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Duty's Cruel Embrace, 3

Chapter Three: Past and Present

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18+ MINORS DNI

pairing ; prince!xavier x princess!reader

synopsis ; you and xavier journey to the port of tartus where your first betrothed awaits you.

word count ; 14.6k words

author's note ; hi everyone! i am so sorry about the delay in updates! i am trying my best to work on these chapters asap!! i hope you enjoy this chapter as much as i enjoyed writing it!

trigger warning ; mentions of death, alcohol use, weapons, xav and reader make out and he gets just a little handsy, light sexism, talks of political marriage, let me know if i missed anything!

my ladies in waiting ♛ °˖✧ @velaenam , @schwnapps , @massivenutkid , @celestialforce , @exitingmusic , @zeskyzed , @eve-ishu , @underfcvcked , @duffyinwonderland , @hiqhkey , @dooopiee , @awkward-stierle , @justpassingdontworry , @queenkymmie , @miffysoo , @kazbrkker , @applepi405 , @flamedancer13 , @prplbunny , @loreleis-world , @animecrazy76 , @emo4r , @crazygirl3001 , @creator-freak , @spacenott , @luckypup0506 , @wltneko9006 , @wonys-won , @sh4do3 , @witchbybirth

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please go check out @velaenam 's story domina of the east! there are light spoilers for her story in this chapter <3

The crown prince of Philos remained close to you after you left the king’s tent. He remained far away, always behind you, never slipping into your line of sight. He had to convince himself that you were not looking for him, that you were on your own mission in life, one that does not revolve around him. He detests the idea of you being loyal to another cause, one that does not belong to him.

You are to be his wife, are you not? You will be the woman he shares the throne with, the woman who will bear his children and provide heirs for his future and legacy. He should be allowed to claim you as his own. As his one and only.

You were now away from your kingdom, a day’s ride to be exact, and soon the two of you will be on a boat heading across the Mediterranean Sea back to his kingdom of Philos. He knows that in time, you will grow to love Philos as much as he does. All he can sit and wish is that the two of you fall into something like love, a way for you to live in harmony for the rest of your lives.

Will it be love? Or will it simply be a partnership that you two barely tolerate?

He knows, though, that you will not be won in war. Your game of cat and mouse, the constant push and pull, the game that has brought him so much more excitement than he could have ever imagined. It is the reason why he is drawn to you. It is the reason why Xavier hasn’t been able to keep you away from him while on your journey to the port of Tartus.

He watches you from afar. Just like how he keeps his distance from you, you keep your distance from the other men at camp, the disgusting soldiers who laugh and tell the tales from their skirmishes and battles in Nabira. He sees the look of disgust on your face. Your expression slightly twists into something fatal, devastating, mourning the loss of the soldiers from your kingdom. You even wince at a few of their motions, the way they describe slicing the necks of the men that they have encountered in the battlefield.

Whenever you pass by, too, the soldiers either remain silent and bow their heads with respect, or they throw taunts your way, calling you pet names as if you now belong to them.

But you belong to him. Xavier knows it…even you know it.

Xavier remains by your tent throughout the night. He had his squire bring him one of the wooden chairs from his father’s tent and he placed it beside the entrance to your tent. Men walked by, their drunken laughs being silenced from Xavier’s scowl. The tip of his blade remained beneath the earth, his hand remaining on the hilt. Soldiers partied in the distance while Xavier listened to the rustling of the thin blanket he provided for you — the one he brought from his bed chambers in Philos — and waited for the night to come to an end.

The bright blue moon was his only light in the night as the majority of torches were snuffed out. He looks up at the Heavenly body, focusing on the imperfections that shine brightly on its surface. Xavier wonders if you like the moon as much as he does. He loves watching the Heavenly bodies in the night sky, looking upon them as they twinkle from the depths of the darkness.

The prince wonders what lies beyond the sky. Are there other worlds like his own? Are the men on that distant and far planet forced into unnecessary wars that their fathers wish to wage? Do the men there get to freely choose their wives or are they forced to marry vipers in disguise from a kingdom across the known world?

A sigh leaves his lips. Xavier looks away from the sky and shakes his head, turning his attention towards the ground. There are shadows from the scattered patches as grass of the campsite. There is a mixture of sand and dirt and grass, the combination of two different kinds of ecosystems merging together.

A sense of longing and worry overwhelms his mind. Xavier closes his eyes and rolls his head back, cracking his tensed up joints and bones as a quiet groan escapes his lips. He knows that his journey and time in Nabira is coming to a close. He will finally be back in Philos, a place he knows like the back of his hand. He has dreamed of his kingdom almost every single night since he has reached the desert, sailing away from the green scenery into the abyss of the desert.

Back in Philos, Xavier remembers the endless rolling hills of green grass, the steady streams and rivers that run through his kingdom. He remembers each and every crevice and rock of the mountainside where the Philos castle sits. He remembers the dark gray stone bride that attaches the base of the mountain to the rest of the village. Xavier misses the sound of the roaring river that runs beneath the bridge, the perpetually cold water spraying over the edges when the winds are strong.

Nabira is a completely different environment than what he is used to. Getting used to the desert was harder than he imagined, his right hand man back in Philos, Jeremiah, telling him what he should prepare for. He thought that the hot temperature was comparable to the hottest summer day in Philos but after experiencing the coolest day in Nabira, he knows that he is not meant for this type of climate. He supposes that he misses the green scenery. He is tired of the constant tans and browns, the only green coming from fabrics and the scattered patches of shrubbery that lay somewhat near oases.

He thought that he would find his inevitable demise in Nabira because who can truly survive a war as destructive and brutal as his father’s campaign for Nabira. Who can survive in the endless stretches of desert with little to no water to live off of, his body aching and his skin turning rough and red under the blazing sun. Even the metal of his armor has made him feel so suffocated while traveling through the sand dunes. Perhaps his inevitable demise did not come in the form of death but rather in the form of a beautiful woman behind a black and gold veil, the woman who has infiltrated his every waking and unconscious thought ever since he met her.

You…you have proven to be an intoxicating potion that has been slipped into his drink, a spell that is your name that has taken control over his mind.

Xavier opens his eyes to the sun already above the horizon. His light blue blanket is draped over his body, the hand on his sword covered. A quiet groan vibrates his throat. He slowly sits up, back tense. Xavier’s blue eyes scan the immediate area, the morning sun warm against his skin. You slowly approach from afar, a silver cup in hand along with a plate with bread, nuts, and dried meat. Xavier hides the small smile that begins to form on his face, covering it up by clearing his throat and sitting up in his chair.

“I can ride the horse for us today,” you say to him, skipping the greeting. It amuses Xavier. “Here,” you mutter under your breath, “eat. Drink. Your father wishes for us to embark from this place as soon as possible. He thinks we can reach Tartus by sunset if we move fast enough.”

Xavier takes the plate and chalice from you, your fingers grazing against each other. You ignore the way the corner of his lips perk up, the way his cloth shirt exposes the top part of his chest. You clear your throat and tear your gaze away, looking at the soldiers who tear down the campsite. They scurry around as their king watches. The silver crown on his head reflects sharp flashes of light whenever he turns, the man’s squire and his noble attendant by his side as he quietly speaks his demands.

“When did you wake, princess?” Xavier asks.

You struggle to respond. Your gaze meets his and all of the words slip out of your mind. You have memorized and learned Xavier’s mother tongue when the Philos troops were first seen on the outskirts of Nabira’s borders. Countless books and endless nights studying their words, the way they speak. The teachers in Nabira helped you become fluent but sometimes the words slipped free from your mind, leaving you with a mouth and brain filled with an empty void.

Xavier tilts his head at you, perking up an eyebrow. He slowly chews the hardened bread, narrowing his blue eyes at you. He slowly stands. The light blue blanket slips off of his body, hanging over the top of his sword. Xavier places the chalice and plate down, turning his attention back to you.

“Take your time,” he whispers, “or, you can say it in thy own tongue.”

“I woke at dawn. The dogs’ barks woke me,” you speak with no hesitation.

Xavier picks up on your words. His year in Nabria allowed him to learn some of your language, not all of it because he has always been stubborn and, quite frankly, did not think that he would get a Nabiran wife out of the crusade. He watches you closely as you gesture to the pack of nearby dogs, their snouts red from blood from that morning’s hunt.

“I didn’t want to wake you,” you continue, finally turning back to wake him. Xavier’s. Your expression softens at the sight of his tousled hair, the way the silver strands poke out in every direction. You wave him down, which he immediately obeys, and you gently flatten the hair back against his head. “You looked so peaceful.”

“Peaceful,” Xavier quietly repeats the word in your tongue. You freeze and pull away from him, eyes slightly widened. Does he know your language? Has he learned during his time in Nabira just like you have with his? “What does that mean?”

“Peaceful,” you state after a moment’s hesitation, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“Peaceful…” he whispers with a slight nod. “I will ride for us today. Be ready soon. A solider will handle your tent for you.”

“Xavier,” you watch as he drapes the light blue blanket around your shoulders. With one hand, he picks up the plate and chalice, balancing the silver cup on the plate, his sword now resting in his free hand. He steps around you. You watch him as he leaves, disappearing into the chaos of the Philos camp.

You sigh. You hang your head low as you stare at the ground. The leather bag your father gave you sits beside his wooden chair. The chair looks so uncomfortable…why would he spend the night like that? Did he truly wish for you to see this act of service as one that shows you can trust him? Or is it a false sense of security that he will use against you in the near future?

Confusion infiltrates your mind. You allow yourself to gather your belongings, plucking the golden bow from the inside of your tent. It sits around your bodice, the golden point sticking up into the sky, the quiver of arrows attached around your hips. The black crow feathers absorb the heat of the day. You feel them between the pads of your fingers, fiddling with them. They help keep you company as you walk through the camp, looking around for the man you are forced to be allies with.

Whether you like it or not, you know that Prince Xavier is your only saving grace on the journey to Philos. Even then, once you reach his kingdom, he is still your only ally in the political world that is much different from Nabira.

You cannot help but question if Xavier will be there by your side like he vowed to do. You do not know if he will remain loyal to you and the aid you require. Your mind wanders across the many possibilities that you will encounter in the new world.

Does Xavier have a mistress? Is there another woman in his life that you will have to learn to tolerate during your political and arranged marriage? You do not know what waits for you in the near future. It feels as if you are willingly walking into a lion’s den.

You can try your best to hide behind the furs they will gift to you. You can try to hide behind the crown of thorns that they will place onto your head. At the end of the day, though, it is you and you alone that is in charge of your life. You will have to fight for your spot in the Philos court, to fight to show the nobles that you earned your position as the future Queen of their kingdom. They will try to bring you down but you must persevere.

“Princess,” Xavier’s voice sounds from behind. You do not turn, simply continuing to stare at the ancient ruins from your ancestor’s empire.

After it fell hundreds of years ago, the Roman Empire lost its influence. Their colonies and cities fought back against Roman control all while the title of emperor was being fought about in the heart of Rome. You read about it in the books your father gifted to you as a child. Your brother did not particularly enjoy reading about the fall of an empire, but you enjoyed seeing how Emperor Caleb’s laws and provisions remained in place when it came to Nabira. He ruled far before the empire fell. His descendants, your ancestors, kept his vow alive. It is admirable, really.

There are broken statues and pillars in the distance. Another outpost that was once under Roman control. Now Mother Nature runs it with vines reclaiming the white and cracked stone. Xavier’s armor and chainmail sounds from behind you. His white horse whinnies. The scraping of metal rubbing against itself used to irk you, send chills down your spine, but now it is a welcoming sound of the man you will call your husband.

“Is thou ready?” he asks.

“How long do you think that has been there for?” you ask and gesture to the crumbling pillars. Xavier takes his place at your side, his eyes fixed on the landmark. His horse remains tethered to its reins.

“I do not know,” he quietly responds. “Centuries, probably.”

“Centuries,” you muse with a chuckle. Xavier looks down at you, confusion written across his face. “Is there a centuries old outpost in Philos?”

Xavier remains quiet. He studies the side of your face, taking in the slenderness of your cheeks, the hollowness behind your eyes. You’re tired, yes, and he can tell that you have not been able to stop thinking since you woke up that morning. He clears his throat and tugs on the leather reins.

The white horse trots around and settles in the space in front of you. Your eyes flicker to Xavier and he avoids your gaze, simply sliding the reins into your hands. He grabs your waist and you place your foot into the stirrup. In one motion, Xavier helps you onto the horse, your leg kicking over the horse. You remove your foot and scoot forward. Xavier takes your bag and attaches it to the side of the horse, placing it beside his. You quickly reach inside and pluck out the diary your father gifted you, placing it in the small space in front of you and the pommel of the saddle.

Xavier quickly mounts the horse and takes his place behind you, his armored hands rest on your thighs for the briefest of moments. You lean back into him, already accustomed to his presence behind you. He leans in, his lips close to your ear. His breath is hot against your skin. It sends chills down your spine.

“You’ve been thinking,” he murmurs. He takes back the reins from you and gently kicks the horse’s side. It lets out a huff and turns on its hooves, moving back towards the camp. “Thinking of the past and history…tell me what is on your mind, princess.”

You look straight ahead. The camp has been broken down while you were lost in your thoughts. The soldiers have resume their marching positions, already beginning the journey to the Tartus port. You assume that Xavier’s father is at the helm, guiding his men through the last of the desert. The two of you assume a position towards the back, the soldiers and guards a part of Xavier’s future Kingsguard taking their place behind you.

“Shall I take your silence as your answer?” he quietly hums.

You roll your eyes and angle your face to look behind you. His eyes meet yours, a hint of amusement in his blue irises. It irritates you to see just how much fun he is having with this. All of the positive feelings you felt towards him begin to slowly dissipate, his sudden cockiness grating your nerves.

“I think of the future,” you finally respond, turning your head back towards the front. Your drop your gaze to the diary in your hands, the horse’s trot just stable enough for you to read.

“I thought you were lost in the past,” Xavier chuckles. You suck in a breath, shoulders tensing. “Now thy worries over the future?”

“Yes, your Highness, ’tis what I said,” your voice is sharp.

You open the diary with a huff, frowning at the tan pages. You flip through the entires, knowing that your ancestor’s words are completely foreign to the man who sits behind you. You stop at one entry whose words catch your attention. You see the old Emperor’s name, Caleb, and stop flicking through the pages.

“Do you wish to be alone?” Xavier quietly asks. He slightly leans forward and stares at the pages. The script is a mystery to him. He may be able to comprehend a few spoken words, but to read it? It is an entirely different story. Your silence is answer enough for him to nod to himself, tearing his gaze away from the diary and to focus on the environment around you.

You silently struggle with your feelings for the crown prince. He has been nothing but kind to you — besides your confrontation when your fathers’ decided on a marriage between the two of you — and he has been patient with your blunt questions. He even sat in front of your tent to make for sure that you were safe. His kind gestures make your heart flutter but your mind combats every single instinct that kicks in.

You do not know if you can trust him. You do not know if he is someone worth your love and attention or if he will have it in himself to return the positive afflictions. Will it even be possible for your heart to come to love a man like him? You know that you can tolerate him, that you will find a rhythm that the two of you can fall into if love does not blossom or come into fruition. There is just that hint of hesitation, though, the single insecure thought that lingers in your mind.

You are a woman. He is a man. He is able to get away with so much more than you ever will. He will be allowed to keep mistresses if he so desires and you will remain alone in your separate bedchambers with nothing but a book and the candlelight to keep you company. He is allowed to lose control, to show his anger while you must remain quiet and obedient, subservient to him and him alone.

Unfortunately, you live in a world dominated by men. For your entire life, you were surrounded by powerful men — even your brother as a boy employed more power than you — who could control the outcome of the Nubian kingdom with a snap of their fingers. Oftentimes, your father’s male advisors would shut you out of political meetings. Whenever the Lemurians, or other diplomatic kingdoms, came to visit, you were told to entertain the women and girls who were brought along while the men drank wine from behind closed doors.

Always forced to watch, never allowed to participate.

The day has been long and hard. You sat in silence, only speaking in short whenever Xavier asks you a question or if you need anything. The sun begins to make its descent back towards the horizon and you can’t help but feel relieved. With the sight of trees and greenery now coming into view, you know that the port of Tartus is near. The sand dunes have turned into grasslands, the yellow and green grass replacing the golds and browns of the sand.

“Princess,” Xavier’s voice draws you out of your thoughts. You hum in response, eyes remaining closed as the horse continues on its way. “Why did thou remain silent before?”

“My mother taught me that if one does not have a kind thing to say, to not say it at all,” you play coy and dance around the meaning of your silence.

Xavier simply chuckles in response, shaking his head. He enjoys this game with you, whether you are aware of it or not. He rests his hand on his thigh, looking away and at the setting sun.

The Philos army travels across the bluffs of the new village. It is governed by Nabira but most of its soldiers come from Lemuria, an old alliance that formed between the kingdoms centuries ago. Two halves that operate in peace and harmony. Xavier looks away, thinking that it will take about an hour to reach the port. He feels your body relax against him once he notices you finally catch wind of the sight.

“Is there someone thou wishes to see there?” there is slight hint of jealousy to his voice and in the way his body slightly tenses up.

Xavier knows that you were originally betrothed to the Lemurian prince, a man by the name of Rafayel. He has only met the prince a handful of times and their interactions were short and brief. He has the most unusual appearance, his hair a vibrant purple color and his irises holding more than one color. Rafayel is extremely extroverted, the complete opposite of the prince himself. Xavier prefers to engage with parties from the outside whereas Rafayel loves to be in the middle of it all.

He does not wish to speak ill of your previous betrothed, simply following your mother’s advice that you bestowed upon him.

“And if there is?” a small smirk flashes across your face.

You hide it as you turn to face him, his hand finding itself on your side as you lean into it, getting the best look possible. His brows are slightly knitted, his jaw clenched. His eyes have lost all of their wonder and dare you say it — sparkle — that he once held towards you. There is a darkness behind his eyes and yet all you can feel amusement towards his sudden possessiveness towards you because, well…what else could it be?

“Will thou play the role of my knight in shining armor?” you lower your voice.

Xavier’s Adam’s apple bobs up and down. His grip on the leather reins tightens. His heart pounds on the inside of his chest. He unconsciously moves towards you, leaning in as his breathing grows heavier.

You truly are a viper, aren’t you?

You let out a quiet sigh. Leaning forward, you pluck the veil from your bag, placing it over your head and the diary. Xavier may not be able to understand the written form of your language, but you wish to have some kind of privacy from the outside world as you travel the last length of distance. The diary opens up with a soft crinkle sound, your finger acting as a bookmark. Sunlight breaks through the sheer veil but protects your eyes from the star, the veil providing slight shade for you.

In the quiet of my chambers, the oil lamps flicker low… The weight of my crown feels most distant. I confess to these pages that I dare not speak aloud.

Caleb. My emperor.

Your ancestor’s silent plight calls to you. You see her words, feeling as they resonate throughout your body. The ink looks shaky as if her hands were trembling as she wrote these words. She has gone through the same conflict you feel inside of your heart and mind. Forced to be wed to a stranger, a man who holds power.

Yours is a mere prince, the weight of a newer yet large kingdom resting on your shoulders. Your ancestor, though? She married an emperor who ruled an empire that stretched from one side of the world to the other.

And yet your internal struggles remain as one, the same trouble of having to share the sheets with a man who is so foreign to you. Does she share the same worries of a mistress? Does she also feel the inexplicable urge to cross the distance, no matter how big or small it may be, and to unite with him as one?

Betrayal coated over a toad. But for some reason I find myself wanting to kiss him.

He stands atop marble steps now gilded in cracks and anger. But I can't help my feelings for him. Even when duty made a stranger of him.

Yet in the stillness that followed…Gideon emerged.

A quiet laugh leaves your lips before you can stop it. You continue to read through the passage, unable to contain the small gasps that leave your body from the revelations that she has confessed to the pages of the diary. The heat from the irony of the situation making the sun even more unbearable. You feel the warmth of Xavier’s armor push into your back. From the corner of your eye, you watch as he reaches to the side of you, picking up the corner of the veil before slowly lifting it up.

“Yes, Xavier?” you ask with a quiet voice, closing the diary. “Is there something thou wishes to say?”

“What…amuses you?” Xavier asks in a quiet voice. “Thine’s smile disappeared when she saw me…how may I see it again?”

You swallow the lump in your throat. Your gaze flickers to the sliver between his head and the fabric, the blue sky growing darker. Xavier simply leans to the side and effortlessly catches your gaze once again.

“Answer me,” his command is harsh while his tone reeks of slight desperation.

Perhaps you made your judgment on him too quick. Maybe Xavier truly does wish to make an effort to be your husband. Your future with him will now be one that is easy and complimentary, yes? You will both make an effort for things to be good. Maybe love will come out of it in due time.

“Are you asking me that as the future king or as Xavier?” you quietly ask. Xavier’s face flinches. Your eyes drop to his lips before moving back to his eyes.

He does not reply. You slightly tilt your head to the side, the sunset flashing into your eyes, illuminating your irises. Xavier’s breath hitches and he suddenly believes in his country’s religion again. He blinks at you, too flustered to focus.

Suddenly, the sound of men’s snickering and cheers captures your attention. You draw away from Xavier, your posture straightening. You turn to the front, staring through the veil, noticing that the soldiers stare at the two of you. Embarrassment floods your body, your cheeks heating up. Xavier slips out of the veil, his sharp glare silencing the soldiers.

“Turn around,” Xavier commands them with such ease it sends chills down your spine.

He slows your horse, the soldiers passing by on their own animals or jogging around you. Xavier watches them as they go, your horse coming to a full stop. His hands slip under the fabric that pools at your hips, his gloved hand resting on your stomach, pulling you closer to him. You cannot move. You’re frozen as time and the soldiers pass you by, only able to fully breathe again once the sound of their horse’s and footsteps fade into nothing.

Xavier removes the veil from your body, holding it away from you as you try to snatch it back from him. The horse whinnies. You glare at him, turning back around to the front, watching as the soldiers march into the distance. Xavier’s grip on you tightens. The raised metal of his coat of arms pokes into your skin, leaving you breathless. He leans down, the tip of his nose grazing against the shell of your ear with closed eyes.

“Do you wish me to be?” Xavier whispers into your ear.

“Wish thou to be what?”

“To be yours, your knight in shining armor,” Xavier is breathless, his cheeks bright in color. You close your eyes, unable to think of an immediate response.

Is it not early to show such affections? Is Xavier showing his cards too easy? It feels like a trap. A sudden sweetness to win your favor before his alliance with Nabira can be severed when your Lemurian friend comes into the portrait. There is no way that he could possibly feel jealousy towards an old suitor. You were never going to leave Xavier even if you tried. You need Philos’ alliance for your father’s sake. You are unequivocally his despite your distaste towards the matter.

“Do what you want,” you breathe out, “it is no matter to me.”

“Truly you do not mean that,” he quickly follows up.

“Unburden yourself, Xavier,” his breath hitches at the sound of his name, “and take us to the port.”

Xavier follows your command. He kicks the horse into motion, tightly holding the reins to keep the horse in check. The horse shifts into a gallop, crossing the distance with ease and flipping up through the pack. The people part for his highness and you remain resigned in front of him, focusing your eyes on the port that lies ahead.

You wish that your childhood friend, a boy you haven’t seen in little over three years since the crusades were first brought to Nabira’s attention, is there to see you to your new home. Rafayel was the one who sailed the seas and rode on a horse with his father as soon as they saw Philos’ army. They did not hesitate to offer help, help which your father declined, and you had to say goodbye to the man you originally were ready to marry.

It will be nice to see him. You can silently plead for aid and protection with the Lemurian ladies in the Philos court — if they have any, that is. He is sure to help you. Maybe he will find himself at your wedding to the infamous Lumière, a man who was sure to have killed both Nabirans and Lemurians in battle. Xavier was a common enemy before he turned into your betrothed. Does that change things with your Lemurian prince now?

After an hour, the Philos army reaches the lively port. The army stays on the outskirts of the port city while you, Xavier, the King, and a smaller portion of the army make your way through the decorated scene. You know that today is a Lemurian holiday, one where they take the night off and dance the night away. They are very free spirited people with art, music, and their navy being their priorities and greatest achievements. Even Rafayel is known to have a few masterpieces under his belt at his young age.

The smile returns to your face. Many of the Lemurian and Nabiran citizens bow their heads at you, stopping in their tracks to show their reverence for their domina. It was sure to be known by now that you are leaving for the rest of your life, that you will never return. Tonight will be as much about your release from the kingdom as much as it is their holiday.

Xavier keeps his eyes on you, watching as you gaze upon the Lemurian rich city with such wonder and awe. It is different from Philos’ much more mild mannered festivities. The city, even when it is an ocean away from their kingdom, is much more vibrant and colorful compared to Philos’ whites and grays color scheme. Much more lighter and monotone from the Lemurian’s bright blues and pinks and purples.

He knows that you will have much fun tonight. There is no reason for you to listen to him or keep you away from that friend of yours. He may accompany you, though, even if you disagree to it. He wants to see what his future bride likes to take part in. It is what every good husband should know, no? He should make for sure that man does not taint your honor or bring any stigmas onto yourself for the Philos court to hear about before your arrival.

It is the least he can do as your future husband.

The horses arrive at the Lemurian’s biggest ship, the Abysswalker, a ship that Rafayel is known to command, just as the sailors disembark from the wooden ship. As soon as Xavier’s horse comes to a slow, you swing your leg over the horse’s head and slide off of the animal, your feet colliding with the earth made dock that the Aysswalker is connected to.

“The domina has arrived,” Rafayel calls to his men as he walks down the wooden plank over the small gap between the ship and the dock, “make sure to behave.” A smile spreads across his face. Your eyes flicker to his hair, which is longer than you remember it being, the purple strands stopping right when they meet his shoulders.

“Is that a command for me or your men?” you smile at him, resting your hands on your hips just as he steps foot back onto land. He stops right in front of you and leans down, brushing your hair out of your face.

“I’d like to think it was one for you,” Rafayel’s smile is as bright as the rest of his face. He mimics your hands on the hips and rests back on one foot. “Did you get shorter?”

“One would think you are insufferable,” you retort back.

“Welcome to Tartus, my lady,” Rafayel takes a step forward, delicately taking your hand. He brings your knuckles to his mouth, his eyes meeting yours, and presses a sweet kiss to your hand like the true gentleman he is. You crack a smile at him, feeling even safer with him than you do with Xavier. Rafayel’s eyes flicker to Xavier, who has gotten off the horse and made himself at home in the space behind you. “Prince Xavier, we have been expecting thy’s arrival.”

“Is that so?” Xavier rests his hand on the hilt of his sword. You purse your lips in annoyance. “Will you be the one who escorts my queen and I to Philos?”

“Yes,” Rafayel’s posture stiffens at the mention of you being his so called queen. His eyes move to you, catching the annoyance that moves across your face. “My apologies if our banter has crossed a line with your…king.”

“I am not his queen yet,” you muse, feeling the tension begin to form between the three of you. You are simply weighing all of your options. You do not wish to marry a man who may be planning your death, making it look like the journey to Philos destroyed you. At least you know you are safe with the Lemurians around.

“Ah,” Rafayel nods his head, turning his attention back to Xavier, “allow me to show you to your quarters. Thou must have had a long day. Rest will do you well before we set sail.”

Xavier nods and steps around you, following the men that immediately move from behind Rafayel. The Philos soldiers set off, except for his father’s Kingsguard, for their own camp since they will be traveling back to Philos by foot. About three years journey across the land if Xavier’s father decides to not send any ships to pick them up and ease the distance. He hesitates when he notices that you and Rafayel do not move a muscle, your eyes never leaving each other’s.

“It’s been a long time,” you whisper to him over the sound of squawking birds, “you’ve grown into the role of Captain.”

“Admiral, actually,” Rafayel’s smile grows more smug by the second. You nod your head at him, keeping it coy and detached. “Do you wish to celebrate tonight, my lady? I remember you telling me that you would love to celebrate the holiday.”

“I would love to if you are the one who keeps me company,” perhaps you are a little too polite in your response. It is all in good faith and all at the expense of your soon to be husband. You like the way his face darkens when another man offers you his gaze, the way he grows jealous at even the slightest thought of you plotting against him or simply when you entertain someone who isn’t him.

“I shall join too, then,” Xavier steps back. His eyes move to yours then your lips. “I shall accompany you.”

“Three is considered to be a crowd,” Rafayel tries to interject.

“Who is to say that he may last through the night?” you challenge. Xavier’s nostrils flare. “My prince, perchance you have spare clothes for me to wear.”

“It can be arranged, princess,” your head snaps in his direction at the title. Rafayel smirks and steps away, walking towards the nearby building by the dock.

You let out an amused huff of air. Xavier steps in front of you. He tightly grips his sword, looking down at you with intense eyes. You attempt to step around him but Xavier blocks the path, his armored hand digging into your flesh. You let out a quiet gasp, feeling a stinging sensation as he yanks you towards him.

“Am I to be worried, princess?” Xavier asks, his voice low and dangerous.

“We speak of clothes,” you say.

“Do you think me a fool?” Xavier counters. You catch the sharpness in his tone.

“You know I am to be yours,” you match his tone, “he means no harm.”

“He is mad.”

“Just as you are?” you lift your connected hands to his eye line.

Xavier immediately releases his grip. He takes a step back, the scrapes of his armor quiet, and diverts his gaze. You purse your lips and walk around him, following in the direction that Rafayel walked in.

The purple haired prince approaches a tall sandstone building. It is much taller than the rest of the seaside village, a landmark for those watching from afar but also a place for nobles and diplomats to stay. You have never been here but your brother has and he told you all about how lively the village is, the way the candles are never snuffed out, acting like golden stars in the night sky.

You pick up the extra fabric that pools near your feet as you walk. You slice through the crowd, the people dispersing as soon as they notice you, and watch as Rafayel waves his hands at the guards by the door. The wooden doors creak to life as you reach the top of the stairs. The prince offers you his arm and you immediately take it.

Xavier scoffs from behind, glaring at the sight of your connected bodies. A scowl overtakes his face as he steps through the doors, entering inside of the brightly lit noble-run home. Servants scurry past, holding sheets and plates of food, bowing their heads at Xavier as they pass. He approaches his father’s side, his eyes never leaving you and Rafayel as you laugh about some comment he makes. Xavier does not see the humor you do in the prince. Do you not know that he is known to be a rake? Xavier and his hand, Jeremiah, have watched as Rafayel passed himself around the ballroom, never taking the time to act like a proper human being.

“Do you know of the festivities, father?” Xavier has to pull his gaze away from you and Rafayel, turning to look at the king that stands beside him. “Will they be…worthwhile?”

“You should partake,” the king responds. He barely even looks at Xavier as he speaks with one of the captains in his army, “unwind. Get to know your wife. Be a prince.”

“Be a prince?” Xavier repeats the words with a slight scoff. “Am I not the man you molded me to be?”

“Tonight,” Xavier’s father sighs and dismisses his man. From over his son’s shoulder, he watches as you and Rafayel disappear up the stairs with a governess close behind, a role that you will soon grow used to once you reach Philos. “Drop thy sword and shed yourself of thine armor. Indulge yourself. Be ready to leave it behind as soon as the sun rises.”

“Yes, sir,” Xavier mutters to himself.

He bows his head to his father and turns away, one of the servants beckoning for him to follow to his temporary bed chambers. The prince allows himself to relax on the journey up through stairs, the metal armor on his body finally beginning to weigh him down. He reaches the top of the stairs. The sound of your laughter stops him in his path. He abandons the servant and walks down the hallway, the clicks of his metal boots echoing down the corridor.

You sit in a room with Rafayel, along with a handful of other nobles who reside in the seaside village, and hold a glass of wine in your hand, swirling around the dark liquid before bringing it up to your lips. The language has changed from the one from Philos to a picture between Nabiran and Lemurian. Neither you nor Rafayel could stick with just one. You watch Rafayel from over the rim of the gold chalice, his drunken friends lounged on the couch as they twiddle with the strings of a lute, the dull notes filling the calmed atmosphere.

“Tell me, domina,” Rafayel begins. He takes a sip from his chalice before lowering it to the table, crossing the distance, and placing himself in the open space beside you, “what do you think of life outside of Nabira’s castle walls?”

“Tis different,” you cooly respond. You place your goblet beside his. “I never thought I would have left so soon.”

“Right,” Rafayel leans down, his eyes fixated on yours, “one did not think your father would ever let you leave the palace. He barely let anyone in for that matter.”

“And yet here I am,” you muse, slightly narrowing your eyes at the purple haired man, “outside of the walls, about to set sail on your ship towards my new fate.”

“I knew I would have the honor of sailing with you,” the prince begins. He slowly leans in some more, your noses a dangerous distance from one another. He tilts his head to the side, taking in the floral scent of your perfume, the way you hold yourself strong against his sudden closeness. Rafayel lowers his voice, his eyes slightly darkening. “I always thought the destination would be Lemuria rather than...Philos.”

You hesitate to respond. You watch Rafayel carefully, observing the way his eyes are all over your face, taking you in from a short distance. He smells like the sea, the hint of salty water and his sweat, his musk, mixes in with the scent. His eyes are vibrant and yet you can see the overprotective nature of your friend begin to seep out.

When Rafayel and his aunt, the Princess Talia, visited Nabira when he was just a boy, he would refuse to let you leave his sight. The two of you would always sit next to each other during meals and he would make you show him all of your favorite places in the Nabiran palace. You showed him the statues of your ancestors, the painted images that you quietly prayed to. He watched as you shot your arrows and in turn you watched him as he fought your brother with wooden swords — although you remember him favoring a trident instead.

“Are you disappointed in the outcome, my prince?” you quietly ask.

“Do not call me that,” Rafayel whispers. “I know the game thou dost engage in.”

“Call thou what?” you play the role of an innocent damsel much to his dismay.

“My prince.”

“Why not?” you tilt your head to the side, eyes never leaving his. It feels as if you can barely breathe with him so close to you, the tension bubbling in the air. “It is thy’s title, is it not?”

“Yes but,” Rafayel sucks in a breath, his voice neither rising nor falling, “I am no longer yours.”

“Thou art my friend,” you whisper, “art thou not?”

“I should be glad that you are his vixen to deal with,” Rafayel pulls away. With the distance, you are able to breathe again. “You are his princess—”

“Domina,” you sharply correct him, your gaze narrowing, “I am not married to him yet.”

“You aren’t,” Rafayel shifts his weight to his back foot, watching you closely, “but thou will be soon enough.”

Your body runs cold. There is truth to his words, you know it to be true. Denial runs through your thoughts. You have accepted your fate and yet here you are, spiraling over someone else pointing out the less than ideal circumstances you find yourself in.

A small smile breaks Rafayel’s serious demeanor. He reaches for your chalice, taking it from its place, and brings it to his lips, sipping the dark red wine that sits inside the cup. You tear your gaze away from him, clearing your throat, and notice a silver figure move into the darkness of the hallway, the wooden door closing shut.

“That prince of yours is trouble,” the Lemurian says from behind you. You do not turn to look at him, simply wishing that you will see Xavier soon. “I do not trust him.”

“Is that so?” you hum, finally turning to look at Rafayel. He simply nods in response.

You look back to the door, pushing off of the table you stand beside, and walk towards it, pushing the wooden panel open. You take a step out. The corridor is much more dark than the inside of the parlor room. Lit candles hang from chandeliers, the wax spilling over the dark metal. The light is warm, a deep orange to cut through the darkness of the night, and you look at Rafayel from over your shoulder.

“Fetch me when you are ready to embark,” you offer him a small smile. Rafayel simply nods in response, turning away from you and to the nobles inside of the parlor.

You disappear down the corridor, following the sound of footsteps up the next flight of stairs. The figure escapes you as soon as you reach the top and you let out an annoyed huff of air. You take a glance around and let out a quiet sigh, walking down the stone hallway. The sounds of your sandals swiping against the floor fills in the silent hallway. You can hear the faint crashing of distant waves, the ocean restless as ever, while you navigate your way towards your bedchambers. As soon as the door comes into sight, you disappear behind it.

Your leather bag and bow sit on your bed, a welcome sight for sore eyes. You approach the bed and sit on the edge, a small frown forming on your face. Rafayel’s words of warning sit with you. They leave you no comfort nor do they make you feel secure in your silent alliance with him. Xavier has given you no signal that he wishes to betray you — quite the opposite, actually, with his sudden posessiveness over you — nor has there been any signs from his father that he wishes to make you a martyr to the people of Nabira.

The sudden competition between Xavier and Rafayel is nothing you could have ever expected for yourself. You always thought that the other men in your life would respect the choices made for you. You are forced to remain passive when it comes to your marital status while the men around you are actively dictating who you will fall asleep beside for the rest of your days. This is, unless your husband were to die. Then you would be forced off to wed yet another man in power whose only mission in life is to secure his throne and provide his kingdom with an heir.

The leather bound diary stares at you. It sits beside the leather bag, its gold accents and jewels beckoning you towards it. You reach out and grasp the small book, bringing it towards your chest. Perhaps your ancestor’s words will bring you some semblance of peace. The pages welcome you as soon as you open the diary, her handwriting already calming down your rapidly beating heart.

Caleb was the sun. Gideon is the moon.

How could she have had the same predicament as you? Feeling affection towards two men. Your familiarity with Rafayel, the bright spirited man whom you have held affection towards for so long.

Then there is Xavier. A man whom you have been forced to share horseback with, forever tied to his reins, unable to make an escape from his intense eyes and wandering hands. In the time you have spent together, little has been said. You originally thought that silence was the best way to show your rebellion towards him and the arranged marriage.

You move to the next passage of the diary entry.

He speaks little, but in his silence, I find refuge. I see the burden he carries. The way his eyes linger too long when he thinks I do not notice. The protection he offers in more ways than one.

Could you too find refuge in his silence? You know he watches you every chance he gets. You are sure that he will never be too far from you if he is to attend the Lemurian festivities tonight. He is sure to drown in the crowd, to fade into the background while you take center stage with your would have been husband, the man you always imagined standing beside instead of the fair headed man your father sold you off to.

Will this be a test for him to show his worth to you? A way to win your heart over in the political game of intrigue that you have found yourself in? He has been in it for his entire life, surely he knows how to win the heart of his chosen princess…your heart.

I should be ashamed, but I am only tired. Tired of pretending the ache in my chest is loyalty alone… If the gods hear me, let them judge gently. My heart is torn between crown comfort and love. Let this ink keep my secret.

You never believed in the gods. Sure, your mother held an expectation of religion upon you, but you knew the truth. You knew that the gods abandoned the earth a long time ago, around the fall of Rome, when magic and Evols have left world. They took all of the splendor with them. The magic that you wished so desperately to see.

Tales told during the fall of Rome have left the world wondering what happened to people who held magic. Did they die with the Emperor and his bloodline? Were they hunted for sport and killed in gladiator battles like martyrs? Or has the magic the world once held in its people slowly vanish throughout the years?

Your mother always liked to joke that you hold the same power like your ancestor, arguably one of the greatest Emperors that Rome has had, but more in the way of him being able to connect and unite his empire together. You have always had the charm of an angel and people naturally gravitated towards you. According to your mother, you also hold a special connection to the past, something that nobody has ever seen before.

You like to call it empathy but your mother thinks your ancestors have chosen you to be their voice.

You close the diary and let out a slow exhale. The pads of your fingers run along the cover, feeling the warm metal against your touch. It grounds you as your mind wanders away from itself. You stand from the bed and take a quick peek into a nearby trunk, pulling out a blue silk dress, one made in a Lemurian fashion. You hold the dress in your hands. It feels devastatingly heavy despite the thinness to it. Your thoughts turn into the future, what it holds for you. You have accepted the fact that you are stuck between two men.

Both of whom wish to see you by their side, whether they have said it aloud or not is neither here nor there. Both men wish to see you thrive but to thrive under their control, a queen that will serve them the best for them and their reign. You do not know if you should feel flattered by this revelation or if you should pack your things, steal a horse, and run back to the safety of the Nabiran border.

A knock at the door. Your posture straightens. You wipe away a tear that you did not know even fell. The door pushes open and you narrow your eyes in the darkness, seeing a pale head of hair enter your chambers. You quickly stand, hands folded in front of your stomach. Xavier is quick to close the door, making sure that it does not make too much noise to alert any of the guards who stand down the hall. He wears a white cotton shirt, the small strings of fabric remaining untied, exposing the top part of his muscular build. The sleeves are slightly puffy. One glance down shows that he wears leather pants and matching boots. He is a prime example of what a peasant in Philos would look like. Well, that is what the books you have read told you. He turns around, his eyes finally landing on yours.

He is silent. He slowly takes in your appearance, his sword remaining attached to his side. His blue eyes drop from your face and to your body. Suddenly you feel small under his gaze. You swallow the lump that forms in your throat, hands growing clammy. You fidget with your fingers as Xavier takes slow and calculated steps towards you. The air thins with every step. You tilt your head to look up at him, the silk gentle against your skin, moving with your body. You take a step backwards. The back of your knees hit the bed frame, the slightly splintered wood pushing into your flesh.

“You look…beautiful,” Xavier breathes out.

His hand moves towards your face, gently cupping your cheek. You do not move. His touch sends chills down your spine and your mouth goes dry. Xavier’s eyes drop from your face, the tips of his fingers grazing against your skin. You suck in a sharp breath. The tips of his fingers move from your cheek to the exposed skin on your shoulder. There is a strip of blue and white silk with a layer of sheer and pearls covering it. It hangs from your shoulder, acting like a loose sleeve. Xavier’s calloused finger hooks around the sleeve, giving it a gentle tug.

“Thou is silent again,” Xavier quietly remarks.

“I have nothing to say,” you murmur. His eyes flit to yours. Your heart skips a beat, cheeks slowly heating. He leans in, trapping you against the bed

“Is it polite to not give thanks?” Xavier matches your volume. You try to look away but he tilts his head to meet your eyes once again. “Answer me.”

“Pray tell, why dost thou concern himself?” you whisper. The candle flickers in the background. You try to use it to steady yourself but Xavier’s proximity makes you feel uneasy.

“Thou is my wife,” Xavier murmurs. He reaches up and pushes the dark hair out of your face, his eyes focusing on yours once again. “My bride’s concerns shall be mine.”

“I am not thy bride,” you breathe the words out and close your eyes just as he leans in.

Your foreheads meet and his hands find themselves on your waist. He pulls you close to him, your body flush against his. Your hands rest on his chest, pushing against his defined muscles through the thin fabric of his shirt. He keeps you close, though, his breathing mixing in with yours, growing heavier by the second. His hand moves from your waist to the back of your head, his lips now hovering beside your ear.

“Why must you deny me the pleasure that is you?” Xavier sighs. “Must thou remain difficult?”

“I am not a heart to be won, just to be forgotten,” you respond. You unconsciously move your hands from his chest and place them around his neck, hooking around him. He pulls you closer. “I am not won through chivalrous gestures nor will I be swayed with grand romance.”

“Then tell me,” the prince pulls away. His hand slips from the back of your head and to your cheek. His touch is fire against your skin. It burns. Your stomach flips in on itself. You catch yourself before you can lean into it. “Tell me how I shall win thy heart.”

“Tis not my heart to be won,” you loosen your grip on him, “tis respect and honor. Duty.”

“Duty?” his face flickers with confusion. You slip away from him but the tips of his fingers graze along the bare skin of your arm. He captures your hand, not allowing you to escape him quite yet.

“Love will grace thine hearts in time. Tis a truth we must embrace. I seek a noble soul, a steadfast protector, who shall remain at my side, undaunted by the whispers and tales woven by thy’s court,” your whisper grows louder. Xavier loosens his grip on your hand, allowing it to fall back to your side. “Thus shall you win my favor and heart’s desire.”

The village streets are as lively as Rafayel described to you as a child. Tonight’s celebration is one from Lemurian tradition, a Festival of the Sea. It is a way for the Lemurians, who originated in coastal towns in the early days of the Roman Empire, to give back to the sea, to give the oceans their thanks and praises for providing them with the means necessary to survive. Lemruians are servants to the sea and they bow to no man.

You consider yourself lucky to have an alliance with them, especially with their prince. An alliance with a Lemurian is almost always a guaranteed victory, especially when the battles take place on the sea or in royal courts across the continent.

Your arm is wrapped with Rafayel’s, his long purple hair getting caught with the wind. The two of you laugh as you reach the center of the seaside village, smiles plastered on your faces as Xavier plays the role of chaperone, remaining just a few seconds behind.

The three of you are a couple drinks in. You have passed through the stalls passing out desserts from your home kingdom and Rafayel’s as well. At one point in time, you passed off your favorite treats for Xavier to try. He finished them all with no questions or refusals, the loose crumbs from the sweet bread seasoned with saffron remains along the outline of his lips. You fought the urge to reach out and wipe the specks away.

Temptation is a slippery slope, though.

The sun has finally lowered below the horizon. Candle light and torches illuminate the night as people pass by each other with practiced ease. You miss the mixture of blues and oranges but appreciate the sight of the stars in the sky, their light and twinkling appearance putting you at ease.

You turn and look at Xavier from over your shoulder. He trails behind you and Rafayel, having remained silent for the majority of the night. You had hoped that tonight would have brought him out of his shell but you learned to appreciate his respect and openness to new traditions and cultures that are laid before him.

Xavier watches as the mixture of Lemruains and Nabrians flows throughout the village. It is unusual for him to see. The only time that Xavier has such two kingdoms get along so well — tried to, at least — was at his cousin’s wedding. One of Philos’ daughters was wed off to a king to the northwest of them, located on a smaller island.

Xavier’s mind wanders to his cousin’s wedding. He wonders what it felt like to be married to a stranger. Did her husband feel as intoxicated with her like he feels with you? Did his cousin’s husband fall in love the moment she tried to put him in his place?

He remembers his cousin’s tears the morning of her wedding. She did not get in a choice in the matter, much like you, but unlike your circumstance with Xavier, the first time she met her king was at the wedding altar. She did not have the liberty of meeting him beforehand, they did not receive the chance to get to know each other like Xavier has with you. It is not like you talked much, though. You have remained silent while you rode across the small stretch of desert.

“What does he think of?” you turn back around, looking towards the tile ground. Rafayel looks down at you, barely sparing the fair headed prince a glance before he stops walking, stopping you with him.

“Your Highness,” Rafayel waves his hand in front of Xavier’s face. He wears a smug smirk on his face, his arm still linked with yours. He stands slightly in front of you, his face not in your eye line. “Your domina asked a question of you.”

“You did?” Xavier turns his attention to you, his once hardened expression softening.

“Twas wondering what you think of,” you state, looking straight into his eyes. You can still feel the burning sensation of his skin against yours, the way the fire and spark lingers on your body, gifting you no release. The corners of Xavier’s lips perk up in a moment of happiness but it disappears as soon as he opens his mouth to speak.

“The future,” he responds, beginning to use your own words against you.

“The future?” you tilt your head to the side, feeling seen with the way he speaks.

“Tis what I stated.”

Rafayel’s eyes flicker between the two of you. The purple haired prince does not particularly enjoy the sudden familiarity between you and your prince. He slips your hand free from his arm, catching your attention, but he quickly laces your fingers with his. You look up at him just as the heart of the village, the city square whose floor is covered in beautiful and vibrant tiles that are laid in a design of a lotus flower, begins to play its next song.

“Dance with me, domina,” Rafayel requests of you. You begin to shake your head, not remembering the last time you have danced was, especially in the carefree and energetic Lemurian fashion.

“I do not know if it is a good idea!” you laugh. From the corner of your eye, you watch as Xavier slips free from your vision.

“As long as it is a choice we make,” Rafayel draws you close to him, your hands resting upon his chest, as your combined laughter floats into the air.

The city square is flooded with people. You and Rafayel take to the center of the dance floor, assuming your beginning position together, his hand massive in comparison to yours. There are a few other couples lined up around you, their smiles as big as yours. Xavier remains in the background. One of Rafayel’s soldiers places a chalice filled with wine into his hand. He immediately begins to drink as the music swells, the string instruments and makeshift drums filling the night air.

Rafayel remains in place as you circle around him once you listen for the note to move. Your body is loose as you step around the Lemurian. Your eyes meet his blue and pink ones, feeling as the man’s hands attach themselves to yours. You memorize the sharpness of the gold and red lines on his face, admiring the way they make him look more mature. He spins you around with ease. The crowd that surrounds the dance floor is a blur.

You do not catch the scowl on Xavier’s face as he passes off the chalice to the Lemurian soldier. The wine burns down his throat. His body tingles and feels so light yet so heavy at the same time. His blue eyes remain on you and you alone. The blue silk of your dress catches in the wind while Rafayel spins you around. He wishes it was him in the Lemruian’s place.

“Thou remembers the steps,” Rafayel speaks once he brings your body back to his. The two of you dance with ease, the steps to the routine coming back to you through muscle memory.

“Tis back like a faded memory!” your laugh is breathless, the wine from before finally taking an effect on your body. You close your eyes, your smile big across your face, Rafayel’s hands guiding you through the moves. His hands attach to your waist and he lifts you up in the air, your silk dress flowing in the wind, before your feet connect with the ground again. You look up at him from over your shoulder once the music comes to an end, slightly out of breath. “I need wine!”

“Aye!” Rafayel cheers from over the sound of applause. He claps his hands together before taking your hand into his, leading you away from the dance floor.

Xavier’s head perks up as soon as he catches a glimpse of your blue dress leaving the dance floor. He pushes through the crowd as people file onto the mosaic tiled floor. He bumps into a few peasants, offering a quiet apology as his vision blurs. He spots your skirt and follows it like it is his North Star. The prince does not lose sight of it, watching as you sit at a nearby table where Rafayel takes the spot by your side. The man stumbles up to the table and sits on the wooden bench, making for sure that he is in front of you.

“Xavier,” there is a hint of concern in your voice. You lean forward just as a woman places glasses of wine and mead onto the table. “Art thou—”

“The prince will be okay, my domina,” Rafayel interrupts. He reaches over you and places the glass of mead in front of Xavier, placing one of wine front of you. You turn and look at him, beginning to shake your head. “Aye, calm, domina. He can take care of himself.”

“Tis not why I worry,” you mutter under your breath.

You look at Xavier. His cheeks are light pink in color, his eyes disoriented as he looks directly at you. It sends chills down your spine. you look him up and down, noticing the beads of sweat that roll down his neck. The man is clearly not used to the heat, thankfully, he will be back in his kingdom and you with him. There is enough space for him on the bench beside you. You gesture to it and the man’s eyes grow wide. He stands and rounds the table, taking the place by your side.

“Necessary?” Rafayel asks in his mother tongue. The sound is sweet on your ears. You welcome it with open arms.

“His men are watching,” you return your words in his language while covering your action with an excuse, nodding your head to the Philos dressed soldiers who stand not too far away. “Does thou wish for my image to be tainted?”

“If it means I get to thou mine, it would have been worth it,” Rafayel’s voice is genuine.

You pause in your moment, feeling Xavier lean into your side. You meet Rafayel’s gaze but he is quick to look away. A frown forms across your face, your stomach erupting with butterflies. Rafayel finally turns to look back at you, his face void of his charade, one that he kept on to ensure that your prince felt safe in enemy territory.

“Might I take a quick leave? The night is not over and I wish to break bread with thou one last time before we sail the sea,” Rafayel stands from the bench and leaves before you can even respond.

You face forward, staring at the group of people who dance and sing in the Lemurian tongue. The chalice of wine in your hand grows lighter as you sip on the alcohol, your body slipping into a more relaxed state. Xavier groans from beside you, his blue eyes desperately wanting to meet yours but you are too to notice him. He sits up, holding all of his weight to himself now, and stares at the lively scene before him.

Philos is not like this. Their celebrations are much more tame in comparison to the Lemurians. They dance in organized rows and their desserts are are frivolous as their clothes. Many woman in Philos dress their best every single day. Their fashion is to catch the eyes of possible suitors — or perhaps the eye of a prince — and to show off their wealth. It is materialistic now that he thinks about it. Xavier never paid too much attention to it, his head always in a book or sparring with other soldiers at the base of the mountain. His time, much like yours, has been dedicated to the betterment of his kingdom, not to learn dances for celebrations or worry if he wears the most expensive fabrics.

Although, Xavier will spend the kingdom’s treasury if you asked him to. He will buy you all of the silks and jewels that you could ever ask for. He will hand you gold coins for exotic animals and perfumes if it meant he got to see the same smile you wore on your face while dancing.

“Princess,” Xavier slightly slurs the word, his rationality finally catching up to him.

“Prince,” you return his greeting, turning your head to look at the man.

“I wish to leave this place,” he informs you. You raise your eyebrows, slight dejection morphing across your face. “I wish to leave while thou wishes to remain. Pray tell, when I depart, dost thou intend to spend the eve with Prince Rafayel?”

“What hath befallen thee?” your voice is loud enough to listen to over the sound of the string and wind instruments. The banging of the drum is noticeably absent as a slower song plays. “Why worry oneself with trivial matters?”

“It matters,” Xavier reassures you. His eyes move away and he spots Rafayel approaching with a plate of desserts and Lemurian delicacies. He notices, though, that the plate lacks any food from Nabira. He scoffs and turns back to you. “I do not wish to see thee with a man of his stature.”

“He is an Admiral,” you comment, a small smile tugging the corners of your lips up.

“And I a prince. One who commands his own vassal!”

“You are both princes,” you correct him, “and yet you are the one who wishes to conquer.”

“I do not wish to conquer,” Xavier shakes his head, “I follow my King’s command but he? That vile villain, wishes to conquer.”

“Lemuria holds no dream of conquest,” it is your turn to scoff and look away. Xavier quickly cups your cheek and brings your gaze back to him. There is desperation and anger in his eyes, a hunger that slowly begins to overtake him.

“Lemuria may not,” Xavier whispers, “but he does. He doth desire to conquer thee as his own.”

Silence falls upon you. Your posture straightens and you turn away from Xavier, a chill running down your spine despite it being a hot night. Rafayel approaches the table and sits across from you, placing the plate in the center. His blue and pink eyes focus on Xavier, who remains effortlessly devoted to you, while you stare at the party that unfolds from afar, a look of confusion and calculation written all over your face.

“What? What concerns thee?” Rafayel asks with a quiet snort. He glares at Xavier before his expression softens as soon as you turn to face him.

“I wish to take my leave back to my chambers,” you stand and Xavier follows suit. “My betrothed will ensure I am safe.”

“No,” Rafayel stands and is quick to walk around the table. He takes your hands in his own before you even realize it, a quiet gasp escaping your lips. “Allow me, my lady.”

Xavier reaches to the connected hands, breaking them apart. He gently pushes you behind him, his tired and reddened eyes narrowed at the sailor. Rafayel clenches his jaw, his hands returning to his sides, before his eyes flicker back to you. He lets out a stiff chuckle. He bows his head and steps to the side. His eyes remain tied to Xavier’s, blissfully unaware as you reach for the sweet saffron bread from the plate, tucking it behind your back and out of sight.

“Fair night be unto thee, my domina,” Rafayel bows his head as Xavier guides you away, “we shall meet upon morrow’s dawn to take you home.”

You pause. Xavier looks down at you, noticing the strain that flashes across your face.

Home. Is that not the place you were plucked from? It is now a two day ride away from Nabira’s borders and after your journey across the sea, you will be months away, years if you travel by foot.

Xavier places his hand on the low of your back. He glares at Rafayel and gently pushes you forward. You walk through the crowd, bowing your head back at people who pay you the respect first.

Tonight, you were barely seen as a domina, as a political and heavenly figure that must have respect gifted towards. You were as normal as the servants who passed you by, their smiles as big as yours as you danced with Rafayel. Your feet hurt. Xavier remains close to your side, waving away any of his soldiers that step forward to help. The two of you find yourselves walking along the dock where the Abysswalker floats which sits beside your inn for the night.

Xavier remains a small distance from you, watching as you walk the line along the dock where the ocean water sprays you whenever a wave comes crashing in. There are no more lanterns around to guide you through the night. The only light now comes from the bright and full moon. You look down into the waves, the water as black as night. You look back up at Xavier, whose back straightens as soon as your eyes land on him. You hold out the piece of bread.

“Eat this,” you speak. He takes the bread and rips it apart, your mind still dizzy from the glasses of wine you have drank throughout the night. “It will save thee a headache.”

“Will it?” Xavier quietly hums to himself. He brings the spiced bread up to his lips, slowly chewing as he watches you. “Why take leave with me?”

“Why fill my head with thoughts of conquering and worry? Hm?” you are quick to counter. You slow your steps and so does Xavier. He finishes the bread with a few more bites, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. “What mission did thine accomplish?”

“Truth,” Xavier states.

The moonlight shines along your dark hair, the light reflecting off the strands. It brings Xavier comfort to know that the moon adorns you with its beauty, that the silver colors of the night suit you as much as the golden colors of a day in the desert do.

“Truth? Is that you speak of?” you step closer to Xavier. He simply nods in response. You do not know if he speaks of truth in an objective or subjective manner.

The problem with truth and so called honesty, as you have come to learn from many moments in your life, is that there is always motive behind it. People do not willingly expose their worries or sorrows, they do not put their cards on full display for their enemies to see because, well, that is what you and Xavier are, no? The truths that originate from men in power, from soldiers and nobles, are always attached with a hidden context, something that you know to look out for.

So…what is Xavier’s motive for showing you his cards?

“I do not wish to be thine enemy,” Xavier fills in the silence. The lights of the noble-run inn flicker. You focus on the yellow flames instead of the blue in Xavier’s irises. “I wish for us to unite as one.”

“The why speak of campaigns for my heart?” you ask, feeling vulnerability slip into your voice.

“Duty’s embrace is cruel, domina,” Xavier slips into your mother tongue. You hold back a gasp, shock written all over your face. “I do not wish to see us succumb to the cruelty and coldness that come with it.”

“Why does thou work hand in hand with it? Duty forced thee across the world! You are an accomplice to duty,” you speak, closing the distance between you and him. Perhaps it is the wine that has given you the courage to speak up. Maybe it is the way you have finally realized that you are now doomed and will be imprisoned in a place that does not want you.

“You are as much of an accomplice as I am,” Xavier counters.

“Duty did not force me to set honor to the side and traverse the realms to slay innocent people,” your breathing grows heavy, “it did not force me to smite those who oppose my rule.”

“You speak of thine brother?” Xavier switches back to his tongue. It frustrates you.

“Of course I speak of him,” tears fill your eyes, “he was taken from me. It was your doing.”

“He was well aware of his intent,” Xavier groans, “he knew the rules of combat as did I.”

“A battle to the death,” you laugh and push past him. The silk of your dress sends chills down his spine. “How pitiful.”

“What course of action would thou have taken, then?” Xavier grabs your hand, pulling you back to him.

“Terms,” you spit the word out, “terms for peace.”

“The battle between thine brother and I was the terms,” Xavier’s voice drops. “His fate hath been tied to him since birth as was yours. Be grateful that you are alive.”

“Grateful for a life of servitude and political games?” your anger begins to boil deep inside of your chest. “A life with a man who does not care for me? Who chose thee on a whim? Ah, yes, your Highness, I am eternally grateful for the life fate hath laid for me.”

You rip your hand free from Xavier’s. You turn around and rush towards the tall stone building, the wooden doors opening as soon as the soldiers spot you. Xavier is hot on your tail. You move with precision, the layout of the building already memorized in the back of your mind, as you traverse the stairwells and long corridors. Xavier has kept a decent distance, following you down the dark corridor that leads to your bedroom.

“Who said I do not care?” Xavier steps forward, closing the distance with a few easy strides while you hold the fabric of your dress skirt in your hands.

“Thou dost not care by forcing his betrothed to leave everything behind,” you approach your door and grab the black handle.

You pull on it but Xavier’s hand pushes the wooden panel back into its place, trapping it and you in the process. You can feel the heat from his body on your back. You close your eyes, fists balled at your sides, feeling as Xavier leans down, his lips grazing the fragrant skin of your neck. His hand leaves the door, wrapping itself around your body, keeping you in place. You do not fight back. You lean into his chest, your back fully pressed against him.

You remain near him despite all of the warning bells in your head ringing all at once. You ignore your mind’s plea for freedom, following your innate desire to remain close to the man you will call your husband.

Xavier slowly inhales, taking in the floral scent of your perfume. His free hand reaches around your body and plants itself on your chest. The heat from his hands seeps through the thin material and you shudder, a pool of warmth forming in the pits of your stomach. You let out a breathy sigh, tilting your head to the side to give Xavier more room.

“Duty’s embrace is cruel and cold,” Xavier murmurs against your skin. Your body heats up, your face flushed as you lay your hand on top of the one that rests on your chest. “Let us endure this trail as one.”

“As one?” you breathe out.

Xavier slowly kisses your neck. He starts at the base and works his way up, pressing a feathery kiss where your pulse is the most prominent. You gasp and push your body back into his. The candlelight is dark enough for the two of you to get away with this scene, your quiet breaths and the sounds of Xavier pressing his lips over and over along your skin the only things that will give you away.

“Why me, Xavier?” you ask.

Xavier turns you around, pressing your back up against the door, hands pressed against the wood on either side of your head. He towers over you, his breath smelling like mead and wine, a sweetness stained on his mouth. You reach out and place your fingertips upon his lips, dragging them across the leftover wine stains. Xavier kisses your fingers, his blue eyes locked onto yours. You shudder. The man frees his hand from the door and cups the side of your head, his fingers tangling themselves into your hair.

“Say it again,” Xavier whispers in your native language. He avoids the question. “Say my name.”

“Xavier,” you follow his command like the obedient wife you think he wishes you to be.

A low grunt vibrates in the back of his throat. Without wasting another second, Xavier pushes forward, connecting his lips with yours. His grip on your hair slightly tightens as you accept his tongue into your mouth. He leans into you, the door creaking from the weight. Neither of you care. You wrap your arms around his neck, pulling his closer to yours if it is even possible. Your breaths mix in as one, quiet words of praise coming from Xavier’s mouth, muffled between your colliding lips.

He finally tastes the wine you allowed upon your lips. You taste the saffron from the bread on his tongue. The bitter mixes in with the sweet, intoxicating you deeper into the kiss. He reaches down and lifts you up, your legs wrapping around his torso. The prince pushes you into the door, the tan stone acting as a barrier between you and the rest of the world.

Xavier pulls his lips away from your swollen ones, traveling down the side of your face to your neck. He targets your pulse point, biting down on your skin. You let out a gasp, eyes flying open from the sensation. Your legs tighten around him. You feel something press into your core. It shocks you. The sound of guards stirring near the stairs makes you dig your nails into his nape.

“Xavier,” you breathe out, head rolling back into the wood of the door. Your voice remains low, matching the quiet of the night. “We shall be discovered.”

“I do not wish to leave,” Xavier’s breath is hot against your skin. His hands travel from your waist to the fabric of your dress His fingers slip under the dress and graze along the back of your leg, leaving chills in his wake. “Do not make me leave.”

“My honor—”

“Shall remain intact,” Xavier sighs and pulls away from your neck. His eyes look at your skin, a small smirk forming across his lips as dark red and purple spots littler one side of your neck. He keeps you in his arms, using one hand to hold you while he opens your chamber doors. “Duty is cruel indeed,” he mutters under his breath.

He walks you inside your room, roaming towards the bed. You feel his defined muscles from under his cloth shirt, your cheeks heating up all over again. Xavier lowers you onto your bed, quickly gathering the scattered belongings and setting them on the trunk at the foot of your bed.

He stops at the bow. He picks it up, inspecting the golden accents that are molded into the dark wood. His blue eyes flicker to you, the prince setting the weapon down atop your weapons.

“I wish to see you shoot,” he comments, remaining in place.

“Thou will,” you whisper, “in time.”

Xavier nods. His eyes flit to the empty space in bed beside you, his body wanting to move to lay beside you. He slowly steps towards the door, the candlelight just bright enough to show him his way. He pushes it open and looks back at you, a soft sigh leaving his lips.

“Until tomorrow, domina,” Xavier calls to you.

“Will you get me before we leave?” you quietly ask, sinking into the blankets below you.

“Of course,” Xavier nods.

The prince silently leaves the room, closing the bed chamber door to be as quiet as he can. Xavier quietly walks down the hall, finding himself at the stairwell. Just as he is about to set foot on the stones, he spots the Lemurian prince staring at him from below. He does not speak, simply glaring at the Philos Prince.

“Say it,” Xavier barks the command.

“Thou’s greed will ruin her,” Rafayel’s voice is low and dangerous. The muscles of his arms flex, his blue and pink eyes narrowing on the prince who stands at the entrance of the stairwell. “I refuse to see it happen.”

“Need not worry,” Xavier tilts his head to the side. He licks his lips, tasting the floral notes of the oil you graced your skin with. “She will be safe with me.”

“Is that so?” the Lemurian prince asks. He moves up the stairs, the men now at eye level with each other. “Do not make me sink a bait to be rid of you.”

“If I did not know any better, one would think thou has issued a threat,” Xavier’s eyes sharpen.

“Not a threat,” Rafayel’s eyes darken, “a promise.”

as always, likes, comments, & reblogs are greatly appreciated! please show love to the works & authors you read from!! <3 we love commenters!!

#we are so back

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velaenam · 3 days ago

Text

once upon a time

caleb x non mc!reader tags: angst

years have passed since you parted ways with caleb. no big fight, no betrayal. the weight of his career was overshadowing your couldve been relationship. caleb buried himself in duty, promotions, endless missions, and his free time was given to mc.

he pretends he doesn’t do it, but he’ll catch himself checking old messages from you. how you’d tell him about your day, sweet recipes of what you two would make each other when someone came over, and how you two would make it work. he would listen to the voice mails from you, your sweet voice telling him that you loved him. how excited you were to attend one of his air shows. how happy he made you.

he didn’t know how or why he let his career overtake his love for you, but he did, and he didn’t give you much of an option than to walk away. you didn’t want to be second— no— third place.

one night. half tired and half drunk on nostalgia he dials the number he still remembers by heart.

. . . you answer

“hello?”

caleb freezes, he hears the voice. your voice.

he doesn’t speak, his chest tightens. a flood of feelings come rushing as if a dam broke inside him.

“..hello?” you’d say again, softer but cautious, “i think you dialed the wrong number…”

caleb regains reality and finally murmurs, “but the right voice…”

you both fall quiet. the years that stretched between the two of you sliced like a blade.

suddenly, you are a young woman dumb struck in love. head over heels over a boy who bought you a wedding dress.

there was once a time.

almost quietly, you whisper, “… wrong time..”

and as caleb goes to speak, he hears crying, “mommy! daddy says come! you missing show!”

he listens to you ruffle whatever you had on, and you sigh, “please don’t call me again caleb…..”

“i… still love you…”

a long pause

“…goodbye..”

‘i love you too.’ you’d say to yourself, as you look at your closet containing the very dress he had gotten woven for you.

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velaenam · 3 days ago

Text

reaching the angsty part of the fic that I chose for the angst

#when i tell you i bawl my eyes out when i write the shit i write #especially one last callsign. i was fucking CRYING the entire process #esp when he goes ill wait for you like it got me talkin to myself like vel fk off

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velaenam · 4 days ago

Note

I JUST FINISHED WATCHING TOP GUN 1 AND 2! I JUST HAD TO GO STRAIGHT TO YOUR ASKS. You are literally perfect for this job. VEL!! MAKE A TOP GUN X CALEB STORY PLEASEE I NEED CALEB AS MAVERICK

OUUU STOP I LOVE TOP GUN

although I do have like two story loosely based off that already;

take my breath away !!

10-4!!

reader from take my breath away is based on charlie, mavs love interest in the first one!

the bar scene from 10-4 is loosely based off of the top gun maverick bar scene :)

buut if you want maverick caleb x iceman (ice woman) reader where they’re like rivals ive so got you

#vels q/a

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velaenam · 4 days ago

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What are your thoughts on gege/meimei dynamic with Caleb? Calling him big brother, him calling us lil sister

It's fine I suppose. I don't really care for it myself. I won't go out of my way to write it, but if someone requests it I can write something for it.

( This is also the same answer for daddy/mommy kink stuff btw)

Idk if I answered this right 🥸 soz

#vels q/a #i got corporate fingers on rn .. unnaturally punctuated

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velaenam · 5 days ago

Text

𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠..𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc/mc. caleb crashed into lake michigan! in chicago! in front of you! how are you supposed to handle an intergalactic space colonel with abs, manners, and absolutely no clue what walmart is? 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – reverse isekai (caleb comes to earth),romance,fluff,comedy, angst, nsfw topics/language, tba 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 1 of — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. lmk if u want to be tagged.

the humming of the farspace fleets deep tunnel grew louder inside his helmet. it was a low, almost soothing vibration that caleb had grown far too familiar with. another day, another shoddy mission.

“tunnel stability at 98 percent” his earpiece whispers a calm and steady hum in his ear.

calebs gloved fingers hovered above the holographic controls, eyes narrowed, every movement precise. the swirling lights of the tunnel outside the viewport pulsed in soft gradients of blue and violet like a spiraling galaxy.

red.

a sudden spike flash across the console.

“warning: tunnel destabilization detected. energy surge inbound.”

calebs brow’s furrow, darting around commands into the console ai. as he does the tunnel outside began to shudder, colors fracturing into unnatural streaks.

white lights crept into the edges of his visions like porcelain cracks. caleb’s breathing slowed, focused, “initiate emergency shu-”

a deafening pulse of energy surged through the cockpit, shaking the entire vessel. the white light consumed him. his system cracking into static.

his lips find their way to his apple necklace.

silence.

it was supposed to be a normal afternoon.

you’d brought your favorite lemonade, found your usual quiet spot by the lake, and pulled out your phone, ready to scroll through tiktok until your brain officially clocked out. the sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, this was nice. this was good.

peaceful. chill.

honestly? you were thriving.

that is.. till something weird happened.

at first, it was just a strange hum. low but barely noticeable. you glanced around. Nobody seemed to notice. not that there were many people around. you were in a more secluded area of the lake.

the water in front of you rippled. your eyes snap towards the water observing it, already standing up to run.

and then- he appeared.

he just… emerged. like ariel on that rock. or whatever. oh, oh, like moto moto!

one second: empty lake. The next: a sexy man standing waist deep in the water as if reality had just uploaded him directly into lake michigan.

you froze, blinking, your brain fully short circuiting.

the man was tall. broad. dressed in a military uniform that looked a bit too good on him, his eyes purple like amethyst.. soaked brown hair. his breathing was steady and controlled. he slowly lifted his head, scanning the area like a soldier assessing in a battlefield. and then his eyes landed on you.

you held your lemonade like it was a crucifix. the man tilted his head slightly, as if confused and curious.

you did the only logical thing any person would do when confronted by a strange man materializing out of thin fucking air in broad daylight.

you whispered, “what the fuck?!”

(commercial break)

he took a slow step toward the shore, water streaming down the armored plates of his suit. you couldn’t move. your feet felt like they fused with the ground.

you blink. this was not normal. this was odd and weird. you had eyeshot of the lake in front of you and you didn’t see a man walk within your peripherals in the past 15 minutes.

as you think, you fail to notice that he stood a few feet from you. his eyes scanned everything. the skyline. the parked cars. passing birds, you. his gaze was sharp and analytical, but you couldn’t help but catch the flicker of unease.

for a moment neither of you spoke. then his voice, calm and low, “this isn’t… skyhaven..”

you stared, “.... i don’t know what that is…”

he inhaled a deep sigh, his jaw clenching slightly. his eyes darted up to the sky, scanning. then around again. His hand reached up, unfastening something at his neck. he pulls off the jacket bearing unfamiliar insignia.

he followed by tugging off his cap, running a hand through his damp hair. without the uniform he almost looked like any other ridiculously good looking chicago tourist who happened to have just crawled out of the lake in his dress blues?

almost.

his eyes settled back on you. “you’re local,” he stated. not a question.

“y-yeah,” you said, still clutching your drink like a nervous squirrel, “uh. chicago.”

another pause. you watched as he took a small, subtle breath, adjusting his posture, as though trying to blend in. his military ‘tude slipped into something softer, calculated, but oddly polite.

“i need to speak with you. somewhere less exposed.”

you hesitated, your brain running full speed through every true crime documentary you’d ever watched. but there was something about him that didn’t scream danger. he seemed… lost. out of place.

and possibly extremely confused.

…..BUT MAYBE THIS IS WHAT HE WOULD WANT YOU TO THINK

"...you don’t have any weapons on you, do you?"

his brow twitched slightly, almost like a tiny flash of amusement. “no. not at the moment.”

"...okay." against every ounce of common sense, you sighed. “come on. my car’s over there.” oh, what would your parents think?

he followed without hesitation, keeping pace exactly one step behind you. polite, controlled, but clearly still assessing everything like this entire planet was a potential threat.

you unlocked your car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and tried very hard not to hyperventilate as he sat himself into the passenger side, closing the door.

a beat of silence filled the cabin.

you finally turned to him and blurted out, “okay. who — or what — are you?”

the silence hung for a long, awkward beat.

you stared at him, your brain still trying to process any of this, as your fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard your knuckles went pale. he sat there like this was a perfectly normal tuesday.

finally, he spoke.

“my name is caleb xia. colonel. farspace fleet .this is not my world.”

you blinked.your mouth opened slightly, but all that came out was a soft, strangled noise. “...what.”

“i was traveling through a deep tunnel corridor,” he continued, his voice low, calm, like he was giving a report. “there was a malfunction. anomalous coordinates. i lost control of the vessel’s trajectory and…” his eyes scanned the unfamiliar cityscape out your windshield again. “i arrived here.”

you stared at him.

and then you laughed..

“i’m sorry — what?” you sputtered. “you expect me to believe you're from... space? like, intergalactic, star wars? not, like, russia or something?”

his brow twitched ever so slightly at your comparison. “star wars..? no. no.”

“oh my god, you’re serious.” you clapped a hand over your mouth. “okay. so you’re from skyhaven? which isn’t on google maps, by the way. a colonel?”

“correct.”

you gave him your absolute most deadpan, wide-eyed stare. “are you having a psychotic break?”

if caleb was offended, he didn’t show it. In fact, you thought you saw something flicker across his expression — patience. like he’d expected this. like he’d already calculated your reaction before you even had it.

without a word, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.

you immediately stiffened. “hey, whoa—”

“i’m not armed,” he assured smoothly, pulling out a small, sleek object — no bigger than a deck of cards. the surface shimmered with a faint blue light, metallic but almost liquid in how it reflected. there were no buttons. no seams. the edges curved unnaturally smooth. it definitely didn’t look like anything sold at best buy.

he tapped it once, and the surface came alive . a floating projection emerged, rotating gently in midair like a miniature hologram. complex glyphs and symbols you couldn’t even begin to read spun around a glowing image of what looked like... a planet? a star system?

“this is a navigational core module,” he said quietly. “it tracks dimensional coordinates for deep tunnel travel.” his eyes lifted to meet yours. soft but firm. “your world isn’t on any of our charts.”

your jaw dropped open.

you looked at the hologram. then at him. then back at the floating image, which was still calmly rotating in front of your very real, very human face.

your brain screamed: THAT’S NOT AN IPAD.

“holy shit,” you whispered.

you kept staring at the floating projection like your brain was buffering. if this was a prank, it was a really good one. but nothing about him screamed prank. everything screamed calm, extremely dangerous man who accidentally landed in chicago from a freaking alternate universe, and #needthat.

your voice came out small. “...is that real?”

caleb calmly deactivated the device with a brush of his fingertips — it folded back into itself like liquid metal and slipped neatly into his jacket again.

“i anticipated you’d require additional verification.”

he pulled something else out of his suit. a sleek, block. his phone.

he tapped the screen. the interface lit up in a design you couldn’t even recognize — elegant, minimalistic, even though it was a normal looking phone.

he handed it to you.

you hesitated but took it carefully, half expecting it to electrocute you. the screen pulsed slightly as if reading your touch, but otherwise, it let you scroll. there were apps you didn’t recognize.

no google. no instagram. no facebook. no tiktok.

your eyebrows furrowed as you flicked through what appeared to be his photo library.

and that’s when you saw it.

a picture of him standing beside a girl — smiling, standing on what looked like a floating platform overlooking a glowing futuristic skyline. the city was breathtaking: glittering towers spiraled into the clouds, neon highways coiled between buildings, flying vehicles zipping silently through the air.

you blinked at the girl beside him. she was pretty, soft-featured, and looked very familiar.

“...is this your girlfriend?” you asked, feeling a weird stab in your chest for absolutely no reason.

caleb glanced at the photo. his expression softened for the first time. “its… complicated.” “oh.” you blinked again, glancing down at the skyline. “is this skyhaven?”

he nodded. your jaw dropped as you scrolled through more photos — linkon’s towering buildings, vast technological hubs, alien landscapes, even images of creatures you didn’t recognize , all shimmering under unfamiliar constellations.

“this looks like a star wars movie,” you whispered. “only it’s… real.”

star …wars? “it is,” caleb said softly, watching you with quiet amusement as your eyes grew wide with every swipe. “everything you know here would be considered… primitive. in comparison.”

you gave him a scandalized look. “wow. thanks. way to make a girl feel special.”

for the briefest second, you thought you saw something that almost resembled a small smirk twitch at the corner of his lips.

you sat there for a few seconds, staring at his face — at the phone still in your hands, at his perfectly calm expression, at the absurdity of what your life had just become in the span of fifteen minutes.

“okay….” you finally breathed. “you… you’re real. you’re actually real.”

“i told you i was.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

you stared at him again. “you literally just glitched into my lake.” he blinked. “yes.”

you groaned softly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “okay. you can’t just… sit in my car forever. we can’t sit here. i guess….you can come back to my place while we figure this out.”

he didn’t even hesitate. “hmm.. acceptable.”

you started the car and pulled onto the road, mentally drafting a list of increasingly bad decisions you were making today. bringing a strange man to your apartment? who may or may not be from another dimension? yeah. real smart.

it wasn’t until you pulled into your parking spot and glanced at him again that your brain hit another very important wall.

oh no.

you had no men's clothing.

you stared at his still-damp suit. he looked like a psyop..!! there was no way you could let him just walk around like that. it screamed cia experiment or cosplay gone way too far.

“okay so…” you said, teeth gritted. “tinyyy problem. you can’t wear that.”

caleb looked down at himself, mildly analyzing the gear. “why not?”

“you’re gonna draw attention. and by attention, i mean you’ll be trending on twitter within thirty minutes. we need to get you into something… normal.”

he nodded, calmly accepting the foreign terms. “then where do we acquire appropriate attire?”

you sighed. “ walmart.”

his brow quirked slightly. “....is that a supplier?” …..well… “sure.” you waved your hand mumbling under your breath, “let’s go with that….”

you drove in silence for a while. stealing glances at caleb sitting perfectly composed in your passenger seat. like being abducted by a complete stranger was totally normal.

meanwhile, your brain was NOT composed. ‘alternate dimension.. far…space…fleet? colonel? another universe? and i have to deal with this at a WALMART?’

“...you sure you’re okay?” you finally ask. “i’m fine.” he answers calmly, his hands resting neatly on his lap, posture completely upright as if he was on a mission.

“functioning.. gotcha..” you pulled into the walmart parking lot and immediately regretted every life choice you had made up to this point. it was packed. absolutely packed. cars were crammed into every possible corner. people with their carts wandering around to their cars. horns honking. yelling.

if that wasn’t the cherry on top, a man on the corner twirling his sale sign is now fighting a.. pigeon? caleb observed it all with the same calm expression he’d worn since appearing in your life. “this is… an important area?” he asked, and you didn’t know whether to be embarrassed or annoyed at how cramped walmart always seemed to be. “apparently.” you mumbled.

the sign man swats at the pigeon, and spins a perfect 360 while the pigeon flaps at him, and you’re confused. caleb tilts his head slightly, genuinely curious, “is this like a… ritual?” you shake your head at him and for what felt like eternity, you finally spot a parking space.

you weave the endless crowds and cars like a pro.

caleb stayed close behind you, silent and hyper-alert. his eyes constantly scanning his surroundings. you could feel stares at him as you weave through people. stares that state, “holy shit he’s tall..” and “oh i’d like to climb him like a jungle gym.”

the automatic doors whoosh open and..

boom (no not like-)

the walmart hit him all at once.

bright fluorescent lights. loud overhead announcements. giant colorful banners screaming ‘SALE!!’ endless rows of overstocked shelves. the smell of popcorn and something you’d rather not know.

caleb subtly stiffened. his pupils contracted slightly as he looked around, processing the overwhelmingness that is walmart. “this is…” he starts in a low voice, unsure how to proceed. “welcome to america.” you whisper to him.

as you continue deeper towards the store you huff,

“okay, let’s just get you some clothes before you accidentally get drafted into the army or something..” you said quickly, tugging him gently toward the men’s section. as you steer him through the aisle full of cargo shorts and graphic tees, caleb’s brow furrow at the embarrassing phrases on them.

“is this… what you guys wear..?” he asks, eyeing the rack of t-shirts that read: “ beer bacon and FREEDOM!! ” you exhale through your nose, “i really hope not.”

as you pull a few t-shirts off the rack, sticking to compliment him instead of making him stick out even more. as you do, you couldn’t hold your curiosity.

“okay can i ask something?” caleb, standing behind you, turns his head slightly, “what is it?”

“your name… caleb.. that’s like… just your name?” you gestured vaguely, “you’re from like… super earth, and your name is caleb?”

a small smile touches the corner of his lips, barely. “is there something wrong with my name?”

you flushed at his question, “no! i just thought it’d be… i don’t know– something more futuristic…?” as you say that you’re reminded that star wars has a protagonist named luke skywalker. things suddenly seem less befuddled.

he watched you for a moment longer, amusement behind his eyes, “we have normal names. not everything about my world is different.” you huff, “sure.. except for the part where you’re from another dimension.”

you couldn’t help it. your brain was still whirring. hologram. his iphone 90 or something. the photos. but people did craz things with ai these days. maybe you’re getting scammed right now. or maybe.. you swallowed… he was in a cult…

your mind spiraled: oh my god what if he’s part of a cult and i’m being fucking recruited right now. hot guys from the ‘future’? i’m getting cult-fished… fuck

“okay.. okay.” you blurt before you could stop yourself, “are you in a cult?” calebs eyes shoot towards you, caught off guard, “a.. cult?” he repeats you, and you nod, “like.. weird secret group.. brain wash…you know?”

his lips press together briefly before he shakes his head softly, “no.” his voice was steady, quiet, and firm. “i am not part of a cult. i’m a colonel of a fleet.”

there was something in his tone that made your stomach tighten. something fiercely protective under all that calm. you stare at him, trying to poke holes, “ok but all the photos and stuff.. it could be ai..you can barely tell these days!” you half whisper half shout. caleb holds your gaze, steady and unflinching, “that’s true..” he wasn’t offended, “you have no reason to trust me..”

his honestly actually threw you off more than if he had tried to defend himself.

you pull your phone out, quickly typing his full name into google. caleb watches as you quietly scroll through pages of… nothing. no profiles. mentions. linkedin. instagram. facebooks. no news articles.

you glanced up at him, your heartbeat picking up, “you don’t exist…” – “i do.” he replies softly, “just not here.”

you open your mouth but no words come out. his voice drops, more gentler now, as if he could sense your overwhelm. “i know it’s impossible. i know how hard this is right now.” he murmurs, eyes locking into yours, “but i’m here. and i am real.” you stare at him, throat dry,

“god…” you mumble.

thankfully after a couple minutes of scanning racks and checking random aisles out, caleb gravitated toward something that actually worked. a dark jacket, fitted white tshirt underneath, dark jeans, and sneakers. honestly? he was giving model vibes.

you blinked, half impressed, half still spiraling, “how did.. you pick this out so fast..?”

caleb glanced down at himself, adjusting the jacket slightly, as if evaluating the fit. “something i’d wear back home..” he glanced around briefly before looking back at you, a small grin appearing on his face, “...blending in increases safety.”

you gave him a flat look. “you just analyzed a walmart fit like a military op.”

he offered you one of those tiny composed smiles again, “i’ve got a couple years under my belt.”

after that you take him to a couple of rows away, “we’re gonna get you pajamas.” caleb’s eyes dart at said pajamas, “i sleep shirtless.” he says calmly and you freeze. you snap out of it and sigh as you mentally prepare to be in walmart for another 30 minutes.

you made it a mission to fill the basket: grey sweatpants, PLAIN tshirts, socks, underwear (you did NOT make eye contact during that aisle) and a basic hoodie.

‘hes gonna look so fuckin’ fine’

you’re not saying that out loud though. you have some self preservation instincts!

then it hits you.

he has no place to go. no hotel. no wallet. no earth money. hes not even in the solar system.

you freeze with a loofah in your hand, staring at him in sudden horror, “oh. my god.” you whisper, “you have to stay with me.” why aren’t your survival skills working?

he looks at you and nods, “yeah.” – “that wasn’t a question!” – “i assumed as much” he drops the toothbrushes into the cart, “you’re a stable option.” he informs, “oh great-” you mutter, “-i’m a stable option.”

“would you rather i sleep outside?” caleb steps closer, “no.” you mumble, suddenly overwhelmed by the thought of him shirtless on your tiny couch, “god no.. just..” your lips twitch, “can you stop being so calm about this? you crash landed in lake michigan.”

“- and now i’m getting socks. it’s called adapting.” you process his reply and you just roll your eyes, throwing the loofah into the cart.

the drive home is quiet. your brain is still playing catch up, trying to process the fact that there is a possibly extra dimensional man sitting in your passenger seat, calmly holding a walmart bag filled with irish spring and old spice.

when you pull into your garage, the overhead flickers a hum, casting a warm glow over the empty space. as you let out a sigh, you reach for the door handle,

“stop. i’ll get it.” caleb says. your eyes flicker at him and before you can argue, he’s already out, moving around the front of the car. you blink as he opens your door for you, then effortlessly grabs every single bag from the back like it’s nothing.

“seriously-” you say, shutting your odor, “you’re gonna pull your arm out of socket! let me carry something.” caleb looks at you, unfazed, “you’ve already done enough. i can handle this.”

that shouldn’t make you feel something.. but it does…

maybe it’s the calm confidence in his tone, or the way the bags crinkle against his hoodie as he turns to the house.. like this was a normal outing– a chore. maybe because he didn’t say it in a smug way a guy might do.

either way, you catch yourself staring. blushing. oh god.

you look away quickly and fish your keys out of your purse, “okay well.. thank you! come in..” you whisper in reverence.

he waits patiently behind you as you unlock the side door and lead him into the kitchen. the bags crinkle softly as he sets them on the counter. your tiny kitchen suddenly feels smaller. warmer. like his presence is filling every inch of the space.

you clear your throat, “i uh..i’ll show you the guest room. it’s a glorified storage room right now but-” “it’s fine.” he says smoothly, eyes scanning the room like he’s still mentally mapping it for exits. “you’ve extended more hospitality than most would.”

you swallow, “yeah well.. I’m not most..”

his gaze lands on you then, unwavering, “i know.”

you immediately look away again and give him a quiet little house tour.

the living room first. cozy, and a bit small, but its warm with soft throw blankets, fresh flowers on the table, and somewhere you’d like to be at during christmas time. caleb’s eyes linger on that a moment longer than necessary.

then a hallway, “this is the bathroom,” you say, pointing, “and then this is the… guest room, but that’s a generous title.”

you nudge the door open, revealing a space that looks like it belongs in a pinterest board. theres a twin bed with an oversized blanket, a small dresser, some spare boxes stacked in the corner, and your extra vacuum leaning against the wall like an elephant in the room.

“it’s tidy.” caleb says simply as he steps in. he runs his hand gently across the edge of the dresser, “you keep things clean.” your eyes flicker up to his face. he doesn’t say it in a judging way– more like appreciates it. or finds comfort in it..

“uh yeah..” you say softly, rubbing your arm, “i like it that way..i don’t do well with messes..”

“i can tell,” he chuckles dryly, “it feels safe in here.” you freeze for half a second. safe. why did that make your stomach do a full somersault?

“anyway-” you clear your throat and gently shove the walmart bag at him, “here’s your stuff. feel free to shower first. i’ll put the rest away..” he nods quietly and composed, then walks toward the bathroom like he already memorized the floor plan.

a few minutes later, you’re folding his new hoodie and tshirt over the dresser when you hear the faint clunk of the bathroom door swinging open. you turn around instinctively– and you freeze.

he’s in a hot towel– sorry- hes in a normal towel. hes hot. right.

a singular, low slung towel wrapped around his hips, droplets of water still slinging into his collarbone, trailing down his chest. you don’t even know how someone can look that sculpted and casual at the same time. your jaw drops so fast it almost dislocates. caleb blinks, toothbrush in hand, a hand towel in the other, his hair slightly wet and pushed back, “you said to grab my clothes, didn’t you?”

you forget how to speak. your brain just starts shouting words like shoulders, abs, did i vacuum under the bed? boom shakalaka yes godddd.

“i-uh — yeah.” you finally stammer, holding out his folded clothes like a peace offering, “yes– here– clothes. wear these.” he walks over, very calmly, unfazed, and takes the clothes from you. his fingers graze yours. your soul leaves your body.

“thank you,” he says, low and warm, then turns to go back into the bathroom. you don’t move for a full minute and just stare at the closed door as you marinate in your thoughts. ‘hes gorgeous. but hes a stranger. hes a man…. a tall, strong, man. he hasn’t hurt you..YET..OR–OR maybe hes a good man!’ you feel delusion settling in as you anticipate your turn in the shower.

you shoulder after him, shutting the door a little too quickly behind you, still mentally reeling from the towel moment. no thoughts, just abs and a freshly shaven happy trail. you try to focus. your favorite shampoo. face wash. don’t slip and die in the tub because an interdimensional colonel made eye contact with your entire nervous system now.

when you emerge, fresh faced and dressed in your coziest FLATTERING pajama set, the scene of clean cotton and a little anxiety clinging to you, you find caleb already sitting at the tiny kitchen table. He’s wearing the black hoodie you got him, sleeves pushed up to his forearms, and he’s quietly examining a salt shaker like some artifact. you’re a little breathless from how normal he makes it look.

“dinner is gonna be easy today..” you say, moving past him and into the kitchen, “pasta and garlic bread with um…brownies for dessert.” he tilts his head, “brownies? what kind?” your eyes slightly light up, “hm.. just normal ones.. any requests?” you say, kinda but not really surprised that he knew about brownies.

you make quick work of the food. boiling, cooking the protein, heating the sauce, and trying not to burn the garlic bread. caleb watches, like it’s a science experiment. you offer him the job of grating the cheese to distract him, and he takes it seriously.

dinner is eaten quietly, but not uncomfortably so. you’re sipping water when you finally muster the courage to say, “i was gonna watch something after to wind down. you can join if you want.”

“i’d like to.” he says, wiping his hands neatly.

you both end up in the couch— him sitting at the very end, and you curl up at the other corner. you pick something light. funny. Something you’ve been half watching in the background lately. “it’s called never have i ever.” you mumble, “teen drama. really girl/woman centered.” caleb gives you a nod, “okay.”

the first five minutes are unbearable. you’re overthinking everything. is caleb bored? is he judging the terrible voiceover by john mcenroe? greatest tennis player ever? oh god, theres a make out scene, already?

but then he chuckles. very faintly, and you blink at him, “did you just …laugh?” caleb shrugs casually, “i like devi. she’s intense.” you stare at him for a minute before you start to laugh as well, “alright- that’s fair.”

by episode two, the space between you two has closed slightly. you aren’t too sure when it happened. maybe when you passed him a brownie. maybe when you both made the same noise at the love triangle.

it’s nearing midnight when you finally glance at the clock and groan. you stretch where you sat and mumble, rubbing your eyes, “i have to sleep.. I have to check in at the boutique tomorrow..” a part of you feels disappointed, but the other half feels giddy.

caleb nods from the other end, then his eyes make their way towards you, “alright.” you stand and start collecting dishes and brownie crumbs, trying not to think too hard about how normal this feels. like his presence didn’t turn your life inside out in the last ten hours. “I’ll be gone for maybe a couple hours..” you say, stacking plates in the sink. “you could…um.. reorient yourself? chill. stay inside. maybe … don’t get arrested?”

he raises a brow, “why would i get arrested?”

you gesture vaguely, “i.. don’t know..” which earns you the tiniest smirk from him, “i’ll.. keep a low profile.” you nod, mostly to yourself, as you back down the hallway toward your bedroom.

you pause at your door, hand on the knob, very suddenly aware that this is your last line of defense between you and the very calm, very lethal, possibly single man in your living room. you squint at him suspiciously, “i swear if you kill me in my sleep..”

his eyes meet yours without hesitation.

“make it quick..” you finish, deadpan, “i’ve seen too many true crime stories..”

caleb blinks slowly, amused, “i’ll keep that in mind..”

you couldn’t help but smile a little

“goodnight space colonel.”

“goodnight.” he mumbles your name softly.

next chapter

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! - @miffysoo, @rcvcgers, @udejoenrlddo, @calebsmorena, @carmendanny2, @alayaaaahhhhhh, @asilaydead, @ellexamor, @inzayneforaj, @unstablemiss, @romils, @animegamerfox, @floatinginaer, @sleepisfortheweakpooh, @girlwith-kalei-do-scope-eyes, @nm4565natty, @mentaltrouble2201, @solarlovesxyz, @awwhks, @cinnamonpinktea, @taenosaurrr, @twistedtastefulme, @blessdunrest

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velaenam · 8 days ago

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tw: cyberbullying

my experience in the lads tumblr community has been nothing short of wonderful. i'll forever cherish the breathtaking™ friends i've made, the hilarious reblogs i've read, the prize-winning fics i've devoured... while writing can be exhausting at times, there's nothing more fulfilling than interacting with other like minds and doing what i love in the form of written prose.

that being said, i've been incredibly lucky—others have not been as fortunate. albeit rare, there are horrible, toxic blogs lurking in this community; the same ones who send anonymous hate messages and shit on women for enjoying themselves in spaces that are supposed to be "safe".

one of my favorite blogs received a hate comment about their latest fic, sent by the same anon who'd rushed them to complete said fic. this happened a month ago, and they haven't updated their blog since. it's heartbreaking.

of course, this has nothing to do with their writing whatsoever. toxic blogs are everywhere, and can pop up in anyone's inbox / dms. hate is never exclusive—some of are just lucky enough to have received less of it, and for the time being.

please send your love and support to those who you know are being / have been harassed by rude blogs. please condemn these blogs for their behavior. and please, please be kind to others. you never know how much weight your words can carry. being part of a community is more than just posting or liking or replying. we have to look out for one another and lift each other up, for at the end of the day, we're all just trying to coexist in a safe space where we're free to do / consume what we love.

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velaenam · 14 days ago

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𝐜𝐫𝐚𝐬𝐡 𝐥𝐚𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠..𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐨 𝐦𝐲 𝐡𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 (sneak peak)

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc/mc. caleb crashed into lake michigan! in chicago! in front of you! how are you supposed to handle an intergalactic space colonel with abs, manners, and absolutely no clue what walmart is? 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – reverse isekai (caleb comes to earth),romance,fluff,comedy, angst, nsfw topics/language, tba 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 – kinda proofread. i hope ur well, i hope you take this SNEAK PEAK as a token... plz leave me dms and comments and lmk if this is something you're interested in! i will be uploading this in my ao3. — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. lmk if u want to be tagged.

the humming of the farspace fleets deep tunnel grew louder inside his helmet. it was a low, almost soothing vibration that caleb had grown far too familiar with. another day, another shoddy mission.

“tunnel stability at 98 percent” his earpiece whispers a calm and steady hum in his ear.

red.

a sudden spike flash across the console.

“warning: tunnel destabilization detected. energy surge inbound.”

calebs brow’s furrow, darting around commands into the console ai. as he does the tunnel outside began to shudder, colors fracturing into unnatural streaks.

white lights crept into the edges of his visions like porcelain cracks. caleb’s breathing slowed, focused, “initiate emergency shu-”

a deafening pulse of energy surged through the cockpit, shaking the entire vessel. the white light consumed him. his system cracking into static.

his lips find their way to his apple necklace.

silence.

it was supposed to be a normal afternoon.

peaceful. chill.

honestly? you were thriving.

that is.. till something weird happened.

at first, it was just a strange hum. low but barely noticeable. you glanced around. Nobody seemed to notice. not that there were many people around. you were in a more secluded area of the lake.

the water in front of you rippled. your eyes snap towards the water observing it, already standing up to run.

and then- he appeared.

he just… emerged. like ariel on that rock. or whatever. oh, oh, like moto moto!

one second: empty lake. The next: a sexy man standing waist deep in the water as if reality had just uploaded him directly into lake michigan.

you froze, blinking, your brain fully short circuiting.

you held your lemonade like it was a crucifix. the man tilted his head slightly, as if confused and curious.

you did the only logical thing any person would do when confronted by a strange man materializing out of thin fucking air in broad daylight.

you whispered, “what the fuck?!”

(commercial break)

he took a slow step toward the shore, water streaming down the armored plates of his suit. you couldn’t move. your feet felt like they fused with the ground.

you blink. this was not normal. this was odd and weird. you had eyeshot of the lake in front of you and you didn’t see a man walk within your peripherals in the past 15 minutes.

for a moment neither of you spoke. then his voice, calm and low, “this isn’t… skyhaven..”

you stared, “.... i don’t know what that is…”

almost.

his eyes settled back on you. “you’re local,” he stated. not a question.

“y-yeah,” you said, still clutching your drink like a nervous squirrel, “uh. chicago.”

another pause. you watched as he took a small, subtle breath, adjusting his posture, as though trying to blend in. his military ‘tude slipped into something softer, calculated, but oddly polite.

“i need to speak with you. somewhere less exposed.”

you hesitated, your brain running full speed through every true crime documentary you’d ever watched. but there was something about him that didn’t scream danger. he seemed… lost. out of place.

and possibly extremely confused.

…..BUT MAYBE THIS IS WHAT HE WOULD WANT YOU TO THINK

"...you don’t have any weapons on you, do you?"

his brow twitched slightly, almost like a tiny flash of amusement. “no. not at the moment.”

"...okay." against every ounce of common sense, you sighed. “come on. my car’s over there.” oh, what would your parents think?

he followed without hesitation, keeping pace exactly one step behind you. polite, controlled, but clearly still assessing everything like this entire planet was a potential threat.

you unlocked your car, climbed into the driver’s seat, and tried very hard not to hyperventilate as he sat himself into the passenger side, closing the door.

a beat of silence filled the cabin.

you finally turned to him and blurted out, “okay. who — or what — are you?”

the silence hung for a long, awkward beat.

you stared at him, your brain still trying to process any of this, as your fingers gripped the steering wheel so hard your knuckles went pale. he sat there like this was a perfectly normal tuesday.

finally, he spoke.

“my name is caleb xia. colonel. farspace fleet .this is not my world.”

you blinked.your mouth opened slightly, but all that came out was a soft, strangled noise. “...what.”

you stared at him.

and then you laughed..

“i’m sorry — what?” you sputtered. “you expect me to believe you're from... space? Like, intergalactic, star wars? not, like, russia or something?”

his brow twitched ever so slightly at your comparison. “star wars..? no. no.”

“oh my god, you’re serious.” you clapped a hand over your mouth. “okay. so you’re from skyhaven? which isn’t on google maps, by the way. a colonel?”

“correct.”

you gave him your absolute most deadpan, wide-eyed stare. “are you having a psychotic break?”

without a word, he reached into the inside pocket of his jacket.

you immediately stiffened. “hey, whoa—”

your jaw dropped open.

you looked at the hologram. then at him. then back at the floating image, which was still calmly rotating in front of your very real, very human face.

your brain screamed: THAT’S NOT AN IPAD.

“holy shit,” you whispered.

your voice came out small. “...is that real?”

caleb calmly deactivated the device with a brush of his fingertips — it folded back into itself like liquid metal and slipped neatly into his jacket again.

“i anticipated you’d require additional verification.”

he pulled something else out of his suit. a sleek, block. his phone.

he tapped the screen. the interface lit up in a design you couldn’t even recognize — elegant, minimalistic, even though it was a normal looking phone.

he handed it to you.

no google. no instagram. no facebook. no tiktok.

your eyebrows furrowed as you flicked through what appeared to be his photo library.

and that’s when you saw it.

you blinked at the girl beside him. she was pretty, soft-featured, and looked very familiar.

“...is this your girlfriend?” you asked, feeling a weird stab in your chest for absolutely no reason.

caleb glanced at the photo. his expression softened for the first time. “its… complicated.” “oh.” You blinked again, glancing down at the skyline. “is this skyhaven?”

“this looks like a star wars movie,” you whispered. “only it’s… real.”

you gave him a scandalized look. “wow. thanks. way to make a girl feel special.”

for the briefest second, you thought you saw something that almost resembled a small smirk twitch at the corner of his lips.

“okay….” you finally breathed. “you… you’re real. you’re actually real.”

“i told you i was.” His tone was matter-of-fact.

you stared at him again. “you literally just glitched into my lake.” he blinked. “yes.”

you groaned softly, pinching the bridge of your nose. “okay. you can’t just… sit in my car forever. we can’t sit here. i guess….you can come back to my place while we figure this out.”

he didn’t even hesitate. “hmm.. acceptable.”

it wasn’t until you pulled into your parking spot and glanced at him again that your brain hit another very important wall.

oh no.

you had no men's clothing.

you stared at his still-damp suit. he looked like a psyop..!! there was no way you could let him just walk around like that. it screamed cia experiment or cosplay gone way too far.

“okay so…” you said, teeth gritted. “tinyyy problem. you can’t wear that.”

caleb looked down at himself, mildly analyzing the gear. “why not?”

“you’re gonna draw attention. and by attention,i mean you’ll be trending on twitter within thirty minutes. we need to get you into something… normal.”

he nodded, calmly accepting the foreign terms. “then where do we acquire appropriate attire?”

you sighed. “walmart.”his brow quirked slightly. “....is that a supplier?” …..well… “sure.” you waved your hand mumbling under your breath, “let’s go with that….”

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velaenam · 21 days ago

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hi everybody i hope you’re well!! im really sorry for the sudden absence. life has picked up and ive been busy, and im going to be busy for a while. i just wanted to let you all know that ill be updating like INSANELY slow. i write when I have time. i really appreciate your patience and support ❤️🥹

i do see the love and support and DMs and asks and thank you all so much for interacting with me even though i may not be responsive!!

some chapter/multi fic stories are probably going to be put in the back burner just until i can figure out what I want to do to it or whatever. for now i may just stick to one shots (if i can even write)

with that being said, i recently finished my new fave The Wheel Of Time, and i really wanna write about it… everybody should go watch it it’s so we can talk about it together….. aes sedai reader and warder lads boys??!!

#vel yap

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velaenam · 2 months ago

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𝐢𝐥𝐥 𝐛𝐞 𝐰𝐚𝐭𝐜𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc/mc. a lifelong love story that transcends loss, where caleb’s devotion endures through years of grief until he’s finally reunited with his beloved in the afterlife. w.c: 21.1k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – romance,fluff,angst,loss of life, grief, pregnancy, afterlife 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 – kinda proofread. i came up with this after listening to every breath you take by the police. i truly truly hope you enjoy it. — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

the sun is just beginning to dip beneath the horizon, painting the sky in hues of orange and pink, casting a warm glow over the quiet street. you’re playing in your front yard, the grass tickling your bare feet, when you hear it… a sound that makes your heart race with excitement: the unmistakable crunch of gravel underfoot. you freeze for a moment, squinting toward the new house next door.

someone’s moving in.

you’ve been eagerly waiting for new neighbors. your childhood, though filled with family, has felt a little too quiet lately. the idea of having a new friend nearby, someone to share the summer with, fills you with a kind of giddy hope you can’t quite explain. and then you see them—a boy, about your age, stepping out of the moving truck with his grandmother, his bright eyes scanning the neighborhood. he’s a little taller than you, with dark hair falling over his forehead, soft purple eyes, and the kind of quiet energy that makes you curious.

before you even know what’s happening, you’re crossing the yard, the dirt from the garden sticking to your hands as you reach the wooden fence separating your lawns. you can’t help the grin that spreads across your face.

"hi!" you call out, your voice unguarded and full of the raw excitement only a nine-year-old can feel. you quickly introduced him your name, followed by, " do you want to play?"

he turns, surprised at first, his gaze flickering to you as if he didn’t expect anyone to be watching. but then his lips curl into a shy smile, and something about it tugs at your chest, making your stomach flutter, but you did just eat something before running, that might’ve been it!

"uh, yeah. sure." his voice is soft, almost hesitant, but there’s something warm in his eyes. "i’m caleb."

you can’t help but giggle, because, well, caleb. it feels like one of those names you hear in movies, a little too cool for a kid like him. but his shyness only makes him more intriguing. as he steps closer, you notice something in the way he looks at you, the way his gaze lingers for a moment longer than it should. it’s not like he’s staring, but there’s this quiet sense of wonder in his eyes, like he’s trying to figure something out. you don’t know it yet, but it’s love, that quiet, unspoken thing that takes root long before he can even understand it.

"what do you want to do?" you ask, bouncing on your toes, ready to dive into whatever game you can think of, "i don’t know," he says, looking down at his feet, kicking a small rock. "what do you usually do?"

you shrug. "i don’t know either. i like to play hide-and-seek or tag or... whatever." you look over at him, hoping he’ll agree. and then you add, with a mischievous grin, "but i’m really good at it, so i’ll probably win."

he laughs softly, the sound light and carefree, and it makes something inside of you feel warm. there’s a moment of silence between you both, and then you realize: this, this feeling of meeting someone new, it’s more than just excitement. you feel like you’ve known him for longer, like he’s always been a part of you somehow.

"i’ll try my best," he says, his eyes twinkling with a challenge that you’ve never seen in him before, and you know, in that quiet, childlike way, this is the beginning of something that will stay with you forever.

a few days later, you’re outside again, running around in the yard with caleb. the sun is still high, the kind of warm you want to feel all day. you’re laughing, trying to steal the ball away from him, your bare feet kicking up the grass.

you hear the door open, and out steps a little girl. she’s small, even smaller than you, with bright eyes that seem to take in everything at once. her pink dress is a little too big, and her hair’s in a messy ponytail that bounces as she walks. she looks kind of nervous but curious, like she’s trying to figure out the world.

caleb doesn’t notice her right away, but when he does, he grins and waves you over, “hey!” he calls out, his voice light. “this is my sister, mc.” you look at caleb, then over at mc. you blink, confused for a second. caleb has a sister? you didn’t know that. but then she’s standing right there, looking up at you, her little hands held awkwardly at her sides.

you give her your biggest smile, not sure what to say, but excited to meet her anyway. you hop over to the fence, and you tell her your name. then, “i like to play games, do you?” mc takes a second, then slowly smiles back, a bit shy. she looks up at caleb, then back at you. “i like to play,” she says, voice small but warm.

caleb is just watching the two of you, standing a little behind her, his hands stuffed in his pockets, but his smile is soft. you notice it’s different when he’s with her—like he’s protective, maybe. like she’s something special, and maybe he’s figuring out how to be her brother.

“you wanna come play with us?” you ask, bouncing a little on your feet. “we’re playing soccer.” mc looks hesitant for a second but then nods. she steps forward, glancing at caleb, and then back at you, clearly unsure but willing to try.

you all spend the next few hours together, running around, laughing and falling down, making up new games and never worrying about anything except who could kick the ball the farthest. by the time the sun is starting to set, you’re sitting on the grass, covered in dirt and grass stains, but it’s the best feeling in the world.

later, you take them both inside to meet your parents. they’re surprised at first but warm, offering sandwiches and drinks and asking questions like they’ve known them forever. it feels right. they treat mc and caleb like they’re already part of the family, and you can see her relax, that little bit of worry fading from her face.

you’re already planning tomorrow’s adventure in your head, trying to figure out where to play next, but you’re pretty sure this is just the start of something special. you tell caleb and mc as much, your heart full, because this is it. this is your new normal. and somehow, it feels like they’ve always been a part of you.

it’s a little confusing at first. one day, caleb’s talking about starting school, just like you and mc, and then the next, he’s saying something about going somewhere else. somewhere called linkon academy? you don’t really get it, and neither does mc. you both just blink at him, like maybe he said it wrong.

"you’re going to a different school?" you ask, squinting at him like maybe that’ll make it make sense. caleb shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. "grandma said it’s for... special kids. the really smart ones. it’s called linkon academy."

mc frowns, her little face scrunching up in that stubborn way she does when she doesn’t like something. "but we’re smart too," she says, crossing her arms. "why can’t we go?" you nod, agreeing with her, "yeah! we do math and stuff. i even know all the planets. why do you have to go somewhere else?"

caleb just shrugs again, looking at his shoes. "i don’t know. grandma just said it’s a good school. i don’t wanna go if you guys aren’t going."

the three of you sit on the front steps, picking at the little cracks in the concrete. it’s quiet for a while. you can tell caleb doesn’t like the idea of going either, but he’s not saying it. he’s too good at keeping his worries to himself, "it’s not fair," mc mumbles, kicking at a pebble. "we’re supposed to go to the same school."

you don’t really know what to say to make it better, so you just reach over and take caleb’s hand, squeezing it tight. mc notices and does the same on the other side. it’s kind of awkward, all of you holding hands like that, but it makes something settle in your chest. like even if things change, you’re still together.

"it’s okay," you say finally, trying to sound like it doesn’t hurt as much as it does. "we’ll still see each other after school, right?" caleb nods, but you can see his eyes are a little shiny, like he’s fighting not to cry. "yeah. i’ll come over every day. promise."

when school actually starts, it’s weird. you and mc walk to your school together, backpacks bouncing on your shoulders, while caleb goes the other way with their grandma. at first, it feels like someone cut the group in half, and neither of you really knows how to fill that space. but after a while, you and mc start getting used to it.

you sit together at lunch, share snacks, and walk home side by side sometimes. you make up stories about the other kids and giggle at the teacher’s funny way of talking. you don’t forget about caleb, of course not, but it’s like you and mc have your own little world now, too. it’s different, but not bad.

sometimes, when caleb comes home, he tells you stories about his school– how they have advanced math and how he’s learning chess even though it makes his head hurt. he tries to teach you both once, but you just end up using the pieces to build a tiny fort instead. he laughs, and you can tell he’s just happy to be back with you.

one day, mc looks at you when caleb’s not around and says, "i miss him." – "me too," you whisper back. but then you take her hand, just like that day on the steps, and say, "it’s okay. we’ll always be best friends. no matter what."

but you were kids, you felt like seeing your friend for less than 5 minutes was the end of it all.

time feels weird when you’re a kid. those first few years of elementary school felt like they stretched on forever, and every time caleb walked a different way to his fancy school, it felt like a little piece of your group was missing. even though you saw him every morning and afternoon, something about being separated during the day made it feel like the world was just a little off.

but middle school changes everything.

you’re a little nervous that first day, trying to smooth out your shirt that suddenly feels too big and wondering if you’ll remember where all the classrooms are. mc’s right beside you, adjusting her backpack straps, while caleb is a few steps ahead, already looking like he belongs even though he’s just as new to this as you are.

you’re all at the same school now. caleb’s in the same grade as you, but they put him in the advanced classes. still, it doesn’t really matter. you’re just happy that for the first time in a while, you’re walking into the building together. it makes everything seem a little less scary.

mc’s talking a mile a minute about how the building smells different than elementary school and how she’s already seen a kid with braces, “he looked like a robot!”, and you’re just trying to take it all in. caleb’s quieter than usual, but you notice he keeps glancing back to make sure neither of you gets lost in the crowd.

you all find your lockers first, even though it takes a while since the numbers are weird and mc keeps mixing up which way the hall goes. caleb’s locker is a few rows away from yours and mc’s, but he makes sure to wait for you both before heading to homeroom.

when the bell rings for lunch, you and mc practically run to the courtyard, worried that caleb might have to sit somewhere else because of his schedule. but just as you’re about to panic, you spot him, waving you over to a spot under a tree. relief washes over you, and the three of you plop down in the grass like nothing’s changed.

“how’s your class?” you ask, unwrapping your sandwich.

caleb shrugs, biting into his apple. “okay. some of the kids know me from linkon. they keep asking if i’m gonna do the math club.” mc makes a face. “gross. who likes math that much?” you giggle, and caleb just shrugs again, his cheeks a little pink. “i guess they just do. but i’m not doing it. too much work.”

you all settle in, talking about your different classes and which teachers seem nice and which ones seem a little scary. mc’s excited because she already made a friend in her art class, and caleb nods along, asking questions even though you can tell he’s distracted. you get it, though. being back together like this—it feels right, but also new, like you’re still figuring out how to fit into this new version of your lives.

as the weeks go by, it starts to feel more normal. you, caleb, and mc walk to and from school together every day. caleb still gets pulled into higher-level classes sometimes, but he always meets you both at lunch. you still find your spot under the tree, and caleb always saves a seat even when mc gets sidetracked talking to her new friends.

one afternoon, when you’re all walking home, caleb slows down and glances over at you. “hey,” he says quietly, just loud enough for you to hear while mc is a few steps ahead. “i’m glad we’re at the same school again.”

you smile, bumping his shoulder with yours. “me too. it’s way better like this.”

he just nods, like he’s relieved to hear it, and falls back into step with you, catching up to mc when she waves at a cat crossing the road. it’s not perfect—sometimes you have to go different ways for class, and caleb’s homework seems twice as long as yours—but it’s better. it’s like the three of you are figuring out how to be a trio again, even if it looks a little different than it did before.

middle school feels different. not just because the classes are harder or because there’s suddenly way more homework. it’s like everyone’s changing, growing taller, getting louder, acting like they’re too cool for the things they used to love. you don’t really get it, and neither does mc. you still meet caleb and mc every morning at your house so your parents can take the three of you to school, but even that feels different sometimes. like caleb’s distracted or caught up in something you can’t see.

he’s gotten... taller. way taller. when you stand next to him, your head barely reaches his shoulder now. he’s also way more involved—he joined the basketball team, he’s in some math club thing that you don’t understand, and even the teachers seem to like him because he’s always got his homework done early. it’s weird seeing him surrounded by people in the hallways, mostly girls from other classes who always seem to be giggling when he walks by.

you don’t really get it. it’s just caleb. the same kid who used to trip over his own feet and complain about spelling tests. but sometimes, when he’s laughing with his new friends, something tugs at your chest, and you don’t know why. you just know that when he sees you and mc waiting by his locker, his whole face lights up, and he waves you over, like nothing’s changed at all.

one afternoon, while you’re all walking home, mc’s chattering about how some girl in her class made a friendship bracelet and then cried when it broke. you’re only half-listening because caleb’s walking a little closer than usual, his shoulder brushing yours every few steps. it’s not a big deal, but it makes your face feel warm.

“hey,” he says suddenly, his voice quieter than usual, almost like he doesn’t want mc to hear. “you know that dance they’re having? next friday?”

you nod, kicking a pebble down the sidewalk. “yeah. everyone’s talking about it.” caleb clears his throat, looking anywhere but at you. “are you... gonna go?” you shrug. “maybe. i don’t know. dances seem kinda weird.” he laughs, but it’s short, almost nervous. “yeah. totally. weird.”

there’s a pause, and you notice he’s gripping the strap of his backpack so tight his knuckles are white. you tilt your head, trying to figure out why he looks so serious all of a sudden. “are you going?” you ask, trying to sound casual.

he glances at you, then away. “i don’t know. some of the guys from the team are going. but... i wasn’t really planning on it. unless...” your heart skips a beat, and you’re not even sure why. “unless what?”

caleb looks at you for real this time, his cheeks a little pink. “unless you were going. i mean, we could... go together. if you want.” you feel your face heat up, and suddenly, it’s like the world’s too quiet, like even mc stopped talking just to listen. you’re not sure why it makes your stomach flip, but it does.

“like... together?” you echo, trying to make sense of it. caleb rubs the back of his neck, looking at the ground. “yeah. like, together. just... us.” you can’t help but smile a little, trying to hide it by looking at the ground. “okay. that sounds... fun.”

he relaxes, shoulders dropping, and his smile is so bright it makes your chest feel funny. “cool. it’s a date, then.” you don’t know why that word makes your heart race, but you don’t argue with it. mc finally pipes up, oblivious to the weird tension that just passed between you and caleb. “can i help pick out your dress?” she asks, already planning things in her head.

you laugh, grateful for the distraction. “sure.”

caleb keeps glancing at you on the rest of the walk home, his hand brushing yours once or twice. neither of you says anything about it, but something’s different. something good.

and for the first time, you’re kind of excited for a dance.

the house smells like hairspray and perfume. mc is fussing with your hair, trying to smooth it down while you’re looking in the mirror, twisting to see if the dress looks as nice as it did in the store. it’s a soft color, one mc picked out, and she’s wearing something similar—a little simpler, but just as pretty. she keeps telling you to stop fidgeting, but you can’t help it. your hands are a little shaky, and your heart keeps racing.

“you look really nice,” mc says, grinning. she’s got a few butterfly clips in her hair, and her dress is a soft shade of pink. “caleb’s gonna think so too.”

you roll your eyes, trying to act like that doesn’t make your stomach do a weird flip. “it’s just a dance.” she raises an eyebrow. “you’re acting like it’s more than just a dance.”

you open your mouth to argue, but there’s a knock on the door, and your dad calls from downstairs. “girls! caleb’s here!”

mc’s eyes go wide, and she grabs your hand, dragging you out of your room and down the stairs. your dad is already at the door, chatting with caleb like they’ve been friends forever. caleb’s standing there, dressed in a nice button-up shirt and dark pants. his hair’s been brushed back, but a few strands still fall into his eyes. he’s holding something small and wrapped in a little plastic box.

when he sees you, his mouth opens, and for a second, he just... stares. his cheeks turn pink, and he quickly looks at the ground, mumbling, “you look really pretty.”

your dad nudges him gently. “show her what you brought, son.” caleb swallows hard and steps forward, opening the box. inside is a little flower– a white carnation with a bit of greenery, tied with a pale ribbon. his hands shake a little as he pulls it out. “um... it’s a corsage,” he explains, stumbling over the word. “for your wrist. i saw it in a magazine and... i thought you might like it.”

you let him slip it onto your wrist, trying not to focus on how close his hands are to yours. it’s soft, and it smells nice, and you don’t think anyone’s ever given you something so pretty before.

“it’s perfect,” you whisper, smiling up at him. his face relaxes, and he mirrors your smile, like he was holding his breath until now. your dad claps his hands together. “alright! let’s get some pictures before you two head out.”

caleb shifts uncomfortably, but he doesn’t argue. mc’s already bouncing around, making sure you both stand in the right spots on the porch while your dad pulls out his old camera. caleb stands next to you, a little stiff at first, but then mc makes a silly face from behind your dad, and caleb laughs, his shoulders loosening up.

your dad takes a few shots—one of you both standing side by side, one with caleb a little closer, and one where he’s looking at you like he doesn’t know how he got this lucky. it makes your face go hot, and you’re glad when your dad finally lowers the camera and says, “alright, let’s get moving.”

you all pile into the car, with caleb in the back next to you, and mc up front with your dad. the drive to the school isn’t long, but it feels like forever. caleb’s knee keeps bumping yours, and every time it does, he mumbles an apology, even though you don’t mind.

your dad glances in the rearview mirror, eyes crinkling with a soft smile. “you two look great. have fun tonight, okay?” you both nod, and caleb gives a small, almost shy, “yes, sir.”

when you finally get to the school, the building is lit up with paper lanterns and balloons, and kids are already milling around the gym entrance. caleb hesitates for a second, then reaches out and lightly touches your hand. “ready?” he asks and you nod, trying to ignore the way your heart is pounding. “yeah. let’s go.”

and with that, he leads you toward the doors, his fingers brushing against yours, and you can’t help but smile because, somehow, this feels just right.

the gym is buzzing with energy, kids everywhere, talking too loud and trying to look cooler than they are. there’s a disco ball hanging from the ceiling, reflecting little bits of light everywhere, and the speakers are playing some pop song that’s probably too grown-up for a middle school dance, but no one seems to care.

you glance around, trying to take it all in. mc is already running off to find some of her friends, promising to come back and check on you later. caleb sticks by your side, his hands shoved deep into his pockets like he’s trying to make himself smaller.

“it’s kinda loud,” he mumbles, looking a little overwhelmed. you nod, feeling the same way. “yeah. and it smells weird.” he snorts, trying not to laugh too loud, “it does.”

just when it feels like you might actually relax, a group of boys from the basketball team spot caleb and come barreling over, practically tackling him in a swarm of loud greetings and slaps on the back. they’re talking about some game from last week, and caleb’s trying to keep up, looking a little caught off guard.

one of them, a tall kid named evan, grins at you. “hey, caleb! didn’t know you had a date.”

caleb’s face goes red, and he looks at you like he’s not sure what to say. you just smile politely, even though your stomach flips.

before caleb can say anything, another one of his friends nudges him. “c’mon, man, we’re gonna get some drinks and find the guys from the other team. you coming?” he says drinks with a cool undertone, even though the drink in question is a punch bowl containing kool aid tropical punch.

caleb hesitates, glancing at you. you just shrug, giving him a small smile. “it’s okay. go hang out. i’ll find mc or some of the girls from class.” he looks relieved, but still a little unsure. “are you... sure?” you nod, trying not to feel too disappointed. “yeah, it’s fine.”

he gives you a grateful smile before getting dragged off by his friends, and you watch him go, a weird tightness settling in your chest. you didn’t really think about the fact that he might have other people to hang out with. it shouldn’t bother you, but it does…just a little.

you wander around for a bit, finding some of your own friends who are gossiping in a corner about who’s dancing with who. one of them, kayla, gives you a knowing look. “i saw caleb with you earlier,” she teases. “you two look cute together.”

you feel your face heat up and just mumble something about how it’s not like that, but kayla just laughs and drags you closer to the group. for a while, you try to focus on what they’re talking about, but your eyes keep drifting around the room, wondering where caleb went.

then, out of nowhere, he’s there again, standing right in front of you, a little breathless. “hey,” he says, like he’s been looking for you.

“hey,” you reply, your heart thudding a little harder. he glances back over his shoulder, where his friends are still messing around near the punch table, then back at you. “do you... want to dance?”

you’re pretty sure your brain short-circuits for a second. “dance?”

“yeah. i mean... it’s a dance. we should... dance.” he’s stammering now, looking down at his shoes, and you realize he’s just as nervous as you are.

you nod, trying to keep your cool. “yeah. okay.”

he takes your hand, his palm a little sweaty but warm—and leads you out to the middle of the gym, where a slow song is starting to play. you’re not really sure where to put your hands, but he gently guides them to his shoulders, and his own hands hover awkwardly near your waist before settling there, barely touching. it’s clumsy and weird and makes your heart race like crazy.

you sway together, not really in time with the music, just moving in that nervous, uncertain way that middle schoolers do. you catch his eye a few times, and every time, he looks away, his ears turning red. but he’s smiling, soft and a little shy, and you can’t help but smile back.

after a minute, caleb clears his throat. “um... maybe... we could make a deal,” he says quietly, almost like he’s afraid of your answer.

“what kind of deal?” you ask, curious. he swallows, squeezing your hand just a little tighter. “we could go to every dance together. you know... so it’s not awkward. we’ll always have a... dance partner.”

your heart skips. it’s such a simple, silly idea, but it makes you feel warm. “okay,” you whisper. “it’s a deal.”

caleb’s smile gets a little wider, more confident. “cool.”

the song ends, and you both step back, hands dropping reluctantly. but even when the music changes to something fast, you just stand there, grinning at each other, like maybe you just figured out something important without really knowing how.

and you know—even if you don’t really understand why yet—that this is one of those moments you’ll remember for a long time.

middle school keeps rolling on, and things keep changing—faster than you expect. after that first dance, it’s like the whole school starts to see caleb differently. he’s not just the new kid anymore. he’s caleb—the guy on the basketball team who’s smart and athletic and pretty much good at everything. people start noticing him more, especially the girls. you hear them whispering about him in the hallways, giggling when he walks by.

you’d think it would make him different, but it doesn’t. he’s still caleb—the same guy who sneaks snacks into class and makes dumb jokes when you’re having a bad day. the only difference is that more people seem to know his name now.

it’s not just him, though. as the year goes on, you start noticing that people look at you differently too. you didn’t really plan on joining volleyball, but mc talked you into it, saying you should at least try. you ended up liking it way more than you thought. the practices are long, but you’re getting better—quicker on your feet, stronger with your serves.

you start to notice other things too—how your face seems a little softer, your hair shinier, your smile brighter. one of the older girls on the team says you’re “getting cuter every day,” and you don’t really know what to say except mumble a thank you and hope no one sees your blush.

the attention doesn’t go unnoticed. people start talking to you more—complimenting your hair, asking if you’re going to the next game. it’s weird at first, but mc just beams every time someone notices you, like she’s proud.

one afternoon, you’re leaving practice, your gym bag slung over your shoulder, when you spot caleb waiting by the gym doors. his basketball practice ended a while ago, but he’s still here, leaning against the wall with his phone in hand. he looks up when he sees you, his eyes widening just a bit.

“hey,” he greets, tucking his phone away. “how was practice?” – “good,” you reply, a little out of breath from drills. “coach made us run like, a hundred laps. i swear my legs are gonna fall off.”

he chuckles, but it’s softer than usual, his eyes not quite meeting yours. “you look... different.” you tilt your head. “different how?”

he rubs the back of his neck, glancing at the ground. “just... i don’t know. cuter. like... you look nice.”

your stomach flips, and you can feel your face getting warm. “oh. thanks.”

the walk home is a little quieter than usual, but it’s not uncomfortable. just... different. caleb keeps sneaking glances at you, and every time you catch him, he looks away, pretending he’s looking at the sky or a bird or something.

at school, you start noticing that other people are looking too. one day in the cafeteria, you’re carrying your lunch tray when one of the boys from the track team calls out, “hey, nice serve at the last game!” you give a quick nod, trying not to trip over your own feet, and when you sit down at your usual spot, caleb’s already there, frowning at the guy from across the room.

“you know him?” he asks, stabbing at his food with his fork, “not really,” you answer, a little confused. “just from gym.” caleb just grunts, not saying much after that, but he’s definitely quieter than usual. mc plops down next to you, oblivious to the weird tension, and starts talking about some science project, and you just focus on that instead.

later that week, you’re at your locker, gathering your books for class, when caleb leans against the one next to yours. he’s been doing that a lot lately—just showing up out of nowhere and sticking close, like he doesn’t really want to leave your side.

“are you... going to the next game?” he asks, trying to sound casual. you look at him, surprised. “your game?” – “yeah. or yours. either one.” you can’t help but laugh. “i always go to your games. and you always come to mine.” he just shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “just making sure.”

you catch that soft, almost unsure smile, and you realize it’s been happening more and more lately—him looking at you like he’s trying to figure something out. it makes you feel weirdly happy, but also nervous, like something big is about to happen and you’re not ready for it. you don’t say anything else, just bump his shoulder as you pass by, and he trails behind you like a shadow, still looking a little dazed.

high school isn’t as scary as it was at first. after a few months, you start to get used to the routine—the long hallways, the crowded cafeteria, and the way everyone seems to be figuring out who they want to be. it’s weird how fast things change.

mc’s still stuck in middle school, but that doesn’t stop her from showing up at your practices whenever she can, cheering way too loud from the bleachers. one day, when she’s supposed to be doing homework, she blurts out, “i have a boyfriend!”

you nearly drop your water bottle, and caleb, who’s sprawled on the living room floor with a textbook, sits up so fast he almost knocks his head on the coffee table. “you what?” he demands, eyes wide.

mc just grins, not at all phased by his reaction. “his name’s ryan. he’s in my math class. he asked me to the winter dance.” caleb’s face does this weird thing where he’s trying to look calm but failing miserably. “does grandma know?”

mc rolls her eyes. “of course. she said it was fine. it’s just a dance.” you snort, nudging caleb with your foot. “calm down, dad.”

he glares at you but doesn’t argue. you know he’s just being protective, but mc doesn’t look like she cares one bit. she’s too busy grinning and kicking her legs happily off the couch.

meanwhile, caleb’s life keeps shifting too. it’s like every day, more people know who he is. he’s not just the captain of the basketball team anymore—he’s the guy everyone seems to want to talk to, whether it’s about sports, math, or just to say hi in the hallways. it doesn’t bother you, not really, but it’s a little weird seeing girls you don’t know trying to get his attention.

one day after school, you’re in the courtyard waiting for him when he walks out, looking like he’s in a daze. when he spots you, he makes a beeline over, his backpack slung over one shoulder.

“you good?” you ask, raising an eyebrow, he shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. “uh... i just got asked out.”

you blink, trying to process that. “oh. by who?”

“jenny. from english.” he rubs the back of his neck, his ears turning pink. “we were project partners. she said she liked me and... asked if we could go to the movies sometime.”

you feel your stomach flip, but you force a smile. “and? what’d you say?” he hesitates. “i... said yes. i didn’t really know how to say no. she’s nice, and we’ve been working on that paper together for weeks. it felt... rude.”

you nod, trying to ignore the weird feeling creeping up your spine. “that’s... cool. good for you.” he doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t push it. instead, he changes the subject, talking about practice and how the coach is pushing them harder since the playoffs are coming up.

a few weeks later, you notice he’s been reading a lot more about the DAA. you find him one afternoon flipping through a brochure, his face focused and thoughtful.

“thinking of joining the DAA?” you tease, leaning over his shoulder.

he glances up, a little smile tugging at his lips. “maybe. there’s a program for pilots. coach mentioned it since they recruit athletes sometimes. it sounds... cool.” – “you’d make a good pilot,” you say, meaning it. “you’ve always been good at handling pressure.”

he shrugs, but you can tell he likes the idea. “it’d be something big. something important. flying ships, protecting people... it sounds like a good way to use all this,” he says, gesturing to himself like he doesn’t quite know what to do with his skills otherwise.

you just smile, watching him flip through the pages. you can already tell he’s hooked on the idea. it’s like something clicked into place for him, and he’s finally got a dream of his own. it makes you happy—even if a small, selfish part of you wonders what it would be like if he wasn’t always surrounded by people who wanted his attention.

and when jenny shows up at lunch the next day, smiling shyly at him and asking if he’s still good for the movies that weekend, you make yourself smile and wave. it’s just caleb being caleb—good at everything, good with everyone. you just didn’t realize it would feel this complicated.

jenny doesn’t last long. caleb goes to the movies with her, and when you ask him about it afterward, he just shrugs. “she’s nice,” he says, not meeting your eyes. “but... i don’t know. it just didn’t feel right. she talked a lot about stuff i didn’t really care about. and she didn’t get my jokes.”

you just nod, trying not to look too happy about it. “maybe it’s just one of those things. not everyone clicks.” he hums in agreement, and that’s the end of that. jenny still says hi to him in the hallways, but she doesn’t seem too heartbroken.

time moves faster after that. by the time sophomore year hits, caleb’s gotten even taller, and his shoulders are broader. he’s still on the basketball team, still captain, and people are starting to notice how much he’s filling out. you hear girls whisper about him in the hallways, wondering if he’s dating anyone. it’s a little weird hearing them talk like that, but you just brush it off.

one weekend, your dad offers to teach caleb how to drive. you’re sitting on the porch with mc, watching as caleb struggles to figure out how to work the clutch on your dad’s old truck. it stalls twice, and you can hear caleb cussing under his breath while your dad tries not to laugh. “think he’ll ever get it?” mc asks, leaning against your shoulder. you grin. “eventually. he’s just gotta stop freaking out every time the truck lurches.”

eventually, caleb gets the hang of it, and by the time he’s done with his lesson, he’s grinning like a little kid who just learned how to ride a bike. he jogs up to the porch, a little sweaty and proud of himself.

“i didn’t crash,” he announces, like it’s the best accomplishment of his life.

you laugh. “congrats. you officially didn’t die.”

your dad just shakes his head fondly, patting caleb on the shoulder. “you’ll get better with practice. just gotta ease up on the clutch.”

after that, it becomes kind of routine. caleb practicing driving with your dad while you and mc hang out on the porch, doing homework or just talking about school. sometimes you all end up inside, spreading out at the dining room table with textbooks and notebooks. caleb’s good at math, so he helps you when the equations start looking like a different language, and you help mc with her english homework, making sure she actually finishes her reading instead of just skimming it.

you start noticing that the conversations feel different now. it’s not just about classes or practice anymore. sometimes caleb talks about the future, about how he’s still looking into the DAA programs and how they’re taking applications soon for summer camps for prospective pilots. you encourage him, even though the thought of him flying far away someday makes your stomach twist a little.

one night, after everyone’s gone home and it’s just you and caleb on the porch, he leans back against the steps and looks up at the sky, “sometimes i think about how fast everything’s moving,” he admits, his voice quiet. “feels like just yesterday we were running around the yard with mc, playing tag.”

you nod, resting your chin on your knees. “yeah. now she’s got a boyfriend, and you’re driving, and everyone’s talking about what they want to do after school. it’s kinda scary.” he glances over at you, his eyes soft. “you know... even if things change, we’ll still be us, right?” you look at him, caught off guard. “what do you mean?”

he shrugs, looking down at his hands. “just... sometimes i worry. that we’re growing up too fast. like... what if things aren’t the same later?”

you nudge his shoulder gently. “they’ll be the same if we make them the same. you’re not gonna get rid of me that easily.” that makes him smile, the kind that reaches his eyes. “good. wouldn’t want to.”

there’s a comfortable silence after that, and you can’t help but think that maybe growing up doesn’t have to mean growing apart. maybe it just means figuring out how to stay close, even when things get harder.

and when caleb glances at you again, his gaze lingering a little too long to be just friendly, you wonder if maybe you’re both figuring out the same thing—how to hold onto each other even as the world keeps changing.

after that first awkward driving lesson with your dad, things start to fall into place. caleb keeps practicing, getting more comfortable behind the wheel, and before long, he’s driving around town with you and mc in the truck, laughing at every bump and gear shift. it becomes routine—caleb behind the wheel, you in the passenger seat, mc in the back, like you’re your own little team.

it doesn’t take long for your parents and their grandma to realize that he’s the one who’ll be doing most of the driving when school starts back up again. so, one night after dinner, your dad pulls out an envelope and hands it to caleb, looking more serious than usual.

“it’s from me, your grandma, and the neighbors,” he says. “figured you’d need something a little more reliable than the old truck. we pooled together for something safe since you’re gonna be driving these two around.”

caleb’s eyes go wide, hands shaking a little as he pulls out a set of keys. “wait... you got me a car?”

your dad grins. “it’s not new, but it’s in good shape. thought you’d like to take a look.”

you, mc, and caleb all pile out onto the driveway, where a dark blue sedan is parked, shiny and clean. caleb walks around it like he’s in a dream, barely able to believe it’s real.

“this is... this is mine?” he asks, still looking a little shell-shocked.

your dad claps him on the shoulder. “yep. just make sure you keep it clean, and no speeding. remember, it’s not just your life you’re responsible for—it’s theirs too.”

caleb swallows hard, nodding. “i promise. thank you.”

you and mc pile in, immediately claiming seats and testing the windows, while caleb just sits in the driver’s seat, hands on the wheel like he’s afraid to touch anything. you can’t help but smile, seeing how careful he’s being, like he might break it just by breathing too hard.

after that, it’s like the car becomes your second home. caleb drives you everywhere—to practice, to study sessions, even to pick up groceries when your mom’s too tired to go. he never complains, just slides behind the wheel and waits for you to buckle up, always reminding mc to wear her seatbelt even though she grumbles about it.

the holidays come and go, and the three of you spend more time together than ever. Caleb and mc’s grandma insists on hosting thanksgiving, so you and your family pile into the car and drive over (even though you’re like a couple houses away), caleb behind the wheel and mc talking about how she’s going to eat three slices of pie. christmas is spent at your house, with caleb showing off the scarf mc knitted him—even if it’s a little lopsided and full of dropped stitches.

by the time spring rolls around, caleb’s gotten used to the car, even if he still washes it religiously every weekend. he never forgets to pick you up, even on days when practice runs late or you’re too tired to text him back. it’s like second nature—caleb waiting out front, his music playing softly through the speakers, the three of you falling into place like you were always meant to be this way.

and then, finally, mc joins you at high school. it’s weird at first, seeing her in the hallways with her own friends, but she still meets you both at lunch, and caleb always makes sure she’s got a ride home. she’s grown up a little over the summer, taller and more confident, and she doesn’t cling to you as much as she used to. but she’s still the same mc—still eager to tell you about her day, still rolling her eyes when caleb makes dad jokes.

you notice how caleb’s popularity has only grown—people wave at him in the hallways, call out his name between classes, and he always waves back, even if he doesn’t know them. he’s still the basketball captain, and he’s starting to really look like an athlete—tall, lean, his hair a little longer and constantly messy from practice.

it’s almost like things have settled into a rhythm—school, practice, hanging out at your place or his, planning out summer trips. caleb’s still talking about the DAA, researching how to apply and what training he’d need. you keep encouraging him, even though the thought of him flying off somewhere far away someday makes your chest feel tight.

one evening, after a long study session in your living room, caleb falls asleep on the couch, his textbook open on his lap. mc’s already curled up in the armchair, dozing off too, and you just sit there for a moment, looking at them both. it feels... right. comfortable. like you’re all exactly where you’re supposed to be.

you drape a blanket over caleb, and just as you’re about to head to bed, he stirs, eyes half-open. “you okay?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep. “yeah,” you whisper back. “just... thinking.” he nods, not really awake, but his hand reaches out, gently catching yours. you stand there for a moment, his fingers warm and familiar around yours, and then he falls back asleep, still holding on.

you know you should pull away, but you don’t. you just sit there next to him, his hand in yours, the room quiet except for the soft sound of mc snoring, and you can’t help but hope that moments like this never change.

it’s late, and the house is quiet. mc went to bed hours ago, and your parents are probably asleep by now too. you and caleb sit on the porch steps, shoulders brushing as you look up at the stars. it’s cool out, and you can see your breath when you talk, little puffs of white against the dark.

caleb’s got his knees pulled up, arms draped over them, and his eyes are fixed on the sky. you don’t know why, but tonight feels different—calm but heavy, like there’s something he’s not saying. you nudge him gently with your elbow. “what’s on your mind?”

he doesn’t answer right away. just tips his head back a little more, like he’s trying to get a better look at the sky. “sometimes i wonder what it’s like up there,” he says quietly. “being that far away from everything. floating... where no one can reach you.”

you glance at him, taking in the thoughtful look on his face. “sounds lonely.” he shakes his head. “no. i don’t think it would be. i think it’d feel... peaceful. like nothing else matters. just you and the stars.”

you chew on your lip, thinking about it. “you really wanna do it, don’t you? fly for the DAA?”

he nods, finally looking at you. “yeah. it’s like... the only thing that makes sense. i don’t know why, but... i just feel like i’m supposed to be up there.” you give him a small smile. “you’ll get there. i know you will.”

he smiles back, softer this time, but there’s still something in his eyes that looks uncertain. “when i’m up there... you’ll be watching me, right?”

you don’t even hesitate. “of course. i’ll be there for everything. you’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

something changes in his expression, like relief, mixed with something warmer, softer. he doesn’t say anything for a while, just looks at you like he’s trying to memorize your face. the porch light casts a glow over both of you, and the night feels quieter than usual.

“good,” he murmurs. “i want you to be there.”

you’re about to ask him why he looks so serious when he moves just a little closer, his hand brushing against yours. you don’t pull away. his gaze drops to your mouth, and you swear your heart stops for a second.

before you can think too hard about it, he leans in and kisses you. it’s soft, like he’s afraid to push too far. his lips are warm, and his hand finds yours, fingers lacing together. it’s just a moment—a breath, really—but it feels like time stopped around you.

when he pulls back, his face is flushed, and he immediately drops his eyes, letting go of your hand. “sorry,” he mumbles, rubbing the back of his neck. “i didn’t... i shouldn’t have...”

you reach out and grab his hand again before he can pull away completely. “caleb,” you say softly, making him look at you. “it’s okay. i wasn’t uncomfortable.”

his shoulders relax a little, and he looks at you like he’s trying to figure out if you mean it. “really?”

you nod, squeezing his hand. “really.”

he lets out a breath he must’ve been holding and finally smiles, a little crooked, a little shy. “okay. good. because... i kind of wanted to do that for a while.”

you laugh softly, your own cheeks warm. “me too.”

you don’t say much after that, just sit there with his hand in yours, staring up at the stars like they’re giving you some kind of answer you didn’t know you were looking for. and even though nothing’s really changed, it feels like everything has—like the space between you just got a little smaller, and you’re not sure you want it to go back to how it was.

you just sit there, fingers intertwined, and watch the stars until the air gets too cold, and you know it’s time to go inside. but even when you’re both heading to your rooms, you still feel the tingle of his kiss on your lips and the way his hand fit perfectly in yours.

after that night on the porch, something changes. it’s not obvious at first—just little things. caleb standing a little closer when you’re talking, brushing his hand against yours when you’re walking home. he doesn’t say anything about the kiss, but he doesn’t avoid you either. in fact, it’s almost like he’s more comfortable now, like he’s finally settled into the space between you.

mc notices it first, of course. she teases you both constantly, rolling her eyes every time caleb reaches for your hand or leans his shoulder against yours when you’re sitting on the couch. one night, when caleb’s out running errands with your dad, she smirks and says, “you know he’s in love with you, right?”

you feel your face heat up immediately. “he is not.”

mc just shrugs, grinning. “sure. that’s why he looks at you like you’re the only person in the room. even grandma noticed.”

you don’t know what to say to that, so you just shove a pillow at her, pretending not to hear. but deep down, you can’t help but think that maybe she’s right.

a few days later, you’re in the kitchen helping your mom with dinner when caleb walks in with your dad, both of them covered in dust from fixing the shed roof. your dad’s laughing about something caleb said, clapping him on the shoulder, and caleb’s trying to brush dirt off his jeans without making a bigger mess.

your mom just shakes her head, passing them both some lemonade. “you boys are a mess,” she teases. caleb grins, but his gaze flicks to you, softening. “sorry for tracking dirt in,” he mumbles, but your mom just waves it off.

“don’t worry about it. you helped fix the shed—i’ll take a little dirt over that roof leaking.”

as they talk, you notice caleb glance at your dad, then back at you, like he’s weighing something in his head. finally, he clears his throat. “can i talk to you for a sec?” he asks your dad, his tone a little more serious.

your dad raises an eyebrow, but he nods. “sure. what’s up?”

they step outside to the porch, and you feel a weird sense of panic rise in your chest. your mom notices, patting your shoulder gently. “don’t worry,” she whispers. “it’s probably nothing.”

a few minutes later, they come back in. your dad’s grinning, and caleb looks a little flushed, but he’s smiling too. your dad ruffles caleb’s hair like he’s still a kid. “you’re alright, son,” he says warmly. “just treat her right.”

caleb nods earnestly. “i will.” your mom just looks amused, leaning over to whisper in your ear, “i think that boy just asked for permission to take you out.”

your face burns, and you barely manage to look at caleb as he walks over, rubbing his hands together nervously. “uh... can we talk?”

you nod, letting him pull you outside, where the air feels a little cooler, crisper. he takes a deep breath, like he’s preparing for a big game. “i... talked to your dad,” he starts, not quite meeting your eyes. “i just... i wanted to make sure he was okay with it before i asked you.”

your heart pounds in your chest. “asked me what?” caleb looks at you, his eyes steady and serious. “if you’d go out with me. like... on a real date.”

you stare at him for a second, trying to process the words. “a date?” he nods, his face a little pink. “yeah. i mean, i know we hang out all the time anyway, but... i want to do it right. take you out, just us. because... i really like you. and i want to... do this the right way.”

you can’t help the smile that spreads across your face, relief and excitement mixing together. “you didn’t have to ask my dad, you know.” he shrugs, looking a little embarrassed. “yeah, but... it felt right. like... i wanted to make sure he knew i wasn’t just messing around.”

you can’t help but laugh, stepping closer and grabbing his hand. “you’re kind of a dork, you know that?” he grins, finally relaxing. “yeah. but you like me anyway.” you roll your eyes, but you don’t deny it. “okay. yes. i’ll go out with you.”

caleb’s whole face lights up, and he pulls you into a hug, holding you tight like he’s afraid you’ll change your mind. you just laugh against his shoulder, feeling that familiar warmth settle in your chest. it’s not just relief—it’s happiness, pure and simple.

when he pulls back, his hands linger on your waist, and he looks at you like he’s still trying to believe this is real. “so... friday night?” he asks, a little breathless. “there’s this diner i’ve been wanting to take you to.”

you nod, still grinning. “sounds perfect.”

he leans down and presses a soft, quick kiss to your forehead before stepping back, clearly trying not to look too eager. but you can see it in his eyes—that quiet, steady affection that’s been there all along.

and when you head back inside, hands still entwined, your parents just smile knowingly, like they’ve been waiting for this just as long as you have.

senior year came faster than you expected. one minute you’re trying to figure out your class schedule, and the next, it’s almost summer. you and caleb have been dating for a while now—long enough that it feels normal to hold his hand in the hallways or sit with him at lunch, even if people still whisper sometimes.

he’s still on the basketball team, still the captain, and you’ve made it through another volleyball season. life is good—busy, but good. but then the acceptance letter from the DAA comes, and suddenly, everything feels a little more real.

caleb gets in. of course he does. they want him to join their summer program, which means he’ll be gone for three months. he’s over the moon about it—excited and nervous and already packing weeks before he has to leave. you’re happy for him, really, but there’s this knot in your stomach that doesn’t go away.

the day before he leaves, he’s at your house, sprawled out on your bed, flipping through the welcome packet they sent. mc’s in the living room, packing her bag for the family vacation. your parents decided to take you, mc, and josephine to the coast for a few weeks—a little getaway before the school year kicks back up again.

“they’re gonna make us take a fitness test on the first day,” caleb says, flipping a page. “bet half of them are gonna pass out in the heat.”

you smile, resting your chin on his shoulder. “you’ll be fine. you’re like... the fittest person i know.”

he snorts. “i don’t know. some of these guys are already doing flight training. i’m just... playing catch-up.”

you brush his hair out of his face, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. “you’ll do great. they’re lucky to have you.”

he turns his head, and for a second, his expression softens. “you think so?”

you nod. “yeah. you’re gonna be amazing.”

he doesn’t say anything, just pulls you closer until you’re tucked under his arm, his face buried in your hair. “i’m gonna miss you,” he mumbles.

you swallow the lump in your throat. “me too. but it’s just one summer. and when you come back, we’ll have senior year.”

he doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue. instead, he pulls out his phone and scrolls through some of the emails from the DAA. you can’t help but notice the way his hand tightens around yours, like he’s afraid to let go.

later that night, your family is bustling around, making sure everyone’s bags are packed. josephine is lecturing mc about not forgetting sunscreen, and your dad is triple-checking the car’s tire pressure. caleb lingers by the porch, watching you move around the house like he’s trying to memorize every detail.

when it’s finally time for him to leave, he walks you out to his car. the sun’s low in the sky, casting long shadows across the driveway.

“i’ll text you when i get there,” he promises, squeezing your hand. “and... i’ll try to call when i can.” you nod, not trusting yourself to speak. he looks at you, and there’s this sad, crooked smile on his face. “it’s just a few months,” he says, more to himself than to you.

before you can think too hard about it, you reach up and kiss him—slow and soft, like you’re trying to make it last. when you pull back, his forehead rests against yours, and he just breathes you in.

“be safe, okay?” you whisper, “always,” he replies, kissing you one more time before finally forcing himself to step back.

you watch him drive away, the knot in your stomach tightening, and when you go back inside, mc is waiting with that look on her face—the one that says she’s trying to be comforting without being obvious.

the next morning, you’re all packed into the car, with josephine already telling stories about her own high school days as your dad navigates the highway. the coast isn’t too far, but it feels like hours. mc keeps showing you pictures of the cabin you’ll be staying in—rustic but cute, with a view of the beach.

you lean against the car window, your phone clutched in your hand, waiting for caleb’s text. when it finally comes, it’s short but enough to make you smile:

caleb: made it safe. wish you were here. you: miss you already. have fun.

the rest of the drive feels a little lighter after that. once you get to the cabin, it’s chaos—unpacking, arguing over who gets which room, and josephine trying to convince mc to help her make sandwiches for everyone. the beach stretches out just beyond the cabin, and you can hear the waves crashing even from inside.

as the sun sets that night, you and mc sit on the porch, watching the sky turn shades of pink and orange. it’s beautiful, and you almost forget that caleb’s not there with you. mc nudges your shoulder. “he’ll be fine,” she says confidently, “it’s caleb.”

you nod, smiling despite yourself. “yeah. it’s just... weird. not having him here.”

she grins, pulling out her phone to snap a picture of the sunset. “well, when he gets back, you’ll have all these stories to tell. just think of it that way.” you lean back against the porch railing, letting the cool breeze hit your face. maybe she’s right—maybe it’s just one summer. but still, you can’t help but wonder if caleb’s looking at the sky right now too, thinking about you.

senior year arrives, and you can’t help but feel like you’ve been waiting forever for it. summer flew by without caleb—just phone calls and texts when he could find the time, updates on his training and how much he missed home. you didn’t really know what to expect when he finally came back, but when he steps out of his car on the first day of school, you nearly forget how to breathe.

he’s... different. taller, definitely, and his shoulders are broader. his arms look stronger, more defined, and his hair’s a little shorter, but it suits him. he’s wearing his usual easy smile, but there’s a confidence there that wasn’t quite as sure before. when he sees you waiting at the school gate, he grins like he’s just spotted something he’s been looking for.

you barely have time to react before he sweeps you into a hug, lifting you off the ground and spinning you once before setting you back down. “hey,” he breathes, looking down at you with that familiar softness. “missed you.”

you laugh, swatting at his chest. “you didn’t tell me you’d turn into a superhero while you were gone.” he just shrugs, smirking. “training. gotta stay in shape.”

you roll your eyes, but you can’t help but notice how much more solid he feels, like he’s really grown into himself. “you look... good,” you admit, a little embarrassed. he brushes his thumb over your cheek, not even bothering to hide his smile. “so do you.”

the year kicks off, and it’s different from the others. there’s a feeling of finality, like everyone’s already thinking about the future, but it’s also more relaxed. fewer classes, more free periods, more time to just be together. you and caleb spend your evenings studying for college applications, going on dates, and helping mc with her sophomore homework when she gets overwhelmed.

you visit a few college campuses, some nearby and some a little further out, and caleb talks about how he’s still thinking about the DAA but wants to keep his options open. every time you bring up the future, his expression gets a little more serious, but he never lets go of your hand, like he’s grounding himself with you.

and then prom season rolls around. you didn’t really think much about it at first, but mc’s been planning your outfit since winter break. she practically forces you into a dress the week before, making sure it’s perfect. caleb, of course, tries to play it cool, but you know he’s just as excited.

the night of prom, he shows up at your house with a corsage that matches your dress and a suit that makes him look like he stepped out of a movie. your parents insist on taking pictures, and caleb’s hands are warm on your waist as he pulls you close, both of you smiling too big to look cool.

the gym is transformed—streamers and twinkling lights everywhere, and a DJ blasting songs that everyone knows by heart. caleb keeps you close, his arm draped over your shoulder as you navigate the crowd. he’s saying hi to everyone, accepting compliments and teasing from his teammates, but his attention never strays far from you.

it’s not a surprise when they announce caleb as prom king. the whole room erupts in cheers, and he just looks a little embarrassed, rubbing the back of his neck as they hand him a plastic crown. but when they call out the prom queen’s name—jessica, one of the cheer captains—you see caleb’s smile falter just a little.

the tradition is for the prom king and queen to dance together, and the DJ starts queuing up a slow song. jessica steps forward, clearly thrilled, but caleb just shakes his head, already walking off the stage. he makes his way through the crowd, weaving between people, and you feel a weird pang in your chest, like maybe he’s just going to go along with it.

but then he’s right there, standing in front of you, holding out his hand.

“hey,” he says, like he didn’t just break some unspoken rule. “can i have this dance?”

you blink, trying to process it. “but... aren’t you supposed to dance with her?”

he shrugs, not looking the least bit bothered. “maybe. but i have my own tradition. i promised you, remember?”

your heart thuds against your ribs as you take his hand, letting him pull you to the center of the room. he’s still wearing that ridiculous plastic crown, but you can’t help but laugh when he leans down, resting his forehead against yours.

the song is slow, something soft and familiar, and caleb’s hands are gentle on your waist as you sway together. you feel the weight of the moment, like everything in your lives has led to this one dance.

“you didn’t have to do that,” you murmur. “everyone’s staring.” he just smiles, unfazed. “don’t care. i made a promise. every dance, remember?” you can’t help but smile back, tightening your hold on him. “yeah. every dance.”

as the song continues, you’re barely aware of the other people around you. it’s just caleb, his eyes locked on yours, like he’s trying to tell you something without saying a word. when the song ends, the room bursts into applause, and you finally notice that people aren’t upset—they’re cheering for you both.

jessica looks a little put out, but even she doesn’t seem mad, just resigned, like she knew caleb would pick you. he doesn’t notice her sulking, just pulls you closer, pressing a quick, soft kiss to your forehead.

“thanks for being my tradition,” he whispers. you laugh, resting your head on his chest. “thanks for keeping it.”

and as the night goes on, you can’t help but think that maybe this is the happiest you’ve ever been. it’s just you and caleb, dancing to a song you’ve already forgotten, but it doesn’t matter—because he’s the one who chose you, every time.

graduation day feels surreal. the gym is packed with parents, siblings, teachers, and everyone you’ve grown up with. the rows of seats are filled with restless energy—people adjusting their caps, whispering about plans for the summer, and trying not to think too hard about how this is the end of high school.

you’re in your cap and gown, sitting next to mc, who’s pouting like it’s her job. “i still don’t get why i couldn’t graduate with you guys,” she grumbles, crossing her arms.

you laugh, nudging her shoulder. “because you’re a sophomore, genius.”

she sticks her tongue out at you but doesn’t push it. you know she’s just upset that you’re both leaving soon. it’s hard to believe that after today, things are going to change for good. you’re both going to skyhaven—caleb for the DAA college program to become a pilot, and you for business and management. it’s comforting to know you’ll be in the same city, but the idea of not seeing him every day still makes your chest ache.

when the principal steps up to the microphone and announces caleb as the valedictorian, the whole gym erupts in cheers. he’s been working on his speech for weeks, but you can tell he’s still nervous as he steps up to the podium, adjusting the microphone. his cap’s a little crooked, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

he clears his throat, glancing at the crowd, and for a second, you swear he’s looking just at you. “uh, hey,” he starts, his voice a little rough. “um... first off, I just want to say thank you to everyone who’s helped us get here. parents, teachers, friends... you guys made this possible.”

he pauses, shifting his weight, and you can tell he’s trying to keep his voice steady. “it’s weird to think that this is it—the end of high school. i remember being that nervous freshman who didn’t know how to find his own locker. now we’re here, about to head off in a million different directions. it’s exciting, but also kind of terrifying.” a few people chuckle, and he relaxes a little, his hands gripping the sides of the podium. “for me, it’s always been about finding where i belong. basketball was a big part of that, but it’s not just about the team or the wins. it’s about the people—the friends who stuck by me, the ones who reminded me that it’s okay to be unsure sometimes.”

his gaze finds yours again, and you feel your heart skip. “there’s one person in particular who... well, who’s always been there. even when i wasn’t sure who i was. she kept me grounded. believed in me when i wasn’t sure i could do it. and... she’s more than just my best friend. she’s the person i want by my side, no matter where we go next.”

you’re pretty sure your face is on fire, and mc’s giving you that look—the one that says, “i told you so.” caleb clears his throat again, his cheeks a little red. “so... thank you. to everyone. but especially to her. i wouldn’t be standing here without you.”

there’s a murmur of curiosity in the crowd, but caleb doesn’t explain further. he just looks at you one more time, like he’s making sure you heard him.

the rest of his speech is more general—encouraging everyone to chase their dreams, to make mistakes, and to never forget where they came from. when he finishes, the applause is loud enough to shake the room, and he ducks his head a little as he walks back to his seat.

when he sits down next to you, you don’t say anything at first. you just reach over and grab his hand, squeezing tight. he looks at you, a little nervous, but when you smile, he relaxes, lacing his fingers with yours.

as names are called and diplomas are handed out, you try to hold onto this feeling—the pride, the excitement, and the relief that, even as things change, some things will stay the same.

after the ceremony, mc practically tackles caleb in a hug, grumbling about how dumb it is that he’s leaving. he just laughs, ruffling her hair, and promises that he’ll visit as often as he can.

your parents snap a million pictures—one of you and caleb in your caps, one of caleb holding mc on his back, and one of you two leaning against the school sign, his arm around your waist.

as the sun starts to set, caleb pulls you aside, away from the crowd. his hands find yours, and he leans down, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead.

“you know i meant it, right?” he murmurs, his breath warm against your skin. “about wanting you with me. no matter what.” you smile, reaching up to straighten his cap. “i know. and i’ll be right there. every step.” he looks relieved, like he needed to hear you say it. “good. because i’m not going anywhere without you.”

you pull him into a hug, resting your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat. in that moment, with the sun dipping below the horizon and the world full of possibilities, you know that no matter where life takes you both, you’ll always find your way back to each other.

the house is packed with holiday chaos—warm lights, the smell of cinnamon, and way too many people squeezed into the living room. your parents are bustling around, setting up the table, while josephine is in the kitchen, expertly directing traffic like it’s a military operation. she’s wearing one of those old-fashioned holiday aprons, her silver hair pulled back, and she keeps telling everyone to stay out of the kitchen unless they’re helping.

mc and her boyfriend zayne are huddled near the fireplace, mc talking a mile a minute while zayne just nods along, a little overwhelmed but clearly happy to be there. caleb’s next to you, looking a little jittery, his hands stuffed in his pockets. every so often, he glances at josephine, who just gives him a knowing look and a wink. you have no idea what’s going on, but it makes your stomach flip.

finally, dinner’s over, and josephine insists that everyone gather in the living room to open a few presents. she pulls mc onto the couch next to her and practically pushes zayne into the armchair. your parents are still cleaning up, but they’re listening from the dining room, and josephine keeps calling for caleb to get his butt back in here.

caleb takes a deep breath, grabs your hand, and tugs you into the room, leading you to the spot right next to the tree. the glow of the lights makes the whole room feel cozier, and you catch mc giving you a suspicious look like she knows something you don’t.

just as you’re about to sit down, caleb stops you, still holding your hand. he takes a deep breath, his thumb brushing over your knuckles. “hey,” he starts, his voice quieter than usual. “i’ve been thinking about how much things have changed since we were kids. and how, no matter what, you’ve always been there. my best friend. my... everything.”

your heart’s racing, and you can feel everyone’s eyes on you. caleb swallows hard, glancing at josephine again. she just gives him a tiny nod, smiling knowingly. finally, he pulls something out of his pocket—a small velvet box.

“i know it’s just the beginning for us,” he says, his voice a little shaky. “but... i don’t want to wait anymore. i want you with me for everything. forever.”

he drops to one knee, opening the box to reveal a simple, beautiful ring—just the kind you would have picked out yourself. “will you marry me?”

you barely manage to say yes before he’s up again, sweeping you into his arms while everyone bursts into cheers. mc practically launches herself at you both, squealing and almost knocking caleb off balance. zayne’s clapping and grinning, and your parents are already snapping pictures.

josephine wipes at her eyes, muttering something about how “my boy’s finally grown up,” but there’s pride in her smile. she gives caleb a thumbs-up, clearly approving of his choice.

when caleb finally pulls back to slide the ring onto your finger, his hands are shaking, but his smile is so bright it makes your chest ache. he presses a kiss to your forehead, and the whole room feels like it’s wrapped in warmth and love.

josephine pats mc’s shoulder, beaming. “i knew he’d do it right,” she whispers proudly.

caleb just leans his forehead against yours, still holding your hand like he never wants to let go. “best christmas ever,” he murmurs.

you laugh softly, wiping at the tears you didn’t even realize were there. “and just the beginning.”

mc’s already making plans for the wedding, and zayne’s trying to calm her down, but josephine just shakes her head, chuckling. “let them dream,” she says, squeezing your hand when you sit down beside her. “i knew from the start you’d be part of this family.”

you lean into caleb’s side, fingers still tangled together, and he just smiles, resting his head on yours. and even with the noise and chaos of the holiday, it’s perfect—just you and him, and the promise of forever.

the years at skyhaven fly by faster than you expect. balancing classes, work, and caleb’s DAA training isn’t always easy, but somehow, you both make it work. late-night study sessions turn into lazy mornings, and every time caleb gets leave from training, he spends it wrapped up in you, catching up on everything he’s missed.

graduation season comes around again, but this time it’s different—caleb’s graduating from the DAA pilot program, and you’re about to finish your degree in business and management with honors. the pride you feel for him is overwhelming, especially when he tells you that he’s been chosen as the valedictorian—again. you tease him about being an overachiever, but he just grins, kissing your forehead and telling you it’s all worth it.

the ceremony is held on the skyhaven campus, where the DAA graduates are lined up in their crisp uniforms. you sit near the front, next to josephine, who’s beaming proudly, and mc, who’s wearing a dress she reluctantly agreed to put on. gideon, one of caleb’s friends from the program, sits nearby, giving you a thumbs-up when you spot him.

when caleb’s name is called, the whole room erupts in applause. he walks up to the podium, standing tall and confident in his uniform. he looks over the crowd, his eyes landing on you, and his smile softens. “it’s crazy to think how far we’ve come,” he starts, his voice carrying easily. “most of us showed up here not knowing what we were getting into. we’ve been pushed to our limits—physically, mentally, and emotionally. but we didn’t just make it through… we excelled. and we didn’t do it alone.”

he pauses, glancing at his classmates, then back at you. “personally, i couldn’t have gotten here without the people who’ve always believed in me. my family, my friends... and one person in particular, who’s been by my side through every crazy step, my fiance…-”

your heart swells as he mentions you by status,

“-she’s the one who kept me grounded when things got tough, and she never let me forget why I wanted this in the first place. so... thank you.”

josephine squeezes your hand, sniffling happily, and you feel your own tears well up. caleb finishes his speech with some advice about perseverance and teamwork, and when he steps down, gideon gives him a hard clap on the back, muttering something you can’t hear. caleb just laughs, shaking his head, but his eyes keep finding you in the crowd.

after the ceremony, you rush to find him, and he picks you up in a hug, spinning you around just like the first day of senior year. “you did amazing,” you whisper, pressing your forehead to his. “you’re amazing,” he counters, kissing you softly. “couldn’t have done it without you.”

you both graduate within weeks of each other—caleb from the DAA program and you with honors from business school. it’s a whirlwind, but you’re more proud of each other than ever. landing a great job right out of school feels like a blessing, and you celebrate with dinner at your favorite little diner, reminiscing about that chaotic first date.

one night, caleb comes home looking more excited than you’ve seen in a while. “got my first assignment,” he says, pulling you into his lap as soon as you sit down. “and... they gave me a sign-on bonus.”

you raise an eyebrow, curious. “what are you planning to do with it?”

he grins, brushing his nose against yours. “fund the wedding. figured we should make it something special.” you feel your heart swell, “you’re serious?”

“of course,” he says, looking at you like you’re the best decision he’s ever made. “i want it to be perfect. for us.”

and so the planning begins. you pick out venues together, pour over guest lists, and spend weekends meeting with caterers and florists. caleb insists on making it something intimate but meaningful, with just close friends and family. gideon becomes his best man without question, and he dives into his duties with enthusiasm, already planning the bachelor party with a little too much energy.

one afternoon, as you’re sorting through color schemes and flower arrangements, caleb leans back on the couch, watching you with a fond smile. “you know,” he says softly, “i always knew it’d be you. since we were kids.” you look up, surprised. “really?”

he shrugs, not embarrassed at all. “yeah. even when we were just friends, something about you made everything feel right. like... if you were there, i could do anything.”

you move closer, resting your head on his shoulder. “i always felt that way too. like you made everything feel possible.”

he presses a kiss to your temple, his hand finding yours. “good. because this… us? it’s the best decision I’ve ever made.”

you spend the rest of the night curled up together, talking about the future—how you’ll decorate your first place, what you’ll name your first dog, how many kids you might have someday. it’s easy, the way you plan your lives together, because it’s always felt like you were meant to build a future side by side.

as the wedding date gets closer, it hits you just how far you’ve come. from those first nervous hand-holds and school dances to college stresses and career plans, you’ve grown together, made each other better. and now, with a life ahead of you both, you can’t help but feel overwhelmingly lucky.

and through it all, caleb never lets go of your hand—like he’s always known that no matter where life takes you, you’ll be walking that path together.

the day feels surreal—like a dream you’ve been planning for so long that you almost can’t believe it’s finally here. the venue is decorated with soft, warm lights strung through the trees, flowers lining the aisle, and chairs set up in neat rows. your family and friends fill the space, the hum of laughter and conversation mingling with the soft music playing from the speakers.

you’re in the back room with mc, who’s been fluttering around you like a nervous hummingbird, making sure every detail is perfect. she’s your maid of honor, and even though she’s tried to play it cool, you can tell she’s just as emotional as you are.

“stop fidgeting,” she says, fixing your veil for the third time. “you look beautiful. perfect, even.” you smile at her in the mirror, trying to keep your hands from trembling. “i’m just... nervous.” mc snorts, but her eyes are shining. “please. you’ve been waiting for this since high school. you’ve got this.”

your mom slips into the room, eyes a little misty as she takes in how you look. “it’s time,” she says softly, giving you a quick, proud hug. “he’s already out there, looking like he’s about to float off the ground.”

your stomach flips, but in a good way. you take one last breath, smoothing your dress, and follow mc out the door. the music shifts, signaling the start of the ceremony, and you watch as she walks down the aisle first, a little bounce in her step despite trying to look composed.

you take your dad’s arm, and when the doors open, it’s like the whole world narrows down to one single point—caleb, standing at the altar, his eyes locked on you. he’s in a fitted suit, his hair combed just right, but it’s the look on his face that hits you hardest—pure, unfiltered love. gideon stands next to him as the best man, grinning like he’s in on the best secret.

as you walk down the aisle, you catch glimpses of familiar faces—high school friends, college friends, caleb’s teammates from the DAA program. they’re all smiling, some wiping away tears, but it’s caleb who keeps your gaze, like he can’t believe you’re really here.

when you finally reach him, your dad gives your hand to caleb, and you swear his grip tightens just a little, like he’s grounding himself with you.

the officiant starts talking, but you barely hear the words, too caught up in caleb’s steady gaze, his fingers brushing yours like he’s reminding himself that you’re real.

“you both have grown up together,” the officiant says, smiling warmly. “from childhood friends to high school sweethearts to partners in every sense of the word. today, they’re choosing each other…forever.”

caleb’s smile softens, his thumb tracing little circles on the back of your hand. when it’s his turn to speak, his voice is low but steady. “i always knew it’d be you,” he says, his eyes never leaving yours. “even when we were kids. even when I didn’t understand what love was, i knew it would always be you. and today...I promise to keep choosing you. every day. for the rest of my life.”

your chest feels tight with happiness, tears welling up despite your best efforts to stay composed. when it’s your turn, you squeeze his hands a little tighter. “I guess i can’t say i never knew what love is, because you were right there the whole time,” you say, your voice wavering just a bit. “you’ve always made me feel safe, cherished, and loved. and today... i promise to stand by you, to support you, and to love you for as long as we both live.”

the officiant smiles, clearly moved. “do you, caleb take..” you stare at him lovingly, ears starting to tune the world out momentarily before you return, “-- to be your wife, to love and cherish through every moment life brings?” – “i do,” caleb says without hesitation, his eyes shining.

the officiant turns to you, and you take calebs appearance in once more, before turning your gaze to the officiant once more, “-- take caleb to be your husband, to love and cherish through every moment life brings?”

you barely whisper, “i do,” but it’s enough. the officiant grins. “by the power vested in me, i now pronounce you husband and wife. caleb, you may kiss your bride.”

caleb doesn’t waste a second, pulling you into his arms and kissing you like he’s never going to stop. the crowd cheers, and you can hear mc practically screaming in excitement. gideon’s clapping loudest of all, and josephine dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief, shaking her head like she can’t believe her grandkids are grown up. when you finally pull back, caleb’s still holding you, his forehead pressed to yours. “mrs. xia,” he murmurs, a little smirk playing on his lips.

you laugh, wiping at your face. “still getting used to that.” he kisses you again, softer this time, like he’s got all the time in the world. the rest of the ceremony blurs together—pictures, hugs from family and friends, mc practically dragging you around to take selfies while gideon and caleb joke about the best man speech.

the reception is filled with laughter and toasts, good food and dancing. when caleb pulls you onto the dance floor for your first dance, he holds you close, whispering how beautiful you look, how lucky he feels.

you rest your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and think that maybe this is what happily ever after really feels like—holding on to the one person who’s always been your everything.

life in skyhaven feels like a new chapter—a fresh start wrapped in soft mornings and quiet nights. the house you and caleb move into is modest but perfect: two stories, a little backyard, and a kitchen with windows that catch the sunrise. it’s the kind of place that feels like it’s waiting to be filled with laughter and memories.

your wedding photos are the first things to go up, framed and carefully placed on the mantle. caleb insists on hanging the one where you’re both mid-laugh, your veil caught in the wind, because “it’s the most us.” gideon helps move in the heavier furniture, making jokes about how he’s the real MVP of the relationship for hauling the couch up the stairs. mc insists on helping too, even though she mostly just bosses everyone around while zayne tries not to laugh.

the first night after everything’s settled, you and caleb just sit on the living room floor, eating takeout from cardboard boxes. he leans back against the wall, legs stretched out, and pulls you into his lap, wrapping his arms around you.

“feels like ours,” he murmurs, resting his chin on your shoulder. you hum in agreement, closing your eyes and just letting the warmth of his embrace seep in. “it is ours.”

you fall into a rhythm after that. caleb’s schedule at the DAA is demanding, but he’s home most nights, and you make the most of every minute together. weekends are for lazy mornings wrapped up in each other, cooking breakfast while he sneaks kisses between flipping pancakes. sometimes you’ll just walk around skyhaven, exploring little shops and coffee places, your fingers always intertwined like you’re afraid of losing him.

your jobs keep you busy, but somehow you always find time for each other. date nights are a priority—sometimes fancy dinners, sometimes just cuddling on the couch with a movie neither of you really watch. intimacy becomes second nature, a language you both know by heart. some nights, you’ll find yourselves tangled in bedsheets, his laughter low and breathless against your neck, the world slipping away until it’s just the two of you.

one evening, after a long day, you’re curled up together on the couch, caleb tracing lazy patterns on your back. he keeps talking about his last flight, describing the feeling of being above the clouds, and you just listen, letting his voice soothe you.

then, one morning, you notice it—just a small flutter in your stomach, like nerves. at first, you brush it off, but it keeps happening. and then your period’s late. not just by a day, but by a week. it hits you while you’re brushing your teeth, and you freeze, staring at your reflection like it might give you the answer.

caleb’s in the kitchen, making coffee, humming softly. you wander in, your hands shaking just a little.

“hey,” you start, trying to keep your voice steady. “can we... talk?”

he turns, immediately picking up on your tone, concern etching his features. “what’s up?”

you hesitate, your heart pounding. “i think... i might be pregnant.”

for a second, he just stares, the words sinking in. then his eyes widen, and he sets down his mug carefully, like he’s afraid of dropping it. “wait—really?”

you nod, swallowing hard. “i’m not sure, but... i’m late. and i feel... different.”

he crosses the space between you in two steps, cupping your face gently. “are you okay?” you breathe out a laugh, still a little stunned. “yeah. just... surprised.”

his thumb strokes your cheek, his gaze softening. “do you... want to take a test? just to know?”

you nod, and without another word, he grabs his keys. the drive to the pharmacy is quiet but not uncomfortable—just full of unspoken thoughts. when you get home, he insists on waiting outside the bathroom, pacing the hallway like he’s about to take off in one of his planes.

when you finally look at the test, your heart skips a beat. two lines. positive.

you open the door slowly, and caleb almost trips over himself trying to get in. you just hold the test out, and he stares at it, his mouth falling open. “is that...”

you nod, barely holding back tears. “we’re having a baby.”

for a moment, he just stands there, frozen. then he pulls you into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder. “we’re having a baby,” he repeats, almost like he’s testing out the words. you laugh, half in disbelief. “yeah.”

he pulls back just enough to look at you, his hands on your waist, his eyes shining. “i’m gonna be a dad?” you nod, wiping at your cheeks. “and i’m gonna be a mom.”

he kisses you then, deep and slow, like he’s trying to memorize the way this moment feels. when he finally pulls back, he’s grinning, almost giddy. “we’re gonna be parents.”

you both end up on the floor, tangled together, laughing and crying at the same time. later, when you call mc to tell her, she screams so loud you have to hold the phone away from your ear. josephine cries when caleb tells her, saying something about how she knew the two of you would make her a great-grandma someday.

when you call your parents, your mom can barely contain her excitement. “a baby? i knew it! i knew you two would be giving me grandkids sooner rather than later!” your dad tries to play it cool, but you can hear the pride in his voice when he says, “i’m gonna teach that kid how to play ball. boy or girl doesn’t matter. they’re gonna know how to shoot.”

that night, caleb holds you close, his hand resting protectively over your stomach. “we’re gonna be good at this,” he whispers, his lips brushing your temple. you smile, pressing closer. “because we’re in this together.”

and as the night settles around you, you know that no matter what, this new adventure—just like every one before it—will be something you face hand in hand.

life had been good—better than good, really. mornings wrapped up in caleb’s arms, evenings spent planning the nursery, his hands always finding your stomach like he can’t help but remind himself that your baby is real, growing, safe. it’s become your favorite part of the day—feeling his palm resting there, his eyes soft with wonder.

but, fate? well.. she’s a cruel mistress.

you’ve been thinking about his upcoming mission, about how he’ll be gone for a few weeks and how much you’ll miss him. it’s why you decided to get him something special—a little piece of you that he can take with him. when you saw the small, simple necklace in the window—a silver apple pendant—you knew it was perfect. something to remind him of your promise to always be there, no matter where he flies.

you’re almost three months along now. your belly isn’t that noticeable yet, but you’ve felt the changes—the tenderness, the exhaustion, the way your body is quietly transforming. caleb’s been nothing but attentive, more protective than ever, always making sure you’re eating enough, getting enough sleep.

you decided to pick up the necklace on your way home from the market, the little shop tucked into a quiet part of town. the shopkeeper remembers you from the other day, already has the necklace wrapped up in a small velvet pouch. you’re about to thank her when the ground trembles—a low, guttural rumble that makes the windows shake.

your heart stutters. you know that sound. wanderers.

the shopkeeper’s eyes go wide, and someone outside screams. you’re frozen for a second, fear coursing through you, but instinct takes over. you clutch the necklace in your hand, slipping it into your pocket as you move toward the back exit.

you barely make it two steps when the world erupts. the noise is deafening—concrete splitting, glass shattering. you turn just in time to see the wall opposite you cave in, like it’s being hit from the outside. you don’t have time to react, to think, to do anything but brace yourself as the building shudders, the ceiling groaning under the pressure.

the last thing you see is the wall hurtling toward you, a blur of dust and debris, and then—

nothing…..

caleb’s in the middle of a debriefing when his phone buzzes, but he ignores it at first. it’s only when gideon comes running into the room, pale and frantic, that he realizes something’s wrong.

“caleb—there’s been an attack. downtown. a wanderer came through.”

caleb’s stomach plummets. he barely hears the rest—something about the market, about people being pulled from the rubble. all he knows is that you’d mentioned stopping by that area, something about a gift for him. his hands are shaking as he pushes past gideon, sprinting out to the tarmac, where his car is parked.

he drives like he’s in one of his training sims—reckless, fast, threading through traffic with single-minded focus. when he reaches the scene, it’s chaos—firefighters, medics, people crying and yelling, dust thick in the air.

he spots the wreckage of the little shop, the wall collapsed outward into the street, and he can’t breathe. his vision blurs, his pulse thundering in his ears.

“no... no, no, no,” he whispers, shoving his way through the crowd.

someone tries to stop him—a firefighter, shouting something about it not being safe—but caleb’s evol pulses to life, the gravity around him bending and warping. rubble that would have been immovable suddenly shifts, lifting into the air as if weightless, his desperation fueling the power coursing through him.

he sees it then—a hand sticking out from under a chunk of concrete, your ring glinting in the dim light. caleb’s knees hit the pavement, his entire world narrowing down to that single point.

“no!” his voice cracks as he pulls at the rubble, his evol pushing the debris aside like it’s made of paper. his hands shake, and he can’t stop the sob that tears from his throat as he drags pieces away, gravity warping around him like a storm, stones floating briefly before crashing down around him.

gideon catches up, grabbing caleb’s shoulders, but caleb shrugs him off, barely hearing him. “it’s her—it’s her, i know it,” he chokes out, pulling one last piece of the wall away with a forceful wave of his hand.

then he sees you, still and pale, dust settling around you. your hair is matted with blood, your face smeared with dirt, but it’s undeniably you. caleb drops to his knees beside you, hands trembling as he cups your face.

“baby... no, no, please,” he whispers, pressing his forehead to yours. “wake up. you have to—please.”

he pulls you into his lap, rocking back and forth, his other hand on your pregnant stomach, oblivious to the world around him. gravity ripples in waves, small stones lifting and falling as his control frays. gideon kneels beside him, not saying anything, just resting a hand on caleb’s back.

a medic moves closer, checking for a pulse, but the shake of her head is final. caleb’s body collapses in on itself, his hold on gravity snapping—debris crashes back to the ground with a violent thud, and the wind around them seems to bend and twist, matching his anguish.

he clutches the small velvet pouch from your pocket, the apple necklace spilling into his palm. he just holds it, pressing it against his chest as sobs wrack his body.

“we were gonna be a family,” he whispers, his tears wetting your hair. “i was gonna... protect you. keep you safe. i promised.”

gideon’s voice is soft, choked. “caleb...”

but caleb doesn’t move, doesn’t let go. he just keeps repeating your name, like if he says it enough times, you’ll come back. his whole world is gone—shattered in an instant—and he can’t do anything but hold you, his fingers tangled with yours, begging the universe to give you back.

you’re in the kitchen, sunlight spilling through the windows, the smell of breakfast in the air. caleb’s at the stove, flipping pancakes with that practiced ease, humming softly under his breath. the kitchen is full of noise—laughter, tiny feet thumping against the floor, and the baby’s high-pitched babble from the high chair.

mc is leaning against the counter, holding a cup of coffee, grinning at you. “you guys are disgusting,” she teases, watching caleb sneak a kiss before you take the next plate of pancakes.

“jealous?” caleb fires back, smirking as he sets another pancake on the growing stack.

a little girl runs by—tangled hair and bright eyes—chasing after a boy who’s wielding a wooden spoon like a sword. you can’t help but laugh, scooping the toddler out of the high chair and pressing a kiss to his soft cheek.

caleb wraps his arms around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder. “think we might have our hands full,” he murmurs, but his voice is full of fondness.

“definitely,” you agree, leaning back against him.

it’s perfect. the house is full, messy and loud and alive. you feel that familiar warmth in your chest, the kind that only comes from knowing this is your family, your life.

then there’s a flicker—a harsh crack that splits the air. you blink, and suddenly the house fades away, slipping from your grasp like sand through your fingers.

the light’s gone, replaced by gray smoke and the distant sound of sirens. your head feels heavy, like you’ve been asleep too long, but when you open your eyes, you’re... standing.

standing in the street, watching a crowd gather. your eyes find the wreckage of the little shop, the wall broken and crumbling. there’s someone on the ground, wrapped in a familiar coat, dust and blood smeared across their face.

you move closer, and that’s when you see him—caleb, hunched over, his hands cradling a still form. his shoulders shake, and his face is buried in your hair, whispering something over and over.

you freeze, heart pounding. “caleb?” you call, stepping forward. “caleb, I’m right here—”

he doesn’t look up. you reach out, but your hand passes through his shoulder like air. panic rises, cold and sharp. you look at his hands, at the way he’s holding... you. your body.

your legs feel weak. “no,” you whisper. “no, no….this can’t be—”

caleb’s sobbing, his forehead pressed to your temple. you can hear him whispering, “please, please come back, baby, please.”

you sink to your knees, your hands shaking. “caleb... i’m here. please, look at me.”

nothing. he doesn’t move, doesn’t hear you. the realization hits hard, a crushing weight. you’re dead. gone. and he’s still here, breaking apart right in front of you, and you can’t do anything to reach him.

your throat tightens, and for a moment you just watch him—watch the way he holds you like he’s afraid to let go, the way his hands are stained with your blood. you start to cry, not from pain or fear, but from the sheer helplessness of it all.

“caleb...” you choke out, even though you know he can’t hear. “i’m sorry...”

gideon kneels beside him, trying to get him to move, but caleb just shakes his head, refusing to let go.

“i was supposed to protect her,” he whispers, his voice shattered. “i promised...”

you curl in on yourself, pressing your hands to your mouth to keep from screaming. the future you’d seen—the one with your big, happy family, caleb teaching your daughter to ride a bike, you chasing after the baby—it’s gone. erased. and you can’t even hold him, can’t even tell him you love him one more time.

the sirens grow louder, and medics move closer, but caleb still won’t let go. you reach out one more time, your fingers brushing through his hair, and even though he doesn’t react, you whisper, “i love you... i’ll always love you.”

and in the space between your heartbeat and his sobs, you feel it—the ache of everything you’ve lost, and the terrible, undeniable truth that you’ll never have that future together.

time doesn’t stop. even though it feels like it should, even though the world should have shattered along with your heartbeat, it keeps going. days blur into weeks, then months, and you watch from above, your soul aching with the weight of it all.

it’s quiet where you are—soft, light, like floating on a warm breeze. you’re not bound to one place, but you find yourself lingering around the people you love, watching them navigate a life that now feels hollow without you.

caleb doesn’t leave skyhaven. he stays in the house you shared, even though gideon offers to help him move somewhere new. he doesn’t have the heart to pack up your things—your clothes still hang in the closet, your shoes lined up by the door. sometimes, when the silence gets too heavy, he pulls out your favorite sweater and wraps it around himself, pretending for just a moment that you’re still there.

he goes back to work sooner than anyone expected—partly because he doesn’t know what else to do, and partly because he needs the distraction. flying has always been his escape, and now, more than ever, he needs the sky. you watch him train, pushing himself harder than before, his focus almost mechanical. gideon stays close, keeping an eye on him, worried that one day he might push too far and not come back.

caleb’s dedication doesn’t go unnoticed. after a few years, he earns a promotion—colonel in the farspace fleet. it’s a title that comes with respect, with responsibility. you watch him receive his new uniform, his face stoic and composed, but later that night, when he’s alone on the porch, he pulls the apple necklace from under his shirt, running his thumb over the pendant.

“made it, baby,” he whispers to the sky. “like i promised.”

you’re there, lingering at his side, wishing you could tell him how proud you are.

mc grows stronger, too. she joins the deepspace hunters—a program designed to track and eliminate wanderers before they reach populated areas. she trains relentlessly, pouring all her anger and grief into every mission. you see her determination—the way she pushes herself to be faster, smarter, like she’s trying to protect everyone the way she couldn’t protect you.

one evening, after a long mission, mc sits with caleb at the diner, her hand wrapped around a cup of coffee. they’re both quiet, the space between them heavy with memories.

“sometimes,” mc says, barely above a whisper, “i still hear her laugh. like... when it’s too quiet, i just... hear it. like she’s right there.”

caleb doesn’t respond at first, just stares at his own cup. “me too,” he finally admits. “sometimes i dream about her. about... the life we were supposed to have.”

mc wipes at her eyes, trying to be subtle, and zayne just places a hand on her back, comforting.

they don’t say much more, but it’s enough to know that they’re still carrying you with them, even after all this time.

your parents never really stop grieving, but they find ways to keep going. your mom keeps your favorite plants alive, watering them every morning, talking to them like you used to. your dad starts fixing up old furniture—something to keep his hands busy, something to distract him from the quiet. they visit caleb often, bringing him food and making sure he’s taking care of himself. sometimes they stay for hours, just talking about anything and everything, never mentioning the loss that hangs heavy over them all.

years pass. caleb remains dedicated to his position, rising in the ranks, but he never settles. he’s still the one volunteering for the hardest missions, still the one pushing himself beyond his limits. gideon becomes his right-hand man, and together they manage their unit with precision and skill.

mc and zayne get married—quietly, just a few friends and family. caleb walks her down the aisle, and you’re there too, watching from the corner of the little chapel. she laughs when she stumbles over her vows, and zayne just squeezes her hands, telling her to take her time. for a moment, she looks over her shoulder, like she’s expecting to see you behind her as her maid of honor, but when she doesn’t, she just takes a breath and finishes her words.

caleb doesn’t date. people talk about it sometimes—how he’s still young, still handsome, still kind. but he never shows interest, always just shakes his head when someone hints at setting him up. even though he keeps moving forward, his heart is still with you.

sometimes, when he’s alone, he talks to the garden where your memorial is—just quiet conversations about his day, about the missions, about how he’s still trying to do right by you.

you watch it all, your presence like a soft breeze through the leaves. you want to tell him that you’re okay, that you’re at peace, but you’re not sure if he’d ever really believe it.

life keeps going, and you see the world changing around him. mc and zayne have their first child—a boy, with zayne’s bright smile and mc’s fierce spirit and caleb practically becomes the boy’s godfather..

sometimes, when he thinks no one’s looking, caleb pulls out the necklace, tracing the apple with his thumb.

“i kept my promise,” he whispers, his eyes on the sky. “i’m still here. still fighting. just... wish you were here to see it.”

and every night, you sit by his side, letting your presence linger like the soft glow of the stars, hoping he knows that even though your paths diverged, your love never really faded.

time moves differently when you’re not part of it anymore. you watch from your place in the sky as years stretch on, seasons passing like waves. life doesn’t stop—not for grief, not for joy. it just keeps going, a slow, steady rhythm that you can’t touch but can only witness.

caleb settles into his role at the farspace fleet, his leadership becoming almost legendary among the newer pilots. they look up to him—not just for his skills, but for his dedication and the way he carries himself. he’s firm but fair, always encouraging the younger ones to push past their limits but reminding them to come back safe.

mc and zayne’s family grows. after lyra, they have two more kids—a girl named mae and a boy named kieran. caleb is at every birthday, every family barbecue, every soccer game. he shows them how to make paper airplanes, how to tie knots, and how to tell the difference between constellations.

you watch the celebrations—birthdays with homemade cakes, christmases with too many presents, thanksgiving dinners where mc accidentally burns the rolls but insists they’re “just crispy.” caleb always laughs, always reassures her that it’s perfect.

but time doesn’t just bring joy. it brings loss, too.

you see the slow fading of josephine—how her hands get weaker, how her laughter becomes softer. caleb takes care of her, visiting almost daily, making sure she’s comfortable. the kids love visiting her house, even when she’s too tired to get up from her favorite chair. one afternoon, when the sun is just right, josephine passes quietly, holding caleb’s hand.

he doesn’t cry at first, just presses a kiss to her forehead and whispers, “i’ll take care of mc. i promise.”

later that night, he sits on the porch, clutching the apple necklace, his shoulders hunched. gideon sits beside him, just as old now, both of them more gray than not, and caleb finally lets the tears come.

a few years later, it’s your parents’ turn. your dad goes first, his health fading bit by bit. your mom holds his hand until the very end, and when he finally slips away, she just leans her head on his shoulder and whispers, “i’ll see you soon.”

it’s not long after that your mom follows. caleb is there for every step, helping with arrangements, making sure they’re laid to rest beside each other. mc clings to him during the funeral, her grief heavy and raw. caleb doesn’t say much—just stands beside the gravestones, his hand on your dad’s old walking stick.

“i promised her i’d take care of you,” he whispers. “and i will. i always will.”

you’re there, too—watching, feeling the ache but knowing that they’re together now, just like they wanted. and even though caleb doesn’t see you, you press your hand to his shoulder, wishing he could feel it.

years go by. lyra, mae, and kieran grow up—awkward, gangly teenagers with loud voices and big dreams. lyra joins the academy, wanting to be a pilot just like her uncle. mae gets into music, her room filled with guitars and song lyrics. kieran plays basketball, towering over his sisters by the time he’s fifteen.

caleb never misses a game, never misses a chance to cheer them on, even when his knees start to ache and his hair goes more silver than black. gideon retires first, moving out to a small cabin by the lake, but caleb keeps going a little longer, determined to see lyra through her first year in the fleet.

the day he announces his retirement, the entire fleet throws a party. lyra’s there in her new uniform, beaming with pride as she hands him a handmade card signed by half the pilots. caleb just shakes his head, smiling but looking a little overwhelmed.

that night, back on the porch, he sighs as he lowers himself into the old rocking chair, his hands shaking just a little. he takes out the apple necklace, holding it like a lifeline.

“finally did it, baby,” he murmurs. “retired. gideon says it’s about time. i guess... i guess he’s right. i’m getting too old for this.”

you stand beside him, feeling the bittersweet pull in your heart. he looks up at the stars, his face lined but still so familiar, and you can’t help the tears that fill your eyes. he’s older now—his joints creak when he moves, his steps slower, but his eyes are still warm, still full of love.

“you’d laugh if you saw me now,” he says softly, his voice rough. “barely got the energy to mow the lawn. and the kids—they’re all grown up. lyra’s gonna be a pilot. just like i was.”

you kneel beside him, brushing your fingers through the air near his hand, wishing you could hold it.

“you’d be proud of them,” he continues, his smile tinged with sadness. “mc’s got her own team now. zayne’s still patching people up. and me... well, i’m just here. still holding on.”

you can’t help but cry, but it’s not all sadness. it’s joy, too—a deep, aching joy that you still get to see him live. you’re grateful to witness every year, to see the way he keeps moving forward, even when it hurts.

as the stars come out, he leans back, closing his eyes. “sometimes, i still feel you,” he whispers. “like you’re just... right there. and i like to think... maybe someday...”

he doesn’t finish, just holds the necklace a little tighter.

you sit beside him, wiping your own tears, and as the night deepens, you feel something peaceful settle around you. you’re still here, still with him, and he never forgot—not for one second.

you’re grateful, even as your heart breaks, because you know that love like yours doesn’t just end. it lingers, just like the stars, always there even when the world moves on.

as the years keep moving, his body becomes less forgiving. his joints ache more in the mornings, his steps a little slower. his hair is fully silver now, cropped short, and his hands tremble sometimes when he’s holding a cup of coffee. the farspace fleet is in his past now—he’s officially retired, though his mind still drifts to the sky on quiet evenings.

he stays in the house you shared, keeping the garden tended, though it’s more flowers now than vegetables. he spends a lot of time on the porch, rocking in the old chair, looking out at the road as if expecting someone to come walking up any minute. sometimes he talks to the wind, sharing stories about his day, about the kids, about how much he still misses you.

one afternoon, he pulls out the old wooden box from the closet—the one with important papers, documents, things he’s tucked away for safekeeping. he sits at the kitchen table, his reading glasses perched on his nose, and starts sorting through it.

he’s never been one to dwell too much on the end, but lately, he’s been feeling it more—the tiredness settling into his bones, the way his thoughts sometimes feel heavy and slow. it doesn’t scare him, really. it’s more of a quiet acceptance, like he’s spent so long carrying so much that it’s finally time to put it down.

he starts drafting his will, his handwriting a bit shaky but still careful. he writes about the house—how he wants it to go to mc and zayne, so the kids can always come back. he writes about his old flight journals, leaving them to lyra, knowing she’ll appreciate the stories and the notes about his missions.

when it comes to your things—your clothes, your books, the trinkets you collected—he hesitates. it’s been so long, but he never could bring himself to pack them away. instead, he writes a small note, saying they should go to mc, since she always appreciated your sense of style and loved the stories behind your knick-knacks.

he pauses, rubbing at his eyes, then pulls out the little apple necklace from his shirt. it’s worn, the shine faded, but it’s still intact, still his most cherished possession. he writes that it should go to lyra, since she always loved hearing about how you gave it to him for good luck.

he sits back, letting out a slow breath. it feels strange to put it all on paper—like acknowledging that his time is winding down. he doesn’t feel sad, just... tired. like he’s been running for so long and finally gets to rest.

mc visits later that evening, bringing dinner and the grandkids. lyra’s in her pilot uniform, looking proud and grown-up, and caleb can’t help but ruffle her hair like she’s still a kid. mae shows off the new song she’s been working on, and kieran talks about his basketball game, eager to share every detail.

caleb just sits back, soaking it in, his heart full. when the kids go to bed, mc sits with him on the porch, noticing the papers stacked neatly on the table.

“writing stuff down?” she asks softly.

he nods, not looking at her. “just... getting things in order. figured it was time.”

mc doesn’t say anything for a while, just leans her head against his shoulder. “you’ve done good, caleb. you really have.”

he swallows hard, his fingers brushing over the necklace. “i just... don’t want to leave anything undone. you know? i want them to know how much they meant to me. how much she meant to me.”

mc’s hand finds his, squeezing gently. “they know. she knows.”

they sit in comfortable silence, the sky turning shades of orange and pink. when it gets late, mc kisses his cheek, whispering, “i’ll see you tomorrow,” and heads back inside to check on the kids, “have a good night, pipsqueak.” he says.

caleb stays on the porch, watching the stars come out. he closes his eyes, leaning back in the rocking chair, and thinks about all the years that have passed—all the moments that still make him smile.

you’re there, as always, sitting beside him, even if he can’t see you. your heart aches, not from sadness, but from the overwhelming love that never faded. you reach out, your presence soft as a breeze, and watch as caleb leans his head back, whispering your name into the night air.

“soon,” he murmurs, his voice quiet but certain. “i’ll see you soon.”

and from where you are, you feel both grateful and heartbroken, knowing that he’s lived a full life, but that it’s winding down. you just hope that when the time comes, you’ll be the one to meet him at the end, ready to hold him the way you couldn’t when you left.

he knows it’s time.

it’s not a feeling of fear or regret—just a soft certainty, like a candle finally flickering out. he’s known for a while now—how his body has slowed down, how his breaths come a little more labored, how his hands shake even when he’s just holding a cup of tea.

the house is quiet. mc visited earlier, bringing food and checking in, but caleb insisted he was fine, that he just needed some rest. she left reluctantly, promising to call in the morning.

when the door closes, caleb takes a long breath, steadying himself. he gets up from his rocking chair, moving slower than he used to, but with purpose. his joints creak, and he grips the banister as he makes his way to the bedroom.

once inside, he moves to the closet, reaching up to the high shelf where a small, worn box sits. it’s dusty from years of being tucked away, but it’s still just as he left it. he carries it carefully to the bed, sitting on the edge as he pries the lid open.

inside are the remnants of a life lived—little pieces of his heart that he’s kept safe for all these years.

he takes out the first photo—one from your first dance, when you both were just kids, his tie crooked and your dress a little wrinkled from running around beforehand. he laughs softly, tracing the edges, remembering how you made him promise to take you to every dance after that.

the next photo is from your first date—the one where everything went wrong and you couldn’t stop laughing. you’re both sitting in the diner booth, your cheeks flushed from trying to contain your giggles, and he’s looking at you like you’re the only person in the world.

he pulls out a stack of love letters next, the paper soft and worn from being read over and over. some of them are his, scribbled notes he left you on the kitchen counter or slipped into your coat pocket before he left for training. others are yours—neat handwriting, talking about how proud you were of him, how you couldn’t wait for him to come home.

there’s a little carved wooden heart you made him once—a joke about how he “stole yours” when you were just teenagers. he remembers teasing you about how uneven the edges were, but you just shrugged and said it made it unique—just like him.

caleb scatters the photos and letters across the bed, letting them fan out like a mosaic of your life together. he picks up the necklace from around his neck—the little silver apple—and sets it gently among the photos.

his hands are trembling as he lays back against the pillows, his breaths growing softer, slower. he closes his eyes, and a wave of calm washes over him, like a weight finally lifting from his shoulders.

he lets out a slow, deep breath, his fingers still resting on the old, worn photos. his eyes flutter closed, his chest rises and falls one last time, and then stillness settles over the room.

the house is quiet, bathed in the soft glow of the setting sun. the photos lay scattered on the bed, each one a snapshot of a life filled with love, loss, and the ache of remembering. caleb’s hand rests over the necklace, his face peaceful, as if he’s simply fallen asleep, finally at rest after a lifetime of carrying so much.

when he opens his eyes again, he’s standing on a path bathed in golden light, the sky impossibly blue, the air fragrant with wildflowers. he feels different—his movements are steady, his back straight, but when he looks down, he sees his hands—still wrinkled and worn, aged by the years.

he follows the path, his footsteps light, and as he gets closer to the towering gates ahead, he sees someone standing just beyond them. his heart lurches, recognition hitting him all at once.

it’s you.

you’re standing there, dressed in white, your hair flowing like it did when you were young, your smile soft and bright. you haven’t aged a day—still the same as when you left, still beautiful, still his. and he looks down, your baby bump. caleb stops, his breath catching, and tears fill his eyes before he can stop them. he doesn’t even think to wipe them away—just stands there, his heart aching with joy and disbelief.

you walk forward, your arms outstretched, your own tears glistening like tiny stars.

“i’ve been waiting for you, my love,” you say softly, your voice trembling.

caleb lets out a shaky laugh, wiping at his face with the back of his hand. “sorry for taking so long,” he whispers, his voice thick. you just shake your head, stepping closer, your hands cupping his face. he leans into your touch, his hands settling on your waist like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again.

then he pulls back just enough to look at you properly, his mouth twitching in a crooked smile. “you... you’re still young,” he says, bewildered. “and i’m... well, i’m grandpa age.”

you laugh, your hand brushing through his silvery hair. “you are,” you tease, a playful glint in your eyes. “look at you—old man, gray hair... you could pass for josephine’s brother.”

he huffs, still a little self-conscious. “i guess i figured... i’d look like i used to. you know... not like this.”

you cup his cheek, your thumb brushing over the lines at the corner of his mouth. “as long as you’re my caleb, i don’t care.” he can’t help but laugh, the sound soft and full of wonder. “you’re sure you don’t mind having an old man hanging around?”

you just shake your head, pulling him closer. “ you’re my caleb. always. no matter how many years pass. i love you.”

his lips find yours, and it’s soft and familiar, like no time has passed at all. he holds you close, his hands resting on your waist, and when he pulls back, his eyes are clear, his heart full.

“i missed you,” he whispers, his voice cracking.

“i know,” you say, your forehead resting against his. “but you lived. you did everything you promised. and now... we’ve got forever.”

caleb just smiles, a little shy, a little relieved. “can’t believe i get to be with you again.”

you take his hand, squeezing it tight. “you’re home.”

and as you guide him through the gates, your hands intertwined, he knows that this is it—where he was always meant to end up. with you.

𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 ! - @rcvcgers, @miffysoo, @blessdunrest

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velaenam · 2 months ago

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Uh for ur work dominia of the east is caleb’s mistress mc? Sorry for troubling u

no trouble at all!! and yes it is! mistress!mc

#vels q/a

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velaenam · 2 months ago

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vel!! have you played any of the new cards yet? caleb’s story reminded me so much of the final callsign. i got so emotional :’) especially because i was thinking of YOUR amazing story

i actually don't play the game that often, and my rolls are really unlucky (i rolled like i think 60 and i haven't gotten anything , but i hear its a lovely event!! thank you so much for thinking about my story what the heck 🥺🥺 don't give me ideas

#vels q/a

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velaenam · 2 months ago

Text

𝐚 𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐟𝐮𝐭𝐮𝐫𝐞

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc/mc. caleb dreams of having a baby, but you’re held back by fear—so what comes next when love wants to grow, but your body says no? w.c: 2.1k 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – fluff, discussions about fear of pregnancy 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 – not proofread. this was a request !! this was wonderful, and very touching. i love being able to tackle stories like this, bc it's such a real real valid fear to have. i hope i did this story justice. — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated.

you’re walking beside him, coffee in one hand and his fingers laced through the other, when he slows down just slightly.

it’s subtle—but you feel it in the way his thumb pauses along your knuckles. the way his gaze shifts from the storefronts ahead to the little scene playing out across the street.

a young couple, probably early thirties, standing outside a bakery with their toddler. the kid’s face is covered in crumbs and frosting, shirt stained with the evidence of a cupcake devoured in under a minute. the dad’s trying to clean her up with one of those flimsy napkins. the mom is laughing. the toddler keeps shrieking “nooo!” in between bites.

you watch caleb watch them and then, there it is. that soft, helpless little smile he doesn’t even realize he’s wearing. he tries to hide it—tilts his head a little, clears his throat like it was nothing. but you know him too well. you know that look.

you keep walking. two blocks later, there’s a group of school kids passing on a field trip. they’re all wearing matching t-shirts and most of them are holding hands in pairs. one of them stops to wave at you for no reason at all, like your face is familiar in a way only children understand.

caleb waves back. you raise a brow and he just shrugs, "what?" he says, far too casually. "they're cute." you hum. you don’t say anything.

a few more minutes pass, and you’re standing in line for ice cream when a baby starts crying behind you. caleb turns around like he’s been summoned. and the moment the baby quiets—those wide little eyes blinking up at the world like it’s too bright and too big—he grins.

you glance at him, he tries to fight it—he loses. "what is going on with you today?" you finally ask, nudging him gently with your elbow.

his ears tint a little red, “nothing,” he mumbles, then adds, “just... kids are cute.”

you eye him. then you realize— he has baby fever—hard.

and suddenly your heartbeat slows. not in a bad way. not exactly. just... heavy. thoughtful. like someone pulled a thread loose inside your chest, because you know what this means.

he’s thinking about it, maybe not this second. maybe not tomorrow, but he’s there.

and you’re not sure if you’ll ever be.

it’s later that evening, and you’re both curled up on the couch.

the lights are low. the tv’s playing something neither of you are really watching. his arm is around your shoulders, your legs tangled with his like it’s second nature by now. and it is.

his fingers trace soft shapes into the fabric of your sleeve, and you’ve just started to drift when he speaks, “can i ask you something?”

your eyes blink open, slow and sleepy, “yeah?” he waits a beat, his hand stills—“…have you ever thought about kids?”

the question isn’t sudden—not really. not after the way he looked at every baby today like they were made of stardust and giggles. but it still catches you off guard. still presses something cold and tight into your lungs.

you shift a little, straighten your spine like your body’s trying to shield itself. “i mean… yeah,” you say softly. “i’ve thought about it.” you don’t finish the sentence. you don’t say just not for me.

he doesn’t push. doesn’t pry. he just nods a little, his jaw tightening the way it does when he’s thinking carefully, “i don’t mean right now,” he says quickly. “i just—today made me think. that’s all.”

you nod too, but your throat feels too thick for something so simple, he notices.

“hey,” he says gently, his hand brushing along your side. “what is it?”

you try to smile but it wobbles, “it’s not you,” you whisper. “it’s not that i don’t love you. or the idea of a family. it’s just…”

you swallow hard, “pregnancy scares me.”

he’s quiet.

you keep going, voice lower now, as if admitting it too loud will make it heavier.

“it’s the pain… not just the pain, but what it does to your body. how it stretches you and tears you and changes you in ways you can’t take back. i’m terrified of that. of waking up and not recognizing myself. of losing pieces of me in the process. and the risk—god, what if i can’t carry the baby? what if my body fails? what if i fail?”

you pause,

“ —everyone talks about it like it’s this beautiful, sacred thing. but all i can think about is what it could take from me. what it might break. i’m scared, caleb. i’m scared down to my bones. emotionally. physically. in my mind. in my heart. it’s not that i don’t want to love something we make. i just… i don’t know if i’ll survive it.”

your voice trembles. his hand finds yours, “my body’s mine,” you breathe. “and the thought of it changing so permanently, maybe hurting in ways i can’t undo... it terrifies me.”

he says nothing, but his thumb runs slow circles over your knuckles. you look down, afraid to meet his eyes.

“do you think that makes me selfish?”

his answer is immediate—“no.”

you glance up. his expression is soft. Steady, “i think it makes you human,” he says. “and brave. for telling me.” you blink, eyes stinging suddenly, and he pulls you in closer, “we don’t have to have that conversation again unless you want to,” he murmurs. “but whenever you do—i’ll be here. no expectations. no pressure.” you bury your face in his chest and nod once. and in that moment, you believe him—even if the fear doesn’t go away.

a couple weeks go by, and the conversation never really comes back up — not out loud, but something in the air between you has shifted.

he doesn’t ask again. doesn’t push. and you… you let your guard down in different ways. softer ways. in letting him have those little moments he clearly craves. so now, when the two of you go out, you don’t roll your eyes when he slows down to watch a kid toddle past with chubby legs and wild hair.

you slow down with him. you wave at toddlers in strollers when they wave first. you compliment tiny sneakers and pigtails and help a mom pick up a fallen pacifier when it rolls too far under a bench. caleb always follows with that quietly awed look — the one where his heart is in his eyes and he probably doesn’t even know it.

at a park, you catch him smiling at a little girl who's clumsily throwing petals into the wind, giggling at the mess she’s making. you nudge him with your elbow.

“you gonna cry or something?”

“maybe,” he murmurs, eyes never leaving the scene. “look at her. she’s chaotic, but she thinks it’s fun.”

“you’re so whipped,” you say, but there’s no heat in it.

he leans in closer, voice warm. “you’re the one who let me stop and wave at a five-year-old in a frog hat.” you shrug, “he had taste.” and when you see a baby in a shopping cart that locks eyes with caleb like they’ve known each other in a past life, and he whispers, “look at this one. future pilot, like me.” you don’t tease him for it.

you just smile.

and later that night, when you both get home and he wraps his arms around you from behind in the kitchen — cheek resting on your shoulder, breath warm against your neck — you know he’s not thinking about now.

he’s just imagining—and you let him. because even if you’re not there yet — even if you never are — you know that love doesn’t always mean saying yes.

the house is quiet, but not in that heavy, sharp way. it’s the kind of quiet that feels earned. safe. soft lamp glow spilling across the living room while your legs tangle lazily over his lap on the couch. one of your playlists hums low in the background — something acoustic, something steady. his hand rests over your shin, thumb tracing aimless shapes.

you’re half-asleep.

until you feel his voice more than hear it.

“can i tell you something?” he asks, low.

you open your eyes slowly, shifting just enough to meet his gaze. there’s a hesitation there. one you don’t see often. not in him. not like this.

“of course,” you whisper, he doesn’t look at you right away. just keeps tracing your skin. like it’s helping him think.

“i know it’s not something we’re ready for. or maybe not ever. and i’m not trying to reopen anything that hurts you.”

you sit up a little, brows creasing. “caleb—”

“just let me say this,” he breathes, and your chest tightens at the softness in his tone. “please.”

you nod, slowly, his hand stills, “i’ve been thinking a lot,” he says. “about what it really means. having a child. being a parent. and i realized something.”

he finally looks at you, and the look in his eyes makes your throat ache, “it’s not about the bloodline. it’s not about who they look like, or where...who, they come from, or what they inherit.”

his voice cracks, just a little, “it’s about what you give them. how you raise them. how you show up, every single day, even when it’s hard. even when it hurts. i think… i think one of the highest forms of love is deciding to raise a child together. to choose them. to choose to build something bigger than the two of us.”

your eyes sting, he swallows, jaw tight, but his hand comes to rest over yours.

“so if you ever… if you ever wanted to talk about adoption someday. not now. just—someday. i’d want that. with you.”

you stare at him, too full of something to speak, and his thumb rubs slow, steady circles over your knuckles, “because i don’t need you to give me a baby,” he whispers. “i just want us to give love to someone who needs it. that’s all i’ve ever wanted—with you.”

you’re crying now because he asked you to, because he didn’t, because he offered you something bigger than blood, he offered you choice, you lean forward, burying yourself in his chest, arms tight around his ribs, he holds you like it’s a promise and somehow, without pressure, without a timeline, you feel the fear loosen — just a little.

because you might not know what your body can give, but you know what your love can.

bonus:

the walls are pale green, trimmed in soft cream. sunlight spills through the sheer curtains and onto the little rug shaped like a leaf. there’s a shelf lined with storybooks, a small basket full of stuffed animals, a wooden mobile above the crib spinning slowly in the quiet.

you crouch near the doorway, hand outstretched, “this is your room, sweet pea.”

she waddles in with both hands gripping a plush plane (courtesy of caleb) twice the size of her face, her chubby legs stumbling a little over the rug before regaining balance. her pigtails are wild from the car ride, her shirt bunched slightly at the side from being carried in caleb’s arms. she’s two, but small for her age — full cheeks, button nose, eyes wide as they scan the newness around her.

“’s my bed?” she asks, looking up at you, and your heart catches in your throat. you nod, “yes, baby. this one’s all yours.”

caleb steps into the room behind her, one hand resting gently on your shoulder. he says nothing, just watches with that same soft look he’s worn since the moment they placed her in your arms. like he still can’t believe it. like this little person is made of starstuff.

your daughter toddles forward and presses her palms against the edge of the mattress.

“it’s soft,” she declares, “we made sure of it,” you say, brushing hair back from her temple. “caleb tested it himself.”

she gasps — the dramatic kind toddlers are so good at — and spins toward him, pointing. “dada, you sleep in baby bed?”

caleb crouches, smiling wide. “i gave it a try. didn’t fit.”

she giggles. loud and bright and perfect.

then she climbs in without asking, curls settling into the pillow like she was always meant to be there.

your chest swells, your throat aches, caleb’s hand slides into yours again, grounding.

“we did it,” you whisper, he nods, gaze still fixed on her, “we really did.”

she flops onto her side and hugs the plush close, little eyes blinking up at both of you, “mama, dada” she murmurs, like it’s the most normal thing in the world.

as you watch her eyes, caleb kisses your temple— reverently, and laughs gently against your hair.

“i love you. thank you for compromising.”

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velaenam · 2 months ago

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may the 4th be with u my star wars friends imagine jedi master!caleb or sith lord!caleb x reader….. ouuuuu

#lads #love and deepspace #loveanddeepspace #caleb lads #lads caleb #lnds caleb #caleb x reader

52 notes · View notes

velaenam · 2 months ago

Text

𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. you said you were happy with your boyfriend ,then caleb came home, and now his mouth is on your neck. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – NSFW (18+!!) dirty...nasty!!! RAW!! smut!!!, smut w/ alcohol (dubcon), reader cheating on bf w/ LI, caleb is the other man, swearing, mature languages, sexual themes, riding, creampie,raw doggy blah blah, p to v, internal conflict from reader 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 – not proofread. THIS HAS EXHAUSTED ME. THIS WAS SUPPOSED TO BE 1 POST BUT TUMBLR HATES ME. ENJOY THIS PURE SMUT CHAPTER. ITS FILTHY. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 2 of idk ! previous chapter / next chapter — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

you unlock the front door with one hand, your work bag sliding off your shoulder as you step into the apartment. the lights are low—too low. it’s quiet. unusually quiet.

you frown, closing the door behind you. “adrien?”

no answer.

you toe off your shoes, drop your keys into the tray by the door. the living room is dark except for the faint flicker of candlelight—just a few, scattered along the edge of the table, casting gold shadows up the wall.

your pulse stirs uneasily. “hello?”

and then—

“surprise!”

the lights flick on all at once, flooding the room in warm brightness. a chorus of voices greets you—familiar, loud, laughing. confetti bursts from somewhere near the kitchen. m.c. is already walking toward you, glass in hand, eyes glittering with mischief.

you freeze.

adrien’s behind her, beaming. “you didn’t think we’d let your mood go unchecked forever, did you?”

nero lifts a drink in your direction. “you’re officially too hot and too successful to be sad.”

tara’s already shoving a sparkly cocktail into your hand. “drink first, process later.”

m.c. pulls you into a hug before you can even reply. “we love you. you don’t have to be okay all the time. just… be here with us tonight, yeah?”

your chest tightens, too full to speak.

adrien’s at your side next, one hand at the small of your back, steady, warm. “you deserve something good,” he murmurs against your ear. “and if it has to be flaming alcohol and obnoxious friends—so be it.”

you manage a breathless smile, looking around the room at the faces that have never left you. the table is piled with food. the playlist is perfect. candles line the corners like constellations.

and then, from the kitchen— you see him. caleb.

leaning against the counter with a glass in hand, that same quiet posture, dressed in black, eyes already on you.

your breath catches. adrien leans in again, oblivious. “and we even got your favorite drink. imported.”

you blink slowly. flamefruit. you don’t even like this shit.

it burns going down, but it’s sweet after. you don’t say a word. you just step into the party.

and pretend your world hasn’t tilted just a little further off its axis.

the night unravels in a blur of glittering glasses and warm laughter. someone plays music too loud. someone opens the flamefruit and starts to drink it with no chasers. nero starts an impromptu drinking game that ends with m.c. and tara collapsed on the couch, wheezing laughter into the same throw pillow. xavier serenades the hallway mirror.

adrien’s glowing—arm around you, beaming, flushed with joy and wine. he’s so happy, so in love, and for a while, you let yourself drift in it.

until you’re not sure how you ended up here.

the house is quieter now, softer around the edges. your hand’s still wrapped around a half-empty glass, fingers a little clumsy. the hall light is off, but the door to adrien’s study is cracked open, the faint blue glow of one of his digital screens still pulsing gently inside.

you don’t mean to walk in.

you just… drift.

the door creaks a little as you push it open.

and there it is.

his desk.

clean, meticulous. dark wood polished smooth. the faint scent of his cologne lingers in the air—cedar and something more expensive beneath. his tablet is powered down, his stylus perfectly aligned. everything where it should be. orderly. safe.

you stare at it.

tipsy and slow, heart pounding harder than it should.

this is where he works. where he plans the future you’re supposed to build together. where he makes decisions about cities, people, the empire of his name—and you.

this is where he probably looked up engagement rings.

you lower your glass onto the edge of the desk.

and for a long moment, you just stand there.

like you’re waiting for something to make sense.

behind you, a soft shuffle. then a familiar voice, low and wrecked with restraint.

“you shouldn’t be in here.”

you turn.

caleb is leaning in the doorway, shirt half-untucked, eyes glassy but still clear enough to pin you in place.

he steps inside, slow. controlled.

but you can feel it—how close the edge really is.

his eyes flick to the glass you left on the desk, then back to you. he shuts the door behind him without a sound.

“funny,” he murmurs, voice low, thick with smoke and wine. “of all the rooms in this perfect little house… you ended up in his.”

you swallow.

he walks toward you, slow and deliberate, every movement soaked in intention. not touching—but close enough that your breath trembles.

“you staring at his chair for a reason?” he asks, one brow lifted, eyes never leaving yours. “planning your future in his office? wondering how it feels to sit in the middle of all that power?”

you don��t answer.

you can’t.

he leans just slightly, one hand bracing on the edge of the desk beside you. his voice drops further. “or maybe you came in here looking for something you weren’t ready to admit.”

his gaze drags down—over your mouth, your throat, the way your hands are clenched into the fabric of your dress. “you’re flushed.”

“flamefruit,” you manage.

he smirks. “sure.”

you can feel the heat rolling off him, the quiet weight of his want simmering just beneath the surface. he brings his mouth close—not touching—but you can feel the shape of his words against your skin.

“you know what the worst part is?” he says, soft and dangerous. “i’ve been good. so good. standing across from you all night pretending i don’t remember what you sound like when you moan.”

your breath stutters. your fingers tighten on the desk behind you.

“but i do,” he says. “and you do too. don’t you?”

he’s so close you can smell him—warm skin and faint sweat and the ghost of something expensive and sharp.

he shifts, gaze catching on the edge of your lip, the column of your throat. “he built this room for control,” he murmurs. “and here you are—shaking in it.”

he shifts behind you, the room warm with breath and liquor and history. the desk presses into your hips, polished wood slick under your palms. his chest is at your back now, broad and solid, his body boxing you in like you were meant to belong here—like he was.

you don’t remember when he touched you.

hes got you bent over the desk your boyfriend so religiously used as his safe haven of when he’d cower against his many business modules. his fingers digging into your side— his breathing tickling your ear like music unable to dissipate from your heart. his other hand caressing the slip of your skirt as he pulls you closer with his manipulation.

“tell me to stop.” a pause

caleb’s hand slides down, caressing the hem of your skirt. dragging it higher this time, pulling you closer with a kind of practiced cruelty that makes your chest squeeze and your knees shake.

his lips barely graze your ear. his voice breaks the silence like a blade sheathed in silk.

“tell me to stop.”

again.

his fingers don’t wait long.

they slip under the hem of your skirt, slow at first, teasing the edge of your thigh like he’s testing just how far you’ll let him go. his breath stays hot at your ear, but his mouth doesn’t move now—he’s waiting. watching.

you should say something.

his hand traces upward, palm dragging across your skin until his fingers find the edge of your panties. they rest there for half a second, still—like he’s giving you one final chance to pull away.

you don’t move.

and so he continues.

his fingertips slide under the delicate fabric, brushing soft and purposeful. a quiet, devastating stroke that makes your whole body lock against the desk, your moan veiled in secrecy. you felt his fingers go in between your folds, suddenly so slick and coated. it’s not rushed. it’s not rough. it’s just intentional—every movement designed to make you feel like you’re unraveling one nerve at a time.

his other hand stays firm on your waist, fingers curled tight into your side like he’s anchoring himself to the moment, or maybe to you. your breath stutters—sharp and trembling—and he exhales low, almost a growl.

“you’re already soaked,” he mutters, voice rough now, mouth dragging along your temple. “and i haven’t even kissed you yet.”

he presses in closer, hips against the back of your skirt, hand still working slow, measured strokes. there’s no rush. no hesitation.

just him—and the way he’s studying your every reaction like a man starved.

his fingers never stop.

they move in slow, devastating circles beneath the fabric, dragging slick heat through your nerves until your breath is shaking and your hands are gripping the desk like it’s the only thing tethering you to this world.

then he shifts.

his palm flattens against your hip, fingers curling under the band of your panties—not just touching now, but claiming. he drags the fabric down with maddening slowness, inch by inch, until it slips past the swell of your thighs and falls loose around your knees.

his other hand moves with him—hooking into the hem of your skirt and sliding it higher, up over your hips, over the arch of your lower back, until you feel the cool air hit bare skin and realize—

you’re completely exposed to him— and he’s right there.

you feel him before you see him—dick hard and straining against the fabric of his pants, pressing against the curve of your ass like gravity’s pulling him toward you. not grinding. not rushing.

just there.

thick heat and tension and everything unsaid, resting at the very edge of control.

his breath comes harder now, his chest rising behind you, and the hand that had steadied your waist slips forward—bold and possessive, curling around your front, groping you with an ache that borders on reverence.

he leans down, lips brushing the curve of your shoulder.

“still want me to stop?” he whispers, rough and hungry.

your knees nearly give out.

you don’t answer him—not with words.

instead, your hips shift back, slow and intentional, pressing into the hard line of him behind you.

the sound he makes is low and guttural—half groan, half curse—and it hits you like a spark behind your ribs. his hand tightens on your waist. you feel him falter for the first time, breath catching as he presses in harder, the fabric of his pants rough against your skin.

his fingers fumble at his waistband, sharp and uncoordinated with urgency. you hear the soft drag of his zipper, the hitch in his breath as he frees himself—and then his body finds yours again, the heat of him suddenly there, bare, dragging across your skin. you didn’t have to see how big he was. his thickness laid on your bare ass cheek.

he doesn’t push in though— not yet.

he shifts his hips, letting his tip glide over you in slow, devastating passes, teasing, testing—coaxing your body into submission without force.

his voice is gravel against your ear. “you’re not going to say it, huh?” his breath hits your neck, lips hovering. “you’re not going to tell me to stop.”

another slow roll of his hips, the pressure sending your breath spiraling.

“then i’m going to take what’s mine,” he murmurs. “slow. deep. until you remember who made you feel this way first.”

you clutch the desk tighter, legs trembling.

he grinds the head of himself along the ache of you again—so close now, so slow, and still not in.

his mouth finds the shell of your ear again. “you’re not leaving this room the same.”

your breath hitches—and then you move.

slow, deliberate, trembling with want.

you push your hips back into him, grinding against the thick weight of him until he slips past the edge, forcing him inside in one sudden, desperate motion.

he gasps—loud, raw—and his hands seize your hips like he’s about to lose his grip on reality. his body stiffens behind you, forehead dropping to your shoulder, a strained, broken sound escaping his throat.

“fuck—” he hisses, voice strained and wrecked.

you feel it—the way he fills you, the way your body welcomes him like it was always meant to. heat, stretch, pressure, home. it’s dizzying. dangerous. you were stunned by how fat his dick was. how thick it felt, how long it was. you grasped at air, gripping the desk for dear life.

his fingers dig into your skin as he tries to steady himself, tries to hold back.

“you—” his voice cracks. “you can’t just—do that.”

but he doesn’t move away, he sinks a little deeper instead.

his breath comes hot and heavy against your neck, jaw clenched, every inch of him trembling with restraint. “almost came just now,” he mutters, teeth grazing your skin. “fuck.”

you bite your lip to keep quiet, to keep still.

but he feels it—all of it.

“you’re going to ruin me,” he growls.

his hips twitch, his control slips, and everything spirals tighter.

his hands are still trembling. you can feel it—in the way he grips your hips, the way his fingers flex like he’s barely holding himself back from slamming into you, from giving in completely.

his breath is ragged against your neck, body trembling with the need to move.

but he waits. he pulls back—just an inch—then slides forward again, slower this time, letting you feel every deliberate, overwhelming inch of him as he buries himself deeper.

you gasp. and that sound—it shatters something in him.

his mouth finds the curve of your shoulder, voice rough and breathless.

“you belong to me.”

he thrusts again, deeper, harder. your knees buckle.

“say it,” he growls, voice sharp at the edges, like he’s not asking. “say it, or i’ll keep fucking you like this until you do.”

your head spins. his rhythm builds—steady, consuming, every thrust dragging a broken sound from your throat.

he grips your waist tighter, pulling you back into him like he can’t get close enough, like the desk between you and the world is the only thing keeping this from setting the room on fire.

“look at you,” he breathes. “being a mess for me already.”

his hand moves, sliding down between your thighs, his touch precise, ruthless, loving. your body jerks.

“you’re so good—” he groans, teeth gritting. “so good taking my dick so easily. like your body was made for me.”

your name breaks off his tongue like a prayer and a curse in one. he leans in closer, one hand tangled in your hair, voice dropping to a snarl.

“he can’t fuck you like i can. you know that. you feel that.”

your nails dig into the wood. he moves faster now, chasing the edge you’re both hurtling toward.

but even through the pleasure—every broken breath, every soaked heartbeat—you feel the weight of something else beneath it.

not just lust, claim, history. and the fear that maybe this has never stopped being love.

you don’t mean to say it.

but it slips out—cracked, breathless, soaked in surrender.

“caleb…”

his name breaks from your lips like it’s always been meant for him—like you’ve spent years holding it back, and now it rushes out too fast, too full.

and it snaps something in him.

he growls—deep and low in his chest—before pulling out suddenly and grabbing your waist with both hands. you gasp, too stunned to move, but he’s already turning you, spinning you to face him.

your back hits the desk with a thud, papers scattering, your breath catching in your throat. he shoves everything aside—your glass, a stylus, notes you never read—and lifts you onto the edge like you weigh nothing.

“wrap your legs around me,” he orders, voice wrecked.

you do it without thinking, locking your ankles behind his back as he yanks your hips flush to his.

he’s bare, flushed, violet pupils blown wide with need—but even through the haze of desire, there’s something fierce, almost angry in his expression.

he thrusts into you again, deeper this time—deliberate, unforgiving.

you cry out—his name again, half-formed.

his hand curls under your chin, forcing your gaze up, holding your face steady with startling tenderness.

“you’re going to look at me when you cum for me,” he growls. “no more hiding. no more pretending.”

his hips drive into you hard, and your body responds without permission—arching, clinging, unraveling.

“say my name again,” he demands, panting his hands gripping your face steadily, but still lovingly— gently, “i want to hear you fall apart on it.”

you try to hold on. but you can’t. you cry out his name. because it’s him. and, you’ve always belonged to him.

he leans in, chest flush to yours, catching your mouth in a kiss that’s all tongue and breath and hunger. it’s messy—raw, unrestrained—his lips crashing against yours as he moves inside you, relentless, each thrust harder than the last.

the desk groans beneath the force of it—wood scraping slightly across the floor, your spine arched back, legs wrapped tighter around him just to keep from sliding off. your arms tangle around his neck, holding him there, holding yourself together.

his mouth drags down your jaw, to your throat, to the hollow beneath your ear. each word is a shudder, a growl, a confession you were never supposed to hear.

“you feel so fucking good,” he pants with each thrust, “tight around me—perfect.”

your fingers dig into his shoulders, nails scraping over fabric, skin, anything to hold onto.

“i should’ve never let anyone else touch you,” he whispers, breath hot and broken. “this—this is mine. you’re mine.”

his hips slam forward again and again, dragging you closer to the edge. the wet sound of your bodies moving, the ragged slap of skin on skin, fills the room.

“you like this, don’t you?” he murmurs, filthy and soft at your ear. “being ruined in his office. bent over his desk while i make you fall apart.”

you whimper, his name escaping again, and he swallows it in a kiss.

“i want to fill you up,” he groans, losing rhythm for a second as he pulses deep inside. “want you dripping with me—full of me—so you remember every time you look at him who you let inside you first.”

your body trembles—so close, so close—

and caleb feels it. he knows.

“you’re gonna cum for me, baby,” he rasps, forehead pressed to yours. “you’re gonna look me in the eyes and fucking break.”

he feels the way your body’s tightening around him—trembling, too close to hold on. your legs clench tighter around his waist, breath ragged against his neck.

but caleb isn’t done with you—not even close.

he breaks the kiss, breath wrecked, and growls, “legs up.”

you barely have time to react before he unhooks your ankles from behind him, lifting your thighs with both hands, folding your knees up toward your chest. he shifts his grip again—one arm looping beneath your thighs, the other bracing you steady—and with a sharp inhale, he pushes your legs up, resting them over his shoulders.

the new angle hits deeper—sharper. you cry out, a soft, helpless mewl slipping from your mouth before you can even think.

he grins—wild, wrecked, proud. “that’s the sound i wanted.”

his thrusts grow sharper, precise—his hips rolling just right, his movements aimed perfectly at that one spot that makes your vision blur.

“this what you like?” he rasps, teeth gritted, sweat beading at his brow. “right there, huh?”

you nod frantically, your hands clawing for the edge of the desk again, hips jerking up to meet him, but he presses you down.

literally.

his palm slides to your lower abdomen, applying steady, firm pressure—just enough to intensify every thrust, every ripple of sensation spreading through your core.

your moan shatters into fragments, your whole body arching off the desk.

he leans forward—folding you tighter, his chest pressing your knees nearly to your chest, eyes locked on your wrecked expression.

“look at you,” he growls. “moaning like you were made for me.”

he thrusts harder, the desk creaking beneath the strain, your name falling from his lips like it’s sacred.

“gonna keep fucking you like this—until you scream.”

and god, you’re close.. so close, and he knows it—and he’s not letting up. not until you break.

you can’t breathe—can’t think.

your body’s a live wire under his hands—hips pinned, legs trembling where they’re draped over his shoulders, the pressure of his palm pressing down on your lower belly keeping every thrust deep, hard, devastating.

your voice breaks into choked whimpers, high and helpless. he groans, hips stuttering. “you’re so fucking tight—so perfect—”

your hands reach for him, any part of him—his arm, his chest, his name tumbling from your lips in gasps.

and then it hits. you clamp around him, the wave crashing over your body with dizzying force, your thighs shaking, a sharp cry leaving your mouth before you can bite it back.

caleb curses—his grip tightening, a deep moan ripped from his chest as your walls pull him deeper, tighter, desperate.

“fuckfuck, baby—” his pace falls apart as he drives in one last time, buried to the hilt, his hips grinding against yours as he spills into you with a guttural, broken sound.

his whole body shudders. he holds you through it—still inside, still pressed deep, his hand moving to cradle the back of your head as you tremble in his arms.

your breathing is sharp. ragged.

his lips ghost your cheek, your jaw, your temple.

he doesn’t say anything.

you both stay like that—tangled, breathless, pressed together like gravity won’t let you go.

his forehead rests against yours, still panting. your hands are curled against his chest, his heartbeat racing beneath your palm. you can feel every twitch of him inside you, every aftershock still rippling through your limbs.

the room is too quiet now. too still.

and yet, neither of you moves.

his hand strokes your thigh absently, almost without thinking, like he’s trying to memorize the way your skin feels beneath his fingertips. his eyes are still closed, his face close enough that you can see the lashes trembling slightly.

“fuck,” he breathes, like the air finally found him again. “i’ve wanted that for so long.”

you don’t answer.

you’re still trying to remember how to breathe.

he finally pulls back just enough to look at you—his expression soft, unreadable. not proud. not smug. just full.

then he slides out of you, slow and careful, and you both wince at the loss.

you shift on the desk, dizzy and sore, the weight of what just happened settling in your bones.

his cum is already starting to drip down your thigh.

you reach for the edge of the desk to steady yourself, cheeks flushed, lips parted.

he grabs a tissue from adrien’s desk drawer, silent, gentle, like the spell hasn’t broken yet—but the guilt is creeping under your skin, cold and steady.

you try to speak. fail.

he beats you to it.

“i shouldn’t have let it go that far,” he says, voice barely above a whisper. “but god… i don’t regret it.”

you stare at the floor.

he reaches for your face, thumb brushing your jaw. “i know what this means. i know what we just did.”

you shake your head, voice thin. “i don’t know what to do.”

he leans closer, his voice rough and raw. “you don’t have to decide tonight.”

and you believe him. but when he kisses you—slow, tender—you taste everything that might still ruin you and for once you felt like this was right.

by the time you both manage to stand, everything feels too quiet.

your legs are unsteady, your heart still hammering with something that isn’t quite fear but sits awfully close to it.

caleb’s already moving—methodical, focused. he helps you off the desk, steady hands at your waist, his eyes meeting yours only briefly before he turns and starts fixing the room.

no words.

just motion.

you smooth your skirt back down, tug your blouse into place, fingers trembling slightly as you reach for your glass and wipe down the desk with a tissue—careful, thorough, like you can erase what just happened if you clean hard enough.

he buttons his shirt.

you both work in practiced silence.

within minutes, the study looks untouched.

like sin was never written across its surface.

he gives you one last look—checking, steady—and opens the door.

the living room is dim.

music is still pulsing low from a speaker in the corner, looping the same half-finished playlist. soft, woozy synths floating above the mess. but no one stirs.

m.c. is curled on the couch, one leg hanging off the armrest, her drink tilted dangerously sideways on the floor.

xavier is face-down on the rug, half-wrapped in a throw blanket he must’ve pulled off someone else. tara is sitting upright in a chair, completely asleep, sunglasses still on.

adrien is nowhere to be seen.

your breath catches for a second—until you spot him curled on the balcony chaise under a throw, sleeping soundly, one arm over his chest.

they didn’t hear anything.

the music saw to that.

you and caleb exchange one look.

he moves first, walking to the couch and gently adjusting the blanket over m.c., then grabbing a few more from the closet. you follow, helping without speaking, draping warmth over your friends as your stomach twists with guilt and something crueler—longing.

when the last glass is cleared and the last body covered, you both stand in the quiet, hands brushing briefly over a folded blanket.

you don’t look at him.

and he doesn’t say your name.

but the silence says enough.

the sun creeps through the windows slowly, painting long golden lines across the floor. it’s quiet, soft—the kind of stillness that only comes after a night that’s gone too far.

you’re in the kitchen.

the smell of coffee fills the air, rich and bitter and grounding. bacon sizzles low in the pan. there’s a bowl of chopped fruit beside the stove, a pile of toast cooling on a plate, and two half-empty mugs tucked off to the side of the counter. the hum of the kettle clicks off in the background.

you’re barefoot. hair tied back. wearing one of adrien’s oversized shirts.

but it’s caleb beside you.

sleeves rolled. expression calm. slicing tomatoes with methodical precision, like his hands aren’t still remembering the feel of you from hours ago.

neither of you speaks at first.

not about that.

you just move around each other easily—reaching, passing, flipping, tasting. like you’ve done this a thousand times. like it doesn’t mean something different now.

he glances at you once, quietly, while you stir eggs in a skillet. his mouth quirks faintly.

“you’re a good cook,” he murmurs.

you don’t look up. “you say that every time.”

“and every time, i mean it.”

you feel the warmth of his eyes before you hear footsteps.

m.c.’s voice croaks from down the hall. “someone making bacon or am i dreaming again?”

“real bacon,” you call out.

“thank fuck,” she mumbles, disappearing into the bathroom.

soon, the others begin to stir. tara dragging her blanket into the kitchen like a cape. nero groaning against the hallway wall. xavier looking like he just rose from a battlefield. adrien appears last, cheeks creased from sleep, smile lazy and soft as he walks up behind you and kisses your cheek.

“you’re incredible,” he murmurs, wrapping his arms around your waist. “and you made coffee? i’m marrying you.”

you laugh. but your eyes flick—just for a second—to caleb. he’s watching.

expression unreadable. but you feel it again—that hum under your skin. the memory of being pinned to a desk, his mouth on your ear, the way he said you’re mine.

you flip the eggs. adrien pours mimosas. the kitchen fills with warmth and laughter.

and no one knows a single thing.

the day drifts on in slow, lazy waves—plates passed around, hangovers soothed with fresh juice and greasy food, sunlight stretching over the living room like a warm hand. the worst of the mess has been cleared, though a few cups still linger in odd corners. someone plays music low from their phone. there’s laughter, mumbled teasing, even a few half-hearted recaps of the night before.

you stay close to adrien, answering softly when he pulls you into the conversation. he kisses your temple between bites. calls you baby like it’s second nature.

and you smile. you smile through it all.

but when everyone starts gravitating outside—m.c. corralling the group toward the backyard garden, tara demanding to feel the sun on her “hungover soul”—you stay behind to rinse a few dishes in the sink.

the back door clicks softly behind them. and then you hear it.

footsteps. he doesn’t speak right away.

he just comes to stand beside you at the sink, close but not touching, the sound of water and wind the only thing between you.

you don’t look at him. not until his voice comes, soft and edged.

“you were going to come back to me last night.” you don’t answer.

his hand doesn’t touch yours—but his knuckles brush your wrist.

you inhale—shallow, “but you didn’t,” he says quietly. “you went back to him.”

you finally look up. his gaze is steady, searching. not angry, not pleading, just… full.

“did it mean nothing to you?” he asks.

your chest tightens. “it meant everything.”

his jaw flexes.

you glance toward the door. “we can’t do this again.”

his voice drops. “you’re right.”

but neither of you moves. neither of you steps back.

you just stand there, in the stillness of your shared silence, with your hands in a sink full of warm water, the smell of breakfast still clinging to the air, and the weight of your mistake sitting quietly between you like it never left.

but was it really a mistake? didn’t feel like it.

your breath stutters as his body crowds you in—slow, unassuming—until your back presses gently against the counter’s edge, the warm water dripping quietly behind you, forgotten.

his hands don’t touch you yet.

but his voice does.

“i can make you cum in five minutes.”

your eyes widen—your breath catches.

his mouth tips into something between a smirk and a promise.

you press a hand to his chest. “caleb—no. we can’t.”

his hand catches your wrist—not rough, just steady—and holds it there against him, like a reminder of what’s already happened. his heart thumps fast under your palm.

“they’re outside,” he says, voice like silk dragged through embers. “they won’t hear a thing.”

you shake your head, pulse rushing in your ears. “we’re going to get caught. you want me moaning your name with adrien right there?”

his gaze darkens. “i absolutely do.”

you glare at him. “i’m serious.”

he leans in, mouth brushing your ear.

“so am i.”

his hand slides slowly to your hip, thumb dragging over the waistband of your shorts like he’s testing you. your body responds instantly—tense, flushed, already leaning into him like gravity’s doing the deciding for you.

“you think i can’t do it?” he murmurs. “five minutes. no one notices you’re gone.”

your breath shakes.

you glance at the door again, heart climbing into your throat. voices drift in from the garden—laughing, harmless.

he presses just a little closer. “you’re still wet for me. don’t pretend you’re not.”

your knees almost give out.

but your voice—small, trembling—still rises. “i can’t. not here. not again.”

he doesn’t wait for a reply, just walks to the back door, pauses for half a second, then slips outside with the rest of them—like nothing ever happened.

you stay frozen by the sink, heart thudding so loud you swear it might give you away.

the rest of the week slips by like nothing ever happened.

the apartment is clean. your schedule’s full. adrien brings you coffee every morning and kisses your forehead before he leaves for meetings. m.c. texts you memes. tara sends a video of xavier sleepwalking into the pantry. everything is fine.

it’s almost convincing.

except your phone won’t stop lighting up.

he waits until you’re at work, or just getting out of the shower. late at night when adrien is brushing his teeth. early in the morning, before you’ve had a chance to open your eyes properly.

it starts simple.

a message:

caleb: still thinking about the way you sounded on that desk.

then another:

caleb: wanna bet i could do it again? in less than five minutes this time?

and then the photos.

not filthy….not at first— just enough to ruin you.

a shot of his hand resting low on his abdomen, waistband of his joggers pulled just enough to show the line of muscle beneath. a mirror selfie, sweat-slick from training, shirt lifted and eyes locked on the camera like he’s daring you to respond.

you don’t….not always.

but sometimes… you stare too long.

it starts with the silence.

adrien’s been gone for three days—some urgent expansion deal in the outer prospects, a week of meetings, press, closed doors. he calls you when he can, always kind, always sweet. but the time zones are wide, and your bed is too big without him.

and your thoughts?

dangerous.

you try to distract yourself—wine, long baths, old telenovellas you used to love—but nothing dulls it. not the ache. not the tension. not the memory of being spread open across a desk with caleb whispering filth against your throat.

so you call him. not with a plan. not even with words.

just the need humming between your legs and his name sitting too heavy on your tongue.

he picks up on the second ring.

“i was wondering how long it’d take,” he says, voice thick, already low.

you don’t answer. just breathe. that’s all it takes.

“you alone?” he asks, soft, coaxing.

you nod, then remember. “yes.”

a pause, then, “want me to come over?”

you bite your lip. “no.”

his chuckle is quiet, warm, infuriating. “why not?”

“because,” you say, voice thin, “if you’re here, i won’t stop you.”

another pause, longer this time.

his voice drops into something rough, reverent. “then what do you want from me, baby?”

your breath trembles, “talk to me.”

he exhales, slow. “you touching yourself?”

you press your thighs together, pulse fluttering. “not yet.”

“good,” he murmurs. “because i want to tell you exactly how to do it.”

you close your eyes.

his voice fills your ear like silk over flame.

“you’re going to slide your hand down, real slow. just your fingertips. pretend it’s mine. you remember how it felt, don’t you?”

you nod, already falling under, his words wrap around you like heat, like a grip you never escaped in the first place.

and even though he’s not here—you feel like you’re his again.

“you remember how it felt, don’t you?”

his voice curls in your ear, velvet and heat.

you nod again, barely breathing, your other hand clutching the edge of the bed.

“yes.”

“tell me,” he says, low. commanding.

you swallow. “you were deep. i couldn’t think.”

he exhales, sharp and uneven, and you know exactly what kind of image that paints in his mind.

“good,” he says. “now lie back. open your legs for me.”

your body obeys before your voice can argue.

you slide down into the sheets, your bare thighs brushing the cool air, your fingers drifting slowly beneath your waistband—still unsure, still trembling.

“slow,” caleb murmurs. “pretend it’s my hand. my fingers.”

your breath catches as you touch yourself, soft and hesitant.

he hears it. groans, quiet and low.

“fuck, baby. that’s it. just like that.”

you close your eyes.

“are you wet for me already?” he asks, voice strained.

you nod. then remember, “yes.”

“yeah?” his voice shifts, darker now. “from just my voice?”

“yes—caleb.”

he groans your name back like it hurts him.

“rub yourself. slow circles. i want to hear what i do to you.”

you move, gently, following his rhythm. your breath stutters.

“that’s my good girl,” he whispers. “how fast are you moving?”

you gasp. “not fast. not—yet.”

“good. don’t rush. i want you aching.”

his voice stays steady even as his breathing picks up. you know he’s hard on the other end of the line, probably palming himself with the same patience he never showed when you were under him.

“picture me,” he says. “standing between your legs, mouth on your neck. my hands spreading you open.”

you whimper.

“you miss the way i fill you?” he growls.

“yes—”

“you want me to fuck you again?”

“caleb—” your voice breaks on it, thighs shaking.

“say it,” he demands.

“i want you to fuck me.”

“then you better cum for me first,” he hisses. “i want to hear it. i want you to fall apart with my name in your mouth.”

you gasp his name again, louder this time, as the edge creeps in fast.

he hears it. knows it.

“you’re close,” he breathes. “aren’t you?”

“yes—yes—”

“then let go. now. i’ve got you.”

you cry out—his name shattering off your lips—as the wave crests and crashes through you. your back arches. your hand trembles. everything pulses with that bright, sharp flood of release.

on the other end of the call, caleb groans—loud, raw, undone.

and then there’s silence.

heavy. intimate. both of you breathing.

you lie there, sheets tangled, sweat beading at your collarbone.

his voice returns, softer now.

“you still with me?”

“yeah,” you whisper.

“good.”

all of the sudden, you hear the line cut. your breath hitches, confusion seeping in.

you’re still catching your breath.

the sheets are twisted around your legs, your phone quiet now beside you, the screen gone dark. your fingers are trembling—still slick, still warm, still marked by his voice.

and then—

ding-dong.

you freeze.

your heart stutters in your chest.

the sound echoes through the apartment again, sharp and real.

you grab the edge of the bed, pull the sheets tight around your bare skin, breath caught somewhere between panic and disbelief.

your legs carry you to the door before your mind can catch up.

you check the cam.

your stomach flips.

it’s him.

he’s standing just outside the threshold, all dark clothes and darker eyes, hood up, head tilted like he knows exactly what he’s doing. like he’s not sorry.

you open the door a crack, voice thin. “caleb—what the hell are you doing?”

he looks at you, gaze steady. low and hungry.

“couldn’t help myself.”

“we already—” your voice falters. “the call—was enough.”

his eyes flick down your body, taking in the rumpled sheets draped around your figure. your skin still flushed. your thighs still trembling.

his voice is low, rough.

“you think i’m letting you finish without me?”

you grip the door, torn, heat rising again in your chest.

he leans in, close enough to feel his breath on your skin.

“open the door,” he murmurs. “or i’ll find another way in.”

your fingers loosen and the door swings wide.

the moment the door swings fully open, he steps inside—slow, unhurried, like he already owns the space. like he’s walked these floors in his mind a hundred times.

you take one step back—and that’s all he needs.

he grabs you by the waist, spinning you in one fluid motion until your back hits the wall with a soft thud. the sheets fall from your hands, forgotten, pooling at your feet. his body is on yours instantly, pressing you into the wall, mouth crashing down over yours.

it’s not a kiss. it’s claiming.

his hands roam everywhere at once—greedy, relentless—dragging over your waist, cupping your thighs, gripping your ass like he’s been dying to get his hands back on you.

you gasp against his mouth, and he drinks it in, biting down on your lower lip as he rolls his hips against you, slow and punishing. you’re already soaked again—he feels it, groans into your throat.

“you’re so fucking needy, i love it.” he growls, pulling back just enough to speak. “couldn’t even last a full week without falling apart for me.”

you don’t answer—can’t.

your head tilts back as his mouth moves down, teeth scraping against your collarbone, hands already pulling your legs up around his waist. he presses harder into you, his voice a low rasp against your skin.

“told you i’d finish the job.”

his hand slips between your thighs again, rough and certain, and you break against the wall—already breathless, already shaking.

and this time—you don’t even try to stop him.

your legs are already wrapped tight around his waist, his hands gripping your thighs with bruising force, and he’s already pushing his pants down just enough, lining himself up with a growl vibrating low in his chest.

“you’re dripping for me again,” he mutters, voice wrecked. “fuck, i didn’t even have to touch you.”

your only answer is a gasp—high and broken—when he thrusts into you in one hard, unrelenting motion.

the impact slams you back against the wall, your cry muffled by his mouth as he captures it in another bruising kiss.

his hips start a brutal rhythm—fast, deep, hungry—like he’s been starving for you since the moment he left. the slap of skin echoes in the hallway, raw and wet and reckless.

“this what you wanted?” he grits out. “me fucking you against his wall?”

your nails dig into his shoulders, your body helpless against the force of him. each thrust knocks the breath from your lungs. every word from his mouth cuts you wide open.

“say it,” he growls. “say you wanted this.”

you nod, sobbing out his name.

“louder.”

“yes—caleb—yes—”

his hand tangles in your hair, pulling your head back so he can watch your face.

“you’re mine when you come like this,” he snarls, pace brutal. “say it.”

“i’m—i’m yours—”

he slams into you harder, teeth bared.

“that’s right.”

his hand slides between you again, thumb finding the spot that makes your whole body jolt.

your walls start to flutter. he knows it.

and he chases it.

“cum on me,” he growls, voice like thunder. “right now—show me you belong to me.”

and with a choked cry, you fall—legs shaking, body collapsing against him as everything breaks apart in waves.

he follows seconds later with a deep, guttural groan, hips driving in hard as he spills inside you, buried to the hilt, fingers clutching your thighs like you’re the only thing keeping him from losing control completely.

your breath is still hitching in your throat when he pulls back—just enough to look at you, eyes dark, mouth parted, chest rising like he’s trying to steady a storm still raging under his skin.

but he’s not done.

not even close.

his hands shift, one sliding beneath your thighs to lift you—strong and certain—while the other braces your lower back. you gasp, legs trembling around him, but he carries you easily through the living room, the sounds of your bodies still echoing in your ears.

the couch catches you softly, and he’s already on you again.

he pushes you forward—slow, firm—until your chest meets the cushions, the cool fabric grounding and jarring against your flushed skin. his hands roam your back, trailing down your spine like he’s drawing a line only he gets to cross.

his voice is low, wrecked.

“ass up.”

you shiver.

you move, obeying—arms braced on the couch, back arched, body already anticipating him again even through the haze of your first release.

he groans behind you, the sound raw and almost reverent.

“fuck, look at you.”

you can feel the heat radiating off him, the way his hands slide over your hips with a grip that says mine, the way he tilts your hips just right—like he knows exactly how to break you open all over again.

his mouth dips low, breath hot against the small of your back.

“you asked for this the second you called me,” he growls, low and thick with need. “and now i’m going to make sure you don’t forget who really owns this body.”

you barely manage a breath before he pulls you back into him—and everything spins again.

he moves behind you with a hunger that’s no longer masked by charm or restraint. his grip on your hips tightens, thumbs pressing into your skin like he’s marking you, grounding himself in the way your body curves perfectly for him.

he leans in, chest over your back, mouth dragging along your shoulder, breath hot and uneven.

“just like that,” he growls. “back arched, head down. fuck, you look perfect like this.”

your fingers curl into the cushions as your breath catches again—already burning, already building. his rhythm is relentless, sharp, and possessive. each motion drives heat higher through your core, your body responding like it never forgot this exact cadence—like it was made for his hands, his hips, his voice.

“you feel that?” he murmurs, low and ragged. “how deep i am? no one else makes you this tight. no one else gets you this wet.”

you whimper, face buried in the fabric, and he groans—deep and guttural—at the sound.

“you gonna cum for me again?” he asks, one hand sliding forward to grip your waist, the other pressing low on your spine to keep you in place.

you nod, dizzy, already so close.

“no,” he growls, voice like fire against your ear. “use your words.”

“yes,” you gasp. “yes, caleb—”

“say it right.”

your whole body shakes.

“i’m gonna cum for you,” you sob, voice cracking.

he thrusts harder, chasing your rhythm, every breath a broken promise.

“that’s my girl,” he growls. “cum for me. let me hear you—don’t hold back.”

and you don’t. you break. you shatter.

your body trembles under him, your breath torn from your lungs, a cry ripped out of your throat that has only his name in it.

he curses—loud, filthy—his rhythm faltering as he slams into you one final time, hips jerking, teeth clenched, every muscle drawn tight as he follows you over the edge.

his hands stay on you even when it’s over, heavy and sure. grounding.

both of you collapse forward—chests heaving, skin slick, tangled in the ruin of what was never supposed to happen again.

but it did.

and the room is quiet now.

except for the sound of your hearts, still beating like they know this was never just lust.

the next day you’re at his house.

the sun filters through caleb’s floor-to-ceiling windows—soft gold over sleek metal, shadows painting his sheets like secrets.

you’re in his bed.

your legs straddle his hips, skin flushed and marked, your hands pressed to his chest to keep your balance as your body rocks in a slow, devastating rhythm.

his hands rest on your thighs, thumbs stroking upward, reverent, greedy. and your phone’s pressed to your ear.

adrien’s voice filters through the line, sweet and unsuspecting.

“i miss you already,” he says warmly. “i should be free by tomorrow night. maybe i’ll bring dinner, yeah?”

you clench around caleb. his jaw tightens. your breath stutters.

“yeah,” you whisper, voice trembling only slightly. “that sounds… perfect.”

caleb’s hands tighten on your hips. and then he thrusts upward—sharp, deliberate.

your free hand clutches the sheet behind him, trying to hold still, trying not to moan.

adrien keeps talking. something about logistics. his voice is a comfort and a blade at once.

you glance down—caleb’s staring up at you, eyes dark, mouth parted. he watches you ride him like it’s the only thing that matters, like the phone in your hand is a game he’s determined to win.

he leans up slightly, mouth brushing your collarbone, whispering into your skin:

“keep talking.”

you swallow hard, barely able to think.

adrien laughs on the other end. “you okay? you sound a little breathless.”

caleb thrusts again—deeper this time.

your nails dig into his chest.

you lie. softly. “just… cleaning… this stupid stain is stuck on the carpet.”

his smirk is vicious.

and underneath you, he moves again. because he knows exactly what he’s doing. and he knows— you’re not going to stop him.

you try to keep your voice steady, try to hold on to the thread of the conversation—adrien’s voice still warm, still so good on the other end of the line.

but caleb’s hands tighten around your hips.

and then he starts moving— faster. deeper.

his rhythm shifts from teasing to deliberate force, every upward thrust punching the air from your lungs, your thighs trembling where they straddle him.

you slap a hand over your mouth to stifle the gasp that breaks free.

caleb growls beneath you, low and dangerous, eyes locked on yours. “don’t you dare stop talking.”

your body bucks, your hand still gripping the phone tight against your ear as adrien’s voice continues, oblivious. something about flight delays. dinner reservations. your future.

but all you can hear is caleb’s breathing. all you can feel is him, inside you—every push driving you higher, rough and precise.

your eyes flutter. your head tilts back. your vision fogs.

caleb sits up slightly, chest brushing yours, his mouth ghosting your jaw.

“eyes on me,” he murmurs. “or roll them back. i want to see how far gone you are while you lie to him.”

your eyes snap open. then roll back.

your whole body shudders, and caleb groans, fingers digging harder into your hips to keep you from falling forward. you barely remember the phone still in your hand.

adrien’s voice rises, concerned. “hey, baby? you there?” you choke out, breathless, “yeah. sorry. dropped something.”

“you sound kind of off,” he says gently.

caleb’s voice slides against your neck, a ghost of laughter and filth.

“tell him you’re busy.”

your lips part.

adrien’s voice flickers with gentle concern through the phone, just as caleb’s hips snap up again, hard and deep, dragging a strangled whimper from your throat.

“you okay? seriously. you sound—off.”

you scramble for words, breathless, legs shaking.

“i—” you gasp, voice catching, “i just stubbed my toe.”

a pause on the other end, “what?”

“yeah,” you breathe out, clinging to the lie like a lifeline. “was moving the mop around… hit the leg of the table.”

caleb bites down on your shoulder, grinning against your skin like the devil himself.

“damn,” adrien laughs gently, unaware. “don’t hurt yourself trying to keep the place spotless. i’ll be back soon, okay?”

your nails dig into caleb’s shoulder, your eyes fluttering shut.

“yeah,” you whisper, “soon.”

“love you.”

you barely get it out. “love you too.”

and then the line goes dead. you drop the phone.

caleb’s hands catch your thighs, slamming you down onto him harder, deeper, a broken growl torn from his throat.

“stubbed your toe?” he mocks, voice dripping heat and pride. “you’re about to scream.”

your body jerks. your control snaps, and you cum, all for him— yet again.

your body’s still trembling when he finally stills beneath you, his arms wrapping around your waist as your chest heaves, slick with sweat and silence.

your legs have no strength left—they’re draped over his thighs like silk, your forehead resting against his shoulder, eyes closed, mouth parted as you try to catch your breath.

his hands roam slow over your back, grounding you.

neither of you speaks for a long while.

you can still feel it—him inside you, softening, warm, the echo of him burned into every inch of your skin. and despite everything—despite what you’ve done—you don’t move.

you can’t.

his voice breaks the silence, soft and hoarse, barely louder than your own heartbeat.

“i love you.” you freeze.

your breath catches. he doesn’t pull away, just tightens his arms around you.

“i’ve always loved you,” he murmurs. “even when we met. even when i told myself i missed my chance. even when i watched you fall in love with someone else.”

your throat tightens. he leans in, his mouth brushing your temple.

“and i know you love me too.”

you don’t say anything— you don’t have to.

because your silence isn’t denial, it’s the sound of everything breaking.

he feels it in your hands, curled around his chest. in the way your head rests against him a little heavier now. in the way your breath catches, quiet, like a sob you won’t let loose. he doesn’t push. he just holds you there—on his lap, in his arms, like maybe this time you won’t disappear when the sun comes up.

but you do.

you’re home before the sun has even begun to dip.

adrien’s still gone, somewhere between meetings and cocktail hours, his voice soft and golden over the last call he left you: can’t wait to be home, can’t wait to see you, miss you.

and now the house is spotless.

every surface wiped clean. fresh sheets on the bed. laundry folded and pressed. the subtle scent of citrus polish clings to your hands. the floorboards shine in the afternoon light like you never tracked sin across them barefoot hours earlier.

you’re barefoot now too.

a soft tee and shorts cling to your freshly showered skin, hair still damp, skin still flushed in places he didn’t touch—but left burning anyway.

the mop rests in the corner like a prop, innocent and ordinary.

you hum as you move through the kitchen, slicing fruit with a smile on your lips.

you’re happy.

blissfully so.

not because you’ve done the right thing.

but because he doesn’t know.

adrien, with his soft eyes and warm voice and endless devotion, will walk through that door tomorrow and kiss your cheek and call you his, and he’ll never once suspect that your knees shook around another man’s hips less than twelve hours ago.

you chew a piece of mango, sweet and sharp on your tongue.

your phone buzzes. you don’t look right away. you let yourself feel this moment—domestic, easy, safe.

untouched.

then you glance at the screen.

caleb: you taste better than any lie you’ve ever told.

you hear the key turn in the door before you’re even fully dry from your second shower.

adrien steps in, suitcase rolling behind him, blazer slung over his shoulder, and that smile—the one he always saves just for you—spreading across his face like sun through the clouds.

“there’s my girl,” he says, voice warm from the road, from miles of distance you filled with something else.

he pulls you into his arms before you can even pretend to be surprised, holding you tight, breath in your hair. he smells like travel and cologne and loyalty.

you let yourself melt into it—for a second.

you even smile.

he pulls back, brushing your cheek with his thumb, and there’s something new in his eyes. not fear. not worry.

just promise.

“listen,” he says, voice quieter now. “i’ve been thinking about this for a while. and this week just made it clearer.”

your stomach drops.

your fingers twitch.

adrien reaches into his bag.

a velvet box—sleek, dark, unassuming—appears in his hand like it’s always been meant to be there.

your breath catches.

he opens it.

the ring gleams in the light. simple. elegant. perfect.

you don’t hear the rest of what he says—not really. just flashes of it.

“you’re everything to me…” — “want to spend my life with you…”— “if you’ll have me…”

your pulse roars in your ears. and your smile doesn’t falter. but your soul does.

because you already said yes to someone else.

not with a ring—with your body.

your phone is still in your back pocket, pressed hard against your spine like a curse.

adrien is still talking. and you’re nodding.

you excuse yourself a minute later with some excuse about needing to grab something from the room. he doesn’t suspect a thing.

not even as you step into the hallway, shut the door, pull your phone free with trembling fingers—

and text him.

you: he has a ring. what the fuck do i do.

you don’t wait for a reply.

you just sink to the edge of the bed, the world spinning too loud in your ears, the weight of the velvet box echoing like a war drum in the next room.

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velaenam · 2 months ago

Text

𝐚𝐥𝐦𝐨𝐬𝐭 𝐚𝐥𝐰𝐚𝐲𝐬

◦ ♡

𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐞𝐛 𝐱 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫 – non!mc. you said you were happy with your boyfriend ,then caleb came home, and now his mouth is on your neck. 𝐭𝐚𝐠𝐬 / 𝐭𝐰 – NSFW (18+!!) dirty...nasty!!! RAW!! smut!!!, smut w/ alcohol (dubcon), reader cheating on bf w/ LI, caleb is the other man, swearing, mature languages, sexual themes, riding, creampie,raw doggy blah blah, p to v, internal conflict from reader 𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬 – not proofread. i got this idea from a very wonderful post i saw from the amazing @strwberri-milk. link to the post. i kinda went crazy, i loved the concept sm. its so fun and i hope i did the og justice. also im sorry but i made ur bf so loveable im sorry for the internal conflict ur about to go thru. 𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 - 1 of idk ! next chapter — reblogs comments & likes are appreciated. let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist!

m.c. stirs her drink with a lazy swirl, the clink of ice against glass filling the lull between topics. it’s warm. light spills in through the kitchen window, catching the sheen of your lip gloss and the undone button of her blouse. her voice is casual, as always—too casual.

“oh, by the way,” she says, not even looking at you. “caleb’s coming back next week. shore leave. only for a bit.”

you freeze mid-sip.

not enough for most to notice, but she’s known you too long.

you set your cup down too carefully, as if grounding yourself with the porcelain. “he is?”

“mmhm.” she picks up a grape from the bowl between you and pops it into her mouth. chews. doesn’t meet your eyes. “fleet grounded his unit. some political thing. he’s visiting family. probably crashing at my place the first night—he said he wanted to see everyone.”

your stomach does a quiet, traitorous lurch.

“oh.”

you don’t mean to say it like that. like someone’s name you’ve tried not to whisper in years.

m.c. finally glances at you. there’s something unreadable in her gaze—maybe curiosity. maybe knowing. maybe something harder. “you two still talk, don’t you?”

you nod, too slow. “here and there.”

she hums. leans back, legs crossing at the ankle like she’s weighing something in her head. “he asked about you. said he saw that photo you posted—the one with your boyfriend and the birthday cake.”

your breath catches.

“what’d he say?”

m.c. smirks, but it’s faint. tired. “he said you looked good. then he changed the subject.”

your hands fold in your lap. you keep your voice neutral. “has it really been two years?”

“two and a half, i think. since you last saw him.”

you want to ask what else did he say? you don’t.

m.c. leans back, eyes flicking to your face as she wipes her hands on a napkin. “what about you and lover boy? how’s that going?”

you smile before you even think about it. automatic. polished. like second nature. “we’re very happy.”

“mm.” she raises a brow. not suspicious. just amused. “that’s what people say when they’re very engaged. or very lying.”

you let out a soft scoff. “he’s good to me.”

“you always say that first.”

“because it’s true.”

she nods slowly, resting her chin on her palm. “and?”

you pause. the words get caught somewhere in your throat.

he’s everything you were told to want. considerate. rich. driven. makes reservations for you, opens car doors, tells you how lucky he is when people are watching. he buys you jewelry you never wear and posts anniversary photos you never take. he’s safe. he fits.

and yet you find yourself measuring him against someone who’s never even tried.

“he’s stable,” you finally say. “he makes sense. my parents love him. his place has a whole wing just for books.”

“sounds like a dream.”

you smile again, quieter now. “it is.”

but m.c. watches you a second longer than comfort allows. not pressing. not cruel. just… seeing. like she’s trying to figure out what’s missing from your voice.

“i’m glad you’re happy,” she says. and for a moment, you wonder if she believes you.

you nod. drink the last of your coffee. and try not to think about a man who hasn’t even walked into the room yet, but still manages to pull the air out of your lungs.

the landing deck rattles beneath him as the hatch opens, hydraulic hiss like an exhale. after weeks in deepspace, everything smells like static and heat and too many days without sleep. but the gravity that wasn’t his feels good. real. like something pulling him back to where he doesn’t belong anymore.

he’s still stripping off his gloves when his comm buzzes in his jacket pocket.

incoming call: m.c.

he accepts it without thinking. holds it to his ear as he walks down the ramp, duffel slung across one shoulder, black fleet coat whipping in the wind.

“you survived,” she greets, bright as ever.

“barely.” his voice is rough. low. “tell your government contacts thanks for the political nightmare. nearly got my squad killed before they figured out how to spell diplomacy.”

“you sound dramatic.”

“you sound cozy.”

she laughs. “because i am. and you will be, too. i washed the guest sheets.”

“right. thanks.” he pauses, steps off the tarmac into the waiting shadows of the city port. “won’t be in your way too long, pipsqueak.”

“caleb,” she says. “you’re never in the way.”

he doesn’t answer that. he’s too tired to lie.

“you’ll be here in time for dinner?”

“depends on traffic. fleet’s got me filing three reports before i’m even cleared to breathe.”

she hums. “she’s gonna be surprised to see you.” he stops walking. breath catching like static in his chest. “she?”

m.c. is smug. too smug. “you know who.” he shifts his grip on the strap of his bag, jaw tightening. “you told her i was coming?”

“nope,” she says cheerfully lying. “wanted to see her face when you walked in.”

he exhales through his nose. “you’re a menace.”

“you’re welcome.” and then, gentler, “i think you should talk to her.”

he doesn’t reply right away. doesn’t know how to

finally, he says, “i don’t think it would change anything.”

and m.c.—goddess bless her—just says, “then don’t say anything. just let her look at you and remember.”

the line clicks dead before he can say another word.

you’re in the kitchen when you hear the lock turn.

he calls your name before he even steps in fully, voice muffled by the door swinging shut behind him. there’s the soft shuffle of his coat hitting the hook, the familiar jangle of keys tossed into the bowl by the counter.

“hey, baby,” he says, stepping into your space with that easy grin. he leans in, kisses your cheek, your temple, then your mouth. he smells like leather and his cologne—the one you bought him last fall.

you smile. because you should. because it’s safe here.

“how was work?” you ask, pouring water into the pot on the stove. your voice is steady. your hands aren’t.

he wraps his arms around you from behind, pressing his face into your neck. “long. boring. wanted to come home to you all day.”

your pulse stutters—not because of him. but because you haven’t stopped thinking about caleb since m.c. said his name.

since she said he’s coming back.

your skin’s been prickling ever since, like the air’s heavier. like the past is sitting just outside your window, waiting for a chance to knock.

but you don’t say that. you let your boyfriend’s hands slide up under your shirt, warm palms against your ribs. his lips trace your shoulder.

“missed you,” he murmurs. “need you.” you turn to face him, let him kiss you like nothing’s wrong. like your heart isn’t sprinting. like it isn’t someone else’s eyes you keep seeing behind your lids.

his mouth is on yours, his touch gentle and familiar, and still— you flinch when he whispers, “your heart’s racing.”

you pause. then smile, small and secret. “that’s your effect on me,” you lie, threading your fingers through his hair.

and he believes it— kisses you harder. but deep down, you know better.

you know whose name is making your pulse go wild.

he picks you up, one arm beneath your knees, the other around your back like he’s done a hundred times before. you let him carry you to the bedroom. let him lay you down like something precious, like he doesn’t notice the far-off look in your eyes every time he says your name.

his hands are reverent. his kisses slow, familiar, patient. he undresses you like a lover, not a stranger—but tonight, it feels far away. muted. like your body’s here, but something else is miles above it.

“you’re beautiful,” he breathes, kissing down your sternum. his fingers trace your ribs, the dip of your waist. “you always are. but tonight… it’s different.”

you smile at him, soft and practiced. “i missed you too.”

and you mean it, but not like that.

his mouth finds your collarbone and lingers there. he likes the way your breath hitches, doesn’t know it’s because you’re imagining someone else’s hands. someone else’s voice. you don’t even realize you’re clutching the sheet until he laces his fingers through yours.

“hey,” he says gently. “you okay?” your eyes meet his. he’s so kind. too kind. you could tell him the truth and it would break him.

you nod. “just overwhelmed.” he leans down, presses his forehead to yours. “i’ll be gentle.”

he thinks it’s his touch. that you’re nervous because of how much you want him. and you let him believe it.

you close your eyes. open your mouth. let the intimacy wrap around you like a warm tide, even as your thoughts drift—treacherous, unforgiving—to caleb.

to caleb………and the way he used to say your name like a secret only he got to keep.

you arch into your boyfriend’s hands.

but your mind is somewhere else entirely. imagining caleb on top of you kissing you, moaning your name like your boyfriend is doing right now.

imagining its his dark brown hair you’re curling your fingers on, his purple gaze is the one piercing you as he fucked you so —

he’s asleep beside you, one arm heavy across your waist.

you stare at the ceiling.

your skin is still warm, flushed from his touch. the room smells like him. like routine and comfort and things you’ve tried to convince yourself are enough.

but your heart won’t slow down. not entirely. you shift gently, just enough to slide your arm out from under the covers, reaching for your phone on the nightstand. the screen lights up your face in the dark.

no messages.

you check anyway.

his name sits there—caleb xia. no photo. just the initials. he never had a photo. never needed one.

you scroll. past the old messages. the ones that never meant much until now.

"congrats on the new job. i always knew you'd do something big." "heard the city's cold this week. you still forget your jacket like an idiot?" "hope you’re doing good. i like the photo"

you reread that one.

you remember the post. your boyfriend had taken the picture. some gallery opening. new dress. new earrings. and you had smiled like your heart wasn’t breaking from something you couldn’t name.

you hesitate. your thumb hovers over the keyboard. just a simple message. nothing dangerous.

you: heard you’re back.

you send it.

then, you lock your phone. place it back on the nightstand like it’s burning your hand.

his arm tightens slightly in his sleep. your boyfriend. the man who holds you like a promise.

and yet. you roll onto your side, facing the wall, eyes wide open, because caleb is somewhere in this city.

and for the first time in years, you’re starting to wonder if fate didn’t just miss its shot.

if maybe—it’s circling back.

the city stretches out below him, all glitter and silence.

caleb stands by the window of m.c.’s high-rise apartment, arms crossed, jacket draped on the back of the nearby chair. the lights cast gold against the glass, but he’s not looking at the view. not really.

he’s thinking about you.

how you might be sleeping right now. if you still leave the window cracked even when it’s cold. if the man lying beside you knows how you sound when you laugh until you cry. if he gets your references. if he even deserves you.

behind him, m.c. pads in barefoot, two mugs in hand. she offers him one. he takes it without a word.

“you always get like this when you’re back,” she says, settling onto the couch. “broody. contemplative. tragically poetic.”

“comes with the rank, pips” he mutters. but his mouth twitches. just barely. she watches him. “you saw her post, didn’t you?”

he doesn’t answer. doesn’t need to.

m.c. sips her drink. “they met at some space tech convention. she told me about it after the second date. said he made her laugh during a seminar about aerospace ethics and that was it.”

caleb’s jaw ticks. “sounds charming.” — “he’s fine,” m.c. shrugs. “rich. clean. knows how to dress himself. his parents are political investors, i think. very... curated.”

he glances over. “what’s his name?” — “adrien…. toulouse? i can’t remember at the top of my head.”

the name tastes sour in his mouth. he looks back out the window.

“he good to her?”

“yeah,” she says. then quieter, “but that’s not the same as being right for her.” he says nothing. the silence between them settles like dust. “you missed your window,” she says gently, not unkind. he breathes in. lets it burn. “i didn’t know it was open.”

m.c. stands, finishes her drink, and sets the mug in the sink. “that’s the problem with you, caleb. you only notice things once they’re already slipping through your fingers.”

he watches her go. but his mind stays on you. on the version of you that might’ve waited, if he’d just asked. he rolls his eyes as he shifts to the couch to watch a movie.

his phone buzzes against the coffee table.

he’s sitting on m.c.’s couch, long legs stretched out, jacket shed and collar undone. the room is dim, lit only by the city outside and the soft flicker of some old-drama playing in the background. neither of them’s paying attention to it.

he glances at the screen.

just one message.

you: heard you’re back.

his thumb hovers over the screen.

he doesn’t open it— doesn’t delete it either.

he just sets the phone down again, face down, like he can’t stand to see it glowing anymore.

m.c. watches him from the kitchen counter. she doesn’t say anything at first—just keeps peeling the label off a bottle of water like it’s a puzzle she means to solve.

“you’re not going to answer her?” she finally asks.

he shrugs. leans his head back against the couch. stares at the ceiling like it’s got the answers he’s too coward to ask for.

“what am i supposed to say?” he murmurs. “hey, it’s me. sorry for leaving when it mattered. wanna catch up while you belong to someone else?”

“that’d be a start,” she says dryly. he exhales. rubs a hand over his face. “i saw that post. he took her to that lakeside place. she always wanted to go.”

m.c. nods. “she mentioned that.” he’s quiet. a beat. another. then: “you think he knows?”

“knows what?”

“that she still carries me in her bones.” m.c. sighs, soft but sharp. “i think she tried to bury you.”

he flinches. “but,” she adds, folding her arms, “adrien’s gonna propose. soon.”

his head snaps toward her. “what?”

“she doesn’t know,” m.c. says, voice low. “but he’s been talking to jewelers. he asked me about her ring size a month ago.”

caleb’s throat tightens.

of course he is. of course someone who didn’t waste their chance would hold onto her with both hands.

“it’s not official yet,” m.c. says, like she’s offering him a thread to cling to.

he doesn’t take it. instead, he closes his eyes and sees you. not with a ring. not in a white dress.

but in that space hoodie you used to steal from him. curled up on the floor of his dorm with your head in his lap, laughing at his annotated star maps. warm. alive. his in a way no one else ever was.

he opens his eyes again. reaches for his phone.

but he doesn’t unlock it. he just lets it sit in his palm, heavy as regret.

m.c. walks over and drops onto the couch beside him, her knees bumping his. she hands him a new drink, one he didn’t ask for, and he takes it anyway.

the silence stretches.

“xavier says hi, or the best way he could, anyways” she says after a minute.

caleb glances over. “he of on mission again?”

“yeah. some wanderer dispute ” she shrugs, swirling her glass. “he loves it though.”

“you two still good?”

“we’re solid,” she says simply. and she means it. there’s a quiet steadiness in her voice that wasn’t there when she dated anyone else. “i love him. i don’t have to guess what he’s feeling”

caleb hums. “you always hated guessing.”

“i still do.”

he sips. it’s not strong, but it burns anyway. “and you?” she asks, eyeing him sideways. “you seeing anyone?” he laughs under his breath. “you know better, pipsqueak.”

“i also know that you never stayed anywhere long enough to try.”

“fleet doesn’t exactly lend itself to dating.”

“you don’t even try while you’re here.” he shrugs. “not interested.”

“because of her.” he doesn’t deny it. just stares down into his drink like it holds a confession he’s not ready to say out loud.

m.c. lets him sit in it.

then, softly, “she deserves to be happy, caleb. you know that.”

his voice is quieter when he says, “i never said she didn’t.”

“so what’re you going to do?”

he doesn’t answer. just runs a hand down his face, jaw tight, like he’s holding in the answer with his teeth.

m.c. leans back, sighs. “i wish things had gone differently for you two.”

he glances over. “yeah,” he murmurs. “me too.”

the grocery store smells like citrus and warm bread. the lights are too bright for this hour. everything is a little too quiet, too still, the kind of stillness that makes your thoughts louder than they should be.

you’re pushing a cart, hair tied up, sweater too big, list half-finished. you told m.c. you’d grab a few things for her dinner party—she texted last night, “you’re my favorite guest, but i need lemons and wine.”

“best produce comes in at 8 am,” she added. you’d rolled your eyes at the time. now you wonder if you should’ve known.

you’re halfway through the produce section when it happens. you reach for a lemon at the same time as someone else. your fingers brush theirs.

you freeze.

and then you look up.

his hand is still half-extended. callused. familiar.

caleb.

fleet jacket half-zipped. hair damp like he only just showered. he looks tired, but good. leaner. older. sharp in all the same places, softer in a few new ones. his eyes meet yours and—god, he still has that look. handsome, sweet..

your name leaves his mouth like a breath he’s been holding.

you try to speak, but nothing comes out. your fingers curl around the lemon instead. like it’ll keep you grounded.

he blinks once. then lifts the corner of his mouth. “figured she’d pull something like this.” you manage a laugh—dry, breathless. “she said the best produce comes in at 8.”

he nods. “yeah. she told me the same.” you both glance at each other. then the lemon. then back.

“guess we’ve been set up,” you murmur.

“looks like.”

the silence that follows isn’t awkward. it’s just thick. with years. with almosts. with the weight of his message still unanswered and your heart still racing.

“you look good,” he says finally.

you smile. not quite at him. “so do you.”

you shift the lemons to your cart, fingers trembling just enough to notice. he sees it—you can feel him seeing it—but he doesn’t say anything.

instead, he grabs one for himself, examining it like it’s the most important thing in the universe.

“so,” you say, trying for casual, pushing your cart a little forward, “fleet let you off the leash for a bit?”

he follows, a step behind. “briefly. they’ll reel me back in soon.”

“what’d you do this time?” — “nothing,” he says, grinning slightly. “just politically inconvenient.” you huff a laugh. it slips out easier than you thought it would.

you glance from the side,. “you didn’t message me back.”

he stops walking.

the air shifts. subtle. like the quiet pulls tighter around the both of you.

“i didn’t know what to say,” he admit.

“you could’ve said anything.”

he looks at you. “would it have changed anything?”

you don’t say, so you keep walking. slowly. toward the wine aisle. he falls into step beside you like no time has passed at all.

“m.c. said you’re coming to dinner tonight,” you say, voice thinner now.

“she said i owed her. didn’t mention you’d be there.”

“you think she didn’t do that on purpose?”

“i think she’s a menace.”

you both smile at the same time.

you reach for a bottle—he does too. your hands meet again. this time, neither of you pulls away right away.

he glances down at your fingers, then back up at your eyes. “how is he?” he asks.

you hesitate.

then: “he’s good to me.”

“that’s not what i asked.”

you swallow hard. pull your hand back.

“he’s... safe.”

caleb nods, slow. quiet.

you can’t breathe for a second. just stand there, wine bottle forgotten in your hand, heart screaming under your sweater.

someone walks past with a squeaky cart and breaks the spell. you blink. step back. clear your throat.

“we should finish up,” you murmur.

“yeah,” he says, just as soft. “see you tonight.”

you nod.

but your fingers are still tingling from where he touched you.

you arrive on time, wine bottle clutched in your hand like a shield. adrien’s hand is on the small of your back, warm, grounding, his laugh low in your ear as you ring the bell.

you’re dressed too nicely. you told yourself it didn’t mean anything. you just wanted to look good for dinner. but as m.c. opens the door with a grin and a flourish of perfume, and you step inside, your heart starts to climb straight out of your chest.

because he’s there.

you see caleb the moment you cross the threshold. black button-up rolled to the elbows, sleeves creased like he’d ironed them just to ruin them again. he’s leaning casually against the kitchen counter, glass in hand, profile sharper than you remember, the soft gold light casting shadows over his jawline.

his eyes meet yours instantly.

and everything slows.

he doesn’t smile. just looks. long and quiet, like the rest of the room fell away and you’re the only thing that ever mattered.

adrien doesn’t notice at first. he leans forward to kiss m.c. on the cheek, laughing at something she says about the wine, and hands it off to her with his usual charm.

“you must be caleb,” adrien says, turning to him with that open, polished grin. “m.c. told me all about you. hell of a record in the fleet. colonel, right?”

caleb straightens. takes a slow sip before offering his hand. “that’s me. and you’re the boyfriend.”

“guilty.”

they shake hands.

it’s firm…too firm. neither one lets go first.

“adrien toulouse,” he adds. “i run a few companies. data logistics, spaceport infrastructure—boring stuff.”

“not boring if it pays well,” caleb says, voice smooth.

adrien chuckles. “doesn’t hurt. my board loves it.”

“we don’t really have boards in the fleet. just casualties and black boxes.”

you laugh a little too quickly. “he’s joking.”

caleb’s eyes flick to you. unreadable. “am i?”

adrien grins, undeterred. “i respect it. not many people can make a career out of combat anymore. takes guts.”

“takes loss,” caleb replies, quiet but even. “but the perks are decent. hazard bonuses. pension. a lot of medals.”

adrien raises a brow. “better than dividends?”

“depends who you’re trying to impress.”

you open your mouth to say something, anything to shift the mood, but m.c. saves you—breezing in with a tray of olives and cured meats, laughing too loudly and ushering everyone toward the table.

“save it for the dinner table, you two. god, it’s like testosterone in a wine glass over here.”

you slip away toward the dining room. your hand is still warm where caleb looked at you. adrien slides in beside you, fingers brushing your arm, oblivious.

but caleb watches you.

and you feel it like a match pressed to skin. you’ve screamt fuck in your head about 20 times now.

the dining room glows with soft overhead lighting, and the table is full—platters of roasted vegetables, grilled fish, wine glasses catching the gold reflections like tiny stars. laughter hums under the music playing low from m.c.’s sleek speaker tucked into the corner.

xavier’s seat is empty, just a folded napkin and a half-drunk glass of sparkling water. m.c. had said he’d be late, caught in something coming back from headquarters .

you sit beside adrien, his knee brushing yours occasionally, hand warm at your back when he refills your glass. across from you—caleb. calm, unreadable. fork moving with methodical grace as he picks at his plate.

“so, colonel,” nero says, raising his glass like it’s a toast and a challenge, “what have you been up to in the galaxy’s darker corners?”

jenna smirks beside him. “he probably can’t even tell us.”

“i can tell you some of it,” caleb replies, resting his elbow on the table, glass twirling lightly between his fingers. “spent most of last month in the outer rim, negotiating a ceasefire. fleet needed someone intimidating and tired. i qualified.”

tara laughs. “you always did look mean when you haven’t slept.”

“wasn’t about sleep,” he says, shrugging. “just tired of watching people die for decisions made lightyears away.”

the table quiets for a second.

adrien cuts in with a smile, smooth and practiced. “that’s why i stayed in civilian sectors. less blood. more spreadsheets.”

jenna snorts. “what a life.”

“it has its rewards,” adrien says, eyes flicking briefly to you. his hand finds your thigh under the table. “especially when you work hard.”

you feel caleb looking at you.

just a glance. a flick of his eyes.

but it lands like a crash.

you don’t turn your head. you just reach for your wine.

m.c. speaks up, trying to shift the tone. “i think caleb’s still the only person i know who voluntarily flew into a crossfire zone just to drag out two wounded rookies.”

“they weren’t going to make it,” caleb says, flat. “and i wasn’t going to leave them behind.”

xavier walks in then, saving you from your own pulse. “sorry i’m late,” he says, sliding into his seat beside m.c. with a soft kiss to her temple.

the room lifts again—conversation swirling back to lighter things. food. travel. politics. someone makes a joke about nero’s cooking attempts. laughter picks up. wine flows freely.

but every now and then, you look up.

and caleb is watching you like he never left.

like he’s still remembering the sound of your voice when you said his name.

and you don’t look away… not right away.

the clatter of forks dies down. glasses half-full. conversation slow and lazy like the lull after good food and too much wine.

someone’s moved to the couch. someone else is arguing softly over music selection. xavier and nero are in a quiet debate about defense policy. m.c. watches the room like a conductor, eyes flicking, measuring, waiting.

then, casually, too casually, she sets her glass down and turns toward adrien.

“hey,” she says, bright and charming, “could you help me with that thing? the new table setting i told you about? i need a second opinion. might order it tonight.”

adrien blinks. “now?”

“yeah, i’ll be quick.” her smile is sugar-sweet. “promise.”

he leans over and kisses your cheek. “you okay here?”

you nod. “go ahead.”

and then he’s gone. down the hall. the door swings shut behind them. voices muffled.

you stay seated… you should get up.

but caleb’s still across from you.

and he hasn’t moved either.

the quiet settles in. low hum of distant voices. glass ticking against wood as someone laughs from the other room.

caleb leans back in his chair. one arm draped over the side. the collar of his shirt slightly rumpled. his gaze, fixed.

“she’s always been a terrible liar,” he murmurs, eyes still on you.

you smile without looking at him. “she tries.”

“you look different,” he says, voice low.

“older?”

“no,” he says. “quieter. like you learned how to hide things.” you finally look at him. his eyes haven’t changed. sharp, steady, familiar in a way that feels dangerous.

“you think you know what i’m hiding?”

“i know you,” he says. “or i did.”

“you left,” you reply, trying not to sound like it hurts.

“i had to.” you nod, once. “and i had to move on.”

he doesn’t argue. just watches you like he’s trying to see what parts of you are still his. “he loves you,” he says after a beat. “i can see that.”

“he does.”

and then, more softly: “but you don’t look at him the way you used to look at me.”

the words land in your chest like a bruise.

you should tell him to stop…. you should get up.

but instead, you whisper, “you don’t get to say that.”

“i know,” he breathes. “but i still wanted to.”

the hallway creaks. voices coming back. the moment’s slipping, fraying at the edges.

you stand, finally, smoothing your dress. not looking at him.

“you shouldn’t wait around for something that isn’t yours.”

“i’m not,” he says. “i’m just remembering what was.”

and when you walk away, you feel it—that heat in your spine.

he’s still watching you.

it’s late when the message comes in.

adrien’s beside you, asleep. one arm draped across your waist, steady breaths against your shoulder. you should be sleeping too. the apartment is quiet. the kind of stillness that makes you feel like a ghost in your own life.

your phone buzzes on the nightstand.

caleb: you still up?

you stare at it for a while.

you shouldn’t answer. you really really shouldn’t answer.

but your thumb moves on instinct, like a silly idiot in love .

you: yeah.

a moment passes.

caleb: couldn’t sleep.

you wait.

caleb: been thinking about dinner. you.

your heart stutters.

you: don’t. caleb: why not? you: because it’s not fair.

there’s a long pause.

you think maybe that’s it. maybe he’ll stop.

but then—

caleb: i don’t want fair. i want true.

you close your eyes. your chest aches.

your fingers hover. shake. then:

you: i love him. caleb: i know. you: i’ve built a life. one with walls and calendars and routines and its domestic. he fits in it. caleb: but do you?

you don’t respond.

not for a long time.

you stare at the ceiling, heart beating like it’s trying to outrun your ribs.

then your phone lights up again.

caleb: do you remember the night before i left for the fleet?

you do…of course you do.

how you sat in the gazebo, knees drawn to your chest, his jacket around your shoulders. how he looked at you like he wanted to say something—but didn’t.

you never talked about that night, not really, nor did you really have a chance to.

you: yes. caleb: i should’ve kissed you.

your chest collapses inward. you turn your face into the pillow so you don’t make a sound.

you: i wanted you to. caleb: i still do.

adrien shifts beside you, murmurs something in his sleep. your phone nearly slips from your hand.

you lock the screen. press it to your chest.

but you don’t delete the conversation.

you don’t reply either.

fuck.

the morning light spills through the apartment windows, golden and soft. adrien is already dressed—pressed linen shirt, slacks, and that easy, handsome grin that makes him magnetic at every event. you’re still in your robe, coffee warm in your hands, the weight of caleb’s texts buried deep beneath your ribs.

“i’ve got an idea,” adrien says, turning from the mirror as he fastens his watch. “hear me out.”

you raise a brow. “those are dangerous words.”

he laughs, leans over to kiss your cheek. “my company’s hosting a celebration this weekend. nothing formal. just something small for the board and a few close friends. we booked out a beach hotel on the coast. really secluded. great food, even better cocktails.”

“sounds like a nice break,” you murmur.

“yeah—and i thought,” he says, pouring himself coffee, “why not invite the gang? the more the merrier, right?”

your stomach drops.

you look up slowly. “what gang?”

“m.c. tara, nero, obviously. xavier if he’s back. even caleb, if he’s still in town. i feel like he could use a weekend off from… whatever world-saving things he’s been doing.”

your throat dries.

adrien’s still talking. “it’ll be good for everyone to unwind. ocean breeze, bonfires, no boardroom stress. and besides—i think it’d be good for you, too. you’ve seemed… tense lately.”

you try to smile. “just tired.”

“then it’s perfect. you, me, the beach. what could go wrong?”

your phone buzzes from the counter.

m.c.: he’s in. caleb’s coming. xavier too. hope you packed something scandalous.

you stare at the message, he’d already ask them before he asked you.

your suitcase lies open on the bed, half full. a few folded dresses. sandals. sunscreen. a silk scarf you haven’t worn in years. you pause, fingers brushing the fabric, chest tight.

the apartment is quiet. adrien left earlier for a board meeting. you said you’d finish packing, take your time.

your phone buzzes on the dresser.

you already know who it is.

caleb: pack something nice. or don’t come with clothes at all.

you stop breathing for a moment. thumb hovering over the screen.

you: don’t be an ass. caleb: can’t help it.

i’m picturing you sunburnt and annoyed, drinking something fruity, trying not to stare at me.

you press your palm to your face, the blush crawling high.

you: you’re not that charming. caleb: but you are packing that black swimsuit, right? the one that fits your body so perfectly?

your heart slams in your chest. you never posted that photo. you only sent it to m.c. once, in a private message. you hadn’t even known he saw it.

you: you shouldn’t know about that. caleb: i shouldn’t want you either. and yet.

you sit on the edge of the bed. the heat of his words curling slow, making you feel something that you should only feel for your partner.

your phone buzzes again.

caleb: you really going to let him have you for the whole weekend?

you don’t answer.

you reach for the swimsuit. fold it carefully. quietly. and lay it on top of the other things in your bag. you’re already in trouble. but you zip it shut anyway.

the car hums down the coastal highway, sunlight flashing through the windows in golden streaks. adrien’s driving, one hand relaxed on the wheel, the other resting on your thigh. the wind is warm, the sky impossibly blue. everything should feel like peace.

but your phone buzzes again in your lap.

you glance down.

caleb: what are you wearing right now? please tell me it’s something i’ll regret seeing you in.

you shift in your seat. cross your legs.

adrien doesn’t notice. he’s talking about the hotel—how the chefs are all imported from a five-star kitchen, how the fire pits are custom built into the sand, how he’s planning a surprise dinner the first night.

your phone lights up again.

caleb: let me guess. sundress. soft. stupidly pretty. easy to pull up.

you grip the phone a little tighter.

you: stop. caleb: say it like you mean it.

adrien squeezes your thigh affectionately. “you okay, baby?”

“mhmm.” you smile, tight. “just checking something.”

you angle the phone a little farther away from him. open your messages again.

you: i’m in a car with my boyfriend. caleb: and still thinking about me.

your throat goes dry. you type back quickly:

you: caleb.

he waits.

you don’t know why you do it, but your thumbs move anyway.

you: it’s a white dress. cotton. nothing special.

the reply comes almost instantly.

caleb: you in white’s always been a problem. easy to make a mess in.

you bite the inside of your cheek. stare out the window.

adrien shifts, turning the music up a little, his voice easy and soft as he asks you something about checking in. you nod. pretend to listen.

but your phone buzzes again.

caleb: can’t wait to see you. in that dress. orrr— out of it.

you don’t answer. but you don’t block him either and you don’t stop the way your stomach flips, either, because fuck, it’s intense. what the fuck are you thinking? you are in this non stop tumultuous fight against morality and dignity.

the hotel sits like a dream against the coastline—white stone and glass, balconies dripping with flowers contrasting the environment, ocean waves crashing just beyond the edge of the private beach. the valet takes your bags. adrien thanks him with a generous tip and slides his sunglasses up into his hair, flashing that confident, easy grin that always draws attention.

you’re still catching your breath from the ride—heat pooling at the back of your neck, caleb’s messages burning a little too fresh in your mind—when you spot her.

m.c. is already waiting by the entrance, perched on a curved stone bench in a straw sunhat and linen dress, oversized sunglasses pushing her hair back. she grins when she sees you, stands, and practically floats toward you.

“you made it!” she says, pulling you into a hug, smelling like coconut and orange blossom. “you look like summer incarnate.”

adrien chuckles behind you. “i planned the whole thing.”

“of course you did,” m.c. smirks, kissing him on the cheek. “we should all be so lucky to have a boyfriend with a corporate card and taste.”

and then you hear it—footsteps. low voices. the weight in your chest returns before you even turn.

“hell of a place,” caleb says, sauntering up with xavier beside him, both in crisp short-sleeves and aviators, fresh off the elevator.

he’s tan. looser than you’ve seen him in years. like the salt in the air is good for him.

adrien smiles wide and steps forward, reaching to clasp caleb’s hand in that quick, firm, shoulder-slap bro-hug men have perfected.

“glad you made it,” adrien says.

“wouldn’t miss it,” caleb replies, easy.

xavier grins, giving adrien a similar greeting. “this place is insane. whose idea was it to put a full bar in the infinity pool?”

adrien laughs. “mine.”

“you’re officially my favorite person,” xavier says, heading off toward the front desk to check in, his bag slung lazily over one shoulder.

caleb doesn’t move.

his eyes drift to you. slow and unhurried. he doesn’t say anything—doesn’t have to.

because the way he looks at you says enough. you glance down, fingers tightening around the strap of your purse. m.c. watches all of this. doesn’t say a word, just smiles, like she knew this was coming.

“drinks after you unpack?” she asks sweetly, “definitely,” adrien says, brushing a hand down your back. “we’ll meet you all at the pool.”

“can’t wait,” caleb murmurs, gaze never leaving yours.

the resort sprawls across the coast like something pulled from a dream—white stone buildings tiered into the cliffs, kissed by sprays of seafoam and crawling ivy. the main entrance opens into a vast open-air atrium, where sunlight floods through curved glass ceilings and dances across polished marble floors. fragrant bursts of jasmine and citrus drift from planters lining the walkways, and the sound of trickling fountains follows you with every step.

past the concierge desk, the space widens into a sprawling promenade: a private shopping gallery lined with luxury boutiques, soft jazz playing as high-end fabrics sway behind crystal

windows. the central courtyard glows gold in the sun, with a tiered infinity pool spilling into the horizon, bordered by low cabanas, ivory parasols, and a gleaming bar half-submerged in water—guests wading up with cocktails in hand. above it all, arched balconies overlook the beach, private and serene, while the scent of salt, fruit, and sunscreen clings to the warm air. even the staff moves with a kind of reverent grace, every guest treated like royalty—

the group gathers at the front desk, luggage in tow, sun already warming their shoulders as the glass doors close behind them with a soft hiss. laughter drifts in from the lobby bar, the distant scent of espresso and saltwater mixing with perfume and cologne.

“party name?” the receptionist asks brightly, fingers poised over a sleek touchscreen monitor.

“toulouse,” adrien says, pulling out his sleek black id and card. he smiles, charming as ever. “we’ve got a few rooms under that name.”

“of course.” the receptionist begins scanning them in. one by one, the group passes over their credentials—m.c. tossing hers with a wink, xavier balancing his bag on his hip, tara and nero chatting about whether the beach view is better than the garden side.

then caleb steps forward.

his id hits the desk with a soft click.

fleet-issued. black-accented. unmistakable.

the receptionist’s eyes flicker down, and her posture shifts instantly. there’s a beat of silence.

she looks up—smiling wider now, more formal. “colonel caleb xia,” she says, her voice suddenly edged with something deeper. “welcome.” caleb blinks, casual. “just here with friends.”

“of course, sir,” she replies, fingers moving faster across the screen. “as a decorated officer of the farspace fleet, your stay qualifies for our high level courtesy protocol.”

m.c. glances at caleb. “your what now?”

the receptionist continues without missing a beat. “your group will be upgraded to the resort’s top-tier suites. each room includes a private oceanview terrace, complimentary spa credit, and full access to our elite guest-only lounge and services.”

“i didn’t—” caleb starts.

“it’s policy, sir. we’re honored to host you.”

adrien raises a brow, half-laughing, joking . “i should’ve brought my medals.” xavier whistles low. “fleet perks.” tara leans toward nero and mutters, “i knew he was important.”

caleb just shifts his weight slightly, expression unreadable, one hand resting casually in his pocket. “you all came here to relax. figured i’d make it worth your time.”

m.c. grins. “we should bring you everywhere.”

your heart does something strange. heat rising behind your collar as the front desk slides you your keycard—suite 9: north tower penthouse.

you take it with a thank-you. but your fingers brush caleb’s hand when you do.

the elevator dings softly, and the group spills out into a polished marble hallway—light slanting through tall windows, casting the floor in soft amber stripes. the suites stretch down the length of the corridor, tall doors with brushed gold handles and engraved plaques that gleam in the afternoon sun.

adrien’s at the front, laughing with nero about the time one of his board members confused a zero-gravity treadmill for an espresso machine. his voice echoes lightly off the high ceilings, easy, familiar.

you fall into step beside caleb without meaning to. he’s quiet. but he always was.

his hand brushes yours once— twice. you pretend not to notice—but you don’t pull away either.

the second time, he doesn’t move. his fingers linger just a little longer, pinky grazing yours like a secret in motion. it feels like the hallway narrows around the two of you. the air grows thicker. warmer.

m.c. glances back, says something to tara about the spa hours, but she doesn’t miss it.

you see it in the small smile she hides behind her glass.

“here we are,” adrien calls, stopping in front of the corner suites. “ocean view, floor-to-ceiling windows, personal plunge pools. you’re welcome.”

“he wants a thank you in writing,” xavier adds, nudging him.

“maybe a toast,” adrien jokes. “or a statue.” you laugh, even as your pulse is thudding in your ears.

caleb moves past you to his suite—his hand just barely brushing the small of your back as he does. not enough to be noticed.

“see you in a bit,” he murmurs.

you nod, and then step inside your own room, letting the door close softly behind you.

your bag is missing. but your thoughts are already somewhere else entirely

you’re halfway through unpacking when you realize it.

your smaller bag—the one with your swimsuits, the silk wrap, and your favorite perfume—is missing. it’s not in the closet. not in the bathroom. not in the entryway with the other luggage.

you check again. and again. your stomach drops.

adrien’s in the shower, humming something off-key, steam curling under the bathroom door. you step out onto the suite’s balcony, signal low, and flick open the group chat on your comm.

you: hey, anyone see a cream-colored travel bag? soft leather, gold zipper. it’s missing from our stuff. maybe got mixed up?

you wait. stare out at the ocean. the wind is warm on your skin.

a message pings a moment later.

caleb: yeah, it’s in my suite. looks like it got tucked into the side of my luggage. you can come grab it.

you freeze.

your thumbs hover.

you: oh. okay. thanks. caleb: door’s open.

adrien calls your name from inside. you glance back, then text:

you: be there in a sec.

you lock your screen. heart tapping too fast beneath your ribs.

it’s just a bag. it’s just a room. and yet— your hands are already reaching for the keycard as if your body’s moved faster than your thoughts.

his door is slightly ajar, just like he said.

you knock once, soft, “come in,” his voice calls from somewhere inside—lower than usual. unhurried.

you step in. the room smells like cedar and something clean, and there’s music playing, soft and smooth—something old, something with a bassline that rolls slow. the kind of music that gets into your pulse without asking.

and then you see him. he’s standing near the open suitcase on the bed, back to you, half-dressed—black swim trunks low on his hips, bare feet on the marble floor, a white towel slung over his shoulder. he’s rifling through folded clothes, pulling out a thin shirt, but he hasn’t put it on yet. and gods. his back is carved. every muscle cut and coiled, broad shoulders tapering down to a lean waist, skin golden from the sun, small scars scattered like whispers from a life you’ll never fully know. his arms flex as he moves. slow. casual. you were a deer in headlights. but the headlights was a sexy 6’2 fleet colonel with the physique of a god.

you stare longer than you mean to—longer than you should. he hears the door click shut behind you and turns, still towel in hand. and when he sees you—he smiles.

“thought you’d take longer,” he says, voice warm. low.

“you didn’t say you’d be half-naked,” you mutter, trying to sound annoyed, but your voice catches somewhere on the way out.

he tilts his head slightly, smirk deepening. “you want me to put something on?”

your throat goes dry, “you’re impossible.” he walks toward you—lazy, deliberate steps. the shirt still hanging loose in one hand, forgotten. “you’ve seen me worse,” he murmurs.

you try to keep your eyes on his face. fail. your gaze dips—chest, abs, the faint trail that disappears below his waistband. holy fuck. when you drag your eyes back up, he’s watching you. head to toe.

“if you’re going to keep looking at me like that,” he says softly, “you might want to close the door properly.”

you realize then—it didn’t latch. you reach back, fingers fumbling for the handle. but you don’t stop looking at him. and he doesn’t stop walking toward you.

you close the door. not all the way. just enough that it clicks. when you turn back, caleb’s closer. still shirtless. still smug. he raises an eyebrow, that infuriatingly soft curl at the corner of his mouth growing. “huh,” he says, lazy. “thought you were just here for your bag.”

your stomach flips you open your mouth, trying to find something—anything—casual to say.

“i didn’t want the breeze blowing it open,” you offer, weakly. he laughs. low and warm, the sound licking at your spine. “right. the breeze.”

you clutch the strap of your purse a little tighter. “you said the door was open.” — “it was,” he says, stepping closer.

you don’t move, “but you locked it.” his eyes drag down, slow, deliberate,not crude—intentional. like he’s memorizing the shape of your breath, the curve of your silence.

“caleb,” you whisper, he says your name back—quiet, reverent. “i’ve missed the way that sounds coming from your mouth.”

your back finds the wall before you realize you’ve been retreating. his hand finds the surface beside your head, fingers spreading out like he owns the space around you.

he’s so close now you can smell the salt on his skin. feel the heat radiating off him. “you should go,” he says, but he doesn’t step back. his voice lowers. “but you won’t.”

your breath stutters. “this is a bad idea.” — “it’s the only idea that’s ever made sense.”

your heart hammers in your chest. his fingers lift—slow—ghosting up your arm. not touching. just close.

“is he enough?” he asks, voice quieter now. “or is he just… safe?”

you don’t answer… you don’t answer him.

instead, you inhale—steadying yourself like you’re preparing for gravity to give out. and then you move, shifting just enough to duck under the curve of his arm. his bare chest grazes your shoulder as you slip past him, and the heat that radiates off his skin feels like it clings to you long after you’re out of his reach.

he doesn’t stop you. he just turns, tracking you with that same steady gaze. like he’s waiting to see what you’ll do with your escape.

your footsteps echo softly against the marble floor as you reach the bed. your cream-colored bag sits there, neatly perched beside the open mouth of his suitcase, as if it had always belonged there. innocent. untouched. except now your fingers tremble just slightly as you reach for it.

you curl your hand around the handle and force your face into something neutral, something calm, even though your pulse is slamming against your ribs.

“thanks,” you murmur, your voice too soft, too normal for how wrecked you feel inside. you make it three steps toward the door before he says it.

“i took a souvenir.”

you freeze.

your back stiffens. the room stills with you. you don’t turn. not at first. his voice is casual—low, smooth, velvet draped over something darker. “from your bag.”

you glance back over your shoulder. “what are you talking about?”

he holds something up between two fingers.

a scrap of red silk and lace.

your heart drops like a stone in your chest.

they’re unmistakable—your favorite pair. delicate, barely-there, the ones you packed last-minute without thinking. the ones you almost didn’t bring. crimson and sheer and trimmed in the thinnest whisper of embroidery.

his grin is slow. knowing. just this side of smug, “you really should pack more carefully.”

you stare at him, your mouth parted in silence, heat creeping up your neck and into your cheeks in a flush you can’t begin to fight. he twirls them once on his finger, then drapes them across his palm, like he’s offering you a dare. his voice drops even lower. “or maybe you left them for me.”

you don’t say anything.

you just turn, bag clutched tight in your hand, and walk.

each step feels like it echoes—too slow, too loud, too obvious. the air outside his suite is cooler, but it does nothing for the heat burning beneath your skin.

when you open the door to your room, adrien’s standing by the balcony, shirt halfway unbuttoned, a glass of sparkling water in his hand. he turns when he hears you come in, eyes flicking to your face.

he smiles, but it falters slightly. “you okay?”

“yeah,” you say too quickly, dropping the bag onto the chair, avoiding his eyes. “it’s just—hot. it’s the beach.”

you grab a hair tie from the nightstand and pull your hair back, trying to pretend your ears aren’t burning.

adrien grins, walking over to brush a kiss against your cheek. “you’re right. i forgot how thick the air gets near the coast.” he pulls a linen shirt over his shoulders, still barefoot. “m.c. says everyone’s heading down to the bar soon. they’re starting the party.”

“okay,” you say, grounding yourself in the word. you focus on that—normalcy. the night. drinks. laughter. anything but what’s still fluttering in your chest.

within the hour, you’re all heading down—the group buzzing with early vacation energy. tara arrives in a gauzy wrap and sunglasses, dragging xavier by the hand. m.c. loops her arm through yours, all smiles and mischief. nero’s already asking about the drink menu before you’ve even reached the elevator.

and then caleb joins at the lobby entrance, freshly showered, crisp linen shirt open at the collar, hair damp and pushed back.

he doesn’t look at you, not directly. but his mouth quirks—just slightly—when he catches you looking at him. and god, he still has your underwear.

adrien slips his hand into yours, you smile up at him. and pretend that you’re not still trembling on the inside.

the resort’s bar isn’t just a bar—it’s a whole open-air lounge carved into the edge of the cliffside, with glass railings overlooking the sea and sunken seating arranged in half-moons of plush white cushions and low stone tables. lights are strung overhead in warm strands, flickering like captured stars. the sun is just beginning to set, turning the sky a bruised gold and washing everything in that kind of glow that makes even tension look beautiful.

the group claims a corner table near the edge, laughter easy, legs bare and drinks already sweating in their glasses. m.c. and tara are leaned together, sharing a bowl of citrus-soaked olives, xavier and nero comparing cocktails. adrien sits beside you, his hand tracing light patterns over your thigh as he tells caleb something about property shares on the coast, voice smooth, not bragging—but close.

caleb’s across from you, lounging low, one arm draped along the back of the seat like he owns the curve of the air behind him. he’s got a glass of something dark in his hand, condensation trailing slow down his fingers. he’s half-listening to adrien, nodding politely, but his eyes keep drifting. to you.

you look away, sip your drink.

he speaks, voice low and amused. “adrien, you ever try a flamefruit old fashioned? they only serve them off-world, but i’ve got a connection.”

adrien raises a brow. “can’t say i have.”

“i’ll have the bar replicate it. you’ll love it.” caleb turns, gestures to the server without waiting for permission. “round for the table. my treat.”

m.c. smirks behind her glass. “colonel card again?”

caleb winks. “if i’ve got the perks, might as well use them.”

“what’s it taste like?” you ask, before you can stop yourself.

caleb’s eyes meet yours.

and he smiles, slow and deliberate. “burns going down. sweet after.”

your breath catches. your thighs press together under the table.

adrien chuckles beside you, nudging your knee with his. “i’ll drink anything if it’s free.”

caleb raises his glass slightly, gaze still locked on you. “oh, it’s not free.”

tara fans herself dramatically. “stars, is it hot out here or is it just all this masculine tension choking the oxygen?”

m.c. laughs. “i think caleb’s trying to intimidate your boyfriend, babe.”

“oh, he’s not intimidated,” caleb says, sipping casually. “yet.”

adrien grins, unfazed. “depends. are you trying to charm me or compete with me?”

“does it matter?” caleb says smoothly. “either way, i win.”

the table erupts into a mixture of laughter and groans, but your cheeks are already burning. you don’t dare say a word. because every time you look at him, all you can think about is the red lace still sitting somewhere in his room.

the drinks arrive in short, crystal-cut glasses, glowing faintly pink-orange like sunset syrup. tiny flames flicker at the rim—real fire, hovering just above the liquid like it’s dared to touch it. a soft gasp rises from the table. they smell like heat and sugar, like something forbidden.

“they’re infused with flamefruit,” caleb explains, lounging a little deeper into his seat. “rare export. the alcohol levels double within five minutes of exposure to oxygen.”

“you mean—” m.c. squints at her glass. “this’ll make me blackout drunk?”

“if you’re lucky,” caleb says, sipping his first.

tara grins. “then i want two.”

cheers erupt across the table, glasses clinking, the laughter rising with the tide. the first round hits fast. the second hits hard.

in less than half an hour, nero’s shirtless and swaying to music that isn’t even playing. m.c. has xavier in a headlock in the pool, both of them crying laughing over something that doesn’t even make sense. tara’s floating belly-up in the water, sunglasses still on, whispering to the stars.

adrien’s sprawled across a deck chair beside you, half-asleep, half-chuckling, hand loosely tangled in yours, his voice slurred.

“you’re—so fucking gorgeous,” he mumbles, “you know that?”

you smile at him, soft, but your heart’s somewhere else. because caleb hasn’t moved.

he’s sitting near the pool’s edge, ankles dipped in the water, watching everything with that quiet, unreadable expression. glass empty. gaze fixed.

you pull your hand gently from adrien’s. he doesn’t notice. you rise, your balance steady, even though your skin buzzes faintly from the drink. maybe it’s adrenaline. maybe it’s him.

you walk toward the pool. he watches you approach, lips parting slightly like he’s about to say something, but doesn’t. you sit beside him, legs dangling into the water. the heat from the drink hums beneath your skin. the air smells like salt, citrus, and fire.

“they’re all gone,” you murmur.

he smirks. “lightweights.” you smile, “you didn’t finish yours.” he shrugs. “i wanted to remember tonight.”

you glance at him. his eyes are already on you.

the pool glows beneath your feet. somewhere behind you, adrien calls your name and slurs something about marshmallows, but the sound doesn’t reach you fully. not here. not beside him.

“you planned this,” you whisper. “i didn’t plan you showing up in that dress,” he says back, voice low. “but i’m not complaining.”

your stomach twists. “caleb—”

he leans in, just slightly, voice brushing your skin like velvet. “if i kissed you right now, would you still blame it on the drink?”

you don’t answer

you watch him, the edge of the pool casting shifting ripples of blue light across his chest and jaw. he looks good like this—barefoot, relaxed, but still sharp. always sharp.

“why aren’t you drinking?” you ask softly, trying not to sound like you already know.

he glances at you, half amused. “fleet protocol.”

you raise an eyebrow.

“active duty officers aren’t supposed to drink in public unless it’s sanctioned. even on leave. especially when there’s a crowd.”

you blink at him. “that’s… incredibly responsible of you.”

he snorts. “no, it’s annoying. but i’ve seen what happens when we slip. one colonel blackout-drunk in the wrong company, and it’s a planetary incident.”

you laugh—just a little. soft. “guess that’s why you let us fall apart instead.”

his expression shifts—just for a second. unreadable. raw. you don’t push, but the silence between you isn’t comfortable. it’s full. heavy with all the things you’ve been too afraid to say. a splash breaks the tension—tara, floating sideways, blinking up at the moon like it personally offended her.

“i think the diplomat’s drowning,” caleb mutters.

you both rise at once.

the rest of the night is a slow unraveling. you and caleb move from one friend to the next—xavier slung between your shoulders, nero mumbling something about becoming a beach hermit, m.c. giggling hysterically into caleb’s chest as he carries her in both arms like she weighs nothing. she calls him sir in a fake voice and salutes before passing out.

tara refuses to sleep indoors, insisting the ocean invited her personally. you bribe her with aloe vera lotion.

adrien is the last one—he stumbles into your room, mumbling praise, pressing a kiss to your temple before collapsing sideways on the bed. you help pull his shoes off. he’s already snoring by the time you dim the lights.

you stand at the door for a long moment.

caleb’s across the hall.

you decide to call it quits for the night instead.

you lie in bed, staring at the ceiling fan turning lazy circles above you. adrien’s out cold beside you, one arm flung across the pillow, mouth slightly open, the sound of his breathing rhythmic, steady. the room is dim, moonlight casting long silver shadows through the sheer curtains.

you try to close your eyes. you try to sleep, but your heart won’t slow down, and you know exactly why.

you slide out of bed carefully, quietly, padding barefoot across the cool tile. you reach for your phone, thumb hovering over the screen.

you don’t text him.

you just open the door. across the hall, his light is still on. your heart thuds once. you knock.

he opens the door almost immediately. like he was waiting.

he’s changed into a dark tee and joggers, barefoot, hair still damp from the night. there’s no smirk this time. no tease. just the quiet question in his eyes.

you whisper, “come walk with me?”

he doesn’t answer. just nods once, grabs his keycard, and follows.

the resort is near silent at night. lanterns glow low along the stone paths, lighting the garden walkways and casting soft reflections over the still pool water. the air is warm and salty, the kind of breeze that curls around your ankles and hums beneath your skin.

you walk side by side in silence for a while. until he says, “you always used to sneak out like this.”

you smile faintly. “you always caught me.” —“because you were bad at sneaking.” a pause, “because you were obsessive.”

he glances at you. “you say that like it’s a flaw.” you laugh, soft and tired. “you still are.” he hums. “only about some things.” you walk past the little row of cabanas, their curtains fluttering in the wind.

“remember the old beach station?” you say. “the busted one we thought was haunted?” — “you mean the one i dragged you into during a thunderstorm?”

“and then left me when a bird flew into the window.” he grins, sharp and nostalgic. “you screamed first.”

“i had reason to. i thought it was a ghost.” he glances at you again, eyes softer now. “you always believed in things i couldn’t see.”

you stop walking. just for a second.

the wind picks up, and you wrap your arms around yourself. not from cold—just to keep something in.

“why now, caleb?” you ask. “why all of this?” he looks at you. eyes serious. voice low. “because for years, i told myself you’d be there when i was ready.” you inhale. feel it sting.

“and now that you’re not mine,” he adds, softer, “i can’t stop wondering if i waited too long.”

you walk again, wordless, the silence a little heavier now. not cold—just brimming. every step brushing against the edge of something you’ve both kept locked away for far too long.

then the path curves.

a narrow stone turnoff, half-hidden by a curtain of vines and low-hanging lanterns. you slip into it without thinking, your feet moving before your mind catches up. he follows. the alcove is small. private. a carved-out space in the garden wall, ivy crawling over old stone and no cameras, no windows, no footsteps nearby. the moonlight doesn’t quite reach this far. it feels like another world tucked inside the resort—untouched, unseen.

you stop walking. and then he’s there, you turn to face him—barely. his hands find your wrists. slow. deliberate.

and he pins them above your head, pressing them gently into the cool stone wall. your breath catches—more in shock than fear. your eyes widen, but you don’t pull away.

you can’t.

his body is close. too close. heat rolling off him in waves, his mouth just inches from yours, his knee brushing yours, chest rising and falling steady while yours stutters.

his voice is low—dangerous and velvet. “you want to know the worst part?”

you can’t speak— can barely move.

“it’s not just that i want you,” he murmurs, head tilting, his breath hot against your cheek. “it’s how much i know you want me back.”

your fingers twitch in his grip. he leans in closer—lips at your ear now.

“you lock your knees when i touch you. you look away every time i say your name. and when i held your panties in my hand—” his mouth brushes the shell of your ear—“you didn’t tell me to give them back.”

your pulse is roaring. his grip stays firm but gentle—like he’s restraining himself more than you.

“i don’t need to kiss you to know how you’d taste,” he says, voice ragged now. “i remember you. and i’ve dreamed about this for too long.”

your whole body trembles. his forehead leans against yours, and for a second—just one—he softens.

“tell me to stop,” he whispers.

his breath fans against your lips, heavy with want and the weight of everything unsaid. he has you pinned—not roughly, not cruelly, but like he’s clinging to the one thing in this entire galaxy that still feels real. his fingers are firm around your wrists, pressing them gently into the cool stone behind you, his body a whisper away from yours, heat coiled between you like a storm about to break.

and god, you want him. so bad.

you want him the way your body remembers—hot and hungry, instinctive. the way your heart still does—tangled in the memory of laughter in empty classrooms, late-night talks and half-written letters, the smell of his skin on your pillow long after he left.

but your heart isn’t quiet. not now.

and your mouth, when it moves, doesn’t say yes.

it says—soft, barely audible—“stop.”

he goes still— completely still. like the air’s been sucked out of him.

his fingers twitch where they hold you, then slowly, almost reverently, let go. your wrists drop to your sides, tingling, your arms aching in the absence of his touch. he steps back, just an inch, like it hurts to put distance there, but he respects it anyway.

he’s breathing hard. not from exertion, but from everything he’s holding back.

you don’t look at him right away. your head is down. your chest rises and falls like you’re trying not to cry.

and then you do.

tears slip down your cheeks before you can stop them—warm and silent, cutting slow paths down skin that still burns from where he touched you.

you lift your head, finally, and meet his gaze. he looks stricken. like someone who just realized he’s still bleeding from a wound he thought had healed.

“you didn’t pick me,” you whisper, voice trembling. “you had your chance. you left.”

he opens his mouth, but no words come.

“i waited for you,” you continue, stronger now, bitterness threading through the ache. “i waited longer than i should’ve. and you just… disappeared into the fleet. you sent reports. updates. hollow things. and i tried—i tried so fucking hard—to make peace with that.”

he takes a step closer, instinctive. but you back up, just slightly.

“and then i met someone,” you say. “someone who chose me. who stayed. who wanted a life, not just a memory.”

his jaw tenses, but he doesn’t speak.

you wipe the tears from your cheek with the back of your hand, breath sharp in your chest. “you don’t get to come back now and do this. you don’t get to touch me like i’m yours. you don’t get to look at me like that when i’ve finally, finally chosen to be happy.”

but i love you. your head buries the thought.

the silence that follows is suffocating. he’s breathing through his nose, eyes locked on you like he’s memorizing the pain he caused.

you hold his gaze one last time.

then you turn, footsteps light but unsteady as you walk away from him. past the vines, past the soft lights, past the garden path that still smells faintly of sea salt and firefruit.

he doesn’t follow.

he just stands there, rooted to the stone, with the weight of your words draped over his shoulders like a cloak he’ll never take off.

the sun creeps through the curtains like it’s apologizing. golden and soft, too kind for the ache sitting behind your eyes.

you dress in silence.

adrien’s already downstairs—he left early to meet with one of his execs flying in for the tail end of the celebration. he kissed your forehead before he left. you barely felt it.

your reflection in the mirror looks almost normal.

except your eyes— your eyes tell on you.

by the time you reach the dining terrace, the rest of the group is already gathered at a large outdoor table. white linen umbrellas shade half-drunk smoothies and strong coffee, sunglasses hiding most of their misery. nero looks like he’s about to melt into his plate. tara’s eating fruit directly from the tray with no shame. m.c. is dressed immaculately, of course, sipping lemon water like she didn’t drag half of xavier’s body weight through the hallway the night before.

“there she is,” m.c. says when she sees you, tone light. “sleep okay?”

you nod, sliding into the seat between her and tara.

“adrien told me you were already up,” xavier says groggily. “you people with morning routines are terrifying.”

you smile, small, polite, careful.

but your heart is already scanning the table.

he’s not here. you wait. maybe he’s just late.

but then m.c. sets her glass down and clears her throat.

“before anyone asks,” she says, tone just a little too smooth, “caleb had to leave early. fleet business. emergency recall. left just before sunrise.”

there’s a collective groan of disappointment. tara swears under her breath. xavier shrugs, “figures.”

nero mutters something like, damn, i owed him twenty credits.

but your stomach sinks… he didn’t say goodbye.

m.c. doesn’t look at you when she continues, cheerful now. “good news, though. the suite arrangements are staying the same—and he left instructions to keep everything on his card. so drinks, spa, room service—go wild.”

cheers rise across the table. xavier lifts his coffee like a toast. nero suddenly looks awake. tara claps her hands like someone just proposed. you force a smile. raise your own glass, but something inside you feels hollow. like a door closed quietly in the night, and you didn’t get to see what was on the other side.

he’s gone. again, and this time, he didn’t even look back

the rest of the trip slips through your fingers like sand.

there are bonfires and cocktails with flowers in them. ocean breezes and overpriced massages. poolside games and laughter that never quite reaches your chest. adrien is warm and sweet, always touching your hand, your shoulder, the small of your back. you let him. you kiss him when he leans in. you laugh at his jokes. you say “i love you” when he murmurs it against your temple.

but your heart stays quiet.

and caleb doesn’t message you.

not once.

no apology. no explanation. not even a hollow joke or a sign that he’d been thinking of you at all. it’s like he vanished again—just like before—leaving only the ache of what almost was. no one asks. not even m.c. she watches you sometimes, like she wants to, but she never says a word. she just stays close. brings you tea in the mornings. walks with you at night.

you keep waiting for something to break the silence.

it never does and eventually, the trip ends.

everyone hugs goodbye on the private landing deck. adrien kisses your cheek, promising he’ll take you somewhere even more beautiful next time. nero grumbles about work. tara’s already posting sunlit pictures. xavier pretends he didn’t cry when he saw the bill.

you hop in the car and look out the window as the coastline disappears beneath the clouds.

no messages.

no name lighting up your screen.

just your reflection, staring back at you, quieter now.

it’s been two weeks.

you’ve returned to routine—your apartment, your desk, your carefully managed calendar of quiet obligations. adrien is away on business, a two-week summit. he calls when he can. he sends gifts. you thank him with a soft voice and a smile he can’t see is empty.

you haven’t heard from caleb.

you’d convinced yourself that was permanent.

so when the building’s front desk pings you with a call, and the attendant says, “miss, there’s a colonel caleb xia here to see you. he’s requested you come down,” your breath catches like a hook in your lungs.

you almost say no, however, your feet are already moving.

the elevator doors open to the private valet entrance, and you step into the golden light of late afternoon—soft, clean, and far too warm for the cold in your chest.

and there he is.

leaning against the most stunning piece of car you’ve ever seen—gloss-black body, brushed metal trim, glowing fleet detailing along the edge of the door. a top-of-the-line sports car, modified beyond standard specs. of course.

he’s dressed simply—black shirt rolled at the sleeves, dark trousers, aviator shades tucked into his collar—but he still looks like he walked out of a novel.

and when he sees you—god, he actually looks nervous.

“hey,” he says, voice low. “thanks for coming down.” you stop a few steps away. arms crossed. walls up. “what are you doing here?”

he straightens. runs a hand through his hair like he’s bracing for something. “i owe you an apology.”

you don’t answer. you just wait.

“that night,” he says, “it was a fleet emergency. a real one. intel flagged a threat linked to one of my old operations—classified level. i had to leave before sunrise. couldn’t even bring my comm back online until i cleared orbit.”

he takes a step closer.

“i wasn’t ghosting you. i wasn’t running. i just—had to go. and i’m sorry you thought i didn’t care.”

your eyes sting, but you hold his gaze.

he exhales. voice softer now. “i should’ve told you as soon as i landed. but the longer i waited, the harder it got. and i… didn’t want to make things worse for you. not if you’d already chosen to forget me.”

silence stretches. and then—he nods toward the passenger door.

“i just want to talk. no pressure. no expectations. just you and me. one hour. that’s all i’m asking.”

your hand tightens around your phone. your heart’s a mess.

you nod, following him out of the apartment entrance.

you get in.

you don’t say anything at first.

just buckle your seatbelt and stare out the window as he pulls out of the lot, the engine humming smooth and low beneath you. he doesn’t play music. doesn’t speak. just drives—steady, like he knows every road but isn’t rushing through any of them.

the city thins. buildings stretch out into tree-lined residential zones, then the pavement turns soft with shadows. he pulls off into a small overlook just past the western ridge—where the city lights look like stardust and the sky hangs low and warm in the early dusk.

he puts the car in park but leaves the engine running.

for a moment, he doesn’t move.

just rests his hands on the wheel, staring out the windshield like he’s trying to breathe evenly.

then, quietly: “i don’t know what the hell i’m doing anymore.”

you glance at him, unsure of what to say.

his jaw flexes. “i thought i could just see you again. that it’d fade. that i’d remember why i left it all alone in the first place.”

his voice cracks slightly when he says your name. he turns toward you, finally, and there’s nothing calm in his eyes now. none of the smooth teasing or practiced control. just hunger. grief. something that’s been clawing at him for far too long.

“but it hasn’t faded,” he says. “it’s worse.”

you shift, pulse thudding louder in your ears.

“i miss you,” he breathes. “i miss you like it’s a sickness. like it’s in my bones.”

his fingers tighten on the wheel. “i think about you every goddamn day. and it’s not just memories. it’s need. it’s knowing exactly how you sound when you laugh and how you bite your lip when you’re overthinking something. it’s how you used to tuck your feet under mine on the couch just so they’d stay warm.”

you swallow hard.

“and i’ve tried,” he continues, raw now. “i’ve tried so hard to let go. to respect what you’ve built with him. but seeing you with him—smiling, reaching for his hand, looking up at him like he’s your future—i fucking hate it.”

you don’t look at him. you can’t.

“i know what this makes me,” he says. “but if the only way i get to have you is behind closed doors—if that’s all you’re willing to give me—i’ll take it.”

your breath catches.

he leans closer across the center console. “i’ll take anything,” he whispers, “as long as it’s you.”

you sit there, the silence thick as the sky around you. the console hums gently between your bodies, the glow of the city stretching out in front of you like a life that isn’t yours.

your fingers twist in your lap, voice raw when it finally breaks free.

“i don’t want to do that to him,” you whisper.

caleb says nothing.

you stare at your hands. “he’s never lied to me. never hurt me. he’s always been there, always—shown up. and he loves me.” your throat tightens. “he really loves me.”

you turn your face toward the window, breath fogging the glass. “how do i do this to someone like that?”

caleb shifts. not toward you—just slightly. like he’s holding himself back with everything he has.

“i’m not asking you to stop loving him,” he says finally, voice low, rough. “i’m asking you to stop pretending that’s all you feel.”

you shut your eyes.

he leans a little closer, his voice a breath against the quiet.

“you ache when i look at you,” he murmurs. “you flinch when i say your name. like you’re terrified of what it does to you.”

your heart slams against your ribs.

he exhales. “you think i didn’t see it? in the alcove? at the pool? even now—you won’t look at me because you’re afraid you’ll want it again.”

you turn, slowly, meeting his eyes—and he’s already there. watching you like he’s memorized the exact shape of your restraint.

“you’ve been wanting to fuck me for years,” he says, low and devastating. “you want to know how i know?”

you don’t breathe.

his gaze drags down—slow, deliberate—then back up, landing squarely on your mouth. “because i’ve been wanting it just as long. and i feel it—every time i’m near you. you’re thinking about it right now, and you hate yourself for it.”

your lip trembles, and he sees it. of course he does.

but his voice softens—just slightly.

“i’m not asking you to be cruel,” he says. “i’m asking you to be honest.”

he leans back then, like he’s giving you room to choose.

like he knows he’s already cracked something wide open.

you don’t answer.

you just sit there, the words still echoing in the low, humming cabin. his voice lingers in your blood, thick and hot, and your throat feels too tight to swallow.

he doesn’t push. doesn’t speak again. he just watches you for a moment longer—like he wants to reach out, like he won’t.

then he shifts, gently easing the car out of park.

the drive back is quiet.

the kind of quiet that makes your skin itch, like your whole body is trying to scream beneath the weight of what wasn’t said. the city glides by in a blur of golden streetlights and reflections in glass. you don’t know what song is playing, if any. your pulse is too loud in your ears to notice.

caleb pulls up in front of your building.

he doesn’t turn off the engine.

doesn’t look at you, at first.

you reach for the door handle with fingers that don’t feel like yours.

he speaks, soft, one last time. “you don’t have to decide tonight.”

you nod, but you don’t look at him.

you open the door, step out onto the curb. the air is cooler now, night brushing your skin like a warning. you don’t say goodbye and he doesn’t ask you to.

he waits until you’re inside the building before he pulls away. you don’t watch him go. but god, you feel it.

you feel every inch of distance stretching between who you are and what you want.

and you’re still thinking about it. thinking about him. even as the elevator closes. even as your door clicks shut.

even as you crawl into bed beside a man who has never made you cry, and still—

he isn’t the one making your heart race

morning comes slow, the kind that bleeds in through the curtains too gently to jolt you awake. your body moves on muscle memory—coffee, robe, soft slippers against the floor. adrien is already at the dining counter, sleeves rolled, reading through a holo-brief projected over his tablet. he looks up the second you enter.

“hey,” he says, with that easy smile. “you slept in.”

you nod. pour yourself a cup. you don’t meet his eyes.

“bad dreams?”

you shake your head. “just… tired.” he watches you for a second too long. you feel it.

he sets the tablet aside, his expression softening. “you okay?”

you stir your coffee. it takes longer than it should.

he gets up, walks over, and wraps his arms around your waist from behind—warm and sure, chin resting lightly on your shoulder. “you’ve been quiet,” he says. “colder, maybe. just a little.”

your throat tightens.

he presses a soft kiss to the curve of your neck. “if there’s something wrong—if i’ve done something—”

“no,” you interrupt gently, your voice barely above a whisper. “you haven’t.”

you turn slightly in his hold, enough to face him but not enough to really look.

“i get like this sometimes,” you lie. “just… little dips. random depression waves. i don’t always see them coming.”

his brows knit in concern, but he nods. you smile, and it feels brittle.

“i’m sorry if i’ve been distant. it’s not about you. really.”

he leans in and presses his forehead to yours.

“you don’t owe me apologies for how you feel,” he says quietly. “i’m not here for the best parts of you. i’m here for all of it.”

that breaks something in you. you hug him tighter than you mean to. he doesn’t question it. he just holds you. and you close your eyes. not to rest— but to hide from the truth pressing like a bruise beneath your ribs.

adrien’s message hits m.c.’s inbox just before noon, voice-attached, full of that effortless charm that makes him impossible to say no to.

“hey, sunshine. thinking of throwing something small this weekend at our place. just food, drinks, the usual. she’s been a little… off lately, and i thought maybe being around friends might help her shake it. you in?”

then, a second message, a little sheepish:

“also, i may have bought an embarrassing amount of alcohol. could use your help curating it so it doesn’t look like a cry for help.”

m.c. doesn’t even hesitate. she sends back a voice note with a laugh and a “count me in, you reckless wine hoarder.”

by the next day, he’s pulling strings.

he orders catering from her favorite fusion spot. hires a soft jazz duo for background music. stocks the bar with rare liquors—imports, aged things with names he can’t pronounce, glittery mixers from a lunar distillery she once offhandedly said reminded her of childhood.

and then, almost as an afterthought—but not really—he messages caleb.

adrien: got a favor. hosting a small get-together for her. thought maybe you could pull a few strings and get that flamefruit cocktail mix again? she loved it. figured it might get her smiling.

the message is casual. friendly. trusting.

caleb reads it twice.

he doesn’t respond immediately.

but two hours later, adrien gets a delivery confirmation for an off-world case of flamefruit extract with a note:

“tell her it burns going down, but it’s sweet after.”

adrien smiles. texts back a simple “you’re a legend.”

he has no idea what he’s set in motion.

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