~Air_Heart~

life did not become bad, but it simply became scheduled. you learned how to live by calendars now, by meetings and reports and client dinners. your phone buzzed more often from work than from friends these days, and your closet slowly filled with silk blouses, neutral heels, and fitted office dresses instead of oversized hoodies and school event shirts. 

sometimes, you missed how easy everything used to feel. other times, you were grateful it no longer did.

“you’re thinking again.” you blinked and looked up from your untouched drink. across the table, your colleague and closest friend from work, tara, narrowed her eyes at you knowingly beneath the warm restaurant lighting. around the two of you, friday night chatter filled the rooftop bar while city lights glittered far below the building.

you laughed quietly. “i’m literally just sitting here.”

“exactly,” tara replied. “you only get that existential look when you start thinking about life.”

you rolled your eyes and finally took a sip from your drink. it tasted expensive and barely alcoholic, which felt very fitting for the kind of establishment your coworkers liked frequenting after successful presentations.

you leaned back into your chair with a sigh, letting their voices blur together briefly while laughter continued around the table. honestly, they weren’t wrong. the past year had been exhausting. being a corporate manager at your age sounded impressive on paper until people realized it mostly involved sleeping too little and carrying everybody else’s problems on your back, while pretending you had everything under control.

still, you liked the work, the independence, knowing you built this version of your life yourself. your phone buzzed suddenly beside your drink, bringing your eyes to it. 

it’s the family groupchat. 

your younger cousins were apparently spamming blurry photos from their movie night at your aunt’s house. one picture showed three of them wrapped together in blankets while another was just an aggressively close image of pizza. you smiled despite yourself.

tara noticed instantly. “family?”

“yeah.” you shook your head. “my cousins.”

“the little kids?”

“not little anymore,” you murmured.

that part still felt strange too. the youngest cousin who used to cry over scraped knees now posted dance covers online and borrowed makeup from you occasionally. another had recently started driving lessons. they were all growing too fast, stretching taller and louder and more complicated each year while you somehow stayed stuck remembering them as children.

maybe adulthood was just constantly realizing time moved without asking permission first.

—

the invitation arrived on a random tuesday night while you were half-awake in bed, still wearing your work blouse and scrolling mindlessly through your phone after answering one last email. you almost ignored it, thinking it was just another notification buried between work group chats, promotional messages, and missed calls from relatives... but then your eyes caught familiar words.

senior high alumni homecoming.

you blinked once. now you were fully awake.

the invitation opened into an elegant digital poster washed in dark navy and gold, far more sophisticated than anything your old student council could’ve designed years ago. beneath the formal lettering sat the event details neatly arranged across the screen. the venue, the date, the dress code... and then, at the very bottom says—

costumed masquerade theme.

you stared at the word longer than necessary. for some reason, it made your chest feel strangely light. below the poster, old batchmates were already reacting in the comment section. 

it had been years. years since senior high—since crowded hallways and sports festivals and summer evenings that felt endless back then. life after graduation moved too quickly for everyone. college separated people, and careers scattered them further. friendships became birthdays greeted through instagram stories and occasional “we should meet soon” conversations nobody had time to fulfill.

and yet, this invitation felt like somebody opening an old bedroom window after years. all at once, the memories from before drifted back in quietly.

you sat up against your pillows, phone glowing against the dark room while the city outside your condo windows stretched endlessly beneath the midnight sky.

would it really feel the same? you doubted it. 

everyone was older now, real adults. people had careers, licenses, responsibilities, and probably relationships too. the thought made something inside you shift faintly. still, despite yourself, excitement curled somewhere in your chest.

you imagined seeing your old classmates again after all this time, imagined hearing familiar voices you hadn’t heard in years, briefly becoming younger again just by standing in the same room together.

it sounded nice, dangerously nice. which was exactly why you hesitated.

for the next few days, the invitation in your phone stayed unanswered. you kept reopening the poster during work breaks only to lock your phone again afterward. every time someone new confirmed attendance, your curiosity deepened a little more. 

you were grocery shopping with your mother beneath painfully cold supermarket air-conditioning while your mother pushed the cart slowly through the produce aisle, occasionally handing you random items to place inside.

you trailed beside her absentmindedly while checking your phone again, seeing someone had just sent another reminder poster.

“three weeks left before the masquerade reunion!”

your mother glanced at you briefly. “what are you staring at?”

“nothing,” you answered.

she hummed suspiciously before tossing oranges into the cart. “you’ve had that same expression since yesterday.”

“what expression?”

“the one you get when you’re thinking too hard.”

you looked down at the invitation again. you could almost picture it already—old batchmates rediscovering each other beneath adulthood and years apart.

it felt like an invitation back to youth, just for one evening.

before you could overthink yourself out of it again, you accidentally pressed the attendance button.

confirmed.

your mother blinked when you suddenly looked so petrified. “what happened?”

you slipped your phone into your pocket. “…i think i’m going to a party.”

and that’s it. 

the night of the alumni homecoming arrived wrapped in gold lights.

the convention center occupied almost the entire upper floor of the hotel, glowing warmly behind towering glass windows while valet attendants guided cars beneath the entrance canopy downstairs. 

...you didn’t expect for the party to be this well-prepared and budgeted. from outside alone, the event already looked far more elegant than anything your old batch could have afforded years ago. adulthood really did strange things to people—apparently one of those things included having enough money to rent out ballrooms and pretend everybody had always been this sophisticated.

you stood before the large mirrored elevator walls one last time before stepping out onto the event floor.

you decided to dress as catwoman. the costume had started as a joke between you and tara during a late-night online shopping spree. but now, beneath the hallway lights of the hotel, you almost regretted how good it actually looked on you.

music pulsed through the ballroom doors ahead as hotel staff welcomed arriving guests. the moment you stepped inside, warm lighting and noise swallowed you whole.

the venue was enormous! massive chandeliers reflected gold across glossy floors while alumni crowded around cocktail tables beneath dim ambient lights, meanwhile the dance floor already held clusters of people as servers carried trays of drinks through the crowd.

and everywhere, everyone wore masks. beautiful, elaborate, confusing masks. half the challenge of the reunion seemed to be figuring out who anybody actually was. some people wore elegant masquerade masks while others committed entirely to themes and costumes dramatic enough to make identification nearly impossible. every few seconds, somebody somewhere would suddenly shriek after recognizing an old batchmate.

thinking about it, it was kind of genius. years changed people enough already, so hiding everyone’s faces behind masks only made the nostalgia feel stranger.

for a moment, you simply stood there near the entrance taking it all in. years ago, something like this would’ve overwhelmed you almost immediately. it’s too loud, too crowded. too many social expectations pressing against your chest all at once. but adulthood had apparently beaten professionalism into you. now, instead of panicking, you simply adjusted your clutch beneath your arm and moved forward calmly into the crowd.

look at you.

a functioning adult...sort of.

time moved strangely inside the venue, though. 

one moment you were laughing over old classroom stories and forgotten teachers, and the next you were standing beside an open bar while somebody from your old literature class passionately explained why he quit law school to start a café business instead. everywhere you looked, old versions of people kept appearing beneath unfamiliar adulthood. 

it felt a little like opening a time capsule only to discover everything inside had learned how to breathe on its own.

you drifted further into the venue eventually, drink balanced loosely in your hand while conversations came and went around you in fragments. the ballroom had grown warmer now from the amount of people filling it. for once, you allowed yourself to enjoy it. to exist inside this strange overlap between who you used to be and who you became.

“do you think caleb’s actually here?”

huh? 

your steps slowed. it happened so naturally your body reacted before your mind did.

“oh my gosh, wait, is he? did anyone see caleb?”

caleb.

the name landed against your chest with quiet, terrible familiarity. for a second, all the noise around you dulled.

instead of turning around, you stood near one of the ballroom pillars with your fingers tightening subtly around your glass.

“i think he is,” another woman answered excitedly. “someone said the guy wearing the nightwing costume might be him!”

...of course caleb was here. why wouldn’t he be? it would’ve been more strange if he wasn’t here. the realization should not have unsettled you this much after all these years, and yet suddenly your chest felt oddly tight beneath the fitted black fabric of your clothes. because if caleb was here... then, is the other also here? 

your thoughts stopped themselves before fully forming the name.

...zayne.

something you tried your best to bury after all these years... now had been brought up to the surface. it’s pretty naive of you to think that this wouldn't happen one way or another tonight, right? 

you stared blankly toward the moving crowd ahead while your pulse shifted unevenly somewhere beneath your ribs. it had been years since you last saw either of them properly, years since that unbearable summer, years since tangled confessions and emotions too large for any of you to handle correctly at eighteen.

years since you walked away.

would they look different now? what if you ran into them tonight? what exactly were you supposed to say after all this time? the thought alone made heat creep faintly up your neck.

you were no longer teenagers. no longer those messy, emotionally reckless kids orbiting around each other beneath suburban summers and friday night gatherings. 

adulthood had happened already, surely time had done its job. surely they had moved on.

“honestly,” one of the girls behind you continued with a laugh, “i still can’t believe i dated him.”

you blinked.

another voice groaned. “you dated caleb and survived? tell us everything.”

dated.

the word echoed unpleasantly inside your chest.

“oh please,” the girl laughed again. “it wasn’t that dramatic. we broke up because of distance after graduation. he was already flying all over the place for training back then.”

flying?

ah, right.

your parents did let you know a year ago that he had become a DAA pilot. somehow hearing it spoken aloud made the years feel even more real.

“he’s gotten more ridiculously handsome though,” another added. “if he’s really here tonight, maybe this is your chance to get back together.” their laughter then blurred afterward beneath the music.

you stood still for one second too long, before looking over your shoulder to see the face of the girl caleb had apparently dated.

did he really?

pfft, of course he did. why wouldn’t he?

he was caleb. the golden boy turned golden man. the kind of person people naturally loved. and yet, the image still unsettled something quiet and unpleasant inside you. before memory could drag you any further backward, you immediately resumed walking deeper into the ballroom.

enough.

your heels clicked steadily against polished floors while you lifted your chin and forced yourself through the crowd again. you refused to let old emotions creep back into your chest this easily after everything.

you were not eighteen anymore. you were a grown woman now—one who handled negotiations, presentations, and difficult people for a living. for god’s sake, you paid taxes and managed teams and owned matching dinnerware now.

get yourself together.

whatever existed between the three of you belonged to another lifetime already. tonight was only a reunion. nothing more.

you tried to shake the feeling off afterward. really, you did.

deciding you needed something sweet—or maybe simply a distraction—you wandered toward one of the longer dessert tables situated near the center of the venue. unlike the crowded cocktail area, this side of the ballroom felt calmer. at the center of the table, a large chocolate fountain cascaded endlessly downward in glossy ribbons.

okay, maybe adulthood never truly erased simple joys.

the fountain looked ridiculously good. you grabbed one of the small dessert cups from beside the table and leaned slightly forward, carefully positioning fruit skewers beneath the flowing chocolate. the scent of cocoa drifted warmly upward.

for a brief moment, you relaxed again.

and then—that feeling returned. just enough to make the back of your neck grow strangely aware. you straightened slightly, fingers tightening around the dessert cup as you sensed someone standing nearby behind you. not close enough to be inappropriate, but close enough to feel deliberate.

your eyes lifted instinctively...

to a man dressed in a nightwing costume stood only a few meters away, dark domino mask shadowing his face while he casually held a drink in one gloved hand.

tall, broad shoulders, dark hair. even the posture—

oh my god.

your entire body went rigid beneath your clothes.

shit. that had to be caleb, right?

your mind raced embarrassingly fast while the man remained completely unaware—or at least seemingly unaware—of the internal crisis currently unfolding beside the chocolate fountain.

okay, you were an adult. a very functional adult. this was not high school anymore. if that really was caleb, then the correct thing to do would obviously be acting normal. mature and emotionally unaffected. you absolutely refused to look like somebody still hung up on old teenage history years later.

hesitantly, you cleared your throat and turned toward him fully.

the man finally glanced up from his drink.

god, why did he still feel familiar even after all this time?

forcing composure into your expression, you offered him a polite smile. “…hey, caleb, how’ve you been?”

for a few long seconds, the man simply stared at you.... strangely.

his silence stretched enough to make heat slowly creep up your neck beneath the mask. behind the dark lenses of his nightwing costume, his expression looked almost alarmed, like you had approached him with deeply concerning information instead of a simple greeting.

your confidence began deteriorating immediately. why did he look so confused?

a horrible thought then crossed your mind all at once.

did caleb seriously forget about you now?

no, that was ridiculous! surely not to that extent. before you could spiral any further into your own embarrassment, the man finally spoke.

“…i’m not caleb.”

the ballroom lights shifted overhead at the exact same moment, finally illuminating his eyes properly through the mask.

hazel brown, not purple.

oh.

how did you even make that mistake?

“ah,” you muttered beneath a short embarrassed laugh. “i’m sorry, i thought you were somebody else.”

he really looks a lot like caleb...

the man stared at you for another second before chuckling lightly into his drink. “well, now i’m curious. you looking for caleb?”

you frowned. “no,” you answered perhaps a little too quickly. “i just thought you were... him.”

“ah.” the man nodded knowingly in a way that irritated you slightly. then he casually added, “i heard he wasn’t able to attend anyway because of his schedule.”

your fingers loosened around the cup. “is that so,” 

“yep, something work-related, i think.”

that made sense. pilots probably weren’t exactly known for stable schedules.

the strange tightness lingering inside your chest eased just slightly afterward. maybe because uncertainty felt worse than disappointment somehow. at least now there was an explanation, a clean one.

he simply wasn’t here.

you nodded politely. “well, thank you anyway.”

the man raised his glass toward you. “good luck finding whoever you’re actually looking for.”

you gave him one last embarrassed smile before immediately turning away. jesus, what an unbelievably humiliating interaction.

as you walked deeper through the ballroom again, you tried forcing yourself not to think about it too much. honestly, maybe it was better this way. you wouldn’t have to worry about awkward reunions or unresolved history suddenly resurfacing. caleb wasn’t here. and if caleb wasn’t here—then maybe zayne wasn’t either. 

you continued moving through the venue with quieter steps, eventually drifting toward the grand staircase leading upstairs to the hotel’s lounge area. unlike the crowded ballroom below, the upper floor looked dimmer and more intimate.

except, there was a crowd gathered near the lounge entrance.

you slowed, watching the way people stood clustered together around one side of the room, several guests leaned against the railings trying to peek through the gathering, while others whispered to each other with visible amusement.

your brows furrowed. what exactly was happening up there?

curiosity carried you upstairs before caution could stop you. most of the crowd, however, seemed gathered around one particular table near the center of the lounge. you stepped closer carefully, weaving between guests until the scene finally came into view.

a proper poker setup occupied one of the longer tables, cards scattered beneath the amber lighting while chips piled carelessly around half-finished drinks. several masked alumni sat around the table already looking halfway defeated.

and seated among them—was ghostface.

it’s not the ridiculous halloween-store version. this one looked… unfairly good.

instead of the long black robe usually associated with the mask, the man wore fitted black clothing that sharpened the broadness of his shoulders and arms, dark fabric stretching cleanly over muscle before disappearing into grey baggy jeans that somehow made the whole look even more attractive. black gloves covered his hands while the ghostface mask itself showcased its expression permanently frozen into that eerie open-mouthed grin.

you folded your arms while lingering near the edge of the crowd, attention slowly drifting toward the game unfolding before you.

“that’s like his sixth win already.”

“no seriously, this guy’s terrifying.”

soft laughter circled around the table, and the ghostface man only leaned back slightly in his chair, cards resting between gloved fingers with suspicious ease.

you watched another round unfold. and unfortunately, they were right. he was good, very good. 

he played patiently, almost lazily at times, like he already knew how each round would end before the others did. every movement looked deliberate, the way he shuffled chips, the way he held cards. even the way he sat there silently while everyone else talked too much.

you narrowed your eyes beneath your mask. okay, that irritated you.

because for as long as you could remember, you had always been good at card games. most especially poker. annoyingly good, according to several cousins and former classmates who stopped agreeing to play against you years ago. and now this ghostface man was sitting there collecting victories like he owned the table, so your competitiveness stirred before you could stop it.

you remained watching for another minute, then another.

the ghostface player revealed another winning hand.

“oh come on,” someone complained loudly. “this guy’s impossible.”

through the mask, ghostface only tilted his head in amusement.

that did it.

before you could reconsider, you stepped forward through the crowd. “can i play too?”the moment you stepped closer to the table, several heads turned toward you at once.

years ago, that amount of attention probably would have made your stomach fold into itself. you used to hate moments like this in school—the sudden awareness of eyes, the fear of saying something awkward, the feeling of being perceived too closely.

unlike everyone else who only glanced briefly your way, the ghostface guy seated across the poker table looked up at you and… stayed there.

one second, and two, and three.

his mask revealed absolutely nothing, which somehow made it worse. the frozen expression carved into ghostface’s face remained permanently unreadable while he simply stared at you in complete silence.

you resisted the urge to fidget beneath his attention. 

why did that suddenly feel intense? 

“is that okay?” you finally asked, gesturing toward the empty chair. “or am i intruding?”

for a brief moment, ghostface remained motionless. then—as though suddenly realizing he had been staring too long—he leaned back and nodded once.

“it's okay.”

your breath caught.

that voice...

you narrowed your eyes even more beneath your catwoman mask while slowly taking the seat across from him.

his voice is dangerously familiar, not enough for certainty, but just enough to disturb you. you settled into the chair anyway while the others around the table perked up at the possibility of fresh entertainment.

“oh thank god,” somebody groaned dramatically. “please humble him for us.”

“seriously,” another added. “this guy’s been robbing everybody blind.”

ghostface said nothing. he only lowered his gaze back toward the cards in his hands while the dealer reshuffled for the next round.

thankfully, once the game resumed, the mask itself stopped being distracting surprisingly quickly. maybe because ghostface rarely lifted his head fully while playing. most of the time, his attention remained lowered toward the table, gloved fingers handling chips and cards with calm precision.

the first few rounds unfolded carefully. you played cleanly, watching your opponents more than your own cards while the lounge buzzed around you. years of corporate meetings had apparently sharpened your poker face because some of the players folded too early against you. ghostface, however, remained annoyingly difficult to read. his movements were too controlled, too measured. 

you frowned while studying him across the table.

the game had somehow become quieter around the two of you, in the sense that your attention had narrowed toward the man seated across. somewhere along the way, the others around the table stopped mattering. it became a strange tug-of-war existing only between you and ghostface.

and annoyingly—he really was good.

the current round had gone sideways faster than you expected. one by one, the other players folded until only the two of you remained at the table, chips scattered between dim amber light and half-empty glasses.

you leaned back in your chair while mentally rearranging possibilities.

shit.

ghostface had cornered you beautifully.

your fingers tapped once against your cards while you forced yourself to think. if you folded now, you’d lose the round entirely. but if you pushed too aggressively and guessed wrong—ugh. your ego genuinely would not survive losing to this stupid masked man, especially not in front of an audience.

across the table, ghostface remained infuriatingly calm. it made you bite against your lower lip while studying the chips, trying to search for another angle, another bluff, another opening somewhere inside the round.

come on. think!

you glanced upward absentmindedly—then immediately looked back down—before your eyes snapped upward again.

because ghostface was staring at you.

... very openly.

his elbow rested against the arm of the chair while his gloved fist supported the side of his face, posture almost lazy beneath the dark clothing. yet despite how relaxed he looked, the attention directed toward you felt sharp enough to press against your skin.

and unlike before—he did not look away. it's like he knew exactly what position he had cornered you into and wanted to watch you struggle through it.

fine.

you stared back.

the lounge lights shifted overhead while the two of you remained suspended in this strange silent challenge across the poker table. the longer you looked, the more your eyes adjusted to the thin dark material shadowing the eyeholes of the ghostface mask.

and then, you saw them.

purple eyes...

faintly obscured beneath black fabric and low lighting, but unmistakably purple. for one horrifying second, your mind blanked completely.

wait. how common even were purple eyes? no, that wasn’t the correct question. how rare were they?

your pulse stumbled unevenly while you stared at him, but ghostface remained motionless, watching you. those purple eyes continued to pierce into your soul. now, the mask felt less anonymous than before.

your gaze dropped quickly back toward the cards in your hands.

don’t get distracted.

it did not matter who this man was. it did not matter why his voice sounded familiar or why his eyes looked dangerously recognizable beneath that mask. right now, there was only one thing that mattered:

you were winning this round.

you inhaled slowly and forced yourself to think again. and then—like a spark suddenly catching—you saw it. a narrow opening hidden beneath the way ghostface had structured the round. risky but possible.

slowly, you reached forward and pushed your chips inward. the table quieted, and ghostface tilted his head at your bold move.

someone nearby muttered, “oh this is evil.”

you finally lifted your gaze toward him again.“call,” for the first time all night, ghostface hesitated. it was barely noticeable, but very much enough.

the reveal came seconds later.

“no way.”

“finally!”

got you.

after being cornered for nearly the entire round, somehow—somehow—you managed to turn it around against him!

the moment your win settled in, the lounge around the table reacted instantly.

“she actually did it,” one of them laughed.

“our man got humbled,” another added, half incredulous.

you could feel the attention return to you again, lighter this time, less intimidating than before. your shoulders eased beneath the catwoman mask as you offered a small, polite smile. and then, you turned your attention back across the table toward ghostface. “that was a good game,” you smiled a bit wider. “you’re really good.”

that was a fact.

he didn’t respond though. 

ghostface remained perfectly still, head tilted slightly downward as if studying you through the black void of his mask. the silence stretched just long enough to feel intentional, like he was weighing something he had no intention of sharing with anyone else in the room.

you couldn’t read him, not even a little. then, after a beat too long, he lifted his hands and gave a slow, lazy clap.

once... twice... thrice.

“congratulations, miss poker,” he said at last.

you held his gaze for a second longer than necessary, because his mannerisms bothered you. it’s the tilt of his head, the stillness between movements, and even the way he spoke felt like something your memory almost knew but couldn’t fully grasp.

a familiar ghost of familiarity.

you swallowed the thought before it could form properly. instead, you let out a small breath and returned a light smile. “thanks,” you replied casually, as if none of this lingered beneath the surface.

you pushed back your chair and stood, smoothing yourself as the crowd began shifting around you again, some still talking about the game while others moved on to their own conversations. excusing yourself politely, you stepped away from the table, and as you walked past ghostface, you felt his presence remain still behind you. but you didn’t look back.

you weaved through the lounge crowd toward the hallway, heels clicking against the floor. you needed a moment where your thoughts didn’t feel like they were circling something you couldn’t name.

the nearest restroom sign came into view at the end of the corridor. it was blissfully quiet compared to the lounge outside.

the moment the door closed behind you, the noise of the party dulled into distant vibrations through the walls, softened enough for you to finally exhale properly.

you reached up and removed your mask. “ugh,” 

finally.

cool air brushed against your skin almost instantly, easing the slight warmth that had gathered beneath the mask throughout the night. for a moment, you simply stood there staring at your reflection in the mirror, fingers adjusting loose strands of hair that had shifted during the evening.

after using one of the cubicles, you washed your hands slowly beneath warm water, your thoughts inevitably drifting back toward the lounge outside.

toward... the ghostface guy.

your brows furrowed faintly at your own reflection, thinking about how... everything about him felt familiar. not just one specific thing, but everything. and then there were those purple eyes.

could it really be—?

no. the nightwing guy downstairs already said caleb wasn’t here. besides, years had passed already so people changed. maybe you were simply projecting old memories onto strangers because tonight had dragged too much nostalgia out of you all at once.

that had to be it.

you shut the faucet off firmly and shook the thought away before it could root itself any deeper.

it was just a man in a mask. nothing more.

composing yourself again, you slipped your mask back on and headed toward the restroom exit. except the moment you opened the door and stepped back into the hallway, your footsteps stopped completely.

someone stood just outside the women’s restroom.

him.

the one you were thinking about just now.

he leaned lazily against the wall several feet away, hands tucked into the pockets of his grey jeans while one boot rested loosely against the baseboard beneath him. 

you blinked once.

did he follow you here...?

ghostface only turned to you and stared back silently.

you abruptly cleared your throat, forcing politeness back into your expression before the silence became strange. “are you waiting for someone?” you asked with a small smile.

ghostface tilted his head slightly at your question. after a pause that lasted just long enough to make your chest tighten again, he answered quietly, “yeah, i was.” voice muffled enough beneath the mask.

you tilted your head at him, still trying to keep the conversation light despite the strange tension gathering in the hallway. “there’s nobody else in the women’s restroom,” you pointed out gently. “whoever you’re waiting for isn’t there.”

ghostface stayed leaning against the wall for another second as he chuckled, low and dangerously familiar. “really?” 

your breath caught immediately.

there it is. that stupid laugh. warm, teasing, and unfairly boyish beneath all the black fabric and broad shoulders. the sound hit you harder than recognition should have, crashing straight into old summers, friday nights, basketball courts, laundry afternoons, and eighteen-year-old heartbreak all at once.

this is... caleb. 

you knew it now.

the hallway felt even more unbearably narrow around the two of you.

you wanted to run, to run before you lose whatever careful distance you spent years building between yourself and the past. “well,” you said carefully, “your ex isn’t anywhere nearby either. she’s downstairs.”

for the first time since you stepped outside the restroom, ghostface, or rather caleb, looked genuinely confused. “…my ex?” he repeated slowly.

you nodded once, trying to sound casual despite the heat climbing beneath your skin. oh god, you immediately decided this conversation needed to end before your dignity dissolved entirely. clearing your throat again, you stepped forward and gestured politely toward the hallway. “anyway, excuse me—”

you brushed past him. or at least, you tried to.

“y/n.”

you stopped, and the silence afterward felt strangely loud. slowly, you turned back toward him. and for some reason, the fact that he didn’t call you pips or pipsqueak or those silly childish names anymore lingered in your chest.

of course he didn’t. you were adults now, after all. 

grown people with careers and separate lives and years between you. maybe those childish nicknames belonged to another version of him entirely, another version of the three of you. maybe this only proved what you already suspected downstairs—they had moved on now. and maybe you were the only one still haunted by old things.

no, that wasn’t true either.

you weren’t clinging to the past. tonight only dragged it back into your hands unexpectedly. that was all.

your gaze lifted hesitantly toward him again just as he finally moved. slowly, he reached beneath the collar of his black shirt and pulled something free from underneath the fabric, revealing a dog tag necklace with a tiny apple charm attached near the chain.

it’s the one you gave him years ago when you were still taller than him as kids. he had laughed so hard back then. you remembered the exact sound. and now—now it rested against the black fabric of his chest like something treasured too carefully for too long.

so he still had it after all these years. 

“it’s me, dummy,” he says.

yeah, you knew.

maybe not the moment you first saw him near the poker table. but somewhere between the voice, the eyes, the way he stared too intensely, and the unbearable familiarity wrapped around every little mannerism he had—you knew.

your hands curled quietly into fists against your sides, because now that caleb was standing here in front of you after all these years, your body suddenly remembered too many things at once. “i know,” you murmured. “you always make things obvious.” 

deep down, you missed him. you missed caleb. standing this close to him again made something ache inside your chest.

you wanted to hug him, the kind where your face disappears into someone’s shoulder and years melt apart for a moment. and, now that you're thinking about that, you also somewhat hoped to see zayne around here and do just exactly that.

but adulthood had taught you restraint in places where younger versions of yourself used to act freely. so you stayed still.

caleb watched you carefully for a beat before fully turning toward you, one shoulder lifting lazily against the wall. “how’d you know it was me?” 

you let out a small huff through your nose, “i just do.”

that answer silenced him only briefly, but enough for you to notice. something shifted in his posture before he straightened fully, removing the ghostface mask completely with one hand.

and there—there he was.

he wasn’t the boy you remembered anymore, but a grown man.

caleb had always been handsome in that effortless, bright sort of way people naturally felt attracted to, but adulthood sharpened him into something almost unfair. his features had grown more defined over the years, jaw stronger now beneath the dim lighting, cheekbones sharper, even the bruises of exhaustion beneath his eyes somehow added to it instead of taking away.

he knew that too.

you could tell by the way he leaned casually against the wall afterward, completely comfortable inside his own skin. his grin tugged crookedly. “there she is, thought maybe corporate life killed your personality already.”

you only smiled back. “you’re the one dressed like a murderer at a school reunion.”

caleb barked out a laugh, warm and genuine. the sound echoed softly down the hallway.

“there she is,” he repeated quieter this time, almost to himself. you pretended not to notice the way his eyes lingered on you as he slipped his hands back into his pockets. “so how’s your family? your mom still forcing everybody to take leftovers home after gatherings?”

you smiled faintly despite yourself. “yes.”

“and your cousins?” he continued. “they still following you around like ducklings?”

you chortled at that. “they’re teenagers now. they barely acknowledge my existence.”

“that's tragic.”

you shook your head, still smiling. but somewhere in the middle of the conversation, something settled strangely inside your chest. caleb kept asking about everyone else, your family, your cousins, your parents. everything surrounding your life except—

you.

he never asked how you were. that tiny omission lingered heavier than it should have.

if this was how caleb acted now, then maybe he really had moved on already. maybe years were enough to soften whatever existed between the three of you back then, enough to turn obsession into memory and memory into something manageable. adulthood had a way of doing that to people, didn’t it? sanding sharp feelings down into old stories you only revisit every once in a while.

maybe caleb was normal now, maybe he had loved someone else already. maybe he went through heartbreaks and hookups and whole relationships himself while you stayed tucked away in a corner of his past like an old neighborhood photograph.

you swallowed and forced yourself not to linger too long on the thought. “what about you?”

caleb looked up. “what about me?”

“how’ve you been all these years?”

for a second, something flickered across his face. surprise maybe. as if nobody had asked him that sincerely in a long time. he grinned again, slipping back into that familiar warmth he wore so naturally. “good, been very busy you know.”

“wow, incredibly detailed answer.”

he laughed under his breath. “i mean, what d’you want me to say? i fly planes now. half my life’s in airports. i drink too much coffee. sometimes i forget what country i’m in.”

“that sounds mildly concerning.”

“it’s called occupational hazard.” his eyes stayed on you while he spoke, and it made something inside your chest feel unsteady in a way you hated noticing.

caleb still looked at people too directly. 

he continued talking afterward, telling you random pieces of his life in fragments. about long-haul flights, ridiculous passengers, getting stranded once because of weather conditions, and his coworkers apparently thinking he had anger issues because he got into arguments too easily.

“that part’s believable,” you muttered.

“oh, shut up.” his grin remained, but thinner now somehow. “i miss our neighborhood though,” 

the words were simple, but something about the way he said them made your stomach tighten faintly. he didn’t say he missed home, he didn’t say he missed being younger. he just said he missed the neighborhood.

you looked at him carefully, trying to understand what exactly he meant by it. or maybe—what exactly he was trying not to say.

caleb must’ve noticed your stare lingering too long because he straightened and gave you another crooked grin, this one almost sheepish beneath all the confidence he usually carried. “anyway,” he clears his throat, “i should probably stop hiding in hallways before people think i’m actually kidnapping women tonight.” he steps away from the wall afterward, clearly about to leave.

but before he could, you stopped him. 

“how’s zayne doing?”

caleb halted mid-step, and you watched it happen in real time.

the subtle dimming in his eyes, the way the looseness left his shoulders, as his smile slowly weakened at the corners before disappearing entirely. something restrained passed across his expression so quickly you almost missed it, held-back and quiet in the way real emotions usually were.

your brows knitted faintly together. for a second there—he looked like someone trying very hard not to let something show.

but the switch quickly flipped.

his smile returned so naturally that, if you weren’t looking directly at him moments earlier, you probably would’ve missed the crack entirely. “he’s good. a successful doctor now. annoyingly successful, actually.”

that sounded like zayne.

something inside you eased hearing it from caleb himself. you didn't doubt zayne’s success—you already knew what he became years ago through mutual acquaintances and scattered updates from families—but hearing caleb say it aloud made it feel more real.

you nodded. “that’s really good to know.”

caleb only hummed. 

but then, unexpectedly, he steps closer.

the movement was so unexpected that your body nearly reacted on instinct, feet threatening to retreat backward against the hallway floor. except you stopped yourself midway, tilting your head up at him instead with quiet confusion.

he was close enough for you to notice the faint shadows of exhaustion beneath his eyes, close enough to catch the subtle scent of cologne mixed with something colder, cleaner.

your pulse stumbled once when caleb looked down at you before his hand slowly lifted.

and then, he patted your head.

it wasn’t really a pat, though. 

his fingers lingered.

they slid gently into your hair near your temple, brushing softly through the strands beside your ear before trailing lower down your shoulder with unbearable slowness. the touch felt absentminded on the surface, almost affectionate in a casual way, but there was something underneath it that made your body go completely still, something that lingered too long to mean nothing.

his eyes softened almost imperceptibly while his fingers slipped away from your hair. “you really grew up,” his voice had changed again, less teasing. “no longer the little scatterbrain i used to know.”

his hand dropped back to his side afterward. “you don’t have to worry about zayne too much, you’ll see him soon anyway.”

you blinked. “what?”

so he really isn't here, then? 

caleb tilted his head. “granny’s birthday. did they tell you yet?”

your mind stalled for half a second before realization hit.

oh right, granny’s birthday. the same granny who practically raised entire neighborhoods through force-feeding and unsolicited life advice. miraculously, this year, her birthday landed on a friday.

“she wanted everyone together again,” caleb continued. “same setup as before.”

you stared at him. “oh, you and zayne are going?”

caleb looked almost offended by the question. “of course we are,” he said. “it’s granny.”

—

the hotel lights had long disappeared behind you, now swallowed by distance and the slow quietness of the road.

your mind remained back there somehow, back in that hallway with caleb.

you sat behind the steering wheel with one hand loosely resting against it, the other drumming near the gearshift as the city lights blurred past your windows in streaks of gold and white. the catwoman mask had already been tossed carelessly onto the passenger seat beside your purse, abandoned the moment you got into the car, but the rest of the costume remained annoyingly intact against your skin.

you suddenly understood why actresses always complained about tight outfits during interviews. you adjusted uncomfortably in your seat while stopping at a red light, your thoughts drifting back unwillingly toward caleb again.

his smile. that stupid dog-like grin he gave you before disappearing back into the crowd with a “i’ll see you around, y/n,”

no longer pipsqueak, huh.

your grip tightened lightly against the wheel. you should stop thinking about him.

before your thoughts could spiral any further, your car suddenly jerked faintly beneath you, making your brows furrowed. then the engine made a strained clicking sound.

once, twice, before it died.

“…you’ve got to be kidding me.” the steering wheel stiffened beneath your hands as the car slowed awkwardly toward the side of the road. you managed to park safely beneath a dim streetlight, but when you tried restarting the engine again, the car only answered with another pathetic clicking noise.

you stared blankly ahead through the windshield.

for fuck’s sake. out of all nights.

you leaned back against the seat and exhaled harshly through your nose, fingers rubbing against your temple while frustration crawled into your chest. the road around you was unusually quiet this late at night, with only the occasional distant headlights passing every few minutes. after another failed attempt to start the engine, you finally groaned and grabbed your phone from the cupholder to call tara.

you dialed her impatiently while pushing the car door open.

humid night air wrapped around you the second you stepped outside. the heels you regretted wearing clicked sharply against the pavement as you walked around the front of your car, hugging your arms briefly against yourself while the phone rang beside your ear.

“come on, tara…”

the street remained mostly empty around you, lined with sleeping establishments and darkened storefronts that looked strangely eerie this late into the night. somewhere nearby, a dog barked once before silence swallowed the sound again.

and... headlights?

you looked up instinctively, only to see a dark car sat parked several meters behind yours on the opposite side of the road.

you were almost certain it hadn’t been there earlier. 

the vehicle remained completely still beneath the weak glow of a streetlamp, windows tinted dark enough that you couldn’t make out whoever sat inside. 

maybe it was nothing. maybe another driver had simply pulled over too? but something about it made your stomach tighten. your phone continued ringing unanswered against your ear while your eyes remained fixed on the unfamiliar car.

suddenly, standing out here alone in your stupid tight costume didn’t feel very smart anymore.

without thinking twice, you lowered the phone and quickly walked back toward your car. the moment you slipped inside the driver’s seat again, you locked the doors immediately.

you looked through the rearview mirror.

and the dark car remained there, watching.

or maybe you were only paranoid. you hoped you were only paranoid.

the sight unsettled you more the longer it stayed there. so you tried calling again, straight to ringing. but your frustration only tangled itself together with nervousness until your shoulders felt stiff beneath the tight leather of your costume. you then sighed heavily and lowered your phone. 

maybe you should just call roadside assistance instead. or maybe—

knock knock.

you physically jolted so hard your shoulder hit the seat. your head snapped violently toward the driver-side window, pulse instantly spiking into your throat.

and there—leaning slightly down beside your car beneath the dim streetlight—was a familiar face.

older, sharper.

the softness youth once gave him had long disappeared, carved away into cleaner lines and composed restraint. even through the shadows, there was no mistaking him. not the calmness in his expression, not the piercing emerald eyes staring directly at you through the glass.

zayne.

for a second, you could only stare at him blankly.

what was he doing here? and more importantly—why did this somehow feel exactly like something zayne would do? appearing at the exact moment your life tilted sideways without warning.

when your eyes met, you watch him straighten up and step aside.

was he really back in town now? 

your fingers tightened around your phone before you slowly unlocked the car door, the cool night air hitting your skin again the moment you stepped outside.

up close, the sight of him almost startled you a second time. you swallowed once and forced yourself to compose properly despite the strange tightness gathering beneath your ribs. 

there was no time to be overwhelmed. not here, not now.

you smiled politely in that careful adult way people did after years apart. the kind of smile exchanged between relatives reconnecting after too much time passed. “zayne,” you greeted softly. “it’s been a while. how’ve you—”

“what’s wrong with your car?” the interruption was immediate, clean and direct.

your words stopped midair, as the smile on your face faded before you could even help it.

huh.

for some reason, the bluntness stung more than it should have. you looked at him for a second, suddenly unsure where to place your hands or your voice or yourself beneath his attention. maybe adulthood really had made him colder, or maybe he was simply always like this and you only forgot.

“i—” you started awkwardly. “sorry, i just—”

“don’t be.” his voice wasn’t harsh. if anything, it was too calm. 

you blinked once before pressing your lips together tightly.

the silence stretched briefly between you while distant cars occasionally passed somewhere farther down the road. beneath the streetlight, zayne’s gaze flicked toward your vehicle again before returning to your face.

you finally cleared your throat. “uh, my engine suddenly stopped working, i don’t even know why.”

zayne nodded once. then, without another word, he stepped past you toward the front of the car.

you turned instinctively to watch him. and suddenly, embarrassingly, your chest tightened again. because it hit you all at once then—this was the first time you had been alone with zayne in years.

really alone.

without any family gatherings, crowded parties, and without caleb between the space separating the two of you. there’s just the quiet road and the warm night air. and zayne standing beside your broken car with rolled sleeves and tired eyes.

he leaned slightly over the hood of the car, brows furrowing in concentration as he examined something beneath the front light. his forearms flexed when he rested one hand against the edge of the hood, and the sight made your stomach twist in a way that felt deeply inconvenient.

seriously, what the hell was wrong with you tonight?

as if sensing your stare lingering too long, zayne looked back at you directly. the eye contact hit harder now that you were adults, less innocent.

quietly, with the same unreadable composure he always carried, he asked. “why are you out here alone this late?”

“there was an alumni homecoming,” you explained, hugging your arms a little closer against yourself while standing beside the car. “for senior high.”

zayne remained crouched near the front of the vehicle, one hand braced against the hood while the other adjusted something beneath it. he only glanced up briefly before returning his attention back to the engine.

“i attended the party,” you added after a second, suddenly hyperaware of what you were wearing. “which is why i look like… this.”

the corner of zayne’s mouth twitched faintly, enough to make your stomach betray you a little.

“i noticed,” he says.

you cleared your throat and stepped closer to the car, heels crunching lightly against stray gravel near the roadside. up close, you could smell faint detergent and something sterile clinging subtly to him beneath the night air, like hospital corridors and clean laundry somehow followed him everywhere.

it felt unfairly familiar.

you looked down at him. “you didn’t hear about the homecoming?”

silence.

“that means no, then.”

zayne hummed, entirely unbothered by your accusation. honestly, that tracked. he was always strangely detached from things happening around him unless someone physically dragged the information to his face. back then, people used to joke that zayne could probably miss the apocalypse if nobody updated him personally.

you opened your mouth to tease him again when suddenly—

“fuck.” grease smeared darkly against the cuff of his rolled sleeve and streaked lightly across his forearm.

instinctively, you moved toward the passenger side door. “wait, i have wipes inside—”

“it’s okay.” zayne said it so quickly that you paused mid-motion. he barely even looked at the stain. you stood there awkwardly for a second before slowly nodding and stepping back again.

silence settled afterward, the kind of silence that carried too many things beneath it.

you watched zayne work quietly for another moment. he really had changed... or maybe matured was the better word. oh — his phone is ringing.

buzzzzz!

zayne stopped immediately. with his clean hand, he pulled the phone out and glanced briefly at the screen before answering.

“baby?”

your body stilled, completely.

zayne turned slightly away while speaking into the phone, voice lower and calmer in a way that sounded unintentionally intimate beneath the quiet road. “yes, i’m still outside.” he paused. “no, don’t wait up.”

your throat tightened before you could stop it.

oh.

he had a girlfriend now. 

you stared blankly at the road instead, suddenly unable to figure out where to look. how? when? where did he even meet her? and more importantly—why did you care so much? the realization embarrassed you instantly. because what exactly were you expecting after all these years apart? that both of them would remain frozen in time waiting for you forever?

you swallowed and looked down at your hands. this entire situation felt strange and wrong somehow.

zayne was here late at night helping you alone on the side of the road while his girlfriend waited for him somewhere else. and you stood beside him in a skin-tight costume looking at him too much and thinking about things you absolutely should not be thinking anymore.

it made guilt creep slowly beneath your skin.

zayne ended the call not long after and slipped his phone back into his pocket. before he could return to fixing the engine, you stepped forward quickly and lowered the hood shut with a dull metallic thud.

the sound cut through the quiet road sharply, making zayne blink up at you.

then one of his brows lifted.

the expression was so familiar it almost threw you off balance. that look he had on his face looked exactly like his younger self again—the same boy who used to silently judge everybody with one unimpressed glance.

you pressed your lips together awkwardly. “you don’t have to fix it. i’ll just call for assistance or something.”

zayne remained leaning slightly against the car, grease staining his sleeve while he looked at you like you’d just said something ridiculous. “i can fix it.”

“yeah, but you don’t need to.”

“it's fine.”

you exhaled through your nose. “zayne, seriously, i don’t want to take too much of your time.”

his gaze stayed on you for a moment, and then he straightened fully, brushing his stained hand against his slacks without much concern. “the radiator hose is damaged. your engine overheated. it’s not something you should drive home tonight.”

you stared at him silently while he spoke, watching the way the streetlight caught faintly against the sharp bridge of his nose and the loose strands of dark hair falling near his forehead.

“It’s better if i drive you home,” he added calmly. “i’ll call assistance for your car afterward.”

your body stilled faintly at the offer. 

drive you home...?

the intimacy of it settled strangely beneath your ribs, because this wasn’t high school anymore. you weren’t teenagers stumbling through friday nights.

you were adults now. and being alone in a car with zayne at this age felt infinitely more dangerous than it would’ve back then. you swallowed once before the thought escaped your mouth. “…don’t you have a girlfriend?”

zayne paused, actually paused. his brows furrowed slightly as he looked at you with genuine confusion. “what?”

you immediately regretted asking.

ugh, you sounded insane now that you realized it. you cleared your throat and gestured vaguely. “the... call earlier.”

realization dawned across his face slowly. and then—to your complete disbelief—zayne almost looked amused. “my assistant? her name is baby.”

“…what?”

“baby jane,” zayne repeated calmly. “one of the assistants in the hospital.”

you continued staring at him.

that was the dumbest thing you had ever heard.

if this explanation came from literally anybody else, you would’ve laughed directly in their face and called them a liar. but zayne looked entirely sincere standing there. because zayne couldn’t lie to save his life. back then, he used to get caught hiding things within five seconds simply because guilt physically manifested on his face.

awkwardly, you nodded. “…oh.”

a tiny silence followed, then you noticed the look on zayne’s face. subtle but definitely there—mild amusement lingered quietly in his eyes while he watched you process everything.

your cheeks instantly felt warmer as you looked away. “well, that’s a ridiculous name.”

“everyone says the same thing.”

after zayne finished calling assistance for your car, the two of you stood awkwardly beside the road for a moment while waiting for the details to settle. it turns out that the dark tinted car from earlier belonged to none other than zayne. 

several minutes later, you found yourself slipping into the passenger seat. the interior smelled faintly like coffee and something distinctly him—subtle enough that you probably wouldn’t notice it if you weren’t sitting this close. zayne also settled into the driver’s seat beside you, adjusting the wheel before glancing toward you.

“are you cold?” he asked, fingers already reaching toward the air conditioning controls.

you shook your head. “i’m fine.”

he paused briefly before pulling his hand away again without argument.

you stared out the passenger window while absently rubbing your thumb against your phone screen. you still felt worried about your car despite everything. what if the repair became expensive? what if the engine problem turned out worse than expected? and on top of that—sitting in zayne’s car after all these years felt so odd in a way you couldn’t properly explain.

the silence between you wasn’t awkward exactly. it was worse. it was familiar.

you cleared your throat to distract yourself. “do you still remember the way to my house?”

instead of answering verbally, zayne simply opened his maps application. you stared at the glowing screen for a second before letting out a tiny huff of disbelief.

“wow,” 

“i remember the address,” he said calmly while typing it in. “not the route.”

that reminds you... back then, zayne used to remember everything about you—which snacks you hated, which route you preferred walking home, which pencil brand you always lost within two days.

he used to notice little things without even trying. but now he needed maps.

you looked down at your lap quietly.

this was good. this was normal. people grow up and move on. you were expecting too much from ghosts of adolescence that no longer existed the same way they once did. and, weren’t you relieved? if both caleb and zayne had truly moved on from whatever complicated mess existed between the three of you back then, then you could finally breathe properly too. you no longer have to carry that strange lingering guilt that followed you through adulthood like an unfinished sentence.

now, all of you could finally leave everything behind.

when the car stopped outside your house, relief and disappointment tangled together unpleasantly inside your chest. you unbuckled your seatbelt slowly and turned toward him with a polite smile. “thank you for driving me home. i really appreciate it.”

zayne nodded. “mm.”

you stepped out of the car carefully, heels crunching lightly against the pavement again. you were already halfway toward your gate when—

“wait.” your name left zayne’s mouth behind you.

you turned around and stilled at the sight of zayne stepping out of the car too. in his hands was a small cake box decorated with your favorite flowers tucked neatly around the ribbon.

where did that suddenly come from? and... is that for you? 

something about his composure became almost painfully awkward beneath the porch lights. “i heard about the reunion,” he admitted quietly. “but my schedule didn’t allow me to attend.” his tone remained flat in that very zayne way, but you caught it immediately—the subtle stiffness beneath his voice whenever he was embarrassed about sincerity.

it almost made you smile.

“so, i brought something instead.” he sounded like someone reluctantly explaining why he accidentally cared too much.

slowly, you stepped closer and looked down at the lettering written carefully across the cake.

“congratulations for getting promoted.”

you remember caleb texted you about your promotion months ago while zayne never did, but this felt exactly like the sort of thing zayne would do instead of sending a message. quietly remember just to quietly show up. quietly carry around a cake for god knows how long because he didn’t know how else to express congratulations properly.

you looked back up at him. “thank you for still remembering, zayne.”

—

after a few months of postponed plans, missed friday dinners, and relatives constantly saying “we'll be finally complete next time”, granny’s birthday finally came by.

your family arrived earlier than everyone else, mostly because your mother believed being late to family occasions was some kind of moral failure. by eight in the morning, you were already outside in granny’s front yard wearing house slippers and comfortable clothes, sitting on a small plastic stool beneath the shade while blowing balloons until your cheeks hurt.

from the open kitchen windows came the scent of garlic fried in oil, sweet spaghetti sauce simmering in giant pots, and the faint buttery smell of cake that somebody had already sliced prematurely despite strict instructions not to touch it yet. inside the house, the older aunts moved around carrying trays and arguing over whether the pasta needed more sauce while old love songs played from a speaker.

it felt so comforting, like childhood preserved in a glass jar.

your younger cousins ran circles around the yard while chasing each other with uninflated balloons, their slippers slapping against the fake grass. every few minutes one of them would come bother you for help.

at one point, one of the smaller cousins climbed directly onto your lap while you were tying ribbons around balloons, nearly making you inhale the entire thing from surprise. “oh my god,” you laughed breathlessly, pushing his forehead away. “you’re trying to kill me before granny’s birthday even starts!”

the child only grinned mischievously before stealing one of the candies from the nearby table and sprinting away before his mother could catch him. you watched him disappear around the gate with a smile still lingering on your face.

every now and then, the familiar metal gate creaked open again and another relative stepped inside carrying containers of food or grocery bags or wrapped gifts while greeting everyone.

and every single time, granny would brighten like sunlight itself. she sat proudly near the terrace in her favorite floral duster while greeting every newcomer as though they had returned home from war instead of merely driving fifteen minutes away. sometimes she forgot stories halfway through telling them. sometimes she repeated the same joke twice. and nobody minded.

somehow, granny had always been the center thread tying everybody together. without her, everyone drifted.

you noticed that more clearly now as an adult. how people got jobs, moved cities, entered relationships, built schedules too crowded for friday gatherings and random visits. the neighborhood no longer felt permanently alive the way it once had when you were younger. but today felt different—today felt like somebody, in this case, granny, had reached into the past and carefully stitched it back together for a few hours.

you finished tying another cluster of balloons near the gate before standing up to stretch your sore shoulders. immediately, one of your aunts shoved a tray of barbecue sticks into your hands on her way past.

“bring this inside please.”

“why am i suddenly unpaid labor?” you complained.

“because you’re unmarried and still useful,” your mother replied from somewhere behind you without even looking up. almost the entire yard burst into laughter at that, so you groaned while carrying the tray toward the tables, though the smile on your face stayed anyway.

and maybe that was the strange thing about coming back here. for the first time in a long while, adulthood felt far away. here, you were still just you. still someone’s granddaughter. still someone’s cousin. still the girl who grew up inside these walls.

the moment you stepped inside the house carrying the tray of barbecue sticks, you immediately regretted it.

“come here,” one of the older women called instantly, patting the empty seat beside her. another older relative leaned forward with dangerous curiosity already sparkling in her eyes. “so, when are yougetting married?”

oh no.

you forced out a polite smile as you carefully balanced the tray in your hands. “good morning to you too.”

that only made them laugh louder. within seconds, you found yourself trapped near the dining area while several elderly women interrogated you about your love life. somebody asked whether you were secretly dating, another asked if your standards were too high now because you were a corporate manager, then one uncle declared that women became “too intimidating” once they earned too much money.

you stared at him blankly while chewing your barbecue in silence. honestly, you would rather reorganize all the monoblock chairs outside one by one than survive this conversation.

thankfully, salvation arrived in the form of chaos. one of the younger cousins suddenly darted past you like a tiny criminal and snatched another barbecue stick straight from the tray.

“hey!” you yelped. 

the little girl burst into delighted laughter before sprinting outside barefoot while the adults erupted into noisy scolding.

“go catch her!”

“that child keeps stealing food!”

you did not even pretend to hesitate. “i’ll go,” you announced, already escaping toward the doorway before another marriage question could be launched at your forehead.

outside, you spotted the little girl racing across the front yard triumphantly with the stolen barbecue held high in the air.

“come back here!” you laughed, chasing after her across the grass. “you little thief!” the child shrieked happily and nearly reached the gate before—someone suddenly caught her mid-run.

two large hands lifted her clean off the ground like she weighed absolutely nothing, and the little girl gasped before bursting into giggles.

you stopped in your tracks.

even before your mind fully processed the uniform, the broad frame, or the sunglasses glinting beneath the sunlight—you already knew it was none other than your childhood friend.

they’ve arrived.

he stood there casually in his brown DAA uniform, one arm holding the laughing child against his side while the other stole the barbecue stick directly from her hand. “crime doesn’t pay,” he informed her seriously before taking a bite himself.

the little girl gasped in betrayal. “caleb!”

caleb only grinned around the barbecue. even after all these years, he still carried that same careless brightness around him. the uniform hugged his frame, sleeves rolled just enough to reveal toned forearms lightly browned from the sun, while the dark sunglasses somehow made his grin look even more radiant.

caleb finally turned toward you and smiled, crooked and familiar and terribly easy. “wow,” he drawled while lowering the child back onto the ground. “they got you working like hired staff already?”

you let out an embarrassed laugh despite yourself. “somebody has to do the labor around here.”

“yeah?” caleb tilted his head while looking you over openly. “you even look the part.”

your eyes widened. “what does that even mean?”

he laughed beneath his breath, clearly entertained by how fast you reacted. “relax, you look adorable.”

the word hit you stupidly harder than it should have. before you could recover, caleb already brushed past you casually toward the relatives gathering near the entrance. and just as instantly, loud greetings exploded from the yard.

“caleb!”

“you got thinner!”

“no, he got bigger!”

relatives crowded around him fussing over his arrival while younger cousins clung to his arms asking endless questions about airplanes and flying. and somehow, quite unlike you, he handled all of it effortlessly.

then, a quieter presence approached behind him. unlike caleb’s easy warmth, zayne arrived like winter air drifting through an open doorway. with a dark trench coat resting against his arm despite the sun, he wore an all-black clothing with a composed posture that remained untouched by the noisy chaos surrounding him.

he looked absurdly polished compared to the rest of the family bustling around in slippers and casual clothes. that only made him more familiar too.

his gaze found you almost immediately, quietly taking in the sight of you standing there breathless beneath the sunlight with messy hair, barbecue smoke clinging faintly to your clothes, and ribbons still tied around your wrist from decorating earlier.

your throat suddenly felt dry.

zayne gave you the smallest nod before moving past you as well, greeting the older relatives respectfully while they began fussing over him too.

and until lunchtime, you barely sat down. 

every time you thought you finally had a moment to rest, another relative suddenly needed help carrying something, reheating food, arranging chairs, or finding missing utensils. at some point, you became the unofficial runner of the entire gathering.

still, you didn’t really mind. there was something oddly comforting about the exhaustion. meanwhile, both caleb and zayne had become trapped in their own corners of socialization. every few minutes, you’d catch glimpses of them between rooms.

you saw caleb sitting comfortably among a noisy cluster of uncles and neighbors outside near the terrace, laughing easily while answering endless questions about work abroad. zayne, on the other hand, remained inside most of the time, seated neatly beside the older relatives who adored him for entirely different reasons. every auntie in the room seemed eager to brag about him to somebody else. zayne endured all of it with quiet patience, occasionally adjusting his sleeves while listening attentively whenever elders spoke to him.

by the time lunch was nearly ready, the heat inside the house had become unbearable enough that your head started hurting slightly. after setting down another tray of food onto the dining table, you exhaled and leaned toward your nearby aunt. “is there still cold water left?” 

your aunt nodded while fixing plates. “there should be some in the fridge—” before she could even finish speaking, you hear two chairs scraping against the floor at the exact same time.

you froze at the loud sound, only to see that caleb and zayne had both stood up simultaneously.

“i’ll get it,” caleb said.

“i can get it for her,” zayne spoke at almost the same time.

silence...

your fingers tightened around the empty glass in your hand. and there you go.

you felt eighteen again. 

caleb blinked first before glancing sideways at zayne with a crooked look of disbelief. zayne slowly sat back down first, though the faint tightening in his jaw betrayed him. then caleb followed a second later, leaning back into his chair while exhaling through his nose in amusement.

the younger cousins were very quick to catch on. of course they did. children always noticed first.

“they’re doing it again!” one of the young teenagers quickly blurted out from the couch.

another cousin burst into laughter. “oh my god, just like before!”

“right? they used to fight over helping her all the time!”

several older relatives started chuckling too, while others exchanged those suspiciously observant looks older people had whenever they sensed gossip material forming in real time.

you felt your entire face grow warm. “okay,” you interrupted, forcing out an awkward laugh. “i can just get water myself.” you escaped toward the kitchen before the conversation could worsen further, clutching your empty glass like it could protect you from humiliation.

behind you, the teasing unfortunately continued anyway. you opened the fridge and grabbed the cold pitcher of water with slightly unsteady hands. the cool air spilling from the refrigerator against your overheated skin felt heavenly as you poured yourself a full glass, trying to ignore the muffled conversations continuing from the dining area.

except certain words drifted into hearing range anyway.

“so, do either of you finally have girlfriends now?”

you paused unconsciously while lifting the glass toward your lips. outside, someone laughed, another relative joining in. “there’s no way handsome men like these stayed single this long.”

“what about exes?”

“secret children?” one uncle joked. the room then bursts into noisy reactions. you stared down quietly at your glass of water. and then—

“none,” zayne answered.

one of the aunties sounded genuinely shocked. “none at all?”

“i’ve been busy,” 

it sounded believable, painfully believable. of course zayne would sacrifice romance for career progression with terrifying efficiency—but then the attention shifted toward caleb.

“what about you?”

you waited absentmindedly for the obvious answer, because surely someone like caleb—

“don’t want one.”

“what do you mean you don’t want one?” somebody laughed.

caleb’s voice came easier this time. “just never wanted anybody enough.”

huh?

you hated that your mind immediately tried to interpret it. you forced yourself to drink your water while keeping your back turned toward the dining room.

they had both moved on obviously. people didn’t stay stuck on childhood feelings forever.

you had barely finished your glass of water when granny suddenly shuffled into the kitchen, drawn in by the noise and laughter echoing through the dining room. “why is everybody so loud in here?” she asked suspiciously, though the smile already tugging at her mouth betrayed her amusement.

“we were asking them why they’re both still single!”

“apparently nobody wants to date these two.”

the room erupted again into laughter. you closed your eyes briefly in secondhand embarrassment while setting your empty glass down on the counter. unfortunately, when you turned around—you accidentally made eye-contact with both caleb and zayne at the same time.

shit.

you immediately focused very hard on literally anything else.

before the room could spiral into even more teasing, granny suddenly clapped her hands together as though remembering something important. “oh! since you’re all just sitting there talking anyway, do me a favor, will ya.”

and just like that, every younger adult in the room developed selective hearing.

granny ignored them expertly. “haiya, the speaker outside stopped working again,” she said with a sigh. “the extra one should still be in the attic somewhere.”

before you could quietly escape the kitchen, granny’s eyes landed directly on you. “you,” you stopped yourself from reaching for the plates. “you were in the attic this morning, right? guide them.”

you turned. “…them?”

granny pointed directly toward caleb and zayne.

fuck?

being alone upstairs with the both of them is significantly more dangerous than it logically should! but refusing would only make everyone tease you harder.

you forced out a smile. “sure.”

eventually, the three of you walked upstairs together while the noise slowly faded behind you into muffled laughter. the old staircase creaked beneath your steps exactly the same way it always had growing up, and the familiar sound alone made something in you stir.

you tried to fill the silence before it became unbearable. “the attic’s probably messier now, granny keeps throwing random things there.”

“some things never change,” caleb replied easily from behind you. “including this house.”

you glanced back briefly, remembering once upon a time, this exact staircase had carried the three of you toward childhood conspiracies instead of polite adult conversations.

the attic door creaked loudly when you pushed it open, and warm dusty air greeted you immediately. the room smelled faintly like cardboard, old books, wood polish, and trapped summer heat. sunlight slipped through the tiny circular window near the ceiling, illuminating floating dust particles drifting through the air like tiny fireflies.

you could see boxes stacked everywhere of old christmas decorations, broken electric fans, bags of clothes nobody wanted to throw away, photo albums, and your forgotten toys.

all three of you simply stood there quietly.

you remembered rainy afternoons hiding here together to avoid chores downstairs, remembered flashlight games, remembered lying on flattened cardboard boxes while listening to rain hammer against the roof above you. the attic still carried traces of those years somehow, small ghosts preserved inside warm dust and old sunlight. except now, the air between the three of you felt... different.

heavier.

caleb wandered toward one side of the attic where several labeled storage boxes rested against the wall. he crouched near one marked with messy handwriting that literally read CALEB and laughed quietly beneath his breath. “wow, granny really archived my entire existence up here.”

zayne had already started scanning the room practically. “where is the speaker supposed to be?” he asked while looking around.

you shrugged. “i honestly have no idea. i was only here for extra chairs earlier.”

“how helpful,” caleb commented.

you shot him a look. “then you find it.”

he grinned without looking up from the box he had opened.

you exhaled before stepping farther into the attic yourself, carefully weaving between old storage containers while searching as the attic slowly filled with the sound of things being moved around.

caleb sat crouching on the floor near his old storage box while sorting through random junk he apparently used to own—old basketball magazines, tangled earphones, a broken handheld game console... “damn,” he muttered, holding up an ancient toy car. “i remember crying over this.”

you laughed while brushing dust off yourself. “you used to cry over everything.”

“excuse me,” caleb replied with fake offense. “i was just emotionally expressive.”

“you cried because i beat you at mario kart once,” zayne deadpanned from across the attic without looking up from the boxes he was checking.

caleb pointed at you as he looked at zayne. “because she cheated.”

“i didn’t cheat,” you defended.

“you absolutely cheated, you manipulative girl.”

you snorted before you could stop yourself, bending slightly to look through another box near the far wall, unaware that both men had unconsciously looked toward you at the same time until caleb suddenly spoke again. “heh, you still do that.”

you glanced back. “do what?”

“that thing when you bite the inside of your cheek.”

your lips parted, and without realizing it, you immediately stopped doing it. caleb smiled faintly when he noticed.

“you still remember that?” you asked carefully.

“yea, i remember a lot of things about you, miss poker.”

you quickly looked away and crouched beside another stack of boxes, pretending to search harder for the speaker. across the room, zayne finally straightened from where he’d been kneeling near an old shelf.

“so you cut your hair,” he suddenly said.

your hands paused before looking at him. his tone had remained completely neutral and observational, almost clinical. but somehow, hearing it from him affected you differently. you touched your hair absentmindedly near your shoulder. “a few months ago, yeah.”

zayne nodded once. “it used to reach your waist.”

caleb leaned back against the wall nearby, one knee propped upward while watching the two of you. “he noticed that immediately when we walked in earlier,” 

zayne’s gaze shifted toward him. “caleb.”

“what?” caleb shrugged innocently. “i’m just saying.”

you forced yourself to keep searching. “you two are still so dramatic.”

“we’re not dramatic,” caleb replied.

zayne adjusted his sleeves, turning to caleb. “you are.”

“says the guy who used to get jealous over card games.” caleb grinned wider. “remember that?” he continued casually, though his eyes remained fixed on zayne instead of you. “she used to sit beside me during poker nights and you’d stare holes through the back of my head the entire time.”

“because you always cheated.”

“again with the cheating accusations,” you muttered.

“you liked it when i let you win,” caleb now looked at you.

your heartbeat stumbled, because the way he said it didn’t sound playful anymore. it sounded personal. for some reason, your mind replayed the night of the alumni event, when you unknowingly played poker against him.  slowly, you stood upright again while clutching one of the dusty boxes against your chest. “i never needed you to let me win.”

caleb looked at you then, fully. the sunlight slipping through the attic window caught faintly against the gold-brown tones of his skin while dust drifted through the space between all of you. “i know,” 

nobody spoke for several seconds.

downstairs, you could hear someone screaming and laughing over karaoke lyrics.

and then caleb exhaled suddenly through his nose before speaking again, “you know what’s funny?” he rested his forearm over his raised knee, gaze lingering on you beneath lowered lashes. “i thought seeing you again after all these years would make things easier.”

your throat tightened. you should not ask, you absolutely should not. “did it?”

caleb stared at you for a long moment, then smiled. “not even a little.”

you stilled at caleb’s answer.

the words lingered strangely inside the attic, hanging somewhere between the dust-filled air and the slow heat pressing beneath your skin. for a second, you became painfully aware of the sunlight touching the side of your face, of the old floorboards beneath your feet, of the way your heartbeat had suddenly become embarrassingly noticeable to yourself.

and then you noticed zayne looking at caleb, but it wasn’t an annoyed look, wasn’t surprised either. it was quieter than that, like there was an entire conversation happening inside one glance alone.

something restrained passed between them before zayne’s eyes eventually shifted toward you instead.

you immediately laughed and shook your head, forcing lightness back into the room before the atmosphere swallowed you whole. god, they still had the same effect on you somehow. that alone irritated you a little. so instead of shrinking away from it, you turned toward caleb with a deliberately playful expression. “what? does that mean you still haven’t moved on yet?” it was meant to be teasing, something to defuse the tension. except the moment the words left your mouth, you watched caleb’s face slowly change.

there it was again.

that same crooked, dangerous little smirk he used to wear years ago whenever you accidentally walked yourself into his traps. he leaned further back against the wall behind him, eyes dragging slowly over your face before answering. “depends,” 

your stomach tightened instantly. before he could continue—and before zayne could speak either—you quickly cut in. “okay, i’m just gonna ask granny where the speaker actually is before we die up here.”

you turned around and headed toward the attic door before either of them could say anything else that would make your entire nervous system malfunction. the wooden floor creaked beneath your steps when you grabbed the doorknob quickly, twisting it while already half distracted by your own embarrassment.

but the knob didn’t move.

you frowned, trying again harder.

“huh?” you jiggled the handle again, now using both hands, but the old wood only rattled loudly beneath the force.

your brows furrowed deeper. “wait.” you pulled harder this time, but the door refused to budge completely. confusion now immediately shifted into disbelief. “are you serious?” you shoved your shoulder lightly against it before trying the lock again, only for the handle to stubbornly remain stuck in place.

behind you, you heard movement.

“what happened?” zayne asked.

“the door won’t open.”

caleb laughed at first like he thought you were joking, but the sound faded when you hit the door again with genuine frustration.

“i’m serious.” you knocked loudly this time, “hello?!” your voice disappeared beneath the thunder of karaoke downstairs. somebody was aggressively singing an old love song now, complete with cheering relatives and clapping somewhere below.

of course. of fucking course nobody could hear you.

you tried again anyway, knocking harder until your palm stung against the wood. “granny?!”you abruptly turned around. “do either of you have your phones?”

for one tiny second, caleb and zayne exchanged a look. and something about it immediately made suspicion flicker inside you.

zayne checked his pockets first before speaking calmly. “i left mine downstairs.”

your eyes moved toward caleb, watching the way he patted his jeans before exhaling through his nose. “mine too.” caleb had the audacity to look mildly entertained already. “guess we’re stuck,” 

“what do you mean ‘guess we’re stuck’?”

“relax, someone’ll notice eventually.”

“eventually?” you repeated incredulously.

the attic suddenly felt significantly smaller than before. way too small. especially now that you were hyperaware of everything again.

you swallowed.

absolutely not. there was no universe in which getting trapped inside an attic alone with these two men counted as a survivable situation. especially not when the tension between all three of you already felt thick enough to physically breathe in.

you crossed your arms tightly. “there’s no way.”

caleb tilted his head. “no way what?”

“no way i’m getting stuck up here with both of you.”

zayne looked away for a brief second, though not fast enough to hide the faint amusement threatening at the corner of his expression.

“wow,” caleb muttered. “that sounded personal.”

“because it is personal,”

“geez, pipsqueak, we’re not gonna eat you alive.”

your heartbeat stumbled traitorously at the nickname. so he still does call you that, huh? 

eventually, pacing around the attic stopped accomplishing anything except making you hotter. so with an exhausted sigh, you finally sat down onto the wooden floorboards near one of the storage boxes, crossing your legs beneath you while leaning your back against the wall. the longer the three of you stayed trapped up there, the warmer the space became.

there was barely any airflow at all.

the tiny circular window near the ceiling let in sunlight but absolutely no breeze, and the trapped heat had started settling heavily against your skin until even breathing felt sticky. 

you fanned yourself weakly using the corner of an old magazine you found nearby. “it’s actually so hot,” you groaned. “how is this room legally allowed to exist?”

caleb snickered from where he sat a few feet away against another stack of boxes. “who's dramatic now?”

“you’re sweating too.”

“well, i sweat beautifully.”

fair. he actually was sweating though.

caleb had always been the type to run warm easily, and now that the heat had thoroughly caught up to him, the strands of his dark hair had started sticking damply against his forehead and temples, the slight sheen of sweat along his neck catching under the attic sunlight whenever he moved. with a quiet exhale, he dragged one hand through his hair and pushed it back, exposing more of his forehead before unzipping his brown DAA jacket halfway down just to loosen it.

the movement pulled your attention before you could stop it, but you instantly averted your gaze—to where zayne is quietly settled.

zayne sat near the shelves, though the heat had clearly begun getting to him too. he rarely looked disheveled, so the subtle signs became painfully noticeable once you started paying attention; his sleeves had been rolled upward twice already, dark hair sat slightly messier now near his forehead. every few minutes, he adjusted the collar of his black shirt like the fabric had become unbearable against his skin. a bead of sweat also slowly slid down the side of his neck before disappearing beneath the collarbone of his shirt.

you glanced away while continuing to fan yourself. “summer’s getting really evil,” 

caleb tipped his head back against the wall. “if i pass out up here, tell people i died handsome.”

“nobody would say that.” you tugged lightly at the fabric of your shirt where it clung uncomfortably against your skin from the heat. honestly, at this point modesty felt significantly less important than survival. so before you could overthink it, you grabbed the hem of your shirt and pulled it off over your head, leaving yourself in only your thin undershirt.

immediate silence.

you looked up instinctively and caught both men staring. not even subtly.

caleb’s eyes had visibly paused on you before he looked away first with a low exhale through his nose. zayne reacted faster, immediately turning his gaze aside and adjusting his shirt again.

“geez,” you muttered defensively. “don’t make it weird.”

“we’re not making it weird,” caleb replied too quickly.

you gestured vaguely toward them. “then take yours off too instead of suffering. we literally all grew up together anyway.”

caleb looked at you for a second before grinning slowly. “nah, you might die seeing my biceps.”

“you’re insufferable.”

to your surprise, zayne suddenly spoke from beside the two of you. “she’s right about one thing.” you blinked toward him, only to see that he had reached for the hem of his black shirt, pulling it off completely—completely shirtless!

your brain short-circuited. 

because unlike caleb, who at least still had clothes on, zayne had apparently decided modesty was optional now as well. the attic air suddenly vanished from your lungs, your eyes betraying you before you could stop them.

sweaty broad shoulders, defined arms, sharp collarbones damp from heat, and the... abs.

you instantly busied yourself with absolutely anything else—the dusty floorboards, the ceiling, the old christmas decorations nearby. anywhere except directly at zayne’s now shirtless body.

ah, spiritual enlightenment.

across from you, caleb immediately noticed. he leaned forward with visible amusement sparkling in his eyes. “why’re you looking away? thought we all grew up together.”

your face burned hotter. “shut up.”

“what?” caleb chuckled. “suddenly shy now?” while speaking, he shrugged off his DAA jacket completely too, leaving only the fitted white tank top stretched across his chest and shoulders, all sweaty. the heat had dampened the thin fabric slightly near his collarbone, and the sight of his forearms flexing as he tossed the jacket aside did absolutely nothing good for you. 

zayne peacefully folded his discarded top ontop of a storage box while watching the interaction unfold beside him.

“leave her alone,” he said to caleb.

caleb raised a brow. “why?”

zayne’s eyes shifted toward you briefly, calm and knowing. “she’s always been a scaredy kitten like that.” the familiarity of the remark hit you directly in the chest. years ago, he used to say things like that all the time too.

you frowned at zayne’s comment. “i am not a scaredy kitten.”

caleb laughed under his breath instantly. “yeah? tell that to your eighteen year old self, i bet my life she'd also just space out and stammer around.”

“fuck you.”

“it was funny.”

“you’re evil.”

caleb grinned. “and yet you still followed us everywhere back then.”

you opened your mouth to rebutt that immediately, only for the memory itself to betray you first. because annoyingly enough—you had followed them everywhere. the three of you used to move around the neighborhood like a tiny dysfunctional unit impossible to separate—summer afternoons spent biking aimlessly around streets, convenience store runs at midnight, and then hiding in this exact attic whenever adults downstairs assigned chores nobody wanted to do.

you smiled while shaking your head. “we were actually unbearable teenagers.”

“you were unbearable,” caleb corrected.

“says the one who somehow always ended up in neighborhood clashes.” you looked up to remember. “it was always at the... where was it again? oh right, the street four blocks away here.”

“and yet i survived.”

zayne spoke without looking up. “barely.”

caleb whistled. “and the one who always used to snitch spoke just now, finally.”

“who wouldn't snitch on a cheater.”

“where did that even come from? and why do you always say i'm a cheater?”

“because you are a cheater,” you and zayne answered simultaneously.

the three of you paused, before unexpectedly bursting into laughter together. real laughter this time, the kind that slipped out before anybody could control it. laughter made it easier to forget how much time had passed, made it easier to fall back into old rhythms.

you hugged your knees loosely against your chest while smiling. “i thought both of you would completely forget about me after college.”

the moment the words left your mouth, caleb glanced toward zayne briefly. “that was unlikely,” zayne said.

you tilted your head, now rummaging again through the photoalbums inside a nearby box. “why?”

“you were hard to miss,” caleb replied, walking toward you to crouch closer and look at the same albums.

your brows furrowed. “we barely even talked after.”

“didn’t mean we didn’t hear about you.”

you looked up. “…what?”

caleb looked up as well, meeting your eyes. “your... promotion.”

“ah.”

“congratulations, by the way,” zayne added calmly. “for also successfully advertising that one campaign your company did.”

your eyes snapped toward him. “…how do you know about that?”

zayne looked almost confused by the question. “you posted it.”

so they've been updated of you from afar, huh.

at some point during the conversation, both men had gradually moved closer without you noticing. caleb now sat near enough that his knee almost brushed yours, while zayne leaned against the wall beside you instead of across the attic, close enough for you to catch the clean scent of his cologne beneath the heat and dust.

suddenly, you remembered the lack of clothing again. you glanced at your own thin undershirt, and to zayne completely shirtless beside you, then to caleb in only a tank top with damp hair falling over his forehead. you cleared your throat quickly. “anyway, what about you two? you seriously never dated anybody?”

“why?” caleb asked lazily. “you curious?”

“normal people ask questions during conversations.”

“you first,” he replied.

zayne glanced toward you too, quieter but no less attentive. somehow, having both of them looking at you at once made the space inside your chest tighten. you tried to stay unaffected. “i already answered downstairs, i think. i have never been in a serious relationship in my life.”

“no serious relationships,” caleb corrected carefully. “that’s different.”

you looked down at your hands, shrugging. “i don’t know, i guess work just became easier to focus on.” that wasn’t the full truth. the fuller truth sat heavier beneath your ribs—that intimacy had always felt strangely incomplete after them.

after whatever the three of you had become all those years ago.

you let out a forced chuckle to lighten the mood again. “which sounds depressing now that i say it out loud.”

“it doesn’t,” zayne says, glancing down your chest, and back up your eyes. maybe it was the trapped closeness of the attic, but something about the way he looked at you right then made warmth slowly spread beneath your skin, a kind of longing stretched too thin over too many years.

caleb rests his chin against his fist. “so really no boyfriends, no exes?”

your face warmed beneath the attention. “why are you interrogating me?”

“because... it’s weird imagining nobody trying.”

you opened your mouth to deflect the conversation somewhere safer. “did either of you even find the speaker yet?” 

caleb groaned. “look at her running away.”

you ignored him entirely after that, standing up too quickly from the floorboards and dusted your hands against your shorts as if you were suddenly very determined to continue searching for the missing speaker—anything to keep yourself occupied. “if we actually find this thing, maybe granny will finally stop making me carry trays around.” the old wooden floor creaked beneath your steps as you moved toward another pile of boxes near the shelves. 

it almost grounded you. almost.

the moment you bent to check behind one of the boxes, you feel a hand suddenly wrapped around your wrist, urging you to stop and look back.

you found zayne standing closer than you realized, close enough for you to notice the faint sheen of sweat still lingering along his collarbones and chest, catching the subtle rise and fall of his breathing. his grip around your wrist wasn’t painful, but it stopped you completely. “look at me,”

what’s gotten into him all of the sudden?

your gaze flickered everywhere except directly at him because he was still shirtless and because something about the expression on his face right now made your chest feel strangely full. “zayne—”

“look at me.”

so you did, and his eyes looked nothing like they did downstairs around the family.

this wasn’t the polite zayne. not the distant adult zayne carefully controlling every word. this looked much closer to the boy you used to know years ago.

his fingers tightened around your wrist, enough to slightly hurt. “you always do this,”

“...do what?”

“run away.” 

the words landed harder than they should have. you immediately tried pulling your wrist back a little, but zayne didn’t let go. behind him, caleb had gone unusually quiet. you could feel his presence somewhere behind zayne without directly looking, still crouched, still listening.

your throat tightened slightly. “there is... nothing to run away from.”

so they really haven't moved on yet, huh.

zayne gave you a look, one that felt almost cruel in how accurately it saw through you. “you are right now.”

“i was-... literally just looking for the speaker. doing what we’re actually here for.”

“you can do that while talking to us, can’t you?”

“well, whatever you both were talking about is weird.”

“weird?” he repeated quietly. his grip loosened slightly afterward, but he still didn’t fully let go. “y/n, you never changed. like before, and until now, all you’ve ever done is run away.”

your chest further tightened at his words, brows furrowing as you still tried to look somewhere else.

“after what happened, you just disappeared on us.”

you swallowed hard.

“and you stopped showing up.”

hearing it said out loud like this made it sound uglier than the version you’d told yourself all these years—that everyone simply grew apart naturally, that time passed, and that adulthood happened. but deep down, you knew. you knew you had distanced yourself on purpose after what happened between the three of you.

after that summer.

your voice came out smaller now. “things got complicated. you know that.”

zayne raised a brow. “so you left?”

the sunlight filtering through the attic window suddenly seemed painfully bright against the dust floating lazily in the air. “what was i supposed to do?” you asked exasperatedly. for the first time since grabbing your wrist, zayne hesitated. that tiny hesitation somehow hurt even more, because it meant he didn’t have an answer either.

behind him, caleb finally moved. 

you glanced toward him instinctively.

he still sat low against the floorboards, elbows resting loosely over his knees now while he stared somewhere toward the old shelves instead of directly at either of you. his expression looked incredibly unreadable, but his jaw had tightened faintly.

“you left us behind,” zayne breaks the silence again.

your eyes stung unexpectedly, whispering, “that’s not fair,”

zayne’s gaze softened for only a second before hardening again beneath restraint. “isn’t it?”

you hated this, you hated how small you suddenly felt beneath the weight of his stare, beneath the years sitting unsaid between all three of you. you instinctively shrank slightly backward, only for your wrist still trapped in his hand to stop you halfway.

caleb finally exhaled from behind zayne before speaking for the first time in several minutes. “zayne, don’t corner her.”

zayne looked toward him briefly. “i’m not.”

“you are.”

the attic remained painfully quiet after that. not truly silent—because downstairs, somebody was still butchering an old love song through the karaoke microphone while relatives laughed loudly between clinking plates and glasses—but up here, inside the heat and dust and years sitting between the three of you, everything felt suspended.

your wrist still tingled faintly where zayne had held it, but neither him nor caleb looked away from each other. somehow, being caught between their silence felt worse than shouting.

and then, zayne spoke, still calm. “do you ever think about that summer?” caleb’s gaze flickered toward him slowly. and zayne continued before either of you could interrupt. “we were kids, scared kids.”

your heartbeat quickened, you already knew what summer he meant. of course you did. there had only ever been one summer capable of following all three of you into adulthood like this.

“did you wonder once, caleb,” zayne’s eyes remained on him, steady and honest in a way that almost hurt to witness. “if we were brave back then, would something have happened?”

the question settled heavily into the attic air.

caleb didn’t answer. for once, he actually looked speechless. his brows slowly straightened while his lips parted faintly, like he almost had words but couldn’t quite force them out. and then, eventually, his eyes shifted away from zayne—and landed on you instead.

when your eyes met, you looked away immediately.

somewhere throughout the years apart from them, hidden beneath careers and distance and adulthood, you had slowly realized something terrifying. you never actually stopped wanting them, not one more than the other, not one instead of the other.

just them. just caleb and zayne—the boys who ruined every normal definition of love for you before you were even old enough to understand what love properly was. and maybe you could have buried that forever, maybe you almost did.

until today. 

zayne took another step closer. this time, he was looking directly at you. “can we have the answer now?” 

christ, you could hear your own heartbeat. it’s fast, loud, humiliatingly obvious. you were always afraid to admit it, but perhaps—a part of you wanted to cross that line now, to stop pretending none of this existed and to finally say something honest after years of repression.

your eyes flickered helplessly between them. and then—your wandering gaze accidentally caught something sitting atop one of the higher shelves across the attic.

you blinked out of yourself. 

wait. isn’t that the speaker? the stupid missing speaker? 

your restraint grabbed onto it instantly like a lifeline. before your courage could betray you completely, you took the first opportunity to escape. the moment zayne’s hand loosened from your wrist, you slipped around him quickly and pointed toward the shelf. 

“there!” you said too fast. “the speaker’s there.”

both men turned instinctively toward where you pointed, and you waste no time crossing the attic toward it before either of them could stop you again. your heart still hammered wildly inside your chest as you reached the shelf and looked upward. the speaker rested frustratingly high near the top, partially hidden behind old storage bins and random decorations.

“…seriously?” you stretched upward, but it’s absolutely nowhere near close enough. the shelf was too tall. you frowned while standing on your toes, fingers barely reaching for it. you glanced around desperately for something to stand on, but there weren’t any proper chairs nearby. before you could stubbornly insist on climbing higher onto the unstable boxes, caleb suddenly walked up behind you. 

“need help?” he asks.

you blinked toward him over your shoulder. for some reason, your brain completely failed to produce a normal response. you watch how caleb’s hair remained damp from the attic heat, dark strands falling messily over his forehead while his white tank top clung slightly against his chest and stomach. 

“i…” 

caleb’s mouth twitched like he noticed your sudden inability to function. without another word, he crouched down in front of you with one knee against the wooden floorboards and a broad back facing you. “c’mon,” he said while motioning over his shoulder. “get on.”

your eyes widened. “…wh-what?”

“you need height, pips, unless you wanna risk your life or sumthin.”

you hesitated. behind you, zayne stepped closer too, setting a box he’d moved earlier more securely against the shelf before looking toward you. “if you’re getting it, pass the speaker to me immediately after. it’s heavy.”

you nodded weakly.

okay. fine.

you swallowed once before carefully stepping toward caleb’s crouched form. “don’t drop me,” 

caleb laughed. “you wound me.” still, his hands steadied against your calves as you awkwardly climbed onto his back. the moment your thighs wrapped around either side of his neck, heat rushed violently into your face.

this was humiliating.

caleb stood up carefully afterward, and the sudden loss of ground beneath your feet made you instinctively tighten your hold around him. his hands then immediately gripped more firmly on your thighs to stabilize you.

large hands...warm palms... strong fingers pressing securely against the bare skin just below your shorts... 

you stared determinedly at the shelf instead.

focus! focus on the speaker, not on the fact that caleb’s shoulders flexed beneath your hold every time he adjusted his grip on you.“comfortable up there?” he asked, rubbing a thumb along your skin.

fuck.

“stop talking.”

“yes, ma’am.”

behind you, zayne cleared his throat once. “can you reach it?” 

you forced yourself to focus again and stretched upward toward the speaker stacked near the top shelf. this time you could finally reach it properly, fingers brushing against the dusty handle. “almost—” but then, something suddenly moved near your hand, making you freeze. the ticklish sensation of what might be something alive made you look closer, and see...

“A COCKROACH!” your scream ripped through the attic instantly, jolting violently backward on instinct. “SHIT—” 

caleb startled hard beneath you from the sudden movement. “what—?!”

“THERE’S A BUG—” you wiggled frantically trying to get away from it while caleb lost balance underneath your panicked thrashing. then, the speaker tipped dangerously over the edge of the shelf. thankfully, zayne reacted fast enough to catch the heavy speaker against his chest before it crashed onto the floor.

the problem was everything else, though. you were still screaming, while caleb was still trying not to drop you. and the next few seconds happened far too fast—caleb’s balance finally gave up.

CRASH!

you landed very hard against caleb’s chest as both of you crashed onto the floorboards together, the air knocking from your lungs. caleb grunted sharply beneath you from the fall, one arm instinctively wrapping around your waist to keep you from hitting the floor harder.

“are you okay?” he coughed.

“the roach—!” your heart still hammered wildly while you tried pushing yourself upright—until sudden sharp pain tore across your palm. “ah—!”

a splintered piece of wood had been sticking upright between the uneven floorboards where your palm landed during the fall. a thin but deep cut now stretched across the center of your hand, bright red blood immediately welling against your skin.

“shit,” caleb muttered, staring at you.

you winced hard, clutching your injured hand against yourself while still half sprawled against caleb’s chest.

he pushes himself upright quickly despite clearly getting hurt from the impact too. you only noticed now the way he’d scraped part of his arm against the floorboards during the fall, redness already forming along his elbow. he didn’t even look at it as his attention stayed entirely on you. “let me see,” 

you shook your head weakly out of reflex while pressing your wounded palm closer against yourself. “it’s fine—”

“you’re bleeding.” his voice came lower, more serious. the teasing undertone went gone instantly. before you could protest again, caleb carefully grabbed your wrist to examine the cut more closely.

his brows furrowed hard. up close, you could see the same shift in his face whenever he got worried about you, the slight narrowing of his eyes and the way his touch became gentler without him seeming to realize it.

meanwhile beside both of you, zayne had already set the speaker down safely. you heard quick footsteps approaching, then suddenly zayne crouched near you too, immediately reaching for your injured hand with frightening calmness.

“move,” he told caleb.

“i’m helping her.”

“and i’m a doctor.”

caleb clicked his tongue but loosened his hold enough for zayne to inspect your palm instead. now you sat there trapped awkwardly between them on the attic floor, breathing unevenly while both men focused on your injured hand. despite the pain, your face still burned hotter from the way caleb’s arm remained securely attached around your waist the entire time.

instead of dwelling on that, you observed the way zayne’s entire demeanor shifted the moment he properly saw the wound. it happened so naturally that it almost startled you more than the injury itself.

one second he had been the same restrained, unreadable man from earlier, standing in the attic shirtless with sweat dampening the edges of his dark hair. and then suddenly, the doctor in him surfaced so seamlessly that it felt like watching somebody step into their true skin.

you watch his posture straightening, expression sharpened. his fingers wrapped around your wrist with control as he tilted your palm toward the sunlight. fresh blood continued slipping slowly from the cut, bright against your skin before trailing down the inside of your wrist and arm in thin warm lines.

the wound pulsed really painfully, every heartbeat making it throb even harder, enough to make you wince again.

immediately, zayne’s eyes flicked upward. “does it sting or ache?” 

you blinked at him for a second. “both.”

zayne hummed under his breath before looking around the attic quickly, scanning the cluttered shelves and old boxes. his brows drew together—of course there was nothing useful here. no bandages, tissues, nothing clean enough. “we shouldn’t wrap it with anything dirty,” zayne murmured more to himself than to you.

you shifted against caleb’s chest, still painfully aware of the way his arm remained firm around your waist from behind. his body felt warm beneath yours, solid, breathing against your back despite the awkward position the two of you were still trapped in on the floor.

“it’s okay, i can just use my shirt for now and wash it downstairs later when someone notices we’re missing—” you stopped yourself when zayne suddenly moved, your breath caught when he leaned downward toward your injured arm. “…zayne?”

he didn’t answer, his gaze stayed lowered instead, almost avoiding yours. and then you felt it—the warmth of his tongue dragging slowly along the thin trail of blood that had begun slipping down your wrist. 

“z-zayne!” it made you flinch hard in shock, but his hand tightened carefully around your wrist to steady you before the blood could drip further. he still wouldn’t look at you, expression remained frighteningly focused despite the intimacy of what he was doing, dark lashes lowered while his tongue traced upward once more against your skin.

the sensation made your stomach twist painfully because it hurt and because it didn’t. because his mouth was warm and the attic was hot and your pulse was beating too hard beneath his touch. “you’re insane,” you whispered weakly.

that finally made the corner of his mouth twitch, but he still didn’t stop. slowly, carefully, zayne lifted your wounded palm closer toward his mouth. you could see the brief hesitation in his face this time, almost like he knew crossing this line would change things. 

but even then, his lips pressed softly against the center of your palm.

“hng—!” pain flared immediately when he applied pressure to the cut, sucking the blood from the wound to keep it temporarily clean. but the sting made your entire body tense. your free hand immediately grabbed onto the closest thing near you—

caleb.

you pressed backward against his chest hard enough that he physically stiffened beneath you. “it hurts,” you shakily breathed.

behind you, caleb let out the faintest grunt, low and strained. his arm around your waist tightened before he could stop himself. but you failed to notice completely—too distracted by zayne, by the overwhelming feeling of his mouth against your skin.

zayne’s eyes finally lifted toward yours then, emerald green, but darker now somehow. you had never realized before how intimate being cared for could feel until this exact moment. his lips remained close against your palm while his fingers held your wrist steady.

meanwhile behind you, caleb’s ears had gone bright red. but you still failed to catch on the visible effort it took for him not to move beneath the repeated pressure of your body pressing against him every time the pain made you squirm. you were sitting directly between his legs, half against his chest, and every small movement from you dragged against him in ways that were making his breathing increasingly uneven.

“nghh...” caleb’s grip flexed once against your waist. but before you could process that, zayne pulled back slowly from your injured hand.

your skin burned so badly it almost felt feverish, heat spreading up your throat and cheeks while your injured palm still throbbed beneath zayne’s careful hold. you stared at the faint sheen of blood left near his lower lip before he calmly wiped it away with the back of his hand. he inspected your swollen palm again with doctor-like focus despite the fact that he had literally just licked you off to suck your blood.

your breathing became uneven all over again, because you suddenly felt eighteen. painfully eighteen. back in that summer version of yourselves where standing between zayne and caleb had always felt like standing too close to a storm.

zayne tilted your wrist once more, checking the wound carefully. “the bleeding stopped,” he murmured, in which you nodded weakly to. but he stayed crouched close in front of you though, way too close. his eyes lifted toward yours. “can you still run away now?”

fuck’s sake, how are they this persistent?

you almost wanted to scream. why were they still like this? why were they still capable of unraveling you so easily after all these years? you swallowed hard and forced yourself to push back before you completely lost whatever remained of your sanity. “what if i don’t?” you retorted. the words slipped out before you could stop them. 

and the second they did—something behind you suddenly twitched hard against your rear. your entire body went still, feeling the solid and warm thing press against your bum, twitching ever so slightly.

is that... caleb? 

behind you, caleb sucked in a sharp breath through his teeth, like he was physically struggling, and then he made a strained sound under his breath. you felt the arm around your waist flex harder for half a second before he abruptly loosened it like he’d finally remembered himself. “okay,” caleb muttered roughly from behind you. “get off me.”

you turned your head slightly in confusion, only to find caleb looking away toward the opposite wall with a deeply tense expression, jaw tight enough to visibly flex. the tips of his ears were brightly red, damp hair sticking messily to his forehead while sweat slid slowly down the side of his neck into the collar of his tank top. he looked both irritated and embarrassed at the exact same time, which somehow made him even worse to look at.

“you get—”

“seriously,” he muttered with a grunt, finally glancing at you briefly before immediately looking away again. “it’s hard.”

“i-i mean, it’s hard to breathe.” caleb quickly corrected himself.

zayne exhaled quietly through his nose beside you like he was holding back amusement. you stared at caleb in absolute disbelief while your brain scrambled uselessly trying to process what he’d just admitted out loud. 

so what you’re sitting on is his...

zayne leaned toward you again before you could recover properly from caleb’s admission. instinctively, you leaned backward to create distance—but all that did was press your body more firmly against caleb behind you.

that caused a strangled grunt escaping low from his throat, his hands instantly tightening around your hips hard enough to make you inhale sharply. “that hurts—” 

you tried shifting away again, but there was nowhere to go. there was zayne in front of you, and caleb beneath and behind you. zayne’s eyes flickered downward briefly at the way caleb’s grip dug into your waist before returning to your face. strangely, he didn’t look annoyed. if anything, he looked calmer now. certain.

the faintest flush had spread across the bridge of his nose from the heat, but his gaze remained painfully steady on you. “earlier, you asked what happens if you stop running.”zayne leaned closer still, one hand braced beside your knee against the floorboards. “prove it.”

you stared at him helplessly. “what? what do you—”

“prove you’re not running anymore. and if you can do that,” he murmured, “then we’ll leave you alone.”

you swallowed hard. after all these years, after all the distance and silence and pretending nothing happened between the three of you—they were still here, looking at you like this, wanting you like this. but deep down, you already knew something terrifying. you certainly didn’t want them to leave you alone. 

your teeth pressed lightly against your lower lip. “deal.”

it was now or never. if they wanted you so bad to prove them otherwise, then let them take it.

before you could stop yourself, your hand lifted toward zayne’s face, fingers curled against his jaw. for the first time since reuniting with them, you stopped thinking—pulling him toward you to kiss him.

it didn't feel rushed nor hesitant, it just felt like years and years of restrained tension finally colliding all at once.

zayne froze for barely half a second, then immediately kissed you back. harder. “fuck,”

his hand came up almost desperately to cradle your face, fingers spreading gently along your cheek and jaw like he’d imagined touching you this way too many times before. he kissed like a man who had spent years holding himself back. careful at first, then increasingly less careful every second after.

despite everything, there was still something achingly romantic about zayne. even now. even like this. his thumb brushed softly beneath your cheek while his mouth moved against yours, and the tenderness of it nearly undid you completely.

behind you, caleb exhaled shakily. “it’s so... painful,”

you had forgotten you were still sitting against him, pressing against him every time the kiss made you move unconsciously. this time, though, you didn’t pull away. if anything, your body pressed more firmly backward on instinct as zayne kissed you deeper. 

caleb physically tensed beneath you. his fingers dug harder into your hips. “fuck,” he breathed hoarsely, the sound barely registering through the haze that clouded your thoughts.

zayne tilted his head, kissing you slower now but somehow deeper, his grip on your face tightening when you instinctively kissed him back harder. your injured hand trembled weakly against his shoulder while the other remained curled near his jaw.

you could feel his breathing becoming uneven too, could feel the way even zayne—always composed, always restrained—was starting to lose control of himself.

behind you, again, caleb let out another rough exhale. his forehead dropped briefly against the back of your shoulder like he was trying to survive this somehow. 

you stopped trying to hold yourself back. maybe that was the most dangerous part of all this—not them, not the attic, not the years of tension finally collapsing into something tangible. but it was you finally letting yourself want them back.

zayne’s mouth left yours only briefly before he leaned closer again, “quite too much for someone who only wants to prove something, no?” breath warm against your jaw as he buried his face near your neck. the scrape of his breathing against your skin alone nearly made your thoughts dissolve. instinctively, your eyes fluttered shut and your head tilted slightly to the side, exposing more of your neck to him without even realizing it. and zayne’s lips brushed there once, slowly. a quiet breath escaped him against your skin, and the sound alone nearly weakened your spine.

but then reality crashed back in all at once. these weren’t boys anymore. they were men who had spent years wanting you, years imagining this.

before zayne could kiss your neck again, your hand came up against his jaw and pushed him backward firmly.

the movement startled him, his brows furrowed faintly as he looked at you, lips flushed from kissing. zayne genuinely looked caught off guard, and you stared back at him for one second.

if you were losing control tonight, you were at least going to make it fair.

“let me,” you leaned downward instead, toward him. but at the same time, your hips deliberately moved backward against caleb beneath you. you started to grind your ass against his crotch in a slow, circular motion, like you were drawing his name with your hips and his growing bulge as the material. 

instantly, a rough moan caught in his throat as his hands clamped harder around your hips, fingers flexing almost desperately against your skin. “more... a little more...,” caleb muttered under his breath, but you ignored him on purpose. which only made him grip you tighter.

you bent toward zayne and let your lips brush teasingly along the side of his neck, just enough contact to make him inhale sharply.

this time, you were the one watching him carefully, watching the way his composure cracked apart in tiny fractures beneath your touch.

zayne’s eyes lowered, lips parted slightly as you kissed just beneath his jaw once—soft and slow—and you physically saw the tension leave his shoulders, a quiet sigh escaping him, relieved.

beneath you, caleb gave up entirely. “you’re really g-getting bold, huh,” his head tipped backward while his grip on your hips grew bolder, guiding your movements against him with less restraint—every small drag of your ass against his bulge made his breathing rougher, hotter.

zayne stared down at you with slightly wide eyes, his breath hitching in his throat as you leaned forward to press your lips against the sensitive column of his neck. he couldn't believe the sheer boldness of you—the girl who had once fled from them was now claiming them like this. as your lips trailed a searing path down his bobbing adam's apple and over the sharp line of his clavicle, his eyes fluttered shut, and his hands, trembling with a mix of reverence and lust, slid into your hair.

with a low, commanding hum, you pushed against zayne’s chest, forcing him to lean back just enough to create a sliver of space. “lean back.” you say. 

as you moved, your lifted your bum from caleb's crotch, momentarily breaking the contact. instead, you descended upon zayne, your mouth finding the expanse of his chest. you began to leave a trail of blooming hickies across his skin, teeth grazing his pectoral muscles as you worked your way down the hard, defined ridges of his abdomen.

“you’re quite eager to prove it, aren’t you?” zayne murmured, watching the way you kissed him lower. 

and while you did that, your lower body continued its job on caleb. you were dry humping him through his pants with a rhythmic pace, driven by a hunger that had been denied for far too long. it made caleb into a moaning mess beneath you, his strength failing him as he braced one hand against the floorboards to keep from collapsing entirely. his other hand was white knuckled, gripping the hem of your tanktop so tightly the fabric strained.

fuck it, you were far past the point of teasing; the ache between your thighs became a sharp, demanding pulse that demanded satisfaction. driven by instinct, you slid your hand lower, trailing past the ridges of zayne’s toned abs until your fingers hooked into the leather of his belt. you were ready to tear it open, to strip him bare, but a firm, warm hand clamped over yours.

“what exactly are you doing?” zayne rasped.

you paused, fingers still curled in his belt, and you looked up at him with a defiant glint in your eyes. you intentionally stopped grinding your hips against caleb, leaving him momentarily unanchored. “funny,” you retorted, your voice a breathless purr. “for someone who kept on calling me a runaway, you're the one running away now.”

at that, a slow, amused smirk spread across zayne’s face, an expression that made your heart hammer against your ribs. “running?” he murmured, his gaze dropping to your lips before returning to your eyes. “you've finally caught me.” without breaking eye contact, he unbuckled his own belt with a decisive clink, tossing the leather aside to clatter against the floorboards.

you were already breathless, a thin thread of saliva glistening on your lip as you watched him. he unbuttoned his pants and shoved his underwear down in one fluid motion. and the moment his manhood sprang free, it nearly slapped against your cheek, a heavy, throbbing weight that made your eyes widen. 

he was... massive. 

“can you actually take this, y/n?” zayne whispered as he began to stroke himself, the rhythmic schlickof his hand against his skin echoing in the small space. he brings the head of his cock dangerously close to your eyes, teasing you with the scent of his musk.

an instinctive, heavy throb pulsed between your legs, and you felt a sudden, overwhelming rush of moisture. you were fucking incredibly wet, your panties clinging to you as you swallowed hard. but before you could find your voice, you felt a shift behind you. the floorboards suddenly creaked under a new weight.

you turned your head slightly, your breath catching in your throat. caleb was moving, his eyes glazed with a raw hunger as he knelt behind you. he was already unbuckling his belt, his movements frantic and desperate. “don’t think you're getting off that easy,” as he released his own huge cock, he leaned in. “how much can you even take from us, huh, pipsqueak?”

he didn't wait for an answer. his hands were suddenly on your hips, pulling your shorts down. when the fabric fell, it revealed your white panties, darkened and translucent from how much you were soaking. the sight of your drenched lace made caleb’s dick twitch violently. he didn't wait to strip you completely; instead, he pressed the hot, blunt head of his length against your entrance, rubbing the damp fabric of your panties against your swollen clit.

“still runnin’ away from this?” he grunted, a low, needy sound. “bet you can’t. you’re too wet.” a high, broken whimper escaped your throat, and your strength gave out, your body collapsing forward until you slumped heavily against zayne’s muscular thighs.

zayne reached down though, his fingers firm and warm as they hooked under your chin to tilt your head back. you were met once again by the intimidating sight of his throbbing manhood. you were too far gone, too lost in the heavy, wet heat of caleb’s dick pressing on you to offer any resistance. when zayne leaned forward, guiding his thick, pulsing head toward your lips, you opened for him instinctively. “open for me.” he pushes into your mouth with a slow force that filled you to the brim.

a soft, helpless moan escaped you around him, and a thin trail of drool escaped the corner of your mouth, glistening in the sunlight. you looked up at him through hazy, hooded eyelids, eyes wide and glazed with unadulterated lust. zayne let out a groan at the sight of you—his beautiful girl now wrapped around his dick. your hands reached up, clutching at the fabric of his pants as he wrapped his fingers around your head, guiding your movements to ensure you felt every vein of his length.

“that’s it... just like that. take it all, y/n. show me how much you want it.” his words came to you like a caress, but below, caleb let out a frustrated, needy grunt, his pace increasing as he felt you getting even wetter, the damp fabric of your panties sliding slickly against your clit with every heavy thrust of his hips.

zayne’s head fell back, his eyes squeezing shut as you began to suck him with a slow, rhythmic pace. he was fighting for control, muscles corded and straining as he fought the irresistible urge to simply slam himself into your throat. instead, he gently pushes his hips upward to meet your mouth. and when you finally took him deep enough that the tip of your nose brushed against the base of his shaft, an uncharacteristic, broken groan tore from his throat, his fingers tightening convulsively in your hair. 

“ahh, fuck,”

caleb watched it happen, and a sting of jealousy immediately came through him. he decided to silently reach down, his slender fingers hooking into the side of your soaked panty to shove the damp fabric aside, exposing your dripping, swollen entrance to the cool air. without a moment's hesitation, he positioned his pulsing cock at your opening and began to push.

you instantly gasped into zayne’s dick. 

“shhh, it’s okay,” he coaxed you.

but caleb hit a wall of resistance nonetheless. you were incredibly tight, your body still reeling from the shock of the sudden attention, and the sheer girth of him was overwhelming. he let out a strained grunt, muscles bunching as he struggled to force his way past your narrow walls. “you're...too small, too tight—” he hissed through gritted teeth, working hard to breach you, while above you, zayne remained a patient man, his hands steadying your head as he waited for your mouth to finally adjust to the weight of him.

to soothe the tension, you reached up to wrap your hand around the base of zayne’s shaft while your mouth continued to worship his tip. you began to bob your head in a frantic, fast motion, your tongue swirling around him with a desperate hunger. the sudden change in pace caught zayne off guard; he let out a choked, startled sound, nearly swallowing his own saliva as he gasped, “slow... slow down, y/n...”

you didn't listen. instead, you treated his massive length like a sweet lollipop, swirling and sucking with a playful fervor. and zayne could do nothing but revel in the sensation, his head tilting back as he shut his eyes tight, a thin string of saliva escaping his parted lips.

he tasted so fucking good in your mouth.

the sight of you so focused on zayne was the final straw for caleb. a low grunt erupted from his chest, before reaching down, his large hands clamping onto your hips with a bruising, painful grip that forced a small gasp from your lips. then, with a sudden surge of strength, he slammed himself forward, driving his entire length into you in one singular thrust.

shit.

“angghh!” you screamed, the sound muffled by the weight of zayne’s dick still filling your mouth. you were finally, blissfully full, but the sensation was immediately followed by a staggering shock. 

the moment caleb buried himself within you, he stiffened violently. a ragged, breathless gasp tore from his lungs as he felt his climax hit him with the force of a tidal wave. he was inside you, fully, and he was already coming.

“shit, shit, shit—” caleb choked out, his voice a  broken mess. trembling, his hips continued to thrust in a desperate, involuntary rhythm, but he couldn't stop. even as he pounded into you, he felt the hot, thick jets of his semen pulsing deep inside your womb, a continuous, unending stream that seemed impossible. 

how could this happen? he had masturbated to you a thousand times, always maintaining a disciplined control, but now, the mere feeling of your heat was undoing him. he couldn't even stop coming; it was as if your body was a vacuum, pulling every drop of his cum from him in one long, continuous release.

thwack! thwack! thwack!

seeing the way his thick cock disappeared into you with every frantic thrust, caleb let out a loud moan. “so tight f’me, you’re going to... kill me,” he hooked a powerful arm beneath your thigh, hoisting your leg high up onto his shoulder to tilt your pelvis back, allowing him to drive into you even deeper. “can you take this, huh? do you still wanna leave us behind after this, hm?” each time his tip slammed against your cervix, your eyes rolled back in your head, your vision blurring as you struggled to keep your grip on zayne’s dick.

but zayne was not about to let you find your footing. seeing caleb’s dominance, he instantly felt competitive. he wasn't just a spectator anymore. he reached down, his fingers tangling firmly in your hair to tilt your head back at a punishing angle, and began to pound his dick into your mouth with a relentless pace. “unghhh...” he groaned, matching caleb’s rhythm. “proving it well, aren’t you?”

at this point, you could do nothing but cry out, your voice breaking into a series of high, desperate moans and whimpers as the two men relentlessly pounded into you, claiming every inch of you as their own.

—

downstairs, life went on completely unaware.

the previous broken speaker suddenly crackled back to life, making the older relatives cheer in relief while somebody loudly complained that they were in the middle of a sad song before the speaker died. immediately, music flooded granny’s front yard again, echoing beneath the afternoon sunlight while barbecue smoke drifted lazily through the air.

children ran around the plastic tables with juice boxes in hand, somebody’s uncle was already tipsy enough to start singing off-key, one of your aunts kept scolding people for stealing food because apparently there were still some late visitors.

granny herself sat proudly near the karaoke television with the microphone in hand, it was only after a few minutes that she suddenly looked around the crowded yard and frowned slightly. “where are those three?” she asked.

one of the younger teenagers nearby nearly choked trying not to laugh. another one immediately elbowed him hard. “they’re probably still playing upstairs,” the girl answered innocently. except the snickering afterward completely ruined the lie.

granny narrowed her eyes suspiciously. “what did you children do?”

“nothing!” which obviously meant something.

eventually, after enough threatening looks from the adults, the truth slipped out in pieces.

they had planned on pulling a prank on the three of you by locking the attic. the plan to leave the three of you stuck there “for only a few minutes.” apparently, the younger cousins thought it would be funny after overhearing all the teasing downstairs earlier.

granny sighed so deeply it nearly sounded spiritual. “those poor children,” she muttered while shaking her head.

except she still didn’t go upstairs immediately, because one of the older uncles suddenly begged her to sing another song first. and like always, granny gave in.

and completely unbeknownst to everyone downstairs—something irreversible had already bloomed upstairs in the attic.

not a fight, not an accident, not even just old feelings returning. it was worse than that, warmer than that. something that had spent years quietly burning beneath distance and growing up.

something that had long been marking you under seasons of summer.

a sunburn.

—

Caleb lets out a long, agitated sigh before turning back to the recruits. They all stared wide-eyed at him, freezing as his eyes scanned over each one of them.

"This is far from over. You will do as advised, not another mistake more. Dismissed!"

"Yes, sir!" They all say in unison, promptly dispersing out of there.

Caleb's gloved fists clenched tightly at his sides, his gaze flitting back towards the entryway. Whoever it was, he could only assume it was a recruit who failed to show up for this necessary lecture. That was inexcusable.

With a huff through his nose, he squared his shoulders and headed off in the direction of this insubordinate individual. His head was on a swivel as he walked down the hall, checking each room he passed.

Each doorway was seemingly closed, not having been unlocked by any passcodes or keycards. Which meant whoever it was only kept going straight down the path.

He hurried his heavy boots, turning a corner and eventually catching a fleeting figure walking down the end of the hallway. Finally got them.

"You! What are you doing here in the barracks?" He exclaims aloud, causing the figure to freeze on the spot and almost drop whatever was held in their arms in front of them.

His eyes squint down the hallway, noticing that this person was wearing casual wear. Sweater, jeans, sneakers, even their hair was down... That clearly was not protocol for anyone in the Farspace Fleet.

Before he could tally up all the offenses in his head, the person starts to walk off again, their haste signaling their steadily increasing fear.

He frowns at that, knowing whoever this was wasn't going to be easy.

"Halt, that's an order!"

When they don't listen, he resorts to the last option he hadn't planned to use. His evol.

With a flick of his wrist, the person was caught in his gravity evol, an undignified yelp heard from them. He wouldn't deny he felt a little bad, especially when they sounded so panicked.

He could only wonder if this person was a new recruit, too green and new to the harsh reality of the Farspace Fleet.

But it was no matter, he had no time for such worries. With his evol still keeping them firmly in their spot, he heads over to close the distance.

"On top of not being in proper uniform, you are ignoring direct orders? Such disobedience will not be tolerated--"

His words get caught off once he circled their body to face them, his eyes blinking rapidly in confusion.

Caleb expected a familiar recruit from the many dossiers and applications he had to comb through during his inspections, but this woman.... he did not recognize her at all.

She was soft featured, an innocent face with a curvy, plush figure that was far from looking like any Farspace officers that he's ever seen. Her eyes were round and glassy, full lips wobbling in apprehension.

Like a rabbit caught in a wolf's den.

"Who... are you?" He musters awkwardly, clearly taken aback by the situation at hand.

"...I'm not..."

"What..?"

"I t-tried to get a... visitor's pass..." She answers quietly, voice trembling.

"Visitor's pass? You..."

His eyes flit down to what was being carried in her arms. A flower patterned insulated lunch bag that came with a matching thermos holder. He could even see the manicured nails of her shaky hands more clearly, the cutesy patterns that would definitely not be a part of regulation.

Ah, so she was not an officer. Just a civilian.

The whole thing made his stomach plummet, his hand making quick work to release his gravity evol out of sheer guilt.

Caleb winces as she stumbles forward after being freed, his hands instinctively grasping her shoulders to keep her steady. From this distance, he could smell the perfume and shampoo that wafted from her.

Floral, sweet as vanilla... A bit addicting.

His throat immediately cleared as the thought came up, his hands loosening its hold on her once she pulled back into her own space.

"O-Oh, I see. You were looking for a place to get the visitor's badge?"

She nods stiffly, pouting with downcast eyes.

"N-No one was there to help."

Of course there wasn't. Just another thing gone wrong on the base. But this wasn't about that right now.

He just reprimanded an innocent person who didn't deserve such treatment. It didn't help that she looked like she was on the verge of tears from what happened, making his heart clench painfully.

"...I'm sorry..." She adds quietly.

He shakes his head instantly at the apology, his hands that he forced at his sides wishing to somehow comfort her.

"No, no, it's okay. The fault is mine. I thought you were one of my subordinates. If anybody is sorry, it should be me. Did I... hurt you in any way with my evol?"

"Mm-mm... Just... scared me..."

"Right. Right, yeah... that, um... It is scary, I'm really sorry."

She finally glances up at him, watching as he looked off with a pained look on his face. He did seem genuinely remorseful, at least.

"...I think you're being too harsh on those people." She notes suddenly, making him glance over in an almost bewildered manner, "They're probably overworked and-- Y-Yelling at them doesn't help either."

"Well... I..."

Caleb didn't know how to answer her. It was difficult to explain that kind of thing to someone who wouldn't understand how the Farspace Fleet works, but... maybe she did have a point.

"S-So what if I wasn't your subordinate?" She continues, trying to get through her nervous trembles, "Talking rough with anyone would be... unkind. It's... very mean. And not to mention how stressful that would be to your own mind."

Despite her palpable fear that she initially had for him, she was somehow getting through with reprimanding him this time.

A much shorter woman, who has probably never seen a harsh or rough life, was complaining to him in all his imposing stature.

It was... cute. Like a pomeranian yapping cutely at his feet.

"C-Colonel Xia!" A female voice appears, their boots hurriedly making their way over.

He recognized this person. It was a commanding officer. Division five's captain.

And her eyes locked on to the clueless woman, her expression morphing into mortification.

"Nonmc, you--" The captain exclaims before turning to Caleb with a quick and precise salute, "Colonel Xia, I must greatly apologize for my younger sister approaching you so casually. It will never happen again, sir."

"Sister..." He repeats to himself, his mind slowly working it out.

The captain reaches for the other woman, tugging her off to the side and whispering with widened eyes.

"What were you thinking, nonmc? That's my boss!"

"Y-Your boss?"

"Yes! Now apologize to him, quickly."

He heard them regardless, his hand coming up to stop the captain from making any further comments.

"It's all right. She just didn't know her way around the base and there was no one for her to ask. I will not blame her for that."

The captain was shocked, lips parted with unsaid apologies. She clears her throat, removing her hand from nonmc so that she could stand respectfully in front of him.

"O-Of course, sir! I appreciate the understanding."

"Hm. She was visiting you, correct? Finish up your tasks back at your post, I'll have her meet with you at the designated area for visitors."

"Yes, sir! Right away, sir!" The captain complies, giving a final farewell salute before heading off.

Nonmc watches as her older sister had to ultimately head back, leaving just the two of them again. She purses her lips as she gazed back at him, mulling over her thoughts.

He was in a similar boat, his colonel personality fizzling out into something more... him.

"Well... Nonmc, right? Come on. I'll show you where you can wait."

"Ah, all right..."

With little fanfare, he starts leading her through the many halls and doorways. At first, she was tailing behind like a dog with her tail between her legs, which only made him feel worse.

He decides to slow down his steps so that she could walk at his side, his expression changing into something softer. More approachable.

"This must be your first time here on the base." He inquires.

"It is. Well, around anywhere in Skyhaven, to be honest."

"What do you mean?"

"O-Oh, it's just... I recently moved here to be closer to my sister. I originally lived in Linkon with my parents, but... I didn't think it was right to keep staying at their house still."

"They forced you out?"

"No, no!" Nonmc promptly corrects, shaking her head, "They always said I could stay. I just felt... bad. That's why I saved up enough to get a place here in Skyhaven! Though... the rent is a bit high..."

He hums in acknowledgement, nodding along as they kept walking.

That would explain why she seemed too delicate for a place like this. None of this felt like her home. Nothing familiar to fall back on.

She probably thought she was just visiting her older sister's work like it was any old job, but it was clear she was in over her head.

He wasn't sure if it was pity, but he could definetly empathize with her. It was like being thrown into murky water without knowing how to swim.

"Sorry, I'm probably talking too much."

Her words break him out of his thoughts, his lips forming into a small smile to reassure her.

"It's okay. I understand the situation better. If anything, I'm more sorry for how I acted towards you."

Their conversation lulls into silence after that, both of them shortly reaching the front entryway of the visiting area. Once they were moments away from entering, he stops and turns to her.

"Here you are. You can wait for your sister right through that doorway."

"Thank you..." She mutters softly, following his form as he was about to leave before parting her lips to speak, "U-Um..!"

Caleb slows his steps, turning back to her with raised eyebrows.

"You won't put the blame on my sister after I leave, will you..?"

The blunt question gives him some pause, especially on a mental standpoint. She was worried that things will change once she was no longer on the base. No outsider eyes to doubt his behavior.

As frank as it was, the question was fair to ponder.

Scrutiny, criticisms, punishment... It was all a part of his line of work, as a colonel. It was his job as a high ranking officer of the Farspace Fleet, but... seeing it from an outside perspective did clear that thought process in a way that it hadn't before.

"...No, I won't."

"Promise?"

Caleb swallowed thickly, unable to refute her when she was staring at him with so much worry and hope. How was she capable of rendering him into someone he was like in the past? Less callous and more vulnerable.

"...I promise."

As soon as he answered, she sighed in relief. She brings a hand over to her heart in gesture, her stiffened shoulders loosening.

"That's a relief. Thank you."

He could only nod back, not really sure if being thanked for avoiding harsh action was something he wanted to be known for. Then again... why did he care what this person thought?

She was a stranger, somebody who will be a singular speck in his life--

"Oh, here! Let me give you a gift."

Nonmc speaks again with raised eyebrows in realization, walking over to him as she sifted through her sweater pocket with one hand while the other balanced her lunch bag.

He furrows his eyebrows, glancing down at her hand going through her pocket before watching as it popped out again with candies sitting atop her palm.

Individual wrappers of hard candy, colorful and bright. It was the kind found in convenience stores, usually bought in a single variety bag.

"Sweets are good for when you're stressed, at least for me it helps. I have cherry, mango, peach..."

"You... want me to take one?" He asks skeptically.

"Sure! Unless you don't like sweets..." She purses her lips, clasping her hand together as if to put them away, "Never mind, that was childish of me."

Before he realizes it, his hand flies upward to cover hers, stopping it from hiding inside her sweater pocket.

"No, I didn't say that. I was... just surprised, that's all."

She blinks a bit in surprise before humming in understanding, a kind smile forming on her lips.

"Okay then, have your pick!"

Her hand opened up again, giving him that chance to look about the various flavor options until he finally picked one out. A yellow wrapped candy that was surely lemon.

"Hm, then I'll take this one."

Caleb hears her suddenly chuckle, making him dart his gaze back up. Her eyes crinkled into little crescents, round cheeks rising upward as she smiled much more widely and openly.

"That's one of my favorites too."

"O-Oh, hah... funny. What a coincidence."

He could only stare off blankly as she placed the rest of the candies back into her pocket and situated her lunch bag better, blissfully unaware that she just short circuited the tall man in front of her.

How was such a simple kind act and carefree laugh able to turn him into a bumbling teenager?

He thought he gotten a handle in acting both as the stern colonel and the charismatic golden boy of his school days, yet he couldn't find a version of himself to use in front of her.

Scaring her to tears wasn't something he wanted to do and now he was worried that being charming in any capacity will make her laugh or smile in a way that'll cause his insides to flutter uncontrollably. What was happening to him?

"Well... I won't bother you any longer, um, Colonel Xia."

"Caleb." He responds far too quickly, making his hand reach behind his burning neck, "Calling me Caleb is fine. You're not one of my subordinates, remember?"

"Ah, all right then... Caleb."

The butterflies were back. Fluttering his insides wildly again. Just because she said his name.

"Oh, and... please consider what I mentioned before. About how you to talk with others. I think it'd be quite a sad thing to see it continue."

He purses his lips, unable to look away from that pleading pout of hers.

"...I'll keep it in mind."

"Good. Because, well, you look better when you don't scowl." She compliments, only to cough awkwardly with flushed cheeks when he responds with a shocked stare, "J-Just a thought! Anyways..! Take care, Caleb!"

With that, nonmc spins the other way around and hastily opens the door to the visiting area, leaving him there in the hallway where only the sounds of distant activity and muffled whirring beneath metal walls accompanied him.

His gloved fingers pressed and shifted the lemon candy around his palm, the plastic wrapping crinkling quietly. His mind was going haywire, somehow empty yet swirling with mixed emotions.

Eventually, he left knowing he had to get back to his duties, but something about that whole interaction left an impression on him.

He never went back to find her again after that. In fact, days passed since then.

Caleb tried to forget, focusing on what was his regular life before. But even when he never saw her again in passing, he couldn't get her out of his thoughts.

That sweet smile of hers, the one directed at him... He wanted to see it again. He wanted to be the reason for it, and he didn't know why.

It's why he was still at the base on an odd night, his body almost stationary on his chair as his eyes darted across the many holographic screens and files popping up in front of him.

It was just surveillance, he told himself, when he started looking for information on her older sister. He poured hours upon hours looking through her database, finding things about her family and past.

Specifically nonmc. Once he was on that direction of his search, he was practically on autopilot.

Multiple screenshots, blurry and clear, showed her on surveillance cameras across Skyhaven. Going to stores, walking down streets, heading back home...

He went deeper, finding ones from Linkon cameras. Ones that showed her when she was a bit younger, still naïve and innocent as the woman that visited the base.

Caleb barely missed the sound of the metal door's keypad going off, the swoosh of it opening making his hand quickly clear off all the images of nonmc that sat in front of him.

The only one that stayed was the dossier on her older sister, nothing too odd. Which is why when a major comes in to deliver some documents to him, they barely bat an eye as they approached his chair.

"Hm, surveillance on the division five's captain? Should we consider her a threat, sir?"

The oblivious question from the major makes his gloved hand grip the arm rest tightly, a part of himself from the dark depths trying to claw its way forward.

"No. Do not look into it any further. And make sure any of her written reports are given directly to me." He orders callously, but the major having gotten used to the cold colonel merely nodded respectively at the command.

There was a genuine concern he felt for nonmc. She was a woman having to live in Skyhaven with no one but her older sister to lean onto.

She's probably not the first or the last person to live like that, and yet he had the opportunity to meet her. See it personally, firsthand. Of course he felt some empathy for her situation.

But then again, there was also this impulsive thought that pops into his head.

What if she had someone else that she could lean onto?

Someone who would proudly give her a helping hand. The one she could talk to, cling to...

Yes, he was certain. He wanted to be the person that'll get that special smile. And maybe, just maybe, he'll earn enough for more than just that.

Caleb found the prospect all the worthwhile.

-`✦´-Masterlist-`✦´-

Taglist:

⸻ LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS

It was a miracle that you got Sukuna to get into the family carriage without causing an exhibition of yourselves at the gallery. With the way you had ushered Sukuna—-praying he did not cause a tumult in the main hall—Choso and Yuji had recognized your forms coursing towards the exit quite easily, and made to follow you both.

However, as soon as you all had seated yourselves in the carriage: “Sister, what did I just see?”

You groan. It’s not easy to pacify your older brother once he’s set off—he easily sees through any words meant to calm. Sukuna is seated in front of you, appearing like a kettle with smoke blowing out of the orifices of his ears. Choso and Yuji exchange equally confused glances as you carefully answer, “Well, Brother, I had…felt a little wired and thought that a period of repose might do me and my nerves some good. And I…happened to encounter Lord Gojo—”

“What?!” comes from Choso and Yuji at once, while Sukuna exhales in anger.

His jaw is clenched, so much that you suppose it would make a fine knife. “And, pray tell, why did you stay there? Let me remind you that you seemed in no hurry to escape that…that bastard’s company—”

“Sukuna!” you cry out in outrage. “I know you abhor him so, but that does not mean you should lose propriety—”

“You’re defending him now? Sister, did it take a few words from him for you to forget all that he has done to you?”

“I’m not defending him.” You pinch your nose in frustration—you were quickly finding that the carriage was rather too small for such a heated exchange. “Rather, I am trying to tell you that Lord Gojo and I are now on amicable terms—”

“What?”

“Are you both incapable of uttering out more than a singular word?!” you snap towards your other brothers once more. “After he had taken the fall in my stead at the park, would it not be natural to reconsider his positions and thoughts? 

It was as if you had just suggested that he eat out of his own chamber pot, for Sukuna’s look to you was more than a blend of incredulity and fury. Harsh breaths escaped him, loud and jarring, and served as testament to how seriously he was understanding your assertions. He searched for words, failed multiple times, and then bit out a “I had thought you more intelligent than this.”

You snorted in fury. “For your sake, I am going to dismiss that from my mind, for I am very well endowed with the capacity to reason, thank you very much—-”

“You indubitably are not, seeing it only took a few pleasantries and flirtations from that sob for you to accede and disregard all that he has done to you—”

“And you are the one inflamed—irrationally so, for your kind knowledge—without even listening to what I have to articulate about the matter—”

“It does not matter what you say!” he calls loudly, so much so you see your other brothers flinch. You could sense an intervention from Choso coming, one commonplace in such disputes. “I will never express my consent for you to marry that man, nor will I permit this insensibility from you!”

“There was no mention of matrimony here, and the insensible one is you, not me, to be drawing such ridiculous determinations from my words!”

“I know what this leads towards, and there’s nothing not insensible from being benevolent and civil towards him—”

“I do not care what you have to say,” you sigh furiously. “It would do you good to remember that you not the lord of the house nor are you my mother—but you do seem to have an affinity for taking the role often–”

Your brother laughs, and each chuckle is filled with a chord of anger. “Oh, hoho. If you believe I am acting like Mother, maybe I should cease any hope for you, as well.” In his anger, he did not see the tinge of hurt flash across your face. “Perhaps I never should have come to your avail, if you are to act this insolent—” 

“Sukuna!” Choso interrupts him, harshly. “Mind your words!”

When your brother was experiencing a fit of anger, it was as if he was a bull gone berserk. If it was one individual angering him, waving the red flag, it would take another shade of vermillion to redirect his ire. Although he was quick in understanding people’s dispositions and, as he matured, learned to gain more tact with his words, he was still the same with his family: unable to cease charging after the nearest point until he felt the matter resolved. Only, rather than slow his momentum after his previous mark, he continued the fervor, or in a particularly heated exchange, upped the ante even more.

Today, Sukuna’s anger did not spare Choso. “Do not tell me to mind my words when I know how much minding you have done for our sister, Choso.” He practically spits out his name. “Staying idle, letting Mother have her way with her schemes with trying to get Sister married to a known rake—I truly have been grappling between deciding if you truly have just lost your mind or ceased to care about our sister—”

“Unlike you,” Choso’s words are calm but furious nonetheless. “I choose to trust our sister and give her the autonomy to decide what is best for her. It would make me no better than Mama,” Sukuna’s jaw clenches at the obvious statement thrown at him, ”to force her to abide by my bidding and follow only my thoughts, none of her own.”

“Surely you understand that there is a difference between trust, and guidance? Where were you when Sister had disappeared today, when she was no longer by His Grace’s side?”

In an uncommon manner, Yuji echoes his words. “Indeed, where were you, brother?”

Be rest assured that your brother is no true animal, he is a man. A man diverted easily by one thing: gossip. Thus, it was as if the red flag had vanished, and his head turned to shoot a look, one with guarded curiosity, towards the younger brother, and some of the foreboding you had been feeling throughout the heated exchange faded.  “Was he not with you?”

“No, rather…” Yuji’s brow is furrowed as he tries to recall the events, and his countenance lights up when the memory comes to the forefront of his mind. “I believe I saw him conversing with a lady—”

After the object of Sukuna’s fury had been diverted from you to Choso, you had become a spectator—with it, came the chance for you to calm your temper. All to say: you were truly about to enjoy Sukuna probing into Choso’s affairs, rather than yours with Gojo.

“And who was this fair lady you were so occupied with, Choso?”

A blush creeps its way up Choso’s neck.  “I—”

“I think her hair was of a fair, blonde color!” Yuji interrupts.

At this, Choso snaps, “I was simply aiming to refresh myself and head to the retiring room. Yuji is spinning tales filled with misrepresentations—”

Sukuna crosses his arms, a true image of ease while Choso the shade of a ripe rhubarb. “Ah, but there must be something to represent for him to recount your whereabouts with a certain lady—”

“Even so, I may have encountered many ladies. There is no need to single out any one.”

“Oh!” Sukuna widens his eyes in jest, nodding as if in understanding, and from Yuji comes, “Our brother is so fetching he has lost count of all the ladies that propose him!” This earns him a bark of laughter from Sukuna, while Choso groans in vexation.

The prospect of Choso courting a lady was indeed quite interesting—you were biding your time to comment on the matter, for you aimed to kindle the mischievous energy in the room. In the matters of gossip, you remained silent until you could contribute to the situation in a manner that would leave the victim sweating further.

Thus, while Yuji and Sukuna were riotously laughing, your voice interrupted them in a succinct manner, your tone innocent. “I wonder, if it was indeed true Yuji last saw Choso with a lady before he retired, what was the true manner in which you refreshed yourself, Choso?”

This opens another round of merriment, courtesy of your younger and middle brother, while Choso is left at a loss of words. As the wheels of your carriage take you further and further towards your manor, the teasing jabs of Sukuna and Yuji are enough to allow you to sit back, reflecting on the afternoon and what had happened.

He should be finishing the entries of the ledger for today.

On the matter of business, particularly that of his family, Gojo has been an excellent student. His focus never wavers—if you would ask him to do a task that required six hours of endless work and accounting, he would be able to do it with ease. Notwithstanding, in the recent past, it seems that his focus only gravitates towards a certain diary. He can’t help but grab it multiple times, size its contents endlessly, and then audibly groan in aggravation as he realizes he’s drifted off in his thoughts and the person who had penned the very words perturbing him.  

The action, almost like a vexing mannerism he had developed, lent time the ability to progress faster—it seemed that every time he wished to take a break from his work, his hand would drop his pen and instinctively wander towards the offending object situated on his desk. Furthermore, every time he opened the pages of the diary, he would be absolutely absorbed by the words he read there. In rather deficient and rushed handwriting it read:

March the 14th

Thoughts upon Mr. P. Cartwright’s recent pamphlet, On the Nature of Governance and Gentle Reform

I cannot but find fault in his suggestion that the land-owning class alone possess foresight enough to administer lasting peace. Is it not the case that lived experience—particularly that of women and tradespeople—might supply the very insights the gentry lack?

I am struck by the phrase: "The crown must not only wear gold, but bear the weight of silence between its people." I know not whether he meant it as metaphor or lament, but it lingered in my thoughts the remainder of the evening.

My brother scoffed at the piece, which only compels me further to engage with its ideas.

He reads it again.

Though he tells himself he ought to focus on the ledgers, on the minute accounting of the family’s trading affairs, it is this diary—your diary—that distracts and ensnares. And in this entry, all about some dry-sounding pamphlet and even drier politics, you somehow manage to sound precisely as you did that day in town: curious, self-possessed, maddeningly earnest.

It was a glimpse through the window of your thoughts and constitution then, and he had just tasted another just a few days ago, while looking at the painting. 

Perhaps, we are simply of different minds.

I meant to thank you. For what you did last time.

Gojo’s pride is a powerful entity. It is not easily tempered, nor does it submit itself readily to introspection. To admit a misstep—to confess even inwardly that one has been less than just—is no small undertaking.

And yet, there is a growing unease in him when he recalls how freely he had once spoken of you. With derision, perhaps not in tone, but certainly in implication. Called you simple. He had thought himself discerning, perhaps even clever, for observing what he believed to be your uncomplicated ways.

Now, he began to wonder whether it had been discernment at all—or merely impatience, a failure of character that prevented him from looking more deeply.

You had not been simple. Far from it. Rather, you had been precise—deliberate. A careful calculation, one that had fully accounted for the particular brand of foolishness Mr. Gojo so often exhibited. And yet, curiously, the knowledge did not leave him bitter at having been outwitted.

Instead, it stirred something else entirely: a reluctant admiration, tinged with curiosity. Should fortune ever permit their paths to cross again, he resolved, he would at least endeavour to be civil—perhaps even amiable—in short, something nearer to an acquaintance than an adversary.

These frequent excursions to the countryside, you found, were irritating you to no end. It seemed as if just yesterday you had traveled to Kent, and the ton was packing their carriages to visit yet another well-placed young man’s grand manor in the countryside. This came with less fanfare, of course, since your mama hadn’t chosen to scheme with Lord Geto’s mama this time to get you to the manor early. Reflecting on the memory, the affair was both a hassle and simply too theatrical.

After you had broken your fast, the instructions from your mama were clear: visit your room and make sure no essential item was left before you all headed to the Geto manor. Of course, you had wanted to exchange with her a retort along the lines of “if I had truly forgotten something behind for the short visit, I truly did not need it” but you knew voicing so was not wise. Instead, you idly traversed the staircase to your room to give it a half-hearted once over. 

Inside was Nobara, with a vexed look on her face. Once she noted your presence in the room, she became even more furious. “How would you have made do without your hair comb?” she reprimanded, and you searched for the offending object to find it was on your bed. “Would I have just used my bare fingers to arrange your hair?”

“That would have sufficed,” you respond airily, to which you get a vexed look that you do not notice, for you are too busy lazily glancing over the rest of your room for anything you may have missed. “Your hands are rather lovely and would serve as dainty hair combs.”

“Humph!” Nobara scoffed. “You would not find it so lovely if it was my fingers pulling your hair to rid it of its tangles.”

You could not help a bemused smile, the corners of your mouth pulling up almost of their own accord. “Perhaps not,” you replied, sitting down onto the bed in a most unladylike manner. Nobara clucked her tongue as you pick up the tortoise-shell comb and turn it over in your hands as if it were an object of intrigue. 

Nobara has moved to your wardrobe, eyeing it like an enemy on the battlefield. “I suppose you will not be needing your silk shawl,” she says, her back to you but her tone sharpened like a blade.  

“It is not that necessary,” you say, wondering if this trip will be as tiresome as you expect. “The weather in Kent has been quite warm lately, and I’m sure Geto manor will not be any different.”

“Then packing your parasol would be in due order,” she sighed, and you kept on idyllically examining your hair comb. The sounds of Nobara rummaging throughout your room to pack essential items and accessories disrupt the otherwise still silence.

Then, Nobara interrupts, as if voicing a thought revolving in her head. "Do you feel that he will be there?"

You felt a quiet dread settle upon you as the conversation turned. “Nobara, surely you must know he will be in attendance. Lord Geto and Mr. Gojo are scarcely to be seen apart, and by all accounts, they are possessed of a most affectionate friendship. I think it only natural for Mr. Gojo to accompany him.”

“But are you quite certain,” Nobara inquired, her brow slightly raised, “that you will be able to avoid speaking with him?”

You paused, considering. “It would, of course, be incumbent upon me, as a lady of some standing, to offer a civil word should circumstances demand it. Yet I cannot imagine why there should be such unease on the matter. After last week’s unfortunate events, I had thought that Mr. Gojo and I had come to some form of understanding—if not reconciliation, then at least a courteous truce.”

Nobara, who had been made thoroughly acquainted with the particulars of that encounter—and indeed with the quarrel that had followed with Mr. Sukuna—could not conceal her displeasure.

“Even if the two of you are capable of exchanging pleasantries, I would caution against complacency. But,” she added, softening somewhat, “I am not inclined to worry overmuch—for you are now being courted by Duke Nanami, and whatever once existed between yourself and Mr. Gojo must, by necessity, be consigned to the past.”

Though Nobara spoke with the clarity and firmness of truth, a faint restlessness stirred within you. It was not opposition, precisely—but neither was it agreement.

“We might still be friends,” you said, rather more hastily than intended. “It is hardly improper, I think. That he is not my suitor should not preclude a friendship—however much my brother may disapprove.”

“I suppose,” Nobara replied, though not without some reluctance. “And yet I must confess, your disposition towards him strikes me as altogether too yielding, considering the trials you have endured on his account. I cannot help but fear his attentions are less than sincere. He slandered you most grievously among his peers, and when confronted, displayed neither remorse nor explanation. Might it not be, rather, that he seeks to regain your favour—having discovered, too late, that he cannot so easily relinquish the diamond of the season?”

You pressed your lips together, unwilling to offer immediate assent. Nobara, as ever, spoke with reason—but still, you could not bring yourself to share in her conclusion. “If he were truly endeavouring to secure my affections,” you said at length, with measured caution, “I do not believe he would confine himself to mere civil discourse in a lonely corridor. No, I am more inclined to think he seeks only to establish a peace between us.”

But Nobara’s expression betrayed no such optimism. “If you are persuaded that his motives are sincere, then I shall not press you further. Yet you must consider the judgement of your brothers—”

The mention of them rekindled your irritation. The memory of your altercation with Sukuna still lingered, raw and recent, and before you could temper your response, the words escaped.

“My brothers are far too impassioned to hear a word of reason! They have constructed an entire narrative upon their own suspicions, and will not so much as allow me to speak in my own defence.” You sighed, a note of exasperation slipping into your voice. “It is utterly maddening, Nobara!”

Nobara looked at you with pity. "I understand your position, my dear, and Sukuna is very ill-tempered. But," and Nobara paused, as if wading through uncharted waters, "you must understand that you are their only sister, and, naturally, they are protective over you." 

You look down at your lap, silent, and she sighs. "I suppose the loss of the master of the house had truly led them to bear the responsibility of being the head of the house. Choso inherited the title, but Sukuna clearly feels the need to support him in the role." 

You suppose she had reason; after all, Sukuna would rather you become a spinster than get whisked off in some unhappy marriage, even if it would bring your family more power to be married to a duke-to-be like Lord Gojo. It will go unsaid these couple of days (you were still angry at him for undermining you so), but you truly do appreciate your brothers. Even Yuji, who was akin to a gluttonous beast and admired Lord Gojo.

The death of your father had not been easy and had affected your family in many different ways. While Choso had hardened into a man from the timid babe he once was, Sukuna had sought to grow more independent, furthering his education. Yuji was too young to remember your father, and your mama had remembered it all too well. It is what propelled her to make sure you secured a good match, for to her, lacking a husband truly crumbled the foundations of her stable life.

You and your mama have quarreled this season, but you cannot truly resent for her what she has done. After all, she had struggled but succeeded to keep her place in society in the wake of widowhood, all so you would not feel its weight when seeking a match. 

Being reminded of this struggle further serves to remind you how you truly have squandered your time this season. While you had gotten a hint of a proposal from Duke Nanami, you would have to admit you had bid your time in his presence being a bit absentminded than what was proper. This affair with Gojo had truly led you off course.

As if realizing your thoughts, Nobara softened. “I understand that you, as a young lady, feel the need to fulfill your duty and secure a husband. However, you must remember that you are exactly that—a young lady.” Her tone turns coy as she turns to you, bearing a simper on her face. “If you must endure the season, then why not do so with a touch of mischief? A harmless prank upon Mr. Gojo—or perhaps even a few artful flirtations—surely that would not be so very unreasonable?”

"Well...I suppose you have reason," you hesitantly reply. "However, would such antics not sully my reputation as the diamond?"

“Nonsense!” she cried, waving her hand with theatrical flair. “If there are young ladies of some notoriety who can contrive to spill punch upon their own bodices—or upon the gowns of others—to draw attention and yet suffer no loss of standing, I see no reason why you might not indulge in a few playful flirtations.”

Grudgingly, you agree. "I suppose. But," and you purse your lips, "I do not think any exchange I have with Gojo further will be of a flirtatious nature. I surmise that I have repulsed him with my nature, for him to break off our mamas' arrangement and intentions."

"No one can say definitively what the young lord is thinking," Nobara replies. She moves the final stack of clothes she had finished folding inside a container and claps her hands together. "But what I can say is that you must not bear such a load. It would be a pity if you underwent this season and got married without truly experiencing true drama. After all, what is being so young for?"

Her suggestion was as dangerous as it was alluring. You were well aware that such frivolities, however harmless they might seem in theory, could prove quite ruinous in execution. And yet, the notion of abandoning the constant vigilance, of engaging in conversation without carefully measuring every syllable—perhaps even indulging in a touch of mischief—held a singular appeal. “Nobara, should your counsel result in the tarnishing of my reputation—or worse, in a scolding from my hot-headed brother or Mama herself—I shall see to it that your tea is thoroughly despoiled next week.”

"You will do no such thing!"

The interior of the Gojo carriage was quiet, save for the occasional sounds of nature that filtered in through the ornate doors. 

Satoru stood in his seat, observing the landscapes that slid by and played with his cuffs. To his opposite sat his mother, who was similarly looking upon the vast grassy countryside that they encountered on their passage to Lord Geto's manor.

It was this exact situation that Satoru was dreading to find himself in. Ever since his...decision concerning you before the house party in Kent, he had been keenly avoiding conversing with one person: his mama. 

Such evasions had not been difficult to manage. Satoru’s calendar was never wanting for engagements, duties, and last-minute obligations with which to shield himself. But time, relentless as ever, had brought him here—boxed into a carriage, and worse, into silence. A silence that now pressed heavily upon him.

Satoru could not help but feel afraid.

At last, she said, "Satoru."

“Yes, Mother,” he replied too swiftly—and, to his mortification, at a pitch rather higher than was respectable. He coughed.

“There is a matter I have been meaning to discuss with you,” she said, turning her gaze not upon him but fully to the passing landscape, rendering her expression utterly inscrutable. “But it seems that every time I make the attempt, you have taken refuge in your study under the pretext of some important task or another.”

Satoru could feel the disapproval roiling off her in waves, and swallowed. "I was simply attending to my duties, mother. Surely you cannot find me at fault."

At length, a single word passed her lips—“Interesting.” It was not the word itself that unsettled him, but the tone, which held all the quiet condemnation of someone who had seen straight through him. A mother, after all, is rarely deceived.

Quiet blanketed the carriage once more, and his mother's face was still turned away from him. Satoru moved to wipe the sweat from his hands.

"I suppose you know what I am seeking to ask you."

He grimaced. "Why the greenery is quite nice outside?"

"No," she responded dryly. "Why you made that absolute blunder and humiliated me---"

"Humiliated is a bit much, isn't it?" Satoru remarked. "Maybe my inclinations did not match yours, but it was a mutual decision made between me and Miss Itadori!"

"Decisions can be rash! I know your nature, Satoru---I am your mother!" she admonished, finally facing him with unconcealed disapproval on her face. "I truly worry for you, for I do not think you understand the true nature of marriage---"

"I solely understand the nature of marriage that I feel is best for me---"

“Do not interrupt me,” she snapped, and he fell silent, though not without a glance of obvious irritation. She observed him a moment longer, then sighed—deeply, as if mourning the loss of something no one else could see.

“What a shame,” she said, the disappointment in her voice now tinged with regret. “The two of you already seemed as comfortable as a couple years married. I had thought your compatibility rather promising.”

Satoru exhaled, exasperated. “Mother, your idea of compatibility and my own are irreconcilable. I cannot be expected to suffer under principles I do not share. Simply put, I disagree.”

“Your principles, whatever they may be, are just that—your principles. They are underdeveloped, as expected of someone at your tender age and lack the fortitude found in those with experience. I have experienced love with your father and found myself in a quite agreeable marriage. You should share my principles!”

“However, I do not,” Satoru responds back, remaining unconvinced. “You are not the arbiter of what deems a marriage well and fine, nor are you in my position. To me, you are solely discussing so-called principles because of your pride and how it has felled when I did not accept the match you had meticulously arranged for me.”

Instead of anger flashing across her face at disrespect, Duchess Gojo instead held a muted expression, as if almost amused. Looking upon it, Satoru felt like a child once more who had to crane his neck to see his mother, the enormity in their age and experience creating such a divide. At last, she sighed. “Then so be it. Your life is yours to live, and your principles are your own to develop. I can only help but worry for you.” However, her expression turned sharp. “But I do not approve of the way you and Miss Itadori have completely cut ties. Do apologize, I cannot face her mother after your petulant actions.”

Satoru could protest further, but he had realized that he had been relieved of the many scoldings he was sure were going to fall onto him. Acquiescing, he bowed his head. “Whatever you say, Mother.”

Naturally, when the ton arrives, the Geto manor’s gardens are bustling with noble gentlemen and ladies resting idyllically under both the pavilions and their sunshades. Most of the youths are standing near the refreshments, eager to chance a conversation with potential matches, or, like you, resting with their families.

Shaded from the glaring heat of the sun, you sip your tea, sighing in contentment at its taste. No matter what your complaints were, you could not deny that the Geto Manor was beautiful and lavish. Attendants fluttered between the guests, offering any pastries or refreshments, and the gardens were plentiful in green grass and beautiful flowers. The architecture was truly a marvel to look at, and the manor great in size.

You jokingly thought that if your courtship with Duke Nanami were to fail, Lord Geto would not be a terrible second option.

“The view here is splendid, is it not my dear?” Your mother echoed your thoughts, taking a bit of pastry into her hands.

You watched as she bit into it, and the shade of a satisfied look crossed over her face. “I wholeheartedly agree, Mama. The weather, too, makes it a lovely day.”

You and your mama had not truly talked. With Sukuna’s overbearing presence—and tendency to intrude into conversation he did not like the topic of—you and your mama had been rendered silent, the much needed conversation between you two tabled. However, after such a long day of travels to the Geto Manor, it seemed that all your brothers were winded; currently, all three of them were slumbering or winding down in their respective rooms. Neither you or your mama protested in the slightest when they had expressed their inclinations.

Without the boys, lazing in the garden and observing others felt less overbearing, for it was lacking of Sukun’s perpetual, acute stare on you. In the silence, both of you observed the flurry of conversation around the both of you. 

Before you could converse on any unaddressed topic amongst the both of you, there came sounds of graceful steps behind you. “If it isn’t Miss Itadori!”

You turn, to face Duchess Gojo and both you and your mama stand up. Curtsying, you respond, “Your Grace.”

“How is the season, my dear?” She makes herself at home, pulling a chair, which confuses you. You would understand sharing a few words as courtesy with you and your mama, but after the whole affair at the Gojo house party, you would assume her no longer interested, or at the very least, that she would avert any possible conversations with you. Instead, she seems enthusiastic in seeking out your presence.

"It is all good and well, Your Grace," you bow your head and smile at her.

"Good, good," she sighs and then pointedly looks at you. "I do want to apologize, my dear, for what happened at Kent. It was a surprise to me and you, I assure you," she sighs, her lips pursed in disapproval at the memory.

Your smile is a bit strained, and you fear to look at your mama’s countenance. "No worries, Your Grace. Not all pairs are suitable matches, but I do wish well for Lord Gojo's future and that he succeeds in finding another match that suits him better."

You can't help but think that Duchess Gojo looks a bit dejected at your response. She smiles ruefully and lets out a sigh while picking up her teacup with her pinky. 

You all spend some time in silence, for, after all, what more do you have to converse upon? Even your mama and Duchess Gojo could not delve and gossip on your pairing with Gojo, for it was no longer a pairing. However, if you were to leave, Duchess Gojo and your mama could find steady company in other gossiping matters that surely circulated amongst each other. 

Tired with the uncomfortable environment, you quickly found a reprieve. "I find myself quite parched. If you'll excuse me---"

"No worries, my dear," Duchess Gojo waves her hand, and you cannot help but think her expression mischievous. "The boys are there, and they'll fetch one for you. Then, in the general direction of the refreshments, she calls out, "Would one of you dears please fetch Miss Itadori here some water?" 

The boys?

Slowly, you turn toward the refreshments table. There, amid crystal decanters and glinting glass, stood three towering, unmistakable figures: Duke Nanami, Lord Geto, and—most arrestingly—Lord Gojo.

They had only just arrived, it seemed. The typical flurry of debutantes and dowagers had not yet descended upon them, leaving the trio in a rare moment of unbothered conversation. At Duchess Gojo’s call, all three turned their heads. Two reached instinctively for a glass of water at once.

Your eyes found him instantly. Gojo’s hand hesitated mid-air, his fingers brushing the rim of the glass just as Duke Nanami's touched it too. For a moment, neither man yielded. Then Gojo, blinking as if suddenly aware of himself, withdrew his hand with a smile so swift and unreadable it might have passed unnoticed. Nanami took the glass.

It was an exchange so small that anyone else might have missed it. But you did not. And the inexplicable flutter in your chest made you glance away, determinedly occupying yourself with the steam curling from your tea.

Duke Nanami arrived a moment later, offering you the drink with a courteous nod. “My lady.”

"Why don't the three of you keep us some company?" Your mama invites him. 

"Of course." He then beckons Lord Gojo and Geto, and you cannot help but think Lord Gojo a bit too casual in agreeing to sit near you. Any exchange with him was bound to tread precarious ground—even if, lately, that ground had proven less treacherous than imagined.

“Did you all just arrive?” The way Duchess Gojo glanced over the three—and scarcely glanced at Gojo—made you wonder if any quarrels had erupted between the two.

"Yes." It is Lord Geto who replies, one leg over the other and reclined in his seat. You couldn't help but think him very relaxed for a host. To your side sits Duke Nanami, with Geto right next to him and Gojo exactly opposite from you. "However, Gojo here had taken his fine time getting ready.”

Gojo clears his throat, the sound soft but pointed, but not before shooting Lord Geto a glare, and the display reminds you of how deep their friendship ran. He turned back then, but had not fully done so before catching your eye.

There was a flicker of something—too fleeting to name—before he schooled his expression. “I simply wished to arrive at my most presentable. It would be terribly rude to do otherwise, would it not?”

“Indeed,” Duke Nanami dryly replied.

Now that Nanami was here, your mother turned to him with interest, watching him carefully. “I hope the passage here was not too tiring, Your Grace?”

“It was not. The route was quite scenic, and I enjoyed conversing with my mother,” Nanami responds.

Your mama smiles at him, satisfied. “It is very kind of you to be so caring towards your mother,” she sighs. “She must get lonely, at times, being a widow.”

He nods. Your gaze wanders from him, to the person sitting across from you; you startle to see Gojo’s eyes already on you. You both avert your eyes back to Nanami. “Mother is social, she makes do.”

“It must be so hard after the death of your father for you to handle the dukedom,” she coos. The promise of gleaning wealth—for you, but consequently for her—really candies her word and tone.

However, Nanami, ever the humble gentleman, bows his head. “I simply do the duty the title bestowed upon me requires.”

Your mama hums sweetly, as if in understanding. “Oh, but you must have even more affairs to handle after the great sum of land I heard you bought in the Americas.”

Silently, you gape at her. You understand her enthusiasm, for Nanami is the one courting you and the ton is abuzz with rumors of his proposal. However, you are uneasy about how guileless her words are. Duke Nanami, however, seems unfazed. “It was indeed a good deal.”

Then, another voice speaks up. “Indeed. Father had bought quite a lot of sum from it, as well, after I had advised him to.” You all turn, to find Gojo lazed back in his chair; you noticed, however, his leg was shaking minutely beneath the table. “Any deal in the Americas has great probability of being con work, but my insight had told me that it would not be such a bad idea for the land we invested in.”

Nanami agrees. “I had only bought it after Gojo had recommended it to me.”

You couldn’t help yourself. “How wise of you, Lord Gojo. Perhaps you should consider politics.” Once all the stares turned to you, you bit your tongue, vexed at yourself for speaking out.

Gojo, particularly, stared at you, until a barely-there smile began to play at his lips. “God forbid. I’ve enough headaches managing my father's estate. Though, should the House ever require a charming distraction, I’m happy to volunteer.”

You can’t bite back your smile anymore, either. “So long as the House is in need of charm and not actual solutions.”

Geto barks out a laugh, and Nanami hides his chuckle with a cough. You feel Gojo’s eyes on you, and Gojo replies, with a trace of amusement in his tone, “Ah, but charm is a solution. To many things.”

“Mostly to boredom,” Geto voices, watching the conversation with interest.

“And don’t we all suffer so,” Gojo dryly remarks.

Upon this exchange, your mother interrupts, turning her gaze to Nanami once more. “Still, I imagine such responsibilities weigh heavily,” she sighs, as if forlorn. “Perhaps it’s why so many in your station choose to settle down early, to share the burden.”

Once more, he has the perfect answer. “I would argue partnership brings clarity to duty, not escape from it.”

Your mama practically glowed. She turned to you as though Nanami had just recited scripture, and you gave her a small, warning look that she did not heed in the slightest.

"How beautifully put," she sighed. "And so true. I imagine a man of your station has no shortage of responsibilities. The dukedom, the estates, the tenants—"

"And Parliament," Nanami added, with his usual quiet precision. "Though I confess I find the agricultural matters most rewarding. There is something grounding in knowing your land well."

Your mama clasped her hands together as though he had composed a sonnet. "Oh, how admirable! Don't you think so, dear?"

"Very admirable," you agreed, because it was, and you doubt agriculture was a quarrelsome topic.

"I have recently taken an interest in crop rotation, actually," Nanami continued, speaking to your mama but including you with a courteous tilt of his head. "There are new methods coming from the Continent that I believe—"

"I've implemented those."

The table turned to Gojo.

He was sitting with one arm draped over the back of his chair, the picture of nonchalance, as though the words had simply wandered out of him without his permission. When the silence prompted him to continue, he gave a mild shrug.

"The four-field system. I introduced it on the northern estate last spring. Yields were up by a considerable margin." He examined his teacup with an air of studied disinterest. "I could send you my steward's notes, Nanami, if you'd like."

Nanami regarded him evenly. "That would be appreciated."

"Of course." Gojo took a sip of his tea. Then, as though it were an afterthought: "We've also begun drainage improvements on the eastern marshland. Father thought it a waste, but the surveyor's projections were rather compelling. I oversaw the plans myself."

"How industrious of you," Duchess Gojo remarked, in a tone that suggested she had never once seen her son oversee so much as a breakfast tray.

"I have hidden depths, Mother."

You pressed your lips together very hard.

Your mama, undeterred, steered the ship back to Nanami. "And your home in the country, Your Grace—I hear it is magnificent. How many rooms, if you don't mind my asking?"

"I have never counted them," Nanami admitted, with what you suspected was deliberate modesty.

"Forty-seven," Gojo supplied, as if plucking the number from thin air. Then, just as casually: "Ours has sixty-two, but who's counting?"

He caught your eye, and to his credit, had the decency to look only slightly pleased with himself. You raised a brow at him. He responded by raising his teacup, as though toasting you.

"Lord Gojo," you said, keeping your voice light, "I did not realize you took such careful inventory of your peers' homes."

"I take careful inventory of everything, Miss Itadori. It is a point of pride."

"Is it also a point of pride to announce it at tea?"

Geto made a sound into his cup that he poorly disguised as a cough.

"Only when the company is worth impressing."

"Then you must be terribly selective about your tea parties."

"Extremely. I attend only the finest."

"And yet you were late to this one."

"Fashionably," he corrected, raising a finger.

"Is that what we're calling it?"

"It is what I am calling it, and I am a lord, so it becomes fact."

"I don't think that is how facts work."

"And I don't think you should concern yourself with how lords work, Miss Itadori, and yet here we are." His eyes were bright, and the smile that played about his mouth was no longer the performative one he wore for ballrooms. It was smaller, more crooked, and entirely directed at you.

You bit the inside of your cheek to keep your own smile from growing any wider, and somewhere between his absurdity and your inability to stop engaging with it, you became aware of the silence around you.

Your mama was staring. Not displeased, exactly, but certainly bewildered, as though she had opened a door expecting a broom closet and found a ballroom. Duchess Gojo had set down her teacup entirely and was watching the two of you with an expression of poorly concealed interest.

Nanami's face, as ever, revealed nothing. He sipped his tea with the composure of a man who had watched the weather change and found it unremarkable.

But beside him Geto's gaze slid toward Nanami. It was not a look anyone at the table could have caught, angled as it was, low and sidelong, carrying the particular weight of a question that could not be asked aloud.

Nanami did not turn his head. But after a moment, almost imperceptibly, he set his teacup down a fraction harder than necessary.

Geto looked away. The answer, it seemed, had been received.

"Well," your mama said, rallying herself with the determination of a general regrouping after an unexpected flank, "I do believe the orchestra is beginning the next set. How lovely."

"Indeed," Duchess Gojo murmured, though she was not looking at the orchestra at all.

The dining hall is blanketed in the warmth of candlelight and a tune is playing on the piano, accompanied with the sound of cutlery and low, soft conversations. This, paired with the cooler air seeping in from the night sky, sets up a comfortable atmosphere as you dine with your mother and brothers, who finally woke from their slumber or whatever else they were during their rest.

“The wine is quite good,” Choso murmurs. It is his second glass. You notice your brother seems a bit more anxious than usual, with his leg shaking anxiously; you presume it restlessness from sleeping an obscene amount in the day.

Sukuna snorts, ever derisive. “If you believe this to be good, you would go mad after tasting some of the drinks in the wineries in France.”

“A man goes to Europe once and never ceases to talk about it,” you murmur bitterly, but everyone on the table hears you; an uncomfortable silence fills the air.

The man in question interrupts, anger hardly concealed. “I, at the very least, am touring and exploring the world instead of endeavoring to fall into the arms of a man who has humiliated me.” Sukuna did not mince his words—-the both of you had not reconciled ever since leaving the art gallery. 

Pinching your brow, and procuring all the patience you had, you lowly bit out, “Must you be like this? Right now, when we are on a stay?”

He clenched his jaw. “I could ask that of you as well, Sister.”

“Oh, simmer down you two,” your mother impatiently scoffs, interrupting your squabble. The both of you, brother and sister, hmmphed, arms crossed identically. “We are not in our home. It would suit you both well to behave accordingly.”

Thus, silence fell as you all continued dining, save for the occasional sound of pleasure from Yuji at the victuals—the Geto Manor had fine chefs indeed. You almost started to believe the rest of the dinner would go easily, until your mother interrupted once more. “How do you perceive Duke Nanami’s attentions?”

Ah, she’s started to demand answers. “I suppose he is in due order to propose.” You make no mention of the fact that he already—in some sense—had.

She hums, the sound not exactly pleased but rather indicating that the news was moderately satisfactory. “And why do you suppose so?”

You pause. “He has spent quite some time with me at balls as of late, after Lord Gojo had broken off our courtship.”

At the mention of Gojo, there are varying reactions across the table: Sukuna comes to attention, and, consequently, so does Choso. Yuji continues feasting vulgarly, paying no attention to the conversation, while your mother asks, “I did mean to ask you, dear. Today, you and Lord Gojo seemed agreeable; is a match with Lord Gojo truly out of the question?”

A tense but loaded silence ensues and you feel your heart bumping faster, a strange feeling swelling up your throat. In the end, however, you cannot muster a response, to which Sukuna retaliates against. “Sister, you cannot be serious.”

“What? I had yet to answer Mama and still you come at me with such fervor! Patience is a virtu—”

“I’m tired of your antics!” Sukuna says, loudly, to which your mother sends him a pointed look, displeasure painted all over her countenance. He presses his lips together and, in a pained effort, takes a great sigh and continues in a lowered voice, “Lord Gojo has embarrassed you, Sister. It would do you well to forget that man. I do not know why, after I have re-iterated my opinion multiple times, you still yearn for that man in such a foolish manner.”

At this fortuitous time, Yuji decides to cease feeding on the meat and chimes in. “But, Brother, the lord is quite fit! I think you would find pleasure in sporting with him. I believe that, for once, Sister had made the right choice.”

“Fit,” Sukuna repeats through gritted teeth. “You would have our sister wed a man based on his physique?”

“Well, not, not quite—”

“Enough, Yuji. If I were you I would cease speaking immediately,” Choso sighs, though not unkindly. Your brother wilts, returning to his plate and cutting through a piece of lamb rather gloomily.

But the damage is done. Sukuna's gaze has not left you, and you feel it like a brand against the side of your face. You busy yourself with your wine glass, turning the stem between your fingers, but the silence stretches too thin, too taut, and it is Choso who breaks the silence.

“Sister,” Choso says, in a careful manner. His voice and its cadence seem to tread lightly, as if trying very hard not to be cruel. “You hesitated.”

“I beg your pardon?”

"When Mama asked if Lord Gojo was out of the question. You did not say yes." He is not accusatory in the way Sukuna is. 

“It is settled.”

“Then why did you not say so?”

The table, all of a sudden, feels smaller. The background noises, which were previously surrounding you comfortably, seem to be quieter than ever. You set your glass down,  one you did not even realize were taking a sip out of nervously. The wine dips and crests over the rim, staining the white tablecloth. “I apologize if my response did not come as swiftly as to your exacting standards.”

"Do not deflect," Sukuna cuts in, leaning forward, and you can see the restraint your mother's earlier reprimand bought him is now spent entirely. "He asks you a direct question and you dance around it as you always do. You are still thinking of him. Admit it."

“I am not—”

 "You are." Sukuna's voice drops, and the quietness of it is worse than his shouting. "I watched you today, at the gallery. The way you looked at him. The way you spoke to him—as though nothing had transpired between you, as though he had not cast you aside like some common—"

"Sukuna." Your mother's voice is iron now, a warning forged in steel.

He stops. But only just. His jaw works, teeth grinding behind closed lips, and his eyes—your eyes, your same eyes, the ones you share by blood—burn with a fury that you know, deep down, is born not of contempt but of something far more tender. He is angry because he loves you.

And you cannot even tell him he is wrong.

"Yuji is not entirely without sense," you say quietly, and you do not know why you say it. Perhaps it is spite. Perhaps it is exhaustion. Perhaps it is simply the truth, clawing its way out of you against your will. "Lord Gojo is not—he is not what you paint him to be. He was kind to me. Genuinely kind. And I do not think it unreasonable to—"

"To what?" Sukuna's composure shatters. He rises slightly from his seat, napkin falling from his lap, and your mother reaches for his arm but he shakes her off. "To go crawling back? To let him toy with you a second time? You are a daughter of this house. You are my sister. And I will not sit idle while you throw yourself at the feet of a man who has already proven he does not value you as he ought."

The words land like a slap. But they are not untrue.

Your throat tightens. The room blurs at its edges, and you realize with a swell of horror that your eyes are hot, that if you remain at this table a moment longer you will cry in front of all of them, and that is something your pride, battered and bruised as it is, will not survive.

You stand. Your chair scrapes against the floor with an ugly sound that cuts through the piano's melody.

"Sister—" Choso starts.

"I find I have lost my appetite," you say. Your voice is steady, but your hands are not. You press them flat against your skirts to still them. "If you will excuse me."

"Sit down," your mother says, but it is more tired than commanding, and you pretend not to hear.

"Sis, I didn't mean to—" Yuji begins, eyes wide and stricken with guilt, as though he understands that his well-meaning comment was the spark that set the powder alight.

"It is alright, Yuji. Enjoy your meal." You touch his shoulder as you pass and you do not look at Sukuna. 

You walk from the dining hall with your back straight and your chin raised, and it is only when you have turned the corner, when the warmth of candlelight gives way to the cooler dark of the corridor, that your composure fractures. You press your back against the wall, the stone cold through the fabric of your dress, and you breathe—once, twice—willing the sting behind your eyes to retreat.

From the dining hall, muffled but unmistakable, you hear your mother's voice: "Are you satisfied now?"

And Sukuna's reply, quieter than you have ever heard him: "She needed to hear it."

The smell of jasmine and dusty books wafts through the air as bookshelves surround you. It seems to be a recurring manner of yours to be going to your host’s libraries as you take a book from the shelves.

You wander through the shelves and, with the corner of your eye, notice a book Sukuna had mentioned once. Despite your current animosity at the man, you go and grab the copy of The Mysteries of Udolpho, the spine slightly cracked and weathered at the edges.

The dust simmers in the air, almost sparking through the moonlight peeking in. You settle down on a reading chair, with a candle lamp burning fragrantly. For the first time this evening, your shoulders loosen and you thumb the pages of the book.

Suddenly, you hear the shuffle of footsteps walking slowly towards your direction. You are much too wearied from the course of events of the evening, however, to be truly alarmed. Instead, you continue reading from The Mysteries of Udolpho in the hopes that the impending intruder passes you by. 

You turn a page. Emily is now alone in a castle she did not choose with people whose intention she cannot parse.

The sound gets closer and closer. It stops. Then a “Miss Itadori, I didn’t know you had such a palate for terror.”

You look up to see a somber yet teasing Lord Gojo standing at the edge of the bookshelf, half in moonlight and half in shadow, his cravat loosened just slightly—as though he, too, had been slowly shedding the evening.

prev. the art gallery | next. soon!

general masterlist | series masterlist

a/n sooo....ahahah hi guyhs :3 being a uni student is so hard and had me busier than expected :( however i am j*bless this summer so i will be writing more and (hopefully) finishing the bridgerton series. i missed you all so much and i was really really missing writing and being a whole human being w hobbies. that being said i do have an exciting update!!!!

soooo i'm thinking of starting commissions/some paid membership stuff/a ko-fi. i am a broke college student and i think if anyone with a big heart (and wallet) would love to support me and my writing, i would soso appreciative.

i plan on offering "membership" tiers. i.e. those who join as members would get my writing 1-2 weeks to a month before it gets posted on here. i also plan on having exclusive content solely released to those who are members as well as more say on what i get to write next. let me know what you guys think! i don't plan on posting any differently on my main tho, just more perks for anyone who chooses to support me :3

that being said if u r broke i hear u so relatable i love u still. i will make sure you are not starved for content <3

ok anyways will be answering asks and posting more on what i'm writing / prioritizing on the feed. keep an eye for my ko-fi and thank you to ml mr.pati @herfudanshipati for beta-reading this chapter :333

choso in the carriage ride back

no more to say keep an eye on the updates. i missed you guys so much and am so excited to read the reblogs and comments and asks teeeheee

reblog and comment to lmk your thoughts!

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He leans back, closing his eyes for a second, and there it is. That scent. Her perfume. It’s a goddamn olfactory ghost, haunting every inch of his home. It’s on his couch, it’s in his bedsheets, practically etched into the walls. A little flag planted in his territory, announcing her presence.

She’s good, he’ll give her that. A master of the artful lie, a silver tongued little thing who can spin a web of deception with a smile so bright it could practically blind you. She thinks she's so clever, hiding the truth behind those pretty, innocent expressions. But he’s known her since they were children, since the days of thunderstorms and shared secrets. He’s watched her evolve, watched her sharpen her wits and harden her heart, and he sees right through the facade.

But that’s okay. He likes it. He likes the game, the way she dances around the truth, weaving a web of half lies and omissions. It’s a mirror of his own mind, a reflection of the masks he wears every single day.

They’re two halves of a single, fractured soul, spinning in a haze where love and obsession become indistinguishable from one another. Caleb finds himself wondering, with a dark sort of amusement, who’s actually going to catch who in the end.

But for now, he's going to give her exactly what she’s looking for.

As the sun finally drags itself below the horizon, Caleb slips beneath the sheets of his bed and strips naked.

He knows she’s watching. He knows her eyes are fixed on him.

With a slow, deliberate movement, he pushes the silk aside. He lets the cool air hit his skin, exposing himself to the lens. He angles his hips just so, a lewd, shameless display of his fat cock, making sure the camera catches every single inch of him. His breathing shifts, getting heavy, ragged, catching in his throat as he strokes himself imagining is her hand around him. He lets out a guttural moan that he knows will vibrate through the speakers in whatever room she's hiding in.

And then, he whispers her name.

“...”

He wants her to feel the weight of it. He wants her to realize that even in his most private, vulnerable moments, she is the only thing that exists. He lets her watch as he strokes himself towards a messy release, painting his expenaive sheets with thick spurts of cum.

But a tease is never enough for a man like Caleb.

He rises from the bed, his bare feet making almost no sound on the hardwood as he strides out of his bedroom. He doesn't head for the kitchen or the balcony. Instead, he moves toward the living room, toward the wall that looks perfectly ordinary to anyone else. But with a practiced touch, a hidden mechanism clicks, and a secret door swings open, revealing his true sanctum.

He sits heavily in the chair before the glow of the computer monitors. With a few keystrokes, the screens bloom to life, and the room is flooded with a digital kaleidoscope of her.

There she is. Everywhere. Photos from the street, grainy surveillance footage, shots of her sleeping, laughing, even crying. His obsession. His entire universe, distilled into pixels and light.

He turns his head slightly, looking toward the direction of the hidden camera in her room, and he sees her. She isn't disgusted. She’s mesmerized. She’s a mirror of his own unquenchable thirst.

She might be smart, she might be a damn good Hunter, but she’s playing against a man who has turned his entire existence into a singular, sharpened point of focus. He is always, always one step ahead.

As he watches her on the screen, a satisfied rush of adrenaline surges through him. He wonders what she’ll do next. What new lies will she tell? What new traps will she set? He’ll just keep enjoying the thrill of the chase, the exquisite tension of knowing that she’s watching him, wanting him, needing him... just as desperately as he needs her.

One thing is certain, as certain as the gravity he commands, he will have her. Come hell, come high water, come the end of the world itself. She is his destiny, his beautiful, chaotic fate.

And he is never, ever letting her go.

The game isn't over. It's just getting interesting.

YOUR POV

The image of him is burned into the back of your eyelids. Every time you blink, you see it again. His face contorted in pleasure. The way he moaned your name had you trembling where you sat. You can't unsee the way his knuckles went white, the way his body shuddered, or the shameless desperation in the way he found release.

A traitorous part of you, the part that's a little too obsessed with the thrill of the hunt wishes you’d been braver. Dammit, why didn't I put a third one in the bathroom? Or the hallway?

You really want to catch every single, private second of him.

But then reality hits, cold and sharp. You shake the thought off, Caleb isn't an idiot, he's a Colonel. The risk is massive. The terrifying thought that he might actually know creeps into your mind like a shadow.

No, you tell yourself a little too quickly. It’s hidden. Undetectable. He’ll never know.

Yet, even as you try to settle, that bitter, hot knot of jealousy starts to twist in your gut again. Your mind drifts back to that photo Gideon had uploaded. The girl. Her smile had been too bright and her hand had been positioned a fraction of an inch too close to his. It’s a memory that sits in your mind like a splinter, irritating and impossible to ignore.

Is he truly yours? You don't know and the uncertainty stings.

But then you remember the way he cried out your name. It wasn't just lust, it sounded pained. Maybe it isn't the pure, uncomplicated love you’ve always dreamed of. Maybe it’s something much darker, something more complicated and far more dangerous.

You really, truly wanted to see him today. There was this hollow ache in your chest, a craving for the warmth of his smile and the way those eyes always seemed to pull you in like a gravitational tide. But it's the last Saturday of the month, which means he’s locked into that rigid, military schedule of his, keeping him far away from you.

So you sink onto the edge of your bed, the mattress dipping under your weight, and pull your phone from your pocket. Your fingers are a little unsteady as you tap through the layers of encryption to reach the hidden apps. These aren't the apps a normal person uses, these are your windows into the man behind the Colonel.

Your pulse hammers against your throat when you log into his accounts, holding your breath as you scan for anything new. A message? A notification? A slip up?

Nothing.

It’s the same stale routine. A few banal exchanges with Gideon, a dry work email from the Fleet, and a social media feed that looks as frozen in time as a museum exhibit. No new photos. No new posts. You let out a long, shaky sigh of relief, your shoulders finally dropping an inch. There’s no sign of that girl from the photo. No evidence that anyone else has managed to pierce his orbit lately.

You’ve been doing this for years. It’s a ritual now, a habit so deeply ingrained in your bones that you don't even realize you're doing it until you're already deep in his digital life. You've had these same tracking apps installed on your phone since high school. Back then, it was different, you’d watch the flood of thirsty messages and scandalous nudes from girls all over the school hitting his inbox, watching them wait for a reply that never came. Caleb never played the game. He was always too disciplined, too untouchable. He never gave them the time of day.

And that? That was the drug that hooked you. Knowing that even when the world was throwing itself at him, he remained unyielding. He could be yours, and yours alone.

You know it's messed up. You know that a "sane" person wouldn't spend their Saturday nights dissecting a man's private digital footprint like a forensic scientist. It’s an invasion, a total lack of boundaries.

But you can't just stop. You can't resist the gnawing need to know every detail, to inhabit the spaces of his life even when he isn't looking. If you have to bury this obsession deeper just to keep it alive, then so be it.

You'll keep digging. You'll keep watching. Because the only thing scarier than knowing too much is knowing nothing at all.

---------------------------

Hours later you're standing in the fruit aisle of the supermarket, staring at the produce as if there's an answer to your life written in the skins of the fruit. But just when your fingers graze a perfect, gleaming apple, they brush against something else. Warm skin.

You jump, nearly dropping the fruit, and an apology slips out of your mouth before you can even think.

"Sorry..."

"Y/N?"

The voice hits you like a sudden gust of wind. You lift your head, and your breath hitches. Eyes you haven't seen in years. "Ian?" you ask, a genuine, startled smile breaking across your face. "Oh my god, is it really you? It’s been... what, years? How have you been?"

Back in school he was one of those small, sweet crushes, the kind you remember fondly but don't lose sleep over.

Ian grins, but there’s a different energy to him now. As he speaks, you catch his eyes roaming over you, a slow sweep that feels a little more intentional than a casual glance. "I'm good," he says, his gaze lingering on the curve of your hips just a beat too long. "And you look..." He lets the word hang there for a second "...incredible."

A faint blush creeps up your neck at the compliment, but the moment is interrupted by a flicker of something else. You notice Ian’s eyes darting around the aisle, shifting restlessly as if he’s scanning the crowd for a specific face.

Confused, you follow his line of sight, expecting to see someone familiar, but there’s nothing. Just the usual grocery store chaos, people debating over cereal brands and teenagers laughing near the frozen goods. The aisles are empty of anyone who looks like they belong with him.

"Are you here by yourself?" he asks. He’s still scanning the perimeter, his brow furrowed in a way that feels almost anxious.

"Yeah..." you reply, your voice trailing off as a small knot of confusion forms in your chest. "Is everything okay?"

Ian snaps out of whatever trance he was in, shaking his head and forcing a laugh that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "Oh, no, it’s nothing. Really," he says, though he doesn't sound convinced. "It’s just... well, back in high school, you and Caleb were practically joined at the hip. I just kind of assumed he’d be trailing behind you like a shadow." He gives a little apologetic shrug, trying to play it off as a casual observation.

You feel a tiny prickle of annoyance at the mention of his name. "We weren't always together," you say, brow furrowing.

He chuckles, but the sound is a little dry. "You were! Trust me, everyone was way too intimidated to even get within five feet of you because of him. Especially us guys."

You tilt your head, genuinely baffled. "Why on earth would anyone be afraid of him?"

Ian laughs again, but this time there’s a distinct edge of discomfort in it, a sort of nervous energy that makes you uneasy. "Come on, don't play coy. We were all terrified to get too close to you. Nobody wanted to be the one to accidentally piss Caleb off."

You let out a light, airy laugh, but the sound dies in your throat when you see the way his jaw sets grim, hard. He’s glancing around the produce section again, his eyes scanning the shoppers as if he’s worried someone might be eavesdropping on this specific conversation.

"No way," you say, trying to sound breezy, but your voice feels thin, lacking any real conviction. "You're kidding, right?"

"He almost beat the absolute crap out of me," Ian confesses. He leans in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper that feels far too heavy for a grocery store. "He told me straight up that you weren't allowed to date anyone. And it wasn't just me, either. Half the guys at school..." He trails off, a visible shudder running through his shoulders as if the memory still stings.

Suddenly, your mind starts racing, flipping through years of memories like a deck of cards being shuffled at high speed. You think about all those missed connections. All those guys who had been so eager to take you out, only to vanish at the last second, or suddenly lose interest after just one date. It wasn't just a high school thing, either, the pattern had followed you like a ghost through college. A long, frustrating trail of aborted romances and broken promises that you just chalked up to bad luck.

Could it really be true?

Had Caleb really been the invisible hand, pulling the strings of your entire romantic life for years? Had he been quietly pruning away every potential boyfriend before they even had a chance to reach you?

You search Ian's face, desperate to find a flicker of a joke, a glint of anything to suggest he’s lying. But there’s nothing. Just the truth etched into the lines around his eyes and a lingering shadow of old fear.

A wild impulse flares up in your chest. It’s reckless, maybe even a little bit stupid, but before your brain can talk you out of it, the words are already tumbling out.

"Well... he's not around right now," you say, your voice a little higher than usual. "How about we head back to my place? We could grab some coffee and actually catch up properly."

You wince internally the second the invitation leaves your lips. God, that sounded so needy, you think, but beneath the embarrassment, there’s a bubbling urge to prove something.

Ian glances around the aisle one last time, his eyes darting nervously as if he expects Caleb to materialize from behind a stack of oranges. He looks hesitant, a shadow of doubt crossing his face, but then he offers a small, tentative nod. "Alright," he says softly. "Let’s go."

The walk back to your apartment is a blur. Ian shares mundane snippets about his job and stories about visiting family over the summer. But to you, it all sounds like static. Like white noise. Your entire world has narrowed down to the thudding rhythm of your own heart and the terrifying thrill of what you’re about to do.

Finally, you’re standing in the hallway, the cool air of the apartment complex settling around you. You fumble with your keys, your movements clumsy and uncoordinated, when your phone suddenly buzzes in your pocket.

The vibration feels like a lightning strike.

You pull it out with trembling fingers and swipe the screen awake. And there it is, staring back at you is a message from Caleb.

"Hey Pips, I'm free tomorrow. Wanna come over?"

The simplicity of it, the casual warmth of that nickname makes your head spin. You don't even try to reply. You don't think about how it might look or how long you're leaving him on read. You just toss the phone onto the small entryway table with a dull clack, the screen still glowing.

There is no doubt, there is a camera on the hallway. Are there any inside?

Taking a long, shaky breath to steady your nerves you turn back to Ian and reach out, your fingers curling around his hand to pull him inside.

Let him come looking, a spark of defiance lights up in your chest. Let him see.

The second the door clicks shut, you shove Ian back against the wood and crash your lips onto his. It’s clumsy. An awkward clatter of teeth and uncoordinated scramble of tongues.

The silence of the apartment is shatters.

Your phone begins to wail from the entryway table. The sharp ringtone cuts through the air like a blade, and you know, you just know it’s him. Caleb’s name flashes on the screen, a digital ghost looming over the room, watching you from the dark.

Gotcha.

This was the answer you’d been hunting for. Caleb wasn't just a part of your life, he was a spectator. He was watching right now. How many of them were there? Hidden in the smoke detectors? Tucked into the corners of the ceiling?

Is he seeing the way your chest heaves right now?

You don't let the fear paralyze you. Instead, you use it. You grab Ian’s hand and lead him toward the bedroom, he looks a little dazed by the sudden shift but he isn't exactly complaining. As you move, the phone on the table goes absolutely haywire, bombarded by a rapid fire succession of messages. He’s practically vibrating with the need to reach you.

He wanted to watch? You’ll give him the best performance.

Once you reach the bed, you push Ian back onto the mattress and straddle him. You dive back into his mouth, hands roaming over his chest, fingers bunching and gripping the fabric of his shirt as you lose yourself in the rush of the moment.

His hands find their way to your thighs, sliding under your skirt to cup your ass. You let out a broken gasp into the kiss when he finally hooks his fingers under the edge of your panties, sliding them aside.

A small, rational part of your brain is screaming this is insane, you barely even know this guy anymore! but that voice is drowned out by your own heartbeat. Logic is a luxury you can't afford right now. All that matters is the risk, and the invisible eyes you know are staring at you from the shadows.

Breathless, you break the kiss, your eyes darting around the room in search. And then, you see it. Tucked away in the shadowed corner of your closet, a tiny, unblinking red dot glints.

The moment you realize he’s actually watching you a rush of heat floods your entire body. The phone on the table outside starts to ring again.

"Aren't you going to answer that?" Ian asks breathless "it could be impo..."

You don't let him finish. You silence him, crashing your lips back onto his to stifle the question, determined to keep this investigation going. You squeeze your eyes shut, and suddenly, the illusion becomes almost too real. As Ian's fingers slide deep, pushing two fingers inside you, your mind betrays you. You aren't feeling Ian. You're picturing Caleb. You're imagining those strong hands, those calloused fingers, the weight of him pressing you into the mattress.

When Ian’s thumb finally finds your clit, grazing the sensitive nub, the world simply... shatters.

Your head lolls back and as your pleasure peaks Caleb is the only name on the tip of your tongue.

The echoes of your climax are still rippling through your nerves when the reality of what you’ve just done slams into your consciousness like a bucket of ice water. The high vanishes, replaced by sickening clarity.

Ian is staring up at you, his hand is still between your thighs "Hey... is everything okay?" he asks softly, his voice sounding far too loud in the sudden silence. "You were... really into it a second ago..."

You bolt upright, nearly tripping over the duvet in your rush to get to your phone.

Your fingers are shaking so badly you can barely grip the device as you snatch it from the entryway table. You swipe the screen open, and your heart drops into your stomach. The notification bar is a graveyard of missed connections.

Thirteen missed calls. Over thirty unread messages. And every single one of them, every single text is punctuated by a single, chilling period.

A shiver runs down your spine as you stare at those glaring notifications. You can almost feel the weight of Caleb's quiet fury pressing in on you, heavy and suffocating. You know him well enough to know that a single, lonely period is far more dangerous than a shouting match. It’s the silence before the storm, the kind of rage that doesn't need to make noise to be absolutely terrifying.

You grip the phone so hard the cold metal bites into your palm.

The sound of water running from the kitchen sink cuts through the heavy silence. You turn to see Ian coming out of the kitchen, wiping his wet hands on his clothes, looking confused and increasingly uneasy.

Before he can even open his mouth to ask what's wrong, the lie just spills out of you, born of pure desperation. "Caleb is on his way," you blurt out, "He... he should be here in a few minutes."

Ian’s eyes go wide. He doesn't ask why he's coming over. He doesn't even say goodbye. He just bolts. He practically scrambles for the door, like a man fleeing a crime scene. The door slams shut with a resounding bang, leaving you standing there in the oppressive stillness. You are alone. And there, in the quiet, your phone screen continues to glow, its light glaring at you like an accusation.

-------------------------

Caleb’s silence expands until it fills every corner of your life, suffocating you. It’s a cold silence that makes you feel like you’re walking on a frozen lake, waiting for the ice to give way.

All day Sunday, you go through the motions, nod when people talk to you, eat your meals, smile when expected. But underneath, there’s a jagged pulse of panic. You know he knows. You can feel his gaze on you, even when he's miles away.

By Monday morning, you’re done. You can't breathe, you can't think, and you certainly can't stand the silence.

You catch the Coelum Express up to Skyhaven, your heart hammering against your ribs when you unlock Caleb’s home with your spare key. The apartment is unnervingly quiet. It’s so still that the sound of your own breath feels too loud. As you wander through the living room, you stumble across a broken vase. Shards of ceramic lay scattered across the floor like a starburst of jagged teeth. Did he do this?

You don't have time to wonder. You’re on a mission.

You start tearing through his things like someone looking for a lost part of their soul. You open drawers, rummage through closets and cabinets, finding nothing. It’s all so normal. It’s infuriating

You’re moving from room to room, looking for the eyes. You’re looking for the way he sees you when you think you're alone.

Finally, you find yourself in the bathroom, staring at your own reflection in the mirror. You look exhausted. Your eyes are dark, underlined by the shadows of two sleepless nights.

You tilt your head, squinting at the ceiling. There, tucked away in a corner where the light barely reaches, is a small, slightly crooked square. It's so subtle, so almost invisible, that if you hadn't been looking with the eyes of a person hunting for a secret, you would have missed it entirely.

Using the small stool beside the tub, you manage to hoist yourself up, your fingertips press against the drywall until click. A box tumbles into your hands, you catch it just before it hits the floor. Your hands are shaking so badly you can barely work the latch.

When the lid finally gives, the air leaves your lungs in a sharp gasp.

There are photos everywhere. Not the kind you take together in the sun, but shots captured from the shadows, you laughing in high school, you studying in college, even recent ones of you just living your life. All of them taken from a distance.

And then, the things that make your blood run cold. Ribbons you were certain you’d lost years ago, their once vibrant colors now faded and dusty, tangled like dead vines. Nestled in the middle of the mementos are two pairs of your panties. One went missing during a trip to your grandmother's back in college, the other? That one vanished just last month.

He hasn't just been watching you, he's been collecting you.

You’re still processing the depth of his obsession when a voice slices through the air.

"Happy now?"

You nearly leap out of your skin. The box slips from your numb fingers, hitting the floor with a dull thud, sending the photos and the stolen fabric scattering across the cold tiles like debris from a wreck.

Caleb is standing just a few feet away. He isn't shouting, he isn't even angry in the way you expected. He's just there. Leaning casually against the doorframe, eyes fixed on you.

"What... what is all this?" you manage to stammer, though your voice is so thin it’s barely a whisper.

A low chuckle vibrates in his chest, a sound that has no business being as smooth as it is. "Are we really going to play the offended victim now?" he asks, his tone dripping with a cruel sort of mockery. He takes a step toward you, his eyes never once wavering from yours. "Or do I need to remind you about that little cameras you tucked away so... cleverly... in MY room?"

You try to act like a clueless victim, grasping at the most transparent lie in the book. "What?" the word feels pathetic the second it leaves your lips, weak, flimsy, and a little embarrassing.

He doesn't buy it for a second. He closes the distance between you, stepping into your personal space until the cramped bathroom feels like it’s shrinking, the air turning thick and stifling. Without a word, he reaches into his pocket, pulls out his phone, and holds it up like a weapon.

"Or we could just check your phone. See if there are any new notifications waiting for you. I bet a smart cookie like you has everything all figured out, don't you, Pipsqueak?"

You swallow hard, forcing yourself to stand your ground, trying desperately to flip the script before he crushes you completely.

"How many cameras do you have in my apartment?" you demand. Your voice is a little shaky, sure, but you lace it with as much accusation as you can muster.

"Enough."

The single word is final.

"How long..." you start, the question catching in your throat, but he cuts you off before you can even finish.

"Since the day you moved in"

You feel the heat rushing to your cheeks, a burning blush you can't suppress. Your heart is drumming a frantic rhythm against your ribs as you struggle to find the courage to ask the one question that's been clawing at your mind.

"Did you..." you begin, your voice dropping to a humiliated whisper, "Did you watch... when I touched myself?"

He doesn't blink. He doesn't even offer the mercy of a pause. He answers instantly.

"Yes."

The word hits you with more impact than a shout ever could. You want to fight back and scream, to tell him he’s insane but the words die in your throat when you realize you are not much different.

"Just like you watched me on Friday," he adds, proving your point.

You try to move back, looking for an escape route, but the movement is futile. You’re already backed up against the hard, cold edge of the bathroom counter. "I... Caleb, I..."

"I watched every single time your hips rubbed against the mattress, searching for friction..." he pauses "...or maybe you were searching for me."

He’s so close now. You can feel the warmth radiating off him as he leans in, his hands coming to rest on the counter on either side of you. His fingers splay out, wide and firm, effectively pinning you in place.

"Except Saturday..."

"How long?" The question bursts out of you "How long did you watch us?"

His hands tighten on the marble, knuckles turning white. He leans in even further, his lips hovering just a hair's breadth from your ear.

"Long enough to know that I could have done it so much better," he whispers, and the sheer arrogance of it makes your knees weak. "I could have made you scream my name. I could have had you begging for more."

"Caleb..." your voice is a soft plea for mercy or perhaps something more.

His hands hook under your thighs and he hoists you up with a single, effortless motion. Before you can even gasp, you're perched on the cold edge of the bathroom counter, legs dangling, your face brought level with his.

"I would have licked my fingers instead of washing them like he did, I would have tasted every fucking drop of you."

The mental image of his tongue makes you ache with a sudden emptiness. A broken whimper escapes your lips, a sound of surrender you didn't even know you were making.

"Did you like it?" He digs his fingers into your hips, pulling you forward until there isn't a single inch of air left between your bodies. "Did he give you what you truly wanted?"

You stare back at him, a spark of something new igniting in your chest. If he thinks he’s the only one in this room with leverage, he’s dead wrong.

Your lips are hovering just a fraction of an inch from his when you reach down.

Your hand glides with deliberate intent, your fingertips finding the front of his pants. Under the fabric, you feel the hard, unmistakable length of him, heavy and pressing against your palm.

Caleb freezes. For a second his mask slips and you see a flicker of genuine surprise, the raw shock of a man who didn't expect his prey to bite back.

A small, triumphant smile tugs at your lips. He’s just as wrecked by this as you are, and the knowledge is intoxicating.

Before he can reclaim the control he’s so desperate to hold, you press your lips to the corner of his mouth, just barely grazing the skin, and exhale the truth like a secret.

"I was thinking about you the whole time," you murmur, the words a soft vibration against his lips. "Every touch, every moan... every single second. It’s always been you, Caleb. Always."

For a heartbeat the world stops and then he breaks.

His lips crash into yours, rough, hungry, and almost violent, demanding everything you have to give.

Your fingers weave themselves into the dark silk of his hair, pulling him closer, needing to erase the last of the distance. Your bodies are fused together, your curves molding perfectly into the hard lines of his chest. His hand slides to the back of your neck, fingers tangling deep in your hair to anchor you, to hold you steady while he ravages your mouth.

But the heat is too much to contain. You can't wait.

Driven by need, your hands drop from his hair to his waist. You go straight for his belt. The leather groans as you work it, and the metallic clink of the buckle hitting the marble countertop echoes sharply through the bathroom. You don't break the kiss for a second, tongues dancing a messy rhythm, driving him toward the edge of madness.

Caleb’s hands aren't idle, either. They’re everywhere at once. His palms catch the hem of your skirt, his fingers bunching the fabric, shoving it up, up, up until the cool air of the bathroom hits your thighs. He doesn't stop until the skirt is around your waist, leaving nothing but the thin barrier of your panties between his hands and your skin.

You hear the sound of his zipper as you pull his pants down, mixing with the quick, shaky breaths you both take. His boxers come off right after, and then his cock springs free, slapping against his stomach, thick and already leaking with need.

Your small hand wraps around him, but you can barely get your fingers to meet on the other side. The moment you touch him his hips jerk, cock throbbing against your palm. A broken groan tears from his throat, forcing him to break the kiss and rest his forehead against yours, breath coming in harsh stabs of air.

But you aren't going to let him catch his breath just yet.

You gather a mouthful of saliva, and then, opening your mouth wide, you let the spit fall from your lips, the wet, warm drool dripping down the length of his cock.

Caleb’s eyes go wide, his mouth falling open in a stunned gasp. "Fuck, Pips..." he nearly whimpers, voice cracking, "Where the hell did you learn to do that?"

You don't answer with words. Instead, your fingers begin to glide. You tease the sensitive underside, building tension, swirling the moisture around the tip of his cock until his head falls back.

The expression on his face is the kind of delicious agony that comes right before a breaking point. "Fuck," he groans, his eyes fluttering shut. "You have to... stop... because if you don't... I'm gonna..." He loses the thread, his coherent thoughts dissolving into a haze of pleasure.

He shifts his weight, his hips working of their own to guide your hand, adjusting the angle so your grip hits exactly where he needs it most. His cock is pulsing in your hand, a fast heartbeat. "Dont stop," he begs, his voice is now stripped of all his usual colonel like discipline. "Please, baby... don't stop... you're gonna...make me fucking... Unghh... cuuuuum..."

With one last stroke, Caleb cums in your hand, splattering your fingers and your covered cunt with warm streams of his release. He continues to push forward, his hips moving fast as he rides through the waves of his climax, smearing the proof of his lack of control on your hand and the fabric of your panties.

He slumps forward, resting his forehead against yours again, his chest heaving with uneven breaths. When your lips brush against his a breathless giggle escapes you.

"Is that how you do it?" Caleb asks, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your underwear. With an impatient jerk, he yanks them down your thighs and off your legs. The scrap of lace catches on the toe of your shoe for a split second before he tosses it aside.

You cock your head to the side, one eyebrow arching in genuine confusion. "How do I do what?"

Caleb doesn't answer immediately. Instead, he sinks to his knees on the cold bathroom floor, his eyes locked on yours.

"Bring a man to his fucking knees"

His hands grip your thighs to pull you to the very edge of the counter, and then his mouth is there, lips latching onto your bare cunt.

He nestles his nose into your soft pubic hair, the warmth of his breath making you gasp, before his tongue pushes forward. He runs the flat of it in a long, slow stroke along your slit, the slick, warm muscle parting your lips before he begins to swirl around your puffy clit in a devastating circle.

Your thighs tremble uncontrollably and your toes curl inside your shoes when you fight the urge to just grind against his face.

There is a strange, invisible weight pressing against your thighs. It's a force that keeps your legs spread wide, pinning you open even as your muscles instinctively try to squeeze shut to hide from the sensation. Caleb is using his Evol.

Looking down, you meet his eyes as his tongue flicks out to lick a slow stripe up your slit, all the way from your entrance to the very tip of your clit, making the sensitive bud bounce against the tip of his tongue.

You tear your gaze away, staring at the ceiling, terrified that if you keep looking at him, you’ll shatter before you're ready.

"Look at me"

"I... I can't," you stammer, your cheeks burning with a hot blush that spreads all the way down to your chest.

Caleb lets out a sinful chuckle, a vibration that you feel much more in your pussy than in your ears. "Why not, princess?" he teases, his breath ghosting over your drenched cunt.

"Because I'll cum," you admit, utterly defeated. "Like... really, really fast."

"Eyes on me" there is no teasing in his voice now "Look at me, or I'll stop."

Your eyes fly to his, wide and vulnerable.

"There you go" his tongue picks up the pace, flicking and swirling around your clit "You taste so good, I could eat your pretty pussy for hours."

He proves it by thrusting his tongue deep into your entrance before dragging it back up with a heavy, wet friction, finally sucking your clit into the heat of his mouth.

"You like having your fingers inside this needy little cunt, don't you?" The words are vulgar, unashamed, falling from his lips like honey. "I've seen you, countless times... fucking yourself stupid, wishing it was my cock splitting you open instead."

As he speaks, his fingers begin to dance along your inner thighs, teasing the sensitive skin just enough to keep you on the precipice.

Then, he focuses entirely on your clit again. He puckers his lips around the sensitive bundle of nerves, creating a vacuum of heat. Everything in the bathroom, the gravity, the world itself simply falls apart.

When the wave of pleasure finally hits it takes over your entire consciousness. Caleb doesn't let you go, though. He works you through it, his tongue wringing out every single last drop of pleasure until you feel completely hollowed out. Only then does he finally release you, a final, parting suck sending one last, full body shudder through your limbs, leaving you clinging to the edge of the counter just to stay upright.

The hard, insistent weight of his cock pressing against your inner thigh should have been a warning sign of just how insatiable he is. The way he’d practically shredded the rest of your clothes, baring you to the air and leaving himself just as exposed made it pretty obvious, he wasn't even close to being done.

He settles himself between your splayed thighs, the fat head of his cock teasing the very edge of your soaked entrance. A part of you knows he’s going to hurt you. You know the stretch, the burn of being split open by him, is going to be more intense than anything you've ever felt. But nothing could have actually prepared you for the visceral reality of it.

The second the crown of his cock pushes past your entrance, your body goes into a panic. Your walls clench down with a futile strength, trying to fight him off, trying to keep him out. The burn is immediate. It’s a stretching ache that makes your eyes water and steals the breath from your lungs. As he continues to press forward, you feel yourself being pulled wider than you ever thought physically possible, your cunt trying to accommodate his girth as he sinks deeper and deeper.

"You're squeezing me so hard, pretty girl," he grunts "Breathe for me, baby. Just... nice and slow."

He can see the distress in your eyes, the way your face is pinched in pleasure and pain. He pauses his forward momentum, leaving half of his cock nestled inside, and ducks his head down, catching one of your nipples between his teeth.

He drags his teeth slowly over the sensitive peak, applying just the slightest, most agonizingly delicious pressure. In response, your walls clench around him even harder, the muscles fluttering as a bolt of liquid heat races through your core.

"Fuuuuck, y/n!" he has to grit his teeth, knuckles turning white as he digs his fingers into the soft flesh of your hips, physically anchoring himself to keep from snapping his hips forward and burying himself balls deep in one thrust.

He knew he had to distract you. If he didn't help you relax and adjust to his size, he was going to lose what little self control he had left. So, he diverted his focus, lavishing all his attention on your breasts. He began circling your nipples with the tip of his tongue, tracing the delicate, sensitive edges of your areola before flicking the peaks back and forth, back and forth, driving you crazy. All the while, his hand was busy, kneading the soft weight of your other breast, rolling and plucking at the neglected nipple until it puckered into a stiff peak, mirroring the one currently in his mouth.

Under his palm, your heart beats like a trapped bird. He can hear the uneven hitch in your breath as you struggle. He knows its a lot, he knows it hurts, but he also knows that your body can take it. That with just a little more time, a little more patience, you will mold yourself around him until it feels like you were made for this.

"Shhhh, baby, that's it, just breathe through it. Feel how deep I am inside your sweet little cunt. You're doing so well. Taking me so well. Such a good girl."

His words, filthy and dripping with praise, wash over you like a balm. Slowly, almost imperceptibly, you feel the tension begin to bleed out of you. Your body starting to yield to the inevitable. Your walls soften around his cock, still tight, but the sharp, stinging ache turns into something more manageable. Your breathing, too, eases into something that resembles a normal rhythm.

He didn't stop, though. He kept licking and nipping at your nipples until they were flushed a deep red and glistening, until your back was arching and your fingers were tangled deep in his hair, pulling him closer.

Instead of thrusting, he begins to roll his hips in slow circles. He wants you to feel everything, every ridge, every pulsing vein.

"Caleb..." you gasp in a broken plea. "... please"

He knows exactly what you are begging for. He feels it in the way your hips instinctively arch up to meet his rhythm, but he wants your verbal surrender.

"What? Tell me. I want to hear you say it."

His hand slides down the curve of your belly, fingers diving between your legs to find your clit. He begins to circle the swollen nub, his touch so feather light it feels like torture.

"Caleb... I need..." You choke on the words "I need you to fuck me. Deeper... please!"

With a hard thrust of his hips he buries himself to the hilt, his heavy balls slapping against your ass.

"You feel... god, you feel incredible. So fucking hot... you're perfect."

Your body has stopped fighting and started surrendering. Every time he drives into you, he strikes a spot deep inside that sends bolts of electric bliss straight to your brain. Your walls, once stubborn and resistant, are now molding to him, eagerly stretching.

He leans down, trailing open mouthed kisses along the column of your throat. His day old stubble rasps against your skin, a friction that makes you squirm. When he reaches your collarbone, he pauses, his teeth grazing the bone before his lips close over it. He sucks hard, a bruising pull that you know will leave a dark mark for days.

"Please... Ca... Caleb," you manage to swallow, your voice breaking. "Fuck me faster. I want to cum, please!"

"My princess gets whatever she wants."

He begins to hammer into you, you can swear you feel the head of his cock kissing the entrance of your womb with every thrust, the rhythmic slapping of his skin against yours echoing in the room.

"I'm gonna cum! Just like that... please!" you keen, fingers scrabbling at his sweat slicked back, your nails digging into his skin hard enough to leave angry, red crescent marks. "I'm gonna cum, Caleb! I'm gonna... !"

"Let go, pretty girl, give it all to me."

Your body obeys. You tighten around him like a soft, pulsing vice, your entire being narrowing down to the feeling of him inside you as your orgasm crashes over you in a beautiful wave.

"Yes! Fuck! Just like that!"

With two final thrusts, he buries himself to your deepest reaches. Just when you think he is going to stay inside, he wrenches himself out at the last possible second.

Thick ropes of his release paint your clit and spill down onto your entrance in a messy end to the madness. He hovers over you, his eyes dark and obsessive, as he whispers a single, repeated vow against your skin.

"Mine, mine... MINE!"

“how do you think xavier would react to being called by his name.” you furrow your brows at tara’s question, not exactly getting it. 

“nothing? it’s his name…” “no, not his name but his name-name.” 

in all honesty, tara lost you. but you urged her to explain that couples usually dislike it when they’re called by their given names rather than a pet name. 

and now that you’ve thought about it, you didn’t think that you’ve ever called xavier by his real name. 

with tara’s devilish grin, you almost felt bad for wanting to test it out, after all, no better time than the present, right?

“i bet twenty that he doesn’t care.” simone wagers, you almost scolded her, if not for tara’s enthusiastic counter with a fifty. 

your gaze flits towards xavier who was already approaching the three of you with two drinks in hand. 

he smiles softly as he hands you the flute of champagne. you gave him a grateful smile, the words slipping out of your lips almost in a foreign way. 

“thank you, Xinghui.”

you could see the way xavier’s smile twitches. he does not respond; instead, he wraps an arm around your waist. 

“are you having fun, star?” you nod before turning back to your friends whose expressions differed from triumph to devastation at the immediate turnout of their bet. 

“mm!” you nod, a smile on your face as you lean over to his warmth. “i was just telling simone and tara how much my Shen Xinghui treats me well.” 

xavier swoons at the my but not so much what came after. 

“ah. i see.” he tightens his grip around your waist before he gestures towards the open balcony, in the guise of fresh air. 

you bid your friends a wave goodbye, tara looking like she was trying her hardest not to laugh and simone already counting the bills in her wallet to slap on tara’s waiting hand.

once you and xavier were on the clear, he pulls you into his arms, his face buried on the crook of your neck. 

“did i do something wrong? i’m sorry.” xavier says softly against your skin, tickling you slightly. 

you giggle, pulling his face away to see a pout on his lips. 

“what do you mean, Xinghui?” his pout deepens. 

“i don’t like that name.” “what do you mean? it’s literally your name.” 

“yeah, to others, but not to you.” xavier says as he holds you tighter against him. 

you conclude that it was the end of your little prank, as you explained the bet that your friends made. xavier huffs as he mumbles at the crown of your head. 

“i’d rather you call me lumiere.” 

“really?!”

“no.”

zayne: 

when zayne told you that his parents were going to visit, it was safe to say that you spent the entire day ensuring that your home was welcoming. you and zayne spent time cleaning and redecorating your shared space. 

the doorbell rings, and for a moment, you thought it was his parents who arrived an hour early, but to your surprise, it was only the deliveryman for the patisserie you ordered from. 

knowing that althea and jace rarely spent time in linkon, you wanted to ensure that they could try new delicacies, so you ordered linkon’s finest macarons, and as a bonus, you bought them their favorite tea as well. 

you placed it on the kitchen countertop and forgot about it, thinking that you could easily plate them once they arrived. you failed to notice the curious doctor who approached the box after you left. 

althea and jace arrived right on time, you greeted them with a smile as althea hugs you, complimenting how beautiful you had grown from the last time she saw you, while you led them to the couch. zayne sat on the opposite sofa, engaging in small talk, blushing slightly as his father coos about how chubbier his cheeks are and how healthier he looks. 

“i’ll prepare some tea.” you excuse yourself as you walk to the kitchen to steep the tea. 

once it was finished, you put the teacups on the tray as you walked back to the living room, where they were. 

“oh! zayne, could you pour out the tea? i’ll go get the dessert,” you say to your husband, who freezes for a split second. 

“no need, darling,” zayne says as he makes a move to stand up. “i can get it; you should sit down. you’ve done enough,” he says, coaxing you to sit down. you shake your head, stopping him from standing up. 

“it’s okay, zaynie, i’m already standing up, just sit down and catch up, i’ll be right back.” you say, giving his cheek a swift peck, hearing his mother coo at how domestic the two of you were. 

you went back in the kitchen, humming slightly under your breath before it stops as you opened the box ofdesserts. 

there were only six macarons left. you ordered eight.

your jaw drops at the only answer as to why two were suddenly missing. without saying anything more, you plated the remaining macarons before carrying it back. 

you can see zayne’s back as you walk, slightly tense as he tries to keep up with a conversation with his father. 

“Li Shen.” zayne jolts as you say his name, you can’t see his exact expression, but judging by the way althea was biting her lip in amusement and jace was already grinning, you know that he knows that he’s in trouble. 

“yes, dearest?” zayne answers, his hand on the teacup as he takes a small sip, trying to act unbothered. 

“why are there only six macarons?” you walked slowly, placing the plate in the middle of the coffee table and facing him, crossing your arms.

zayne blinks slowly, you can see the small gulp he took. 

“perhaps the patisserie made a mistake. we can contact them after,” he says in a calm tone. 

you raise a brow. 

“you have crumbs at the corner of your mouth, Li Shen.” his eyes widened before he put the teacup down, wiping at his mouth, trying to get rid of the evidence, but the four of you know it was too late. 

althea laughs at the display, patting her husband affectionately on the arms. 

“this reminds me of when we caught our little zaynie sneaking for the cookie jar when he was young, right jace?” jace nods, a stifled laugh leaving his lips. 

zayne looks down in embarrassment. you clicked your tongue softly before sitting beside him. 

“i told you the desserts were for your parents!” you whined softly as you took one of the macarons, slicing it and eating it, stabbing another bite for zayne. 

he unashamedly takes it. 

“i apologize, my love.” he was not sorry at all. 

althea and jace only look at the two of you, amused. yet, happy that their zaynie truly found love. 

you reached down absentmindedly towards zayne’s teacup, only for you to flinch. 

his teacup was frozen solid. 

you looked at him who avoided your gaze, before clearing his throat. 

“i’d argue that the frozen teacup is your fault.” zayne says, immediately regretting it as you glared at him. 

“what was that?”

“i said that you are sweeter than any macaron i have ever tried.” 

sounds about right. 

rafayel: 

rafayel has been working on a painting for the last three hours. well, that’s how long it seemed to you because you’ve only been in his mansion for three hours. you knew he was painting for longer, given that it looked like it physically hurt him to adjust his posture. 

“raf, take a break,” you say gently as you place a hand on his back. 

he looks at you with a smile on his face. “in a bit, cutie! i promise. i’m about to invent a new color.” you rolled your eyes at his quip, yet let him do it, you wouldn’t have been able to pry him off anyway. 

the sound of a doorbell ringing takes your attention off your boyfriend, who seems to have the idea of ignoring the sound. 

“don’t worry, cutie. it’s probably thomas.” rafayel waves it off. you sighed and walked towards the door. 

“you know, he wouldn’t be as overbearing if you stopped ignoring him,” you retort. 

“no, cutie. he’d lock me up in his basement to keep painting if he could.” 

you paid his response no mind as you opened his door, awaiting to see thomas’ brunette hair and stressed-out expression. only to be pleasantly surprised when you see the shade of rafayel’s hair greet you. 

“talia! what a surprise.” you say, greeting her as your eyes flit downwards, seeing the luggage at her feet. “oh! let me carry those in, please come inside. i didn’t know you were visiting.” you hurriedly grasp her luggage, then usher her in.   

talia thanks you with a smile on her face, giving you a gentle laugh as you fussed over her. 

at this point, you were flustered. you did not know that rafayel’s aunt was visiting; had you known, you would’ve made a greater effort in getting rafayel to clean his own home. it was in no means ready to cater to a guest. 

“ah, really?” talia asked, genuinely surprised. “i thought rafayel might’ve told you. but then again, rafayel easily forgets things.” 

you smiled, nodding, still giving her your best host-like smile, while inside your head, you were already scolding your boyfriend in your mind. 

“--just like how he forgot to pick me up from the airport.” “what?” 

you couldn’t help but cut talia off as your eyes widened. you looked over to the painter who was still stuck in his own world, as if his only remaining family member wasn’t standing in his house. 

“Qi Yu.” 

rafayel freezes in his action, the paintbrush dropping from his hand for a split second before he sharply turns towards you, who looks back at him, unamused. 

your arms were crossed, a glare on your face as you stared him down. 

“...yes, my cutie?”

you give him an unimpressed look before raising a brow. rafayel seems to have noticed the additional presence in the room as his eyes widened. from under his breath, you could hear him mutter a curse. 

he immediately straightens, ignoring the kinks in his back that screamed at him from the sudden movement, before he walks to where the two of you were, his arm rising to wrap against your waist, only for you to dodge it in an obvious way. 

“cutie–” 

“you didn’t tell me that talia was visiting!” you say, exasperated. “and how could you invite her here when this place is such a mess! she came all the way from varona and this is what you greet her with?”

rafayel rubs a hand behind his neck, sheepish. “i forgot.” 

“really, Qi Yu. you forgot.”

rafayel flinches as you use his full name; that action spurs talia to let out a laugh at the banter. 

“i have seen rafayel be summoned by his father using that name, and he does not even bat an eye, yet…” talia smirks as she interlocks her arm with yours. 

“i see my nephew has a weakness.” 

rafayel would’ve found a way to refute, really, he would, but his face was burning and his lips were formed into a pout as he saw you visibly soften at talia’s assurance. 

“no need to worry about me, dear. i’ll make myself at home in the guest room.” talia pats your arm once before she wheels in her luggage towards the relatively tidy guest room. 

when talia was gone, you looked at rafayel with a blank expression on your face. 

“cutie…”

“so, let me get this straight.” you interrupt him. “you ignore me for three hours even though you invited me to your house. you forget to pick up your aunt from the airport and you forget to tell me so i can prepare to accommodate her, and now all you can say is cutie? really, Qi Yu?”

rafayel wraps his arms around you, pulling your front flush to his chest as he whines. “cutiee—” he buries his face onto your hair. “i’m sorry. please never call me that again.”

your lips twitch, secretly having fun with his reactions. 

“Qi Y—” “cutiee. stooop.” rafayel whines as he nuzzles his face onto your neck. he sighs as he pulls away, a pout still on his face. “i promise i’d take better notice of my schedules.” 

“and?” 

“and?!” rafayel echoes back, offended that you didn’t take the bait before he collects himself. “and i’ll treat you and talia to an expensive dinner tonight.”

“good.” 

rafayel pouts. 

“you can be so mean sometimes, cutie.” 

“really, Qi—” “stop!” 

sylus: 

sometimes, you curse yourself for being competent. at first, you thought that showing guts in the hunter’s association would bring you more respect and dignity. 

in reality, it just thrusts you on more missions that make you question if the salary was justifiable. 

you were so tired, you just got back from a week-long mission. 

you just wanted to rest in sylus’ arms and whine about how the association was wringing you dry and look at him in appallment once he suggests quitting your job. you know, the usual. 

as you ride your motorbike to the N109 zone, you can already imagine the conversation. you smiled softly to yourself as you approached the heavy doors that seemed to readily open to you. 

you walk towards the main hall, brows furrowing as you hear luke and kieran throwing out profanities and the sounds of controllers clicking. 

you push open the door to see luke, kieran and, surprisingly sylus, on the couch with their vr gear on. you see the tv playing a racing game that you vaguely remember playing. judging by the twins’ response, you assumed that sylus was in the lead. 

as much as you would’ve loved to join in and have a little game night, you were tired and wanted nothing more but to be held by your lover.

seeing sylus be so unguarded and oblivious to your arrival, you couldn’t help but time your entrance, once you see sylus seconds away from the finish line, you cleared your throat as you loudly called out. 

“Qin Che.” 

luke and kieran freeze as if they were the ones being called as they ripped out the vr gear from their faces, looking like deer in headlights. sylus also takes his off, albeit slower, as he takes in your figure. a look of surprise and longing in his expression.

you had your arms crossed, a blank expression on your face as you stepped closer. 

almost immediately, you see the twins skedaddle past you, dropping their gear and leaving sylus sitting on the couch. 

“ooooooo, dad’s in trouble!” you hear luke tease, and a sharp smack! right after, as kieran urges him to move faster, the door slams shut. 

an offended caw resounds in the room, you turn around to see mephisto banging itself on the door, wanting to get out as well. you bit back laughter as you see the door open for just a sliver before a gloved hand– you’re assuming luke, reaches out to pull mephisto by the wing, an indignified squawk leaving the metal crow’s beak.

the room was silent, save for the video game’s background music, to which sylus shuts down. 

you walked over to him, who sat there waiting for your next move. 

without another word, you sat on his lap, your face pressing against his chest, hearing the way his heart was beating significantly faster. 

“welcome home.” sylus says as he wraps his arms around you, breathing in your scent. 

“your heart’s beating really fast.” you point out, voice muffled by his chest. you pull away slightly to look up at sylus who immediately presses a kiss on your forehead. 

“well. it seemed like a certain kitten hissed at me unprovoked,” sylus said as he affectionately ran his fingers through your hair. 

“all because i called you by your name?” 

sylus chuckles as he presses another kiss to the crown of your head. 

“sweetie, you underestimate the power you have over me.”

caleb: 

you really shouldn’t have agreed to be caleb’s date at their high school reunion. hell, he shouldn’t have even bothered going. 

the day could’ve been spent with the two of you cuddling in comfortable clothes on your sofa, but no. caleb thought it would be a good idea to show you around the DAA. 

which wasn’t what was happening as his former classmates whisked him away. you stood off to the side, a frown on your face, arms crossed over your chest. 

caleb promised you that he’d be back in five minutes. it’s been thirteen minutes, and there was no sign of him ending the conversation. good thing that gideon was right beside you, keeping you company, as he only arrived a few minutes ago.

“your boyfriend sure is popular, huh?” gideon teases as he nudges you with his elbow. 

“too popular if you ask me,” you mumble under your breath, eye twitching as yet another former classmate approaches him. 

gideon snorts under his breath. “he’s always been popular, not even your scrunchie on his wrist managed to ward off the girls at the time.” you huff at that, eyes zoning in on the girl by the corner of your approaching caleb. 

it was irrational, you’re well aware of that, but enough was enough. 

‘caleb is mine.’ the jealous part of your mind screamed. 

“Xia YiZhou!” 

for a split second, you can feel the tension in the room drop, and everyone in the room freezes. caleb immediately turns to where you were standing, smiling sheepishly.

“coming, honey!” caleb walks briskly to where you were, but you gave him the cold shoulder. 

he tries to pry your arms away from your chest as he attempts to coddle you. 

“you said five minutes, Xia YiZhou.” you say, turning away from him. from the side, you can hear gideon stifle a laugh as caleb’s face drops at your words. 

“pips, you know—” “five minutes. you said.” you glare at the way caleb’s lips twitched, you knew the bastard was fighting a smirk. 

“is my pipsqueak feeling bored–” he reaches up to playfully pinch your cheek, but you dodged his hand before walking away. 

“damn dude, good luck.” you hear gideon say as you exit the venue. 

caleb follows you, letting you walk three steps ahead. you walk by the school’s open garden, feeling the breeze pass your face.

“go away, Xia YiZhou! i don’t wanna see you.” you hear caleb chuckle from behind you, and all of a sudden, he’s right beside you, flinging an arm around your shoulders.

“what’s got my baby apple upset, hm?” you huffed, reaching for your opposite shoulder to pull his hand, only to feel his palm sweating. 

and caleb’s palm only ever does that when he’s nervous. 

you fight the grin that threatens to escape your face. however, caleb already caught sight of it. 

“ah, i see. someone just wanted my attention.” you rolled your eyes, dropping the facade. 

“there were too many girls trying to talk to you.” you huffed. “it’s like they don’t know you have a girlfriend!” you squint your eyes, accusatory. 

“unless you told them you didn’t have one.”

“hey now, pipsqueak.” caleb flicks your forehead softly. “even if they didn’t know, i’d let them know. no need to be jealous,” you huff, turning around. 

caleb couldn’t help the chuckle that leaves his lips as his arms snake around your waist, pulling you flush against him. 

“i’m all yours, pipsqueak.”

“Xia YiZhou, you dummy!”

caleb only smiles against the back of your head, finding your little tantrum cute.  

“yeah, yeah. your dummy. i know.”

mentally, he was already planning all the ways he could get you to call out to him affectionately once more.

You don’t budge, eyes purposely wide as saucers, hoping your pleading's visible enough to coerce his sleep-deprived brain cells to work on something that wasn't the large Bat-Computer, illuminating a spotlight on his eye-bags.

He sighs. “Fine. It shouldn’t be that hard to think of.”

“I guess..” He mutters distractedly, multitasking your strange request and his work and an indulgent sip of his over-steeped tea. “He hates clumsiness? One time, Dick knocked over his printed Bat-Cow mug and even though he caught it immediately, you should’ve seen the look on Damian’s face.”

Not off to an amazing start. You don't dare recall the amount of times he’s caught you from face-planting in your shared apartment—or the number of plates you’ve broken when they slipped from your hands while washing them.

“Right. Clumsiness.” Your laugh comes out forced. “Anything else?”

“Hoarders.” He mutters through another sip, even as his nose scrunches at the bitterness. “I keep a bunch of files in the Bat-Cave, because forbid a man for wanting physical archives in case the Bat-Computer’s compromised. He snapped at me on the amount of useless cases I had collecting dust in the corner.”

Your heart squeezes traitorously, already aligning yourself with the trait before you could even deny the semblance. You didn’t expect him to accurately describe someone like.. you?

Your collection of junk is still stored inside a designated cardboard box, keeping letters he’s given you throughout your relationship, receipts from closed-down restaurants, or even the bed that's littered with your worn plushies. You rarely threw away anything as long as it held a small amount of sentimental value.

“Uh-huh.” You mutter distractedly—thinking back on your shared apartment and the amount of drawers you took up.

“I suppose—people who can’t protect themselves?” Tim shrugs apathetically. “He’s already so strict on his own training regime, I doubt he could possibly understand anyone who doesn’t know self-defence.”

You feel like you’re going to pass out. Tim finally stops, looking over to your distressed expression. “Oh, I wasn’t referring to you.” His mug’s 'Best Detective' claim flashes at you, sipping awkwardly at the realisation that he may have made a huge error with his words. “I just think he naturally has a lower tolerance for anyone that isn’t you.”

Tolerance, something that wears out in time. What if Damian was holding in all these things and it could potentially lead to resentment that you’re a combination of all the traits he finds annoying?

“Don’t take it to heart.” Tim says, his expression akin to one trying to disarm a bomb. “Seriously, hell will freeze over before that demon spawn ever hates something about you. You’re like—his only exception.”

You nod faintly, mind too preoccupied to truly listen. Your phone buzzes, lighting the lock screen and a notification for one of your packages has arrived. “Ah, I better get back! Nice seeing you, Tim. Thanks for the.. information.”

“No problem?” He answers, sounding unsure. “Don’t tell Damian I said anything!”

—

“Beloved?” Damian calls.

You barely hear his voice over the furious typing on your laptop, much less his trained footsteps that you could never detect. You raise your head, casting him an over-enthusiastic smile. “Hey, Dami!”

He tugs his coat off, placing it on the coat rack—gaze lingering on your laptop. “What are you doing?”

You feel as if you’re caught in the middle of a heinous act. “Um—” It’s not like you’re doing anything wrong. Maybe he might even be proud that you’re being proactive about improving your self-defence. “I’m signing up for a martial arts class.”

His brows furrow, his expression perplexed. “All of a sudden?”

“Just thought I’d try something new.” Your white lie slips out easily. “With how Gotham is, I realise I should probably learn some moves. Just in case.”

He frowns. “Is there something concerning you regarding safety?” Looking around the apartment, he analyses the astounding upgrades he’s done with a displeased frown. “I was thinking of thickening the window’s glass to have an increased bullet-proof rebound rate. Or installing motion cameras-”

“No! No.” You stop him, already detecting the pattern of his mind, unravelling into a never-ending state of over preparation. You’re sure that even if the Earth splits into two, your apartment would still be standing unscathed with what he’s already done to the structure. “It’s just a hobby, Dami. You did a great job already.”

The last thing you wanted was to add on more burdens for him. He’s been taking on more cases than usual, back on another silent war with Tim on a silly tally-off, not like either has been keeping a fair count, and him being away for more hours meant that you had time—the chance to show him this improved side to you.

He pauses in his fretting, blinking slowly like a feline before beckoning himself over to where you laid, chin tucked to your neck as you hoarded your favorite corner of the sofa.

Brushing your hair aside, he places a soft kiss on your forehead. “Alright. Anything you want.” He obliges. “You’ve already charged it to my card, yes? If you feel anything inadequate about the instructor, cancel it immediately. I’m more than willing to train you myself.”

From the way he’s looking at you, it’s almost like he wants you to say you prefer his suggestion. You almost do, tempted to let him teach you instead—because a hot trainer who is also your boyfriend sounds like a match-made in heaven, then you remember Tim’s words. I doubt he could possibly understand anyone who doesn’t know self-defence.

If Damian saw you with his own eyes on how ill-equipped you were to protecting yourself, what if he sees you as even more inadequate? You shake your head, a perfect vision of Damian's disappointment swarming your thoughts. “I’ll see how the first class goes. Apparently, it’s super beginner-level so it should be perfect for me.”

He stares at you, and you can feel his mind racing in its analysis before he nods slowly. “Alright. I’ll join you.”

“What!” You splutter.

“I have to ensure the instructor is truly capable in teaching you.” He states casually.

“Damian. You’re probably more knowledgeable than he is.” You deadpan. “It’s going to feel like how advanced calculus was for you. Toddler’s work.”

His expression doesn’t so much as shift, but you spot tension in his shoulders. “He? Even more reasons to join then.”

Oh god, what did you just unleash?

—

“Welcome to ‘Gotham Martials-Beginner’s Class'!”

The instructor is in the tightest, most neon-green outfit you’ve ever seen and under the intrusive lights, it nearly blinds you with its reflective power. Damian doesn’t bother hiding his grimace at the sight.

“Don’t be intimidated, folks. I've only held a black belt in Taekwondo for the past fifteen years.” He boasts. “If there’s anyone who’s going to make you Nightwing-material, it’s yours truly!”

The mention of his brother sours Damian’s expression, visible in the tick of his jaw. Sibling rivalry was only ever intensified among him and his brothers. He schools it into perfect nonchalance when you look over at him, trying to contain your laugh.

“Now, who’s a willing volunteer to come up and let me show them the ropes?” The instructor calls out. “As I always say, learning from example is better than theory!”

The instructor eagerly scans the room, and his mark makes its target. “What about you, lady? You look excited to start your journey in becoming a Martial Arts expert!”

It must’ve been your nearly-dying expression over Damian’s scowl that caught you in the web of his gaze. Your smile drops, feeling nervous with the numerous eyes on you from the other trainees. “Well—”

”There’s no need.” Damian calls out, his hand brushing against yours in reassurance. “I volunteer.”

“Ah! An enthusiastic young man.” The instructor claps. “Very well, come on to the front.”

Damian casts you a grimace, before he strides to the front. It was almost a comical sight with how he towers over the instructor, his arms crossed in disinterest. His gaze flickers over to you, clearly unimpressed.

“Ah, the first rule is to never cast your eyes off your opponent—”

It happens in a flash. One moment, the instructor is charging at Damian, and the next, he was on the ground with a loud bang!, with Damian pinning him down.

“Agh!” The instructor chokes out, and a chorus of gasps echoes through the room.

Damian lifts himself off, brushing his hands against his shirt. “You were saying?” He says dryly.

Your own hand is clasped over your mouth, but unlike the others, you’re trying so hard not to laugh. Damian's clearly terrified the rest in the room, as the circle of trainees distance themselves from the spectacle.

The instructor lifts himself off the ground, gripping onto his lower back for dear life. “Ha-ha—Right! I was going easy on you. Good example, folks. This is exactly how you pin someone down.”

His eyes avert Damian’s raised brow, sweat pooling at his brows. “Now, let’s resume the class at its usual distance. I’ll be in the center, and all students will be behind the red circle.” He points down at the faded drawn line, suddenly not willing for an up-close demonstration.

The class continues on with a series of stretches followed by beginner poses. You doubt any moves you were taught would actually save you against an actual criminal on the streets, but seeing Damian being forced to do such minimal movement with a disgusted expression made it all worth it.

“I think I gained a six pack just by watching you.” Your core was still burning from the restraining laughter as he inserts the key to the door of your apartment. “Never seen you so—restrained.”

He casts you an unimpressed look. “The mystery of how this city has so many civilian kidnappings was all answered by that lacklustre session. If that’s the highest rated ‘self-defense’ class in Gotham, it’s no wonder this city’s crime rate hasn’t gone down.”

“It must’ve been a pain for you." You sympathise as best as you could with an Al Ghul prodigy. "Even if the session had been a hundred times better than Mr. Neon Tights, I doubt it would’ve been useful compared to your experience.”

His narrowed eyes soften, hand kept extended to hold the door open for you. When you enter, he swiftly closes the door, arm still hovering over you and cornering you in. “That wasn’t my intention.” He says. “If I had attended for self defence, that would’ve been highly unproductive. But—”

His free hand comes up to caress your chin, guiding your gaze to meet his eyes fully. “My intention was to spend time with you. And seeing you have a good time, regardless of the quality of the session, had always been the goal.”

Your cheeks warm, and he’s doing that weird thing again where he makes you feel special for doing absolutely nothing. “You’re cheesy.”

“Hm.” He hums. “Maybe I’ve been too affected by Mr. Neon Tights.”

You can’t help the laugh that slips out, and his smile deepens—highlighting a soft dimple that you secretly obsess over. Falling into character, you clear your throat. “Aren’t you aware, Mr. Wayne? It’s not always about the result, it’s the journey.”

He huffs in amusement. “I wasn’t aware of such peculiar words of wisdom. From now on, you’ll be training with me. No more of that nonsense, even if it entertains you, beloved.”

“What?” You pretend to gasp. “Whatever shall I do without his neon tights to motivate me, Dami? You’re cruel.”

Leaning in, he murmurs. “I can think of other ways to motivate you.” Hands parting from the door, they wrap comfortably around your waist, gently pushing you back against the wood as he leans in. His lips press softly against yours, and it’s the soft moments of domesticity like this that you wish so desperately to stay longer.

By the time he parts from you, your lungs were screaming for more air than they’ve ever did in that class.

“How’s that?” He taunts lowly.

“Not bad. I feel pretty motivated to do a push-up right now.” You affirm, a little dazed.

Damian’s rare laugh is heavenly to the ears.

—

Damian’s away on another patrol, and in the midst of his absence, you’re uncovering your hoard of memories that look more kindled to trash now that it’s laid out on the floor. Damian’s letters, still too precious to ever even consider throwing away are stacked in a pile to your left, and your childhood stash is on the right.

You stare seriously at your pre-school drawing, a horrible attempt of drawing the Bat with fangs coming out under his mask. It's abstract, and you're much too biased to throw away a four year old's masterpiece. Maybe you could use it as a birthday card for Bruce?

“Beloved, what are you doing?”

You quickly hide the card, your body covering the junk as Damian enters the bedroom from the window. He’s covered in soot, but no blood is seen on his suit. Your immediate relief soothes your body, but his gaze set on the mess behind you seizes you to stand.

“Dami!” Your voice sounds way too chirpy to be anything but suspicious. “Nothing, I was just cleaning out some old stuff.”

“At 3 A.M.?” He asks incredulously.

“Cleaning jitters.” You shrug.

“Alright.” He says slowly. “I’ll take a quick bath, then I’ll assist in sorting it out with you.”

“No, it’s fine!” You quickly interject. “You must be tired after patrol. I’ll just quickly clean this up. So you can go to sleep, I know you don’t like mess.”

His hand lifts to detach his domino mask. Nothing stops his trained eye from sweeping the floor for this supposed ‘mess’ you’re talking about.

“My letters?” He asks, surprised.

“Oh, I just wanted to store them somewhere safely.” You explain. “If it hadn’t been for the letters, we.. wouldn’t be here now. I didn’t want dust mites to get to them.”

His lips quirk up faintly, softening at the memory. He looks over to the corner, where Mr. Paddington, one of your remaining childhood plushies was stuffed into a paper bag.

“Why is Mr. Paddington there?” He interrogates.

You swallow, averting your gaze. It's just a bear. A bear who's been through your ups and downs for the past decade. “I realised he’s—in really bad condition. And I keep hoarding things because of sentimental value, but it’s taking up space over the apartment. Like the bed is 55% my plushies and I don’t want you feeling like you’re running out of space because it’s your apartment too.”

He stares long enough that you start to feel it dig into your skull, before he turns fully and stops in front of you, lowering himself to your eye level.

“Is this an indirect method of asking me to expand our living quarters?” He asks, straight to the point as ever. “I can have us a new apartment by the end of the week.”

“No way.” You say flatly, his words stoking a flame of protectiveness over your shared home.

It’s an understatement to say you love this apartment. Call it being biased, but it was the first place you and Damian truly created into a home, and the memories stored within the brick walls (another addition you love), is something that will have to be pried, tooth and nail, from your cold hands.

“I just—I want to be more considerate, of the space and my junk. You may need more hanger space for your 10% shade differences in sweaters.”

He doesn’t so much as shift at your teasing, a blunt attempt at distraction to his skeptical eye. “Whatever is mine is yours.” He emphasises. “I got us this place because I wanted you to have a comfort space. I want you to use it.”

He bends, taking Mr. Paddington into his arms and patting away some dust that’s gotten on him. “You’re right, the stitching in his eyes has come loose. I’ll send it over to Alfred. He has been itching for something to do ever since most of us moved out, and he’s adequate in sewing.”

You don’t know why, but Damian being so considerate despite you having full evidence of your hoarding habit splattered over the bedroom floor tugs your heartstrings hard. You can’t resist hugging him, even when his suit is dirty. He holds you tight, Mr. Paddington squished between the two of you.

“Is there anything else you want?” He asks gently, his other hand gently rubbing your back. “You can always ask, beloved.”

You shake your head. “No, this is perfect.”

He hums. “Leave it be. We’ll sort it out tomorrow, together. I’ll run a quick bath, so why don’t you put Mr. Paddington back on the bed where he belongs, and I’ll accompany you to sleep as soon as I’m done?”

He’s perfect. It’s almost terrifying how easy it is to lean into his arms and accept his help. You should take care of your mess, not give him another task to do when he’s already tired from patrol. Still, when he places a soft kiss over your forehead, you find it hard to disagree tonight.

When he sinks into the bed, the faint smell of his body wash envelopes your senses. His weight tips you towards him, but even gravity isn’t as quick as your boyfriend’s instincts, pulling you into his arms till his frame shields yours. His chest moves in synchronicity with your breathing against your back, and the thought hits again that you don't deserve him.

Somehow, against all odds of your bad luck where he’s discovered your flaws two times in a row now when you're only trying to improve them, the softness in his gaze has never shifted, annoyance never once making its way into his expression.

Was Tim really right? That Damian’s intolerance for the flaws he listed out fades when it comes to you? You want to ask, but hearing Damian’s slowed breathing, meaning he’s fallen asleep—you think not all hope is lost yet. There’s still one more flaw you could work on, to make his life a little easier for all the times he’s loved you despite your flaws.

—

If you’re not going to get better at self-defence or the habit to hoard, at least you’ll master tackling your clumsiness. You’ve managed in avoiding plate arson for the past week, and call it over-confidence, but when you spot the clock’s hand frozen over the kitchen, you think it’s finally time you get over your fear of ladders.

“Beloved? What are you doing?” Damian calls out, a hint of distress in his voice when he spots you, on the second highest level of the ladder, hands fumbling with the clock.

“Taking out the clock.” You answer, distracted with the hook that’s stuck onto the nail. “Its battery needs changing.”

“I can do it.” He offers, his hands coming up to stabilise the ladder. “You need not concern yourself with small matters like these.”

”Yeah, but I want to.” You answer, finally unlatching the clock. “Got it!”

When you feel your balance tilt, you realise your miscalculation. With both your hands on the clock, you’re no longer holding the wall, and your feet stumble as your back arches backward. You yelp, falling backwards—right into Damian’s arms.

The clock is still in your hands, covering your face halfway to hide your shame as Damian stares at you, and you see the waver of relief, worry, and amusement playing out in the flickers of his gaze.

“That’s so embarrassing.” You mutter to yourself, still using the clock to shield your face from his prying eyes. “Let me down. Oh—can we please pretend that never happened?”

He doesn’t respond, hands still firmly wrapped around your torso, leaving your feet dangling in the air as he pins you under his gaze. “No, I think I quite favour this position.”

“Don’t tease, Damian.” Calling him by his full name doesn’t do the trick. If anything, it makes his smugness triple in size. “I seriously thought I accomplished getting over my fear of ladders. Now it’s hyper-intensified and my fears have turned to actual trauma.”

He snorts softly, carrying you over to the sofa and settling down. You lay there in his arms, which is admittingly, very comfortable, making it difficult for you to climb out of his hold. Not like he’d let you, the only time his arms wasn’t wrapped around you was when he took one hand to tear the clock out of his hands, settling it at the coffee table.

“What is bothering you?” He finally asks.

You freeze. “What do you mean?”

“First, the training classes, then Mr. Paddington, and now, the clock?” He lists out. Damn him and how observing he was. “Something’s bothering you.”

You hesitate. It’s irrational, but what if you list out the traits he hates, and he realises that you’re really all the things he despises? Your mind knows Damian loves you, but at moments, your heart wonders why.

”Well..” You swallow. “Promise not to get mad?”

“I could never be mad at you.” He answers immediately.

You don’t even know where to start. “You always take care of me. And you rarely complain. So I was starting to wonder if there was anything I did that could.. piss you off that you never mentioned.”

His brows pinch together. “Was there anything I did to make you reach that assumption? I know my communication of my feelings still needs.." He grimaces as he manages the word out. "Improvement. If I ever made you feel at unease, it was never my intention. I’ve never felt that way about you. Ever.”

“No—no.” It’s a relief to hear him say that, but it’s much harder to sound convincing when he’s looking down at you with his unbridled concern, his gaze softer than you’ve ever seen. “I just didn’t want to accidentally do something in habit that irritates you when you’ve been nothing but good to me.”

Averting eye contact, you focus on the jammed hands of the clock. “I asked for a list about what you hated and—it felt as if each description pierced right through me, so I panicked and over-compromised.”

His gaze sharpens. “What list?”

“Um—” You discreetly feel Tim’s lifespan shortening. “Just a couple of things. Hearing them made me realise that I could be a burden to you because of all the annoying things you have to deal with—so I tried to improve them. I don’t want you feeling like you have to take care of me because I’m not good in doing it.”

He shakes his head, mouth pursed and ready to argue but not quick enough to avoid the finger you place on his lips. “It’s not that I don’t want you taking care of me, because I love that you do. I appreciate it so, so much that I’m scared that I’m relying too much on you.” You admit, feeling a lump growing in your throat. “And I’m scared that taking care of me gets tiring.”

He gently caresses your wrist, pulling it aside so he can speak. “I want to take care of you.” He reassures you.

“But you hate clumsy people.” You croak out.

“I love your clumsiness.” He answers in a factual tone. "It's easier to get you into my arms."

“And you hate people who hoard.”

“I hoard things you gift me.” He bites back. “It’d be hypocritical of me to judge you for that when I partake in the same habit."

“You—“ Somehow, his easy way of dissuading your worries is working, and you can’t think of much else. “You hate people who can’t protect themselves.”

“Then what is my purpose, beloved?” He asks. “If not to protect you. If I could not fulfill even that duty, I would condone that hatred on myself. Never you.”

“Then what has this week been for?” You moan. “Felt like a humiliation ritual—Like I was horribly incapable as Damian Wayne’s partner.”

His lips quirk up. "Adorable." He whispers, as if he can't help himself. "You are capable. Of more things than you think.”

“You understand people better than I do, which is why you tried to be considerate of me by doing this.” He adds. “I appreciate your efforts, beloved, but you don’t need to be anything more or change yourself because I cherish you as you are. You’re already perfect for me.”

Damian’s love has always been shown through his actions, his unwavering patience he’s harnessed just for you, evident by his siblings’ complaint of unfair treatment. Yet, to hear him say it so directly—you can barely think of what to say back without sounding like an emotional mess.

“Where did you obtain such an unreliable list?” He asks after a moment.

You wince. He stares and stares, akin to a falcon, till it comes out of you. “…Tim?”

He scowls, gaze hardening with a familiar murderous intent. “I’m going to kill Drake.”

“Please don’t.” You plead. “It’s my fault, really. And if it hadn’t been for him, I would still be avoiding this conversation and I wouldn’t have gained the guts to say it out loud.”

His lips purse in a thin line, which is his best attempt at consideration. “I’m still not pleased that he indirectly made you feel unworthy when that’s never been the case. But you are right.” His free hand brushes over your cheek, growing serious. “Next time, if you ever feel this way, tell me first. I’ll listen, always.”

“And believe me when I say—you could never irritate me.” He declares. “You’re my gift in this world, and there’s no other person who brings me peace the way you do. You’re not meant to exist without flaws, and I love every single one of them. It makes you human, and more precious in my eyes. So don’t hide your worries from me. Bear them with me instead, and I’ll reassure you.”

Your eyes feel wet when you blink, your lashes clumping together, and your heart is thumping louder than it should. “Oh, man.” You mutter. “You just made me fall for you all over again. That’s not fair.”

His lips twitch into a soft smile, and presses a feather-light kiss over your forehead. “Then you’ve been unfair on me too. I suppose I'll have to be more unbearable in my affections to not let such silly worries get to you. I haven't been doing a good job in my duty if you could believe in a list like that."

“And for the record.” His gaze softens. “I didn’t see anything we did this past week as a burden. I enjoyed spending time with you, at the martial class, and the morning we spent organising your childhood memories, and even now—because that’s the reason I want to be with you. To be in your life, to be your support, your person.”

Your throat clogs together, and if he wants to succeed in making you a wreck, he's done it well.

“Cause..” He murmurs. “You’re mine. And I’m yours. Isn’t that what we promised?”

“Then, do you also solemnly swear, Damian Wayne—” Lifting up your pinky finger to him, you muster your most serious expression. “That you’re truly in this even with my flaws, on the good and bad days?”

He links his pinky with yours, wrapping it close to his chest right above his heart. “I solemnly swear.”

Damian always keeps his promises. You could ask him to capture the Sun for you, and he'd somehow find a way to do it before Monday.

“What else did that lunatic say?” Damian interrogates.

Your mind scrambles for anything to save your future brother-in-law’s life. “Tim did say I was your only exception.”

He huffs. “I suppose there’s one thing Drake finally got right.”

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