Deepspace Dispatch

You blinked. “What?”

“What would feel safe right now?” he asked softly. “Sweet? Salty? Warm? Something small?”

Guilt curled painfully in your chest. “Xavier, you already bought dinner. I don’t want to be difficult.”

“You are not difficult.” His response came immediately.

He stepped closer, voice quieter now. “Eating something uncomfortable just because you think you should is not kindness to yourself.”

Your eyes burned slightly at how easily he said it.

Xavier picked up his phone without hesitation. “Tell me what you want,” he murmured. “I’ll order it.”

You hesitated before quietly naming something simple. Something safe.

“Done,” he said after placing the order, then moved to sit beside you on the couch. “And while we wait,” he added softly, “you can stop apologizing for needing care.”

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Zayne:

Zayne approached your recovery the same way he approached medicine.

Formulaically and carefully.

He understood quickly that large meals overwhelmed you. The portions alone could send you spiraling before you even picked up a fork, and pushing too hard only made things worse.

So he adapted.

Instead of heavy plates piled too high, he prepared smaller meals throughout the day. Protein-rich soups. Rice bowls portioned carefully. Smoothies with added nutrients you didn't notice. Things easy on your stomach while still giving your body what it needed.

“You do not need to force yourself into discomfort to recover,” he told you one evening while setting a small plate in front of you.

You stared down at it cautiously. “This is…less than usual.”

“That is intentional,” he replied calmly. “Your body is still adjusting. Smaller portions are easier physically and mentally.”

You looked up at him uncertainly. “You don’t think I should just push through it?”

Zayne shook his head once. “Recovery built on fear rarely lasts.”

He sat beside you while you ate, not watching closely enough to make you nervous, but present enough that you never felt alone with it either.

“You deserve to feel safe while nourishing yourself,” he said quietly after a moment. “I am not interested in forcing you. I am interested in helping you heal.”

Your throat tightened. Sometimes recovery felt humiliating. Fragile. Like your life revolved around food in ways you hated.

But Zayne never made you feel childish for struggling. Instead, he treated every small victory seriously. Every finished meal. Every honest conversation. Every difficult day survived.

And slowly, with his guidance beside you, recovery stopped feeling impossible.

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Rafayel:

Rafayel noticed the way you looked at mirrors long before you realized he was watching.

It wasn't casual glances. Not normal self-consciousness.

You stared too long. Pinched at your skin. Turned sideways repeatedly like you were trying to find something wrong with yourself, something no one else could see.

And lately, it had gotten worse.

Recovery had put a small amount of weight back onto your body, enough for your doctor to be relieved, enough for Rafayel to quietly celebrate. But every time you caught your reflection now, your expression twisted into something devastated.

One afternoon, he found you standing frozen in front of the mirror in his studio, fingers digging into your waist.

“You’re staring again,” he said softly.

You flinched immediately. “I look huge.”

Rafayel’s face fell.

“Cutie,” he murmured carefully, “you really believe that, don’t you?”

Tears burned behind your eyes. “I know it sounds ridiculous.”

“No,” he said gently. “It sounds painful.”

Later, he spread a large sheet of paper across the floor of his studio and handed you charcoal. “Draw what you think your body looks like.”

You hesitated, embarrassed, but eventually drew.

The outline you drew was much larger than reality.

Rafayel said nothing about it. He simply guided you carefully into the center of the drawing before tracing the actual outline of your body around you.

When he stepped back, your breath caught painfully.

The difference was staggering.

Your knees nearly gave out as tears spilled down your cheeks. “I don’t understand,” you whispered shakily. “I know this one is wrong but I still see it.”

Rafayel crossed the room immediately, pulling you gently into his arms.

“Oh, cutie,” he whispered against your hair, heart breaking at the sound of your crying. “Then I’ll remind you every day until your reflection stops being cruel to you.”

His hands held you carefully, securely.

“You deserve to see yourself the way I see you,” he murmured softly.

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Sylus:

A pair of jeans fitting tighter than expected could ruin your entire day. A shirt hanging too loose could spiral just as quickly. Recovery had made your relationship with clothing fragile, unpredictable.

So Sylus removed the problem entirely.

Every piece of clothing in your closet was custom tailored now. Dresses adjusted perfectly to your measurements. Sweaters fitted comfortably without clinging too tightly. Nothing too small. Nothing oversized enough to make you disappear inside it.

At first, you were embarrassed and ashamed of the money he was spending.

“Sylus,” you sighed one morning while slipping into a perfectly tailored outfit, “normal people buy clothes at stores.”

“And normal people are often dissatisfied,” he replied simply.

You rolled your eyes, but the truth was it helped more than you admitted aloud.

There were fewer breakdowns now. Fewer moments spent crying in fitting rooms or obsessing over the size on tags.

Sylus also made sure movement never became punishment for you.

Instead of intense workouts, he built softer routines into your days. Walking Mephisto together every evening. Stretching beside him in the mornings. Exercises focused on strength instead of shrinking yourself.

“You should feel powerful in your body,” he told you once while adjusting your posture gently. “Not at war with it.”

And somehow, with him, you slowly started believing that might be possible.

His chef always prepared meals he knew felt safest for you, nutrient-dense without overwhelming you, and Sylus always had chocolate tucked away somewhere for the moments cravings hit unexpectedly.

“You keep emergency chocolate on you?” you laughed once.

“For you?” He looked entirely serious. “Always.”

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Caleb:

Caleb took your relapse harder than you did.

Not because he blamed you, never that, but because he remembered every version of you growing up. The stubborn kid who climbed trees too fast. The teenager who stole fries off his plate. The way you used to laugh so freely before food became something frightening.

So seeing you like this hurt him deeply.

Even now, sitting across from him picking apart your dinner instead of eating it, you looked exhausted in ways that made his heart ache.

“You’re moving in with me,” he said suddenly.

You blinked. “Caleb,”

“I’m serious.”

His voice softened immediately after, concern replacing the firmness. “Pips, I can’t keep wondering if you’re taking care of yourself when I’m not there.”

Guilt twisted inside you. “I don’t want to be monitored all the time.”

“That’s not what this is.” He sighed, rubbing his hand over his face before crouching beside your chair. “I just…” His expression cracked slightly. “I need to know you’re safe.”

Caleb rested his arms across your knees carefully. “You don’t have to do recovery alone anymore. Let me help.”

He became quietly protective after that.

Cooking meals for you himself. Keeping snacks around the apartment. Sitting with you during difficult meals even when you barely spoke. He never forced you, but he always noticed when you were struggling.

Sometimes it overwhelmed you, how much he cared.

“You hover,” you complained weakly one evening.

Caleb grinned faintly. “Yeah, well. You’re my favorite person.” Then his expression softened again. “And I’m not losing you to this.”

The possessiveness in his voice should have felt suffocating.

There was no response. The silence was heavy, suffocating.

Then you shook your head, stepping back before it turned into something worse.

“I can’t keep doing this alone,” you whispered.

And you left before he could answer.

--------

The café smelled like bitter coffee and warm bread, too normal for how unsteady you felt.

Rafayel sat across from you, listening as you vented in exhausted fragments, your hands moving more than your voice could keep up with.

He didn’t interrupt until you stopped speaking.

Then, softly, almost disbelieving, he said, “Why are you letting humans mistreat you?”

You blinked. “Humans?”

He waved it off like it meant nothing, like the word itself wasn’t important enough to linger on.

“You’re worth more than being worn down like that,” he said instead, leaning back in his chair. “If the hatred from that time could be offset by him dying instantly, I would happily grant your wish at this very moment.”

Your expression twisted. “That’s…a bit extreme. I don't want him dead, I just need him to care. To compromise. Anything more than this.”

He didn’t blink.

“If you knew those despicable aspects and flaws, would you still fall in love?”

You hesitated thinking it through. “I already do love him.”

Rafayel fell quiet after that.

--------

Later, the beach wind cut through everything, and you walked beside Rafayel in silence until he spoke again.

“The sea inevitably returns to where it belongs, and separates from the land.”

You looked out toward the horizon, thinking.

“But the sea always meets the shore,” you said slowly, a realization forming in your mind. “We could see each other again.”

The words settled differently in your chest as you said them, like something clicking into place. The distance wasn’t absence. This separation wasn’t final.

“Oh,” you murmured, softer now. “I think I understand. Thank you, Rafayel. Sylus and I willl make it work, we're not so different from the sea and the sand.”

You turned and hugged him without hesitation.

He stiffened for half a second before returning it.

“…Of course you do,” he said quietly.

Something in his voice cracked just slightly at the edges, though he kept smiling, you didn't notice the sorrow that flashed in his eyes.

Then a voice called out behind you.

“Kitten.”

You turned.

Sylus stood there in daylight. Something that he had never done before for you, and it brought tears to your eyes. Everything in your mind, your heart shifted.

Without thinking, you ran, straight to Sylus. You didn't even think to say something to Rafayel.

Sylus caught you without hesitation, arms closing around you and pulling you close. You knew this time he wasn't going to let go so easily and you settled comfortably against him.

Behind you, Rafayel didn’t move.

Just watched.

A long silence passed before he spoke under his breath, almost to himself.

At first you smiled politely when people spoke to you. Then you only nodded. Eventually, even that stopped.

All of your movements felt as if they were in slow motion. Your gaze unfocused somewhere beyond the table. When someone asked you a question, you took a moment too long to answer, they repeated it three times before you could actually respond.

Xavier reached over quietly, brushing his fingers against your wrist beneath the table.

“Starlight,” he murmured, “do you want to leave?”

You looked at him with visible relief.

He stood immediately, making an excuse to the group before helping you gather your things. The moment you stepped outside, the cold air wrapped around you, and your whole body visibly relaxed.

“You noticed?” you asked quietly.

He simply nodded.

His voice was soft as he guided you down the quieter side street instead of the crowded main road.

“You don't have to force yourself to keep up with everyone else.”

You leaned lightly against his shoulder as you walked.

Xavier smiled faintly. “I like your silence too.”

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Rafayel:

Rafayel loved talking.

He bounced between topics like waves crashing against each other, one thought blending into the next before the previous one even finished. Most people struggled to keep up with him.

But you always listened so carefully in the beginning.

You laughed at all his dramatics, teased him back, rolled your eyes whenever he got distracted halfway through a story. He adored that look on your face.

Then slowly, over time, he saw the shift.

Your responses grew quieter. Your eyes glazed over. The spark in your expression dimmed under the weight of too much noise, too many people, too many overlapping conversations demanding pieces of your attention.

Tonight, the arcade was crowded and loud, lights flashing brightly enough to make your eyes ache.

Rafayel was halfway through complaining about losing a claw machine game when he noticed you had not responded in several minutes.

You were sitting beside him silently, shoulders slightly slumped, staring blankly at the floor while the sounds around you swallowed the room whole.

His expression softened instantly.

“Cutie,” he said gently, crouching slightly in front of you. “Battery dead?”

You gave the tiniest nod.

Without another word, he took your hand carefully and led you out of the arcade. The further you got from the noise, the more your body relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered. “I know I got quiet.”

Rafayel stopped walking, turning toward you fully.

“Why are you apologizing for being tired?” he asked softly. “You stayed as long as you could.”

The city lights reflected softly in his eyes as he brushed his thumb across your knuckles.

Xavier noticed instantly, concerned about the shift in your mood.

“What happened, starlight?”

You sighed, refusing to look around. “I hate this. I hate that I can be fully covered and people still stare. I hate feeling like I’m being looked at instead of seen.”

His expression shifted. Calm, patient, but threaded with something darker. His evol flickered at his fingertips, a soft insistence of light he had not summoned intentionally.

“Who?” he asked quietly.

“It doesn’t matter,” you muttered. “It’s just exhausting. I’m tired of being objectified. I’m tired of feeling like my body is an invitation.”

He stepped in front of you, blocking your view of the room, gaze locked only on you. “You're not an invitation,” he affirmed, voice soft but edged with steel. “You're not something anyone is entitled to look at like that.”

You felt your throat tighten. “I just hate it. I hate being treated like I’m not even a person.”

Xavier reached for your hand, his touch grounding. “If someone makes you uncomfortable, you tell me,” he said. “I will make sure they never try again.”

You blinked. “Xavier.”

He worked his jaw, trying to calm himself. “I am not threatening anyone. I am promising that you are not alone. Not ever.”

A slow breath left your chest, and you smiled in response.

He squeezed your hand gently. “Walk with me, starlight. Let them look elsewhere. Your peace is mine to protect.”

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Zayne:

You sat on the edge of his bed, staring down at your hands. “Zayne, can I ask you something?”

He looked up from his notes immediately. “Of course.”

You hesitated. “I've been thinking about breast reduction surgery.”

His pen stopped moving. He placed it down carefully, giving you his full attention. “Tell me what brought this on.”

You exhaled. “My back hurts. My shoulders hurt. Clothes never fit right. People stare no matter what I wear. I just feel so tired of dealing with all of it.”

Zayne nodded slowly. “Those are valid concerns. Chronic pain alone is reason enough to consider it.”

You picked at a loose thread. “But…what if you don't find me attractive after?”

That made him pause. Not confused, but surprised you would even consider it. “Attractiveness is not determined by a single feature,” he said. “You are not defined by your chest. And my feelings are not dependent on its size.”

You looked down again. "“I just want to be comfortable in my own skin.”

“My job,” he said calmly, “is to advocate for your health. Physical and mental.”

He shifted closer, resting a hand gently on your thigh. “I want you to be comfortable in your body. I want you to live without pain. And I will support whatever choice helps you do that.”

Your eyes softened. “You mean that?”

“Yes.” He brushed a thumb over your knuckles. “Your body is already deserving of care. If surgery improves your quality of life, then it is worth considering. But don't ever make a decision based on fear of losing my attraction. You will not, it's impossible.”

You leaned into him, and his arms wrapped around you, steady and reassuring.

“You deserve relief,” he whispered. “And I will stand with you through every decision that brings you closer to it.”

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Rafayel:

You were already irritated before the third dressing room even closed.

“Why is everything either ugly or painful,” you muttered, glaring at the selection of bras hanging on the hook. “It is like designers think having a big chest means I want to wear something that looks like tactical gear.”

Rafayel lounged outside the curtain like he owned the boutique, legs crossed, expression relaxed. “Let me see.”

“No,” you groaned. “None of these fit right. They all hurt. And the cute ones are never made in my size.”

“Then show me,” he insisted, gentler this time.

You stepped out with the defeated slump of someone who had tried too many options. He took one look at the straps digging into your shoulders and stood immediately.

“Go change,” he said. “You are not wearing that.”

You rolled your eyes but retreated to change again. When you came out in the next one, he circled you thoughtfully. “Support is wrong. Band too tight. Cups too shallow. This is not your body’s fault.”

You sighed, staring at the mirror. “I just want something that fits. And maybe something that looks nice for once.”

Rafayel tapped his chin. “Then we will make it.”

You blinked. “Make it?”

“Yes.” He pulled out his sketchbook. “You tell me what you want. Shape. Color. Lace. Structure. Everything. I will design it myself and commission it from someone who actually respects you, and understands the human body.”

Your chest loosened in a way that had nothing to do with fabric. “Rafayel, that is so much work.”

“For you,” he said simply, “I am willing.”

You smiled, excitement brewing inside you as he began sketching.

“Let me build something beautiful for you,” he murmured. “Something worthy of you.”

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Sylus:

The impact of your punch echoed through the training room, but you hissed as soon as your stance shifted.

“Again?” he asked.

You frowned. “My chest hurts when I move like that. My back aches too. It throws my balance off. Having a big chest is annoying.”

Sylus stepped closer, reading your posture like a manual. “Turn around.”

You raised a brow. “Why?”

“Just do it.”

You turned, and his hands settled beneath your chest, lifting gently but firmly, redistributing the weight with startling precision.

You froze. “Sylus…you cannot hold me like this the entire session.”

“Watch me,” he said calmly.

Despite yourself, you laughed. “You cannot support my chest forever.”

He leaned in, voice quiet near your ear. “If it eases your pain, I will. But I can also adjust your routine, strengthen the right muscles, teach you ways to stabilize your frame. I'd do anything to make you comfortable, to make you happy, Kitten.”

Your breath caught. “Sometimes I just feel like my body limits me.”

“No.” His hands stayed steady, grounding you. “Your body is strong. It only needs support in different places. That's not a weakness.”

You turned slightly, meeting his crimson eyes. “You really think that?”

“I don't believe in faulty design,” he said. “Only in the wrong approach. And I will find every right one for you.”

His hands remained warm, steady, and you relaxed into his support without even realizing it.

“You do not have to endure pain alone,” he murmured. “Not when I can help carry it.”

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Caleb:

It happened again in the middle of the store. You tugged at your shirt, huffing as the fabric pulled in a way that made you instantly self conscious.

Caleb looked over from the cart. “Pips?”

You shook your head. “It's nothing. I just hate how my chest makes everything fit weird. I hate how noticeable it is. I feel like people stare.”

He frowned, walking over immediately. “Who stared?”

“No one! Not now anyway. I just feel…wrong in my own body sometimes.”

Caleb’s expression softened. “Come here.”

You knew that tone. One that was full of protection and concern. He tugged you gently into the aisle corner, shielding you with his body like he always had when you were kids.

“You know,” he said softly, “I have seen every version of you. Every stage. And this is still you. The you that makes me laugh. The you I want to come home to. Your chest does not change any of that.”

You exhaled shakily. “I just wish I felt comfortable.”

“Then we will find what makes you comfortable,” he said. “Different clothes. Different cuts. Whatever you need. And if anyone stares, they can deal with me.”

You raised a brow. “Caleb.”

He grinned. “What? I can be intimidating.” You smiled hesitantly, knowing he could be more than intimidating if needed.

He bumped his shoulder gently against yours. “You don't need to hide from me. You never have. You are safe with me, pips.”

Xavier took the handshake. His grip tightened to a level that made your friend’s shoulders rise, and Xavier shook his head once. “No,” he said. “I am not.”

The rest of the visit was…tense. Not for you, but for them.

Your friend tried to make conversation. Xavier answered curtly. Your friend laughed nervously. Xavier didn't laugh at all. You could practically hear the murderous intent flowing through his mind each time your friend mentioned Lumiere’s name. And that sharp, flashing glint in Xavier’s eyes? Your friend definitely noticed.

You kept having to hide your snickers in behind your hands.

When the visit finally ended and the door closed behind your friend, Xavier inhaled slowly, like he’d survived a battle.

You nudged him. “Thank you for not exploding any lights and letting him leave unmaimed.”

He looked at you flatly. “Starlight, I was very close.”

You burst out laughing. He didn’t. But the way he wrapped an arm around your waist afterward made it clear he considered the threat eliminated.

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Zayne

Zayne greeted your visiting college friend with perfect manners. Too perfect. Polite tone, impeccable posture, exact handshake pressure. You watched your friend blink, a little startled, like they’d just met a very gentle, very polite wall.

Throughout the conversation, Zayne kept smiling that calm, serene, doctor smile that somehow managed to be both comforting and deeply intimidating.

Your friend told stories from your college days. Zayne listened closely. At one point, he tilted his head just a fraction, eyes narrowing in thought, and your friend immediately lost their train of thought.

Later, you all stopped at a café. You barely sat down before Zayne quietly started preparing his coffee.

One packet of sugar. Two. Three. Four. Five.

Your friend stared in horror.

Zayne stirred. “It has been a long week,” he said simply, entirely unfazed.

Your friend leaned in to whisper to you, “Does he always drink it like that?”

You shrugged. “That’s actually less than usual.”

By the time the visit ended, your friend still couldn’t tell if Zayne liked them, hated them, or was clinically evaluating their entire personality. Zayne kissed your forehead on the way out, perfectly calm. “Your friend seems kind. Slightly anxious. Understandable.”

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Rafayel

Your friend recognized him immediately.

“Oh my god,” they whispered. “You’re Rafayel. Like…THE Rafayel.”

Rafayel beamed. “Finally. Someone with taste.”

Your friend practically vibrated with excitement, listing all the pieces of his art they’d seen online, all the reviews, all the critiques.

Rafayel basked in the compliments, revelled in them. Chin lifted, shoulders back, radiating smug satisfaction like sunlight.

“You know,” he said lightly, nudging you with an elbow, “you never compliment me like this.”

You rolled your eyes. “I do.”

He gasped dramatically. “Lies. My bodyguard never appreciates my genius. But you,” he pointed at your friend. “You understand.”

Your friend looked delighted. You looked exhausted. Rafayel looked like he’d just found a new favorite person.

“Do you want a picture?” Rafayel asked them casually. “Most people do. My good side is all sides, by the way.”

You groaned. He winked.

He was charming through the entire visit, effortlessly stealing the spotlight, effortlessly keeping an arm around you the whole time.

When your friend finally left, Rafayel stretched like a cat.

“Nice person,” he said. “Very correct opinions.”

You shoved his shoulder. “They’re going to worship you.”

He grinned. “As they should.”

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Sylus

You introduced him as Skye.

Your friend stared at him. Then stared at the fruit sign over his stall. Then stared at him again.

“He’s…your fruit guy?” your friend whispered, weary.

Sylus smiled pleasantly, all teeth. “I have many talents.”

Your friend’s eyes darted to Sylus’s arms. His height. His scars. His whole aura of quiet danger.

“Some people in my line of work have been disappearing lately,” Sylus added conversationally. “Accidents happen.”

Your friend went pale.

You kicked Sylus lightly. He didn’t stop smiling, the smile that made children cry.

The tension only worsened when the twins arrived, flanking you with casual precision. Your friend froze, sensing instinctively that these were not fruit vendor coworkers.

Sylus draped an arm over your shoulders. “You alright?” he asked, tone warm. “Hope things aren’t too…overwhelming.”

Your friend swallowed. “I...should probably get going...”

“Safe travels,” Sylus said cheerfully.

Your friend practically sprinted.

When they disappeared around the corner, Sylus smirked. “Friendly guy.”

You sighed. “You scared him off.”

“I did nothing,” Sylus said, utterly unbothered. “People scare themselves.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb

You weren’t home when your college friend arrived.

Caleb was.

He opened your apartment door, saw a stranger standing there, and immediately slammed it in their face.

You got a call two seconds later.

“Pips. Why is there a random guy at your door?”

You groaned. “Caleb, that’s my friend from college. Let him in!”

There was grumbling on the other end, then the door creaked open again.

By the time you arrived, the tension inside the room was thick enough to cut with a knife. Caleb sat stiffly on the couch, arms crossed, watching your friend like they were a suspicious package.

Your friend whispered, “He hates me.”

Caleb answered immediately. “I don’t hate you. I just don’t know you. And I’m not letting anyone get close to them unless I know they’re safe.”

Your friend blinked. “Oh.”

Caleb didn’t look away, and the poor guy looked ready to cry.

The visit was short. Very short. As soon as the door shut behind your friend, you turned to Caleb.

“Caleb. You do not control my life.”

He held up his hands. “Never said I did, pips. But I’m not letting some stranger just stroll in like they own the place.”

“You slammed a door in his face.”

“You’re welcome,” he said.

Only then do you realize you are. You let out a slow exhale and flip the page, hoping the movement makes you look occupied instead of overwhelmed. His hand comes down gently over yours, stopping the motion.

“You don't have to pretend with me,” he says softly. “Not in any part of your life.”

A flush creeps up your neck “It's nothing. The text is small. I'm just tired.”

His eyes hold your gaze and soften. “You're struggling to read it. That's all. There is no shame in that.”

You hesitate, “I don't want to slow you down.”

He shakes his head and nudges his shoulder against yours. “You have never slowed me down. Let me help you.”

You nod and relief spreads through you as he takes the page and reads aloud, steady. When you whisper thank you, he presses a soft kiss to your temple.

“My star,” he says quietly, “you never need to fight the anything alone.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Zayne:

Your notes lie open across your knees, thick paragraphs stacked in tight columns. You read a line, lose your place, go back, lose it again. Your eyes burn with the effort. Zayne notices instantly. He always does.

He taps his pencil against your knee. “Hey. Look at me.”

You lift your head. His grin is bright, easy, the kind that takes the pressure out of your lungs. He flips the book around and pulls it closer.

“We can break this down,” he says. “If we take it in chunks, it won’t feel like the page is yelling at you.”

You let out a tiny laugh at that. “It really does feel like that.”

“I know.” He leans his shoulder against yours, warm and grounding. “And I am here. We are doing this together.”

He starts sectioning the chapter into small bullet points, circling key terms, drawing little doodles in the margins to help you remember. He reads every line aloud, slow enough for you to process. Then he holds out a handful of colored pens.

“Pick a color. Whichever you like best sticks in your mind, right?”

You grab the purple one.

Zayne grins as if he already knew. “Great. Purple is our wanderer identification color now.”

You work through the chapter at your pace. When you answer something correctly, he celebrates like you have just earned your hunter badge on the spot.

By the time you finish, your shoulders finally drop. Zayne looks at you with so much pride.

“You are doing great,” he says softly. “I promise, you are going to pass this test.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Rafayel:

You hold the instruction sheet in both hands, reading aloud as best you can, stumbling over a word here and there. Your frustration grows each time the letters blur or switch places. When you miss a line entirely, you sigh and mutter under your breath, something sharp and unfair aimed at yourself.

Rafayel freezes.

“Don't say that,” he says quietly.

You blink at him. “What? I was just...”

“Insulting yourself,” he interrupts gently, stepping closer. “I will not allow that.”

You want to look away, but he lifts your chin with a his hand, guiding you to meet his gaze. “There is nothing wrong with the way you learn, cutie,” he says. “Nothing to be ashamed of.”

You swallow hard. “I just…feel slow. Like I can never keep up.”

He smooths a palm along your cheek, warm and steady. “You could never hold me up. I asked you to help because I want you beside me. And if reading is difficult, then it'll just take a little more time. That's how this goes.”

You shake your head. “It is embarrassing, Raf.”

He folds the instruction sheet neatly and sets it aside. “It is human. And it does not change how I see you.”

His fingers lace with yours, carefully. “I love you,” he says softly. “All parts of you. Even the ones you judge too harshly.”

Your eyes sting, but you nod. Rafayel smiles, resting his head against yours.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Sylus:

The restaurant menu glows on your phone, long descriptions written in that tight font you dread. You try to skim, but the words refuse to stay in place. You tilt the screen, blink, refocus. Sylus watches you with that careful, observant stillness he has.

Without comment, he leans closer and pretends to be thinking aloud. “This one looks good. And this one has the spice you like.”

You exhale, grateful without saying it. He knows. Of course he knows.

When the waitress arrives, Sylus orders for both of you, saying everything the way you would have if the text stopped fighting you. Once she leaves, you whisper an apology.

“I should be better at this by now. I just…freeze up.”

Sylus looks at you for a long moment, then shakes his head. “You don't need to apologize for how your brain works.” His tone gentle. “I adapt. That's what I do.”

Your brows knit together in frustration. “I don't want to be difficult.”

“You're not difficult.” He reaches out and takes your phone. “I just want things to be easier for you. Like how I text with more spacing. Clear fonts. Voice messages when it's longer.”

You blink at him. “You did that on purpose?”

He gives a small, smile. “Of course, kitten. I would do anything for you.”

He lifts your hand, brushing his thumb along your knuckles. “You never have to struggle alone. Not when I am right here.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb:

Caleb sits on your bedroom floor like he has a hundred times before, legs crossed, posture relaxed. The book between you is much more complicated than the ones you tackled as kids, but the feeling is the same.

“You remember this?” he asks with a crooked smile. “You, me, and your absolute hatred of phonics.”

You groan. “I hated phonics, I couldn't do it.”

“You were trying,” he corrects. “And you learned. Slow and steady. Just like now.”

You try reading the paragraph again. Letters shift. Your tongue stumbles. You lose your place halfway through a sentence. Caleb just waits, patient as ever.

Finally, you let out a frustrated breath. “It should not still be this hard.”

Caleb tilts his head. “Who said that?”

You start to answer but fall silent. He nods as if that confirms something he already knew.

He nudges the book toward you. “Want help?”

You nod, embarrassed, but he only smiles. “I have been helping you read since we were kids. This is nothing new.”

He reads the sentence slowly, giving you time to follow, repeating words when you need him to, celebrating quietly every time you get through a full line without stumbling. Wit him, reading feels safe. It feels like home.

When you finish the section, he squeezes your hand. “You have always been smart,” he says. “You just learn in your own way. And that way is good. It always has been.”

You lean against his shoulder. Caleb rests his head on top of yours.

“It's beautiful...It looks familiar, I just can't place it,” you say softly.

“It's yours,” he answers.

You lift your gaze, confused, and he steps closer. His fingers brush yours, gentle. “It fell off your uniform on Philos,” he says.

Your breath stalls. “From Philos, the future?”

He nods. “It fell off your uniform before a mission mission. I grabbed it to keep it safe, I never got the chance to give it back to you. I've held onto it for more than two hundred years. Waiting for the moment I could give it back to you.”

Emotions overwhelm your thoughts and tears start to form in the corner of your eyes. He cups your cheek, voice quiet and full of love. “I loved you then. I love you now. And I will love you in every future we share. Happy Valentine's day"

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Zayne:

You open your door on Valentine’s morning and stop dead in your tracks. There is a box. Then a second box. Then a tower of cheerful wrapping paper stacked so high it nearly reaches your chest. Zayne leans against the wall, arms folded, a confident smile on his face as he takes in your shocked expression.

“Happy Valentine’s,” he says. “I might have gone overboard.”

“Might?” you laugh.

He gestures to the boxes. “Chocolate truffles, handmade caramels, raspberry filled hearts, cookies shaped like little snowflakes. And the big one on the bottom has a cake. A huge cake.”

You stare at the mountain of sweets. “Zayne, how am I supposed to eat all this?”

“You are not.” He loops his arm through yours and nudges your forehead with his. “I am helping. Obviously.”

He carries the first few boxes inside for you, setting them carefully on the counter. Every time you open one, you find a ribbon note tucked inside. Stay sweet. You deserve every good thing. Be mine for today and tomorrow.

By the time you turn back around, he is holding a heart shaped lollipop between his teeth.

His smile softens. “You make everything sweeter.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Rafayel:

Rafayel calls your name from the balcony and you step out to find him standing beside a covered frame. He has a smug impression on his face, like he beat you at a game you didn't know you were playing. When he lifts the cloth, you gasp in surprise.

It's beautiful. A portrait of the two of you standing in soft light, your faces close, your hands almost touching. But the longer you look, the more you realize what it is made of. Pale sand layered with impossible precision. Shell fragments arranged to form the curve of your smile. Driftwood thin as thread outlining the strands of your hair.

“Raf…” you whisper. “This must have taken forever.”

He shakes his head, though he cannot hide his pride. “Not forever, cutie. Only a few days.”

“You collected all of this?”

A small shrug. “I went into the deep ocean. The colors are better there. Harder to find, but you deserve something rare.”

You turn back to the artwork, tracing the delicate lines with your eyes. Every piece carries intention. Dedication. Hours spent under crushing pressure, searching for beauty to place at your feet.

When you look at him again, he's watching you with confidence in his eyes.

“It's perfect,” you say, wrapping your arms around him.

Rafayel returns your embrace. “Good. I knew I would win this Valentine's exchange.”

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Sylus:

Sylus tells you he has a Valentine's gift, but you are not prepared for what waits behind the door he opens. At first glance, you think he has recreated your bedroom inside Onychinus's base. Same layout. Same soft lighting. Same framed photos of you together.

Then you step inside and realize it's not just a replica. It is a perfected version.

Your sweater lies folded on the chair, but when you touch it, the fabric is impossibly soft. Your favorite jacket hangs in the closet, but the stitching is detailed by a craftsman’s hand. Every item is yours, yet elevated, upgraded, translated into luxury without losing its comfort.

“Sylus…what is this?”

He watches you walk through the room with quiet satisfaction. “A space for you, kitten. One that feels like home, not just a place you stay because I ask.”

You lift one of the shirts, stunned by the quality. “These are all...mine?”

“Made for you,” he answers. “Every piece. Every detail. I wanted you to feel welcome. You're not just a guest here, sweetie, I want you to feel like you belong.”

You turn toward him, heart tight. “You did all of this for me.”

He steps close, brushing your hair behind your ear. “Of course I did. You deserve a place that holds you the way I do.”

His voice softens.

“Stay as long as you like, sweetie, it's not home without you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb:

Caleb showed up at your door with his hands behind his back and a very suspicious look on his face. You raised an eyebrow. He grinned, the same lopsided grin he’d had since you were kids, and pulled a small wooden box into view.

“Happy Valentine’s, pips.”

You opened it slowly. The hinges creaked a little, like it had been used for years, loved for years. Inside were little pieces of your life.

A movie ticket from the summer you both swore you were going to run away and join the circus.

A pressed wildflower you vaguely remembered tucking behind your ear before he stole it with a blush.

A childish doodle of the two of you fighting a dragon, drawn in your old crayon set.

And a folded note you wrote him when you were thirteen, the handwriting shaky. You’re my favorite person. Don’t tell anyone.

You looked up at him. Caleb rubbed the back of his neck, suddenly shy.

“There’s one more,” he said, nodding to the bottom of the box.

A small apple charm, a perfect match to the one you gave him years ago.

You shook your quickly, a brief look of panic in your eyes. “No, your hand was cold. It just surprised me.”

He studied you, making sure you were okay, but you leaned back into him again, hoping he wouldn't look too closely.

A minute passed. His fingertips grazed the same spot, gentle and warm.

You pulled back so fast that you almost fell off the bed.

Xavier froze. “My star.” He held his hands up. “It's alright. I'm right here.”

Your breath stuttered. “I'm, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I want to do this, I want you to feel good, I just can't. I don't know why I am like this.”

You didn't look at him. Shame filled your head as you turned away from him.

Xavier reached for you slowly, giving you every chance to move away. When you didn't, he cupped your cheek with both hands.

“You aren't doing anything wrong.”

Your eyes burned with tears and you took a deep breath before speaking. “I was assaulted,” you whispered. “Before I met you. Not that long ago. I thought I was okay. I thought I could handle…this. But when you touched me it felt like my body was somewhere else. I knew it was you but all I could feel was him”

Xavier’s expression shifted, rage first but then it softened, protective in a way that you had never seen before.

“I am so sorry someone did that to you,” he murmured. “You never deserved that pain.”

Your breath stuttered. “I don’t want you to think I don't want you.”

He pressed his forehead to yours, gentle. “I don't want you to give me what hurts you. I want you safe. I want you comfortable. I want you here because you want to be, not because you think I expect anything.”

His hands slid down to hold yours, fingers lacing through yours slowly.

“We can stop. We can slow down. We can stay like this for as long as you need. There is no timeline you owe me.”

You exhaled shakily, leaning into him.

Xavier kissed your temple, wrapping his arms carefully around youfic

“Hello,” he said politely. “Thank you for having me.” Inside, he answered every question carefully. Where he was from. What he did. How long you had known each other. His face was steady and confident, but his hand never left yours.

Later, when your dad joked about whether he was nervous, Xavier smiled faintly. “There's no reason to be.” But when your mother complimented how attentively he watched you, his ears warmed. He glanced at you, softer now, like the mask had slipped.

After dinner, as you helped clear the table, he leaned close. “They are kind,” he murmured. “You look relieved.”

He hesitated. “I just wanted them to see how important you are to me.” He had, too, he had waited centuries for this moment. He squeezed your hand again, and finally breathed a sigh of relief.

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Zayne:

Zayne arrived precisely on time, dressed neatly, posture impeccable. He brought a small bouquet for your mother and greeted your father with a firm, respectful handshake.

Throughout dinner, he spoke calmly and clearly. When asked about his work, he explained hospital routines, patient care, long hours, and the importance of rest and nutrition. Everything sounded like a consultation. Your mom blinked a few times. “You really love your job.”

“It requires responsibility,” he replied. “And consistency.” He answered questions about your relationship the same way, as if listing vitals. How long you had been together. How you supported each other. How he made sure you ate on busy days.

“You take very good care of her,” your father said. Zayne nodded. “I consider that part of my duty.”

Later, when you were alone in the hallway, you teased him. “You sounded like you were giving them a medical report.”

He adjusted his glasses. “I wanted to be clear and reassuring.”

“You did fine.”

His expression softened. “I wanted them to trust me with you.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Rafayel:

He arrived with his arms full.

A bottle of expensive wine. A bouquet of elegant flowers. A carefully wrapped box of chocolates. Your mother’s eyes lit up the second she saw him.

“For you,” he said warmly, bowing slightly. “I heard you have excellent taste.”

She laughed, instantly charmed.

Throughout the evening, he complimented the house, the food, the stories from your childhood. He listened closely, asked questions, laughed at the right moments. When your mom talked about your favorite meals, he made a mental note of every detail. “You are very attentive,” she said, clearly flattered.

“Of course,” Rafayel replied. “You raised someone incredible.”

By the end of dinner, your mother was practically glowing. When she pulled you aside, she whispered, “He is very sweet. And very handsome.”

Rafayel caught the look and grinned. “I am winning, aren’t I? Clearly her new favorite”

You rolled your eyes. “Don't get cocky.”

He leaned closer. “Too late.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Sylus:

He introduced himself as Skye.

You nearly said his real name out of habit, catching yourself just in time. He noticed, fingers brushing your wrist in warning, a quiet smile on his lips.

Your father sized him up immediately. Sylus met his gaze calmly and handed him the bottle of scotch.

“For you,” he said. “I was told you appreciate quality.” Your dad’s approval was instant.

Throughout the night, Sylus was polite, controlled, almost disarmingly charming. He answered questions carefully, never revealing too much, never lying outright.

When your mother asked how you met, he simply said, “Fate has interesting timing.”

Later, when your dad invited him to sample the scotch, Sylus accepted easily, discussing flavor notes like he had done it a hundred times.

When you finally had a moment alone, you whispered, “You were perfect. I almost forgot you were the head of Onychinus”

He leaned close. “I wanted them to like me. It makes things…simpler.”

You smiled. He rested his hand at your waist and pulled you close, reminding you that he is never letting go again. ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb:

Your parents already knew him.

They had known him since you climbed trees and shared lunches. He was the boy who always waited for you after school, who learned your favorite snacks and the way you hated thunderstorms. He had always been part of your life. But this was the first time he sat at their table as your boyfriend.

Your mother watched the two of you with a knowing smile. “So it finally happened.”

Caleb laughed, a little sheepish, rubbing the back of his neck. “Guess it did.”

Dinner was easy. Familiar. He joked with your dad, helped in the kitchen without being asked, slipped naturally into the rhythm of your home like he never truly left it. When your mom brought out dessert, he remembered which slice you liked best and passed it to you without thinking.

She noticed right away, how well he fit into the family.

“You always took care of her,” she said softly.

He glanced at you, expression warm. “Still do.”

Later, when you walked him to the door, the night quiet around you, he squeezed your hand like he used to when you were kids.

“It is strange,” he admitted. “Being here like this. Not just as the boy next door.”

“Good strange?” you asked.

You turned slightly. “Even if it saves them? Shouldn't they be happy to be able to live?”

“Especially then.” His thumb brushed slowly over your knuckles.

You swallowed. “It feels familiar. The way he hides behind usefulness. Like as long as he is needed, it is okay if he disappears.”

Xavier’s gaze softened. “He frames it as selfless sacrifice, but part of it is exhaustion. Part of it is relief. When someone believes their worth is tied only to outcomes, survival loses its value.”

You were quiet, considering his words carefully. “So why do they get angry at him?”

“Because they want him to live,” Xavier said gently. “Because they do not want a world that is saved at the cost of the person who made it possible. Anger is easier than admitting how terrifying it is to watch someone you love repeatedly choose to vanish for your sake. Believe me, I know”

Your heart stopped.

The real Xavier stood there, eyes moving from you to the nui doll and back again. His expression jealous, tight, then softened into something between disbelief and amusement.

You cleared your throat. “You were late.”

“So you replaced me,” he said gently.

You lifted the doll. “Temporary stand in.”

He sat down anyway, close, knee brushing yours. “You took me on a date.”

“You weren’t here.”

His gaze lingered on the tiny replica, then on your face. “Next time,” he murmured, “wait for the real thing.”

You smiled. He reached across the table and took your hand, making sure you knew he was serious.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Zayne:

The doll arrived on a night when the Akso kept him later than usual.

You set it on the couch beside you, its small coat folded neatly, expression calm and familiar. You told yourself it was silly, but the apartment felt less empty with him there.

When Zayne finally came home, tired eyes brightening the moment he saw you, he stopped short.

“…Is that me.”

You nodded. “You are always busy. I wanted something to sit with.”

He approached hesitantly, studying the stitching, the careful detail. “You could have called.”

“I did. You were in surgery.”

He was quiet for a moment. Then he sat down and gently moved the doll aside so you could fit against him instead.

“I am sorry,” he said. “I did not mean to leave you alone so often., for so long”

You rested your head on his shoulder. “It helped.”

His arm wrapped around you. “I will try to make it unnecessary.”

The doll stayed on the table, watching, while he held you closer than usual.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Rafayel:

You could barely wait for him to see it.

The box was still on the table when he walked in, and you were already bouncing on your heels. “I ordered custom art.”

He leaned over your shoulder as you opened it, intrigued. Out came the nui doll, eyes stitched in familiar pinks and blues, an oversized cardigan draped off one shoulder.

“…Wow,” he said. “They really captured my beauty.”

You laughed. “I told them to.”

He picked it up, turning it in his hands. “So this is how you see me.”

“You are cuter in person,” you said.

He smirked. “You say that now, but look at you. You commissioned a miniature me.”

You reached for it. “I wanted something to keep me company when you were gone.”

His teasing softened. He held it in his hands gently, then set it beside you on the couch. “Careful. If you start taking this one on dates, I might get jealous.”

You leaned into him. “Maybe he'll let me go first on the claw machine.”

He scoffed but pulled you into a tighter hug. "Then he wouldn't be like me at all."

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Sylus:

He found you in bed, curled around something small and familiar.

At first he paused at the sight. Then he saw the soft fabric, the tiny sport coat, the unmistakable resemblance.

“…Kitten,” he said slowly. “Is that me.”

You peeked up. “You were gone.”

He walked over, looming, then crouched beside the bed and lifted the doll. “So you cuddle a copy when the original is unavailable.”

You reached for it. “It helps me sleep.”

His mouth twitched. “That is dangerous information.”

You smiled. “You know I belong to you.”

He set the doll aside and slid in behind you, arms wrapping around your waist, pulling you back against his chest. “Then you should wait for me, not substitutes.”

You relaxed against him and he held you closer, chin resting atop your head.

“But,” he added quietly, “it is cute.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb:

Skyhaven always took him farther than you liked, farther than he liked.

You showed him the doll over video, holding it up to the camera. “I got it for when you are gone.”

He stared, then laughed softly. “You really did that, pipsqueak.”

“It gets lonely.”

His smile faded into something warmer, something a little fierce. “Then I should just take you with me. No more leaving you behind.”

“You can't, my life is here in Linkon.”

“I can try,” he said. “Would be easier than knowing you are hugging a toy instead of me.”

You pressed the doll to your chest. “It's just for comfort.”

He looked at you, eyes intense. “I am your comfort.”

When he finally came home, he pulled you into his arms immediately, holding you tight like he was afraid to let go.

Xavier didn’t respond immediately. Instead, he stood and crossed the room, dimming the lights until the space softened into shadow. When he returned, his light evol flickered to life, gentle and warm.

Your silhouette appeared on the wall.

He stepped behind you, hands resting lightly at your waist. “Look,” he murmured. “That’s how I see you.”

The outline was unmistakably yours, familiar curves, soft lines. Xavier traced the shadow with his fingers, slowly, as though he was memorizing it.

“There’s nothing unfinished here,” he said quietly. “Nothing lacking.”

You swallowed. “It doesn’t feel like enough sometimes.”

He tightened his hold slightly. “You don’t need to be more,” he said. “You already are my everything.”

Xavier pressed a kiss to your temple, resting his forehead against yours. “I don’t love an idea of you,” he added softly. “I love this. Exactly as you exist.”

You leaned back into him, letting the glow surround you, enjoying the warmth of his body against yours.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Zayne:

Zayne noticed your quiet immediately.

You sat beside him on the couch, close enough for you to feel his warmth, but far enough to feel distant, eyes unfocused. After a while, you finally spoke. “Do you ever think bodies are designed unfairly?”

He paused, tea halfway to his lips. “That depends.”

You shrugged. “I just feel wrong sometimes. Like I don’t really measure up.”

He set his cup down carefully, considering your words deeply and measuring his response. “Come here,” he said, gently.

You hesitated but shifted closer, and he adjusted instinctively, one arm settling around you.

“There’s nothing wrong with your body,” he said calmly. “Medically, functionally, or otherwise.”

You huffed. “Very comforting, doctor.”

His mouth twitched. “Smaller chests actually make exams easier. Changes are easier to detect. There’s less strain overall.”

You glanced up at him. “I think if I ever found a lump I'd have to go up a bra size.”

He blinked. “…That’s not how that works.”

You smiled faintly, but the insecurity lingered. Zayne tightened his hold around you.

“I don’t see you the way you see yourself,” he said quietly. “I see someone healthy. Balanced. Beautiful.”

You leaned into him, resting your head against his shoulder. “You don’t think I’m lacking?”

“No,” he said immediately. “I think you’re exactly as you should be.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Rafayel

You lingered beside the sculpture longer than usual.

“It’s beautiful,” you said softly. “The curves. The way everything fits together.”

Rafayel glanced over, curious. “What do you like about it?”

You considered. “It doesn’t exaggerate anything. It feels…real.”

He smiled, pleased, and set his tools down. “Good.”

You frowned. “Good?”

“That means I did it right.”

You laughed. “Did what right?"

"Captured your beauty."

You shook your head in disbelief and he got up quickly.

“Stand still,” he said, already grabbing a measuring tape.

You watched skeptically as he measured, your shoulders, your waist, the sculpture beside you. Again. And again. The numbers matched.

Your breath caught. “You’re serious.”

“Of course I am,” he said lightly. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

You stared at the sculpture, realization sinking in. “You really see me like this?”

Rafayel stepped closer, voice softening. “I see you as art,” he said. “Every line. Every proportion.”

He bumped your shoulder gently. “You don’t need to be different to be worth admiring.”

You smiled, feeling comfortable in your own skin for the first time in a long time. “You’re too much, you know?”

“And you,” he replied, “are perfect.”

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Sylus:

You lingered in the doorway longer than necessary, the lingerie bag heavy in your hands.

“Sylus,” you said quietly. “If this is another thing that doesn’t fit...”

“Try it,” he interrupted calmly. “Then decide.”

You disappeared into the bedroom, heart racing as you changed. You expected the usual: straps that fell down, fabric that assumed more than you had. But when you looked in the mirror, you froze.

It fit. Perfectly.

No awkward pulling. No empty space. Just fabric that followed your body like it had been made for you alone. For a moment, you simply stared, unsure what to do with the unfamiliar feeling settling in your chest.

When you stepped back out, Sylus looked up, he couldn't help but stare.

“I’ve never had anything fit like this,” you admitted softly. “Usually lingerie, everything really, just reminds me of what I don’t have.”

He stood, crossing the room slowly, gaze steady and intense. “Clothing sizes are arbitrary,” he said flatly. “Designed without care. Built for averages, not people.”

You laughed faintly. “That’s one way to put it.”

He stopped in front of you, lifting your chin gently. “Your body isn’t wrong,” he said. “The standard is.”

You looked into his crimson eyes. “You really believe that?”

“I don’t deal in illusions,” he replied. “You are precise. Balanced. Exactly as you are meant to be.”

His hand settled at your waist, possessive in a way that felt protective rather than demanding. “Nothing about you is too little or improperly sized,” he added quietly.

You leaned into him, leaning into the gentle kisses he placed on your neck.

ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ🖤ﮩ٨ـﮩﮩ٨ـ

Caleb:

You didn’t mean to say it out loud. It slipped out between breaths, barely more than a thought.

“I wish I looked different.”

Caleb stopped immediately, turning toward you. “Pips,” he said gently. “What’s that about?”

You shrugged, suddenly very interested in the floor. “I just feel inadequate sometimes. Like I don’t really measure up.”

You thought he was going to tease you, making a joke about you being a pipsqueak, but he stepped closer instead, pulling you into his arms like it was instinct.

“You’ve always fit right here,” he said quietly.

You rested against his chest, familiar and steady, the sound of his heartbeat comforting you. Growing up, this had always been where you ended up, after scraped knees, after bad days, after everything.

“I don’t think about you in parts,” he continued, voice low. “Never have. You’re just…you.”

You let out a small breath. “You’re really bad at letting me spiral.”

He smiled into your hair. “Yeah, well. Someone’s gotta stop you.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him. “You don’t wish I was different?”

Caleb shook his head without hesitation. “No. I just wish you could see yourself the way I do.”