supernova.

All semester, you had avoided making your crush on Caleb obvious, which, at first, was not so difficult.

You sat two rows ahead, eyes on your notebook or the professor. If Caleb slipped into your thoughts, it was only when he answered a question or laughed with the boys.

It mostly worked. He was never more than a meter away, which kept you from doing anything humiliating. That was all you could hope for in a grueling Monday morning class.

Then, Professor Han ruined your life with group work.

“I’ve posted the project partners on the screen,” she said, turning toward the projector. “You’ll be working in pairs for the rest of the unit, so please exchange contact information before you leave.”

A groan passed through the hall.

You, however, held still, hoping for someone nondescript. A partner who would demand nothing, and whose emails would be brief and impersonal.

Please, let this be simple. Please, don't let it be someone who will expose me for who I am under bright fluorescent lights at two in the morning, staring at a shared Google Doc.

Then your eyes found your name.

Your stomach dropped.

Beside it was Caleb’s.

You stared at the screen, hoping the letters would rearrange themselves into another name, but alas, your name remained where it was, linked to his.

Behind you, you heard a whistle.

You did not turn around.

Because part of you had already imagined this moment. Dreading it, yes, but also playing out what you would do if he noticed you, if he called attention to the pairing.

Every cell in your body buzzed with certainty. The whistle could belong to no one else but Caleb Xia.

Class ended. You packed slowly, giving yourself a few seconds to brace for Caleb possibly approaching.

He wouldn’t, you reasoned. Maybe he’d see your name paired with his and feel a wave of revulsion. You pictured him sending an efficient, detached email to the professor, and with it, all possibility of embarrassment sealed off. That would be ideal.

Terrible, obviously, but ideal.

You zipped your bag and stood.

“Hey.”

You froze.

Caleb stood beside your row, backpack over one shoulder. Up close, he was tall, broad-shouldered, and fit, with tousled dark hair above bright violet eyes.

You tried to avert your gaze and adjusted the strap of your bag. “Hi.”

He smiled. “Guess we’re partners.”

“Yeah,” you said. “Looks like it.”

Caleb glanced at the screen, then back at you. “You sound thrilled.”

Your stomach tightened.

“I didn’t say that,” you replied quickly. “I mean, I’m fine with it.”

His smile faltered. “I was kidding.”

“Oh.” You looked down at the floor. “Right. Sorry.”

“No, it’s fine.” He shifted his weight. “I just meant, you know, group projects are usually a nightmare.”

“They can be,” you said.

“Yeah.”

Around you, the room had emptied. You saw Caleb still standing there, waiting for you to say more.

You cleared your throat. “I can make the shared document if you want. And maybe we can divide the research sections first.”

“Sure,” he said. “That works.”

“I’m usually free after class on Wednesdays. Or we can just message if that’s easier.”

“Do you want that to be easier?”

You blinked. “What?”

“I mean,” Caleb said, then stopped. His ears turned pink. “Sorry. That came out weird. I just meant we could meet in person, too. If you want.”

You stared at him, unsure what to do with the offer.

Meeting Caleb outside class was unavoidable, but rejecting the offer would be impossible, which would make it worse.

“Sure,” you said, anyway. “We can meet.”

“Okay. Cool.”

He reached into his pocket and took out his phone. “Can I have your number?”

Your eyes widened.

Why did a phone exchange feel like the final Jeopardy question? The one with all eyes on you and everything to lose? You looked at his phone as if it were a test you had not prepared for, your heart pounding as you reached for it.

“My number?” you asked.

Caleb’s mouth twitched. “For the project.”

“Right,” you said, feeling heat rise to your face. “Of course.”

You typed your contact info into his phone, double-checking every digit. The thought of giving Caleb the wrong number was haunting.

When you handed it back, your fingers brushed his, and you pulled away quickly.

Caleb’s eyes flicked from your hand to your face.

You tightened your grip on your bag. “Uh, anyway, I should go.”

“Yeah,” he said, then cleared his throat. “I’ll text you.”

“For the project, right?"

“For the project,” he said.

You nodded and turned toward the door, trying not to walk so fast. You had almost made it into the hallway when your phone buzzed in your hand.

Unknown Number: Hey, it’s Caleb.

A second message appeared before you could answer.

Unknown Number: For the project.

Despite yourself, you smiled.

On Wednesday, you had agreed to meet Caleb at the library to work on the project.

You still could not believe Caleb was your partner. Reminding yourself of this, you decided he would only be your project partner for the hour.

You arrived early and chose a table near the back. Then you opened your laptop, pulled up the shared document, and read the assignment guidelines. You were a quarter of the way through reading when a shadow fell over the table.

“Hey.”

You looked up.

Caleb stood there with his backpack over one shoulder and a notebook in his hand. His hair was a little messier than it had been in class, as if he had run his fingers through it on the way over.

“Hi,” you said.

“Is this seat taken?”

“No.”

He pulled out the chair across from you and sat down, then placed his notebook on the table and opened it.

You glanced down before you could stop yourself.

There were notes. Actual notes. Highlighted lines with page numbers and comments written in the margins.

Caleb noticed you looking.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

He raised an eyebrow.

“I just didn’t know you had already started,” you said.

“It’s my grade too,” he said.

“No, yeah, I know. I just—”

“You thought I was going to show up with nothing?”

You hesitated.

Caleb leaned back in his chair, his mouth curving. “Wow.”

“That’s not what I meant.” You looked back at your laptop, feeling your face heat. “I’m just usually the one who’s prepared.”

You glanced at him again, but this time, he did not look amused.

You shifted in your seat. “Sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“It’s fine,” he said, though you hated that you had made things awkward again.

For a few minutes, the two of you worked in silence. You typed the project title into the document while Caleb flipped through his notebook, stopping every so often to check the assignment sheet.

You had counted on the work to provide a buffer between your thoughts and Caleb. But that, you learned, was wishful thinking. Your focus splintered each time you caught a glimpse of how he gripped his pen or how his brow furrowed in concentration. When his knee accidentally brushed yours, sparks shot up your leg, followed by a plea to stay collected. You begged yourself to concentrate.

Caleb cleared his throat. “I was thinking we could split the first two sections, then work on the analysis together.”

You looked up. “That makes sense.”

“Unless you had another plan.”

“No, that works.”

“Okay.” He leaned forward, turning his notebook so you could see it. “I wrote down some possible sources.”

You leaned in to read them, then immediately realized you were very close.

Caleb seemed to realize it at the same time. He went still, his hand resting beside the notebook so that your fingers were only inches apart.

Neither of you moved.

Then he looked at you.

You looked back.

His eyes were amethyst under the library light.

You sat back. “Sorry.”

Caleb blinked, then gave a low laugh. “You apologize a lot.”

“What? No, I don’t.”

“You just apologized for looking at my notes.”

“I was close to your space.”

“I never said it bothered me.”

His ears turned pink right after he said it.

You stared at your laptop.

Caleb looked down at his notebook.

The only sound between you two was the tapping of a keyboard at the next table.

Then, Caleb cleared his throat. “Let’s just finish the project.”

You tucked your hair behind your ear and looked at the screen. “We should finish the outline first.”

“Yeah,” he said. “We should.”

When you finished the outline, you packed quickly before you could overthink.

Caleb stood, too. “Same time next week?”

You nodded. “Sure.”

“Or,” he said, then hesitated.

You looked at him.

He rubbed the back of his neck. “We could meet sooner. If you want.”

You met his gaze and tried not to read meaning into it, wondering whether his offer meant more than project logistics. You struggled to keep your expression neutral, as if that could buffer the hope you wouldn’t admit even to yourself.

“Okay,” you said. “Sooner works.”

Caleb smiled then. “Okay.”

You left the library with your laptop pressed to your chest and his number sitting in your messages.

For the project, technically.

After that, meeting Caleb became part of your week.

At first, it was just for the project. That’s what you told yourself as you replied to his messages and checked your phone more than usual.

Caleb made it easy. He was on time, did his share, didn’t tease you when you were nervous, and never pointed out if you lost your train of thought when he looked at you.

Oddly enough, that also made it worse.

The more you saw him, the harder it was to keep him in your mental category. Caleb was still popular, the guy people waved to across campus, who seemed to know everyone.

But he was also the person who sent you a source at midnight because he thought it might help your section, and who remembered how you took your coffee after hearing you order it one time.

By the time the project was completed, you had run out of ways to pretend you were unaffected.

Your last meeting was meant to be quick. The outline was done, the slides were almost finished, and all you had left to do was review the conclusion before submitting everything.

You arrived early, anyway.

Caleb arrived ten minutes later with two drinks in his hand.

You looked up as he set one in front of you.

“For me?” you asked.

He sat across from you. “Mhm. Your favorite.”

You stared at the cup for a second, then looked away. “You remembered?”

Caleb’s response was a smile.

Your fingers tightened around the cup's sleeve.

When you finally finished editing the last slide, Caleb leaned back in his chair.

“That’s it?” he asked.

You looked at the screen. “Yeah. I think we’re done.”

You should have packed your laptop then. Caleb should have stood up. Either one of you should have made an excuse about another class, homework, or a prior commitment.

But neither of you moved.

Caleb just looked at you across the table.

“So,” he said. “Does that mean you’re done with me?”

Your heart gave a hard, stupid beat.

You looked down at your laptop. “With the project, yes.”

“That’s not what I asked.”

You swallowed.

Caleb did not smile this time. He looked nervous.

“I guess,” you said.

He nodded slowly, as if he was trying to decide whether to keep going. Then he leaned forward, resting his arms on the table.

“You know, I always thought you didn’t like me,” he said.

You looked up. “What?”

“You never looked at me.”

“That doesn’t—”

“I know that now.”

Your face warmed. “What do you mean?”

Caleb’s eyes stayed on yours. “I think you were nervous.”

You were taken aback. You wanted to deny it, laugh at it, and be dismissive. But Caleb’s gaze did not waver, so you said nothing.

“It’s okay,” he said. “I was nervous too.”

That made you blink. “You?”

He let out a chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “Mhm.”

“But you talk to everyone.”

Caleb’s gaze dropped for a second, then returned to your face. “Not the same way. I wanted to talk to you before the project. I just didn’t know if you wanted me to.”

You became aware of your hands folded beside your laptop, of the drink he had bought you, of the empty library table between you, making the room feel small.

“I wanted you to,” you admitted.

Caleb went still.

Then his smile came slowly, like he did not want to scare the words away.

“Yeah?” he asked.

You nodded.

Caleb glanced down at the laptop and back at you. “So if I ask you to meet again, and it’s not for the project…”

Your breath caught.

“…would you say yes?”

You looked at him, your heart beating fast for someone sitting in the quiet section of the library.

“Yes,” you said.

Caleb’s smile widened. “Really? Because I really didn’t want this to be over.”

You looked at your unfinished drink, then back at him.

“Me neither,” you said.

Caleb looked at the empty table between you. “We should probably pack up before someone kicks us out.”

“Right,” you said, closing your laptop and sliding it into your bag, trying to ignore the way your hands felt clammy.

The two of you walked out together.

It should not have felt strange. You were only leaving the library. But Caleb walked beside you with his shoulder close to yours, and every few steps, your hands almost brushed.

Outside, the campus had gone dim. The air was cool, and the library lights glowed behind you.

You stopped near the steps, unsure whether this was where you were supposed to say goodbye.

Caleb stopped too.

“I’ll text you,” he said.

“For the project?” you asked before you could stop yourself.

He smiled. “No.”

Your face warmed.

“Oh,” you said.

Caleb looked at you, then stepped closer until you had to tilt your head to meet his eyes.

“You’re doing it again,” he said.

“What?”

“Looking like you’re about to run away.”

“I’m not.”

“You sure?”

You nodded, though your heart was beating fast.

Caleb’s expression softened. “I don’t want to make you nervous.”

“You do,” you admitted.

He blinked, and for the first time all evening, he looked caught off guard.

You quickly looked away. “Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

“No,” he said. “Don’t apologize.”

You felt him move closer. His hand lifted slowly, giving you time to step back if you wanted to.

Which, of course, you did not.

His fingers touched your wrist first. Then his hand settled there, warm against your skin.

“You make me nervous too,” he said.

You looked up at him.

Caleb’s eyes dropped to your mouth before he looked back at you, making your stomach tighten.

For a heartbeat, the world narrowed to the space between you. You could feel your pulse everywhere, racing beneath your skin, thrumming in your ears, fluttering behind your ribs. Was Caleb going to kiss you? The thought sent a shiver through you, equal parts excitement and nerves.

“Can I kiss you?” he asked.

Your heart tumbled over itself. You had dreamed of this day, but nothing had prepared you for the way it would feel, how exposed and electric you’d be, how much you’d want it even as you were afraid to move.

Your answer came out in a whisper. “Yes.”

Caleb leaned in slowly, like he did not quite believe you had said it.

Then, he kissed you.

The first kiss was soft. His mouth touched yours gently. You, who were stunned, forgot to do anything except stand there, your hand curled around the strap of your bag.

Then Caleb drew back to look at you.

“You okay?” he asked.

You nodded.

His thumb brushed over your wrist. “Can I kiss you again?”

This time, you reached for the front of his jacket.

Caleb let out a breath and kissed you again.

His hand moved from your wrist to your waist, pulling you closer as your fingers tightened in his jacket. You could feel the build of him now, the warmth of his chest, the way he bent to meet you. For all the times you had looked away from him in class, you had never imagined him like this.

Caleb’s other hand came up to the side of your face. You made a small sound against his mouth and immediately wanted to disappear from embarrassment.

But Caleb only pulled you closer.

Your face burned.

He smiled, but there was nothing mocking in it. He looked happy. A little breathless. Maybe relieved.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a while,” he said, pulling back.

You stared at him. “Really?”

“Really.” His thumb moved along your cheek. “You kept looking away.”

“I thought you didn’t notice me.”

Caleb looked at you like that was the most ridiculous thing you had said all semester.

“I noticed you before Professor Han put our names together,” he said.

Your heart twisted.

“Oh.”

“Yeah,” he said. “Oh.”

You laughed under your breath, embarrassed, and hid your face against his shoulder before you could think better of it.

Caleb paused. Then his arm wrapped around you, hesitant at first, then firm when you did not pull away.

You stood there like that outside the library, his hand warm at your back, your face pressed into his jacket, feeling more exposed than you had during the kiss.

After a moment, Caleb lowered his head. “So, about meeting again.”

You pulled back to look at him.

He was smiling now. “Not for the project.”

You smiled, too. “Not for the project.”

Caleb’s eyes dropped to your mouth again.

You let him kiss you one more time before you left.

apologies for taking so long to fulfill this request! i hope you enjoyed it regardless, and that it was worth the wait. if you like the premise, i can definitely expand it into a longer fanfic that fleshes out their relationship. thanks for reading!

available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/86795381

You had stopped believing Caleb when he said he’d see you soon.

That was not because he didn’t want to see you. In truth, he wanted to see you more than he ever let on. He always meant it when he promised dinner after your patrol, or when he told you to keep your evening open for late-night dessert.

“Just one more briefing, pipsqueak,” he would say, “and then I’m all yours.”

But Caleb’s work had a terrible sense of timing, and yours wasn’t much better.

The first time, you had already changed out of your uniform, showered, and submitted your patrol report for the day. You had even gone through the effort of choosing a pretty outfit, one that Caleb might have liked if not for the fact that you had spent twenty minutes standing in front of your closet arguing with yourself.

Then, your phone lit up, and you thought it was him saying he was outside your door.

No. It was Caleb’s name over a message that made your entire face fall.

The briefing ran over. Don’t wait up for me.

A second bubble appeared before you could decide whether to be disappointed or annoyed.

And don’t make that face. I know you’re making it.

You stared at the screen, offended.

I’m not making a face.

You absolutely are.

You dropped onto your bed with a huff, typing harder than before.

Colonel, are you accusing me of being predictable?

Only when it comes to me.

He wasn’t wrong there. Even when Caleb was not physically present, he still knew how to get under your skin. You could hear his voice in every message, the teasing tone beneath each word as if he were leaning right over your shoulder.

That was what made the cancellations worse. By that point, you should have been used to the late-night calls, the rain checks, and the silences over the phone because neither of you wanted to be the first one to say goodbye.

The second time, however, it was your fault.

Caleb had managed to clear an evening and called you as you were leaving the Hunter Association building.

“Tell me you’re done,” he said.

“I’m done,” you said, smiling.

“Great. I’m coming to get you.”

“You don’t even know if I said yes.”

“You missed me too much to say no.”

You rolled your eyes, but your smile betrayed you. “You’re insufferable.”

“Still means you missed me, right?”

He was right, unfortunately. You had missed him. You missed the way he looked at you like the entire world could wait its turn, the way he said your name when he was no longer teasing.

Then the emergency alert flashed across your screen, and your smile faded before he even asked.

“Wanderer?” he asked.

“Yeah,” you replied.

“How bad?”

“Bad enough that they’re calling everyone.”

There was a pause. You could picture him standing in uniform, his jaw tightening, one hand braced against his hip because he knew better than to tell you not to go. That was the thing neither of you admitted. You both understood duty well enough to resent it, but that understanding did not make it any less frustrating.

“Be careful,” he said at last.

“I know.”

“No,” Caleb said, firmer now. “Be more careful than usual. I have plans for you.”

Your grip tightened around your phone. “That so?”

“Mhm. And I’m getting tired of rescheduling.”

Briefly, you considered telling the Hunter Association to handle its own disaster. Then another alert came through, and the choice vanished.

“I have to go,” you said.

“Okay.”

Neither of you tried to hang up right away. The silence stretched long enough to make your chest ache before Caleb finally exhaled.

“Go on, pipsqueak,” he said. “Before I change my mind and come drag you away myself.”

“You wouldn’t.”

“No,” he admitted. “But I’d think about it.”

That was how it kept going.

Dinner became coffee. Coffee became a ten-minute call in the middle of the night. A promised afternoon turned into a message sent from a transport bay. A free morning was buried under paperwork, then a briefing, then one more thing that became five. By the end of the month, you had stopped feeling surprised when plans fell apart. Annoyed, yes. Disappointed, absolutely. But surprised? Not anymore.

Which was why, when Caleb texted you on a Thursday afternoon, you did not let yourself get excited.

Are you free tonight?

You looked at the message for a long moment, then sent back: Define free.

No patrol?

No.

No emergency calls?

Don’t jinx me.

No reports?

You glanced at the half-finished report open on your computer monitor.

I’m offended by how well you know me.

Then be offended in person.

Your fingers stilled over the screen. You stared at those words, feeling your heartbeat pick up. It was not even romantic. It was Caleb being Caleb, direct and smug and annoyingly aware of the effect he had on you.

Still, you typed: Are you actually free?

A pause.

Then: For once? Yes.

Another message followed.

And before you ask, no, I’m not telling command where I’ll be.

You bit your lip, trying not to smile at your phone like an idiot.

Irresponsible behavior from a colonel.

You miss me?

You hated that your first instinct was not to deny it.

Instead, you wrote: Come over after I submit this report.

His reply came immediately.

You have thirty minutes.

You sat up.

Or what?

This time, the pause was longer.

Or I come over anyway and watch you pretend you can focus.

Your mouth went dry, and you looked back at your report. Or at least, you tried to.

The cursor blinked on the screen. You had two unfinished sections left, both of them requiring your full attention and boring enough to let your mind drift back to Caleb every other sentence.

Thirty minutes.

He had given you thirty minutes.

Naturally, that meant the next five were spent doing nothing productive.

You sat there with your elbow braced on the desk, your chin in your hand, rereading his message. Then, annoyed with yourself, you tossed your phone face down beside your keyboard and forced your hands back into position.

You were a Hunter Association officer. You had faced down Wanderers, handled emergency deployments, and written reports under worse conditions than this. You could finish one stupid report without thinking about Caleb.

Unfortunately, Caleb had never made anything easy.

Your phone buzzed again.

You lasted five seconds before flipping it over.

Twenty-five.

You exhaled through your nose.

Are you counting down now?

Someone has to keep you on task.

This is not helping me focus.

No? That’s disappointing. I thought you liked a little pressure.

Your thighs pressed together before you could stop yourself.

You hated him. You really did.

You locked your phone this time and shoved it farther across the desk.

You made it through half a paragraph before your mind wandered again.

Caleb in uniform. Caleb at your door. Caleb looking at you with that unbearable smile, the one that said he knew what you were thinking and had every intention of making you admit it.

By the time a knock came at your door, you had submitted the report with four minutes to spare.

You stood quickly, nearly catching your hip on the edge of the desk. You checked your reflection in the window, fixed nothing because there was nothing to fix, then went to answer the door.

Caleb was waiting on the other side, still in uniform. The dark jacket fit him well, snug across his shoulders, the collar buttoned, his gloves tucked into one hand like he had removed them on the way up. A few strands of hair had fallen across his forehead, and his eyes moved over you in a slow sweep that made your cheeks warm.

He did not say anything at first.

You crossed your arms. “You’re early.”

His gaze flicked back to your face, amused. “I saw you submitted the report.”

“You checked?”

“I had faith in you.”

“You definitely checked.”

“I definitely checked,” he admitted, stepping inside when you moved back to let him in.

The door shut behind him with a click, and neither of you moved.

It should not have felt so charged. He had been in your apartment before, and you had stood this close to him before. But after weeks of missed plans and interrupted calls, the distance between you felt thinner now, like one wrong move could ruin both of your moods.

Caleb set his gloves on the table near the door.

“You’re staring at me,” he said.

You flushed. “So are you.”

“Well,” he said, “I missed you.”

Your arms loosened at your sides. “You did?”

His mouth curved. “Don’t make me say it twice.”

“Why? Afraid it’ll ruin your image?”

“No.” He stepped closer. “Afraid I’ll say worse.”

Your back met the wall beside the door as Caleb stopped in front of you, his body inches from yours, and his eyes fixed on your mouth.

You lifted your chin. “Worse?”

“Mhm.”

“Like what?”

His hand came up, knuckles brushing along your jaw. “Like how many times I thought about leaving in the middle of a briefing because you sent me a picture of your outfit.”

Your breath caught.

His thumb traced your lower lip. “Or how hard it was to sound normal on the phone when you were half-asleep and saying my name like that.”

You swallowed. “Caleb.”

His eyes darkened.

Then, without warning, he kissed you.

His mouth moved against yours with weeks of restraint behind it, hot and hungry, his hand sliding to the back of your neck as he pressed you into the wall.

You made a sound against his lips, and Caleb groaned.

“Do you have any idea,” he said, pulling back, “how annoying you’ve been?”

You blinked up at him, dazed. “Me?”

“Yes, you.” His mouth brushed your jaw. “Walking around, being patient. Sending me sweet little messages. Telling me to focus when I’m trying to be responsible.”

“You were the one texting countdowns.”

Caleb laughed against your neck, and your fingers curled into his jacket.

His hand slid to your waist, then lower, pulling you against him. The evidence of his own frustration pressed firm against you, and the smugness in his face faltered for the first time.

You tilted your head, letting your lips brush the corner of his mouth. “Seems like I’m not the only one who missed someone.”

His grip tightened. “Careful, pipsqueak.”

“Or what?”

The words had barely left your mouth before Caleb was kissing you again, his body pinning yours with enough pressure to make your knees feel unsteady. You clutched at the front of his uniform, dragging him closer even though there was nowhere left for him to go.

Caleb groaned against your mouth. “You have no idea how long I’ve wanted to do this.”

“I have a clue,” you said.

His mouth curved against yours. “Yeah? Do you?”

Then his hand went under your shirt, palm hot against your skin, and whatever clever reply you might have had vanished.

His mouth moved from yours to your jaw, then lower, dragging heat down the side of your neck until your fingers curled tighter into his jacket. He kissed like he was making up for every interrupted call, every night he had ended with that frustrated sigh before telling you to get some sleep. 

“Caleb," you said.

“Been wanting to hear that in person for weeks,” he murmured.

You tilted your head back, giving him more room, and he took it immediately.

“You’re still in uniform,” you managed.

“Mm.” His mouth moved lower. “You complaining?”

“No.”

He pulled back to look at you, and the violet in his gaze made your stomach twist.

Absurdly, you wanted to laugh. You had waited weeks for him, and now that he was here, all you could think of was that he was still wearing too many layers.

Apparently, Caleb thought the same thing.

You grabbed his hand and pulled him down the hall, but you only made it a few steps before he caught your wrist and turned you back around.

“Too slow,” he said.

Then his hands were on you again.

He kissed you hard as he walked you backward, one hand at your waist, the other at the back of your neck. You stumbled, but he caught you, and before long, the backs of your legs hit the edge of the bed, your shirt already halfway up your ribs.

Caleb paused, his forehead touching yours.

“If you need me to slow down, tell me,” he said.

You looked up at him, chest rising, and shook your head.

Caleb went completely still.

Then he kissed you again.

He pushed your shirt up and over your head, tossing it behind him without caring where it fell. His hands moved over you like he had spent many nights imagining this and hated every second he had been forced to wait.

You reached for his jacket again, tugging at the fastenings.

Caleb huffed a laugh against your lips. “Careful. I don’t want to have to get this tailored again.”

“You said not to slow down.”

“I said you should tell me to slow down.”

You smiled, but it turned into a gasp when he caught your hips and pulled you flush against him. He kissed you again before you could snap back, and you forgot why you had wanted him to shut up in the first place.

Your fingers finally found the opening of his jacket and shoved it from his shoulders. Caleb let you, but only because his mouth was busy at your throat, his hands dragging down your sides as if he could not decide where he wanted to touch first.

When his jacket hit the floor, you reached for the next layer.

This time, he caught your hands.

You looked up at him, annoyed. “What?”

His thumb brushed over your knuckles.

“I missed you,” he said again.

Your breath caught. “I missed you, too.”

Caleb bent and kissed you again before pushing you back onto the bed.

You landed with a gasp, and Caleb followed, one knee between yours, and his body covering yours. His mouth found your neck again, then your collarbone, then the exposed skin above your bra. 

Your hands slid into his hair, and he groaned when your nails scraped against his scalp.

“Don’t do that,” he muttered.

You did it again.

Caleb lifted his head, eyes narrowed. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Maybe,” you teased.

“You really want to test me tonight?”

You looked at him, at the flush rising high on his cheekbones, the tension in his jaw, the way his composure was fraying right in front of you.

“Yes," you said.

Caleb stared at you.

“Fine.”

His hands moved to your thighs, dragging you closer with such easy strength that your stomach flipped. You barely had time to prop yourself up on your elbows before he was kneeling between your legs, fingers already working at the fastening of your pants.

“Caleb—”

“No,” he said, glancing up at you. “You had weeks to be patient.”

Your breath hitched as he stripped the rest of your clothes from you with none of his usual dramatics, no drawn-out teasing just for the sake of watching you suffer. His patience had run out somewhere between your front door and the bedroom.

When his mouth found you, your head fell back, and you reached for him blindly, fingers catching in his hair.

This time, he did not tell you to stop. He only groaned against you, the vibration making your hips jerk beneath his hand.

“Caleb, please.”

He lifted his head to look at you. His mouth was wet, his eyes dark.

“Please, what?” he asked.

You hated him for making you say it, and hated yourself more for how badly you wanted to.

“Don’t stop.”

His grip tightened. “I wasn’t planning to, pipsqueak.”

“You’re so cocky,” you said.

“I believe I earned it.”

“You’re still wearing too many clothes.”

That wiped the smirk off his face. He pulled back and started removing the rest of his uniform so hastily that it made you laugh despite yourself.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing.”

“No, say it.”

“You’re very obedient for a man so bossy.”

His eyes flicked to yours.

“Watch it, pipsqueak,” he said again, but this time his voice was lower.

You watched him as each piece of clothing landed on the floor. “You keep warning me.”

“Perhaps because you keep not listening.”

“Maybe you’re bad at giving orders.”

Caleb stopped.

Then he leaned over you, one hand pressing into the mattress beside your head, his body bare against yours.

“You want orders?” he asked.

Your throat went dry. “Mhm.”

His smile returned. “Then be good and kiss me.”

You lifted yourself to meet him, and Caleb caught your mouth. The kiss turned messy immediately, all heat and teeth and hands that could not stay still. You wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled him down until his body settled over you.

Caleb groaned into your mouth when your legs slipped around his waist. Your hips shifted beneath him, seeking friction, and the smug look that spread across his face was so insufferable you almost regretted missing him.

Caleb’s hand moved down your side, over your hip, then to your thigh, fingers pressing in as he dragged your leg higher around him. The motion pulled him closer, and both of you went still when you felt how little restraint he had left.

His jaw tightened. “You’re making this very difficult.”

“Is this really the time to complain, Colonel?”

“God, that mouth,” he muttered, and kissed you again before you could answer.

“Caleb,” you gasped, your fingers digging into his shoulder.

His mouth brushed yours. “Still want to test me?”

You looked up at him, hating how quickly your body gave up the argument your mouth kept trying to win. Hating that after weeks of waiting, one night with him was enough to make you feel reckless.

“Caleb, please.”

He stilled. “Please, what?”

You glared at him, though it was ruined by the way your legs were still wrapped around him.

“Don’t be annoying.”

“I waited weeks to hear you ask nicely. I’m allowed to be a little annoying.”

“I missed you less now.”

“No, you didn’t. Never that.”

Then he kissed you again, and you decided you would argue with him later, when your brain was working, and his hips were not between your thighs.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” he said.

You nodded. “I’ll tell you.”

Then, Caleb pushed into you, and the world narrowed to the stretch, the heat, and the inhale he tried and failed to hide against your neck.

His forehead dropped to your shoulder, his grip tightening in the sheets beside you. You felt the tremor run through him, the strain in the muscles of his back beneath your hands, and the realization that he was holding himself back made something hot and helpless twist low in your stomach.

“Caleb,” you whispered.

“Give me a second.”

You turned your head. “I thought you were the one who said not to slow down.”

He let out a breathless laugh. “You’re evil.”

His hips moved then, one hard, sudden thrust that stole the rest of your sentence from your mouth.

Caleb lifted his head to look at you, then moved again, and again, the rhythm finding itself quickly. Weeks of missed plans cracked open all at once. Your hands dragged down his back, his mouth against yours, and the bed creaked beneath you as he drove into you with all the frustration he had been swallowing.

Caleb cursed under his breath when you clenched around him, and you bit his shoulder when he hit the right angle. His hand moved beneath your knee, pulling your leg higher until your whole body arched beneath his.

“Fuck,” he groaned. “That’s it. Fuck.”

You could not answer. You could not even think past the pressure building again, faster than you expected. Caleb changed the angle of his hips, and your head fell back against the pillow.

“Caleb—”

His control slipped, his rhythm turning rougher as his hand gripped your thigh and his mouth pressed hard against your jaw.

“Yeah. Say it again.”

You did.

He groaned. “Fuck. Again.”

“Caleb.”

“Again.”

This time, you could not manage his name properly. It dissolved into a moan as your body tightened around him, pleasure coiling so tightly that your nails dug into his back.

He held you as you came apart, hips never stopping, dragging it out until you were trembling beneath him and clinging to him like you would disappear if you let go. Caleb followed soon after, his breath catching as his body went tense, and one last rough groan left him before he buried his face against your neck.

The room was quiet except for your breathing and the hum of the city outside your window. Caleb was heavy over you, careful not to crush you. His hand had found yours, fingers tangled together against the sheets.

You stared at the ceiling, dazed.

Then, because you were you, and because he was Caleb, you said, “So.”

He croaked against your neck. “Wait.”

“I was just going to say—”

“If you say ‘worth the wait,’ I’m leaving.”

You laughed.

Caleb lifted his head, hair a mess, face flushed, eyes narrowed at you. “You’re laughing?”

“You just threatened to leave while still inside me!”

He dropped his forehead against your shoulder and laughed, too. “Fair. Bad timing.”

He pressed a kiss to your shoulder, then another to the side of your neck. “I’m not leaving.”

Your fingers moved lazily through his hair. “For tonight?”

Caleb lifted his head again, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand where it still held yours.

“No more calls,” he said. “No more briefings.”

“You sure?”

“You asked for tonight, right?” His mouth curved. “Tonight, I’m officially missing.”

“You’re going to get in trouble.”

“Mm. Probably.”

“You don’t sound concerned at all.”

“I’m not.”

You looked at him then, brows furrowed. “Why?”

Caleb leaned down and kissed you.

“Because I finally got to see you,” he said. “And I’m not wasting the rest of it.”

thank you for the request, anon ♡ colonel caleb is my weakness, and my favorite version of caleb to write. hope you enjoyed!

available on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/85289336

Now that Caleb was back, you found yourself thinking about him at the most inconvenient times.

You couldn’t help thinking it would be easier if it happened all the time. At least then you could dismiss it as nostalgia, or chalk it up to the predictable consequence of someone from your past suddenly reappearing, paying no mind to the life you’d built without him.

But, of course, you didn’t handle it well.

By the end of the week, you were checking your phone more often than usual. You caught yourself rereading Caleb’s messages, and even during a routine medical exam, you smiled at your screen when he sent a picture from his cockpit with the caption: I saw this and thought of you.

Your boyfriend, Zayne, noticed right away.

He stood beside the examination table with your file open in one hand, and his glasses low on his nose.

“Your heart rate is elevated,” he said.

You looked up. “Is it?”

“Yes.”

“That happens sometimes.”

His gaze flicked from your face to the phone in your hand. “It seems to happen more often now.”

You locked the phone screen and turned it over against your thigh. Zayne’s eyes lingered on your hand, then returned to your face. He said nothing for several seconds.

“It’s Caleb,” you admitted at last.

“I know,” Zayne replied.

You sat on the edge of the examination table, legs dangling, suddenly aware of the crinkling paper beneath your thighs.

“He’s been messaging me,” you said.

“I gathered that,” Zayne said.

You sighed. “You’re doing that thing again.”

“What thing?”

“That thing where you act like you’re only making observations.”

Zayne closed your file. “I am making an observation.”

“You’re annoyed.”

His gaze lifted. “Should I be?”

There were sensible answers to that question. You could have said no. You could have said Caleb was just your childhood companion. If you wanted to be direct, you could even have said Zayne had no reason to care who texted you, when, or how often.

Instead, you looked away.

Zayne set the file on the counter behind him. “I’m not asking you to explain yourself.”

“You kind of are,” you said.

“No. If I wanted an explanation, I would ask for one.”

You rolled your eyes. You hated it when he did that, how calm he sounded. It gave you nothing to push against.

You glanced down at your phone again, though the screen was dark. “It’s just strange having him back.”

Zayne looked at you then.

You continued, “I mean, he was just gone for so long. Now he’s here, and it feels like I’m supposed to know how to act around him, but I don’t. I keep thinking about what things were like before, then what they’re like now, and I start overthinking everything.”

Zayne nodded. “That sounds exhausting.”

“It is.”

“Does he know?”

You glanced up. “Know what?”

“That you think about him this much.”

Your face warmed. “I—I don’t know.”

Zayne stepped closer to reach for the blood pressure cuff beside you. His fingers brushed your arm as he adjusted it, and your body reacted before you could stop it.

His hand paused.

Your stomach dropped.

For a few seconds, neither of you said anything. The cuff tightened around your arm with a low mechanical hum, and you stared at the monitor.

“You should rest tonight,” Zayne said at last.

The change in subject stung.

“I’m fine,” you said.

“You’re distracted.”

“That’s not a medical diagnosis.”

“It can still get you hurt.”

You looked at him properly then, irritation rising to cover the heat in your face. “I’m not thinking of Caleb like that, if that’s what you’re insinuating. You’re still my boyfriend—”

“I didn’t say you were,” Zayne said.

“You implied it.”

“I said you were distracted.”

“Because my heart rate went up?”

“Because you’re trying very hard to look unaffected,” Zayne said. “You usually do that when you are affected.”

That shut you up.

He released the cuff and began putting the equipment away. You watched the line of his shoulders beneath his white coat as he turned from you.

You should have left it there, but stubborn as you were, you said, “You sound like you’ve been keeping track.”

Zayne stilled. Then he looked back at you.

“I suppose I have.”

You stared at him, but Zayne didn’t look away, though you wished he would. It was difficult to argue with him when he looked at you as if he’d already accepted the ugliest version of whatever you might say.

Suddenly, your phone buzzed against your thigh, and Zayne’s gaze dropped. You picked it up before he could say anything and turned the screen toward yourself.

Caleb: Dinner tonight? You still owe me.

Your throat tightened. It was such a normal message, but you could tell Zayne watched your face change.

You locked the screen again.

“Was that Caleb?” he asked.

You let out a breath. “Yes.”

“Are you going to see him?”

“I don’t know.”

That was a lie. You knew you were going. Zayne probably knew it, too.

“He asked me to dinner,” you went on.

Zayne turned back to the counter and finished putting the cuff away. “You don’t need my permission.”

“I know that.”

“Then why are you looking at me like you’re waiting for it?”

Your fingers tightened around your phone. You hated that question because it was fair. You hated it more because you did not have the right answer.

“I don’t want this to become strange,” you said.

“It seems it already is.”

You looked down at your lap. “Zayne.”

“You asked.”

“No, I didn’t—”

“You were about to.”

You pressed your lips together.

Zayne washed his hands at the sink, dried them, then turned back to you, maddeningly composed, like he was not discussing the fact that your childhood friend had returned and taken up residence in your head.

“You should go,” he said.

Your eyes lifted. “What?”

“To dinner.”

You searched his face. “You mean that?”

“Yes.”

“You don’t sound like you mean that.”

“I can mean something and dislike it, too.”

That made your chest ache.

You slid off the examination table. “It’s just dinner.”

“I know.”

“He’s just Caleb.”

“I understand.”

“No, I mean—” You stopped, frustrated with yourself before you even finished. “He’s important to me. He always has been. That doesn’t mean I’m confused about us.”

“Are you telling me that,” Zayne asked, “or yourself?”

Your face warmed again, and you looked away first.

Zayne’s voice was low. “You have a mission tomorrow. Eat something. Rest early tonight. Try not to spend the whole evening proving you’re unaffected.”

You gave him a look. “That was rude.”

“Medical advice can be at times.”

You sighed in defeat. “Whatever you say, Dr. Zayne.”

Caleb had picked a place near Linkon’s central district. He was already seated when you arrived, one arm stretched along the back of the booth, his jacket unzipped, and his hair wind-tossed by the evening air. He smiled when he saw you.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Only five minutes.”

“Still late.”

“Well, you invited me at the last minute.”

“And you came, anyway.”

You slid into the booth across from him. “Don’t look so pleased with yourself.”

“Hard not to.” His gaze lingered on your face. “You look tired.”

“I’m fine.”

Caleb leaned back. “You’re a terrible liar.”

You picked up the menu. “I’m not doing this with you, too.”

“With me, too?” he echoed.

You froze.

“Who else gave you trouble today?”

“No one.”

“Uh-huh.”

Luckily, the server’s arrival gave you a temporary escape. You ordered quickly. Caleb ordered for himself, then added the side dish you liked without asking.

You glanced up.

“What?” he said. “You still eat that, right?”

You nodded. “Yes.”

He smiled.

Dinner had gone on to be easy. Caleb told you about a training incident involving a pilot who misread a landing sequence. You told him about Tara falling asleep during a strategy meeting and convincing everyone she’d only been closing her eyes to think. Caleb laughed, and so did you.

For a while, it felt normal.

But then, your mind drifted.

You thought of Zayne in the examination room, saying he could know something and dislike it. You remembered the way his hand had paused on your arm when your body reacted to him, and the look he gave you before you left that made you want to turn around and ask him to say what he was really thinking.

Caleb stopped talking.

You blinked, realizing you’d been somewhere else. “What?”

His brows lifted. “Where did you go?”

You reached for your water. “Nowhere.”

“Don’t do that, pipsqueak.”

“Do what?”

“Lie to me.”

You took a sip, buying yourself a second.

Caleb leaned forward, forearms resting on the table. “You were thinking about Zayne, right?”

Your pulse jumped. “I didn’t say that.”

“You’re not difficult to read.”

You sighed, setting the glass down. “Look, he was just… weird earlier.”

Caleb’s mouth tightened. “Weird how?”

“He noticed I was distracted.”

“Because of me?”

Your silence answered for you, and Caleb now looked a little pleased.

“And now you’re distracted because of him?” he asked.

You looked down. “I—uh, I guess.”

Caleb let out a laugh, but there was no humor in it.

You frowned. “Caleb—”

He raised his hands in mock surrender. “What? I didn’t say anything.”

“You’re not difficult to read, either, you know.”

His eyes held yours. “Can you blame me?”

You sighed again. “It’s not like that.”

Caleb tilted his head. “Then what is it like?”

You opened your mouth, then stopped.

The problem was that Caleb had known you first. He knew your oldest habits, the way you used to complain, the things that scared you before you learned how to turn fear into a weapon. Being with him made time collapse: one minute you were here in Linkon, the next you were younger, standing beside him in a life that no longer existed.

Zayne knew who you were now.

That was harder to explain.

He knew the woman who came home bruised from missions, kept her medical appointments, and fell asleep with reports open. He knew how you pushed yourself, got defensive, and the difference between your real calm and the one you put on to keep others from worrying.

Caleb watched you turn this over and seemed to recognize your struggle… and dislike it.

“He’s your boyfriend,” he said.

You looked up. “Yes.”

Caleb nodded, jaw flexing. “Right.”

“Caleb—”

“No, I know.” He leaned back and looked out the window, where traffic moved through the street. “I was gone. You moved on. That’s what people do.”

Your chest tightened. “That’s not fair.”

His eyes returned to yours. “Isn’t it?”

“You make it sound like I… replaced you.”

“You kind of did, though.”

Your hands stilled. Caleb looked like he regretted it as soon as he said it.

“I just didn’t know if you were ever coming back,” you said.

Caleb looked down at the table. “I know.”

You exhaled. “I’m not saying that to hurt you.”

“I know.”

“I care about him—”

“I get it.”

You searched his face. “Then, why are you doing this?”

His mouth twitched. “Because knowing something and liking it are different things.”

The echo of Zayne’s words struck you so hard you nearly laughed.

Caleb’s eyes narrowed. “What?”

You shook your head. “No, uh. Nothing.”

He leaned closer. “That was him, too, wasn’t it?”

You said nothing.

Caleb stared, then looked away with a disbelieving breath. “Wow.”

“It was just something he said,” you said quickly.

“Of course.”

“Don’t be mean.”

“I’m not being mean.” Caleb’s gaze came back to you. “I’m being… honest.”

“More like jealous.”

Caleb’s brows rose at that. He leaned forward, resting his arms on the table as if something in him had finally given way.

“You know what,” he said. “Yeah. I am. I’m jealous because I knew you first, and somehow, he's getting to know you now. I’m jealous because you look at your phone like you’re waiting for him to tell you how to feel about being here with me. I’m jealous because when you said ‘boyfriend,’ you didn’t even hesitate.”

His eyes moved over your face. “And I’m jealous because you still came.”

Your heart kicked. “Caleb.”

He looked at your mouth when you said his name, then back at your eyes, before leaning back and dragging a hand over his face.

“Okay,” he said lowly. “Never mind.”

“Caleb—” you tried again.

He reached for his water and took a long drink. “We’re stopping.”

You blinked. “What?”

“You have a mission tomorrow, right? Let's just drop this topic.”

“You were the one who started it.”

“And now, I’m ending it before I say something worse.”

You sat back, flushed. “That’s very mature of you.”

“Look, just forget about it for tonight, okay?” he said. “You have work, and you should be more focused on that than whatever your doctor-boyfriend said when you left.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Doctor-boyfriend?”

“I’m being respectful.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Fine. I’m being as respectful as I can manage.”

And because Caleb was Caleb, he let you wonder what he meant by that.

The next morning, you tried to focus on the mission, only for the fight to end almost immediately. One of the Wanderers caught you across the side and sent you crashing into a broken concrete barrier. By the time you made it back to the medical wing, a bruise was already spreading along your ribs, and the cut near your collarbone was deep enough to make everyone worry.

Zayne was waiting when you arrived, and Caleb followed you into the examination room without asking.

You sat on the edge of the table while Zayne pulled on gloves and began cleaning the cut. Caleb hovered near the door at first, watching and saying nothing.

For one ridiculous second, you almost wished the Wanderers had kept you longer.

Zayne’s gloved fingers pressed gently beneath your collarbone, and your shoulders tensed before you could stop them.

Caleb moved at once. “Hey. Careful.”

Zayne didn't look up from the wound. “I am.” He held a clean gauze in one hand and antiseptic in the other, his posture composed. If Caleb’s tone bothered him, he didn’t show it.

That made it worse for Caleb.

Caleb knew Zayne had treated you before, probably more often than Caleb would like to imagine. After all, there was nothing improper about a doctor tending to an injury.

But Zayne wasn’t just your doctor. He was your boyfriend, too, and Caleb couldn’t help but think about all the other ways Zayne’s hands had touched you.

“Almost done.” Zayne reached for another piece of gauze. “The cut is shallow. The bruising along your ribs is more concerning, but there’s no sign of fracture from the scan. If the pain worsens, or if breathing becomes difficult, you tell me immediately.”

“Okay,” you said. “I’ll be careful next time.”

“I mean it.”

“I know, Zayne. I'm fine.”

Caleb’s jaw clenched at how you answered him, unoffended, even though you usually hated being told what to do. It stung a little, realizing that all he had were memories, while Zayne had learned all your habits.

Caleb leaned back against the wall, arms crossed. “She’ll say she’s fine until she passes out, you know.”

You shot him a look. “I am literally sitting right here.”

“That’s why I said it where you could hear me.”

Zayne pursed his lips, considering. “He’s not wrong.”

You turned back to Zayne, affronted. “You’re not supposed to agree with him.”

“I’m simply giving medical assessments.”

“So rude.”

“I’m thorough, at least.”

Caleb continued to watch, anger rising at how much he enjoyed seeing you irritated and flushed after a mission that could have ended much worse. Even more so, it was Zayne who experienced it first.

Zayne finished taping down the gauze, then stepped back to check his work. “There. Avoid pulling at the skin around the bandage. I’ll give you something for the bruising, and you’re off field duty for at least forty-eight hours.”

Your head snapped up. “Absolutely not.”

“Yes.”

“Zayne—”

“You were thrown into concrete.”

“I bounced.”

Caleb laughed despite himself.

Zayne looked unimpressed as he stripped off his gloves and dropped them in the bin. “If you’re going to stay, don’t distract her from the discharge instructions.”

Caleb’s mouth curved. “You talking to me?”

“Yes.”

You glanced between them. “I can hear both of you, you know.”

“Mhm,” Zayne said, picking up the tablet. “That was for your benefit, too.”

Caleb pushed off the wall. “Are you usually this strict with her?”

Zayne tapped something into your chart. “When she tries to avoid healing, yes.”

“You make me sound reckless,” you grumbled.

“You are.”

Caleb looked from you to Zayne. “You two always like this?”

You went still.

Zayne finished typing before he answered. “I’m her doctor. I treat her injuries.”

“I know that—”

“Then say what you mean, Colonel.” This time, Zayne looked at him directly. 

Caleb looked surprised, and then smug. “Fine.”

He stepped closer, finally looking at you, and stopping at the foot of the table. “Last night, she was worried about you, Dr. Zayne, while she was with me. She even told me you said she was distracted because of me.”

Your eyes widened.

Zayne’s gaze flicked to you.

Caleb’s smile deepened. “Don’t look so surprised now, pipsqueak. That’s what this is, isn’t it? You’re with him, thinking about me. You’re with me, thinking about him.”

“Caleb,” you said.

His eyes dropped to your mouth. “It’s okay. I’m not upset. I’m just… curious what exactly you’ve been comparing.”

“Stop that, Caleb," Zayne sighed, annoyance in his voice now. "You’re provoking her.”

Caleb glanced at him. “I can be even more provocative.”

Zayne clicked his tongue. “Aren’t you something.”

Caleb’s attention returned to you. “I just want to know who gets to you more. Me, or him.”

Zayne looked at you then. “You don’t owe him an answer.”

“But you want one too, don’t you, Dr. Zayne?” Caleb asked.

Zayne’s answer was silence, and that was all Caleb needed.

You swallowed, your pulse fluttering in your throat. “Is this really what you both want?”

Caleb nodded. “I just want the truth.”

Zayne didn’t look away from you. “I…” He stopped, irritation across his face, though it seemed aimed more at himself than anyone else.

Then, he exhaled through his nose and gave in. “Yes. I want it, too.”

Your heart hammered.

You wished it were simple, just a matter of one or the other. But as you sat there, you realized you kept going back and forth between them.

With Caleb, you remembered how life used to be. With Zayne, it was the life you’d built. The two versions of you pulled at each other, and you had no idea which was supposed to win.

You told yourself it was about optics and what it would look like if you let yourself want both. What would happen if anyone found out, or if one of them got hurt because you made the wrong choice? The logical part of you knew how this should go, but the rest of you—your body, your heart—didn’t want to choose.

Not when, for the first time, it felt like you could have both.

You saw your reflection in the steel of the equipment tray and glimpsed the truth in your eyes. You wanted them both, and strangely, you didn’t care who knew.

You got off the table, the paper crinkling beneath you as you stood between them. “Maybe you should both show me what you mean.”

For a second, neither of them moved.

Then, Caleb’s breath caught, triumph in his eyes. Zayne’s expression didn’t change, but as he set the tablet aside, his attention fixed entirely on you.

Caleb stepped closer, his hand finding your waist. At the same time, Zayne’s palm brushed your jaw, tilting your face toward his.

“Do you think you can handle us both?” Caleb asked.

You smiled, though your heart raced. “Why don’t you both try to convince me?”

Caleb glanced at the door, then back at Zayne. “Lock that for me, doc.”

Zayne arched an eyebrow. “This is my exam room. I don’t take orders from you.”

Caleb smirked. “You sure about that?”

You turned your gaze to Caleb, expectation clear in your eyes.

Caleb held it for a heartbeat, then let out an exasperated sigh. “Fine.” He crossed the room and turned the lock himself.

But when he turned back, Zayne had already pulled you against him, one hand tangled in your hair, the other at your waist. His mouth was on yours, as if he meant to remind you who had claimed you first.

Caleb paused, caught off guard by how quickly the two of you had forgotten he was there. “You two always start without me?”

Zayne’s lips barely left yours. “Move faster, Colonel.”

You gasped as Caleb came up behind you, his mouth brushing your neck. Your pulse jumped beneath his lips.

“Tell me, then,” Caleb murmured against your skin. “Does he always get the first kiss, or did I just lose my place while I was away?”

Zayne answered for you. “You lost a lot more than your place, Caleb.”

Caleb hummed. “We’ll see about that.”

You twisted in Zayne’s arms, letting Caleb steal a kiss.

“Well, which do you like more?” Caleb whispered. “His hands or mine?”

Zayne’s fingers tipped your head back. “Maybe she likes having both.”

“I think,” you said at last, drawing them closer. “I’m the lucky one.”

At that, Caleb’s mouth found yours again, his hands slipping beneath your shirt as he pressed his chest to your back. Zayne cupped your jaw, holding your gaze before he leaned in and kissed you.

“Careful, doc,” Caleb said. “She’s already injured.”

Zayne didn’t pause. He only pressed another kiss to your lips. “You think I don’t know how to handle her?”

Caleb rolled his eyes and turned to you. “So? Who do you want more right now?”

You shivered, caught between them.

“Tell us,” Caleb went on, his lips brushing your shoulder. “Who makes you feel good?”

“And who makes you feel safe?” Zayne added.

You couldn’t answer. So you let your head fall back as Zayne lifted you onto the table. Caleb moved with you, staying close until he stepped between your knees and sank lower in front of you.

Zayne stood beside you, his thumbs tracing slow lines across your chest. Caleb pressed a kiss to your inner knee, then higher, trailing up your thigh.

You arched into Zayne’s touch; the sensation of being surrounded by both of them made your head spin. His mouth moved from your lips to your jaw, then to your neck.

Suddenly, as though driven by instinct, you fumbled for Zayne’s belt, the motion drawing both of their attention.

Zayne’s eyes flashed, but he only smiled, letting you tug at the leather. “Looks like she’s made her choice.”

Caleb’s hands stilled on your thighs.

“Don’t worry,” he said, glancing up from you to Zayne. “I like watching her take the lead.”

Then, Caleb guided your legs onto the table until you were lying beneath them. His hands lingered on your calves as Zayne leaned in.

You managed to work Zayne’s belt free, the buckle coming loose beneath your fingers. Caleb’s hands slid to your waistband, fingers deft as he undid the button and began tugging your pants down your hips.

“How eager,” Zayne said while Caleb eased the fabric lower.

Heat rushed through you as Caleb kissed your inner thigh, his hands prying your legs apart as he settled between them.

Zayne cupped your cheek. “Look at me.” He let you take control, his breath hitching as you leaned forward and took his length in.

Meanwhile, Caleb slid your pants and undergarments the rest of the way off, his mouth following the trail of bare skin he revealed.

You gasped, the sensation electric as Caleb’s tongue moved in slow, deliberate strokes that made your hips arch toward him.

“Don’t get distracted, pipsqueak,” he said. “You’ll miss all the fun down here.”

“She has plenty to keep her busy,” Zayne replied. “But if you think you can outdo me, Colonel, be my guest.”

Your focus splintered as Caleb teased you, pleasure threatening to undo you completely. You moaned around Zayne’s length, unable to help it.

Caleb grinned up at you. “So tell me again, who’s making you feel better right now?”

You tried to answer, but Zayne’s hand curled at the nape of your neck, pushing you deeper into his length. “Don’t worry about him. Just focus on me.”

You let out another moan. “You’re both—”

The words dissolved as Caleb sent another wave of pleasure through you.

Zayne looked down at you. “You know who takes care of you best.”

Caleb’s mouth left your skin, and you felt him rise between your legs. “She can’t even decide, doc. Maybe you’re not as unforgettable as you think.”

Zayne scoffed at that, his hand gripping your hair as he drew you off him.

Before you could process the shift, he turned you until your head rested near the wall and your legs dangled over the edge of the table. His hands were already on your hips, and in the next moment, he pressed into you, making you moan and cling to his shoulders.

Caleb blinked, taken aback by Zayne’s boldness, but the surprise only made his gaze darken with hunger. “Look at you, doc. Couldn’t wait for your turn?”

“Usually, I don’t share,” Zayne groaned, his grip tightening at your waist, “but it seems her mind has been somewhere else.”

Caleb’s hands closed around your thighs as he positioned himself closer. “You act like she’s yours alone, but the way she’s shaking for me says otherwise.”

Zayne shot him a glare, never easing his pace. “We’ll see who she begs for first.”

Caleb’s mouth curved. “Or perhaps she wants both of us at once.”

That made Zayne’s movements grow rougher. His mouth was close to your ear when he said, “Are you going to tell him who’s better, or do I have to make you say it?”

You tried to answer, but your breath only came out in gasps, your mind spinning from the onslaught of pleasure. When you still couldn’t speak, Zayne pulled back, looking down at you.

“Go on, Colonel. Let’s see if you can do more than talk.”

Caleb didn’t need to be told twice. His pants were already undone, eagerness written across his face as he moved between your legs. Without waiting, he took Zayne’s place, making you cry out as your hands scrambled for purchase against the table.

Caleb grinned. “That’s right. Fuck. Let me show you how much you missed me.”

Zayne didn’t move far, his hand remaining wrapped around your thigh as he watched every reaction, competitive fire burning in his gaze. “Don’t get comfortable, Caleb. She’s still mine.”

Caleb’s pace was relentless. “Mm, she’s not yours or mine. Tonight, she’s going to remember both of us. Isn’t that right, pipsqueak?”

You felt like you were caught in a storm, unable to give either of them an answer. Truthfully, you didn’t even want to choose. It was impossible. Both of them overwhelmed your senses, pushing you higher than you ever thought you could go.

Still, you reasoned, Zayne was your beloved boyfriend. His touch was familiar, his love a constant you had grown to trust and crave.

But Caleb was wildfire, unpredictable and hungry, a reminder of everything you once were and everything in you that still wanted to lose control. You hadn’t realized how good it could feel to give in to someone who remembered the version of you that existed before all of this.

You clung to the table, every muscle straining as Caleb thrust deeper.

“Let go for me,” he groaned. “Show him what you’ve been missing.”

Zayne’s hand turned your face toward him. “That’s it, baby. Let me see you.”

Pleasure coiled tight and then broke, crashing over you as you finally surrendered, crying out for both of them. Somewhere in the aftermath, while your body trembled between them, you realized there had never really been a choice. Maybe you were supposed to decide who was better, but all you could think was that both of them were what you wanted, even if you hadn’t known it until now.

As the room came back into focus, Caleb’s voice broke through first. “I think we need another round to really help her decide, doc. Can’t judge a contest on just one performance.”

Zayne huffed. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. This was a one-time arrangement. Know your place—or earn it, if you think you can.”

Caleb smirked, undaunted. “Guess I’ll just have to make my case, then.”

You lay there, caught between them, realizing you wouldn’t mind if the competition continued.

At least for a little while longer.

anonymous request - snowapple both wanting mc, and mc forced to decide who's better...

You do not think it should be possible to hear the thrum of your heartbeat while doing something so ostensibly innocent as lying in bed.

Yet, here you are, very much awake and warm beneath the blankets.

Xavier lies on your left. Zayne lies on your right. You are in the middle, which had seemed, at the time, like an arrangement that was harmless to refuse.

That was your first mistake.

Your second was underestimating how close proximity affects your composure when the men beside you are this attractive.

You shift, and Xavier tightens his arm around your waist, pulling you closer.

“You’re not trying to escape, are you?” he whispers, lips brushing your ear.

You smile, turning your head to catch his gaze. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

Zayne’s hand, resting on your shoulder, gives a gentle squeeze. “You should try to rest. It’s been a long day.”

Xavier scoffs, but you feel him relax against you.

“Yeah, listen to Doctor Zayne,” he teases, “or he’ll prescribe you more sleep and less cuddling.”

Zayne’s lips twitch. “Sleep is good for you. But I suppose this is… acceptable.”

You feel their body heat on either side and sigh, sinking deeper into the cocoon of blankets.

“Honestly,” you mumble, eyes fluttering, “I could get used to this.”

Xavier presses a kiss to your temple. “I’m glad. You’re not getting rid of us that easily.”

Zayne’s hand moves to brush a stray hair from your face. “No. You’re ours.”

You nestle further under the blankets, feeling Xavier’s arm tighten again, as if to ward off any thought of you slipping away.

“You know,” he says, “if you keep wiggling, you’re going to make it impossible for anyone to sleep.”

You nudge him with your elbow. “Maybe that’s the point.”

Zayne lets out a sigh, but his hand strokes your arm. “If the two of you don’t settle, I’ll have no choice but to enforce silence.”

Xavier snickers. “Oh yeah? You and what army, doc?"

Zayne's lips quirk. “I don’t need an army. I just need a little discipline.”

You stifle a laugh, feeling heat rise in your cheeks. “Are you going to put us both in time out?”

“Don’t tempt him,” Xavier warns. “He’ll do it. And then I’ll have to rescue you.”

“From what?” Zayne asks, eyebrow raised. “From getting a good night’s sleep?”

Xavier leans over you, his nose brushing yours. “From dying of boredom, obviously. I’m much better at keeping things interesting.”

You look between them, caught up in the sparring, and reach for Zayne’s hand, threading your fingers through his. He squeezes back.

Not to be outdone, Xavier presses a kiss to your cheek, then another at the corner of your mouth. “See? Interesting.”

You laugh and turn your head to kiss him properly. When you pull back, Zayne suddenly leans in and presses his lips to your forehead.

“At this rate, I’ll never get any sleep,” he mutters.

Xavier pipes up. “You can always sleep in the other room and leave us here.”

Zayne’s composure slips. He pulls you firmly against his side, eyes meeting Xavier’s. “That’s not happening. I’m not going anywhere.”

You blink, then sigh and reach for both of them, pulling them close until you’re all tangled together again. “Alright, that’s enough. Let’s just go to sleep, guys.”

Zayne lets out a huff. “Goodnight, troublemakers.”

“Goodnight, doc,” Xavier replies, but his hand never leaves your waist.

You snuggle into the space between them, heart full, their hands finding yours.

i don’t think i’d be capable of this much composure if i were tucked between zayne and xavier, and being held like that. sigh. a girl can dream.