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ryusjwks · 1 month ago

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Miseria - Caleb

AU: What if...?

You wanted nothing to do with them.

Synopsis: Six different timelines. In each one you find yourself taking over the life of an extra in the game you had been so smitten with. In each life you’re different, whether it’s a different job, or where you live and even your personality. But only one thing remains constant, you’re determined to avoid them. You’re not in the body of the MC so it’s not like they’ll even notice.

You really shouldn’t have underestimated them.

MC | Zayne | Sylus | Xavier | Rafayel

TW/Tags: breakups, angst, reader is a widow and single mother (so mentions of pregnancy and some sentences on the effects of it but I’m not going deep into it otherwise we’d be here all day), death, loss of a loved one/minor character, grieving, there is a child in this I’m sorry, stalking, plus size reader, suggestive content (16+), forced second chances, small mention of drink spiking, pseudo-incest? (I hated even typing that out but it’s literally part of MC and Caleb’s dynamic), yandere caleb, possessiveness, obsession, implications of child abuse, small mentions of Caleb and MC’s past, sabotage, forced kissing, threats against a pregnant lady (not you), unrequited love, implied future non-con/babytrapping, forced marriage, dead dove do not eat

WC: 14.3K

Masterlist

Disclaimer: This is a yandere work. The character's personalities have become dramatised as a result. This is not what I think of them at all even as yanderes, it's just for pure indulgence. MC in the boys chapters is not the same one in her's, she's just generic but she will always be a friend (not in this one though). This is not a safe space for MC haters. If you don't like any of this then don't read.

Caleb is very out of character in this. I cannot emphasise this enough.

One moment you’re relaxing on your bed - your own way of celebrating that you had aced your job interview and landed your first big job which made those hell years at uni all worth it - the next you’re standing in someone else’s bathroom.

The sudden change leaves you disoriented but even with the room spinning around you, you still take notice of your appearance in the mirror. The air is humid and the mirror itself is foggy. Someone clearly took a shower. That’s when you feel the water drip down from your head, you reach to touch your hair and look in shock at the liquid on your fingertips. It was you that did. The realisation doesn’t make sense. You had just been on your bed, how did you get here?

You reach for the corners of the sink, an attempt to ground yourself, making sure to take deep breaths. It works, you find yourself calming down. The shakiness in your arms starts to disappear and the thundering of your heart slows down to simple rainfall.

Lifting your head back up you concentrate on the woman in the mirror. She looks just like you, the same scars and blemishes adorn her, her mouth creases the same way yours does when you smile, she has every single one of your features. So, then why does she feel like an imposter?

Perhaps it’s the differences you’ve started to notice. You’re not sure of her age but she looks more mature than you. It’s in her eyes, very clear that she had experience you had yet to gain. Her body feels weird too, it’s the exact same as yours though, thick thighs, flabby arms and a round stomach. You don’t think you’ve ever felt this sluggish. She’s exhausted. You lift the pyjama shirt to examine deeper. She has stretch marks, around her thighs, leading up to the stomach and even in the corner of her breasts, just like you did. It happens from excess skin but the marks on her stomach are deeper than they had been on yours.. There’s a scar on the lower stomach, a line. It’s faded but still visible, when you reach to touch it - you don’t feel it much.

Oh.

In a panic, you leave the bathroom desperate to run away and find help. But then the pain comes in your head. You find yourself on your knees clutching your head as you groan in anguish.

Flashes of white hit you, whispers and sensations.

Memories, you realise.

The next time, you wake up on the bedroom floor unsure of how much time has passed.

You’re much calmer this time. You’re not her but you are. She has your name, you’re the same age and have the same birthday but you have lived different lives. You remember every detail of her life even the moment she was born. You remember her happy moments, her sad ones and the ones so painful she bottled them away. You remember that she had fallen in love twice, each one ending in pain. You remember as she discovered her pregnancy and raised a child with the man she continues to love but it’s just her and the child now.

More than that, you’ve realised you’re in a fictional world. One you had grown to love. That had been crafted for the characters you adored in it.

Your favourite had been the purple-eyed childhood friend but as you recall her memories, you want nothing but to pummel him to the ground. Your heart twists with the ache she has memorised in relation to him.

“I don’t understand why I have to go,” you whine to your best friend, wrapping yourself around her.

She throws you off her shoulder. “Because you’re the president!” she tugs at your cheek. “I can’t believe someone so lazy as you was picked!”

Pen is only joking with you. Your vice president is aware that despite your affinity to laze around, you’re the best for the job. The year before you had been chosen, you had created and implemented a program at Skyhaven University. One simple yet invaluable. The name for it was simple, ‘TELL’. Not an acronym. A website focused on anonymity, where students could go and ask for anything. Whether it was advice, or help with winning over a professor or with assignments. Responses would come from students themselves.

The site was heavily monitored and every resource on it was free. The fees required to keep it running were taken care of by the donation you had received from the competition. The one you had entered before when you were still in high school. You had run a similar website back then but on a much smaller scale, only between your class. You documented everything, the good and the ugly. But no one could deny the benefit it brought, in just a few months differences could be seen. Assignments were done with ease, morale was up and your class? You all became so close that you all still regularly meet up.

No one was shocked when you won the competition and that was when you garnered the attention of several universities but the one in Skyhaven paid the best. You sold the idea to them for an amount that would ensure your grandkid’s grandkids would be taken care of. You got a nice scholarship and instant admission into your desired course with the added bonus of taking care of the site until you graduated.

The program had been running for a few months before you started university, so you had attention on you when you did. Your first year had been amazing but no one told you popularity could be so tiring. Only you were shocked to learn you had been elected the president of the student council for the next year.

You didn’t even know there was one. Wasn’t it only a thing in high school?

You had every intention to decline - it was too much work - but Pen had convinced you otherwise. As your oldest friend, she had flashed those puppy eyes at you knowing it would work. She’s an art student, her sculptures are ethereal. As revenge you recommended her for vice president. It backfired because she actually enjoys her job.

It’s 6AM in the morning. You have two hours to set up for the annual orientation day. It’s a day meant for all those who are new. The one you attended last year was dull. That won’t happen this year.

As tradition, all organisations have a booth but you had personally collaborated with each one to ensure everything would go smoothly, making recommendations to tweak their set up. There was already buzz about the event due to the meticulous posters that you commissioned an actual graphic designer for and not the sweet but very tired/underpaid receptionist who had simply slapped the words ‘Orientation Day’ in a fancy font and called it a day. There will be a variety of food stands, suitable for all diets. There was a stage where clubs were welcome to show off their talents and so much more. The hope was that the event would last the entire day with the goal of collecting donations.

You spend the next two hours simply going around and making sure everything is organised.

When the time on your watch shows 7:58AM, you and Pen wait with bated breath. “It’ll be okay,” she assures you. You nod back.

To your relief students flood the area right on time. “There’s so many of them,” Pen whispers to you in awe. The two of you grin at each other. It would be nice to set a precedent.

It was the longest he had been away from her. The two of them had a tearful goodbye before he boarded the train to Skyhaven. Even with his friends chatting his ear off as they make their way through the crowd to the stage, all he can think about is her.

Is she eating okay? Does she miss him as much as he misses her?

He hopes the answer is yes.

His thinking is cut off by the sudden lights on the stage. A figure steps on the stage.

“Welcome to Orientation Day, everyone!” the girl speaks normally into the mic with a bright grin on her face.

Cheers erupt all around him but all he can focus on is the girl.

You’re wearing a simple white shirt with the logo of the university and blue jeans. The only accessory is the watch on your wrist. Such simple clothing yet you make it look priceless. You introduce yourself. He watches as you explain the event and as you lay out all activities available. He drinks in your laugh, your smile and any mannerisms.

After telling everyone to relax and have fun, you walk off the stage. He keeps his gaze on your figure until you disappear into the crowd. A nudge to his side demands his attention.

“Pretty, isn’t she?” Gideon asks him.

“Huh…?” he clears his throat. “...I guess.”

It just might be the biggest lie he’s told. You’re unlike anything he’s ever seen but shame eats him up inside at the thoughts. How could he easily forget her, even if just for a moment?

Gideon rolls his eyes. “Whatever, man. You never find anyone attractive.”

It’s true. All his life his attention has only been on one woman. He’s never even glanced at another simply walking by, never cared for any of the celebrities his friends go crazy over so what changed now?

He brushes it off. It’s just a one time thing, he soothes himself. You’ll never see her again.

Not even ten minutes later he’s face to face with you.

“What did you want to sign up for?” you ask him with a smile. The words and gesture don’t mean anything to you, you’ve been repeating it to those looking to sign up for the activities available but the simple act might just be his ruin.

You can’t help the amusement shining in your eyes as the boy in front of you struggles to speak. His ears are tinted pink as he realises it too. You give him a patient smile and look him over. You’re not one to care much for romance despite the line of suitors you’ve acquired (yeah, you’re not humble about it either) but the boy is cute. The bright rays of the sun bring attention to all the freckles on his face. It takes everything to not lose yourself in his eyes, the purple a shade that reminds you of the same galaxies you had ‘oohed’ and ‘ahhed’ over as a child. You’re sure if you search deep in them, you’ll find speckles of gold resembling the stars.

Over the years, you’ve found that you don’t really have a type. On the rare occasions you happen to develop a crush - which never seem to last more than a week - each person had been different. You’ve met a variety of people over the course of your life but none have captured your interest this quick. Or even managed to make your heart beat fast like he was.

His friend throws an arm around his shoulder. “We’d like to join the basketball game happening,” the friend grins at you while the other boy looks away.

You pick up the tablet and bring up the list. “Sure, I’ll need your names.”

“I’m Gideon and this is Caleb. You’ll have to excuse my friend here, he’s shy,” Gideon reaches up to ruffle Caleb’s hair. Said man groans and swats his hand away.

“All done! I hope you enjoy yourselves today,” it shouldn’t please you so much as both of them fluster at the smile you send them. “My contact details are on TELL if you ever need help with anything.” You have to say this to all new students as the president but this is the only occasion where you hope it happens.

Becoming all too aware of the long line behind them, the two boys walk away but not before Caleb takes one last glance at you, one that you don’t see. Which might be a good thing since you don’t see the dark expression he wears as you converse with another man with the same smile you had given him.

A few months go by after that. Orientation day had been successful. Even though they had been optional, the donations received should fund the TELL website for an extra year and should still have some leftover.

The boy with the name Caleb takes refuge in the back of your mind and refuses to leave. It’s frustrating pining over a man you met once and it’s so unlike you. There’s nothing you can do about the need to see him again as the second year of your course only gets more complicated and your other responsibilities only add to the stress you’re slowly accumulating. Any free time is gone and your precious sleep was the first to be compromised, something that leaves you different. Gone is the laid back girl you used to be, you’ve been replaced with someone who snaps at the smallest thing. Your relaxed smile has been switched with a frown. You’ve become your worst enemy.

A grump.

The changes in you have started to affect those around you as well. You still feel guilty that you had shouted at Pen over a small mistake, you had apologised like crazy straight after but Pen hadn’t even been mad. Instead she fretted over you, asking if everything was alright. You don’t deserve her but her concern was valid.

You detest shouting. In the decade you’ve been friends, Pen has never seen you raise your voice, not even once.

“[Name], they’re expecting too much from you,” she had held you in her arms as you cried. “How the fuck do they expect one person to do all this?” That was when she had gotten angry, when she looked over your bullet points of everything you had to get done before the month was over. Again, you don’t deserve her.

After confiding in her a little more and with lots of reassurances from her that you weren’t weak for “giving up”, you held a meeting with the rest of the student body. They agreed to shoulder some of the responsibility for you and for the first time in months, you slept through the whole night. Have you mentioned you don’t deserve Pen?

It took a while for you to go back to your original self but no one could deny the ease that rolls off you now. The magnetic pull in you that draws in anyone within radius.

As president, another thing you had to do was keep up appearances. If students and staff don’t actively see for themselves you running around, then it doesn’t matter how much you accomplish, they’ll label you as lazy. So, the fact that you’ve been cooped up inside for the last few months wasn’t ideal.

Luckily an easy fix is something that happens every night without fail. Parties. The campus guidelines state that no parties can be held on the grounds without a member of the student council present.

You volunteered for the one tonight and Pen offered to join as well. Since you’re on supervising duty, you can’t drink anything. Which is probably for the best, the president before you ended up getting spiked and shoved into a closet so the rest of the party could let loose. Such extensive measures weren’t needed, you were all meant to be there so the university could look good, not actually intervene.

Your eardrums might just rupture from the loud bass music playing as you and Pen approach the building. There are people lingering outside on the lawn, groups talking to each other and some failing to walk straight. They all greet you as you pass by and you respond to each.

A drink is shoved in your hands as soon as you enter. “Drink with us Prez!” a drunk boy yells at you. You raise the plastic cup to your lips and pretend to take a sip, the boy cheers completely unaware of your trickery. As a formality you remind him to be careful and walk away, dumping the cup on a random table.

Pen gives you a subtle nudge. “That guy’s been staring at you since you entered,” she gives a quick nod in a direction. Your gaze moves to the area and you halt as your eyes meet violet ones. The block you had put up in an attempt to ignore how those eyes made you feel collapses in on itself. Heat creeps down your body and settles down between your thighs at the intensity of his gaze.

Caleb did not want to go to the party. His resolve didn’t weaken no matter how much Gideon begged him. Normally he would be down but he had an early class and the material was important. All Gideon had to say was that you would be there for Caleb to change his mind. To his frustration, Gideon had caught onto Caleb’s…whatever it was he had with you and he never failed to remind him of it.

Caleb had only seen you once after your first meeting. You didn’t notice him, too busy trying to get to your destination but he took notice of you. Of your exhausted state. He felt the need to stop you and demand why you looked so fatigued. He wanted nothing more than to usher you back to bed with force if needed but instead he willed himself to walk away.

Over the last few months he had a mental list forming in his head with every single detail he learnt about you. Any information learnt came from the mouth of others. You are spectacular, shining so brightly amongst them all. He should stay away, he knows that, but he can’t. He’ll apologise for it later.

Because he knows it won’t last.

It feels like eternity waiting for you to arrive. He watches the clock and counts every second. Numerous people come up to him but he pays attention to none. They all wonder why his gaze keeps drifting to the entrance. When you enter, his eyes are on you. He downs the beer in his hand and crushes the cup in his hand at the way you look. You don’t notice the desire in the eyes of all those who greet you, their every action tainted with corruption.

You’re wearing a simple black dress that ends at your thighs. Nothing extravagant or noteworthy. Except for the fact that it’s you wearing it. The dress moves up slightly with every step you take and he can see the safety shorts underneath. He doesn’t know you wore them to prevent any chafing or that you rubbed baby powder in your inner thighs just in case. You’re wearing shoes with a short heel, for practicality reasons he’s sure but he can’t help appreciate how well they compliment your legs.

You look much better than you did the last time. Well rested and more put together. Part of him is glad for it and the other disappointed that it had not been him who helped you.

The redhead that has been by your side tries to subtly tell you about him but he notices. He has plenty of time to look away and pretend otherwise but instead he keeps his gaze with you. Caleb delights in the way your eyes widen, just a little. You turn to whisper something in your friend’s ear, she nods at you and walks away and in turn you approach him.

“Caleb, right?” you ask him. He doesn’t know that you don’t need an answer and you don’t know that you’ve ignited something in him simply by saying his name. Your lips covered in a shiny gloss look so pretty when they say his name.

“Yeah.”

You join him and lean against the wall. You don’t look at him, instead looking around the room and surveying all the people. “How have you been so far?” It’s a question you have to ask everyone, he’s aware of it but he’ll take whatever you can give. He sighs, leaning his head back up against the wall, gaze on the ceiling. “It’s been stressful,” he drops his head back down and looks at you. “-but nothing I can’t handle.”

You smile at him in response.

“What course are you doing, Prez?” he asks you.

“Computer Science.”

When you don’t receive a reply, you look at the tall man beside you only to find him staring at you in slight shock.

“Pfft,” you can’t help but laugh at his expression. “I’m guessing you too, huh?”

He nods, his voice far too weak from your laugh to function. Pride settles in him, he made you laugh.

“Do you have Mr Wrestly as well?”

At the name he can’t help but let out an involuntary groan which only makes you laugh harder. “He picks on me all the time. I don’t think he likes me very much,” seeing him pout only makes him more endearing to you.

“Yeah, he did it to me too. I felt so stupid every single time until I learnt that he only does it to those who show potential,” you reassure him. His eyes light up at your words. “Really?” He reminds you of a puppy right then and there, one who you’ve just given a bone. “Really,” you confirm.

You understand his reaction, getting a hit after another to your intelligence was not a fun experience. “But still, I’m glad I don’t have him this year.”

It’s silent for a while.

“So…,” he starts and trails off. “-that means you’re graduating this year, right?”

“Yup.”

Truth be told you’ve been trying not to think about it. The future seems so scary, especially since you have no plans in motion. Right now all you have is to apply to some internships and go from there.

“I don’t really see you as a CompSci major,” you admit to him.

“It gives you extra credits for the Aerospace Academy,” he informs.

“Ah. I can definitely see you as a pilot.”

There’s a childlike wonder in his eyes. “Yeah, I’ve wanted to be one since I was a kid.”

Your finger reaches up and traces the outline of his collarbone through his shirt, his breath catches in his throat. You make a point to not return his gaze, only doing so when you utter your next words. “It’s a good thing you’ve got someone who can share all her notes,” you pause. “As long as you’re good.”

His hand moves fast to capture your finger, you give a soft tug giving up when his hold tightens in response. His head moves closer to yours, until you can feel his breath mingling with yours.

“Oh, really?” it comes out as a whisper but his voice has deepened. There’s a slight smirk painted on his lips and his eyes are dark and hooded as they rest on you.

“Really.”

He tugs you into some empty room, shutting the door behind him. His lips are on you before you can say a word. The two of you lose yourself in the other. You have more experience so you lead but he’s a fast learner. In a sudden move you pull away from him, making sure to keep a distance. He looks a little dumbfounded at your change in attitude.

“I can taste the alcohol in your mouth, Caleb. How much have you had to drink?” you ask him gently. He chuckles - despite the relief that it wasn’t because you regret it - and his arms wrap around you before he pulls you to him. “Not even enough to feel buzzed,” he nuzzles his head into your shoulder.

“Hmm,” you contemplate. “I’m still not taking any chances.” You want to concede when the man lifts his head up and pouts. “If you’re serious then kiss me again when you don’t have anything in your system.”

“Yes ma’am.”

Caleb finds you again on day two after the party. It would’ve been one but he didn’t want to seem desperate. He waits for you outside the building of your class, not saying a single word as he approaches. All he does is kiss you.

Neither of you have any experience with relationships. You think you might have been moving too fast but it should be okay, right? You two feel so strongly about the other and that isn’t for no reason. Any doubts are shoved away.

A month goes by and life is nice.

You’ve hosted more events for the university and each of them have done well. Some could’ve been better however you’re determined to not let it ruin your mood instead using them as a learning experience.

Caleb and you are still navigating your relationship.

You live in a one bedroom apartment off campus. Any free time he has, Caleb spends it there. He never spends the night. He’s determined to change that.

You have a research paper due in a week. Normally you would do it the day before while panicking as if you didn’t put yourself in that situation. You can’t do that this time, you’ll be busy then. Caleb lounges on your bed as you sit by your desk.

It’s silent. The only sounds are from your keyboard or the odd rustling of pages moving. You don’t notice the silent plotting brewing in the man’s head.

“It’s nearly 8pm,” he tells you. “I should head back.”

You give a hum in response, flicking your hand up to say goodbye.

Caleb knows how you can get when you’re focused so he doesn’t take it to heart. Your ears pick up the sound of him getting up from the bed. He lets out a small sigh. You don’t say anything. He finds his socks on the floor and puts one on with another sigh. You don’t say anything. He puts the other on and sighs again, this time a little louder. You don’t say anything. His eye twitches, he grabs his shoes and puts them on with a big sigh. You don’t even move.

“Yup. I’m going back to the dorms because my girlfriend hates me.”

You swivel around in your chair and stare at him with a deadpan expression. He bats his eyelashes at you.

Your lips quirk in amusement. “Why don’t you just stay the night, Caleb? You’ll be back here in the morning anyway,” you play along, giving in to him. But your heart is light as his expression changes. He kicks off his shoes and plops back down on the bed.

Thinking everything is dealt with, you turn back around only for a hand to clench around your chair and pull it towards the bed. “Wha-” you jump in surprise. An arm pulls you and you land on your back on the bed. The perpetrator hovers above you with a satisfied smirk. The second your lips begin to move, kisses are being peppered onto your face, an effective way to shut you up.

His lips are on yours. The kiss is different from the others you’ve shared. This one is slow as he takes his time, savouring every moment. His hands reach to tug your hoodie and he pulls his mouth away. You’re both breathing hard. His hand digs into your bed sheets as he tries to restrain himself. The air around you has changed, growing thick from the tension. He doesn’t say anything but you hear the question. You nod. Any control he has is gone as he recaptures your lips in a frenzy.

The next day you wake up from light traces all over your body. Your joints ache and your shoulder and neck throb from the markings. You’re bundled up in his arms. Caleb smiles at you when he sees you’re awake, leaning in close to plant a kiss on your forehead. You can’t say a word back. Not when he looks at you like that.

Like you’re everything he’s ever needed.

You and Pen are closer than ever. She’s one of the most important people in your life so you introduce Caleb to her. The dinner seemed to have gone well. You brushed off any awkwardness, deeming it an occurrence of a first meeting.

Except before she had left, Pen had pulled you away to speak privately.

“Just be careful with that guy,” she warns you. “I know I shouldn’t judge without reason but something about him seems…off.”

“You know me, Pen. First sign of trouble and I run,” you smile in an attempt to comfort her. She gives you a weak one back. “I know you can take care of yourself but you’re different with him.” You look at her in confusion. She takes a deep breath, unsure if she should continue but for your sake she does. “You like him [Name], a lot. No…I think you love him. I-I just don’t see this ending well and I don’t want you getting hurt.”

While you’re too busy spiralling over her words, especially as they ring true, she watches you. What she doesn’t say is that your biggest weakness will always be the way you love. Platonic or not. It’s rare for you to get attached to a person but when you do, it’s intense. Not in an overbearing way but because you kept your heart in a cage and you’d only let in those who you deemed worthy. After that you would love freely, thinking everything would be okay, not realising that people can change or that they might’ve been lying to you from the start.

She’d been by your side (and you her’s) through all your friendship breakups, she saw the way you grieved the loss. The sheer anguish you felt would leave her paralysed. But you had never fallen in love romantically before. Pen doesn’t think she could handle how it would affect you. It just might kill her.

She doesn’t know if shining a light on your feelings had the effect she wanted.

And it doesn’t.

You ignore her warning, Caleb hasn’t given you a reason to doubt him. All the conversation did was make you realise how deep your feelings ran. You itch to say it to him but at the same time something holds you back.

The topic of family comes up one night. You don’t go into much detail about yours, alluding to the fact that your home life wasn’t the best. Thankfully he doesn’t push for more. He tells you about his adoptive sister, how they grew up together and that he cares for her a lot.

What you don’t know about is the turmoil inside Caleb’s head. When he’s with you, he forgets all about her. He doesn’t think about what she’s doing and if everything is alright. He doesn’t forget you when he’s with her. You’re always there in his heart, mind and soul. But then his phone will ping with a message from her while he’s watching a movie with you, asking why he hasn’t been responding. In those moments, he thinks he’ll drown in the shame and guilt and then you look his way and give that angelic smile he adores. He wonders how long he can do this for.

It’s now nearly the end of the year. He’s gone back home while you remain in Skyhaven during your last break in the school year. His family doesn’t know he’s dating you, Caleb sneaks away when you call. It all comes to an end when she pulls him away with a confession.

“I feel like you’ve been distant, Caleb,” her eyes shine with unshed tears. His body moves on its own to cup her face. “What do you mean, Pipsqueak?”

“Do you have a girlfriend?” she struggles to even ask the question. All he can do is wrap his arms around her and say no.

His resolve to end things washes away when you’re waiting for him at the train station. You smile and hug him. She’s forgotten again. It’s an endless cycle.

One that you end up breaking.

He’s standing before a bright green tree, waiting for you. Your tree. The one you went to for peace. The one you had shared with him.

“Surprise!” a figure jumps on him. He recognises the voice. He’s too caught up in the joy to feel dread.

You see the distant figure of your boyfriend. A smile breaks onto your face as you walk faster but you halt when another figure runs towards him. She jumps at him and he catches her with ease. You see it all.

The way he looks at her. How easily she jumps into his arms and he returns it with a serene smile. The emotions and love you thought had been reserved for you are being displayed. In that moment you remember Pen’s warning. Your heart twists as you realise she had been right. How did she see it before you?

You feel so humiliated. It had been right in front of you. How he would always excuse himself to answer her call, no matter the situation. How soft he was when he’d talk about their childhood together. That ugly necklace that was constantly around his neck.

Your steps are slow as you walk up to them. They turn to look at you and Caleb jolts. “[Name]!” He knows it’s over when he sees the look in your eyes. His heart is beating so fast he can hear it drumming in his ears.

Thinking you’re a simple friend, she reaches her hand out and introduces herself. For a split second you want to hate her. But it’s not her fault. You return the handshake and introduce yourself.

“Hey, pips? Why don’t you wait for me in the cafeteria? I need to talk to [Name].”

Unaware of the tension in the air, she agrees and leaves but not before letting you know it was nice to meet you.

You don’t say a word, waiting for an explanation.

“I’m sorry.”

The guilt on his face means nothing to you, not anymore. Caleb’s hands twitch, he wants nothing but to beg for forgiveness. To get on his knees and promise his devotion. But the blank look on your face has him frozen.

“Why?”

“What?”

“Why did you even date me?” you speak the words with a venom he’s never heard before. “Was I just a distraction?” you continue.

“Wha-No! You were never a-”

“Or was I meant to stop others from realising you have feelings for your own fucking sister?”

“I didn’t tell anyone we’re dating.”

“Oh! Even better. But you can’t even deny your feelings for her are true.”

“I’m sorry.”

You let out a cold laugh. “You already said that. I want an explanation.”

But he can’t give it to you. He doesn’t have the answer himself. So, you’ll force them out.

“Choose.”

He looks at you in alarm.

“Me or her? Pick one.”

You already know the answer but you need to hear it. Even if by some miracle he chooses you, you’ll never pick him. Never again.

Flashes of images go through his head. Of her laying on the cold floor with no heartbeat. The fear in her eyes. The anger coursing through him. Their shared cries and pain.

“It’ll always be her.”

His face stings from the force of your slap. He welcomes the pain, it’s what he deserves.

“You’re a coward, Caleb.” You take a step closer. “A weak, pathetic, coward.”

It’s you who physically walks away. You’re numb as you do. All you can focus on is that…

He ruined your tree. Ruined your peace.

Caleb returns to her with a fake grin plastered on his face. No one notices the trembling in his hands or the slight shakiness in his voice.

You don’t see each other for the rest of the school year. In public you’re the same as always but in private you break down. You have no words to describe how you feel. One day you had been so mad that you ripped all the photos you had taken with him. The next you cried over the discarded paper.

Pen is the only one who knows you’re a mess. She tries her best to comfort you.

“[Name] our final exams are next week,” she cradles your head in her hands. “You can’t let him dull your shine. Not now.”

They’re not the words you want to hear but the ones you need.

You bottle up your emotions after that. Keeping the lid shut tight.

You ace your exams and graduate. Happy to never see this place again. Once it had been home to you but now everything about it was tinted with him.

You’re completely unaware as purple eyes watch you in the crowd as you accept your degree and give a speech. How they drink in your smile, laugh and mannerisms. How they are laced with regret.

Even if you did, you wouldn’t care. Not anymore.

Back in the present, you’ve lifted yourself off the floor and have sat down on the bed as you process your(?) memories. The clock on the nightstand reads 3:00AM.

The emotions your other self had years to process are now raw within you. You’re not sure if the shakiness of your body is from the rage simmering inside or the tears making their way down your face.

It’s hard to come to terms with the fact that your comfort character had done all this. Bile rises in your throat, suddenly you feel so disgusted in yourself. You feel used.

The toilet flushes and you turn on the fans in the bathroom to get rid of the smell of vomit. With slow steps you make your way to the bedroom. You look over the decorations and the size of it. At least in this life you’re rich.

You don’t know what to make of this situation. You can no longer delude yourself that it is all a dream. It’s your new reality. You want to go back home. Back to your old life. It wasn’t the best but it also wasn’t this shitshow.

For fucks sake, you have a kid!

You don’t know the first thing about raising a child! All you have are your memories, you’re overtaken by panic.

You leave the bedroom. The hallways are dark but you don’t bother turning the lights back on. You have the floorplan mapped in your head. You take a couple steps right to avoid a table and find yourself standing before a room. Stickers decorate the door. Sparkles and glitters. There’s a big sign on the door. ‘EVE’ is all it says. She had decorated it herself as best as a two-year old could.

You slowly turn the door handle and peek inside. There’s a small frame bundled on the bed. You can see the rise and fall of her chest even under her blanket. The sight of her fills you with peace. All panic is forgotten.

You know exactly where to step so the floorboard doesn't creak. You settle down onto the bed with her, pulling her to your chest. She doesn’t awaken but instead rests deeper into your chest. You caress her head. Maybe this life isn’t so bad after all.

At age twenty you had graduated and found yourself stuck. You had done a bunch of internships after but none stuck with you. One day you had been on the bus, dozing off when you overheard a conversation between two school girls. One of them made an off hand comment about how annoying it was to have so many apps for different things. It didn’t come to you straight away but the girl’s comment stayed with you for a while.

It should’ve been hard to get investors but the reputation you had gained from TELL had been your saviour. Plenty of interest was shown. The first person you brought on was Pen. A way to pay back the friendship and support she had always shown you. She became the lead designer for the app interface.

It’s how Moment’s was born. It’s weird that you designed the very app used to communicate with the love interests themselves.

It’s also how you met him.

Elijah Kennedy.

One of your investors.

You didn’t care for him much at first.

He was attractive, tall with blonde hair and the most majestic brown eyes you’d ever seen, especially under the sunlight. You never really paid much attention to him, all he was is a means to an end. Elijah wasn’t your type, too stoic for your taste. But then, during a meeting he accidentally let slip that he found you pretty and his face got so red. He spluttered on his drink and tried but failed to rectify the situation.

Unlike Caleb who had made your heart beat fast, Elijah made it stutter.

Something changed between you two after that. It was quiet and subtle. Suddenly he was asking you more personal questions and you found yourself answering them. Your meetings started taking place over dinner. Light touches that lingered.

Until one day he tried to ask you on a date but stuttered so much he couldn’t even get the words out. With a teasing smile, you had asked the question for him.

You told him the truth then. That you had been hurt so bad you don’t think you could take a chance again. Elijah confided in you about his ex-girlfriend, who had cheated, in return. Maybe it's because you saw kinship in the other but the rest of the night was spent laying bare all your hurt. It had been therapeutic for Elijah, who felt he would be looked down upon for being so upset, and you, who had to bottle everything up just so you could function.

You didn’t date right away. A friendship started first. Your relationship built slowly. When you two first shared a kiss, it felt so right. Then you went on a date and started dating. After a year, you got married. Pen ended up being your maid of honour. She gave you her approval for Elijah a month into dating and you’ve learnt to listen to her.

Shortly after the honeymoon, you found yourself in the bathroom with a positive pregnancy test. Your hands shook as you stared down at the stick, anxiety pooling in your gut. It was too fast. It was all happening too fast.

You’d learnt nothing from the last time and here you are repeating the same mistakes.

When Elijah finds you on the bathroom floor and tries his best to reassure that everything will be okay, that he’s not going anywhere, the feeling never goes away.

Not even during the pregnancy, or after you gave birth and even when you celebrated Eve’s first birthday. It disappeared when you got the news that your Elijah had been in a car accident. Dead on arrival.

You had been right.

Why did you have to be right?

Eve’s two now, it’s been a year since his passing. It’s a weird sensation to grieve someone so hard yet still feel like they’re a stranger. You sniffle into your daughter’s blonde hair, a few tears escape.

Around the time you had been grieving your husband, you received an email. It had been from her. An invitation to a funeral. There was a line of text at the bottom, ‘He would want you there.’

You didn’t go.

The sound of the doorbell drums through the house.

You don’t get up.

It rings again.

And again.

Until you finally move out of frustration.

She looks concerned at your state. She’s wearing simple clothing, not a hair out of place. While your eyes are bloodshot from all the crying, your skin dry from the salty tears. Everything about your appearance is a mess. Not that you even care.

But you recognise the look in her eyes. She’s a mess just like you, only on the inside.

Neither of you say a word. With a roll of your eyes, you open the door for her and walk inside. The house too, is a mess. Eve’s toys are littered all over the floor of the living room, you grab a basket and start dumping them back in there.

She lingers at the large family photo. “I-I knew you were doing very well for yourself. There was no mention of you getting married or…that you have a child.”

“Yeah? Well, he died too. That’s two for two now. I just might be cursed,” you chuckle darkly as you throw Poppy the Unicorn a little too harshly into the basket. You’ll need to apologise later or Eve won’t be happy.

You feel her gaze on you as you move around the room, trying to clean whatever you could.

“I’m sorry. I had no idea. I think I should just go,” she turns to leave.

“Wait,” at your command she looks back. “Just say what it is you want to and then go,” you gesture at the couch. “Besides it’s not like my day can get any worse,” you mutter softly but she still hears every word.

You sit before her, arms crossed and wait for her to speak.

“I came to apologise.”

Her words shock you.

“Really? I thought you came to yell at me for missing the funeral.”

“No!” her eyes widened in alarm. It’s a comical sight, one that might have made you laugh once. “It’s my fault. I’m the reason it all happened. Back then, I felt him pull away so I asked if he had a girlfriend. I didn’t know he actually did. It never occurred to me that he would ever get one.”

“It’s not your fault nor did I ever blame you for anything,” you wave her off. You can tell from her expression that the answer isn’t enough. “You were a child who didn’t know any better. He went from being around every day to being gone for months. It would’ve been hard to adjust for anyone. Any blame is on him. He should have never gotten in a relationship with me when he loved you.”

The last sentence doesn’t shock her.

“Huh. When did you realise?”

“I think I always knew,” she looks down at her hands, twiddling her fingers. “I just…forced myself to ignore it. I’ve never seen him in that way and I don’t really think he did either.” Her head is back up at you but there’s a fire in her eyes now. “I didn’t just come here to apologise. I need to tell you something.”

That gets your attention. You motion for her to continue.

“His feelings for you were real. After you graduated, something in him changed. He still took care of me the same but the intent was gone. Like it was an obligation. I think he realised it was meant to be for you but by then it was too late. He started seeing me as a sister only. He wasn’t even phased when I got my first boyfriend.”

“That doesn’t change anything.”

“I know,” she smiles weakly. “It’s selfish of me to unload this on you, especially with what you’re going through currently but I had to. For him.”

There’s some more silence.

“What’s your daughter’s name?”

“We named her Eve.”

She raises an eyebrow but doesn’t say anything.

“What?”

“It just doesn’t sound like a name you would pick.”

“It was Elijah’s grandmother’s name. She raised the man I came to love. It was the least I could do.”

The two of you make small talk for a while before a ping on her phone reminds her of her other plans. She bids you goodbye.

You stay on the couch, staring blankly at the wall.

Then the tears fall and you wail.

Your other self was too nice. Caleb didn’t deserve her grief especially since you know he’s still alive.

You have no idea when you drifted off but the feeling of small hands on your face is what wakes you up. Sunlight trickles through the curtains. Brown eyes stare back at you. Eve blinks before breaking out into a huge grin now that you’re up. “Awake?’ she asks.

You kiss her on the forehead. “Awake,” you confirm. “Hungry?” you ask back. It was a daily ritual. She nods. You lift her off the bed and enter the bathroom. She has school today. It’s easy to fall back into your other self’s routine. Every action you take is so natural that it keeps messing with your head. With no issue you enjoy your breakfast with your daughter and drive her to school. She gives you a hug goodbye and you’re left alone again. You don’t have work and you’re in the mood to be outside so the only plans you have is to sleep.

There’s a white box with a ribbon waiting on your doorstep when you arrive. A card is tucked into the ribbon. You bring the box inside.

You’ll need this

Those are the only words written on the card. You flip it over and read the words over and over again but nothing changes. They seem so certain but you’re more shocked at how calm you are.

Inside the box is a silk dress, a shade of emerald green. You run your fingers over the material, it’s beautiful yet simple. Just the way you like it.

The normal thing would be to experience panic in this situation but it never comes. It doesn’t make any sense. You should feel something yet you don’t.

A melody rings through the silence. Something in your pocket vibrates. It’s your phone. You recognise the caller ID, it’s Pen.

You pick up the call, neither of you bothers with trivial greetings.

“We’ve been invited to an event,” her tone is off.

“I’m not going. They’re all the same.”

“Normally I wouldn’t argue but you can’t decline this one [Name].”

“Why?”

“It’s the annual Skyhaven gala. The one where all the important figures attend. People from the Farspace Fleet, military leaders and any important political figure. It’d be social suicide not to go.”

Your gaze settles on the box. “Pen, was it you who sent the dress?” it’s a shot in the dark but it just might land.

“What dress?”

You sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be that easy.

“Nothing. I just forgot I ordered one,” you divert. Pen already dealt with so much of your shit, she’s married now too and four months pregnant. She doesn’t need the extra stress.

“Oh, okay. Come visit me later and bring my niece!”

As Pen’s voice drones off on the phone, your eyes remain on the box. You still feel nothing about the situation.

Maybe because you recognise the handwriting.

It feels like deja vu once again as his eyes continue to glance at the entrance.

He has to be careful not to give it away but he can’t deny how nervous he feels at the chance that he’ll see you again.

It took him far too long to realise how deep he had fallen for you. His entire life has revolved around her, just the way he foolishly thought he wanted. It wasn’t until you entered his life that he saw a different path. But he had been too blinded by the role he forced upon himself to notice. After all she had been through, the least he could do was ensure a good life for her. Everything was her, her, her…

But as she grew up, she needed him less and less. He tried so hard to hold on unaware that he was suffocating them both in the process. Then, you came in and slowly his grip loosened. It was entirely his fault that he had been too much of a coward to let go. You had been right to call him one.

Caleb can’t begin to imagine the pain and suffering his actions caused you. All of it made worse by the fact that he knew it would end that way, yet he let it happen.

He’s missed you so much these last few years. You were in everything. The warm rays of the sun reminded him of the way you would glow under the sun’s embrace. The moon made him reminisce of all the times you would take him stargazing. He saw parts of you in everyone. Your smile. Frown. Laugh.

It was the betrayal on your face he saw before the explosion. Memories of kissing you were what he held onto as he healed. The sensation of your hand clasped in his would make him cry at the arm he lost. Even now, as the chip whirs in his head, you’re the reason he hasn’t lost himself. You’re why he’s still holding on. He needs you, you’ve become his salvation.

Caleb can no longer give you a choice in the matter.

Not when you had moved on. You kept your personal life private but as the Colonel it was easy for him to access any information on you. He’s glad your…husband (he struggles to even think the word) died, one less thing for Caleb to take care of.

Then you walk in.

You’re a little taller now. Even when you’re all dressed up, he can see the exhaustion in your eyes. Taking care of a baby all by yourself can’t be easy. His eyes flicker down to your body, you’re not wearing the dress. He expected it but his gloved hand still clenches by his side.

You don’t notice him. But others notice you. They swarm around you like parasites and he can see it’s all making you overwhelmed. Your eyes dart around, trying to find someone you knew and that's when they meet his.

He had expected you to be surprised to see him but you remain unphased. Not a single hint as to what you’re thinking is shown. It’s frustrating. This wasn’t how he wanted the evening to go.

You don’t make a move, not a single step either towards or away from him. Your gaze slips away from him as you bury yourself in another meaningless conversation.

It feels like hours have passed before you can catch a breath. You leave the floor quickly before anyone else can interrupt, heading for the upstairs floor. To your luck it’s empty. You take refuge in one of the terraces, counting the minutes until you could go home. You miss Eve. She’d been left with a babysitter, who texted you hourly updates.

The setting of the sun distracts you from your thoughts. The sky a blend of orange, purple and pink. Beautiful.

“Did you not like the dress?”

You hadn’t heard him at all. You don’t turn around to see his face.

“It was hideous.”

His steps indicate that he’s right next to you. You hear his clothes rustle as he rests his hand on the railings, just like you are. To think that the sight of him in the uniform used to be so enticing and now he’s standing before you. He’s real. You can feel the warmth radiating off his body. Yet all you feel is fear.

“I’ll do better next time,” his gaze digs. It’s like a flashlight shining on your face, when all you can do is look away to avoid going blind.

“There better not be a next time.” Your body moves on its own. Your hand grasps hard on his upper arm. His breath hitches when he feels your touch. It’s been so long. It’s not enough.

You dig your nails further into the material, not caring that it does nothing. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

You don’t see the way his eyes harden at the gold ring around your finger.

You release his arm and storm off.

Shivers run through you as you feel him watch you leave.

You know this isn’t the last time.

A week goes by.

And you spend it on edge every single day. Your paranoia gets the better of you. You call and let Eve’s school know you’re going on a trip so she won’t be in. You do the same for work. The two of you spend it at home.

You can’t keep this up for long. Soon, questions will start being asked. Yet the fear of running into Caleb again leaves you paralysed.

A phone call from your assistant comes as soon as the weekend is over. Her voice is laced with panic as she begs you to come in. There’s a huge issue with the app.

You have no choice but to call the babysitter on short notice, promising to pay extra for the emergency.

Pen is waiting for you when you enter. She gives you a guilty smile. “If it wasn’t urgent we wouldn’t have cut your vacation short,” she says as you walk to your office.

“It’s fine.” It’s not. “What happened that’s so bad you had to call me?”

You gesture for her to sit on your chair. It’s far more comfortable for a pregnant woman. You sit on one of the armchairs opposite. Not as nice but the exhale Pen gives out of relief is worth it. You make a mental note to order a chair just like it for her office. And to get better armchairs.

She plops a file on the desk. “What isn’t happening? Something is wrong with the servers but we’re slowly managing it. I have to go pee every second, I don’t know how you did this. But the real issue is that the app keeps crashing. Something’s wrong with the code but no matter how much we dig, we can’t find it.”

You sigh and lean back into the chair. Your hand comes up to drag down your face. “How much have we lost?”

She doesn’t answer.

“That bad?”

She pauses and mouths ‘worse’ at you.

Great.

“Your phone’s been ringing all morning too. I’m sure it’s the board members,” she slowly gets up and makes her way out the door but not before patting you on the shoulder.

You spend the next hour on the phone, apologizing and promising to fix the issue to each individual member. You’re left holding your head as you try to massage the headache. This used to be fun, back when the app was just an idea. Somewhere along the way you started dreading coming into work. You’re not made to be like this. You’re meant to create.

What was it they used to say?

Never turn your hobby into real work.

Wow, you really have a habit of not listening to advice.

You order your assistant to buy everyone whatever they desire for lunch and dinner before heading down to the programming teams. They’re not enthusiastic about the situation but who can deny overtime.

Morale seems higher when they learn that you’ll be staying back with them. It was your baby at risk after all.

Your eyes are about to pop from the strain, you’ve been staring at a screen for hours. And then you come across it. One single line. Nudged into the code. That nearly destroyed years of hard work.

12 5 20 19 20 1 12 11

The numbers stare back at you. They confuse you. It makes no sense for them to be there. It’s not actual programming. Unless they were deliberately written in…

Your mind runs through all possibilities of what the numbers mean, each one more complicated than the last. But, what if it’s not difficult? You blankly gaze at the numbers.

No way. It can’t be that simple.

Your hand reaches for a pen and you scribble down onto a notepad.

12=L, 5=E, 20=T, 19=S, 20=T, 1=A, 12=L, 11=K

‘Let’s talk’

Your hand scrunches the paper into a ball, it remains in there. The other grasps the pen so hard that it breaks in your hand. Blue ink explodes all over the desk.

It takes several deep breaths to calm down. You still see red as you highlight the issue and email your team to fix it.

With no second thoughts, you rush back home. You can’t stay in Skyhaven any longer.

It’s eerily quiet when you enter your house.

Usually the babysitter would be waiting on the couch for you. The living room is completely empty and a mess. There are still dishes from the sink indicating that Eve had lunch at least. Your intuition screams that something is wrong. You grab a knife from the block, slowly making your way through the house, checking every room as you go on. The only one remaining is Eve’s bedroom. The light is on.

Your mind begs you to not go in but it surrenders, for Eve’s sake.

The door opens with a light creak from your touch. He’s sitting on the armchair in her room. The same one Elijah used to sit on with her. Caleb has your daughter in his arms. She’s fast asleep, seeing her unharmed brings you some relief. It snaps when his hand reaches to brush hair away from her face.

“Let her go!” You try to rush at him but something immobilizes you, like you’re getting crushed by something. The knife you were carrying clatters on the ground.

“Shhh,” he brings a finger up to his lips. “Do you want to wake her up?”

“I sent the babysitter home. She didn’t put up much of a fight when I threatened to arrest her. Don’t get mad at her, she didn’t have a choice.” His voice is too calm. He doesn’t even look at you, gaze fixed on Eve. “I didn’t know what I was going to do with her at first,” he admits then he looks at you. “She’s your daughter but she looks just like that bastar-”

“Don’t call him that,” the words escape from your mouth before you can stop that.

His hand on her stills. You watch as the emotion dies down in his eyes. The same notion you saw play out on your phone, when MC refused to go with him. His possessiveness had you swooning then. You had cried for him, for the tragic story they shared. It didn’t excuse his actions but you could understand them. None of that is present here. None of this should even be happening. There are no excuses for him anymore.

“I was going to give her away, so I could have you to myself.” He doesn’t respond to your remark, you wish he did so you didn’t have to listen to those words. You gasp and open your mouth to plead but he cuts you off. “All I had to do was spend two hours with her. She might look like him but everything else is from you. She smiled at me the way you used to.”

You look away from the sickening devotion on his face. It’s disgusting.

Caleb isn’t pleased by your disrespect. He knows how to finish the blow. “She asked me if I was her father. She doesn’t even remember him.” He gives you a soft smile. “I told her yes.”

He gets up from the chair and walks over to her bed, placing her down gently on the bed. He makes sure the blanket covers her before turning to you.

“I’ll admit there’s another reason I’m letting her stay. To keep you in line.”

He takes slow steps towards you, like a hunter taking his time to end his prey.

You can’t help the tears running down your face. His gloved hand reaches up to wipe a tear away. “Don’t cry,” he whispers, his evol stops just so he can bring you into his arms, comforting you like he isn’t the cause. He doesn’t use it again, he has you right where he wants.

“Why are you doing this?” the words come out hoarse.

He brings your head back up, both hands cradling your cheeks, level to his face. “Because I’ll go insane without you.” His thumb rubs circles on the skin underneath. Each touch is more revolting than the last.

“You’re already insane,” you whisper.

Caleb lets out a soft laugh. “I can be worse than this,” his demeanour is gentle but you know it’s a warning.

“It’s not just Eve, [Name]. I’ll go after everyone you love. Penelope will be the first. Do you think a pregnant woman can survive the fleet’s harsh interrogation methods?”

Your eyes widen even more. “No, no, she has nothing to do with this. Leave her alone. Please, Caleb.”

He groans when you say his name. Your bodies are pressed so close that you can feel him get excited. It takes everything to not rip yourself from his hold.

“Then promise you’ll be mine. Say it.”

You don’t respond, taking your time to say the words. But you don’t even get to make that choice as his eyes slowly lose the spark.

“I-I’ll be yours, Caleb.”

His mouth is on yours. You make no move against him or to stop him. His lips press deeper into yours, his tongue darts out in an attempt to make you open your mouth. You don’t. A sound rumbles from him, like a growl before a sharp pain erupts on the corner of your lips. He bites you so hard you can feel the skin rip and the blood drip. You try to jerk your head back but his hold on your face tightens, enough to bruise. The yelp you give from the pain gives him the access he needs.

“Kiss back,” he growls and this time you know to listen.

When he finally pulls away, you’re left trembling as you struggle to breath. Your blood coats his mouth, making him look like the monster he truly is. He has that blank look again. His finger caresses the scab forming on your lips before pressing down hard enough for you to hiss in pain.

“When your partner kisses you, you’re supposed to do it back, [Name]. Don’t make me do this again.”

You nod, too tired to fight. Not like you even can. His behaviour shifts again at your obedience. “Good girl,” he praises.

He looks around Eve’s room.

“Pack your bags. Enough for a couple of days. You’re moving in with me.” It’s an order, one you can’t refuse.

Caleb watches with unconcealed satisfaction as you follow his command.

It’s been a week since you entered this hell hole.

Just like in the main story, his apartment is devoid of anything that isn’t grey. It’s soulless, just like its owner.

He tells you to decorate to your taste and for Eve’s sake, you have to. Kids can’t grow up in a stale environment.

Speaking of Eve, she’s smitten with the man. You die a little inside every time she calls him Dad. Elijah only exists in your memories now. Caleb had taken one look at your wedding photos before burning them. Seeing the daily routine of her running into his arms when he comes back from work is torture. He’ll hold her in his arms before coming up to you and placing a kiss on your forehead. Then you give a smile that you both know is fake. It’s all an act.

Luckily, the collar around your neck is invisible. You’re free to come and go as you please. No one in your life has any idea what you’re going through and it’ll remain that way. Pen asked you once if everything was okay, you brush her concern off and tell her you just miss Elijah.

On your second day in his house, you had asked him about work.

“As long as you behave.”

It’s yet another thing he holds over you.

It’s Monday morning now. As you wake up, it’s to the sounds of something sizzling in the kitchen. Caleb had a rare day off, he had pushed you back on the bed when you tried to leave, claiming he’ll get Eve ready and take her to school. You had no choice but to remain in bed until you fell back asleep.

You share the bedroom with him. It’s the largest in his apartment. The one he was supposed to give to MC. Every night you go to bed without him and every morning you wake up to him tightly wrapped around you. You ignore the feeling of it pressed up against you, just glad he doesn’t act on it.

He still kisses you. A deep kiss before he leaves that always ends in a make out, leaving you breathless and panting each time. He looks at you in a way like he’s contemplating throwing you on the counter and having his way. Something always stops him, he ends up reaching for his hat, placing it on his head to hide the hunger in his eyes, before leaving.

You worry about the day he won’t hold back.

You make your way to the bathroom and do your morning routine. You remain in your pajamas, throwing on a robe before you enter the kitchen.

Caleb’s standing shirtless, clad only in plaid pajamas bottoms. He’s grown even more muscular from the last time you saw him at university. He doesn’t tell you about the scars on his body or why he no longer has an arm unaware you already know the answer. You have yet to see him wear that necklace. For a few seconds, you try to make yourself believe this is a normal domestic scene, desperate to make this easier for you but you can’t. You just can’t.

You want that brown hair to be blonde. You don’t want to look at purple eyes that resemble galaxies, you want deep brown eyes staring back at you.

“Good morning,” he doesn’t turn around, busy flipping a pancake.

“Morning,” you say back, walking closer to the kitchen island and taking a seat on the barstool. There’s a laminated paper on it. You bring it closer to you so you can read. ‘Certification of Marriage’ is typed at the top in big fancy letters. You stop reading when you see yours and Caleb’s full names next.

“What did you do?” you whisper. It feels like there’s a ball stuck in your throat.

He turns the stove off, finished with the last pancake. Taking his time to answer, he sets up the counter for breakfast. You know better than to push him. It doesn’t stop your hands from shaking.

“It’s only normal for couples to get married, honey,” he says to you like you’re stupid. Then he steps closer and grasps your hands in his. The action lets you notice the gold ring glinting on his ring finger. “I might not be your first husband but I’ll certainly be your last.”

When your expression doesn’t mimic his excited one, he gives you a sly grin. “Notice anything different,” his eyes focus on the ring in your hand. You look down, nothing about it had seemed off originally. It had always remained in the corner of your mind, never in your focus since you had already gotten used to it being there. But as you look deeper you notice differences. It’s a bit thicker and the gold is brighter than normal. It doesn’t look like it’s been worn for years.

It’s not your ring.

Caleb lets you snatch your hands out of his, he says nothing as you yank the ring off. You look for the inscription inside, begging inside to whatever gods that exist that is all a trick. That it’s still the ring Elijah gave you.

‘Forever yours’ is nowhere to be seen. ‘Eternity’ is written instead.

“When did yo-”

“While you were sleeping. You’re a very deep sleeper, you know? Could do whatever I want to you.”

You get the message. With no other words you put the ring back on your finger. All you can give him is a strained smile. “It’s beautiful,” you say as you cry.

One night when Caleb enters the apartment, she’s trailing behind him.

Her eyes look at you in surprise. You’re sitting on the couch with Eve in your arms, watching some princess movie she was obsessed with. As your daughter sees him, she rushes out of your arms to hug him.

Caleb drops her luggage down and welcomes her in his arms.

Eve has never been a shy kid, so she walks over the young girl and tugs on her pants. “I’m Eve!”

The girl crouches down and pats her head before introducing herself. In that moment Caleb makes his way to you, crouching down before you. “She has some business here in Skyhaven. Is it okay if she stays until then, pretty?”

His question leaves you dumbfounded. Why would he need your permission?

“It’s fine,” you respond. He leaves a kiss on your hand before walking back to them. His hand comes down to pat Eve’s head. “You can call her Auntie, sweetheart. She’s my sister.” Eve’s eyes go wide in wonder.

It makes you a little happy. All you could give Eve was one aunt, your real family could burn for all you care.

“Choose any room you like. Except our bedroom and Eve’s,” Caleb lets her know.

That causes your eyebrow to raise. So, he wouldn’t be giving up his room to her like he originally had. And even though she looks so confused why you’re there, she asks nothing. You suppose she’s already too busy trying to grapple with him being alive.

The dinner you all had together that night was so awkward. Eve gave a tired yawn in the baby chair. “You tired, baby?” you coo at her, slightly pinching her chubby cheeks. She gives you a tired nod.

You don’t notice the adoring look Caleb sends your way but the girl sitting next to him does.

“I’ll take her bed,” he says, getting up and carrying Eve, who makes herself at home in his arms. You watch as they enter her bedroom.

“I suppose you’ve forgiven him then.”

Her voice catches your attention. For a moment, you contemplate telling her the truth but you have no idea what Caleb will do in response. She still doesn’t know that she’s in a snake’s nest but she’ll come to that conclusion herself.

“Something like that.”

You get up and put the dishes in the sink. Her mouth opens and closes a couple of times, trying to come up with a suitable question but it's interrupted by Caleb coming back. He sits back down next to her and they start talking. All you need to do is hear the words ‘Kevi’ and ‘lockdown’ to mentally check out. You’ve never been one to disassociate before but it’s how you survive in this place.

You jump a little when muscular arms wrap around you. You hear his chuckle as he presses a kiss on your shoulder. “Missed you at work today,” he mumbles against your shirt. “You say that everyday,” you quip.

“Cause it’s true everyday.”

His hands uncurl just so he can feel every part of your stomach, they explore, kneading the skin as they go. You turn the sink off.

The tip of his nose nuzzles into your nape before he replaces it with his mouth. You yelp when he bites down, not from pain since he’s being gentle but from shock. Thinking otherwise, his mouth lets go before you feel him kiss the bite, his way of apologising. But then the kisses trail off, to any part of your neck he can find. You bite your lip to try and keep the noises in but a small whimper escapes when his tongue licks a stripe down your neck.

“Caleb I don-”

“I know,” comes a husky reply. “I won’t go further than this.” Not yet.

He tugs you into your shared bedroom, not bothering to let you change. You lay together on the bed, with him practically pulling you on top of him. He absentmindedly traces shapes on your back, soothing you to sleep.

The glass makes contact with the floor and shatters.

Eve cries out of fear in your hold and you try to comfort her.

“Did that calm you down?”

You wait for him to say that. It never comes. The pats you’re giving Eve come to a stop as you stare at the rage on Caleb’s face. He’s mad at her. He shouldn’t be, not in this scene.

His hand reaches for her wrist in such a tight hold that you wince with her. Eve shakes in your arms.

“Are you crazy?” he says through gritted teeth. “That could’ve hit them!” His voice booms through the room. Eve’s cries become louder.

Her eyes widen and her head snaps to you. “I-I didn’t mean-I’m sorry.”

“CALEB!” you force out. You hate yelling. You hate fighting. That’s when you realise you’re shaking too. You promised yourself as a kid, staring at the bruises on your arms, that you would never let your children be scared in their own home. You couldn’t even keep that promise.

The sound of your voice breaks him out of his rage.

“You’re the one scaring Eve right now. Let her go. You’re hurting her!”

He lets her arm go. She’s quick to let go and assess the damage. It’s red and you can see imprints of Caleb’s fingers. It’ll definitely bruise.

Caleb stares down at the arm that hurt her. He wishes it was the mechanical one. It’s not.

“P-pips, I-”

He doesn’t get to finish his sentence as she pushes her way past him back to her room. You make eye contact with her but neither of you say a word. He stares at you, lost. But you’re the same. He’s not supposed to act this way. He shouldn’t be putting you above her. It’s unnatural. It goes against everything he is.

There’s nothing you can say to comfort him, you walk away and bring Eve into her room. She cries and hiccups and all you can do is repeat ‘I’m sorry’ over and over again as you press kisses into her hair.

A few days after the incident occurred pass by and tensions have started to melt away.

The two are still a little on edge around each other but you see it in their eyes. They still care for each other. Caleb had apologised profusely to Eve the next day, taking her out for ice cream. The little girl forgave him too quickly for your taste. You’ll have to teach her better when she grows up.

Currently Eve is at school and Caleb at his job, not much was needed for you at work so you’re back. You laze on the dining chair, your mind is clear for once. But peace never lasts long for you. She enters the apartment, out of breath.

You stare at her and wait.

“He’s keeping you here, isn’t he?”

“And ten points goes to the winner,” you clap. “What would you like for your reward?”

“Help. I’d like help.”

She sits in front of you, launching into details about the toring chip in his head. What it is and what it does. The professor that did it to him. She tells you about what Kevi has become. All of it you already know.

She looks at you for a reaction but you keep your blank expression.

“And it matters to me, why?”

Her expression falters. “B-because it means he’s doing this under the chip's influence. It’s not his fault! We can help him!”

“We?” you raise an eyebrow. “Okay, let’s say I’m willing to entertain this. You said the chip could wipe all his emotions?”

She nods.

“Good.”

“W-what…?”

“I hope that fucking happens. After everything he’s put me through, it’s what he deserves.”

“Don’t you get it? If we find a way to get rid of the chip then he’ll go back to normal. He’ll let you go.”

“No, he won’t,” you lean back in the chair. “You don’t see it because you’re still blinded by the man you think he is. The chip didn’t give him this…infatuation out of nowhere. It just took away the resolve that stopped him from acting on it. Which is why it’s best that the chip works, if he doesn’t feel then he’ll let me go.”

She stares at you in horror.

“Did you really believe I would want to help him?” you scoff. “That’s cruel, especially from you. Are you sure you’re a hunter?” you shake your head at her. “Maybe you two are more alike than you think.”

She stares down at her hands, her hair covers her face so you can’t see what expression she’s wearing. You wait for her to start yelling but it doesn’t happen.

“...You’re right,” she admits. When she lifts her head back up, tears are running down her face. “I just want him back, the way he used to be. Even if it meant looking the other way.”

You should feel anger. You should feel the need to give her a slap or two. But all you see sitting before you is a little girl crying out for her brother. Besides, nothing you say or do will match the disgust and guilt she’s currently feeling at herself.

She gets up. “I’ll find a way to get you out of here.”

“And what? Can you guarantee protection for my child? For my loved ones? Because he threatened all of them. And he’ll go through with each one.”

She goes silent again.

“That’s what I thought. I think it’s best that you finish whatever you came here to do. And then go back to Linkon. The Caleb you miss died in that fire. Grieve that version of him and move on. Don’t come back. It’ll make all our lives easier.”

“I can’t just leave you here!”

You scoff again. “You and I both know you’re not going to do anything. You love him too much. Even if you tried, what’ll you do when, not if, when the Fleet finds out? They’ll dispose of him but not before killing me and my daughter in the process. So, drop that righteous attitude and just leave.”

She’s gone the next day.

It’s been a month since then.

You sit in the most uncomfortable position on the couch. It’s the only thing bringing you relief from the cramps.

Your husband enters the room.

“What’s wrong?” he asks as a small groan escapes you.

“Period,” you’ve taken to giving him one worded answers, sometimes no answer at all.

“It’s okay. You won’t have this problem next month.”

He watches as the confusion on your face is replaced with horror. He gives you a smile and kisses your temple. “I have to go now. I’ll be back at night, hon.” He leans down to your ear. “We’ll get started then,” he rubs your round stomach, like he already sees what he plans. “Eve deserves some siblings.”

You don’t respond as he leaves. Those words repeat in your head. They throb in your ears.

Siblings. As in plural. As in more than one.

There’s nothing you can do to combat the dread you feel for the rest of the day. He’s already decided your future and you both know that you can’t do anything about it.

You stand before the shelf. The one with the picture of her and Caleb in their childhood. A bitter feeling grows at their happy smiles.

While she always got the perfect Caleb - the act he performed only for her - you got the real one. The one who’ll say it’s time he gets to be selfish when you both know selfish is all he’s ever been with you.

A crack had begun to form in you the day you met him, one so small you never noticed. It stayed that way even as it began to get larger and new ones joined for you were too lost in him to realise. When you did notice, it was too late. All you heard as he left you was the sound of you shattering.

Then he waited for you to patch yourself back up so he could do it again. You’ve finally realised what you should’ve back then. He’ll destroy you, ruin you if it means keeping you by his side.

He’ll do it all with no remorse.

And it’s too late for you, you realise as you hear the sound again.

He won.

AN: I know nothing about programming. Why did I make the reader one, then? Maybe because I like making my life difficult! Don’t take anything I’ve written in regards to her job seriously, I just made shit up.

I did make reader plus size but I’ve never been one to focus on the bodies of those I write about.

I did not mean for Caleb to turn out this way but I lost the 50/50 to him and didn’t get Master of Fate so this is my revenge :) (I waited so long for the fucking rerun)

Let me know if you would like to be on the tag list for the other versions!

Tag list: @zeverean @quill-for-glory @smittenlynn @nm4565natty @miuangel

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ryusjwks · 1 month ago

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thx for tagging sweetness, @alfredosaws

on pinterest search the following topics and post the first pin that shows up in each category! (fictional character, date / night date, gift, outfit, dessert & love quote)

here is mine!! lol this is reminds me my william james m era, really miss him sm:(

i tag; @rcvcgers, @orphicmeliora, @zaynessbeloved, @blueivyy99, @velaenam

it’s too random ladies so dont take me serious 🙏🏻

you are going on a blind date that pinterest set up for you, find out who will be the lucky one and how the evening will end 💌

tagged by @oncasette (thank you!!!! 🫶💕)

on pinterest search the following topics and post the first pin that shows up in each category! (fictional character, date / night date, gift, outfit, dessert & love quote)

What a cute date, I’m sure absolutely nothing will go wrong!!! 🙂‍↕️🙂‍↕️

Tagging: @grabby-smitten @midiplier @deepspacenova @sahxrii @blessdunrest @loveanddeephistory @solifloris and anyone who sees this! No pressure! 💕

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ryusjwks · 1 month ago

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Petals for the Forgotten

Summary : You weren't the MC. You weren't chosen. But you loved them. This is what's left of you.

CW : Angst, fem reader, non mc reader

A/N : First of all, I'd like to apologize in advance if there are any mistakes, because this is my first time writing and English is not my first language. It's been a while since I played lads but I've had this idea in my head so I'm sorry if there are any inconsistencies with the game. I hope you'll enjoy it all the same, happy reading.

Zayne — The garden no one saw bloom

You think it began when he smiled at you. A real smile, not the one he gave to patients, not the one he wore like a mask when things weren't going well. No, a smile just for you.

One day, you made a minor error on a pre-operative report. Nothing serious. But him, Zayne, the one everyone feared for his coldness, had taken the time to correct you with a gentleness you didn't know he possessed.

And then, he had said: "You learn quickly."

Three words. And yet, it was enough for a treacherous seed to find refuge between your ribs.

You never believed in love stories. Even less in the Hanahaki disease. For you, it was fiction, a tragic tale for souls too sensitive, too fragile for this world.

But the flowers... The flowers never asked for your opinion.

You woke up one morning with a burning throat and a metallic taste on your tongue. A violet bellflower detached from your lips like an unconfessed confession. Perfect. Immaculate. Deadly.

You continued to work. To smile. To cough in the bathroom when no one was looking. To smother the damp petals in tissues that you then concealed.

To love him.

Silently. Desperately. Mortally.

Zayne saw nothing. Or perhaps he refused to see. Perhaps it was simpler that way, to pretend that your eyes didn't linger on him when he entered a room, that your breath didn't catch when his hand brushed yours.

He passed by you with his impeccable files, his meticulous analyses, his subtle perfume — that scent of pine and antiseptic that haunted you even in your dreams. That coldness that no longer frightened you for a long time.

And then there was her.

His patient. His childhood friend.

You remember the day you saw them in the hallway between two procedures. Her hair was still wet from the rain. He handed her a towel without a word. She laughed. He smiled.

That smile... it was different. Deeper. More authentic. As if all the light in the world had chosen to take refuge on his face at that precise moment.

You had never seen his face so relaxed. So alive.

Every time she came to see him between missions, you felt him change. Metamorphose before your eyes. His gestures became softer. His voice lost that characteristic coldness.

And you became transparent. Invisible.

And it was even more painful than the flowers taking root in your lungs.

You thought you could hold on. That it would pass.

But one day, as you leaned over the sink in the break room, a coughing fit doubled you over. Dozens of violet petals splashed across the immaculate porcelain, tinted red, with your red.

And Zayne walked in.

He froze. The scattered flowers, the scarlet blood everywhere. The deafening silence that enveloped you both.

He closed the door behind him. Slowly. Methodically. As if performing a delicate operation. "Since when?" His voice was barely audible.

"It doesn't matter," you replied while wiping the corner of your lips, where a drop of blood still glistened.

He came closer. Too close. You wanted to scream. Or collapse against him and let your tears soak his immaculate coat. Or kiss him, just once, to know what his lips tasted like before dying.

But instead, you laughed. A small nervous, empty laugh.

"You think it isn't real, don't you? Hanahaki. The disease of lovesick fools. You must have studied it somewhere in your forgotten old textbooks."

He said nothing. His green eyes, usually so cold, so distant, wouldn't let you go. For the first time, you saw something in them that you couldn't name. Fear? Pity? Regret?

"I thought it was a legend, too. Until you." You continued, the words escaping your mouth like frightened birds.

"Why didn't you tell anyone?" he asked, his voice betraying an emotion you had never known in him.

"Because I knew you couldn't do anything." You plunged your gaze into his. "And I didn't want... to burden you with this."

He looked away. He seemed... hurt. But not for you.

"I can slow the progression," he offered, his tone becoming clinical, professional. As if you were just another patient, another body to repair.

"But you can't cure me."

He looked at you for a long time. As if searching for a way out, a solution, a lie to cling to. As if he could rewrite history, change feelings, tear out the roots that had wrapped around your heart.

"I'm sorry," he finally whispered, the words falling between you like stones into a bottomless well. And that's what hurt you, much more than the flowers tearing apart your organs. Not that he didn't love you. You already knew that.

But that he couldn't.

Because his heart, as frozen as it might appear to the world, was already beating for someone else. And no science, no medicine, no prayer could change that.

He offered you a temporary treatment. Medications to slow the growth of the flowers. A procedure to remove them. He almost begged you to accept, his eyes shining with an urgency you had never seen in him.

But you refused.

You didn't want a meaningless survival. A body without love. A heart too empty to continue beating. You preferred to die with this feeling intact, this exquisite pain that reminded you that you had lived, that you had loved, even if in silence.

You wrote him a letter. You left it on his desk, between two surgical reports. A letter where you didn't ask him to love you back, but simply to understand why you had chosen to leave.

You don't know if he read it. You didn't want an answer.

You left alone. You chose the room furthest from the north wing, where light barely enters and silence resembles the sea.

You didn't scream. You didn't cry.

You lay down. You closed your eyes, one last time.

And the flowers did the rest.

Zayne found you a few hours later. He knew exactly where to look.

You were nothing but a cold breath, surrounded by withered violet bellflowers, and crystallized blood. A macabre work of art, almost beautiful in its tragedy.

He didn't cry.

He sat beside you, took your still warm hand — that hand he had never really held while you were alive — and whispered something that no one else heard.

Then he placed a flower in a vial. Just one.

And he placed it in Operating Room 3. On the windowsill, next to an old gardening book that you had given him one day, claiming that he needed to learn how to care for living things.

You weren't the protagonist of his story.

But you were the tragic ending of his.

Because sometimes, it's the secondary characters who leave the deepest scars.

Sylus — The codes no one decodes

The first file you decoded for him was barely six months ago.

An intruder had managed to manipulate the internal sound waves at the Onychinus headquarters. The best experts had given up, defeated by the enigma. No one had understood how. You did.

Sylus didn't congratulate you. He simply said one word: "Effective."

And that's the kindest thing he ever said to you.

This simple word had become your treasure, a rough diamond that you polished in your mind each night before falling asleep. A rare compliment from an even rarer man.

Since then, you stayed.

Not because he kept you. He never kept anyone.

But because in his silences, in his pointed looks when you fed a stray cat or when you clumsily dropped something or when you cared for your precious flowers in the small improvised garden under your office window, you had found a space.

Not a place. Not a story.

Just a possibility. And that's worse than anything.

Because possibility feeds hope. And hope is the slowest, cruelest poison there is. You fell in love with him while trying to avoid him.

You didn't look for him. But it was always him your eyes found.

You didn't want to know what he read during his rare moments of rest. But you found him asleep with annotated music notebooks, unfinished compositions.

And you never dared to tell him.

You built a wall around your heart, stone by stone, code by code, as you did with security systems. But feelings are viruses more insidious than any malware. They infiltrate. They contaminate. They destroy.

You surprised him one night, in the conference room. The 'miss hunter' as he liked to call her, had fallen asleep on data from an ancient artifact. Strands of hair fell across her peaceful face.

He removed his jacket — that jacket he never took off, like armor against the world — to cover her. He looked at her for a long time, as if she were a precious memory, a rare constellation, an equation only he knew the solution to. You never saw that tender gaze directed at you.

The day you coughed up the first flower, you were still working on a particularly complex encryption system. A pain in your chest, as if someone had plunged a knife right into your heart. A burning sensation, as if acid were flowing through your veins.

Then a blue lily fell from your mouth, silent and damp. A messenger of death wrapped in beauty. You put it in a metal box.

You didn't believe it at first. You thought it was a chemical reaction. A hallucination caused by lack of sleep.

Until others followed. Blue lilies, ever more numerous, ever larger, as if your body was becoming a funerary garden.

And that same body began to weaken. Your fingers trembled on your keyboard. Your breath became short. Your nights, battles against suffocation.

You tried to hide it. But Sylus remains Sylus.

He observes everything. Even when he pretends not to care.

He confronted you one evening, as you were leaving the office, a bloodstain betraying you at the corner of your lips.

"You're bleeding a lot. Why aren't you saying anything?" His voice was calm, almost detached. But his eyes weren't.

"It's nothing. Just a cold." You attempted a smile that turned into a grimace.

"Do you think I'm stupid? You're vomiting flowers." He said these words as if announcing the day's weather. Simple. Factual. Undeniable.

You laughed. An empty laugh, as if mocking yourself, this absurd situation, this body that was betraying you.

"Are you going to fire me for this?" You tried to joke, but the words came out more bitter than intended.

He didn't laugh.

He just narrowed his eyes. Studied every detail of your face like a code to decipher, a puzzle to solve. "What is this disease? A mutation? Did someone contaminate you?"

"It's not a disease. It's a... curse."

You said nothing more. He didn't press.

But you saw it. That gleam in his eyes. That fierce determination that characterized him when faced with enigmas.

He searched. He combed through the oldest archives he could find.

He found a forgotten word: Hanahaki.

And a truth too ugly to be spoken aloud.

He came back to see you a few days later. Late at night.

You were in the generator room, sitting on the floor, a faded lily in your hands.

"It's me... isn't it?" His voice was just a whisper, almost lost under the hum of the machines. You raised your eyes. Slowly. Painfully.

"I never asked you to love me." You simply replied.

"You never asked me for anything else either."

He crouched down in front of you. He suddenly looked older. More human. Less invincible. He extended his hand toward you as one approaches a wounded animal. You backed away.

"If I had known you were capable of love... maybe I would have lied to my heart." You laughed bitterly, the sound transforming into a painful cough.

He exhaled, as if struck by an invisible force. The words had reached him where no weapon ever could. "Why didn't you say anything?"

You shrugged.

"Because I'm not miss hunter. I'm not the one who triggers cataclysms or prophecies. I'm not the one who makes your heart beat. I'm just a line of code in your algorithm. Replaceable. Erasable."

He closed his eyes. You saw his jaw clench. He would have liked to be cruel. To accuse you. To shake you. To tell you that you were stupid to have let things go so far. But he said nothing.

Because what you were saying was true.

And truth is the only thing Sylus has never known how to fight.

You stopped coming to work. No one saw you again.

A note was found in your private files, left in an old system journal format, coded with a melody he had composed one evening when you thought he hadn't seen you crying.

"I'm sorry I didn't know how to be a story."

Simple words yet so devastating. A virus that would infect his system forever. Sylus didn't cry.

But he burned all the flowers you had left behind. As if he could erase the proof of your love. As if he could rewrite the code of your meeting.

All except one.

A blue lily.

Which he had tattooed in the shadow of his nape. Where only he knows of its existence. Where the pain remains in silence.

A beacon hidden in his own body. A reminder that even the most secure systems have their flaws. And that some codes are never meant to be deciphered.

Xavier — The time no one took

You spent your nights calibrating temporal sensors, sorting anomalies, chasing echoes that might not even exist.

Xavier spent his hunting Wanderers.

You worked on the same floor. But you lived in two different worlds.

Yet you loved him. For a long time.

Not violent or possessive love. No. The kind of silent thing that settles between two heartbeats. The kind of feeling you never confess because you know it wouldn't change anything.

He always called you by your full name. Not once had he pronounced just your first name, that nickname your close ones used, that intimacy you would have so wanted to share with him.

You knew why. You weren't her.

Not the girl who accompanied him on each of his missions.

Not the light of his past. Or of his future.

He had laughed with her several times. Sometimes you heard them from your isolated post. A mundane discussion about a music style had turned into a passionate debate. She had stolen his earbuds, a gesture so familiar, so intimate. He had let her, with a smile on his lips that you had never seen.

You, you had only taken silence from him. Professional nods. Carefully drafted anomaly reports, which he skimmed through without really seeing them.

You were just a voice in his earpiece when a breach opened. Just another biometric signature among others.

But that was enough for you.

At least, that's what you repeated to yourself each evening when returning to your empty apartment, looking out the window and dreaming of a life for two. Just you and him.

Until the day you started vomiting flowers.

The first time was after a long mission at the border of N109 zone, a particularly unstable temporal rift. Xavier and she had been stuck for forty-eight hours in a loop. You had spent all that time awake, eyes fixed on the screens, desperately searching for a solution to bring them back.

When they finally returned, exhausted, she had collapsed in his arms. He had held her against him like a recovered treasure. You had simply turned off your equipment and headed to the bathroom, where a coughing fit had bent you in half.

You had thought it was only blood, that red substance that stained your lips. But no. A blue morning glory had fallen from your mouth, with a sweet and unbearable fragrance. A macabre miracle. A beauty that was killing you from within.

You cleaned up the blood. Threw away the flower. Silent throughout, as you had always been. You didn't tell anyone. Because you knew.

Hanahaki. An ancient disease. Almost forgotten. Mentioned in the most obscure texts. And incurable, unless loved in return.

You tried to ignore it. To pretend it was a passing anomaly.

You continued to transmit data, to smile behind your glasses, to cough secretly into tissues that you then burned to leave no trace.

But your body betrayed you.

One evening, as everyone was leaving the command center after a particularly taxing day, you collapsed near the main entrance. Your legs gave way beneath you like branches too fragile. A cascade of blue flowers surged from your mouth, forming around you a crown of suffering.

Xavier, who seemed to have returned because of something forgotten, probably his watch, rushed to you. He knelt down, his blue eyes wide with shock. He saw the flowers.

"Is it a contamination? Did someone hurt you?" He asked, an expression of genuine concern on his usually stoic face.

"No... no, it's not that." You murmured, struggling to breathe between the petals obstructing your throat.

You clenched your teeth, trying to keep your throat closed, but another flower came out: blue and perfect.

He picked it up.

"This flower... is it an ancient symbol? Some kind of... death ritual?" He asked, confused, seeking a rational explanation for this phenomenon that defied all logic.

"It's not a ritual. It's a curse."

You turned your head toward him, your gaze clouded by tears you refused to let fall. "I'm sick because I love. And it's not reciprocated."

He froze. Looked at you without understanding. Then slowly, gently, his fingers tightened around the flower, almost crushing it.

"Me?"

You laughed. A dry, painful laugh that triggered a new wave of coughing and flowers.

"Who else? I don't talk to anyone else." You tried to smile, but your lips only formed a grimace stained with blood.

Silence.

You placed your hand on his cheek. A gesture you would never have dared make normally. A last gift you allowed yourself before the end.

"Don't worry. I don't want reciprocity. I'm not asking you for anything. I just want... to be able to breathe a little longer."

But you couldn't.

You died three days later. In your sleep.

Your heart gave way under the flowers that had invaded every corner of your rib cage, transforming your body into a morbid garden.

Xavier didn't speak.

He canceled all missions for a week. An unprecedented act that sparked whispers throughout the base. He erased your digital traces from the system, as if you had never existed, except for one.

In a secret corner of the archives, a file bears your name. Not your full name. Just your first name, the one he had never pronounced while you were alive.

Inside: the image of a single blood-stained flower.

And a line, written in an ancient language: "She loved me in a language I didn't speak." A late confession. An eternal regret.

For even he can never go back in time to repair the heart he broke without knowing.

Rafayel — The canvas no one saw being born

You worked right next to his studio.

Every morning, you unlocked the rusty gate, took out the brushes, and let the sun graze the incomplete canvases that waited for someone to give them life again.

You weren't a painter. Not like him. You restored.

You took dead works, forgotten, cracked by time and indifference, and tried to give them back dignity. A final brilliance.

Rafayel painted the future. Emotions. Souls. His canvases were windows open to universes that no one else saw.

And he only looked at you when you laughed.

"You still have fingers covered in varnish," he would say with a smile. "You'll end up poisoning yourself."

You laughed. You didn't care. You would have gladly let the varnish eat away at your skin down to the bone if it meant he would continue to look at you.

It was your way of existing in his eyes. Of occupying, if only for a moment, a corner of his retina. You loved him slowly. Like loving a song you've never heard in full.

Each day, a new detail was added to the fresco that Rafayel had become in your mind. The way he squinted at a canvas that resisted. How his fingers danced above a palette, seeking the perfect color. The sound of his breathing when he sometimes fell asleep on his stool, exhausted after hours of frenzied creation.

But you knew. You weren't his muse.

He never spoke of her, but sometimes he painted her. The 'miss bodyguard'. That slender silhouette that returned in his canvas with obsidian reflections.

That silhouette that wasn't you. Would never be you.

She often talks to him when she comes to his studio, laughs with him, a hand placed carelessly on his shoulder as if she had all the rights in the world. Sometimes, he offers her a brush. She laughs, hugs him. It's their ritual: a brush for each victory, each successful mission.

You, you've never received anything but his friendship. A comfortable, lukewarm friendship, like a shawl placed on the shoulders of a sick person out of pity.

The day you coughed a red anemone onto your palette, you understood.

It wasn't an allergy.

It wasn't the varnish you handled daily.

It was love. The kind you never asked for, and which kills when it isn't returned.

Hanahaki.

You immediately knew what it was.

You had read the old legends in a notebook of Lemurian mythology that Rafayel had left lying around one day.

You had prayed for it to be false.

But flowers never lie.

You continued to live. To work. To restore works that would survive long after your body had become dust. To smile when Rafayel passed by, covered in paint.

"You should sleep more," he said one day, stopping in front of you longer than usual. "You look... a bit faded. Like a color that's fading."

You didn't reply. You didn't want him to see, to know, to understand. You simply nodded, offering him a smile that was meant to be reassuring but trembled at the corners.

But he eventually saw it.

One evening, as you had come to return a notebook he had forgotten at your place during his last visit, you collapsed in his studio, at the foot of an unfinished canvas representing a field of wildflowers under a stormy sky.

A shower of red anemones covered the floor, escaping from your mouth and mingling with spatters of paint, creating a work you would never have wanted to sign.

Rafayel froze at the sight of your condition. Then he rushed over. Took you in his arms.

His hands trembled. His eyes, usually so confident when fixed on a canvas, wandered over your face with palpable panic.

"No. No, no, no. Is it me? Is it... me who did this to you?" His voice broke on the last word, like a wave on a rock.

"It's not you. It's what I feel." You whispered, the metallic taste of blood mingling with the sweeter one of flowers.

You raised your eyes to him, gently, like a final light before eternal night.

"You never promised me anything. I knew from the beginning."

"You should have told me..." Rafayel's words were tinged with remorse.

"And then what? You would have loved me out of pity? You would have painted a lie?" You shook your head, "I'd rather have these flowers. At least they're real."

He said nothing. He was crying, silently.

You placed your red-stained hand on his cheek.

"I just wanted you to know that I found you as refreshing as a new air. As vibrant as a color one discovers for the first time. Even if you never saw me, I saw you entirely. And it was beautiful. I appreciated being your friend."

You died that night, in his studio.

Silently. Without calling for help. Your body surrounded by red flowers like an offering. Rafayel refused to paint for weeks.

He let the canvases molder in a corner, the brushes dry, harden, become unusable. As if his art had died with you.

Then, one day, he returned.

And on an immense canvas, he painted a woman sitting in the light, hands stained with varnish and love, restoring a work that no one else could have saved.

No one knew her name. People stopped in front of his exhibition, touched by an emotion they couldn't name, feeling there was something profoundly true in this image, something that transcended mere representation.

But at the foot of the painting, a phrase was engraved in the wood: "She loved like one restores a damaged canvas — in silence, and until the end."

And sometimes, when light strikes the painting in a certain way, some people swear they see red anemones growing along the frame, their petals opening toward the sky like silent prayers.

Caleb — The vessel no one knew how to repair

You knew every fiber of his vessel.

Every vibration, every tremor, every tiny defect in secondary circuits that escaped automated diagnostics. You could sense when a problem would arise days before it manifested, as if the metal and wires spoke to you in a language only you understood.

It was you who taught him to recognize a trajectory anomaly by ear, sitting cross-legged in the cockpit, hands full of grease, a half-chewed piece of gum between your lips.

"You're my mechanical guardian angel," Caleb would say.

You smiled.

Because it was almost that.

You kept him alive. From a distance. You watched over him through the metal and circuits of his vessel. But never in his arms.

You loved him.

You don't really remember how it started. It was blurry.

One moment, he had offered you an energy drink on a rainy evening.

The next day, he had defended you against an odious superior who criticized your abilities.

And the day after... You had no longer wanted to repair any vessel but his. As if your hands had developed an exclusive memory of his circuits, a particular affinity for the metal that protected him from interstellar voids.

But you knew it. You were not and would never be the famous 'Pipsqueak' he spoke of with that tenderness in his voice.

You were a blurry silhouette in his rearview mirror. A comfort marker. A practical tool. Not a story. Not a future. Just a fragment of his present that would disappear as soon as he accelerated.

The first flower appeared after a particularly dangerous recovery mission. He had returned with the vessel in tatters, impact marks all over the hull, the heat shield almost destroyed.

You had worked three days and three nights without sleep to restore it. When you had finally finished, you had collapsed against the command console, exhausted but satisfied.

That's when you had coughed so hard that you doubled over.

You had coughed so hard that you doubled over.

And in the hollow of your palm, a pink flower, delicate, perfectly formed. A Bleeding Heart tinged with a red that wasn't that of the petals but of the blood that now lined your throat.

You knew immediately.

Your late grandmother had already spoken to you about it on several occasions. Hanahaki.

A disease that strikes only those who love too much. And who are not loved in return.

A disease that modern science had relegated to the rank of myth, psychosomatic, collective delusion of a bygone era.

Yet, there it was, in your hand. Real. Deadly. Beautiful enough to die for, literally. Caleb noticed your pale complexion. Your persistent cough. The dark circles under your eyes. He forced you to rest. You refused.

"I've known people who broke everything except themselves. And you're the opposite, huh?" He told you one day, as you struggled with a faulty relay despite your fever.

"Maybe I'm already broken." You replied with a sad smile, wiping away with the back of your hand the sweat that beaded on your forehead.

He laughed, without understanding the weight of truth in your words.

And it killed you a little more. Each unshared laugh, each gaze that passed through you without really seeing you, each story he told about "Pipsqueak" and their adventures... so many roots that sank deeper into your lungs.

When you lost consciousness in the hangar, he thought it was a gravitational overload. He rushed over. He activated all emergency protocols.

He didn't understand why you were vomiting flowers. Why was your heart weakening for no apparent reason. Why the scanners detect no known pathogen.

"Is it a weapon? Did someone do this to you?" He asked you, kneeling beside your hospital bed, his calloused hands gripping yours with a strength that betrayed his fear.

"No, Caleb..."

You grabbed his sleeve, trembling.

"It's me. It's just... me."

He frowned, lost.

You rested your head against his chest, listening one last time to that heart that had never beaten for you. "I loved you... like one loves a star that will never return. Bright but untouchable. Vital but distant."

He remained frozen. Completely paralyzed by the confession you had just made. By the horror of understanding that it was he, indirectly, who was killing you.

He tried everything to understand what was happening to you and how to heal you.

He contacted the most discreet researchers. He went through old medical books. He even begged an Enforcer to let him search through the forbidden archives.

But nothing.

Love can't be forced. And you were already too far gone, carried away by a current against which no one could swim.

You died between two beats of the engine.

In the rest area he had specially refurbished for you, with that window looking out at the stars you so loved to observe during your breaks. Your body surrounded by pink flowers, shaped like broken hearts, like a cruel metaphor for what had killed you.

Caleb doesn't speak of you anymore.

He sealed the hangar where you worked. He doesn't let anyone touch his ship.

But sometimes, when he returns from a mission, he leaves a little pink flower on the dashboard.

And one day, someone heard him whisper in the empty cockpit when he thought he was alone: "You don't fix anything now, huh? Yet I'm the one who's broken."

Because some vessels, even the sturdiest, never fly the same way again when they've lost their guardian angel.

To those who weren't the story

You weren't the light of the world.

You weren't destined for great prophecies.

You had no power, nor a great reciprocated love waiting for you.

You had flowers in your throat.

And a heart too vast, too generous, too full of them.

Men who saw in you only a pale reflection of the one they truly desired.

They didn't choose you. They didn't save you. But they remember.

And perhaps that's the real curse of Hanahaki: not dying of unrequited love, but leaving behind an eternal remorse in the hearts of those who failed to see.

For some hearts never melt under the warmth of a gaze. Some loves die without ever having had the chance to live.

And some flowers bloom only once — in the silence of a final breath, colorful witnesses to a devotion that surpassed understanding.

We are all, in our own way, blind gardeners. Unknowingly cultivating feelings that bloom around us, sometimes neglecting the most beautiful roses to chase after mirages.

The true tragedy is not to love without return.

It's to leave without having been seen.

To be reduced to a dried flower in a closed book.

To be understood too late.

So the next time you see someone coughing slightly in your presence, look carefully. It might just be allergies.

Or it might be a garden desperately trying to reach you, to show you its beauty before withering forever.

For silent love is the loudest when it disappears.

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ryusjwks · 1 month ago

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whenever someone writes a lad x non!mc it just reminds me of back when hanahaki disease was so prominent in the fanfic world, because that would hit so hard in a lads x non!mc fic.

IS IT STILL A BIG THING?? im adding that to the list of things i wanna write

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ryusjwks · 1 month ago

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I’ve been thinking, and an idea just popped into my head. 👀

Do you have any non-MC storyline that’s been living in your head rent-free lately?

If you do, I’d love to hear about it 🫶💭

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ryusjwks · 1 month ago

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KEEP PRAYING FOR HER FAVOUR.

warning: non!mc x mc, absolutely reader is non mc lol, lightly angst, mc mentioned as female.

She was more than a fragile balance to you.

She was the answer to a silent prayer, the flickering light of a lantern swaying in the wind. Every time life treated you harshly, you tried to be a soft quilt in the world she carried on her shoulders.

No one ever noticed, but you gave away little pieces of yourself each day—just so she could remain whole.

Did you ever consider growing tired?

No.

Because she was still there, and every reason you had to keep going lived inside her breath.

Even when you cried within, you became a curtain for her tears. You gave up your own spring so her laughter could bloom. When you were left without anyone, her existence was enough.

You buried so much inside yourself so that she could live. You chose to forget things that once made you whole, just so she wouldn’t feel the weight.

You locked away the rooms of your heart, but always left one door open—for her.

And that door, at times, stayed ajar without words, simply to let her feel you were still there.

You built a future for her—not with bricks, but with hope.

In the midst of a decaying world, you tried to weave a shelter strong enough to outlast every storm.

You asked for nothing in return.

Not even a thank you.

Because in the language of love, there was no such thing as return—only the will to continue.

She was more than a name or a title to you.

She was simply her.

And every time she smiled, the weight on your shoulders lessened.

Every time she laughed, the chains around your ribs loosened.

Sometimes she lifted you up with a single word; other times, she crushed you with her silence.

Still, you stood.

Still, you loved her.

You didn’t just want to protect her—you wanted her untouched by pain.

You wanted life’s cruel hands to pass over her, even if they tore through you instead.

You wished her roads to be smooth, her skies clear, her nights fearless.

You were reborn time and again just so she wouldn’t have to break.

No one ever knew, but you rose from your own ashes so many times—for her.

And sometimes you wondered…

What if one day she forgot you?

What if your absence didn’t even leave a hollow in her world?

But even then, you never stopped.

Because her existence was the loudest echo in the hollow of your heart.

And you always listened to that echo.

Perhaps that’s why—

Even if everything ends one day, you’ll still keep praying for her.

Knowing that somewhere, she’s resting in peace, will be your sliver of heaven.

And you’ll keep looking at her from the same place—no matter how far she drifts.

She’ll always remain a star burning quietly in the corner of your heart.

Because she wasn’t just someone to you.

She was the reason behind everything.

And you—

You loved her enough to become armor even for her shadow.

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ryusjwks · 1 month ago

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ok so i just realized something and it hit me like bam in a single moment lol—if caleb gave non-mc’s necklace to mc, then now that he’s back at flight academy he’s wearing mc’s dog tag… uh it’s giving ✨emotional damage✨ for no reason but also like… why is this so heartbreaking to me pls 😭

(3) even when there was rain, sunshine came

pairing. caleb x fem! childhood friend! non mc! reader (x childhood bsf! zayne)

synopsis. caleb planted a seed in your heart when you were both young, nurturing it without meaning to until it sprouted and blossomed. it shouldn't have grown this much, not when you knew you could never have him.

genres/aus. angst, fluff, f2l, unrequited love, childhood f2l

warnings. mentions of death, attending (a) funeral(s), lots of crying, reader goes down an emotionally unavailable time period but worry she feels better afterwards, small and and brief mentions of hatred oops, and cursing bc someone now does that double oops! if there's anything i'm missing, please let me know!

rating. pg-13 whoops.

wc. 5 k

a/n. not proof read as always lol also... mayhaps a double update is coming... maybe... also that last bit may be wonky bc obvi i havent graduated from uni yet so ion know how that looks like WHOOPS ❤️‍🔥

your fifteenth spring teaches you the reality of what it is like to truly mourn for someone. the news came to you in the midst of exams week at the aerospace academy, and it came to you in the form of your dad’s lieutenant colonel—his best friend. when you open the door to your dorm, you knew what it meant when you saw the man stand before you, his cap tucked in between his arm and side, his gaze downcast. your ears rang so loudly that you didn’t hear when he apologized.

and the rest of that week went by in a blur.

you took your exams and promptly prepared for the funeral the farspace fleet would give your dad in skyhaven.

it was an odd feeling.

attending your dad’s funeral in skyhaven was like a nightmare, a surreal experience that you wanted to wake up from. you always thought your dad would die of old age and be buried in bloomshore’s cemetery, long after retiring. yet, here you are: at the farspace fleet, watching as the general gave a speech about the brightest alum of the aesrospace academy and the best colonel he had the pleasure of training when he was a lieutenant. honestly, you don’t even pay attention to the old man. you know your mom isn’t either. you pay attention to the casket, the way the polished surface shines brightly against the unforgiving sun.

it’s an odd thing: attending a funeral when there is nothing in the casket.

because your dad died in the deepspace tunnel, the only casualty of the patrol team he was leading. you heard of his pilots’ recounts of the event, heard of it from his second-in-command. everything was normal, everything was going smoothly. then, the space felt weird. everything felt still for a second.

there was a vibration in the air, a low hum that intensified.

“your father gave the order for the patrol team to turn back.” a pause. “we were turning around when a vortex opened and…”

the deepspace tunnel.

what an unpredictable and unforgiving thing.

you blink, and suddenly there are people you’ve never seen before giving you their condolences.

“i’ll be organizing a small funeral for your dad,” your mom mumbles to you in between the shower of apologies you receive and the pitying gazes.

you glance at her. “do you need help?”

she shakes her head. “it’ll be small… just family.”

you suck a breath in and your finger twitches in your lap. “can zayne—”

“his family will be there,” she grabs your hand, giving it a light squeeze. “they’re family, too. do you want caleb there?”

caleb.

there is a tinge of anger that tugs at the strings of your heart, searing ardently within you.

even now, when you think you can move on from the idea of him—the thought of him—he still manages to slither back in some way.

you shake your head. “no. i just want zayne there.”

what’s it to caleb, anyways?

he stopped caring in eighth grade, so he won't care now.

and you don't have time to mourn over a living person who broke your heart.

your mom was quick to organize your dad’s funeral. a week later, while you’re on spring break, you find yourself at the kitchen table with your mom.

“what do you want in the casket?”

you tilt your head at her question. “excuse me?”

she continues filling out some paperwork. “what do you want to put in his casket for tomorrow? i’m putting in his awful collection of vinyls.” she chuckles, but you see the slight tremble in her fingers.

your dad often joked that he’d like to be buried with his vinyls so no one else could have them—he mostly said that because his best friend always eyed them when they were students in the academy.

what do you want to bury?

you think of his cap, the one that sits in your dorm right by the picture of zayne you have on your desk.

“nothing.” you finally say. “i… don’t want to put anything in the casket.”

you want to keep your dad by your side, you don't want to forget him.

“okay.”

and this time around, the funeral feels real.

your throat feels tight, your heart beats faster than usual. the sky weeps along with your heart, you feel like the world is spinning too quickly and that you’re about to sink down.

everything feels like a mess.

your mom stands to your right, her eyes fixed on the casket that’s being lowered into the ground. she moves forward, standing in front of the pit. she says something you cannot hear, kisses the white flower in her hand and lets it fall inside.

a squeeze breaks you out from your daze, warmth seeping into you. from the corner of your eye, zayne nods at you. with a gulp, you take a step forwards, then another until you're in front of the pit. you stare down at the casket.

this is too real.

standing in front of his casket makes it too real.

the man who called you his little star, the man who wasn't always around but tried to be, the man who never read you the classic bedtime stories and instead told you about the different jets in the fleet, the man who made you fall in love with the sky, the man who loved you more than anyone ever will and proudly told you that as if it were an undeniable fact—he is dead.

your dad is actually gone.

dead.

and your knees give out. you’re unsure whether you’ve been crying from the start but you are now: the tears rapidly fall down your cheeks, burning in excruciating pain. you don't care about the mud that gets on your clothes, all you can focus on is that emptiness and pain you feel, the wide hole that sinks into your chest.

a warm hand touches your shoulder, gentle as if to not break you further. arms circle around you, carefully bringing your head into a familiar crook. zayne exhales softly, a hand running up and down the length of your back. the umbrella he held up now lays forgotten on the ground.

“it hurts,” you croak, grabbing a fist full of his coat. “it hurts so much, zayne… make it stop.”

he continues to hold you. “it will hurt for a long time,” he says. “because healing takes a long time. you’ll learn to live with this one day… maybe not now, but one day.”

you can only gasp in response, clinging onto zayne as your sobs begin to take over, your chest rising and falling rapidly. “he’s dead,” you shut your eyes and press yourself closer to zayne, “he’s gone.”

you feel him shake his head. “he isn’t. he lives right,” zayne leans back, the hand that once held your head now pointing at your heart, “in here. he’s always going to be there with you.”

the seasons come and go, the days blur together, and the faces you see everyday you can never put a name to. you talk to your mom every day, and you delude yourself into thinking that clipped responses are better than none at all.

it’s the most you can do, after all.

you talk to zayne less despite having lived in the same city for four years now. you pull away from him slowly, taking small steps away until the gap between you has grown into what it is now: a canyon. the distance was already there when he left, so it shouldn't matter if it's grown more now that you’ve done the same.

and the small girl you left behind? the one who made the sun rise? you haven’t spoken to her once since your dad’s funeral in bloomshore. you didn't even tell her of his passing—you just stopped talking all together, and in between your fresh sorrow and her constant messages, she stopped trying to get a hold of you, as if coming to the slow realization that you're… done.

honestly, you don't blame her for stopping. you were a bitch, the remnants of a heartache mixed with your grief drove you to give her the cold shoulder.

you’ve pushed them all away and locked yourself in the prison that is your fear: the fear of getting too close and experiencing that pain once again.

because you don't think you can allow yourself to mourn for the dead ever again.

the seasons come and go, the days blur together, and somehow you’re a week away from graduating. you’re surprised the academy even let you get this far—after all, your score on that exam was just fine.

the heat of summer is unforgiving: it beats down on your back as you climb down the jet, the sweltering heat making you take quick strides across the practice field, unfastening your helmet with a flicker of your hand. you’re practically booking it towards the locker room.

“how are you feeling, miss valedictorian?” a classmate runs up to your side, matching your quick pace. “you got your speech ready?”

you don’t spare a glance and continue walking. “i have everything ready.”

they whistle. “wow,” they awe, “that’s our legendary miss valedictorian for you.”

the title makes you roll your eyes. “i thought i told all of you to quit it with that.”

they shrug, still following you as you enter the locker room. “everyone knows it’s true. even the academy praises you.”

the prodigy of the aerospace academy, y/n l/n.

just like your dad.

you tune out the voice of your classmate, getting rid of your flight suit and equipment, and storing it neatly inside of your locker. you adjust your clothes just as fast before you're out the door, already heading towards the gates. there’s a man that stands not too far from you, his back towards you. there’s also a girl talking to one of the guards nearest to you, though you can't see her as the guard covers her from your line of sight.

you aren't even a step outside when a hand latches around your wrist, and you freeze because you know who it is.

how could you not? his warmth is so familiar to you, even after all this time.

what surprises you the most is the fact that he's here. why is he here? he lives so far away from the academy. how is he here?

he says your name quietly. “we… should talk.”

your heart lurches, but still you don’t pull away. “i thought you were busy with med school...”

you can practically hear the way zayne raises a brow at your words.

“how would you know?” he asks, his tone void of any real malice—just pure curiosity. “we haven't talked since august.”

“i… go through your moments… sometimes…” you mumble in embarrassment, “you were studying not too long ago, right?”

his hold on your wrist loosens and tightens at the same time, his touch hesitant. he wants to hold on tighter, but is unable to. zayne holds your wrist gently, thinking as if you are to crumble if he were to hold on any tighter. he breathes slowly, “can we talk?” he quickly adds on, “privately?”

you nod and grab his hand, leading him to your apartment.

and as you walk away, you don't hear the call of a familiar name.

“pips!”

you awkwardly sit next to zayne in your living room, knees touching. your leg bounces, and you refuse to look at the older male.

zayne wordlessly places a hand down on your knee, stopping it from moving. “…there’s no need to be nervous.”

“there kind of is,” you grumble. “i didn’t think you’d ever visit me over…”

the distance, you want to say, but the words lodge themselves in your throat. you tap your finger against your leg now.

he hums. “well, i wouldn’t be here in the first place had you not started to pull away.” zayne breathes in slowly, carefully grabbing your hand in his. “i don’t blame you for anything. i just… want you to know that i’m always here. it doesn’t matter if you start pulling away because i’ll just follow you. i just want you to know that.”

you grip his hand at his words. “i’m a terrible friend,” you mumble. “how can you not blame me for this? how can you even say that?”

“because you’re still mourning,” he replies. “i know you—that means i also know how much your dad means to you.”

means—present.

not meant—past tense.

because you still miss your dad. you miss the summer days in verona where he’d carry you on his shoulders. you miss when he would talk to you about the new jets on his fleet. you mourn not only him, but the future you never got to live with him. he was supposed to watch you graduate, watch you work your way up in the ranks of the fleet—his fleet, he was supposed to be there when you ask him for love advice, he was supposed to help you move into your apartment after freshman year at the dorms and haul everything inside because he would never let his little star move a muscle.

“but i should be over his…” death. you still hate saying that stupid word. “but instead, i’ve let it consume me. you don’t blame me for that? for letting my fears influence me?”

you know that zayne knows: you pulled away because you’re afraid of losing him like you did with your dad. you’ve thought about it, about a world without him, when your mind can’t rest during the late hours of the night. each time you would end up silently weeping. there are no words to describe a world without him in it.

“of course not.” he knows. “i understand.” he always does. “i can’t make promises that i don't know if i’ll be able to keep because the future is unpredictable, but i can promise to take care of myself for you to ease your worries.”

and just like that, the knots in your chest untangle themselves. your shoulders no longer feel heavy, and you can breathe for the first time in a long time.

“you…” you tilt your head to look him. “you’re too good to me, zayne li.”

“i’m supposed to be good to you,” he lets out an amused chuckle. you take in how he looks now, how he looks older and more mature, how his hazel eyes have more brown in them than green hues right now, how his lips are curved upwards just the slightest bit. “i’m your best friend, you know?”

the book you had been reading for the month lays discarded on your chest, your back on your bed as you cover your mouth, shoulders shaking. zayne stares at you with a deadpan on his features. “you still haven’t made any friends?”

he gives you a pointed look from his sitting position against the bedframe. “have you made any friends?”

you stick your tongue out at him. “touché.”

zayne blinks once before leaning forwards to pinch your cheek, stretching the skin out. you furrow your brows and flick his wrist. “what are you doing?”

the corner of his lip lifts. “pinching your cheek.”

“no shit,” you scoff, huffing through your nose in amusement when his hazel eyes widen at your words. “what? don’t tell me you didn’t see this coming?”

he clears his throat and lets go of your cheek. “i certainly didn’t expect such a colorful word to be a part of your… everyday vocabulary.”

you shrug and roll off the bed. “the officers have a nasty influence on first years,” you scrunch your nose, “even worse when flight training starts. they just bitch about everything.” you sigh, “obviously, i don’t speak like this to the officers… or anyone.”

“then why say it around me?”

“because i don’t have anything to hide from you,” you reply, “i tell you everything. i’m always going to be the most relaxed around you—that won’t ever change.”

zayne smiles, amusement twinkling in his eyes. “you don’t tell me everything.”

you purse your lips. “yes, i do. i—”

“you never told me you liked caleb,” the smile still doesn’t leave his lips, and you tense at the statement. “but i knew that you did.”

you blink a couple of times.

the stupid kiss.

you never told him about what caleb did on the night of his fourteenth birthday. you didn’t tell him of the pain.

and you won’t tell anyone; no living soul will ever know.

looking away from him, your gaze falls on the snow globe on your nightstand. “and you never told me you liked her, but i knew you did.”

“i don't.”

your eyes go back to him, watching as he takes his glasses off. “i don’t like her… maybe i never did.” the last bit was quiet enough that you almost didn’t hear. before you can question him, he looks up and eyes your neck. a finger comes up to point at his own. “you don’t wear it anymore.” you know what he’s referring to.

you think to the box that sits underneath your bed in your mom’s house: the box that holds everything related to him—the pictures, the necklace, the notes and the doodles and the paper airplanes… everything. “i threw it away as soon as i left for skyhaven.”

the male hums. “is that so?”

you nod. “yeah,” you breathe out.

there was no point in bringing a piece of caleb with you when all you wanted was to forget him.

“it’s getting late,” zayne mumbles. “you have a spare room, right?”

“about that…”

zayne stares at the empty room you show him down the hallway from your room. he turns his head towards you. “why… is it empty?”

“i’m the one doing the visiting,” you say, “not the other way around. i found no need to set up the spare room…”

“i see…”

you smile at him, “we can sleep in the same bed.”

he furrows his eyebrows, mouth slightly agape. “what?”

“c’mon!” you nudge his shoulder. “it’ll be like old times!”

zayne sighs and pinches his nose. “you are a woman, and i am a man.”

“…and?” you raise an eyebrow at him. “are you saying you’re going to eat me up or something? should i be worried?”

“of course not,” he says quickly. there’s a slight frown on him that confuses you. “but… am i not a man to you?”

“of course you are,” you answer, leaning forwards. you reach out and grab onto his cheek, pinching it. “but i trust you enough to not do anything.”

“…i see.”

there were no classes for the rest of the week for the graduating class, meaning you no longer had to wake up in the crack ass of dawn to get ready. unfortunately, habits are hard to die, so despite having turned off your alarm, your mind wakes you up when the sky is a faded, dark blue. immediately, your mood sours as you stare up at the ceiling.

you lay in your bed for a fee seconds longer when you’re suddenly aware that your right side is empty and cold. with a yawn, your cold feet hit the ground as you stand up and quietly search for your missing friend.

zayne lifts his brows when you walk into the living room, his glasses sliding down the slope of his nose. “did i wake you?”

you shake your head, padding over to where he sits on the couch. the cushion sinks when you sit down, your head immediately falling on his shoulder. “i’m used to waking up at this hour…” you squint at his hands. “are you studying?”

he nods, ready to say something but the word die at the tip of his tongue. zayne watches curiously at your outstretched hand that open and close repeatedly.

“give me your notebook.”

he does so without any complaint. you scan the contents quickly, gaze flitting up to him afterwards. “i’ll help you study.”

zayne chuckles softly, and shakes his head. “i appreciate that, but you should sleep some more.”

“i’m already up,” you say through squinted eyes. “besides, it’ll be like old times.”

“ah yes,” he hums, nodding once, “back when you were in middle school and i helped you study.”

except you never actually studied. zayne would read the questions out loud once, you would answer perfectly, and then you would decide enough was enough before spending the rest of your time reading with him.

friday morning comes in the form of a quiet and empty room.

when you wake up, your left side is empty once again. in the span of the week, you’ve come to learn that zayne has the habit of waking up earlier than you do. sometimes he’s up an hour before you, other times it’s half an hour.

you breathe in and exhale slowly, blink once at the roof and then stand up. the drowsiness leaves your body as you begin to get ready: you brush your teeth and splash cold water on your face before wiping it away, you put your uniform on, you comb through the knots in your hair, and you place your cap on your head. your eyes move towards your desk, eyeing the black cap that sits on it.

you’ll be able to wear it soon.

you slip your socks on, and move into the living room. zayne sits at the table, his laptop open in front of him as he highlights something on his notebook. he looks up, his hazel gaze locking with yours. he gestures at the steaming cup of coffee in front of the chair next to him, and you head towards it.

“i thought your graduation was at nine,” he says, eyes going back to his laptop. “why are you already ready?”

“force of habit,” you shrug, grabbing the cub. the warmth seeps into your fingertips, and you raise it to your lips, pausing, “and my class has to practice once before the ceremony. we’re supposed to be there an hour from now... head for breakfast afterwards,” you snort and shake your head, eyes narrowing in mirth, “someone called it brunch in the group chat. another person called them a dumbass.”

zayne’s lips quirk upwards as you finally take a sip from your cup. he watches you with a quiet intensity, one that somehow warms up the tips of your ears, yet you tell yourself to not dwell on it because he’s just zayne, the boy you grew up with.

“you sound happy.”

you bring the cup down to rest on the table. “i am,” you breathe out.

the rest of your time before heading to the academy is spent by quizzing zayne. he answers everything perfectly, and you promptly congratulate him every time, to which he huffs a laugh through his nose. when it’s time for you to leave, he offers to give you a ride and you accept.

his car is, as always, clean. it looks like it just had the day he bought—you were with him as he walked around the dealership, scrutinizing every car and analyzing every thing he learned about them until he found one he liked. it took almost two hours, and you were tired as hell, but it was worth it. he drove you to a small cafe afterwards, his treat. and though you were still mourning for your dad, despite it having been a year later, that day you felt the first semblance of normality.

the car comes to a stop, pulling you out of your thoughts.

“i’ll see you later,” says zayne.

you give him a smile. “yeah, see you later.” when you open the door, he grabs onto your wrist. you look back.

“you’ll be free afterwards, right?”

“well, i know that there’ll be a party to celebrate… but that’s in the evening, like at nine.”

he nods. “good.”

zayne doesn't say anything afterwards and only bids you goodbye, promising to see you in a few hours. with a small wave, you watch as he drives off, leaving you alone at the gates. you breathe in slowly and exhale.

you take a step back, twist around and begin to walk to the gates when you suddenly stumble forwards, your cap falling off your head and landing on the ground with a thud.

“shoot! i’m so sorry about that!” a voice rings out from behind you.

with a sigh, you lean down to pick up your cap, dusting it off. you glance behind you: there's two, tall guys. one has short hair, and he has his friend in a headlock. the one in a headlock has brown hair, bangs covering his face from your judging eyes. you turn to face them.

“my friend here sure is clumsy,” the guy laughs, tightening his hold on the hunched over friend. the friend grunts in response, trying to pry off the arm around his shoulder. “oh shit,” the guy gasps, seemingly having realized something. “you’re a graduating senior?”

“that’s right,” you say.

the guy beams, his free arm stretching out towards you. “congrats, senior!”

his enthusiasm brings a small smile to your lips, and you give him a firm handshake. “thank you.”

“caleb,” the boy snaps his head towards his friend in the chokehold. “i can’t believe your clumsy ass bumped into our senior!”

the name makes your smile curl downwards.

“ah, senior! don’t tell me we upset you!” the other boy panics.

you shake your head, eyes closed. “no,” you grimace, “but i do have to get going.” you put the cap back on your head, and with a small wave, you walk away.

“caleb, why the hell are you staring? show some respect!”

caleb.

what a way to sour your mood.

the practice was chaotic, to say the least. after you dropped a bomb on them with the salutatorian, everyone began to shout questions directed at the two of you. you got so fed up you yelled at them to shut up or else you wouldn’t go to breakfast with them afterwards.

which leads you to now.

you sit at a table with your classmates, all of them staring at you.

“…so, i didn’t want to give the speech,” you shrug and poke at the food in your plate. “big deal.”

“but why?” someone asks, followed by a quick no offense to the salutatorian.

“they have more memories with the whole class,” you answer. “it didn’t feel right for me to be up on stage and give a big speech on memories and stuff. made more sense for someone who actually spent time with the class to do it.”

when you look up from your plate, you see that everyone’s mouth are wide open.

“…what?” you grimace. “did i say something wrong?”

“you’re surprisingly cool.” someone says.

their comment makes you snort. “very cool of me to do that, huh.”

someone ends up pointing at you. “you just laughed.”

chaos erupts once again.

“holy shit, she just laughed for once!”

“knock it off before i regret being here,” you give everyone a pointed look.

they all still, mumbling apologies. in the next second, everyone starts talking and taking turns to ask you questions.

surprisingly, you don’t mind the attention. you don't mind talking to your classmates like this; in fact, now there’s a tinge of sadness that settles into your chest.

you should have talked to them more.

you swear you see the person siting next to you start crying during the salutatorian's speech.

as you stand at your assigned spot, hands holding your diploma behind your back, you see the same person start to cry harder once they’re tapped out by their family, their rigid posture crumbling.

your eyes rake over what you can see: there’s people waiting to be tapped out, some are crying, some are laughing and happy. and then you see him.

zayne naturally stands out: tall and lean, a head above the shorter crowd. the sight is comical, making you puff out your cheeks in an attempt to not laugh. he stops a few steps away, takes his phone and snaps a picture of you, all the while having an arm behind his back.

“you blinked,” he hums once he stands in front of you.

you narrow your eyes slightly at him.

with a chuckle, zayne taps your shoulder, his touch warm despite the layers of your uniform that separates your skin from his. your posture relaxes, the rigidness melting away as your lips curl upwards. he brings a small bouquet of flowers, not flashy like the ones some of your classmates are receiving. a few hyacinths and irises, their blues like the color of the sky you love, held together by a white bow tied around the stems.

“congratulations, y/n.”

you take the bouquet from him, and look at him, the small smile you had now a grin. zayne’s eyes look like a light green underneath the harsh glow of the sun, much like the green hues of the gemstone aventurine, with small specks of amber in them.

he takes a step forwards, arms slowly wrapping themselves around your form. your cap almost falls off as your throw your arm around his shoulder, the bouquet clutched tightly as your free hand flies to keep your cap against your head. laughter bubbles from your chest and falls from your lips, loud and cheerful for the first time in a while.

“thank you.”

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#caleb get out of there

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