CookieWookie

You’re jogging toward the trees now, throwing caution to the wind as you follow the sounds of his pain. Just before you cross into the forest, you finally spot your boyfriend’s massive figure, his wine red hair being the giveaway. He’s facing a pine tree, tail stiff and laid low, touching his head and wincing repeatedly.

As he registers your scent and whips around to face you, you understand why: at least 15 black-tipped, spindly death daggers sprout from his cheeks and nose. 

“Valko?” You cover your mouth in shock, and he stumbles closer, falling forward against you.

“Hurts,” he grunts. 

Like always, you struggle to support his large body. Even more so now that one wrong move could further impale him. “What happened?” 

“Porcupines are supposed to be nocturnal,” he says, voice grim and shaky. “This one wasn’t.” 

If you had an extra hand, you’d drag it down your forehead right now. 

Skunks, raccoons, exceptionally angry squirrels—those had all happened before. A porcupine, though? That was new. Almost impressive.

“You just get into all sorts of trouble, don’t you.” Taking a step back, you brace your hands on his chest to examine him. “Let me have a look at you.” 

The quills look like toothpicks dipped in black ink. And while a few of them seem to have barely penetrated his skin, the majority mark the porcupine’s decisive victory. 

“Can you take them out?” he asks, staring down at you pleadingly. “If we hurry, we can still make the movie on time. I know I’m super late. I’m sorry.”

Twenty of nature’s finest knives in his face, and he’s worried about the movies?

“You obviously had a reason,” you murmur, cupping his less-affected left cheek in your hand. “I don’t know if I should, Koko. The tomato bath was one thing, but this… If I do it wrong, I’ll just make it worse.” 

His response is simple: “I trust you.” 

Cute. But not what you need right now.

Blowing out a breath, you stand up on your tiptoes and reach for one of the looser quills. Your fingers barely brush the tip of it when renewed anxiety shoots through you. “No, no. I can’t! I don’t want to hurt you.” 

“You couldn’t if you tried.” He snorts, then winces at the pain. 

“Tell that to the porcupine.” You narrow your eyes. “I think it missed the memo.” 

His ears swivel in acknowledgment. He’s 0–2 in battles today. 

“All right, change of plans,” you announce, clapping your hands and turning on your heel. “We can go to the movies another day. Right now, we need to go to the vet.” 

“It’s not that serious,” he protests. “I’d do it myself if I just had a mirror. Let’s go back to the house, and—”

“I’ll get the car ready.” Your word is final. 

His ears droop atop his head. 

Ultimately, you had to ease him into the passenger’s seat so he didn’t accidentally nudge any of the quills. You debated just shoving him into the trunk so he’d have extra room, but figured extraction would be a difficult task in the clinic’s often-packed parking lot. 

In the waiting room, you try to shield him as best you can from quizzical looks and a particularly curious cat, but he’s without a doubt the largest patient in the room. Likewise, once he’s called to the back, his sheer size makes the exam room furniture look like dollhouse accessories. The central table is nearly the length of his tail alone, and it creaks under his every movement. But you stand dutifully at his side, making sure he’s as comfortable as can be, given the circumstances. 

The vet’s entrance is prompt as always—part of the reason why Valko prefers this clinic. The other is the giant fish tank in the waiting room that he gets to busy himself with. Today, he was in too much pain, but he typically holds intense staring contests with its oblivious inhabitants, bragging to you whenever he “wins.” 

“Well, I typically ask, ‘What seems to be the problem?’,” Dr. Song jokes as she shakes both of your hands. “But today, I don’t think that’s necessary.” 

Sighing, Valko scratches at his jeans. “I went out for a run, and I heard something grunting in a bush nearby. I thought it might’ve been a lost pup, so I went to check it out. Anyone would, right?” He looks to you for support. 

Smiling softly, you rub a hand down his back. “Right.” Not in most circumstances, no!

Nodding gratefully, he continues. “As soon as I crouched down and saw it, it whipped its tail at me. Next thing I knew, it had stabbed me a million times.” 

“Well.” Dr. Song sighs and pulls out a pair of tweezers. “You’re not the worst case I’ve seen. Sometimes, it’s the whole face—and neck.” She waves her hand forward, and Valko scoots toward her on the table. “Let’s get to work, shall we?” 

You take a step back to give her some space, but she quickly shakes her head. “Oh no, you stay standing next to him. I might need you to hold him down.” 

──────

Right when you wonder if Valko’s death grip will shatter every bone in your hand, Dr. Song holds up the final quill in triumph. “That’s nineteen quills total. Looks like Mr. Porcupine let you off easy.” 

Valko kicks the air in desolation. “Doesn’t feel like it.” 

“It will when you wake up tomorrow and you don’t have to wonder, ‘How did it even get my nostrils?’,” she retorts, heading to the door. “Now, let me just get your treatment, and you’ll be free to go.” 

The second she steps into the hall, Valko turns to you and whimpers. “It hurts.” 

Frowning in sympathy, you run your free hand through his hair. “How bad?”

“Really.” 

You start to shush him and scratch the backs of his ears how he likes, but approaching footsteps force him to regain his composure. Still, when Dr. Song re-enters the room, he holds your hand a little tighter. 

“All right,” she begins. “I’m going to disinfect and put ointment on the wounds, and…” She pulls out a familiar, conical object from behind her back. 

Valko freezes as soon as he sees it. Your own mouth parts in shock. 

Is that…? 

No way. 

“...to keep them from getting infected, either through scratching or contamination, I recommend you wear this recovery cone for a week. Just to be safe.” 

When she waves the transparent cone through the air, Valko sputters in consternation. “You want to put me in jail?”

“Of course not. You’ve done nothing wrong. But to prevent further irritation, it’s best that for the next seven days, you only remove this from your neck when absolutely necessary. Also, you should avoid certain skin-to-skin activities that may aggravate the entry spots.” 

You understand her implication, but Valko’s tail thrashes in unease. “What…what kind of activities?” 

The doctor smiles down at him. “The usual. Scenting, kissing, anything further than that. Now! Raise your head for me so I can clean the punctures.” 

Before he does, Valko gives you a look that needs no decoding: I think I’m gonna be sick. 

Day 1

Your keys clatter on the kitchen counter as Valko trails inside behind you. 

Knowing he’ll be glum about his current confinement, you try to get ahead of it, hoping you can offset the bad with so much good, he’ll forget about being in plastic prison.

“So, is there anything you want to do this evening? Watch a drama, make double chocolate chip cookies, play a video game? I could order in from your favorite steakhouse if you want. Or we could go for a walk?” 

Despite your efforts, his lips stay curved downward. His ears barely twitch at the mention of his favorite things. 

“Okay, what about—”

“I look dumb,” he mumbles suddenly, blinking at you through the cone. It surrounds his head like petals to a flower, stopping just above his nose. He looks like an upright bullhorn, or perhaps a frilled lizard, but you can’t tell him that. 

“You look safe,” you say instead. “That’s what matters, yeah?”

“Not when I look dumb, too.” With a huff, he reaches behind his head, eager to free himself of Conecatraz. But before he can undo the clasp, you’re crossing your arms and tapping your foot, giving him a withering glare. 

“You know you aren’t supposed to touch that. Put your hands down.”

“Make me.”

Oh, really? That’s how it is?

Scoffing, you cock your head at him, and the first signs of regret appear on his face. “‘Make’ you, huh? Should I call the vet and tell her what you’re up to? I’m sure she has advice for patients who break the rules. Like, maybe if you mess with your cone too much and stunt your healing progress, you’ll just have to wear it even longer to make up for it?” You start to turn, ready to stalk toward the house phone. 

“No, wait!” Lurching forward, he tries to bend down to snuggle you in apology—a favorite habit of his. But you sidestep him quickly, clicking your tongue in admonishment. 

As he loses his balance, he gives you a look of ultimate betrayal.

“Don’t pout at me. I'm doing this for you, okay? You heard the doctor. Where your face is concerned, skin-to-skin contact is off limits for now.”

As if he didn't hear you, he ducks toward you again, desperate to marry his cone to your shoulder. This time, you give his arm a healthy pinch, and he yelps in shock.

“No, Koko. It's for your own good.”

Frustration grows on his face, beginning to claw at your heart, too. He’s never had to limit contact with you like this. Even when you first met, he was stuck to you like a magnet. 

Sighing, you try to bring him some comfort. “Here. Get on your knees.” 

He follows the order without further prompting, sinking to his knees on the kitchen floor. Even like this, he’s still half your height. 

“Come here.” Reaching through the cone’s opening, you pet the top of his head, running your fingers through his soft strands with care. When he leans into your touch, you trace his ears with light strokes and smile when he shudders. Gradually, the deep frown on his face shrinks to a mild line of displeasure. 

He wraps his strong arms around your thighs in a stubborn thank-you, and you can't help but coo down at him. “You’re my big, strong wolf, aren’t you? It’ll be over before you know it. You can handle this, no problem.” 

Day 3

Valko could not handle it, and there were many problems. 

In fact, while he was bored out of his mind the night of Day 2, he pried open his laptop and drafted a list of complaints.

Eating has become an unpleasant experience. While he’s permitted to remove the cone at mealtimes, he must eat in a separate room so your scent doesn’t lure his unprotected self over. Worse, you will not enter the room until he’s refastened the cone around his neck. The humiliation of having to cone himself solely to win your presence is quickly becoming too much to bear. 

You won’t let him go on errands with you, lest he get into something he shouldn't and aggravate his wounds. This makes him incredibly restless—especially when you come home smelling like other people and things, and there’s nothing he can do about it. This causes significant anxiety and emotional distress. 

He usually sleeps with his tail curled around you and his face shoved deep into your skin. This earns him a constant stream of your scent. However, a wall of pillows now separates your sides of the bed. Even worse, he is not permitted to remove the cone for the night. This causes discomfort and loss of familiarity, which undermines the restorative purpose of sleep. He will be sending you any medical bills that arise due to his sleep deprivation. 

Last, but perhaps most important: the cone obstructs his view of you, which he depends on for energy throughout the day. (You’re quick to deem this one questionable, because the cone is fully see through???)

A document of his grievances was taped to your blanket, just over your heart, this morning. 

Clearly, he had a lot on his mind. 

Now, you lie on the sofa watching TV, trying to cuddle with him as best you can. Your fingers are intertwined, and he’s sprawled awkwardly across your lap, face up and eyes begging. You try to ignore the incessant nonverbal pleading, rubbing circles into his skin with your thumb. 

Sometimes, he turns his head into your belly—or maybe a little lower—and inhales as deeply as he can through the plastic. When you gasp and swat at him, suddenly scandalized, he only huffs and grumbles, bringing you closer. “Just let me have this.”

As the sun dips in the sky, he almost relaxes. He grows captivated by the nature show you’re watching, ears going into overdrive from all the birdsongs and animal calls. It’s the calmest he’s been in the last three days, you think—until the “woodland creatures” portion of the show begins.

His mortal enemy lies in wait within.

“It’s not as big as the one that did this to me,” he growls at the porcupine stumbling around on the screen. “He was a monster.”

“I’m sure he was,” you answer automatically. You’re used to this by now. “How else could he have taken you down?”

Valko grunts in agreement, then pauses the TV. “Can we do something else now?”

“Okay.” You squint at him warily. “Something like what?”

Slowly, as if you won’t be able to see him, he trails his hand down your side, gently squeezing at your hip.

“No,” you sigh, firmly returning his hand to him. 

Tuning out his protests, you unpause the show. At that moment, a closeup of the porcupine’s snout fills the screen.

“Can you at least change the channel, then?” he mumbles.

Day 5

Since you’ve known him, Valko has never been one to give up. Driven and scrupulous, he approaches life with an outlook that’s both endearing and exhausting: if not now, maybe later.

It’s no surprise, then, when his attempts to hold and claim you like normal escalate to new heights. 

One time, you catch him in the midst of the most primal desperation. 

It’s not even noon yet, but here he is: laid out nude in the middle of your bed, head propped on his set of pillows while he clutches one of yours to his cone. With his instincts compromised and your scent already flooding his nose, he can’t yet tell that you’ve entered the room. And boy. If you thought he was shameless in public, Valko in private is a whole different animal.

His hand is all but glued to the heavy bulk between his legs, pumping and twisting like he’ll die if he doesn’t. 

His thumb circles his tip as he works his rhythm, abs flexing with each ragged breath. Every soft, broken moan of your name is an axe to your resolve. 

Before you do something you’ll regret, you try to back out of the bedroom and leave. But as soon as one foot is out the door, your shoulder hits the wall with a quiet thump. 

You freeze instantly, your heart dropping to your feet.

There’s no point in hoping he didn’t hear. To Valko, no sound is ever quiet.

He jerks his head toward you immediately, steady pumps getting wilder the moment your eyes meet. “Fuck,” he pants, writhing desperately on the sheets. His massive thighs tremble with every movement, sending tiny shocks of heat to your core. “Fuck.”

“Valk—”

“Please help me. Please, it hurts so bad. I need you so bad, please, it’s been days.”

You bite your lip so hard, you think you’ll draw blood. “You know I can’t.”

“I don’t care what the vet said,” he growls, fist finally coming to a stop. “I care about you.” 

Clinging to resolve, you cross your arms and stay put. At that, he closes his eyes and breathes slow and deep through his nose.

“Just— Help me finish, please. You don’t have to touch anywhere near my face. That’s the rule, right?”

As that pleading stare pins you to the spot once more, you bite your lip in consideration. He’s flushed all over, and a thin sheen of sweat coats his whole body. He really does need your help, but can you risk it?

When his mask slips, letting the hungry glint in his eyes shine through, you know you can’t.

“I won’t touch you, Valko. But you can use this.” Swiftly, you tug your shirt over your head and toss it onto the bed. He catches it with ease, and behind the cone, his face contorts in bewilderment.

“Use it?”

“To finish,” you explain, folding your arms across your bra. “It’s the safest way I can help you right now.”

Gazing at you like you’re a deity reborn, he presses the fabric to his cone’s exterior, right outside his nose. As he inhales, a deep, guttural groan escapes him. “Thank you,” he pants. His hand returns to his reddened length, and he redoubles his earlier efforts. 

Leaking arousal glistens on his skin, and you can hear how much easier it makes things for him. Covered in his own desire, he slides his hand up and down with no friction, creating lewd, wet sounds that echo through the room. 

“Thank you, thank you— Fuck, thank you. I’ve done this like ten times already, and it’s taken me longer every go,” he admits shamelessly. “This is so much better. Not as good as you, but so much better. Thank you.” 

He bucks his hips into his giant fist, and for a moment, you fear your shared bed might collapse under his ferocity. Once he starts licking the cone’s wall, as if he’ll be able to taste your shirt through the plastic, you almost want to avert your eyes and leave the two of them alone together. 

You don’t have long to ponder it. Soon after, Valko comes quickly with a deep groan of your name, coating his skin in spills of white. As he convulses in pleasure, you approach his bedside to stroke his hair through the cone’s opening—just like you have for the last several days. Valko whines at your touch. 

“Shh, baby. It’s okay,” you whisper. “Just two more days, yeah?”

His response is halfway between a growl and a grunt. Chuckling, you bend to kiss his damp, darkened hair. “Just two more days.” 

Day 7

At 12 a.m., you wake to an empty bed. “Koko?”

There’s no response to your call. Groaning, you throw off the covers and stretch your tired limbs. Where did he run off to? It’s barely been two hours since you went to bed.

Hugging yourself to keep warm, you pad into the dark hallway. The home gym is clear, and he’s not in the kitchen sneaking chocolate. Where could he be?

It doesn’t take long to find out.

In the living room, Valko stands at the back door, gazing at the moon through the window. 

He’s clad only in loose grey sweats. More notably, he’s missing his cone. 

The only indication that he knows you’re there is a near imperceptible twitch of his ears. “It’s day seven, did you know that?” he rumbles. 

Suddenly nervous, you shift on your feet. “I did.” 

“So you also know what I’ve been missing the last seven days.” He turns to face you, eyes stormy and narrowed. “What I haven’t been able to stop thinking about. What I begged you to give me, but you refused. Acted like you were doing me a favor,” he spits out, lips curling into a snarl.

In the moonlight filtering through the window, his amber eyes are a new level of otherworldly. Pale, greyish-white slivers flicker across his chest, making his taut abs seem to ripple in front of you. 

After seven days, he looks very, very grumpy.

You get the sense that you’re in trouble. 

“Koko,” you start, stepping forward to placate him, “you know that’s not—”

“Don’t ‘Koko’ me,” he snaps. “That’s reserved for people I’m close with.”

Is he serious? “You know I’m closer to you than anyone.”

“Right now? After this week? I’m not so sure. But you will be.” His tail swishes behind him as he takes a menacing step toward you. “Come here,” he growls out. 

“We can talk about this, but I’m not going to—”

“Three.”

“Okay, are you seriously threatening me with a countdown?”

“Two.” 

“That’s my thing! You know, when you won’t let me get out of bed, or when you bite too hard, or—”

He doesn’t let you get to “one.”

When he bursts forward at superhuman speed, he doesn’t even give you the chance to run. 

You’re in his arms in an instant, thrashing wildly as he tries to pull you both to the floor. “You’re heavy as fuck!” you bark at him. “Let me go!”

“No.” He overpowers you easily, lowering you to the carpet and quickly pinning you there. He only takes a moment to revel in your submission—your high squeaks and whimpers and feeble attempts to swat him off. Evidently, he has bigger plans for you.

While you wriggle beneath him, he deftly kicks off his sweats and quickly deals with your clothes. You’re wearing only a nightshirt—his, you notice all too late—and completely vulnerable to his impatience.

He rips a line straight down the middle, clumsily shrugging the worn fabric off you. While you’re too busy gawking to register his actions, he slides down your body, coming to a halt at your traitorously wet heat. 

“Usually, at least a little bit of my scent lingers here,” he says, inhaling you deeply. “You’ve lost it after not taking me for so long. But we’ll fix it, won’t we?”

When you don’t respond, his eyes flash up at you. “Won’t we?”

“Y-Yeah,” you whisper, signing away your fate.

“Yeah, we will.” Surging forward, he places an open-mouthed kiss to your entrance, swirling his tongue into you without warning. His ensuing groan could start a national scandal. 

“I’m gonna let you go, all right?” He nips your inner thigh. “Don’t try to run from me. I’ll catch you.” 

He watches closely as he eases off of you, but there’s no need—you obey. 

“Good girl,” he mocks, and you break his gaze with a huff. 

Chuckling, he sweeps his hair back and lies down on the carpet, grabbing your arm and dragging you to him. “Sit on me.”

“…What?”

“My face. Sit on it.”

“…What?” 

“Oh, I get it. Is this a ‘make me’ kind of thing? Well, if you insis—”

“No!” You hold your hands out in defense, grimacing when he grins at you. “You know we’ve never…done that before.”

He shrugs. “First time for everything. Hop on.”

You stay put, shaking your head with vigor no matter how hard your center pulses. “What if you can’t breathe?”

“Don’t need to.”

“I think you do, but okay.” Playing with your fingers, you search for another excuse. “What if I’m too heavy?”

Valko’s smile slips, and his top lip curls as he looks at you flatly. “Now you’re just insulting me.” 

In retrospect, you should’ve known that one wouldn’t get you very far.

“Fine,” you concede shakily. Crawling toward him, you put your hands on either side of his massive body and sit down on him in a straddle. Gingerly, you scoot up, and up, and up, until your hips are right below his chin. His smirk widens all the way. 

“Last chance to back out,” you offer helplessly. How would grilled porcupine taste?

“In your dreams.” In an instant, his arm shoots out behind you and guides you forward. You cry out the second your sensitive flesh meets his skin, nearly cursing from the foreign sensation. 

For a moment, all he does is breathe you in. Lewd, deep inhales, trying to siphon the scent from your depths. “Missed this,” he murmurs, words slightly muffled. “Missed you. Fuck, you’re so good. You smell so good.”

You’re afraid to look down, but you don’t have to. You can hear his smile.

Instead, you look behind you, seeing that his thick, veiny length is flushed and leaking already. Your gulp echoes in your ears. 

A soft press of his lips to your throbbing clit pulls you back to your senses. With another kiss, he positions the bud over his nose and your entrance over his mouth, so he’s sure to catch all your desire.

When he squeezes your hip, you know he’s asking for more. Gently, timidly, you rock against his face to appease him. Valko, though, ever observant when you’re involved, knows you’re withholding your full weight. 

And he won’t have it. 

Simultaneously, he delivers a sharp slap to your backside and nips your clit in warning. When you squeal out into the cool air, he soothes the sting with a searing lash of his tongue. 

“I’m trying!” you cry. “Whenever we do this, I’m always the one on my back! I feel weird.”

Squeezing your hips, he lifts you up just enough to speak. “Tough.”

Then, he plops you right back down, the smack of skin on skin spreading a wildfire across your cheeks.

Eager to explore, he glides his tongue around your core, poking and prodding wherever he likes. When you arch away from the pleasure, too sensitive to stay still, he decides he’s had enough. 

His tight grip on your hips is his first act of defiance. But when he starts bouncing you on his face, alternating between his mouth and nose, you’re more than ready to throw in the towel. 

“Valko!” you whine. Up and down, down and up. Up and down again and again. How long has he wanted this?

A response would require a pause in his actions, so of course, he doesn’t provide one. Instead, he flattens his tongue against your clit and makes you grind your hips down onto him, like he’s nothing but an extension of you. “Valko!” you repeat, stars quickly clouding your vision.

All he offers is an unburdened grunt, clearly not planning on stopping anytime soon. And why would he, when there’s so much to lap up?

A mix of his saliva and your arousal pools between you, with sound effects previously unheard of filling the room. You’re so wet, at one point, you almost slide down his face to his forehead—but he hauls you back up with a laugh, the vibrations only exacerbating the issue. When you pull at his hair, shy and embarrassed, he merely sucks your clit into his mouth and releases it with a pop. 

Captive to his relentless touch, it isn’t long before your muscles contract and release, sending more and more wetness gushing toward his waiting mouth. 

Your mind is a haze as he licks you clean, making sure not to waste a single drop. You do register, though, how he inhales once again when he’s finished. “Smells like me again. That’s better.”

Thinking his wrath has exhausted itself, you feel your body deflate like a popped balloon. You’re more than ready to melt into the sheets and sleep off the worst of the aftermath. 

“We should seal the deal, though. Just to be sure.”

Valko has other plans.

Before you can blink, he flips you over with force, driving your hands and knees into the carpet. When you yelp, he squeezes your backside in apology, only to slip his fingers down to your open slit. Once he confirms that you’re ready for him, he braces his hands on your hips and slides into you with ease. 

Your startled gasp is his grand opportunity. As you cry out his name, he shoves his fingers into your open mouth, making you sputter and swallow around them. With his other hand, he clamps your jaw shut so you’re forced to bite him, your blunt teeth barely a threat against his skin. 

All the while, he’s moaning and laughing, hips stuttering from his rapid thrusts. Each time his base slaps your backside, you feel him grow larger and larger, until you’re being speared on something you’re not sure you can take. But as your muscles contract around him once more, squeezing him with all that they have, you don’t think that matters anymore.

In tune with your own release, hot spurts shoot deep into your channel, followed by a searing, swollen pressure you don’t know if you’ll ever get used to. It’s at this point that the last of your strength crumbles. But when you start to slump into the floor, you find you can’t move too far—not without bringing Valko with you. 

As you both catch your breath, locked together until the comedown, he slides his hand out of your mouth and slaps your cheek lightly, signaling for you to open your screwed-shut eyes. When you do, he sticks his drool-coated fingers into his own mouth, canines poking into his flesh as he swipes his tongue greedily. 

All you can do is whine.

You don’t know when your bodies will loosen up enough for you to separate. All you know is that he’s got you here, right where he wants you, for a long, long, agonizingly long time. 

──────

“Are you satisfied?” you deadpan as the beast finally tucks you into bed. 

“For now.” You can hear his smirk as he flicks off the lights. Doesn’t make much of a difference, though.

It’s dawn. 

“But you can check back with me in an hour. Maybe my answer will be different.”

“In an hour, I will be dead to the world and recovering from you,” you grumble. Suddenly, you purse your lips. “I’m gonna miss that cone, you know.”

Even in the dim morning light, you can see his brows furrow. “What?” 

“You looked cute in it. Like a little puppy.” Reaching out, you grab his face and squish his cheeks between your fingers. “So cute.”

He scoffs and rolls his eyes, but his tail thumps the mattress. “Whatever. It did have its benefits, though. Tonight was so good, I wouldn’t mind a repeat.”

“You really think you can do that again? Seven whole days, no contact?”

“‘Course I do. It wasn’t that hard for me.”

Your eyes narrow into slits. “Not even you believe that.” 

“Yeah. This was fun, though,” he says through a yawn. “We should do it again sometime. Goodnight.”

As he rolls over and tucks his tail around you, blanketing you in half his body weight, a nagging thought won’t leave your head.

Should you switch vets? 

"Hey!" she said, voice bright enough to make his teeth ache. "Nice bike. Vintage, right?"

Sylus clenched his jaw. Don't engage. She'll leave if you don't engage. He grunted, flicking a speck of rust off the carburetor.

She didn't take the hint. Leaning in, she tapped the fuel tank like they were old friends. "My neighbour used to have one just like this. Well, almost like this. His was blue, and the seat had this weird tear-"

"Mhm." Sylus reached for a wrench, deliberately turning his back.

"-oh, you're so right, it's totally going to rain later-"

Sylus stared.

Her voice twisted, warped. The words melted together like a shrill. His chest ached, hollow and heavy all at once. He knew this feeling. The one that came after the anger, when the fire burned out and left nothing but ashes.

Alone.

Even when she was here, screaming at nothing, he was alone.

She kept talking. About the weather. About some café down the street. About nothing, really. He tuned it out, focusing on tightening a bolt until his fingers hurt.

Finally, he stood, slinging his jacket over his shoulder. He didn't bother with a goodbye, just walked toward the garage door, her voice still bouncing off the concrete walls behind him.

Then it hit him. The talking hadn't stopped.

He glanced back.

She was still there, grinning at the empty space where he'd been standing, gesturing animatedly to no one. Her laughter echoed, high and bright, as if he'd never left.

Sylus exhaled through his nose. Not real. Again.

He shoved his hands in his pockets and kept walking.

Somewhere behind him, she was still laughing. Somewhere inside him, the silence was worse.

***

The clock glared at you from the corner of the screen. 11:47 PM.

Twelve minutes. Twelve fucking minutes.

Your fingers hammered the keyboard like it had personally wronged you. The essay was done, mostly, but the last paragraph was a wreck of half-formed thoughts and caffeine-induced word vomit. You backspaced violently, teeth sinking into your lower lip. "Come on, come on."

Your roommate's cat, an orange ball of fur called Caramel, hopped onto the desk and sat on your notes.

"Not now," you hissed, nudging him away. Caramel flicked his tail in your face and settled just out of arm's reach, watching you suffer with unblinking yellow eyes.

11:53.

You skimmed the essay one last time, your vision blurring from screen fatigue. Was that a typo? Did you mix up "affect" and "effect" again? The words swam on the screen, morphing into meaningless shapes.

Good enough. With a shaky breath, you hit Submit.

The page loaded with agonizing slowness.

11:58.

Your knee bounced under the desk. The cursor spun. Spin, spin, spin.

Submitted successfully!

The clock ticked over to 11:59.

You made a sound between a sob and a laugh, slumping back in your chair. The tension drained from your shoulders all at once, leaving you boneless. For a long moment, you just stared at the ceiling, your heartbeat finally slowing. The desk lamp cast long shadows, the room suddenly too bright, too quiet.

Caramel meowed, unimpressed.

"Yeah, yeah," you muttered, but there was no heat in it. The relief was too sweet.

You got out of the chair, your muscles protesting like you'd run a marathon instead of typing. The shower beckoned you. Hot, steamy, glorious. You turned the water up until it nearly scalded, letting it pound the stress from your back. The shampoo smelled like coconuts, the steam fogging up the mirror until your reflection vanished. For the first time in weeks, you could finally breathe.

After, you slipped into your favorite slip dress. The oversized lavender one that pooled around your thighs. Your skin still hummed with the warmth of the shower, hair dripping lazily onto your shoulders.

Then, the real reward.

You snatched your phone off the charger, thumb hovering over the app you hadn't opened in weeks. Love & Deepspace, the game you'd been too buried in assignments to touch. Just the icon made your pulse skip. The opening theme swelled as it loaded, the familiar melody wrapping around you.

You crossed your fingers. "Please don't crash. Please don't-"

The home screen loaded, vibrant and welcoming. A rush of warmth flooded your chest. God, you'd missed this. Missed the pixel-perfect smiles of your favorite characters, the cheesy dialogues, the way your stomach fluttered during the romance scenes. It was stupid. It was perfect.

You curled onto your bed, pulling the comforter up to your chin. Binx settled beside you, purring.

For the first time in forever, you grinned.

"Alright, baby," you whispered to the screen. “Miss me?”

You blinked at the screen, waiting.

The Destiny Café's afternoon glow bathed everything in honeyed light. Cozy, inviting, but wrong. Because he wasn't there.

Sylus should have been front and center, seated on the couch with that infuriating smirk, his silver-white hair catching the light like frost under the sun. His crimson eyes, like blood spilled over fresh snow, should have been locked onto the screen, onto you, with that knowing glint that always made your stomach flip.

But the space where he usually stood was empty. Just an untouched coffee cup and the faint imprint of where his hip would have rested on the couch.

Your finger hovered over the screen.

What the hell?

You switched to Rafayel. He appeared instantly, greeting you with a soft smile. Then Zayne, Xavier, Caleb. All were present. Exactly as they should've been. But Sylus?

Gone.

You reloaded. Same empty café. Same hollow silence where his voice should have been.

A weird, creeping unease settled in your chest. This wasn't right. Sylus wasn't some side character. He was Sylus, the one who always greeted you, made you laugh, the one whose rare, genuine smile felt like a secret just for you.

You clicked the "Date" tab. His name was still there. But his icon was grayed out, as if you'd never unlocked him. But you had. You knew you had. You remembered the grind, the late nights, the way your heart jumped when his story finally unlocked. You remembered the exact shade of his eyes. His sly remarks.

And now?

Now it was just… nothing.

The game hummed on, oblivious. The other characters chatted, flirted, existed like nothing was wrong.

But you couldn't shake the feeling that something was.

Where the hell was Sylus?

You switched characters again, as if he'd magically appear this time. But no. His spot remained empty. No silver-white hair catching the light, no crimson eyes glinting with amusement. Just emptiness.

Frustration settled under your skin. You exited the game, force-closed it, reopened it. Same empty café. Same missing man.

"Okay, maybe it's just a bug."

You hopped onto Reddit, scrolling through forums, searching for anything about Sylus missing. But there was nothing. No posts, no complaints, no panicked "Where's Sylus??" threads. Just the usual chatter. Fan theories, event guides, thirst edits.

Your stomach twisted.

Why was no one else talking about this?

You checked the official website. No mention of him being removed. No maintenance notices. It was like the universe had decided to gaslight you.

What was the point of playing if he wasn't here?

You glanced at the clock on your bedside table. 2:43 AM. You were too tired for this. Maybe it was just a weird glitch. Maybe tomorrow, when you logged back in, he'd be there like nothing had happened.

With a sigh, you tossed your phone onto the nightstand, flicked off the light, and yanked the covers over your head.

***

You were jolted awake by a sudden, unnatural sensation. Not by any sound or dream, but by the distinct feeling of movement while lying completely still. Your eyes flew open to complete darkness, but this wasn't the familiar comforting dark of your bedroom. The air felt charged.

You rubbed your eyes and felt yourself lifting, floating, as if gravity had momentarily forgotten you existed. Your breath caught in your throat as you realized you were actually hovering, weightless. Before panic could fully take hold, you sensed a presence beside you, touching you, the heat from his body searing through his clothes, enveloping you. Did someone kidnap you?

Slowly, almost afraid of what you might see, you turned your head.

And there, carrying you bridal style, was Sylus. Not as pixels on a screen, but as a living, breathing being. His silver-white hair seemed to glow faintly in the darkness, like moonlight reflecting off fresh snow. Those crimson eyes, the ones you'd have known anywhere, locked onto yours with an intensity that made your heart pound violently against your chest.

"I see someone’s up," he murmured, his voice deeper and richer than you'd ever imagined, sending an unexpected shiver down your spine. The scent of winter air and something faintly metallic, like cold steel, surrounded him. Every rational thought screamed that this couldn't be real, that you had to be dreaming, but the warmth of his breath against your skin felt terrifyingly real.

He smirked, that same infuriatingly perfect smirk you'd seen a hundred times on your phone screen, but now it was directed at you in a way that made your stomach flip. In this impossible moment, only one thought rang clear in your overwhelmed mind. He was real, he was here, and nothing would ever be the same again.

How the hell was he here and not in the game? But he wasn't actually here, right? You were probably just dreaming. A dream that felt dangerously real, one that had your heartbeat accelerating, the hairs on the back of your neck standing upright, your palms clammy, your thoughts all mushed up. Just what the hell was going on?

In that moment, you could think of nothing else but to do the only sane thing. The one thing any normal person would do. You screamed. Maybe Sylus wasn't expecting that. He stopped in his tracks and, just for a faint second, you noticed his eyes widen. Your scream tore through the night air. Before the second shriek could escape, Sylus' gloved hand clamped over your mouth.

The leather smelled faintly of gun oil and winter mint, an unsettlingly human detail for someone who shouldn't exist.

"Easy there, little kitten," he murmured, crimson eyes glinting with amusement under the moonlight. "We're in the N109 Zone. Do you really want an audience here?"

His thumb brushed your cheekbone, lingering a moment longer than it needed to.

The scream died in your throat as his words registered. N109 Zone. You'd seen it in the game before. You remembered what almost happened to the MC when she first came here. Your wide eyes darted past Sylus' shoulder, finally taking in your surroundings properly.

Moonlight bled through the trees, their twisted branches clawing at the sky. The air hummed with something electric, raising goosebumps along your arms. Ahead of you, where Sylus was walking, still carrying you like you weighed nothing, stood a glorious mansion adorned with intricate details, sculptures, gardens punctuated with red roses.

Sylus followed your gaze. "Ah. You've noticed our destination." He let you down, setting you carefully on your feet. "Walk with me. Questions can wait until I've safely escorted you inside."

Every survival instinct screamed to wrench away, but the rational part of your brain knew escape would be futile. This was Sylus, after all. Dream or not.

You found yourself matching his strides as he led you toward the glowing mansion, your bare feet sinking into unnaturally warm moss with each step.

The night was still young. Your slip dress, once perfectly comfortable in your bedroom, now felt flimsy as tissue paper.

"You're shaking," Sylus observed without breaking stride, his thumb finding your pulse point, where your heartbeat fluttered like a caged bird. "Don't tell me you only like me from behind a screen."

"I do like you. But you're not even real." You managed to speak without stuttering, although you knew he sensed the nervousness in your voice anyway.

"Or am I, sweetie?"

"I’d rather my fictional characters stay fictional," you snapped, then immediately regretted it when his fingers tightened fractionally.

Sylus laughed, a rich, unsettling sound that didn't quite reach those blood-bright eyes. "Your?"

The mansion loomed closer, its glowing arches humming. Something in that sound made your teeth ache. Sylus' grip shifted to your elbow as you approached the massive doors, his breath warm against your ear. "Deep breaths now. I wouldn't want my guest to panic. What kind of host would that make me?"

You locked eyes with him. There was something in his gaze you couldn't quite discern. This dream, or whatever it was, was driving you crazy.

As the doors swung open silently, revealing a cavernous hall pulsing with strange light, you realized with dawning horror that maybe, just maybe, this wasn't just some bizarre dream. But that wouldn’t make sense, right?

The game had never shown this place. Never warned about any of this. And the man beside you, the one whose smirk had once made your stomach flutter, now felt about as safe as a live wire in a thunderstorm.

Your breath caught as you took in the grand hall, its vaulted ceilings stretching endlessly. The air hummed with a faint warmth, carrying the scent of aged parchment and something richer, like smoldering embers and black tea. The walls were adorned with intricate carvings, their swirling patterns shifting subtly under the glow of floating orbs of light that drifted lazily through the space.

This place shouldn't have existed.

You'd spent hours in Love & Deepspace, memorizing every pixel of Sylus' world, or so you'd thought. But this? This had never been in the game.

As if reading your thoughts, Sylus chuckled low beside you. "The game only showed the places I wanted it to."

You tore your gaze from the opulent decor to glance at him, but he was already looking away, his expression unreadable. Still, you caught the faintest curve of his lips, smug, satisfied. Like he was enjoying your bewilderment.

Before you could retort, he stepped forward, extending a gloved hand toward you. "Come." It wasn't a request.

You hesitated, fingers twitching at your sides. Every rational instinct screamed that you shouldn't take it, that you should demand answers, find a way back, run. But curiosity was a traitorous thing.

You placed your hand in his.

His fingers closed around yours, warm and firm.

He guided you through the mansion with quiet precision, his grip on your hand unyielding as you moved through rooms that felt too expansive, too real to belong to any game. The air smelled of polished wood and gun oil. The walls were lined with sleek display cases, holding meticulously maintained firearms. Some modern, some antique.

A long hallway opened into what looked like an armory: racks of rifles and handguns. You recognized some from the game, the sleek, futuristic designs that had always appeared when you fought alongside Sylus. But others were unfamiliar, their edges worn from use. You paused beside a case holding a silver revolver. "This wasn't in the game," you murmured.

Sylus hummed, stepping closer, his shoulder brushing yours as he reached past you to tap the glass. "No. Some things are just for me."

The next chamber was a training area: mats covering the floor, a shooting range tucked behind soundproof glass. A half-dismantled rifle lay on a workbench, its parts spread out.

You couldn't believe your eyes. Yes, Sylus was your favourite fictional character. He was just your type. You'd spent hours reading his fanfictions, replaying his memories, poring over his fanart. But this? This was incomprehensible. Was this dangerous, or exciting? Were you dead, or dreaming?

You turned to him, your pulse quickening. "Is this real?" you asked, your voice barely above a whisper. "Or am I inside the game or something? ‘Cus this does not feel like a dream at all."

Sylus studied you for a long moment, his crimson eyes unreadable. Then, with deliberate slowness, he caught your wrist, guiding your hand to his chest. Beneath the fabric of his shirt, you felt the steady, rhythmic beat of his heart.

"Does it matter?" he murmured.

Your fingers curled slightly against him, warmth seeping through the material. It was too real, the heat of his skin, the faint scent of leather and something darker, like black coffee. The game never felt this real. It felt, well, just like a game.

He tilted his head, watching your reaction with that same infuriating smirk. "You wanted answers," he said. "But you haven't asked the right question yet."

You swallowed. "Then what's the right question?"

Sylus leaned in, his breath brushing your ear. "Not where you are," he said. "But why you're here."

A shiver ran down your spine.

Before you could respond, he straightened and tugged you forward again. "Come. I want to show you something."

And despite the unease coiling in your stomach, you followed.

The heavy oak door swung open under Sylus' touch, revealing a library so vast it made your breath hitch. Towering mahogany shelves stretched toward the ceiling, their upper levels vanishing into darkness. Rolling ladders stood along the walls. The scent of aged paper and polished wood wrapped around you, rich and comforting.

You took an involuntary step forward, your fingers already itching to touch the spines. "This is..." Words failed you as your gaze traveled up, up, up the endless shelves.

"Excessive?" Sylus offered, his voice laced with amusement. He leaned against the doorframe, watching your reaction with those piercing crimson eyes. "Or perhaps just adequate."

You turned to him, eyebrows raised. "Adequate for what? Collecting every book ever printed?"

His lips quirked in that infuriating half-smile. "For you."

"For... me?" Your hand froze halfway to pulling out a volume of what appeared to be 18th century botanical illustrations.

"You like books." He pushed off the doorframe and strode toward you, his boots silent on the thick rug. "I noticed. When you wouldn't log in to finish a book you'd just bought. When you'd pause the game just to squint at some background text."

Heat crept up your neck. You hadn't realized he'd been paying that much attention. How could you? Until now you didn't know he was real. Although you still weren't entirely sure. "So you... what? Built me a library?"

"Some of these don't exist in your world. First editions of books that were never published. Manuscripts that were lost to war or censorship." His gloved fingers brushed a bookspine. "Thought you might appreciate holding what others never got to read."

Your throat tightened unexpectedly. This wasn't just some game logic, this was thoughtful in a way that unsettled you. "But why go to all this trouble?"

Sylus tilted his head, as if taking in your every word. "Why does a hunter maintain his weapons? Why does a scholar preserve his texts?" He reached past you to pull out a slender volume bound in deep blue leather. "We care for the things that matter."

That matter? Did you matter to him? So much to have him build you an entire library.

The book pressed into your hands felt strangely warm. You opened it carefully to find handwritten pages in a language you didn't recognize.

"Okay." You closed the book slowly, gathering yourself. "I get it. You made this, all of this, for me." You gestured vaguely at the shelves towering around you. "But why? I'm so confused. How do you even know me? Like, actually know me. Not the version of me that logs in for fifteen minutes between classes."

Sylus stared you for a long moment, something unreadable flickering behind his eyes. "That's the question you should have led with."

"That's not an answer."

"No," he agreed. "It isn't."

He stepped closer, close enough that you had to tilt your head back to hold his gaze. "But I'll give you this much." His voice dropped, quieter, stripped of its usual teasing edge. "I don't hide my affections. I'm smitten with youm, have been for longer than you'd believe. You're all I've ever known that felt worth knowing."

Your breath caught. "That's not an answer either."

"No," he said again, the smirk returning, softer this time. "But it's true. The rest, you'll have to earn."

You looked away first, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. You didn't know what to say to that, didn't know where to put your hands or your eyes or the strange, fluttering thing lodged in your chest. He'd just said it so plainly, like it cost him nothing to hand over, while you stood there fumbling for words that refused to come. He was so unfairly expressive, so sure of what he felt and unbothered by saying it out loud, and you were just... clueless. Overwhelmed. Out of your depth in a library that shouldn't exist, standing in front of a man who apparently knew exactly what he wanted.

"I–" You cleared your throat, staring very intently at the spine of the nearest book instead of at him. "That's a lot to just... say."

"Is it?" Something in his tone suggested he found your fluster more amusing than he'd admit.

back to where the air inside the car felt choked by the stench of stale iron—like an old toolbox left out in the rain. he hadn't said a single word to you, had he? that was the part that made your heart thrash against your ribs. monsters in the movies always growl, always give you a reason to fear them, but this one just had those quiet hands. when his leather-gloved fingers shoved you back against the passenger seat, it felt like being tucked into a coffin by someone who was simply doing their chores.

“get off—ugh, let me go!” the words were nothing but little scraps of sound, bouncing uselessly off the dashboard.

you weren't a delicate creature who knew how to faint on cue, though. no, you were wilder than that. 

your boots found the floorboards, digging in until the rubber groaned, and you lunged forward with your teeth bared. when you bit down on the rough canvas of his sleeve, you tasted a faint hint of peppermint. it was an ugly, frantic thing. he didn't even flinch, not even when your knee drove hard into the center of his chest. he just tilted his wrist, and that sharp little silver tooth of a dagger bit down into your thigh. one. two. three. four times. a sickening prickle of heat that turned the dark woods outside into a blinding flash of pure white canvas.

“aaagh!!”

but it bought you a second. just enough for your numb fingers, tied, to catch the cold metal of the door latch.

and then, tumble. crack. you were down in the dirt, out in the five o'clock air.

running when your hands are bound tightly behind your back with plastic zip-ties is such a silly childish sight, isn't it? you looked like a little bird with its wings clipped, tilting dangerously forward as you leapt over the mossy roots of the acacia trees. behind you, the heavy thud of the car door closing wasn't loud, but it settled deep in your chest.

run, run.

the sky above was throwing a tantrum, bleeding out into a bruised palette of deep violet and charcoal clouds. the acacias hung their heads low, their massive branches whispering secrets to each other as the first few drops of cold rain began to prickle the air.

“help! please, is anyone out there?” 

your jeans were soaked through now, the dark denim turning heavy and stiff as the warm ribbons of red ran down your shins. every step was a blind guess. you couldn't see the sharp stones hidden beneath the carpet of dead leaves, couldn't tell where the earth simply dropped off into the black throat of the ravine. you were just a panicked thing breaking through the brambles, your heart drumming a frantic little rhythm against your ribs, running from a hunter who didn't even have to chase you to keep you moving.

but the universe is a playful storyteller, and it loves to toy with its favorites.

with a sharp gasp, your boot caught the slick underbelly of a wet log. the earth rushed up to meet you, knocking the air right out of your lungs with a miserable huff. you stayed there for a moment, your cheek pressed into the rotting mulch. stay down, the mud seemed to whisper. it’s easier if you stay down.

everything was gone. your purse, your keys, the small trinkets of your ordinary life—all left behind on that leather seat. but there was still a reassuring weight pressing against your hip. your phone was still there, tucked away in the closed pocket of your jeans.

you twisted your torso, your purple-tipped fingers scratching uselessly against the thick fabric behind your back. but with your wrists clamped together so tightly, your hands were nothing but clumsy weights. you couldn't even reach the metal teeth of the zipper. you wanted to cry out again, to scream for a savior, but the woods had grown eerily quiet. if you made a sound, you’d be giving the man with the knife a perfect map straight to your hiding place. so you just lay there, grinding your wrists against the plastic ties until the skin split, hot tears finally cutting clean paths through the grime on your face. please, just break. please.

snap!

only it wasn't the plastic that broke. it was a twig, just a few feet away.

instantly your head jerked up, eyes wide and glassy with a primitive sort of horror as you pressed your spine hard against the rough bark of the log. through the misty twilight, a silhouette stepped out from between the acacias. a tall, familiar frame. an oversized hoodie that looked entirely too ordinary for a nightmare like this.

a boy.

for some reason, your brain gave a dizzy little hiccup—a spark of memory that felt like looking at a blurred high school yearbook through a window. wait... do i know those eyes? but your survival instinct didn't care about names. it just screamed at you to crawl, and so you scrambled forward on your knees like a broken doll, throwing your weight toward him.

“please,” you sobbed, your voice breaking into pieces. “please, you have to help me... there’s a man... he has a knife...”

the boy stopped dead in his tracks. for a heartbeat, his face went completely blank—a sort of stillness that felt a bit too quiet. then, like a curtain being pulled back, his expression shattered into pure breathless panic.

“oh my god—hey, hey, stop moving, what the fuck happened to you?”

he dropped heavily into the leaves, his knees sinking into the damp dirt. his hands hovered over your shaking shoulders, trembling slightly as if he were afraid that touching you would make you fall apart into smaller pieces.

you knew this guy. it was... calvin. wait, no, clark? cal... caleb! 

caleb from senior high. the boy who used to sit just two rows ahead of you in class. what was he doing out here in the deep woods? why now? 

none of it mattered, anyway. he wasn't the man in the mask. he was safe. and you have to ask for help. 

“jesus, your legs... you're bleeding so much,” he stammers, his eyes wide and swimming with concern while he takes in the state of your torn denim. “are you okay? can you hear me? who did this to you?”

isn't it beautiful how the world works? out of all the corners in this forest, the universe dropped a safe familiar boy right into your path. you could finally let go of the breath you’d been holding. everything was going to be fine now.

the tiny click of his pocketknife was the sweetest sound you’d ever heard. the moment the plastic tie snapped, your hands flew forward like trapped birds escaping a cage. your fingers were stiff, burning with a painful rush of pins and needles, but you ignored it, shoving your hand into your pocket to pull out the small rectangle of your phone.

your thumb left a dark smudge of dirt across the glass as the screen flashed to life, illuminating your pale face in a harsh square of digital light. no service. the little gray bars in the top corner were empty, a row of hollow lines laughing at your desperation. you dialed the three emergency digits anyway, your thumb shaking so violently you could barely hit the glass, but the screen just spun a uselessly endless circle before dropping into nothingness.

“no, no, no... please, work,” you whispered, the tears finally spilling over your lashes. you instinctively reached out, your fingers bunching into the fabric of his jacket before you even realized you were gripping him. “please—your phone. try your phone. we need the police. we need an ambulance right now!”

he looked down at you, his features soft and utterly helpless, heavy with pity. he slowly pulled his own phone from his pocket, his thumb tapping the glass with a worried crease between his brows, before turning the empty screen toward you. “there's nothing,” he said softly, voice dropping into a comforting murmur meant to soothe your rising hysteria. “we’re too deep down in the valley. the reception doesn't really reach out here...”

“w-we have to walk then,” you babbled, a spike of adrenaline forcing you to try and push yourself upward. you pressed your palms against his shoulders, trying to force your legs to bear your weight, but the moment you put pressure on your right thigh, the cuts ripped open with a blinding flare of agony. your knee buckled instantly, the world tilting sideways as your vision went fuzzy.

if he hadn't caught you, your head would have cracked right against the rotted log.

but caleb’s arms were right there, locked around your waist to keep you from falling. “hey, hey, hey easy. please stop trying to move,” he coos, his voice falling right back into that familiar one you remember from years ago, though he looked at you with the detached worry of a stranger who had simply stumbled upon a tragedy. “you can't run in this state, ma'am. you're losing too much blood, and the main highway is miles away. if you try to walk, you're going to collapse before we even make it past the ridge.”

then, he fell silent.

his hands stayed planted firmly on your hips, placing you against him. for a long second, the frantic panic on his face settled into something else—something unreadable, calculated, and entirely too still. his violet eyes slowly dragged down the length of your torn jeans, watching the way the wet crimson was staining the fabric. he took in the shivering curve of your exposed throat, the way your breath came in terrified little hitches.

“please, ma'am, listen to me,” he whispered, his breath warm against your freezing cheek. “my cabin is just over the crest. it’s not far, maybe a five-minute walk at most. i can wash these cuts, bind them up so you stop bleeding, and let you rest. once the storm passes and you're stable, i'll get you out of here. okay?”

no, no, you wanted to fight him on it. you wanted the safety of a hospital room, the comfort of the lights, the security of walls that didn't belong to a lonely house hidden in the middle of nowhere. but your body was giving up. the blood loss was drawing a curtain over your mind, making your eyelids feel like lead weights. 

the air was turning freezing cold, and caleb was the only warm thing left in the whole world.

before you could even mutter a protest, he shifted his weight, slipping one strong arm under the crook of your knees and the other behind your shoulders. he lifted you effortlessly, pulling you tightly against his chest as if you weighed nothing at all.

“hospital...” you managed to slur, the word breaking apart on your lips. “take me... to the hospital...”

“no need for now, alright? i’ve got you,” he murmured back—the very last thing you heard. 

—

you open your eyes. slowly.

and there, you find yourself—

tucked away so neatly, blanketed on a sunken couch that divots deeply under your weight, right within the quiet premises of the cabin caleb promised an hour ago. the orange glow of a crackling fireplace dances across the exposed timber walls, casting playful shadows that stretch across the floorboards like reaching fingers. you’re still wearing the same clothes, dried into uncomfortable creases against your skin, and the iron tang of your own blood has cooked into a heavy musk under the warmth of the wool thrown over you.

just as the fog in your mind begins to lift, a rhythmic scuff of socks echoes from the far end of the hallway.

out steps caleb—carrying a candlestick, the small yellow flame haloing his face in a way that makes him look almost saintly, a golden boy stepping out from the shadows to check on his patient. the moment his eyes find yours open in the firelight, his entire posture softens, with shoulders dropping into a visible sigh of relief.

“oh, thank goodness,” he rushes to you, his steps hurried but careful, setting the candlelight down on a small wooden side table where it flickers against the polished grain. “you're awake. i... jesus, i am so sorry about all of this. the situation, the... the place. it’s a bit rustic, i know, and it probably feels terrifying waking up somewhere, you know, after what you've been through.”

you try to swallow, but your throat feels like it's coated in sand. 

your head is still heavily fogged, swimming with the lingering aftereffects of shock and blood loss, so all you can do is look around cautiously, wordlessly, and tiredly. 

the cabin is small, wrapped in dark wood, the corners swallowed by a cozy gloom. on the table beside the candle, a white plastic medical kit sits waiting, its red cross staring back at you like a clinical eye...

“oh, uhm- i wanted to wait until you woke up before i did anything,” caleb explains gently, kneeling down by the edge of the couch so he's at eye level with you. “i didn't want to start treating your wounds while you were unconscious. i thought... well, given everything, waking up to a stranger touching you would be a nightmare.”

you try to shift, pulling your legs inward to sit up, but the movement drags the dried denim against the raw gashes along your thighs. so the cuts sting fiercely, a sharp reminder of the dagger that makes you wince. “ugh—”

“hey, hey—don't move, please,” caleb says instantly, moving closer and sitting on the very edge of the cushion beside you. his hand hovers over your knee, twitching slightly as if he wants to press you back down, but he keeps his distance to maintain that careful boundary. “you're going to tear the edges of the cuts open again. just... stay still.”

he looks down at your legs, and a subtle awkward tension thickens the air between you. 

with your tight jeans still on, it’s obvious to both of you—it would be incredibly hard to treat cuts that high up without getting the fabric out of the way. he clears his throat, his cheeks catching a faintly boyish flush in the firelight as he pulls the medical kit a little closer, though he doesn't make a move to touch you.

you ignore his gentle commands, your brain completely bypassing the medical kit, because of a cold prickle of reality beginning to chip away at the warmth. your eyes travel past his shoulder, fixing onto the dark pane of the window. outside, the rain is persistent and incredibly loud.

“...what time is it?” your voice comes out rough, cracking against the quiet of the cabin.

caleb blinks, shifting his weight as he awkwardly clears his throat again, his gaze deliberately facing away from your legs, staring instead at the flickering hearth. “it’s... just past seven, the storm really rolled in fast. it's coming down pretty hard out there.”

“seven?” 

two hours. 

you’ve been away for two hours. 

and your bag is gone. 

and your phone is fucking dead. 

you turn back to him, your eyes growing more frantic as the questions begin to tumble out of you, one after another, getting faster and more panicked by the second. “where exactly are we, caleb? how far is the road? did you see anyone else out there? did you hear a car? my family—someone is going to notice i'm missing, they're going to call the police, we need to try the phones again, there has to be a landline here, right? caleb, is there a landline?”

there was a tiny microscopic hitch in his shoulders, the sort of stillness that makes the fire crackle just a little louder in the silence. he doesn't answer right away. instead, his head turns slowly back toward you, the candlelight catching the genuine confusion written across his brow. his lips part, a faint perplexed half-smile tugging at one corner of his mouth as he points a finger at his own chest.

“wait, how... how do you know my name? have we... met before tonight?”

you stare at him, your own panic temporarily short-circuiting into bewilderment. 

huh, how did he not remember you? 

your mind races, digging through the fog. sure, you two were never close—never the type to hang out after the final bell or trade text messages—but you sat right behind him during senior year calculus. you watched him doodle in the margins of his notebook for an entire semester. you walked the same stage at graduation. granted, it had been years, and people change, but to be erased from someone's memory while you were currently bleeding out on their couch felt like a joke.

“a-are you serious?” you ask, your voice cracking slightly as you look at him. “caleb. caleb xia, right? we went to senior high together, we graduated from the same school.”

caleb blinks, his brow furrowing deeper as he genuinely seems to search his brain, looking at you with clueless eyes. “i—yeah, that's my name, but... high school? sorry i'm trying to place you, but my head is kind of spinning right now with the whole... you know, finding you in the woods thing.” he bites his lip, that was a bit too insensitive? “uh did you go to the main campus?”

“yes!” you burst out, frustrated by the sheer absurdity of the timing. “we were literally in the same department. we took the same core classes. think about it—do you remember section three? mr. harrison's homeroom? the room right at the end of the second-floor hall next to the old laboratory?”

there is an agonizing stretch of silence where caleb just stares at you. 

the rain hammers against the windowpane, loud and persistent, filling the gap between your desperate breaths. and then he looks at your face, eyes tracing your features with a deliberate attempt that makes the hairs on your arms stand up, though his expression remains perfectly and innocently blank.

then, his eyes widen—

“oh!” he lets out a breathless gasp, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck in sudden realization.

“oh my god, to think that you still remember me...” he breathes, shaking his head as a self-deprecating smile breaks across his face. “wow. you're... you're that girl. you're [name], right? from the back row? wow, jesus, i am so stupid. sorry, [name]. it’s been what, four, five years? what are the odds?”

“clearly very high.” you mutter, rubbing your temple as a fresh wave of exhaustion hits you. a chill ripples down your spine despite the heat of the fire—something about the seamlessness of his realization feels just a fraction too neat, but you shake it off. you don't have the mental capacity to analyze high school politics right now. “look, it doesn't matter. the point is, i need to get to a hospital, caleb. or a police station.”

“right, right, obviously,” caleb slides off the edge of the cushion, kneeling back down on the floorboards and pulling the white plastic medical kit toward him. the latch pops open with a snap. “but like i said, the storm is terrible right now and you're actively bleeding through your clothes. we need to clean these cuts before they get infected. let me just get the antiseptic and the gauze, and i can—”

“i can do it myself,” your hand extends to block his path, palm flat against the cool plastic lid of the box.

caleb stops, his fingers hovering over a roll of white bandages. he tilts his head, looking up at you through his eyelashes with a look that is too innocent. “are- are you sure? you can barely sit up straight without wincing. it's really no trouble, i can just do it for you. i took a first-aid course back in college, i promise i won't mess it up.”

you look down at him, one of your eyebrows slowly arching as the reality of the situation settles between you. 

“caleb,” you say, deadpanning. “they're thigh wounds. you're... implying that you're going to sit there and watch me take off my jeans?”

immediately, caleb’s cheeks catch a bright furious flush, the boyish color rushing all the way up to the tips of his ears. 

“no! no, oh my god, obviously not,” he mumbles, you could clearly hear his voice cracking while he scrambles backward an inch or two on his knees. “i swear i wasn't thinking about it like that. i just saw the blood and kinda panicked. i am so sorry, didn't mean to make you... uncomfortable at all.” 

you remained quiet, looking at the medical kit, then down at the dark crimson patches drying high up on the denim of your thighs, and then right back into his eyes.

“look, i'll—i'll just give you the supplies. i can leave the room, i'll go to the kitchen, get some water, whatever you need. and you go ahead.” he looks so genuinely flustered, so thoroughly embarrassed by his own lack of foresight, that a tiny part of the tension in your chest actually loosens. he’s still the same harmless, easily flustered guy from senior high. 

safe... 

respectable...

—

the bathroom of the cabin had been a cold sort of mercy. peeling the copper-scented denim away from the raw gashes on your thighs had brought tears to your eyes, the hot water from the showerhead stinging the freshly bandaged wounds until your hips throbbed in rhythm with your pulse. but the clothes caleb had left hanging on the brass hook outside the door were clean. they smelled deeply of laundry detergent and cedar, though they were too large—the soft grey sweatpants bunched heavily over your ankles, and the oversized flannel shirt hung low enough to clip the backs of your knees. it made you look small, swamped, and ridiculously fragile.

you stepped back out into the main room, twisting the damp ends of your hair into a white towel. 

but as your eyes swept the room, you froze.

caleb wasn't by the couch. he wasn't tending to the fire, nor was he standing awkwardly by the kitchen counter like you’d expected. it was something far much more unexpected, because instead he was sitting exceptionally straight in a heavy wooden chair by the small dining table at the end of the room. 

his broad shoulders were squared, large hands resting flat against the dark wood in a posture that felt way too rigid, too deliberate. on the table between his hands sat a dark bottle of red wine, two tall-stemmed glasses catching the amber firelight, and a large ceramic plate piled with perfectly seared cuts of meat that were still glistening with warm fat.

you stopped in your tracks, one hand still holding the towel over your shoulder with your eyebrow slowly crawling upward. 

how... domestic? 

it looked like a dinner date. a romantic little setup prepared solely for you, laid out in the middle of a literal survival nightmare. it was so incredibly and profoundly awkward that you didn't even know how to orient your mouth to speak.

caleb caught your expression.

“oh—hey! you're out,” he stammered, his voice jumping a half-octave before he gestured vaguely toward the table. “i... uh, i hope the clothes fit okay? and, i’m sorry if this looks... weird. or sudden. i just thought, you know, you’ve been through a lot out there earlier, and your body probably needs the protein. i had some steak in the cooler, and... well..."

he broke off, clearing his throat awkwardly as he picked up the wine bottle, thumb nervously tracing the edge of the label.

“and the wine, it’s... it’s been sitting in the cabinet for months,” he rambled on, his violet eyes darting to your face and then quickly dropping back down to the polished wood. “it’s a really nice vintage, honestly. my dad gave it to me, and it just felt like... it would be a total shame not to share it with someone. and since you’re here, and it’s raining, and we’re stuck... i just thought it might help take the edge off the shock, no?”

you watched him tumble over his own words, your mind working through the surreal nature of the moment. you walked over to the edge of the dining area, your bare feet making no sound against the floorboards. deliberately, you unraveled the towel from your head and began folding it into a neat square, draping it over the high back of an empty chair.

“...do you have any cigarettes?” you had asked.

caleb blinked up at you, his thumb freezing against the wine bottle. as if the concept of a cigarette had never crossed his mind in his entire life. “cigarettes? oh. uh... no. no, sorry, [name]. i don't smoke.”

“shucks.” you let out a humorless little breath, dropping your hands from the chair.

you didn't pull out the seat, though. you didn't sit across from him at the neatly set table, and you certainly didn't lean into the cozy and intimate atmosphere he had so carefully constructed. you felt more comfortable with reaching across the dark wood, fingers wrapping around the stem of one of the wine glasses, and then taking the heavy ceramic plate of meat right out from the center of the table.

caleb watched you, his mouth parting slightly as you simply turned on your heel, walking away from the dining setup entirely.

you walked back over to the fireplace, the heat hitting your face in a comforting wave. with a soft grunt, you lowered yourself directly onto the floor near the hearth, tucking your oversized sweatpants around your ankles. you set the plate in your lap and the wine glass beside your knee, content to eat like an exhausted animal on the floor and miles away from the polite constraints of a dinner table.

“are you... comfortable down there?” caleb’s voice drifted over from the dining area, sounding faint and distinctly hollow.

“perfectly,” you replied, picking up a piece of the meat with your fingers, not even caring about silverware. “the fire is warm.”

“right. yeah. the fire is good,” 

“and thank you, for the food.” from where you sat, focused on the crackling logs and the heavy comfort of the red wine coating your throat, you couldn't see his face. you couldn't see the way caleb remained seated at that table, a few meters away in the shadows. you couldn't see the utter, freezing disappointment that washed over his features, the soft curve of his mouth twisting into something odd while he stared at the back of your damp head.

the scent of the wine was just beginning to blunt the raw edge of your nerves when you decided to break the silence. you chewed slowly, swallowed, and leaned your head back against the edge of the couch. “so, what is this place, anyway? and why do you quite literally live in the middle of nowhere?”

at the table, the tension in caleb’s shoulders evaporated. it was like watching a wilted flower catch a drop of water—he lit up, immediately grabbed his own finished plate to discard it down the sink with an easygoing smile returning to his face.

“oh, this? it’s actually my grandfather’s old hunting lodge,” caleb answered, his voice rich and fluid while he stepped out of the dining area with the wine glass and walked into the warm radius of the firelight. “he left it to me when he passed away a couple of years ago. it was pretty run-down, but i've been fixing it up by myself whenever i get a break from work. it's quiet. and really nice.”

with ease, caleb lowered his large frame directly onto the floorboards, sitting a few feet away from you. he kept a careful distance—close enough to share the warmth of the hearth, but far enough that your knees wouldn't brush. 

“must be a long drive to work if you're living out here permanently,” you remarked, poking at another piece of meat. you’d always been a slow eater, but tonight the exhaustion made your hands heavy.

“well, i don't live here full-time, just most weekends,” he swirled the dark red liquid in his glass, his eyes reflecting the orange tongues of the fire. “and my job isn't exactly local. i'm actually based out of the regional airfield near the coast now. aha, i went into aeronautical engineering after graduation.”

you paused, a piece of meat halfway to your mouth. you turned your head to look at him. “aeronautics? i figured you’d end up in business or something corporate. you always looked like the type.”

caleb let out a boyish chuckle, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “yeah, everyone thought that. my dad wanted me to take over his agency, actually. but i don't know... i like things that are precise. there's a weird comfort in that kind of control.” he pursed his lips inwards, stealing a glance from you. “like- like if a plane stays in the air, it’s because you engineered it perfectly. no room for variables.”

“sounds tedious,” you muttered, taking a sip of the wine.

“it can be,” he agreed, his gaze shifting from the glass straight to your face again. “but it pays well. and it gives me enough free time to come out here and disappear for a few days. but uh, what about you, [name]? last i heard, you were finishing up your degree city-side. what brings you back to the outskirts? and... working at that restaurant by the highway?”

“it's just supposed to be temporary until i figured out my next move. then the shit earlier happened.”

“jesus, [name]...” caleb’s voice dropped into a sympathetic murmur. “i still can't believe it. when i heard the screaming through the trees, i thought i was losing my mind. to think you were just working a normal shift and then... some psycho...” he trailed off, shaking his head as if the weight of the reality was too much for his sensibilities to handle. “have you seen anyone suspicious hanging around the restaurant lately? any weird customers? stalkers?”

“no,” you said, your eyes fixed on the flames. “it's a quiet place. mostly truckers and old couples. the man... he didn't say anything. just grabbed me from the alley behind the kitchen while i was taking out the trash.”

“that's insane,” caleb whispered, his expression darkening with a protective sort of worry. “the world is getting so fucked up. but hey... you're safe now, you're here. he's not getting through that door.”

“i know,” 

you turned your head to look at him, intending to ask about the old high school crew, but as your eyes met his, a strange feeling established itself.

you held his gaze for a second, two seconds—but caleb’s eyes on yours didn't waver. they were perfectly and intensely still, holding your stare with an unblinking confidence that felt entirely out of character for the stuttering, flustered boy from minutes ago. after a moment, the weight of it felt too heavy, and you were the one who blinked your eyes back to the fire.

“do you ever hear from anyone else?” you asked, trying to keep the conversation flowing naturally. “like... gideon? or that girl who used to sit next to you—tara?”

“tara moved to the capital, and gideon... well, gideon and i lost touch after he started getting into some sketchy stuff. people drift, you know? you think you know someone in high school, and then years later, they’re a completely different person.”

“yeah,” you murmured, cutting another piece of meat. “people do change.”

“or maybe they just stop hiding who they always were,” 

you looked up again, caught by the odd phrasing, and once more, his eyes were already there waiting for you. they were dark, absolute, and perfectly locked onto your own. again, an instinctual prickle of discomfort made you break the contact first, your eyes dropping down to your glass. maybe he was just like that, you reasoned. some people just had intense eye contact. it didn't mean anything.

“either way,” caleb said, his tone warming up as he raised his wine glass toward you in a silent toast. “i'm just glad i was the one who found you tonight, [name]. out of everyone else who could have been in these woods... i'm really glad it was me.”

the warmth of the red wine had just begun to settle in your stomach when the words finally caught up to your brain. working at that restaurant by the highway.

you paused, your fork hovering a few inches above the ceramic plate. “wait a minute... how did you know i worked at that restaurant?”

for a fleeting second, his shoulders went rigid, and his gaze dropped from your face, breaking eye-contact to stare down at the dark remnants of wine in his glass. it was the first time tonight he had been the one to look away first.

then, just as quickly as it had vanished, the sheepish smile slid back onto his face. he let out an amused huff, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. “oh, that? well, i drive past that stretch of the highway all the time when i'm heading out to the airfield. i've seen you through the front windows a couple of times while i was stopping for gas across the street. it’s hard to miss a familiar face, even if it’s been years.”

you raised an eyebrow, “and you didn't bother stopping in to say hi?”

“well...” caleb chuckled, his cheeks catching that familiar flush in the firelight as he looked back up at you through his lashes. “we weren't exactly friends in high school, you know? i didn't want to be that weird guy who bursts into your workplace like, hey, remember me from highschool? i figured it’d just be awkward for both of us.”

you stared at him, letting the silence stretch until it became uncomfortable. your fingers tightened slightly around the stem of your glass. “so you did recognize me. which means when you found me out in the woods... you already knew my face?”

caleb’s hand froze against the back of his neck.

“but earlier,” you continued, “you acted like you had no idea who i was. you asked if we'd ever met. you even made me list out our old high school section just to get you to remember my name.”

caleb stopped rubbing his neck. he didn't stumble over his words this time. he just sat there on the floorboards, staring right into your eyes with that stillness you had noticed earlier. then, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth, nodding slowly to himself. a breathy laugh escaped his lips.

“okay,” he murmured, his voice dropping into a smoother and an entirely unbothered tone. “fine. you caught me. i kind of lied.” he swirled his wine, watching the dark liquid catch the orange glow of the hearth. “i did recognize you when i pulled you out of the brush, [name]. but it’s true that i genuinely couldn't remember your name right away. my... brain was in full panic mode seeing all that blood. but as for the rest of it... yeah. aha. i played dumb for a second.”

an uneasy spike of suspicion bloomed right in the center of your chest. your survival instinct, the one that had been temporarily put to sleep by the warm blankets and the steak, suddenly jolted awake. “why... would you lie about something like that, caleb?”

“because think about it,” caleb answered instantly, turning his head to face you full. “it’s already an incredibly high-stress situation. you’re running for your life, you’re bleeding, you’re... traumatized. then you stumble upon a guy you used to know, but barely talked to, living in a secluded cabin. don't you think it would feel just a little bit... awkward? or weirdly intense if i immediately went, oh hey, [name], wild seeing you here!?” his eyes searched your face as he momentarily placed the glass on the floor. “i thought it would be easier on you if we just focused on getting you safe first, without the weird high school baggage. you know, i was just trying to keep things low-key.”

you remained quiet, eyes dropping down to your empty plate. you didn't nod. you didn't tell him it was fine. you just left the explanation hanging in the air between you, letting it rot.

it’s not safe out here. 

it didn't matter that he had sat two rows ahead of you five years ago. it didn't matter that he had an aeronautics career or a nice smile. you were a wounded, exhausted girl trapped in a damn cabin in the middle of a raging storm, miles away from civilization, alone with a man.

you looked away, your gaze fixing onto the persistent sheets of rain lashing against the windowpane, your mind frantically trying to map out a way to stay awake until dawn.

“hey.”

you turned your head back toward the hearth, your breath catching in your throat as you realized caleb had moved. he had inched closer across the floorboards while you were lost in your thoughts. now, he was resting his elbow directly on the plush edge of the couch right behind your shoulder, resting his temple against his fist, tilting his head slightly so he was looking up at you from under his thick lashes.

“what are you thinking about there so hard?” a small, almost teasing smile played at the corners of his lips. “you aren't... suspicious of me, are you, [name]?”

“no,” you forced a shrug of your shoulders, keeping your palms perfectly loose against the floor. “why would i be suspicious? you saved my life... i-i’m just tired. my head feels like it’s full of cotton.”

it was the safest play. 

if he really was someone you needed to fear, showing your teeth now—when you could barely stand without your thighs screaming in agony—would be nothing short of suicide. 

caleb stared at you for one more second, his eyes searching the micro-expressions on your face from beneath his lashes. 

“good,” he let out a relieved chuckle, pushing himself up from the floor. “because if you were, i’d have to start questioning my hospitality skills. my ego wouldn't be able to take that tonight.” he reached down to gather the empty ceramic plates and the two wine glasses, turning toward the small kitchen alcove. “you've been through a lot tonight, [name]. i think it's time to call it a night? you can take the bedroom,”

“i can sleep here.” you said quickly, gesturing vaguely toward the plush couch near the hearth. “you ...don't have to give up your room for me. i've already taken up enough of your space.”

“absolutely not,” caleb called out over his shoulder, the sound of running water echoing from the sink while he rinsed the dishes. “i am a lot of things, but a bad host isn't one of them. you're wounded and you need a proper bed, so i'll take the couch.”

he turned off the tap, drying his hands on a dishtowel before walking back over to you. 

he extended a hand, fingers open and waiting. “come on. let's get you sorted out.”

—

caleb guided you down the short, dimly lit hallway toward the back of the cabin. when he pushed the wooden door open, the space that greeted you was surprisingly large—far more spacious and clean than the rustic exterior of the lodge suggested. in fact, it looked a bit too clean. the dark wooden dresser was pristine, the bedside table completely bare, and the large queen-sized bed was stripped down to a simple fitted sheet. 

it almost looked like a room that had been meticulously prepared for a guest who hadn't arrived yet.

“sorry it’s a little bare in here,” caleb broke the silence. “i usually just crash on the couch myself when i'm working on the place, so i haven't really decorated the bedroom yet- oh, let me get the comforter out of the closet.” he crossed the room, pulling a massively thick comforter from the built-in wardrobe. it was a heavy plush thing, clad in a crisp grey duvet cover.

“alright,” he grunted, shaking it out. “help me spread this out so you don't freeze to death tonight.”

you limped over to the opposite side of the mattress, catching the corners of the heavy fabric as he tossed them over. but it was incredibly thick, and the duvet seemed to have a mind of its own, bunching up inside the cover like a stubborn weight. when you tried to pull it toward your side, your foot caught on the edge of the bed frame, making you stumble slightly. caleb lunged across the mattress to catch the fabric before it slid off, his own weight dragging the entire comforter into a tangled knot right in the dead center of the bed.

you both froze, staring at the absolute disaster of crumpled grey fabric between you.

this is... awkward. 

“well,” caleb said, his voice deadpan as he looked from the tangled mess up to your face. “i did mention i went into engineering, right? clearly, that does not translate to making a bed?” 

a sudden laugh bubbled up from your throat before you could stop it—a genuine sound that cut clean through the lingering web of suspicion in your chest. it was just so ridiculous. you were running for your life a few hours ago, and now you were having a tug-of-war with a blanket.

caleb’s face immediately lit up at the sound of your laughter, his eyes crinkling into crescents before he let out a loud chuckle of his own. “don't laugh at me! this is a two-person job, [name], you clearly pulled too hard on your end.”

“i pulled because you were hoarding the entire left side,” 

“i was not hoarding!” he protested playfully, finally managing to untangle the knot and smooth the heavy comforter across the mattress with a satisfying whack. “there. perfect. good job, caleb.” he stepped back, dusting his hands off with a satisfied smirk before turning his attention back to you. “...you should be good now. the pillows are fresh. if you need another blanket, just yell, 'kay? i’ll be right outside.”

“...thanks, caleb,” despite of your head telling you to stay alert, you allowed your own voice to show the small thread of gratitude weaved into it. “really. for everything.”

“don't mention it,” he stepped toward the doorway and caught the brass handle, pausing for a moment to look back at you over his shoulder. “lock the door from the inside if it makes you feel better. i won't mind. just get some sleep and we’ll figure out you going home first thing in the morning.”

“okay. goodnight.”

“goodnight, [name].”

and finally, he closed the door with a click. 

you stood in the quiet room for a long moment, listening to the muffled sound of his retreating footsteps when he walked back down the hallway toward the living room. meanwhile, the rain continued to beat a persistent rhythm against the bedroom window. 

slowly, you walked over to the door and turned the small thumb-lock, the metallic snap providing a fragile shield against the dark. you crawled beneath the cedar-scented comforter, your exhausted body sinking into the mattress as you stared up at the dark ceiling. 

he was safe. he had to be. he was just caleb—just the same boy from before.

—

tick. tick. tick.

the sound of a small wood-framed clock somewhere in the shadows is the first thing that bites through your sleep. 

you hadn't even realized you’d drifted off, but the blackness of the midnight hours has already swallowed the evening whole. you wake with a faint groan catching in your throat, your eyelids being heavy with the residue of exhaustion and red wine.

you turn your head to the side, expecting the warm flicker of the candles caleb had left on the bedside desks.

nothing.

the room is ...pitch black. 

the candles are entirely gone—not just blown out, but absent. 

adrenaline instantly slices straight through your groggy brain, melting the last remnants of sleep. and then your eyes travel to the foot of the bed, only to see that—

the door is open.

it isn't really wide open, just slightly ajar, a narrow slice of dim orange light cutting through the darkness from the hallway outside. a thin sliver of the living room’s dying hearth dances across the floorboards like a warning. 

how...? 

you distinctly remember the weight of the little brass thumb-lock turning under your fingers....

a lock doesn't just undo itself in the dead of night.

gone was the cozy and domestic quiet of a boy hosting an old classmate; now it’s a tight breathless suspense, like the air inside a room right before a balloon pops. every instinct you possess—the cold-blooded survival code that got you out of that leather passenger seat—screams at you to move.

carefully, so carefully, you slide your legs out from beneath the heavy down comforter. the grey sweatpants caleb lent you sweep against the sheets with a hush that sounded more like a roar in your ears. the moment your bare feet touch the cold floor, the gashes along your thighs throb in protest, a burning ache that you force yourself to swallow. you don't wince. you don't breathe.

you creep toward the vertical slit of the door, fingers pressing lightly against the wood as you peer out into the hall.

all the candlelights have been shut dead, their little wicks pinched into cold black stumps. the only illumination left is the bleeding glow of the hearth in the living room, casting distorted shadows against the dark wood walls.

your bare feet make no sound while you steal down the hallway, and your eyes scan the darkness, hunting for a silhouette, a mask, the silver glint of a dagger. 

if your lock was bypassed... if someone broke in while you were unconscious...

you round the corner into the living room, your chest heaving in shallow and silent hitches.

there, on the plush couch near the fireplace, laid a shape. 

you freeze, your muscles locking instantly in place. but as you squint through the deep red gloom, you realize it’s just caleb. he’s wrapped entirely in his thick blanket, his large frame buried beneath the wool. his head is tilted back against the cushion with eyes shut. 

he looks completely peaceful, harmless.

but a fresh wave of horror washes over your skin.

if caleb is asleep right here... and the front door is still barred from the inside... then who the fuck opened your bedroom door? did the masked man find a way in without making a sound? did he look at you while you slept? 

your mind spins a terrifying web of variables, but you refused to just let yourself panic. there is no room for tears. there is no room for questions. there is only the necessity of getting out.

you turn away from the sleeping boy, your eyes scanning the dark perimeter of the room. you need a tool. a weapon. a map. a landline. anything.

as you glide toward the dark wooden cabinets flanking the stone hearth, your fingers were trembling slightly. you slide the first latch open, the wood giving a slow creak. you reach inside, your hands blindly rummaging through the contents—old decks of cards, manuals, boxes of matches, heavy iron tools for the fireplace. your fingertips scrape against the rough edge of a folded piece of paper. a map? a ledger? could it be? you immediately pull it out, trying to catch the faint red light of the dying embers to read the print.

please. just give me a direction. let me find the highway. i need to go home.

“[name]?”

you immediately jerked your shoulders back at the voice, the paper slipping from your fingers and fluttering back into the open cabinet drawer. 

shit, caleb is awake.

as you turned around to face him, he was already sat up on the couch, the wool blanket pooled in folds around his hips. and...

he was... shirtless.

you couldn't help your eyes from flicking down to the broad line of his shoulders and the manly expanse of his torso before you forced your gaze back up to his face. you knew plenty of guys slept like that, but the domesticity of it felt like a trap. there was no time to get flustered right now. your fingers curled into tight fists against the cabinet door.

“what...” caleb's voice came out thick, raspy with sleep. he blinked up at you while rubbing his left eye. “what are you doing up this late?”

you awkwardly cleared your throat, the sound dry and scratching against the quiet of the room. you needed an excuse that didn't involve the open bedroom door or the fact that you were currently hunting for a map to escape whatever it is you need to escape from.

“i'm just... looking for a cigarette,” fuck, that was such a bad lie. “i couldn't sleep. thought you might have some hidden in these cabinets.”

caleb could only blink at you, his head tilting slowly to the side while his brain tried to process the words. cigarettes? this late? he let out a huff that sounded like a sleepy laugh, rubbing the back of his head where his hair was slightly messy.

“a cigarette...?” he looked from you to the open cabinet drawer, then back up to your face. “you really must have an addiction, huh? i told you earlier, [name], i don't smoke. my grandfather didn't either.”

you had no choice but to nod, keeping your posture stiff against the woodwork. “right. worth a shot, though...”

caleb let out a sigh, the sound long and loose as he shifted his weight on the cushions. he swung his legs out from under the rest of the blanket, his bare feet hitting the timber floor. he stayed there for a second, hunched over with his hands dangling between his knees, just staring at the floor as if waiting for his head to stop spinning from the sudden wake-up.

“look,” his voice drops into a more grounded register while he looked up at you through his bangs. “if you're that restless, i can go to the kitchen and put the kettle on. make you some chamomile tea or something? my dad swears by it for shock.”

“i-i don't need tea,” you muttered, shifting your feet.

but the movement was a mistake. 

the sudden twist of your hips dragged the loose fleece of the sweatpants directly across the gashes on your right thigh. and it fucking stung.

he seemed to have notice it, as his eyes abruptly snapped down to your legs. the sleepiness have also seemed to vanish from his posture by the way his broad shoulders squared when he slid off the couch and stood up. 

“hey,” he gestured vaguely toward your lap. “you're limping again. did you tear the bandages when you got out of bed? you shouldn't even be walking around right now.”

“...they're fine,” 

“they don't look fine,” caleb pointed a thumb back toward the couch. “sit down. let me actually look at them this time. if you bled through the gauze while you were sleeping, we need to change it before it sticks to the cuts.”

your throat felt incredibly dry as you swallowed, your hand lingering on the edge of the cabinet door. “seriously, it really is fine. you don't need to do all this...”

he didn't argue immediately. instead, he simply turned toward the side table where the white first-aid box still sat under the dying light of the hearth. his fingers wrapped around the handle, lifting it with a clack. but as he turned back to face you, he froze, his eyes dropping down to his own chest, then flicking rapidly back up to your face. 

“oh—jesus,” he mumbled, his hand flying up to rub the back of his neck. “i... i am so sorry. is it because i don't have a shirt on? let me just... go grab something from the room. give me a second.”

“it's not about that,” you said quickly, the words slipping out before he could turn away. 

am i just losing my mind?

you asked yourself, your fingers gripping the soft flannel of the oversized shirt he’d lent you. is this just the trauma? you had been kidnapped, almost stabbed, and chased through the dark by a literal monster. it made sense that your brain was treating everything—even the creak of a floorboard or a slightly ajar door—as a mortal threat. you were painting a sinister caricature over a guy who had literally dragged you out of the mud, sliced his own knuckles to free your hands, and offered you his bed. if he wanted to hurt you, if he wanted to do anything to you at all... he’d had hours while you were unconscious, dead to the world under his roof. 

but you had woken up untouched.

and yet, that voice in the very back of your skull refused to fully quiet down. stay on guard, it whispered. always stay on guard.

still, the sheer weight of the guilt was starting to make your chest ache. he was trying so hard to be the helpful guy, and you were treating him like the monster in the woods.

with a slow sigh, you crossed the small distance between the cabinet and the couch. 

“fine,” you lowered your weight onto the edge of the cushion. and unceremoniously, you began to pull the hem of the sweatpants up, the fleece dragging against your skin until it bunched up in folds around your upper thighs. the movement exposed the white gauze wraps—now messy, slightly unraveled at the edges, and blooming with wet spots of red where the cuts had split back open from your midnight walk.

caleb stood perfectly still.

as you focused on adjusting the bunched fabric around your lap, you missed the way his breathing hitched. his eyes lingered, carefully, on the exposed line of your ankles, climbing up the curve of your calves, on the skin behind your knees, and finally settling on the wounded skin of your thighs. 

but before you could look up and catch that, he was already moving.

in one motion, caleb lowered himself onto his knees right beside your legs. he popped the latch on the medical kit, fingers pulling out a fresh roll of gauze and a packet of antiseptic wipes with a faint smile. “i hate to say i told you so, [name], but... you did a total hack job on these bandages.”

“i was working with one hand and a lot of adrenaline,” you shot back, trying to keep your voice even while he brushed his fingers against the side of your knee to steady your leg.

“clearly,” he teased, his thumb lightly pressing against your skin to test your reaction, his eyes crinkling at the corners with that playful grin. “you wrapped them up all wrong. it's too loose at the top and too tight at the bottom...”

the crinkle of the wrapper was the only sound for a moment as caleb tore open a fresh pad of gauze, but you kept your face resolutely turned toward the stone hearth, watching the orange embers pulse and die in the ash. 

he didn't say anything for a while, his fingers working with a touch while he peeled away the blood-soaked cotton from your skin. his thumb caught the edge of a fresh strip of medical tape, tearing it with a sharp rip with his teeth.

“you know,” caleb murmured, breaking the quiet without looking up from his work. “you're giving the fireplace a really intense stare. if it's because i'm still missing half my clothes, i can really just go grab a shirt.”

“i'm fine,” though you kept your eyes locked on the brickwork. “i'm just tired.”

he let out a breathy laugh, fingers gently smoothing the edge of the clean white pad against the meat of your upper thigh. “you should've just let me handle the first round of bandages earlier. would've saved you the trouble of bleeding like this.”

you decided not to reply.

and he didn't mind your continued silence, pulling the roll of gauze to tighten the dressing. but as he went to tuck the loose end, his thumb pressed down—just a bit too hard—directly into the swollen edge of the fourth laceration.

“shit, that hurts-” your hands instantly flew to the leather cushion to push yourself backward.

caleb gulped, the prominent line of his throat moving sharply in the dim red light when he stole a glance at your face. “sorry,” he whispered, a little raspy. “you okay?”

“be careful.” you choked out, your breath coming a little faster now as you stared back at him. 

his palm remained resting flat against the curve of your knee, his thumb lightly, almost absently tracing the edge of the sweatpants' hem. he looked down at your legs for a quiet second before his eyes slowly crawled back up to meet your frown.

“is this your first time?” 

your brow furrowed deeper, “what?”

“seeing a guy half-naked this close,” caleb clarified, a knowing smirk twitching at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes remained perfectly steady and unblinking. “you look like you're holding your breath, [name]. i didn't think i was that intimidating...?”

“no, it's not my first time.” 

“oh yeah?” 

caleb tilted his head, his elbow resting on his knee to lean in further. “so there's been other guys then? past boyfriends?”

“...what does that have to do with anything?”

“nothing,” letting out a low chuckle, he finally pulled his hands back, capping the antiseptic bottle along the way. “just making conversation. we're catching up, aren't we? five years is ...a long time. i figured a girl like you would've had someone.”

caleb slowly sat back on his heels, eyes tracking the way your fingers dug into the fabric of your flannel shirt. 

“there was... someone,” you muttered, wanting to shut the topic down. “a while ago. it didn't last.”

“really?” his voice carried a strange satisfaction as he picked up the discarded bandages. he didn't look disappointed at all. in fact, his shoulders seemed to loosen even more. “why's that? he didn't know how to appreciate what he had?”

“he was just too much, too possessive. always wanted to know where i was.”

caleb stopped moving for a split second, his back to the fire. “hmm, can you really blame him?”

“yes, you can blame him.” you reached down, your fingers catching the hem of the grey sweatpants to slide the heavy fleece back down over your calves. “how would you feel if you had a partner like that? someone constantly demanding to know every single person you talk to?”

caleb stared up at you from beneath his fringes.

“i don't-” a faint, almost imperceptible tilt of his head accompanied the words. “i don't think i'd mind it at all.”

you let out a humorless click of your tongue, pulling the fabric down past your ankles. “you're just saying that because you've never actually experienced it.”

caleb simply laughs, “well... you've got me there, [name]. i guess i haven't really had the chance to be in a relationship yet.”

that caught your attention. 

“really? in five years? i remember girls in high school lining up to slide letters into your locker. you're telling me you never got into anything like that?”

“never,” he snapped the lid of the medical kit shut. “a few talking stages that fizzled out after a couple of weeks, maybe a blind date or two that my friends dragged me into because they felt sorry for me. but nothing too close. nothing that lasted.”

“that's pretty hard to believe.” 

caleb xia was the definition of the golden boy back then, as far as you could remember—approachable, attractive, naturally charismatic, and the exact type of guy most people wanted to take home to their parents. it didn't make sense that he was so utterly single. “what could possibly be the reason? are your standards just impossibly high or something?”

caleb stood up from the floor, lifting the medical kit in one hand. but instead of walking away to put it back on the side table, he stayed right there, standing over you in the dim glow of the hearth.

“hey, my standards aren't high at all, i think i'm actually pretty simple. when i find something- or someone- that actually catches my attention, i tend to, just, keep my focus entirely on them. i don't see the point in looking anywhere else if... if- the perfect thing is already right in front of me.” he tears his gaze away to put the first-aid back into its place.

“well, good luck finding that in the city. people change their minds every two weeks out there.” goddamn it, the pain below is really getting unbearable. you were far too focused on the throbbing ache in your thighs, your brain already drifting back to the logistics of tomorrow morning's drive to the police precinct. 

“maybe... but luckily for me, i'm a very patient guy. i don't mind waiting for- for a long time.” you hear him murmur. with his back faced to you like this, you can't really help yourself but trace the beautiful definition of his back muscles with your eyes, and the ridiculous ratio of his broad shoulders down to his waist. 

with that physique, he might be a liar, he definitely have some situationships going on.

caleb suddenly turns around to meet your eyes, making you instinctively avert them. “you still want that tea?”

“no thanks, i'm really... fine 'nough now.”

“i see. well, i think you probably couldn't sleep back there because of the cold,” he walked towards the hearth to throw more logs into the pit. only now you realized how dim the room had been getting when the fire crackled back into its fiery light. “you need the warmth here in the living room, no?”

you sheepishly smile. “would that be okay?”

“of course, [name].”

—

“you're kidding me.”

under the sun through the acacia trees, you squinted your eyes. 

the words didn't even have the energy to carry a real edge. they just fell out of your mouth, evaporating into the cold morning mist that hung thick between the towering leaves.

meanwhile, caleb didn't bother looking up from under the rusted hood of his dark blue pickup truck. he was hunched over the engine bay, the fabric of a sleeveless hoodie stretched tight across his shoulders. his hands, grease-stained and calloused, were buried deep near the battery terminal with a wrench catching the daylight.

“i wish i was, not gonna lie.” caleb muttered, his voice muffled by the metal hood. he let out a frustrated sigh that blossomed into a little puff of white steam in the damp air. “i've tried priming the pump, i've checked the spark plugs... nothing. the starter won't even click.”

you had woken up with a spark of renewed relief in your chest, because finally, finally, you can go back to where you feel the most safe, you can finally report whatever bullshit that happened to you yesterday. 

but instead, you were met with an apologetic boy trying to fix his truck because, apparently, the engine decided to end its own life overnight. 

“how does a truck that was running fine yesterday just die overnight, caleb?” you walked closer, your knuckles white as you shoved your hands deep into the pockets of the flannel shirt. 

he finally pulled his head out from under the hood, wiping a thick smear of black grease across his forehead with the back of his forearm. he looked at you through his messy fringes, and you caught the way his eyes looked a little bit too... puppy-like. 

“the storm,” caleb vaguely gestured. 

the ground was completely saturated, littered with fallen leaves and broken branches from the torrential downpour that had finally died down to a drizzle just before dawn. “with this much humidity and the drop in temperature, moisture probably got into the distributor cap. or a wire shorted out. these old engines are finicky as hell, [name]. i'm sorry.”

you stared at the truck, your jaw locked so tight it made your temples throb. 

a miracle. 

a perfect little miracle for a guy who had just told you last night how much he loved precise systems where nothing was left to variable.

“...i can't stay here,” you insisted, your voice rising just a fraction. “my family is probably contacting the police right now. and my manager... caleb, they're going to think i'm dead. i need to get to a phone. i need to get to the highway.”

“i know that.” he replied, stepping away from the bumper. “i know you do. but, we can't drive this thing until i figure out what's wrong with the ignition.”

“then i'll walk.”

caleb’s hand froze mid-air as he went to wipe his wrench with an old rag. his dark eyes narrowed. “walk? [name], you can barely take three steps without a limp.”

“i don't care. you have a map, or- or a compass. i know you do- this is a hunting cabin after all.”

“no.”

“what?”

caleb tossed the wrench onto the truck's battery cover with a clank that made you jump. “it's not just about the distance,” he took two steps toward you, his large frame instantly blocking out the morning light. “the highway is nearly seven miles from here, and there are ravines out there that are flooded right now from the storm. one bad slip and you'll tear those stitches wide open, and then you're bleeding out in the mud with nobody to help you.”

“i'll take my chances.” you muttered.

caleb raised a brow. “and what about the man with the knife, [name]? he could be sitting behind a tree just half a mile from here, waiting for you to walk right back into his arms. do you really want to risk that?”

your fingers curled into the rough cotton of his top, the cold reality of his words settling into your stomach like a block of ice.

he had a point. 

a terrifying, undeniable point. the monster was probably still out there.

“it's better to be safe,” caleb murmured, his tone softening back into that sweet cadence. “i'm not trying to keep you prisoner here, i swear. i want to get you home just as much as you want to go. but you have to trust me on this. it'll take me a few hours, maybe 'till noon.” he turns back to the hood of the truck with a frustrated frown. “just go back inside and let me do my job. okay?”

you let out a trembling sigh, looking away from his face to stare at the woods surrounding the clearing. you hated the situation. you hated how logical his arguments were, and you hated the warmth where his eyes had just been.

“fine,” you whispered, your shoulders slumping in defeat. “just... hurry up, please.”

“i will, promise.” 

you went back inside.

hours had bled away into the sluggish afternoon, and you had done nothing but count the knots in the pine ceiling and flip through the moldering pages of three-decade-old hunting manuals you found in the dusty cabinets. 

they got you nowhere. 

no phone numbers scribbled in the margins, no hidden emergency radios, no secret landlines. just instructions on how to field-dress a deer and diagrams of traps.

it was past two in the afternoon now. and this was getting ridiculous.

you paced the creaking floorboards of the living room, your bare toes digging into the cold grain of the wood. through the window pane, you watched caleb. he was still out there. his sleeveless hoodie was damp from the mist, broad back bent over the open hood of the truck with a disciplined concentration that should have been comforting. 

he looked like a saint, honestly. a boy working himself to the bone in the cold just to get an old classmate back to safety.

but the timing was too perfect. the dead engine was too convenient. and you couldn't afford to spend another night here, isolated in the middle of nowhere, wrapped in his clothes and eating his food.

your eyes drifted from the window, turning slowly toward the hallway.

there was a second door down there. it sat right beside the bedroom he had given you last night—a wooden door with no brass lock on the outside, completely quiet and unassuming. but it had been poking at the back of your mind since you woke up. and for some reason, a hum of intuition told you that behind that specific piece of wood lay the missing piece of the puzzle.

you glanced back out the window to see caleb having his back turned, and reaching for a socket wrench from his toolbox.

quietly, holding your breath until your lungs burned, you padded down the hallway. the floorboards seemed to hold their breath with you, refusing to creak just as you stopped in front of the door, your hand hovering over the cold brass knob. 

until, eventually, you stopped hesitating and twisted it. 

it wasn't locked. 

with an agonizingly slow click, the latch gave way, and the door swung inward.

you stepped inside, ready to find a dusty storage closet or a pile of old lumber. 

instead,

the room was... dark, the only light filtering through a heavy black curtain drawn tight over the single window, but it was enough to reveal a space that looked less like a cabin bedroom and more like the inside of an... obsessively structured mind.

you didn't know why, but your legs felt suddenly weak, a cold sweat breaking out across your forehead as you stepped deeper into the gloom. the walls weren't bare wood. they were covered in large corkboards, maps of the county and hand-drawn diagrams. and in the center of the main board, pinned with color-coded pushpins, was you.

it was a photo from your high school yearbook, your smiling face circled in faded red ink. but next to it were newer photos, candid shots. 

you walking to the vintage restaurant. 

you holding a trash bag in the alley behind the kitchen, captured from the treeline. 

you sitting by the register.

then, scrawled beneath the photos in a precise draftsman's print—the hand of an engineer—were pages of notes.

> [name]'s shift: 9:00 AM - 4:00 PM

> route predictability: 94%

> vulnerability point: rear kitchen exit (blind spot from highway)

your hands began to tremble so violently you had to press them against your thighs to keep them still. your eyes darted across the board, picking apart the timeline he had constructed. there were outlines of schedules, maps of these very woods with red ink tracing the exact path you had run last night. there was even a drawing of a leather passenger seat with a detailed list of strap measurements.

so, he hadn't really saved you...? 

your eyes swept to another section of the wall, where photos of other people were pinned—friends you used to know, people you were still connected with in the city, and even your ex boyfriend. across his face, a line had been drawn in black marker, with a note written beside it: easily removed.

your brain screamed at you to run, to get out, to lock yourself away. but your eyes were drawn to the far corner of the room, where a smaller, shadow-draped board hung.

you took three slow steps toward it.

there were no yearbook photos there, there were polaroids instead. raw and flash-lit pictures of coldly pale skin, bloodshot eyes staring at nothing, and wet earth. 

dead bodies. 

people who had gone missing from the county over the last few years, their faces preserved in caleb's organized archive.

“what the fuck—...”

you stumbled backward, your heel catching on the edge of a small wooden stool. it caused you to hit the floorboards hard, the jarring impact sending a fresh flare of agony through your wounded thighs, but you barely felt it. you scrambled back on your hands and knees, your palms smacking against the cold wood as you frantically covered your mouth with both hands to choke back the sob of pure terror rising in your chest.

what the fuck is this? 

what the fuck did he do?

don’t scream. if you scream, he’ll know exactly how much of his little theater you’ve torn apart.

there was no time to feel the dizzying slide of panic in your veins. your body, now operating on a raw survival code, simply forced you up. you scrambled off the floorboards of that room, your numb fingers catching the edge of the doorframe to drag yourself out. and immediately, you pulled the wooden door shut behind you.

you stood in the hallway, your chest heaving in ragged hitches, your hands pressed flat against your ribs to keep your heart from bursting out of your skin. calm down. calm down. if you pass out now, you're dead.

you gulped down the air of the hallway, forcing your legs to carry you back to the living room. you limped to the windowpane, your fingertips pressing against the cold glass as you peered out into the misty clearing.

the truck hood was still open. the wrench was resting on the battery.

but caleb was gone.

shit. 

shit, where is he?

a cold prickling wave of dread washed down the back of your neck, and you abruptly turned around—

and there he was.

caleb was leaning casually against the laminate kitchen counter, holding a clear glass of water and slowly drinking from it. his violet eyes watched you over the rim, perfectly still, perfectly calm, tracking the frantic movement of your shoulders. he then lowered the glass, setting it down on the counter with a hollow thud, before using the back of his hand to wipe a stray drop of moisture from his chin.

“what's wrong?” he asked, a sweet smile touching the corners of his mouth. “why do you look so pale, [name]?”

you couldn't even bring yourself to answer. 

is he... is he the one with the mask? 

no, it didn't make sense. you had bitten the masked man's sleeve, you had wedged your knee into his chest, you had run while caleb found you. but the room... the photos of you and your friends with a black line through their face... the dead bodies...

it was an orchestration, wasn't it? 

a sick, meticulously trap designed to drop you right into his waiting arms. and he was playing the savior so perfectly. 

this sick bitch.

caleb's brow furrowed, his expression changing into a soft look of pure concern. “hey, are you alright?”

he looked so soft. he looked like the kind of boy you could rely on when the world was falling apart. it was disgusting. it was terrifying.

your eyes darted wildly around the room. a weapon. i need a weapon right now. your gaze flicked to the fireplace tools—the heavy iron poker—but it was too far. you looked to the kitchen counter, but caleb was blocking the knives. you were trapped.

caleb’s brow raised slightly, his tone softening even more. “are you hurt? did the wounds on your thighs start bothering you again? let me see, i can—”

“stay back!” you screamed, the sound tearing out of your throat, raw and jagged. you pressed your back hard against the wall near the window. “i'm getting out of this house! don't you dare come near me! stay the fuck back!”

caleb stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes widening in what looked like genuine fear. the sudden outburst actually seemed to startle him. he quickly raised both of his hands in front of his chest, palms open and facing you in a classic gesture of surrender.

“whoa—whoa, [name], okay! easy,” he stammered, his voice trembling slightly as if your anger was physically hurting him. the safe-boy mask was still pinned so perfectly to his face. “i’m not coming closer. i swear. please, just breathe. the engine... i’m almost done fixing it, okay? just ten more minutes. please, just sit down, calm down, and let me make you some tea—"

you didn't let him finish.

you didn't care about his hands, or his voice, or the pathetic, frightened look in his eyes. you just lunged toward the front door, your feet slipping slightly on the timber—

“don't open that fucking door, [name].”

you stopped.

the hand you had stretched toward the brass deadbolt froze, hovering barely an inch from the metal. you couldn't move. your feet felt as though they had been poured into the floor, rooted by a sudden paralyzing instinct that warned you any sudden movement would end in violence. you didn't look back at him. you couldn't bring yourself to face whatever had just taken the place of the guy that had been so good to you.

then, you heard him sigh. 

it wasn't the frustrated breath of a man losing his temper, but an almost endearing sound, like a parent watching a child refuse to eat their dinner. the scuff of his socks against the wood started up again, drawing closer and closer.

“i'm sorry...” 

another step closer.

“you just... you've been acting so off since this morning, [name]. why won't you just trust me?”

the hypocrisy of it reeked. 

you didn't move as he stepped into your space. the heat of his chest pressed nearly against your back, casting his shadow completely over the door. slowly, his hand reached around your face, fingers remarkably steady while they caught the edge of your jaw, gently but firmly lifting your chin. his skin was hot against your cold face. and with his other hand, he reached past your shoulder, his fingers intentionally wrapping around the brass handle of the door.

your breath hitched.

god, what do i do?

your mind scrambled and dug into the walls of your brain, fighting to find a way out. you couldn't fight him—not with your legs this torn up, not in his territory. if you ran, he’d track you down in the timber in minutes. if you screamed, no one would hear you. so...

the only way out was to play the game. 

you had to dismantle him from the inside, lower his guard, and make him believe his perfect plan was working exactly as planned.

you gulped, forcing the frantic rhythm of your chest to slow down, forcing your hands to uncurl. then, slowly, you turned your head to meet caleb's questioning gaze.

his face was so close, eyes wide and looking down at you with a searching innocence that made your stomach twist with revulsion. he looked like he genuinely cared. he looked like he was waiting for you to tell him it was all just a bad dream.

“i...” 

you looked at his lips, then back up to his eyes. 

“i found it.”

caleb’s brow furrowed, his head tilting slightly to the side as his fingers finally removed themselves from your chin. “found what, [name]?”

“the... the pictures,” you whispered, letting your gaze drop to his chest, then slowly rise back to his face, just to make sure your eyes looked warm and convincing enough. “in that room. i... i found everything, caleb.”

the wind outside seemed to die down, leaving only the sound of your own breathing.

you just hoped to yourself that whatever it is you were planning would also work as perfectly as caleb's did. otherwise, the universe would be a sick, unfair thing.

caleb just blinked down at you, and you couldn't seem to figure out what look he had on his face. his eyes, reflecting the dim light of the cabin, stared into yours without a single shred of readable emotion. it was like looking into a pair of deep wells.

he smiled, then.

a screeping tilt of his mouth that crinkled the edges of his eyes, blooming into a face of what seemed like euphoric disbelief.

“you found them?”

“yes,” you forced a shaky laugh to escape your lips, playing the part of the girl who had finally found her savior. “and i... i just wish you would've told me sooner, b-because... i've been waiting.” you gulped. “i've been waiting for you, too.”

caleb put on a frown. “really? you... you aren't disgusted? you accept me?”

you swallowed hard, nodding your head. “yes, i accept you.”

“even if i've been plotting this since high school, [name]?”

“even then,” you whispered, nodding again.

“even if it took me this long to finally find the courage to speak to you?”

“yes.”

“even if...” you watched the way his eyes narrowed, lingering just right below your neck. “i killed people for you?”

your stomach did a sickening flip, but you forced your expression to remain compliant. “even then.”

“even if it thrilled me when i cut your thighs?”

when i cut your thighs...?

so the man in the car... the monster with the knife...

it really was him.

but how? where was the car he had used? how had he chased you through the mud, sliced your legs, and then somehow circled back to “find” you and carry you to his cabin without a single drop of mud on his clothes? how had he flawlessly executed a sequence that should have been physically impossible? and if he was this dead-obsessed with you—if he had built a literal shrine to your existence in his spare room—why would he hurt you? why would he carve into your flesh?

is he really that fucked in the head? 

he wasn't just an obsessive stalker. he was a sadist. a monster who needed to break you, to bleed you, just so he could be the one to stitch you back together and play the hero.

you had to answer. you had to.

forcing your eyes to soften, forcing the horror back into the darkest corners of your mind, you let out a trembling sigh. 

“yes.” 

the shuddering breath that left caleb’s chest was shaky, thick with an almost pathetic relief. 

he let his eyes slip shut, his shoulders finally dropping when he leaned forward to rest his forehead directly against yours. it's like he left only the boy who looked entirely drunk on your submission.

only now you realized that his fingers were already on your neck, sliding up to tangle into the strands of your hair and cradling your head like a piece of porcelain. “such a pretty, pretty little thing... i knew you'd understand. i knew it had to be you.”

but behind your closed eyes, your mind was nothing but a machine. you gulped, the sensation of his hand on your throat still making your skin crawl, but you forced your pulse to steady. keep it together. you needed to break this stalemate. you couldn't stay in this cabin for another hour, let alone another night. if you kept playing the passive victim, he would keep you here forever.

you needed him weak. you needed him distracted, his guard completely shattered, so you could find an opening, grab whatever heavy object was closest, and run.

and the fastest way to blind a boy like caleb was to give him exactly what he’d been dreaming about since high school.

without saying a word, you reached up, your fingers wrapping slowly around the side of his jaw. 

caleb perked up instantly. 

his eyes snapped open, pupils blown so wide they almost swallowed the deep purple of his irises. he looked down at you with a breathless, desperate anticipation—like a stray puppy waiting for a hand to finally feed it.

and then, dreadfully, you leaned in and pressed your lips against his.

it's the perfect distraction, and–

you had experience. you knew the rhythm of it, how to tilt your head, how to apply just enough pressure to make a man lose his focus. but caleb was an entirely different story.

the moment your lips met his, his entire body went rigid. for a split second, he didn't even seem to know how to breathe, his lips dry and unmoving against yours as if the sheer shock of the contact had short-circuited his brain. it was the kiss of a boy who had never done this before—clumsy, hesitant, and utterly terrified of breaking the illusion.

but the innocence didn't last.

“mhmm—” 

as the realization of what was happening finally sank into his brain, caleb got completely carried away. another needy groan vibrated deep in his throat—a desperate sound that echoed in the cabin. before you could even pull away, his large hand slid down from your neck, arms wrapping tightly around your waist like iron bands.

and with a sudden tug, he pulled you backward. his bare thighs hit the armrest of the nearby couch, and he sank onto it, dragging you with him until you were standing flush between his knees.

he didn't let go of your mouth for a single second. the kisses became heavier, deeper, and uncomfortably loud as his lips parted against yours. a deep frown was etched across his brow, eyelashes fluttering against his cheeks as if he were trying to force himself to wake up from a dream he couldn't quite comprehend. 

the sound of his mouth against yours suddenly cut off as caleb pulled back. he didn't go far—just a fraction of an inch, just enough for the cold draft of the cabin to rush between your lips, leaving them chilled and slick. his chest was heaving, torso expanding and contracting in heavy hitches while he stared directly into your eyes. 

from this close, the bruised purple of his pupils looked almost black, dilated so wide that the iris was nearly gone.

slowly, a cruel smirk carved its way across his mouth.

“you're good,” caleb whispered, his voice a low vibration that brushed against your wet lips.

“you're really, really good, [name]. but i'm not an easy guy to fool.”

your hands, still resting against the sides of his neck, went cold.

“you saw everything. of course you're terrified of me.” his smirk widened, and his fingers tightened around your hips. “you even wanted to run out that door the second you realized what i did. so... what are you kissing me for, huh?”

your eyes widened slightly, your breath catching in your throat. he knows. the universe was indeed a sick, unfair thing, but you should have expected this. as irreversibly sick in the head as caleb xia was, he wasn't stupid. he was an engineer. he spent his life calculating variables, measuring tolerances, and anticipating failure points. of course he had planned for the possibility of you trying to manipulate him.

you couldn't speak. your tongue felt like lead in your mouth as you simply stared at him, the carefully crafted mask of compliance slipping away to reveal the terror underneath.

seeing the fear finally return to your face, caleb let out an amused sigh. he pulled back a bit more, putting a physical distance between your faces, though he remained sitting on the armrest with you standing locked between his knees. deliberately, his hands slid off your hips, his arms dropping to his sides in a gesture that looked mockingly like surrender.

“if you're really that scared of me... then go. run away. the door is right there.”

he nodded toward the exit behind you.

it felt too good to be true. it was a trap—it had to be. but as you stared at the brass deadbolt just feet away, your survival instinct screamed at you that staying here, trapped between his knees, was a guaranteed death sentence. it would be incredibly stupid not to take a chance in a desperate situation like this. if you could just get the door open, if you could just reach the misty treeline...

you inhaled a sharp breath, gathering every ounce of strength left in your aching thighs.

then, you turned on your heel and lunged for the door.

but you didn't even make it a single step.

before your foot could fully plant on the floor, caleb’s hand abruptly wrapped around your upper arm like a steel cuff. and with a violent surge of strength, he tugged you harshly backward. the world instantly spun in a blur of gray as your feet lost their grip, and your body was slammed hard down onto the cushions of the couch. 

“ah—!”

and before you knew it, caleb was already over you.

it was indeed too good to be true. 

his frame completely pinned you into the deep cushions, blocking out the light, the room, and the air. and immediately, as if afraid that he might also lose a chance, his mouth was already devouring yours from above.

it wasn't the clumsy kiss of a boy anymore. it was a rabid, starving thing. he pinned your wrists to the couch on either side of your head, his calloused hands locking over your joints with a crushing force that left no room for struggle. you writhed beneath him, trying to turn your head away, trying to keep your neck angled high to escape the suffocating heat of his face, but he simply used his weight to hold you down, lapping at your mouth, his lips parting yours with a wild hunger.

“god— hmm...” he was kissing you as if he were trying to pull the very breath out of your lungs, his head tilting from side to side to drink you in deeper, harder, completely losing himself in the taste of you.

finally.

that was the only word echoing through the hollow spaces of his head as he crushed your body beneath his. finally.

your fingers, pinned flat against the couch, twitched helplessly beneath the crushing weight of his palms. you tried to keep up. you tried to keep your head above, trying to maintain the distance that had kept you alive since last night. but the overwhelming reality of him was starting to dissolve the boundaries of your own mind.

why were you keeping up? 

all of this, all of it—it was a visceral assault on your senses. it felt gross. it felt incredibly, deeply gross to be the literal centerpiece of a sick years-long blueprint, to have your body subjected to the whims of his twisted fantasies. but as his weight settled more heavily beside your thighs, pinning you down until you couldn't move an inch...

it felt... good?

it felt good.

you found yourself ghost-blinking, your vision swimming as a sudden feverish warmth crawled up from your chest, flooding your throat and burning across your cheeks, before pooling into an ache in your lower body. you were completely paralyzed by it, caught in a terrifying tug-of-war between your survival instincts and a thrill you had never felt before. but you didn't dare kiss him back. you kept your lips stiff, refusing to give him the satisfaction of a response, even as your body betrayed you.

caleb, still lapping hungrily at your mouth, finally and unwillingly began to pull away.

the transition was painfully slow, his lips dragging against yours with a heavy reluctance. as he lifted his head just a few inches, a glistening string of saliva stretched between your parted lips, bridging the tiny gap between you before it finally snapped.

your chest hitched. 

the sight of it made a burning blush erupt across your face. you couldn't explain it to yourself. you didn't know how to place the sudden, wild drumming of your pulse. it felt like discovering a hidden corridor inside your own house, a door you had never known existed, and you had absolutely no idea what to do with the monster waiting inside it.

above you, caleb stared down. his eyes narrowed, glassy, and wild, like a lovesick dog that had finally been thrown a scrap of meat but was still starving for the whole meal.

his fingers tightened around your wrists with a sudden bruising force, pinning your arms so hard against the leather you could feel the pulse in his own palms hammering against your skin. 

“i didn't do any of this to hurt you, [name],” he whispered frantically, eyes scanning your face, searching for any sign of comprehension in your gaze. “you have to believe me. you have to understand. i've been so quiet for so long. for five years- five years of watching you from afar, watching you walk home, watching other people take your time, watching them treat you like you were just... normal.” a breathless laugh escaped his lips. “like you weren't the center of the fucking universe.”

his forehead dropped for a split second to press against yours, closing his eyes shut.

“the people who tried to touch you, the ones who thought they had a right to you—” then, he opens his eyes ajar, pulling away just an inch. “i had to clear them out. i had to. because no one else could love you like this. no one else would go this far for you, [name].” 

he gulps, letting out a small grunt. “no one.”

his grip on your wrists tightened even more, the bones of your hands aching under his hold, but his expression was so incredibly, terrifyingly soft. 

“tell me you understand that. please. tell me you see it now.”

he didn't look away, he couldn't. his entire body trembled with the weight of his own confession, desperately waiting for you to say something. to curse him, to scream, to agree—anything.

but you remained flush beneath his grip.

you lay there, pinned to the couch. the words washed over you in a dizzying wave, but you couldn't process a single one. you couldn't think. you couldn't move. you could only listen to the rhythmic beating of your heart against your chest. only that. 

caleb watched the rise and fall of your chest, tracking the silent rhythm of your breath as you lay trapped beneath him. you weren't screaming. you weren't trying to tear your wrists from his fingers anymore.

a drop of satisfaction settled into his features. to a mind as twisted as his, the absence of a fight wasn't fear—it was an invitation. it was consent.

slowly, his gaze drifted away from your face. his eyes traveled down the column of your throat, sliding past the open collar of his oversized flannel shirt, before tracking the line of your torso. and finally, his eyes landed specifically on your thighs.

even beneath the sweatpants, the muscles in your legs were locked rigid, your knees pressing together so tightly that the fabric was bunched and strained between your joints.

caleb raised a single brow. his eyes flicked from your locked knees back up to your face.

fuck.

the warmth that had pooled in your lower body was a physical weight now, and the fact that he was actively studying it made a sudden surge of panic flare up in your chest.

“let go,” you choked out, twisting your hips and jerking your wrists in a frantic effort to hide yourself from his stare. 

his palms remained locked over your wrists like iron clamps, while he just watched your struggles with a curiosity, his head tilting slightly. “why are you doing that?” 

you stopped twisting, your teeth clicking together as your glare turned into a frown. “doing what?”

then, without warning, the suffocating weight above you vanished.

caleb simply let go of your wrists. he rose from the couch in one motion, his bare feet hitting the timber floor without a sound. 

he turned his gaze entirely toward the front door. and when he turned his face back toward the couch, the sadist from a second ago was gone. his eyes were bright, his face soft, and that sweet, reliable smile was pinned neatly across his lips. “the engine is finally fixed. the moisture cleared out of the distributor cap while we were... catching up.”

you sat up slowly, your elbows trembling as you propped your weight up on the cushions. what the actual fuck?

“i can drive you home now,” caleb continued, walking over to the side table to pick up his truck keys. “or the police precinct. or anywhere else you want to go. let's get you sorted out, yeah?”

you just stared at him, completely bewildered, your brain grinding to a screeching halt. he couldn't just do this. he couldn't build a literal shrine to you, kiss you like that, pin you to a couch until you were wrecked, and then just pull back and offer to take you to a drive-thru the next second. it was insane. the sheer whiplash-inducing absurdity of his behavior was breaking your ability to process the situation.

caleb turned on his heel, turning his back to you as he took two easy strides toward the wooden exit.

fuck it.

your survival instinct was screaming at you to just let him open the door, to get into the truck and never look back, but the chaos of the entire afternoon had pushed you past the breaking point.

“caleb,” you called out.

he paused, his hand hovering just inches away from the door handle. smiling, he turned his head back over his shoulder.

“hmm?”

“what are you doing?” 

caleb fully turned his body away from the door, his hand dropping loosely to his side with the truck keys giving a jingle in his palm. “what do you mean?” 

a spike of frustration flared up in your chest, mixing dangerously with the adrenaline still lingering in your veins. what was he trying to pull? did this look like a joke to him? the absolute whiplash of his behavior—switching from a dead-obsessed guy on top of you to a polite, helpful one in the span of thirty seconds—was maddening. 

you took a slow breath, your fingers digging into the cushion of the couch. “replace the bandages,” you told him. “before we go anywhere. they're bleeding again.”

caleb blinked at you, a momentary flash of surprise crossing his features, but it was gone just as quickly as it came. 

“of course,” he murmured, setting the keys down on the kitchen counter. “give me a second.”

minutes later, the quiet of the cabin was broken only by the pop of the first-aid box latches. you sat on the edge of the couch, your spine rigid, watching caleb lowering himself onto one knee on the floor directly in front of you. he was focused, broad shoulders hunched forward while he neatly laid out the fresh rolls of gauze, the medical tape, and a packet of antiseptic wipes onto the small wooden coffee table.

you pursed your lips inward, your fingers reaching down to the elastic waistband of the grey sweatpants, preparing to roll the heavy fleece back up your thighs.

“actually,” caleb said, without looking up from his neat arrangement of the medical supplies. “take them off this time.”

your fingers froze against the fabric.

“the blood's probably soaked through to the inner lining by now,” he explained, before he lifted his eyes to meet yours through his bangs. “if you keep them on, the fabric's just going to rub against the fresh dressing while i'm driving. i'll just grab you a new pair of pants from my room before we walk out.”

you hesitated for a long, heavy second. every sensible instinct in your brain told you to refuse, to maintain whatever boundary you had left. but there was something else shifting beneath the surface—a pull of submission, a curiosity that quietly nudged you to just see how far this would go.

keeping your eyes locked on his face, your hands gripped the waistband. you slid the fleece down past your hips, down your thighs, and kicked the sweatpants away, leaving your legs bare, covered in nothing but your underwear.

but caleb didn't look.

he didn't lean in, he didn't smirk, and his eyes didn't wander down the exposed line of your hips. instead, he kept his gaze entirely focused on the task at hand, his fingers moving with a careful discipline as he reached out and gently peeled back the blood-stained cotton from your torn skin.

“sorry,” his thumb lightly brushed the undamaged skin just above the laceration to steady his hand. “sorry about these.”

even with the pants gone, you couldn't help it—your knees were still locked together, your inner thighs pressing flush against each other in an instinctive attempt to hide the dampness ruined into your underwear.

with a fresh roll of gauze held between his fingers, caleb looked up at you from his knee on the floor. his expression was entirely too innocent, brow tilting up with that infuriatingly boyish look.

“if you keep pressing your legs together like that, i won't be able to wrap the tension properly. they're just going to split again.” he let out a quiet chuckle. “come on. relax for a second.”

the audacity of the sound made your jaw tighten. you didn't know what was happening to you anymore. the logic of the world had unraveled within the span of an hour. you knew who he was now; you knew what lay behind that closed door down the hall. you should have been frozen in pure, unadulterated terror. you should have been vomiting from the revulsion of sitting naked in front of a monster.

but you weren't. 

instead, that heat was turning into a literal ache between your hips. your pulse was hammering directly into the cushion beneath you, your skin hyper-aware of the cool air traveling over your bare skin. why are you like this? why do you want him to do something?

with a gulp, you slowly let your muscles give way.

you spread your legs just an inch or two, exposing the wet patch blooming right through the center of your cotton panties.

caleb’s eyes dropped down.

he stared at the damp fabric for one long, unblinking second, but he just wordlessly forced his gaze back down to the lacerations on your right thigh, his throat moving as he swallowed hard. his hands became incredibly precise, almost stiff, as he rapidly laid the clean pad down and began winding the white gauze around your leg, securing it with three tight strips of medical tape.

once the final piece of tape was smoothed down against your skin, caleb didn't linger. he immediately picked up the discarded wrappers, dropping them into the white first-aid box and snapping the latches shut.

you blinked, the sudden withdrawal leaving you feeling strangely hollow. trying to shake the dizzying fog from your head, you leaned forward, your fingers reaching toward the floor to grab the discarded sweatpants.

“are you just going to leave it like that?”

caleb’s voice cut through the room, low and raspy. 

your hand froze on the fleece.

then, you looked up. he was still kneeling between your feet, his hands resting flat against his own knees. 

“do you want to take care of that too before we go?” he had asked.

the question left you staring at him, bewildered, with your mouth parting slightly. you felt yourself grow even wetter, the cotton clinging miserably to your skin as the ache intensified.

caleb didn't wait for a verbal answer, because your reaction was written entirely across your burning face.

he stared at you for one more second, and then, his hands reached forward, fingers wrapped firmly around the insides of your knees. with an unyielding pressure, he pushed his arms outward, spreading your legs even wider, just to leave you open and exposed to him.

he kept his dilated eyes locked directly onto yours from below, his mouth curving into a small smile. “i guess that makes the two of us, then.”

his thumbs swept slowly across your skin, tracing burning circles right over the edges of the fresh white bandages, his eyes never leaving yours. 

“you're shaking,” the contrast was dizzying—the innocent smile still pinned to his face while his pupils were dilated so wide they looked like pools of leaked ink. “is it because it's cold in here, [name]? or is it because you're finally realizing you belong right here?”

“shut up.” you choked out, your knuckles turning white as you dug your fingernails into the cushions beneath you. your brain was screaming at you, a siren warning you that this was the man who had carved into your flesh, the monster who had mapped out your entire life on a corkboard down the hall. 

but your body was operating on an entirely different command. the dampness between your legs had soaked through the cotton, and the cool air of the cabin rushing over your exposed skin made the ache unbearable.

caleb let out an amused hum, the sound vibrating against your bare knees as he slowly lowered his head. he leaned in close to your right leg, his warm breath fanning across your skin a second before his lips pressed down against your inner thigh.

god.

the kiss was slow, heavy, and searingly hot. he dragged his mouth upward, his lips parting slightly as he nipped at the soft skin just an inch away from the white gauze wrap. you let out an involuntary gasp, your hips jerking slightly against the couch.

“caleb—stop—” the protest was weak, entirely devoid of any real force.

“can't do that,” he whispered against your skin. “you're too wet, [name]. it's messy. let me clean it up for you.”

he shifted, dropping fully to both knees between your feet while his hands slid up from your knees, his palms flattening against the outsides of your hips, anchoring you into the cushions so firmly you couldn't move an inch even if you tried. he looked up at you one last time, a lovesick gaze taking over his features before he bent his head down completely.

his nose nudged the edge of your panties, pushing the damp cotton aside with a single finger until he found you.

when his tongue first made contact, a broken sob immediately tore right out of your throat.

“hngh-!”

it was slow. agonizingly slow. caleb wasn't rushing to finish, it was like he was testing you, studying the way your breath hitched, measuring just how much you resisted him. his tongue was broad, hot, and thick as he swiped it upward, tracing the sensitive length of your clit with his mouth. it made your toes curl inside his wool socks, your back arching off the couch.

“you can't... just...” your logic was losing the war, shattering into pieces under the heat of his mouth.

caleb let out a rumble of satisfaction against your skin, his hands gripping your hips tighter, his fingers digging into your flesh. he began to pick up the pace, his tongue lapping at you hungrily and drinking in the sweet taste of your cunt with an uncomfortably loud sucking. 

he was testing himself too, learning the exact angles that made you writhe, the specific way that made your breathing turn into desperate pants. every time you tried to pull away, tried to reassemble the logic that told you he was dangerous, he would use his tongue to push you right back over the edge, lapping you down from below until you were helpless under his control.

“you taste so good,” he gasped out, pulling away for a mere fraction of a second, his lips shiny and wet in the dim light before he buried his face right back between your thighs. “so perfect. i knew you would. i knew it.”

the heat between your thighs suddenly vanished, leaving the sensitive skin tingling and cold against the drafty air of the cabin. you let out a whine, your head tossing against the cushion as you blinked through the dizzying haze of pleasure.

but caleb didn't give you room to breathe.

he crawled up your body like a shadow, his large frame blocking out the rest of the room as he pinned you back down into the couch. he was panting, his purple eyes fixed on your face with a rabid hunger.

“you're... so loud for me, [name],” he rasped, his voice a deep, gravelly vibration that brushed against your burning cheek. “i love it. i love hearing what i do to you.”

before you could even gather the breath to respond, his hands slid up your torso, his fingers hooking into the front of the oversized flannel shirt. with one tug, he parted the fabric to bare your chest to the cool air and his scorching gaze. your breath hitched sharply as his eyes locked onto your breasts.

“...so beautiful. so perfect.” he breathed.

and immediately, caleb leaned down, his mouth targeting your left breast while his large hand cupped the right one, his calloused thumb rubbing over the sensitive tip with a pinch that made you arch off the cushions. when his hot tongue finally swiped across your nipple, a broken gasp tore out of your throat.

he took your nipple into his mouth, his lips locking around it as he sucked deeply, pulling the sensitive nub against the roof of his mouth. 

“caleb—ah! wait—” you whimpered, your hands flying to his broad shoulders, your fingers digging into the hard muscle to push him away.

your logic was screaming at you, a fading voice telling you how humiliating this was, how deeply wrong it was to be falling apart under the touch of the man who had orchestrated your capture. the shame burned hotter than the blush on your face. but even as your hands pressed against his shoulders to push, your hips instinctively tilted upward, begging for something more, for something else. 

caleb switched sides, his wet mouth dragging across your chest to devour your other breast, his tongue lapping and swirling around the stiff peak until you were panting.

“...you like it,” he murmured against your skin, “you want more, don't you? tell me.”

“no... i don't—ah!”

the lie died instantly in your throat, turning into a ragged sob as a sudden intrusion stretched you open from below.

while your mind had been entirely consumed by the sensation of his mouth on your tits, caleb had slid his hand back down your abdomen. his fingers had touched the cotton of your underwear, and without a single word of warning, he had buried two of his fingers deep inside your tight warmth.

the suddenness of it made your toes curl once more, your fingers instantly gripping his hair to pull him hard against your chest. his fingers were so long, stretching you open before he immediately began to pump them inside you, his knuckles rubbing hard against your clit with every thrust.

caleb's tongue dragged flat over your wet nipple, his teeth catching the peak just hard enough to make your hips jerk off the cushions. he sucked it deep into his mouth, chest expanding with a rough breath while his two fingers drove all the way into you, bottoming out against your tight walls.

the sliding sound of his knuckles against your soaked panties filled the space between you, sharp and uncomfortably loud.

caleb pulled his mouth away from your breast, his eyes locked onto yours with his messy bangs brushing your forehead. a slow, small smile crept across his lips—that same dependable expression he used when he was tending to you last night, now utterly curdled by the sight of you pinned beneath him like this.

“shh, it's okay,” he whispered, suddenly pulling his fingers out of your heat. “i'm just taking care of you, [name]. we can't have you getting into the truck all wet like this,” and then, he plunges them back into you much, much deeper again. “that'd be something, wouldn't it?” 

“fuck you,” you choked out, the curse losing all its weight when he suddenly hooked his fingers and drove them faster, hitting your spot with a punishing pace.

“ah—! caleb—”

you were a complete hypocrite. 

your brain was screaming at you that this was the man who had planned your isolation, the monster who had cut your legs, but your body was entirely detached from your sanity. shame burned hot in your throat, a nauseating weight in your stomach, but as he drove his fingers in even faster, your knees instinctively fell further apart.

you spread yourself wider for him, your thighs loosening and opening your pussy to his hands as you chased the pressure of his knuckles.

caleb let out a grunt that was followed by a chuckle, “hmm, look at you. look how wide you're opening up for me.”

he drove his hand in harder, his thumb pressing firmly against your clit, rubbing in circles with every wet thrust. 

“caleb, please—fuck—stop, it's too much—!”

“no, it's not?” he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his hot breath blooming against your skin. “you want this. just take it, [name]. let me finish taking care of you.”

the friction inside you became too much, the pressure of his knuckles building into a wave that you couldn't fight anymore. your breath caught in your chest, your fingers clawing uselessly at the fabric of his hoodie as you felt something tightening into a knot in your lower abdomen. your logic, your shame, the memory of the room down the hall—everything completely shattered as the sensation pushed you over the edge.

you fell straight into an orgasm.

“caleb—ah! caleb!”

your thighs convulsed, legs trembling against the cushions as you came hard right against his hand, the muscles inside you clamping down around his fingers in pulses. you were utterly mortified, tears of pure overstimulation stinging the corners of your eyes, but your body was utterly out of your control.

and caleb didn't stop.

even as your hips bucked and your legs shook, he kept his fingers inside you just to continue to pump his hand. he didn't slacken the pace for a single second, driving his hand in deep, forcing you to ride out the hypersensitive waves of the climax. 

“aw, look at that,” he squeezed and grunted his voice. “look how much you're cumming for me, [name].”

he gave two more deep, dragging thrusts, bottoming out against your walls one last time before he finally and slowly curled his fingers and pulled his hand out of you.

the sudden withdrawal left you feeling empty, shivering instantly as the cool air hit your wet skin. you lay there helpless, your arms thrown back against the cushions, your chest heaving as you tried to catch your breath. 

you watched the way caleb lifted his wet hand, how his fingers were coated in your orgasm, shining in the low light. keeping his eyes locked onto yours, he brought his hand to his mouth and wrapped his lips around his middle fingers, sucking the slick moisture off his skin.

you widened your eyes, “hey, that's-”

he suddenly reached up, his palm resting gently on the top of your head. his fingers smoothed through your messy hair, patting you with a smile that felt terrifyingly domestic, like a pet owner rewarding a good animal. 

“there,” caleb murmured. “is that already better, [name]? did i take good care of it for you?”

he let his hand slide down from your hair, his thumb lightly brushing the side of your knee where your legs lay loose and parted against the cushions.

“no more legs tightening now, right?”

“shut up.”

caleb stayed kneeling between your feet for a few moments longer, his serene smile never wavering as his thumb traced a gentle circle on the side of your knee. “i'll get those pants for you now.” 

he stood up, his bare feet making no sound against the floor while he walked toward the hallway. you watched his broad frame disappear down the corridor, heading toward the bedroom—past the heavy wooden door that held the corkboards, the maps, the candid photos of your life, and the polaroids of the dead.

the second he was out of sight, the spell broke.

the fog in your brain cleared with a sudden, violent snap. the shame was a bitter taste in the back of your throat, but you couldn't afford to sink into it. your legs were loose now, the tight tension gone, replaced by a cold adrenaline. you sat up, your bare feet hitting the floor. 

you didn't wait for the new pants, instead you grabbed the discarded ones on the floor and put them back on again. 

then, your eyes locked onto the kitchen counter.

there, resting on the laminate wood right next to the empty glass of water, was the heavy metal keyring. the keys to the truck.

holding your breath, you stood up on your trembling, bandaged legs. every step was a sharp flare of agony against the fresh gauze, but you pushed through it, padding silently across the living room. your fingers closed around the cold metal of the keys, wrapping tight to keep them from jingling.

you turned toward the front door, before your hand gripped the brass deadbolt.

click.

the sound of the latch releasing felt as loud as a gunshot in the cabin.

“[name?]”

you didn't look back. you threw the door open, the air of the misty afternoon hitting your bare skin like a physical blow. you lunged out into the gray light, your wool-socked feet slipping on the wet grass as you sprinted toward the open hood of the truck.

slimming into the driver's seat, you jammed the key into the ignition and turned it. the engine roared to life, coughing violently before settling into a rumble.

through the grimy windshield, you saw him.

caleb had stepped out onto the porch of the cabin. he didn't run down the steps. he didn't scream your name. he just stood there in the mist, holding a pair of neatly folded red flannel pajama pants in his left hand. his eyes locked onto yours through the glass, his face entirely expressionless as the wind whipped his messy bangs across his forehead.

you slammed the truck into reverse, the tires spinning and spraying thick mud into the air as you backed out of the clearing. you threw the gear into drive, stamping your foot down on the gas pedal, tearing down the overgrown dirt track that led toward the highway.

the trees blurred past in a sickening rush of green and gray. you were breathing hard, tears finally spilling over your hot cheeks as you gripped the steering wheel so hard your knuckles turned white. 

finally, you were escaping. you were going home.

but as your eyes flicked up to the rearview mirror, watching the silhouette of the cabin disappear into the dense timber behind you, a sickening realization settled deep into your chest.

you had the truck. you had the keys. but he had the blueprints. he had your schedule, your routes, your predictable blind spots, and the black line drawn neatly across the face of everyone you loved. you were driving back to the city, back to your life, but you knew—with a certainty—that you were just moving along the exact path he had already paved for you.

The thought alone makes you smirk. I mean, did he really think you were going to reward him for being such a hardass? Some genius.

"G-getting close?" Zayne sucks in a breath, feeling your upcoming orgasm in the way you start moving faster, hips slamming down on him relentlessly. You moan when his fingers reach around to find your clit, circling tightly until you cry out, vision going white as you cum hard around his cock.

He's panting behind you, waiting the torturous time for you to recover, to keep moving. Zayne's a gentleman, so he won't rush you, even though he's painfully close to bursting.

You slip off his cock with ease, biting back a laugh when you hear him involuntarily whimper at the loss of your warmth. When you slip off the bed, still not sparing him a glance, he pipes up.

"Are you taking a break?" He questions, sitting up and watching you carefully. You turn and smile, shaking your head with mischief in your eyes.

"Nope, just going to shower."

"You're not..." Zayne trails off, truly baffled at this turn of events. Perhaps he'd catch on quicker if the blood was in his brain, not his cock.

"Going to help you finish? Now why would I do that?"

Sylus

You love kissing Sylus.

He's just so good at it. I mean, you'd think he would have at least one flaw, but nope. Just perfect. It was infuriating. Sometimes, you just wanted to piss him off just to see what he would do.

Sorta like tonight.

"O-oh fuck!" You gasp, hands braced against his chest as you bounce on his cock. Sylus is laid back, the picture of sex on a stick as he watches you, hands guiding your hips.

"Feeling good, sweetie?" He leans up to kiss you once more, smiling when you moan into it. It's a sloppy, messy kiss, but it only turns you on more.

"Y-yeah! God you're-you're so big." You wish you were exaggerating for the sake of his ego. Unfortunately for you, his ego was well earned. Sylus's cock was a thing to behold, and the son of a bitch knew it. Every time you struggled to sink down on it, he'd smile that same cocky smile that just made you want to punch him.

"I'm-I'm close!" You gasp, nails digging into his shoulders as you rock against him faster. He hums, eye burning bright red as your sheer desire overwhelms every one of his sense.

"Cum." He murmurs, smiling when you do it immediately. That stupid smile.

You're happy to see it falter when you sigh dramatically, rising off of his leaking cock and moving to get out of bed. A hand grabs your wrist, his brow raised.

"Forgetting something, sweetie?" He asks as if he truly thinks you're forgetting about him, and his orgasm.

"Hmm I don't think so. I mean, I came. So we're done, right?" You lean in to peck his cheek sweetly. He accepts it, but in a flash your bodies are flipped. Sylus pins you to the mattress, a grin splitting his face.

"I don't think we're done yet, kitten. If anything, you should cum a few more times. Right?"

Valko

Maybe it was mean.

Okay, it was definitely mean. Valko was such a softie, just the sweetest boyfriend in the whole world. Teasing him like this might be going a little too far, but isn't that what girlfriends are for?

"Please-please..." Valko whines into your mouth, holding you so close that instead of bouncing on his cock, you're really just grinding your hips against his.

"I-I know baby." You murmur, chest pressed against his so tight that it makes it a little hard to breath. He's working on his strength control after all.

"Feels-feels so good. You're so perfect." Praises fall from his lips every moment. His amber eyes might as well have hearts for pupils with the way he's looking at you, bright eyed and bushy tailed.

Well, his tail isn't out right now.

"You're-you're sweet too honey. God I-I'm close!" You gasp, managing to snake a hand between your bodies to circle your clit. Valko takes your nipple in his mouth, sharp canines scraping against it and making pleasure shoot through your spine. It's evil, how good he is at this.

But not as evil as you're about to be.

"God!" You nearly scream as you cum, head tossed back. Valko gasps at the sensation, not quite there yet. But you know he won't be far behind, so you have to act quickly, despite the aching in your legs from his unbelievable size.

You slip out of bed, but he immediately moves to follow you, frowning the moment he isn't touching you.

"Where-where are you going?" He pouts, trying to grab you. You do your best to act nonchalant, avoiding his sweet, pleading gaze.

"Just to shower! Is something wrong?"

"I...no. I guess not." He pulls a pillow in front of his cock, though you note that it's the pillow you sleep on, and his hips have already begun to buck into it.

"Well, alright! I'm gonna shower okay?"

"Wait! Can...can I join?"

"...Alright. Come on babe. You can finish in the shower."

Him and his damn puppy dog eyes.