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lalalascerealbowl · 15 hours ago

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EVERYDAY I SEE A CALEB FIC I YEARN A LITTLE HARDER 😫😫😫 (if you’re a sucker for really good angst GO GO GO READ NOW)

Off Limits ! ⊹ ࣪ ౨ৎ˚₊

pairing: caleb x fem!reader

content: friends to lovers, brother's best friend trope (cliche, ik, but i'm a sucker for it) eventual smut, u guys want each other so bad it hurts, sexual tension, angsty tension, mentions of guns, caleb is recovering, no evol au, reader is in college, [♥︎] = you, [★] = your brother

a/n: okay, would u guys be interested in this? lemme know before i go crazy writing it. this is the first 2 parts

INTRO

Spring break.

It was long overdue.

Between homework and studying, you couldn't remember the last time you got to just sit down and relax. Not only that, but it'd been a while since you'd seen your parents.

You'd make the most of these weeks.

"Excited to see Mom and Dad?" your brother asks, an easy grin tugging at his lips as he pulls into the driveway.

You smile back, nodding. "Yup. Feels like forever since I saw them."

He hums, putting his car into park and turning the engine off. "I bet."

You both step out of the car and pad to the trunk where you stuffed all your bags.

"You know..." he clicks the trunk open and starts unloading things, "even when they call me to see how I'm doing, they always end up asking about you."

You laugh, the sound earning a playful glare

"Just goes to show how precious their little baby is," he teases, and you scoff, nudging his shoulder.

"Stop it."

He smiles, gesturing for you to head toward the door, bags in hand. You nod, shuffling over and smiling at the little adornments from Thanksgiving that your mom keeps forgetting to put away.

She always had a bad habit of forgetting things like that. Apparently, it ran in the family.

Because when you stop at the front door with your hand hovering over the door, your brother suddenly blurts out, "Oh, Caleb's here."

Your throat tightens.

Caleb.

The boy you forced into playing kitty cards with you when he was over? The boy whose likes and dislikes you memorized? The boy you had a crush on before you even knew what a crush was. That Caleb?

Not that you still like him. You're over it.

It was just a childish infatuation.

But still... You guys had history. And maybe it was all in your head, but it always felt like you guys were toeing on more—just teasing the idea.

"What?" you finally say. "Why didn't you say anything on the way here?"

Your brother shrugs. "Didn't think it was important. It's just Caleb."

Right.

It's just Caleb. You have no reason to get nervous. You take a small breath, bracing yourself. But the air leaves your lungs the second the door creaks open and reveals Caleb—hair messy, and eyes soft, looking a little too comfortable in your house.

He gives you a slow smile and cocks his head to the side slightly. "Hey, Pipsqueak."

PART 1

Caleb's here and it's completely fine. Why? Because you're over your crush. It would be pathetic if you liked the same guy for 12 years.

Right?

Right.

Your parents made a fuss when they saw you. Your mom, who was trying to secretly cook your favorite meal and was caught red-handed instantly jumped at the sound of your voice.

She'd spun around and rushed to crush you in a big hug. And your dad, who was outside watering his plants (?(a new hobby, you supposed) came in, the knees of his jeans stained an ugly green as he joined the hug.

And when it was Caleb's turn, he was slow. It almost felt like he was studying you before he finally wrapped you in a hug. "Welcome home," he'd said.

And you barely heard him because you were only now realizing how big he was. How absurdly... fit he was. But it wasn't a omg-he's-touching-me-now-i-can't-focus moment. It was a holy-shit-he's-been-working-out moment.

But you're over your crush.

Seriously.

Caleb is just your brother's best friend now.

You breathe out a sigh of relief as you finally unpack everything, sinking into your mattress.

Home.

You didn't realize how much you missed this until you actually got here. Now, you weren't sure you'd ever leave. Maybe you wouldn't.

"Hey."

You know that voice too well.

Slowly, you look up, and there's Caleb, giving you a that lopsided smile.

"Hi. Ever heard of knocking?"

Caleb scoffs. "Your door was wide open."

"Doesn't mean you can just peek in."

Despite your words, Caleb doesn't stop himself from stepping in, nor do you. You just watch as he walks in and glances around your room like it's his first time here.

It's not.

But you could count the number of times he'd been here on your fingers.

"Hasn't changed at all, huh?"

You take a moment to give your room a once-over and shake your head. "Nope. I'm a little surprised."

Caleb sits beside you. "Yeah?"

"Mhm. My dad said that when my brother and I left he'd rent out our room. Thought he'd finally get the balls to do it this year."

He laughs at that. "Ouch." He waits a beat, then speaks up again. "He could never do that."

You smile. "I know."

There's an awkward silence where you two just look at each other. It makes your stomach turn and your chest tighten, but neither of you looks away. You can't place it, but something feels different.

He feels different.

You do too.

Softly, you ask, "Why are you here?"

"What? Can't be here to celebrate your homecoming?"

You give him a knowing look. "Caleb."

He sighs. "Okay... So I guess [★] hasn't told you?"

You narrow your eyes and suddenly you have a bad feeling. You never even asked him why Caleb was here. And yes, maybe he's here to celebrate your homecoming, but there's something else.

You felt it the minute Caleb opened the door looking way too at home.

"Hasn't told me what?"

"I—"

"Hey!"

You both sit up straighter when your brother appears in the doorway. "Food's ready! Hurry before it gets cold."

Then he's gone, leaving you and Caleb again.

You turn to him, brows furrowed with more questions. "Caleb—"

"I'll tell you after dinner, yeah?"

You huff, standing up. "Fine."

Dinner was nice at first. Really, it was. It'd been way too long since you ate with your parents, but they were... weird.

They babied Caleb. Saying things like "Oh honey, do you want this?" and "You've got to try some of this, son." They were just so comfortable with him.

Too comfortable.

"So, is Caleb your guys' new baby?" you tease, curiously glancing up at Caleb who sat next to you.

He shoots you a sideways look. "I guess I am." He nudges you with his knee, smiling. "Why? You jealous?"

You scoff. "No, not at all. They're all yours."

He laughs. He could pull his leg away, but he doesn't. He keeps it there, pressed right against yours. When you look at him again, he's eating again, but there's something there.

You could pull away too.

You don't.

"I guess we've just gotten too used to him," your mom says, lips curling upwards when her eyes land on Caleb.

You laugh quietly, but you're not sure at what. "Oh, really? Thought you would've forgotten about him since he's been in the Air Force."

Silence.

Dreadful, uncomfortable silence.

Your fork scrapes against your plate as you slowly look up. Your mom's smile has slipped from her face. Your dad's brows are knit together almost like a scolding. And even your brother looks like he wants to disappear right now.

What the hell is going on?

You glance up at Caleb. His jaw is tight and his smile looks strained.

"...What?" you ask quietly.

Another beat, then finally, your mom speaks up. "Caleb isn't in the Air Force anymore.. He's been living here with us while he gets everything settled."

Your mind completely glazes over the fact that he's living here. It goes straight to the whole, Caleb-isn't-doing-what-he-planned-his-whole-life-for for thing.

When you were a kid and you found out he'd be going to a military branch, you lost it. You wouldn't speak to him for weeks, insisting that he was going because he hated you.

He only got back in your good graces after spending a whole week with you and buying you a month's worth of ice cream.

He promised he'd come back. That as much as he cared about you, he couldn't give up on his dream.

Now this?

He wouldn't just quit. No, it was something else.

You look at Caleb again. "What? Why aren't you in the Air Force anymore?"

"Uhm. He had an ac—"

"That's not important right now," Caleb quickly cuts in, that feigned cheerfulness he'd mastered when you were kids creeping in again. "What's important is that you're finally home."

He turns to you, patting your head. "Right?"

"Wait, wait, you can't just drop that on me and not expect me to—Caleb, why aren't you—"

"[♥︎]."

Your brother gives you a look that says "shut up" and shakes his head at you. You do. But not without shooting Caleb one last pointed stare.

After that, the rest of the night is tense.

You feel like an outsider.

Because apparently, everyone in this house is a part of some big, important secret and you're not.

Nope.

Not you.

Everyone but you.

You groan, pressing the heels of your palms to your eyes.

Stupid jet lag. You can't sleep.

You've been trying for hours and all you do is end up in some new position that isn't any more helpful than the last.

You kick your legs over your bed and quietly pad to the kitchen. You need a glass of water, or maybe some warm chocolate milk.

You pull the fridge door open and just stare. Milk or water? Milk or water? Milk or water? It's a very important choice.

"You know you're gonna give your parents a higher electricity bill, right?"

You jump at the sound of Caleb's voice. For a second, you melt, then, your irritation comes bubbling back up.

"So you take care of their bills too?" you quip, turning back toward the fridge. "What else is new?"

Caleb sighs.

You've always been so headstrong.

But he doesn't feel like being witty right now. "Can't sleep?"

You shake your head in confirmation. "Jet lag."

He hums. Then it's silence. You hate the silences with Caleb. There's not supposed to be any.

Without looking, you ask, "What about you?"

You hear a soft sound, like maybe Caleb tried to say something then decided against it. "Yeah. Can't sleep," he finally answers.

Water, you decide. You leave the fridge to grab a plastic cup, but you stop. They're not in the cabinet where you last remembered.

"Other one, to your left."

You clench your jaw. Of course, he knows.

You wordlessly open that cabinet instead and grab a cup. You give him a pointed look before holding the plastic up to the water dispenser in the fridge.

"So why can't you sleep?"

Caleb thinks too long before shrugging. "Don't know."

"I hate when you lie to me," you mutter, finally closing the fridge.

Caleb stares at you, his eyes softening as he watches you lean up against the kitchen island and just glare at him.

"I'm not," he sighs.

"Mom was saying something at dinner. About why you're not in the Air Force." You take a small sip, still looking at him over the rim of your glass. "What was it?"

Caleb lets out another breath, his throat bobbing nervously.

It's like you can see him playing out every scenario in his head right now. Like he's trying to figure out whether he can talk himself out of this one or not. He's done that ever since you were young.

You hated it.

"It—" He immediately stops, shaking his head. "You don't need to worry about it."

Your chest suddenly feels too tight.

"Tell me."

Caleb takes a minute, then finally, "I was in an accident. That's all."

You narrow your eyes. That's all? That's all? That's everything. If he's not in the Air Force right now it's because the accident was serious enough to force him out, or scare him away.

And he wants to brush it off with a that's all?

You inhale deeply before speaking. "How bad was it?"

"Not bad."

You look away, scared that if you don't you might say something you don't mean. "I'm getting sick of you downplaying everything."

"It was a bad landing. I was fine."

You swallow back the lump in your throat.

Fine.

He doesn't have to tell you anything. But you're done pretending his vague answers don't bother you.

"Goodnight, Caleb."

You try to walk past him but his hand quickly shoots out to grab your wrist. You freeze, your skin prickling underneath his touch. When you look at him, he seems just as surprised as you.

"Sorry," he mutters, gently drawing his hand back. "I—It was a bad landing. I had a concussion and a few broken ribs. Nothing I couldn't handle."

You try to stop it from coming out. But you can't. "Why didn't I know?"

Caleb sighs. "C'mon. We didn't want to worry you."

He says we like it wasn't his choice not to tell you. Like he didn't make this accident everyone else's secret too.

"I want to know if you almost died."

"I didn't almost die, I was fine—"

"But you could've!" you cut in, voice rising. "What if something worse happened? Like you lost your limb or something? Were you just not going to tell me because you didn't die?"

His lips twitch with a frown. "[♥︎]..."

"What about me?"

He shakes his head slightly. "What about you?"

"What if I almost died at college, huh? Some shooter came and just—"

"Don't say shit like that—"

"What if I came home with a scar on my shoulder where I was shot and told you, oh, I didn't die, so it's fine?"

The kitchen is tense. Every word feels like a live wire ready to snap. You hate arguing with Caleb—or whatever it is that you're doing right now. Even as a kid, you both avoided fights.

You wanted the last bag of chips? It was yours.

You wanted him to push you on the swings for another 10 minutes even though it was his turn? Just say the word.

There weren't any fights between you.

Now? All you want to do is fight. You want to scream and slap and punch until he understands why he can't just not tell you things.

"That's not the same."

"Why not?"

"Because it's you!" Caleb huffs, shrinking back the minute he notices he's raising his voice. "It's my job to—"

He bites his tongue before the rest can leave his mouth, but you know what he meant to say.

You want to scoff.

"I don't want your protection. I want you to tell me when things happen, Caleb."

"[♥︎]—"

"Goodnight."

Then you're gone, turning on your heel and rushing back to your room before your heart threatens to burst out of your chest.

You can't believe him.

Who does he think he is? Keeping secrets from you?

You want to be mad at the fact that he's hidden something so big. But you can't help but go back to his "it's my job to—" slip.

He still sees you as his best friend's little sister and that pisses you off more than anything else.

—

tags: @exe-toby @seungkwansflower @floatinginaer @halfawakeblobbu @heartyluv @starryeyed-apple @asiatic-apple @walrusbreath @sylvieisoffline @awquaz @purpleamethyst25 @pinksaiyans @beaconsxd @haleaf @politefawn @colonelpantysniffer @villainessobsessed @lioria @inlovewithsylus @tired7o7 @justwinginglife @itsmysmut @bitewiththis @littleboomerang @aenishas @inzayneforaj @opalesquegirl @sudenuryg @lamogliedizayne @rurushow @viviiswrr-d @rina-lidou @puppytruther @animegamerfox @00haru00 @thelittlebutton @lilacsandhysteria @syncaleb @meulilac @horanghaeegr @astheskycries @perfect4taehyung @rychltruly @sylusqt @suffyrn @emowitchwithatwist @didudjjd @suguru-getos @joopg00p @honeymoonfleur @stargirlygirl @peachlycheetea @calebsbabyapple @goochfiddler99 @lewdcifer778 @minivia @bidisasterforevermore @c-l-stinnett @thesevro @mindnumbed @alysaria @astr4lbedo @love-and-deepstrays @cleostufff

#love and deepspace #caleb #caleb x reader #caleb x reader fic #caleb fluff #love and deepspace caleb #lads caleb fluff #lads caleb #brother's best friend

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bbapplegirlie · 2 days ago

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Distress Signals

A Love and Deepspace Caleb Fic

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

NSFW! ADULTS ONLY!

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

Summary: When Caleb sees you calling at 2 in the morning, he knows something isn’t right. And when he finds out why you’re calling… he’s determined to right some wrongs.

Content Tags: Lil’ bit of angst, lil’ bit of fluff, lil’ bit of smut, comfort, yearning, self-conscious MC, love confession, first kiss, Caleb fingers a confidence boost into you, Caleb comes in his pants (IDK, something about it is just so Caleb-coded, it’s gonna end up in every fic I write lol), use of gege/meimei, non-canon since this confession is different from the game. PLEASE be aware that Caleb gets paranoid that you were taken advantage of at a party, but it didn’t actually happen, and there are no graphic details! He’s just being an overly anxious adoptive bro ^.^

Length & Status: Roughly 10k words, completed one-shot

Author’s Note: This was written for a request that @ajyoursgirl sent in ♡ I hope you enjoy it, doll! Let me know your feedback, this is my first time writing for a request, so I’m a lil’ nervous :,) I was picturing this as a short 2.5k word fic, but clearly things spiraled out of control xD

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

Caleb could sleep through a lot of things, but your phone call was not one of them.

Living in a cramped dorm room with three other college-aged boys could be, quite simply, hell on Earth. Well… technically above Earth, since he was still stuck in the clouds up in Skyhaven while he finished his last year in the Deepspace Aviation Administration’s Aerospace Academy. But regardless, it wasn’t peaceful. His roommates always watching stupid prank videos too loudly, Gideon’s unfortunate habit of sleeptalking, paper-thin walls between him and the idiots next door, the morning alarms going off every other hour with his roommates’ hectic schedules, the occasional sneaky hook-ups behind nothing but the flimsy curtains that divided their bunk beds… Caleb had learned how to ignore it all.

Except for you. Never you.

It helped that he’d set your ringtone in his phone to your sweet voice; it was his personal siren song. He’d caught you singing in the shower some time ago and recorded it, another small way he could always carry you with him everywhere he went. No doubt you’d be furious if you found out—you weren’t exactly the most, ah, practiced singer—but Caleb wouldn’t change it for the world.

The minute he heard your voice calling out from underneath his pillow, he woke up, smiling sleepily to himself. It was a much better way to wake up than his usual alarm. The only thing that kept him from not picking up right away so he could listen to the ringtone a little longer was knowing that you would be left waiting on the other end.

When he saw what time it was, though, his smile sank into a churning tide of nausea rising in his stomach.

2 in the morning? Why would she be calling this late…?

He answered the phone, rubbing his eyes as he sat up in bed. “Y/N? Wha’s goin’ on?” he mumbled, words still slurred with sleep.

Somewhere above him on the top bunk, Gideon groaned. “Caleb, dude, it’s fucking late, man, shut the fuck up—”

Caleb was quick to punch the underside of the bunk bed, silencing him. He didn’t want to hear it from Gideon of all people. His friend grunted an audible oof, the force of Caleb’s honed muscles barely buffered by the thin mattress.

“Um… hi, Caleb, I’m sorry to wake you up… everything’s fine, don’t worry.”

Caleb knew instantly from how you spoke, all choked-up and unsteady, that everything was not fine.

And so he got out of bed, quick to slip on a hoodie and shorts, any traces of sleep vanquished from his body. Whatever was going on, he needed to fix it now. Best not to do it in this cramped space where his roommates might eavesdrop.

“Pipsqueak, you don’t sound fine. Tell me what’s going on. Do you need me to come to you?”

There was a long pause on the other end as Caleb grabbed his wallet off the nightstand, ready to leap into action.

“No, Caleb, I’m fine, I promise. I just… wanted to hear your voice.”

But the assurance stuttered in your throat again, obviously halted by tears.

Fuck, Caleb should’ve punched the underside of that mattress one more time, just to release some of his rising fear and fury. There was nothing that set his blood boiling faster than knowing you were in distress, and being separated by so much distance only made it worse. Something about higher altitudes making things boil faster or whatever his high school physics teachers had taught him, maybe.

He slipped out of the dorm room, slamming the door just a little bit before he made his way down the hall, if only to irritate Gideon for butting in.

“Tell me where you are, pips, I’ll come to you.”

“No, no, Caleb, that really isn’t necessary. I’m on my way home now anyway. I’ll be there faster than you could get to me. I don’t want to interrupt you anymore than I already am…”

Your attempts at reassuring him did the opposite. Why the fuck were you out at 2 in the morning? Sure, you were in your first year of college, but he didn’t think you were the partying type—not his sweet, innocent pipsqueak. He’d spent all of your shared younger teenage years protecting you from that kind of stuff. He thought he’d done enough to deter you from ever wanting to do that kind of thing, but clearly not.

Another pressing question was why you would ever think you were interrupting him by asking for his help. Who else would you turn to but him? He would drop everything for you, always, and he thought that you knew that.

It didn’t matter what you said. He was going to come to you, whether you liked it or not. He had to make sure he set things straight with you about where his priorities lay, and that was best done in person.

Exiting the dorm building, Caleb let the frosty high-altitude air imbue every inch of his lungs, as if it could act as a balm to his increasing panic. But focusing on the night air made him realize that not only was the moon not out tonight, but it was also cloudy, and that increased his stress tenfold. Not only were you out this late, but you were out this late in the complete dark with no moon or starlight to guide your way home. Fuck.

He began to make his way down the winding campus pathway to the nearest Coelum Express station; thank god the Protocore-powered anti-gravity train that connected Linkon City to Skyhaven ran 24/7, or he would’ve never applied to the Academy in the first place.

“Okay, well…” he started, trying to think of how best to get you to open up. You were prone to moments like these, where it was obvious you needed help, but were too shy to say what was really wrong. He would pry it out of you one way or another, but he wanted to see if he could get you comfortable enough to explain on your own volition first. “Why don’t you tell me about your night, then? Did you go out with friends?”

He tried to make it sound like he was just curious, making conversation for the sake of it, but really, he wanted to narrow down his suspect list for who had upset you.

“Yeah, I was out with the girls… they got invited to a frat party and decided to drag me with—”

That nearly stopped him in his tracks. He briefly pictured himself punching a tree, or a bush, or anything really, but he was quick to compose himself. He needed to get to you as soon as possible, and if he allowed his short temper to make him miss the next train, he would never forgive himself.

But the image of you in a frat house of all places… fuck, and the fact that you’d left on the brink of tears… it wasn’t painting a pretty picture.

“—please don’t be mad at me, Cay, I know you said not to go to things like that, but they insisted, and I thought it would be fun—”

“I’m not mad, pipsqueak,” he assured you, a damn lie, but it wasn’t you that he was mad at. “You’re in college now, I can’t stop you from living your life and having the college experience.” Though he sure wanted to, at least when it concerned other boys. “A pretty girl like you deserves to have fun, right? Was it fun, then? It doesn’t sound like it...”

Your long pause made Caleb focus on counting his breaths to keep from screaming from impatience. “Well… it was fun while the girls were with me, I guess. We danced for a while, did some karaoke, played a couple of games… but then they all started pairing off with the boys,” you said, voice turning threadier, whinier.

If this story was going where he feared it was, he’d have blood on his hands, arms, and legs by the end of the night.

“They were, you know, kissing and hooking up with whoever, having fun. But I just got left on the couch in the living room all alone! No one would even talk to me. None of the other girls, none of the guys, and… I left on my own. I didn’t want to just sit there and watch like a creep. I felt so awkward, Caleb! I was the only one not getting any attention!”

The fucking flood of relief that washed through him in that moment nearly swept him off his feet. He was absolutely thrilled to know that you were just being ignored by boys instead of the worst-case scenarios his brain had been coming up with, but he tried hard to keep his sigh of relief from being heard over the phone. You were still clearly upset, and he didn’t want you to feel mocked.

“...Cay? Are you still there?” you asked, sniffling.

Caleb ran a hand over his face, rubbing his jaw. “Yeah, pips, I’m here.” He finally made it to the train station. Lucky him, he only had to wait a couple of minutes for the next one to arrive, or he might’ve considered finding the nearest parachute and getting down to Linkon himself. “Was there a boy there that you were hoping to get attention from…?”

Again, he infused his tone with a false casualness that he wasn’t truly feeling. He was fishing for more information, fishing for the name of the boy he would need to… well, he wasn’t sure what he would do to the boy yet, but the cold, black jealousy that began to blacken his vision did not bode well for whoever it was.

“Well, no, no one specifically... but it would just be nice to feel wanted, you know?” Another surging tide of relief had Caleb relaxing a bit more, but your tears kept him from feeling completely at ease. Did you really not know how badly he wanted you…? “I wasn’t even the one invited to this party, the other girls were… they always are. Boys come up to them, give them their numbers, ask them on dates, hook up with them at parties…” The sob that you let out was small, but still enough to make Caleb’s heart feel like it was shattering. “I never get that kind of attention. Not in high school, not now. I’m starting to think I never will. Can you be honest with me, Caleb?”

Caleb clenched his fists, hating that the one thing you seemed to want right now—attention from other boys—would be the one thing that would drive him over the edge. Why can’t I be enough for her? “Always, pips.”

“Am I really so ugly that boys won’t even talk to me? I know my friends are super pretty, so I’m not surprised they have it so easy, but—”

“Y/N.”

He said your name so forcefully, with so much fevered passion, that you fell silent on the other end immediately. He only spoke that way when he was preparing to lecture you about something serious, which this clearly was to him.

“Y/N, I never want to hear those words come out of your mouth again. Do you understand me? Not even as a question.” Caleb implored, covering the mouthpiece of his phone as the train pulled into the station. He hopped on after scanning his boarding pass, a plan brewing in his mind that required you to not know what he was up to. Luckily, the Coelum Express was quiet this time of night, so once he took a seat on the nearly-empty vehicle, he could speak again without too much background noise. “You are not ugly. And it’s insulting that you would even say that. Have I not told you a million times you are the most beautiful girl in the world? My pretty, sweet pipsqueak? Are you implying that I’ve been lying to you our entire lives?”

“Well, no, but—”

“But what, pips?” he interrupted again, even more impassioned.

“You’re just saying that because you feel obligated to!” you insisted, voice pitching higher. “Never mind. Forget I said anything, Caleb. You probably have to get up early, so I should let you go.”

“Uh-uh, no way, pips. Get off this phone now, and I will track you down.” He neglected to let you know that he was already tracking you down. “This conversation isn’t done. I never say anything just because I feel obligated to, you should know that. You are beautiful, pips, and that fact is not reliant on my opinion, nor is it reliant on any amount of attention you may or may not be receiving from some stupid frat boys. Seriously, are they even catches themselves? I’m going to guess not if none of them caught your eye in the first place. Tell me, did someone say something to you to make you feel ugly?” The thought alone had his biceps flexing. He cracked his knuckles to release some of the pent-up tension.

“No, Caleb, I just… I just feel that way on my own.”

Caleb’s shoulders fell at that. It was good that no one was bullying you, but he so desperately wanted to find someone to blame for the way you were feeling. That way, he’d have someone to take his anger out on, but it was becoming more apparent by the minute that the only enemy to battle was your own self-doubt and lack of confidence. It was a much harder foe to defeat, one that couldn’t be punched or intimidated like he wished.

“It’s just… the little stuff adds up, you know? I’ve never been kissed. I’ve never even gotten flowers. Or chocolates, or love notes. No one has ever done anything romantic like that for me.”

Well, fuck, Caleb thought, knowing that wasn’t true. There were a few times you had received gifts like that from the boys at your high school; they’d left them on your front porch, taped them to your locker, sent them in the mail, but Caleb had always been quick to toss them before you received them. No way would he let some snot-nosed kid weasel his way into your life before he’d gotten a chance to tell you how he really felt.

Now, Caleb was wondering if the times he’d threatened those boys to leave you the fuck alone had somehow spread amongst your peers at college, too. Maybe that was why no one approached you, fearful of your ever-vigilant older not-brother that seemed to have too keen an interest in you.

On one hand, it pleased him to know his attempts at protecting you and keeping you for himself had worked. On the other hand, it devastated him to know that your tears might be more his fault than anything.

“Ahem,” Caleb said, swallowing down his guilt as his dark brows pulled tightly together. “That is verifiably not true. Are we choosing to forget that I’ve gotten you flowers and chocolates every year for the Qixi Festival? Never mind all the sweets I bring home, even when it isn’t a holiday.”

Your sigh was audible. “You know that doesn't count, Caleb. I’m talking romantically. You only do that in a… pitying-your-dumb-meimei kind of way.”

Caleb shut his eyes tightly, resisting the urge to start slamming his forehead against the window of the train as it descended into Linkon City.

Maybe at one point, he’d thought of you like a little sister. Not dumb, just… clueless sometimes. But for a long time now, you were more of his… clueless crush.

Nah. Crush wasn’t the right word.

Clueless soulmate.

What you said was a reminder of why he hadn’t been more direct about this in the past, though. If you thought that he saw you like a sister, then maybe you just saw him like a brother. And he’d convinced himself long ago that he’d rather stay quiet than risk losing the closeness of the relationship you currently had by asking for more.

He’d lived like that up until this point, but he was about ready to snap. Having to endure listening to you speak as if you were unattractive, unlovable, was going to be the Protocore that broke the wanderer’s back. The idea that he’d never done anything romantic for you would be laughable if it wasn’t so infuriating.

It was time to step his game up. Maybe you wouldn’t reciprocate his feelings, but… he needed to try. He needed you to know your options. And maybe he was a little full of himself, but he thought he was a hell of a lot better than some sweaty frat boy.

“Pips, I promise you… I guarantee you that you will get to have all the romantic experiences you could dream of someday, and I can only pray that it won’t have its beginnings in some nasty frat house. I hate that you’re crying because some unwashed, drunken, bum loser didn’t pick you to be his one-night stand. Don’t you think you deserve better than that?”

“I’ll take what I can get at this point, to be honest,” you replied, voice heavy with shame. “I don’t think a girl like me gets to be picky.”

That time, he really did slam his head against the window in frustration.

He had so much to say to you, but he didn’t want to do it over the phone. If he was going to prove just how loveable you were, how truly beautiful you were, by finally offering the confession he’d wanted to give you for so long now… then he was going to do it the right way, face to face. He clenched his fist at his side, trying to restrain the words he so desperately wanted to say so that he could save them for the right moment.

Soon. The train would arrive soon.

“I know it’s probably hard for you to understand, since you’re neck-deep in fangirls waiting on the tarmac at the Academy every day—”

Oh, you silly, silly girl, Caleb thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. You’d forgotten the scheme of pretending to be his girlfriend so those girls would leave him alone so soon, huh?

Maybe he shouldn’t have asked you to just pretend…

“—so you don’t know anything other than having your pick of every girl you could possibly want—”

Every girl except the one I need.

“—but it’s really hard, Caleb. It’s hard feeling like the least wanted girl in the room.”

I won’t let you feel that way for long, pipsqueak, I swear. I’ll stop being a coward.

Caleb chewed his lips, peeling back a bit of dry skin and then cursing when he tasted blood. Aw, hell. Now wasn’t the time to fuck up his lips, not when he was planning on…

He rubbed his temples, forcing the panicked thoughts to the side. “Pips, have you considered that the only reason people don’t approach you is because you’re too beautiful?”

You scoffed, but he didn’t give you time to refute him.

“I’m serious, Y/N. You’re not the only one who struggles with self-confidence.” I would know, he thought, laughing silently to himself. Even though he was generally super confident, considered one of the most popular guys at the Academy, and yes, frequently approached by the girls there, he still struggled with how he saw himself… especially when he wondered how you might see him. “Maybe those guys at the party all thought you were the most likable, most gorgeous girl in the room, but were too scared to approach you. Have you… have you ever tried to approach them instead?”

“Ha-ha,” you said, the dry, mocking laugh obviously one you had learned from him. “You know me, Caleb. Of course I haven’t. The girls had to beg me to even leave the house in the first place. I don’t have the guts for that.”

Another sigh of relief. “Well, then… maybe you have your answer. Sometimes, beautiful girls need to be the ones to make the first move. Give it a try before you start declaring yourself unlovable.”

It seemed like the right advice to give, but he hated that he was giving it to you, encouraging you to make a move on anyone else but him. If he could just get to your place first before you had a chance to practice his advice, though, then maybe he could avert that crisis.

He shook his head as if to clear it and focused instead on teasing you.

“And if that still doesn’t work, I dunno, pips. Maybe you’re hopeless, after all.”

“Caleb!”

He giggled quietly, pleased to hear your irritation replacing the tears. “Oh, hush, I’m only teasing. If you approach someone and they turn you down, consider it practice for the next time. You can’t let a single rejection discourage you.” Though he certainly would be discouraged—no, heartbroken—if you turned him down when he got there…

As the train descended into Linkon City, Caleb tried to lighten the mood by distracting you with tales of all the times Gideon had been turned down by the girls at his school. Objectively speaking, he was a handsome, smart, talented, charming guy (though Caleb would never admit that to his face), yet he still faced rejection, just like everybody else. He hoped that it would help get it through your thick skull that finding love took a little patience sometimes.

Caleb was being a hypocrite, though, because he was completely out of his own patience. He had to hold himself back from using his gravity evol to speed up the train’s descent into Linkon.

When the train finally pulled into the station, he really did use his evol to pry the doors open, unable to wait any longer. He all but vaulted from the vehicle, taking the familiar route to your apartment like a bloodhound on the hunt. To his dismay, the flower shop that he had planned on stopping by was closed—didn’t they know that a man might need to buy an emergency bouquet at 2 in the morning?—but that didn’t stop him from covertly stealing a hefty bundle of flowers out of people’s gardens as he continued his journey. It was no professional floral arrangement, but he tried his best, making sure to gather only the freshest blooms in your favorite colors.

All the while, he kept you distracted on the phone, letting the conversation flow freely. He asked you if you’d found any new favorite restaurants, how your classes were going, what your new friends were like. He had to keep the edge out of his voice for that last question; he didn’t like the idea of you being around girls who made you feel so insecure, who would ditch you for a bunch of dudes and leave you to walk home alone in the middle of the night. He asked if you were staying safe on your walk, and you were quick to assure him that you’d just made it home.

When he got to the corner store at the end of your street—thank the heavens above that it was open, or he would’ve broken the glass to get in—he made an excuse about fetching a glass of water so that he could grab your favorite chocolates without you hearing the cashier. It was no heart-shaped box with a pretty red ribbon tied around it, but he would make sure what he said when he got to your place left no room for confusion about how he felt.

“Hey, pips, I actually have a question for you,” Caleb said during a lull in the conversation as he finally made it to your apartment. He fished out the spare key you’d given him to get into the locked lobby.

“Shoot.”

“I, um… I’ve been struggling to tell this girl how I feel, actually. I’ve been feeling a little insecure myself. Guess we’re kinda alike, after all, huh? Could you maybe give me some advice?”

The other end of the line went quiet for so long that Caleb wondered if you had fallen asleep.

“Pips?”

“Yeah, sorry, I heard you. I just… I don’t know what to say. I’m the last person you should be asking for advice, you know.”

The hurt in your tone was hard to miss. And as terrible as it was, it made Caleb’s lips pull up into a smile. If you were jealous over the idea of him approaching some other girl… that was a good sign, right?

But that smile quickly fell again. Maybe Caleb was misreading it, and the hurt wasn’t jealousy at all. Maybe you were just upset to have this topic brought up again, a reminder of the shitty night you’d only just begun to forget.

“I actually think you’re the perfect person to ask, Y/N,” Caleb argued, trying to hold onto his resolve to go through with this as he stepped into the elevator. “I trust you more than anyone else. You’re the only person on this earth I feel like I can open up to completely. Who else could I possibly ask?”

You sighed, long and tired. “Okay… Well, tell me about her. What is she like?”

“For starters, she’s the most beautiful girl in the world,” he said, cheeks heating. Would you take that hint, or…?

“Mm, see? I knew you were lying earlier when you told me I’m the most beautiful girl in the world. It sounds like I’m only the second most beautiful. Guess I can’t trust what you say, huh, gege?”

Caleb let out a quiet giggle. Just so, so clueless.

“What else? A pretty face surely can’t be the only thing that made you gravitate towards her…”

“No, of course not. I’m not that shallow,” Caleb said, fidgeting with the chaotic array of flowers so that it didn’t look like a heap of yard trimmings. “She’s also funny. Kind. Most of the time, that is. Not so much when she gets mad, and I do have a tendency of pissing her off, but I think she secretly likes how annoying I am. And she’s smart… about most things. Sometimes, she’s completely oblivious to what’s right in front of her. But…”

When the elevator doors opened on your floor, Caleb felt his hands begin to tremble. This was it.

“...I think she’s the one. Well, I know she’s the one, for me at least. But I’m not sure if she feels the same way. Sometimes, I think she gives me little hints, but other times I’m not so sure. I’m worried she just sees me like a… like a friend. Do you think I should tell her how I feel?”

Caleb swore he could hear you chewing on your lip through the phone. “Whoever she is, she’s a real lucky girl, Caleb. She’ll be the envy of your whole school. Why wouldn’t you go for it? Like you said, the worst that can happen is you get rejected. Even if that happens, at least you won’t be anywhere near Gideon’s rejection record, right? He’ll have that high score for quite a while before you beat him…”

That time, Caleb was certain that he hadn’t misheard the jealousy in your voice. Even the way you forced yourself to tease him despite whatever negative thoughts were brewing was familiar; it was a habit that you’d surely picked up from him. But whether or not that jealousy was because the girl was receiving Caleb’s attention, or just any boy’s attention at all, remained to be seen.

When he made it to your apartment at the end of the hall, he lowered his voice, not wanting to ruin the surprise. His heart was trying to break out of his damn chest, like it wanted to break down the door itself, and he prayed that the thudding wouldn’t make his voice too shaky.

“So you think I should just go for it, then? My pride be damned if she turns me down?”

“I don’t see how anyone could turn you down, Cay. You’re the perfect catch. And if she doesn’t see that, then maybe she’s more oblivious than you thought, and you shouldn’t waste your time on such a dumb girl.”

“Yeah, you’re right, you’re right,” Caleb said, giving his hair a final finger-combing, slicking back his sharp-as-swords eyebrows, and straightening his hoodie strings (maybe he should’ve dressed up a little better for this moment, but it was too late now). “Hey, I’m gonna go, I think I need to tell her right now, pips. No better time than the present, right? Good luck with everything. I’ll see you soon, though!”

“Oh, okay—”

He hung up the phone before giving a proper goodbye, biting his lip to hold back the laughter.

And then he knocked on your front door, loud enough that you could hear from your bedroom.

If he thought he was impatient before, it was nothing compared to now. He counted the seconds like eras, fidgeting the longer time went on without the door cracking open. Did you not hear him? Were you not actually at your apartment? Had you crashed at a friend’s place instead, or had you maybe gone back to your shared childhood home to stay with Josephine? Oh, no, and the way that he’d hung up so rudely, you probably wouldn’t even pick up the phone to let him explain—

He truly began to panic then, and some of the mangled, hand-plucked flowers fell from his sweaty palms onto your doormat. He dropped to his knees to pick them back up—no, no, no, she deserves better than this—only to have the door finally creak open right at the most inopportune moment.

Caleb scrambled to get up, eyes wide, face flushed. You were so fucking beautiful, enough so that the breath was knocked from his lungs. Any last vestiges of his composure fled back up the hall, down the elevator, and out the front door as he took you in. How could he be so stunned by you every single time he returned to your side? It didn’t matter that you were just in your pajamas, your hair messy, your makeup smudged; it still rattled him every time he saw you. God dammit, he’d grown up with you. There was no reason he should still be this unprepared for how you pulled him in like the universe’s strongest black hole. He had an entire train ride to prepare for this moment—years, really—and here he was, fucking it up already.

“Um… pipsqueak! Fuck. Here, these are for you,” he said, shoving the disfigured bouquet into your hands as your eyes went wide with shock. Oh no… were those… tears?! Maybe his ruse on the phone had worked a little too well… “And, uh, hold on…” He fished through his hoodie pocket, trying to locate the bars of chocolate he’d bought from the corner store. But why were they… squishy? Fuck! He thrust them into your hand regardless, desperate to salvage this moment. “These are for you, too! Now you can’t say no one ever did anything romantically for you, okay? Don’t forget it this time. And, uh, sorry they’re melted, I’m just, well, I’m kinda nervous. I’m sweating a bit, haha. Maybe pop them in the fridge before you eat them. Um…”

How in the world had his planned love confession turned into rambling about chocolate and sweat?!

“Caleb, what the hell are you doing here?!” you finally asked, and Caleb flinched at the hint of anger evident in your tone. “It’s almost 3 in the morning. Don’t you have a date you’re supposed to meet up with? Are you even going to be able to get to Skyhaven in time?”

He gave you a shaky smile in response. “I, uh, actually think I made it right on time…?” he tried, nervously scratching behind his ear.

But you still weren’t getting it. Your brows came together, your lips pouting out. You lifted your chin as if in annoyance, but Caleb knew you were just trying to keep those welling tears from spilling over. “Please don’t tell me she lives in the same building as me. I don’t need you rubbing it in my face that you can get girls so easily… at least let me get a boyfriend first so I don’t feel so left out.”

“Fuck, pips, you’re so…” Caleb groaned, running his fingers through his hair before gently shoving your shoulders. He pushed you inside the apartment and followed after you, shutting the door behind him. The last thing he needed was nosy neighbors hearing how badly he’d screwed this up, lest any of them get it in their heads that they could do better. Once inside, he closed his eyes and took a deep breath that did nothing to soothe him. “It’s you, Y/N! It’s you. I’m here for you.”

You didn’t respond for a torturously long moment.

I ruined it, I ruined it, I ruined it.

When he finally found the courage to open his eyes again, it was to find you absolutely dumbfounded, your pretty, plush lips parted in an O. No, no, don’t focus on that, Caleb, not yet, he ordered himself. The sight of those pretty lips combined with his pumping adrenaline made his cock stir far too easily in his shorts, and that was absolutely the last thing he needed right now, especially with how unrestricting the fabric of the shorts was—nothing would be hidden.

Come on, say what you’ve waited so long to say! The words were trying to burst out over the phone, why won’t they come out now?!

He cleared his throat, stepping closer to you so that he could grip your shoulders and center himself. “Pipsqueak… there is no other girl. There is only you. There’s only ever been you.” His amethyst-fire eyes darted between your own, searching for any sign that you reciprocated his feelings. “And I am horrified that you felt for even a second that no man would ever want you. I want you. I need you. I’ve needed you my whole life, and the only reason I haven’t said so was because I was terrified you would be disgusted with me.”

You still weren’t saying anything. Caleb gripped your shoulders even tighter, as if he could squeeze a response out of you; no dice, though, so he continued to ramble.

“Hearing you on the phone like that, though, pips… you’re killing me. I’ve held myself back for so long, thinking that maybe someday you’d start to recognize how I felt and show me you felt the same way, but now you’re looking in the wrong places even though I’ve been waiting right here this whole time and…”

His hands fell away from your shoulders, and he backed himself up against the door, forcing himself to put some distance between you two. He didn’t want to scare you, although that bridge might’ve already been crossed.

“Maybe I didn’t make it clear enough before. Or maybe I did, and you just didn’t want me like that, so you pretended not to notice. In which case, I’m sorry for ruining our friendship like this, but… I need to make sure you know exactly what your options are before you start chasing some dumbfucks at your school who don’t even know what your favorite colors are, what your favorite foods are, what brand of toothpaste you like. Who don’t know how to make you laugh, how to make you pout, how to bring out that pretty color in your cheeks. Because I do. And I think… I know I can do a whole lot more than that, too. Give me a chance, pips. I am begging you. I will get on my knees if I have to.”

Fuck, am I being too pathetic? Too desperate…?

The apartment was too silent. You still weren’t saying anything. Caleb bit his lip again, that torn part he’d ripped open earlier bleeding once more, the small raindrop of blood nothing compared to the blood spilling from his cracking heart into his rib cage.

He had half a mind to turn and run from this room before he had to listen to his worst nightmare come to life—you rejecting him.

Caleb buried his face in his hands. “Fuck. This was too much. I’m sorry. Just… take some time to think about it, okay? Call me if you want to talk about it... and if not, you don’t need to say anything, alright? We can pretend this never happened. I promise I won’t bring it up again, and we can go back to the way things were before, and—”

Your small hands wrapping gently around his wrists—so much smaller, they very nearly couldn’t wrap all the way around—was enough to break him from his rambling. You’d set the strangled flowers and melted chocolate down, giving him your full attention. You tugged Caleb’s hands away from his face, exposing his flushed cheeks, his pleading eyebrows, his quivering lower lip. You looked concerned; it was the same face you made when you saw a lost puppy running down the road all by itself.

“This isn’t a prank, right, gege?” you asked, voice small and timid.

“What?” That was the very last thing that Caleb had expected to come from your mouth. “Of course not. Y/N, do you really think I would—”

“Um, yes, I do, actually!” you spat back, your concerned, pitying look flipping into one of frustration in the blink of an eye. “Considering I just called you in the midst of a quarter-life crisis that no man would ever return my feelings—including you, you fucking meanie—and your response was to prank me into thinking you were meeting up with some other girl, yeah, I very much think you are capable of pranking me with a fake love confession—”

—including you, you fucking meanie—

—including you—

The words echoed in his brain so hard that it might’ve shattered his eardrums, because the rest of what you said was a blur.

Caleb’s lips fell open, staring at you blankly as he waited for your rant to end. When it finally did, your chest heaving and your cheeks heated into that beautiful, apple-red, he could only barely manage to whisper, “Do you really mean that?”

“Do I mean that you’re a big meanie? Of course I do, I’ve only said it a million times! Are you implying that I’ve been lying to you our entire lives?” you said, echoing his earlier words in a mocking, mimicking tone.

“No, pips.” Caleb finally came to his senses, stepping forward to gather you in his arms. He kept his head leaned back just enough so that he could take in every detail of your face as he made you repeat yourself. “Do you really mean that… that you have feelings for me?”

That was when you fell silent, your cheeks burning brighter. He wished he could buy the color in pigmented form just to keep it in a little glass bottle so he never had to go without it.

Your eyes darted away from him—so bold when you were angry, but so shy the minute he tried to cross this line.

But Caleb wasn’t having any of it. “Look at me, pips. Did you mean it?”

Slowly, you lifted your fluttering lashes up to him, trying to dash away those earlier tears. “Yes, Cay,” you whispered, voice cracking.

“So why were you trying to catch some other boy’s attention at a party earlier…?” Caleb asked. This time, it was his turn to look shot-through-the-heart, and you flinched at how potent the hurt was in his eyes.

“I… Caleb, you’re so popular!” you exclaimed, shaken. “You have a whole world worth of beautiful girls to pick from, why would you ever want me? I’d gotten so used to all your admirers throwing themselves at you, I just, I… I resigned myself to never thinking you’d even look my way! It’s not like you ever dropped any hints or anything!”

Caleb scoffed, flashing one of those sharp-edged smiles that instantly set your blood to boiling. You tried to pull away, thinking he was going to start mocking you, but he only held on tighter, threading his fingers into your hair at the back of your head so you couldn’t look anywhere but at him.

“Oh, I most certainly have dropped hints, missy,” he said, taking that scolding tone again. “Fuck, pips, you’re so cute when you’re clueless.”

You tried to pull away from him again, but it only resulted in him pulling you even closer and then spinning both of you so that he could cage you in against the door with his broad shoulders.

But it wasn’t a cage, not really. This was your home.

“I’d say you’re cute when you’re being a bully, but it wouldn’t be true,” you spat back, resorting to petty insults when you didn’t know how else to act, “because you’re just a big, ugly, stinky, jerk—”

And that was when Caleb pressed his smiling lips to yours, drinking down your insults like expensive liqueur, swallowing your shocked little grunt as a chaser.

To say he just about blacked out would be wrong, because he would remember every tiny detail of this moment for the rest of his life.

To say his heart stopped beating would just be untrue, because it was thundering a storm inside his chest.

To say the universe came to a standstill would just be too cliché.

But the moment was momentous. He would spend a lifetime trying to find the right words to describe the relief, the purest joy, the nectar of ripened love finally being tasted.

The kiss wasn’t like the ones described in storybooks. It was his first kiss… his very first kiss, and yours, messy and unpracticed. There were clashing teeth, bumping noses, colliding chins. It took time to ease into it, to gather the courage to delve past each other’s lips and deepen the kiss the way real kisses were meant to be shared. There were even a couple of moments just like the classic pedestrian face-off, where you both tried to angle your heads at the same time, only to block each other clumsily.

The first time it happened, something like panic flashed through your eyes, like you were worried that it would turn him off and make him regret finally crossing this line with you.

But Caleb was quick to reassure you by laughing it off and lovingly running his fingers over your waist before getting the angle right and kissing you once again.

The second time it happened, he took control and used the slightest bit of his evol to guide you in the right direction. That made you moan. All those years growing up, you would throw an absolute fit when he used his evol on you without permission, but the sound you made then made it very clear that it was more than okay now.

He’d wondered how your first kiss might go for so long, but he’d always thought he would be consumed by the feeling of it, not the taste. The feeling induced ecstasy, yes, soft and plush and hot, but fuck, that flavor. It tasted like a summer's wet dream come true. Now that he’d had you on his tongue, he’d never be able to get it out of his head. It was the sweetest, purest essence, finally his to claim as his own.

Caleb’s shaky, sweating hands fell down your waist, your hips, lower and lower, until his fingers were just underneath the hemline of the pajama shorts you wore. You pressed into it, the unpracticed seductive touch still enough to elicit delicious sounds from you. He swirled his fingertips in a deliberate pattern, tracing the word ‘MINE’ over and over on the flesh of your thighs.

He wanted that touch to stay branded on your skin forever.

When Caleb realized he was moments away from rutting against your leg like a dog, he pulled back. You were both panting, the shallow, hot breaths filling the small space between your heaving bodies.

“Am I going too fast?” Caleb asked, his voice husky. His gaze was glued to your lips, mesmerized by the shine and swell of them.

The intensity of his gaze made you glance away, made your hand’s hesitant exploration of his jaw and hair falter. “If… if it’s too fast for you, we can stop,” you mumbled back.

Caleb shook his head back and forth vigorously. “Mm, we won’t be stopping on my account, pips. I want everything you have to give me. Everything,” he urged, leaning into your palm to nuzzle it with his cheek just as you tried to pull it away. “But I don’t want to scare you. We don’t have to do anything if you aren’t ready. Tell me what you want.”

“I… I want more,” you spoke quietly, words almost inaudible. “As long as you don’t think I’m a bad kisser.”

“Hmm… I suppose this is the worst kiss I’ve ever had,” he said with a smirk, pretending to ponder just long enough for horror to flash through your eyes, “but only because this is the only kiss I’ve ever had. So, that also makes it the best.” Before you had time to start throwing insults at him again for his teasing, his lips crashed back into yours, magnetized by the unstoppable force of his passion.

And as his tongue met yours once more, he wound his arms around your legs and hoisted you up onto his body, relishing in the soft gasp that you gifted him directly into his mouth. He felt that gasp burn down his throat and stain his lungs in a shade he never wanted to get rid of.

He could’ve used his evol to make the process of carrying you a little easier, but he didn’t want to. He wanted to feel every ounce of your weight in his arms just as you were, gravity unaltered. With your legs wrapped around him, he carried you to the couch, stumbling a couple of times as he went. It brought forth a fit of the most delightful, effervescent giggles from you that made him feel downright giddy.

“Serves you right,” you snorted at him, and he gave you a big, bright, goofy smile in return.

He set you down on the couch cushions and knelt down on the floor before you, sliding his hands up your thighs and gently pushing them apart so he could crawl in between them. Even with him on the floor and you on the couch, he was tall enough to reach your mouth, no problem. He resumed the gentle lapping of his tongue against yours, continuing to learn how you liked to move against him and matching his caresses to yours.

He wanted to do it forever.

He wanted to do more than just kiss you forever.

Caleb’s hands crawled further up your thighs, running his thumbs in imperfect, nervous circles, the rest of his fingers pressing into the soft flesh like you might fade into nothing but a figment of his imagination if he didn’t hold on tight enough. He pulled you closer to the edge of the couch, relishing in the small burst of pain as your teeth grazed that place he’d bitten open on his lip earlier. He needed that pain—a reminder that this wasn’t a dream, that this wasn’t a fanciful hallucination that he would suddenly awaken from and be left heartbroken by.

He hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, choosing his next words carefully. He opted to be vulnerable for you, hoping it would help you see that he was just as inexperienced and insecure as you, and that that was okay. “Promise me you won’t hate me if I’m not good at this, okay? If I don’t know how to touch you properly, tell me so I can get better.”

Your eyes widened, lips opening and closing before you spoke. “Caleb, I could never hate you.”

He laughed at that. “You’ve only said it a million times, pipsqueak. Should I not take your words at face value anymore?”

Your brows pushed back together, the shyness of your countenance fleeing in favor of irritation for a brief moment again, but it only made Caleb laugh harder. He distracted your irritation by pressing a gentle, closed-mouth kiss to your lips. I’ll never get sick of that.

When he leaned back once more, he gave your waistband a small tug so that you knew exactly what he wanted. “Now, if you would do me the honor of taking these off… I can show you how I’ve wanted to touch you for a long, long time now, Y/N.”

You chewed your lip, looking down at where he was kneeling between your legs, a man praying at his altar. “Only if you promise you won’t hate me for…”

“For what, sweetheart?”

You turned away, your words an incoherent mumble.

“I can’t hear you, baby. Don’t get all timid on me now.”

“For how I look, Caleb. If I’m not as pretty down there as you thought I would be—”

Caleb lifted one hand from the waistband of your shorts to grip your jaw, pulling you back to face him. It was his turn to express his full-blown irritation, furious at the idea that he would ever be so shallow as to hate you for what you looked like, as if your beauty wasn’t a gift in every way, no matter what shape it came in.

He didn’t need to see you naked yet to know that no matter how you looked, the sight would be seared into his brain as paradise on earth for the rest of his life.

“Did you not hear me earlier?” Using his strongest magnetic gaze to make sure you wouldn’t look away this time, he let go of your chin and hooked his thumb back into your waistband. This time, he didn’t wait for your permission to take the shorts off—he yanked them, using just enough of his evol to lift you off the couch and sneak them down your calves. It brought forth a squeak from your plush mouth, a sound that made him smirk. “You’re the most beautiful girl in the world, Y/N. Every inch of you. That isn’t just my opinion. It is a fact. I’ll repeat it as many times as I need to, but I wish you would learn it on your own, too. So quit being so damn insecure and have some confidence, please. If someone like you doesn’t know how beautiful she is, what chance do the rest of us have?”

Only when he was done giving his speech did he allow his eyes to trail lower to the little black panties you wore. And that ended up being the smart thing to do, because fuck, it was hard to think about anything other than his need for you as he caught sight of the wet patch seeping through the black fabric between your legs.

You squirmed under the intensity of his perusal, but he pressed his hands tightly against your inner thighs to keep you from closing your legs. He admired the color of your skin, the way the tufts of your cute little hairs peeked through the sides of the panties, the shadowy creases where your thighs met your hips while sitting, the stretch marks, all of it.

“Now take these off for me too, yeah, pips?” he urged as he nodded towards the panties, his voice dropping to a low, raspy octave. “Let me give her the same pep talk so you can get on the same damn page about how beautiful you both are.”

You hesitated, but he gave you time to gather your strength this time. Because he needed time to steady himself, too—he hadn’t even touched his cock, but it felt like he was moments away from cumming.

And when you finally lifted up to take those panties off as he said, he really did almost cum. Hot fluid leaked from his tip like it wanted to say hi, too.

Pep talk momentarily forgotten, Caleb’s mouth fell open as he stared. God, your cunt was so fucking pretty. She was glistening, flushed the same lovely color as your blushing cheeks, but more deeply pigmented, your clit swollen and throbbing already.

He wanted to kiss her. To taste her. Because if she was anything like the lips on your face, he would be addicted for life.

But he still had words he needed to say to her, so he needed to save his kisses for later.

“Caleb, you’re staring…”

“I sure am, sweetheart,” he said, not daring to even blink. “How could I not? She’s more gorgeous than any sunset I’ve ever seen. Prettier than every star in the sky.”

And with trembling fingers, he pressed his pointer finger to your pussy for the very first time.

“Mmm!” you cried out, even so small of a touch resonating deeply enough to make you buck off the couch.

He started his touch low on your pussy, gathering the slick moisture that dripped from your entrance with every throb before dragging it up, up, up to circle your puffy clit. You jerked back from the touch, the foreign feeling of a man’s hands on you like lightning to your nervous system, but Caleb didn’t retreat. He just waited for you to settle down before resuming the slow circles and strokes once more.

“How is that, baby?”

“Mmm… ‘s intense, Cay…” you slurred, already caught in the thrall of the feeling.

He smiled, looking up to take in your enraptured expression for just a moment before he went back to staring at that hot place he’d dreamed of for so long.

“You’re so pretty, pipsqueak. So, so pretty. She’s so pretty. You really thought I would hate this?” he asked, words earnest. “You silly girl. My silly, sweet, precious, pretty girl.”

And then he dragged that finger back down to your tight entrance, pressing it in slowly, relishing in the way your inner walls clamped up around his finger like they were welcoming an old friend. God, you were made for him, and your body knew it.

“Oh!” you gasped at the unfamiliar intrusion, but didn’t buck away from him that time. No, instead, you chased the feeling, thrusting your hips closer to the edge of the couch so that you could ride his single digit.

Caleb grinned, repeating the motion. With every long stroke of his fingers inside your weeping pussy, he could see the hesitation, the restraint melt from your body. He kept the rhythm up, intent on unraveling you.

“Promise me you’ll never go seeking out some other boy’s attention, okay?” Caleb rasped out, wishing it came out like an order, but it came out more like a desperate plea instead. “I’ve been here this whole time, pips. I always will be. You don’t need anybody else, alright? I’ll be anything you want. Anything you need. I’ll do whatever it takes. I promise. I promise, Y/N. So promise me you won’t break my heart by running off to some asshole who wouldn’t give you that same devotion.”

You bit your lip, hips quickly learning how to bounce a pleasurable rhythm against him. “I’m sorry, Caleb, I’m sorry. I promise, I promise, I promise,” you panted out, and the words pleased him so much that he gifted you a second finger between your pussy lips. “Fuck! Caleb, Caleb, Caleb, gege, I promise, I never wanted any of them anyway, I just wanted you—”

A third finger.

“Caleb!”

“I wish you’d spoken up sooner, pips,” Caleb said, his own hips jolting from where he knelt, wishing his too-loose shorts would provide more friction against his throbbing cock. “Do you know how long I’ve wanted this? How long I’ve waited?” His brows pulled together as he remembered all his nights of pent-up frustration, staring at your photos, watching you when you didn’t know he was looking, waking up from dreams and wishing they were real. “And you’ve just been thinking this whole time that you’re not the most stunning, most alluring woman to ever walk this earth? It’s absolutely unacceptable.”

He sat up on his knees and leaned forward enough that his lips just barely brushed yours, getting drunk on the breaths you let out. You made him feel so good, and he wanted to make you feel good, too. Better than good. He suddenly remembered a tip he’d learned online during one of the many nights he’d spent reading tutorials on how to touch a woman properly, just in case this moment ever came.

Might as well give it a try now…

Caleb curled his three fingers inward, pressing hard against your front walls as he picked up the pace of his strokes.

The effect was immediate.

Your body seized up around him, your cunt squeezing him, massaging and milking his fingers as if they could give him the hot load you so clearly wanted. His cock twitched and throbbed underneath the flimsy layer of his shorts, making the fabric bounce. He was fucking jealous of his own fingers, a thought that nearly made him laugh.

You started letting out little gasping, mewling noises that Caleb had half a mind to record for his new ringtone—but he wouldn’t, because his roommates back at the Academy absolutely did not deserve to hear such a beautiful song.

No, these sounds were for no one but him.

“Let your friends have all those stupid boys. They can have whoever they want, and it doesn’t matter, pipsqueak, because I’m yours,” he cooed to you through your orgasm, and god, the way your mouth parted open, the way your eyes went hazy and crosseyed as your climax reached new heights… he needed to cum, too. “I’m yours, sweetheart, always and forever.”

Now that he was sitting up, his cock was close enough to press against the edge of the couch. It wasn’t the friction he wanted, but he could make do, because as badly as he wanted to fuck you… he needed more time to prepare. He would make sure that moment was something out of a storybook, since he’d goofed this moment up with torn flowers, melted chocolate, and rambling words.

Though something about how this night had gone still felt right, even with all his mistakes. He wouldn’t change it for the world, not when this was the outcome. It felt like you two: honest, passionate, messy, and just a little chaotic.

He only had to thrust his hips against the couch cushions a few times before he was coming, too. The hot liquid got all over the inside of his shorts, falling out of the bottom of his pant leg, and splattering all over the carpet.

Caleb had jerked his cock plenty in his life, but this was unlike anything he’d ever experienced. Inhaling your sweet scent, the sweet taste of your saliva still permeating his tongue, the sight of you climaxing before him, that was all it took to bring this feeling to levels he hadn’t known were possible. He nuzzled his face tightly into your neck as he rode out his orgasm, as you rode out yours, as you both rode the high of those crashing waves together.

He bit down lightly on your neck, an assurance that yes, this was real, yes, you were here, and yes…

You were finally his.

“I love you, pips.”

°˖✧~*♡*~✧˖°

Masterlist // AO3 ♡

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kissandtellus · 5 days ago

Text

Mountin’ Mutts

Synopsis: Canine Hybrid!Caleb gets too rambunctious when in Rut. So Feline!Reader buys him a contraption to keep him under control!

Warning: Omegaverse, Hybrids, Knotting, Drooling, Muzzles, Smut, Sort of Mean!Caleb but MC is into it.

You’d grounded your mate from touching you. You still bore scarred marks from the last time Caleb was in rut.

He has been pining all night but he kept himself from dry humping your lower back. When he noticed you moving away, he whined into your neck.

His hand was resting on your waist and you can sense the tremble on it as he tried to control himself. He was doing his best to control the beast inside him because he really doesn’t want to hurt his mate. But the way he is panted into your neck, you could feel his body heat seep into your bones.

“Please,” he begged.

“No, Cal. You know why. C’mon, I said you can hold me but no more.” You huffed and tried squirming away. The summer night was already hot enough and the AC wasn’t doing much for his own overheated flesh.

He lets out a low, frustrated whimper at your refusal. His hands tightened around you, refusing to let you go even just for a moment.

His chest rumbled against your back as he spoke, his voice a hoarse disappointment. “Just let me…” he started, but his words trailed off, leaving them hanging, unspoken, charged with unexpressed desire.

You can truly sense how much he yearns for physical intimacy with you, how it's almost a physical ache within him.

The next morning is even worse, you have to peel yourself from him to fix breakfast, your ears on constant rotation to catch the noise of when he woke up.

You stand in the midst of the kitchen, fixing a shit ton of protein for him. Your ears twitch at the sound of him pulling himself from the bed. He’s standing in the doorway nearly too big. All muscle, over 200 pounds of pure strength wrapped in untamed desires.

“G’mornin’…” you murmured over your shoulder.

Caleb says nothing, but you can feel the floor quake under each step.

He wraps his arms around you from behind; his body pressed against you, the heat of him against your back a heady reminder of his state.

He knows he shouldn't push, but the desire is too strong to resist. He whispers in your ear, his voice low, “Just let me...please, pretty kitty. I need you…”

You sigh, fully prepared to push him off. But his hips twitch against your lower back, straining length stretching the fabric and…wet? Why was it-?

Oh. My. God.

“Caleb Xia, did you just cum on my back?!”

Caleb is groaning, whining, and still humping your back as the cum seeps through his boxers. “I’ll be good-s’ good! Please please please-

“Off.” The command is sharp, your tail between you rigid. He whines like you just kicked him but peels himself away,

You banish him to his at-home gym, tell him to work out his frustrations while you finish breakfast and head to the store.

He sulks at first, not wanting to leave your side, but after a few more stern words and narrowed feline eyes, he begrudgingly makes his way to the gym.

He works out intensely, trying to burn off the frustrations he feels. As he trains, his body glistens with sweat, his muscles flexing, his rut making him stronger than usual, his testosterone overbearing at this point.

You on the other hand, visit the tiny corner shop you and Caleb have visited a few times. It caters to Hybrids like yourself, owned by a Hybrid couple FOR people just like you.

The Bear Hybrid, husband of the owner, with his imposing tall build and lopsided grin, greets you with a hearty laugh. "Ah, if it isn't my favorite cat! What brings you here today?" His eyes sparkle with warmth, and there's a subtle hint of admiration behind his words.

The corner shop is a familiar haven for Hybrids like you, and the bear's genuine welcome always puts you at ease.

You grumble and pull your shirt off your shoulder just a bit so you can show off the vicious bite marks Caleb left during his last Rut. “Caleb is…a lot more bitey during his Ruts. I’m just looking for something that can help him. Got anything that’ll stop him from treating me like a chew toy?”

The Bear Hybrid lets out a hearty laugh at the sight of Caleb's bite marks on you. "That boy of yours sure does have a strong bite! Well, I might just have something that can help. Hold on, let me check in the back."

He disappears into the back of the shop, rummaging through various potions and remedies. A moment later, he returns with a metal contraption, he lays it on the counter with a soft clink.

A muzzle.

“It’s designed to prevent unnecessary biting during…uh, certain activities,” the Bear Hybrid explains casually, as though he was discussing the weather or last night's game.

He pushes it towards you. “It’ll prevent him from hurting you during his rut, but still allow you both to be close. Just don’t tell him it was my idea.” he adds with a wink.

You nervously walk back to the apartment with the paper bag in hand. Caleb is absolutely going to hate this, but he might hate remaining untouched during his Rut even more.

You slowly push open the door to hear whines, groans and the smell of raw Alpha in the air.

As you step into the apartment, you’re immediately hit with the raw, untamed scent of his rut. It hangs heavy in the air, an undeniable presence. His groans echo in the stillness, a symphony of suppressed desire. The smell alone is enough to stir something within you, a primal urge you've been trying to push down.

You hear him before you see him. He's lying on the ground, his body glistening with sweat from his workout.

But in his hands, is your crumpled used underwear, his salvia and…other fluids clinging to it.

When he notices you, he looks up, his eyes dark. There's no denying the wild hunger in them, a direct result of his rut. He tosses the underwear aside, his voice hoarse. "You're back. Please, pretty girl..."

When you pull out the muzzle, Caleb looks betrayed in a way. His tail tucks between his legs but there is a firm look in your eyes. “It’s the only way Caleb. Please?”

Caleb’s lip pulls back in a snarl and for a second, you think he might deny it. But then he steps closer and dips his head. You quickly slide it over his mouth, the leather straps rattling as you secure it fully.

“Good boy, how does that feel?” You take a step back and he gives his head a few firm shakes.

“It’s fine…I guess.” He huffs, jerking his head around. His massive body is tense like a coiled trap. Your lips curl up and you hold his cheek between your hands, hushing his angered huffs.

“Shhh, you’re doing well. Now-“ You step forward so your fingers press against his raging boner tenting his shorts. You nearly have to catch him in your arms when his knees buckle. He tries to press his face into his favorite place, the crook of your neck, but the metal bars keep him from your flesh.

“Can’t fuckin’ taste you.” He whines through clenched teeth. You giggle, just a light noise to thread your fingers with him.

You guide him to the safety of the bedroom. His scent bounces off the walls now fully surrounding you. “Stay.” You order, pointing in-front of you to the corner of the room. Caleb feels like his entire body nearly vibrate as you began to strip off your clothing. Your furry tail sprung up as you slide down your panties and shorts.

“Kitty-“

“Hush, enjoy the show.”

You soon stand bare before him, allowing his eyes to trail over each scar from the bites his fangs have left. He whines, heart aching. Another time he would kiss every bite as apology. But right now-

He wanted to give you more.

You crawl into the plush bed, enveloped in both of your scents. Your knees hit the bed and you press your chest to the soft comforter. You reach back, fingers grasping your cheeks before pulling them apart, exposing your holes like you were offering yourself on a silver platter.

When you look over your shoulder, Caleb’s shorts and tank top were tossed aside like trash. He’s panting, tongue out and all, drool seeping through the metal bars.

“C’mere.”

The command is so sudden it startles Caleb. But luckily he’s quick on his feet.

He’s bounding towards you like his life depended on it. He drops to his knees first, as if he’s ready to worship the most precious deity.

Caleb presses the end of his muzzle up against your dripping folds. He growls when the metal prevents him from tasting your sweet nectar that dribbled mere inches away.

He lets out a frustrated growl, the muzzle digging into your sensitive flesh as he tries to push past it to reach your center. His hands grip your hips tightly, fingers digging into your skin as he attempts to force his way in despite the barrier. "Nngh... Fuck this thing..."

You mewl and arch as the cool bars rub your most sensitive flesh. He knows theirs no use, but he’s too far gone now.

Drooling tongue gets so, so close to your aching folds but falls too short. That’s when you notice them.

The thick tears welled up in those pretty violet eyes. He’s so desperate. You’ve been edging him for the past two days, refusing to let him have you because of a few (in his opinion) stupid marks.

How else was he supposed to let the other males know you had a big, scary looking dog at home who stretched your pussy so good you saw stars?

He lets out a frustrated groan, his claws digging into the sheets as he fights the urge to rip the muzzle off. Instead, he starts rubbing his snout vigorously against your clit through the metal grille, trying to stimulate you indirectly. His tail thrashes angrily behind him. "Please…”

Your body acts accordingly, slick beginning to drip down your thighs in response. “G-good boy.”

The praise sends a shiver down his spine. He redoubles his efforts, the snout of the muzzle rubbing faster and harder against your clit. His own arousal is obvious, his cock throbbing and leaking against your thigh where it's trapped between your bodies. “M’ Good, s’ good for ya.”

He’s a mess, leaking down your leg, the end of the muzzle now covered in your slick and his saliva. You take a shuddering breath and reach back to grab his arm. “U-up! Mount!”

At your command, he immediately scrambles up to mount you. His large, muscular frame overshadows you as his wet cock slides across your sticky mound.

The muzzle makes his breathing heavy and loud, but he can't help the muffled whine that escapes him as he slowly pushes forward, his angry cockhead stretching you open inch by inch.

It never gets easier taking such a beefy part of the canine Hybrid. His chin rests on your shoulder as he bullies inch by inch inside, stretching out the gummy walls that try to suck him in forever.

His slick thighs try to find purchase against your body but it fails the first couple of times. He begins pleading with you to loosen up, begging you not to choke him out.

His pleas grow more desperate as he tries to thrust deeper but keeps slipping out because of your stubborn hold. His nails carefully scratch at your sides, trying to coax your muscles to relax. "Nngh! Please... Open more...I’ll be so good to ya…”

Slowly but surely your natural slick drips around his girth and he can finally bottom out. He swears he might cum, might blackout right then and there.

The cold of the metal makes tiny indentions on your shoulder as he begins a desperate pace. There isn’t really a rhyme or reason to his thrust, the initial few pumps have your head reeling.

“Feel so good kitty-mmn fuck, fuck you feel so gooood~!” He’s a man deprived now. He grabs your hips to lift you ever so gently off the bed before pounding your guts like they owe you money. Your claws tear at the sheets when you try to find something to keep you grounded.

Caleb’s head is thrown back, the muzzle doing its job. But it can’t stop the flinging drool that drips from his dirty mouth. Pieces of saliva collect on the space between your shoulder blades when he curls himself around your arch.

“Pussy feels so good! C-can’t believe you tried keepin’ her from me.” He’s snarls.

He can feel the base of his cock starting to swell. His jaw snaps inside of the muzzle that pressed right against your swollen heat gland. His instincts are bitter, wanting nothing more than to make you bleed for making him wait so long.

Your ears pivot at the sound of his snarl and he catches the sight in his peripheral. One clawed hand encircles your tail, giving a light pull that sends a hiss from your throat.

“Think you’re so much better than this big dumb dog? All high and mighty, not lettin’ me mark ya? Afraid I’ll scare away those prissy fuckin’ cat suitors I see watchin’ ya?”

“F-fuckin’ mutt! So big, n cock is so big! D-don’t even think about how much it hurts!” You hiss out, ears flattened despite your tail folded against your spine as your body takes him over and over, tears of pleasure and frustration spilling down your cheeks.

Caleb’s eyes roll back at the way your walls spasm around his throbbing cock. “Yeahhhh, yeah you love this mutt’s big cock. Want me to give you all the fucking pups huh? Say it.”

His hand grasps your jaw, angling your head back and- “Fuck! Fuck yeah, want your pups. Pleasepleaseple-“

Caleb’s jaws flex, his snarl overpowering your moans. You barely comprehend the sound of tearing leather before his teeth fasten around your shoulder. His knot pops in and he balances on his haunches as he pumps load after load.

“FUCK! Fuck Caleb, ow-“

He gives his head a warning whip, daring you to try to push him away. Your cries die down to whimpers as you come down from your own high, a frothy mix dribbling down your inner thighs.

Blood trickles down your shoulder and onto the once clean bedsheets. You know you should hiss, should scratch and claw at him. But when the remains of the broken muzzle falls beside you on the bed-

“Oh f-“

Caleb has you sprawled out on the bed like a used white. He hasn’t stopped apologizing while he’s cleaned the wounds he’s left and the cum leaking out of your well used entrance.

You don’t have the strength to fight him off when he decides his tongue is the best cleaning tool for your pussy.

“Mm sorry Kitty. I’ll take care of you.”

Caleb crawls next to you but not before grabbing the broken muzzle and tossing it across the room like an unloved toy. “But if you ever put a muzzle on me again, I’ll fuck you through the wall.”

Was that a threat? Or was he flirting?

Knowing Caleb? Probably both.

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swanlikely · 2 months ago

Text

Current Brainrot: PDA VS. Boyfriend Caleb!

Author's Note: I was feeling soft and mushy today instead of lewd and smutty—so you’re getting clingy, lovesick Caleb. I promise the debauchery will return, but for now? Enjoy the fluff. (Artist & Original Post)

not proof-read! (sorry if there are any errors - let me know and I'll fix it!

Caleb does not give a fuck about PDA. Not even a little. In fact, he seems personally offended by the idea of not touching you at all times, like physical contact is the only thing keeping him tethered to Earth. (Ironic for someone who has a gravity manipulation evol, I know.)

You're the PDA couple in line for amusement park rides. The ones people pretend not to stare at while Caleb leans over you with his chin on your head, swaying side to side like you’re his favorite song. His hands are somewhere on you: around your waist, in your back pockets, or just flat on your stomach like he’s claiming territory.

At the grocery store? You’re trying to compare pasta sauces and he’s behind you, arms looped around your hips like you're the most fascinating shelf in the store. You shift a step to the left; he shuffles with you like you’re in a three-legged race. A lady clears her throat behind you in the aisle and Caleb, unbothered, just kisses the back of your neck and asks if you want the spicy marinara.

Friends have stopped commenting. You sit on Caleb’s lap like it’s your assigned seat. He hooks his chin over your shoulder during game nights, one hand playing with your fingers under the table while the other deals cards like nothing’s out of the ordinary.

He once tried to hold your hand during a dentist appointment.

“You don’t even have any cavities,” you hissed.

“I missed you,” he said, two feet away.

You’re not even sure he knows he’s doing it anymore. It’s second nature to him, an unconscious act. Caleb waited so long for you. There’s no going back. You’re doomed.

His gym routine has become a team sport. Caleb loves—loves—when you sit on his back while he does pushups. He’ll drop to the floor, slap the space between his shoulder blades, and go, “C’mon, Pips, get on. I need motivation.” You try to be serious about it, but he starts grinning the second you're up there like it’s the best part of his workout. And God help you if you cheer him on; he’ll do twice as many, just to impress you.

Doomed to forehead kisses in traffic. Doomed to shared straws and linked pinkies while you walk. Doomed to being the human equivalent of a teddy bear he refuses to put down.

And honestly?

You wouldn’t have it any other way.

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satrs · 2 days ago

Text

A/N: TAKE THIS FLUFFY DAD!CALEB BOMB WHILE I WORK ON UR REQUESTS! *runs away*

One moment, you're standing in the kitchen with Caleb, your hand resting absentmindedly on your round belly while he's teasing you over your choice of snacks again, and the next, you feel a warm rush down your legs and you freeze.

He doesn't notice right away— he's halfway through dramatically describing how your unborn daughter is definitely going to be the sassiest of your children until your low whisper makes him shut his rambling all together.

"Caleb…"

He looks up at you immediately, sensing the shift in your tone. Oh, he heard this before. It can't be—

His eyes drop to the floor where a small puddle has begun to form, and in an instant, all the blood drains from his face.

"Wait—waitwaitwait, was that— did your water just break?"

You nod, wide-eyed, the first rush of contractions hitting you like a brick. "I think it's time."

He stares at you for half a second, completely still.

Then, there utter chaos.

"Okay, okay— okay!" Caleb jolts into motion, nearly knocking over the bowl of salad on the counter as he spins in a circle, searching for the hospital bag he swore he packed and left by the door for a sudden surprise like this. "Bag. Phone. Car keys. Where are your shoes— do you need slippers?! I'll carry you! Actually, no, wait— gotta get the boys, oh my god!"

You can't help it—you laugh, even through the sharp wave of pressure already building low in your abdomen. "Caleb. Breathe."

He stops again, chest rising and falling like he just ran a marathon, eyes locked onto yours before he rushes to scoop his two twin boys into his strong arms, bag already thrown over his shoulder as he shomehow holds you and guides you towards the door.

"She's coming. Boys, your little sister is coming!" he almost shouts, catching protesting shrieks from the two four year olds. You nod, tears already threatening as you stumble outside the door. "Yeah, she's coming."

His hand finds yours, warm and strong, grounding you instantly as you step towards the car now, headding into the passangers seat as caleb rushes your boys into their seats.

Caleb buckles each of the boys in with frantic precision, his hands fumbling slightly but steady where it counts— safety first, even with his heart practically beating out of his chest. One of the twins is whining about leaving his toy robot behind, the other is chanting "baby sister! baby sister!" in wild delight, kicking his little sneakers against the seat.

"I promise, we'll come back for the robot," Caleb says quickly, planting a swift kiss on their heads. "But right now, we're going to go meet your baby sister. She's coming today, dudes!"

"Caleb, don't call pur boy dued. It's— urghhh!" You groan softly from the passenger seat as another contraction tightens in your belly. Caleb's head jerks toward you instantly, eyes wide. "That looked like a big one— oh man, okay, okay. Just hang on tight, baby."

He slams the car door shut, throws himself behind the wheel, and fires up the engine, one hand already reaching across the console to grasp yours again. "Squeeze as hard as you need," he murmurs, even as he checks the rearview mirror with one glance and pulls out of the driveway a little too fast.

You grip his hand tightly, knuckles white. "I think she's eager to see us," you manage to say, voice tight with pain.

Caleb's jaw clenches, but he doesn't panic, voice soft with that familiar, steady warmth only he could pull off in moments like this. "It's going to be okay. You're doing amazing, baby, we're almost there."

In the backseat, one of the twins pipes up, "Daddyyy? Is she kicking mommy's belly again?"

Caleb chuckles through the nerves, voice high and breathless. "Yeah, buddy, probably. But she's also going to be really, really tiny. And beautiful. Like your mom."

"I wanna see her!", the other exclaims, little robot long forgotten as a big smile stretches his chubby cheeks.

"You will soon. All of us."

He flicks his gaze toward you just for a moment, his expression full of worry. This isn't your first rodeo, the birth of the twins was one hell of a rollercoaster, sure.

But he still can't help but be so nervous and worry. What if you don't make it to the hospital in time? And what if—

"G-goshhh girlie. You really wanna get out and meet your brothers huh?" you manage to speak throught gritted teeth, sweat forming at your forhead.

The hospital comes into view, and Caleb's grip on your hand tightens just slightly. "We're almost there, sweetheart. Just a few more minutes. You've got this. I've got you."

The boys are still chattering in the back, and Caleb's knuckles go white around the steering wheel as he parks with a speed and recklessness he'd definitely scold someone else for.

The moment the car jerks to a stop in front of the emergency entrance, Caleb bolts from the driver's seat, yanking open your door. His hands are steady now, calmer and more focused even, but his eyes are still wide shut with adrenaline and love.

"I'll be right there with you," he promises, helping you to your feet, one arm supporting your back as the other cradles your belly instinctively. "Let me just get the boys inside with the nurse, okay?"

You nod through a contraction, fingers digging into his shoulder. He presses a quick kiss to your temple. "You've got this, baby. I'll be right behind you."

A nurse rushes over with a wheelchair, and Caleb gently eases you into it before turning toward the car.

"Okay, team, listen up!" he calls to the twins in the backseat, throwing the door open and crouching down to unbuckle them. "You remember what we talked about? Mommy’s going to have your baby sister now!"

One twin blinks at him with wide eyes. "Can we hold her after?"

Caleb grins, his heart squeezing painfully tight in his chest. "Absolutely. You guys are gonna be the best big brothers ever."

He lifts both boys out one by one, balancing them expertly, one on each hip, because of course he does. Their little arms cling to his shoulders, legs wrapped around his waist. He's done this a hundred times before, but this time it feels different. This time, he's carrying the older siblings.

A nurse meets him at the entrance and helps guide the boys toward the family waiting area.

"They're waiting for you," she says gently, nodding toward the hallway where you've just been wheeled. "Go."

Caleb nods, setting the boys down and crouching low to their level. "Be good for the nurse, okay? I'm going to help Mommy now. When I come back, you'll get to see your little sis. Deal?"

"Deal!"

The boys nod seriously in union, eyes wide with excitement and confusion, and Caleb plants a firm kiss on each of their foreheads. "Love you both."

Then he's off, running down the corridor, the hospital bag bouncing against his side, sneakers squeaking against the floor. He bursts through the delivery room doors just in time, breathless and flushed, eyes locking with yours as the nurse steadies you through another contraction.

"Hi." you whisper with a weak smile, voice shaking.

Caleb crosses the room in three long strides, grasping your hand instantly. "Hi baby."

And despite the sweat running down every crevice of your body and the unbearable pain, you're ready. Because your husband's here. The boys are safe. And your little girl is on her way.

He presses his forehead to yours, his other hand landing gently over your belly. "Now let's meet our little girl."

©︎𝙎𝘼𝙏𝙍𝙎 𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐫𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭𝐬 𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐝. Do NOT plagiarize, copy, modify, republish, or translate my work in any way!

I got mad babyfever and you'll have to deal with it now.

#caleb x you #caleb #love and deepspace #lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #xia yizhou #lnds caleb #calebmc #caleb fluff #lads fluff #caleb love and deepspace #lnds #loveanddeepspace #♡˳ᴸ&ᴰˢ #◛⑅·˚ ᵂᴼᴿᴷ

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koenigami · 6 months ago

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thinking about shirtless caleb making you after-sex breakfast, and looking so effortlessly handsome and sexy. it makes you feel a little guilty that your thoughts are anything but holy while he's doing such a simple domestic task.

thinking about how you'd come up behind him and wrap your arms around his waist, his skin so very warm that it makes you think about what he's felt like pressed against your entire body just moments prior.

thinking about kissing your way up his spine, then pressing a soft peck on each shoulder blade, and a few more apologetic ones along the red and raw stripes that you've imprinted on his skin. his shoulders would quake the slightest as he chuckles quietly at your antics with a boyish innocent smile on his face. the dull ache between your legs is proof enough that one should never be deceived by looks.

thinking about letting your hands wander and caress his abs with one hand, and letting the other slip a little lower until you're palming him through his briefs.

"nuh-uh." he sighs through smiley lips when you notice that he's still very much up for a few more rounds, but swiftly turns around to pick you up and sit you down on the counter beside the stove.

"you're going to eat something first. don't want you passing out on me later, babe." he winks at you but keeps one steady hand on your naked thigh, massaging the sore muscle while his other keeps flipping the pancakes, filling a plate nearby with the finished fluffy cakes and pouring fresh batter into the pan.

as i said. effortlessly handsome and sexy.

#lads caleb #love and deepspace caleb #caleb love and deepspace #caleb x reader #lads x reader #love and deepspace #caleb fluff #caleb lnds #caleb smut

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yois2aki · 3 months ago

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caleb has a habit of tilting his head down when you're talking to him, especially when you're standing close. it's not dramatic, just enough to catch your gaze, brows slightly raised like he’s listening to you and only you.

it's the kind of look that makes you forget what you were saying for a second.

the worst part? he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. he'll lean an elbow on a table or rest a hand against a doorframe, letting his height naturally create that downward angle: eyes low-lidded, mouth relaxed, totally unbothered. and you'll just stare, cheeks heating up, heartbeat skipping.

and when he does know?

he tilts a little more, lowers his voice, and murmurs, “you were saying?”

yeah. he knows.

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einawnimie · 4 hours ago

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𝘆𝗼𝘂𝗿 𝘄𝗼𝗿𝗱𝘀 𝗶𝗻 𝗴𝗿𝗲𝗲𝗻 𝗶𝗻𝗸 - sylus qin oneshot

summary — After getting rejected by your college crush back in freshman year, you swore off dating—why bother when it clearly wasn’t meant for you? Years later, thanks to a well-meaning setup by your friends, you find yourself on a blind date… only to come face-to-face with him again. Totally not awkward—until he suggests something that makes it even worse. Or… maybe not?

pairings — excrush!sylus x fem!reader

content/tags— fluff, angst if you squint REALLY hard, blind dates, reader is traumatized, classic 10 dates trope, tara and her bf is their cupid, timeskips, kissing, SFW, second chance romance + more!

words— 10k

—

“One caramel macchiato!”

The barista calls out your name, drawing your attention from the glow of your laptop screen for the first time since you sat down. You rise, stretching slightly as you make your way to the counter. She greets you with a warm smile, and you return it with a quiet one of your own before taking your coffee and slipping back into your seat.

After a few moments, the front door swings open with a soft chime, letting in a brief gust of warm air and the unmistakable voice of your co-worker.

“Hey!” Tara calls out, already grinning as she spots you.

You lift your head from your coffee with the energy of a drained phone battery, offering her a weak wave. She's radiant, as usual—like someone who actually slept last night and didn’t just survive on caffeine and deadlines.

She slides into the seat across from you without waiting for an invitation, eyes practically sparkling. That look. You know that look. You brace yourself.

“So,” she begins, drawing the word out like a plot twist. “You remember Ethan from accounting? Super cute, like ‘bakes-his-own-bread’ cute? Well—”

You groan softly, slumping forward until your forehead nearly kisses the table.

“Tara, I’m running on four hours of sleep and two existential crises. Please don’t set me up with someone who makes sourdough starters for fun.”

She just laughs, undeterred. “That’s exactly why you need someone! Balance, babe.”

You sip your coffee like it’s the only thing keeping you tethered to the mortal world.

“I’ve been single for almost my whole life, and I’m planning to be until I reach 35,” you reply flatly, sipping your coffee like it’s a shield.

Tara’s smile falters into a small frown, her brows knitting together. “Thirty-five? That’s so… specific. Why 35?”

“Because by then I’ll either have my life together,” you say, waving vaguely at your open laptop, “or I’ll be so far gone into the abyss of burnout that no one will want to date me anyway.”

She gasps like you just said you don’t believe in love or oat milk.

“That is the most depressing thing I’ve heard all week. And I sat through a budget meeting yesterday.”

You lift a brow. “And yet, you’re still trying to play Cupid.”

“Exactly!” She sits up straighter, suddenly energized. “Which is why you need someone before you become a recluse who hisses at the sunlight and lives off instant noodles.”

You squint at her over your mug. “That sounds like a dream, actually.”

“Oh my god,” she mutters, but she’s laughing. “You are impossible.”

“And yet, you keep trying.”

“Because I believe in love. And also because you’re too pretty to be left to your own self-sabotaging devices.”

You groan again and slump further into your seat.

““It’s Evan’s request!” she pouts, her lower lip jutting out like a child denied dessert.

You groan instantly at the mention of her beloved boyfriend. Of course. Of course she’d do anything for him. Ride or die—for his romantic fantasies involving you and some stranger.

“Who is it this time?” you deadpan. “A cousin? Colleague?” You narrow your eyes. “And before you say it—I’ve had enough of his friends. They’re all terrible on their first dates.”

You sigh and rest your cheek in your palm, memories flashing like a highlight reel of awkward handshakes, painfully long silences, and one guy who brought his résumé to dinner “just in case.”

Tara winces a little but pushes on like the soldier of love she is. “It’s his old college coursemate!” she insists, leaning forward dramatically.

“That means nothing to me.”

“He’s actually nice!” she protests. “Evan swears he’s not like the others.”

“You said that about the one who only talked about cryptocurrency.”

“Okay, that was a dark time. But this guy’s different. He reads books! He collects vinyls!”

You arch a tired brow. “So he’s a passionate adult. The bar is so low, Tara.”

She grins, undeterred. “Just one date?”

“I have deadlines.” You look at the report you have to finish before your meeting tomorrow morning before your boss starts to passive-agressively call you out, again.

“It’s coffee.”

“I already have coffee.” You lift your mug in emphasis.

“It’s free coffee, and he might be hot.”

You hesitate.

She sees it.

Victory blooms on her face like sunshine after rain.

“Fine, this is the last time.” You mutter, in which Tara smiles. “Yay! I really think this time it’s gonna be the one for you! I’ve seen his face and Evan told me things about him. He’s also very…” She made the classic money gesture—rubbing her thumb against her fingers—while grinning. “Cha-ching.”

You groaned harder at that. Fine, one last try.

By the time you finally cave and go on the date—mostly out of guilt, slight curiosity, and Tara’s relentless texting—you’re already bracing for disappointment. But nothing could have prepared you for this.

Because sitting across the table, casually sipping his drink like he didn’t just shatter your soul five years ago, is none other than your college crush from freshman year. The same guy you’d nursed a hopeless, head-over-heels attraction for. The same one you’d confessed to in a moment of naive bravery—and the same one who turned you down with that polite, almost apologetic smile that still haunts your occasional 3 a.m. spiral.

You stare at him, and he looks up with a pleasant smile, clearly having no idea who you are.

And that’s the moment it hits you.

Maybe love really isn’t for you. Maybe the universe is playing a long, humiliating game of romantic dodgeball, and you just got hit square in the face—again.

You force a smile, heart sinking into your gut as you stir your drink just to have something to do with your hands.

“So…” he says, leaning in slightly, “have we met before? You look kind of familiar.”

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it.

“Sylus Qin.” He offers you a handshake, his voice calm, smooth—like it hasn't shattered your ego once before.

You blink at him. The name confirms it, not that you needed it. You would’ve recognized that voice anywhere. The same one that used to echo down lecture halls and occasionally star in your daydreams back when love felt like something soft and full of promise.

Your hand hovers for a second too long before you take his. His grip is firm, warm. Too familiar.

He doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t blink. Just looks at you like you’re a stranger with slightly interesting eyes.

“Right,” you say, clearing your throat and slipping your hand back like it burned. “Nice to meet you… again.”

A small crease forms between his brows. “Mind reminding me where we met, Miss?”

Your smile tightens. “Freshman year. Psych class. I was the idiot who met you at the campus entrance and confessed and gave you a letter?”

His face stills. Then slowly—too slowly—his eyes widen with dawning recognition. “Oh.”

“Yeah,” you say, sipping your drink and praying for the floor to open up beneath you. “That girl.”

He opens his mouth to say something—maybe an apology, maybe nothing—but you cut in before he can gather a sentence.

“But don’t worry,” you add lightly, voice wrapped in practiced indifference. “I’m not here for a second chance. I was tricked into this by a mutual friend. Apparently Evan thinks we’d be great together.”

Sylus leans back, still watching you. “So… this is a blind date?”

“Unfortunately.”

He hums, gaze flicking over you with a hint of something unreadable. “Guess he forgot to mention the history.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Guess he didn’t know anything. It was a one second thing anyway”

The silence stretches—but it’s not exactly awkward. Just loaded.

And part of you already knows: this night is not going to go the way you expected.

And suddenly, you become extra conscious of what you’re wearing.

The blouse you’d thrown on in a rush this morning suddenly feels too casual, too slouchy. Your jeans, just slightly faded at the knees. Your hair—was it frizzy? Was there coffee foam on your lip?

Of all the days to run on autopilot.

You shift in your seat, subtly tugging at your sleeves like that’ll magically sharpen your entire look. But it’s too late. He’s already seen you. Really seen you.

Sylus watches you with a calm expression, but there's something unreadable in his eyes now—like he's reassessing, recalibrating. You don’t know whether it’s a good thing or a bad thing. And you hate that it matters. But it does.

Because no matter how long it’s been, or how hard you tried to file him away as a “learning experience,” some tiny, ridiculous part of you still wants to be… enough.

Still wants to make him regret saying no back then.

You force yourself to sit up straighter, chin tilted, like you’re fine. Like your heart isn’t doing little nervous pirouettes.

“Anyway,” you say, breaking the silence with a half-laugh, “how ironic is this?”

He quirks a brow. “Ironic?”

“Fate clearly has a sense of humor.”

Sylus’s lips curl into a faint smile. “Maybe. Or maybe fate’s giving me a second chance to get it right.”

Your breath catches—just slightly. You tell yourself not to read into it.

But it’s too late for that, too.

“Uhm, moving on,” you say quickly, trying to shove the tension back into its box. You tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, eyes fixed on the condensation forming on your glass. “What do you do now?”

Sylus leans back slightly, giving you a moment of reprieve from his steady gaze.

“I’m a software engineer,” he says, casually swirling his drink. “I mostly do freelance contract work. Apps, platforms, tech solutions for startups—you know, the usual keyboard warrior stuff.”

You nod, impressed despite yourself. “So you’re the guy everyone calls when their website crashes at 2 a.m.”

He chuckles softly. “Something like that. Less dramatic, more debugging-induced migraines.”

His laugh still sounds like it did years ago—low, easy, the kind that used to make you turn your head without meaning to.

You resist the urge to sigh.

“And you?” he asks, leaning in a little. “What did you end up doing?”

You shrug. “Marketing. Mostly brand copy and strategy. I sit in a lot of Zoom meetings, say ‘circle back’ more than I’d like, and write things that sound exciting but mean almost nothing.”

He grins. “Ah, professional illusionist. Respect.”

You huff a laugh. “Exactly.”

For a moment, there’s quiet—not awkward, just… contemplative. A shared pause between two people who were once on completely different pages, now reading from the same one without meaning to.

And though you’re still wary, still guarded, there’s a small flicker of something unspoken between you. Maybe.

You push it aside. For now.

You clear your throat, trying to push through the lingering weirdness. “So… you’re still based around here?”

“Mhm,” Sylus nods, taking a slow sip of his drink. “Moved back about a year ago. Needed a change of scenery. Or maybe I was subconsciously following a ghost from freshman year.”

Your eyes widen slightly, and you stare at him over the rim of your glass.

“Relax,” he says with a lazy grin. “Joking.”

“Right,” you mutter, cheeks warming. “Obviously.”

He leans forward on his elbows, resting his chin lightly on one hand. “You always get this flustered, or is it just me?”

Your mouth opens, then closes. “I am not flustered.”

“You’re stirring an empty cup,” he points out, amusement glittering in his eyes.

You glance down—and sure enough, you’re absentmindedly swirling your straw in a drink that’s been gone for five minutes.

You set it down a little too quickly. “It’s a nervous habit.”

“Cute one,” he murmurs.

You glare. “Do you always do this?”

“Do what?”

“Tease people on blind dates?”

“Only the ones I rejected five years ago and then ran into completely by accident,” he says, smile widening. “It’s a rare demographic.”

You groan and drop your face into your hands for a second. “This is so weird.”

“Maybe,” he says. “But it’s not terrible.”

You peek at him between your fingers. “You think this is going well?”

“I mean, you’re adorable when you’re awkward,” he says without missing a beat. “And I don’t not want to be here.”

You blink. That’s… not what you expected.

Sylus shrugs like it’s no big deal. “Honestly? I think it’s kind of poetic. Terrible timing back then. Maybe this time the timing’s just… less terrible.”

You don’t know what to say to that. You’re still mentally stuck on “adorable.”

So instead, you reach for your glass again—forgetting it’s empty.

He laughs.

You roll your eyes. “I’m never hearing the end of this, am I?”

“Nope,” he says, lifting his drink in a small toast. “But I am buying your next one.”

And despite yourself, despite everything—your lips twitch into a smile.

“What about dinner?” he suggests, casually, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

You stare at him. “We’re… dragging this date?”

Sylus lifts an eyebrow, amused. “Dragging? That’s a strong word. I was thinking about extending.”

You squint at him suspiciously. “You sure this isn’t a social experiment? See how long you can tolerate the girl who confessed to you in college?”

He grins. “You keep bringing that up like I’m not flattered.”

You scoff. “You rejected me.”

“Regretfully,” he says, placing a hand over his chest with exaggerated sincerity. “I was young. Emotionally unavailable. Spiritually lost.”

You deadpan. “You were nineteen and dating a girl who made jewelry out of spoons.”

“Ah, Simone,” he says with a nostalgic sigh. “She had a vision.”

“She made you wear a fork necklace for a month.”

He laughs, and you hate that it sounds so nice. Like warm sunlight through a café window. Dangerous. “You know a lot about me, huh?”

“Knew. I literally had a crush on you.”

You glance at your watch. You could go home. Eat leftovers. Watch a true crime doc you’ll forget by morning. Or…

You exhale. “Fine. Dinner.”

He blinks. “That easy?” You didn’t reply when you stood up and he immediately followed you out.

The restaurant Sylus brings you to is tucked away on a quieter street—a cozy, dimly lit place with mismatched chairs and old jazz humming from a record player in the corner. Not fancy, but warm. Intentional.

“This feels… not like a first date spot,” you say as he pulls out a chair for you.

“That’s because it isn’t,” he replies, sliding into the seat across from you. “It’s a make-up-for-my-past-mistakes spot.”

You squint at him as you open the menu. “Do you have a designated restaurant for your emotional failures?”

“Only the meaningful ones.”

You snort. “So you bring a lot of people here.”

He winks. “Just you, actually.”

Your cheeks flush again—great—and you pretend to focus very hard on the pasta section. He watches you, though, openly and without shame, chin resting on his hand like he’s perfectly content just sitting across from you.

The waiter comes, and you place your orders. After he walks off, the silence between you settles again—but this time, it’s quieter. Softer.

“So…” you say, twirling the condensation on your glass, “you really didn’t remember me when you saw me at first?”

Sylus winces. “I remembered your face. Just… didn’t connect it right away.” You gave him a knowing look, in which he sighs.

"Fine, I knew it was you ever since I entered that cafe."

“Hm.”

“But when you brought up the confession and letter?” He taps the table lightly. “It all came back like it was yesterday. I even remember the pen color—dark green ink, right?”

Your eyes widen. “Okay, weird.”

“You wrote in cursive,” he continues, grinning. “All neat and swirly. I thought it was sweet.”

“And you read it after rejecting me?,” you asked him, stabbing a breadstick like it personally offended you.

He chuckles. “Hey, in my defense—I was an idiot. The kind who didn’t know what he wanted until years later.”

“Yeah, well,” you say, biting into the breadstick, “welcome to the club.”

Your food arrives midway through him telling a story about a client who paid him in garden vegetables. You’re genuinely laughing now—soft and a little surprised, like you forgot what it felt like to enjoy someone’s company this way.

Over dinner, the teasing doesn’t stop, but it shifts—less sharp, more playful. He leans in sometimes when you speak, nods like what you're saying matters. And every so often, he looks at you like maybe this was never just a coincidence.

When dessert comes, he casually pushes the plate of tiramisu toward you with a fork already ready.

“I didn’t order dessert,” you protest.

“You did,” he says, “you just didn’t know it yet.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Yet, here you are.”

You roll your eyes, but you do take a bite.

It’s unfairly good.

“...Damn it.”

“Exactly.” He smiles, slow and warm. “So... what do you say we drag this date a little longer?”

You stare at him, fork paused halfway to your mouth.

Then it hits you.

You can’t.

Not like this. Not with someone who clearly rejected you once, and maybe—just maybe—is only entertaining this out of guilt or curiosity. The warmth in his eyes, the way he leans in, the softness in his smile... it all feels too good, too dangerous.

And you've read some post on tiktok saying if a man rejected you once they shouldn't be in your life ever again. Even though you never really follow social media's advices, you're still unsure.

Because you remember exactly what it felt like to have hope, only to have it shut down with a kind smile and a polite “I’m sorry.”

And no matter how nice dinner is, no matter how different he seems now—you’re still you. And he’s still Sylus Qin.

The boy who took your letter and probably never really read the insides rather than a glance, and threw it out (That is what your dramatic heart convinced you happened)

You put the fork down slowly, like it's suddenly too heavy. “I can’t do this,” you murmur, your voice quieter than you mean it to be.

Sylus straightens slightly. “What?”

“This.” You gesture vaguely between you two. “Dinner. The... date. Whatever this is.”

His brows draw together. “Did I say something wrong?”

You shake your head, looking down at the half-eaten tiramisu like it holds answers. “No. You were—you are fine. And that’s the problem.”

He blinks, clearly confused. “You lost me.”

You take a slow breath. “You don’t remember how that felt, do you? Being rejected by someone you genuinely liked—someone who barely noticed you until years later. Someone who now decides, over pasta and charming smiles, that maybe you're worth a shot.”

Sylus is quiet for a moment, no longer smiling.

“You think that’s why I’m here?” he asks, voice low.

You shrug, arms folding tightly across your chest. “I don’t know why you’re here. And that’s the part I don’t think I can handle.”

There’s a pause between you—long and sharp.

“I didn’t come here to mess with you,” he says, tone more serious now. “I didn’t remember right away, but once I did, I chose to stay. I’m not trying to make up for the past. I just... thought this could be something new.”

You look up at him, uncertain.

“I get it,” he adds gently. “If you don’t want to keep going, I won’t push. But I’m not that guy from freshman year anymore. And maybe you’re not that girl either.”

You hesitate, heart torn between a self-defense mechanism you’ve polished to perfection—and the stupid, stubborn flicker of curiosity he somehow reignited.

You glance down again, then quietly push the dessert plate back to him.

“I think I’m still her...and uhm, I need a little space,” you say.

He nods slowly. “Okay.”

The server returns with the check, and Sylus pays without question waving in dismissal at your attempt to sneak in your card as well. You both rise, the air between you heavier now, but honest.

He walks you to the door, hands in his pockets. “For what it’s worth,” he says softly, “I’m glad I saw you again.”

You manage a small nod, already halfway out the door, already fighting the part of you that wants to turn back.

Maybe later.

Maybe next time.

Maybe.

One month later

The coffee shop’s the same.

Same mellow jazz humming from the speakers. Same barista who still gives you a warm smile and extra whipped cream when she thinks you look tired. Same seat by the window, where your laptop sits untouched, your fingers curled around a lukewarm mug of cappuccino.

But you’re not the same.

Not entirely.

Because ever since that dinner—since him—you haven’t quite been able to return to your emotional baseline. There’s a small ache under your ribs when you let your guard down. A lingering sense of something unfinished.

Tara drops into the seat across from you, smoothie in one hand, far too much energy in the other.

“You’re avoiding the question again,” she says, poking your arm with her straw.

You don’t look up. “What question?”

“The Sylus Question."

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

You sigh. “There’s nothing to say.”

Tara leans in, unconvinced. “You were gone for almost three hours. You came back looking like you’d seen a ghost and then refused to talk about it. Something happened.”

You stay quiet, eyes fixed on the steam curling from your drink. And for a while, she just watches you—not pressing, for once.

Then quietly, you say, “I never told you about him, did I?”

She blinks. “Told me what?”

“Sylus wasn’t just some random guy Evan picked out of a lineup. I knew him. From college.”

Her brows lift. “Wait—what?”

You nod slowly, not quite meeting her eyes. “Freshman year. I had the biggest crush on him. We had psych class together. I wrote him this ridiculous handwritten confession letter like I was living in some second-rate teen drama.”

Tara’s jaw drops. “You wrote him a letter?”

“In green ink,” you mutter. “Cursive. I poured my heart out. He was nice about it. Rejected me politely. But still... it stuck with me.”

“Oh my God,” she breathes. “And you, out of all people just proceed with the date?”

You finally look up, your expression tight. “Because the moment he sat down and saw him smile like he didn’t even recognize me, it all came rushing back. I felt stupid. Like I was nineteen again, waiting for a reply that never came.”

Tara leans back slowly, eyes softer now. “You never said any of that.”

“I didn’t want to make it a thing,” you murmur. “You were so excited to help me. And I thought I could handle it. I didn’t know it would be him! But after the date... I don’t know. He was kind. Charming. All the things I used to like about him. And somehow that made it worse.”

She studies you for a long moment. “You didn’t ask Evan for his number?”

You shake your head. “Didn’t want to. Didn’t dare to. Because what if he was only being nice to be nice? What if he was curious? Or worse—what if it meant nothing at all to him and I just end up falling again?”

Tara exhales slowly. “Evan said Sylus asked about you. He didn’t push. Just wondered if you were okay.”

Your heart gives a quiet, reluctant thud.

“I think you’re still thinking about someone you saw once a month ago,” she says gently. “That kinda says everything.”

You fall silent, eyes drifting to the window where the light hits just right, shadowing the table in soft gold. You remember his smile. The way he looked at you—not like he was sorry, but like he wanted to know you again. For real this time.

“Do you think…” you start, then pause, swallowing. “Do you think I messed it up?”

Tara doesn’t even hesitate. She reaches for her phone and gives you a raised eyebrow. “Should I text Evan?”

You stare at the screen.

Maybe you should.

You stare at Tara’s phone like it’s a bomb she’s about to detonate.

“What would you even say?” you ask, cautiously.

Tara shrugs, already typing. “Something neutral. Friendly. Non-dramatic. ‘Hey, can you send Sylus’s number to [Name]? She forgot to get it that night.’”

“I didn’t forget.”

She glances up, grinning. “Exactly. That’s why it’ll sound innocent.”

You hesitate. Your fingers tighten around your cup.

Tara pauses, thumbs hovering. “Do you want me to hit send?”

There’s a pause. A long, uncertain one. But your silence is a maybe, and she knows you well enough to hear it.

Send.

“Done,” she says brightly, locking her phone like she didn’t just possibly alter the trajectory of your emotional well-being.

You groan and sink further into your seat. “You’re evil.”

“I’m efficient,” she corrects. “Also, you’re welcome.”

You don’t respond. Your mind’s already spinning—what you’ll say, how it’ll sound, what he’ll think. If he’ll even reply.

You don’t have to wait long.

Tara’s phone buzzes. She unlocks it, reads the message, then slides the phone across the table to you.

Evan: Yeah, sure. He’s actually been meaning to reach out, but didn’t want to push. Here’s his number. Hope she’s doing okay.

You stare at the number for a few seconds, your heart weirdly loud in your chest.

“He was going to reach out,” Tara says softly. “He was waiting for you.”

You don’t say anything. You just copy the number into your own phone. Your thumb hovers over the message screen for way too long. You delete three different drafts before settling on the simplest version possible.

You: Hey. It’s me. From that very extended blind date. Mind if we talk?

You hit send before you can overthink it.

Then you both wait.

A few agonizing minutes pass. You sip your now-cold coffee. Tara picks at her muffin like she’s trying not to stare too obviously. You check your phone again. Nothing.

And then—finally—your screen lights up.

Sylus: Hey. Wow. Hi.

Sylus: I was hoping you’d text. Where should we start—apologies or second chances?

Your breath catches, somewhere between a laugh and a nervous sigh. You glance up at Tara, eyes wide.

She grins. “Well?”

You look back down at the screen, smile tugging at your lips before you can stop it.

You: Maybe… coffee. One cup. No letters. No expectations.

Sylus: One cup. No letters. Just you. When?

And this time, you don’t hesitate.

You: Tomorrow? Same café, 4pm?

Sent.

You stare at the message, heart tapping against your ribs like it’s trying to make a run for it. Across from you, Tara’s holding her breath with a weirdly intense look.

“I asked him,” you murmur.

Tara’s hands shoot up in silent victory. “Yes. Finally.” Then her voice drops, more sincere. “You okay?”

You nod—small, uncertain. “I don’t know what I want from this.”

“Then start with what you don’t want,” she offers. “You don’t want it to end with silence. Again.”

Your phone buzzes.

Sylus: I’ll be there. And I promise not to pretend we’re strangers this time.

Your lips twitch. You hate how fast your fingers move when you type back.

You: Good. Because I’m done pretending too.

—

You sat at the coffee table, waiting—nervously fiddling with the rim of your cup as your eyes flicked toward the door every few seconds. The café felt louder than usual, or maybe it was just your thoughts making too much noise.

What were you even doing here?

A month had passed. You should’ve let it go. But something about the way he’d looked at you that night—surprised, yes, but not indifferent—kept looping in your head like an unfinished sentence.

Your fingers stilled.

The door chimed.

You didn’t turn right away, but you felt it—the shift. The quiet recognition, the way the barista paused mid-sentence to smile, how a familiar set of footsteps approached the table.

“Hey,” Sylus said.

You looked up.

He hadn’t changed, but something in his posture was different. Softer, maybe. Less guarded.

“Hey,” you replied, quieter than intended.

He glanced at the cup in front of you. “Did you order for me again?”

You smirked. “Habit.”

“Dangerous. I could’ve turned into someone who drinks oat milk lavender lattes.”

“Then we’d have a real problem.”

That made him laugh. And you hated how nice it still sounded.

He slid into the seat across from you, exhaling slowly like even he wasn’t sure what came next.

You both sat there for a moment, letting the silence settle—not awkward, not entirely comfortable either. Just real.

“So,” he started, eyes meeting yours, “are we pretending this is just coffee?”

You paused, then shook your head. “No pretending this time.”

His gaze lingered. “Good. Because I’ve been thinking about you.”

You blinked. “Why?”

He smiled faintly. “Because maybe I was wrong about a lot of things back then. But mostly... because I don’t want to be wrong about you again.”

“What do you mean?” you ask, trying to keep your tone even, but you can already feel your chest tightening.

Sylus gives a small, breathy laugh and looks down at his hands. “I mean I haven’t been able to stop thinking about you. Since that night.”

Your eyebrows lift, skeptical. “We barely talked.”

“That’s the thing,” he says, meeting your gaze. “Even when you weren’t saying much, I could feel it. That weight between us. Like there was more. Like you knew something I didn’t.”

You don’t respond. You’re not sure if you can. Because part of you wants to believe he means this, and another part still remembers the awkwardness of freshman year—of your letter, of his rejection, of everything that made you feel small.

Sylus seems to sense it.

“I know I didn’t handle things well back then,” he says. “And I don’t expect us to magically reset, or rewind. I just… wanted a chance. A real one this time. No setups, no pressure, no expectations.”

A beat.

You bite the inside of your cheek. “You know this is kind of insane, right?”

He smiles softly. “The best things usually are.”

You stare at him—at his hopeful expression, at the way he’s sitting there with nothing but his words and his coffee and maybe.

You look away, jaw tightening. “If we hadn’t gone on that blind date, none of this would’ve happened.”

There's a pause. You expect him to deny it, to give some sweet romantic line about fate. But he doesn’t.

Instead, he says quietly, “You’re right.”

You glance back at him, surprised by the honesty.

“If we didn’t go on that blind date,” he continues, “we probably would’ve gone on living like strangers who once shared a college campus and a forgotten letter. But we did go. And I saw you again. And it... shifted something.”

You scoff under your breath. “You’re making it sound like a movie.”

“Yeah, well.” He gives a soft laugh. “I didn’t expect it either. I thought you’d be another awkward coffee and polite goodbye. But then you walked in and looked at me like you already knew who I was—and I couldn’t stop wondering why.”

You stay silent, the edge in your expression softening, but only slightly.

“You’re still mad,” he notes gently.

“I’m still trying to understand what this is,” you reply. “If it’s just guilt. Nostalgia. Or something you’ll forget in a week.”

Sylus leans back, eyes steady on yours.

“I don’t know what it is yet either,” he says honestly. “But I’d like to find out.”

You cross your arms, narrowing your eyes slightly. “And how exactly are you going to find out? Expect me to write you a letter again?”

Sylus smiles—not smug, not overly confident. Just steady.

“While it doesn’t sound so bad to receive one from you again, I have another idea,” he says. “But how about this: ten dates.”

You blink. “What?”

“Ten dates,” he repeats. “Maybe romantic, but not dramatic. Just… ten chances. To talk. To laugh. To see if this—whatever this is—is real.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “That sounds like a really desperate Netflix series.”

“Yeah, well, desperate is fair,” he replies with a half-shrug. “You’re kind of terrifying.”

That almost makes you laugh, but you suppress it. “Why ten?”

“Because I’m stubborn,” he says, leaning forward just a little. “And because if I can’t convince you by the tenth, I’ll back off for good.”

You look down at your cup, pretending to think, though your heart is already pacing.

“This is ridiculous,” you mutter.

“Maybe,” he agrees. “But so is the fact that I still remember what you wore when you gave me that letter.”

Your head snaps up, and he grins—caught you off guard again.

You sigh, long and tired. “Fine. But don’t expect me to be charming.”

He raises a brow. “So… that’s a yes?”

You pick up your drink and sip slowly. “It’s a maybe. A probationary date system. Conditional.”

Sylus holds up both hands in surrender. “I’ll take it.”

—

The rain drums lightly against the windows as you sit across from Sylus, sipping a warm chai latte in one of your favorite hideaway spots—a quiet bookstore café tucked behind a florist and barely staffed. You picked it on purpose. Familiar. Safe. Low stakes.

He’s dressed in a dark sweater and jeans, damp at the shoulders from the rain, hair slightly tousled like he ran a hand through it too many times on the way in. You hate that he still looks so... annoyingly good.

“You chose the most intimidating first date spot,” he comments, glancing around at the towering bookshelves and soft jazz playing overhead. “Is this a test?”

You raise a brow. “You said you wanted ten dates. I’m making sure you work for them.”

He chuckles. “So... trial by literature.”

“I heard you read a lot.” You reply as you look at him with a smile, in which he echoes.

“Making some research on me, huh?” He grins.

“Evan.”

“Oh, that guy. Was he giving you some biodata check before going on that blind date?”

“Just simple things like what you like, the fact that you collect vinyls amongst other things. Not too much to be considered as a Sylus Genius.” You say while sipping on your drink.

He clicked his tongue, “Then it is my duty to make you one, the only one, perhaps.”

You felt your cheeks grow warmer, what a stupid reason to be blushing, but still, he laughs.

“I like that expression,” He stares at you, eyes soft and bright. Something rare to see from someone like him, yet here you are eliciting it effortlessly.

You're flipping through a poetry book when Sylus suddenly sets his phone down between you both, screen facing up.

It’s a playlist. Titled: “For Date One, if she lets me.”

You raise a brow. “Really?”

“I made it last night,” he says, sheepish. “In case conversation got awkward.”

“It already is awkward.”

“Exactly. I planned ahead.”

You roll your eyes, but you can’t help the small grin tugging at your lips. You tap the first track. Soft acoustic guitar filters through the speakers—he must’ve connected it to the café’s Bluetooth. You recognize the song. Something nostalgic, early 2000s indie, a little cheesy, a little perfect.

“You’re lucky I like this band,” you murmur.

“I know.” He rests his chin on his hand, watching you a little too closely. “I remembered.”

That makes you pause. You look at him, unsure how he means it—remembered like he Googled your old Spotify profile or remembered as in… back then.

Your stomach knots.

“What else do you remember?” you ask quietly, not fully meaning to say it aloud.

He doesn’t look away. “You always carried two pens to class. A black one for notes. A blue one for thoughts.”

Your breath catches.

He keeps going. “You always tied your hair up during exams, even if you didn’t need to. Said it helped you think.”

You don’t respond.

“And you once cried in the back row after a presentation because someone laughed at your voice when you read your script.” He pauses. “I wanted to punch them.”

You blink hard, your throat suddenly tight.

“I wasn’t brave then,” he adds softly. “I should’ve said something. But I never forgot.”

You look away, blinking at the shelves, pretending to read the book in your hands. His words sit between you now, heavy but warm. Sincere.

After a long pause, you whisper, “Ten dates might not be enough.”

Sylus smiles—just barely. “That wasn’t me winning you over, was it?”

You shake your head, voice barely audible. “That was you... remembering me.”

He changes his seat from across you to beside you, before plugging one earphone in your ear while the other in his. “Decided not to let the whole cafe hear your little playlist?”

“Yeah, it’s special for you.”

—

On date two, you’re still not sure how he roped you into this.

“This is a terrible idea,” you say flatly, standing in the vegetable aisle with a shopping basket in hand while Sylus debates between two kinds of veggies like it’s a life-or-death decision.

He looks at you over his shoulder. “You said you wanted something low-key. What’s lower key than cooking?”

“You didn’t say I’d be cooking with you.”

“Technically, I said we would cook. Together.” He turns back to the mushrooms. “Also, you’re stalling.”

“I just don’t trust you to know the difference between coriander and parsley.”

“That’s fair,” he mutters, tossing the better-looking pack into the basket. “I Googled that this morning.”

You try not to smile, but it slips through anyway. He notices. You pretend not to see that he noticed.

His apartment is neat. Not obsessively clean, but clearly lived in. A jacket draped over a chair. A vinyl player in the corner. A pair of reading glasses on the coffee table you didn’t know he wore.

“You can put your stuff anywhere,” he says, motioning to the couch. “Shoes off if you want. I have house socks.”

You glance at him. “House socks?”

“Yeah, you know. Guest socks. Clean, fluffy, magical.”

“…You’re a menace.”

“You’ll thank me in five minutes.”

You do. They’re ridiculously soft.

Cooking is chaotic. He chops vegetables like he’s in a rush to win a knife skills competition. You end up laughing when he puts the pasta in before the water boils and looks genuinely shocked when you scold him.

At one point, you’re both standing shoulder to shoulder at the stove, close enough to feel the heat of his arm. He smells like citrus and something woodsy. Not cologne—like fabric softener and something more subtle.

You steal glances.

He catches one.

“What?”

You shrug. “Nothing.”

“You were looking.”

“Maybe.”

“You were definitely looking.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “You’re insufferable.”

“And you’re cute when you’re trying to pretend this isn’t fun.”

You look up at him. “This doesn’t mean I like you.”

“I know.” He says it gently. “But it means you’re here.”

Dinner is good. Surprisingly so. You eat on the couch, plates balanced on your laps, a dumb movie playing in the background that neither of you really watches.

Halfway through, you notice him watching you again.

“What now?”

He shrugs. “Nothing. You just… look comfortable.”

You pause. It feels like a compliment, but it sinks a little deeper than that.

“Do you want dessert?” he asks quickly, maybe sensing the shift.

You nod. “Only if it’s something you didn’t burn.”

He laughs. “Rude. I bought ice cream. Zero effort involved.”

He disappears into the kitchen. And for the first time in a long time, you let yourself lean back into the couch, socks on your feet, a full plate on your lap—and a feeling creeping in that maybe, just maybe, letting go of the past isn’t the same as forgetting it.

It might even be… the start of something new.

—

It’s date seven.

The previous dates were all quiet and cozy, except for date five, where the both of you went to the amusement park. You've learnt that he hates rollercoasters due to their "anti-climatic" push when the controller decided to prolong the time at the top.

But for date seven?

You hadn’t expected a literal night market.

When Sylus texted you the location, you assumed it was a café or some quiet restaurant again — something low-key, in line with your still-fragile dynamic.

Instead, you’re standing in the middle of a lively crowd, colorful lanterns strung overhead and the scent of grilled meat, fried snacks, and sugary things thick in the air.

“Too much?” he asks, appearing beside you with two skewers in hand. One of them is unrecognizable and probably a challenge.

You take the safer one.

“I thought you were the introvert.”

“I am,” he says with a smirk. “But I figured if I keep taking you to quiet places, you’ll keep overthinking.”

You raise an eyebrow. “And now I’m supposed to... not overthink while holding a fishball skewer?”

“Exactly. It’s very grounding.”

You roll your eyes, but you don’t hand it back.

The night air is warm, heavy with humidity and noise, but there’s something oddly comforting about being one small story in a sea of strangers. It makes things easier. Lighter.

Sylus walks beside you, not saying much, just letting the sights and sounds fill in the space between. Sometimes, his hand brushes yours — never on purpose, but never fully accidental either.

You pass a booth with handmade rings, mismatched and colorful.

He pauses. “Pick one.”

You blink at him. “Why?”

“Date seven deserves a souvenir.”

You glance at the table, then back at him. “If I pick one, are you going to analyze what it means?”

“Undoubtedly.”

You sigh, but eventually point to a silver one with a tiny moon charm.

“Cute,” he says, paying for it without asking.

He slides it onto your finger — careful, slow — and it makes you shiver, just a little.

“You good?” he asks, eyes glancing up at you from beneath his lashes.

“I’m not used to this,” you admit, voice barely audible above the crowd.

“To what?”

“To being… wanted. Again. Still.”

He’s quiet for a moment. Then says, “You’ve always been wanted. I was just too late to realize it.”

You don’t respond. Just stare at the ring, then at the ground, then at him. Your heart’s too loud again. Too full of things you swore you’d buried.

Later, after sharing a cup of mango ice and pointing out constellations you can’t actually name, you find yourselves leaning against a closed-up stall. The market’s winding down. The crowd’s thinning.

He nudges your shoulder gently. “Date seven complete.”

You glance at him. “Three more, huh?”

He nods. “Unless you cancel the package early.”

You smile, just slightly. “What’s the return policy?”

“No refunds,” he says, voice low. “But… you could renew.”

You look away too quickly.

And he doesn’t press.

Just stands there beside you, hands in his pockets, like someone who’s willing to wait — even if he doesn’t say it out loud.

The night breeze makes you shiver as you’re wearing nothing more than a thin blouse — a poor choice, you realize now, when the heat of the crowd starts to fade and the open air settles in.

Sylus notices immediately. He doesn’t say anything at first, just glances at you, then shrugs off his jacket.

“Here,” he says, holding it out.

You hesitate.

“I’m fine,” you mumble, though your arms betray you by hugging yourself tighter.

“You always say that,” he replies gently, stepping closer. “Let me do one nice thing without making it weird.”

You sigh, but don’t fight it when he drapes the jacket around your shoulders. It’s warm. Smells faintly like him — like cologne and comfort and something you wish you didn’t miss.

You clutch it closer anyway.

He doesn’t comment. Just gives you a small smile and walks beside you again, closer this time, like maybe his presence alone could shield you from the rest of the chill.

And for a second, just a second, you stop resisting how easy it is to lean a little closer.

And as if he’s trying to push his luck, he slowly takes your hand, and interlocks your fingers together, before bringing it in his pockets.

You glance at your hands together before looking up at him, while he looks up front, like whatever he did is natural and was clearly bound to happen for him.

“Seriously?”

He looks at you, “helping you warm up.” He smiles.

—

Date nine.

You hadn’t planned on letting Sylus into your apartment yet.

It’s too personal, too you — a space you’ve protected the way you’ve guarded your heart: meticulously. No loose ends, no open doors.

But it’s raining, and he showed up early with two bags of groceries and a sheepish grin.

“You said you missed home-cooked food,” he says, already toeing off his shoes. “I make a decent curry. Or edible. Let’s start there.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “That was weeks ago.”

He shrugs. “I remember things.”

You don’t have the energy to argue. Not when he’s already heading toward your kitchen like he’s been here before — like this isn’t some emotional line being crossed.

The apartment smells like garlic and coconut milk within the hour. Rain taps against your windows. Soft music hums from your phone speaker, something low and jazzy that fills the silence without drowning it.

You lean on the counter as he stirs the pot, sleeves rolled up, focused.

He looks… settled here. Like he belongs in your kitchen. Like the space didn’t mind opening up to him.

It makes something ache in your chest.

“You cook often?” you ask.

“Sometimes. It’s... therapeutic. And cheaper than emotional damage.”

You snort. “You’re not wrong.”

There’s a pause. Comfortable.

Then you ask, “Why are you really doing this? The ten dates, I mean.”

He doesn’t look up at first. Just stirs slowly. Thoughtfully.

“Because I wanted to show you I could mean something to you,” he says quietly. “Without rushing. Without trying to fix what I broke before. Just… be there this time.”

You blink.

The honesty, the simplicity of it — it lands heavier than you expect.

“I don’t need fixing,” you murmur.

“I know.” He finally looks at you. “But you deserve someone who knows that.”

Dinner is warm. Slightly too spicy. You both laugh over it. You tease him for almost setting your pan on fire and he teases you for owning only two forks.

When he leaves later — umbrella in hand, jacket still with you — there’s a folded napkin left under your mug.

On it, in scribbled black ink: “You feel like home. Date Ten’s going to be dangerous.”

You stare at the note long after the door closes behind him.

And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel afraid of what’s next.

—

At least that’s what you thought you felt.

It has been two weeks, 14 days.

You hadn’t meant to pull away.

Work just... got in the way.

One last-minute project turned into two. A client call stretched past midnight. You started checking your phone less, replying slower. Not intentionally — just the kind of slow fade that happens when real life creeps in.

Sylus doesn’t push. He sends a meme here and there, a good morning text you forget to answer until lunch. A voice note one evening — gentle, teasing — asking if you’re still alive and if he should send a search party or just a very persistent delivery driver with bubble tea.

You laugh, but don’t reply right away.

When you finally do, it’s short. Something like, “Just swamped. Talk soon?”

He leaves it at that. No guilt. No pressure. But still — it lingers.

You miss him.

Worse, you realize it on a Tuesday night, forehead pressed against your desk, your laptop glowing 2:47 a.m. back at you, and all you can think about isn’t the project due at 8 a.m.

It’s that you haven’t seen Sylus in almost two weeks.

And you don’t know what Date Ten is supposed to be anymore.

That was until you heard your front doorbell ring.

You blink, groggy. It’s late. Not a normal time for someone to suddenly show up, but close enough that your heart stutters as you push up from your desk.

Padding to the door in mismatched socks and a hoodie you barely remember putting on, you glance through the peephole.

It’s Sylus.

Holding a paper bag, umbrella folded under his arm, hair damp like he walked the last few steps in the rain.

You hesitate for half a second before opening the door.

“Hi,” he says, voice soft. “I come bearing caffeine and snacks.”

You stare at him.

“I... you didn’t text,” you manage, your voice scratchy with fatigue and something that feels suspiciously like guilt.

“You weren’t replying,” he says simply, not accusing. Just... explaining. “And I figured if I waited for a calendar opening, I’d see you in October.”

That earns a weak laugh from you.

“I didn’t mean to ignore you,” you mumble, stepping aside to let him in. “Work’s been—”

“—hell. I know.” He toes off his shoes and heads to your kitchen like it’s routine now. “I figured you wouldn’t feed yourself properly either.”

You blink at the bag he sets down. Soup. Tea. A small pastry you once said you liked.

“You didn’t have to.”

“I know,” he says again, but there’s no heat in it.

Just the same gentle, unshakeable Sylus from Date One through Nine. The same one who gave you space, and now—unexpectedly—shows up without asking for anything back.

You exhale slowly, walls slowly lowering.

“I forgot what day it was,” you say.

He smiles faintly. “It’s not Date Ten. Yet. This is just... a bonus round.”

You sit down at the counter. He pours you tea without asking. You watch him, warmth curling up beneath your ribs.

“You didn’t give up.”

“Nope,” he says. “I said ten dates. I’m not going anywhere until you get all ten.”

You look at him. Tired, but soft. Edges worn down by the weeks, but still holding space for him.

You reach for the tea. “Okay,” you murmur. “Let’s call this one... nine and a half.”

Sylus grins. “Nine-point-five. I’ll take it.”

You nurse the cup of tea slowly, letting the heat seep into your fingers. The apartment is dim except for your desk lamp, casting a soft glow across the space. Rain continues tapping against the window, steady and hushed.

Sylus sits on the other side of the counter, watching you — not in a way that makes you self-conscious, but like he’s trying to memorize the moment.

“Your eyes get glassy when you’re running on four hours of sleep,” he says gently.

You raise a brow. “You make that sound factual.”

“Maybe it is,” he says, and he’s not joking.

There’s something weighted in the silence that follows, but not heavy. Just... full. Brimming with all the things neither of you have dared to say out loud since that blind date started everything again.

You look down at your tea. “I didn’t mean to pull away.”

“I know,” he says. “And I didn’t show up to make you feel bad.”

“Then why did you show up?”

He pauses. And then—

“Because I missed you,” he says, quiet but certain. “And I wanted you to remember what it feels like to be taken care of, even when your world’s on fire.”

You stare at him.

It hits in a strange place — the truth of it, the care, the timing. The softness in his voice that reaches you deeper than any grand gesture ever could.

And maybe it’s the hour. Maybe it’s your exhaustion. Or maybe it’s the way he hasn’t stopped looking at you like you’re something fragile but worth holding onto.

But when you set your cup down, and say, “Come here,” your voice is steady.

He doesn’t question it. Just moves.

You meet him halfway around the counter. The rain hums in the background, steady and soft. He’s close now — warm, still damp at the edges from the walk over.

You look up at him. “This... doesn’t make us even,” you murmur.

“I’m not trying to settle a score.”

You hesitate. Then, finally—finally—you step into him.

And when you kiss him, it’s slow. Not rushed or desperate. Just a quiet press of lips in the middle of a rainy midnight, in an apartment that suddenly doesn’t feel so tired anymore.

His hand finds the side of your face, thumb grazing your cheek. Yours curls into the front of his jacket like you need to hold onto something steady.

It’s not a first kiss full of fireworks or dramatic music.

It’s soft.

Earned.

Real.

And when you pull back, neither of you says anything right away. He just presses his forehead to yours and exhales the smallest, happiest breath.

You smile.

“Ten’s going to be dangerous,” you whisper.

He grins. “Then it’s a good thing I’ve got nine and a half reasons to survive it.”

—

You wake up to sunlight sneaking through the curtains and the unmistakable scent of coffee.

For a moment, you think maybe you dreamed it all — the rain, the tea, the kiss.

But then you hear gentle clinking in the kitchen.

You push yourself up from the couch, blanket slipping off your shoulders, and find Sylus standing by your stove like he’s been there a hundred times. One of your mugs in hand. His hair still slightly messy from sleep.

He glances over when he hears you. “Morning.”

His voice is quiet. Familiar. Safe.

“You stayed,” you say, more like a thought than a question.

He tilts his head. “Did you think I wouldn’t?”

You shrug. “I don’t know. I kissed you and then fell asleep in the middle of your jacket, so I wasn’t really thinking straight.”

Sylus chuckles, crossing the room to hand you a fresh cup of coffee.

You take it with a small, grateful hum and sip. It’s perfect. Just how you like it.

He nods toward the table where he’s already laid out toast and eggs — simple but warm. Intentional.

“You didn’t have to do all this,” you say.

“I know,” he replies. “But I wanted the first morning after our nine-and-a-halfth date to start right.”

You pause. The phrase makes your chest tighten — not in a painful way. Just full. Softened.

“You’re very good at this, you know,” you murmur.

“What? Being your emergency food delivery guy?”

You give him a look, and he smirks, stepping closer until your hip’s pressed lightly against the counter and he’s standing in front of you.

“No,” you say. “At... making it feel easy.”

He shrugs, but there’s something fond in his eyes. “It is easy. When it’s you.”

That line shouldn’t make your heart skip, but it does. And before you can overthink it — again — he leans down and brushes a kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then finally your lips. This one slower, softer than the night before.

“Let me stay a little longer,” he murmurs when you part.

You nod, not trusting your voice.

Because for once, you don’t feel the need to run ahead or fall behind. You just want this moment.

His.

A few hours later, Sylus left, and date ten starts.

You’re already suspicious when Sylus tells you not to wear anything too fancy, and even more so when he insists on picking you up himself.

“I swear, if this is a paintball arena—” “It’s not,” he laughs, hand warm around yours as he leads you down a quiet path.

It isn’t until you recognize the stone archway ahead that your heart stumbles. Your old campus.

You blink. “You didn’t.” He raises a brow. “Didn’t what?” “This is where I met you.” “It’s where I saw you,” he corrects gently. “You met me after tripping over your own feet trying to sit in the last row.”

You gasp in mock outrage. “That’s not—okay, that is accurate.”

He grins, tugging you toward one of the empty benches just outside the old lecture hall. The sun’s low, sky blushing gold and soft blue.

“There’s a picnic,” he says, motioning to the small setup — nothing over the top. A blanket, some pastries, cold brew in glass bottles, and a small stack of your favorite snacks.

You sit beside him, heart full and quiet.

“You remembered this place,” you murmur, looking out over the familiar quad where your lives once barely brushed each other’s.

“I remembered you in this place,” he says. “That matters more.”

You glance at him. His expression is soft, unreadable in the best way — like he’s still amazed you’re here.

“You know,” you say after a while, voice quieter, “if we didn’t go on that blind date... we might not have ever come back to this.”

He hums, thoughtful. “Maybe. But I think something else would’ve pulled us together eventually.”

You raise a brow. “That’s bold.” “That’s fate,” he says simply. “Stubborn. Annoying. Kind of like you, actually.”

You nudge him, trying not to laugh. “You just ruined the moment.”

He shrugs. “Guess I’ll have to fix it.”

And he kisses you.

Not a hesitant first. Not a sudden second. But a tenth-date kind of kiss — full of memory, promise, and quiet affection that doesn’t need to prove itself anymore.

When you pull away, you press your forehead to his.

“This is my favorite date,” you whisper.

“Mine too,” he replies. “But... I want to show you something.”

His voice has shifted — softer now, more careful.

You watch as Sylus reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a timeworn envelope. Cream-colored. Slightly bent at the corners. A familiar messy swirl of ink where your handwriting signed his name.

Your breath leaves you. “Is that—?”

He nods slowly. “Your letter. From freshman year.”

Your world tilts a little. “I—I thought I threw it away after… after you said no.”

He looks at the envelope like it’s fragile. Like it’s sacred. “You gave it to me after that group project, remember? You said I could read it or pretend it never existed. I was too much of a coward to say anything back then.”

“You folded it and put it in your backpack,” you murmur. “Didn’t even open it in front of me.”

“I read it that night,” he admits. “Twice.”

Your eyes sting.

“I was young. Stupid. Scared. You wrote something so sincere, and I didn’t know how to be what you deserved. So I told myself it was easier to say nothing than to mess anything up.”

You’re silent. The weight of years pressing in on you. On both of you.

He carefully opens the envelope, pulling out the folded pages inside. The paper’s softened over time, but your words are still there — full of nerves, and longing, and a kind of bravery you barely recognize anymore.

He starts to read it aloud. Not theatrically. Not to embarrass you. But like it matters. Like it’s still beating.

To. Sylus Qin.

This might be stupid, in fact, this may be the dumbest thing you’ve ever encountered in your life. But if I don’t write this down, I might have even more sleepless nights overthinking all these thoughts in my head.

I like you. I really do. Ever since the first day of psych class. It felt like love at first sight but I don’t want to be dramatic with this, I can’t help it. The way you can answer every question the Prof gave us, or when you seemed to laugh so freely at your friend’s awful jokes (I sometimes overheard you guys, he was being pretty loud), Or maybe when you held the door open for everyone that one rainy morning even though you were soaked.

It’s okay if you don’t feel the same. I just needed you to know. Because I want to be brave, and this letter is the only way I know how.

You cringe at the words your past self wrote to him, burying your face in your hands with a soft groan. “Why did I have to say all that when I still got upset that you rejected me?”

Sylus chuckles, folding the letter back with surprising care before slipping it into his pocket again. “Because it was honest. And brave. And a little dramatic,” he adds, smirking.

You glare at him through your fingers. “I was nineteen.”

“And very articulate for someone confessing their heart and soul,” he teases. “Honestly, I think that’s when I started falling for you — I just didn’t know what to do with it back then.”

You lower your hands slowly, blinking. “Falling?”

“Don’t make me repeat it,” he says, leaning in just a little. “My pride’s already hanging by a thread.”

Your lips twitch despite yourself. “That’s what you get for carrying emotional artifacts in your coat pocket.”

He grins. “That letter’s my proof that you liked me first.”

You laugh, swatting his shoulder lightly. “You’re impossible.”

“Maybe,” he shrugs. “But I’m here. And if you’re still mad about nineteen-year-old me being a dumbass... I can make it up to you.”

“Oh?” you raise a brow, suddenly wary. “How?”

He lifts your joined hands and presses a kiss to the back of yours. “Ten more dates. Starting with breakfast tomorrow. I’ll even bring coffee and not screw up the order.”

You hesitate — heart twisting, tugged between the embarrassment of the past and the fragile wonder of now.

But then you smile, small and real.

“Only if I don’t have to write any more letters.”

Sylus leans in, nose nearly brushing yours. “No more letters. Just us.”

—

One Year Later

“You shrunk my sweater!” you shout from the bedroom, holding up the tiny, once-cozy piece of clothing like it's been murdered.

Sylus appears in the doorway, toothbrush in hand. “It said warm wash!”

You point an accusatory finger. “It said hand wash only, you chaos gremlin!”

He squints. “Are you sure?”

You shove the tag in his face. “Does this look unsure to you?”

He pauses, leans in, reads the tag, then slowly backs away like it might bite. “Okay. So I may have misread.”

“You may have committed a war crime.”

He raises a brow. “It’s just a sweater.”

“It was my comfort sweater. My post-long-day, rainy-night, sad-girl-hours sweater!”

Sylus tries not to smile. “Sad-girl-hours?”

You glare. “Don’t mock me in my time of grief.”

He disappears for a moment and returns with a hoodie — his hoodie. He tosses it at you.

You catch it and blink. “What’s this?”

“Official replacement,” he says with a shrug. “It’s softer. Smells better. Probably has my good boyfriend energy woven into the threads.”

You squint at him. “Bribery.”

“Compromise,” he says, smug. “Also, you look cuter in my clothes anyway.”

You roll your eyes and pull the hoodie on. It is soft. And warm. And kind of smells like him and cinnamon.

“…You’re lucky I’m forgiving,” you mumble.

“And you’re lucky I’m good at laundry 87% of the time.”

You shake your head, already smiling. “That 13% is dangerous.”

“I live on the edge,” he smirks, walking away.

You sigh dramatically, flopping onto the bed in your oversized hoodie.

“Next time,” you call out, “I’m making you sort socks for a week.”

“Babe!” he yells and comes back at you making you look up at him. “What now?”

He went to sit beside you on the bed, before suddenly crashing on top of you with all his weight. You let out an exaggerated oof as he smothered you like a human blanket.

“My hourly kiss,” he mumbled against your cheek, already pressing a noisy one there.

You squirm under him, half-laughing, half-annoyed. “You’re so heavy, Sylus—get off before my ribs turn into dust!”

“Nope,” he says, settling in even more like a cat refusing to move. “This is rent. You wore my hoodie. Now you pay in affection.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter, but your arms are already wrapping around him out of habit.

He lifts his head just enough to look down at you, his grin softening into something gentler. “You love it.”

You wrinkle your nose, but your heart betrays you. “I do.”

He leans down, brushing his nose against yours. “Good. Now hurry and give me my kiss.”

You roll your eyes but oblige, lips brushing his in something far sweeter than the bickering that led to it.

And somehow, even after a year and countless ridiculous arguments, it still makes your heart race like it’s the first.

“Mmh..” He smiles into the kiss, like he always does.

You try to pull away, but his grip on you tightens and the kiss turns into something more rougher, more passionate.

“Not done,” Sylus murmurs, his voice low against your lips.

The next kiss catches you off guard—no longer playful, but deeper, rougher. Like he’s been waiting for this exact moment all day. His hand slides to the back of your neck, tilting your face toward him, anchoring you to the moment.

It makes your breath hitch, makes your fingers curl in the fabric of his shirt like you’re afraid to let go.

It’s still Sylus—still familiar, still home—but there’s something new in the way he kisses you now. Like all the quiet moments, the bickering, the small touches and soft laughs have been building to this. Like he’s telling you something he hasn’t yet found the words for.

When you finally pull back, your lips are tingling and your heart is racing far too fast.

He’s staring at you like you hung the stars.

You swallow. “What was that for?”

He doesn’t smile—just brushes your hair behind your ear and says, “Felt like a good time to remind you.”

You blink. “Remind me of what?”

He leans in, voice barely above a whisper. “That I’m in love with you. And I mean it every hour, not just the one with the kiss.”

Your chest tightens in the best way. You can’t quite speak, but your hand finds his, and that’s enough for now.

“I love you, baby.” He smiles.

And when you reply, he hugs you, wrapping your body in the warmth only he could provide for you. You sigh in his arms in content.

You’re happy, both of you are.

And you couldn't ask for more.

fin.

a/n: hmmm i didn’t expect it to be this long :\ but i hope you guys love this as much as i do! reblogs are very appreciated! do let me know what you guys think? 💭

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atzeroo · 2 days ago

Text

In Bloom

"It's like a secret message, only meant for those who know. And Caleb would be the first to take that chance."

It happened around two weeks ago.

You were over for a visit in Skyhaven and just like most evenings that you would be staying the night, Caleb had asked you to pick out a movie out of the big assortment he had started to accumulate since you decided to come over more often.

Of course you had noticed how the once empty cupboards had slowly started to fill up with an arrangement of all kinds of movies you didn’t even know he would be interested in, let alone watch on his own.

Caleb wasn’t the type to watch TV in his free time - you don’t remember the last time he hadn’t looked utterly confused when you told him about your recent obsession with the viral dating show that Tara and you have been raving on about.

So yeah, safe to say, you were confused, but Caleb never acknowledged the sudden existence of his new-found collection and you didn’t bother asking him about it, as a part of you knew, it was probably due to the fact that he knew he would not be watching them on his own.

Looking at the pile you had already watched with him - from action-filled trilogies to indulging rom-coms over to cheap thriller-’attempts’ - you think about what could be your next choice.

Something easy to watch, possibly. Caleb had looked a bit tired when he picked you up from the station earlier that day, dark circles looking worse than usual despite continuously sending you reassuring smiles.

You ended up settling for a romantic drama whose title you unfortunately cannot remember anymore, but the part that stood out to both of you was an emotional scene involving the male lead who spends an entire year planting flowers in his back garden.

It turns out that he was about to die and wanted to leave one last message to the female lead, who he knew would be distraught by his passing.

When summer comes around, the female lead makes one last visit to his place to gather his belongings and opens the door to the backyard, revealing an ocean of pink carnations, glistering in the sun, having waited for her for all this time to finally come see them.

On the screen the viewer gets told that in the language of flowers, pink carnations can carry the message “I’ll never forget you” - the dying male leads final words to the woman he wanted to spend his entire life with, but couldn’t.

It was an emotional scene, made even worse by the absolute stunning soundtrack which accompanied the moment.

Planted on the couch in his big apartment, Caleb and you were sitting side by side, a big blanket draped over your bodies while an assortment of snacks laid on the table in front of you.

Caleb had noticed how you hadn’t reached for the popcorn in a while, eyes glued on the screen, hands tightly clutching onto the pillow you had placed in front of you to snuggle into; he admired how absorbed you could get into movies like this, making him start to enjoy them as well, because it meant spending the whole night talking until one of you loses themselves to sleep.

The screen slowly started fading into black, the female lead seen crying as she stood surrounded in pink melancholy and regret.

He heard you let out a shaky exhale and looked over: there were noticeable tears welling up in your eyes, about to fall any second now. He decided to scoot a bit closer.

“But that’s so wonderful, isn’t it?”, you had told him later, when you two had finished the movie and were getting ready to head to bed, “how flowers can have their own little meaning. It’s like a hidden message that only those who know will understand.”

And that was most likely the moment, Caleb took a mental note.

The next time you had been over - roughly a week or so after that movie night - you had asked if you could use his PC for a bit so you could finish up a report that you needed to hand in soon. Caleb being the kind soul he is, had immediately made space for you to work on his desk while he was in the kitchen whipping up a quick but delicious dinner for the two of you.

That’s when you spotted it. “A Guide to the Language of Flowers”.

A rather big book that laid on top of the pile of files that Caleb had neatly arranged on the shelves next to his desk. The vibrant color of the cover stuck out like a sore thumb that you couldn’t help but stare at it when you walked into the room.

Back then you had wondered if it had been something Caleb had always been interested in. That guy was able to excel in anything he would put his mind into, so it wouldn’t even come by surprise if he had picked up the hobby of flower meanings in his free time. But there was a chance that the recent movie you two had watched had made him curious - very possible given Caleb’s nature.

You tried to remember the last time he had gotten you flowers. Was it after you had passed the hunter’s exam? Caleb, who had told you that he would not be able to make it due to a work event, had surprised you greatly when he appeared in the middle of the crowd, your eyes widening in shock when you spotted him. He had laughed in response and while you couldn’t hear it from up the stage, you could hear it in your head: his big hearty laugh, slightly giggly as he tried to stay quiet and covered his mouth with his hands.

After the ceremony he had handed you this enormous bouquet filled with different types of flowers and when you asked him what he had thought when he picked them out, he looked slightly embarrassed and confessed that he just asked for the prettiest ones.

During dinner you debate whenever you should ask him about it.

‘Are you into flowers right now?’, ‘I found this book near your desk about flower meanings’, ‘Did you buy the book because of the movie we just recently watched?’ - all of them were reasonable to ask and it’s not like the book was kept away for you not to notice, but a sudden realization hit you that maybe - just maybe - Caleb was reading that book because he was gifting someone else flowers.

And if that were the case, then maybe you were better off not knowing.

The thing is, Caleb and you had a somewhat.. peculiar relationship. A relationship you both were not ready to talk about in depth yet and therefore hadn’t defined fully.

You grew up together in the same house, but were not related at all, and after you had thought he was gone forever, he suddenly re-appeared in your life again, alive and breathing.

You know that you like him more than a childhood friend would.

Always caring and understanding, putting you first in any situation without hesitation - what is there not to like about him? For the longest time you knew that you might like him more than you should, but you never dared to ask for more. It would be selfish of you.

“Does it not taste that good today?”, a familiar voice suddenly takes you back to reality and you look up from the bowl of rice in front of you into warm lilac eyes. “I don’t think I changed anything about the recipe though..”

There was a small pout on Caleb’s lips, which looked somewhat strange on his otherwise handsome and usually relaxed face. It’s only in front of you when he would be this expressive.

“N-No, it’s great!”, you reassure him quickly, picking up several side dishes he prepared and putting them into your bowl, “Sorry, just got something on my mind.”

His eyebrows are furrowed slightly as he puts down his chopsticks and leans forward on the table, “Are you sure?”, he asks quietly, his gaze not moving away from you.

It’s a thing he always did when you two were young. He knew you liked to pretend you were fine so you would avoid getting into trouble, which is why he would always make sure to ask you once more when it was just you two.

“I’m sure.”, you reply with a smile before telling him to continue eating.

The day you get back to Linkon, you text Caleb the moment you get off your train so he wouldn’t need to worry any more than he already did. And being the Caleb you knew he is, he immediately calls you after reading your message.

“Hi, pipsqueak”, you could hear the grin that was most likely plastered on his face.

“Hi, ‘just wanted to let you know that I arrived in one piece”, you reply, slightly out of breath while you make your way around to the exit carrying your luggage, “I’m sorry, my hands are a bit full right now and I need to get on the earliest subway so I can make it home in time.”

“You know, maybe you should take a train earlier next time, so you wouldn’t need to rush so much whenever you get back”, Caleb gives back as an answer and you let out a huff, “You turned my alarm off! I would have made the first train if you hadn’t let me sleep this long!”

“You looked tired, pip’”, he retorts with a chuckle, “anyways, I called because I wanted to let you know that when you get home, there should be a package waiting for you.”

“A package?”

“Yep.”

You sigh, “did you deliver something to my place again?”

“Nope, this one's for you.”

And truth be told, the moment you get home, you notice the rather big box that was sitting in front of your apartment door. You snap a quick picture to send to Caleb, tell him you will open it later when you get back home and leave for work again. He replies with a sad-looking sticker before telling you to be safe and to text him when you get back.

You simply respond with a thumbs up.

Work goes as usual; Xavier and you patrol the area for a while before reports about wanderer sightings flood in one after another. No casualties tonight, only some damages that you note down to remark in your reports later. It’s unusually calm.

You text Caleb when you get ready to leave, letting him know you would head home now, and of course, just when you think that it’s over, it’s not.

Xavier and you are just about to head into the nearest subway, when a sudden alert on your hunter’s watch notifies both of you about an increase of fluctuations. “Of course..”, you mutter, sighing and your hunter partner pats you on the shoulder encouragingly. “Let’s get this done quick”, he responds with a gentle smile.

There was a small gash on your leg that you needed to get checked up on after the fight. If Xavier hadn’t pushed you to the side in time, the damage would have probably been a lot worse and not just a small bandage wrapped around your left calf.

When you get back home, you drop all your stuff at the door and head for the shower. You didn’t think you were that tired today, but the moment the cold water hit your body, you could finally feel yourself relaxing, the pressure slowly disappearing off your shoulders while you breathe in and out slowly.

You can hear your phone ringing in the distance and when you make your way into your bedroom, bathrobe tightly wrapped around your body, towel neatly wrapped around your hair, you see the caller ID staring right into your face: Caleb.

“Hi”, you reply, pressing onto the speaker button so you could leave your phone where it is and go look for your pajamas to change into.

“Hi?”, Caleb replies back, slightly out of breath, “Where were you, pip’?”

You remember how you texted him you would be heading home roughly two, probably three hours ago only to be involved in a wanderer fight shortly after - right, you forgot to let him know.

“Sorry, on my way back home, we encountered a wanderer suddenly. I had to head into the medical office afterwards, so I just got back home now.”

“Did you get hurt? How bad is the injury?”, his voice immediately loses the slightly cold temper from before and he sounds a lot more worried now. You chuckle, “I’m fine. Only a little scratch.”

You even send him a picture of the bandaged leg, just to reassure him that you truly are fine, because otherwise he will not stop asking questions. And he does sound a lot more relaxed once he is able to see the wound properly, so you tell him you would be making yourself something to eat now and hang up.

“Oh right, the package!”, you exclaim when you make your way towards your kitchen and spot the big box placed on your kitchen island, “I almost forgot about it.”

You open it up slowly, curious about what is inside.

To your surprise, it’s a flower pot, carefully wrapped up so as to not break during transport.

Dark green leaves, slightly glossy against the light, surround beautiful white flowers with a slight hint of yellow, which are almost in full bloom. You notice how there are definitely more leaves than flowers, making it look more like a cute little flower bush. “It’s still very pretty though”, you mutter.

You find a small note inside the package, which reads: ‘Hi, pip’, I picked out this little plant for you to care for so you won’t be lonely! It reminded me of you’

Next to it, there is a pamphlet on how to care properly for the plant, which you finally are able to identify as Gardenias.

To be completely honest, you don’t know much about flowers. You like looking at them, you sometimes buy a plant or two to decorate your living space with and your favorite scents are usually floral ones. But apart from that, you would probably only be able to identify a handful of them if you had to.

You take a picture of the new plant, now sitting on top of your coffee table and text ‘say hi to the newest addition to my family!’ and Caleb replies with ‘I’m a proud dad now! :D’ and you are unsure how to respond to that. What was he implying?

During dinner, you decide to look up gardenias. Since Caleb has that book now, does that mean he considered their meaning when he picked it out for you?

“...a wonderful way to celebrate new beginnings like anniversaries, great achievements, etc.” the first line reads and you nod along, humming.

“White gardenias signify love, affection and trust. It’s common to gift them to communicate admiration” You can feel your heart rate picking up a bit; this was getting hard. Which of these words did Caleb consider when he decided to send them?

“‘I’m thinking about you’ or ‘You mean a lot to me’”

You can’t help the smile that slowly starts forming on your lips. It’s crazy how easily you are swayed by these simple things.

“Even as a friendly gesture, the gardenia is a simple way to let your loved ones know you value them.”

The smile slowly fades, as you drop down your phone on the table and let out a big sigh.

Yeah, that’s it. That sounds just like Caleb.

Carefully picked out words that could get your mind to wander, but never treaded far enough for them to actually mean something.

It’s just like him and the uncertainty of your relationship was slowly starting to drive you insane. Will the madness ever stop?

Later that night, you take out a piece of paper, write down the meaning you had looked up and tape it against the pot carefully. A small, painful reminder for you to know that he cared for you - no matter what meaning it was supposed to have.

Back in Skyhaven, Caleb is sitting at his office desk, files splayed out in front of him as he reads and approves them to hand in the next day. The week has been horrible and exhausting, sleep having escaped him almost every other day.

And usually that would be fine as he had gotten used to it, but he realized that the lack of sleep and energy had made him unable to call you as of lately; scared that you might hear the fatigue in his voice or notice anything off about him.

Carefully placed behind him, on a small shelf usually kept for the books he enjoyed reading in his free time, his newest addition sat: the language of flowers - a book he bought after one of your movie nights.

There was a small blue sticky note hanging out of one of the pages.

“Gardenias, in lesser-known meanings represent a secret or unknown love.”

#lads fanfic #caleb fanfic #love and deepspace fic #caleb x you #caleb fluff #caleb x mc #love and deepspace

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