Hello, I'm Ahmed, 23 years old. I was studying computer science at the Islamic University in Gaza before the war. I aspired to build a brigh
Hello friends, I thank you very much for your continuous support, but right now I am in urgent need of you and your help. We are now in the holy month of Ramadan, which requires a lot of expenses, and there has been a significant rise in prices.
I also need to pursue my dream after losing everything. I need your support greatly—I need more than $1,500 to pay my university fees so I can receive my certificate and apply for scholarships.
You can find the images below the post.
Therefore, I am in great need of your help. I support my family, and at the same time, I am trying to achieve myself and continue my education.
childhood bestfriends caleb and nonMC!reader, who he's secretly in love with while she thinks he likes someone else
warnings. angst, fluff, rejection, she fell first he fell harder, caleb is down bad, groveling, miscommunication, caleb sucks at feelings, slow burn, childhood friends to lovers, he gives her a nickname adjacent to pipsqueak
preview. "I love you," he says, pressing his forehead against yours. You want to tell him that it's not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you're sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room is not fair. "Then prove it to me."
wc. 8.4k (she's hefty...)
You proposed to Caleb for the first time when you were nine years old, with a flower ring.
The winter air had nipped at your flushed cheeks as you stepped into ice, holding it out to him. Your breath had puffed into the air like a dragon, and you nuzzled your chin further into the wool of your scarf to keep warm. It had been the only flower left after fall had faded away, yet its white petals stood brilliantly in between your fingertips, weathering against the cold.
The child in front of you was closed off. Eyes narrowed, fists balled inside his pockets, and usually adorning a solemn look on his face. Though, it had certainly gotten better since you first met him as one of Grandma Josephine’s adoptive children. Back then, he hadn’t even spoken much—only keeping MC tight at his side, as if she might disappear if he didn’t. He wasn’t rude by any means…just, cautious. Too aware for a child of his age.
But without a doubt in your mind, he was the most handsome boy you’d ever seen.
He’d raised his brows. “You just met me last week.”
“It’s love at first sight.”
He rejected you, naturally, but it did little to make a dent in your childish heart. Not when his purple hues gazed into your own, with a softness that didn’t seem intent on hurting you.
The next two decades becomes a perpetual cycle of this encounter—in which you learn that Caleb is a very caring person.
In that time, you learn a lot about him, aside from his gorgeous face. You find that he’s fond of nicknames. Pipsqueak for MC. Splints for you, when you launched yourself off a swing and broke your wrist trying to impress him. Safe to say, it didn’t impress anyone but your doctor, who was baffled you managed to fly so high into the air with your 11-year-old legs. Caleb held your other hand tight in the emergency room as you wailed helplessly, waiting for the doctor to ease the pain. You’d be lying if you said you didn’t cry just a tad longer to keep your hand in his.
“This thing is so ugly,” you whine, picking at your cast as he walks you back home. “Do you think I’m gross now, Caleb?”
“It’s not ugly. You need it to get better.”
“I thought you’d fall in love with me if I went high enough,” you sniffle fake tears, which he reads in an instant. “I did go pretty high up, though. So maybe you like me at least.”
He laughs, and you scowl, insisting that you aren’t joking. So instead, he smiles and holds your free hand in his again. Your heart skips a beat. A childish, but innocent love fluttering in your chest. “Come on, splints. Let’s go watch TV, and I can sign your cast.”
The broken wrist is so worth it.
With MC being two grades lower than the two of you and thus having a different schedule, it doesn’t take long before you’re doing practically everything with Caleb. He’s your seatmate in class, the two of you walk to and from school, and there doesn’t seem to be a moment where you aren’t glued at the hip. Throughout all of this, you make sure you shoot your shot whenever the chance arises—even when it doesn’t arise at all.
“You get any chocolates for Valentine’s?” you ask as you plop down in your seat with your lunch, not-so-conspicuously eyeing his desk as his friends begin to crowd around the two of you. It didn’t take long for Caleb to adjust to ordinary school life. After his initial bumpy introduction where he seemed hesitant to get close to anyone his grandma would introduce him to, he was quick to adjust to a level of charisma even you haven’t gotten to.
By now, he’s charisma personified. You, yourself, have no idea how quickly he adapts to things. Though, you do recall that after an exam measuring his intelligence, he was told he couldn’t lower his grade by two years to be with MC. So you suppose he’s rather bright—almost as much as his face.
“Too many,” one of his friends groan, dragging his hand down the side of his face. “Life’s so not fair, dude.”
“Just a few,” Caleb laughs, turning to feel me stare at him expectantly. “Most of them are obligatory. I just helped a couple people out during gym.”
You glance at his friends. “How many is a few?”
“At least five,” another one grins. He wiggles his eyebrows at you, and his friend snickers at his shoulder. “You jealous?”
It’s not like your crush on Caleb is new news. In fact, it’s practically common knowledge at your school, given how open you are with your affection with him. Asking him out with a giant poster on orientation day, sending him notes with hearts littered everywhere during class, and refusing to be subtle when you’re discussing it with your friends…it tends to add up. Most people believe your relationship to be strange, but those who matter thought of it as the norm, so it doesn’t really matter.
“Jealous? I don’t think so, why?”
“Most girls would be if their boyfriend got a bunch of chocolates,” he responds, to which Caleb immediately reminds him that you’re not dating. Then his friend sighs. “It’s cute when girls get jealous, isn’t it?”
At this, your ears perk.
“Should I be jealous?” you ask Caleb, making his friends erupt into snickers. “Do you think it’s cute too?”
He rolls his eyes and flicks your forehead softly. “Do you ever ask normal questions, splints?”
Throughout your childhood together, everything involves him. Family dinners, graduation, holidays, all of it. Of course, this means that MC is there for all of it too. You’re helplessly in love, but you’re not stupid. You know what love looks like from the movies their grandma would play on their TV. He cares for her with a different look in his eyes. He protects her with a lovingness in his voice that he doesn’t spare for you.
The same fingers that flick your forehead touch her arm gingerly, like she could crack in half if he holds too hard. He doesn’t touch her very easily either, whereas he often falls asleep with his head fully leaning against your shoulder on the bus ride home. He wakes up at the crack of dawn to make her lunch, while the two of you munch on sandwiches from the school cafeteria during lunch breaks. He scolds you when your clothes are tossed on the ground while he folds hers without her having to ask. He never enters her room to protect her privacy while he lounges in yours like he owns the place.
Your Caleb, you have found, is different from MC’s Caleb.
MC’s Caleb is easy to depend on. Trustworthy, perfect, and never makes a mistake for the life of him. He never loses his cool in front of her, never has a hair out of place, lets her win at all the board games, and always has this clear but dazed look in his pretty purple eyes. Your Caleb has none of that. Your Caleb teases you mercilessly when you lose the card game for the fifth time in a row. Your Caleb passes out on his desk while studying for an exam, essentially drooling on his notebook to lie to MC that he’s naturally talented at math. Your Caleb sends you stupid videos about plane models and forces you to sit through a thirty-minute explanation about it.
You know he likes her. He knows you know he likes her. She doesn’t know anything at all. All jumbled up, like a wordless pact ready to crumble at any moment.
Of course, this means that he prioritizes her over you at times. All the time. It’s to be expected. She’s family, you’re not. You’ve grown used to it, and so has he.
MC doesn’t notice though, because she doesn’t have to. Because to her, Caleb is just a slightly nagging but cool adoptive brother. Nothing more, nothing less. And you’re one of her childhood friends, and Caleb’s best friend. Nothing more, nothing less.
The first year after you graduate high school is a dramatic shift from your cozy hometown. You somehow manage to get into the same college as Caleb–and you attribute his tutoring to be the main culprit—though in different majors. It’s a lot to convince him to go so far from home given that MC is still at home, but after a lot of reluctant discussion, he agrees.
“Take off your shoes at the door,” he reminds you as you barge into his dorm room after a particularly difficult exam for one of your classes. You do as he asks, grumbling about how he has no mercy for the fallen, tossing them haphazardly beside the door and prancing past him. He takes the time to tidy them up, as if he’s expecting it. “How was your exam?”
“Awful. I went through war.”
Caleb grins as he sits down at the coffee table beside you, watching as you bury your face into your arms. “And whose fault is it that they didn’t want to study?”
“Yours.”
“Funny,” he snorts, and you feel his large hand ruffling the top of your head. “It’s alright, splints. I can tutor you a bit earlier on the next one.”
“Even you can’t save me for this class.”
“Is that a challenge?”
He ends up cooking up something quick in his makeshift kitchen (essentially just a rice cooker), while you laze around on his bed, scrolling aimlessly on your phone. Once he’s finished, you scarf down his food like a man starved, lips stretching widely. At times like these, you’re oddly grateful for his hopeless love toward MC. How else would he have learned to cook such good food? “You should honestly be a chef, Caleb. Actually, no, that would mean other people would eat your food. I guess you can just be my personal chef when we’re married.”
Caleb remains completely unaffected, wordlessly cleaning the plate in front of you. “I didn’t realize I was engaged.”
“Well, now you know. Not sure if you remember, but I had fireworks for you and everything when I proposed. Plus an orchestra.”
He hums, looking up as if he’s in thought, and then nods. “Now that you mention it, that does sound familiar, splints. How could I forget?”
You shrug. “You tell me.”
His face falls as you pace to the door and begin to put your shoes back on. “Where are you going? Aren’t you done with class?”
“Going out. I deserve it after that exam.”
“With your friends?”
“No, with four guys,” you joke, but he doesn’t seem to find it very funny. “I’m just going to a club. I won’t be back too late.”
He’s already grabbing his jacket. “I can come.”
You push him back with your finger by the nose, and he blinks in surprise, making you laugh. “No need. You have exams too, y’know.”
“I’m done studying.”
“Liar.”
Though it takes some convincing, you eventually have him sit at his desk once more. He manages to nag a whole lot as you leave, reminding you to call him once you’re done so he can pick you up, but you just wave him off as you leave out the door. You take your time getting ready–dolling yourself up to hide the dark circles beneath your eyes. As you get ready, you video call MC, where she asks how you and Caleb have been doing in her absence. She rants about her days with her grandma, complaining about how quiet the house is when Caleb isn’t home, though she indulged in the beginning. She asks you to show her your outfit once you’re done, and she beams brightly in your screen, squealing about how you’d likely get a boyfriend soon that you can tell her all about.
You just smile, because you don’t know how to tell her that the only boy you want is wrapped around her unknowing hand.
The club is loud. Where the music rumbles through your feet to the tips of your fingertips, and the lights are flashing in a dimly lit room. Your friends flock to a table and order drinks while you let yourself feel the music and crack a joke or two once in a while.
A group of guys approaches you with easy smiles and louder voices than necessary—confidence sharpened by cheap cologne. One of them leans against your table like he’s done it a hundred times before, asking your name, where you’re from, if you come here often. The usual.
You answer, choking out a laugh to humor his unfunny jokes alongside your friends, while the swigs you take from your drink become deeper and deeper.
He’s not bad at flirting, you think. Subtle, and not too glaring about it. But you don’t particularly enjoy humoring it, and it becomes gradually more apparent as your eyes keep drifting elsewhere and you keep having to ask him to repeat himself. You’re growing bored. Irritated.
Because he’s not Caleb.
It hits you in strange, inconvenient flashes. The way this guy stands just a little too far away. The way his voice doesn’t quite reach you over the music, even when he’s close. The way you don’t feel that familiar, grounding presence like an anchor holding you to the ground.
You find yourself glancing past his shoulder. Half-wishing to see Caleb there. Watching. Hovering.
But there’s only strangers. Blurred faces and flashing lights.
“You okay?” the guy asks, tilting his head.
“Yeah,” you say too quickly. “Long week.”
He grins, like that’s an invitation. Says something else—something about getting you another drink, maybe dancing, maybe getting out of here.
You nod again. Smile again.
Across the room, your friends are already disappearing into the crowd, dragged toward the dance floor by laughter and hands you don’t recognize. One of them glances back at you, gives you a look that asks ‘you’re good, right?’ before she’s gone.
You sit back down at the table when the guy steps away. Maybe to grab drinks, maybe because he senses your attention drifting. You don’t really care which.
The music swells in your chest. The lights flicker. You wish you could enjoy yourself, but it’s particularly hard today.
You take another sip. Then another. Your phone rests face-down on the table, but you flip it over anyway.
No messages.
Of course not. He cares, but not like that. Not in the way that he would spam MC’s phone whenever he didn’t know where she was or how she was doing. No, not like that at all.
Another sip. The glass is nearly empty now.
And suddenly, you’re pressing send before you can even register what’s happening.
[you]: hi
The answer comes immediately, the grey bubbles popping up on his end of the screen.
[futre hubs <333]: do you need me to come pick you up?
[futre hubs <333]: i can
You’re not sure why you feel like shit, but you hate it. In moments like these—moments where the alcohol lets you lower your walls and truly think—it hits you like a truck, like a deeply sinking feeling in your chest. The years of rejection after rejection that the two of you frame like a bit—as if your feelings have become so miniscule that it no longer even phases him.
It hurts, a bit. More than you let yourself feel.
You’re not sure how much time passes. Maybe minutes or maybe an hour. There’s buzzing throughout your body. The grip on your waist belonging to the man you’ve been half-heartedly entertaining suddenly becomes harsher, snapping you out of your trance. It feels unlike Caleb, but you let it sit anyway. However, the hand moves to your wrist, and you’re being pulled out of the crowd towards the wall.
Too touchy. He’s saying something into your ear, and you feel his breath against your skin. You don’t like it. Too close. The buzzing feeling feels more like an alarm now.
The words either go unheard due to the music or don’t deter him. You want to go back. Back to Caleb. In the moment, you begin to think—almost as if the world is in slow motion. Perhaps the drinks, you think. You wonder if Caleb will leave you. You wonder if he’ll leave to go be with MC. You wonder if the years you’ve spent expressing your love to him meant as much to him as it did to you, or if he just found it plain annoying. You wonder if now that you’re in college, he’d want to explore other people, and he’ll finally find an outlet to get rid of you for good.
But you know he wouldn’t. Because he cares for you. Just not as much as he cares for her.
You wonder if he’s ever looked at you with the same softness he does with MC.
Someone pulls you away from the man and into their chest, and the worries dissipate in an instant. His scent. His warmth. You knew he’d come. He always does. It only takes a warning glare from Caleb before the man disappears into the crowd again, and you feel the grip on your wrist loosen. Caleb stares down at you, your back still to his chest as you blink wearily, almost in slow motion, and he sighs. He doesn’t give you the same smile he gives to MC when she’s in trouble.
A part of you wishes he wasn’t always there for you—not when it’s so different from how he’s there for her.
You sit idly in front of a convenience store parking lot while Caleb fetches you some water and ice cream. You have your knees to your chest, arms pulling them close as you shiver against the cold autumn breeze. You should’ve brought a jacket. The buzzing, hot feeling of the alcohol is subsiding too quickly.
“Drink.” You feel a water bottle press against your cheek from behind, and Caleb plops down beside you with a plastic bag. He notices how you’re holding yourself together and frowns. “Are you cold?”
“No.”
“I told you to grab a jacket.”
“You nag too much.”
He snickers and twists open the cap of the water bottle for you to drink, which you sip carefully. He strips his jacket off and drapes it over your shoulders, and you immediately bury yourself in it. It smells like him.
“What kind of woman do you like, Caleb?”
“You and your questions.”
“I want to know.”
He shifts to face you, motioning for you to lift your arms. He grabs either side of his jacket and pulls it shut, fumbling with the zipper until he manages to zip it to your chin. You can barely claw your hands out of his sleeves—the fabric almost engulfs you—but he just laughs. “My type? A woman who brings jackets when it’s cold.”
You scowl, making his laugh echo louder. “Other than that.”
“A woman who goes to class in the morning.”
“...Other than that.”
“A woman who doesn’t leave her clothes all over my floor when she feels like sleeping over.”
“Something else.”
“A woman who eats healthy, balanced meals. A woman who doesn’t steal all my pens and then still ends up asking me for more. Maybe someone who doesn’t pass out drooling on my pillow. Or someone who doesn’t let half the world know that they like someone—hell, maybe even the entire world.”
Caleb glances at you, chuckling to himself, but stops the moment he sees that you’re not laughing with him. Your head hangs low, your feet shuffling anxiously. His face twists, and suddenly the air thickens. “Splints?”
You pick at your sleeves. “So just not me?”
“I was just kidding around.”
“Jokes have some truth to them.”
“Not all of them. I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay, Caleb,” you finally meet his eyes again, and shrug. “I know you like someone else. I’m not an idiot.”
Silence commences, like a bell dropping on your head.
Caleb shifts his weight, one hand coming up to rub the back of his neck. It’s a nervous habit you’ve seen a hundred times—usually followed by some half-joke, something to smooth things over.
But nothing comes.
The space between you suddenly feels too small and too big all at once. You try to act normal. You really do.
You fiddle with your sleeve again, smoothing it down, then pulling at it, then smoothing it again. Anything to give your hands something to do, so they don’t reach for him out of instinct.
Caleb glances at you. Then away.
Then back again, like he’s trying to solve something written across your face but can’t quite make out the words.
“Hey,” he starts, softer this time.
You hum in response, not trusting your voice yet.
Another pause. God, it’s awkward.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he mutters again, quieter now. Not defensive. Unsure. “You know I think you’re amazing.”
Just not enough.
“I am pretty great,” but it comes out too soft.
Neither of you knows what to do with another stretch of silence. So you opt to drink some more water instead.
“Why do you like me so much?” He eventually mutters out as he bites his bottom lip, eyes falling to the ground like he can’t bear to watch your expression. “You could do a lot better.”
You smile, but it’s half-hearted. “How could I not?”
He pauses, as if choosing his words carefully before his voice comes out in a soft whisper. “You mean so much to me. You’re smart, beautiful, and everything good in between—whoever gets to call you theirs is the luckiest person I know. And you know I’d do anything for you.”
Despite their sweetness, his words feel like judgement wrapping around your heart in vines, squeezing just before it’s about to pop. You wish you could block your ears out for what comes next.
“But it can’t be me.” Caleb’s lips purse, brows furrowing as he looks away. “I can’t give you what you want.”
The rejection hurts more than you realized it would. You want to tell him that it’s not fair to treat you the way he does and expect you not to fall for him. That holding your hair when you vomit, falling asleep at your bedside when you’re sick, and his eyes closing in on you in any room that you’re in is not fair.
Instead, you nod. And you swear to yourself that you’ll swallow this sickening lump in your throat that makes you want to hurl and sob at the same time. That you’ll bury it deep in a graveyard within you that even the closest person to you would never know of. Especially him.
“I don’t want it, either,” you snort back, immediately perking up to slap his back in what results in a jolt. His shoulders tense as he blinks wide at you, unsure of the sudden shift in atmosphere. “I don’t want feelings that belong to someone else, dumbass.”
Once it sinks in that you mean it, a smile finds its way onto his face, though something flickers beneath it, like a flash of something you don’t want to look too far into.
Not because you still had hope, but because whatever existed between you had never been something as simple as a crush. It had roots—tangled deep into your souls and impossible to pull free without tearing something open. You wanted to keep what was left. Even if it lingered just a little longer, and even if you pretended not to see the splintering strands in the string tying you together.
So you let it settle. Let it rot somewhere you couldn’t feel it.
The two of you fall into the kind of closeness that you’ve always had, and time passes as if it was always meant to be this way. It’s easier this way. For a while, it does work, but nothing ever really stays under wraps. Despite your incessant protests in telling yourself it’s fading, the scars he’s inflicted on you are just that. Scars. Unmoving yet subtle.
The thinning thread finally snaps a few years later, when MC develops feelings for a coworker in the Hunter’s Association. The day the cracks in the glass bridge holding you together shatter beneath your feet into a million different pieces.
“When’s the last time you’ve slept?”
He’s sprawled shirtless on the couch of his apartment in Skyhaven, freshly out of the shower after you arrived to visit him for the first time in months—only to see that he’s nearly overworking himself to death. Despite him going off to the DAA after college, you’d kept close contact, the connection between the two of you never wavering regardless of your restricted time. It only changed after news of MC broke out. Worried, you’d rushed to Skyhaven to make sure he was doing okay, which you’re clearly glad you did now. You’d practically had to drag him to the shower to keep him from passing out next to the front door in his gear.
Caleb, clearly, is off. You suppose you don’t blame him. The woman he loves is yearning for another. Almost poetic, really, but you don’t like seeing him this way. Especially when you know what it feels like yourself, even if you’ve gotten used to it. Gotten over it. He looks like a kicked puppy. Hurt, like a dog who’s just been scratched by its owner.
“I dunno.”
You peer into the empty abyss that is his fridge and frown. There’s a few measly apples sitting inside, and a half-eaten protein bar that’s been there for god knows how long. “What the hell have you been eating?”
He responds with a grunt, letting his head fall back against the sofa. You decide to make do with the instant noodles he has stashed in one of the cupboards and bring it over to him once it seems mostly done. With a fork, you stick out a few noodles to his face, urging him. “Eat.”
“Not hungry,” he mutters.
“Don’t care. Sit up.”
He opens one of his eyes to peek at you, which somehow urges him forward. There’s darkness beneath his eyes—even stubble littering his chin from a few days worth of not shaving. You want to reach out and poke fun at him, but the state he’s in deters you. Instead, you silently feed him, watching him chew his food while staring at your hands. It makes you wish you put on a fresh set of polish before you came.
You twirl another small forkful and hold it out. He leans forward this time without being told, taking it quietly. His shoulder brushes yours as he settles back against the couch, and you can feel his skin through your shirt.
“Thanks,” he mutters, voice rough from disuse more than anything. “For coming.”
“Yeah,” you say, quieter now. “Someone had to make sure you didn’t rot in here.”
He huffs a faint laugh, though it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Probably would’ve. Dramatic way to go out, huh?”
You nudge his knee with yours. “Starving to death in your own apartment? Real heroic.”
A ghost of a smile flickers across his face. It makes your heart flutter. Stupid feelings.
“…thanks for coming, splints,” he says.
Your chest tightens—sharp and sudden. It feels like it’s threatening to feel something that’s not yours to feel. So instead, you look down at the bowl, pretending to focus on separating another bite. You twirl your fork, more carefully this time. “I had to. You weren’t responding, so I thought you died, or something. Open.”
He rolls his eyes, but obeys anyway. “Bossy.”
“Learned from the best.”
His lids flutter shut, voice dropping to a lower hum. “I missed this.”
Your hand stills. “What?”
He shrugs, eyes still closed. “You being here.”
His hair is sticking to his forehead, still damp from the shower. Before you realize what you’re doing, you brush a stray strand of hair off his forehead. You speak quietly. “You look like shit.”
“Wow,” he mutters. “You have a way with words.”
You frown, and without thinking, your hand lingers at his temple for just a second longer than it should. His skin is warm, still hot from the shower.
“Idiot,” you whisper.
He catches your wrist. Not tight, not stopping you. Simply holding it there for a moment that feels too long and not long enough at once. Your eyes meet for a fleeting moment, and then you’re looking away, setting the mostly finished bowl of noodles onto the coffee table to pull away.
“Don’t make this a habit. I’m not flying out here every time you forget to eat.”
“Could,” he murmurs. “You would.”
You don’t respond to that, because he’s not wrong.
“…Is she okay?”
It slips out of him like instinct. Like breathing. And just like that, everything shifts. You don’t answer right away—instead, your fingers tighten slightly around the fork.
“She’s fine,” you say eventually. Leave it, you plead in your head.
“Did she say anything?” he asks, sitting up a little more now. There’s something in his eyes, like he’s searching. “When you talked to her.”
You shrug, trying to keep your tone even. “Just normal stuff.” Stop, you think. Please stop talking.
“Like what?”
“Like her job. Her grandma. Nothing serious.” Shit.
He frowns slightly. “She didn’t mention him?”
There it is. It’s always about her.
You know he’s in a vulnerable spot right now, but it does nothing to ease the sudden flame roaring in your chest. Whether it’s from years of repressed hurt or shame, all it amounts to is a relentless ball of rage inside of you that leaves your nails digging crescents into the palms of your hands. You stare at him, chewing on the inside of your cheek as you inch away from him.
“Does it matter?”
Caleb’s face relaxes. “What?”
“Why does it matter what she thinks about him? She likes him, end of story, no?”
“I just want to know if he’s a decent guy.”
Your ass. “That’s not really your business, Caleb, but sure. He’s a great guy. Amazing, honestly. He’s really gentlemanly and checks every single box. He lives above her apartment, so they’re right next to each other. He treats her gently, too. I’d bet every girl would jump at a chance to date a guy like that.”
You’re not sure where the words are tumbling out of, but it’s too late to go back. Neither do you want to.
“I wonder if he has a brother. Maybe MC could set me up or something.”
“Oh. Is he…” Caleb’s back straightens, and you notice his fingers digging into his thighs. “...handsome?”
“Didn’t you hear me? I’m telling you, he’s perfect. His face could pay for the Linkon rent by itself.”
He suddenly stands, and you glare up at him through your eyebrows. “Why are you talking like that?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” you scoff.
He narrows his eyes. It’s something you haven’t seen in a while, since Caleb rarely gets upset at you. “You know exactly what I’m talking about, splints.”
“Can you just spit it out? What am I saying differently?”
“You’re angry.”
You stand, following suit. He looms over you to have his shadow essentially engulf you, and you wish you could kick his ankle so he falls to the ground. “Maybe if you weren’t so irritating, I wouldn’t feel so annoyed right now.”
“What?”
“It’s hard to watch, Caleb,” you hiss out in exasperation, throwing your hands into the air. “It’s always pipsqueak this, pipsqueak that, pipsqueak what. Seriously, we’re not kids anymore, you need to get over it!”
You’re not sure if you’re talking to him or yourself anymore.
“Can we calm down and talk? If I’ve been talking too much about it, I can stop, so—”
“We haven’t seen each other in months, Caleb! And all you want to ask me about is how she’s been? Why don’t you ask her yourself, if you’re so curious? Oh, but you can’t, because you always have to be perfect in front of her. So instead, you dump all of this on me. Your goods and bads, all of it, just for me to get kicked to the curb like I’m some dispensable object.”
“What?” his balks. “Dispensible? Are you serious? As if I haven’t gotten you out of every little thing you’ve gotten yourself into the past decade of our lives? As if I haven’t picked you up every weekend from your friends’ places at three in the morning? Like I haven’t called you every single week—”
“Well, I want you to stop that!” your words spit at him like weak knives, growing louder by the second.
“You didn’t seem very against it the last forty times.”
“I am now.”
“What has gotten into you, splints?”
“Don’t call me that right now,” you glower, and you try to ignore the hurt flashing across his expression. “I’m just sick of seeing you follow her around like some wet dog. She doesn’t see you like that, can’t you see that?”
Your breathing begins to stutter, and you suck in a deep breath through your nose. Your chest stings, and you pray that you don’t lose composure so the tears threatening to bubble at the corners of your eyes remain hidden.
“You told me that you couldn’t give me what I wanted. Well, she can’t either,” you bore holes into his chest, too afraid of what you might see if you look up. “If I can get over my stupid feelings, so can you.”
But you’re not over it. Not at all.
He opens his mouth to respond, but nothing comes out. For the first time in a while, you’ve rendered him speechless, and it feels even worse than what it felt to be rejected years ago. You’re not sure how your nails haven’t drawn blood at this point. You’d rather that they do, so you have some excuse to use the restroom.
“It’s not fair what you do, Caleb,” you try to will your tears to stay at bay, but you can’t help them. They sting, blurring your vision as you drop your head in some pathetic hope that he won’t face them head on. “How you treat me when you don’t like me like that is not fair. At least MC doesn’t know, but you—you know, and yet you—”
The rational part of you says that it’s not entirely his fault. Sure, you insisted on staying by his side. Sure, you insisted that you could push down your feelings. Sure, you’ve promised a lot of things, but it’s his fault too, for being the way he is—so kind, so thoughtful, just so him.
You wipe desperately at your tears. It was a lost cause from the start.
“Please don’t cry.” His face drains of color, apparent even against the dim lighting in his apartment. He steps towards you, and you take a step back. “Please don’t cry, splints, just not that.”
But when your tears refuse to cease dripping down your cheeks, your face flushing in humiliation, you feel both his hands cupping either side of it. He tilts your gaze up, and you realize that he’s only inches away from you, so much so that you can feel his breath against your skin. It’s moments like these that you lose yourself in his beauty. The deepness of his eyes that seem to peer into your very soul is one of the first features that you fell in love with as a child, and it hasn’t changed since. Damn him. You blink, eyes wide while his own flicker to your lips.
“Be as mad as you want. Hit me, hate me even,” he whispers, his nose almost touching yours now. His thumb pad smooths your tears away. “But don’t waste your tears on someone like me.”
You think you might be imagining things. Because with the tension that nearly suffocates you and his lashes almost fluttering against your skin, you think he might be about to kiss you.
A sharp pain jabs you in the chest. Is it pity? A consolation prize dressed up as something softer? Is it to smooth things over, to make this moment easier for him to leave behind? Or is it rebellion? Something reckless from the fact that he can’t have her? Your tears have dried up, but the rest of your body seems to weep, as no excitement, no butterflies course through your veins.
Why is it always something else? Why is it never you? It only hurts—because even now, you’re just the place he empties everything he feels for her.
Instinctively, you press your palm into his lips to push him away, and it feels like the air itself has stilled.
His breath lingers against your skin. Yours stutters like it’s forgotten how to exist in the same space as him. The air is so thick you could slice it with a knife.
Eventually, he pulls away. Caleb stares at you with an expression you haven’t seen before, though you don’t look long enough to analyze it. Wordlessly, you gather your things, stuffing your jacket into your bag and stumble over to the door—all while he stays locked in a petrified state, like he’s processing what he just did. Your gaze remains fixated on the wooden panels of the floor while you pack, refusing to look any higher in case you might see anything other than his feet.
“Don’t follow me,” you tell him as you leave.
You don’t wait to see if he hears you.
The journey home feels like there’s a gaping hole in your chest, and all you can do is stare out the window as you feel the vibrations of the train through your fingertips. Outside, the world blurs past in streaks of dim lights and shadowed shapes, and you wish that your feelings were as fleeting as the buildings blurring by.
You try to count the number of trees you see. Not on the warmth of his breath against your palm. Not on how close he’d been. Not on the fact that, for a second, you almost let him.
If you hadn’t pushed him away, would it have meant anything? Or would you have just been a mistake he’d regret in the morning?
Your phone buzzes frantically in your pocket, and you pull it out to see his name in big bold letters. He’s texting you simultaneously, apologizing in so many different ways that they all start to blend into one message you don’t plan on reading. You refuse to give into what your heart wants. It’s hurt you too much in the past. So instead, your thumb hovers above the ‘mute’ button.
You press it and shut your eyes.
Even if it’s difficult to adjust the first few weeks without him, you can’t bear to face him either. He shows up at your door. Nearly every day for some time, knocking softly and asking if you’d be willing to talk. When you simply plug in your earbuds and bury yourself into your bed, he apologizes through the door and leaves you something to eat. You tend to throw it out at first, but after a while, you figure it’s just a waste. Just like that, a month goes by. And then another. Then another. Until you can’t count them on one hand anymore. He comes by once every two weeks or so now, likely busy with his work.
Despite how much your body seems to miss his presence, you wonder if you should distance Caleb permanently. It’s a daunting idea. One that you never would’ve thought just a few years ago, but the embarrassment runs deeper than you want to admit. The feelings you’ve tried so hard to hide clearly aren’t hidden. Is this sustainable?
Regardless of what you think, he comes around like clockwork.
“Are you in there?” He knocks gently on your door, voice soft. He probably knows you are.
“No.”
He chuckles from the other end. “Right. Happy birthday, splints.”
You glance at your phone calendar. He’s right.
As usual, he begins to talk about random events in his life that he hasn’t had the opportunity to tell you, and while you usually muffle it out, you decide to quietly shuffle over to the door today. To tell him, maybe, that you don’t want to keep doing this. Or maybe just to hear his voice, you don’t know. Either way, you slide your back down the door where he’s on the other side, pulling your knees into your chest.
“I don’t know if you’ve read my text, but–”
“I don’t read them.”
Caleb stops, and you can almost hear his breath hitch. You usually don’t give him more than a few words, much less a full sentence, so it seems to have taken him aback. After the brief remission, you hear him clear your throat. “Splints, can you open the door? I want to talk—apologize to you.”
Silence.
“Or I can do it out here. That’s fine,” he sighs. “I want you to know that it’s okay if you want to hate me forever after this. I won’t keep clinging to you if you at listen to what I have to say, but I really just—I need to say that this is my fault.”
You half-heartedly hear his words drone on, his confidence wavering every so often while you pull up his chats on your phone. You have no idea how you hadn’t folded and read his chats until now, though it might’ve been more so for your own peace than anything. There’s too many to scroll up to, so you read the most recent messages, squinting in the dark against the light of your phone.
[1:41PM]
[caleb]: are you eating well?
[caleb]: i made this today
[caleb]: [image attached]
[caleb]: your favorite dishes :) i’ll drop them off at your place later
[caleb]: i hope you’re not just throwing them out…wouldn’t blame you tho
[caleb]: at least take care of yourself :)
[8:13AM]
[caleb]: hi splints :)
[caleb]: you probably watched it already but that movie you wanted to see came out a week ago. I went to go see it
[caleb]: i still think it’s kind of bad…but it was entertaining
[caleb]: unless you wanna argue about it ?? :3
[5:32PM]
[caleb]: ranked first today
[caleb]: i was excited to celebrate it with you and then remembered :/
[caleb]: it doesn’t feel as good when i can’t tell you lol
[caleb]: hope you’re okay
[11:23PM]
[caleb]: i wish i hadn’t been so stupid
[caleb]: i didn’t deserve you back then
[caleb]: i still don’t
[caleb]: i shouldn’t have lost my cool when you were over here. didn’t like hearing you talk about that guy like that
[caleb]: im sure he’s a good looking guy, and i know you’re particularly weak to good looking guys…
[caleb]: i was being childish and i wish i could’ve explained it to you then
[caleb]: i know you don’t owe me anything and you don’t have to listen to what i have to say
[caleb]: but i never wanted to make you feel used, and i never did. if that even sounds believable lol
[caleb]: it was never about her
[caleb]: there’s so much more i want to say but i’ll say it in person
[caleb]: miss you a lot
[caleb]: sleep tight
You wish the tightness in your chest would go away. You wish you didn’t feel his sorrow through him. And you wish you didn’t care about your own feelings for him.
“I love you, splints,” he murmurs, and your attention tears away from the chats, your phone nearly clattering onto the floor. Your eyes widen, suddenly regretting that you missed the first half of his speech.
“Not in the way you say it to your friends, or the way you say it to family. You’re my life, and you’ve been my life since the day you gave me that ring. I care for MC, but what I feel for you is different. It’s always been different. I realized that years ago, but I was afraid that it wouldn’t be fair for you. I thought you deserved someone better than someone who doesn’t know how to understand their own feelings.” Your throat dries. “I thought it wasn’t fair because I’d already put you through so much.”
“At the same time, I’m a selfish guy, you know? I couldn’t let you go either, because I couldn’t bear to see you with someone else. I wanted it to be us, and the only way I could think of existing without feeling like I was ruining you was to stay how we were. Stagnant, I guess,” he chuckles, but it feels sad. Weak. “I’m an idiot when it comes to you, you know.”
You don’t respond.
Not because you don’t have anything to say—if anything, there’s too much. It crowds your throat, every word scraping against the next until none of them can make it out. Your fingers hover uselessly over your phone, screen still lit with a conversation you can’t even remember reading.
‘I love you.’
The words echo, but they don’t land the way you once dreamed they would. They don’t bloom or soften or fix anything. They just sit. Too heavy. Too late.
Your chest tightens, aching outward like it’s trying to break free. Because you’ve wanted this—God, you’ve wanted this—for so long that you stopped letting yourself imagine it could ever actually happen. It should feel like relief. Instead, it feels real, but fragile.
Because you remember too much. The almosts. The waiting. The way you learned how to swallow your emotions when he built a wall between the two of you—and that doesn’t disappear just because he finally found the words.
Your hand curls slightly against the door, fingers brushing the cool surface.
Even with all that, you still miss the warmth of his skin. How his hair felt through a towel as you dried it. How he’d flick your forehead when you’d get a question wrong during one of his tutoring sessions. How he’d tease you about your grades or interests, and learn more about them anyway. How he’d message you throughout the day about random endeavors. How he’d always be there. How with just a call of his name, he would’ve crossed the continents for you. His eyes. His lips. His face. His painfully handsome face.
You remember him in all parts of your life—and not a single moment you’ve spared has gone without him. You remember how he held your hand when you’d broken your arm, and the way he’d lifted you into the air and embraced you when you were accepted into the same college as him. You remember how he’d pet your hair as you complained about him going too far for the DAA, promising he’d visit often. And he did. He always kept his promises.
Your body moves on its own, as if this was how it was always meant to be. The door slowly creaks open.
“…We’re a mess.”
A faint, tired smile is all you can give him. Still, when he sees you, the world seems to stop for just the two of you, and it takes him a moment to fully register that you’re really there. That you’re not just a figment of his imagination, and he hasn’t truly lost you forever as he’d feared. “This doesn’t mean you’re completely out of the woods. I’m still mad.”
“You should be,” he whispers out, nearly breathless.
Hesitantly, you step towards him. He reaches his arm out, brows furrowed cautiously like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to even blink right now. The tips of his fingers twitch towards you. You raise a brow, and he swallows the lump in his throat, retracting back until you nod.
Realizing you don’t have shoes, you step onto the fronts of his shoes one foot at a time, taking his hand until you’re flush against him and he’s already engulfing you into a crushing embrace. His arms wrap around you, strong and warm. He smells good. Though you can’t confidently say the same for yourself given the state you’re in, he drops his chin into the crook of your neck and inhales deeply, like a man starved.
“Note to self,” you mumble. “Don’t propose to any handsome guy you see.”
Caleb laughs, airy this time, and you feel it against your collarbone. “I thought you were going to leave your husband out here to die in the cold.”
“I should divorce you. We’re not even married yet.”
He grins, lopsided. “You should.”
“I won’t.”
“I know.
You bury your face into his chest, fingers digging into the fabric on his back. “I don’t want a version of my life without you, Caleb. As annoying as you are.”
He pulls away for a brief moment and places a kiss on your cheek, his own dusting red. Flowers feel like they’re blooming on the spot he pecked, but somehow, it feels natural. You’ve always been close to him physically throughout your upbringing, even if it never involved lips–that was new territory. You cross your arms, relying on his hands around your waist to keep you upright. “Tell me more.”
“You nag too much.”
He kisses your nose. “Hm?”
“You’re emotionally repressed.”
“Ouch.” He kisses your temple.
“You’re too good at things you don’t try at.”
Your jawline.
“You’re unstable. You’re too protective. You’re stupid.”
“I love you,” he says, pressing his forehead against yours. His lips hover above your own, just centimeters away.
Your lashes flutter against his. “Then prove it to me.”
“I will,” he whispers, just as his mouth slots against yours, and a warmth blooms throughout your chest. You melt into him, like you always have and you always will. “I’ll prove it to you for the rest of my life.”
Here you can donate to the families in Gaza. We have collected $3,912 / $20,000.
This video shows ongoing, systematic demolitions in Gaza.
Homes are being destroyed, neighborhoods cleared, and entire areas wiped out even now, while a ceasefire is supposedly in place.
People are watching their houses disappear piece by piece.
Not during fighting.
Not in the middle of airstrikes.
But after everything, when they were told it was safe to breathe again.
The destruction didn’t stop.
It just became quieter.
These images show displacement tents set up right next to a heavily damaged building.
The building was hit before and is leaning, at risk of collapsing at any moment.
Families are living in these tents because they have no other place to go.
There are no safe areas left, no intact homes, no shelters to move to.
Leaving this spot doesn’t mean safety it just means being displaced again.
So people stay.
Not because they feel protected,but because this is the last option they have They sleep knowing the building beside them could fall.
They wake up hoping it doesn’t.
This is not temporary living This is forced survival.
Donate for GAZA
This donation campaign is for ANAS family. Not for strangers, not for a cause I'm distant from but for the people who raised me, the people I love, the people I'm terrified of losing.
They are in Gaza, trying to survive something no human being should ever have to endure. Constant bombardment, displacement, hunger, fear, and the feeling that tomorrow is never guaranteed. Every day is about staying alive one more night.
If you choose to help, you are not donating to an abstract crisis. You are helping real people with names, memories, and lives that matter to me more than anything.
You and your partner get caught up in another wanderers protofield disturbance. Vision blurs, the scenery shifts, and despite the area looking familiar now, you're cautious. Careful as you move to peek around corners and try and spot any other disturbances after the fight.
That's when you see it. Or, more specifically, another version of him. And you. And--- little visions of you both.
Or-- how you and your lads man react to seeing a glimpse of your future together.
Notes: 4.5k total length, Fluff! A dash of angst, I gave them all children and named them, reader is called "mom". if any of the protofield/anomaly stuff is incorrect, no its not.
+ requests are open :D
Xavier and you were already on edge from the disturbance. The fight against the wanderer went fine, but when he moved to grab the protocore?
The world got fuzzy and it all blurred. Until you ended up here. In the hallway of your apartment building.
"...?" Both of you share a puzzled glance. Because yeah, you've ended up in foreign landscapes from strange anomalies before. But something so... familiar? It wasn't something either of you had seen before.
"...Hey, this one's your apartment." Xavier murmurs, pointing at the numbers on the door.
"...Oh, it is." Your eyes land on the wooden door. Tilt your head. The rest of the hallway looked unremarkable, but... "Is it... in here?"
Sharing another glance, he nods. "It wouldn't hurt to check. Maybe the wanderer was being friendly and saving us the trip back home."
"...That's unlikely."
He just shrugs. You press your finger to the door scanner. It unlocks, and Xavier steps in before you.
The scent of warm food hits you both instantly.
"...The wanderer left us hot pot." Xavier mumbles.
"Maybe you're onto something, actually."
The two of you are still cautious as you enter further into the apartment and--
Xavier freezes first. Holds a hand out to keep you flat against the wall as he peers around the corner.
"...Xavier? What is it?"
He's silent.
"Xavier--"
"Shush."
You fall silent. He moves his arm from over your chest to your waist, carefully steering you so you can peer around the corner.
You freeze too.
Because... you're there. Sat around the kitchen table. Except you're older, body on the cusp of starting to grow softer and wrinkled. Next to you, is an equally older Xavier, but he still looks rather youthful, all things considered. He just has more noticeable eyebags. Hot pot is spread out on the surface, and on Xavier's lap?
A little kid. No older than 2, maybe 3. With your hair color and his blue eyes.
You're watching Xavier as he picks things out of the broth, and sets them on a plate in front of him for the kid to try.
"...Here. Have a piece of bok choy." He murmurs.
Yet they shake their head. "Wan' beef."
"Alright. Here you go." He reaches his arm out. Grabs a piece. Hovers it just outside of the toddlers reach. "Hm... how about this? you eat the piece of bok choy first, Nova. It's good for you."
Nova frowns. "...wanna sleep with mama t'night."
You snort beside them, taking a bite of your meal. "Wow, Xavier. You hear that? Nova's really starting to speak up against the eating of bok choy."
Xavier let's out a quiet laugh, shaking his head. "If Dada gives you a piece of beef to eat with the bok choy, will you cuddle with me tonight?"
Nova nods.
Xavier sets the piece of beef down. Breaks it up so Nova can chew safely. Shares a smile with you when the plate gets cleaned before he grabs a quick bite himself.
It's then that blue eyes notice something over your shoulder.
And, it's then that your current Xavier pushes you both flat against the wall.
"...I looked my way." He whispers.
"He didn't see us, right?" You whisper. "Time traveling 101 is that you can't let the other version of you see you or else it'll go all wonky." You murmur. The two of you have seen enough strange sci-fi movies to both know that.
"...Mh, I dunno. I am rather alert..."
You nod. "You are. And we're..."
Trailing off, you share a glance.
Parents. You're parents in the future. Just one little kid, but you've never seen Xavier as a big family type.
It's... quiet. Domestic.
Neither of you can help the small smiles on your lips.
"We're really lifelong partners, huh?" You murmur.
He nods. If only you knew just how long 'lifelong' was.
Hearing a chair get pushed back, Xavier takes a quick glance around the corner. "Oh, you're moving. C’mon, we should go. See if there's another way back to your apartment." He says, before adding, "...Your current apartment."
You nod. His grip on your hand is firm as he quietly leads you out of the apartment.
Yet, you can't help it. Taking a final glance behind you, you see the older version of you carrying Nova across the room towards the bedrooms. And---
Your heart jumps when blue eyes stare straight at you, before blinking.
"Mama..."
"Hm? What is it, Nova?"
"You..."
"Me huh? You still wanna sleep with me?" Older you coos, rubbing their cheek and kissing their head before disappearing out of sight, and before you and Xavier slip out of the apartment and shut the door.
"Xavier, uhm--" You start.
Yet his lips are on yours. Tugging you close as his mouth moves gently on yours. Pulling away with your head cupped in his hands.
"...Sorry." He murmurs. "I just... really wanted to kiss you. I... I didn't realize I'd have such a future with you."
"...Why not?"
He shrugs. Eyes flickering over you. Xavier doesn't have the courage to say how he's slowly dying. How he just wonders how much life he has left in this future with you.
"Just... never expected the kid." He mumbles. Because that's true too.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. But... if we had that future for real, I'd... I'd be happy. So happy." He whispers, hugging you close to his chest. Head on your shoulder. "...I'd be happy if we didn't, though. As long as you're by my side."
The moment the protofield disturbance settled around you, Zayne's hand was reaching for you.
"Are you alright..?"
Nodding, you glance around you. "...we're in a bedroom."
His eyes scan over you for peace of mind, before looking around. "...we are."
"Do you recognize it?"
"...no. but its sizable."
"Yeah... why would a wanderer send us to a bedroom?" You murmur.
The two of you pace around it. It's... a plain bedroom. Pushing open the closet, you can't help but smile despite the odd situation. "Heh. It looks like your closet at home with all the black button downs."
"Yeah? Well that dress there looks a lot like yours."
"Oh, it does." you continue to ruffle though clothes, before pausing. "...? Who lives here? This dress is... way bigger than my size. You cheating on me?"
He scoffs. "...don't be ridiculous."
You bite the inside of your cheek to hide your smile.
It's then you're interrupted.
"Mom-!" A soft voice yells
"Mama you're back!" Another voice yells. Equally as soft but more higher pitched.
Green eyes share a confused glance with yours.
"...There are kids here?" You whisper to Zayne.
"...Apparently."
The two of you carefully push the bedroom door open, before you sneak along the hallway walls.
"Oh my God."
Taking a step back, you bump into Zayne's chest. He steadies you, before looking to see what startled you and--
"Oh."
Your gazes are locked on a much older Zayne. Yet, despite looking older, glasses perched on his nose, he seems more calm. Less stressed, but a few grey hairs nonetheless. And by the front door, you're crouched down, a few wrinkles on your face to match Zaynes. Arms wrapped around an older boy and a younger girl who both share Zaynes dark hair.
"Yes, yes, mama's back home." You hum, kissing both their heads.
"Did you save a lot of people today?" The girl asks.
"Yep." You hum. "Did you two have fun with dad?"
Both kids nod. "We helped make dinner." The older boy says.
"And dessert." The youngest adds.
"Oh? What's on the menu, Jasmine? Jingque?"
"Vanilla cupcakes." Jasmin answers.
“Stirfry’s for dinner.” Jingue murmurs.
"Sounds good. Go wash up, you two." Murmuring, your gaze turns to Zayne as they run down the hall. Lips twitching up as you lean into his embrace. "Cupcakes, huh?"
"...They didn't want cookies."
"Mh, unlikely. Considering they're your kids."
He shakes his head. "It's... good to spice it up."
"Mh.. I suppose so." One hand pushes his glasses up, before you're moving in to kiss his lips. And pulling back to glance towards the bathroom, before kissing him again.
"I'm so lucky." You hum.
"Are you now? You say that all the time, you know."
"It's true. Not everyone has the ex best surgeon in Linkon at their fingertips."
"Well... then I must also be lucky. Not everyone has the best hunter in Linkon city, either."
"What a way with words." Your hands pat his chest, leaning in for one last peck before the bathroom sink gets turned off and footsteps start to approach. "You can show me just how "lucky" you are tonight."
And it isn't until future you starts to walk away, and two kids come from the opposite hallway, that you realize you and Zayne are... fucked. More or less. Right in the middle of the hall. Very visible.
Zayne seems to have the same realization, as he quickly opens the storage closet behind you and pulls you in, your back against his chest, before you carefully turn around.
It's dark. And you're both silent. If you had to guess... his expression matched yours.
"...you know," he starts. "I... I think that dress that was too big was a maternity dress."
"I... that's what you're thinking about? Zayne we-- we have two kids."
"...We do."
"The oldest one looks a lot like you."
"...Jingque does, yes. But... Jasmine was unmistakably you."
You bite your lip as you grin. Face pressing against his chest as he holds you. At least, until you look up again, as if that makes a difference in the dark closet. "Wait you-- I called you an "ex surgeon". You stayed home with the kids. Did-- holy shit are you planning to retire??"
"...Not at the moment, no." He murmurs. "But... if we had two kids, I'd definitely consider it."
"So... in order to see Zaynie more... I need to have a kid?"
"Two."
"Mh... okay."
Yet he shakes his head. "But... don't let this sway your judgement. We should still... talk about the possibilities, and my work schedule still shows very little chances of lightening up and..."
Lips press against his. Pull away. Voice a whisper. "...we'll be fine. Clearly."
"There's no guarantee that's our future.”
"...I'd like to think it is."
The two of you have spent a better part of an hour trapped in Rafayel's studio-- or what he claimed was his studio.
You weren't sure if it was. Mainly, because the floor was cleaner and had less mess worth tripping over. Albeit, the walls were covered in more art than he usually had.
You two have checked every door for a way out. Tried to find where the protocore was that was keeping you here.
He's plopped down on his couch and sighing. "Cutie... have you found it yet?"
You sigh. "No. Are you seriously done helping?"
"We've already looked everywhere. So I might as well get comfortable. Maybe it's like that one time on the beach and my prayers have been answered to be alone with you again."
Holding one hand out, he beckons you closer. Shaking your head, you approach. Intertwine your fingers with his. He tugs you down and places a kiss on your nose.
"You think I'm right?" Rafayel asks.
"Well it's the best theory we have right now..."
He grins. Leans in to kiss you, when you hear it.
Giggling. And footsteps coming your way. Quickly, you tug on Rafayel's hand and drag him up the stairs. He whines about his arm hurting before you cover his mouth.
"Someones here."
"But Cutie, if it's a person is it really necessary to hide?"
"I dunno. What if the wanderers trying to bait us?"
Smushed together against the wall, the two of you peer through the glass railing at the top of the stairs.
The patio door slides open. Four people walk in.
You and Rafayel stop breathing. In fact, your face heats up and his ears start to burn so red you'd think he'd use his evol.
There was no other justification for the sight in front of you.
Because it was you and him. Side by side. Your body looked a little different, face a little older. Rafayel still looked a bit youthful, but even he was starting to show a few signs of age.
And... in both their arms? He was holding a little girl. Towel wrapped around her bright pink bathing suit, and her long, wavy hair damp and the same faded purple color as Rafayels.
Your arms were around a similar looking kid, albeit this one had shorter hair instead.
A boy and a girl. Twins.
You and Rafayel had...
"Mommmm can we swim more after dinner??" The boy whined. Voice high pitched, but almost startlingly similar to Rafayel's cadence.
"No, Caspian. We're going to Rafayel's exhibit tonight."
"But mommmm, it's so boring!!" The girl whines.
"Yeah, mommm it's boring." The older Rafayel joins in.
You sigh. "Raf, don't encourage them."
"I'm just saying, I could make Thomas resched--"
"No." One hand secures Caspian, while the other points at him. "Thomas has already had enough of the headache with you painting this exhibit. You’re not skipping out on this one just so they can swim."
"But mommm!! We won't be able to swim once we get back. It'll be too dark."
"Mh, well... There aren't any plans tomorrow, Cordilla. We can swim all day if you want. Enjoy the good weather when we still have it." Smiling at the girl, she and her brother nod eagerly.
"Okay!"
"Sure."
...From up on the railing, Rafayel watches with wide eyes and parted lips. Taking in every little detail.
Caspian and Cordillia, huh...
He starts to laugh.
"I... Rafayel!" You whisper, moving your hand back over his mouth. "Keep it down!" Yet your palms shaky on his lips.
You knew you wanted to stay with him. But the two of you never talked about having kids.
"Sorry, sorry.' He whispers, moving to grasp your hand on his mouth and turn it around for a kiss. "I just..." words trail off. He thinks of a hundred different things he wants to say. How seeing this future makes him the happiest man alive. How knowing she stays long enough to even have a future with him, or the fact that they were able to have twins without nature being cruel.
He settles on something else entirely. "I didn't expect you to still nag me so much in the future."
Your eyes narrow. "..well, I didn't realize you were going to still be so sleazy either. Poor Thomas is like in his 50s now and you're still stressing him out."
He shakes his head. The smile on his face is wide. "...yeah, well... I'd do anything for you guys."
Your smile matches his. Tug him a little closer.
"I can tell. You've kept the floors clean. That's a miracle on its own." You whisper. He huffs another laugh.
Back downstairs, the older couple works on dinner together. The twins are set down to go get changed, as their parents laugh and tease each other behind them.
Navigating across the living room, Caspian looks up, before Cordilla follows his gaze.
The glass railing... shows a reflection of their parents. Younger. Closer. Their mom in front of their dad, but their guards down as they quietly laugh about who knows what.
"...is this a weird anomaly thing mom always talks about?" Caspian asks. Cordilla shrugs.
"It's probably nothing. Mom's watch would've beeped if it was. C'mon."
By the time they get to the top of the stairs, the reflections are gone and they've forgotten all about it.
"...Mh, I told you wanderers were stronger in the N.109 zone, sweetheart." Sylus murmurs.
You can't help but roll your eyes, scanning over the area. "...Well, now we're in what looks like Linkon."
"Yeah?"
"Uh huh... I mean look out the window. At least the wanderer didn't send us that far..."
"It's just an illusion, kitten. None of this is real, you know."
"Yeah, but still. Its--"
You go to plop down on the couch. To ramble on about how the respite is nice.
Yet you freeze when the lock clicks.
"Shit--" You start. Try to find somewhere to go. "I-- if the house is owned then we're--"
Red mist envelops you, before you stand safely out of sight, tucked in an odd nook under the stairs.
"I... you really couldn't get us out of here?" You huff.
"I could. But consider it... morbid curiosity. The door could just be an illusion, you know?"
Shaking your head, you fall silent.
"Mom, we beat you home." A girl brags, before running into the living room.
"Of course you two did– Hey-- shoes off." A voice huffs. One that sounds oddly like... yours.
"But dad always keeps his--"
"Listen to your mother, princess."
You feel Sylus' heartbeat pickup behind you at the sound of his voice.
The girl huffs. Stomps back towards them, kicks her shoes off, before plopping onto the couch. Thats when current you sees her.
The girl looks to be about eight. Medium length hair with choppy bangs as white as Sylus'. She's in a dress with a black hoodie.
"Thank you. That wasn't so hard now, was it, princess?"
"No, but still. Why doesn't dad need to take his shoes off??"
"He does." You huff, "But... How was school, Saphira?"
"Good! When Dad was driving me home on his super cool bike we saw--!"
Saphira rambles about the sights she saw on Sylus’ bike ride there. That's when future you and Sylus walk over into the living room to listen to her. And, despite you looking older, soft wrinkles on your face, Sylus looks... the same. Maybe a bit softer. Like a domesticated wild animal.
He looked really happy.
“--And we went the long way on the way back home and saw an amusement park!! It was really cool, right dad?”
“Yes, it was. You should’ve seen the place, sweetheart.” Sylus murmurs to you. “We should go tomorrow night. They’re having a night market there. I know you like your trinkets…”
“Yes!! Yes we– Can we go, mom?”
“Of course.” You nod, leaning against Sylus. His hands rubbing your shoulder. “But only if you tidy up your room.”
“Okay!” She grins, before sprinting up the stairs, footsteps thumping above you before disappearing.
Sylus can’t help but grin. Lean over to future you, whisper something in your ear and kiss your cheek.
“Mh… You go ask her what she wants for dinner. I’ll make it.” You murmur.
“...We’ll make it.”
“Well well… someone’s free tonight.” Grinning, you trail a finger down his jaw.
“I hope to make the most of it. I’m busy tomorrow morning, so you have to drop Saphira off. Or, I could send the twins to come take her to school.”
“No no, I got it, Sy.”
“Of course you do, sweetheart. The twin’s will get her after school, though. And then once you’re off work, I’ll be done with my… deal. Then we can go to the market.”
“Sounds like a plan.” You smile. “But… What about tonight?”
“I’m sure you have a few things in mind, sweetheart.” He muses, nose nudging against yours.
And current you can’t help but smile, as older you and Sylus cuddle on the couch. Because, truly, you don't think you've ever seen Sylus so relaxed. So… domestic.
Glancing behind you, your eyes look at Sylus. Who’s staring ahead silently.
“...Sylus?” you whisper.
"...Stunning." He mumbles.
"Huh?"
"You look stunning." He clarifies. "Time did you well."
You can't help how your heart does that happy little flutter as Sylus slips an arm around you, holding you closer. Mist envelops your gaze instantly. Before you and your Sylus are safely out of view, and somewhere else entirely.
"Hey– I was curious what they were going to do next.” You huff.
“I think it was quite obvious.”
“...Still.”
Sylus chuckles. “Come now, Kitten. Let them have their moment in private.”
“But it's us! Thats– that's my Sylus who’s being all domestic and lovey dovey.”
“Your ‘Sylus’ is right in front of you.” He murmurs. “We’ll get to that moment one day, kitten. No need to rush.”
“...Well, yeah, but what if seeing that at all like... jeopardizes our future? Y’know?"
"No chance."
"You don't know that, though."
"...I don't, no. But, I know that I'm not letting you go anytime soon. Worst that happens, we have a son, or something. Maybe live in the N.109 zone instead of Linkon."
"No chance-- but hey, why do you live there? I thought you'd never give Onychinus up?"
"I wouldn't."
And, when you both end up back in your current time, neither of you can drop the debate of what your living situation could possibly be like in the future if you're both too stubborn to give either place up. Yet, his words lack any real fight, when he’s more focused on the fact that you really chose to stay by his side. That he actually has a chance of a domestic life with you. To have a kid.
And he can’t help that the smirk won’t leave his face for days. To the point that the twins are off put by how much the boss man keeps smiling.
Caleb was back from Skyhaven again. Like he was every weekend now. The routine came easy. Sure, only seeing him 3 out of 7 days of the week sucked, but you'd take it over his DAA days where you barely saw him at all. Or... when you didn't hear from him at all.
The two of you were walking to your apartment, when the wanderer was encountered. Luckily, both of you were unarmed, but...
"...Gran's place." You swallow. "Why did it... send us here?"
"Pipsqueak, this isn't just her place. It's... the rebuilt version." He swallows. "Maybe it's a sign... it still needs the finishing touches and some more furniture."
"It... looks pretty done to me. The lights are on."
Both of you look confused. He moves around the back of the home. The back patio is unlocked and he cracks it open enough that you can slip in.
First thing you notice? The furniture is different. House is a mess. Air warm and cozy, and full of chatter. The two of you sneak through the living room, towards the noise.
It’s then your gaze catches on the old mantle. The one Gran used to keep photos of her friends and a few pictures of you two on. And now? There was a photo of you. And him. On your wedding day. On your wedding day, from the looks of it. Caleb dressed in a suit and tie, with you in a wedding dress in his arms. Next to it are three different baby photos, dated a couple years apart. And then a family photo. Of you with two girls and a baby boy on a grassy field during summer.
“...Woah. Pips, c’mere.” He whispers, snapping you out of your daze. Steps hasty, you run over to his side, peer around the corner into the kitchen, before your eyes widen in shock.
And there you two were. Older. Your figure softer, his muscled body about twice as soft. A toddler on your hip, eyes focused on Caleb cooking with two girls next to him on their tip toes.
All three kids were brunette. Caleb’s hair color. The oldest girl had pigtails and shorts on, the middle girl with a ponytail and a flowy top.
“So next we add the… Spices, right?” the middle one asks.
“Thats right, Honey. Want to add them?”
“Yes!!” Honey nods, before she squeals as Caleb picks her up and holds her over the pot. She dumps in some spices, him stopping her before she adds too much.
“And what do we do next?” Caleb glances at the eldest.
“...Mix it?” She murmurs.
“Yep. C'mere, Cosmic.”
The girl giggles as Caleb’s other arm scoops her up so she can see inside the pot, her fingers gripping the spoon as she stirs the meat in the pot up.
Meanwhile, you lean against the kitchen counter, watching Caleb cook with a small smile on your lips. The boy in your arms whines. “Dada.” He babbles.
“Hm? Yeah, bud?”
“Can I mix?”
“Can you mix what?”
“Please?” He pouts.
“There we go. Bring Cameo closer, pips.” Caleb smiles, stepping to the side. Cosmic gives her brother the spoon.
And, back next to your current Caleb, shock settles in your gut from the… Very domestic scene that unfolds. You, Caleb, and three kids happily gathered around the stove as they cooked. Yet, it settles into something akin to joy. You knew Caleb was always the one for you, after all. But you just didn't realize what that future entailed.
Curious, your eyes glance at your Caleb.
The grin on his face is wide. He looks like he won the lottery.
"Whats that smile for?"
"Nothin' pipsqueak."
"Uh huh..." You nod, trying to act unimpressed, but you're sure you look almost as happy as he does.
"It's just, uh... you let me knock you up three times." He murmurs.
"I... Caleb you dummy! Don't phrase it like that." You huff, hitting his chest. His smile doesn't falter as he tugs you closer and into a kiss.
"Mh mh..." He murmurs as he pulls away. "But I'm your dummy."
"Yeah, but I just won't have kids with you. Because you said it so rudely."
"Uh huh..." He nods. "Sure ya won't."
Caleb just holds you for a few moments longer, before his arms drop. “...We should go. Honestly, I’m surprised that future-me hasn’t noticed us, yet. I thought I was more alert.” He whispers.
“Well… You always do get kinda stupid when you’re around those you love.” Biting your tongue, you leave the house with him. Heart warm from knowing what the future holds. “Now… How do we get back?”
“...I dunno.” He rubs the back of his neck, as you two start walking down the street. “I’m sure we’ll find the source of the anomaly soon, pips.”
“Hopefully. I mean, if not, I wouldn't complain about ogling you for a few more minutes. I never expected to see you put weight on.”
“...Did you not like it?” He murmurs, scanning your face.
“I mean, you did look… pretty hot. But I don’t think there could be a version of you that I don’t love, Caleb.”
And even when you two manage to get back to your time and head home, nothing seems like it’d be capable of wiping off the grin on his face. On making him forget what he saw. What you said. That there’s really a chance of a happy future with you.
Okay listen I have another disability related thing that’s important!!
If you have any disabilities linked to tooth decay/erosion, through direct cause or secondary symptom, it is vital that you get one or both of the following items: Sensodyne toothpaste and enamel repair mouthwash
This includes health conditions such as acid reflux, diabetes, thyroid conditions, fibromyalgia, chronic pain & mental illnesses such as depression that create poor hygiene routines, sensory issue disorders like autism and ADHD, and any health condition that causes frequent vomiting / increased stomach acid, including eating disorders and migraines.
All of these disabilities will erode the enamel of your teeth, not only opening you up to cavities but making it very easy to chip your teeth from such simple things as biting the wrong way on the tines of a fork. (I’ve chipped my teeth at least 4 times this way).
The toothpaste on the left here (sensodyne pronamel) is gentle on your teeth, won’t cause painful sensations from any extreme mint flavor, and will even protect your gums if they’re sensitive from any of these conditions.
The mouthwash on the right (Crest enamel repair) will, as it says, repair your enamel — which is marvelous, because the technology to repair your enamel at all is relatively very new to society! — but it is most importantly non-alcoholic. Meaning that it works well as a once-a-day rinse without any of the burning sensations of antiseptics that typically discourage people with sensory issues from taking care of their teeth.
I know remembering to do these things every day can feel like a lot when you’re sick and exhausted, but I promise a collective three minutes out of every day is going to save you an incredible amount of pain and money in the future. If your teeth are susceptible enough to rot, you can actually die from infection. And as they say, with how little insurance actually covers dental —
Clinpro is another great rx toothpaste that has a soft minty vanilla flavor. You can also ask for tooth cleaning powder at your dentist. The brand I use is called "common sense teeth cleaning powder," and it doesn't scratch the enamel off your teeth.
We use it when I need to neutralize the acid in my mouth because of things like acid reflux/the frequent throwing up that I used to endure because of my other ailments. Saved my teeth for sure.
TePe came out with new flavourless toothpastes this year for everyone with taste issues.
Also check out if you can get prescribed flouride tablets that you can use to get your flouride impulse if no toothpaste or mouthwash works. The other ingredients in toothpaste help you clean your teeth more quickly but if you brush well enough you can clean off the plaque with just a damp toothbrush. It takes much longer than with the help of toothpaste though. One trick for kids with sensory issues from my boss is to mash a flouride tablet with a drop of water and then put it on the brush.
(pics taken as the sun shines through the doors, making all the colors shine and projecting some of them across the hallway floor) (edited this reblog to add a second pic)
The galaxy map of this post's reblogs is a thing of beauty:
This isn't a post from a big blog that a ton of people reblogged from that one big blog. This isn't even a post that got big because one big blog reblogged it. Yes, there were a few big-name boosts, but almost all of these reblogs are just, this post ambling through Tumblr making people happy.
And that makes *me* happy. Thank you, fellow Tumblrinas!
[Note from Rae:] aaaaaaaaa I'm back with something new! :3 As the title of this fic states, Flins will be gifting you a candle (˶˃ ᵕ ˂˶) Actually, I do have another fic collecting dust in my notes app...but it's a pretty dark one which is only like what, 4/5 complete??
Anyways, I hope you enjoy this piece!!
💜✨ 🕯️✨💜
When you unwrapped the simple brown paper, an unscented wax candle greeted you. It had no scent, neither did it have any particular colour, nor did the candle have any carvings. Its only purpose was to be lit with a flame.
After you shared with him how you missed his presence next to you when he went out on duty, the fae immediately went to the best candle shop in Nasha Town to purchase a candle.
However, you weren't going to light the candle with matchsticks. Instead, Flins gifted you this candle so that he could light the wick with an azure flame. The flame is part of his soul, so you would be able to have him by your side wherever you went. The best part? The flame doesn't get put out by wind, and it sure doesn't burn stuff, making it all the more easier to bring the candle and the tiny around.
Despite being able to hear your conversation with him through the flame, Flins is unable to reply with his voice. So, he controls the flickering of the flame to communicate with you, and you were quick to decipher what each flicker meant.
When the flame flickers vigorously, it expresses the fae's delight to see you (when you leave the candle out of his sight of you). Depending on the context, he could be chuckling upon hearing you mention something hilarious during the day. On rare occasions, the vigorous flickering could also indicate that he's alarmed.
When the flame flickers idly, Flins is listening intently to what you have to say. What you don't see is that the fae beams while listening to your voice, as he always does when he's with you. Why would he not smile for his lover?
The flame burning a bright hue of blue means Flins is probably in stitches, trying his best to laugh like a civil human but absolutely failing to do so. Anyone who's near him would spot him doing his utmost to keep himself composed, before returning to his elusive demeanour. Once, you told him a joke you couldn't understand, and he burst out laughing, scaring Illuga who was by his side on a mission. It turned out that it was a centuries-old joke, back when fae still roamed the land, and the fae hadn't heard it in gosh knows how long. Illuga just discovered a whole new expression from Flins he thought would never witness during his lifespan.
Often, you'd find the flame dim and small, as Flins is in deep thought. He does the same in times when he hears that your day went rough.
Sometimes, you'd reach a finger out towards the flame, allowing it to touch the flame. Obviously, it didn't hurt. In fact, the azure flame feels slightly cool to the touch. You swore you could feel a tiny hand wrapping around your finger whenever you touched it, and it was pleasant to hold. After all, Flins could feel your touch and reciprocate it as long as you had physical contact with the flame.
You brought the candle up to your face to admire the flickering flame, and the fae was well aware of that, sensing your presence. Ah, it seems that his lover is appreciating its beauty. He flickered brighter, the small tongue of flame tickling your face.
What Flins did not expect was for you to lean a hair closer to the flame...before giving it a kiss. And where did the feel the kiss? On his lips!!
The fae was visibly flustered, the tips of his ears dusted pink when the feeling of your lips parted. Giggling, you watched as the flame burned an intense electric blue. Knowing very well that he could hear you, you muttered to the flame,
"I hope you received the kiss there, but most importantly, I hope it felt just like the ones we share."
You are definitely in for a one-hour session of kisses the moment Flins returns from his lightkeeper duties.
[Another note from author:] Well damn I ended up writing way better than the first version I wrote in school :D Aaaaand thanks for reading!! Also, I'll be crating a masterlist for all my works soon or ya can just find me on AO3 :3
a/n: an extended exploration of this post. zayne x non-mc reader, an au where you’re engaged to marry him except you want nothing more than to break it off so you decide to annoy him into doing it. there will probably be more bc i want to see these two bicker some more.
lately, there’s a look on zayne’s face that troubles you.
“hello, husband!” you greet, lips curled into a proud grin as you slip into his office. he is not your husband yet, nor will he ever be, if you have anything to say about it.
zayne pauses, looking up from the stack of papers in front of him. and there it is, that look. it had taken you a while to even notice at first, especially with the subtle way it takes form. an unexplainable warmth to him, a softness in how he holds himself. the tension that slowly melts away from his shoulders, the detachment that’s replaced with something so much like fondness.
“sweetheart,” he replies in turn, voice quiet and tempered. there’s the tiniest hint of amusement in his gaze, the corners of his mouth lifting a little.
yes, this is incredibly unsettling. there must be something wrong with him.
your grin drops, lips immediately twisting into a small scowl as warmth creeps up your cheeks. you’re the one who barged into his office but why does it seem like he’s the shameless one right now?
“maybe he has a fever? what else could explain this…” you mutter under your breath as you place the bag of snacks on his desk, an excuse for you to pester him.
there’s a small smile now on his face, one you can’t help but narrow your eyes at. instead of reacting, he elects to ignore you, inviting you to join him for a quick afternoon break. deliciously warm drinks and the spread of treats that you brought, a generous mix of both his favourites and yours. it’s a fairly nice time, all things considered.
and because you’re petty, you decide to cling to his side the whole time, playing up the pathetic and clingy partner. of course that only backfires when he doesn’t seem all too bothered by it. rather, he’s infuriatingly calm as he dares you, one eyebrow raised, to sit even closer to him. you don’t miss the quick flick of his eyes towards his lap.
…have you misjudged his character somehow?
but you would say you know your fiancé quite well at this point. it’s been almost half a year since the two of you were formally introduced, but you have known of zayne for much longer. after all, this was an arrangement made between family elders, long before the two of you were even aware of one another. a match of great importance. whatever that meant.
of course, what those people thought mattered very little in the grand scheme of things. they’ve put you in quite the awkward position, actually. only because while you are indeed engaged to the man, you’re pretty sure he’s in love with someone else?
the person who is so dear to him that the bond itself has permanently altered him. the same one who has inspired years of dedication and loyalty, the reason he keeps going. so on and so forth. the whispers about it have only grown louder around you. rather than feeling bitter or sad about it, you’re more frustrated by it all. you had your own wants and needs and dreams too, things you didn’t want to compromise on.
but zayne is simple enough in his temperament. a dichotomy. a calm and composed exterior with a soft and gentle center. almost like one of those ice-cream bars that have been dipped in chocolate. the same kind he bought you as compensation after he polished your dessert off at that first dinner, believing it was his. ears tinged a light pink, he’d apologized when you’d glared at him while taking angry bites of the sweet treat (in case he had second thoughts).
and although you’re certain he’s had something against you from that moment on, he generally treats you well enough, if not a bit tepidly. you’ve learned, now that you’ve spent more time with him, that he’s like that with most people. it’s nothing so severe, rather it’s something one just gradually learns to navigate around.
you don’t really believe he’s the type of person who would purposefully make things difficult for the people around him. your mother, at the introduction dinner, had made him swear to always look out for you. he had agreed then, no doubt swallowing the actual words he wanted to say because his parents looked so proud of him. not a single word of complaint or displeasure then, and certainly none now either. you’re not sure if you should be angry or sad at that. why couldn’t he just be more honest with himself? that would surely save everyone the trouble, right?
…and so he’d forced your hand. your grand mission? make him suffer. pester him enough that he’ll regret not saying anything sooner. bother him so much that he’ll break the engagement off on his own.
