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mini random sevika drabble~
Just you and Sevika living in your own domestic little world <3
Waking up together in the morning, her leaning over towards you and smothering you and kisses, you both enjoying each other's embrace.
Sevika would DEFF love seeing u get ready in the morning. You catch her oogoing at you 24/7. Sevika's response? She's got absolutely no shame.
Speaking of that, she definitely the type to make her attraction to you KNOWN. She doesn't need you doubting her for a second.
butch4femme realness đââïž
#sevika arcane#sevika#arcane#arcane drabbles#sevika drabble#sevika fluff#sevika au#sevika x reader#sevika x you#sevika save me#im so gay#mephist00o#black!writer#lesbian#nonbinary
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sis is stronger than I'll ever be
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"MC's such a bitch. She's so mean to Sylus :("
Sylus in the privacy of his room after having his shoulder used as a stool, having his hot gf grab him by the collar and being bossed around by her:
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There are times where I'm happy I'm a f2p LADS player because my wallet would 1000% be in shambles rn đ
#love and deepspace#lads#lads sylus#lads zayne#lads caleb#lads rafayel#lads xavier#mephist00o#sylus love and deepspace#black!writer
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Sylus has slowly drawn you into his hobby of collecting records. While his collection was filled primarily with classical and jazz. You brought in a variety of modern day artists that heâd never spare a second glance.
Initially youâd get a bit shy about it, shuffling through the records that laid in his desired categories. Picking out a few classics that truly reminding you of him. And â much to your shock â you managed to pick out pieces he didnât own. Something you figured was impossible.
But then, you dared to slip in a modern alternative record you thought heâd enjoy. Justifying it as being something you could keep to listen to if he did turn it down.
âThis is⊠different.â And you felt like your knees could give out, a mix of worry and embarrassment creeping up your spine as he studied the vinylâs sleeve. âI-it is! Itâs an album I really like itâs pretty⊠new? Itâs not really like anythingââ
You were left speechless as Sylus pulled the record from the slip and set it on the player. âW-we donât have toâŠâ
âNonsense, you really like this album so weâre going to listen to it.â And for a moment, you were positive your brain was going to explode because⊠really? He wanted to listen to your type of music? Suddenly the expectations felt way too damn high. âAre you sureâŠ?â
âCourse I am.â
The needle hit the track and after a few beats of silence, the first song off the album began to fill the living room.
Your eyes never left him for the duration of the record, finding yourself growing increasingly shy as he nodded along to the beats. There was something so intimate about sharing this with Sylus, something that had your heart pounding out of your chest with anticipation.
An hour later, when the record came to an end, you hesitantly asked what you had been dying to know.
âSoâŠhow was it?â
Truth be told, it wasnât his style, but he found himself thoroughly engaged throughout the entire duration.
Maybe it was because of how you were looking at him â such sweet, shy anticipation as you revealed something so dear to you â but Sylus would forever associate this album with you. âIâd like to listen to it again, pleaseâ
âSo you liked it!?â The astonished disbelief had him smiling. âVery much so.â
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so what if someone is possibly in the works of making a sylus x reader fic set in a gala, with heavy pride and prejudice meets phantom of the opera vibes-ish with less emphasis on enemies to lovers and more of a mutual infacuation INCLUDING playful banter đ¶ (also black!reader)???
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æŠè©çžèź©ççć»ïŒä»äžç±ćŸæ„äŒćŸźæ»ăć·ćœçéąæćèżćżć°ïŒçæçèćœ±ćšä»çäœć
äžèżć»ă As they brush past each other, his steps falter involuntarily. A cold premonition cuts through his heart as a familiar silhouette disappears in his periphery. Love and Deepspace (2024), dev. Infold Games
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THISSS!!!! I get so happy when I see soft Sylus in fics đ«¶đŸ
whenever new sylus content comes out in game it all just further solidifies the fact that he's so much more than the typical 'morally grey villainâ love interest people could easily write him off as. i always find myself reminded of the fact that heâs not only such a well written character but a really good lover.Â
he makes sure mc/the player is well fed before he starts to eat, he makes it a point to get her favorite drink for her when they meet up. when she challenges him he matches her energy, when she wants to do something he always indulges her and goes along with her plans.Â
alternatively, when she doesnât want to do somethingâeven if he thinks itâs good for her or he would prefer for it to happenâif she says no then the answer is no. like while his first instinct was to kill the old lady who stabbed her during the zoion hunt he backed off when she told him to. he bandaged her up with care and didnât simmer in his own anger or try to contradict her wishes like other depictions of that genre of man might have.
they play video games together. he fist bumps her when she does a cool move to shoot down their enemies. heâs trying to become a better singer so sheâll like it when he sings for her. he says the soul is one of the most precious gifts given to humanity and implies that she makes up half of his. he wants to help her become strong enough to protect herself. he says their connection transcends current circumstance and repeats constantly that their lives are bound together.
everything sylus has done previously was in preparation to meet her. everything he does currently is working towards having a future with her. when instinct and base desire tell him to devour her, take her strength and be rid of the power she has over him, he doesnât give in. and with the hints to more of their past lore it seems like in each lifetime heâs stuck in a never ending cycle of having to kill her or be killed by her again and again, yet he persists.
he's the type of man i personally want to work towards deserving and i'm coming to understand how i've accidentally mischaracterised him in the past. i think i could write as many fics about him as i liked, but i would never do him justice.
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death and rebirth except it's the chaos in linkon au
aka sylus' mc lilia is a murder gremlin and zayne's mc jasmine is a simp
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f1 driver!sylus as your bf headcanons | sfw ver.

â§ f1 driver!sylus is ferrariâs precision weaponâtheir very own thoroughbredâhot-blooded and agile. sylus doesnât just drive to winâhe drives because domination is second nature. no opponent rattles him. no track unsettles him. he walks into every race weekend with that slow, deliberate confidence that says: you were never going to beat me.
â§ f1 driver!sylus never raises his voice. he doesnât need to. his words cut cleaner in a whisper. heâs the kind of man whoâd look a rival dead in the eyes and say, âtry harder. i need at least a challenge before lunch.â and mean it.
â§ f1 driver!sylus once refused to appear at a post-race fan event because you had collapsed on the teamâs sofa after a long day. he didnât care about press schedules or sponsorship obligationsâif you needed rest, that was his priority. that night, he stayed quietly by your side, his presence alone saying everything you needed to hear: you come first. always.
â§ f1 driver!sylus makes sure you always have a reserved spot right in the ferrari garage. whether itâs the pre-race preparations or celebrations, he wants you close enough to see every detailâthe way his crew moves with precision, the sparkle of victory in his eyes, and the rare moments he lets his guard down just for you. this spot isnât just a seatâitâs his way of letting you know that youâre his number one, always.
â§ f1 driver!sylus loves making friendly bets with you about his race outcomesâsometimes wagering small things like who makes dinner or who picks the next movie. his cocky grin only grows wider when he wins, but beneath the teasing, he cherishes the way you get so invested, as if youâre racing alongside him. these playful bets are a private language, a way to keep the competition playful and the connection alive, no matter how intense the season gets.
â§ f1 driver!sylus has your signature prominently imprinted on the rear wing of his ferrari car, right below the team logoâa bold, personal mark that shows everyone exactly whoâs with him every race. before every race, he runs his hand lightly over your signature, a small ritual that centers him, grounds him, and fuels the fire that drives him forward. itâs his personal good luck charm, a symbol of your unshakable bond.
â§ f1 driver!sylus is so catastrophically dramatic, itâs theatrical. heâll tweet âmy girl hasnât replied in 43 minutes. if you see me full-send into a wall, know i went out thinking about her eyebrows.â swears heâs fine, then texts you âwould you still love me if i lost pole position?â after winning a race, heâll deadpan into the camera, âthis victory means nothing. sheâs still mad.â they could hand him champagne, a trophy, a contract extensionâheâd just sit silently on a folding chair in the back of the garage, helmet still on, just⊠staring at the wall. engineers are too scared to speak. someone asks if heâs okay and he mutters, âshe said âdo what you want.â i donât know what that means.â
â§ f1 driver!sylus turns everything into a game, pulling you into his fierce, competitive world with ease. grocery shopping becomes a silent battle of who picks the better snack, choosing a movie turns into a playful standoff, and even casual conversations carry the edge of a contest. itâs his way of sharing his sharp mind and keeping you on your toes, and deep down, he loves that you rise to the challenge.
â§ f1 driver!sylus doesnât tweet often itâs either pure sarcasm (âpracticed my victory dance in the mirror. might retire undefeated.â), unexpectedly romantic (âshe didnât look at the grid once. just me. i won twice todayâ), or completely chaotic like, âmy girlâs mad at me. if i donât make it to fp2, tell the stewards it was for love.â his pr team lives in fear.
â§ f1 driver!sylus has your irisânot just a vague symbol, but a precise, detailed imageâinstead of the ferrari logo on his steering wheel. itâs a deeply private touch, hidden in plain sight. when he grips the wheel, feeling the texture beneath his fingers, he sees you. that single image reminds him why he pushes so hard, races so fiercelyâitâs not just for glory, but for you.
â§ f1 driver!sylus never forgets to save you a seat at every event, ensuring you have the perfect vantage point for every high-speed moment and every victorious celebration. but he doesnât just think about your comfort; he thinks about the small things that make you feel cared for. nestled in the cooler beneath his helmet bag are your favorite protein bars, a thermos filled with the drink you prefer, and those rare cookies only found back home. he carries these not for himself, but to keep you energized and comforted no matter how grueling the weekend gets.
# do not repost, translate, or upload my work to any other platforms. tumblr reblogs are welcome and appreciated, but reposting outside of this blog is not permitted !
â ⊠© @ lvsfyii, tumblr 2025 â§
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Thereâs symbolism in the glass silco kept from his time with Vander at The Last Drop getting sliced in half during his monologue about loyalty and alliances. Iâm just too tired to write it all out right now, but you get it.
Also hereâs a present

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Sylus girlies forever amazing me by pointing out tiny details I missed
had to watch this scene in super slow mo on YouTube
Sylus dropped a loaded mag into mc's gunđ«¶đ»đ«¶đ»
They're so Mr and Mrs Smith ommmggg absolutely in sync husband and wifeyđ©·đ©·


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LOVE AND DEEPSPACE â âYOU CAME?â âYOU CALLED.â
ZAYNE
The city hums like a living thing outside the window, its lights too bright, too indifferent. Rain claws down the glass in erratic streaks, turning the night into a blur of neon smears and muted sirens.
You donât look at the door. You just sit on the edge of the hotel bed, fingers twisting into the hem of your coat like theyâre trying to tear through fabric, skin, bone.
And thenâyou hear it. The knock.
One.
Two.
Three.
Measured. Controlled. So Zayne.
You shouldnât have called. You knew heâd come.
But knowing something doesnât make it hurt less.
You cross the room slowly, like the ground itself might open if you move too fast. Your hand lingers on the doorknob. You inhale like it might steady you. It doesnât.
When the door opens, itâs like a punch to the chest. Heâs soaked. Dark hair plastered to his face, jacket clinging to him like second skin. He doesn't speak. His eyes just search you like he's memorizing the lines of someone he's trying not to forget.
"You came?" you whisper. Itâs barely a question. Itâs a wound.
He exhales, jaw tight. âYou called.â
Thereâs something dangerous in his voice. Not anger. Something heavier. Quieter.
You step aside and he walks in like a shadowâsilent, consuming.
The door clicks shut behind him and the space between you becomes suffocating.
"You shouldnât be here," you say, but your voice is shaking, like you donât mean it. Like you never did.
"I know." His eyes donât leave yours. "But you said you needed me."
"I didnât think youâd still come."
He doesnât answer that. Just shrugs off his wet jacket and tosses it on the chair like it doesn't still carry the scent of his cologneâsharp, electric, him.
You hate that it makes your throat burn.
"You left," you say. It spills out, broken glass from a shattered bottle. "You disappeared without a word, and now youâre justâ"
"You called." His voice cuts through yours like frost. âYou needed me.â
"And if I hadnât?" you ask, eyes wet now, voice cracking. âWould you have stayed gone?â
He doesnât answer.
And in that silence is everything he can't say.
You turn away before he can see the tears fall. Or maybe you just donât want to see the way his face would twist when they do.
He moves closer. Close enough that you feel the heat of him, even through the cold.
"I never stopped watching," he says quietly. "Even when I shouldnât have. Even when it hurt."
"Then whyâ"
"Because I loved you." His voice is raw now, stripped down. "Love you."
You spin, eyes wide. âThen why did you leave?â
He looks at you like you already know. Like he doesn't want to admit the truth out loud.
âBecause everything I touch ends up broken,â he whispers. âAnd I couldnât bear to see that happen to you.â
You're quiet for a moment. Just breathing in the pieces of each other, jagged and unfinished.
"You donât get to decide what breaks me," you say finally. âYou donât get to run and then pretend it was for my sake.â
He flinches like the words hit him physically. And maybe they do.
But he steps closer again. And this time, when he cups your face, his hand is shaking.
"I came because you called," he says. "But I stayed because I never stopped wanting to."
You don't kiss him.
You just let your forehead fall against his chest and listen to his heartbeat echo all the things neither of you are brave enough to say.
Not yet.
But maybe soon.
If he doesnât run again.
If you donât.
XAVIER
The air in the abandoned warehouse is still, like itâs holding its breath. Like it knows whatâs coming.
It smells like dust and old memories. The place hasnât changed. You have.
You shouldnât be here. But something about the silence felt safer than your apartment. Than your bed. Than being alone with the echo of a voice you told yourself you were done missing.
You didnât expect him to actually come.
But then again, he always does the impossible.
The door creaks open behind you, soft but sure.
You donât turn.
âYou came?â Your voice cracks on the second word.
He doesnât hesitate. âYou called.â
You laugh. Bitter. Small. âThatâs not an answer.â
âIâm here, arenât I?â
You finally turn, and there he isâXavier, in that same black coat, like night has wrapped itself around him. His face is unreadable, but his eyes give him away. They always do. They burn like a star that forgot how to die.
âYou shouldnât have come,â you say, swallowing the ache.
âI know.â He takes a step closer. âBut I couldnât not.â
"Thatâs a bad habit of yours."
"So is needing someone who disappears the moment it gets hard."
You flinch. Fair shot.
Neither of you speak for a moment. There's just that heavy stillness. The kind that settles in right before something breaks.
You look at himâreally look. He looks tired. More than usual. Like the universe took something from him and didnât bother saying sorry.
"You left without telling me why," you say, voice low. "I thought I meant something to you."
"You did." A beat. "You do."
"Then why the hell did you run?"
He hesitates. That alone says everything.
âI didnât run,â he says slowly. âI withdrew. Thereâs a difference.â
Your laugh this time is sharp, bitter. âYeah, the difference is whether or not I get a goddamn explanation.â
âI was trying to protect you.â He says it like it should make everything better.
"It didnât work."
"I know."
You walk past him, pacing, running a hand through your hair, furious at how much you still care. "I waited, Xavier. I waited every damn night, thinking maybe youâd explain, maybe youâd just say something. And you never did."
âI thought staying away would make it easier.â
"For who?" you snap. âYou?â
He doesn't deny it. Of course he doesn't.
He looks out the tall window, to the stars you used to point out together. The ones he taught you to read like a language only the two of you knew.
âI didnât want to pull you into the dark with me,â he murmurs. âYou shine too bright.â
You almost laugh again, but itâs too cruel. Too hollow.
âYou donât get to make that choice for me,â you say, voice quieter now. âYou donât get to disappear and act like it was noble.â
He finally looks at you again. âThen why call me tonight?â
You pause.
"Because I didnât know who else would understand the kind of lonely that feels like being lost in orbit."
He moves toward you slowly, like heâs afraid youâll disappear if he moves too fast.
âIâm still me,â he says, âeven if Iâm... not the version of me you deserve.â
You close the distance between you, until youâre standing chest-to-chest, eyes searching his like they might find the truth he never says out loud.
âI never asked you to be perfect,â you whisper. âI just wanted you to stay.â
âIâm here now.â
You shake your head, tears clinging to your lashes. âBut for how long, Xavier? Until you get scared again?â
He doesnât promise anything. He just reaches up, hesitant fingers brushing your cheek like heâs memorizing the shape of you.
âI donât know how to be good at this,â he admits.
You press your hand over his.
âThen donât be good,â you say. âJust be here.â
RAFAYEL
The door slides open with that soft mechanical sigh â too smooth, too easy for something that feels this heavy.
You step into his studio, unsure if youâre intruding or answering a summons. Maybe both.
Rafayel doesnât look up immediately. Heâs lounging in his chair like heâs been expecting you for hours, like your arrival is only mildly more interesting than the orbit decay he's monitoring. One leg crossed over the other, arm draped lazily across the back of the seat. Completely unfazed.
But you know him. You see the tension in the way his fingers twitch once before stilling. The quiet inhale he doesnât think youâll notice.
He finally glances over his shoulder.
âYou came?â he drawls, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. âHow uncharacteristically obedient of you.â
You raise an eyebrow. âYou called.â
He hums, spinning lazily to face you. âI did. Itâs nice to know I still have that kind of pull.â
You donât dignify that with a response. Not yet.
Instead, you cross your arms, leaning against the wall like youâre not unraveling just from being in the same room again. âWas there a reason, or were you just bored and craving emotional devastation?â
He grins at that. âTempting. But no, I had a moment of weakness. I thought, âWhat if I said something sincere and emotionally available for once?â Then I panicked and called you.â
You stare at him. âThat explains the abrupt message with no context.â
âAh. So you did miss me.â
You laugh. Sharp. Bitter. âI didnât say that.â
âYou didnât have to.â
Thereâs a beat. The banter falters â just for a breath. You see it then: the exhaustion under the charm, the way his shoulders drop just slightly. Something is off tonight. Even for him.
âYou look like hell,â you say, softer now.
He shrugs. âSleep is for the emotionally stable.â
You take a few steps forward, slow. âRafayel⊠why did you call me?â
He looks at you for a long moment. The smirk fades, bit by bit, until all thatâs left is the truth heâs too proud to say out loud.
âBecause the silence was louder than I expected,â he says finally. âAnd apparently, I hate the sound of my own thoughts.â
You exhale. âThatâs rich coming from you.â
âI know. Terrifying, isnât it?â
You reach him. Heâs still in his chair, but now heâs watching you like youâre something he canât bear to touch, but canât look away from either.
âI was angry,â you say. âWhen you left. When you shut down. I didnât know where I stood.â
âI thought I was doing you a favor,â he says, voice quieter now. âSparing you from the mess. From me.â
âWell, it didnât feel like mercy. It felt like abandonment.â
He winces like the word physically lands. âOuch. Youâve been practicing.â
You donât blink. âJust telling the truth. You do that too, sometimes. Usually when it hurts.â
His lips twitch. âFair.â
You kneel a little, meeting his eye level. âIf you didnât want me to come, you shouldnât have called.â
âIf I didnât want you here, I wouldâve locked the door.â
âWouldâve stopped me?â
âNo. But I wouldâve felt better about it.â
A beat of silence.
Then, quietly:
âI missed you.â He says it like itâs dangerous. Like itâs a confession heâs not used to giving, and hates that he means.
âI know,â you whisper. âSo did I.â
He exhales. His hand lifts, tentative, hovering for a second before brushing your arm like heâs asking permission with his fingertips.
You let him.
Just this once.
âYouâre really here,â he murmurs.
You nod. âFor now.â
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing with something unreadable. âIs this the part where we pretend to fix things? Or the part where we ruin them more beautifully?â
You manage a tired smile. âI donât know yet.â
He leans in, eyes gleaming.
âGood,â he whispers. âI love a little uncertainty.â
And for once, you both sit with the ambiguity â no promises, no apologies. Just space. Shared, uneasy, electric.
Because sometimes, you came is all the answer there is.
SYLUS
The rooftop is quiet this time of night.
Above you, the sky hangs heavy with stars youâve never really learned to name. Below, the city breathes in artificial light and distant hums â busy, blind, uncaring.
You shift on the cold ledge, arms tucked into your coat, trying to feel something other than the tight ache in your chest.
You shouldnât have called him.
You barely know him â not really. Not enough to ask for this. For company. For anything that feels like comfort.
But you called anyway.
And now... heâs here.
The door creaks behind you.
You don't look back. Not right away.
His footsteps are soft. Controlled. Like heâs trying not to startle you.
âYou came?â Your voice is low. Fragile, despite your best efforts.
He doesnât answer at first. Just moves closer, the warmth of his presence cutting through the rooftop chill like something solid. Real.
âYou called,â Sylus says, voice quiet. No judgment. Just fact.
You turn, finally meeting his eyes â that impossible shade of red, too vivid in the dark.
Heâs still wearing his usual layers â all black, as if the worldâs weight might be easier to carry if he looks like heâs already braced for it. But his expression is softer than youâve ever seen it. Guarded, but open in a way you didnât expect.
âI didnât mean to interrupt anything,â you say, already retreating.
âYou didnât.â He steps closer. âWell. You interrupted sleep. But I wasnât really doing that anyway.â
You offer a tired half-smile. âSorry.â
âDonât be.â He says it like he means it. âIâd rather be here.â
That quiets you.
You look away, out at the city. âI wasnât even sure youâd come.â
âI was already halfway here before I realized I hadnât even asked why you wanted me to.â
âAnd now that youâre here?â
He shrugs lightly. âStill donât need a reason.â
Your breath catches. Thereâs too much in that answer. Too much for someone youâve only known for a few weeks. Someone who still deflects most questions and hides behind smirks like theyâre bulletproof.
But heâs here.
âRough day?â he asks gently.
You nod. âYeah.â
He doesnât push. Just waits. Youâre starting to realize thatâs who he is. He gives you silence, not as avoidance â but as space. Like he knows youâll talk if you need to. Or not.
And right now, you need to.
âI thought I was okay,â you admit. âBut then everything just... started to close in. Like I couldnât breathe. And I didnât know who to call.â
His brow furrows slightly. âSo you called me.â
âYeah.â
A pause.
âWhy me?â
The question isnât accusatory. He sounds curious. Maybe even surprised.
You meet his gaze, forcing the words out past the knot in your throat.
âBecause youâre the only one who looks like theyâd understand what it feels like to want to disappear sometimes.â
The silence that follows is heavier. Realer.
And then, softly:
âI do,â Sylus says. âUnderstand, I mean.â
You nod. âI thought you might.â
He exhales slowly, something easing in his posture. He sits beside you â not too close, but close enough that your shoulders nearly touch.
âI donât usually do this kind of thing,â he murmurs.
âWhat? Comforting people?â
âNo. Letting people see the part of me that needs comfort.â
You glance at him. âIs that what this is?â
âMaybe.â He hesitates. âOr maybe I just didnât want you to be alone tonight.â
You smile, small and real. âThatâs kind of the same thing.â
He huffs a quiet laugh. âMaybe Iâm worse at this than I thought.â
âYouâre not,â you say. âYouâre just honest. Itâs rare.â
He nods like thatâs something he doesnât hear often.
After a moment, you shift slightly toward him.
âYou can go, if you want.â
He doesnât move.
âIâm not going anywhere,â Sylus says quietly. âNot if you still want me here.â
You donât say anything. Just let the silence settle over the two of you â warm now, not empty. You can feel him next to you, steady and real.
And for the first time in hours, the world doesnât feel like itâs closing in.
Not when heâs here.
CALEB
You shouldâve let the message sit unanswered.
The city outside Calebâs apartment still glows the way it always does â neon gold and soft blue, glittering like it's trying to convince you everything is beautiful and under control.
Itâs not.
Not in here.
The air still feels bruised from the fight earlier. Words that shouldnât have been said, thrown like sharp glass between the two of you. Thereâs a bitter silence now, the kind that doesnât just linger â it punishes.
You donât know why you came back.
Well â you do.
Because he called.
The lock disengages before you can knock again. The door opens just slightly, and there he is â Caleb. Towering, broad-shouldered, and suddenly so very⊠small in the way he looks at you. Like he expected you not to come.
You donât say anything.
Neither does he.
Until, finally:
âYou came?â His voice is hoarse, low. Like heâs trying not to hope.
You answer without thinking. âYou called.â
He looks away for a second, like your answer hurt more than he expected it to.
You cross the threshold, slowly, cautiously â like the apartment itself might bite. Everythingâs just as you left it earlier: the couch cushions slightly skewed from when you stormed off, one of the mugs from your argument still on the table, untouched.
The air smells like ozone and tension.
âI wasnât sure youâd answer,â Caleb says quietly, shutting the door behind you.
You still canât meet his eyes. âI wasnât sure I should.â
He swallows hard. âAnd yet... here you are.â
You shrug, feeling like your voice could crack at any moment. âGuess that makes both of us idiots.â
A soft, humorless laugh escapes him. âSpeak for yourself, pipsqueak. Iâve always been an idiot. Took you longer to join the club.â
You glance at him, and for a moment, the pain in your chest softens â just a bit.
But itâs not enough.
âWhat are we doing, Caleb?â you ask, turning to face him fully. âBecause I canât keep pretending everythingâs fine between us when it isnât.â
His jaw tightens. âYou think Iâm pretending?â
âI think youâre avoiding. Thereâs a difference.â
He moves past you, pacing to the window, hands on his hips like heâs trying to hold himself together by sheer force of will.
âIâm not good at this,â he says, voice taut. âAt⊠relationships. Talking. Not making everything worse.â
You follow slowly. âThen why push me away whenever I try to talk?â
âBecause the more I care about you, the more it scares the hell out of me,â he snaps â and then stops, breathing hard.
It hangs there, naked and jagged.
You take a slow step toward him. âYou donât get to use love as a reason to hurt me.â
His head bows, shoulders tense. âI know.â
âI donât want perfection, Caleb. I want honesty. Even if itâs messy.â
He turns back toward you. Thereâs something in his eyes now â something cracked and real.
âI called you,â he says quietly, âbecause I didnât know how to sit in this apartment and not be able to take it back.â
You step closer.
âI came,â you whisper, âbecause I didnât want to go to sleep angry. Not with you.â
For a moment, youâre both silent. Then:
âIâm sorry,â he says. And it sounds like it costs him.
You nod. âMe too.â
He lifts a hand, hesitant, fingers brushing yours â tentative, unsure, but desperate to anchor.
âI donât know how to fix this,â Caleb says. âBut I donât want to lose you trying to figure it out.â
You take his hand. Grip it like itâs the only steady thing in the world.
âThen donât let go.â
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