hxlxnaaa

[hxlxnaaa]

now… i know i’ve been a little MIA (nghhh…employment) but something woke up in me last night. i swear i experienced divine intervention. i was peacefully minding my own business when infold dropped that trailer.

never in my pathetic mortal existence have i felt such raw, primal devotion. “starting from this moment you are bound to me. you cannot turn back.” OH I HEARD YOU. I FELT YOU. TURN BACK?? baby i am sprinting toward you. i am galloping across the saltwater soaked sands of fate. i have burned the map. i chewed the compass. i have not only turned forward—i have ascended.

i am a nun now. i wear robes soaked in brine and blood. i have taken a vow. i have renounced all earthly pleasures except for this exact trailer and this exact man.

if he asks me to bear his children, i am already on the altar, veil on, hands raised. he can take his heart back and my body while he’s at it. i am offering up my soul, my spine, my mortal coil. take it. TAKE IT ALL!!!

loyal follower is a weak phrase. i am his priestess. i am his vessel. i am chanting his name in tongues under the full moon.

i was born a rafayel girl. i will perish a rafayel girl. but this trailer? he now sits on the highest throne in my brain.

all hail the sea god!

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐰𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐛𝐨𝐝𝐲 𝐫𝐞𝐦𝐞𝐦𝐛𝐞𝐫𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a year after the breakup, one fight still haunts them both. when sylus shows up again, it all comes rushing back—every kiss, every scream, every regret. they miss each other. they need each other. and this time, they’re not letting go.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: ex boyfriend sylus, canon divergence, slight angst if you squint, dw there's comfort, brief mentions of zayne, reader is VERY briefly implied to be a student, plot with porn, emotional make up sex, like crying during the deed, slightly toxic but they're in love, they're healing ok, sylus is a simp, reader is down bad, this is soft and filthy at the same time

★ 𝐰𝐜: 10.5k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: this came to me in a prophetic vision and i needed to write it. i LOVEEE the idea of ex boyfriend sylus. like mmmm give me more…. anyways im not very good nor comfortable with writing smut but i had to do it so here it is. i hope i executed it well LMAO. was originally gonna be porn with plot but i got too locked in… enjoy!

Nothing about the breakup was amicable.

It wasn’t one of those slow fades, where two people quietly drift in different directions until they’re just gone. No, it was one fight—loud, sharp, nasty and just downright cruel. The kind that leaves a ringing in your ears and words you wish you could take back. One moment, and everything you were just blew apart. 

You didn’t walk away. 

No, you crashed—hard. Spun out of each other’s lives like planets knocked off course.

You always fought like that—both of you stubborn, neither one willing to back down. It wasn’t anything new. You’re not even sure what exactly made you lose it that time.

Maybe it was the way he embarrassed you in front of everyone. Maybe you’d had too much to drink. Or maybe you were just finally done. Done with the constant tension, the little digs, all the crap you kept letting slide. Just sick and tired of his shit.

You don’t even remember what you said, just playfully whining to your friend beside you.

“You get used to her overreacting. She just needs attention.”

And then everyone laughed. Maybe at you, maybe just at the joke—who even knows anymore. He always had a way of getting people to laugh like that, soaking up attention with that slick charisma he wore like his dumb expensive cologne. And this time? That charm of his came at the cost of your dignity. Your pride.

You bit your tongue and swallowed everything you wanted to scream. Unlike him, you weren’t going to make a scene—not in front of all your friends. No, you kept your mouth shut, had a few more drinks, sat in silence the whole Uber ride home, and waited.

He followed you inside like nothing was wrong, started taking off his coat like he always did, settling in like it was just any other night. But you stopped him. Told him to hang on a second. Then you walked straight to your room, grabbed every single thing he owned—every sock, every hoodie, every stupid little trinket—and dumped it all at his feet.

And that’s when it started. You brought up what he said, how he embarrassed you, how he made you feel like a goddamn joke in front of everyone. And of course—of course—he didn’t take you seriously. Laughed it off, like he always did. Like your anger, your hurt, was some kind of performance he’d already seen too many times.

Like your overreacting was just a grab for attention.

That’s when you snapped. You weren’t just arguing about that night anymore—you were tearing into everything. Every moment you’d swallowed your pride, every time you felt small, every time he talked over you or dismissed you like you didn’t matter.

You started throwing his stuff at him, screaming like your chest was on fire, like you could rip his voice out of the air just to make it stop. Told him to get the fuck out, that you never wanted to see his stupid fucking face again. It was bad, the kind of fight that had cops on the doorstep. That was the only thing that finally got him to leave. The only reason that ugly night finally stopped.

Then came the texts—him cycling through the five stages of grief in your messages. 

‘Sweetie, you know me better than this. What happened to us, to you?’

‘Can we just sit down? I’ll listen, really. I’ll hear you.”

‘Don’t throw away everything we’ve built in one moment of anger.’

You had to silence his calls, his texts. Your phone had practically turned into a vibrator with the way he was spamming it.

But you never found it in yourself to block his number.

Once, you walked out of class and there he was, waiting outside like he’d been watching for you. He tried to talk to you, and you had to practically sprint to get away. After that, you started taking different routes to your classes, finding back ways around buildings, just to avoid him. It felt like you couldn’t even breathe without him showing up.

He sent gifts to your doorstep; monetary, thoughtless gestures like expensive jewelry, new designer clothes, extravagant bouquets. But on nights you spent cramming for exams or buried in the library, you’d come home to meals from your favorite restaurants or baskets filled with all the snacks you loved.

There was never a note, but you didn’t need one. You always knew who it was from.

But it didn’t take long for it all to stop. The texts, the gifts, the way you’d catch glimpses of him standing around places you used to go. You thought you’d be relieved, but now… it’s different. Sometimes, you almost miss it—the reminder that he was still there, still trying. It felt like you still mattered to him, even if it was twisted.

Despite all the fights, he was good. Good to you, and just good in that rare, complicated way some people are. His heart was made of gold and steel—soft in places, unbreakable in others. He just didn’t always know how to use it.

But you know you mattered to him. You felt it, even when everything else was falling apart.

Right person, wrong time, you guess.

Because despite your 3 year relationship coming to an abrupt, sudden and earth shattering halt—life goes on.

Though, it took a while.

At first, his constant pleas for forgiveness built a wall between you and any real chance at healing. And then there was the regret—that heavy, gnawing feeling that maybe, just maybe, you’d made a huge mistake. That maybe you’d let go of the best thing you ever had. Lost something you weren’t sure you’d ever find again.

It didn’t help that you shared the same circle of friends. He was everywhere—smiling in group photos, lit up in stories, slipping into your feed like a ghost that refused to rest. You’d catch a glimpse, tap the tag, and spiral into his page like it was muscle memory. You told yourself it was harmless curiosity, that you just wanted to know if he was okay now that the begging had gone quiet.

But deep down, you were searching for something else.

Hoping he hadn’t moved on.

Eventually, you found a rhythm. Learned when to look away from social media, which friends to sidestep in conversation. You slipped into a beat that no longer used him as an instrument. 

And slowly, quietly, you began to write a new song.

Without Sylus.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

You sat cross-legged on the floor of Zayne’s apartment, your head resting in your hands as you watched him work. His eyes were locked on his laptop, fingers moving with careful precision, while his glasses kept sliding down the bridge of his nose. Every few minutes, he’d pause just long enough to push them back up, never once looking away for long.

You’d been seeing each other for a few months now. It had been a year, finally a full year, since everything fell apart.  

“Better to get back out there,” you told yourself.

You met Zayne through one of your new friends. He had asked for your number, and you gave it to him without thinking too hard—if you did, you’d start to feel the guilt you were trying to desperately ignore. He’s a doctor, living the kind of life that sounded like ambition carved into marble—precise and immovable. He had plans, timelines, a path so clearly mapped out it felt like there wasn’t room for detours.

He’s sweet. Gentle in ways you didn’t realize you needed. 

He doesn’t set off fireworks in your chest, but maybe that’s okay. Maybe peace was always the thing you were chasing.

But, sometimes, being with him felt like standing in a waiting room of his life. Like you were something brief, something meant for now but not later. A warm presence to come home to, but never quite a part of the long term picture. 

Because of that, you weren’t exactly together—but you weren’t not together, either. It was strange, undefined, but it worked. You didn’t know if you were ready for something more serious yet, a new commitment after what came before.

And Zayne was so different from him.

Zayne was calm where he had been wild. Predictable where he had been chaotic. Steady where he had burned.

But sometimes you missed the fire.

The way he could make you feel like the center of the universe with just a look, the way everything with him was urgent, desperate, alive. It hadn’t been easy, but it had been electric.

With Zayne, it sometimes felt like you were too much for him. Like he didn’t really know what to do with all of you. But with him, it was the opposite—he couldn’t get enough.

Zayne was still a good guy. That should’ve been enough.

Even if you already knew what it felt like to be wanted completely. Wanted like a storm.

"Do you want to grab food?" you asked, tapping gently on the back of his laptop. You knew better than to interrupt his flow, but you hadn’t come over just to sit and watch him work.

He hummed in response, barely acknowledging you.

You sighed. "So you wouldn’t care if I blew up your apartment?"

Another hum.

To be fair, he had promised dinner earlier. He just needed to finish his work—and then he just needed a bit more time… And then a little more after that.

That was three hours ago.

This time, you reach for the top of his laptop screen, and his eyes flick up to you—blinking slowly, like he’s just now registering the reality outside of his research paper.

Zayne frowns, the disapproval clear on his face. You mirror him with a frown of your own, arms crossing over your chest.

"It’s getting late," you say, your tone edging on impatient. "Let me know what you want, and I’ll go pick it up."

“No, it’s alright.” He finally shuts his laptop with a quiet click, then takes off his glasses and sets them gently on the table beside him. His eyes meet yours—tired, a little guilty.

“I’m sorry for taking so long,” he says, voice softer now, like he means it.

You shrug in response, but inside, your thoughts begin to stir.

They did this sometimes—whenever Zayne did something even slightly wrong.

He would never do that.

He would never make you wait more than an hour—and that was only if something came up. He always respected your time, always made sure you knew you were a priority. 

He was always there when he said he would be—in every single sense.

The guilt rises again, thick and suffocating in your chest. Guilt for what you did, guilt for even thinking about him when Zayne is right here. The way Zayne’s hesitation, his lack of urgency, makes everything feel distant.

‘If he would never do that, why don’t you go back to him?’ Though sarcastic, the thought cuts through you bitterly. You scoff, but the question lingers.

“Where do you want to go?” Zayne asks, his voice pulling you out of the fight with your own subconscious. You blink, disoriented for a moment, before his words sink in.

“Anywhere you’d like,” he continues, “As an apology for making you wait so long.”

You don’t know why you say it, and you're not even sure if you want to go there, but the words leave your lips anyway. You tell him you want to go to this place across town.

Zayne doesn’t know. He doesn’t know the history of that place, the weight of the memories tied to it, the way it feels like a part of him still lingers there. And you don’t want to taint him with that—don’t want to drag him into this aggressive, aching space inside you.

But it’s like everything in you aches to go there, anyway.

To feel a fragment of him again, even if it’s through something so small, so insignificant. Just to be near a place that once held the kind of warmth you crave now. To feel a piece of what it was, even if you know you’ll never truly get it back.

To just miss him for a second.

Maybe it’s cruel of you to drag Zayne along. He’s clueless, unaware of the heaviness of this strange little hole in the wall restaurant. Doesn’t know why you stay silent the entire ride, eyes fixed on the world outside, every single tree passing by like a painful reminder.

You can feel the hole in your chest, the space he used to fill, and it’s all you can do not to let it consume you.

When you arrived, even the bricks outside were enough to make your heart lurch. For a second—an honest, long second—you forgot who you were with.

You turned, expecting to see silver hair, eyes like cut rubies, that familiar warmth of a presence that used to pull the air from your lungs.

But instead, you were met with something gentler. A forest, not a flame.

Zayne took your hand, his brows drawn with concern. “Are you alright?” he asked.

You forced a smile—too quick, too practiced—and nodded.

“Yeah.”

But even as the word left your mouth, you could feel the lie settle in the air between you.

The inside was just as cruel. Small and warm, familiar in a way that wrapped around your ribs and squeezed. The feeling was a tie between a warm hug and suffocating.

Maybe you were a masochist for letting yourself come here—for asking to be brought back to a place that held a feeling you’d buried so deep it shouldn’t have surfaced this easily.

It was just a small place you found by accident one lazy evening. But once you fell in love with it, he made it tradition.

Every weekend, like clockwork, he’d take you on a date. And more often than not, you’d ask to come here.

Eventually, the owners knew you by name. Knew your usuals, your laughter, your habits—the shape of your love, even.

And standing there now, with Zayne beside you, the warmth and familiarity turned sharp.

You realized what you’d done.

Who you were with.

And for a moment, regret bloomed in your throat like a bruise.

Were you that ex? The one who dragged new boys through old memories like ghosts on a leash?

No.

Zayne wasn’t your boyfriend. So it didn’t count. It didn’t mean anything.

Right?

You found a table in the corner, far from that quiet little booth tucked near the stage—the one that had soaked in your fights, your laughter, your deepest conversations.

The one that still held all of that messy, complicated love.

Far from the exposed brick wall where you’d once scrawled your initials with the red lipstick you always carried.

His favorite shade.

You still have it in your purse. You never took it out.

Why didn’t you take it out?

The band was bustling, the loud jazz music crashing against your thoughts like waves. You knew Zayne would hate it here—too loud and too cramped for him.

The faint frown tugging at his face confirmed everything you already knew.

You had to order at the bar, and you silently hoped—begged—that he’d take the hint, take the lead.

You just wanted to stay in your seat, stay still; let the noise swallow you whole while you slipped quietly back in time.

Just for a little while.

And he did. Zayne stood with a sigh and made his way to the bar, already checking his watch like he couldn’t wait to leave.

You stayed seated.

Let your eyes wander around the room, soaking in the soft haze of memory like it was smoke in your lungs.

You imagined another version of this moment—one where you weren’t sitting there with someone you knew well, but still felt like a stranger; who held your hand too gently, smiled too politely.

One where the seat across from you was filled with someone who looked at you like you hung the stars, the sun and the moon alike. Who never looked at his watch because time was never wasted with you.

From where you were sitting, you knew the only thing you’d be able to see through the crowds of people at tables was the band and that stupid, beautiful booth.

You couldn’t look at it.

You wouldn’t look at it.

You looked.

Oh.

Oh.

You met his eyes, and the world forgot how to spin.

The air stilled. The conversations and music seemed to pause, a single note stretched out across eternity.

Everything—everyone—stood frozen in place.

Time held its breath.

And for one impossible second, it was just the two of you again.

What was he doing here?

Was the universe playing some cruel trick, drawing you both back to this place like gravity? Why your booth?

Why now?

His eyes scanned your face like he wasn’t sure you were real—like you’d stepped out of a dream.

Then came that smile.

The soft one; the one he used to give you in the quiet, perfect moments when the world was small, just the two of you.

There was no venom in it. No pain. No trace of the wreckage you left in each other.

Just something tender.

As if none of it had happened.

As if you were still okay.

You couldn’t help but smile back.

It was instinct, not decision—like your face moved before your mind could catch up. Like your chest cracked open just wide enough to let the light in.

It felt like winter turning to spring, when everything thaws out and comes alive again. when the frost softens and color creeps quietly back into everything.

Your heart bloomed, slow and trembling—like a flower daring to open again.

He lifts his hand in a wave, mouthing “Hello.” 

“Hi, Sylus.” You mouth back

Your lips felt strange shaping his name. Like they weren’t used to the syllables anymore—like they’d forgotten the rhythm of it, the way it used to sit so easily on your tongue. It felt foreign now, like a word in a language you once knew by heart but hadn’t spoken in years.

Everything started moving again when your drink was sat in front of you. You looked up, and Zayne’s face was tired, pained even.

"Thank you," you murmured, fingers idly twisting the straw. He stayed quiet, as he always did, his gaze fixed on the band, listening to the music, indifferent to you.

You glanced over at the booth again, just to make sure.

And he was gone.

Your heart froze up again, going back to winter. The flower that had started to bloom died in an instant.

Did you just imagine him? He was there in a second, gone the next. 

Was coming to this place such a bad idea that you started hallucinating your ex boyfriend?

Suddenly, the once familiar comfort of this place turned on you, becoming suffocating and unbearable. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, a flush of panic exploding beneath your skin. Every hair on your body stood on end, as if now bracing for something that wasn’t there.

Your chest tightened, breath shallow, the music too loud, the walls too close.

What the hell just happened?

You pushed your food around the plate, appetite long gone, and caught glimpses of Zayne doing the same.

The high had worn off—whatever rush or adrenaline that had carried you through the moment had collapsed in on itself, leaving nothing but a deep, aching hollowness in your chest.

All you wanted was to crawl into bed and fall apart. To let the tears come in the dark, mourning the vision your mind had conjured up like some sick joke.

To sit with the guilt of missing him. Of returning to this place. Of dragging Zayne into the wreckage of your past.

He didn’t know a thing—not really. You never told him. Never told anyone, if you were being honest.

It wasn’t something you ever felt the need to say out loud. You kept it locked away, tucked in a corner of your soul like something sacred and shameful all at once.

But now, sitting here, watching Zayne shrink into his chair, you couldn’t help but feel like you’d tainted him, too. Dragged him into a history he had no business being part of.

Was it you? Or was it this damn bar? Maybe both were cursed. 

You excused yourself to the bathroom, muttering something about needing a moment, but really you just needed to slam your head gently against a stall door and splash cold water over your face. Anything to snap yourself out of whatever spiral this was.

You stood in front of the mirror, blinking hard, like maybe the reflection would shift. That maybe you’d look solid again—real, awake and breathing. But as you smoothed your hair, you really looked. For the first time in what felt like ages.

The circles beneath your eyes were deeper than you remembered, carved in like bruises you forgot to cover. The spark behind those same eyes had vanished, a dull, empty quiet staring back. The color in your cheeks had faded, drained from your skin like it had somewhere better to be.

Where had it gone?

With him.

Your life went with him.

You walked back out to find Zayne at the bar, settling the tab. His expression was unreadable, but it didn’t take much to tell—there wasn’t a smile left in him tonight. His eyes were low, his mouth set in a line.

This was going to be a long ride home.

And it was. Long. Silent. The kind of silence that wasn’t just quiet, but loud in all the wrong ways. The kind that pressed against your ears and made your throat tight. The air in the car felt thick, like you couldn’t swallow a breath. 

Would it have killed him to turn on the radio? Like, just a song? Was he that mad at you for dragging him somewhere out of his comfort zone?

The answer was yes.

“Listen,” Zayne said as the car rolled to a stop in front of your apartment. “Can we talk for a second?”

You knew what was coming.

“Yeah, what’s up?” You replied, turning toward him with a hollowness in your voice. There wasn’t any way this night could get worse.

He let out a breath, one of those slow exhales people do when they’re trying not to make something worse than it already is. His hands fell to his lap, unsure, then found the wheel again.

“You’re great,” he started, eyes fixed somewhere ahead, like looking at you would make it harder. “You’re really sweet. Kind. But I think…” A pause. A swallow.  “I think we’re headed in different directions, two very different people.”

That damn bar.

“Yeah.” You repeat again, hand reaching for the door, “It’s okay. I understand.”

“You’re great though.”

I heard you the first time, you want to say.

Instead you just nod, climbing out of the car and heading inside. 

When you see his car pulling away through the glass of the lobby doors, something inside you gives out. The tears come hot and fast, spilling before you even reach the elevator. You don’t care who sees.

The couple down the hall pauses mid conversation, shifting awkwardly as they juggle grocery bags and avoid your eyes. The old woman waiting by the elevator doesn’t look away—after a second, she rifles through her purse and presses a butterscotch candy into your palm.

You thank her as you both take the elevator up. She doesn’t say a word, just gives you that soft, knowing look only age can shape. The kind that says heartbreak is universal, and survivable.

You’re still crying when you reach your door, fumbling with the keys through blurred vision. The tears come in waves now—messy, relentless—and you’re not even sure what they’re for anymore. It’s like a year’s worth of grief, pressed down and packed tight, finally burst free all at once.

It wasn’t really about Zayne. You’d known for a while you didn’t belong in the future he was building, and he wasn’t ever really yours to begin with. But tonight? Of all nights?

Really, karma? You think, bitterly. Was this supposed to be funny?

When you finally get inside, something feels off. You pause, your hand still on the doorknob. It was light out when you left—had you accidentally turned a light on? You don’t remember doing that. The glow from the kitchen spills out like an omen.

You shut the door slowly, silently, and that’s when you hear it—a shuffle.

Your body locks up. Heart in your throat, you reach for the pepper spray on your keys, hand trembling.

Of course. Of course. Out of all the godforsaken nights for your apartment to get broken into—it had to be tonight. Because why wouldn’t it be. 

What luck!

You catch a quick movement—and without thinking, you lunge, instinct taking over. A desperate swing in self defense. But just as fast, you’re caught. Arms wrap around you, pinning you back against the body of whoever’s in your home.

This is it, you think, panic thundering in your chest. This is how I go. What a night to die.

But then—

“Easy, kitten.”

The world stops. Your entire body goes rigid.

That voice.

That goddamn voice.

A voice you haven’t heard in thirteen months and twenty eight days. Not that you were counting. You tried to stop counting—god, you did—but the days clung to you like dust in sunlight. Every hour ticked by like a relentless grandfather clock, towering in the corner of your mind, never breaking and never missing a chime.

Always ringing.

Always reminding you.

And there it was again. Smooth as velvet, soft like the worn fur of a childhood bear. It wrapped around you with the grasp of memory, gentle and impossible to forget. Like your favorite song buried deep in your mind, untouched for years, and yet the moment it plays—you remember every note, every breath, every rise and fall. 

You don’t know if you want to turn around. There’s a part of you that’s afraid he won’t actually be there, that if you look, you’ll just be staring at an empty room or some figment your mind cooked up to fill the silence—because maybe you’re imagining him again. After the night you’ve had, it wouldn’t be too far off. 

Maybe you’re just tired, emotional, and your brain is pulling memories of your ex out of storage. And honestly, with the way things have gone, that would be exactly your kind of luck.

You’re yanked out of your spiral when he turns you around, slow and careful. And there it is—his face. That same stupidly beautiful, maddeningly familiar face. The one that made you laugh, made you cry. 

Sylus, Sylus, Sylus, Sylus, Sylus.

You don’t know whether to swing at him for breaking into your apartment or hold onto him so tight you melt into his bones—crawl into his skin, make a home in his ribs. Never leave his side again.

He searches your face, stares at you like he’s just as unsure of your existence as you are his. 

You take a step back, putting some space between you, letting your eyes scan him like they might find something new. But he’s the same. Same worn coat, same styled hair he swore looked better like that, same silver “S” hanging from his neck. But his eyes—they match yours, tired and drained. Like everything of the past year sits on his chest, just like it does on yours. And suddenly, he doesn’t look so untouchable anymore. He looks just as haunted.

It’s on you, if you’re being honest. Sure, he said some things that cut deep, and yeah, you were exhausted—mentally and emotionally by that point. But you’re the one who tossed three years away like they didn’t matter. Like they were disposable. One angry moment, one impulsive decision, and it was all over. You didn’t stop to think about what it would do to him—or to you. And when the dust settled, you were too damn proud to go back, to say you messed up, to admit that walking away wasn’t really what you wanted. You both lost something special, because pride got in the way. Because despite all the arguments, he was your person. And you were his.

“I made coffee,” he says, finally breaking the silence.

“At this time of night?” you reply, eyebrows lifting but not really questioning it. 

You can’t find it in you to ask how he got in, or even why he’s here. The words don’t form, caught somewhere between exhaustion and surrender. Tonight has taken too much out of you—emotionally, mentally, physically. You’re too drained to be angry, too hollow to press for answers. And maybe, deep down, you don’t really want to know. Maybe pretending is easier.

Pretending you came home from a hard night, and he was here, waiting for you like he used to. Like nothing ever fell apart between you. Like the months without him hadn’t happened, like the space between you two had never formed in the first place.

You know it's ridiculous. 

Definitely unhealthy. 

But in this moment, you don't care. You're tired—so, so tired—and the comfort of familiarity, even a fractured one, feels like the only thing keeping you upright. Because maybe you're a little crazy. Or maybe you’re just lonely. Maybe you’ve spent so long missing him in silence that your heart doesn’t know how to stop.

The corners of his mouth twitch, like he’s trying to smile but can’t quite get there. And that’s when it hits you—since seeing him today, not once has he worn that usual smug grin he always carried so effortlessly. No teasing, no playful glint in his eye. Just this look, like you’re something out of a dream. Like he’s seeing the most beautiful thing he’s ever laid eyes on, and he doesn’t fully believe it. Like you’re some kind of miracle, and he’s still trying to convince himself you’re really standing there.

You walk past him and into the kitchen, where two mugs sit on the counter. You stop when you notice them—your matching mugs, the ones you picked out during that trip, the ones shaped like a cat and a crow. You remember how you practically screamed when you saw them, all excited like a kid in a candy store. Of course, he bought them for you, because that was just who he was. 

He’d do anything for you.

You don’t know why you’ve kept them, not after everything. But there are certain things, small things, that you can’t bring yourself to let go of. These mugs are one of them. They hold too many memories—too many nights spent tangled in blankets during movie marathons, too many late night conversations at the kitchen table over cups of coffee just like this.

And the moment you take that first sip, you realize—he still knows exactly how you like it.

Sylus leans against the counter, watching you. Analyzing. 

“What’re you thinking about?” You mumble over the rim of your mug. He raises an eyebrow in surprise before standing up straight, rolling his shoulders back as if he's gathering the confidence to speak his mind. It’s strange to see Sylus like this—like he has to work up the courage to say something, something you’ve never seen him do before.

"Who was the guy you were with tonight?" He takes a drink. 

You scoff. "Sylus, be for real."

"Is he your boyfriend?" He sets his mug down a bit too forcefully.

"You really broke into my apartment over a guy?"

"I asked you a question first, sweetie."

"Fine." You roll your eyes, setting your mug down and crossing your arms. "No, he's not my boyfriend. Well, kind of. But whatever he was, he’s not anymore." You let out a bitter laugh, shaking your head at the irony. "Actually, he ended it outside."

"Is that why you were crying?" Sylus’s expression hardens, and you regret your choice of words for Zayne’s safety.

Sighing, you shrug, not really sure how to answer that. “No, I think that was just the straw that broke the camel's back.”

"Do you... want to talk about it?"

He was never great at comforting people, but Sylus was one of the most caring and empathetic people you’d ever known. He just wasn’t always good at showing it.

"I don’t know." You avoid his gaze, fingers tracing the rim of your mug. "I went to the bar tonight because I wanted to feel something. Feel a part of you again. And I don't think I realized just how much I missed you."

You surprised yourself with how easily the truth spilled out, after all this time. But that was always the way with him—honesty never felt like work. It came naturally, like breathing. You used to hate that about him, about what he brought out in you. Because maybe if you'd kept more to yourself, held your tongue a little tighter, you wouldn’t have fought so much. Maybe silence would’ve saved you both some hurt.

"Seeing you again brought everything back, and it was just a lot all at once. Then I got dumped after all of that. Kind of felt shitty."

You were ready for him to bite back, make a remark that would start a fight. Say something about how all of this was your fault anyways. Ignite the flame. 

Honestly, you kind of wanted him to. Wanted to feel some sort of sick piece of your previous life together.

But he didn’t. Just pressed his lips into a line while he paused to think. 

“I’m sorry.”

The apology felt foreign, strange even, coming from him. He was never one to admit he was wrong, and for a moment, you wondered if this was one of the rare times you’d ever hear him say he was sorry.

“For... what?" Confusion flickered across your face. It was painfully clear for once he wasn’t the one in the wrong here.

"I'm sorry things ended that way."

You weren't sure if he was talking about the night or the entire relationship, but as you looked at him, sincerity in your eyes, you whispered, "I'm sorry that it ended at all."

Sylus finally smiled—really smiled—the kind of grin that cracked through the solemn silence like sunlight after a storm. Like he’d been holding his breath this entire time, just waiting for you to say those words.

You lifted your hand, stopping him before the moment could get ahead of you. “The fight we had was stupid. And breaking up? That was impulsive. Irrational.” Your voice wavered. “And maybe... maybe you were right. Maybe I do just overreact.”

“No.” he said, already making his way to where you sat, each step careful, like approaching a wild thing.

“No?” you echo, blinking up at him.

“No,” he says again. “You were hurting. And I didn’t see it. That’s on me too.”

He kneels beside your chair, resting his hands on your knees like he used to when he had something serious to say. His eyes search yours, looking for anything and everything.

“I should’ve asked you what was wrong instead of trying to fix you like you were some project. I didn’t know how to handle you—us sometimes. But I never stopped—” His voice catches for a quick second. 

Sylus swallows hard, eyes glancing to the floor. “I never stopped thinking about you. Missing you. Hoping you were okay.”

You stare at him, heart tight in your chest. You want to say something but your throat burns with unshed tears, eyes stinging and cheeks hot.

He lifts his hand, hesitant, brushing his fingers just barely against yours. “I don’t want to keep pretending like losing you didn’t tear something out of me.”

You don’t even realize your hand is moving until it’s already holding his. It fits the same way it always did—like nothing had changed, and everything had.

“Then don’t,” you whisper.

He presses a kiss to each of your fingers, then lingers at the inside of your wrist like he’s afraid to let go. 

“Come back to me, sweetie. Please.”

You lower yourself to the floor beside him, knees brushing the cold tile as you refuse to let him bear the weight of this alone. He didn’t belong down there—not without you. If blame was to be shared, so was the burden. You had always been equals, and you’d meet him where he was, just like always.

Gently, you take his face in your hands, cradling it like something fragile. Your thumbs brush over his cheeks as you tilt his head from side to side, memorizing the features you never truly forgot.

He’s Sylus. He’s home. He’s your heart and soul.

“I never really left,” you whisper.

Sylus leans in, slowly and carefully—just enough for his nose to brush again yours, a quiet question hanging in the air between you. Not demanding, just hoping and waiting.

You close the space with a kiss, gentle and unsure at first, like trying on a memory. But the moment your lips meet, it all comes rushing back—how seamlessly you fit. Like you were made with the shape of him in mind.

His hand comes up to cradle the back of your neck, tentative at first, then grounding. The kiss deepens just a little, and it’s not desperate. It’s not about lust. It’s about grief and forgiveness, about missing someone so deeply that your soul aches and yearns to touch theirs again.

Yeah, that doesn’t last long.

You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it’s him. Maybe it’s you. But suddenly your hands are tangled in his shirt, pulling him closer like the space between you is unbearable. Like air doesn’t matter if he isn’t in it.

His lips crash back into yours with more urgency this time—less hesitation, more ache. It’s not soft anymore. It’s desperate. Months of wanting, of regret, of missing, all boiling to the surface and spilling out through every touch, every kiss, every small gasp between breaths.

Sylus groans against your lips, his hands everywhere at once—your hips, your back, your jaw—as though he can’t decide what to touch first, only that he has to. Your fingers slide under his shirt, palms skimming fever warm skin, and he shudders like the contact burns. He decides on one hand sliding up your back, the other buried in your hair as if to anchor himself there. You let him. You want him to. You want to feel all of it—everything you’ve been pushing down since the moment he got dragged out of that door a year ago.

When he pulls you into his lap, it’s not gentle. It’s a need—as if not having you near him physically hurts. 

At least, it hurts you.

Your thighs cradle his like instinct, and your bodies slot together like they never really stopped belonging to each other. Like you’re two atoms destined to combine.

The kiss deepens, grows messier—teeth and tongue clashing. Breath shared like oxygen. You’re not even kissing anymore, not really. You’re devouring, rediscovering. Worshipping with your mouths. He breaks only to gasp, to mutter your name like hes singing a psalm, saying a prayer, like he’s drowning in the taste of you.

“You didn’t waste any time,” you pant, lips swollen, eyes glazed.

He grins against your mouth, finally giving you that signature, smug smirk he wears so damn well. “I’ve had thirteen months and twenty eight days to starve, kitten.”

Your laugh is breathless, and it breaks against him as your hips roll forward just once. He chokes on a gasp and grips you harder, his mouth trailing along your jaw, down your throat, dragging teeth and tongue and heat as he goes.

Clothes shift. Shirts inch upward, skin revealed in patches, in hurried grazes of fingers that tremble with the weight of too much time passed. You could cry from the way he touches you—like he’s both reverent and ravenous. Like he’s afraid you’ll vanish again if he blinks.

Sylus.

Sylus.

Sylus.

“I missed you,” he says, and the words hit you like a lightning strike—hot and electric. It’s enough to draw a sound from your throat, a soft whimper at how deeply you feel it, in your heart and your core. Like music played in a key only your body recognizes, a melody you’ve been yearning to hear.

Because he wanted you all this time as badly as you wanted him.

No, he needed you. And hearing it now, in that voice, in this moment, feels like being set free.

Set free from all of that guilt and pain that’s been haunting you like a vice.

You cup his face again, thumbs sweeping over skin you used to call home. The skin you’ll call home once again. “Then take me back,” you whisper, forehead pressed to his. “Right here. However you need.”

He doesn’t answer.

You don’t remember standing—you don’t think you did. All you know is the feel of Sylus’ arms wrapped around you; he carries you down the hallway like muscle memory, navigating your space with the ease of someone who never truly left. And in that moment, all you can think is, ‘please don’t leave again.’

He’s on you again before you can exhale—lips crashing to yours like he’s been waiting to breathe, to feel, since the moment you left. Since that moment the cops had to practically drag him out of your front door.

It’s desperate, disheveled, the kind of hunger that comes from months of lonely nights and phantom memories traced on cold sheets. Nights where you buried your face in the pillow that still held the faint shape of where he used to sleep, moaning into the echo of him, aching and wet for the hands that weren’t there.

And now, they were.

You backpedal until the backs of your knees hit the bed, and he follows you down with a gentleness that betrays the way his hands feel when they touch your skin. You fall together, mouths never parting, tangled limbs pressed into the mattress that hasn’t known this kind of weight in far too long.

Your shirt peels away, slow and careful. As if he’s trying to savor every second, like this will never happen again. 

It will—it has to. You may die if you have to go through separation again.

He stares at you like he’s seen heaven and hell and finally made it back to the beginning. “You’re still the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” he says, voice ragged. He’s barely holding himself together, a fierceness in his eyes that makes you think he may eat you alive.

You hope he does.

You reach up, fingers threading through his hair, pulling him back down to you with need. “Then stop looking,” you mutter against his lips. “Start remembering.”

Clothes come off in stuttered gasps—half laughed, half moaned—as if each layer is a wall you’re tearing down together. Skin meets skin, the kind of touch that makes you feel tethered again. Anchored to something. 

Someone.

Sylus’ mouth traces a path along your collarbone, down the hollow of your throat, over the curve of your ribs. He bites, he sucks, leaving behind a pattern of bruises and blooming marks—claiming you in color. Like jewelry only he could give you, like tattoos etched in heat that say, without words, mine. You arch into him, a whimper escaping you, and he groans in response—low and guttural.

He sinks between your thighs like a man starved returning to his favorite meal, settling into the place he’s always called home. A low, satisfied sigh escapes him—as if the world’s weight has finally lifted now that he’s right where he belongs. His hands grip your hips like an anchor, grounding himself in your heat, in you. 

He trails open mouthed kisses along the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, nipping at the tender flesh as a warning when you push towards his face.

When he finally buries himself in the place you’ve ached for most, it’s not gentle—it’s ravenous. He devours you like he’s been starving, like every second apart built up into this fevered need to taste and claim. His tongue moves with purpose—etching your name in cursive, apologies, confessing I love you in strokes and swirls only your body can understand.

You’re flushed, burning from the inside out, your skin damp and glowing like firelight. It’s heaven, you’re sure of it—though the way Sylus tears into you with sinful devotion, he might just be a demon sent to drag pleasure out of you until you forget your own name.

But don’t worry, he’ll spell it back out for you. Again, and again, and again.

Your moans pour from your lips, unrestrained and embarrassingly loud, the room echoing with every gasp and whimper. But you’re desperate, and past caring. It’s been too long. You missed this—missed him—the way Sylus touches you like he was made to, the way he knows your body better than you ever could. Missed the way he always, always finds his way back to you.

You haven’t felt this good in ages.

It doesn’t take long—your body coils tight, then shatters, release crashing over you like a tidal wave. Your vision whites out, ears ringing with the force of it. You try to push him away, trembling hands lost in his hair, but he just smirks against your skin like the devil he is.

“One more?” he murmurs, low and wicked. It’s shaped like a question, but you both know it isn’t. It’s a promise. A command. A sentence you’re more than willing to serve.

His arms tighten around your thighs as he drags you back to him, wearing your legs like a crown, worshipping you like a man possessed. His mouth doesn’t stop—it never stops—and you break apart again, undone and helpless beneath the weight of his hunger.

You cry out his name, babbling through the overstimulation, letting the walls shake with the sound of it. Let the neighbors hear. Let the world know. You’re his—you’ve always been. And now, with his mouth rewriting every nerve in your body, you know you’ll never be anything else.

When he finally pulls back, your body is trembling, skin electric. It’s like the universe was reborn beneath your skin—like some celestial detonation bloomed inside you and scattered your bones into stardust. Every nerve feels like it’s glowing, every inch of you humming with aftershocks, like you’ve been rewritten molecule by molecule in his name.

You’re not sure if you're floating or falling, only that Sylus is your anchor in a sky full of stars he put there.

He moves back up your body slowly, this time trailing kisses along your skin like he’s putting you back together with his mouth. When he reaches your lips, he kisses you gently—like you’re something fragile and precious.

In his eyes, you are.

There’s nothing rushed now. The hunger’s still there, sure—it burns under the surface like wildfire—but it’s laced with something softer, sadder. Like you’re making up for lost time. For all the nights you didn’t have this. All the apologies neither of you knew how to give until now.

Your chest is still rising and falling, breath uneven from the waves that just crashed over you, when he finally presses against you—trembling with restraint. His hand finds your chin, tilting your face toward his. He searches your eyes, desperately looking for anything that says no, anything that tells him to stop. There’s fear in his gaze, quiet and vulnerable—terrified this might be too good to be real.

You don’t speak. You don’t need to.

Instead, you nod, certain, and push your hips toward his like an answer he’s been begging for. Gently, you press a kiss to his forehead.

And when he finally sinks into you—not just physically but emotionally—it’s not about sex. It’s about return. 

Reunion. 

The sacred act of becoming known again, flesh and heart and harmony folding back into one another.

You cling to him like you might fall apart otherwise. He holds you like he’s scared you already have.

Your head tips back with a moan, mouth parted as pleasure ripples through you. He presses a kiss just beneath your ear tenderly, like he’s trying to keep you from floating too far away. “Stay with me, sweetie.”

As if you could be anywhere else.

His movements are slow—painfully slow—the kind of rhythm that feels like he’s savoring every second, every inch of you. He’s chasing something deeper than pleasure—he’s trying to feel all of you, to touch the parts of you he lost when you walked away. But even then, it’s not enough. God, it’s never enough.

You meet him halfway, hips rising to meet his, your body pleading before your voice even does.

“Sylus, please,” you whimper, voice cracking.

One of his hands slides down, gripping your hip harder, pulling you to him. “Tell me what you need,” he rasps, leaning in until his forehead pressed against yours. “Say it, sweetie. I’ll give you everything.”

And you know he would. You could ask for a kiss, a kingdom, his last breath—he’d give it without hesitation. He’d peel the stars from the sky just to light your way home. He’d carve out his heart, wrap it in gold leaf, and place it on a priceless platter if it meant seeing you smile.

Sylus made you greedy—gave you a gold thumb. He spoiled you without hesitation, fed your hunger. And he reveled in it. Got off on the way you used him, adored how you took and took, because giving to you was the only thing that ever felt right.

Your fingers thread through his hair like you’re spinning silk, tugging at the silver strands. You press open mouthed kisses along his jaw, his cheek—anything you can reach while writhing beneath the weight of him. “Quit going so slow,” you whisper, breath hitching with every drag of his hips, “you’re gonna kill me.”

You knew exactly what you were signing up for the moment he chuckled against your lips—low, dark, dangerous. He shifted you easily, legs hooked tight around his waist. Then, with a teasing snap of his hips, he drove forward, and the sharp gasp that tore from your throat was instant, involuntary.

You barely had time to say his name before his arms locked around your body—thrusting into you with a punishing rhythm, fast and merciless. It felt like he was trying to brand you from the inside out, like he was trying to replace every cell in your body with the shape of him.

If this was how you died, gasping his name, your body split open with pleasure and your heart cracked wide, then so be it. There was no holier death than this—than being completely, utterly taken by the man you loved.

His hands gripped you hard enough to bruise, fingers digging in like he couldn’t bear the thought of ever letting go. And you clawed your nails down his back until you were sure you’d drawn blood—your bodies leaving marks like they were writing poems on each other’s skin.

It wouldn’t be the first time you two had broken a bed—and at this rate, it wouldn’t be the last. Not that he cared. He’d buy you a hundred more without blinking. Hell, he’d buy you a house just to ruin every room in it. He’ll put a baby in you right now to turn that house into a home, just to make sure you never even think about leaving him again.

Sylus groaned your name like it was the only thing keeping him alive. And you? You could only hold on, begging for more through breathless moans, because you knew—no one would ever fuck you like he did.

With every thrust, he drove you deeper into the mattress, your fingers twisting in his hair. You could feel the tears streaking your cheeks, not from pain, but from the sheer overwhelming rush of it all—of him, of pleasure. It was too much and not enough all at once. You’d never felt so full. So wanted. So his.

Your mascara was probably a mess, your lips swollen from kissing and your heart aching from the way he looked at you—like you were the only thing that had ever mattered.

“Sylus,” you gasped, barely able to breathe through it. “Oh, fuck—”

You were close, clinging to him like your body knew this was it. That after all the nights apart, all the words left unsaid, this was where you were meant to be.

His pace faltered for just a moment, a soft hiss through his teeth as you tightened around him. He buried his face in the crook of your neck, breath hot and shaky. You felt him everywhere—his hands, his heart, his love.

You shattered around him, sobbing as your climax overtook you, nearly screaming. It wasn’t just pleasure. It was months of longing, of everything you’d buried now clawing its way to the surface.

All you could think about was him.

His name, carved into your mind like scripture.

His eyes, the way they always burned through you, even when he tried to hide it.

That damned smirk—infuriating and addictive.

The scent of his cologne clinging to your sheets, haunting you even after he left.

His old jacket, the one you swore you hated but wore every chance you got.

The booth in the back corner of the bar where he first kissed you like he meant it.

Everything about him hit you at once—your body, your mind, your heart. Like coming home after wandering lost for far too long.

He followed suit, pulling you so close you half expected to disappear into him entirely. Like your skin was made for his and your bones had always bent to make room for him; as if you were his lifeline—and if that were true, he’d never sign a DNR. He’d beg the universe to keep you beating.

He clung to you like salvation, chanting your name between breathless gasps like a mantra. You were his altar, his ritual, his divine obsession.

His hips finally stilled, buried so deep inside you it felt like you’d been stitched together. His breath was shaky, chest rising and falling against yours, sweat slick skin pressing close as your hearts raced in unison.

And then he kissed you—the kind of kiss meant to seal a vow. It was quiet, sweet, full of all the things he didn’t know how to say.

I love you. I’m sorry. I’m yours.

So you say it—for the first time in thirteen months and twenty eight days.

“I love you.”

It slips out as a whisper, your voice rough, frayed at the edges. But there’s no hesitation in it. No fear. It’s the most certain thing you’ve ever said in your life.

Sylus freezes, eyes locked on yours, like those three words shattered and rebuilt him in real time. And then he exhales, relieved.

His hand cups your cheek, thumb brushing along your jaw. “Say it again,” he murmurs, almost afraid it was a fluke. A dream he’d blink and lose.

You smile, “I love you.” And this time it’s louder. Stronger.

“I love you too.”

He says it like a vow, a promise, then begins to pepper kisses across your face—each one a quiet apology for every day he went without touching you. Each one a reminder: I’m here. I’m back. I never stopped loving you.

You start to drift, the weight of the night settling into your bones, your body warm and sore and sated. Sleep tugs at you gently. But then Sylus nips playfully at your cheek, and his voice, low and teasing, curls against your ear. “Not yet, sweetie. Let me get you cleaned up.”

You groan, burying your face in the pillow. “No, I’ll shower in the morning.”

But you don’t stop him when he pulls away, don’t open your eyes as he disappears briefly and returns with a warm cloth, gentle as ever. He moves with care, cleaning both of you in the quiet hush of the room.

When he’s done, you reach out, fingers circling his wrist like you’re afraid he’ll vanish if you don’t. “Don’t go,” you murmur, barely above a breath. “Stay here.”

Sylus leans in and presses a kiss to your forehead, that soft smile tugging at his lips—the one he only ever wore for you. “Where else would I go,” he whispers, “if not here with you?”

He climbs back into bed and pulls you into his arms like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. His fingers slide into your hair, cradling the back of your head, guiding you to rest against his chest. You breathe him in, his scent, his warmth, the steady rhythm of his heart under your ear—home, in every way that matters.

Sleep comes easy like that, safe in his arms, as if nothing could ever take him away again.

─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─

The next morning, you woke up to an empty bed, and your stomach dropped. For a second, it felt like none of it had happened. Like you'd imagined it all in some sleep deprived dream.

You thought you were going to have to call a therapist for psychosis.

But then you noticed the dent in the pillow beside you. The sheets were still messy, warm where he’d been. And then you heard it—the faint sound of something clinking in the kitchen.

He hadn’t left.

You lay back against the pillow, staring up at the ceiling, heart slowly steadying. He was still here. After everything, he was still here.

It was strange how easy it felt, slipping back into something that used to be second nature. The routine. The comfort. The quiet knowing that someone else was there. It didn’t feel forced or awkward. 

It just was.

And maybe that said something. Maybe that was enough proof that this wasn’t a mistake. That loving each other had never been the problem. That the space between then and now hadn’t broken anything that couldn’t be fixed.

After one night, it was like everything was finding its place again.

You crawl out of bed and grab the shirt he left on the floor—It smells like him, that familiar mix of expensive cologne and soap that always lingered on your skin long after he was gone. 

The apartment smells like coffee and something frying. You can already guess what it is. He never cooked with precision—just intention. Eggs were his go to, even if they were usually either barely set or borderline burnt. But he tried. He always did.

You pad quietly down the hallway and stop in the kitchen doorway. He doesn’t notice you right away—he’s too focused, standing at the stove with his back to you. Shirtless, muscles shifting with every little movement. He’s wearing those pajama pants. His pajama pants. The ones you stole and swore you’d thrown out during some emotional cleanse, only to find them months later shoved behind your laundry basket. You never brought yourself to toss them again.

They hang low on his hips now, like they never left.

You lean against the doorframe, just watching him for a second. Listening to the sound of him cook, the birds chirping with the morning sun outside, and the peaceful quiet that this life brought you. 

It was home again.

“Like what you see?” Sylus says without turning around. You’re not sure how long he’s known you were standing there, but then again, he always knew. Could feel you without looking—like you were some extension of him, stitched into the same thread.

You walk up behind him and slip your arms around his waist, pressing your cheek to the warm skin between his shoulder blades. “Maybe.”

He chuckles low in his chest, then reaches forward to turn off the stove. In one fluid motion, he spins in your hold, facing you. That smug grin is already there, the one you used to pretend annoyed you. His eyes sweep over you, stopping at the oversized shirt you’re swimming in.

You glance over at the table. The same old mugs. A bowl of fruit. Two plates—simple, a little uneven, but made with care.

“You didn’t have a lot to work with, kitten,” he adds, brushing a piece of hair from your face, “Someone hasn’t been buying groceries.”

You kiss his jaw, lazy and slow, still waking up. “Doesn’t matter. You showed up. That’s enough.”

“Then sit.”

You snort, let him guide you to the table, and as you sit, you watch him pour your coffee the way you like it—still remembering. Still yours.

You two sit in silence—soft, easy. The fruit’s a little mushy, the eggs slightly too done, but not enough to matter. Sylus sits across from you, half smiling, half watching.

‘This is it’, you think. ‘This is the life.’

You think, for a moment, that maybe you should ask him how he’s been. Catch up like normal people. Trade stories from the months apart—what he’s done, what he’s seen, what you missed between the snapshots friends posted with him barely in the frame.

But only one question makes it past the swirl in your chest.

“Sylus,” you say, folding your arms and leaning over the table, eyes narrowing. He mirrors you, brow lifting in challenge. “Yes?”

“How the hell did you get into my apartment?”

He laughs—loud and unbothered. He juts his chin toward the counter where, sure enough, a single key lies.

“I still have that,” he says, far too smug.

You gasp, lurching forward to swat his shoulder. “Why didn’t you give that back?”

“You never asked for it, sweetie.” He shrugs, leaning in like he’s telling a secret. “Besides… I figured it might come in handy one day.”

“You’re unbelievable.”

“Mm,” he hums, biting into a slice of melon. “And yet, here I am. Still your favorite bad decision.”

You scoff, sipping your coffee to cover your laugh. And maybe he is. Maybe he always has been.

But as you sit there with him, sunlight pouring in and the scent of overcooked eggs lingering in the air, it will never feel like a mistake at all.

[hxlxnaaa]

i played garctic phone with friends and a prompt that says "what's your favorite game" and i had to attempt to draw the boys

[hxlxnaaa]

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐱𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐨𝐟 𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐝𝐞𝐧𝐬 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐝𝐮𝐭𝐲

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: a princess, bound by duty, is forced into a loveless marriage to secure her kingdom’s future; yet her heart belongs to xavier, the knight who has always been by her side. on the eve of her wedding, he offers her one last chance to escape. stay and fulfill her duty, or run and choose love.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, pov switch throughout story (reader and xavier), angst with comfort/happy ending, subtle implications to intimacy, royal au, longer but pretty fast paced, not really proofread but i don’t think there's a crazy amount of errors, YEARNING. soooo much yearning

★ 𝐰𝐜: 9.2k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: heyyy… so yknow how i said i was gonna write fluff…? yeah i lied. angst is where my heart lies im sorry !!!!! </3 i’m giving you a bandaid though this time, and a happy ending. i’ll try and write fluff soon but don’t expect too much of me LOL. anyways, not connected to xaviers myth at all just wanted to write a lil royal au. even though it's kinda short and fast paced, i like this one. i hope you do too!

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭-

The garden lay in silver and shadow, moonlight dripping through the lattice of leaves like molten pearl. She walked ahead of me, her bare fingertips grazing the edges of blooming roses, heedless of the thorns. The scent of night jasmine curled in the air, soft and sweet, but it paled against the presence of her.

I followed at her side, watchful, my steps measured and precise. This was duty.

This was my purpose.

To protect her, to stand between her and any unseen danger the night might hold. And yet, as I watched her, watched the way the soft glow of moonlight traced her form, turning every movement into something ethereal; I knew my greatest battle was not one fought with swords and steel, but with the quiet, unspoken longing that lived in my chest.

"You know, you don’t always have to be so quiet," she said, glancing at me with a small smile. "I think I’d like your company more if I wasn’t the only one speaking."

Her words carved through me like a blade slipped between ribs. You already have my company, my lady. My devotion. My every breath.

"It is not my place to speak unless spoken to," I replied, keeping my voice steady.

She sighed, feigning exasperation, yet I caught the way her lips twitched into a smile. "So formal. I don’t think I’ll ever break you of it."

Oh, if only you knew. You have already unraveled me a thousand times over.

We walked in silence for a moment, her fingers idly twisting a strand of hair as she gazed at the stars. I watched, as I always did, comparing her to the quiet wonders of the world; the glow of dawn cresting the horizon, the way autumn painted the trees in amber and fire, the sound of rain against stone. And yet, she outshone them all.

If I could choose my fate, I would swear my life to her over and over again. Not as a knight, not as a protector, but simply as a man who loved her.

But fate was not kind.

"The night is beautiful, isn’t it?" she mused, twirling a loose petal between her fingers, a smirk gracing her lips. "Almost as beautiful as me, wouldn’t you say?"

"The night is peaceful, Your Highness."

She let out a dramatic sigh. "How dreadfully diplomatic of you." Turning to me, she walked a little closer, tilting her head. "But I know you, Sir Xavier. I know how you speak when you're being truthful.”

I forced my gaze forward, my posture rigid despite the undeniable pull toward her. "I’m not sure what it is you speak of."

"That you adore me," she said simply, watching me with a knowing smile. "That if the poets were wise, they would write of me through your eyes."

My fingers curled at my sides. The only betrayal of my restraint. "You misunderstand my duty, Your Highness."

"Oh?" She raised a brow. "So it is merely duty that makes you look at me that way?"

"I do not know what you mean."

She hummed, pretending to consider my words. "No, I think you do." Taking a step ahead, she twirled lightly on her heel, the silk and mesh fabric of her gown catching the moonlight as she turned back to face me. Her eyes sparkled in a way that made my heart nearly leap from my chest. "Tell me then, Sir Xavier, if I were to trip right now, would you catch me out of obligation?"

Exhaling slowly, I measured my words. "I would catch you because it is my role to ensure your safety."

"Of course," she said airily. "And if I were to take your hand now, you would let me, but only because it would be improper to refuse, correct?"

"Correct," I said, voice firm. But I made the mistake of glancing at her outstretched fingers—delicate, soft. I had memorized the feeling of them on my skin.

Her smile widened. "And if I were to tell you that your composure is slipping, that I can see the truth beneath all this careful decorum?"

My breath hitched, so slight, so well contained that most wouldn’t have noticed. 

She did.

"You would be mistaken," I forced out.

She studied me for a long moment, her amusement giving way to something quieter. "Liar," she whispered.

The word nearly undid me. But I could not, would not allow myself to falter.

"It’s late, Your Highness," I said instead, my tone the perfect mask of indifference. "Allow me to escort you back to your chambers."

A pause, then a soft sigh, as if she were granting me mercy. "Very well, Sir Xavier. But one day," she mused as she placed her hand on my offered arm, "I do wonder what might happen if I push just a little further."

I did not answer.

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬-

The door clicked shut behind him, a soft sound, yet it echoed through the chamber with unspoken meaning.

I turned, my pulse quickening, and met Xavier’s gaze. His eyes burned with something raw; annoyance, yes, but beneath it was something far more dangerous.

Oh, how I loved to tease.

"Sir Xavier," I tilted my head, letting my lashes flutter just so. "Isn’t it improper for a knight to be in a lady’s chambers at this hour?"

He clucked his tongue, a warning. Then, in three long strides, he was in front of me.

Before I could breathe another taunt, his lips crashed against mine, stealing the very air from my lungs. A gasp turned to a sigh as I tangled my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, reveling in the heat—his urgency.

This was what I had wanted, what I had dared him to do.

“You wish to push me?” Xavier’s voice was rough against my skin, his teeth grazing the curve of my neck before nipping the tender flesh. A sharp sting, then the soothing press of his lips against the mark he left behind.

I shivered. Yes, I thought. I do.

"You should be on guard outside," I teased, my voice lilting with mischief. "What if someone were to do something?" Xavier lifted his head from my collarbone, his lips still ghosting over my skin. Mirth flickered through his dark eyes.

"They can wait," he murmured, fingers tracing the curve of my shoulder. "Until I’m finished with you."

A shiver ran down my spine as his touch roamed lower, slipping the fabric of my dress from my shoulders, letting it pool at my feet.

Xavier was my knight, sworn to serve me—and oh, did he serve me well.

His hands explored in slow, deliberate strokes, tracing the shape of me as if committing it to memory; every moment spent like this he treats as if it’s our first.

He kissed me again, deeper this time, his lips parting against mine, stealing everything from me as if he needed it more than I did. His hands, rough from years of wielding a sword, skimmed over the bare skin of my waist, settling there, holding me firm; possessive in a way he had never allowed himself to be before.

"Xavier," I whispered, letting my head tilt back as his lips wandered lower, down the slope of my throat, the hollow of my collarbone, lingering as if he meant to worship every inch of skin he uncovered.

His breath was unsteady against me, “Say it again.” His restraint, so carefully cultivated, so unshakable—was slipping between my fingers like sand. 

I reveled in it.

“Xavier…” I repeated, ghosting my lips over his.

"You are playing with fire," Xavier murmured against my skin, his voice rough, almost pained. Yet his touch told a different story, sliding over my hips, gripping tighter as if he couldn’t bear to let go.

I smiled, pressing closer, feeling the heat of him searing into me. "Then burn with me."

His answer came not in words, but in the way he lifted me, pressing me back into the silk covered mattress, the weight of him above me stealing the last of my own reason. The world beyond this room, beyond this moment, ceased to exist.

Here, in the dim candlelight, with his lips tracing a path of ruin and devotion down my skin, I was not a princess. Xavier was not my knight.

Here, we were only two souls, bound by something far greater than duty.

Nights like these had become our quiet refuge; where the world outside ceased to matter, and I could simply exist beside him. I watched as he lay next to me, his breath slow, steady, golden hair tousled from my touch. The candlelight cast shadows over his sharp features, softening them, making him look almost dreamlike.

Tonight, I held onto the moment a little tighter. I knew what awaited me in the morning.

Absentmindedly, I traced patterns against his bare chest, feeling the rise and fall of his breath beneath my fingertips. He stirred, propping himself up on an elbow, his gaze finding mine in the dim light. Xavier looked at me as if I were something precious, something fragile. And yet, it was he who was otherworldly—his beauty as effortless as the stars scattered across the night sky.

I could spend every night like this. Being with him was easy. Loving him was inevitable.

He was never just my knight. He was my fate.

But fate was not kind.

“I should return to my post,” he murmured, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear. “Before they notice your knight is gone.”

I caught his hand, pressing it to my chest, pouting just enough to make him hesitate. “Stay a little longer?”

He exhaled a quiet laugh, but I heard the ache beneath it. “You’ll be okay,” he assured, brushing featherlight kisses across my cheeks and forehead. “I’ll see you when the sun rises.”

We both knew what morning would bring. And yet, neither of us dared to speak of it. As if silence could delay the inevitable. It almost felt like this was the last time I could have Xavier like this. 

“I love you,” I whispered, kissing the back of his hand.

For a moment, he said nothing. Then, I heard the quiet sigh, saw the flicker of something unreadable in his gaze before he smiled. He brought his lips to my temple, lingering there as if memorizing the feel of me.

“I love you too, Your Highness.”

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭-

“She shall be wed to King Edmund, of the Kingdom of Eastmere.”

The king’s voice reverberated through the towering walls, sending ripples through the royal court. Whispers fluttered in every corner, yet the princess’s face remained as stoic as a statue; though her eyes betrayed a quiet sorrow. I had come to understand her as I would a well loved book, knowing every twist and turn of her thoughts as she fought the urge to shift nervously beside me.

“We have secured an alliance between our lands,” the king continued, his words echoing in the chamber, “in exchange for the Princess’s hand, and her duty to bear the kingdom an heir.”

A sickening wave rose in my chest, threatening to suffocate me. I held my breath, my body stiff, forcing my mind to focus on my duty. To stand still. To remain the loyal protector. But the thought of her beside another man, her hand belonging to him… It was unbearable. Even worse, the image of her carrying the child of a stranger twisted something deep within me, making my blood run cold.

I fought to keep my composure.

Her pinky went to brush against mine, a fleeting, unconscious gesture, before jerking her hand back to her side. The impulse to pull her away, to flee with her to some distant place where no one could claim her, was overwhelming. Where she belonged to no one but me.

Somewhere where no other man would ever come to know the delicate lines and contours of her form, or the quiet, tender sighs that escaped her lips. Where no one else could hear the enchanting sound of her laughter or appreciate the depth and brilliance of her mind. A place where only I could witness the endless compassion she offered to all; where only I could experience the unshakable love and devotion she gave so freely.

But I knew my place.

I was a knight.

She was the princess.

My princess.

My only purpose.

The king's voice was rich with authority, yet tinged with something colder; an unspoken finality that made the air feel thick.

“The union of our lands shall bring prosperity, strengthen our kingdoms, and pave the way for generations to come,” he declared, sweeping his hand in a broad arc as if sealing the fate of all in the room. “This marriage is not merely a joining of two souls, but a bond forged in the fires of duty. The princess shall be married to King Edmund of Eastmere, and with her hand, our future will be secured.”

The weight of his words hung heavy, and I could feel the eyes of the court upon us.

Upon her.

“I trust,” he continued, his gaze now falling upon her, “that you will carry this responsibility with grace, my daughter. This alliance will shape the course of history. Your sacrifice will be the foundation upon which our kingdoms will stand.”

My heart tightened in my chest as he spoke. Sacrifice. That’s what he called it. As if she were nothing more than a pawn in a grand game. 

His game.

She stood motionless, a mere figurehead of his will. I could see the storm brewing beneath her composed exterior; the storm I knew she could never voice aloud, not here, not now.

"You will make Eastmere proud, Princess," the king added, his tone softening for a brief moment, but his eyes were cold, calculating. "And in return, Eastmere shall forever be in your debt."

I wanted to scream. To break the silence and shatter the very foundation of this agreement. But all I could do was stand there, my fists clenched at my sides, a silent protector in a world that refused to hear her.

The king's eyes scanned the room, as if weighing each soul in his court, a brief moment of respite from the heavy declaration that had just passed through his lips.

"That will be all for now," he said, "You are dismissed."

The royal court, filled with murmurs and exchanged glances, slowly began to stir. Servants began to shuffle from the back, ushering those who had gathered into their rightful places, the noble families making their way toward the grand doors with a hurried sort of politeness. The air was thick with the weight of the announcement, yet there was an underlying hum of excitement and anticipation from the crowd. The murmurs continued, though softer now, as the royal court began to filter out one by one.

I remained still, standing at attention, my eyes locked on the princess. She had not moved, her gaze still focused ahead, her posture poised despite the emotional storm I could feel radiating from her.

As the last of the court members filed out, the great hall began to empty, the heavy silence settling in like a fog. But even as the doors closed behind the last of the noble families, I could still feel the tension in the air; an unspoken understanding that something had been set in motion, and we could do nothing but follow the path it had forged.

And the princess... she still stood there, unmoving. The weight of her world shifted with the king's command, yet she said nothing.

“There will be a ball in the coming weeks,” the king announced, his tone flat, offering no room for objection. His gaze remained fixed elsewhere, unwilling to grant her any agency in the matter. Not that she had much of one in the first place. “Preparations have already begun. You will meet King Edmund then.”

The princess gave a quiet, resigned nod. “Yes, Father.”

I found myself wishing she would resist, speak out, or even show some sign of defiance. But I knew better. Resistance was futile. To challenge the king was to risk punishment, and she was bound by her duty just as I was to mine.

The king’s dismissive gesture cut through the heavy silence. “You may go,” he said, addressing her without a second glance.

I nodded, stepping forward to guide the princess out of the court. Once we had distanced ourselves from the bustling hall, her composure faltered. She turned to me, her eyes wide and glistening with emotion.

“I would like to go for a walk in the town, if that’s all right?” she asked, her voice softer now, tinged with something I couldn’t quite name. A need for something, anything, beyond the confines of her royal cage.

I didn’t answer right away, but I could feel the ache in my chest at the sight of her vulnerability. “Of course,” I replied, my voice steady despite my own storm brewing within me.

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬-

The town was alive with energy, merchants crowding every corner, eager to sell their wares to anyone who passed by. The cacophony of voices, haggling and calling out, provided a welcome distraction, drowning out the constant noise in my mind. I paused often, taking in the glittering trinkets and the smell of fresh baked goods wafting through the air; Xavier’s presence steadfast behind me, a quiet constant.

I longed to grab his hand, to pull him through the bustling crowd, laughing as I handed him wooden swords and bright silk cloaks. Just for a moment, as if we were free. But I knew better. He couldn’t, and I couldn’t.

And we never would.

Beyond the town lay the forest, my sanctuary. It was the one place where I could escape; where I could forget, even if only for a little while, that I was a princess. A place where the world could simply… stop.

As I walked, my thoughts grew heavier with every step, and I couldn’t shake the suffocating weight of my duties. The people around me, their voices rising in a chaotic blend, started to feel like a reminder of the world I was bound to; a world where I didn’t belong in the way I once imagined.

I glanced over my shoulder at Xavier, the one constant in a life that seemed to change with every breath.

“Sir Xavier,” I began, my voice soft, almost hesitant. “Could we go to the forest? Just for a little while.”

He looked at me, concern flickering in his eyes. "The forest, Your Highness?"

"Yes," I replied, my voice gaining strength. “You know how it feels there. It’s... peaceful. It’s the only place that feels different from all of this.”

He hesitated for a moment, but then nodded, as if surrendering to the unspoken request. “Of course, Your Highness. I’ll ensure your safety.”

Without another word, we veered off the cobbled streets and headed toward the edge of town, where the thick trees stood like silent sentinels. As we left the chaos behind, the air seemed to change, cooler and fresher, as if the forest welcomed us.

With every step deeper into the woods, I felt the weight of the world ease, if only slightly. Xavier stayed close behind, his presence a steady reassurance, his every movement purposeful as he followed my lead.

We were alone now, beneath the canopy of leaves, the quiet only broken by the occasional rustling of the wind. I breathed in deeply, the scent of pine and earth filling my lungs. It was as if, in this place, I could let go, if just for a moment.

"Thank you," I whispered, turning to look at Xavier, my gaze softening. “For this. I needed it.”

His eyes met mine, and for a brief second, the world outside seemed to disappear. There was nothing but the forest, and the two of us.

Though just as quickly an uncomfortable silence settled between us, growing heavier with each passing moment. Xavier’s gaze fixed itself on the ground beneath him, his blonde hair falling into his eyes, hiding the conflict I knew he was fighting. He wasn’t going to say anything, he never did.

"Should we talk about... this?" I started, my voice tentative, but his head snapped up, his expression suddenly cold.

“There is nothing to discuss,” he replied, his tone final.

My lips twisted into a frown, distress bubbling up. “There is so much to discuss.”

His eyebrows knitted together, mouth pressed into a tight line. “You shall be wed and serve your kingdom well, Your Highness.”

I threw my hands up in exasperation. “Oh, would you stop with the formality! Xavier, this is us we’re talking about!”

Xavier stiffened, his words clipped and distant. “You forget yourself, Your Highness. I am your knight, and you are the kingdom’s princess.” His face was frustratingly unreadable, “There is no… us.”

Tears, which had been threatening to fall all day, finally spilled from my eyes. They ran down my cheeks, each drop heavier than the last. My lips trembled, and my breaths came in broken sobs. “You cannot pretend, Xavier. There’s no one near,” I whispered, my voice raw. I looked up at him through tear streaked lashes, my heart aching. “Don’t tell me I mean nothing to you. Don’t tell me I’m just your princess.”

His breath was shaky as he stepped closer, gently wiping my tears away with his hands. I pressed my face into his palm, another sob escaping my lips.

“You know I love you,” Xavier murmured, his voice heavy with emotion. “But there’s nothing we can do.”

"Beg me to run away with you," I pleaded, "Offer me a life somewhere else, anything."

“Would you follow me?” he asked, his words cutting through the air like a sharp blade.

The question stung. And, deep down, I knew he was right.

I wouldn’t.

Because I preserve my duty just as much as he does his. 

My silence spoke louder than any words could, and Xavier exhaled a quiet sigh, letting his hand fall back to his side. “Come, Your Highness,” he said, his voice steady but distant. “The kingdom awaits you, the preparations will not make themselves.”

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭-

The days stretched long and heavy, each one darker than the last as the night of the ball crept closer. Silence settled between us like an unspoken grief. She no longer asked to go anywhere, no longer sought the small freedoms she once clung to. The princess; once bold, once untamed, had withdrawn into herself, and watching that light dim nearly tore me apart.

And perhaps, in some way, it was my fault.

Maybe I should have fought for her. Should have done something, anything. Thrown myself into chaos, drawn the court’s attention long enough for her to escape, to vanish into the depths of her beloved forest.

But I did nothing.

As her maids departed one by one, their final touches leaving her adorned for the night, she stepped forward at last. My breath caught, stolen by the sight of her. Even goddesses would bow in her presence—an angel cast from the heavens, stripped of her wings. She was nothing short of perfection.

And yet, she was not meant for me.

Every delicate detail, every shimmering thread, every breathtaking moment; none of it was mine to cherish. It was all for him.

The weight of her hand on my arm was light, yet it anchored me in ways I could not name. As I escorted her from her chambers, the world around us dulled in comparison. She was resplendent—bathed in candlelight, her gown a cascade of silk and shimmer, woven with threads that caught the glow like spun starlight. A vision, an unspoken promise of beauty and grace. And yet, beneath it all, I saw her unease, the tension in her fingers as they brushed against my arm.

“You are beautiful,” I whispered, my voice meant only for her ears. A truth, but not a comfort.

Her lips barely twitched, the ghost of a smile that did not reach her eyes. “Does it matter?” she whispered back.

Yes. To me, it does.

I wanted to tell her she was more than this, more than a political pawn, more than the fate they had written for her. But what use were words when I could do nothing to stop it?

The ballroom gleamed ahead, chandeliers casting golden light over silken banners, the floor polished to a mirror’s sheen. The scent of perfume and wine hung thick in the air, and laughter rang out like the clinking of crystal goblets. But all of it faded the moment my eyes landed on him.

King Edmund.

My heart clenched, breath turning sharp in my chest. He was older than I had imagined, skin sagging with age, the weight of years heavy in his stance. His eyes, hungry and assessing, dragged over her as if she were a possession to be claimed. A trophy to be displayed.

Rage burned through me like fire in my veins.

To him, she would be nothing but a vessel, a means to an end. A womb to bear his heir.

But to me?

She was everything. The universe itself. Life and light, warmth and wonder. She was not his to claim. And yet, he would.

And I could do nothing to stop it.

“Her Royal Highness, Princess of Philos!” 

As I stepped back to take my place for the night, the crowd turned in unison, their conversations fading into hushed reverence. 

The room dipped into a deep bow, and from within the sea of nobles, King Edmund emerged. He moved with purpose, a man accustomed to taking what he desired. His hand stretched toward her, his lips forming words I could not hear from where I stood. Without hesitation, he seized her hand, eager, sweeping her toward the center of the ballroom.

The music swelled once more, filling the grand hall with a lively melody. She moved with effortless grace, every step a testament to her poise. Yet King Edmund fumbled through the dance, his footing clumsy, his grip possessive. When he nearly tripped over his own feet, he let out a coarse laugh, oblivious to the stiffness in her posture, the way her smile barely held.

But I saw it.

The flicker of disgust in her eyes, the silent plea beneath the practiced charm.

Would it be so wrong to admit that her hatred brought me a sliver of comfort? That in the midst of this wretched night, where she was forced into the arms of a man unworthy of her, her disgust was a quiet rebellion—one that only I could see?

It meant she did not want this.

It meant that, in some small way, she still belonged to herself. To me.

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬-

The room spun around me as the music swelled; my hand rested in King Edmund’s, his palm too damp, his grip too firm. He led—if it could be called that—his movements stiff and awkward. Every step was clumsy, and yet I followed, because that was what I was meant to do.

"Ah, my sweet little bride to be," he drawled, his voice thick with arrogance. "I have waited far too long to lay my eyes upon you. And might I say, you are even more… ripe than I had imagined."

I swallowed hard, forcing a polite smile as my stomach churned.

"You flatter me, Your Majesty," I said, voice carefully even.

"Oh, but it is not flattery, my dear. It is the truth." His beady eyes roved over me shamelessly, lingering where they should not. "You are a delicate thing, aren’t you? I do so hope you will warm to me quickly. It would be such a shame if my future queen were… cold."

His chuckle slithered through me like something rotten, his grip tightening as he spun me.

"A woman’s duty is to please her husband, after all," he murmured, lips too close to my ear.

I forced my body to remain still, my expression placid, though every part of me screamed to flee.

"Of course, Your Majesty," I said softly, pressing my lips together to stop them from trembling.

Smile. Obey. Be graceful. 

Be silent.

But as I turned, I let my eyes slip closed, let my mind drift far, far away from the leering face before me.

In another world, in another life, it would be Xavier’s hand in mine. It would be his touch guiding me, warm and sure, his body moving in perfect rhythm with mine. There would be no expectations, no crown weighing on my head, no chains around my wrists disguised as silk gloves.

Tonight, I would return home to him. He would lie beside me, his voice a lullaby of warmth as he spun stories only for me, weaving tales of love and adventure until my eyes grew heavy. Under the vast night sky, he would point to the constellations, naming them as if they were ours alone to claim, each star shimmering with the same quiet brilliance as him. Xavier’s hands would clasp my heart as if he had always owned it; because he did, because he always would.

He would hold me like I was something sacred, like I was not just a princess bound by duty but a woman meant to be cherished. His fingers would trace the lines of my palm as though searching for our fate written in my skin, and I would believe—if only for a moment—that the universe had made me for him.

I opened my eyes, and they found him.

He stood against the far wall, half shadowed, his face unreadable to anyone but me. And when our gazes locked, just for a moment, his lips curled into the smallest, softest smile.

It was the only real thing in this room.

A reassurance. A promise. A love that neither time nor duty could break.

Not like the man in front of me, who laughed at his own missteps, oblivious to my revulsion.

My first smile of the night came naturally, though it was not for my betrothed.

It was for Xavier.

And when he grinned back, just the tiniest bit wider, breaking every rule; my heart ached with a wish that would never be granted. 

—

In the stolen breaths between duty and expectation, they existed.

The princess no longer sought escape into the town or the woods; there was no solace in pretending anymore. Instead, she stole what moments she could; lingering just a second too long when he handed her the reins of her horse, catching his gaze across crowded rooms only for both of them to look away just as quickly. It was not enough. 

It never was.

Xavier was a shadow at her side, silent and steady, ever the knight he was trained to be. Yet, inside, it was so painfully obvious he was crumbling. Each glance, each whispered word, each forced smile chipped away at his resolve. He had told himself that she was not his to keep, that she belonged to something greater than him. And yet, every breath she took felt like it belonged in his lungs. 

The night before she was to leave, the castle felt different. Quieter. As if the stone walls themselves held their own breath, unwilling to witness what came next. She stood on the balcony, the cold air biting at her skin, hands gripping the railing as if she could hold onto this place, this moment, for just a little while longer.

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭-

"Your Highness." I closed the door behind me with careful hands, the hush of the sleeping castle granting me the courage to steal one more night. One more moment. One last conversation.

Just the two of us.

My jaw tightened as she slowly turned, the fabric of her nightgown whispering against her skin, silvered by the moonlight. Her eyes glistened, her cheeks damp, and when our gazes met, her lower lip trembled just so.

"Sir Xavier." Her voice was barely above a breath as she dropped her gaze, tucking away a stray lock of hair caught in the night breeze.

If I were an artist, she would be my masterpiece; something to paint, to create, to worship.

I stepped beside her, my hands clenched at my sides, resisting the pull, the desperate need to hold her. Instead, I fixed my gaze on the garden below, the one we had wandered through countless times. The place where she had tucked flowers behind my ears, where her laughter had cracked through my carefully built armor, where moments once felt endless. Now, they were slipping through my fingers like sand, vanishing into something I could never reclaim.

I was about to lose the only thing I had ever truly loved.

She was upset. Touching her will only make it harder for her, I thought.

But when her fingers found mine, when she pressed herself against my chest, I let everything go. The dam broke. My walls crumbled. As my own tears fell into her hair, my lips found the crown of her head, as I tried holding onto her as if I could stop time itself.

"You will not come with me," she whispered against my chest, and for a moment, the world stood still.

I pulled her back enough to look into her eyes, pearls of tears welling back up in the corners as she stared up at me with agony.

I shook my head. "I must. It is my duty, I swore an oath to you."

But she only shook hers in return, her breath unsteady. "No. They have assigned me a new personal guard. No one from the kingdom will accompany me." Her voice wavered, barely above a breath. "I will be alone."

A sob tore from her lips, desperate and broken, and I couldn't decide what hurt more; the sound of her heartbreak or the weight of my own.

Leaving her behind was never an option. I had sworn my life to the princess, spilled my own blood to protect her. There was no version of me that existed without her. I didn’t care if I was merely her knight or something more, every part of me was built to stand by her side.

My lips parted, then pressed shut again as my mind scrambled for words; something to argue, something to soothe. But nothing felt right.

Because nothing about this moment was right.

"I am tired," the princess whispered, slowly pulling away from me, her body trembling in the night’s chill. "And I am cold."

I nodded, swallowing the ache in my throat as I took her hands in mine. "Let’s get you to bed then. You have an early morning."

Wordlessly, I led her across the room, tucking her beneath the heavy blankets, shielding her from everything except the sorrow neither of us could escape. I pressed a lingering kiss to her temple, willing her to feel everything I couldn’t say. Then, as I turned to leave, I felt the smallest tug at my hand. Her pinky curled around mine.

"Stay with me until I fall asleep. Please."

My chest ached, splintering at her plea.

"Of course." 

Slipping beneath the covers beside her, I pulled her close, holding her as she cried; softly this time, her sorrow quieter but no less heavy. I ran my fingers through her hair, humming the song she loved most, a final, desperate attempt to ease her pain. I stayed until her breathing slowed, until her body grew still in my arms.

Only then did I carefully slip away, laying her to rest alone.

At the door, I turned back for one last look—at the rise and fall of her chest, at the tear streaked face softened in sleep.

And in the silence of her chambers, I let myself collapse.

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

I dreamt of him.

I dreamt of the day we first met, back when we were just children. His father, a palace guard; his mother, a maid. He had begun his knight training at an age far too young, but back then, he was still just a boy—silly, carefree, untouched by the weight of his duty or the stain of others blood. His blue eyes sparkled beneath the sun as we ran through the gardens, our laughter echoing through the hedges. No talk of honor, no weight of expectation. Just us. Just a moment untainted by the future.

"You’re not very good at being a knight, you know," I teased, breathless from chasing butterflies. "Knights are supposed to be serious."

"Maybe I don’t want to be a knight," he huffed, flopping onto the grass beside me. "Maybe I just want to be a boy who plays in gardens with princesses."

"Then don’t be a knight," I had said so simply, as if the world would allow it. "Just be my friend."

And for a time, he was.

I dreamt of being sixteen again, of the soft clink of rocks against my balcony in the dead of night. I could still see him standing below, his figure barely visible in the dark, hair a mess, but that grin; bright, mischievous, unwavering. He would gesture for me to come down, and I always found a way. No matter the risk, no matter the scolding I might receive. He was my best friend. He was worth it.

"You know one of these days, they're going to catch you," I whispered as I slipped through the garden gate, my heart pounding with the thrill of it all.

"Then I suppose I'll have to fight off the entire palace guard," he said with a dramatic bow. "Or maybe just talk my way out of it. I’m quite charming, you know."

"Oh, of course," I laughed, rolling my eyes as he took my hand and led me toward the stables. "The prince of smooth talking himself."

"Exactly." The boy gave my fingers a squeeze. "Now come on, the stars are waiting."

And so we ran, past the towering walls and royal expectations, into a world that was just ours—if only for a little while.

I dreamt of his accolade ceremony, the air thick with the scent of spring, the world alive with new beginnings. The sun was warm, the flowers had just begun to bloom, and the future stretched before us like an open road. He knelt before me, the weight of the sword pressing onto his shoulders, yet his posture did not falter. His oath rang clear, steady; words of duty, honor, and loyalty. But when his gaze flickered toward me, just for a second, I knew there was another promise there too. One meant only for me.

Afterward, when the formalities had passed and the kingdom celebrated its newest knight, we slipped away. Just as we always had.

"Sir Xavier," I teased, following him into the quiet corner of the garden, where the ivy curled around marble arches and the noise of the court faded into the distance. "You wear the title well."

"Do I?" He asked, turning to face me. His armor was pristine, the sigil of the royal guard emblazoned across his chest. But it was his eyes that held me still; bright, searching, something unspoken lingering between us.

"Yes," I whispered. "You do."

For a moment, we just stood there, the world holding its breath. And then, with all the hesitance of a boy still learning what it meant to want, he reached for me.

"May I?" His fingers barely brushed my cheek.

I nodded.

And then his lips met mine; soft, uncertain, but real. A vow all its own.

I had thought his knighthood would be the most important moment of the day. But standing there, heart hammering against my ribs, I realized this—this—was the moment I would remember forever.

I dreamt of the night I knew.

The castle had been silent, but my body had burned. Feverish, weak, barely able to lift my head from the pillows. The royal physicians had come and gone, whispering reassurances to the maids, but none of them stayed. None of them held my hand.

But he did.

I remember waking in the hazy glow of candlelight, the flickering shadows dancing across his face as he sat beside my bed. His fingers were calloused but careful as he pressed a damp cloth to my forehead.

"You're here," I rasped, voice barely above a whisper.

His lips twitched, exhaustion lining his features. "Where else would I be?"

"You shouldn't—"

"Rest," he interrupted gently, shifting closer. "I'll be here when you wake."

And I believed him.

I had closed my eyes then, but not before seeing the way he looked at me; the kind of look that made the world feel smaller, like it was just the two of us and nothing else. The kind of look that wrapped around my heart and never let go.

It was that night I knew.

And it was that night I realized, somewhere deep in the corners of my soul, that loving him would be the easiest and hardest thing I would ever do.

I dreamt of another life.

A home far away, nestled in fields of wildflowers, where the wind carried the scent of lavender through open windows. A place untouched by duty, where no one whispered about alliances or heirs. Where no crown sat heavy on my head, and no sword was drawn in my name.

The cottage was small, but it was ours. The wooden floors creaked beneath our steps, the fire crackled softly in the hearth, and outside, the stars stretched endlessly above us.

And in the bed beside me was him.

His warmth pressed against my back, one arm draped lazily around my waist, fingers tracing idle patterns along my skin. His breath was steady, comforting, the sound of a man who no longer had to stand guard at my door, who no longer had to watch me from afar.

"Are you asleep?" His voice was hushed against my hair, laced with drowsiness.

I smiled, eyes still closed. "Almost."

He sighed, pulling me closer, his lips brushing the back of my neck. "Good."

"Why?" 

"Because then I get to wake up with you."

In my dream, I let myself believe it was real. That when the morning came, I wouldn’t wake in a castle, bound to a life that was never truly mine. That I would open my eyes to sunlight spilling through sheer curtains, to the sound of him humming as he started a fire, to the promise of another day with nothing but love ahead of us.

Yet…

I turned to whisper his name, expecting the warmth of his presence, his steady heartbeat beside mine. I reached out for him, feeling nothing but empty sheets.

And then—I woke up.

Alone. Cold.

Reality crashed back down around me, like a wall of stone falling from the heavens. My heart twisted, choking on the weight of everything I’d just lost. It had all been a dream, a beautiful illusion.

The reality was harsh and unforgiving. He was gone. The warmth was gone. And I was left to face the truth; my heart forever bound to him, while my life demanded something else.

The maids filed in one by one,

“Let us get you ready. Your carriage is almost here, Your Highness.”

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐊𝐧𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭-

In the weeks following the princess’s departure, I found myself reappointed as a palace guard, just as my father once was. It was a role I had never aspired to, one that felt like a cruel mockery of everything I had trained for. Years of relentless knight training, of discipline and sacrifice, reduced to nothing more than standing watch in silent corridors.

But perhaps it wasn’t just the job that felt hollow. Perhaps every role within the palace was just as dull, just as lifeless. Or maybe it was simply her. Maybe she had been the color in an otherwise gray world, the force that made even the most monotonous days feel like an adventure.

Without her, life trudged on, empty and unremarkable.

It was as if no one noticed she was gone, as if the kingdom hadn’t lost its brightest light. Life carried on, indifferent. The garden still bloomed, the sun still rose, the halls still echoed with laughter that didn’t belong to her. It was infuriating; the way the world refused to grieve her absence the way I did.

But grief is a quiet thing. It does not stop time or bend the world to its sorrow. It lingers, unseen, in the hearts of those who loved her.

In my heart.

The days blurred together, an endless cycle of routine and hollow duty. Standing guard at the palace gates, patrolling the halls, listening to the mindless chatter of nobles who had already forgotten her. I hadn’t. I couldn’t.

I still woke before dawn, despite no longer having her to escort on morning rides. My hands still reached for a sword heavier than the one at my waist; the one meant for battle, for protection, not for ceremony. I still turned at the sound of laughter that sounded just close enough to be hers, my breath catching in my throat before reality set in. She wasn’t here. She wouldn’t be.

Old habits refused to die, lingering like ghosts in the spaces we once filled. The maids still glanced at me when they passed, pity in their eyes, as if I were something broken. 

Maybe I was.

Some nights, when the weight of missing her pressed too heavily on my chest, I wandered. Past the banquet halls where she used to sneak extra desserts to me when no one was looking. Past the library where she would read until her eyes drooped, always insisting on finishing just one more page. Past the training grounds where she had once challenged me to a duel, laughing even as she lost over and over again.

Tonight, my feet led me somewhere I hadn’t dared go since she left. 

The garden.

The moonlight bathed the flowers in silver, their petals swaying in the cool breeze. It looked the same, smelled the same, but without her, it felt… empty.

I stepped forward, the crunch of gravel beneath my boots the only sound. Here, in this very spot, she had tucked a flower behind my ear. Here, she had whispered secrets, ones I carried with me even now. Here, I had kissed her for the first time.

I exhaled sharply, my fingers brushing the petals of a rose before curling into a fist.

The world had not stopped for her absence. But I had.

The weight of tomorrow settled heavy in my chest, pressing down with every breath. My fingers curled tighter, nails biting into my palms as if pain could ground me, as if it could silence the roaring in my head.

Nothing.

Nothing.

For weeks, I let myself believe it. That I was powerless. That she was lost. That there was no way to stop what was coming.

But standing here, in this garden where she had once laughed freely, where she had taken my hands in hers and promised that no matter where life took us, we would always find our way back to each other; how could I believe that?

The moonlight wove through the leaves, casting shadows that danced like ghosts of the past. I could almost hear her voice, her laughter, the way she had once called my name with nothing but joy. And now? Now, her voice would be bound in silks and duty, reciting vows to a man who would never love her the way I did.

My breath hitched as I looked up at the stars, the very ones I had once pointed out to her, spinning stories in the quiet safety of the night.

How could I let this happen?

My heart pounded against my ribs, the realization striking as hard and fast as a blade—I couldn’t.

I wouldn’t.

Nothing, I could do nothing.

Nothing, there was nothing.

...

Something.

I had to do something.

My pulse steadied, my mind clearing for the first time in weeks.

Tomorrow, the first day of summer, she would be forced to walk down an aisle.

But tonight—

Tonight, she was still mine to save.

—

𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐏𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐞𝐬𝐬

The kingdom was suffocating in its silence, a stillness that clung to the air like dust in an abandoned room. It mirrored King Edmund himself; aged, stagnant, repulsive. The maids moved like ghosts, the servants like shadows, none daring to utter a single word. The only sound that ever shattered the hush was the king’s laughter; loud, hollow, and grating, echoing through the castle like a cruel reminder of who held dominion over it all.

“I shall have your chambers decorated to your liking, my dear.” The king’s grin stretched wide, revealing yellowed teeth, his voice dripping with false sweetness. Yet, as I stepped inside, the room told a different story; it seemed fit for a concubine. The balcony was low enough that I could make a quick escape if needed, and the thought frequently crossed my mind. Still, it was a mercy compared to what awaited me beyond these walls. 

Sharing a bed with him.

Oh, and the garden. 

I despised it. It was a mockery of what it should be; twisted, decaying, and suffocating under its own neglect. The flowers, I’m sure once full of color and life, now stood like corpses, their petals crushed and grey. Weeds had taken over, crawling through every corner, claiming the space with a savage grip. It felt like a reflection of everything I loathed—everything that had been stolen from me. The beauty, the life, it was all gone. Just like me.

The castle walls pressed in around me, cold and lifeless, as if the very stones were whispering of all the joy they had swallowed whole. This place was nothing like home—it was a tomb masquerading as a palace. And I was just another relic trapped inside, left to rot beneath the weight of duty.

King Edmund’s presence was suffocating. His breath reeked of spoiled wine, his touch like a stain I could never wash away. The way he looked at me made my stomach churn, and I could feel his gaze even when he wasn’t there; a constant, sickening reminder that I was his now. His to claim. His to control.

I loathed every inch of this castle, from the damp, drafty corridors to the suffocating silence that swallowed my screams before they could ever leave my throat. No one spoke. No one looked at me for too long. The maids avoided my eyes, their hands trembling as they adjusted my gowns or brushed my hair. They knew. They knew what my life had become, and yet, they too were prisoners here. There was no help. No escape.

And the nights, the nights were the worst. The way his laughter would slither down the halls, seeping under my door like a poison I couldn’t escape. The moments I would lie awake, staring at the ceiling, counting the breaths I could hear on the other side of the door. Waiting. Dreading.

I thought I had known misery before. I thought I had known fear. But nothing could have prepared me for this. For him. For the way my world had shrunk into something unrecognizable, something unbearable.

The garden was just another cruelty in an endless sea of them. What was once my sanctuary had been turned into something grotesque, something twisted beyond repair. I used to believe in tending to the things I loved, in nurturing beauty where I could. But what was the point, when everything I touched was destined to wither and die?

Tomorrow, the first day of summer, I will be wed. 

The night air is thick with the scent of rain, the distant rumble of thunder a quiet warning in the distance. I sat at the edge of my bed, the weight of a crown I do not yet wear pressing heavier than the gown draped over my shoulders. The torches and candlelight in the chamber flicker like fallen stars, indifferent to the war waging inside of me.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

The sound is soft and blends in with the rhythm of the rain.

Clink.

Clink.

Clink.

I stand, heading to the balcony doors.

Clink.

Clink. 

Clink.

I notice a pebble.

Swinging the balcony doors open, I step out into the rain.

"Your Highness."

There he is, not even a foot below, standing beneath my balcony. The only thing in this world that still feels real. His armor is dulled from the road, his hands rough with the journey, but his eyes—his perfect blue eyes still shine, still burn with that quiet intensity that always made me weak.

My breath catches, my heart stuttering in my chest. He shouldn’t be here. This is reckless, dangerous, if anyone were to find him, to find us—

And yet, something inside me softens, loosens, like a knot finally coming undone.

"You shouldn’t be here," I whisper, though I make no move to step away.

"And yet, here I am," Xavier says. "Here, where you are. Where you have always been."

He is a sight against the bleakness of my world. A dream standing in front of me, golden even in the pale moonlight. His hair sticks to his forehead from the rain and wind in a way that makes me want to reach down and brush them back. His jaw, sharp and strong, is clenched and tight, as if the road refused to let him rest. And his lips—full, pink, familiar—are pressed into a line, barely concealing the emotions warring inside him.

He looks so painfully handsome it almost hurts. Compared to the king, to his yellowed teeth and sickly complexion, Xavier is the sun and stars themselves; warm and golden and impossible to look away from.

The sight of him is enough to make me forget it all. Just for a moment. My hands tremble at my sides, aching to reach for him, to feel the strong, steady grip that once held me so carefully, so reverently.

Xavier steps closer, eyes searching mine. "I swore an oath to you once," he murmurs. "Not to your crown, not to your kingdom—to you. Say the word, and I will keep it."

His breath is unsteady, his lips parted like he’s barely holding himself together. "Say the word," he says again, voice raw, "and we’ll leave this place behind."

He stretches out his hand to me.

The wind stirs, carrying his words through the hollow halls of my heart. I think of golden thrones and cold hands. Of heirs and alliances. Of chains wrapped in silk and satin.

And then I think of him.

Of the way the dim light catches in his lashes. Of the curve of his smile, the one I haven’t seen in weeks. Of forests and open roads and a love that has never asked me to be anything but myself.

I take a breath;

I take his hand.

[hxlxnaaa]

Just wanted to drop by and say thank you for writing the Caleb fic! it was so beautiful and just hurt so good.

No but seriously the way you write, is just chefs kiss. And the way you capture how it feels to go from having someone mean so much to you, having them take up so much space in your life to being a stranger. URGH MY HEART WAS STABBED

And the banger lines you just casually dropped ‘A silent competition I didn’t sign up for, but suddenly felt compelled to win’ like who hasn’t been there before

(side note, would you ever consider doing a part 2 (and 3,4,5,6))

OH MY GOODNESS GRACIOUS STOP YOU ARE SO SWEET!!!!

this brings me so much joy you don’t even know, i worry a lot about if im conveying everything i want to where it makes sense and if it’ll be interpreted right :,) BUT IM SO GLAD YOU UNDERSTAND AHHH

i did have an idea for a part two in the future where non-mc reader becomes caleb’s adjutant when he’s appointed colonel, but i feel like no matter what he’d still pick mc in the end 😔

i have a habit of writing a BUNCHHH of angst (i realized this last night as i was uploading my fics to ao3 and all the tags were angst omg) but i do plan on writing some more fluff in the future. i need to give my readers a cookie after putting them through hell and back </3

but literally tysm for the support it means so much and it makes me so happy to know people enjoy my works!!! i hope you have the bestest day ever you deserve it <333

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤 𝐭𝐨 𝐟𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐬

★ 𝐬𝐲𝐧𝐨𝐩𝐬𝐢𝐬: it's your senior year at the aerospace academy, and over the course of nine months, your connection with caleb shifts from mere classmates and acquaintances to something deeper. but there's one problem—the girl he loves back home.

★ 𝐜𝐰/𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬: first person pov, non-mc reader, feminine implied reader, some connections to caleb’s 4-star tender moments, angst/hurt + no comfort, kinda long but fast paced

★ 𝐰𝐜: 11.1k

★ 𝐚/𝐧: longest fic i've written yet, go me woot woot :p i wanted to write heartbreak so here it is. pls do not have your therapist bill me, thx! anyways when caleb goes, ‘i wont get a girlfriend’ in stage observer, he sounds kinda down, right? yeah imagine hes thinking about you (the reader) in this as he says that LOL. okay, (try to) enjoy lovelies!! <3

𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤 𝐢𝐬 𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐢𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐛𝐲 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐠, 𝐜𝐥𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞 𝐭𝐨 𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐧 𝐰𝐡𝐢𝐥𝐬𝐭 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝!

I never believed I’d let something like this happen to me. 

Yet it crept in quietly, the way all irreversible things do. A shift so subtle I almost missed it, until I was already too deep to turn back.

It was in the lingering glances, in the way the air felt charged in the spaces between us. In the laughter that came too easily, the silences that felt safe, the moments that stretched just a little too long. It was in the way he looked at me; like maybe, for a second, he saw something more.

But love, if you can call it that, isn’t always kind. Sometimes, it’s a quiet war. A battle between logic and longing, between what’s real and what’s only ever been wishful thinking. And when the person you want is still holding onto someone else, someone they can’t seem to let go of, where does that leave you?

I swore I’d keep my balance; though gravity has a mind of its own.

August-

It was breezy, as are most August days in Skyhaven. Fumbling my fingers through my hair, desperately trying to comb through any loose strands from the wind, I tried to make myself look somewhat presentable for my first day of classes. It was senior year, and I wanted to make the most of it for once, as it felt like the past few years had been me barely passing by. 

I sat down in the lecture hall, music blaring through my headphones as I fidgeted nervously with the pen in my hand. It wasn’t long before a figure sat next to me in my peripheral, and I internally groaned.

‘You have this whole ass lecture hall with so many empty seats in this row, and you sit right next to me. Dick.’ I thought to myself.

Seeing the person tap on my desk, I glanced over to notice it was Caleb.

We had crossed paths before, orbiting the same social circles through mutual friends. Our interactions had been fleeting, exchanged pleasantries at gatherings or brief moments of conversation that never really dug beneath the surface.

His lips moved as he spoke but I didn’t hear a word he said over the sound of my music. I pulled one of the speakers off my ear, “What?”

“Well first I said ‘hey, what's up?’, then told you I’m glad to know someone in this class.” Caleb smiled, “But then I realized you weren’t listening.”

His grin was infectious. Then again, everything about him was. Caleb was a campus favorite, and for good reason; his effortless charm and magnetic charisma drew everyone in, leaving them captivated.

I smiled back, “I would’ve listened, I just couldn’t hear you.”

“Shoulda tapped you sooner then.”

We talked as more people trickled in, and conversation with him flowed effortlessly. He was almost unfairly likable, the kind of person who won people over without even trying, it was no wonder he had everyone wrapped around his finger.

“Yeah, I failed this class the first time around, so if I want to graduate this spring, I have to finally retake it,” Caleb sighed, shaking his head. “The Caleb failed a class? No way…” Gasping, I clutched my chest in mock shock. “I had no idea you were even capable of failure, Mr. Perfect.”

His lips twitched into a smile at the nickname, but his eyes betrayed him. He shrugged, “Well, I can do it this time around.”

“If it makes you feel any better, I totally didn’t realize I needed this credit.” I poked his hand resting on his desk with my pen, “We’re in this together.”

The professor was about halfway through the syllabus when Caleb started writing on my notebook. 

Do you have class after this?

I looked over at him, mouthing “No”. Not for a few hours, I wrote back. 

Hangout with me after this then

And that’s how I ended up sitting in the quad with Caleb, with the itchy grass prickling my legs and a sweating can of soda in my hand beneath the warm August sun. Yet Caleb’s presence was still warmer; my cheeks and stomach hurt from laughter, and every giggle of mine only fueled the fire of his jokes. 

As the laughter died down, Caleb leaned back on his hands, squinting up at the sky. “Man, I forgot how nice it is to just sit around like this on campus. No deadlines yet, no stress… just kinda existing.”

I took a sip of my soda, nudging his knee with mine. “You make it sound like you’re constantly suffering.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “I mean, maybe a little. Gotta keep up the ‘Mr. Perfect’ image, right?”

I tilted my head, studying him. For a second, he looked almost… tired. Like there was more he wanted to say but wasn’t sure how.

“You know you don’t have to be perfect all the time, right?” I said, softer now. “You’re allowed to mess up. You’re allowed to breathe.”

He glanced at me, something flickering in his eyes—surprise, maybe. Or relief. Then, just as quickly, his signature grin returned. “Good to know I’ve got my personal cheerleader.”

I rolled my eyes, but my smile gave me away. “More like your reality check.”

“Even better.” He bumped his shoulder against mine, before laying down on the ground. The sunlight hit his eyes just right, making them glimmer like polished amethyst. With his brown hair tousled against the grass and his shirt riding up just enough to reveal a hint of skin, it wasn’t hard to see why all the girls fawned over him. When it came to looks, Caleb really did live up to the whole Mr. Perfect thing.

“What about you?” Caleb glanced at me out of the corner of his eye. “What’s your kryptonite?”

I raised a brow. “Come again?”

He smirked. “Your weakness. What takes you down every time?”

I pretended to think it over, then shot him a cheeky grin. “Probably failure.”

Caleb let out a soft laugh, propping his head up on his elbow. “Alright, I’m sensing some hypocrisy here.”

“It’s not hypocrisy,” I defended, shrugging. “I just fail to take my own advice.”

He tapped his chin, feigning deep thought. “Mm, no, that just makes you a hypocrite. But hey, at least you’re self-aware, Miss perfect.”

Something between us just clicked, that unspoken feeling when you know you’re going to get along with someone. Nothing about our conversation felt forced, it unfolded with an ease that caught us both off guard. I don’t think either of us saw this coming, but somehow, it just made sense.

And so it continued; messing around with Caleb in class, then hanging out in the quad afterward. Our dynamic quickly shifted from casual acquaintances to good friends as our connection bled beyond the classroom. The progression was almost rapid; natural, but undeniable.

Conversations with him came naturally, filled with dry humor, shared ambition, and the kind of unspoken understanding that made being around each other feel easy. We started saving seats for each other without thinking, sharing notes even when we both knew we hadn’t written anything useful, and lingering just a little longer after class, stretching out the moments before we had to part ways.

Afternoons in the quad turned into grabbing coffee, which turned into late-night study sessions that often had more laughing than actual studying. It wasn’t just that we got along; we started to seek each other out, gravitating toward one another like it was the most natural thing in the world. 

It wasn’t just about sharing space; it was about the way we easily fit into each other’s lives like we had always been meant to.

I found myself opening up in ways I never had before, trusting Caleb with thoughts I usually kept locked away. And in return, he let me see past the carefully constructed walls he had built. 

I learned a lot about Caleb in our time spent together; I learned about his dreams and aspirations, his worries and fears, his home back in Linkon and how much of it still clung to him.

And her.

I learned about her.

MC; the kind of nickname all the cool girls had, lifted from their initials like it had always belonged to them. She was innocent, pretty, just the right balance of book-smart and blissfully unaware. The kind of girl who never had to try too hard because the world seemed to bend in her favor. She was perfect in that way, and maybe that’s why Caleb felt like he had to be perfect, too.

She had been his childhood friend, raised alongside him by his gran, their lives tangled together like roots beneath the same old house.

“She’s your sister?” I had asked, unsure of the dynamic.

Caleb hesitated, something unreadable flickering across his face. “No,” he said finally, his voice careful. “Not really. We just grew up together.”

She was everything to him, the quiet force that shaped him in ways he probably didn’t even realize. Everything he did, every careful step he took, was in her image. And suddenly, it all made sense.

The way Caleb kept people at arm’s length, the reason he didn’t have many real friends at the Academy. It wasn't because he didn’t want them, it was because a part of him was still anchored somewhere else; belonged to someone else.

Once, we had sat on the steps outside one of the buildings, his elbows on his knees, staring out at nothing in particular.

“You never really let people in.” I looked over at him, my statement coming out of nowhere.

He let out a short breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Was it that obvious?”

“I didn’t get it back then. Thought maybe you just had too many friends to be really close with any of them.”

He was quiet for a moment, then shook his head. “It wasn’t that,” he admitted. “I just… I already had MC. Growing up the way we did, it was always just us. I guess I never really learned how to need anyone else.”

I glanced at him, but his eyes stayed on the horizon, lost in something I couldn’t see.

“You still do that, you know,” I said. “Keep people just enough away.”

He swallowed hard, rubbing a hand over his jaw. “Yeah,” he murmured. “Some habits don’t go away easy.”

“So why am I an exception?”

Caleb exhaled slowly, rubbing his hands together. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “Maybe because you didn’t try to push your way in. You just… stayed.”

I frowned. “That’s it?”

He shook his head, a small, almost self-conscious smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “No. It’s more than that.” He glanced at me then, something raw in his eyes. “You just understand the way I think, and nobody has before.”

A silence stretched between us, thick with things neither of us knew how to say.

“You make it sound like some big thing,” I murmured. “Like I did something special.”

He tilted his head slightly, considering me. “Maybe you did.”

His words awakened something in me, an ache settling in my chest. A quiet, gnawing feeling that signaled the start of an internal war; one I never really meant to step into, but quickly became hard to ignore. A silent competition I didn’t sign up for, but suddenly felt compelled to win. 

It wasn’t against MC, not even Caleb himself.

But against the undeniable truth that no matter how close we got, I may never be the one he chooses.

September-

I barely notice the shift at first; the way August hands things off to September, smooth and effortless, like they’ve done this a million times before. Like they were always meant to meet. It feels familiar in a way I can’t explain, like stepping into a conversation that’s already halfway finished but somehow still knowing exactly what’s being said. 

Things with Caleb had settled into a familiar rhythm. On campus, we were either together or in class, our days stitched together by shared moments. Being with him was refreshing, like the first warm breeze after a long winter, a quiet promise that brighter days were ahead. Silence with him was never awkward; it was understood. He always seemed to know what I was thinking, what I meant to say, even when I didn’t say it aloud.

I’d known Caleb for a while, but the way we grew close so quickly felt natural, like we’d been moving toward this all along. It was as if there had always been a space in my mind shaped just for him, waiting for the right moment for him to step in.

The cloudy sky above turned dark with the impending storm coming, but in a rush to meet Caleb, I had hardly noticed until I was halfway to his dorm. Cursing to myself, I silently tried to manifest the rain would hold off until I got back to my own dorm later. 

It was movie day; every Friday afternoon after Caleb and I finished with our classes for the day we would have lunch and watch a movie. He was on hosting duty this week, and his dorm was on the other side of campus. If I got caught in this rain, I’d still have a bit of a walk in the storm before I arrived. 

Almost as if laughing at me, the sky cracked with lightning and thunder rumbled, and I heard the pouring of rain before I felt it.

“Shit!” I picked up the pace, my sneakers splashing through puddles forming on the sidewalks as I started to run. Thunder booming in the sky, I mentally prepared to get struck by lightning and hoped I would be eaten by the campus birds before anyone found my body. 

Trying to take a shortcut through the grass was the worst decision I could have made, as I wasn’t even two feet from the sidewalk before I slipped, landing on my back and getting waterboarded by the sky. “Argh!” I screeched, tears of frustration welling in the corners of my eyes. I sat up, glaring at the students staring at me as they passed by with their umbrellas. 

My whole body was drenched by the time I was outside of Caleb’s; my hair, jeans, and sweater caked with mud (and probably a few stray leaves). 

Making my way upstairs, my cheeks were pink from the cold and embarrassment as everyone in the building looked at me with confusion as my clothes and hair dripped all over the floor. 

Caleb swung the door open before I could knock, something he’d do as he watched for me through the peephole in his door. Looking me up and down, the corners of his mouth twitched upward as he coughed, stifling a laugh.

He leaned against his door frame, “What happened here?”

“Shut up.” I pushed past him, annoyed but a bit guilty as I continued to drip all over his floor.

“You look like a sad wet cat,” Caleb patted my wet hair, frowning when he saw I was shivering, “a cold, sad wet cat.”

He started to rummage around the room, going through his drawers and closet, pulling out clothes. Tossing them at me, he pointed to the bathroom, “Go shower, I don’t want you all soppin’ wet on my stuff.”

I glanced at the clothes he handed me; hoodie, sweatpants…his boxers? 

“Um, Caleb-”

He shook his head, “It’s only weird if you make it weird.”

Pursing my lips together I nodded, heading into the bathroom. I called out to him, “Caleb, do you have a towel?” 

“Just use the one in there.”

Okay, we were close, but I wasn’t aware we had crossed into this land.

Peeling my clothes from my body, I threw them into a pile in the corner. I nearly moaned when the hot water hit my skin, and basked in the feeling for a bit. I stared at Caleb’s shampoo and body wash, conflicted on if I should actually use them or just try to rinse myself off the best I could.

Feeling the mud and tangles in my hair, I accepted defeat.

By the time I was done, clad in Caleb’s warm clothes with every inch of me smelling like him, it felt like he was smothering me. Like I was enveloped in one of his bear hugs.

I looked at myself in the mirror, and I felt my heart jump a bit. There was something about wearing a boy’s clothes as is, but Caleb’s clothes? 

A bit ago, I had felt the shift before I could name it. 

It’s in the way my eyes flick to my phone more often than before, in the way my chest tightens, just a little, when his name lights up my screen. It’s in the way my pulse stirs when I spot him at our usual spot in the library, twirling a pen between his fingers like he’s been waiting for me. Like he knew I’d show up (and he always did). 

And maybe that’s what unsettles me the most, not just that I notice these things, but that a part of me already expects them. Like I’ve been pavloved.

It was ignorable at first, but it’s become this nagging feeling at the back of my mind. A tugging at my heart. It’s annoying, like a mosquito buzzing in my ear that’s too quick for me to smack it away.

The feeling that I didn’t want to just be friends anymore.

Coming out of the bathroom, Caleb was already sitting on the floor in front of his bed with two cups of tea and food, and my mouth watered when I saw he made my favorite.

He smiled at me, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “You look pretty good in those.”

Heat crept up my neck, and I let out a nervous laugh. “You’re just saying that because I look like you.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Caleb nodded toward the bathroom. “Your hair’s still wet. Grab the towel.”

“It’s fine,” I shrugged. “It’s not that bad.”

He raised an eyebrow, arms crossing over his chest. “You already got caught in the rain once. Stay damp any longer, and you’ll catch a cold.” Then, with a cheeky grin, he added, “And I can’t be left alone in class. That’d be tragic.”

Rolling my eyes, I turned on my heel, grabbed the towel, and tossed it at him. “Right, of course. That’s all I am to you, entertainment in class.”

“For sure,” he said smoothly, catching the towel with ease. “Now sit.”

I sat beside him, reaching for the towel, but before I could take it, his hands found my shoulders, gently turning me away. I barely had time to protest before he took the towel himself, carefully running it through my damp hair.

“Caleb, I can do it myself—” I started, trying to shift back, but his grip was steady.

“Shush,” he murmured. “Let me help.”

I could have argued, but the warmth of his touch, the slow, deliberate way he moved, made it impossible to resist. My shoulders relaxed as he worked, the soft scratch of the towel against my scalp lulling me into stillness. Silence settled between us, easy and unspoken, the only sound the steady rhythm of rain tapping against the window. It was peaceful, grounding. For a moment, I let myself sink into it, let myself be cared for.

Before long Caleb tugged on a strand of my hair, “Okay, done.”

“Thank you” I pinched his cheek, his lips curved upwards and his eyes went soft.

“Now, what should we watch?”

“Nothing crazy, I don’t think my brain can function right now after today.”

Caleb laughed, flicking through the movies, before settling on some random cartoon. I sighed dramatically when I took a bite of the food he made, “Caleb, you’ve outdone yourself yet again.”

He looked at me mischievously before stealing a bite, and I punched his shoulder, “You have your own!”

His phone lit up and I saw the name, looking away as he picked it up to respond to the incoming texts.

MC.

A wedge of jealousy crept up my throat. It was our movie time, and here she was, almost on cue.

I always listen—really listen—when he talks about her. About how much she means to him, how she’s one of the only constants in his life. And it stings, sharper than I expect, because I want to be that constant. I don’t say it, of course. Instead, I throw myself deeper into the friendship, as if proving my place will make it true.

I laugh at his jokes a little too hard. Memorize the way he takes his coffee without meaning to. Notice the small things that make him tick, the way his expression shifts when he’s lost in thought, the songs he hums under his breath.

The internal competition I created against her wasn’t intentional, but once I noticed it, everything about it became hard to unsee.

He sets his phone down just as quickly as he picked it up, shooting me an apologetic look. “Sorry, MC just had a question about something.”

‘That stupid question could’ve waited’, I think, irritation curling in my chest. But I shove it down, nudging his shoulder with a forced smile. “S’alright. Everything okay?”

“Yeah, all good.” He settles back into the movie, but I barely hear it now. The feeling of her lingers, clinging to the space between us, and I try to shake it off.

His presence beside me soothes the sting, like a bandage over a wound, and I start to loosen up, letting my head rest against the bed. The warmth of his clothes, the comfort of a full stomach, the quiet rhythm of rain against the window; it all starts to pull me under, drowsiness settling into my bones. My eyelids grow heavy, and I barely register the way Caleb shifts beside me.

“Sleepy?” His voice is soft, almost amused.

I peek one eye open, managing a lazy smile. “A bit.”

Without a word, he moves closer, wrapping an arm around the back of my neck. His hand finds the side of my head, cradling it gently as he guides me to rest against his shoulder. The touch is careful, deliberate, something more than our usual play punches and casual grabs in a crowd. This is different. More intimate.

For a moment, I forgot about the competition. Because my head fits perfectly in the crook of his neck, and the slow, absentminded way his fingers trace shapes on my shoulder feels so easy, so natural. He watches the TV like this is nothing new, like having me this close is just the way things are meant to be. And for the first time I let myself believe, just for a second, that maybe he feels the same way about me too.

October-

There's a charge in the air alongside the change in leaves, a quiet pull I feel every time Caleb leans in a little too close or looks at me like I’m the only person in the room.

But then, there’s her.

She’s not here, but she is. Always lingering in the pauses between sentences, in the spaces Caleb leaves open without realizing it. She’s in the way his face softens when he says her name, in the light that sparks behind his eyes when he talks about her. And I hate how it makes me feel; petty, ridiculous, like I’ve stumbled into a battle I was never meant to fight.

I just can’t shake it.

Because lately, there’s been something else. An even bigger shift, subtle, but impossible to ignore. The way his hand lingers a beat too long when he passes me something, like he’s reluctant to let go. The way his gaze finds me, even in a crowded room, like I’m the only person worth looking at. The late-night texts, filled with thoughts that could have waited but never do.

Maybe I’m imagining it. Maybe I’m just reading too much into things, seeing what I want to see. But a part of me, deep down, knows he feels this too.

My phone began to ring as I was getting ready for the Senior Gala the Academy holds every year for those graduating in the spring. 

“Yes?” I already know who it is without looking.

Caleb’s voice drifts through the speaker, soft and warm. “Are you almost ready, honey?” The pet name catches me off guard, a shy smile pulling at my lips before I can stop it. He’d started using it recently, and I hadn’t dared to question it out of the fear it would stop.

He was my date tonight (as friends of course), and I was running a little behind.

“I still have to finish my makeup, do my hair, and put on my dress,” I groaned in frustration, “I’m sorry Caleb, I’m trying to go as fast as I can.”

He laughs sweetly, “Well, I’m almost there. I can help you out.”

“Help me…?”

“Yep, Captain Caleb is gonna be there to save the night. See you soon!”

The phone clicks before I can respond, and not a moment later, Caleb is strolling through my door like he owns the place. 

I turned to face him, and my breath caught in my throat. His suit was a deep navy that matched my dress, the rich fabric adorned with his pilot and aviator pins. His hair, tousled yet intentional, framed a face that always felt like home. Caleb stood there composed, sharp but still him; and there was something about the way the badges gleamed against his chest that nearly brought me to my knees.

His gaze sweeps over my desk, taking in the chaos of makeup scattered around, before pausing on my curling iron.

“Is this plugged in?” He picks it up, inspecting it.

“Caleb, you are not putting that anywhere near my head.” I instinctively flinch as he reaches for a lock of my hair.

But he’s quick, his hand firmly grasping the top of my head, holding it still. “I always helped MC with her hair. I know my way around a curling iron.”

The words land harder than he meant, and I can’t help but squint at him, a frown tugging at my lips. He misreads it, thinking I’m questioning him, and gives me a serious look.

“Trust me here.”

I let the assumption hang in the air, letting him believe my discontent is just doubt. I sigh, giving in, “Alright, but if you make me look bad for my Senior Gala, I will hate you forever.”

He starts to section my hair and I raise my brows in approval, ‘Okay, yeah,’ I think, ‘Maybe he does have this’.

Caleb’s touch is gentle as I apply my mascara and lipstick, careful not to mess me up, his hands steady as he moves around me. It doesn’t take long before he pulls back, setting the curling iron down as I finish up with the last touches of my makeup.

“We make a pretty good team, don’t we?” His hands rest on my shoulders as he leans down, chin lightly resting on the top of my head, both of us watching our reflection in the mirror.

I tilt my head, inspecting my hair with a playful smile, running my fingers through a few strands. “I suppose you did an okay job.”

He pinches the bridge of my nose, a mock scowl crossing his face. Laughing, I stand up, reaching for my dress hanging in the closet.

I headed to the bathroom, “I’ll be out in a sec.”

I slipped the dress on, the blue silk molding to my body, the delicate sleeves draping off my shoulders. It was beautiful, I was beautiful; but as I caught my reflection, doubt crept in. Would I look out of place next to Caleb? He was all polished perfection, and I was just… me. Not bad, but not him.

She would look perfect beside him.

‘No.’ I straightened my shoulders. ‘I’m Caleb’s date tonight, not her. He could have asked her, but he didn’t. He chose me. It’s just us.’

Fumbling with the zipper, I let out a frustrated breath before finally pulling the door open. “Caleb, can you help me with this?”

His head snapped up, eyes widening as a flush crept up his cheeks. “Of course.”

Caleb stepped forward, hesitating for just a moment before his fingers brushed against my back. His touch was warm, a stark contrast to the cool fabric clinging to my skin. Gently, he gathered the dress, his knuckles ghosting along my spine as he found the zipper.

I held my breath.

Slowly, he pulled it up, the quiet sound of the zipper filling the space between us. With each inch, his fingertips lingered, tracing the curve of my back, sending shivers down my arms. My skin felt hypersensitive, like every nerve was tuned to him and him alone.

When he reached the top, he didn’t step away. Instead, his fingers grazed the nape of my neck, adjusting the fabric, smoothing it into place. His breath was warm against my shoulder, his voice barely above a whisper.

“There,” he murmured. “Perfect.”

I turned slightly, just enough to catch his gaze. His eyes flickered down to my lips, then back up, as if caught in some silent battle with himself. The air between us was thick, charged, pulling me toward him.

“Thank you,” I said softly, my voice barely steady.

His hand lingered for just a second longer before he finally let go, stepping back, but not too far. Not far at all.

I turned around slowly, my heart pounding as I met his gaze. His eyes traced the length of me, starting at the hem of my dress and lingering as they traveled upward, taking in every detail before finally meeting mine.

Caleb swallowed, his lips parting slightly as if he had something to say but couldn’t quite find the words. Then, as if shaken from a spell, he smiled—soft, almost bashful.

“You look beautiful.”

His voice was quiet, reverent, like he wasn’t just saying it, but feeling it. Like the words weren’t enough to capture what he saw.

Warmth spread through me, creeping up my neck, and for a moment, I forgot how to breathe. I’d spent so much time wondering if I looked right beside him, if I fit; but now, standing here, bathed in the glow of his gaze, I didn’t feel out of place.

I felt chosen.

“Hold your compliments until you’ve seen the whole look,” I teased, holding up a finger to silence him. “I still need to put on my shoes and pins.”

Caleb smirked. “Need help with those too?”

I rolled my eyes. “I think I can manage strapping on my own heels and pinning a badge to my dress, thanks.”

“I’m not so sure about that.” He plucked my heels off the dresser, twirling them lazily around his finger, his gaze practically daring me to challenge him.

I huffed but gave in, sinking into my chair. “Fine.”

Caleb knelt in front of me, his fingers warm as they wrapped around my ankle, steady but gentle as if I were something delicate. He slipped the first shoe on, fastening the strap with practiced ease.

“I can do most things myself, y’know,” I muttered, though my voice lacked its usual bite.

“I know.” His fingers lingered against my skin for a fraction too long before he reached for the second shoe. “I just like to be helpful.”

But he still wouldn’t look at me when he said it, and something about the way his voice softened made me think he wasn’t just talking about shoes.

I stood as he finished, reaching for my pins amidst the clutter of my desk and fastening them carefully over my heart. Turning to the mirror, I shifted from side to side, checking every angle, making sure everything was just right.

I glanced back at Caleb. “Are you sure I look okay?”

Without hesitation, he took my hand and lifted it into the air. “Twirl. Let me see.”

I spun for him, the silk of my dress catching the light, and when I turned back, there was something bright in his eyes, something warm, something real.

“You look more than okay,” he said, voice sure with conviction. “I promise.”

I held out my pinky. “Pinky promise?”

He grinned, hooking his finger around mine. “Pinky promise.”

“Lock it,” I reminded him, and he chuckled before pressing his thumb against mine, sealing the deal.

His fingers lingered for a second before he gave my hand a gentle squeeze. “Now come on, we’re definitely going to be late.”

When we arrived at the gala, it didn’t take long for Caleb to be swept away by a group of guys he often talked to. I lingered around, exchanging polite small talk with a few people I still considered friends. I didn’t see them much anymore, as most of my time was spent with Caleb.

“So, are you two dating?” one of the girls asked, tilting her head. “I thought he was seeing that girl from his hometown… What was her name again?”

“MC.” I said, a little too quickly.

“Right, that’s the one.”

I forced a smile. “No, we’re just good friends.”

But even as I said it, my gaze drifted to where he stood, laughing easily with his own friends, his posture loose and carefree. A quiet ache settled in my chest.

I wanted to be next to him.

But then again, I was; just not in the way they all saw. I knew him in moments no one else did, in the quiet spaces between conversations, in the unspoken gestures and late-night confessions.

And for now, that was enough. It had to be.

I excused myself from the conversation, weaving through the crowd until I reached one of the drink tables. Grabbing a glass, I slipped into the quieter halls, letting the hum of conversation and music fade behind me. The walls were lined with grand, extravagant paintings, each one demanding attention. I paused in front of a few, sipping my drink as I took them in, letting my mind settle.

I wasn’t antisocial, I could hold my own in a room full of people, I just needed a break from the carefully choreographed chaos of the ballroom. 

The rhythmic click of shoes against marble echoed through the quiet hallway, followed by a familiar, soft laugh.

“How did I know I’d find you out here?”

I hummed against the rim of my glass. “Maybe because you can read my mind.”

Caleb shook his head, a smile tugging at his lips. “Sometimes I wish I could.” Then, extending his hand toward me, he asked, “Dance with me?”

I glanced at his outstretched palm. “Out here?”

He tilted his head playfully. “Well, my possible mind-reading powers tell me you’d rather not go back in there.”

A slow smile spread across my face as I laced my fingers with his. “I think you might be psychic.”

The distant music from the ballroom barely reached us, muffled and softened by the grand halls, but somehow, that only made the moment feel more intimate. Caleb’s hands found my waist, warm and steady, while mine slipped around the back of his neck.

He guided us into a slow, easy rhythm. I rested my head just below his chin, feeling the steady beat of his heart beneath the fabric of his suit.

We moved without words; his breath against my hair was the only thing I could focus on, like everything else had paused around us.

The world outside the two of us faded, the grand chandelier lights dimming, the chatter and laughter of the crowd becoming a distant murmur. All that remained was the softness of the moment, our steps in sync, and the quiet, unspoken connection between us.

I could feel his thumb tracing gentle patterns against my back, the touch soft in a way that wasn’t rushed. There was no need to hurry, no need to speak. We simply existed in this space, suspended between the melody and the quiet.

His fingers moved up to brush a lock of hair behind my ear, the gesture tender, almost shy. I looked up at him, and his eyes held mine, reassuring.

“You feel like home,” he murmured, so quietly I almost thought I imagined it.

I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. Instead, I leaned in a little closer, savoring the rhythm of our slow dance, the feeling of him holding me like this, as if the rest of the world didn’t matter at all.

“Do you want to get out of here?” Caleb tapped my shoulder lightly, pulling away just enough for the space between us to feel suddenly too wide. It wasn’t much, but the shift left a coldness in the air, and I immediately wanted to fall back into him.

“Where are you thinking?” I asked.

He pointed toward the window. “There’s a park across the street. We could go there. Away from all… this.” He gestured vaguely, as if the chaos of the gala was still buzzing around us.

I nodded without hesitation, and soon we found ourselves at the park, sitting on an old, rusty swing set. The contrast was stark; our lavish clothes against the worn, weathered metal, but I didn’t care. My dress snagged on the rust as I sat down, but I was too lost in the quiet to be bothered by it. All I wanted was this moment, the stillness, just the two of us away from everything else.

The night air wrapped around us, cool and still, with only the rhythmic creak of the swings and the occasional whisper of wind through the trees breaking the silence. It felt like we existed in a world separate from everything else, suspended in something fragile, something fleeting.

Caleb leaned back against the chain of his swing, his fingers gripping the metal tightly as he looked at me again. That look—like he could see through me, past all the walls I tried so hard to keep up. My pulse hammered in my chest under his gaze.

“You ever feel like… you don’t know where you stand with someone?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

His eyes flickered, something unreadable passing through them. “Yeah,” he said quietly, but with a certainty that made my stomach twist. “All the time.”

For a second, just a fleeting, breathless second; I wondered if he meant me.

I forced a smile, trying to ease the tension hanging between us. I nudged my swing into his, making it sway slightly. “You have a really good sense of self-restraint,” I teased, the words a shield to keep myself from feeling too much. “It’s almost a talent.”

His lips curved, but it was thin, hollow—there was something sad in it. “Is that a bad thing?”

I tilted my head, watching him. “No… well, maybe. Sometimes, I guess. I think you have a habit of depriving yourself of what you really want.”

Caleb looked down, his boot dragging against the dirt beneath him. “What if I can’t have what I want?” His voice was rougher now, lower. “What if it’s not allowed?”

I reached forward, gripping the chain of his swing, giving it a slight shake to bring his eyes back to mine. “If it’s within your reach, it’s legal, and you’re not hurting anyone, I don’t see a problem.” My breath hitched, and my chest tightened as I spoke. “If I had to guess, you’re trying to convince yourself you can’t have something.”

His exhale was shaky, and a bitter laugh barely escaped him. “Maybe, yeah.”

I saw it then—the decision in his eyes, the surrender.

And then, he moved.

Caleb leaned in first, closing the space between us with a quiet certainty that made my breath catch. I barely had time to react before his lips met mine; soft, warm, real. My fingers clenched around the swing’s chain for balance, but it didn’t matter. My whole world had already tilted.

The kiss started slow, tentative, but it didn’t stay that way for long. Caleb’s hand found my jaw, his fingers brushing my skin, grounding me as he deepened the kiss. There was no hesitation, no pulling away—only the quiet urgency of something inevitable, something long overdue.

I let myself sink into it, forget everything outside this moment. The cold night air, the weight of the past few months, the uncertainty of what came next—it all melted away as Caleb kissed me like he’d been waiting for this as long as I had.

When we finally broke apart, breathless and dazed, our foreheads nearly touching, Caleb let out a quiet, almost incredulous chuckle. His thumb brushed over my cheek, lingering there like he was memorizing the feel of me.

His eyes searched mine, and for a moment, neither of us said anything—just letting the silence settle between us like something sacred.

I tried to catch my breath, still feeling the warmth of his touch all over me. “I—uh, I didn’t think that was how tonight would go.”

“Me either,” he admitted softly.

I bit my lip, searching for something to say, but my thoughts were still tangled up in the kiss. The taste of him lingered, sweet and unfamiliar, like a song you’d heard once and couldn’t forget. The warmth of his breath was still etched into the space between us, and the silence felt heavy, like it was holding something fragile; something we both weren’t quite ready to name. I felt the words sitting at the edge of my mind, waiting, but they were lost in the echo of his touch, the weight of everything unsaid.

Caleb gently brushed a strand of hair away from my face, his touch so tender it almost felt like he was afraid to break something.

There was a quiet moment, just us sitting there, the air between us charged and delicate. Caleb’s fingers brushed along my wrist, and he gave a small, hesitant laugh.

“Is it weird to say I’m kind of glad we did this here?”

I smiled, the tension easing slightly. “Not at all. There’s something nice about having a moment that’s just ours.”

He glanced up at the dark sky, the stars scattered above us. “Yeah, it’s like we’re in our own little world. Just us.”

I took a deep breath, trying to settle the fluttering in my chest. “Then let’s not rush back. Let’s just stay here for a little longer.”

He grinned, that easy smile of his, and nodded. “I’m in.”

We swayed gently, both of us still lost in the quiet, the stillness of the park and the soft feeling that somehow, things were different now. 

Better.

November-

The moment on the swings stays with me long after it’s over, a quiet echo that pulses in the back of my mind, haunting the spaces between my thoughts. It lingers in the way Caleb reaches for my hand without thinking, in the brief touches we exchange. The kiss, though, that’s the one that lingers the longest; the warmth of him, the certainty that wrapped around me like a promise. 

He didn’t hesitate. He didn’t hold back.

I tell myself it was nothing, that it was just a rush, a fleeting spark that will eventually fade with time. 

But it doesn’t. 

Instead, it settles into the corners of me, a quiet undercurrent beneath everything else.

Everything is subtle at first, in the little things. His hand brushing against mine when we walk, his knee grazing mine when we sit side by side, the way his texts come more often now, careful and soft. When we’re together, it feels like we really have built our own little world, a space apart from everything else. And I let myself believe that maybe, just maybe, it’s enough.

Though one night, I find him distant. His gaze fixed on his phone, jaw tight like he’s trying to hold something in. He barely speaks, his words sharp and short, his mind somewhere else entirely. I don’t ask, don’t press him for an answer. But I know.

It’s her.

And in that moment, something clicks.

I’m not the only one caught between two worlds. Caleb is, too.

The realization doesn’t ease the ache, it only makes it worse. Because if there’s a choice, I already know who he’ll choose.

Training’s getting harder, and graduation is only a few months away. The exhaustion is catching up to all of us, but I feel as if it's hitting me the hardest. Barely sleeping, too many long nights and even longer days, each one blending into the next until I can’t tell where one ends and the other begins. I can feel my body wearing down, but I keep pushing, because what else is there to do? Let myself stop and think?

Ha.

No.

Caleb notices, though. He’s just as drained as I am, but he’s still there, watching me. He always makes sure I eat, even when I don’t feel like it. Reminds me to drink water when I forget, and always seems to be there after training, hanging around like he’s making sure I don’t collapse right there on the floor.

I try not to let it mean anything, try not to read too much into it. He’s just being a friend, right?

But it’s hard to ignore the way he lingers, the way his eyes flicker with something I can’t quite place when I sway slightly on my feet, too tired to stand straight. He doesn’t say anything, but his hand is there, steady on my arm, holding me like he doesn’t want to let go.

Caleb picked me up from the Academy airport after a training flight. We were supposed to grab lunch, but when his eyes landed on my exhausted form, something in his expression softened.

“Let’s get you home, yeah?” he said, his voice gentle.

I shook my head, trying to shake off the exhaustion. “No, I’m fine. Let’s just go—” But before I could finish, my body betrayed me, and I stumbled forward, barely able to keep myself upright.

Caleb’s hand was there in an instant, steadying me by the shoulder and wrapping his arm around me like he wasn’t letting go. “I think you’d fall asleep in your food and suffocate. When was the last time you slept?”

“Yesterday… no, Tuesday? I don’t really remember.”

I threw on my coat, but Caleb’s gaze was still on me, studying me like he could see right through the act I was trying to put on.

“Don’t look at me like that,” I muttered, glaring at him. “I’m fine. Let’s hurry before we miss the bus.”

Standing outside at the bus stop, I shivered against Caleb's arm around me (that was still trying to hold me up). He asked me about my day, if I had eaten breakfast; simple questions that didn’t require much thinking on my part and patient, non-expectant responses from him. I pressed my body closer into his, trying to soak up his warmth, and maybe even share a bit of my own. 

He looked down at me and chuckled, ruffling my hair, “Just a bit longer, honey.”

And he was right, seconds later the bus pulled up. I was practically bouncing to get inside and out of this weather.

Snatching the window seat, I stuck my tongue out at Caleb as he situated himself next to me. “You’re evil, you know that right.” 

The bus was a welcomed relief from the biting cold outside, the warmth inside wrapping around me like a comforting blanket. My coat was serving as a blanket, and I don’t even remember when I drifted off, but at some point I found myself asleep on Caleb’s shoulder.

I half-awoke to him nudging me gently. “Hey, this is my dorm, let’s get off here.”

Groggily, I shook my head, struggling to form a thought. “No, s’okay, my stop is next…”

He chuckled softly, and I could hear the concern in his voice. “I don’t trust you not to fall back asleep and miss your dorm.” His fingers brushed through my hair to comb the strands away from my eyes, his touch tender as he looked at me. “Just come back up with me. You can sleep there until you’re good to go back.”

I barely had the strength to argue, so I let him lead me, sleepily leaning against him the entire way. By the time we reached his room, I was barely conscious. He helped me take off my coat and shoes, and without a second thought, I crawled onto his bed, curling up into a ball as sleep claimed me again.

When I woke, the world outside was dark, and it took a moment to realize where I was. The blanket was soft against my skin, and I noticed Caleb beside me, his face relaxed in sleep. It was the first time I’d ever seen him look so at ease, so… soft.

I felt a pang of guilt when I noticed the clock beside his bed. It was nearing one in the morning. He probably wanted to sleep, but I had taken over his space.

I started to sit up, but before I could move, an arm wrapped around my waist.

“Where are you going?” Caleb’s voice was thick with sleep, and I froze, my heart skipping a beat as I turned to see him blinking slowly up at me.

“I have to go home,” I murmured, my words barely above a whisper. I reached out, hand instinctively brushing his face, but then I stopped myself and pulled it back.

He toyed with the hem of my t-shirt, and I felt the warmth of his touch spread through me. I could feel myself melting under his proximity. “It’s too late,” he said softly, his voice almost a plea. “Just stay here.”

“Caleb—”

“Or I can walk you home,” he added, his eyes still half-closed, and he stretched as if to get up, but I placed my hand on his shoulder, stopping him.

“No, really, it’s okay.”

He smirked a little, still mischievous even through sleep. “You pick. I either walk you home, or you stay here.”

In that moment, the stillness of the night seemed to press in around us, and my heart ached. Caleb was a vice. He was dangerous.

“Okay,” I whispered, my resolve crumbling. “I’ll stay.”

The room is quiet except for Caleb’s steady breathing. The city of Skyhaven hums faintly outside, the night stretching endlessly around us. I’m awake now, but I can’t bring myself to move. Caleb’s hand rests lightly on my waist, like he’s afraid I’ll slip away if he lets go. It’s nothing, really. Just a small, almost casual touch. 

But it feels like everything. 

It sets my entire body on fire, this little contact. I shouldn’t be here, not like this, not after everything. But I don’t leave. Instead, I sink back down, letting the warmth of the blanket and his presence pull me under.

We don’t speak. There’s nothing to say. No explanations, no excuses—just this fragile moment, suspended in time, hanging between us. Caleb’s breathing evens out again, his grip loosening as sleep pulls him back under. I stay awake, staring at the ceiling, listening to the soft sounds of the night. I know this is a mistake. I know when the sun rises, when the reality of the world outside finally settles in, things will go back to how they were.

He’ll wake up, stretch, rub the sleep from his eyes, and we’ll pretend like this never happened. He’ll go back to talking about MC, and whatever this—whatever we—will remain suspended in the realm of “almosts” and “what-ifs.” But for now, in this quiet moment, I close my eyes. I let myself have this, just for tonight. Because even if it means nothing to him, it means everything to me.

Morning comes too quickly.

I stir first, blinking against the soft light filtering through the blinds. For a second, everything feels warm and comforting. Caleb’s steady breathing beside me, the weight of the blanket, the quiet hum of the city waking up outside.

Then, reality crashes back in. I shouldn’t be here. Not like this.

Carefully, I try to slip out from beneath the covers, but the moment I move, Caleb stirs. His grip tightens around my waist, pulling me closer just a little before his eyes flutter open.

He looks at me, caught between sleep and consciousness, and for a second, there’s something in his gaze; a softness that makes my breath catch in my chest. But then, he blinks, and it’s gone.

“You’re awake,” his voice is thick with sleep, raspy, and it twists something inside of me. He doesn’t let go.

“Yeah,” I whisper. “I should go.”

Caleb doesn’t respond at first. His fingers absently trace the hem of my sleeve, like he’s thinking, weighing something.

Then, finally—

“You don’t have to.”

It’s quiet. Hesitant. It feels like a confession wrapped in uncertainty.

I swallow hard. “Caleb…”

I don’t even know what I’m trying to say. I just know this, this tension, this dangerous line we’re walking, is too much.

He sits up slowly, rubbing a hand over his face, and then he looks at me. His expression is unreadable, and it makes my heart clench.

“Look,” he sighs, like this is some sort of explanation. “I know things have been… complicated.”

Complicated. That’s one way to put it.

I scoff and shake my head. “You think?”

He runs a hand through his hair, exhaling sharply. “I don’t know what I’m doing.”

And that hurts more than it should. Because I know what I’m doing. I’m falling. I’ve been falling for so long, and I’m pretty sure I’m about to hit the ground.

“I can’t keep doing this,” I whisper, my voice barely steady.

His jaw tightens. “I don’t want to lose you.”

Something inside me cracks.

“Then stop making me feel like I’m something you have to choose.”

Silence. And that’s when I know.

He won’t say it, but I already have my answer. Because if I was ever truly an option, I wouldn’t be standing here, begging for clarity.

I nod to myself, standing up. “I need to go.”

This time, he doesn’t stop me.

December-

It hurts, it really hurts. 

My chest aches like it’s been hollowed out, and every breath feels too heavy, too sharp. My body trembles, like it’s trying to hold itself together, but it’s already unraveling. 

Is this what dying feels like? 

Is this death? 

The slow suffocation of something that was once whole? 

Or is this grief?

Endless, suffocating grief—bleeding through my veins, consuming everything I am.

I can’t tell anymore. Only that it hurts. So much. 

I don’t even know who I am anymore. 

I feel like a hollow shell.

January-

The snow falls lightly, dusting the pavement with delicate flakes as I walk across campus. The world feels quiet, wrapped in winter’s cold embrace, but inside me? There’s nothing but noise, a clamor I can’t silence. Just as fast as everything had began, it ended just as quickly. 

I didn’t expect Caleb to reach out. After everything, after the silence between us that’s stretched since November, I thought he’d let the distance settle. Let whatever we had fade into something unspoken, unresolved.

But then I got the text.

can we talk?

And because I’m weak, because no matter how much I want to convince myself I’ve moved on, I know I haven’t, so I agreed.

Now, I’m here, waiting outside the coffee shop, my breath clouding in the cold air. Caleb’s already inside, sitting by the window with his fingers curled around a paper cup. When he sees me, he gives a small, hesitant smile. He looks the same, yet it feels so foreign.

I steel myself and walk inside.

“Hey,” he says when I slide into the seat across from him.

“Hey,” I echo, my voice flat, unreadable.

We sit in silence for a moment, the weight of everything hanging between us.

He exhales, looking down at his coffee. “I hate how things have been between us.”

I don’t say anything, just let him speak.

“I miss you,” he admits, and for a moment, my heart stumbles. But before I can process it, he adds, “I don’t want to lose you, I want us to still be friends.”

Friends.

I should have expected this. Maybe I did. Maybe I’ve just been foolish enough to hope for something else.

I swallow, my fingers tightening around my cup. “Friends.”

He nods, earnest, like he doesn’t realize he’s twisting a knife into my chest. “Yeah. I mean, we were good at that, right? Before things got… complicated.”

Complicated. That word again.

I take a slow breath, trying to force the ache in my chest to quiet. Maybe this is what we need. Maybe being friends, just friends, will hurt less than losing him completely.

So I offer a small smile, one that feels forced but I try to make it real. “Yeah. We were.”

Relief flashes across his face, and something deep inside me tugs painfully. But I ignore it.

We can do this.

We have to.

“Are we okay?” he asks carefully.

I hesitate for a second, just a moment, but then I nod. “Yeah. We’re okay.”

And maybe, if I say it enough times, it’ll start to feel true.

We step outside together, the cold air biting at my skin. We walk side by side, but it’s different now. Less certain, more fragile. But for now, it’s enough. We’re still in each other’s lives. And that has to count for something.

February-

The cold of February feels different this year. It’s sharp, biting at my skin, but it’s nothing compared to the way the distance between Caleb and me has settled; thick, suffocating.

We’re friends. At least, that’s what we tell ourselves.

But every interaction feels like a shadow of what it used to be. We pass each other on campus, exchanging forced smiles, awkward pleasantries. He texts me sometimes, but the messages are clipped, casual. The playful banter, the inside jokes—we don’t have those anymore.

I’ve gotten good at pretending it doesn’t hurt. I laugh at his jokes when we’re in class together, crack a smile when he waves in passing. I tell myself that being near him, even like this, is better than nothing.

But it isn’t. It isn’t better at all.

One afternoon, after class, Caleb waits for me while I pack my things, his hands shoved deep in the pockets of his jacket. His eyes meet mine, but they flicker away quickly, like he’s not sure how to look at me anymore.

“Hey,” he says, his voice quieter than it used to be.

I force a smile, but it feels too tight, too stretched.

We walk together, but the silence between us is thick. We’re not really talking anymore. Not like before.

“How’s everything?” I ask, trying to fill the space with something. Anything.

Caleb shrugs, his gaze far off. “Same as usual. You know how it is.”

I don’t know how it is. Not anymore.

“And you?” he asks, almost apologetically, like he’s afraid he’ll break something if he pushes too hard.

“I’m good,” I say, too quickly. Too easily. I wish I could say something that would make it sound like we haven’t drifted so far apart. But I can’t.

The truth is, I don’t feel good. Not at all.

The rest of the walk is silent, and when we reach the place where our paths diverge, Caleb gives me a tight, awkward smile.

“Catch you later,” he says, already turning away before I can say anything else.

I watch him walk off, the weight of all the things we never said hanging between us.

It’s painful. But I swallow it down. I have to.

The days pass, and we continue this dance; one of shallow conversations, stiff smiles. Every text feels like a performance. Every interaction, a reminder that we’re no longer who we used to be.

One night, I sit at my desk, the glow of my laptop screen casting a pale light over my face. My phone vibrates on the table beside me. Caleb’s name.

I hesitate before picking it up.

hey, are you free later?

My heart skips a beat, but I force myself to respond.

Yeah, what’s up?

There’s a long pause before his next message.

i was thinking we could grab coffee. but no pressure, just thought it might be nice.

The words “just thought it might be nice” sting more than I expected. It’s so casual, so simple—like the idea of spending time together doesn’t carry any of the weight it used to.

But I can’t back out now. I can’t keep pretending that I’m not still craving his company, even if it’s not the same.

Sure, sounds good.

When we meet at our usual café, the air between us is thick. We talk, but it’s like we’re strangers, circling around the things we used to share so easily. Caleb talks about his classes, and I nod, smile at the right times, but it doesn’t feel like we’re really connecting anymore.

I tell myself it’s fine. This is what we agreed to. That being friends is better than nothing.

And no matter how many times I tell myself I’m over it, no matter how many times I remind myself that this is what I chose; it still hurts.

When we part ways that evening, Caleb gives me a small, almost apologetic smile. “I’ll see you around.”

“Yeah,” I reply, throat tight. “See you.”

I watch him leave, and I can’t help but feel like a piece of myself is slowly drifting farther away.

March-

I can’t keep doing this.

April-

The months start to feel like a slow, inevitable slide into something I can’t quite escape. The air has warmed, and the snow is nothing more than a distant memory, but the silence between Caleb and me cuts deeper than any winter chill.

We still see each other every day. We still share the same spaces, the same halls, the same class. But now, we’re nothing more than shadows of what we once were. Just two people who used to mean something to each other, now standing on opposite sides of a wide, unbridgeable gap.

We promised to be friends. We promised we’d make it work. But those promises feel empty now. There’s no joy in our interactions, no spark. Every conversation is forced, every laugh hollow. We’ve become experts at pretending, at wearing the mask of “just friends,” even though neither of us believes it for a second.

I’ve tried to move on, but when I see him, it’s like a miserable cold wave crashing over me. His eyes, once warm and inviting, are distant now; like he’s holding back something I’m not allowed to know. Even though he’s still there, still around, it feels like he’s lightyears away.

It was a Tuesday afternoon, sitting alone in the student lounge, my books spread out in front of me though not really focused on them. My phone buzzes, and I glance down at the message, already knowing who it’s from.

Caleb.

I hesitate before opening it, my fingers lingering over the screen.

i’m outside the library, want to grab coffee?

My heart skips. I want to say yes. 

I want to say yes more than anything. 

But a part of me knows how this will go. Another awkward conversation. Another round of small talk and unspoken feelings.

I’m tired. Tired of pretending things are fine when nothing is fine.

I can’t, sorry.

May-

The day is warm, but there’s a crispness in the air, the kind that signals a transition; between seasons, between chapters, between what was and what will be. The hum of excitement fills the air, the kind only a graduation ceremony can bring. Students in their uniforms mill around the venue, laughter and shouts of celebration ringing through the open space.

I move through the crowd, my diploma and badges in hand, the weight of the moment pressing down on me. I should feel proud, should feel accomplished. And I do, somewhere deep inside. But there’s something else, something heavier, lingering beneath the surface. The kind of feeling I’ve spent the past few months pushing away, convincing myself I’ve moved past.

Then, I see them.

Caleb stands a few feet away, surrounded by the floods of people. I notice he’s staring ahead into the crowd, and a girl comes crashing into him with the kind of ease that twists my stomach; MC.

She leans in, close—too close. And then, as if the universe had been waiting for the perfect moment to shatter the fragile balance I had built, she presses a kiss to his cheek. It’s celebratory, happy, and by the look on Caleb's face, just enough.

The world tilts.

For a second, the sounds around me blur into static, the conversations and cheers fading into the background. The weight of months of restraint, of quiet acceptance, of pretending I was fine, collapses all at once. The carefully built walls around my emotions crack under the force of everything I had tried so desperately to move past.

I thought I had let go. I thought I had made peace with everything that had happened. But in this moment, watching him, watching them, it all comes rushing back. The late nights, the quiet moments, the unspoken words that once sat between us. The way he once looked at me, the way he’s looking at her. The realization that, despite all my efforts, my heart had never truly stopped waiting.

I force my feet to move, to carry me past them, past the reminders of what could have been, of what wasn’t mine to hold onto anymore.

The weight in my chest is suffocating, but I refuse to stop, refuse to break—not here, not now. Because this is supposed to be a celebration, the closing of a chapter, the start of something new.

Maybe in another life, it was never a competition. Maybe in another universe, I don’t have to worry about her. In that world, I am her—running into Caleb’s arms, stealing his hat, and pressing a kiss to his cheek.

Yes. In another universe, I am her.

[hxlxnaaa]

hai again my loves

unfortunately caleb fic will be delayed because tumblr is giving me shit and saying it’s too long 🥲

i’m tryna find a way to work around this, and i hope to have it out asap!!

ty for being patient w me <3

[hxlxnaaa]

There's a bounty for this man.

[hxlxnaaa]

hai hai!!!!! new fic coming out this weekend (sunday!!) keep an eye out for it 😏

longest fic i’ve written to date, and it’s caleb + ANGSTTTTT (sorry i know it’s all i write sue me)

literally so excited to get it out there and posted i’m so so so so proud of it!!! oki yay see you all so soon <3 xoxoxo

[hxlxnaaa]

𝐡𝐞𝐥𝐞𝐧𝐚 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 𝐱𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐞𝐫 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋆˙⟡ shattered stars

⋆˙⟡ of gardens and duty

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 𝐫𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐲𝐞𝐥 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋆˙⟡ oceans reverie

⋆˙⟡ something i love

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 𝐳𝐚𝐲𝐧𝐞 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋆˙⟡ crown of thorns

⋆˙⟡ the little things

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 𝐬𝐲𝐥𝐮𝐬 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋆˙⟡ wishful thinking pt. 1

⋆˙⟡ yours, mine pt. 2

⋆˙⟡ where the body remembers

⋆⭒˚.⋆ 𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ⋆⭒˚.⋆

⋆˙⟡ gravity bound

⋆˙⟡ back to friends

[hxlxnaaa]

Queen will you ever write a pt2 for that xavier fic it was heart wrenching and amazing I love your fics 🥲

oh my gosh thank you so much!! shattered stars has def been my favorite fic i’ve written for lads so far, i’m really glad people are enjoying it. i was totally gonna originally write a part two if the masses wanted it, but after sitting with the fic out for a while i kinda came to the conclusion there really was no part 2 😔 situationships suck and like never end well and i think the no comfort is super real, and im not sure how i would even fix their relationship after i killed it in the fic 😭 also lowkey shattered stars was me projecting about my own situationship that didn’t end well so unfortunately i took it out on xavier (sorry dude)

i def need to get better ab writing comfort after my angst fics but i just love killing people ong

(but ty again for enjoying and much love anon, you’re the best 🫶🏻)

[hxlxnaaa]

GUYS!! DID Y'ALL SEE THE TRAILER FOR RAFAYEL'S BIRTHDAY!!

I have never loved a man fictional or real as much as I love Rafayel. Like is bordering delusion at this point. I'm rabid. I'm stressed. Crying. Throwing up. Because I gave into temptation and tried to get Rafayel's clothes and hair after getting Sylus's, and now I'm broke 😭😭😭🤡 being a f2p SUCKS.

[hxlxnaaa]

Something something about Caleb and underwear

[hxlxnaaa]

im turning my pre-bedtime imagine scenario into a fic. y'all aren't even READY. i fear this one is gonna be long so bear with me as i try and crank this out on top of managing my ever so lovely homework (save me i don't want to study for a big girl job). i'll try n post a few imagines as i work on this as it might be just a bit, but in the mean time feel free to talk to me in the ask box! (pls converse with me i want to interact with more people on here i need mutuals i need friends LOL) ok thats all!!!! hehe

-helena :3

[hxlxnaaa]

good morning god, it’s me again. rafayel in the new banner trailer has me whimpering, crying tears down my face and legs. i’m in heat. im rubbing my hands together like an evil fly, plotting. both lips are smiling. took my clothes off, stood up, and applauded. i’m dropping our kids off at school and im coming home to make him breakfast in nothing but an apron. we’re gonna fuck on every single piece of furniture in the house in 13 different positions in less than 4 minutes. my knees are bruised but he’s still throbbing in my mouth and i’m gonna keep going until the sun sets and then rises again. i want him to maul me and im gonna cum when he does it. i’m pulling on his wolfcut and my nails are scratching bloody marks into his back. my body is covered in his bite marks. i am battered and beat and i like it. oh my god it’s all over my screen, it’s dripping from the walls, the carpet is soaked. my ovaries are uterus are weeping for him.

[hxlxnaaa]

hi hiiiii I’m not too sure if you’re taking requests for Caleb yet!! If you are could we please get a fluffy fic of him and us just cuddling and him being absolutely head over heels!! (If you don’t thank you for your consideration anyway 💜)

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 ─ ⊹ ⊱ ☆ ⊰ ⊹ ─ 𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐯𝐢𝐭𝐲 𝐛𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝

★ 𝐚/𝐧: ty for the request anon, i have desperately been wanting to write for caleb but have had 0 inspo for him LOL. sorry this is so short and not a full length fic, plus it took so long :,( uni is kicking my BUTT rn. nonetheless i hope (and pray) you enjoy!! <3333

You were back in his arms, and there wasn’t anything more in the world Caleb could ever think to ask for.

It wasn’t the first time you had situated yourself there, nestled against his chest and weaved into his heart. Growing up, you two found yourselves entangled in each other's limbs more often than not. A nightmare, a bad day - one another’s arms were a safe haven from the cruel, destructive world that lurked outside, offering a sanctuary no words could ever quite replicate.

Though you were older now, and as much as Caleb would hate to admit it, so much more grown. Of course, you were still the girl he always knew, yet over the course of time, you had developed the mental strength of a thousand soldiers; built a determination and power more vigorous than he had ever seen. The softness of childhood had been replaced with resilience, sharpened by experience. Your body was just as strong, no doubt from tearing through countless wanderers like butter. Firm against his, no longer small and delicate.

You weren’t the little girl that would cry in his arms during thunderstorms anymore, afraid of the dark, crawling into his blankets with him for comfort. When did you grow so much? Had he simply failed to notice, or had he been too afraid to acknowledge the inevitable? As much as Caleb tried to convince himself otherwise, he knew the truth; you didn’t need him to protect you anymore. But in this moment, with your weight pressed against him, he could pretend. Just for a little while longer, he could hold on to the illusion that you were still safe in his arms, that he was still needed in your life.

There was always something there between you two, Caleb would be stupid to deny it. Or maybe he’d made it all up in his head - unspoken words, stolen glances, moments that lasted just a little longer than necessary. The way you’d turn to one another after every joke, the shared secret language of sighs and stares, fingers interlacing after high-fives as if they were meant to fit together.

He’d scare off the boys at school who tried to pursue you, never leaving your side so they’d know exactly who you belonged to. He noticed how you’d cling to his arm wherever you went, pressing soft kisses against his cheek, wearing his clothes like a second skin. In a crowded room, you always found each other, always sat a little closer than necessary, always gravitated toward one another like celestial bodies caught in each other’s orbit. There was never a need to say it outright, everyone knew. The two of you left a mark, staking an unspoken claim on one another.

‘Mine.’

But you were younger then, just kids who swore you were really good friends. It made sense, you had grown up together; shared dinners at night, shared a bed, shared your lives. It wasn’t surprising that you had such a hold on each other, that you were so effortlessly intertwined. The thought of spending the rest of your lives together was not unheard of, but spending it together? That was different.

That was something neither of you dared to say aloud, something that hovered between you like a breath waiting to be exhaled. The idea seemed forbidden, it seemed wrong.

Though, despite the taboo of it all, Caleb still loved you. He loved you before he even knew what love was, before he even knew your name. He loved you through every version of yourself, through all the times you’d forget him. But it didn’t matter, because no matter what, he knew your soul as intricately as he knew his own.

The movie playing in the background had just become noise in his ears, the plot lost entirely to the rhythm of your breathing, the way your fingers idly toyed with the chain around his neck.

“Are you even watching?” Your voice was quiet, fingertips brushing against the cool metal, eyes peering up at him through your lashes.

“Yeah.” His response was soft, unsure. Because how could he focus on anything else when you were here, pressed against him, looking at him like that?

For a fleeting second, it didn’t matter what was right or wrong, what was forbidden or accepted. He wondered what your lips would feel like against his, if they would be just as soft as they were against his cheek, just as gentle as they were against his forehead. He thought about your hands threading through his hair, about how they left burning traces on his skin, branding him with every touch; and you were. He was absolutely, irrevocably yours.

Caleb wanted to lean down and kiss every inch of your face, to pull you in so close that there would be no space left between you, no room for doubt, no fear of separation. He wanted to cross the line that you both had danced on for so many years.

No, he’d leave that to you.

Let you call the shots, make the final decision, decide where the boundaries would lie. Because Caleb would, in the end, be whatever you wanted him to be. Whether that was your best friend, your lover, something entirely else, or just Caleb. Because he loved you, and he was yours; and he understood, without words, without hesitation, that you were his too.