their rigid posture crumbling.
your eyes rake over what you can see: there’s people waiting to be tapped out, some are crying, some are laughing and happy. and then you see him.
zayne naturally stands out: tall and lean, a head above the shorter crowd. the sight is comical, making you puff out your cheeks in an attempt to not laugh. he stops a few steps away, takes his phone and snaps a picture of you, all the while having an arm behind his back.
“you blinked,” he hums once he stands in front of you.
you narrow your eyes slightly at him.
with a chuckle, zayne taps your shoulder, his touch warm despite the layers of your uniform that separates your skin from his. your posture relaxes, the rigidness melting away as your lips curl upwards. he brings a small bouquet of flowers, not flashy like the ones some of your classmates are receiving. a few hyacinths and irises, their blues like the color of the sky you love, held together by a white bow tied around the stems.
“congratulations, y/n.”
you take the bouquet from him, and look at him, the small smile you had now a grin. zayne’s eyes look like a light green underneath the harsh glow of the sun, much like the green hues of the gemstone aventurine, with small specks of amber in them.
he takes a step forwards, arms slowly wrapping themselves around your form. your cap almost falls off as your throw your arm around his shoulder, the bouquet clutched tightly as your free hand flies to keep your cap against your head. laughter bubbles from your chest and falls from your lips, loud and cheerful for the first time in a while.
“thank you.”
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