But your latest photo was sent at midnight, and that was almost an hour and a half ago. He zooms in on the most recent picture, recognizing the karaoke bar interior: soundproof foam on the walls, neon lights, the glint of screens on tall glasses. He blinks, squinting at the overly bright screen in the dark, and forces himself to calm down. Maybe you just got carried away or you were simply busy; you had every right to relax and have fun. Caleb checks the clock again. 01:40.

And in that moment, he hears a key turning in the lock.

He shoots up from the sofa so fast colorful spots and streaks dance before his eyes. Caleb strides to the door and pulls it open himself. Just in time: you practically collapse into his arms, draping yourself over his neck with a giggle. He sniffs. You smell of your perfume, the sweet smoke of a hookah, and… alcohol.

Caleb frowns.

“You promised you wouldn’t drink.” 

You roll your eyes—he sees it in the uneven light of the streetlamp—and, swaying, miss the door handle trying to close it behind you. Caleb does it for you.

“We only had a little.”

You whine petulantly, making no move to release his neck. Your hot breath fans against his collarbones as you hang your full weight on him, nuzzling your forehead into his chest like an affectionate cat. Caleb sighs and guides you to the sofa, where you willingly collapse, pulling him down with you. He manages to brace his hands on the backrest, shifting his weight to avoid landing on top of you, and sits beside you instead. You pout, displeased.

“I can see just how ‘little’ you had.” 

Caleb adjusts the slipped strap of your dress, and you shrug your shoulder, letting it fall back down.

“Not that you need much, anyways.”

You push yourself up on your elbows, somehow managing to sit upright next to him. Caleb could almost swear he sees your head spinning.

“Caleb, you can be such a bore sometimes.”

You rub your eyes, smudging mascara and glittery eyeshadow. Caleb catches your wrist.

“You’re so hot when you’re quiet. You should do it more often. The girls think so too.”

You giggle and poke him playfully in the chest. Caleb sighs.

“I see the party was a success.” 

He releases your hand and carefully wipes the smudged mascara from your temple. You cross your eyes comically trying to look at his fingers, and Caleb can’t suppress a chuckle. 

“Were you discussing me all evening?..”

You shrug and curl your legs onto the sofa, settling on your knees. The hem of your dress rides up, exposing your thighs and the edge of your underwear. Caleb hastily pulls the fabric down.

“Not just you. The other guys too.”

You sway slightly on your knees and shuffle closer. Caleb sees your eyes glittering, reflecting the streetlight streaming from the window.

“People know you even outside the academy, can you believe it? Someone told someone about you, showed them your photos, videos from your games… Rumors about the handsome pilot are spreading even beyond Skyhaven.”

You mumble a bit incoherently—the alcohol muddling your thoughts, though you’re managing surprisingly well—then grip his shoulders, cup his face in your hands, and stare with intense focus. Caleb holds his breath, trying not to think about how close you are. You run your thumb along his cheekbone and brush a strand of hair from his forehead.

“You have no idea how popular guys from your academy are.”

“Is that so?”

Caleb smiles briefly and gently removes your hands from his face. You stubbornly put them back, then let them slide to his neck.

“Yeah. I showed the girls pictures from your training camp, and they said…”

You bite your lip for a second, as if hesitating, then giggle and smile drunkenly. Caleb carefully memorizes your expression.

“…that they’d absolutely fuck everyone in the photo. Especially Gideon and you.”

You frown.

“But I didn’t let them talk about you like that.”

Caleb raises an eyebrow.

 “Why?” 

He expects to hear anything. That it’s improper to talk like that about someone close to you in your presence; that it’s unpleasant to hear such things about someone you’ve known since childhood; that the photos weren’t shared for that purpose in the first place. But what he hears next hits him with a dizziness so intense he feels like he’s the one drunk to the point of oblivion.

You say:

“Because you’re mine, and I should be the one to do it, not someone else,”

and smile triumphantly, pressing closer, practically climbing into his lap and looking trustingly into his eyes.

Caleb gently takes you by the shoulders, trying to create some distance, but you, leaning back dangerously, instead settle straddling his lap. He tries to carefully lift you off, but it’s useless: you cling to his shoulders and neck, pressing unbearably close, burying your nose under his jaw, your exhale tickling his skin.

“Am I right?..”

Your finger trails down his chest towards the waistband of his sweatpants, fumbling with the drawstrings, trying to untie them. Caleb swiftly catches your hand. You sway, pulling back slightly to look at him indignantly, then lean forward, clumsily pressing your lips against his.

Caleb freezes.

Your wet tongue licks his lips, trying to part them, catching them with yours as you breathe hotly, finally leaving his pants alone to place your palms on his neck. He doesn’t respond. His vision is slightly unfocused, but he still sees your fluttering eyelashes and the slight tremble of your stubbornly furrowed brows. Your hands slide to his cheeks, stroking his cheekbones and eyelids, tracing the outline of his lips with your fingers, smearing your own saliva. You whine and pull away for just a moment—to look at him from under half-lidded eyes and run your tongue over your lips—before leaning in again.

Caleb covers your mouth with his palm and pushes you away. You try to bite his palm, but manage to only tickle it with your wet lips.

“Stop. You’re too far gone.” 

You mumble something displeased, and Caleb removes his hand. You toss disheveled hair from your forehead and shift your hips, getting more comfortable on his lap. Your fingers stroke his chest, trace the well-defined muscles visible even through his t-shirt, and you squirm, pressing your alcohol-flushed body unbearably close. Caleb places his hands on your thighs, pulling down the ridden-up hem of your dress once more, and holds you in place. You tug the collar of his t-shirt aside, and Caleb, perhaps for the first time in his life, wishes he had a couple of extra hands.

“And you’re not going far enough. Ugh, what a bummer!..” 

You playfully smack his chest and giggle, leaning towards his neck, running the tip of your tongue along his jawline and pressing your lips to where his pulse beats rapidly. Caleb shudders with a gasp, his fingers tightening on your thighs. You can’t miss it and you don’t: you smile a supremely satisfied, cream-fed-cat smile, rub your entire body closer, spread your legs wider, and wrap your thighs around his. Your hem rides up again, exposing your lace-clad backside, and the other dress strap, which had miraculously stayed on your shoulder until now, slips down, making the neckline plunge even deeper. You nuzzle against him, press harder, slip your hands under his t-shirt, scratch the defined lines of his abs with your nails, and sniff the air near his ear, sending shivers down Caleb’s spine that settle traitorously hot somewhere in his groin.

He dismisses the feeling with annoyance. He can’t. Not like this. Not now.

“You smell so good…”

You nuzzle from his ear to his temple, kiss his cheekbone, rub your cheek against his, and try to kiss him again. Caleb turns his head away, and your lips land right next to the corner of his mouth.

“Why are you like this? Don’t you want me?..”

You bite your lower lip and look at him with unfocused eyes, your head slightly tilted. Caleb doesn’t rise to the provocation, but he still greedily drinks in your disheveled, flushed, intoxicated image.

He wants to give in.

He'll never admit it.

“You should get some sleep.”

Caleb hooks his arms under your thighs and stands up. You try to protest and struggle, but your coordination is worse than just terrible: you let out a quiet cry, panic-gripping his arms, and finally bury your forehead between his shoulder and neck.

Caleb diligently ignores the sensation of the fine lace of your underwear under his fingers.

He carries you to your room—praying to every known and fictional god that Josephine doesn’t wake up on the suddenly interminable journey down the hallway—and carefully lays you down on the bed. You flop onto your back, arms splayed, then petulantly lift a leg and wiggle it in Caleb’s direction. He sighs but obediently kneels, taking off your heels and carefully setting them aside. He gently wipes your feet with wet wipes—you giggle and try to pull your foot from his grasp, but Caleb holds your ankle firmly—then offers a hand, helping you sit up. He takes a few more wipes and cleans your face, removing smudged mascara, glitter and traces of lipstick. He doesn’t deny himself the pleasure of retracing the path with his fingertips as if wiping away residual moisture. You nuzzle into his palm, close your eyes, and try to catch his fingers with your lips.

Caleb pulls away with something almost like regret. 

“Put your arms up.”

He asks quietly. You obey, albeit slowly. He unzips the side of your dress and helps you out of it, mentally thanking himself for not turning on the light, then drapes his old t-shirt, the one that serves as your pajamas, around your neck. Caleb pulls it down and, making sure it covers you, unclasps your bra, sliding it down your shoulders before turning away. You rustle behind his back, getting tangled in the sleeves, and he has to turn around when you let out an utterly miserable sound: having gotten one arm in, you can’t find the second sleeve.

Caleb sighs.

“What would you do without me?..”

You stick your tongue out at him but don’t answer, flopping back onto the mattress. Caleb pulls the blanket out from under you—you roll over, nearly falling off.

He catches you just in time. He helps you lie down properly, tucks you in, and is about to leave but freezes, stopped by the grip of your determined fingers clutching the hem of his t-shirt.

“A goodnight kiss? Pretty please?”

You pout, puffing out your cheeks. Caleb leans closer, and you close your eyes in anticipation.

“Good night.”

He whispers and kisses your forehead, letting his lips linger on your hot skin a moment longer than necessary.

“Buzzkill.”

Caleb chuckles but doesn’t reply, leaving the room and as quietly as possible heading to the kitchen to grab you some painkillers and a glass of water.

And, silently closing the door behind him, he doesn’t see your completely sober gaze that follows his back.

One pillow goes under your head — as it should, just like most people sleep. 

The second one is tucked behind your back — a barrier, a false sense of protection, because you don’t like to sleep with your back exposed. 

The third one you hug, throwing a leg over it, pressing it as close as possible in an attempt to recreate that warm, familiar embrace. 

The fourth, the smallest, goes under your free elbow, covering your side and chest. 

You pull the blanket over yourself, hiding beneath its soft folds. And finally, you allow the warmth and weight to lull you to sleep.

The same ritual every night. 

A quirk that has become a necessity. 

Sometimes you wonder if it should be the first and only thing on your list of bad habits.

──────

After Caleb’s return, you continue sleeping surrounded by pillows. Caleb notices. Of course he does — how could he not? — and silently buys you a few more pillows, leaving them in your room in his Skyhaven apartment. He doesn’t ask where you got this habit from, but you feel like he’s already figured it out. Staying over at his place, you don’t change your ritual, turning the huge bed into a plush-pillow sanctuary. 

Caleb is back, but it feels like he’s further away from you than ever. The bed sheets and blanket smell of his cologne — fresh, familiar — and in those fragile evening moments, you desperately want to believe that you and Caleb are truly home again. 

That the muffled muttering from the living room isn’t reports and endless briefings that follow Caleb even outside of work — but the forgotten TV, its volume turned down to a minimum. 

That the lights of the city breaking through the curtains are in fact soft moonlight, cradling the summer night in its embrace. 

That you’re not in this big, almost lifeless apartment desperately clutching a pillow — but on a couch in the not-so-big gran's living room holding a drowsy Caleb, wrapped in the warmth of summer that you’ll spend together.

Caleb has returned to your life. But now, it feels like there’s a glass wall between you — right where the warmth, the tenderness, the infinite trust used to be.

It’s starting to crack. And behind the cracks you can sense all these familiar feelings and emotions trying to break through. But it’s not enough. 

You’re afraid that this glass wall will never shatter.

Even after Caleb’s return you’re still haunted by nightmares. Waking from them in the quiet of your own home became familiar long ago. But in the silence of the room at Skyhaven screaming in desperation and fear feels almost like a crime. You cover your mouth with your palm, your fingers tremble. The bed is a mess, pillows scattered across the floor except the one under your head. The nightmare’s grim reality still flickers in your mind, and you blink rapidly, trying to push it away. You don’t hear hurried footsteps down the hallway, only noticing them when they stop with the sound of a door opening. Caleb is standing in the doorway — disheveled from sleep, but alert and tense, like a spring ready to snap at any moment. He quickly scans the room, and finding no danger, softly approaches the bed, sitting on the edge. The mattress dips under his weight, and you hurriedly wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, brushing away the tears. But Caleb still notices.

“Are you okay?”

His voice is slightly hoarse from sleep, and a wave of shame and guilt rises in your chest and washes over you. You nod quickly — too quickly for it to seem truly sincere.

“Yeah, I just… just had a nightmare. Sorry for waking you.”

Caleb reaches out, gently tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. It takes a lot not to lean into his touch, seeking comfort. Caleb notices — he himself touches your cheek with his palm, and you press into it, closing your eyes for a moment to catch your breath. Caleb caresses your cheek with his thumb, wiping away the damp trails of your tears. 

For a moment, it feels like the world narrows down to the two of you sitting across from each other. 

Almost like before, almost like in the past. 

Except that now everything feels completely different.

“Don’t apologize, pipsqueak. Want me to make you some warm herbal tea? It’ll help you calm down.” 

You know there are only a few hours left before his alarm goes off, but despite that he’s still willing to spend those precious minutes with you. You swallow the lump in your throat and shake your head with a faint smile.

“I’m fine, really.” “You’re still crying.”

Caleb traces a finger up your cheek to the corner of your eye, wiping the tear with his thumb. In his gaze you see familiar concern, warmth, and endless tenderness — and for a moment it feels like nothing has changed. 

Like you’re back on the narrow couch in the gran's living room, lazily debating who will fall asleep first. 

Like you're back in those carefree days when the biggest problem was deciding which flavor of ice cream to choose.

Like you’re back together for the whole summer, and even the coming separation when his vacation ends won’t overshadow this precious time. 

You reach out to him, wrapping your arms around his chest in the familiar gesture, nuzzling your face in the spot where his neck meets his shoulder, inhaling the fresh scent of his shower gel and closing your eyes. You feel him hold you back almost immediately. Like he was waiting for this. His breath catches for just a moment, and you swear you can feel his heartbeat quickening by a dozen beats per minute. Your heart seems to echo his.

“I dreamed that you…” “Shh, don’t think about it.” 

Caleb strokes your back, and you feel the warmth of his hands even through your clothes. 

“I’m here with you, and I’m not going anywhere.” 

He briefly kisses your forehead, touch almost ghostly on your skin.

“Caleb?..”

He pulls back slightly, looking at you with those impossibly beautiful sunset-colored eyes, and your heart tightens with unbearable tenderness. You gently touch his cheek, almost as if trying to make sure he’s real, that he’s really here, that he’s truly not going anywhere. Caleb turns his head and softly kisses the center of your palm.

“Stay with me tonight. Please.”

His eyelashes flutter as he blinks in surprise. In the dim light of the room you see his lips curl into a smile, the features of his face soften, and the worry fades from his eyes. Caleb lies down beside you, like he’s done so many times before, pulling you closer and holding you tight. His chest rises and falls, and you rest your hand on it. The cool metal of his pendant brushes against your skin, and you gently trace its contours with your finger. Caleb slowly runs his fingers through your hair, and you feel his breath on your forehead.

“I’ll stay with you forever. Just ask me.” 

He slowly strokes your back. 

His touch barely there, almost hesitant — as if he's afraid to disturb the fragility of the moment.

“...stay with me forever.”

You echo, closing your eyes as sleep takes over. Caleb pulls the blanket over both of you, and the warmth surrounds you completely. You finally let go, surrendering to sleep.

You don't realize that for the first time in many nights you didn’t even think about the pillows scattered on the floor.

You won’t need them tonight. 

And something in you wants to believe that from this very moment you’ll never need them at all.

The glass wall between you and Caleb seems to crack once more — and this crack is deeper than all of those before.

And through it, that familiar and long-awaited warmth breaks through, almost searing in its wake.

“No one will dare to separate us. Never again. I promise.”

He kisses your forehead briefly and his lips linger on your skin just a little longer than necessary. Then they slide down, brushing your cheek, teasingly touching the tip of your nose. Finally, they come to rest near the corner of your mouth.

You’re absolutely sure this warm touch of his lips so dangerously close to your own was just a dream.