sunny apples

Chapter 2

Caleb had self-isolated the entire afternoon, drifting in and out of sleep. The blinds are drawn half-way, casting uneven lines of warm sunlight across his face and sheets. He’d already kicked off his cover hours ago. His pillow is warm and sweat clings on the back of his neck. He felt uncomfortable, but he wagers this is better than just his internals going haywire. What was bothering him this time wasn’t the dream. Well, at least not entirely. 

His phone buzzes from the nightstand, probably just Gideon sending a reminder for tonight’s meet up. It buzzes a second time—it’s probably you. He doesn’t bother to look. Caleb decides to just lay there for a few more minutes, soaking in the quiet hum of the noise of the traffic, leaking in from the slightly ajar windows. His eyes roam the room, trying to take his mind off of you and it eventually lands on the half-empty bottle of apple soda you left on his desk last night. You said it tasted like your childhood, your lips soft and moist against the tin can. He wonders how it’d taste if he licked off the remainder of the soda off of your lips. He groans, his mind starts reeling back to that night. Your lips, and the way it tasted.

Sophomore Year. Late October. You had both barely survived the Midterm onslaught. Post-midterm-is-over-celebration, you were so worn-out and drunk that he had to take you to his place. Once he opened the door, you collapsed into his bed face-first. You didn’t even bother to take off your shoes. But you knew he’d let it go, amongst other things he tolerates just because it's you.  He chuckled as he placed your bag onto his chair.  “Pips,” He called out to you, crouching down next to the bed to meet your eyes, “How you holdin’ up?” You groan in response, turning away from him. He laughed, settling on the bed near your feet. He grabbed your ankles, stabilizing your foot as he pushed off your Converse. You turned your head to look at him and caught his gaze lingering on your ankles. “Freak,” You joked. “What’re you doing?” Caleb chuckles, throwing the last of the pair onto the floor. “Just checking for scratches. I bet you have no idea how hard it was to get you to stop crawling around.” “...Sorry.” You mumble, patting the empty space beside you. Caleb indulges and takes up the space. There was barely enough room for two people, though it had never stopped you before. For a while, you were a tangle of limbs and breathy laughter. In the end, your head ends up resting on his arm and your legs entangled.  “Sticky.” Caleb cringed, laughter pouring out of him. So, you do too. “God, I’m so tired I couldn’t care less.” You close your eyes, letting yourself truly, truly relax for the first time in a while. You sigh. “You good?” Caleb shifts, enclosing your body with his other arm now. Your breath hitches, your fatigue finally all caught up to you. “Mhm.” Hot, fresh tears pour from your eyes, “I think…” “Pipsqueak.” Caleb says oh so softly, it hurts. He cradles your face between his palms and you break, sobbing silently. He doesn’t say anything else as he caresses the soft, tired tears that pour from your eyes. Your face was positively flushed from the drinks, crying, and exhaustion—You looked impossibly soft, so so easy to love. Then it happened. A soft press of lips so quick that it barely felt more than a heartbeat. It was a quiet, fragile thing left in the moonlit darkness of the room. The kiss was you crossing a line that had long been fading—Because no friends cuddle like you do, no friends hold hands and hug as often as you do. The kiss left Caleb more confused than ever, but he has never done something that felt so right.  Before Caleb could open his mouth to ask about the kiss, you laughed. All light and wobbly. Without meaning to, he laughed too. Then silence. Next thing he knows, you were sound asleep on his arms, face red, tear-stricken and mouth slightly open, The next morning, nothing. You both fell back into your routine of him offering you tea in the morning, but this time, he could see you—feel you—trying not to meet his eyes. You talked about classes, but never about the kiss. Not even once—No acknowledgement, really nothing. So he didn’t either. It hung in the air, feeling like a sentence you both refused to end. 

Now, it’s been 2 years of long-standing commas and ellipses. Caleb sits up, his head pounding, and his throat burning. Just as Caleb reaches for his phone, it buzzes.

[squeaky toy 🐀]: can u bring ur charger tonite :D am feeling lazy to bring a big bag

[squeaky toy 🐀]: hey, its 5:30 r u alive?

Caleb rubs his face with the heel of his palm, groaning inwardly. Caleb drags himself into the bathroom to splash water on his face, hoping that’s all it takes to reset into his default settings. He looks up to the mirror, and he honestly isn’t looking too hot—His face is splotchy with freckles, and his hair a mess. He tries to rub away the faint pillow crease on his cheek. It doesn’t work. He stares at himself more and the reflection doesn’t offer him any more reassurance. He groans again. He can’t just not show up. Not when you, asking for the charger, is code for I want you next to me. Not when he can already feel your knees touching as you huddle on Gideon’s rug together, with you probably stealing sips from his drink without asking.

He reaches for the towel to dry off, then shrugs on a random hoodie from the folded pile on his desk. He grabs the coiled, frayed charger—you probably borrowed it one too many times. He’s never been the type to be messy, but when it’s you who does it, he never seems to mind. His phone starts buzzing like crazy in his pocket. He takes it out, and the clock flashes—5:47. It’s you again.

[squeaky toy 🐀]: simone and tara showed up in my dorm :c so ill b going with them

[squeaky toy 🐀]: but u have to come okay

[squeaky toy 🐀]: please

[squeaky toy 🐀]: im begging u

[squeaky toy 🐀]: but [squeaky toy 🐀]: if ur really dead to the world pls pls tell me now so i can eat ur share of snacks

[squeaky toy 🐀]: ugh pls cal just show up pls

Caleb huffs a quiet laugh despite himself. He types a quick reply along the lines of he’d be there and to quit being dramatic. 

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Outside, the air is warm and a little damp. Late spring transitioning to summer in the city feels like the air is trying to press itself into your skin, sticky yet cool and just barely tolerable. Caleb walks slowly as he passes by the campus, trailing behind a group of students who are laughing loudly about something that would probably be insignificant years from now. He kind of envies them—the ease in their movements, the way they tip their heads back before a particularly loud guffaw. The way they carry joy like it’s weightless.

By the time Caleb arrives at Gideon’s place, the sun is already dipping low behind the campus buildings. From the outside, Caleb can see the flashes of the makeshift strobe lights pouring out the windows of Gideon’s upstairs apartment, all lit up with string lights. Vibes bro, he can hear Gideon’s voice when he says it. As he gets closer, he can hear the muffled sound of laughter bleeding through the open window. He starts navigating the stairs slower than usual, a weight pressing down on his chest. The slow, synth of the early 2000s club music is pulsing through the stairwell as Caleb makes his way up. Classy. 

He stops in front of the door. He hears someone laugh, maybe Andrew. Then you did. Immediately, bricks land to Caleb’s stomach. He pushes the door open, and doesn’t bother knocking—no one ever does.

Inside, it’s familiar chaos—multiple chips were already opened and strewn across the coffee table, and someone’s laptop is on the floor, connected to the speaker. A chorus of lazy heys erupt for a second before everyone starts going back to their own thing. Gideon waves from the kitchen, deep in conversation with Jenna while nursing a canned beer. Caleb waves back before he makes a beeline to you, who’s sitting on the floor criss-cross applesauce.Your hair was a mess, but you were glowing somehow—your presence pulling him in like gravity. His heart swells when you offer him a smile, an arm outstretched for him to take. Simone rolls her eyes from the corner of your eye, but neither of you pay attention. 

“There you are,” You say, “Was about to start charging my phone on pure rage.”

Caleb laughs, tossing the charger onto your lap. He proceeds to sit beside you, his knees comfortably knocking on to yours. You ignore how warm his leg felt against yours. He tells himself the contact isn’t a big deal—it’s how you both usually are. You both pretend the arm thing didn’t happen. He pretends his insides isn’t on fire. 

“I was just about to send a search party for you if you hadn’t replied.” You milk it and Caleb rolls his eyes.

“You’re lucky I like you.” Caleb mutters casually. Well, as casually as he can. But he knows you picked up on how it came out too soft. 

You don’t respond. Not really—you offered him another smile, wrapping your arms around his like usual. Like you didn’t feel the weight of what just came out of his mouth. Or, maybe you did. And you’re pretending again. And maybe, he’s also pretending that you hadn’t. Just like always. He swallows the ache.

“What happened to the movie?” Caleb asks, cutting through the tension.

“It’s near finals, so no one’s really up for Gideon’s smarty pants films.” You giggle.

“Apparently, not even Gideon himself.” Andrew supplements. 

“You say that like I didn’t just ace my practicals.” Gideon says, sauntering in from the kitchen to join the forming crowd in his living room. He’s clutching two bottled beers in one hand, and a bowl of cheese puffs on the other.

“You got a seventy-eight.” Jenna deadpans from behind him, taking a seat on the couch.

“Which… is an A. If you squint hard enough and actually put your faith in me.” Gideon puts the bowl of cheese puffs on the triangular slot between your legs, before he ceremoniously flops onto the beanbag chair beside Andrew. “The court declared ‘no smarty pants movies’, thus the democracy hath decided on Shrek.”

You groan loudly, laugh racking through your body. Caleb could barely stop himself from staring, so he laughs with you. An attempt at covering up his trail.

“We are watching Shrek, if I wasn’t clear enough.” Gideon adds.

You lean your head against Caleb’s shoulder. “I voted against any movie playing tonight. Let that be on the record.”

Caleb laughs before whispering, “This democracy sounds rigged.”

He looks up and Gideon is already staring at you two mischievously, “God, just get married already.”

The room laughs and you feel Caleb freeze. Weird. As if on cue, someone somewhere boots up the movie and the DreamWorks logo spirals into the screen. The makeshift strobe lights fade back into being the typical led light—settling into a soft, ambient, disgusting gamer red hue.

“We’re waiting for tax season.” You rebut as Gideon fashions a shit-eating grin.

“Gotta make it worth it, y’know.” Caleb laughs. More like, forced a laugh.

Simone scrunches her nose, “You’re literally disgusting.”

You nudge Caleb, an attempt at defrosting him, “We are.”

Caleb doesn’t offer an answer right away— his face feels far too warm for his own good, his body falling static.

You notice. And so, you whisper, “What?”

He shrugs, eyes seemingly glued on the screen, “Nothing.”

You squint at him, another attempt to understand what’s going on under his skin, “Okay. you’re being weird. Really.”

“‘M not.” He weakly fights back.

“You are. Did I do something?”

“No,” Caleb hisses almost immediately. He tries to soften his voice this time, “No. I just didn’t sleep well is all.”

“Nightmare?” You whisper back, relief flooding back into your veins. You lean towards him a little, “Want me to hold your hand?” Teasing.

Caleb scrunches his eyebrows to the suggestions, shaking his head at you.

“What, I’m serious!” You whisper, laughter evident in your voice. “People would just assume we’re in love. It’s fine.”

Caleb finally turns to look at you. Your face is too close, the flashing screen faintly lighting up your features. “Right.” He exhales, short and shaky as he looks back towards the screen.

You pause, eyes trained on his face. Then, low and amused, you finish with, “See, you are being weird.”

Before he can answer, you settle back into your position, shoulder brushing against his.

The movie officially starts and everyone settles. Somewhere between the onion jokes and “All Star” blasting out of the tinny speakers, Caleb feels your hand brush against his. At first, he thinks it's an accident. Then it stays—just barely touching, pinkies curled like punctuation marks waiting to be finished.

He doesn’t look at you. He doesn’t dare. He’s far too afraid to hope for anything, but he’s be stupid to pull away from your warmth.

Instead, he shifts just slightly, letting your fingers fall into the space between his. His thumb hovers above your knuckle for a moment too long before finally resting there.

Nothing is said. The movie continues. Someone throws popcorn from god knows where. Simone threatens to leave if anyone quotes Donkey one more time. And yet, all Caleb hears is the quiet thrum of blood rushing beneath his skin. A question forming slowly. A sentence two years too late. When he finally glances at you, you’re looking ahead—but there’s the faintest curve to your lips, like you know. Like maybe, just maybe, you’re not pretending either.

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Chapter 1

Caleb jumps awake, the middle of his legs feels awfully wet and uncomfortable. He has yet to look down at the mess he made but he already feels the flush warming his cheeks. He swings his leg over the bed and he groans. Nice going hornball, what are you, fifteen? Caleb mentally berates himself as he awkwardly shuffles to the bathroom, trying not to make more mess as he moves. 

He takes off his lower garments, and yes, he can confirm that he indeed finished in his underwear over another dream of you—only for the nth time of his entire miserable life. A dream of you that he would rather not recall. Instead, he opts to wash his underwear with the running water from the dorm bathroom sink. Well, yeah, okay maybe he isn't as morally upright as he thinks he is, so… maybe he can rub one out right now before his alarm for class rings.

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Caleb stiffens in his seat when you abruptly heave your backpack onto the seat next to his. You haphazardly sprawl yourself on the seat next, and Caleb laughs to himself. He can picture you well enough without even having to look.

"I woke up literally just 15 minutes ago." You announce to Caleb as you try to catch your breath, slumped in your seat.

"I can tell." Caleb laughs, throwing you a once-over. You're in yesterday's sweatpants, a different shirt, with last night's hairdo. "Don't worry, he hasn't taken attendance yet."

"Honestly," You take out your laptop from your bag, "I held on hope that I'd make it to class because he likes talking about his fitness journey for like, the first 10 minutes of it. With the way you're going, I’m pretty sure you can take Mr. Brown’s place any day now."

Caleb shakes his head at you, going back to taking notes. Underneath the table, you stretch your legs as Mr. Brown drones on and on about how his new diet changed his fitness life—blah, blah. You deliberately knock your feet unto Caleb's because just what is he taking notes for?

Caleb jolts, feeling as if electrified and the current had made its way into his head just from that one action alone.

"Jesus," You say laughing. Teasing. "You okay there pal?"

"Yeah," Caleb sounds out of breath, almost choked out and he inwardly cringes. "Yeah." He tries again, "Just... forgot I had legs for a sec."

"You've been off lately," You give him a weird look, a shit eating grin dancing on your lips, "Did you drink coffee first thing in the morning again?"

"Yeah," Lie. "I woke up early because... of a weird dream." Worse.

"You really need to cut your caffeine intake." You open up a document on your laptop, hearing Mr. Brown wrap up his tangent, "But, you sure you're all good, right?"

Caleb shrugs, "I'll be fine, pips." He continues to scribble nonsense in the margins of his notebook, "Nothing more coffee won't fix. Just... need this class to be over with so I can go die peacefully in my room."

You laugh, absent-mindedly slinging your leg on Caleb's. Caleb huffs, and impatiently taps his pen against lips, trying so, so hard not to glance your way as he feels all his dreams come back to him in full swing that he swears he can feel the ghost of your lips trace his jaw and down his neck, your hand tra—You shift in your seat, and he stills. 

Nope. Caleb, what the actual fuck. She's literally right there, buddy. Before Caleb could finish mentally castrating himself, he feels your head, plush against his shoulders as your arm snakes around his.

“What’re we getting for lunch?” You ask, eyes trained on Mr. Brown as he finishes setting up his powerpoint presentation.

“Uh, um. Can’t, actually. I’ve got a… thing.” Caleb feels his skin crawl at the obvious lie. “Group project.” He clears his throat.

You hum, letting it go which he is thankful for. Caleb truly believes he does not have the mental fortitude to juggle in between processing your warmth against him and lying efficiently. The lecture starts, and Caleb pretends to listen as he tries to take down the things he could barely make out in Mr. Brown’s powerpoint. 

An hour passes and eventually, Caleb has gotten hold of a rhythm that actually let him process the lecture while you remained glued to his arm the entire time. During one of the breaks, he finally looks your way—You look checked-out, cheek resting on his shoulder as you mindlessly scroll through your phone.

“You look like you didn't even try today.” Caleb whispers, a smirk forming on his lips in an effort to seem casual. Just… functional.

“I didn’t,” You whisper back, eyes glued to the phone screen. “I’m coasting on charm and vibes. Y’know, as per yush.”

Caleb tries to keep a fond smile from taking up his entire face. He tries even harder to not focus on how your temple is pressed against his arm, threatening to shoot up electric current once again. 

Simone groans from behind you, “Fuck my life. Would you guys date already?”

Caleb realizes he’s been staring, “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, Simone.” Nice save.

“Yeah, my lover won’t be joining us for lunch. It’s only fair that we get to do this.” You add in a mock-british accent. Lover, Caleb is going to scream. 

Tara laughs and Simone shakes her head, going back to her notes as Mr. Brown’s voice booms in the lecture hall once again.

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After class, you nudge him. Caleb looks up at you. You were already standing, ready to go with your bag slinging on your shoulder, messy hair now contained in a hat you borrowed from Caleb (well, stole is more fitting.)

“You are okay, right?” You ask Caleb, eyeing him for a second.

“Yeah, I am. Thanks, just really tired.” Caleb sighs, “Just want the group project to be done with. Y’know how it goes.” He’s really milking it now.

“Yeah, yeah. I get it.” You shrug, “But, I’ll see you tonight?”

“Tonight?”

“Y’know, that thing with Gideon and the others… the movie night?”

“Oh, yeah… I totally forgot.” Caleb scratches his neck. How is he supposed to peacefully wallow in misery now?

“So…” Your voice sounds real tiny now, like you’re suddenly so unsure. Like, how could you not be? He’s been so wishy-washy the entire time. “I will see you there, right?”

“‘f course.” Caleb smiles, before he proceeds to tug at your sleeves. “Why do you look like that?”

“Dunno. You’ve been weird.” You fidget and Caleb stands, almost automatically, to offer you a hug.

“It really is nothing, Pips. Just give me a few hours of nap and I’ll be good to go.” Caleb offers you a small smile, “Now go, before Simone rips me a new one for keeping you.”

Tara waves from the hallway and Simone offers Caleb a look of disdain. He swears Simone probably knows more than she lets on.

“Okay,” You laugh, “I’ll see you tonight grandpa.”

Caleb watches as his hat bobbed awkwardly on your head as you make your way to your friends. You don’t look back.

Caleb lingers in his seat after you leave, a pit forming in his stomach. He runs his hand over his face, resisting the urge to rip out his hair then and there. You’re just tired, Caleb tries to convince himself. That’s all. Tired. At that moment, his phone buzzes.

[squeaky toy 🐀]: u promised. movie night. its going to b weird if u dont go :-c 

Caleb doesn’t reply right away, instead he packs his bags and turns to leave the lecture hall. Of course he’d go. He’ll show up. Just like he always does. He just needs to sleep. To shower. And to stop being so fucking obvious.

[me]: Pick u up at 6? :3

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