Fake Slacker

「深淵へようこそ」

↳ ‘𝑾𝒆𝒍𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒆 𝒕𝒐 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒂𝒃𝒚𝒔𝒔.’

👾 anti hero | icy : they/them : adult : angst | tragedy

🍦 Masterlist | Main Masterlist : LADS : LADS 2 : RECS : DC

🍻 Cheers. If you don't like it, don't read it. Stop wasting your time and mine.

🍹 Beta? No beta, we die like Jason Todd and Caleb.

☕️ ko-fi :") : discord : wattpad : quotev : ao3

ᴛᴏ ᴛʜᴇ ᴏɴᴇꜱ ɪ ʟᴇꜰᴛ ʙᴇʜɪɴᴅ.

˙ʎɹɹos ɯ,I

LIKE. FUCK. WTFFFFF

I honestly haven't been updated on eleceed, i think the last chap i read was around.. chap 380-90ish... because... because i cannot stand kayden being followed around by guestella...

Guys She's pretty, kind-kinds, and powerful. But ill take anything- everything- just dont pair up kayden with any other character, i swear ill drop this the moment thay happens 😭😭

Anyways again, this is just my opinion so don't attack me. Anyways again, thats the reason why i havent been catching up with eleceed. But i often see spoilers so yeah, i saw Veramonte's son who initially has connections with kayden so i read the latest chap. And boom! KAYDEN IN HIS PRIME FLASHBACK SHKDBAHHAHAHAH

Like, he's so ripped? Fit? Dyam. Dowhg. I mean, he still is, but he's kinda slim in recent times, ya'knowww....

Ill reread this the other day, i just finished reading the hunter hides his past (will soon read the novel), rereading illusion hunter from another world, then reread return of the mad demon, then return of the blossoming blade, then eleceed.

Then again, ehem. I love kayden, pls dont die, pls dont end up with anyone else.

Ya'll should see vermonte's son cuz i think he's funny af lmao.

Imagine the way you hadn't meant to stay long. And that was the first lie.

Imagine it had been one of those nights where everything felt just slightly off. Not wrong enough to name, not heavy enough to collapse under, but just enough to make you want something louder than your own thoughts.

so Imagine, you walked into the bar telling yourself one drink or maybe two, and then you would go back to the hotel, wash your face, sleep it off like a functional adult. And that plan lasted exactly twenty minutes.

Imagine by the time you slid onto the stool, the place was already alive. Music humming low through the floor, lights dim enough to blur edges, conversations overlapping into something unintelligible but oddly comforting. You ordered something without thinking too much about it, something strong enough to burn a little going down, and leaned forward against the counter with a quiet exhale.

Imagine that was when you noticed him. Not because he was trying to be noticed, if anything, he was the opposite. He sat one seat away, posture straight, attention fixed on his phone like the world around him didn't concern him in the slightest. No drink in hand yet, no restless movement, no scanning the room for attention, just still. And you found yourself watching him longer than necessary.

Imagine maybe it was the alcohol, or the boredom, or just the fact that he did not look like he belonged there, but you spoke. "Do you always look this serious?" You asked, tilting your head slightly. "Or is this place just not your thing?" The guy, a stool away didn't react immediately. For a moment, you thought he might ignore you entirely. Then he turned, slow and deliberate, his gaze settling on you in a way that felt assessing, but not rude. Just attentive in a way that made you suddenly aware of yourself.

"You're loud enough for both of us." He said, adjusting his glasses with one hand. Flat. Calm. Completely unbothered. You blinked at him, then let out a surprised laugh. "Wow. That's the first thing you say to a stranger?" "It worked, didn't it?" You huffed, shaking your head, but the corner of your mouth lifted anyway. And somehow, that was enough to keep you there.

Imagine the way you did not even notice time passing at first. Conversation with him wasn't loud or particularly flirtatious, but it held your attention in a way you hadn't expected. He didn't try to impress you, didn't lean in close or brush against you unnecessarily. He just listened, and when he spoke, it felt intentional, like he actually considered what you said before answering.

Imagine it should've been boring. It wasn't. Which was probably why you didn't see the second one coming.

Imagine the way you felt him before you saw him. A warmth at your side, a shift in space, and then a hand. Firm, steady, settling at your waist like it had always belonged there. You startled just slightly, turning your head, and that's when you met him. Everything about him was... Easy. Relaxed confidence, a smile that came nanaturally, purple eyes that held just enough amusement to make you feel like he already knew something you didn't.

"Didn't mean to interrupt." He said like he was already an acquaintance, "But you looked like you needed saving." You let out a short laugh, raising a brow. "From what?" He tilted his head toward the man beside you, hand never moving from where it was, your waist. "From him."

Imagine the way you turned instinctively, expecting some kind of reaction. But the first man was quiet, composed, didn't argue, didn't even comment. His gaze flickered briefly to the hand at your waist before returning to your face, unreadable as ever.

Imagine that should have made things awkward. It didn't. If anything, it made something strange settle in your chest. Something curious, something electric.

"Bold assumption." You said, glancing back at the second man. "Bold is kind of my thing." He replied easily. "Clearly." You said, expecting tension between them, some kind of silent competition or territorial energy. But there was none. Just… Coexistence. Like two separate currents that hadn't decided to clash yet. "Dance with me." The second one said, already guiding you gently off the stool. You hesitated for half a second then shrugged. "Why not."

Imagine the way the music hit you harder once you were in it, louder, deeper, wrapping around your body until you couldn't tell where it ended and you began. And he, the second guy, moved like he knew exactly what he was doing, every touch intentional but never overwhelming. His hand stayed at your waist, steady, grounding, and he spun you once, pulling a laugh out of you before you could stop it. And you let yourself fall into it, into the movement, the rhythm, the warmth of his hands and the ease of his presence.

Imagine you almost forgot about the other one. Almost.

but Imagine, the moment you turned catching your breath for a second, there he was there. Closer than before, not dancing, not intruding, just standing near enough that you could feel him again. That quiet, steady presence that hadn't left your awareness since you first spoke to him. You didn't remember inviting him, he bother, but somehow, he stayed.

and Imagine, neither of them acknowledged it, no introductions, no familiarity, no sign they knew each other at all, just two strangers… In the same space, because of you. It should have been uncomfortable, instead, it made your pulse quicken.

Imagine, another drink appeared in your hand at some point. You didn't question who gave it to you. You took it, laughed again, let the warmth spread through your system until your thoughts softened and your edges blurred. At one point, you turned too quickly, your balance slipping just enough to make your stomach drop, but before you could fall, you collided with something solid. Him, the one with the purple eyes.

Imagine the way your hand pressed briefly against his chest to steady yourself, your breath catching as you looked up. "Careful." He said quietly, close enough that you felt it more than heard it. "Maybe you should listen." The other one, the one with the glasses added, appearing at your side again, his tone light but his eyes watching you carefully. "Or what?" You challenged, though your voice had softened, he leaned in just slightly, "Or we might not catch you next time."

Imagine you rolled your eyes in a way that your heart didn't settle. Something had shifted. You didn’t notice exactly when it happened, only that the space between the three of you felt smaller, closer. The music louder, the air heavier, your awareness sharper despite the alcohol.

Imagine he, the dancer, the one with purple eyes leaned in again, your conversation dissolving into something quieter, something more personal. His hand slid just slightly higher at your waist, slower this time, more deliberate. And you didn't move away, by the time you glanced back, the other one was watching. And something in his gaze had changed, something that made your breath hitch, made your skin feel warmer under it. So you turned back, too close, far too close.

"This is a bad idea." You murmured, though your voice lacked conviction. "Then say stop." The one in front of you replied, softer now, his purple eyes searching yours. And you didn't, you didn't say anything at all. And that silence, that hesitation was enough.

Imagine the kiss came naturally, like it had been building toward that point all along. Warm, certain, not rushed, but not hesitant either. His hand tightened slightly at your back, pulling you just a fraction closer. And for a moment, it was just him, just that, until you felt it again. That presence, closer now, right behind you. You broke the kiss just slightly, breath uneven, and turned your head, and there he was. The quiet one, close enough that the space between you barely existed.

Imagine the way his gaze dropped to your lips, then lifted back to your eyes, something unreadable but intense flickering there. You should have stepped back, created distance, chosen, but you didn't. Because something in you, something reckless, something curious, wanted to see what would happen if you didn't. So when a hand lifted, brushing lightly against your jaw, tilting your face just enough to guide your attention, not forceful, not demanding. Just… There, waiting. And when he did, you didn't stop him either.

Imagine your thoughts blurred, your heartbeat loud in your ears, the world narrowing down to the three of you and the space you occupied. Not too long, the hallway came, quieter, dimmer, the shift away from the noise happening so naturally you barely registered leaving. The door closing behind you was soft, almost insignificant, but it sealed something in place all the same.

and still, Imagine, no names, no introductions, no acknowledgment between them. Just you. And two strangers, who never once acted like they knew each other. And somehow, that made it feel less real, like something that only existed in that moment, separate from consequence, separate from reality. Something fleeting. Something you could leave behind in the morning.

Imagine waking up like you've been thrown back into your body. Not gently, not gradually, just pain. A sharp, splitting ache behind your eyes, your head pounding so hard it feels like your skull might crack open if you so much as breathe wrong. You groan, face still buried in the pillow, one hand coming up instinctively to press against your temple.

"Shit…" Your voice is hoarse, dry. Your throat feels like regret. You don't open your eyes yet, you don't need to. You already know you drank too much, you already know you stayed out too late, and judging by the way your alarm isn't going off... You're late.

Imagine the way your eyes snap open. Oh, you are late. Your heart jumps, panic cutting clean through the fog in your brain as you try to push yourself up, and immediately regret it. Your entire body protests. Not just a little discomfort, not just soreness. No. It feels like you've been hit by a car. You freeze halfway up, breath catching as the ache settles deep into your muscles. Your arms feel heavy, your thighs sore, your lower body.

Imagine the way you stop, blink. Because... That's not normal. That is very much not normal. You swallow, throat dry, and try again, slower this time. You push yourself upright, wincing as every small movement pulls at something tender, something overused. Your back aches, your hips ache, your everything aches.

"What the hell did I-" You don't finish. Because as the haze in your head slowly begins to clear, something else creeps in, awareness. The cool air against your skin, too much of it. You go still, very, very still. Because you're naked, completely, not even a scrap of fabric. Your stomach drops, slowly, like you're afraid of what you'll see. So you turn your head, and the world ends.

Imagine there's a man beside you. Close, too close. Asleep, shirtless, no. Not just shirtless. Your brain short circuits for a second before it fully registers, he's naked, fully, completely, and that's not even the worst part. Because the moment you turn the other way, there's another one. Also naked, also asleep, also...

Imagine the way your soul leaves your body. No. No, no, no, no. Your breathing goes shallow, your heart pounding so loudly it feels like it might wake them up any second. You look back at the first one. Sharp features, glasses resting on the bedside table, his expression calm even in sleep. There's a faint mark along his collarbone, dark, unmistakable. You know what that is, you did that.

Imagine you look at the other one. He's sprawled more loosely, one arm thrown across the space where you must have been. His chest rises slowly, evenly, and there, just below his shoulder. Scratches, faint, but there. Your nails, your brain supplies it helpfully. You nearly choke.

"Oh my god." It comes out as a whisper, barely there, because panic has fully settled in now, cold and sharp and overwhelming. You squeeze your eyes shut for a second. Think. Think. Think. Flash, music, lights. A hand at your waist, another at your wrist, a kiss... You suck in a breath. No. Nope. We are not doing this. That did not happen. You refuse. You absolutely refuse. This is a misunderstanding. A hallucination. A stress induced nightmare. Your brain is lying. It has to be. Because there is no version of reality where you, where this... No.

Imagine the way you inhale slowly, forcing your panic down into something manageable. Okay. New plan. Damage control. Step one, get out. Step two, never think about this again. Step three, pretend you are a completely different person who has never made a decision in her life. You nod to yourself, once, firm. Yes. Good. Solid plan.

Imagine the way you move carefully, slowly peeling the sheets away from your body, wincing at the cold and at the way your muscles protest even the smallest shift. You pause when one of them moves, your entire body freezing, but neither of them wakes. Good, good. Stay asleep. Please stay asleep. You slide out of the bed as quietly as humanly possible, your legs nearly giving out when your feet hit the floor. Oh, you are never drinking again.

Imagine your clothes are scattered like evidence. Dress half hanging off a chair, shoes one near the door, one somewhere you refuse to question. You gather everything quickly, movements efficient but shaky, your eyes flicking back to the bed every few seconds like they might suddenly sit up and catch you in the act. They don't. They just sleep. Like this is normal, like this is fine, like you didn't just ruin your entire life in one night.

Imagine you find your underwear and hesitate, then grab it anyway and shove it into your bag without looking too closely. Dignity is already gone, no need to examine it further. One last glance. You don't mean to, but you do. The quiet one has shifted slightly, his hand now resting where you had been. The other one's arm is still stretched out, fingers curled loosely against the sheets. For a split second, something in your chest tightens. But you ignore it, firmly. So you turn, and leave.

Imagine the hallway air feels colder, sharper, more real. But you don't stop walking, not when the door clicks shut behind you, not when you step into the elevator, not even when you catch your reflection in the mirror, hair a mess, lips slightly swollen, a faint mark near your collarbone that absolutely was not there yesterday. You look away. Nope. No evidence. No memories. No consequences.

Imagine, you have a wedding to attend. A whole day ahead of you in a city that isn't even yours. You don't have time for this, you don't have time to unpack whatever the hell that was. You had your fun, clearly. More than enough fun to last you the rest of the month. No, for the rest of your life. Because there is absolutely. Absolutely no way in hell you are ever making that kind of mistake again.

Imagine behind you, in that room you left too quickly, two men eventually wake up and realize, you're gone.

Imagine two days later, you convince yourself you're fine, not healed, not recovered and definitely not okay, but functional. And honestly? That's the best you're going to get.

Imagine you wake up early this time, intentionally. No hangover, no strange bed, no bodies tangled around you like a bad decision you can't undo. Just your hotel room, your suitcase half open on the chair, and the distant hum of a city that still doesn't feel like yours. You sit there for a moment, staring at nothing, then you move. Because today isn't about you, today is about your brother.

Imagine he looks happy. That's the first thing you notice when you see him at the venue, pacing a little, adjusting his sleeves, running a hand through his hair for the hundredth time. Nervous, sure. But underneath all of it, happy, genuinely. The kind of happy that settles deep, the kind that doesn't flicker or waver. And something in your chest softens, necause whatever else is going on in your life, whatever absolute chaos you've created for yourself. He's doing okay. He found someone.

and Imagine from what you know of her… She's not bad. You're not particularly close with her, no. Your interactions have been polite, brief, careful in that way people are when they're still figuring each other out, but she's kind, quiet, in a different way than you expected. There's a steadiness to her that you can respect.

Imagine you know she didn't have it easy growing up. You know she lives with her adoptive grandmother. You know there's a stepbrother somewhere in the picture. That's about it. And honestly? That's enough. Your brother chose her, and looking at him now... You trust that choice.

Imagine the ceremony hall fills slowly. Soft chatter, the shuffle of shoes, the quiet excitement that builds before something important begins. You take your seat, smoothing out your outfit, trying to focus on the moment instead of everything else. And to be honest, it was working, mostly. You let yourself feel it, the emotion, the weight of it, the way your chest tightens just slightly as the music starts to shift.

Imagine this is it. You glance at your brother again, and he looks like he might cry. You almost laugh. Then the doors open, and everything goes to hell.

Imagine you don't even process it at first. Just movement, a figure stepping into view. The bride, radiant, composed, walking slowly down the aisle. And beside her, you see him. And your entire body reacts before your brain can catch up. You almost duck, like actually, physically, nearly drop out of your seat like that might somehow erase what you're seeing. No. No way. No way.

but Imagine, there he is, the dancer. The one with the easy confidence, the stupidly effortless smile, brownish hair, styled properly now, suit fitted to him like it was made for him, and those eyes... The one you had convinced yourself you'd never see again. Turns out you didn't imagine those, you know you didn't.

Imagine the way your stomach drops so fast it's a miracle you don't make a sound. What are the odds? No, seriously. What are the actual, statistical, universe level odds that the man you... That he is standing there, walking your future sister-in-law down the aisle. Like he belongs here, like this is normal, like you didn't...

Imagine you grip the edge of your seat, nails digging into the fabric. You want to disappear. Not leave quietly, not excuse yourself, no, you want to vanish. Evaporate, cease to exist. Because this- this is not survivable. Not when your body still remembers, not when your hips still ache in that faint, lingering way you've been aggressively ignoring for the past two days, not when the marks... God. You had checked this morning. They're still there. Fading, but not gone. And now he's here. Here. In your brother's wedding.

Imagine you force yourself to breathe. In. Out. In... Okay. Okay. There are a lot of people here. A lot. Family, friends, colleagues, rows filled, attention focused forward. He won't notice you. Why would he? It was one night. No names, no attachments, no reason for him to... He reaches the altar, shakes your brother's hand. And then like something out of a nightmare, his gaze lifts. Straight to you.

Imagine the way your heart stops, like actually stops. Because there's no hesitation, no confusion, no searching. He knows. Immediately. And then, he smiles. Not polite, not distant, not the kind of smile you give someone you barely recognize. No. It's subtle, but it's there. That same amused, knowing curve of his lips like he just found something interesting. Like he just spotted something he wasn't expecting, but definitely doesn't mind.

"Fuck." You whisper under your breath, your eyes snap forward so fast it almost hurts. You sit there, rigid, every muscle in your body locked in place as if pretending hard enough will make you invisible. It doesn't, you can feel it. That awareness, that attention, even when you're not looking.

Imagine this was supposed to be simple. A wedding. A happy day. Your brother's moment. Instead the universe looked at you, laughed, and said, Remember that mistake you made? Yeah. Here he is.

Imagine you tell yourself it can't get worse. You really do. After the ceremony, after that moment, after that smile, you cling to the fragile belief that the universe has already done its worst and will now, graciously, leave you alone. That belief lasts exactly until the reception.

Imagine the hall is brighter now, louder, alive in a different way. Glasses clink, laughter spills too easily, music hums beneath conversations that overlap into something warm and chaotic. People move more freely here, less composed, more relaxed, and for everyone else, it's perfect. For you, it's a battlefield. Because somewhere in this room, he exists.

Imagine you adapt quickly, strategic positioning, crowd navigation, visual avoidance. You become painfully aware of sightlines, where you stand, who can see you, how far you are from exits at all times. You keep moving, never staying in one place long enough to be cornered. You do your duties. You smile when needed, help where you can, check on your brother, on the guests, on everything that gives you a reason to stay occupied and not think about the fact that the man you accidentally slept with... One of them, is your sister-in-law's stepbrother.

Imagine, somehow, miraculously, you're doing well. You haven't run into him, you haven’t made eye contact, you haven't combusted. You start to believe, just a little, that maybe you've succeeded. That maybe you can get through this night without further incident. So you plan your escape, carefully, quietly. You time it between conversations, slipping away from a group with a polite excuse, a soft smile, your champagne glass still in hand as a prop more than anything.

Imagine one step back, then another, just a little more and you'll be out of the main crowd. Freedom. Sweet, blessed- then you bump into someone. A glass tilts and you feel it before you see it. A small splash, cold. "Oh shit, I'm so sorry!"  The apology spills out automatically, your body already moving to assess the damage as you look up, and freeze. Green eyes. Dark hair. Composed expression that doesn't shift even with champagne now staining the front of his shirt. The quiet one.

Imagine your soul doesn't just leave your body this time. It packs a bag, files for permanent relocation, and leaves no forwarding address.

"Oh my god." You whisper, horrified, your hands hovering uselessly like you don't know whether to touch him or not. "I'm so- so sorry, I didn't see you, I was just-" Running. From him, from the other one, from your own poor life choices. And he doesn't even look angry, which somehow makes it worse. He just looks at you, steady, focused. Like he's taking in every detail. Every flicker of panic across your face, every shallow breath, every inch of your very obvious distress.

and then Imagine, he speaks. "You left something." Your brain short circuits. "I- what?" His gaze dips briefly, not in a way that feels invasive, just intentional. "Your bracelet.." He says. "Or..." He pauses, like he's recalling it. "Anklet." Just like that your entire body goes rigid.  Oh. Oh no. You stop the thought  that came immediately. Nope, not now, not here, not ever again if possible.

"I- I don't know what you're talking about." You lie, badly, horribly, with the conviction of someone who has clearly been caught and is just hoping denial might still work. Then his eyes flicker back up to yours. A beat of silence. And then he stops, mid thought, like something just hit him. His expression shifts, subtle, but noticeable. The corner of his mouth lifts, just slightly. And then, he lets out a quiet laugh.

Imagine the way you blink, once, twice. Because that wasn't what you expected, at all. It's not loud, not exaggerated. Just a soft, almost disbelieving exhale of amusement. And for a second, uou forget to breathe. Because he looks different like that. Less distant, less composed. More... Human. And annoyingly, unfairly attractive. Then your brain catches up, he's laughing at you, at your face. At your very obvious internal meltdown, at the fact that you probably look like you're seconds away from either passing out or committing a crime. You narrow your eyes slightly, just a little. A flicker of irritation cutting through the panic. Rude.

but Imagine, you don't have time to process that properly, because survival instincts kick back in. Escape. That's still the goal, still the priority, especially now. Especially when you are standing way too close to one half of your current life problem, with the other one still somewhere in the vicinity.

"I have to go." You say quickly, already stepping back. Your grip tightens around your glass, your mind scrambling for an exit route, an excuse, a distraction. Anything. "Hey!" You freeze. It was your brother's voice. You close your eyes for half a second. No. No, no, no- "There you are!" He says, already walking toward you, completely unaware that he is about to ruin everything.

Imagine the way you turn slowly, painfully, forcing a smile that feels like it might crack your face. "Yeah, hi. what's up?" "I've been looking for you." He says, grabbing your arm lightly and pulling you along before you can protest. "Come meet them." Them? Who's them? But you already know and you don't want to. You really don't want to. But it's too late because he's already leading you right back to him, and the other one.

Imagine they're standing together now. Of course they are. Like the universe just decided subtlety was no longer necessary. You stop walking, your brother doesn't, so you're dragged the last step forward. "My sister." He says proudly. Sister. You. You want to laugh, you want to cry. You want to disappear into the floor.

"This is my brother-in-law." He continues, gesturing to the dancer. "Caleb Xia. He's a pilot." Caleb. Right, that's his name. Good to know. Too late. "And this is their childhood friend, his best friend, basically family." Your brother adds, motioning to the other one. "Zayne Li. He's her cardiologist." Zayne. Great, fantastic. Now you have names to go with your poor decisions.

Imagine the silence. You look at them, they look at you. And the way they're looking at you, you know. You are absolutely, completely, irrevocably screwed.

Imagine Caleb's expression is easy, relaxed. But his eyes are sharp, amused in a way that makes your stomach drop. Zayne is quieter, more composed. But there's something there, something in the way his gaze lingers just a second too long. Recognition, interest, intent.

"Nice to meet you." Caleb says smoothly. Like this is normal, like you didn't- like he doesn't know... Zayne one the other hand doesn't speak right away, he just watches you. And you, you stand there. Smiling, dying inside, fully aware that two men in this room know exactly what you look like when you're not pretending to be put together. And worse, they don't look like they're planning to forget it.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°

: I had so much fun writting this, like giggling and laughing my ass of like HAHAHAHA GAGI, this had been on my drafts since Feb, I remember making most of this while on duty back when I'm still doing my free slavery work (ojt/internship) XD

Imagine the last night you were together didn't end in silence. It ended in something far worse.

"You think I can just live with this?" Your voice cracked, not weak, but sharp, strained from holding too much for too long. "With them? With what you do, Sylus?" Across the room, he stood still, too still, like a man bracing against something inevitable. "It's not that simple." He said, voice low. "It is that simple!" You gestured wildly, the twins crying faintly in the next room, too young to understand, too close not to feel it. "You said you'd leave it. You said when we had them-" "I tried."

Imagine the way that stopped you. "I did." Sylus continued, jaw tight. "But you don't just walk away from something like that. Not without consequences. Not without putting a target on your back- on yours- on theirs." "Then we face it together." You shot back immediately. "That’s what we're supposed to do!"

Imagine the way his gaze flickered, something raw breaking through for a split second. "…And if I can't protect you?" He asked quietly and you faltered, just barely. "That's not your choice to make." You whispered. "It is when it's my world that's putting you in danger." Silence. Heavy and suffocating. You shook your head, tears finally slipping free. "I didn't marry your world, Sylus. I married you."

"And I'm trying to keep you alive." "I don't want this life for our children!" You snapped. "I won't raise them in the shadow of your empire, waiting for the day it catches up to us!" "They won't be in that world." He said firmly. "I'll make sure of it." "You can't guarantee that!" "I can guarantee more than you think." "Not enough!"

Imagine the words hung there, final, unforgiving. And something in his expression changed. Not anger, not frustration, but something… Colder.

"…Then what are you saying?" He asked. And your hands trembled, but your voice didn't. "I'm saying I'm done." Silence. The kind that settles into your bones, the kind that doesn't leave. Sylus didn’t react at first, didn't argue, didn’t raise his voice. He just looked at you, long, hard, like he was memorizing every piece of you.

"…If you walk away." He said slowly. "You don't get to take everything with you." Your breath hitched. "They're my children too." "They're mine." He replied just as sharply. "And I won't let them grow up weak. Unprotected." "They won't be weak." You snapped. "They'll be safe." "Safe doesn't mean prepared." "At least they'll have a life that isn't built on blood!"

"And you think the world you're stepping into is any cleaner?" His voice dropped. "Power is power. It just wears a different suit where you're going." You flinched, but you didn't back down. "…I'm not asking for your permission." You said quietly. "I'm leaving." A pause. Then, "Then I'm taking one of them."

Imagine the way your heart stopped. "…What?" "One stays with you." Sylus said, calm, too calm. "One comes with me." "No." You said immediately. "No, you don't get to-" "I do." "You don't get to split them like they're-" "They'll both live." He cut in. "They'll both be protected. Just… Differently." Tears streamed down your face now. "You're tearing this family apart." "It's already torn."

Imagine the way the truth of it hit harder than anything else. You shook your head, stepping back like distance could undo what was happening. "No. No, we can figure this out, we can-" "You said you were done." Silence. Cruel, and final. "…Which one?" You whispered, voice breaking and Sylus closed his eyes for a moment, just a moment. And when he opened them again, the decision was already made.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°

: sylus might seem like an ahole in this one, but this isn't exactly the whole picture. You wanted him to quit his world altogether because he promised, and he tried but quitting was far more dangerous than staying. Also, don't worry I have a man grovel good :) but also, just a note, you both are young, and a little toxic for each other at this moment. So yeah.

Imagine Caleb had been alone for a long time, long enough that silence had stopped bothering him.

Imagine at first, it had been unbearable. The quiet after the apocalypse was different from ordinary quiet, there were no cars passing outside, no distant conversations through apartment walls, no music leaking from someone's window, no airplanes overhead, no traffic. Nothing. Just wind, occasionally rain, and the dead.

Imagine the way the dead were almost always there. Sometimes in the distance, sometimes behind a door, sometimes close enough that Caleb could hear them breathing through broken teeth. He had gotten used to it, he had to. Otherwise, the silence would drive him insane before the walkers ever got the chance.

Imagine its been months since everything fell apart, months since Caleb had last seen his sister. When the outbreak began, they had been separated. He had been at university while she had been home and by the time the news stopped being news and became reality, the roads were already blocked, communications were down, and the city had turned into something unrecognizable. Still, Caleb had tried to get home and he had failed, then he'd tried again, and again. Every attempt led him farther from the place he remembered. Then eventually, the only thing he could do was keep moving, searching, listening for rumors, following whatever scraps of information survived from one settlement to another. Like news of someone had seen a group heading north, someone heard a woman matching her description was staying in a shelter, someone claimed there was a convoy. But none of it ever amounted to anything.

still Imagine, Caleb kept going because there was nothing else to do. He wasn't wandering because he had nowhere to go. He was wandering because somewhere out there, his sister might still be alive. And until he knew otherwise, he wasn't going to stop looking.

Imagine the way Caleb had seen enough in those months to make almost anything feel ordinary. People fighting over food, people killing for medicine, families turning on each other when supplies ran low, survivors pretending to help only to rob whoever trusted them. One time there was a man begging for his wife while his own friends dragged him away because they didn't want to waste ammunition, then a little girl standing beside a corpse because she hadn't understood that her mother was already dead.

Imagine Caleb had learned to keep walking, that was probably the worst part, not that he had seen terrible things. It was that eventually, terrible things stopped shocking him. The first corpse had made him sick, the tenth had made him numb, by the hundredth, he barely looked anymore. He simply stepped around them, kept his weapon close, checked his surroundings, and moved. That was what survival had become. Move, eat, sleep, search, kill, move again. There wasn't much else and maybe that was why he had stopped trying to save people. Not because he didn't care but because caring had become expensive. Every person he helped became another person he had to worry about, every person he trusted became another weakness someone could use against him.

Imagine he had learned that lesson the hard way. So now, if someone was in trouble and he could help without putting himself at risk, maybe he'd intervene, maybe. But otherwise? Keep walking, find his sister, survive, that was all.

Imagine, that afternoon, Caleb was walking through what used to be a residential district, the street was mostly abandoned, a few cars sat crooked against the sidewalks, their windows shattered and doors hanging open. Grass had begun forcing its way through cracks in the pavement, storefronts stood empty, a traffic light blinked weakly at an intersection despite the fact that there hadn't been enough traffic to justify it for months.

Imagine the way the wind carried the smell of rain and Caleb adjusted the strap of his rifle, his backpack wasn't particularly heavy which was usually a bad sign. He had enough water for maybe another day, a few cans of food, and some ammunition. Nothing worth risking his life over, he'd find more eventually, or he wouldn't. Either way, he'd deal with it.

Imagine his boots scraped softly against the pavement. He was heading toward the next district. There had been a rumor two days ago about a survivor camp somewhere west, someone had mentioned a group taking people in, and to be honest, Caleb didn't know if his sister was there. Probably not. Most rumors weren't worth following but probably had never been enough to make him stop searching. So he kept moving.

then Imagine, there was a movement making Caleb stopped, not completely but just enough. His hand lowered toward the pistol at his hip as  he listened. Nothing. Then again, a metallic sound. Something shifting, maybe a can, maybe a door, maybe a walker. He waited, and there, again, to his left, behind a row of abandoned vehicles. Caleb's eyes narrowed, he moved quietly toward it, his rifle remained strapped across his back, the pistol was easier to draw quickly, and after months of surviving alone, he had learned not to waste ammunition unless he had to. He rounded the side of a van, and saw you.

Imagine you were standing several meters away, facing him, alive. That was his first observation, alive. You were holding some kind of rusted pipe in one hand while digging through the back of an overturned vehicle with the other, your clothes were dirty, your hair was a mess. There were scratches on your arms and dried blood along your sleeve but you were alive and you hadn't noticed him.

Imagine the way Caleb almost kept walking, almost. You weren't his problem, that was the rule. He had stopped playing hero a long time ago. He had tried it before and it hadn't ended well. There were only so many times a person could save someone before realizing that sometimes the person being saved would eventually become another burden, and Caleb couldn't afford burdens. He had a sister to find. That was all that mattered, so he turned away, one step, two.

then Imagine he heard it, a wet, dragging sound and Caleb stopped, his eyes shifted toward you. The walker emerged from behind the wrecked vehicle, slow, quiet, close, too close. You were still facing him, still completely unaware. The walker's fingers twitched, its jaw opened. And Caleb's body reacted before his mind could catch up. "Duck!" You looked up. Confusion flashed across your face and the gunshot cracked through the street. You dropped on instinct, something crashed behind you, a wet, rotten sound followed, then silence.

Imagine, for a second, Caleb simply stood there, gun still raised, smoke curling faintly from the barrel and you remained crouched on the pavement, staring at the walker that had collapsed where you'd been standing seconds earlier. Half its skull was gone, your breathing was sharp, panicked, human. So Caleb lowered the gun. He didn't know why he'd done it, that was the irritating part. He had already been walking away, he had already decided it wasn't his business, he had somewhere to be, someone to find, a reason to keep moving. And yet somehow, he'd stopped. That some stupid part of him had decided that letting you die would've been worse than wasting a bullet and he wasn't sure what that said about him. Probably nothing good.

Imagine when his boots approached, you were still crouched and the moment he stopped in front of you, he asked, "You good?" You looked up slowly and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Caleb could see the adrenaline still running through you, your fingers were wrapped tightly around the rusted pipe, your eyes moved from his face to the gun in his hand, then to the rifle strapped across his back, then back to him. He was probably the strangest thing you had seen all day, or maybe for weeks. And Caleb had the same thought about you.

"If you say yes too fast," He added casually. "I'm gonna assume you hit your head." You blinked, then looked behind you in which the walker twitched once, then you looked back at him. "...I had it handled." Caleb stared, then snorted. "No, you didn't." "I did." "It was literally reaching for your neck." "It was under control." "Sure." You narrowed your eyes and Caleb almost smiled. There was something strangely amusing about how offended you looked, like he had personally insulted your entire survival record. And he had no idea why that made him want to tease you more.

Imagine maybe because it was the first remotely normal interaction he'd had in days, maybe because, for once, he wasn't thinking about his sister. Not about the road, not about the rumors, not about the dead. Just you. And that was probably the first warning sign. One Caleb didn't recognize yet. And he would eventually, but not that day. That day, you were simply a stranger, a stranger who nearly got herself killed, a stranger who somehow made him stop walking. And for reasons Caleb couldn't explain, he didn't leave.

Imagine a few weeks passed before Caleb realized you had become a habit. And he wasn't exactly sure when it happened. There hadn't been a conversation, no agreement, no moment where either of you had looked at the other and decided, Alright. I guess we're doing this. It simply happened. One day, you were two strangers walking the same road, then you were sharing a campsite, taking turns keeping watch, splitting food, arguing over which direction to take. And somehow, without either of you acknowledging it, Caleb stopped making plans that didn't include you.

Imagine the way at first, he'd told himself it was practical. Two people could carry more, two people could watch different directions, two people could cover each other in a fight. It made sense, it was safer. That was all, at least, that's what Caleb kept telling himself. Because he had spent months learning how dangerous people could be, he had watched survivors become monsters faster than the dead ever could, had seen people smile while stealing from someone, had watched groups abandon their own. He had learned that trust wasn't something you gave away anymore. It was something people had to earn. And even then, you kept one hand near your weapon.

so Imagine the fact that he had somehow become comfortable around you was strange, very very strange. He noticed it in small ways first, he stopped sleeping with his pistol in his hand when you were around, he started leaving his back exposed when you were covering him, hand you supplies without counting them, walked into a room first and never once wonder if you'd follow him and perhaps strangest of all, he laughed. Actually laughed. Sometimes because of you, sometimes at you, but usually at you. And Caleb wasn't entirely sure how he felt about that.

because Imagine, the world was still ending, people were still dying. The dead still wandered through the streets, and yet somehow, you could make him laugh over the stupidest things. It felt wrong, almost guilty. Like enjoying yourself meant you weren't taking the apocalypse seriously enough. But then again, what was he supposed to do? Spend every waking moment miserable? That wouldn't bring his sister back. It wouldn't fix the world. It wouldn't make the dead disappear. So maybe, maybe laughing wasn't such a terrible thing.

Imagine the way the parking lot was empty, mostly. A few abandoned cars sat scattered around the cracked asphalt, their windows broken and tires long gone flat, weeds had grown around their wheels. The building behind you had once been a supermarket, now it was little more than a shell. Caleb had checked it earlier, no walkers, no survivors just a few cans of food, a functioning back room good enough for a temporary stop.

Imagine you stood in the middle of the parking lot with a handgun in your hands, looking deeply offended by it. And Caleb leaned against the hood of an abandoned car, arms crossed. "You're holding it wrong." You looked at him. "I'm holding it." "Barely." "I hate guns." Caleb raised an eyebrow. "You hate guns?" "Yes." "You've been carrying one for two weeks." "Because you keep giving it to me." "Because you keep needing one." "I have my pipe." "The pipe isn't going to stop someone with a gun." "Neither am I." "That's why we're practicing." You sighed dramatically and Caleb almost smiled.

"You know," You muttered. "For someone who claims he's not a teacher, you sure love teaching." "I don't." "You've been correcting me for twenty minutes." "Because you're doing everything wrong." "Wow." You looked down at the gun. "That hurt." "Good." "You have no sympathy." "Not for bad shooting." You glared at him. He grinned then pushed himself off the car. "Here." He walked toward you and you immediately straightened. Caleb noticed, he stopped a step away. "Relax." "I'm relaxed." "You're stiff." "I'm holding a gun." "That's why you need to relax."

Imagine the way he stepped behind you, carefully, slowly, his hands came to your shoulders. "Drop these." His palms pressed lightly against them. You let out a breath. "Like that?" "Better." He moved one hand down toward your elbow. "Don't lock your arms." "I thought you said to keep them straight." "Straight doesn't mean locked." "That's stupid." Caleb laughed quietly. "Sure." He adjusted your stance, one foot slightly back, weight balanced, knees loose. "Like this." You looked down. "Why does this feel uncomfortable?" "Because you're not used to it." "Or because guns are terrible." "Could be both."

Imagine the way he stepped closer to correct your grip, fingers briefly brushed yours, and neither of you said anything. It was nothing, a completely ordinary thing, a correction. A teacher helping a student. Except Caleb suddenly became aware of how close he was, your back was almost against his chest, he could hear you breathing, could smell dust and smoke clinging to your clothes. It was strange. He had been around people before, close to people, fought beside people, carried injured strangers, shared sleeping spaces. But somehow, this felt different.

Imagine the way Caleb cleared his throat, "Don't lock your elbows." You glanced sideways. "You sound like an old man." "You shoot like one." You scoffed at him and then pulled the trigger. The recoil kicked back harder than you expected, you nearly lost your grip but Caleb caught your wrist immediately. "Hey." "I had it." "You almost shot yourself." "I did not." "You absolutely did." "I was adjusting." "You were panicking." "I was not." Caleb stared at you and you stared back. Then he laughed, not a small chuckle, not a polite laugh. Just a genuine burst of laughter that escaped before he could stop it.

"Oh my god- Your face." Your expression darkened. "Shut up." "You looked personally betrayed by physics." "I hate you." "No, you don't." The words came out easily, confidently. Almost automatically, Caleb froze for half a second. So did you, because he hadn't meant to say it like that, not with that certainty, not like he already knew. You looked at him and Caleb looked away first, cleared his throat. "Again." You narrowed your eyes. "You're avoiding the subject." "Again." "Caleb." "Again." You groaned. "Fine."

Imagine the way you raised the gun and this time, your stance was better. Your grip was steadier and then you fired. The bullet hit the target, not perfectly but close enough. Caleb nodded. "Better." You looked at the target, then at him. "Was that praise?" "Don't get used to it." You smiled and Caleb caught himself smiling too. And for a moment, he forgot where he was, forgot about the dead, forgot about the ruined city, forgot about his sister, forgot about the fact that every day could be his last. He simply stood there, smiling at you.

and Imagine, that scared him. Not because you were dangerous, but because you weren't. That was the problem. You were becoming comfortable, too comfortable.

Imagine the first time he really talked about her, it was well past midnight. Caleb sat beside it, cleaning his rifle and  you were lying on the floor with your jacket folded beneath your head. Neither of you had spoken for several minutes, after all, the silence wasn't uncomfortable. That was something Caleb had started noticing lately. Silence with other people used to make him tense, he had always wonder what they were thinking, whether they were planning something, whether they'd take his things while he slept, whether they'd leave him behind. With you, he didn't think about any of that. He knew you were there. That was enough.

Imagine the way Caleb's hands moved automatically over the rifle, then, without really thinking about it, he said. "She used to steal my hoodies constantly." Caleb muttered, staring into the fire. "Then she'd deny it while literally wearing one." You smiled faintly. "She sounds awful." "She is." He said it so easily, but the corner of his mouth lifted right after. "She hates vegetables." "That bad?" "Won’t touch them. Thinks I’m trying to poison her." You laughed softly. "Seriously?" Caleb smiled.

Imagine, he didn't even realize how easily the expression came. It had been a long time since he'd talked about her like this, not the last time he'd seen her, not where she might be, not whether she was alive. Just... Her. The little things, the stupid things, the memories that belonged to a life that no longer existed.

"Seriously." He shook his head, still smiling. "She talks in her sleep, too." "What does she say?" "Usually nonsense. Sometimes she'll argue with people who aren't even there." You snorted. "Sounds fun." "Not when she wakes me up." You smiled again. Caleb's gaze stayed on the fire. "She gets lost in grocery stores somehow." You looked at him. "How the hell do you get lost in a grocery store?" "I don't know. She just does." "That's impressive." "It's embarrassing." You laughed under your breath.

Imagine the way Caleb smiled with you before adding, quieter, then, almost fondly. "She's tougher than people think." And Caleb found himself staring at the fire again with the smallest smile on his face. For a moment, the world outside didn't exist. There were no walkers, no blood, no abandoned cities, no empty streets, just a stupid story about a girl hiding vegetables under her plate. And somehow, it felt good.

Imagine, after that, the stories came more often. Not because you asked but because Caleb simply started mentioning things. There was something almost peaceful about telling you these things. You never met her, you didn't know what she looked like, you didn't know her voice, you didn't know the little habits Caleb didn't mention but somehow, you were beginning to know her through him. And Caleb liked that. He liked that someone else knew she existed, that she wasn't just a person he carried alone inside his head. that every time he spoke about her, you listened, not politely but genuinely. Like the stories mattered. And maybe that was why Caleb kept telling you.

Imagine in one particularly cold night, the two of you sat on top of an abandoned convenience store roof.  You were both sitting on the roof, the wind was cold enough to sting, the city below was almost completely black, no streetlights, no traffic, no people. Only distant walkers moving between buildings. Caleb sat beside the fire, slowly cleaning his knife and you sat a little farther away, wrapped in your jacket. For a while, neither of you spoke. Then you finally asked, "This someone you keep talking about..." Caleb looked up. You hesitated, "What would you do if you don't found her?" His expression changed. It was subtle, but he could tell that you noticed.

Imagine his hand stopped moving and for a moment, he simply looked at you, then he shook his head. "Nah." His voice was quiet. "Don't joke like that." His gaze returned to the fire. "Still." A pause. "She's alive." There was no uncertainty in his voice. No if. No maybe. Just certainty. And Caleb leaned back slightly. "She knows how to survive." His lips curved faintly. "Pips is smart." Another pause. "Stubborn too." You smiled. "Sounds familiar." Caleb glanced at you. "Are you calling me stubborn?" "I'm calling you annoying." "She's worse." You laughed softly. "Impossible." "Very possible." The smile remained on his face. He looked toward the skyline.

"She's probably yelling at people somewhere right now." "I see." You murmured and the silence settled again. The fire cracked softly, the wind moved through the rooftop. Then you asked, "What would you do if you find her?" Caleb smiled. This time, it was different, softer, unthinking. He didn't even realize how his whole expression changed. "Find somewhere safe." He looked toward the distant skyline. "Heard rumors about a secured place. N109 zone. Well protected, functional power, and farms too." You frowned. "Sounds fake." "Probably is." He shrugs. "But if it's real." He stared into the fire. "I'd take her there." You nodded slowly.

Imagine the way Caleb didn't notice the way your expression fell for just a second. He didn't notice the tiny pause before you smiled again. He was too busy staring into the fire. Thinking about someone who wasn't there, thinking about finding her. About keeping her safe.

Imagine, much later, after you had fallen asleep, Caleb remained awake. He sat with his back against the wall, staring through the broken window. The city stretched endlessly beyond it, dark, empty, dead. His thoughts drifted, for once, they didn't immediately go to her, they went to you. And that made him frowned because that was becoming a problem. He wondered what your life had been like before all of this. What you'd been doing, who you'd known, where you'd lived, what kind of things you complained about when the worst thing in your life was probably traffic or a bad day.

Imagine he almost smiled at the thought but then something else occurred to him. If the world had stayed normal, would he have met you? Caleb stared at the floor. Probably not, there were too many people in the world, too many places, too many paths. You could have been living a completely different life. He could've walked past you a hundred times without noticing. Maybe you'd have been in the same café, maybe the same train, maybe the same street. And neither of you would've known. Maybe you would've gone your entire lives without crossing paths. And the thought was strangely uncomfortable.

because Imagine, despite everything, despite the apocalypse, despite the things he'd lost, despite the people who had died, despite the world that no longer existed. Caleb was grateful that he had met you.

Imagine, he didn't know when you'd become important. He wasn't even sure when he'd started considering you part of his life, but somewhere between the gun lessons and the arguments, the scavenging and the stupid jokes, the shared meals and the late night conversations... You had become something familiar, something safe, and that was rare now.

Imagine the way Caleb looked over at you. You were asleep, curled beneath your jacket. He watched you for a moment, then quietly looked away. Maybe it was selfish, maybe it was dangerous, but he was thankful. Thankful that, in a world where almost every path led to death. Yours had crossed his.

Imagine he didn't know how long you'd stay beside him. He didn't know what would happen when he found her, MC. He didn't know whether N109 even existed. He didn't know what tomorrow would look like. But tonight, you were here, and for now, that was enough. So Caleb rested his head against the wall and closed his eyes. And for the first time in months, the thought of tomorrow didn't feel quite as empty. And he didn't realize yet how much of that had to do with you.

Imagine the way the hangar had been abandoned long before the world ended. Caleb could tell from the dust, it covered everything in a thick gray layer, workbenches, tool cabinets, old equipment, even the aircraft parked farther inside. Some of the overhead lights still hung from the ceiling, but none of them worked. Daylight slipped through several holes in the roof, cutting pale lines through the dust filled air. It smelled like old metal, oil, and rain. Caleb liked it. Not because it was comfortable but because it reminded him of something that had existed before all of this. Something normal, something he had once understood.

Imagine, he walked farther inside, his rifle hanging loosely across his back and you followed behind him. "Think there's anything useful here?" "Probably." "That's not very convincing." "Want me to lie?" "Yes." Caleb glanced over his shoulder. "There's definitely something useful here." You nodded. "See? Much better." He shook his head, amused. The two of you split up. Caleb checked the storage cabinets while you searched through the workbenches. There, most of what he found was useless, old manuals, empty fuel containers, broken tools, a few spare parts that might still be useful if he had the time to figure out what they belonged to.

then Imagine, he saw it. An old aircraft sitting farther inside the hangar that made Caleb stopped. He recognized the model immediately. It wasn't anything particularly impressive but it was intact, mostly. The body had some damage along the side, and one of the windows was cracked, but the wings were still attached. He walked toward it and you noticed. "What?" Caleb didn't answer immediately, he ran his fingers lightly along the metal.

Imagine, for a moment, he wasn't thinking about the apocalypse. He was thinking about flight. The feeling of being above everything, the vibration of the aircraft, the controls beneath his hands, the way the ground slowly disappeared beneath him. He missed it, more than he'd realized.

"You know what this is?" You asked. "Yeah." You walked closer. "It looks like a plane." Caleb looked at you. "Good observation." You elbowed him lightly. "Shut up." He smiled, then you looked at the aircraft again. "Did you ever fly one?" Caleb shrugged. "A few." "A few?" "Yeah." You looked suspicious. Caleb could practically see the question forming and he waited. You stared at him and he stared back. "Wait." Caleb's smile widened. Here it comes. "You were an actual pilot?" "Yep." "You're lying." "I'm offended." "You said aviation school." "I went to aviation school." "That's not what I asked."

Imagine the way Caleb leaned casually against the aircraft. "I graduated." You stared at him. "No way." Caleb's grin became unbearable. "Way." "You're actually a pilot?" "Last time I checked." "You mean like... Student pilot?" "Nope." He pointed at himself. "Pilot." You stared at him like you'd just discovered he'd secretly been a superhero this entire time. Caleb couldn't help it, he was enjoying this far too much. "You wanna see my license?" You blinked. "You carried your pilot license through the apocalypse?" Caleb's expression fell slightly. "Well, now you're making it sound stupid." "Because it is stupid!"

Imagine the way he laughed, the sound echoed through the empty hangar and almost immediately, you laughed too. The sound bounced around the enormous space. And for a few seconds, it almost sounded like the hangar was still alive. Caleb smiled then he looked at you and something inside his chest shifted. Small, barely noticeable. He ignored it.

"You actually kept it?" You were still staring at the pilot license he'd pulled from the inner pocket of his jacket. Caleb shrugged. "Why wouldn't I?" "Because the world ended." "Still doesn't make the license disappear." "You know what I mean." "Yeah." He took it back carefully. "I guess I just didn't see a reason to throw it away."

but Imagine, that wasn't entirely true. The truth was, it reminded him of who he'd been. Before the world ended, Caleb had spent years working toward becoming a pilot. He'd studied, trained, failed, tried again, spent countless hours learning systems, navigation, emergency procedures, weather patterns, mechanics. He knew aircraft, not just one type. He had trained across different systems and earned the qualifications that allowed him to operate more than one kind of flying vehicle, planes, helicopters, whatever he had been properly trained and cleared to fly.

Imagine it had been something he was proud of, something he had worked for. And now? It was mostly useless. There weren't many aircraft left, even fewer working ones, fuel was scarce, runways were dangerous, and there was no one left to care about licenses. Still,  Caleb liked knowing he hadn't completely lost that part of himself.

Imagine the way you looked toward the aircraft. "So you actually know how to fly this?" Caleb's eyebrows lifted. "Of course." "You could?" "I can." "Right now?" He smiled. "If it still works." You looked at him. And something about your expression made Caleb suddenly want to prove it, not because you doubted him. Well, maybe a little. But mostly because, for some reason, he suddenly wanted you to see, he wanted to show you. And the thought made something warm settle in his chest. It was ridiculous. The world had ended, there were walkers outside, food was running low, you two were sleeping in abandoned buildings. And Caleb was standing in a ruined hangar thinking about how cool it would be to show someone how to fly. And he almost laughed at himself.

Imagine, by then, Caleb had stopped pretending you were temporary. He hadn't said it, he hadn't even consciously admitted it to himself but somewhere between the first few weeks and the months that followed, you had quietly become part of his life, not in some dramatic way. There was no moment where he suddenly looked at you and thought, I love her.

Imagine it happened much more quietly than that. It happened in habits, in the way he automatically looked over his shoulder to make sure you were still behind him, in the way he started saving the better half of whatever food they found, in the way his hand reached for his gun whenever you disappeared around a corner, even when he knew you could handle yourself, in the way he slept more easily when he knew you were somewhere nearby.

Imagine, it was strange. The world had become so brutally simple. Eat, drink, move, sleep, kill, survive, repeat, and yet somehow, with you around, there were moments that felt almost normal. Almost. Caleb would catch himself smiling at something you said while cleaning his gun, he'd hear you complaining from another room and realize he was listening for the sound. Sometimes you would fall asleep during watch, and he'd quietly pull the blanket higher over you, sometimes you'd wake him because you couldn't sleep, and the two of you would sit somewhere dark and talk about absolutely nothing.

Imagine it was ridiculous, there was a fucking apocalypse outside and Caleb had somehow found himself worrying about whether you were eating enough. He didn't know when it happened, he didn't question it. Maybe because questioning it would mean admitting that you mattered and that was dangerous. People who mattered could be lost, Caleb had already spent months learning that lesson. So he kept the thought buried. You were his partner, his friend, his closest friend. And that was enough. It had to be.

Imagine one night, you were sitting beside him on the roof of an abandoned apartment building. The city below was black, no streetlights, no cars, no distant music from bars or restaurants, nothing. Just the occasional groan from somewhere in the streets. Caleb sat with his back against a concrete wall, rifle resting beside him. You were beside him, knees drawn up, staring at the skyline.

"Think there are still stars somewhere?" Caleb looked upward, clouds covered most of the sky. "Probably." "That's a very confident answer." "I'm a confident guy." You scoffed. "You're annoying." "And yet you keep following me." "Because you know where you're going." "Exactly." You laughed quietly. Caleb smiled. And for a few seconds, neither of you spoke. It was comfortable, that was the problem. Comfortable. He hadn't realized how much he had missed it. Then you asked, casually.

"You ever think about what you'd be doing right now if this never happened?" Caleb looked at you. "Probably flying." You nodded. "Right. Aviation." "Yeah." He looked toward the skyline again. "I was supposed to be working toward more certifications." "More?" "Yeah." You raised an eyebrow. "You were already a pilot." "Still am." "The apocalypse doesn't exactly recognize licenses." "That's why I'm keeping mine." He grinned. You shook your head and Caleb laughed. "And maybe..." He paused. "Maybe I'd take you up sometime." You blinked.

"Really?" "Sure." "You're not scared I'll crash your plane?" Caleb laughed. "You'd have to actually listen to me first." "I would." "You wouldn't." "I would!" "You'd probably touch something you shouldn't." "How do you know?" "I know you." He said it without thinking. The words lingered. Caleb looked at you and you looked at him and for some reason, neither of you laughed. Then you looked away. Caleb did too. He didn't understand why his chest suddenly felt strange.

Imagine then they found MC, and everything changed, the relief had nearly knocked the air out of him. Months, months of searching, of wondering if she was dead, and there she was, alive, barely, but alive. And you looked genuinely happy for him. Caleb remembered that. Even now, you smiled, congratulated him, made some stupid joke to lighten the mood, like always and he smiled back. Completely unaware that things were already falling apart.

Imagine the facility was supposed to help, a final stop, a safe zone, medical supplies, transportation and hope. Instead it became a death trap.

Imagine the sirens, the walkers, the collapsing structure, the endless corridors, the impossible choices. And then suddenly they were standing in that hallway. Watching the horde fill the only route toward the rooftop access, watching the dead slowly cut off every escape, watching reality close around them.

"I can pull them away." "No." The answer came instantly, too quickly, almost violently. You looked at him and Caleb knew immediately. You had already made your decision. "We don't have enough ammo." "We fight through." "We won't make it halfway." "We try anyway." The argument went nowhere, because the horrible thing was, you were right. And Caleb hated that, hated it. Because being right didn't make it acceptable, being right didn't make it easier, being right didn't make him want to let you go.

"You need to come back." "What?" "You hear me?" His voice shook, actually shook. "You need to come back." The look you gave him then haunted him, because for the first time, Caleb realized he was terrified, not of dying, not of the walkers, not of the facility, but of losing you. The realization came suddenly, brutally, without warning. Because somewhere between campfires, shared meals, roads, arguments, laughter, survival. He'd fallen in love with you. And somehow never noticed. Not until now, not until the universe threatened to take you away.

Imagine, the timing felt almost cruel. "I'll wait for you." "Ten minutes." "No." "If I don't make it to the helipad ten minutes after you get there- Leave." "No." He meant it. God. He meant it. "So what?" "You stay? Die with me? Is that your plan?" And the worst part? Caleb didn't have an answer, because part of him genuinely wanted to. But MC trembled weakly in his arms and reality returned immediately, harsh, unforgiving. He hated it, so he did the only thing that he could.

"Return it when we meet again." The dog tags felt heavy in his hand, familiar, important. The one thing he had carried through the apocalypse. He gave them to you because it was easier than saying, I love you. "You're really cool as fuck, you know that?" Even now, Caleb remembered laughing, a broken sound, half disbelieving, half heartbroken. Then you ran. "HEY FUCKERS!" The horde shifted instantly. Thousands of dead eyes turning toward you. Away from them. Exactly as planned. "NOW!" And he couldn't move. The path was open, the ladder was right there, MC was getting worse, you were screaming for him to go. And he still couldn't move. "CALEB!"

Imagine the way the desperation in your voice finally shattered him, so he ran, because you told him to, because MC needed him, because there was no choice, because survival never cared what people wanted. The climb to the rooftop felt endless, every second felt wrong, every step farther from you felt wrong, every second he spent moving farther away from you felt like something inside his chest was being pulled apart.

Imagine Caleb kept looking back, he couldn't help it. Even when the stairwell turned and the access door disappeared from sight, he still found himself glancing over his shoulder, listening to gunshots, one, then another, then another, yours. His heart clenched, you were still alive, you had to be. Caleb held onto that thought like it was something solid. You're alive, again, You're alive, again, You had to be. Because you promised, and you didn't make promises lightly, not when it mattered. So he believed you, he had to.

"Pips." MC stirred weakly against his chest, Caleb immediately looked down. Her face was frighteningly pale beneath the fever. Her breathing came shallow and uneven, every breath sounding like it took more effort than the last. "Hey." He adjusted his hold around her. "Stay with me." Her eyelids fluttered. "I'm here." His voice was calm, or at least, he tried to make it sound that way. "You'll be okay." He didn't know if that was true. He didn't know if he believed it. But he said it anyway. Because there were some lies people told because the truth was simply too cruel to say aloud.

Imagine, behind him, another gunshot echoed through the stairwell. Caleb stopped, his entire body went still, one, two, three, then silence. His heart nearly stopped with it. "Come on..." The words slipped out before he could stop them, then another gunshot cracked through the building. Caleb exhaled, alive, You're alive. So he forced himself to keep moving. And the rooftop access door finally appeared, Caleb shoved it open with his shoulder, cold air immediately hit his face and for a moment, he stood there, breathing hard.

Imagine the city stretched beneath him, gray, dead, smoke drifted between abandoned buildings. Somewhere far away, something burned, sending a thin column of black into the sky. There were no cars, no traffic, no voices, only the wind and the distant, endless groaning of the dead. Then he saw it, the helicopter, old, dust covered, weathered almost beyond recognition, one exterior panel had been damaged, and the windshield was dirty enough that Caleb could barely see through it. But it was intact. More importantly, it looked flyable.

Imagine the way Caleb moved immediately. He carried MC toward it and lowered her carefully into the rear passenger area. "Stay here." She barely responded and Caleb checked her pulse, too fast, he frowned. Then he turned toward the helicopter. This was what he knew, something familiar, something logical, something that didn't ask him to think about the fact that you were still somewhere below him. He ran his hands over the exterior, fuel, rotor, landing gear, hydraulics, engine housing. He checked everything he could without proper equipment. Then he opened the cockpit and inspected the controls, battery, electrical systems, fuel gauge, ignition. He tested the systems one by one, nothing immediately failed. The battery responded, fuel almost untouched, the rotor assembly looked battered but functional, the engine would need some persuasion but it could work.

Imagine the way Caleb exhaled slowly. "It'll fly." He should have been relieved, instead, something inside his chest sank, because now there was no excuse. The helicopter worked. And MC needed medical attention, the rooftop was exposed, the dead were still inside the building, and you were supposed to be coming. Caleb stepped away from the helicopter and looked at the access door. Still closed. He checked his watch. Three minutes. You were coming, of course you were. He told himself that without hesitation, then three minutes became five. Still nothing. Caleb paced once across the rooftop, then stopped.

Imagine the way his eyes remained fixed on the door. Maybe you were delayed, maybe the stairwell had collapsed, maybe you found another route, maybe you were fighting through another corridor, maybe... Six minutes. He looked down at his watch then once again back at the door. "Come on." He wasn't sure if he was talking to you or himself. Seven minutes. MC coughed. Caleb turned immediately. "Pips?" He went back to her, her eyes opened slightly. "Where..." "Rooftop." He crouched beside her. "We made it." He looked toward the access door. "You're safe." He almost said we're safe, but he stopped himself. Because that wasn't true, not yet, not without you. MC's eyes closed again, and Caleb touched her forehead, still burning. His jaw tightened, then he looked back toward the door. Eight minutes. Nothing. Nine. Still nothing.

Imagine Caleb walked toward the access door, before he stopped inches away. His hand hovered over the handle, he could open it, he could go back, he could find you, but the noise coming from the stairwell was getting louder. The dead were coming and there were too many. He slowly lowered his hand. "She's coming." He whispered. "She'll make it." Ten minutes. Caleb stared at the door. Nothing. His chest tightened but he refused to accept it. You told him ten minutes. You hadn't said ten minutes meant you would die.

Imagine you said you'd come back. So he waited. Because if you were asking him to leave after ten minutes, you hadn't accounted for the possibility that he'd simply refuse and Caleb was very good at refusing to give up. Especially when it came to people he cared about.

Imagine around fifteen minutes, he still hadn't started the helicopter. The machine sat completely silent beside him, ready, functional, waiting. Just like he was. Caleb sat on the edge of the helicopter's open doorway, rifle resting against his thigh, his eyes never left the rooftop access. Every few seconds, he'd check the door, then his watch, then the door again. The same cycle. He couldn't stop. MC shifted behind him. "Caleb..." He turned. "I'm here." She looked at him weakly. "She's coming?" The question stopped him, for a second, he didn't answer. Then he nodded. "Yeah." His voice was quiet. "She's coming." He looked toward the door again. "She promised."

Imagine around twenty minutes, the rooftop remained empty. Caleb stood again and walked toward the door, then stopped, listened. Nothing. He pressed his ear against the metal and for a moment, all he could hear was his own breathing. Then, a distant gunshot. Caleb's eyes widened, he pulled away from the door. Alive. That was you, it had to be. And he almost laughed from relief. "See?" He looked toward MC. "She's fine." He said it like he had proof. "She's coming." But the gunshots stopped again and the silence returned.

Imagine after thirty minutes, MC's condition worsened. Caleb knew it, he wasn't stupid. Her breathing was becoming irregular, her pulse was erratic, her skin was clammy despite the fever, she barely responded when he called her name. "Pips." Nothing. He touched her cheek, "Hey." Her eyes opened slightly and Caleb forced himself to smile. "Stay awake." She tried and he could see her trying but her eyes kept falling shut. "Come on." His voice cracked. "Don't do this." He glanced toward the access door, still nothing. He looked back at MC. Then the door, then MC. His jaw clenched.

Imagine he was running out of time. Not because of himself, not because of the helicopter but because of her. And he hated that. He hated that you had sacrificed yourself to get them here, only for him to be standing on this rooftop watching the other person he loved deteriorate in front of him. It wasn't fair. None of it was.

Imagine forty minutes later, Caleb still waited. The helicopter remained off, he hadn't even turned on the main systems. Starting it would make the decision real, so as long as it remained silent, he could pretend he wasn't leaving. He could pretend you were going to come through that door. He could wait, and he would keep waiting. He would wait until- MC suddenly gasped. Caleb spun around. "Pips!" He rushed to her. Her chest rose sharply before falling again, she struggled for breath. Caleb immediately checked her pulse, his hands were shaking, "Stay with me." Nothing. "Pips." He checked again, too fast, far too fast.

Imagine the way he looked toward the access door, then back at her. His eyes burned. "No." He whispered. "No, no, no." He wasn't ready. He wasn't ready to leave. Not without you. He had promised you, and you had promised him. And somehow, both promises were beginning to feel impossible.

so Imagine, almost an hour later, Caleb stood beside the helicopter. The rooftop wind moved through his hair. His eyes were red, he had stopped wiping away the tears several minutes ago. They simply fell now, quietly, one after another. He didn't care. His eyes remained fixed on the door. "She's alive." His voice trembled. "She's alive." He said it again. "She's coming." Again. "She promised." His throat tightened. He swallowed hard. Then MC made another weak, broken sound behind him. And Caleb closed his eyes.

Imagine that was it. Not because he wanted to, not because he had accepted anything, not because he believed you were dead but because MC was dying. And he knew if he stayed any longer, she might not survive the trip. So he had to go. But going didn't mean giving up on you. He refused to let himself believe that. And so Caleb stepped toward the helicopter. His legs felt impossibly heavy. He paused beside the open cockpit. Then he looked back, the access door was still closed.

"You're coming." His voice was barely audible. "You have to." He climbed into the pilot's seat. No dramatic decision, no acceptance, just necessity. He started the systems. The helicopter came alive around him. Caleb looked back one last time. Nothing. And his hand tightened around the controls. He could still wait. Another minute, maybe two. But MC's condition was getting worse. He closed his eyes. "I'm sorry." He didn't know who he was apologizing to. Maybe MC, maybe you, maybe himself.

then Imagine, he started the engine, the helicopter roared to life, the sound swallowed everything else. Caleb kept staring at the access door as the rotor accelerated. Still nothing. He waited another few seconds, then another. His vision blurred. "Come on." Nothing. His fingers trembled around the controls. "Please." Still nothing. He finally lifted the helicopter from the rooftop, slowly, reluctantly. And as the aircraft rose, Caleb kept his eyes on the building. He didn't look away, not even when the rooftop began shrinking, not even when the access door became smaller, not even when the facility disappeared beneath the clouds of smoke.

Imagine that was because he hadn't accepted that you were gone. He couldn't. You had promised him and Caleb was going to believe that promise for as long as he possibly could. Even if believing it hurt, even if every mile he flew away from that building made it harder, even if some quiet, terrified part of him already knew that waiting for you and leaving you behind were two very different things. He refused to name the difference. Not yet. For now, he just kept flying, because you were still alive. You had to be, you promised.

Imagine the helicopter had been in the air for several minutes before Caleb realized he was barely breathing, well, not literally. He was breathing, his lungs were working, his hands were steady enough on the controls, his eyes were still following the instruments, but everything else felt distant, too quiet, too numb. The helicopter rattled beneath him, the old frame vibrating with every rotation of the blades. The engine sounded strained, but steady. Caleb kept one hand on the controls while the other occasionally moved between the navigation equipment and the map he'd found in the cockpit.

Imagine N109 zone, that was where they were going, that was where they needed to go. He repeated it silently. N109 zone, get MC there, get medical help, keep flying. Simple. One thing at a time. It was easier that way. If he thought about anything beyond the next few minutes, his mind immediately returned to the rooftop, to the access door, to the sound of your voice, to the way you'd looked at him. You need to come back. He had said it like an order, like saying it strongly enough would somehow make it true. Caleb swallowed, his eyes stayed on the horizon.

Imagine you were alive. You had to be. You promised. And that was enough. It had to be. Behind him, MC shifted and Caleb noticed immediately, his head turned slightly. "Pips?" Nothing. He looked back at the instruments, then heard a faint, strained sound behind him. "Caleb..." His shoulders tensed, he glanced back again. MC was awake, barely. Her eyes were half open, unfocused, and her face was still frighteningly pale, she looked like she was fighting just to keep herself conscious. "Hey." Caleb's voice softened automatically. "Don't move too much." "Where..." "N109." He turned his attention back toward the flight path.

"We're heading there." MC breathed shakily. For several seconds, she said nothing, then her hand moved weakly toward the seat beside her. "There." Caleb frowned. "What?" "The coordinates." He looked down. There was a folded piece of paper tucked beside her. "You had that the whole time?" MC nodded faintly. Caleb reached for it when he had a moment, careful not to lose control of the aircraft. She held onto it weakly. "I... Know someone there." Caleb's eyes narrowed. "At N109?" Another faint nod. "Someone... Who can help." "Who?" MC's lips moved. The answer came out too quietly for him to catch. "What?" But she had already begun slipping again. "Hey." Caleb glanced back. "Stay awake." MC's eyes fluttered. "I said stay awake." Nothing. "Pips." Her head fell against the seat.

Imagine the way Caleb's jaw tightened. He wanted to turn around, but he couldn't. Not while flying. Not now.  "Okay." He muttered, mostly to himself. "Okay." N109. Just get to N109. That was the plan. He unfolded the paper with one hand as best as he could, scanning the letters and numbers. There were notes written across it, a rough indication of where the zone was located. Caleb adjusted the helicopter's heading. The city stretched beneath him. or what was left of it. Buildings stood like hollow skeletons, roads were clogged with abandoned vehicles, smoke rose from somewhere far in the distance. There were no lights, no traffic, no signs of ordinary life. Only ruins. Caleb stared ahead.

then Imagine, a sound, a distant boom, deep, heavy. Wrong. His eyes immediately shifted toward the rear window. And for a moment, he couldn't make sense of what he was seeing, then another section of the building collapsed. Dust erupted into the air, concrete folded inward, a wall gave way. The facility disappeared behind a massive cloud of gray and brown smoke. And Caleb froze, his hand tightened around the controls.

"No." The word barely left his mouth. He stared and the helicopter continued forward, the facility grew smaller behind them, but he kept looking. And something inside his chest seemed to drop all at once. "No." He couldn't hear the helicopter anymore, couldn't hear the engine, couldn't hear the wind. Nothing. His mind simply refused to process what his eyes were showing him. The building had collapsed, the place you were in, the place you were supposed to escape from, the place you were supposed to come running out of.

Imagine the way his fingers tightened around the controls until his knuckles turned pale. You were still inside, you had to be, or maybe you'd gotten out, maybe you'd found another route, maybe you'd already left the building before it came down, maybe you were somewhere below, maybe- Caleb's breathing hitched. He looked toward the smoke again, his first instinct was immediate. Turn around, go back. He could still do it. The helicopter was airborne, but not far enough, he could circle back, land somewhere nearby, find another place to touch down, go looking.

Imagine he could do that, he should do that. His hand shifted instinctively toward the controls, then he looked behind him. MC was unconscious, her breathing was shallow, her condition was already critical before they left. If he turned around- What then? Bring her back into the building? Land in the middle of a horde? Try to find you while carrying someone who might not survive another hour? His hand stopped. And Caleb stared at the smoke. His eyes burned.

and Imagine, for one terrible second, a thought entered his mind. What if I never found her? He hated himself for thinking it. What if he'd never followed those rumors? What if he'd never gone looking? What if he had stayed away from the facility? What if he had never found MC? What if... Then you would still be alive. The thought struck so hard he nearly lost his grip on the controls.

then Imagine Caleb immediately looked away. "No." His voice was low, almost angry. He shook his head, "No." That wasn't fair. It wasn't MC's fault, it wasn't anyone's fault. She was his sister, he had spent months searching for her, he couldn't rewrite that just because he'd finally realized there was someone else he couldn't live without, but that didn't make the guilt disappear. It only made it worse. Because now there were two truths sitting inside him that refused to coexist peacefully. He loved his sister, and he loved you. And somehow, in the space of a single hour, saving one had meant leaving the other behind.

Imagine the way Caleb swallowed hard, his eyes remained fixed on the horizon. He didn't cry, not yet. He just stared, his expression slowly emptied. The panic, the fear, the grief. Everything that had been fighting inside him became too much to hold. So his mind did what it could. It shut the door. One emotion at a time, he became quiet, still, almost frighteningly calm. His hands returned to the controls, his eyes returned to the instruments. N109. That was where they were going, that was what mattered now. At least, that's what he told himself.

then Imagine, unconsciously, his right hand moved toward his chest. His fingers searched for the familiar metal chain beneath his shirt. Nothing. Caleb paused, his fingers searched again, still nothing and then he remembered. The dog tags, he had given them to you. So his hand remained against his chest for several seconds, empty. And for the first time since the apocalypse began, Caleb felt the weight of that absence. It wasn't just metal, it had been with him through everything, and now it was with you.

and Imagine, wherever you were, his eyes closed for half a second. Return it when we meet again. He had said it so confidently, as if meeting again was guaranteed, as if the world had ever kept its promises. Caleb opened his eyes. He looked straight ahead, his face was completely blank now. No tears, no expression, nothing. But somewhere underneath all of it, buried beneath the numbness he'd forced over himself, one thought remained. You had promised him and Caleb refused, absolutely refused to believe you had broken it.

Imagine no, not yet, not until he saw you himself, not until he found you. And if you couldn't make it to N109, then he would go back. He would search every road, every building, every ruined street, every corpse until he found you. Alive. You had to be alive, because Caleb had already lost enough and he wasn't ready to lose you too, not when he'd only just realized how much you meant to him, not when he'd only just learned the name of what he'd been feeling all those months. Love. And, cruelly enough, he had realized it far too late.

Imagine the way the helicopter touched down harder than Caleb intended. The landing skids struck the helipad with a heavy metallic scrape, the aircraft rocking once before finally settling, then he shut the engine down and for a few seconds, Caleb didn't move. The silence after the rotor blades stopped was almost unbearable. His hands remained on the controls, his eyes stayed forward. The city stretched beyond the glass, dark and glowing beneath the night sky. And somewhere behind them was the facility, the smoke was no longer visible from here.

Imagine he didn't let himself look back anyway, because if he did, he might start thinking again, and Caleb couldn't afford to think, not yet. He unfastened his harness, then he turned toward MC. She was barely conscious, her breathing was shallow, her skin pale and clammy, her body practically limp against the seat. "Pips." Nothing. He reached over and carefully lifted her. She weighed almost nothing in his arms, too light, too still. Caleb stepped out of the helicopter with her held securely against his chest and immediately, weapons were pointed at him, dozens of them, rifles, pistols, military grade firearms. Men and women in armored gear surrounded the helipad, their weapons trained directly on Caleb.

Imagine, he didn't care, not even slightly. He didn't raise his gun, didn't reach for anything, didn't even look particularly threatened. His eyes were exhausted, dead tired, the kind of exhaustion that went beyond sleep. He simply stood there holding MC, then looked directly at the closest armed guard. "Is Sylus here?" His voice was flat, cold, almost emotionless. The guard didn't lower his weapon. "Identify yourself." Caleb's jaw tightened. "I have MC." That changed something, whispers moved through the group, people looked at one another, a few weapons shifted. Then footsteps approached from behind the line of armed personnel.

Imagine Caleb didn't turn immediately. He already knew whoever was coming mattered. So when a man stepped through the crowd, tall, composed, dressed far too cleanly for a world that had ended months ago, his eyes immediately landed on the woman in Caleb's arms, then on Caleb, and something in his expression changed. "You're her brother?" Caleb gave a single nod, nothing more. He didn't have the energy for introductions, didn't have the energy to explain the months of searching, didn't have the energy to tell this man that he'd crossed half a dead city, fought through hordes, stolen fuel, repaired a helicopter that probably shouldn't have worked, and nearly died getting here.

Imagine, all he could think about was the facility, the collapsing walls, the smoke, your voice. Caleb. Caleb's arms tightened slightly around MC. Sylus stepped forward. "Bring her inside." The weapons lowered, people moved immediately, medical personnel rushed toward them. Caleb allowed them to take MC only after making sure they had a firm hold on her, his eyes followed her the entire time. He didn't move, didn't speak, just watched until the doors swallowed her from view, and then he was alone.

Imagine, for several seconds, Caleb simply stood on the helipad, the wind moved through his hair. Then someone said something to him, he didn't hear it. Someone else walked past, didn't notice. His mind was still somewhere else, in that facility, with you. He could still hear the gunshots, could still hear the horde, could still hear you yelling his name. CALEB! His eyes closed, only for a second. And when he opened them again, the emptiness remained. He turned toward one of the nearby guards.

"Can you refuel the helicopter?" The man looked confused. "What?" "The helicopter." Caleb gestured toward it. "Fuel. Ammunition. Anything useful. Medical supplies if you've got them." The guard stared at him. "You're asking me?" Caleb looked at him. For the first time, there was something almost dangerous in his expression. "Who else would I ask?" The man hesitated. "You should talk to Sylus." Caleb's eyes flickered toward the building. "Fine."

Imagine the way he turned away. There was no urgency in his movements, no panic, no visible grief, but the way he walked made it clear that whatever part of Caleb had arrived at N109 was only his body. The rest of him was still back there, with you.

Imagine, MC survived the night, barely. By the time Caleb was allowed near her again, she was under observation in one of the medical rooms. Monitors surrounded the bed, IV lines ran into her arm, her breathing had stabilized enough that the doctors weren't actively preparing for the worst anymore. It should have relieved him, and it did, somewhere, but the relief couldn't reach him. Caleb stood outside the room, staring through the glass. MC was alive, safe. Exactly what he'd spent months trying to accomplish. He should have felt complete, instead, there was an empty space in his chest that wouldn't stop aching.

Imagine footsteps approached behind him, Sylus. Caleb didn't turn. "I heard about your request." Caleb remained silent. "The fuel. Ammunition. Supplies." Still nothing, Sylus stopped beside him. "You're going back." It wasn't a question. Caleb's eyes remained on MC. "Yes." "Into that?" "Yes." Sylus studied him for a moment. "You nearly died getting here." Caleb's expression didn't change. "So did she." "And now she's here." "She's safe." "She needs her brother." That finally made Caleb look at him. There was no anger in his eyes, that somehow made it worse. "I already kept my promise."

Imagine the way Sylus frowned slightly. Caleb looked back through the glass. "I promised I'd keep her safe." He watched MC's chest rise and fall. "I brought her here." His voice was quiet. "She's not alone anymore." Sylus said nothing. Caleb's gaze hardened. "She has you." There was a strange understanding in Sylus's silence, because he knew what Caleb was doing. He knew what it looked like when someone had already decided there was a person somewhere out there worth walking into hell for.  Caleb looked toward the dark hallway. "I'm leaving tomorrow." Sylus's eyebrows lifted slightly. "You're serious." "Have everything I requested ready." "Caleb-" "I don't need an escort." "I wasn't offering one." "Good."

Imagine there was a beat of silence, then Sylus said quietly, "You might not find her." Caleb's expression barely moved. "They're alive." "You don't know that." "I do." "You saw the building collapse." "I saw a building collapse." Sylus stared at him. Caleb continued before he could respond. "I didn't see them die." There it was. The denial, not loud, not hysterical, just absolute. And Caleb would build his entire reality around that single fact if he had to. He hadn't seen you die. Therefore, you were alive. Simple, certain, non negotiable.

Imagine the way Sylus studied him for a long moment, then he looked back toward MC. "She'd probably hate knowing you're going back." Caleb's jaw tightened. "She doesn't get to decide." "You think she'll understand?" "She doesn't have to." Caleb turned away. "I made a promise."

Imagine, the next morning, Caleb was ready before sunrise. His weapons were checked, ammunition packed, medical supplies secured, fuel topped off, the helicopter had been inspected as thoroughly as possible. It wasn't perfect, neither was he, but it would fly. That was enough. Caleb stood beside it, tightening the strap around his rifle. And for a moment, his hand moved toward his chest before his fingers stopped. There was nothing there, no chain, no familiar metal, no dog tags. You had them. And he stared at his empty hand, then closed it into a fist.

Imagine he would get them back, he would get you back. Caleb looked toward the medical building one last time. MC was still asleep, safe, protected, exactly where she needed to be. He didn't go inside, because if he did, leaving would become harder. Instead, he climbed into the helicopter, started the engine and the blades slowly began to turn. Caleb looked toward the horizon. The ruined city waited beyond the walls.

Imagine somewhere out there was the facility and somewhere beyond that, maybe you, maybe nothing. He didn't care. Dead or alive, he would search. He would follow every road, every building, every shelter, every rumor. He would look until he couldn't walk. Until he couldn't fly, until there was nothing left of him. Because you'd told him you'd make it to N109. You had promised. And if you couldn't keep that promise, then Caleb would keep it for you. He would find you. No matter what waited on the other side, no matter how long it took, no matter what it cost him.

so Imagine as the helicopter lifted slowly from the helipad. Caleb flew back into the dead world. Toward the place he had left you behind, because this time, he wasn't searching for his sister. He was going home.

[ⓒdark-night-hero] 2026°

: who ever thought making a part 2 was a great idea *i dead PX* kakahayup mag edit 1 week ko na tong ginagawa T_T also, this is far more detailed than the first part, just because lmao, i think i made this one better... or worse??

: you know, i got myself Caleb's necklace and my mother saw it and was like, that beautiful, where did you get that? and I was like, i know its beautiful but... you don't wanna know.

: sorry it took so long, with the issue going on with lads... its just.. meh. Anyways, not sure when the next lads context would come, can't promise a date but I'll be posting contents soon. And maybe a light and night fic and my ex (genshin) fic. And if looking for part 3, got nothing in mind so none for now :D

Tbh I'm so tempted because fuck. That's my baby! But at the same time I am definitely losing my mind due to a different thing because wdym that was the only new/update you're giving us?

No news about valko? Even after all the petition, the nationwide/internal boycott? Not even a word about him? After being silent about Zayne's prev banner (i mean, i think it was free)

The only thing that temps me is my baby, Caleb. But aside from that, I don't think it will be enough to pull me back into the game. (I haven't played in a month) and fuck!! How dare they use my Caleb like this.

I had unfollowed lads ever since the cancellation but ya'know, still got lads content and my feed and holyty shit do Caleb look good AHHHHH good lord may I be strong enough not to log in.

Ps. I will be making an update in the following days, just busy updating my reincarnated as a slime fic :D

Bad news is that I'm currently busy rl looking for job (i don't have my resume yet one of these days I'llbe making it istg, I'm more like on a afk vacation lmao)

Good news is that I'm now back on track and online and will be making imagine/story updates soon.

One bad new again is that after seeing this ask, I was like, you know what, I'll update this. And went to go on my drafts and now... I can't find it.

I'm trying to find it on my drafts, i forgot which chapter it is (IDK AHHHH) and which story I put it into (I got 5 story I'm drafting my drafts) anyways.

I'm off to find it, bye

As I write this, Valko is standing over my shoulder.

He insists he isn't reading it, yet every now and then I catch him stealing a glance before pretending to look away. Don't be upset with him, my love. He's not a bad man, just an awfully curious one. You probably know that already. He's still the same silly nerd with chocolate on his hands and more curiosity than shame. Sometimes I think your sister would've adored him. She would've laughed at how easy it is to fluster him.

He promised me one of his colleagues would deliver this letter to you. He said he owed me this much.

Caleb... I never imagined I would write you a goodbye letter. Not because I stopped loving you. Never because of that. If anything, it is because I love you too much. I have to leave. There are things that have become tangled beyond either of us, and Valko being Valko, managed to throw himself into the middle of it all. My love, I cannot let him face it alone. So I am going with him, not because I was asked to, but because I chose to.

Please don't think this means I chose him over you. Because I didn't, I never will. If life had been kinder, if it had given me a choice that didn't ask me to leave someone behind, I would have chosen you every single time. I'm going because he needs me. Not because I love you any less. Not because someone else has taken the place that has always belonged to you. There has never been anyone else, Caleb. There has only ever been you.

I don't know when I'll return. I don't know if I'll return at all. I wanted to tell you I have no regrets, because it sounds brave. But I have never been very good at lying to you. I have one, just one. It's that I never got to marry you. I never got to stand beside you and promise forever beneath an open sky. I never got to build a home with you. I never got to grow old with you, to watch the years leave little lines on our faces while we argued over little things and laughed about them a minute later.

We were only given seasons, far too few of them. The days we spent together now feel like fleeting summers, warm, golden, impossibly beautiful and cruelly short compared to the winter that awaits us apart. How unfair it is that a lifetime of loving you can be remembered in fragments. Your laugh. The way your hand always found mine without thinking. The kisses that made the world quieter. The way you looked at the sky, as if it had been waiting for you long before you learned how to fly. Every time you took off, I found myself looking up too, wondering which patch of blue was holding the person I loved most.

The warmth you carried so effortlessly, as though your surname had become your soul. Xia. Summer. Because wherever you were, life felt warmer. Like sunlight after days of rain. Like coming home.

If the years ahead are spent without me, promise me something. Don't stop looking at the sky. Keep flying. Keep chasing every sunrise from above the clouds. Keep finding peace where the sky meets the horizon. Don't let my absence make the world feel smaller. If anything, I hope you'll love the sky enough for the both of us. And when summer comes... Please don't hate it because it reminds you of me. Stand in the sunlight. Feel the warmth on your face. Smile when the wind finds you. I'd like to think that's my way of finding you again.

And if by some miracle, I find my way back to you... I hope you'll still call my name the same way you always did. And if I don't... Then let this letter be the last proof that there was once someone in this world who loved you with every piece of herself.

And one last thing Caleb I need you to remember this, even if one day my voice fades from your memory. You will never be unloved by me. Not while the sky is still blue. Not while summer still returns. Not in this life. Not in whatever comes after. For as long the skies still carry your wings, my heart will always find its way back to you.

They removed the "coming soon" when you clicked the LI, ya'know,mwhen you're about to pick which LI you want.

And they were also having a rerun in which they did not post on their socmed. I think it would be Wander in Wonder banner (Caleb is not included yet in this banner.)

Tbh I was lowkey hoping for something to happen in game that's why I downloaded the game back yesterday. But now that I've seen the changes, I will be uninstalling the game again 🤣 sigh, I miss Caleb. 🥹

So basically, there were only rerun banner + house update for the 6.0 patch update. That's all

I was wondering... will we be seeing you write for other fandoms, or even your own original work? Bc id be interested, i adore your writing and angst 🫶🏼

Halloooo! To answer your question, yes I will be writing for other fandom, probably my old fandom such as Genshin, Blue Lock, HSR and maybe some new ones such as Light and Night (I just started playing at midnight yesterday, and I love it already. Marry me pls Qi Sili!)

As for my og works, I've had it like... for a year now or two. As for OC, I'll be dropping something about Theo soon :D I loveeee angst. My og work is basically just angst per angsty as chapter goes by lmao.

Echoes in the Sky is still up but it'd currently only posted privately (only me can see) because I plan to re write it properly. I'll be posting it on AO3 and wattpad soon just like what I did with Heartbeat Protocol.